¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

What’s love got to do with it

What’s love but a second hand emotion

What’s love got to do with it

Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken

-Tina Turner, What’s Love Got To Do With It-

Lesson the Forty-Third

“Progress?”

“None,” Gabriella muttered, stroking her blooded hands off against her dress as she came to stand by the throne. “I am, for the first time, growing quite weary of it. She stopped screaming hours ago. She seems quite apt to give up her last flicker of wanting to stay in this world, and I find it rather boring.”

“She has always been headstrong,” Clara sighed. “I suppose I am to go down there myself now.”

“Only if you wish.”

“Naturally I do,” the princess said, though she seemed impatient as she stood and left the great hall.

“Does she go to the dungeons?” Theodore asked as he stepped forward and Gabriella smiled a small smile.

“She does,” she confirmed. “I am pleased to see that you have not ventured there but once. I was afraid you would feel inclined to hold the prisoner’s hair up while I whipped her, so as not to destroy the locks.”

Theodore’s smile was stale with politeness as he came closer to the vampiress.

“I am certain you know I asked for guardianship of her life... She has been a friend to me ever since I was first brought to the city. Our princess jerked my view back in a more appropriate place and I see now that it is not my concern what happens to a traitor such as Maeve, for now that is all she is and can ever be. And I can assure you I have greater worries.”

“You? Have worries? Baffling thought.”

“Not at all. We are to gather ourselves for the pending battle, are we not?”

“Aye,” Gabriella nodded, a new light lit in her eyes. “The moon is full on New Years Eve, and that is the moment of our glory. We shall go into the very history books of time, Theodore. Don’t you think it to be thrilling?”

“I find it most intriguing, at least,” he said with another smile and a bow.

“Leaving so soon?” she asked as he moved to walk away from her and he looked at her for a moment before he replied:

“Only because I must. My duties are never ending at times such as these.”

“When were the times ever as such?” she remarked.

“Indeed... but they are in original what they are and so times such as these they have become,” he shot and she smirked. “Gabriella, there is something of some magnitude which I wish to discuss with you... Clara...”

“She spoke with you,” Gabriella interrupted, sounding exasperated. “I know, she told me. I had asked her not to and she went willfully against any indignation of mine. I apologize for having put you in such a strange circumstance.”

“It is not your doing.”

“Oh, but it is.”

“Not at all, it was Clara who...”

“Yes, but had I not expressed my interest to her in the first place...”

Gabriella trailed off, a rather embarrassed expression on her face before she looked away from him. He smiled again, feeling as though some of the weight of being in her presence had been lifted off his shoulders. She was not as forward as he had thought and here she stood in a vulnerable state before him... he wondered how often she would even consider exposing herself in this manner. For a second he felt bad for her, nearly wanted to reconsider exploiting her; but he realized what must be done.

He took a long look at her features, her gaze still stubbornly turned on an immobile spot of the floor and her jaws tightly clenched. He studied her high, pale brow and the smooth skin which was taut around her jaw line and over her cheekbones, giving her face a human sort of beauty. The coldest thing about her were her eyes, which could cut through you in a way so completely reminiscent of the princess that it sometimes startled even the strongest of spirit. He supposed that was what made her such a valuable asset to the crown and court.

He had known her for so long, but the ties had already been severed bad enough to snap at any moment. There was no friendship to hold on to, and her love for him...

He blinked and cleared his throat, having her gaze reluctantly lift to his face again.

“Would you walk with me to the outer wall,” he inquired politely, “I would enjoy the company.”

She stared at him, taken aback as she had never gotten such a blunt invitation to be in his closer vicinity for a longer period of time, and then she smiled, beginning to walk with him. They strolled through the city, speaking of mundane things. Theodore waited until he was absolutely convinced that she was as relaxed as she could be and then he said:

“Is it not curious that we do not use the gateway to charge into the new world? The legend as I know it states that this is the road to salvation... I hadn’t thought of us having to take a less traveled route until her highness pointed it out to me... As the leader of the largest army her highness could even have expected HERSELF to be at her disposal, I must say I felt slighted at not receiving this information earlier. There is a lot of strategy going into planning an assault of the magnitude her highness wishes.”

Gabriella listened, then smirked.

“You should not feel offended, Theodore. Clara has kept many details to herself for fear of precisely what has taken place with Maeve. She is ever cautious of forces that wish to overthrow her plans, she has waited for quite some time for this, you know?”

“Indeed,” he smiled. “But now there is the ordeal of rooting out how best to take the pass to the surface. It would be so much simpler if we could only find some way to use the gateway, as has always been said.”

“But there is no way,” Gabriella shook her head. “Should any vampire step through it that was not headed to the Holy City – the passageway would come crashing in. It would surely take with it all the surrounding caves and... Well, it would be rather catastrophic. The City would stand, I imagine... But that is not what would bother Clara, of course.”

Theodore stared at her as she walked ahead of him, his step involuntarily slowing.

“Then it is all well that her highness has seen fit to change the route,” he commended Clara and Gabriella smiled again. “Well, here we are,” he added as they had reached the high wall blocking the city off from any intruders. “I must have a long and boring talk with my generals, but I thank you for your escort.”

She smiled; then curtseyed slightly before observing him enter the watchtower.

Theodore waited for nearly half an hour before slipping back out again. Looking around he corrected his collar and then stealthily began his hasty journey to the cellar of the Blue Orchard, where the resistance had moved their headquarters.

In his excitement he didn’t notice that he was being followed.

¤¤¤

When Buffy arrived at the Dandy camp the sky had grown thick with clouds and the rain was pelting down on an astounded earth. The slayers had created paths in the mud by placing long planks along side each other and in the larger tents there were fires roaring to form some sort of warmth in the suddenly chilled weather. Most of the camp’s inhabitants had gathered in the dining tent, sitting at the long tables they spoke about what Camelia had informed them of – that their former leader was still alive somewhere in the Holy City, and in low whispers they discussed the fact of Buffy venturing in there again. Most shaking their head in sad disbelief.

So when the Slayer appeared in the opening of the tent, dragging a soaked backpack and flinging her wet locks of blonde out of her eyes, it was no real surprise that every last sound died away and all that was left was the soft noise of droplets hitting the outside of the tent.

Buffy looked around, her face pale and her gaze as hard as flint. Her determination was fully in check now, and she was in no way about to waver before these girls who looked to her for guidance. She spotted Camelia easily – since the latter had risen – and made her way up to her.

“Buffy,” Camelia greeted. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“There was barely any traffic,” Buffy replied.

“Did Angel bring you?”

“No, but he paid for the cab.”

Camelia could sense that that was the end of that trail of conversation and so she chose another one, asking:

“Will you be staying...?”

“No,” Buffy shook her head. “Not more than an hour.”

“Okay,” Camelia said, the grimness on everyone’s faces around her as they tried to not voice a protest they knew was futile anyway, was getting to her.

She adored Spike in a way that had been foreign to her up until the few days it took her to get to know him. She had never met anyone like him, and doubted she ever would again. The way he loved this woman before her had always made her pine for him even more, whishing that someday she would get to experience that kind of devotion. She understood why Buffy was doing what she was doing, what had made her make the decision. And still, the thought of losing someone to whom Camelia put such ardent faith, someone who she considered the personification of the kind of warrior she could only ever dream of being... it was utterly unbearable.

She motioned for Buffy to go up and have a seat by the fire and the Slayer nodded, putting her backpack down on the floor before turning and walking the way Camelia showed her. Buffy sunk down on a chair, running her hands through her drenched strands and closed her eyes. The heat the fire generated felt good slipping through her clothes and straight into her flesh.

“You could use a few hours sleep, no doubt,” Camelia remarked, though it was a subtle invitation and Buffy knew that the other already had deduced that she really couldn’t stay.

“No doubt,” she therefore merely sighed, then she finally smiled a small smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” Camelia smiled back. “You’ll be sorely missed, though,” she added.

Buffy stared at the dancing flames before her and wondered if she’d ever watch them in the manner she was now... Appreciative of their warmth and beautiful grace. Perhaps soon all she would see would be a terror against her person. Or something colorless. Did vampires see in color? Perhaps they didn’t... she’d never asked Spike about it. Perhaps that was why he always wore black. Then again, why would he know it was black? He might go out and buy dark blue or dark green clothes and be none the wiser. Spike...? Buying things? Yes, now he did. And would again.

Will I make a pretty vampiress? she asked herself, feeling a shiver run through her and wrapping her arms around herself.

Encircling her stone figure was the ever creeping fear. She suppressed it, bad-temperedly. She had no time to spare for it. Her will was wrought-iron and it curled itself throughout her. Her mind was as set as her heart.

“The problem with this whole thing,” she said after a long while of silence, “is that I have absolutely no control... When it comes down to a fight – and it will – I can only pray that my contacts in the Holy City will come through and that it’ll be completely contained... They’re so strong, Camelia,” she murmured, almost reflectively and to herself. “If they break through I’m honestly not sure...”

“Well, I am,” Camelia interrupted. “We’ll have our flanks guarded by Los Angeles and Las Vegas, and we’re getting reinforcements here.” Buffy’s face lit up with interest and Camelia smiled slightly. “Due tonight,” she informed. “Seventy-five in all.”

Buffy was relieved, and yet she knew it mattered little. If only a handful of Ancients reached the surface, then the slayers would probably be able to deal with them – if they fought with precision and purpose. But if there were more of the enemy...

“You have to understand their strength,” Buffy said in a low voice, not wanting to be overheard by the slayers sitting close by. “Their speed. You’ll have to come at them in groups of ten... twenty even. Attack from all sides at once and use every ounce of your own power, do you understand?”

Camelia stared at her, then nodded her head solemnly.

“I understand,” she assured.

Buffy turned her gaze on the fire once more, leaning her cheek in one hand and wanting more than anything else to get the snakelike worry out of her chest. It lay curdled and ready to attack with prickling bites to spread its venom through her veins. Camelia looked at her for a moment, then directed her eyes in the same direction as the Slayer and sat back on her chair; wondering what thoughts were running through the other’s mind.

¤¤¤

Fifty minutes later Buffy stood before the entrance of the cave. A few feet inside she shook off the raincoat she had borrowed and then paused, looking back at the drizzle coming from an even, white sky. She suddenly felt compelled to run into the middle of the crater and stay there until the sun bared its rays once again. But she dispersed the thought as she turned her head toward where she was going. Further in. And then down.

She secured her backpack before beginning to walk.

Silence was her only companion as she left the mouth of the cave behind her. The scrape of her shoes against the rock beneath her feet sounded lonesome and it made her ache for Spike in a way she hadn’t thought possible. If he could only have been there. If only she hadn’t been forced to do this alone. Thoughts of him whirled in her mind and before she knew it she was suddenly standing on the spot where she had first encountered the dragon. She only noticed because of the flare of a flame before her as a torch had been left burning on one cave wall. It seemed as though she was alone, but she knew better. She could feel the presence of the ancient being and she looked around. Then her eyes picked up movement in the far shadows before her and soon the head of the mighty creature appeared; its body soon following.

She had to amaze at how gracefully it moved in spite of its size.

“May I pass?” she asked and it seemed to smile before it bowed its head.

She smiled a little as well, walking up to the torch and grabbing it. She held it high, passing the dragon and continuing into the darkened depths, thinking she could feel its gaze resting on her back as she disappeared out of view.

¤¤¤

‘Sithir dorh makorah sahahleth.’

She tossed the torch from her and once more its fire was sucked up by the gateway’s carvings, spreading through them and illuminating them right before the gateway began to open itself before her. She watched it with no more dread inside, it had evaporated by the nearness of the dragon.

Whatever was to happen from this point on, inevitably would. Her fate was now in the hands of Destiny herself and the Slayer had been there too many times before to doubt that the Lady had it under control.

Or something like it...

Buffy entered the Hellmouth with a straight back and her chin held high, ignoring the sense of the evil surrounding her, ignoring everything but the need to make the journey as swift as possible. After walking for over three hours she wondered how she could have deluded herself that that was something that was even remotely doable. She slid down the path, scraping her knee and miserably getting to her feet. She hated the Hellmouth. She loathed every last pebble of the Hellmouth. And this was supposedly her home for the coming few thousand years.

“No, that’s right. My future in-laws are planning a little move!” she grunted to herself.

She stumbled again and decided it was time for a break. Stopping she leaned against the cold rock wall and brought out her water bottle.

“Your grace,” Patrick’s voice sounded from beside her and she jerked, spilling some water and raising her gaze to glare at him.

“I’m sorry – WHAT?” she then snapped.

He merely smiled.

“It is to be your title,” he clarified before bowing deeply, though she thought she could see the mockery in his stance, especially as he added: “your grace.”

She squinted her dislike and then proceeded passed him. She rounded the corner of a huge cliff stretching high above her head and again the city lay splayed before her in all its glittering tranquility. She could scarcely fathom it was true.

“Hard to believe it,” she murmured. “Down there rest the sort of evil you only read of in story books.”

“This is no story,” Patrick stated at her side. “And soon that evil – or what you will – shall be yours to reap the benefits of. I am pleased you chose to return. So, I am sure, shall my princess be.”

“Yeah,” Buffy muttered, walking behind him as he began the descent to the wall.

¤¤¤

“Why will you not kill me?” Maeve got out between clenched jaws and Clara smiled gently.

“My darling, I wish you to watch all that you have worked so hard for collapse as though it was a house of cards... We will flush your allies out, with or without your help; and their atonement shall be greater than yours.”

“Milady,” a vampire said at the door and Clara looked at him, “she has arrived.”

The princess turned her eyes back in Maeve’s.

“With a vampire slayer as a part of my line and seated at my side there is no outcome that will not be in my favor. Do you not see it, Maeve? I cannot lose.”

Maeve said nothing, only watched as the princess collected her skirts and left the room.

¤¤¤

Buffy stared at the empty throne before her. The great hall was lacking in any other being – live or dead – than her, and she was musing over how strange it felt to be back. It was as though she had left a million years ago; and yet like she had stood in this exact spot mere minutes before. She had a flash of Spike in her head and she closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them she nearly flinched as Clara was seated on the throne.

The princess eyed her with evaluation in her gaze, taking in her pants and jacket and then she said:

“He has always been your one weakness.”

“No,” Buffy disagreed, pausing before she added: “Isaiah said that my love for those closest to me leaves me with everything to lose. He was right. Spike isn’t my only weakness.”

Clara cocked an eyebrow.

“You chatted with Isaiah? Remarkable... I knew that he would attempt it, but that he reached you... Extraordinary. Tell me, of what sort did he seem to you?”

Buffy tilted her head slowly to the side, then raised one shoulder in a shrug before she replied:

“Unearthly.”

“Hmh,” Clara muttered, clearly not amused, not that Buffy had expected her to be. “You so easily speak of your frail sides, it surprises me.”

“Well, I’m about to shed them, aren’t I?”

“Such sting in your observation, my dear.”

“And it’s about to get even more pointed, I’m sure.”

“Buffy, such pessimism! Can you not take what is about to happen for what it is – a blessing?”

“I’m tired,” Buffy got out through clenched jaws, not in any mood to be social with the vile creature any longer.

Clara once more looked her up and down, then gave a slight nod.

“Rest,” she said. “Spend these last few hours in the company of yourself. I will send for you when it is time.” She paused before adding with a tone not leaving room for any arguing: “I will expect you to have changed.”

Buffy nodded, turning and heading for her suite. Patrick walked with her. She barely gave him a glance before she closed the door, keeping the tears at bay as she tiredly walked into the bedroom, letting the backpack fall to the floor before she splayed herself on the bed.

There was nothing to do now but wait, and she had a feeling that it would be longest of her life.

¤¤¤

“There have been guards in here ever since I opened! I don’t like it one bit, I tell you,” Sam ranted and Theodore, having heard enough, raised one hand for him to quiet down.

The barkeeper muttered something mildly profane and then disappeared through the small door taking him from the hidden room and back to where he made a living. Matthew watched him go and then turned a scowl to Theodore.

“Do you trust him?” the blonde asked and Theodore smiled suddenly.

“To the core of my still heart,” he replied. “Sam fears an exposure as much as the rest of us; you cannot blame him for that.”

“No, I guess not,” Matthew said. “Now, what have you heard?”

Theodore gathered the other leading men in the plot together around the table and told in detail what he had been able to get out of Gabriella. When he had finished spirits were high and everybody commenced speaking at the same time, the discussion beginning to rage on whether an attack should best serve them launched now, straight away, or if they should wait until the grand ceremony the following night.

“Clara will be preoccupied tomorrow, and all evening tomorrow,” Matthew remarked. “It is better for all accounts to strike when the grand ceremony is at its highest peak.”

“But Clara will expect that,” Theodore said. “She will have guards on every last post of the castle and security will be at its maximum.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“That we wait until after the ceremony, when the quiet has settled over the castle and the city... It is no time to be honorable and charge in with swords blazing – we must be cunning, for that is the princess’ nature. We must foresee her every move, or we are all done for.”

“I agree,” Matthew nodded, and there were many other murmurs of confirmation around the table.

“Tomorrow mid-eve it is,” Theodore concluded, leaning over to speak privately with Matthew as the conversations continued on around the table. “There will be tumult.”

“Anticipated,” Matthew agreed.

“Indeed, but even so... Are we truly prepared for this?”

“Do I detect anxiety in your voice, old boy?” Matthew smirked and Theodore had to smile back.

“I had sooner see this date come than have it stay away for one more millennia... But we have to consider this being the end of an era – any which way we care to twist it. And if we succeed, there will surely be an opposition which will be difficult to control.”

“Aye,” Matthew nodded wearily. “And they will have to be killed.”

“It is a sad day when you realize that not all things can change. Clara’s firm hand will forever be held over her subjects, no matter who inhabits her throne. Otherwise...”

“Yes, otherwise,” Matthew confirmed. “But really, what would we do out of the City and up there?”

“Says the one Ancient who frequent the surface,” murmured Theodore and Matthew laughed softly.

“We should all be at liberty to move as we please, Theo. There should be no restraint... The firmness doesn’t have to come in bonds impossible to break. Perhaps they could bend slightly, give those who wish it just a few steps of more freedom. I believe we have a right to savor the sweetness of Mother Earth.”

“Spoken as a true Ancient,” Theodore remarked and Matthew let out a laugh again.

“I’ll take that for what it is, and consider it a compliment,” he said.

“I agree,” Theodore then stated, “to what you said,” he added with a glance around the table. “So do most of the men here. In less than twenty-four hours the world will shift its layers, Matthew, and nothing shall ever be the same.”

“But all shall be for the better,” Matthew pointed out and Theodore gave a nod at that.

“I truly hope you are right,” he said.

“The Slayer has come back!” a male voice yelled as its carrier came bursting into the room. “She has returned!”

The vampires all rose.

“This is but the beginning, gentlemen,” Theodore said as he picked up his cape and brought it around his shoulders. “Do not forget that.”

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Every time I turn around

I’m looking up, you’re looking down

Maybe something’s wrong with you

That makes you act the way you do

Maybe I am crazy too

I...

I’m gonna soak up the sun

-Sheryl Crow, Soak up the Sun-

Lesson the Forty-Fourth

He walked out of the tavern and was about to continue on his way when a body literally dropped down in front of him. Gabriella straightened her posture and her tall being faced the other without an ounce of resignation or fear about it. Her eyes were glowing with rage and he stared at her as he understood why.

“I should claw your eyes out, you low-life brute,” she hissed.

“For needing a shot before I tend to my...?” he tried to divert her clear accusation, but she’d have none of it.

“I am no fool!” she stopped him loudly, causing a few heads of those around to turn.

He picked up on it, though his gaze didn’t leave hers.

“I will not have this conversation here,” he stated calmly and turned to walk away when her hand grabbed his arm and made him turn back to her just as her fist connected with his chin.

He took a step backward, unprepared.

“I trusted you,” she said.

“No, you didn’t,” he shook his head, the vampires around now moving away, into the tavern or into their homes, though he knew they would still be listening to every word. “You may have wanted to, but you never did.”

“I loved you!” she screamed and his face turned solemn.

“You cannot love. Clara has beaten the ability out of you. You have lusted after me, you have desired to own me and tear me away from Maeve since you resent your grandsire almost as much as you did your brother.”

“He was NEVER my brother!”

“That pain in your voice; THAT is love. And you shall never love anyone as you loved Isaiah, ever again. I pity you, Ree. You have vengeance to take out on all the world, but the one you should be looking to for it is the one who guides you.”

“Do not speak of her in that manner!”

He let his cape slip off his shoulders and she glared at him before she did the same.

“Then you shall die by my hand,” she murmured, “as was always meant.”

He bowed his head and got ready for her lunge. It came sooner than he thought, but the rapidness of her hands caught him off guard and suddenly he crashed into the wall of one of the low buildings. Small pieces broke from it and slipped down to rest on the ground while he got a hold of himself and ducked just as her fist was about to make another hit at his face.

He moved around her, grabbed her and lifted her high before throwing her away from him. She twirled in the air, turned and landed on her feet. He was rather impressed at her skill, but he knew he was the stronger warrior. He tried to keep the disgust he felt for her down, but the thought of Maeve’s beaten appearance kept forcing itself into his head.

He met Gabriella’s quick punches easily and jabbed her in the side so hard it made her knees buckle and she went down on the ground. Soon she was up, kicking him at the side of the head. Another kick was about to be delivered but he caught her foot and pushed it back down before he in one fluid moment grabbed her waist and pulled her to him, her back against his chest.

He didn’t know how, but suddenly the stake she always carried with her was in his hands and its silvery point sunk deep into her chest, piercing her heart.

She made a surprised noise, her face turning to look up at him, and then she burst into ashes in his arms.

He was still holding the stake in a hard grip, staring at the dust resting on the palm of his other hand when he faintly registered noises from far away, but all he could think of was Maeve. He didn’t even know if she was still alive. He closed his eyes and tried to search for her, his thoughts stretching to find hers. He felt he was moments away when he was suddenly wrestled to the ground.

His face hit the dry dirt of the street, his hand dropping the stake.

“Let him go,” he heard Matthew command.

“That is impossible,” a deeper voice replied. “Witnesses say he has just slain one of his fellows.”

Matthew’s eyes widened involuntarily at that.

“Theo,” he grumbled. “What have you done?”

¤¤¤

Clara stood perfectly still before the vampire she had thought to be one of her truest. Her eyes weren’t moving and yet she took in the dark, shoulder long hair, usually tied back in a tight ponytail at the neck and now hanging loosely about his handsome face. His eyes were as blue as hers. She mourned him, he was a great leverage to lose when it came to battle... but now he was already dead to her.

He raised his head and met her gaze.

He had been stripped of jacket and shirt and had been tied by the wrists with two thick ropes which were fastened to either wall and thus held his arms stretched out to the sides. He hadn’t been touched since he was knocked off his feet, but she knew he could sense the deep hatred which rested within her.

“It is not like you to be so careless,” she finally spoke, the flow of the Ancient tongue moving through the air and it hit him in a way it never had. It sounded almost macabre... That it had been his own language for so very long. He felt out of his skin and not as himself. “Is it for Maeve you do this sacrifice?” the princess asked and he glared at her before he looked away.

She knew he wouldn’t speak to her. He wouldn’t utter a word. It wouldn’t matter what she did, he was much too strong to even scream out his agony. She took the step dividing them and placed a hand on his cheek.

“I thought you to be above them all, my beloved son,” she whispered, then she let her hand drop away. “I loathe being wrong,” she hissed.

With that she turned and left the room quickly.

He clenched his jaws together.

This situation was most unplanned. He felt the fright tear through him at the thought of what he hadn’t gotten a chance to do yet. He closed his eyes and concentrated on finding the source his mind was now on the prowl for. A soft glimmer told him where it was and when he reached it he said:

‘Wake up, Buffy.’

¤¤¤

She sat up, blinking sleep out of her eyes as she looked around the room.

She could have sworn...

‘Get yourself down to the entrance hall. You must not be seen by any pair of eyes or you are doomed to join me. You must make haste!’

She furrowed her brow, but did as the voice asked and got off the bed. She felt her nerves tense as she reached the door of the suite and pressed her ear to it. Drawing a slight breath she put her hand on the doorknob and twisted it. Peeking outside, the hallway was empty. She slipped out, closing the door behind her and moving toward the stairwell at the end of the hall. If she could make it to the floor below she knew there was a passage which would make it easier for her to stay unseen. It had many small niches in the walls that would serve as protection if anyone came down the hall, and there were many doors to slide inside.

‘No,’ the voice stopped her, and she knew that she knew it, but since she had barely heard it she couldn’t place it. ‘Not the stairs. There is a secret door down the hall and to the right, hidden behind a large painting.’

She reached the spot with ease.

‘Pull the frame of the painting away from the wall.’

She did as she was told and the painting swung out, revealing a narrow and steep passageway which led downward. She made sure the painting slid shut behind her and then she quickly hurried through the passageway, ducking her head as the ceiling was incredibly low. It was pitch black, but her night vision helped her and she could see the heavy, square stones of the walls and floor.

‘Stop,’ the voice said. ‘Take left.’

She followed the instructions as the passageway forked in two directions. She thought it took forever, but suddenly she was in front of another door. It was simple and of wood, not like the rest of the castle where every cranny seemed to have been methodically planned to serve some purpose of decoration. She put her hands against it and waited for a signal from her guide.

‘Now,’ it sounded and she pushed the door open, finding herself stepping out from behind a large map, hand-sewn its size stretched over one third of one of the wall. She had reached the entrance hall, looking to her left she could see the door of the great hall and in there... She felt her heart catch in her throat when she understood how exposed she was.

‘The door in the wall before you, walk through it, straight on until you come to a heavy wooden door to the right.’

She hurried across the dark marble floor, feeling as though the sound of her steps echoed with even greater care to be loud than she thought necessary. She drew a steadying breath once she was through the first door and she recognized the hallway she was walking down as it had been the one she had been shown through on her first night in the castle, on which Clara had been waiting with a posse in a large parlor.

That’s so long ago now, Buffy thought to herself, then realized it wasn’t more than a few days earlier. Incredible, she added in her head and then she saw the second door and reached it, pressing it open with all her might since it truly was amazingly heavy.

‘Hurry!’

She pushed the door shut and began almost running down the stone steps leading in a dwindling spiral down. Torches burned on the walls at even intervals. She felt like she was on a wild goose chase and as though she had been stupid to just do what the voice wanted. But she knew where it came from, she was convinced that she did, and her gut told her that there was nothing to fear. There would be, however, if she didn’t do what the voice told her to.

She finally reached the bottom of the stairs and found herself standing in a large room. The ceiling was rather low; there were no ornaments what so ever on the stone walls and the air was damp and chilly. She could smell mildew and earth and the familiar scent of drying blood. In front of her the room narrowed slightly into a long passageway. On the wall at the end of it there was a torch burning and the crest of the First Line hung with its glittering silver sliver down the middle.

‘Hide!’

She didn’t think, but moved in the next instant and hid behind a few large barrels in a corner.

‘Concentrate on drawing their sense away from you. You are invisible!’

She closed her eyes and focused on not being there, on being back in her room sleeping, lying on the bed, even feeling the soft sheets around her. The two guards continued through the room and up the stairs without one moment’s hesitation and when she couldn’t hear their weapons clinking anymore she let out the breath she had been holding.

‘Move.’

She rose and began to make her way down the hallway, noticing that there were barred doors on either side of her and concluding that she must be in some form of prison or dungeon.

‘Make a right and soon you will find the room holding me.’

She hurried even more and stopped by a door standing slightly ajar. She pushed it open tentatively and her eyes widened when they landed on Theodore. He wasn’t bleeding. What affected her was him being there, in this place, as a prisoner. What had happened while she was gone?

“My God...” she began but he shook his head for her to be quiet.

‘In my jacket there is something you must have,’ he said and she nodded that she understood, walking up to where the garment had been placed and looking through the pockets until her hand graced a small box of silver.

When she brought it out she immediately recognized it. She had been given one that looked exactly like this one by Clara. It had been presented to her in the orchard and Buffy had gotten no explanation what it was for. She had wondered a great deal about it.

‘You must switch this with the one that the princess gave you,’ Theo stated firmly. ‘It is very important.’

‘What is it for?’ she asked and he looked at her in astonishment for a second at hearing her voice so clearly in his own mind, and then he smiled a little before he replied:

‘It is to be used tonight. The one Clara wished you to have represents only evil deeds, Buffy – while this represents the good. Before you leave I wish to tell you one more thing – under no circumstance must you wear the Rising Sun during the ceremony. Do you understand?’

She nodded again.

‘But why?’

‘It will capture your soul,’ Theodore replied. ‘And with your soul locked in the amulet, it will be lost eternally.’

She felt a chill run down her back at the picture his words painted, and then she grabbed the box in a tighter grip.

‘Thank you,’ she said and he granted her another smile.

‘You must leave,’ he instructed. ‘Now.’

She hesitated, and then gave him a bright smile to show her genuine gratitude before she turned and quietly left the room. She slipped down the hallway the way she had come and then she halted with a jerk by another open door. Her throat quickly became a tightened bundle as she stared at the form of Maeve, beaten so badly it barely looked like her. Her hair was wet with blood and her under-dress was soaked through completely. Buffy felt sick to her stomach and nearly turned away, then determination filled her quickly as the anger rose in her chest.

She heard voices down the corridor, but couldn’t care. She slipped into the room just as Clara came into view with Patrick walking not far behind.

‘Maeve,’ Buffy tried to reach the vampiress.

The steps in the hallway outside drew closer and she put a hand under Maeve’s chin, lifting her head to look at her.

‘Maeve,’ the Slayer repeated and finally the vampiress’ eyes turned into slits as she tried feebly to open them.

‘Get out of here!’ her voice rang through Buffy’s head and she involuntarily brought her hand away from the other and rose, taking a step back at the power of the order.

She was suddenly glaringly aware that the room was utterly bare apart from the chains holding Maeve. There was no place to hide. The Slayer fought back the rising panic, slipping the silver box into one pocket and straightening her back as she got ready to face the princess.

But the two forms moved passed the doorway, still speaking in hushed tones and Buffy could make out words of the dead language, but of course she couldn’t still understand them. Clara and Patrick continued into the room holding Theodore, and Buffy turned back to Maeve.

‘Leave,’ the vampiress said sternly.

‘I’m gonna get you out of here...’

‘It is too late,’ Maeve objected. ‘It is... too late.’

She raised her head with effort, meeting the Slayer’s gaze and Buffy felt as though her heart was breaking. She wanted to kick and scream and protest and make everything stand still for the time it would take her to think of something brilliant to truly save the day! But in the end she couldn’t do anything but give a small nod.

She lingered for another moment and then turned and left the room with the acquired skill and stealth of her heritage; making her way back through the hallways, the backdoors and staircases, her body numb and her mind a blank. She reached her room safely, but the tears had already started falling and she leaned against the door.

Both Maeve and Theodore had for some reason been captured. Her strongest backup was to be far from her when the time came, and so she concluded that all real hope was lost. A hope she hadn’t even realized she harbored. All along she had thought that maybe, just maybe, miracles did happen and that Maeve had been right – good conquers evil because it has to. What sort of world would there be if it didn’t? But now...

Her hand reached into her pocket and pulled out the silver box. She went sniffling up to the desk on which the other box was standing and switched them, putting the box she had received from Clara into a drawer, covering it with a misplaced handkerchief.

She dried her tears and sunk down on the couch, closing her eyes and wishing for sleep to drive the demons out of her mind for only a little while. She just wanted to rest. After merely a few minutes she was sleeping.

¤¤¤

“How is he?” Xander asked as Willow came out of the bedroom.

She looked worn-out and she shook her head slightly.

“It’s getting worse,” she answered with a worried wrinkle between her eyebrows. “He’s so warm, Xander... And he’s started to fight for air, but... I don’t know, he doesn’t even need to breathe. It’s just... unsettling seeing him like this. I’m scared we’re losing him.”

“He won’t die,” Angel said as he joined them in the hall. “Buffy wouldn’t stand for it.”

Both Willow and Xander smiled weakly at that, but they knew he was right. The thought made a different pain come over them, and they looked at each other before all turning away, making up an excuse to break up their little gathering and spread out in the apartment.

¤¤¤

When Buffy woke her eyes landed on a young vampiress who was arranging the skirt of a beautiful gown in a deep red color hanging on a mannequin – around its neck was placed the Rising Sun. Buffy became awake in the blink of an eye and sat up.

“I’m not wearing that,” she said as the vampiress turned to her, the being’s face growing questioning and Buffy rose, walking up to where she had dropped her backpack and pulling out the dress she had brought with her. “I’m wearing this.”

“But...”

“It’s alright, this I can manage to put on myself. Tell Clara to send someone to get me when it’s time. Till then I’d rather be alone, if you don’t mind,” she stated and the firmness in her stance made the vampiress give a small curtsey before she reluctantly left the room.

Buffy watched the door close and couldn’t hold back a rather satisfied smirk. She glared at the necklace and then walked into her bedroom to change. The lace of the dress was soft and the silk underneath it smooth against her skin as she pulled it on and let it slip down. She corrected the fabric and then stood before the tall mirror, deciding to pull her hair out of the ponytail to let it fall freely over her shoulders. She met her own gaze and held it, fortitude filling her methodically and she found herself smiling at her reflection.

If nothing else, she’d go out with a bang.

Showtime.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Hunting you I can smell you

Alive

Your heart pounding in my

Head

-Evanescense, Haunted-

Lesson the Forty-Fifth

There was a stillness which filled the great hall this evening in a way that seemed created by some outer force. The crowd was as large as it had been the night when war was officially declared, but there wasn’t even the rustle from the ladies gowns. Not a breath, naturally; not a stir. All heads were turned to the open doors at the end of the hall, in patient wait of the guest of honor. Soon enough she stepped through them.

Buffy walked tall and for the first time felt all the hatred, fascination and disbelief which came at her from all sides roll off her.

It didn’t matter now.

She proceeded on her way straight through the hall and up to the throne, where she stopped before the seated princess, who was wearing an incredible creation of purple velvet and black lace, her hair was in an intricate constellation on her head and across her forehead glittered a bejeweled band of silver. She stared with distaste at the Slayer.

“I believe I sent an attire appropriate for you,” her voice tore through the silence and splintered it to bounce against the high walls of the immense room.

“I found it unnecessary to fuss when I’d brought my own,” Buffy replied coldly. “And I didn’t have Ophelia to help me, either. Where ever could she be?”

Clara smirked suddenly.

“Not in Heaven, in any case,” the princess said, Buffy’s heart filling with sudden grief as her suspicions were affirmed. Clara went on: “I wished you to be decked out in this city’s finest now that you are to enter our society and indeed, I dare say, even sit at my side. Your neck looks awfully bare.”

“I thought you would appreciate it,” Buffy stated, the sting not having left her voice and there was a flash of anger on Clara before she smiled in her chilled manner. “The stones you wanted to ‘deck me out’ with didn’t exactly match my outfit, so I decided not to wear them. I think I have a right at a dying wish, and I’m using it to choose my own clothes. I do hope you don’t mind.”

The irony in her tone made the princess’ gaze sharpen again.

“Certainly not,” she said with false sincerity, then she rose.

She walked the short length of the platform and took the step down to stand before Buffy. She seemed to choose her words carefully as she said:

“There is no aid to be had, I know that you know this now. Maeve... and Theodore... have both been imprisoned for their treachery. It is only a matter of time before we catch the other ones leading this disgraceful attempt at throwing me away from my birthright.” She paused, then added: “You are all alone, Slayer, but not for very long. Soon your pretty green eyes shall turn as blue as the skies and you will be a part of me as I shall be of you. Do you wish it?”

Buffy clenched her jaws together.

“Do you want me to lie?”

“Do you wish it?” Clara merely repeated.

“Yes...” Buffy finally answered.

Clara waved her hand and Maeve was brought forward, her arms held tightly behind her back. Though she was in bonds the sight of her made Buffy feel lighter around the heart at the thought that at least there was one friendly face there to bear witness. Maeve looked better. All the blood had been cleaned off her, her hair had been washed and she was wearing a clean dress, but her face was battered and her gaze weary. Buffy still felt the relief fill her as her friend at least was still alive. She tried a smile and received an almost unnoticeable nod from the vampiress.

“Patrick has left for your beloved with the antidote,” Clara spoke up. “He should arrive there at any moment. As I believe you have good reason to trust Maeve I shall make it her task to confirm that my end of the bargain has been met. Do you accept this?”

Buffy nodded.

“Good, then we may proceed. I trust you brought the trinket I gave you?” Buffy opened one hand in which she held the silver box. “Open it,” Clara said and the Slayer did. “Bring its contents out and put the box down.”

Buffy took out the tiny little bowl-shaped piece of silver, not much larger than a thimble, and put the box down on the floor by her feet. She placed the thimble-shape on her palm. It was rather flat and had three little lion’s paws on it, which enabled it to stand without swaying. Clara gave a sign and Mathias walked up to Buffy. He stopped before her and reached out a hand, holding her gaze firmly. She placed her hand in his, palm up, and he put the sharp blade of a slim dagger to it, making a swift cut before lifting her hand so that it came to rest above the tiny bowl. Her blood dribbled into it and when there was enough Mathias brought out a handkerchief and tied it around her hand before he backed his return to where he previously had been standing.

The hush which had settled over the onlookers was crushing from behind the Slayer’s back in a way no turmoil or shouts ever could have.

She wasn’t scared anymore, but the shock at what was actually happening was beginning to slide through her every nerve.

Clara was handed a rolled up parchment by Mathias and she brought out a large, white feather pen as she walked up to Buffy. She held up the parchment, allowing it to unroll, and Buffy could see it was a contract, though it was written in the tongue of the Ancients. Clara brought the tip of the feather pen to the pooling blood of the Slayer and dipped it before offering it to the other. Buffy hesitated, then took it.

She looked at Clara, then at Maeve, and then she put the tip of the pen to the parchment and signed her name at the bottom. Clara rolled it up with a very pleased expression on her face. She gave a nod to Maeve who closed her eyes. Buffy felt her heart begin to beat harder in her chest.

¤¤¤

There was a knock on the door of the balcony and Dawn went up to it with a frown, halting when her eyes landed on what unmistakably was a vampire and then shouting out a warning for the others. They all swarmed to help her, if it was needed, but they realized that the knock had been an entreaty for an invite.

“I think we should definitely NOT,” Xander stated.

“I’m with ya there,” Cordelia nodded.

The vampire brought something out from the inside pocket of the cape he was wearing, holding up a small bottle with see-through liquid in it. Giles stared at it and then turned to Willow, whose eyes were focused on the being and had been ever since she first set sights on him.

“Open the door,” she said and every head turned to her. “Let him in.”

“I’m sorry... WHAT?!” Xander exclaimed, but Dawn placed a hand on his arm and shook her head, looking at Willow again.

“Do it,” the younger Summers stated, glancing at Giles.

Cordelia’s hand quickly found Angel’s as the Watcher walked up to the door and opened it.

“Won’t you come in?” he invited and the vampire smirked as he stepped inside.

“I thank you,” he said, turning his eyes in the Wicca’s. “You know why I have come.”

She nodded, turning to lead the way into the bedroom.

“I have a funny feeling down my back and I can’t decide if it’s creeping unease or shivering fright,” Xander murmured, receiving a calming glance from Dawn and he rolled his eyes at himself. “Yeah, go Xander, making it all better.”

“You’re making me feel a little better,” Cordelia admonished and he turned his head to her with a slight smile, she returned it as they entered the bedroom.

“You’re making me feel a little annoyed,” Angel offered.

Xander didn’t get a chance to reply as the seriousness of the situation caught up with all of them, their eyes on the scene before them.

The unknown vampire brought the covers away, placing a hand on Spike’s forehead and then looking at the intricate web of showing veins on his chest. The former lifted the small bottle and brought the top off, pulling off the bandage that had been put over the wound in Spike’s side and then tilting the bottle so that one single drop fell to sail through the air and hit the still open sore. It didn’t even take a moment before they could see the liquid spreading itself over the whole area. It squirmed and dug further into the body of the vampire.

The onlookers eyes widened as the veins began to grow less and less apparent, starting with those closest to the wound and then continuing over the chest to the arms and neck. Soon Spike’s rustling attempts at drawing in air into his unused lungs ceased. They all held their breath and then he moaned before opening his eyes.

Dawn felt tears slip down her cheeks. She was happy he was okay... but this meant that her sister was lost to her forever.

Spike felt as though he was stepping into another dream. He looked around and couldn’t remember anything at all. He felt detached and yet as though he was being poured back into his body. His skin was itching all over, but it wasn’t what disturbed him. What disturbed him was that he felt as though he was about to lose something terribly important and there was nothing he could do about it.

He turned his head and saw Dawn.

His eyes grew with a sudden understanding, almost too painful to allow in his mind.

“Buffy...” he murmured.

¤¤¤

Clara handed the parchment and the feather pen back to Mathias, who gave a small bow and then disappeared with the items. Buffy didn’t move a muscle as the princess turned back to her. Clara glanced at Maeve and Buffy felt her body tense, then she couldn’t stop herself from doing the same. Finally Maeve’s eyes opened and she looked directly at the Slayer before she gave a small nod as confirmation that it was done.

He’s alive, Buffy thought, feeling the happiness and liberation spread through her.

Then it withdrew as her gaze locked with Clara’s, who changed into her vampire exterior. Her brow was still smooth, the lumps being so small they barely showed and her fangs only being her canines lengthening. Buffy’s heart sunk when she realized that this was it, the moment had arrived.

“Let me tell you a story,” Clara said, approaching her slowly. “The world was young once, new and at the brink of life... First there was Divinity, in its wake came the demons, after this were born the humans and then... there was you.” She circled Buffy once and come to a halt before her. “And now the past and the future are to come full circle, with the demon and the Slayer as one. Since the dawn of your race you have been incomplete. I wish to rectify that. When the shamans made you they took the essence of one of the strongest demons of the underworld and forced it to imbed itself into your body. This is what your Slayer side stems from. This side is irreversibly linked to me.”

Buffy had to bite down hard not to argue against her. And there also was part of her that was curious to hear what else would be said. She had always thought she knew much too little of her ancestors, of the struggle which had been kept up over thousands of years. Her lineage and legacy – where it really came from. She stared at the vampire princess and for one fluty second she wondered if it was true – if Clara actually was the center of everything, and if this was the place the Slayer had been striving to reach ever since she first walked the sand of a desert.

“William has made you worthy, has cleansed you before my bite,” Clara now continued. “You are a part of him now, and he is a part of me. Our holy text tells of a champion coming to grace our halls, and though he was stamped with this official title – it truly belongs to you. I have been waiting for centuries upon centuries and now our time of casting off the fetters which has tied us down for far too long has come!”

There were exclaims of agreement from the gathered vampires in the hall and Clara raised her arms to have them quiet.

“You have a very dark side within,” she said, stepping up to Buffy and looking at her closely. “You enjoy the kill, the slay; and it is a power you would not forsake if you had the choice. You stalk the night and walk with ease all its shadowed alleys. You are a being above and beyond all those around you and loneliness is your companion since none of those you keep close can ever fully understand you. This is the core of the Slayer. You are a deviation in more ways than one, you have family and friends and you have even had lovers... this has made you stronger. Strong enough to make the journey here. But you have never felt as though you belong, you have never experienced the satisfactory feeling of coming home to a house filled with laughter and light, because you always creep through a window after everyone else are asleep. You have thus been as alone as your predecessors. And in all the misery you have safely built yourself a nest to dwell in, certain that it can never change. This is what has me so convinced that you are meant to be here.

“I shall show you a reality which will far exceed anything you’ve ever dreamed time and time again. Splendors and magicks you’ve never seen the likeness of. You will be elevated, enlightened to the true ways of nature, and you will never have to feel misplaced again. This society shall welcome you as one of their own, and I shall have you at my side. Is this what you wish?”

Buffy stared into the princess’ glittering blue gaze and then she said stiffly:

“Yes.”

Clara smiled.

“Then close your eyes.”

Buffy felt her heart begin to pump faster again, as though it knew it would soon be forced to stop and so it demanded to get all its worth out before it was too late. The Slayer eased her eyes closed and had to draw a shaky breath as she felt Clara step closer. Their chests connected and the princess’ cool hand placed itself at the nape of the Slayer’s neck, having her tilt her head slightly to the side.

Buffy opened her eyes again, looking over at Maeve who held her gaze steadily. It soothed the Slayer, who relaxed and shut her eyes once more.

Clara’s lips parted and she moved her head forward.

The quiet in the room was oppressing and so still that a needle dropping would have echoed through the room for an hour.

Buffy felt the princess’ mouth connect with her skin and she pressed her eyelids together even more tightly as the sharp tips of the fangs scraped her flesh. Then they sunk through it and Buffy felt the draining begin.

¤¤¤

Patrick was gone in the moment Spike opened his eyes, but the gathered humans were too shocked and appeased to see the other vampire get restored to what seemed as full health that they even cared to notice. Spike, however, felt the presence of the Ancient linger like stale perfume and it kicked his fear into another gear as he sat up and looked around the room.

“Buffy?” he tried and Dawn dried her tears resolutely before taking a step forward.

“She’s not here,” she said, but Spike threw the covers off him and rose, refusing to believe her.

He walked passed them, through the small hall and into the guest bedroom.

“Her scent’s everywhere,” he stated as the others followed in silence.

“It wasn’t long ago she left,” Willow murmured.

“Why the bloody hell would she leave without...” Then his thoughts caught up with him, carrying with them what felt like fresh memories of being tortured at the castle. But this was his apartment. What the bleeding hell was he doing in his apartment? “Willow...” he mumbled, turning to the Wicca who observed him. “Poison?” he said hesitantly, as though he wasn’t even sure what the word meant, but when she nodded he felt the room spin and he had to lean against the wall. “Where is she?” he asked, and when he got no answer he exclaimed: “Where IS she?”

“She’s in the Hellmouth,” Giles replied.

Oh, God, no, Spike thought.

It couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening!

“For your sake,” Xander wasn’t able to stop himself from saying, but he nearly wished he could take the words back at the absolute agony on the vampire’s face.

“Spike, it’s okay,” Dawn said gently, putting her hand on his shoulder but he shook it off with a snarl.

“It’s not okay!” he barked. “This is NOT okay, and don’t you buggering try and make me believe that you all think it is. God!” he screamed, pounding a fist into the wall and Dawn’s eyes filled with tears again as he sunk against it to his knees.

They didn’t know what to do, they felt the same sorrow he did. The same helplessness. What could they say to make it simpler to bear? Nothing. Then he suddenly rose again, swiping at his tears with angered movements as he walked back into his bedroom. They hesitated, then again followed. He had pulled on a T and grabbed his duster, putting it on and flapping the lapels right as he turned to them.

He met Angel’s gaze, and then Willow’s.

“We’re getting her outta there,” the bleached blonde stated.

“It’s... too late,” Dawn mumbled.

“Don’t you dare even think it!” Spike warned, and then his eyes caught the shape of a weapon which rested on his bedside table.

‘The next time you see me, you know what to do.’

He closed his eyes at the sound of her voice, as clear as though she had been standing next to him in that very room.

“Yes, love,” he muttered to himself as he walked up and grabbed the stake. “I know exactly what to do.”

“Spike...” Cordelia said and he swirled to her, having her clamp her mouth shut and finally turn her eyes out of his as she could see her doubt was infuriating him.

“We’re getting her outta there,” he repeated with a conviction that had trouble spreading to the others.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

It’s a hot night

The natives are restless

We’re sweating by the light of the moon

There’s a voodoo mojo

Grooving at the dojo

Knocking like a witch off her broom

We slither on in

Shed our skin

Make our way into the bump and the grind

-Bon Jovi, One Wild Night-

¤

Lesson the Forty-Sixth

¤

Buffy felt the world pull away, the colors were paling, her heart was slowing, her pulse softening, her breath stilling. She was clutching herself to Clara’s shoulders without realizing it, keeping herself from slipping to the floor. Clara’s strong hold helped keep her on her feet. There was something strange about dying this way. It felt, and still it didn’t. It was like falling asleep very gently, being aware of the tiredness taking over part by part of her body. Her soul seemed to be moving within her in growing alarm, her emotions had however been laid to a false rest as the decision had been made.

Clara took her mouth from Buffy’s throat. Her pupils were laced with the color red and she licked her lips. The high she got from the naturally powerful blood of her truest enemy made her feel as though she needed to take flight and follow the stars to the end of the universe. She looked at the still closed eyes of the Slayer, the formers fatigued form leaning against her. Then she put her right wrist by her own mouth and bit deeply into the skin. She brought the wrist to Buffy’s lips.

“Drink, my pretty,” the princess whispered. “Drink your future to the last drop.”

At first the blood stung Buffy’s tongue as though laced with strong liquor and she didn’t want to swallow it, but once the first mouth-full had gone down the blast of energy which tore through her made her hands grab onto the wrist feeding her.

Clara smiled.

The surroundings came rushing back, the sharpness of everything around them nearly cutting Buffy’s eyes as she opened them. She met Clara’s gaze and the princess wore an expression of satisfaction and encouragement. Suddenly a searing pain ripped through the Slayer and she let her hold on Clara go, taking a step back. Clara furrowed her brow, questioning, wrapping one hand around the still bleeding wound on her wrist.

Buffy had a convulsion go through her and she sunk to her knees at a crippling ache in her stomach.

She was dying. She had to be dying.

She bent forward, fighting for air and only being able to take in shallow breaths. Her eyes were tearing up from the effort, her hands on the cool marble of the floor. Another spat of shooting pains started at the small of her back and spread into her arms. She let out a short scream and sat up again.

Clara stared at her.

“Milady...” Mathias said, but she held up a hand for him to leave it be.

“It will be over soon,” she assured, though he looked far from convinced.

“This is not normal,” he stated and she gave him an angered glare, having him look down at his feet in immediate submission.

In that moment Buffy brought her hands to her throat. Something was choking her. She was trembling all over. Then claws bore down from her shoulders and to her hips and she screamed, this time loudly.

The vampires who were still gathered in the great hall began to pull back. There was something going terribly wrong.

Buffy felt another attack of scratching claws over her stomach, over her chest and around her heart. The tears were flowing and she still couldn’t breathe. The agony was nearly unbearable as her whole body suddenly seemed set on fire. She brought forth all her willpower and made herself concentrate on a recent memory. It had been formed the evening she left the city for the surface, and from it the tiniest glitter of hope had been born as Maeve had come into her room and said:

‘I just heard. I would never have thought she would actually go through with this.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There is something I need to tell you...’ There had been a pause and then Maeve had proceeded: ‘Clara has a very distinct way of interpreting the foreseeing. Do you remember it?’

Buffy had another spasm go through her and she stood straight on her knees, her head tilted back and her eyes opened wide as she drew a strained breath. She focused back on Maeve’s voice, soft in her head.

‘”Through blood you were born, with blood you shall rule. Let the power of those above bring you forth until the sacred date of rebirth. Baptize the new epoch with the sacrifice of anarchy; let its chaos wash you clean of disarray. When the consecrated ground admits you, when the light yields to the darkness, the earth shall be yours to inhabit. You shall feed off glory and steep candles of black and forgetfulness. The first bloodline shall rule all others when it is completed.”’

Buffy clenched her jaws together so hard she was sure she’d crack more than one tooth as wave after wave of intensifying hurt washed over her.

‘Clara’s way is not always the only way,’ Maeve had continued. ‘I believe that there is another interpretation that can be made.’ She had shifted a little in her seat, holding Buffy’s gaze with the calmness of her own. ‘You are the chosen, the one who walks with shadows. Through birth you were given the power. Every vampire shall follow you.’

‘You don’t mean...’

‘I believe the chosen – is you,’ Maeve had confirmed.

‘I am to lead your race?!

‘No... it is not as literal as that. It says rather that your power is stronger. Your light shines brighter than others, but your darkness is also deeper and less explored than anyone else’s. You could lead my race, Buffy. But you choose to lead yours. This is why Clara is helpless against you. This is why I believe you shall win over her. Your light shall never yield to the darkness – and this is what Clara has overlooked.’

‘What are you saying?’

Clara couldn’t take her eyes off the form before her. The body of the Slayer moved to its feet so suddenly, as though pulled at the shoulders by invisible hands, that it made the few vampires still lingering behind her start to move toward the door. The great hall was nearly abandoned, but the princess paid no heed.

Buffy’s arms flew out to the sides and then she was surrounded by a strange light. The lines of her body grew fuzzy and dim, and suddenly it looked as though she was parted in three at the hips. Two forms leaning out of her to either side. One bright white and the other dark gray. The entities switched sides, mixed together and switched sides again while the image of Buffy herself was standing rigid in the middle.

The battle going on inside of her was awesome. She was part of it in a way that felt mostly like an imaginary scene from a nightmare, where the demon’s eyes glowed its rage into hers and where its claws scraped the substance of her very self. She knew that it was to decide her fate, but she also felt the flowing of determination from her soul as it fought the demon with thirty thousand years of Slayer strength and knowledge behind it.

Maeve was right, she kept repeating to herself. Maeve was right; this is what had to happen.

But the pain...

Clara took a step forward, still not believing that it could be real.

“No,” she whispered.

But none of her protests would stop the clash, or its outcome. Another few seconds and the darker shape fled into the air, where it dispersed in a cloud of ashes never to grace the ground. Buffy swore she had gone back in time more than once during the fight. She had seen streets and buildings and faces in an escalading rush, and all of it through the eyes of her ancestors who had lived as she did, and some who had died as she might have... The ride slowed as she found herself walking the heated sand of the Sahara. It burned under the soles of her feet and her lungs felt scorched in the still air.

She was brought back to the present and slowly opened her eyes, fastening them in Clara’s. The vampire princess took a step back and there was a sudden waver in her stance which made the Slayer smile barely noticeably. She felt as though her skeleton was laced with something undefeatable. She realized the princess saw this on her. Saw that there was no fear in her, no hesitation.

The Slayer had conquered her enemy yet again.

And this time it was final.

Buffy felt a soft stroke of cool air grace her burning flesh, and at the feeling of it reality seemed to run to catch up with her, the armor within slunk off, leaving her as bare as she ever had been as she sunk to her knees again. Falling over she fought with great effort to keep her mind clear, but in the next moment she drifted into unconsciousness.

“It is impossible!” Clara screamed.

A split instant later most of the high French windows behind her were smashed into a billion pieces.

Maeve smiled.

“Matthew,” she murmured with the gratitude spreading through her as he had, at last, seen fit to come to the rescue.

As the resistance forces stormed through the broken windows Clara gave her an enraged glare, and then was gone. Maeve threw her head back and it met the nose of the vampire holding her. His arms let go and she squatted in the next instant, kicking one leg out to hit her capturer’s shin. She turned her head and looked up at him, her gaze carrying a warning as her allies were already flooding the hall. It was enough and the guard was gone in the next blink.

Maeve didn’t hesitate before crawling over to where Buffy was lying.

“Maeve!” Matthew exclaimed.

“She’s in shock,” the vampiress said, waving his hands away as he tried to examine her own wounds. “We need to get her someplace warm and safe.”

He gave a nod and watched as she lifted the limp body into her arms.

“Theodore is locked in a room in the old part of the dungeons,” she stated.

Matthew moved as to help her and when she gave him a look he smiled and then offered her a slight bow.

“Thomas!” he called out. “Gather your men and come with me.”

“Matthew,” she stopped him and he turned back to her. “See to it that all those down there are released and properly taken care of,” she instructed and he nodded his affirmative before he turned and ran toward the door of the entrance hall, Thomas and his men already headed that way.

¤¤¤

“I wanna come!” Dawn exclaimed.

“For the last time, niblet,” Spike began, but Xander picked up the argument as he said:

“Look, Spike’s right, okay? It’s too dangerous.”

“But...”

“Stop this, Bit,” Spike interrupted her.

“Car’s ready,” Angel said.

Spike headed for the door of his bedroom, where the other vampire was standing, and Dawn jumped off the bed, following. Xander threw the sword he had been admiring onto the bed and walked in the teen’s footsteps.

“Guess how much I hate you right now!” Dawn dared with defiance and Spike turned around to face her.

“’S long as you’re not dead,” he simply shot back.

“Spike! I love her just as much as you do!”

“This isn’t about love,” he said.

“Hah!” she exclaimed.

“Well, a lot of it is,” he admonished, then rolled his eyes in agitation with her stubbornness. “But it’s also about power. I have it, Angel has it, Willow really has it... but...” Dawn crossed her arms over her chest with a seething glare at him and he sighed. “You just don’t,” he finished, despising the suddenly hurt expression on her face.

“There’s nothing to argue about,” Giles stated, coming up next to Dawn. “Now, go,” he added and both Spike and Angel looked at him before they turned and walked out of the door.

“This... bites!” Dawn grumbled, disappearing into living room.

Angel and Spike reached the parking space holding the car and Angel slipped into the driver’s seat, Spike taking the backseat where Willow was already sitting. Angel turned his head to the passenger seat next to him and stared in surprise at Cordelia.

“What are you...?”

“You can just forget that I’m gonna sit on my perfectly shaped ass and do nothing while you risk un-life and much too sexy limb. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, then smirked as he started the engine.

Spike stared out the window as they began the drive. He had a gnawing, aching, pounding ball of tight worry in the middle of his ribcage and he kept biting his nails. He wanted the ride to go quicker. They had to pick up the pace. He couldn’t focus on anything but how slow the road seemed to run by outside.

She has to be alright, he thought. I’d feel if she wasn’t alright. Dear God, Buffy... please. Please, be okay. I’m coming.

¤¤¤

She sat up with a jerk, the cutting pain in her chest making her draw a breath, placing her hand over the spot of her heart.

“Easy now,” Maeve said and Buffy turned her head to where she sat on a chair next to the bed.

She took another moment to register the room she was in. It was small, consisting of four simple walls hung with very little art, another chair and a desk made up the rest of the furniture. The bed was a single, the sheets were clean but plain.

“Where am I...?”

“Sam’s house,” Maeve replied.

“What... happened?”

“You won,” the vampiress smiled brightly.

“I... I did?”

She moved an arm to bring her hair from falling into her face, and winced with the sudden pain shooting from her shoulder to her fingers.

“Try to stay still,” Maeve instructed, making the Slayer lay down again. “It was some fight you were in.”

“I remember,” Buffy nodded, then she smiled a small smile. “It’s over?”

“Unfortunately,” Maeve replied, “it’s only just started.”

“Did you get to Clara?”

“No. And I’m afraid it will take a long while before we do.”

Buffy laid back against the pillows.

“The others...” she mumbled and Maeve nodded soothingly.

“They are all taken care of. Bandaged and resting, I would imagine. Jessie asked me to tell you ‘well done’,” the vampiress informed and Buffy smiled a small smile.

“Inside joke,” she clarified.

“You should get some sleep,” Maeve said.

Buffy merely closed her eyes, too exhausted to reply.

¤¤¤

“What’s going on?! Why are you doing this?! How are you gonna get passed the dragon?!”

Camelia was in a state of falling apart at the suddenness of the arrival. Spike walked straight into the tent he had shared with Buffy and stopped at the foot of her cot, folding back the blanket lying there and bringing out the weapons she had been given by the Dandies. He threw the sword to Angel, who was hovering in the tent opening, then tucked the stake at the small of his back and picked up the dagger, handing it to Cordelia as he exited the tent.

“Spike!” Camelia said and he turned to her.

“You’re ready, right? In case it’s already happening?”

She was about to say something else, but held it back and replied:

“Yes.”

They headed into the crater without much further ado. The sun had thankfully just set and Angel lifted Cordelia into his arms, all of them thus moving quickly over the dust and dirt of the ground, Willow morphing herself to the entrance and having to wait for a short while before the vampires and mortal arrived. Angel set Cordelia down and they all faced the gaping black hole which would take them into the Hellmouth.

“Everybody ready?” Spike asked, and though he didn’t get a reply they all began to move forward at the same time.

“It’s dark,” Cordelia whispered after a short while.

“And pretty stone-y,” Willow filled in.

“What was that?” Angel asked.

“I said...”

But the scrape of something hard against the rocks from up ahead silenced her and they all halted.

“Heart...beating really hard,” Cordelia whispered. “Is it really that long since I was in this sorta situation?” she added and Angel smiled through the blackness before slipping his hand in hers.

“Who enters my domain?” a deep voice shook the air and they all grew quiet.

“Dragon,” Cordelia whispered, but Spike ignored her input as he stepped forward.

“I came here before with the Slayer...”

“I remember you,” the dragon interrupted, a ball of fire shooting from his nostrils and hitting a large torch on the wall, blazing its light over the cave walls and across the visitors.

The ancient being squinted at them as he observed them, his gaze holding on Cordelia.

“And you...” he said slowly.

She stared at him, an odd sense of knowing that they were far out of harms way came over her and she felt nothing but growing awe at what she was witnessing.

“Most honorable,” she said, letting Angel’s hand go and stepping passed Spike – both of them raising their eyebrows quizzically. She wasn’t even sure herself where the words came from, but they continued with: “May we pass?”

“I have guarded this passage since the dawn of my race,” the dragon spoke, “with the permission only to let the purest of heart through. I waited for the chosen to make the walls fall down, now they are crumbling. I cannot let you pass.”

“What do you mean they’re crumbling?!” Spike demanded, but Cordelia shook her head, making him grow silent again.

“We need to help someone,” she said and the dragon nodded.

“It is too late for that now,” he stated.

“No!” Spike spoke up again and this time Cordelia turned her head and gave him a look which had him give one right back.

She once more gazed at the dragon and hesitated before she began to move forward.

“I cannot let you pass,” the dragon stated again, but she kept walking.

It seemed to eye her for a moment, and when it drew a breath Angel began to move forward, only it was too late – the dragon parted its jaws and breathed its fiery breath onto the defenseless human before it. Angel stared at the scene, and then Willow’s hand placed itself on his shoulder, bidding him to wait a moment.

His eyes widened as the fire merely circled Cordelia, not touching her, but moving around her form. The dragon suddenly bowed its head.

“You stand the test, daughter,” he said.

“I once met an ancestor of yours,” she stated, carefully moving forward again and keeping her gaze in the mighty creature’s before her. “He was an Ascended. Only his essence, of course, but he spoke of your race... I always wanted to meet one of you.”

The dragon smiled suddenly.

“That is why you proved worthy.”

“Cordelia?” Spike said and she waved at them to follow.

“May we pass?” she repeated her request.

The dragon bowed its head again and stepped aside.

“A warning to be taken seriously,” it said, “you must hurry your step. There is very little time left.”

When they had passed the dragon the fire surrounding Cordelia lifted into the air and turned into smoke. Angel grabbed her and checked that she was okay by hugging her as hard as he possibly could and she had to ask him to ease up or she’d suffocate. He smiled at her and then kissed her on the mouth.

“How did you do that?” he asked and she smiled back before she said with a mischievous look in her eyes:

“Someday I’ll tell you.”

Spike took the torch off the wall, as last time, and the four beings headed into the passageway taking them to the gateway.

¤¤¤

Insolence! Detestable wretchedness! Death and doom to all!

How had it happened? What had gone wrong?

Clara sat, statuesque and proud, on a chair in the middle of her chambers.

She knew she could not stay. She could already hear them searching for her and, naturally, these rooms would be amongst the first to be turned over. She moved her gaze to the painting Isaiah once had taken such pride in... She had demanded to have it, and somehow some of the splendid in it seemed to have been lost the moment it was secured onto her wall. Perhaps because the artist never wanted it there.

She stood, looking away from it and into the cold hearth.

The fury within her overlapped all other emotion. Even the disbelief.

She had planned it all so carefully. She had practically laid the foundation for the execution of it herself! How could she have failed?

The thought of the satisfaction Maeve must be feeling in this moment caused the grasp of anger to tighten in her throat and she picked up one of her silvered chairs and threw it clear cross the room, where it smashed into pieces against the wall.

The vampire princess collected herself, straightened out her skirts and then brought a cape to rest around her shoulders, flipping the hood up she didn’t look back as she quickly left the room. She knew where to go, where she was still wanted. She would gather those who wished to follow her and they would be the first wave toward the surface. She would get that, at least.

A brief thought said that she was insane. That the curse which had rested over her head ever since she was born would be set in motion.

She thought of her mother in that moment and the hatred filled her with a curled lip and she snarled it away. Her mother, the weakling who never did know fact from fiction.

“I will tread the grass, mother,” she murmured to herself. “I will see the moon once more. You cannot ban me from it! You cannot!”

And I will rule, she thought. I shall rule again!

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Laugh and cry

Live and die

Life is a dream we are dreaming

Day by day

We find our way

Look for the soul and the meaning

Then you look at me

And I always see

What I have been searching for

I’m lost as can be

Then you look at me

And I am not lost anymore

-Celine Dion, Then You Look At Me-

¤

Lesson the Forty-Seventh

¤

Maeve kneeled down beside the cot on which Theodore was resting. She had already cleaned the few cuts he had received and they were nearly healed. Her own wounds were worse, but at least they didn’t hurt the way his seemed to have. She wondered what magick Clara had used to produce them.

Reaching up a hand she brushed it over his forehead and then paused when he opened his eyes and looked at her. She smiled. He returned it.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Better than ever,” he smirked, then coughed and she placed her hand on his bare chest in a feeble gesture to help it calm.

He blinked at the soft touch and then rested his gaze in hers. Her eyes warmed and he could have sworn the paleness of her cheeks suddenly had a layer of pink come over it. He moved a hand and let the tips of his fingers grace her chin and her smile widened as she moved her head to let her lips softly brush his knuckles.

“Clara is leaving the city!” a voice yelled outside the door, the one owning it running down the hallway, repeating his message.

Both Maeve and Theodore froze, staring at each other. She rose quickly and he was about to do the same when she stated:

“You are not fit to go anywhere.”

“I am practically...”

“Yes, practically,” she interrupted meaningfully. “But not fully restored, not yet. You will only be in the way, Theo. And... I cannot allow you to join in when you are so likely to get seriously injured. You are no good to me out there right now.”

“Maeve...”

“It is an order,” she interrupted and he gave her a friendly glare before he lay back down.

“Maeve!” Matthew’s voice rang from downstairs.

She rested her gaze in Theodore’s a moment longer, feeling the love twirl up inside of her and she smiled at him again. He stared at the brightness of her appearance, thinking how long it was since he had seen that expression on her, and then he returned it. She had never looked more beautiful.

“Hurry back,” he said.

She knew there was not a doubt in his mind that she would be successful in her task and the support spurred her on even further. She was gone in the next instant and he closed his eyes, feeling happier than he believed he ever had before.

¤¤¤

“This place sure is oppressing,” Willow said and Spike nodded as he walked beside her.

He was so silent. Willow had never known him to be this still. He seemed to be fighting with both the hope and the despair. As she was. Not knowing which would do most harm. Hope seemed so bittersweet, so apt to cause a deeper wound. But despair now and they might as well all take a jump over the steep edge by which they were journeying.

She looked at the vampire’s profile. His jaw was clenched and had been so since they first set foot inside the gateway. His determination seemed set in steel, but she could sense a coating of glass and she knew how fragile the situation was. If Buffy was... She wasn’t sure he’d go sane out of it.

She remembered the summer after Buffy’s death, when they had worked together. He had been unfazed by most of what they did, except when they had to patrol the cemetery hosting Buffy’s grave or the place which still held Glory’s tower. He shrank away from these spots as though they contained sunlight ready to burn him to dust. He had never shown any sort of pain in front of the Scoobies... but looking back... yes, it had been there. So well-hidden and yet so blatantly clear in his eyes. She hadn’t seen it then, of course, and even if she had, she still wouldn’t have understood why he had stayed in Sunnydale. The cause for his obsession was gone, what could possibly keep him? She had said it aloud a few weeks back, Dawn and her sitting in the living room of Giles’ house, and Dawn had smiled a little before simply replying: “He promised Buffy he’d look out for me, remember?”

And Willow had remembered.

There was so much more to the being beside her than what met the eye. She had been extremely prejudiced against him, all of which was his own fault! Well, he’d kidnapped her, tried to bite her... He had been one of the nastier characters to actually be in the Gang’s midst.

But in retrospect... why had she let it get so blinding, this conviction that what Spike always tried to state – that he was bad to the bone – was the only truth there was?

She smiled suddenly, linking her arm with his and it seemed to wake him from his reverie as he turned rather astonished eyes on her. She kept her smile on, warm and friendly, and at last he had to return it.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re a good guy,” she said. “I’m glad you didn’t go away for very long, I have a feeling the world’s just a little bit better with you in it.”

He furrowed his brow groping with his free hand along the outside of his leather coat and she looked wondering.

“Just checking for my flask,” he explained. “It’s there, so, you haven’t been drinking then?”

She smirked.

“I just wanted to tell you,” she shrugged. “You know, just so you know.”

“Oh... okay,” he said, nodding.

She didn’t step away from him, her arm still snaked around his, and he crooked his as well, having her rest her hand on his lower arm instead. He stared at her for a few more seconds, then said:

“Thanks.”

She merely nodded a little, not looking at him, though he thought he saw one of those small smiles she adopted sometimes appear on her mouth. He wondered if she realized how much those words actually meant to him. Once he would have scorned them with all that was in him, but now... the validation from Buffy’s closest friend felt like a victory. Over what, he wasn’t certain. His own insecurities, perhaps. One day he just might get accepted by the miserable Gang after all... Miracles did happen. He smirked, and then it died away as he realized they were closing in rapidly on the Holy City. Another few minutes and the high wall would be visible.

Buffy.

He felt the concentration build inside and the adrenaline pump through him.

She’s alive, he instructed himself. Buffy, you ARE alive.

¤¤¤

And she was.

She had just heard the cried out message of the vampire as he had passed her door.

Clara was leaving!

Since the Slayer had been awake for nearly half an hour and couldn’t fall asleep again she carefully tried to sit up. The pain wasn’t nearly as strong as before and she drew a breath to steady herself before she moved her legs over the edge of the bed. She was still wearing the green dress and it was sleek with the figure of her form. She stood and took a step forward, quickly concluding that there was no way she could properly fight in this outfit.

Then she heard Matthew’s cry for Maeve and she understood there was no time to search for other clothes. She hesitated, then thought she had no other choice and bent down, grabbing the hem of the dress by her right ankle and – sending a silent apology to Willow – ripping it apart, creating a slit reaching up her thigh. She repeated the procedure on the other side as well and then got herself moving, opening the door and hurrying along the hallway, coming to a set of stairs and heading down them – hoping she was going in the right direction.

She rounded the corner and collided with Maeve, being knocked over by the speed at which the vampiress hit her.

“By the Seal!” Maeve exclaimed, pulling Buffy to her feet. “What are you doing out of bed? I absolutely must insist...”

“Save it,” Buffy shook her head. “I’m alright,” she added. “I really am. I’m not so dumb that I’d run into a battle like this if I didn’t think I could stand a chance.”

“You can’t stand a chance,” Maeve stated. “We are all too strong and too fast for you. You are staying here.”

“No,” Buffy replied.

“We do not fight the way you do. We are methodical and thorough and it is nothing like the grand slam meetings-in-a-field that the human race sees fit to use.”

“I’m not staying here,” Buffy said firmly.

“And I have not time to spare for arguing with you,” Maeve muttered.

She turned to Matthew, who had grown too impatient while waiting for her and now approached them.

“Give her your weapon,” the vampiress said and he stared at her, then at Buffy.

Finally he pulled his sword from its sheath and handed it to the Slayer.

“Do you know how to use it?” Matthew asked as he was given another sword by a soldier who then headed out the door.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” she asked.

He didn’t reply, merely gave her a slightly skeptical look before turning and following in the soldier’s footsteps. Maeve did as well and when Buffy got outside they were already gone. She muttered, but could hear the sound of clinking swords and smell the animosity in the air. It was far away, beyond the city wall, but she was in no way as slow as a mere mortal and she commenced running.

She wasn’t sure what she was doing. She had been tested in her strength versus the power of these beings more times than one, and she had been proved lesser on all accounts. But she couldn’t sit idly by as Clara tried to set her plan into motion.

Clara...

A sudden sting traveled up the Slayer’s neck, originating from the two puncture wounds by the right side of her throat. They wouldn’t heal for a long while, she was sure of it. And she wondered if they would ever fully lose their color, and soreness. She pushed it aside as the wall surrounding the city came into view. Vampires were fighting in front of it. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. Their graceful movements looked much more like a thought-out dance than battle. Only when someone was pushed to the ground, lost their balance or turned to the side from a hard punch was the true nature of the scene permitted to shine through.

The purple of the vampire soldier’s clothes, their wide capes billowing with their movements, and the mixture of the dusty ground and clouds of ashes flying about in the air made it an unearthly thing to witness. She moved forward, keeping an eye out for Maeve and Matthew, as well as Clara.

The Slayer walked out of the enormously high gates and onto the flattened land before the wall, stretching toward the rising walls of the cave and the different paths which led deeper into the Hellmouth. She turned her head and saw Maeve, fighting flawlessly. Matthew was not far from her. Buffy turned her head, searching the crowd for the princess. Then her spider sense screamed for her to duck and she did, hearing the whizzing of a blade over her head before she kicked her leg out. There was nothing there and she didn’t have time to react before a hand grabbed her throat and pulled her to her feet.

“You should have kept yourself in hiding, Slayer,” Patrick stated as her face rested before his.

She took a tighter hold on the sword and was about to bring it into his chest when his free hand grabbed the blade and tore it out of her grip.

“You are in way out of your league,” the vampire continued and she tried to push him away, but her tries only resulted in a smirk. She grabbed his wrists, struggling to pry them loose and he chuckled. “This is what I should have done the moment I found you sleeping,” he said, his hold tightening.

Her throat was aching both from his grip and the way his fingers pressed on Clara’s bite; it was pounding with pain. Suddenly a flash of silver tore through the air at Buffy’s right shoulder and Patrick’s eyes turned into a long stare before his head parted from his neck and slipped to the side, hitting the ground with a low thump and turning into ashes the second after, joined by his body. Buffy went down on her knees, drawing deep breaths to get her lungs re-familiarized with the process. Once it was easing she looked up at her savior and her eyes widened.

“Angel?” she asked and he smiled at her.

“Just like old times,” he said and she smiled as well, getting to her feet and spotting Willow standing high up on one of the cliffs.

She was glowing white.

It was the most welcomed sight that could ever have been presented and Buffy felt relief and joy fill her.

They had come.

Thank God, Buffy thought, bringing her gaze down from the height of her friend and having her heart just about stop in her chest.

The sounds around her died away, the movements turning into a surreal slow-motion and through the ebb and tide of the battle she could see a form she had been too far gone to dare hope she would ever see again. She stared at him, and he stared back.

He couldn’t believe how every single time he saw her it felt like the very first. Now it was even sweeter. He could see the gentle joy on her features as it began to tentatively show and he felt how it settled in his own eyes as well. She was alive. And well. She looked... incredible, actually.

She had a smile grow onto her face and then she was running.

He moved forward and met her, her arms around him in the following moment and he pushed her tightly to him, drawing in her scent and holding her.

“I was so sure I’d never see you again,” she mumbled.

“I knew you were alive!” he retorted and she smiled against his shoulder.

“I don’t think you’ve ever felt this good.”

“You always feel this good.”

Her smile widened as she pulled back, looking up at him with her feelings shining in her eyes and they made him smile as well. Then he noticed what was ornamenting her throat and his face grew serious. She noticed and shook her head for him not to think about it.

‘Buffy, look out!’ Willow’s voice sounded in her head and she pushed Spike to land on his back as she followed, rolling to the side just as a ball of light hit the charging vampire in the chest and he turned into a flaming inferno. ‘I can’t do that to all of them,’ Willow cautioned. ‘The princess is on the move,’ she added. ‘There’s a powerful force moving up the side of this wall... There must be a hidden path somewhere, you have to find it. She’s careful right now, taking her time... but not for much longer. Soon she’ll be out of reach.’

Buffy and Spike both got to their feet and Spike brought out the stake he had gotten from the camp and threw it to Buffy. She caught it and gave him a surprised and appreciative smile before they sprinted their way passed the fighting vamps.

‘Maeve,’ Buffy reached out with her untrained mind, hoping she’d hit the mark. ‘Is there a path somewhere near here that we can’t see?’

Maeve dusted the vampire she had been fighting and turned to where the Slayer and the bleached blonde were running. She followed. Coming up at Buffy’s side she merely gave her a meaningful glance and then took the lead, the Slayer and the Vamp followed.

Willow watched them disappear behind a large rock formation and she turned to where Cordelia was crouching down. She signed for her to come with her and the mortal rose with eyes wide as she kept watching the war zone below.

She saw Angel dust another vampire and then move in the direction of the other three. She followed Willow, who led her down a narrow little path alongside the wall.

Buffy was to Maeve’s left as they quickly made their way through a passage flanked by high rocks on either side. Spike was right behind them. The passage turned in a ninety degree bow and when they rounded the corner they came into a smaller cave. It stretched five hundred feet in diameter and was nearly perfectly circular. Clara turned to them just as they caught sight of her and halted.

She had fifty of her subjects with her, the highest of the elite, and they all directed venomous gazes on Maeve. Clara smirked condescendingly.

“There is no way of stopping this,” she said, looking at Buffy and having an expression of disappointment flare in her eyes before she seemed to brush it aside. “Stand back,” she added.

“Never,” Maeve replied, Angel joining them.

“My dear, I do not think I must point out that you are dangerously outnumbered,” Clara stated.

“I only wish to fight you,” Maeve replied coldly and Clara cocked an eyebrow before she pulled at the knot tying her cape together.

It slipped to the ground in a puddle around her feet. Maeve untied the bow of her own cape and brought it off her shoulders, dropping it to the ground as well. Clara smiled, giving a small bow and Maeve moved forward slowly. They met with less than ten feet parting them and observed each other for a short while.

“I never would have thought you capable of this,” Clara admonished.

“You always did make mistakes you refused to acknowledge,” Maeve said. “Until it was much too late,” she added and Clara smiled another smile.

“So then we find ourselves here. Due to my mistakes; and your encouragement of them.”

“I never encouraged them,” Maeve shook her head. “I merely welcomed them.”

Clara brought out a long stake made of silver, it had carvings on it and the metal was matted. She let it drop to the ground. Maeve looked at it, then brought her own stake out. It also carried carvings, but was made of sharpened and polished oak.

“I knew you had kept it,” the princess said and Maeve looked at the weapon in her hand, then let it fall to rest at her feet.

“I did burn the rest of them,” she stated.

“Oh, I am not surprised you saw it so fit to break the law, Maeve... it has been part of your nature since the first day you were turned.”

“Then perhaps this was not as unexpected as you would like to lead on.”

Clara looked at her, a sudden sadness on her face before she grew as stale as always.

“You never understood me, no matter how I wished you to. Gabriella... she was the only one who ever did. And she is gone.”

“A die for a die,” Maeve remarked and suddenly Clara laughed.

“Indeed,” she nodded. “And on it goes, until all of us are slaughtered.”

She moved forward and Maeve avoided the hit easily. They were moving so fast their battle was nothing but an ever changing blur to the onlookers. Buffy felt her heart beat slow as she tried to see who was having the advantage. She felt a hand slide into hers and she looked up at Spike. His presence comforted her beyond reason, and she smiled a weak smile as thanks, but then she turned back to what she couldn’t affect or step into the middle of, and she felt the anxiety of the outcome grow on her until it was a terrible, unpronounced blob at her temples and in her throat.

Clara’s foot connected with Maeve’s chest and she flew through the air. She got to her feet as Clara was on her again, Maeve blocking a punch with one arm, spinning around and kicking one leg up, hitting the princess’ cheek. She stumbled to the side, but was unfazed as she met the attack of the other with as much strength as before.

Maeve blocked the hits from the princess with both arms, then brought one of them back before pushing her palm with all her might forward to hit the middle of the others chest. Clara flew through the air, rolled on the ground and rose with a laugh.

“I must say... I am pleasantly surprised. I must have taught you well after all,” she said and Maeve smirked.

“I dare say your cheer is ironic,” she stated, moving forward and delivering a fast paced series of hits to the princess face, neck and throat.

Clara stopped it with one foot in the side of her adversary and then another kick in the stomach, making the other take a few steps back from the blow.

“If you had not made it so impossible to love you, Clara... If you only had tried to see things from any other perspective than yours, perhaps it would never have come to this.”

“Speak in our tongue, or do not speak at all,” Clara murmured at the sound of the English coming from Maeve’s mouth.

Maeve straightened her posture then spoke in the Ancient language:

“You believe it is you who are God. You believe it is for you that everyone else were made. You cannot see that it is BECAUSE of you that we are what we are. You were the first, Tahanahkh. And you were never meant to see the light of day.”

“Insolent ungrateful!” the princess exclaimed. “I shall see your ashes fly!”

Maeve ducked away as the princess launched; she was about to grab at the princess’ waist and throw her off balance when the latter took a step around her and suddenly got a tight hold on her throat with both hands, the princess’ sharp nails beginning to dig through the others flesh as the grip hardened.

Maeve fought to get loose, feeling the pain as Clara’s hands were threatening to rip her head clean off her shoulders build into gigantic proportions. She could barely think, going down on her knees. Then a glimmer on the ground caught her eye and in the next instant her hand reached down and grabbed the stake. Clara caught the movement and her hands let go just as Maeve brought her arm up. She took a more secure hold on the silvery weapon and then brought it forward.

As she let it sink through the ribcage of the princess, an unexpected pain drew itself into her own chest. She let the stake go and took an unsteady step backward, looking up and meeting Clara’s shocked gaze. The stake was jutting out of the place of her heart. There was a momentary pause and the vampire princess met the eyes of her childe and held them. Then she exploded into a cloud of ashes which seemed to not want to touch the dirt on the cave floor. It lingered in the air as tiny little black snowflakes.

The gathered elite were shocked beyond words, and then they scattered, running any which way as long as it took them away from there.

Maeve took another step backward and Buffy rushed up to her, reaching her just in time to catch her before she fell.

“No,” the Slayer whined as she saw the wooden end of the stake which penetrated the chest of the vampiress in her arms.

Maeve had a thoughtful expression on her face, looking at the cave ceiling.

“I thought... it would hurt more,” she mumbled, Buffy’s hand moving to take one of hers. The vampiress looked up at the Slayer and smiled. “Would you do me a favor?” she asked and Buffy blinked at her tears, then nodded. “Push it all the way through,” Maeve said and Buffy’s eyes widened. The vampiress was beginning to look paler, her lips turning light blue, her eyes draining of gray and almost crossing over into white. “Do it,” she pleaded and Buffy watched her for another moment, then nodded. Maeve smiled again. “I so wanted to lead them,” she mumbled. “But it was not my fate.”

“No,” Buffy whispered, placing a kiss on the others temple before she moved her hand to the stake. “It was to deliver them.”

She closed her eyes, braced herself and pushed the stake fully into its target. It didn’t take more than a second before the form of the vampiress disintegrated into a soft cloud of dust. Buffy’s tears ran over and she bowed her head in mourning of a friend she had never fully gotten to know.