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Fairytale“Oh! You guys have to hear to this. I choose this for my Psyche essay,” Willow said, curling up on Tara's bed, holding some stapled photocopies. “Is this the one on myths and fairytales?” Tara asked, curling closer to her to look at the page. “I thought you were going to do the Hunchback of Notre-Dame?” “We always argue about that one,” Willow pouted. “That's because you won't admit that Quasimodo's actions were selfishly motivated.” “I didn't say that, I said that I don't believe that there is such a thing as pure unselfishness. We always do things for a reason so you are gaining something. Even if it's just satisfaction for ending world hunger or hope for love, for saving an unjustly accused woman,” Willow shrugged dropping the subject. “Tam Lin was my next choice. Simple and only a hint of moral ambiguity,” Willow turned to Buffy as though she should understand. “I chose this one from Child's Ballads. I think it's my favourite version.” “Version?” piped up Dawn, “like Ballad 2.01 or something.” “Very funny, no. Sir Child collected ballads from all over England and Scotland. So there were regional variations of what is basically the same ballad.” “This isn't like the stuff from Giles's old musty books is it?” Buffy asked. “No. Well, sometimes maybe, but either way you should know, ‘cause you should have picked your own by now, “ Willow scolded. “Oh,” Buffy said noncommittally, “Well, I was thinking of some with a little swash and some buckle. Possible something from the Disney oeuvre,” she nodded, getting into the idea, “maybe something with singing animals.” Willow frowned at her, “I think you should do the one about the girl and the Faerie Knight,” Tara giggled, “Mmm, don't they all have a fairy knight?” Willow joined her with a snicker. Buffy's brow quirked up. “Gay knights? Those ballads have everything.” “Tara's making with the humour. No it's ‘faerie' as in elves. You'll like it, you know, ‘cause the girl wins.” “Shh, you guys. I want to hear it.” Dawn brought them to order as she pulled up another big pillow on the floor. Willow stretched out beside Tara facing the Summers girls on the floor and began, O I forbid you, maidens a', That wear gowd on your hair, To come or gae by Carterhaugh, For young Tam Lin is there. There's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh But they leave him a wad, Either their rings, or green mantles, Or else their maidenhead. “Maidenhead?” Dawn interrupted, “That's like their virginity, right?” Willow nodded. Dawn smiled at Buffy, licking her finger she made a gesture in the air. “Score one for Giles' musty old books.” Her sister replied by sticking out her tongue. “You're not supposed to reading the old musty books anyway. Besides it sounds like it was written by someone with a cold.” “Or Robbie Burns.” Tara added, receiving blank looks from the other girls. “You know the Scottish guy who wrote the poem about the haggis.” When this didn't supply any enlightenment, she blushed and muttered, “Giles would get it.” “Willow!” Dawn complained, snuggling back into her pillow.
Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has broded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she's awa to Carterhaugh
As fast as she can hie.
When she came to Carterhaugh
Tam Lin was at the well,
And there she fand his steed standing,
But away was himsel.
She had na pu'd a double rose,
A rose but only twa,
Till upon then started young Tam Lin,
Says, Lady, thou's pu nae mae.
“Rose plucking is never good for the heroine,” Tara pointed out. “Big nope on that,” Willow agreed. “But Janet has gumption. And Tam Lin is a hottie.” At Tara's lifted eyebrow, she quickly added, “for a guy. And Janet's a hottie too in some versions. Tam Lin has been waiting for her, admiring her from afar.” “That sounds kind of romantic,” Dawn said, with a wistful smile. Buffy snorted, “Dawn, you think Spike's romantic.” “Well, he is a hottie.” Dawn defended herself. “No he's a Coldie and a Deadie.” “Yeah, like you've never checked out his ass.” “Eew! Have not.” Buffy shot back wrinkling her nose. “Yeah right you've have to be dead too not to notice-“ “Ahem.” Willow said, stemming the flow of sisterly combat. Buffy let out a sigh. Silently thanking her friend for the interruption. Why pu's thou the rose, Janet,
And why breaks thou the wand?
Or why comes thou to Carterhaugh
Withoutten my command?
"Carterhaugh, it is my own,
My daddy gave it me,
I'll come and gang by Carterhaugh,
And ask nae leave at thee."
Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has broded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she is to her father's ha,
As fast as she can hie.
Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the ba,
And out then came the fair Janet,
The flower among them a'.
Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the chess,
And out then came the fair Janet,
As green as onie glass.
“Huh?” Buffy looked up at her friend. “She's sick. Green with nausea,” Willow filled in. “Oh.” Out then spake an auld grey knight,
Lay o'er the castle wa,
And says, Alas, fair Janet, for thee,
But we'll be blamed a'.
"Haud your tongue, ye auld fac'd knight,
Some ill death may ye die!
Father my bairn on whom I will,
I'll father none on thee."
“See big oves for that day and age. And we all know who did the plucking or seeding or,” Willow twisted her mouth up, “well, you know what I mean.” “I'm so not a baby!” Dawn let out an exasperated sigh, “Tam Lin is a hottie and she had sex with him instead of her rings or mantle.” Dawn rolled her eyes at them, then, “I still don't see why he would want a girl's coat. I mean he could like sell the rings at some elf pawnshop but girl's mantles?” “It's a symbol really. It's usually interpreted as kinship or protection. The ring is fealty or a pledge,” Tara explained, “It comes up a lot in this type of story.” Willow nodded and continued. Out then spak her father dear,
And he spak meek and mild,
"And ever alas, sweet Janet," he says,
"I think thou gaest wi child."
"If that I gae wi child, father,
Mysel maun bear the blame,
There's neer a laird about your ha,
Shall get the bairn's name.
“Meaning that none of her father's knights were responsible and she won't marry one of them to save her honour,” Willow offered. "If my love were an earthly knight,
As he's an elfin grey,
I wad na gie my ain true-love
For nae lord that ye hae.
"The steed that my true love rides on
Is lighter than the wind,
Wi siller he is shod before,
Wi burning gowd behind."
Janet has kilted her green kirtle … Buffy stifles a yawn and nestles her self further into the pillows. Willow catches Buffy's yawn and though Tara and Dawn are earnestly interested she skips ahead “Blah blah blah … she hoofs it to Carterhaugh and plucks the rose and calls up her elven lover - Oh and I forgot the fact that she wore green in the first place means she meant to attract his attention, ‘cause it's not a colour mortals are s'pose to wear,” Willow smiled and she glanced down at her green top, ”especially women apparently, it means they're a ‘ho,” she winked at Tara, “but it's also a faerie colour.” Willow turned to the next page, then paused, “of course, there is always the confusion that grey might not have been grey then but green and grey would have been some thing else -“ She took a deep breath and went back to the story. "Why pu's thou the rose, Janet,
Amang the groves sae green,
And a' to kill the bonny babe
That we gat us between?"
Unable to resist further exposition, Willow clarified, “Tam Lin thinks she's in the woods looking for herb to force a miscarriage. There are other versions that actually say that. Next here she asks him if he was even human, this version uses Christianity as the test. The whole ‘died on tree' is referring to Jesus. I wonder if there are older version that is pre-Christian ‘cause Odin was hung from a tree and wasn't there something about Sigmund…” She stared into space for a second, then suddenly realized what she was supposed to be doing - “Sorry.” "O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin," she says,
"For's sake that died on tree,
If eer ye was in holy chapel,
Or Christendom did see?"
"Roxbrugh he was my grandfather,
Took me with him to bide
And ance it fell upon a day
That wae did me betide.
"And ance it fell upon a day
A cauld day and a snell -
There was a storm.” Willow clarified. When we were frae the hunting come,
That frae my horse I fell,
The Queen o' Fairies she caught me,
In yon green hill do dwell.
"And pleasant is the fairy land,
But, an eerie tale to tell,
Ay at the end of seven years,
We pay a tiend to hell,
I am sae fair and fu o flesh,
I'm feard it be mysel.
Our Tam Lin has a bit of an ego, but then he was stolen by the Faerie Queen because of his looks so I suppose that could give a guy an ego” "But the night is Hallowe'en, lady,
The morn is Hallowday,
Then win me, win me, an ye will,
For weel I wat ye may.
"Just at the mirk and midnight hour
The fairy folk will ride,
And they that wad their true-love win,
At Miles Cross they maun bide."
“Oh and Buffy, I thought you might be interested. There is a variation – ‘D' if I remember correctly,” she checked the other page where she had jotted done some notes, “yep, that one mentions that she needs to draw a circle in holy water. Cool, huh?” “Yeah,” Dawn laughed, “maybe Janet was a Slayer.” Buffy snorted again but before she could reply Willow continued. "But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lin,
Or how my true-love know,
Amang sa mony unco knights,
The like I never saw?"
"O first let pass the black, lady,
And syne let pass the brown,
But quickly run to the milk-white steed,
Pu ye his rider down.
"For I'll ride on the milk-white steed,
And ay nearest the town,
Because I was an earthly knight
They gie me that renown.
Willow, sensing that she was losing Buffy again, “so, he tells her how to recognize him. That he'll have his hat at an angle and his hair will be down and he'll wear only one glove. Then he says to pull him off his horse and hold him tight. The faeries will turn him into various bads, like lions and snakes to make her let go. Then he assures her that because he is her own true love and the father of her child that he will not harm her. And when he turns into a red hot rod of iron, to douse him in water. “ "And then I'll be your ain true-love,
I'll turn a naked knight,
Then cover me wi your green mantle,
And hide me out o sight."
Gloomy, gloomy was the night,
And eerie was the way,
As fair Jenny in her green mantle
To Miles Cross she did gae.
At the mirk and midnight hour
She heard the bridles sing
She was as glad at that
As any earthly thing.
First she let the black pass by,
And syne she let the brown,
But quickly she ran to the milk-white steed,
And pu'd the rider down.
Sae weel she minded what he did say,
And young Tam Lin did win,
Syne covered him wi her green mantle,
As blythe's a bird in spring.
“I don't understand that,” interjected Dawn. “Didn't you just say that green attracted the faeries' attention? You'd think that would make him more obvious.” “Maybe it makes him blend with the grass?” Buffy suggested, “Like cammo.” “Or maybe because it is a faerie colour, it has powers of its own,” Willow added, and continued, Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,
Out of a bush o broom,
"Them that has gotten young Tam Lin
Has gotten a stately-groom."
Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,
And an angry woman was she,
"Shame betide her ill-far'd face,
And an ill death may she die,
For she's taen awa the bonniest knight
In a' my companie.
I always thought this next was a bit odd. Like story-wise, it should have ended on ‘company'. But this last means had the Queen foreseen Tam Lin's rescue she would have given him eyes of wood or in some versions turned him into a tree. ‘Cause his escape not only takes him away but he's also seen too many things of the Faerie court.” "But had I kend, Tam Lin," said she,
"What now this night I see,
I wad hae taen out thy twa grey een,
And put in twa een o tree."
“See what I mean.” “But the whole thing was totally cool, wasn't it,” Dawn looked over at her sister who looked half asleep. “Very romantic with the roses and knights and steeds.” “Yay, and I have to look forward to slogging through all the ‘saes' and ‘gaes'. All those old words are bad enough from Giles, but at school too. Buffy-life is a hard lot.” She sighed. “Guess we better get a move on if we're still to Bronze.” “Oh! Bronzing,” Dawn turned a hopeful look on her sister. “Nope, this is a Slayer-free Buffy night. We're dropping you off at the Magic Box and Giles is taking you home.” The older Summers crossed her arms, but it was more older sister than Slayer in the stern look. “You think the Buffy-life sucks – try being her little sister.” “Yeah well, once we get rid of the hell bitch, you can Bronze away your whole allowance for all I care but until then the Key is being sat by the Slayer or watched by the Watcher.” Buffy opened the door and ushered them out.
Much later Buffy crawled into bed. Despite Spike's appearance at the Bronze, it had been a good night. All dancing, some fruity drinks and no slaying. A goodly mix. She snuggled into her pillow with a sigh, firmly intent on dreaming of summer and slathering Heath Ledger with suntan lotion. She could see him laying on the beach his blond curls shining in the sun… The golden sand gave way to green, dotted here and there with daisies, clover and broom. She walked through the wild flowers her long green skirt binding her legs. She stumbled once or twice before grabbing a fist full of the front, so she could walk freely. Her feet found the way with a determined stride. She made her way through a copse of the shrub and pine to the small glade behind. She stopped at the sight of the large black steed its eyes shining with unworldly light. But this is her rightful land so she would not be put off. She would find this faerie knight and give him a piece of her mind. He could no longer hold her land hostage. She strode past the horse to sit on the crumpled old stone well and draw a cup of cold clear water. The air was heavy with the fragrant wild roses. She bent over the lush young bloom and so heady was its scent that she plucked it and placed it in her braided crown of hair. “You should not pick the rose, Slayer. It is mine.” She turned to see a chain-mailed knight. He removed his helm revealing Spike's pale face. His eyes were dull and his face drawn and tired. His waist bound round with chains of iron. “Spike, what are you doing here?' “That is my question to ask, lady fair. You cannot pass this way without paying me first a toll. Are you prepared to pay the price for entering my lush green glade, without my permission.” He smiled down at her, a ghost of his real self twinkled in his eyes. Buffy looked at her rings of gold. She could give no elven knight a promise such as that, nor could she give up in this wood, the protection of her woollen cloak. She looked up to his eyes all blue and deep; there was one thing she would glad give a beauty such as him. He held out a gauntleted hand and bade her to rise. He led her through the roses to stop where the ground was carpeted red and white with petals. He drew off her woollen mantle and laid it upon the ground. He lifted a scarred brow but patiently stood by. Buffy looked down at her cloak and then to his face, more beautiful in despair than ever in pride. “Yes,” she said, as she loosed her stays and pulled free her green dress to kneel naked upon the wool. She watched the knight put a hand to his heart and the dull grey armour disappeared. His form was white and full of flesh, his eyes dark pools reflecting the afternoon sky. He dropped to his knees before her and blessed the top of her head with a kiss, his body bent as in worship. Buffy knew the scene was surreal. She knew it to be a dream but still felt her body responded as though this was her fondest wish. She raised her right hand and placed it upon his cold chest above his heart. “I give you my gift willingly”, she placed her palms on his jaw and pulled him to her lips, feeling him warm as though heated by the sun. He drew back a ways, his gaze full of awe, ”I have waited long for such as you. I have longed for you from afar.” He drew her back to gentle kiss. A breeze blew through the glade stirring passion Buffy long thought dead. She traced his fine white skin. Beautiful and Spike were things she was never to think of together. Could she afford to see him in this way in the dark of night? She pulled him down against the green. Their bodies met in the gentle wind and falling petals, sprinkling the scene of writhing forms with magic. His cool hard body was warmer still as it kissed hers, more right to her than she could have foreseen. The passion built hot flames, but awareness chilled her. The cold black iron steed of human making clacked through her minds eye - its compartments held bloody death as the dark queen of the massacre danced for the stars as down the tracks it sped. Her body's pleasure pushed away the cold as cries of ecstasy were exclaimed on either side. She happily met her lover's kiss. She placed a finger on his lips to stop the step of time. This fairytale peace was to hard too find even in the depth of dreams. She curled into his arms, her head upon his chest and watched the petals fall. She was granted this time of peace, with hands stroking her skin. When he stirred next, she quieted him again by sliding down his body, passion warming them ‘til he moaned again. It was when the fire once more simmered down and she was again in a languid embrace that love's future was seeded in her breast. “I'll be hers again forever if you're not quick.” He said suddenly into her hair. “But it's not Halloween.” She looked up at him and traced along his cheek. “No, it is the eve of Imbolc, in hungry Faoilleach. Winter is chill upon me, Bride.” He kissed her again and was then gone from her arms to stand before her wrapped in chains. His mouth moved but no sound came. Buffy sat bolt upright in her bed, panting. The cold sweat of fear replaced the dream's warm peace. “Wow,” that was real enough. She shook it off and flopped back onto her pillow. “Eww, Spike dreams,” Buffy pouted at her dark room. “Not again.”
Buffy hurried into the Magic Box to find most of her friends already sipping mochas at the back table. Dawn looked up as she neared them, “that's yours but it's probably cold.” She indicated the cup waiting for her. “Hey! Where's the whip cream!” Buffy eyed her sister. Dawn just shrugged, “you want me to let it drip all over the table?” “Where were you?” Willow asked, pulling away from the intimate tête-à-tête with her girlfriend. “Library.” Buffy said, as she dropped her knapsack to the floor with a heavy thud. “Library?” “Yep. That old ballad book was right where you said it was.” She ignored her friend's look of surprise and took a sip of her lukewarm coffee. “Where is Xander?” asked Anya, from the cash register. “He had to go get some plans or something. He said it was likely to involve beer so he was going to be late.” Anya nodded and headed off with a feather duster. “So any clues on the train?” Willow asked. “Nope, no clueage. Not on the train and not in here,” she said, as she placed her knapsack to the table and sat down between Willow and Dawn. “So I dug into those books and stuff, but I'm terrible with that whole keyword card catalogue thing. “ She turned to Willow, “have you run across either m-bulk or fil-lack-a? Or was it ‘my bulk' and ‘for lack of' – well, he did say it was hungry?” “Do you mean Imbolc and Faoilleach? Imbolc is an old Celtic holiday that means ewe's milk.” Everyone turned to look at Tara and she bashfully added, “It's celebrated in February, which falls in the Celtic period called Faoilleach.” “Oh.” Buffy was surprised, “I thought it was a demon. Why would February be hungry?” “Faoilleach means wolf-month in Gaelic. It was a time of hunger when winter supplies would be running low. Imbolc is a welcoming of Spring and the bounty to come.” Tara looked at her girlfriend, who smiled proudly back at her. Buffy digested this for a moment. “So spring... would that be why there was a bride?” Even Tara looked lost at this. “Does this have to do with your essay?” Willow asked. Buffy sighed; she had hoped to get the information without having to discuss the dream. It brought up things she didn't want to even think about. “I had a dream last night-“ “A Slayer dream?” Willow cut in. “A slayer dream?” Dawn echoed. She had been quiet in hopes of hearing all the Scoobie stuff. “No, not really. It was hyper-clear but not end of the world type stuff.” Buffy's brow knitted together, “at least, I don't think it is.” She sighed again, slumping further into her chair. “I was – last night I was dreaming happily as only Heath and the beach can be, then boom! I'm a kilting my green kirtle through the daisies. There was a demon horse looking all glowery and the whole elfin knight thing with rose petals, then he told be me it was the eve of m-bulk and this fillawhatsit was hungry and he called me ‘bride'.” She pursed her lips, “maybe fillawhatsit was hungry for a bride. Like a virgin sacrifice or something?” “Actually Ombolc or Imbolc and Faoilleach are also associated with Brigid or Bride.” They looked up at Anya, surprised as she approached the table. “Yes!” Tara shocked at herself, brought a hand to her mouth but continued, “I forgot Brigid, the exalted one.” Anya nodded, “Goddess of abundance and regeneration. She is said to breathe life into old man winter so he can live again in spring.” Tara looked at the ex-demon, “This doesn't really seem your thing.” Anya shrugged, “I was a Vengeance demon when young women were still being burned at the stake for worshipping her.” She collected a few books from the table and bustled off. “Ok. I still don't see why this would mean anything to me. And Tam Lin is supposed to take place on Halloween so it doesn't have anything to do with Imbolc and brides. It doesn't make any sense.” “Maybe, if you tell us your dream we could help.” Tara offered. “Yeah. Maybe the Tam Lin thing was just on your mind and it was used to stage the important part.” Buffy took a deep breath. Well if it's just dressing then it doesn't matter that it's Spike, it could be Heath. She smiled a little calmer feeling she could tell and yet not tell.
“God, Spike.” She winced at her mirror as she saw again the hurt on his face. She pulled off her shirt and tossed it on the end of the bed. So, ok I did over react a bit much. But it was real and after last night's dream - she shook her head, so not going there. She threw her bra on top the rest of her clothes and pulled her nightgown over her head. She dove between the covers as though she could hide from her thoughts. Then with determination, she pictured Heath again lying on a towel; he held out the suntan lotion and turned onto his stomach. She poured some lotion into her palm … Buffy kilted her green kirtle up to her swollen belly and tried not to heave. Right. Here we are again. Even in her dream, she gritted her teeth as she traipsed through the field saying over and over again in her mind, ‘please let it be Heath', hell, I'll even take Riley! When she passed through the shrub roses, there stood the steed, its silver shoes flashing as it pawed the clover. She sat upon the well edge and drew again a draft of deep water, the medicine of clarity. She quickly plucked a rose, calling forth the bound knight. He stood there as before. “Do not pluck the rose, Slayer.” “Too late.” She held it up. “Why you? Why this?” she gestured to her surroundings. “This glade is your own heart, pet. The well, the depth of your soul.” He drew another ladle from the bucket and drank with a sigh. “And because you need me, Slayer.” “Even in my dreams your ego - way muchly.” She folded her arms under her green mantle. “Then what's this Bride/Brigit thing all about?” “Rebirth. The reviving of old man winter by the breath of spring.” “So again, why you? You're dead and way past CPR. Or are you another metaphor/allegory thing?” “This form is true, Slayer. This being you will need.” Spike's voice had become warped and strange. “This being is necessary to you –“ Buffy stepped back as though physically hit at the force of the images - Spike brandishing a sword protecting Dawn; Spike, beaten and bloody pulling her limp form from the fray; Spike's arms around her in her bed – “without him, you are lost in many possible ways –“ Buffy lay, a sword in her heart in the desert, surrounded by her friends' bodies all around her; she is held beaten, her neck at the wrong angle by Glory; Dawn bleeding to death on a high platform all alone – “he is important to us -“ Spike strangling an impossibly large demon; Spike glowing, burning with light; a mass of demons, only a white-blond head and gleaming axe to distinguish him from the battle. “These things are possibilities too important to ignore. What will be is what you birth.” Buffy stilled, the images clearing, her heart pounding in her ears. He stood as he was before and pulled off his helm. He stepped toward her, placing a kiss upon her brow. “You must hold fast no matter what is said and done. For I am the steward here and your own true love and the father of that future.” He placed a gentle hand upon her swollen belly. “Be quick, my love. I'll be soon beyond your reach.” Buffy went up on her toes to kiss him and met only air. Gasping, she woke. A sickening urgency drove her to pull on her clothes from the end of her bed. She stuffed her stake and a couple of bottles of holy water in her knapsack and dug out an old wool blanket from her closet, and then down to the kitchen before she was off and running. The cemeteries were quiet as she made her way toward Spike's. Some passing thought led her to detour by the Bronze. A light giggle from the ally sent shivers down her spine. That demented sound could belong to only one, Drusilla, Spike's own dark faerie queen. Buffy pulled back into the shadows behind a dumpster. As they passed by, Spike spoke his voice odd and quiet, “where to now, pet?” Dru's giggle made the hairs on Buffy's neck stand up. The vampire swayed to music only she could hear. “Back to your crypt, sweet boy. I have a surprise for my valiant knight; for tonight is Imbolc and the wolves must hunt the night.” She stopped, almost lucid again. “But first we must meet a few friends.” Spike did not respond, just allowed her to take his arm and they strolled toward Main Street. Buffy watched them go, their movements in rhythm, nearly floating across the ground. After they cleared the alley, she raced away, taking the more direct way to the cemetery. It was not long before she was catching her breath at Spike's front door. She wasn't sure why she hadn't just decked him and then taken out Dru back in the alley. It had not been the right place and time. It would be better to ambush them here away from possible civilians. She looked around for the best place of concealment and spotted a grave dressed as an altar. Unlit candles made a circle around it. She went a little ways back along the path and dropped her knapsack and blanket to the ground. She took out the holy water and made a large circle behind a gravestone and shrub. She pulled out her stake and set the rest of the holy water beside her and sat against the cold stone to wait. It was not long until midnight drew close and voices sounded down the path. Buffy crouched and peered through the shrub. First came Drusilla dancing, her arms raised to the stars. Buffy ducked down and let the dark vampire pass by. Next come came three demons, dressed in tattered robes of brown, then came her ‘own true love' she grinned, his white hair bright in the night. She leapt forward and grabbed him in her arms and dragged him into the ring of holy water. She bound his arms within hers and held him to the ground. His face was cold mirth; his eyes were as dull as iron mail. “Are you ok, Spike?” “I'm well, Slayer. You remember Dru? It seems she can't live without me. Come to get me she did.” A shriek sounded from the altar as the dark queen beheld the scene. “He's mine again, little girl. The stars made me see. Told me that I loved him still.” The Slayer watched helplessly from her protected spot as the brown demons started chanting over a brazier. Dru drew close to the circles edge. “Let him go, you naughty girl.” Her fingers shot forward, drawing Buffy's eyes. “He will be reborn, my bad darling boy. My savage dark poetry.” Spike turned his game face on his captor and snapped at her neck, but Buffy held him tight, unmoving. He turned again in her arms, his hair softened and his clothes brown. His hands were bloody, “You ever hear them say the blood of a Slayer is a powerful aphrodisiac?” He held up a bloody finger. “Here now … have a taste.” He changed again. His hair was white and spiky and his chest was visible through the rips of his safety pin laden t-shirt. His laugh was gloating, “they'll call me the Slayer of Slayers.” Buffy focused on keeping him still and tried not to think of the past horrors his words evoked, knowing she could not change them. Now only the future counted. The chanting in the background hit a fevered pitch and the demon priests disappeared. He began to burn in her arms, writhing and struggling in pain. Buffy out the wool blanket and smothered the flames. He suddenly slumped naked in her arms and she drew the blanket around him. “Will you still have him now, little girl, all naked and whole? He was a bad dog and his teeth are sharp again.” Dru's eyes sparkled with malevolence. “Give up, psycho-ghic. You lost him - deal.” “Oh, sweet William, had I known, I would have never let you go.” The dark haired demon backed away, her face softer, “Poor Spike... so lost. Even I can't help you now.” She turned and disappeared into the night. Spike stirred in her arms. “I'm so cold, pet. So tired.” Buffy pulled him to her. He was naked before her, no longer clad in guise of black. She bent forward and kissed cold winter lips with her own warmth of spring. End |
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