FIC: THE CHOSEN ONE (Part 3 of 3)

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(Continued from Part 2 of 3 - See Part 1 for Headings, Warnings, etc.)

Rupert took a deep breath as he watched the forest close behind the Slayer's back.

He honestly was not certain what to think. Was she truly leaving him to die - bled and slain or turned by the demons? Did she expect he would somehow survive? Did she perhaps have a plan to limit the number of demons that would beset him at once? He knew he could most likely handle one, or perhaps two, even chained as he was, because, in truth, many of them were just plain stupid and would fall to his methods. More than two? He tried not to think about it.

Knowing how invaluable Merrick's notes had been to him, he determined to leave what he could for those to come after him. He sat himself down on the ground and first pulled his sword to him, and then his satchel. Reaching inside, he pulled out his book and charcoal stick, and also the skeins of milk and water. Awkward though it was, with his right arm held fast near his head, he managed to balance the book on his knee and write of his meeting with the Slayer and what he was about to face. In the back, he wrote a personal note for his father, knowing the Elder Watcher would look there for one. He hoped it would help him through his grief.

Having dispatched his duty to record his experience and his desire to leave a final message for his father, he tucked the journal safely back in the satchel and wrapped the shoulder straps carefully around it. He then tossed it away from himself, back behind the Monument, hoping the demons would not find it in their focus on ending his life. Lastly, he replaced his spectacles on his face.

It wasn't long before said demons made themselves known. They, too, were aware of the legends, and knew a free meal was often theirs for the taking at the Monument on the night of the full moon. They'd been surprised at first that the Slayer did not stop them hunting the candidate Companions, but they had been happy to take full advantage of the situation.

Rupert sensed the approach of vampires. He stood and held his sword at the ready. He strained his eyesight to detect their number.

Three. Damn.

The vampires stopped before him, just out of reach of his sword. “Ah, the Slayer understands the old ways, I see,” said the eldest, by way of greeting, nodding to Rupert's restrained arm. “She has given us the gift of your blood.”

“She is testing my courage, as is her right,” Rupert defended her instinctively, “and I'll wager you won't find it lacking.”

“So, tell me,” said one of the others. “Did they run out of the tired, dried up old men, that they send us a pretty young thing as yourself? I must say, I approve! The scent of you is enticing, and I think you may have blood enough to sate us all.”

“All of you will not partake, I assure you,” Rupert declared, turning his sword in his hand.

“Ooooo, he's a feisty one, isn't he?” the third vampire sneered. “Should I be frightened?” He laughed aloud. “I think not!”

The vampires drew their own weapons: one a sword, one a battle axe, and one a club. They stalked around him, remaining out of his reach, taking turns feigning strikes at him, baiting him and taunting him.

“What's this?” exclaimed the eldest, the apparent leader, as he circled around behind Rupert and the Monument to which he was bound. “A dainty little travel bag! What could be inside, I wonder?” He walked round again in front of Rupert, and showed his find to his fellows.

Rupert gritted his teeth. They'd found his journal despite his efforts to the contrary. He knew demanding they set it aside would do nothing but encourage them to make off with it or destroy it.

“Let's see what the pretty young Watcher has to say . . .”

They read through Rupert's notes regarding the Slayer. “Blah, blah, Slayer things . . . nothing we don't know," the leader groused.  "When will you Watchers realize this Slayer wants nothing to do with you?”

“Boring!” one of the other two vampires chirped nastily.

“Wait,” said the leader, still fiddling with Rupert's journal. “”What's this here in the back? It's a note to Daddy! Well, we can't have your dear father wondering what's happened to you, can we? It would be so rude. Give me the stylus!”

The vampires conferred for a moment and then laughed out loud. The leader scrawled below Rupert's note on the last page of the journal, then held it up for him to see.

“ . . . and then HE DIED!!” the vampire had written in dramatic script, signing his name, “Dragonov.” The vampires began to laugh heartily.

Without warning, Rupert swung his sword and nearly severed the hands holding his journal from the arms to which they were attached. The vampire barely pulled back in time. Rupert's lunge was checked by the rusty shackle around his wrist. It bit deeply into his skin, and he began to bleed. But it had been worth it.

“Whoa, little Watcher,” the second vampire chuckled. “Don't bleed yourself out before we're ready for you. You said the Slayer wanted us to test your courage. We wouldn't want to disappoint either of you.”

“She does not want you do to anything but die,” Rupert returned. “And I am certain she will see to it if I do not.”

The leader was tiring of the game of words, and the smell of Rupert's blood was stoking his hunger. “I think it's time for the real test to begin, think ye not, gentlemen?”

“Of course, Sire,” they responded together. The three vampires began to twirl their own weapons, moving side to side, testing Rupert's reach and timing. Then they set upon him, three at once, and pressed him severely, toying with him. Of the two with blades, only one presented him an edge at a time, which he struggled to meet with his own. The other struck him with the flat of his weapon, and the one with the club struck him as well. Rupert did his best to meet the edged weapons, which would fatally wound him, but as a result, he was taking a vicious beating from the blunt strikes. Chained in place as he was, trapped between his attackers and the monument, he had little room to move, and the shackle cut into his wrist unmercifully.

Rupert fought valiantly for his life and for the respect of the Slayer, but his situation was hopeless. It wasn't long before the demons had disarmed him and dropped him to his back on the ground. They swarmed over him, one taking the opportunity to fasten a shackle around his right ankle, restraining him further. The leader struck him in the face repeatedly, until he was dazed and no longer able to struggle against them.

“His wrist tempts me, Sire, may I?” asked one.

“May I take from his manhood, Sire?” asked the other.

“Yes, my children, since you respect my right to his throat and you ask so sweetly. You may start once I have my teeth in him.”

“Thank you, Sire,” they growled together, and awaited their turn.

Mercifully, Rupert was unconscious when three sets of teeth sank into his body.

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The Slayer stood at the edge of the forest, observing the exchange at the Monument.

She saw the Watcher go down under the combined assault of three vampires, his struggles brave and determined, but ultimately futile.  She saw the brutal blows struck upon the man's body as he lay chained and helpless at their feet.  She saw the vampires begin to feed, and fury rose within her.

She didn't want this man to die.

She would not let him die.

She nocked three bolts in quick succession in her crossbow.

Three vampires were dust before they had the slightest clue as to their fate.

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Rupert Giles moaned softly in the dark, beaten, injured, and chained to the base of a sacred monument.

His jacket had been laid over him to keep away the chill night air.

As he turned restlessly, in between semi-consciousness and fitful sleep, the jacket slipped off to one side.

Unknown to him, a silent shadow patrolled nearby.

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At dawn, Edmund Giles went to the courtyard of the Watcher's Compound. He had not slept.

Other Watchers were about as well, busying themselves with various tasks, but truth be told, all were there to seek of word of the Sent.

Edmund saw Elder Travers near the courtyard well and approached him. “Quentin – any word of my son?”

“None as yet, Edmund, but it is early.”

A few moments later there came a knock at the gate, and the tower lookout indicated to admit the visitor. It was one of the local farmers, bringing in his load of produce for sale.

Edmund strode toward him. “Last night was the Sending – my son – have you any word?”

“Horace the smith came in to our village about First Light. He said he saw the Slayer by the Henge, Sir.”

“Did he see a Watcher – did he see my son?” Edmund pressed urgently.

“Forgive me, Sir, Horace said nothing of a Watcher or of Young Mr. Giles.”

“I'm going after him,” Edmund declared, to no one in particular, striding toward the stables.

“Edmund,” Travers protested, “He lives or not. There is nothing you can do now.”

“By all that's Holy, Quentin, there is so – if only to give him a decent burial, or to dispatch him myself if she left him to be turned by the demons. I will not have my son's body gnawed upon like so much carrion as Merrick was.”

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An hour's hard ride brought Edmund Giles to the Henge. He'd brought another saddled horse with him, and he prayed there would be a living man to ride it home. Heedless of the sanctity of the place in his haste to reach his son's side, he rode the horse straight up to the Monument.

His heart died at the sight before him.

Rupert, his only son, his only child, lay motionless at the foot of the Monument, bound by chains, his clothing torn, his blood spilled at wrist, groin and throat.

“Rupert!” he cried out in anguish as he dismounted and rushed to the fallen man's side.

Edmund dropped to his knees, and for a moment, he couldn't bring himself to touch his son, wanting to delay the confirmation of his death. Then steeling himself, he pressed his fingers to Rupert's throat and, to his greatest joy, discovered he lived. He threw his arms around the younger man's shoulders and pulled him onto his lap, stroking his face, brushing back his hair, and calling his name.

After a few moments, Rupert's eyes blinked open and slowly focused on his father's face above him.

“Father . . .,” he whispered. “Did you see her?”

“Her? You mean the Slayer?”

“Yes . . . yes, she was here. We talked . . . she tested me . . .”

“Tested you? She did this to you? She is no better than a beast! Sooner we are rid of her the better. She deserves no Watcher, and certainly not you! God forgive me, but I'd rather face no new Calling than serve one who would do this to an honorable man.” Edmund drew his own sword, and heedless of the fine edge, he cleaved the chains binding his son to the Monument in a series of fierce blows.

“No, no Father, she didn't do this . . .,” Rupert protested. “She challenged me to survive the night here,” Rupert's mouth spread into a slow smile. “And it seems I did.”

“Rupert, I think you're confused,” Edmund returned. “By the look of you, you've had your brains about bashed out through your ears. I need to get you back to the compound and let the Healer look at you, and get the smith to get these shackles off you. I've brought a second horse.”

“I want to find her . . .”

“Rupert, you're in no condition to go anywhere but to the Healer.”

“My jacket . . .” Rupert began.

“What of it?” Edmund replied in frustration, wanting nothing more than to get his son to safety as soon as possible.

“Why is it here on the ground beside me – did you move it, Father?”

“No, I've done nothing with your things, I'm far more interested in you.”

“It wasn't here last night.”

“What?”

“I'd folded it . . . I'd laid it beside the Monument, over here.” Rupert pointed.

“Rupert, you're making no sense at all. We're going . . . now.” With that, Edmund pulled his son to his feet and guided him to the waiting horses, helping his son to mount.

As there was plenty of daylight left, Edmund kept their pace slow, and steadied his son in the saddle as the younger man succumbed to pain and exhaustion on the way.

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Three days later Edmund once again knocked on the door of his son's room, this time at mid-morn.

“Come in, Father,” Rupert called, knowing the older man's step on the stone floor.

Edmund entered and was dismayed to see Rupert's sword and travel satchel laid out.

“Rupert, what on earth are you doing?” Edmund asked in agitation.

“I'm going back, Father. I have to know what happened.”

“This is not required of you.”

“I know. But if I only do what is required, I have not done my best, and that was my oath to my Calling and to you.”

“Why? What more can you hope to accomplish? You said you met the Slayer, talked with her, sparred with her. And yet she left you helpless – at their mercy!”

Rupert looked up from his packing to meet his Father's eyes. “She saved me. I'm sure of it Father. There were three vampires, I was chained. There is simply no way I survived on my own.”

“But you have no idea what happened. You told me you lost consciousness. For all you know, some rivals could have attacked the ones who had you. Or werewolves – it was full moon, after all.”

“You think rivals or werewolves would have left me alive, Father?”

“I don't know what to think. Except to thank heaven that you are still with me.”

“Then there is the matter of my jacket.”

“Yes, you keep going on about that. Who knows how it could have got there beside you. Perhaps the vampires were deciding if they wanted it for themselves.”

“I think she laid it over me in the night.”

“Rupert, I know you want this to work out and . . .”

“I could sense her, Father. I knew she was coming to the Monument before I could see her. When I touch my jacket now – I can still sense her.”

Edmund drew in a shocked breath. “Dear God, Rupert . . . do you realize what that could mean?”

“It means I may have a true Calling – that I've been bonded to her. I'm not just to be her teacher, I'm to be her true Companion.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to go back. Search the Henge. See if I can figure out what happened.”

“Shall I come with you?”

“I'd be glad of your company, Father, and your counsel. As long as you promise me you will return here before sunset.”

Edmund looked in his son's eyes and saw he would accept no argument.

“Very well. I give you my word. But I won't promise I'll not try to persuade you to come back with me if your Slayer does not show herself.”

“Fair enough, then.”

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Mounted side by side, two generations of Giles set out once again for the Henge.

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This time leaving the horses tied respectfully outside the Henge, father and son proceeded on foot to the Monument. Two pairs of eyes fell immediately on an object sitting upright against its base.

“My journal,” Rupert said, bending down and retrieving the book. He flipped through it, stopping on the last page.

“What is it Rupert?” Edmund asked.

“It's a message – from her,” he replied, and held the book for his father to see. “I wrote this for you, I really didn't think I would survive the night, but I'd hoped to give a good accounting of myself. The vampires found it, and they wrote this to mock me and grieve you.” He showed his father the words, “ . . . and then HE DIED!!”

The words had been crossed through repeatedly with bold strokes of the charcoal stylus.

“You think she did this – denied your death?”

Rupert touched his fingers to the writing. “I know she did,” he whispered.

Handing the journal to his father, Rupert scouted around the front of the Monument, brushing his fingers through the grass. He soon found what he was looking for.

Three crossbow bolts. He held them up for his father to see.

“She did save you,” Edmund whispered in awe.

A now-familiar prickle at the back of his neck caused Rupert to rise to his feet and turn Southward – the direction he'd seen the Slayer leave the night she'd put him to the test.

She was there, standing at the edge of the forest. Waiting.

Waiting for him.

“I have to go, Father,” Rupert said softly, still looking in the Slayer's direction.

“I know,” Edmund replied. He pulled his son into his arms and hugged him fiercely. Forcing himself to pull away, he smiled. “Send word to me when you can. I shall await news of the wailing of the demons.”

Rupert returned his father's hug and smile. “Thank you, Father, for everything.”

Edmund was unable to speak for the moment, so he simply nodded in understanding.

Rupert picked up his sword and his satchel and began to walk towards the Slayer.

Edmund watched him go. He saw them stand together for a few moments. He watched as his son followed his bonded Slayer toward their shared destiny. True to his promise, he took the horses and headed back to the Watcher's Compound, his heart light.

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Rupert crossed the Henge and exited at the South side. He walked up the slight rise to where the Slayer – his Slayer – awaited him. She didn't move, and she didn't speak, but let him come up to her.

Rupert held out the three crossbow bolts to her. “I believe these are yours,” he said by way of greeting.

Her small but powerful hand reached to retrieve the bolts from his own. He thought he saw a trace of a smile on her lips and in her eyes as she turned away from him and began walking into the forest.

Rupert adjusted his sword and satchel across his back, and swung his jacket over his shoulder.

He followed after his Slayer, into their future together.

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End Part 3 of 3

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Summer of Giles 2012

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