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summer_of_giles2012-07-31 11:55 pm
FIC: THE CHOSEN ONE (Part 2 of 3)
(Continued from Part 1 of 3 - See Part 1 for Headings, Warnings, etc.)
Rupert and his father passed between the two rows of Watchers assembled along the path to the front gate. He accepted their good wishes gracefully. There weren't many left at this point, and they consisted mainly of those still in training or those too old or infirm to be considered a suitable offering for the Slayer.
Travers stood at the end of the ceremonial line. He extended his hands to Rupert, who accepted, as it was expected of him. “Good Luck, Rupert,” Travers said neutrally. “Make us proud.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Rupert replied, equally neutral.
Rupert turned to his father for a final farewell. Edmund handed over his son's sword, and hugged him one last time. “Come back to me,” he said urgently, for Rupert's ears only.
Rupert gripped his father's shoulders. “You know I can't promise you that,” Rupert replied softly. “But I can promise you, I will do my best.”
“I know,” Edmund replied.
With that, Rupert Giles turned and walked out of the stronghold to find his destiny.
He managed not to turn around to glance backward as he heard the gate clank closed and the lock secured behind him.
***********************************
It was about two hours walk through the forest to the place where he would await the Slayer. Rupert didn't hurry – he knew he still had several hours before darkness fell. He knew he needed to conserve his strength for the coming night, so he set an easy pace for himself, and used the time to contemplate the hours ahead.
He had been to the ritual meeting place twice before in his life – first at age 10, when he was dedicated to the Watcher's Guild, and second at age 30, when he completed his formal training and was consecrated to his calling as a Watcher. At each of those times there had been ceremony and ritual and other people present, including his father. This time, he would be alone, save for the Slayer - if she showed herself.
The Henge, as the meeting place was simply known, was, in fact, a typical neolithic-style henge, complete with circular earthworks and carved ditch. Within the henge was an irregular stone circle that had seen better days. At the center of the stone circle stood a single large taller stone, about 12 feet high, known as the Monument. When a Slayer was unpartnered, it was to the Monument that she was drawn, on the night of the full moon, to seek a Watcher. It was at the Monument that the Watcher was to await the Slayer - on that same night of full moon – the night of his Sending. Tonight.
About halfway to his destination, Rupert stopped under the shade of an old oak tree and sat to partake of some of the food the refectory cook had prepared for him. It wasn't a lot – some fruit, some cheese, some bread, a skein each of goat's milk and water. He'd been too wound up to eat before his departure, and his walk had brought back his appetite. He ate about half of what he had, saving some for just before dark. If he survived the night, he'd have to find something else, but neither the Council, nor himself, really expected that.
“Think positively, Rupert,” he chided himself, and while his meal digested, he reviewed in his mind what he knew of the current situation and Slayer.
Of the Five before him, only Merrick had managed to leave any records of his experience. The other four had been found dead several days after their Sending, or had simply disappeared altogether. The causes of their deaths ranged from draining by vampires to savage wounds inflicted by demons or natural wild animals.
Old Merrick had spent two days wandering about the Henge, talking briefly with the Slayer now and again. As much as she'd indicated she wanted to be left alone, she had not run away when he had approached her, and she had lingered in the area to return to talk to him now and again. It had been a time of relative lull in demon activity, and Merrick was very skilled, so he had survived for two nights in the forest without her protection, managing to write up his findings in his journal during each succeeding day. There were no notes for the third day. From this, and the condition of his body when they'd found him, the Council concluded he had been killed on the third night.
Merrick's notes had indicated the Slayer was headstrong and independent, wanting nothing to do with a Watcher. She'd stated that she was already destroying demons quite well, and already full-grown. She had no need of a minder or teacher. She knew of the Council, of course, and of the legends and history. All children, Potentials or not, were taught these things in their homes and villages. There was no pretending that the demons did not roam in this time, as had been the case long ago. Children in this time were warned and prepared.
The Slayer knew that her kind were supposed to take a Watcher to be their teacher and guide. She knew she was supposed to look for one at the the Henge on the night of a full moon. She knew all of this, but had apparently decided these things were not for her. She did not take direction from anyone. She worked alone.
Rupert suspected that the Slayer was drawn to the place unavoidably. Much as she was trying to fight it, her nature was driving her to seek out her partner in the Calling.
What had happened to the four Watchers between Merrick and himself, no one knew for sure. There was no way to know if they had even met up with the Slayer – no way to know if the contact, if any, was positive or hostile. Had she perhaps even had a hand in their deaths?. If seemed unlikely, but then everything about this situation was so far removed from tradition. He could only hope that the actions of the previous four had not prejudiced her against Watchers in general.
Tonight, it would be himself standing on her path. He had to find a way to convince her to accept him – for both their sakes, and for the sake of the world. If she remained without guidance and failed due to her inexperience and stubbornness, there was no telling what would happen. The Council knew something was interfering with the process of the Calling. If this Slayer perished, no one was certain what would happen next. If the Calling of the next Slayer was disrupted, or even prevented, it could bring about the end of humanity.
“No pressure, though”, he thought sardonically.
Hi picked up this things and continued his journey to the Henge and his fate.
**************************************
When Rupert arrived at the Henge, he took a few moments to explore the nearby area before entering. A small stream bubbled close, and he took the opportunity to refill his water skein and refresh himself. He removed his shirt and washed away the dust and sweat of the trail from his face, hair and chest, and his spectacles as well. He shook the excess water from his hair, and stood and shrugged back into his shirt, refastening it. He ran his fingers through his hair, and replaced his spectacles, hoping he would be sufficiently presentable.
Feeling better, Rupert knelt at the East portal of the Henge and prayed for guidance and strength, as was the tradition. Then, picking up his few belongings, he entered within.
Rupert felt the power of the place at his first footstep within the Henge. There was an aura of history, spirit and magic about the place. By all appearances it was a simple plot of ground with decorative stones, but the placid pastoral landscape clearly hid a vast assemblage of power. Looking to the sky, he saw he had perhaps twenty minutes until sunset, and he used the time to make a full tour of the grounds, ending at the base of the Monument itself.
It was clear that the Monument was the source of the Henge's power. The air nearly crackled as he approached it. He circled it slowly, examining the runes carved into its surface, some of which he could read, others that were beyond him and likely lost to all the Watchers at this point in time. Rupert's blood ran cold as his eyes came to rest on the several pairs of rusted chains and shackles fastened into the surface of the Monument stone at about the height of a man's ankles, wrists and shoulders. He knew the stains in the stone's surface were human blood – relics of an earlier time when the Monument had been used not for the Sending but for a much darker purpose. After the Fall, many people had blamed the Watchers for the ascendance of the Vampires and Demons, and many a good Watcher had lost his life as a living sacrifice in hopes of placating them. Fortunately, with the resurfacing of settled society and basic education, the Watchers were no longer hunted as traitors, but were once again relied upon for their knowledge and insight. Not quite as fatal, but equally disturbing, had been the practice of chaining virgin male Watchers to the Monument to provide for the Slayer's sexual desires in thanksgiving for a successful vampire or demon hunt.
Rupert was glad those practices were now in the past. He would be glad to serve his Slayer's carnal needs if she desired him, but his hope was that it would be in an expression of friendship, perhaps even love, not merely base desire.
Shaking his head to clear away the troublesome thoughts, Rupert noted that sunset was upon him. He sat down at the base of the Monument and quickly finished the remains of his meal from earlier in the day. After tidying up, he drew his sword and began practicing some of his favorite forms, to both calm himself and warm up his muscles for the possibility of combat during the night.
As Rupert moved through a sword form, he became aware of another presence in the area. It was not a dark force, yet it was not wholly light either. He focused his senses on it, tracking it.
It was approaching him. Stealthily.
Rupert continued his form as if he were aware of nothing. Without conscious direction to his body, he was suddenly blocking an incoming sword strike. There was the sharp clang of steel on steel, and then he was dancing away from his attacker.
It was her. He could feel it in his very soul.
It was the Slayer. It could be no other. She was petite, but obviously very strong. She wore well-worn leather leggings and heavy boots, and a simple pullover shirt with no sleeves. Her long blond hair was drawn back in a flat woven braid and her face bore a scar across her lips. She had the look, and alas, the smell, of someone who had been sometime on the move outdoors. In addition to the sword she had used against him, she wore a crossbow slung over her shoulders. Her eyes were a luminous green and brimming with intelligence. For all the dirt, she was strikingly beautiful, but the look she wore was grim. He, however, could not help but smile.
Keeping his eyes on her to see if she would strike again, he bowed slightly and addressed her. “Greetings, Slayer. My name is Rupert Giles, and I come this night of Sending to offer to you my service as your Watcher.”
“You guys, you just don't get it, do you?" Buffy returned, her voice tinged with annoyance. "I don't need a Watcher. I don't want a Watcher.”
“Tell me then, my Lady, what brings you here to this place each full moon?”
“I go where I want, when I want.”
“I see. Do you go other places on the full moon as well?”
“It's no business of yours.”
“I beg your pardon, my Lady, but I must differ. It is my business as this month it is I who am Sent. I believe you are here to see me – as you saw my friend and teacher Jerrod Merrick five months ago.”
The name of his fellow Watcher seemed to strike a memory in her eyes. “I didn't want him to die. I didn't kill him.”
“I believe you, my Lady,”
“Will you stop calling me that!”
“Tell me your name and I will call you by it.”
“Buffy. And I know Merrick wrote it in his book, so don't pretend you didn't know.”
“I did know, Buffy, but I wished to offer you the respect of asking. Did you read all that he wrote?”
“I can read my name, and a few other things – all I need to get by.”
“I see. That is an area where I could be of assistance to you, then.”
“I don't need to read fancy words to kill vampires.”
“Ah, not the everyday vampires you see each night, perhaps. But there are many others, with superior abilities - and powerful demons which rise only occasionally. For those, there are ancient texts with methods and spells, and descriptions of weapons and potions that can be used to defeat the more difficult ones. The Watcher's Council has many such texts, and I have spent years reading them, and fixing them in my memory. I could offer you their information, or teach you to read them yourself, if you like.”
“I'm getting along just fine as I am.”
“I agree,” Rupert tried again. “You are doing quite well in the hunting. But there is much more you could do. A coordinated plan of attack could have the demons on the run, rather than simply trimmed by a few numbers each night. A dedicated teacher and Companion could prove invaluable to you.”
“Meaning you.”
“Yes.”
“You've got a lot of nerve coming out here, telling me you know more than I do. Didn't they tell you the last five of you they sent died, and not prettily, either?”
“I am well aware of that, Buffy. The reason we come, and that we keep coming, is that we truly believe that you are the only hope for humanity against the demons, and that we have the ability to be a powerful ally to you.”
“Take off your spectacles.”
“Say again?”
“What – do you have trouble hearing as well as trouble seeing? I said take off your spectacles!” She slung her crossbow to the ground and tossed her sword lightly in her hand.
“As you wish,” Rupert removed his glasses and placed them with his satchel on the ground at the base of the monument. “May I ask . . .” he began, and as he straightened, he saw the Slayer coming full on at him with sword raised. He ducked under her blow and jumped backward as she sailed past him.
“. . . why?” he finished as she turned back toward him.
“I don't need a liability. I don't need weakness. You can't even fight if you lose those pieces of glass.”
“My dear Buffy,” Rupert chided. “I suggest you test that theory before you reach your conclusions. I assure you, I can still fight reasonably well.” Rupert swung his sword through several arcs, awaiting her response. “I may even be able to offer you a few lessons, both in combat and in knowledge, to aid your own most impressive ability.”
“We'll see about that,” Buffy challenged, and came at him again.
Rupert fell back before her blow, deflecting it around him and letting her strength wash past. He also stuck out his leg and sent her flailing face-first into the ground.
“Lesson One:” said Rupert cheerfully, “Never underestimate your opponent. He will always surprise you.”
Furious, Buffy charged him again. He easily moved under and away from her blow.
“Lesson Two: Don't drop your left shoulder – you give away your strike every time.”
Buffy turned, composing herself a moment. She circled him slowly, then quickly changing her sword hand, she came at him from her off side. He took advantage of her relative inexperience with this move to block her blow in such a way that she tripped over her own feet and went down.
“Lesson Three: Maintain your balance at all times. You opponent will exploit your every weakness. And by the way,” he added casually as she regained her feet, “you may want to brush that flornotrop off your shoulder." He gestured with the hilt of his sword. When she went to look, he swept her feet out from under her and she went down again.
“Lesson Four: Never believe a word your opponent says, and never, ever, look where he directs your attention.”
Buffy growled in fury as she sprang back to her feet. “You have earned yourself the beating of your life, Watcher.”
“Have I? Excellent, then I am assured of your full attention,” he replied with a gentle smile.
She ran at him with a roar, and he stepped lightly backward in no apparent direction, zigging and zagging and alternatively dodging and deflecting her blows. There was a sudden enormous hiss and growl and Buffy went down like a brick, a diamond-back grabvark wrapped around her lower right leg. Buffy hacked at it with her sword and it was soon in pieces.
“Lesson Five: Just because your opponent traverses a path safely, does not mean you can do so heedlessly. The land has many dangers – not all with fangs and claws and a preference for darkness. Grabvark dens are notoriously well concealed in grass, and one must always be on the lookout. Fortunately as the Slayer, you are immune to its poison.”
Buffy's face was now beet red with embarrassment and anger. She stalked toward him with murderous intent. Rupert's smile faded a bit and he prepared himself for her attack, praying she wouldn't be angry enough to actually kill him. He had no choice but to face her.
Steel rang as Rupert deflected blow upon blow from Buffy. She was, of course, incredibly strong, and he couldn't hope to hold out against her for long – not in her current state of fury.
“Lesson Six:,” Rupert gasped. “You must . . ..” CLANG “. . . always reign in . . .” SCHRANG “. . . your anger – if it rules your . . .” SMASH “. . . reason, you are doomed . . .” CRANG “. . . to failure! . . . . Unggnhh!!!”
Buffy had driven him backward with the sheer unmatchable force of her blows. When Rupert's back was one step from the Monument, she drove her right shoulder into his chest and slammed him into the tall stone, pinning him there. His head rocked back and hit the stone as well, stunning him briefly. His sword fell from his hand.
Buffy leaned her sword a moment against the Monument. She reached for one of the mid-height chains and fastened the shackle securely around Rupert's right wrist. The chains may have been old and rusted, but they were more than sufficient to imprison one human man.
“Lesson Seven:,” Buffy growled grimly, releasing her grip on his arm, picking up her sword, and turning to meet his shocked gaze. “Never go up against somebody who overmatches your strength by a hundred.”
Rupert swallowed hard and tried to collect himself, still breathing heavily. “A good lesson, I'll grant you – unless you are simply testing each others strengths in mutual sparring. A quick wit, practice, patience and experience can frequently defeat superior physical force.”
“Not this time.”
“I concede you've bested me. Now . . . if you'd be so kind as to release me, I'd be happy to . . .”
Buffy shouldered her sword and crossbow, turned her back on Rupert and began walking away.
“Buffy?” Rupert asked, worried, but not quite terrified yet.
She made no reply and continued walking.
“Buffy?!” he tried again, to no response. “Wait! You intend to leave me here like this? Chained for their pleasure like a tethered goat?”
Buffy turned around and regarded him icily. “You're left-handed,” she replied.
“Yes,” he acknowledged.
“Your left hand is free, and your sword is in reach.”
Her intentions were suddenly, horrifyingly, clear. He swallowed hard, steeling his courage.
“I accept your trial,” he said bravely, “ . . but I have a condition. If I fail – if they turn me – promise me you'll kill me before I bring harm to another.”
“If they turn you, you'll be a vampire, and I'll kill you anyway.”
“Then I accept your trial.”
“You don't have a choice. Survive this – maybe I'll decide you're the first one who actually has something to teach me.”
“If this is your demand, then so be it,” Rupert replied. “But know that a Watcher is not simply a swords-master. If I am to be yours, I'll teach you everything and anything I can to aid you in your Calling. Including how to read more than an innkeeper's sign and the proper cleaning of your teeth and clothing so your stench is less noticeable to the demons.”
“Do you actually want to live?” Buffy asked him, trying not to be impressed with his boldness.
“Yes,” Rupert replied sincerely.
“Just making sure.”
Rupert was unable to discern if there was a note of humor present in her voice or not, and if there was, if it was solely at his expense, or if it indicated he had actually reached her in some way. He prayed he had. He'd followed his instincts - she'd seemed to want a show of strength.
Buffy turned and began walking away again, into the woods.
“A good night to you, then, My Slayer,” Rupert called.
The Slayer did not reply.
Rupert watched her disappear into the woods, trying to fight the terror gripping his heart as the last shreds of twilight gave way to the dark of night.
******************************************
Continued in Part 3 of 3
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Thanks for commenting!
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Hope you enjoy the final part!
Thanks for reading!
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Fortunately, since it's me, we all know he'll make it :-) ! But its fun to be scared a bit in between.
Thanks so much for reading and commenting!
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Thank you for reading and commenting!
PS: Thanks for the Sword-Holding!Giles icon!