Tyger, Tyger

TYGER, TYGER (part 5/5)

In the end, the number of men who could accompany Angelus was dictated by the number of horses fit to travel. They found a picket line of horses that had been ridden by those enemy soldiers sent on to the mountainside. These were relatively rested and all uninjured. They used the best of them, each man taking a horse to ride and leading a sparmounmount. Demeral came with him, and some men of the other Houses. The rest stayed to deal with the aftermath of the battle.

The journey was too slow for Angelus, and it was Demeral who persuaded him to allow horses and men some small respite for rest and water, Demeral who persuaded him that he would get there quicker on the horse than by dismounting and runn Dem Demeral who persuaded him that if he raced ahead and arrived alone, he could never accomplish his purpose; he would be killed. It was Demeral who, at their first stop, insisted that he remove his shirt and trousers, ano boo bound up the four sword slashes he hadn’t even realised he’d got. And it was Demeral who, at the second stop, brought down a small deer and gave it, still living, to Angelus. The blood helped his wounds to heal, gave him strength for what he now ne to to do.

When they reached the city, the horses were staggering with exhaustion, but their ride had been epic. They had accomplished it in a time that would almost certainly never be bettered. There were less thafty fty of them left.

Angelus went over the palacll fll first. When he had killed all seven of the guards in that area, the others joined him. They found a small window guarded by a rusted iron grating and, muffling the sound as well as they could with their jerkins, they stood back as Angelus pulled the grating out with one mighty effort.

Then they waited again while he slithered in and looked around. So they progressed through this lower part of the palace. Angelus could smell Haraeth, and it was a live scent. And he could smell some of his past tormentors. That was all he had to go on. No guard survived in any area that he wished to pass through. Eventually, he reached a grating in the floor of a large, empty hall. Another large, bare room could be seen below. Bare of furniture and comforts, that is. There were bodies enough. Hylekians were chained around the walls, and to posts in the centre, some dead, some alive. Haraeth was one of them, mercifully still living. Shockingly, at Haraeth’s feet were two headless corpses. A swordsman walked into view, and took a stance. In seconds, Haraeth would join his kinsmen. With a sinew-bursting effort, Angelus ripped the grating from the floor and dropped onto the swordsman. It wasn’t Haraeth who lost his head.

There were about twenty men-at-arms in the room, and half a dozen demons who by their dress and adornments were clearly senior members of the Royal House Vermald, here to watch the executions. Angelus didn’t need the clues of dress or adornment, though. He recognised the demons from his ordeal in the palace. And he recognised one in particular. The snarl came unbidden.

It was like putting a stoat amongst chickens. Angelus didn’en sen stop to draw his sword until he had beheaded five men with his bare hands. By then, his companions had caught up to join him in the slaughter. The members of House Vermald were prevented at sword-point from leaving the chamber until they were the only ones left alive. Not for long.

Angelus stalked over to them as the last man-at-arms lay twitching on the floor. His voice slightly distorted by his fangs, he invited the king to join him. His companions pulled outortlortly middle-aged demon from the huddled courtiers. Without even pausing, Angelus tore out the throats of the others. Then he went back to the king, standing only a hand’s breadth away from him. His voice carried only a promif def death.

“Your actions have caused the deaths of too many of your countrymen and have threatened me and mine. My mate may even now be dead because of you.” He looked at Demeral. “Do you have any procedures for dealing with a traitor such as this.”

“No. There has bee suc such treachery for the last eight hundred years, at least. We would need to find a mechanism for dealing with this.”

Angelus took that as acceptance of what he would do next.

“Are there any more of House Vermald? Any heirs, any young ones, any illegitimate brats?” Demeral whispered to the companions. A group left the chamber, while others moved around the chained Hylekians, freeing them from their fetters.

Angelus turnrom rom Vermald, and walked over to Haraeth. He unfastened the fetters.

“Thank you.” The young man was pale, and the side of his tunic was bloodied. He had been wounded, and was weak, unsteady on his feet. Angelusminemined the wound. It was festering a little from lack of attention, and would leave an interesting scar, but the young man should heal.

There was movement in the doorway, and a group of demons were ushered in. Women and children, and half a dozen adult men. The rest of House Vermald. Accompanied by their screams of terror, Angelus took their throats out in the sight of their appalled patriarch. Then he leaned towards the man, his voice soft but sharp as flint.

“I will save your countrymen the need to invent a process of justice for you. Here, in this chamber, I AM justice.” He took the king’s head in one easy movement.

**************

Giles sat by Buffy’s bed. Joyce sat on the other side. The small hours of the morning were moving towards the not so small. The arrow had been removed and blood transfusions given. She was still unconscious, but she would live. The doctors had no idea why she was still alive. The arrow had grazed her heart, and the blood loss had been immense. She should be dead.

They had been unable to open her clenched right hand, and they had left it alone, needing to concentrate on the more critical issues. Now Joyce was stroking her daughter’s arm and hand, trying to relax the muscles, trying to make her release her grip on what was so important to her. It gave the overwrought mother something to do. She had not yet asked Giles for an explanation, but he knew that would come. Wha did didn’t know was what to say in answer. How could he tell her about the things her daughter had been doing? And the creature she had been doing them with? He couldn’t imagine why cloth yard war arrows would be used in the arena. Something quite dreadful had clearly happened. He was almost sure that the vampire was the one who had sent her back, but why he hadn’t also returned was a mystery. Whether they would be getting any information on the incipient Hellmouth seemed to be moot.

He watched Joyce smoothing Buffy’s clenched muscles, tracing the entwined wolves that were inked over her golden skin, then suddenly her daughter relaxed, a soft smile of welcome coming to her lips, and she opened her hand. Lying on her palm was a silver ring. A man’s claddagh. Angel’s ring.

Giles bowed his head in sorrow. Sorrow, he was ashamed to realise, not because he thought that Angelus must be dead, or because Buffy would perhaps grieve for that, but because if the vampire were dead, it had not been his hand that killed him. Perhaps Buffy could get on with her life, now. Perhaps he could, as well. They’d deal with the new Hellmouth as they had dealt with everything else.

Joyce picked up the ring and looked at it. She turned to Giles. He knew she was going to ask about it, and again he had no answer that seemed suitable. That, Mrs Summers, is ringring worn by your daughter’s creature of the night, murderous, vampire ex-boyfriend. That would go down well.

It was just as Joyce was trying to frame the question that the light in the room seemed to brighten, and a small, neat portal opened. Then it winked out, leaving Angelus stag byg by the foot of the bed.

Joyce was aghast, as well she might be, and not only at his magical entrance. The vampire was covered in blood. His face was streaked and splattered with it, his hair matted. His clothes were drenched in it. Rents in his clothing showed bloodstained bandaging on his thigh and his ribs. His face was gaunt and grey, and his eyes bleak and empty. A bloody sword and dagger were thrust bare-bladed into his belt. A pall of road dust coated his entire figure, blood and dust congealing together on his clothes and on his skin.

Joyce tried to scream, but no sound came out. Silently thanking the gods for that, at least, Giles moved round the bed towards her. Maternal instinct to the fore, Joyce moved towards the dreadful apparition, intent on keeping her daughter safe.

“Get away from her!” she hissed. “Don’t you dare touch her!” She opened her mouth as if to scream for help.

Gilesced ced himself in front of her and took her by the shoulders.

“Joyce. For God’s sake don’t scream.” She wasn’t even looking at him so he shook her a little until he had her attention. He repeated what he had said, urgency harshening his voice.

“He’s not going to hurt her. He got that way fighting for her.” He was sure of that. “I’ll explain, but not now, not here.”

Mercifully, she remained silent but she shook him off and moved to stand bravely between the gore-soaked vampire and her unconscious daughter.

Angelus just moved around her, took no notice of her, walked stiffly to the side of the bed, where Giles had been. He ignored the chair, and simply knelt on the floor. He reached over for Buffy’s hand, the one that had clutched the ring, and brought it over to meet the other. Then he held both gently in his own.

“I’m here now, my love, nothing can hurt you. I’m here.” He continued murmuring soothing nonsenses to her until suddenly she opened her eyes. The dam that, since he had sent her back, had walled away everything inside him except his rage, burst. He leaned his head on her stomach and, regardless of Giles and Joyce, wept in relief. It was Buffy, then, who murmured soothing nonsenses to him until his tears ceased.

***************

It was Giles who telephoned Willow, and Willow who telephoned the mansion. Fortunately, she got Spike, rather than Drusilla. And it was Spike who brought fresh clothes for Angelus, Spike who prised him away from the now-sleeping Slayer, who steered him into the tiny bathroom area, and who helped him to wash the worst of the blood off and to change. The bloodied clothing and the weapons he put into the holdall he had brought. Spike stayed, and it was as dawn threatened that Spike persuaded Angelus to leave the hospital room, where there was every chance of the sun catching him, and return to the mansion for some much needed sleep. Apart from the time in the bathroom, Angelus had spent the remainder of the night on his knees at Buffy’s side, exhaustion etched into his every lineament.

As he rose to his feet, he turned to Joyce and Giles. Giles’ face was still a frozen mask, and Joyce was still in shock. He gently took her hand.

“Mrs Summers, I know that you don’t yet understand any of this, and we will explain it to you. But explanations must wait until tonighI’llI’ll come back then, and Buffy, Giles and I will tell you what you want to know. Not until then, though. Do you understand?”

Joyce nodded, white faced and tight lipped. Angelus turned his gaze to the Watcher.

“Well?”

Giles hesitated, then nodded. Before he could say more, Angelus and Spike were gone.

********************

To say that Joyce was troubled would be a statement of the blindingly obvious, and would not even scratch the surface of the truth. She couldn’t even find a word to describe how she felt. She had never considered herself to be a woman who had flights of fancy, and she knew what she had seen. A man had appeared in a flash of light in the middle of a hospital room, looking like a fugitive warrior from a mediaeval battlefield. This was clearly impossible, yet she had seen it with her own eyes.

And that grim, blood-soaked man had knelt by her daughter’s side, called her his love, and wept to see that she was alive.

Rupert had clearly known what was happening. Rupert had lied to her about where her daughter had been for the last month. How many more lies had Rupert told her? How many lies had Buffy told her? What secrets had they been keeping, that neither of them dare telr thr the truth? What the hell was going on?

So she waited for the night, and the explanations she had been promised.

Giles got to the hospital first. When Angelus came, he came alone. Joyce’s inconsequential thought was that he certainly scrubbed up well, and that although he still looked very pale, the greyness was gone. Not the grimness, though. He looked like a man going to his execution. Or perhaps going to do the executing.

Buffy was still sleeping, and Joyce and Giles had made sure they didn’t wake her. When this man arrived, Joyce noted that he moved even more silently than they had done. She knew who he was. Buffy had had a brief relationship with him, and had left him because he had…changed. Taken on an air of instability. Angel. That was his name.

He reached the side of the bed without looking at either herself or Rupert; he simply stood there, looking at Buffy. And Buffy awoke for him. The smile she bestowed on him would have lit up half of Sunnydale. So would the one he gave back to her.

“You won.”

It was a statement, not a question. She had never doubted.

“We won. We won the battle, and House Vermald has been…extinguished. House Orbath is in control, aided by the other Houses, especially House Demeral.”

“You’ll tell me everything I missed – later.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll tell me about our prize. Don’t tell me you came back without it.”

“I came back the second that I’d finished with House Vermald – well, as soon as I could find someone to send me back. Haraeth is going to send the Keeper to fetch us back for our prize. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

She smiled again. “Good. We still have a couple of weeks of vacation left. Do you think we could have a look at that estate?”

Angelus looked uncomfortable. “I think there are one or two things to do first.” He looked pointedly at Joyce. Then he took Buffy’s hand. “Best get it over with, while we’re all here.” His smile was reassuring.

And so, the explanations began. Joyce was incredulous at the prospect that vampires might be real, and that her daughter might be a vampire slayer. Angelus obligingly demonstrated. Well, the vampire bit, anyway. So had had to believe. And Rupert Giles a Watcher, indeed? Whatever one of those turned out to be. It took a while before she could absorb what she had been told about that, what she had been shown. Buffy, Rupert and …the vampire… sat silently whilst she wrestled with this new knowledge. The thing that her mind kept coming back to was the simple fact that her daughter was holding hands with a demon. When she was as ready to hear more as she would ever be, they continued.

The matter of the soul was explained, and the difference between Angel and Angelus. That worried her. What mother wouldn’t be worried to find her daughter holding hands with a vicious, psychopathic killer? The soulless vampire part was quite superfluous. Again she focused on small facts, trying to keep at bay the larger hs.
hs.

“Just how old are you, anyway?”

“I was made in 1753. I was 26 at the time.”

“You know how old Buffy is? Don’t you think you’re taking advantage of her?”

He smiled that billion-megawatt smile again. “I need every advantage I can get!”

Tick the sense of humour, and understanding of the female psyche, columns.

The duties of a slayer were explained. And the physical differences to ordinary mortals. Her worldview was rapidly crumbling, a new one not yet ready to emerge. Maternal instinct filled the gap, as it had the previous night.

“Is that why you’ve healed so f” S” So fast, indeed that the doctors were starting to ask questions. Joyce began to feel that the hospital might not be the best place for her daughter much longer. Buffy started to answer, but Angelus interrupted. Buffy needed to know what he had done. It was probably best that her Watcher knew, too. Blood tests in future might be a problem.

“Slayers do heal fast, but she has some of my blood now.”

“What?” “What!” “I beg your pardon!”

Joyce had gone as white as one of the hospital sheets. Buffy was scowling furiously. Rupert was positively snarling. Angelus surveyed his audience with a bland face. But he knew he was in trouble.

He looked directly at Buffy.

“You were almost dead. Your heart was damaged and you had lost so much blood you would never have lived to even make it back to the Library, let alone the hospital. Believe that. I didn’t want to turn you. That left only one thing. I gave you just a few drops of my blood. Vampires can do that with a mate without fear of turning, if they do it right. It was just enough to strengthen the heart and start to seal the wound until you could get medical attention. Apart from making you a vampire, it was the only thing to do, other than watch you die, and I wasn’t prepared to do that.” He paused. “But it will always be in your blood. Because of it, you will always be able to sense me, even from so small an amount, just as I can sense you. Should I have done differently?”

All three of them, Buffy, Joyce and Giles, started to say that of course he should have done differently. Then, in fairness, they all stopped. There was nothing else he could have done for her. At least, nothing else that Joyce or Giles would have wanted returned to them.

Tick the resourcefulness column, and probably the courage column for owning up to that.

“Why don’t you want to turn me?”

He wasn’t prepared to answer, so he warned her off with a flash of golden eyes and a flippant answer. “This way, you can warm my feet when I’m cold.”

Buffy blushed and shut up, as he had intended. The mother in Joyce picked up on something, though.

“Mates. Does that mean what I think it means?” Her eyes would have flashed golden if they could.

“Mrs Summers, your daughter and I have a relationship that will last forever. The details of it are no-one’s but our own, but do not doubt that she is mine. No one else will ever touch her or harm her, human, vampire or demon.” He folded his arms across his chest and glowered.

Joyce recognised the testosterone-fuelled bluster for what it was. After all, her daughter had been under his care when she had been almost killed by that arrow. But she recognised something else, too. If her daughter were truly a slayer, and she had no reason to doubt the truth of that, then she was unlikely to have a long life expectancy. Surely, you can’t hunt demons every night and stay safe? This creature was perhaps the best defence possible. After all, at his age, he had to have learned a lot of survival skills.

Tick the provider and defender columns.

She had also picked up on Rupert’s hostility. Hatred and loathing, even. She asked about that. The emotional temperature in the room fell to somewhere near absolute zero.

It was a long time before she got an answer, and it was Angelus who gave it.

“His lover, Jenny, tried to restore the soul. I killed her before she could do it.”

There, it was out.

Joyce was appalled. Unthinkingly, running on maternal instinct again, she took Rupert’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Rupert, I’m so sorry – I knew Miss Calender had died, but I had no idea…” She trailed off, unable to find any words that sounded right. Rupert hung his head in sorrow; so did Buffy. Angelus looked defiant. Joyce asked the only thing she could think of that might help her understand this creature.

“Do you regret doing that?”

He looked startled that she should ask that, but appeared to give serious thought to his answer.

“Yes. Oh, don’t misunderstand me. I would do it all over to prevent that nauseating soul from possessing me again. But it has distressed Buffy, and it has distressed one whom Buffy loves. So yes, I regret that. But I can’t undo it.”

Joyce pondered that answer. Leaving aside the demonic, vicious, killer part, it was the sort of answer a mother would look for.

Tick the devotion column.

But her beautiful daughter, so full of life, keeping company with a demon? Every finer feeling revolted against that thought. She was almost overwhelmed by the desire to scoop up her child and run from the hospital, away from this creature, keep her at home and safe. Then she looked at the others in the room, and really saw what she was looking at.

She looked at Rupert. He was grim and grey, remembering, no doubt, his lost love. And yet, much as he loathed the creature sitting at the other side of the bed, he still managed to work with him where it was necessary to do so, and he obviously loved and took care of her daughter. Just as a father would have. Terrible as the vampire was, he might be the best possible match for a vampire slayer. And her daughter loved Angelus, that much was clear. Joyce had seen how she smiled at him, starting with the previous night, when unconscious, even, she had felt his arrival and smiled her welcome for him.

And Joyce had no doubts at all that the vampire loved her daughter. She had no idea what love meant to a demon, although she was pretty sure it was not something a normal human would necessarily survive, but this one loved Buffy. It was there for all to see.

If she tried to deny them, what would happen? At best, there would be a breach between Buffy and herself, one that might never be healed. Particularly if Buffy met an enemy too strong for her…NO! Thinking like that would do Buffy no good at all.

And what was the worst that could happen, if she refused to countenance this unnatural liaison? At worst, this creature would simply kill her for standing in his way, as he had killed Jenny. Who would be a mother for Buffy then? Most likely, though, he would simply steal her daughter away, and she might never see her again. She realised that she couldn’t deal with this vampire as if he were an undesirable human suitor. That would never work. If Rupert could handle it, so could she. And perhaps time would bring a change. Perhaps fate would intervene. Whatever, she must be there for her only offspring.

She reviewed the mental balance sheet and squared her shoulders, metaphorically speaking.

“I expect to know where she is at all times that she isn’t at home or in school!”

A look of shock crossed all three faces.

“And when you see her I expect you to come and pick her up from home like any normal person. You’ll come and introduce yourself to me properly, and you will treat me with the respect a mother deserves. The very first thing you are going to do is explain to me exactly where Buffy has been for the last month. And if you hurt her, I’ll kill you myself. Is that clearly understood?”

Angelus gaped in disbelief. Buffy started to remonstrate with her mother, terrified that she had mortally offended the mercurial vampire. At the same time, she put out her arm, weak as she was, to restrain him. Rupert went to her aid, trying to insert himself between Joyce and the creature who had killed Jenny for less.

Both of Joyce’s defenders felt a thrill of fear at the growl coming from the vampire, until they realised it was a different sound; one they weren’t used to hearing. A rumbling chuckle, deep in his chest.

Like mother, like daughter, Angelus thought. Up to now, he had considered Joyce to be rather an irritation. But he had been wrong. She was so like her daughter he couldn’t help but take to her. And he always respected a show of strength.

He stood then, and made her an elegant bow.

“May I start by calling you Joyce?”

***********

G

Giles could not be happy about the turn of events, but he understood why Joyce had come to terms with the relationship. After all, he needed to do that himself. Oh, he still hated the vampire, and yearned to kill him. But the demon was the best protection his Slayer could have. An extremely rough road no doubt lay ahead of them, but he would not desert his charge. So he did his best to put his personal feelings behind him, as Joyce had done, and face the future as it actually was, not as he would wish it to be.

************

Joyce took Buffy from the hospital early the next morning, toid oid questions from the medical staff about her miraculous recovery. Soon after sundown, Angelus knocked on her front door, accompanied by a creature who looked almost human, but was just a little scaly around the edges. He was extremely polite, though. Angelus brought a large bouquet of red roses, and a large box of the most expensive chocolates. His experience showed when he left it to his two women to decide how to divide up the gifts.

The other demon brought a small gadget, and an invitation to return to his home. Buffy and Angelus would go. Joyce regretfully declined. One day, perhaps.

So, after visiting for an hour, during which both males…men…were affable and charming, they carried Buffy away through one of those portals.

For Buffy, weak, still, but recuperating, a few days at least of the long summer vacation were divided between helping Hylek deal with the after effects of House Vermald’s treason, and lying in the arms of her demon lover.

THE END
But, continues in 'Cometh the Hour'
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