summer_of_giles | Fic: Two men (and their dog) in a boat 11/??

Disclaimers in Part One

Part Eleven

Warwick castle surprised everybody – well, everybody except Giles, who knew exactly what to expect. For one thing, Xander had always thought that castles dominated the tops of hills and commanded every horizon. This one was built on the side of a hill, and wasn’t actually visible from the town until you arrived, at which point it was there, in all sorts of imposing glory. For another, it was well lived in and well repaired, a living working castle, not a romantic ruin or a Hollywood style pastiche of one. In fact, it turned out to be everything it ought to be, with its imposing entrance, its sturdy stone walls, its towers and its apartments, the promise of a ghost walk up the tower, the gloom of the – admittedly small – dungeon, and a whole slew of other things that made it both fun and educational all at the same time.

Of course, having Giles as your guide meant your visit was going to be pretty educational to begin with; he regaled them all with relevant and mostly fascinating bits of history that included rebellions against kings, civil wars, and even a murder or two. He discussed siege engines and castle warfare with the younger boys, talked about plotting and intrigue with their older siblings and friends, and won Nancy over completely – not with his knowledge of history, but with his ability to share it and keep her family fascinated. Xander, who had long experience of Giles in lecture mode, mooched along at the back, enjoying the sound of his lover’s voice and smiling at the way his passion for the past turned his words from dry teaching into engaging oratory. Personally, he was more interested in the intricacies of castle architecture than he was in long dead kings, but the stuff about siege techniques and castle defences was pretty interesting – and he was definitely with Mary when she oohed and aahed over the birds of prey when their tour took them into the mews. The falconer on duty told them that some of the birds would be flying later, so they made a note of the time for the display and then headed out into the grounds and down to the riverbank; the tournament and the fair was taking place on the island on the far side of the castle – which looked decidedly impressive when you turned back and looked up at it.

“Maybe we should get one of these,” Xander suggested as they strolled down to the riverside. There were hordes of people, all heading in the same general direction, and the air was filled with the smell of hotdogs and popcorn and excited anticipation. Well, okay, so that didn’t smell, exactly, but the air was filled with it all the same.

“One of what?” Giles gave him a bemused look.

“Castle.” Xander jerked his thumb back in the right general direction. “Large sprawling place, designed for keeping warriors in? Lots of bathrooms, and even a dungeon – if you need one.”

Bemusement turned into wry amusement. “Yes, of course,” Giles noted. “With endless maintenance and heating costs, an entire horde of support staff to manage and pay, and Engligh Heritage – or whoever – breathing down your neck every time you want to anything more constructive than change a light bulb. A superb choice for housing a bunch of high spirited, independent young ladies who complain the minute there’s less than an ocean of hot water on tap.” He paused for effect, the quiet twinkle in his eye suggesting he wasn’t being entirely serious in his sarcasm. “Mind you,” he went on to acknowledge, “a decent courtyard for conducting training drills, a stable for horses, a sensible sized library, and stout walls that might actually serve as some defence, should someone try to – uh – blow us up. Again. I suppose it has some possibilities …”

Xander grinned. “Just a thought. We buy one in Scotland, you could play Dumbledore.”

“Only if you get Willow to find me a phoenix … and no,” he added pointedly, “Buffy doesn’t count. No matter how grateful I am that she … um – you know.”

“I know.” Xander stepped in a little closer, partly because of the crowd, but mostly because he felt like it. He wasn’t entirely sure of the protocol for occasions – and places – like this, but they were on a day out together and he thought they ought to be … well, together.

Not quite like Simon and Gemma, of course, who were practically glued hip to hip, their hands slid neatly and intimately into each other’s back pant’s pockets. It was sweet and it was cute, and it was totally Young Love with capitals and probably an exclamation mark or two. Xander had never had that. Snatched moments in janitor’s closets with Cordelia, away from public sight and comment didn’t count – and Anya had tried the public couple-y thing, but by the time they’d started to get comfortable with it, he’d been leaving her at the altar because he hadn’t really been comfortable at all.

“Enjoying yourself?” Giles asked, solving the problem by casually draping his arm over Xander’s shoulders as if it belonged there. Which it did.

“Yeah. You?”

“Tremendously. Good lord – spit roast pig. Haven’t had that in years …”

The island was edged with booths, all trying very hard to be convincingly medieval. The scene suggested RenFaire chic, although this actually looked far more authentic, offering up rustic charm rather than fantasy flourish. There was, indeed, a whole pig turning on a spit, and a pastry stall, although most of the other food choices seemed to be more in the burger and fries line. There was candy floss, of course, and toffee apples, and ice cream on sale – and there were old fashioned type games, like skittles and a ring toss. The bouncy castle was a little jarring, but the knights riding about on horseback looked decidedly authentic, as did the small number of craft stalls clustered underneath a magnificent looking oak tree.

Giles – inevitably – gravitated towards the end of the row, where there was a stall with swords and shields on display. Xander headed in the other direction, drawn by a display of carved and polished pieces. He knew artistry when he saw it, and a number of the pieces were busy screaming masterwork at him, evidence of long hours of patient attention to quality wood and skill with saw and hammer and chisel. The first piece that caught his eye was a lovely bowl, wrapped in celtic knotwork, and after it some extremely well made boxes decorated with curling dragons and equally curling leaf and stem work. He moved on to admire some well wrought napkin rings, and then was briefly tempted by a sturdy chopping board engraved with olde English cooking homilies; Andrew would have loved it, but Xander realised – just in time - how wince making some of the phrases might be for a man who not only read, but spoke Chaucer’s English with enviable expertise. He wasn’t about to buy something that would endlessly annoy Giles with its irritating Amercianisms. Certainly not at an English fair.

Besides, he realised with a grin, if I get Giles to sort me out some proper quotes, I can make one myself …

He exchanged a few professional words with the artist – mostly about the quality and suitability of different types of wood – and moved on, pleased to have solved one of his perennial problems, for that year at least. It was always a pain figuring out what to get Andrew for Christmas.

The next stall held glassware, which he glanced at briefly before moving on again. The glass – most of it hand blown ware – was beautiful stuff, but far too fragile to consider for gifts, or even a souvenir. The last time he’d given Buffy something made of glass, she’d used its broken edges to slash tentacles off the thing that had crawled up from the sewers barely an hour later. It had been Buffy’s birthday, of course, so he hadn’t been surprised, but … no. Not glass. He’d been finding shards in the carpet for weeks afterwards.

“Hi.” Nancy materialised beside him at the next stall, stepping in from his blind side to greet him with a smile. She had a burger in one hand and a Coke in the other. She was also wearing a rather fetching plastic crown with big, fake jewels on it. He frowned at it for a moment before remembering that they’d had them as prizes on the skittle stall. One of her brood must have won it for her. “See anything you like?”

Over her shoulder, and about fifteen feet away, a small crowd had gathered around a roped off space beside the weapon’s stall. Inside it, a tall and powerful figure was expertly swinging the weight of a broadsword through an equally powerful series of moves designed to test its weight and balance. He was also showing off - just a little bit – and Xander grinned, admiring the lines of both the man and the weapon as they moved through the graceful but deadly exercise. “Yeah,” he breathed, and Nancy turned her head to see what had caught his attention.

“Wow,” she said. Giles stepped through a final flourish, lowered the blade, and earned himself a smattering of applause - which he acknowledged with a sheepish shrug and his usual self-effacing dismissal of his skill . “Apart from that.” Nancy’s smile was a knowing one, and Xander blushed, covering his sudden – and stupid - sense of embarrassment with one of his usual goofy grins. He didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about, but he’d never had any defences against the power of a mother’s smile, either – and Nancy had just hit him with one that ranked right up there with Carol Brady and Clair Huxtable. One more notch and she’d have been graduating cum laude from the Joyce Summers school of Motherhood.

“I want to get you something,” she was saying, glancing at the stall beside them. “As a thank you, I mean. Because … well, thank you doesn’t seem enough. Not for what you did.”

“Well,” he shrugged. “It is. Really. I mean, I – we – do lots of stuff, and - we don’t get a lot of thanks for it as a rule, so … yeah. You’re welcome. And you don’t need to – “

“Yes, I do,” she insisted, with another of those smiles. A slightly haunted one this time. “He’s my son, Xander. And you were a stranger, and you didn’t have to … but you did. And maybe …” Something caught her eye. Something that widened the smile into one he knew he wasn’t going to be able to resist. “You know,” she said cunningly, “I could always buy you something for him. And vice versa – if you see what I mean.”

He didn’t, so he quirked a questioning smile of his own. She laughed, a little embarrassedly. “Look – you don’t strike me as the kind of bloke that wears jewellery much – or that buys it, either. Girlfriend, maybe, if you had one, but – even then you’d probably be like Simon and get it wrong … too much too quickly, or too gaudy, or too cheap … “ She huffed – another Mom thing - and trailed off for a moment. “Anyway,” she went on with a determined breath, “Here you are, standing right in the front of a jewellery stall, and … there’s a man over there that means the world to you – and he does, so don’t you go denying it – “

Wouldn’t dream of it. There wasn’t time to interrupt, but he was sure the look he gave her was more than enough to convey that message.

“- and you mean the world to him. Maybe more than that … as much as Michael, and Simon, Ben, Mary … mean to me. So … you call him your partner, but neither of you wear a ring … ”

“It’s not an official partnership,” he interjected, smiling at the idea. “Not – yet, anyway.”

“Do you want it to be?”

Did he? He’d tried the marriage thing once. Chickened out at the last minute, and regretted it ever since. Anya was the one that got away – well, the one that he pushed away – and now there was Giles …

“I mean, you could …” Nancy was still trying to get to her point. He had a suspicion where she was going, but he didn’t want to jump the gun on this, because – boy, if he were wrong … “They passed a law, didn’t they? I know there was something about Elton John … last year? Look,” she said firmly, “I know I’m not the greatest advert for marriage, because … well, I’m just not, but – you two? I think you could make a go of it. And – “ Another deep breath. “They have the perfect pair of rings right here …”

Continued in Part Twelve

Fic: Two men (and their dog) in a boat 11/??

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