(no subject)
She walks the Council hallways, her steps silent, pacing, thinking. About Michael, the future version, and what he’d told her.
Still alive, still happy, in 25 years. What would it be like? She’d already lived longer than any Slayer, longer by far than she’d expected to. Another 25 years was more than she could imagine…but she had no reason to think he was making it up.
Fifty years old, and still happy. Would she still be Slaying? Would she still be able? Slayers got stronger as they aged, up to a point, but would that always be true? Or did a Slayer’s powers start to wane, and then fade to nothingness, as age set in? She’d been afraid to ask, and he probably wouldn’t have told her if he had…but if she wasn’t Slaying…
If she wasn’t Slaying anymore, she could picture herself still with Max in 25 years. And that meant being his wife - and his Queen.
And the really, really scary thing is, when she lets herself, she can picture that too.
*****
It’s been an hour or so of walking the halls when she hears the footsteps. She turns, pulling her sword, to face whoever it is, and then freezes when she sees Buffy Summers, running in her direction. “B! Hey, what…”
“Faith!” Buffy shocks her by throwing her arms around her, hugging her tightly. “God, you’re really alive! They said you were, but I couldn’t believe it, not until…”
Faith stares at the top of Buffy’s blonde hair in surprise. “…yeah, I’m fine, B…”
Buffy hugs her for a minute more, then pulls away. “Good. We need you. Come with me.”
“…OK.” Faith falls into step behind the other Slayer, fingers twitching. She has her badge. She can get away anytime. She made a promise.
They need her.
Sighing, she follows Buffy through the halls.
*****
The room is dark except for the candles, empty except for Faith. She sits in the middle of the candles, naked except for the mud and the ritual symbols painted on her with her own blood, and starts speaking, calm and accepting.
It’s a necessary risk.
“Hear me, Sineya, Mother of the Line of Ones, for I am your Chosen daughter. I come before you as you walked the world, clothed in earth and blood, to beg your aid. Evil threatens our world, and my need is dire. By the blood and destiny we share, I call to you. Loan me your strength, your knowledge, your power. Become part of me, that we may prevail against the dark. Join me, my Mother. Join me, my Sisters. Make of me a weapon that none can withstand. I know the price, and accept that it must be paid. I am the Slayer; my life is forfeit.”
For a second, nothing happens, and she’s sure it didn’t work - and then she falls backward, screaming, as fifty-two thousand years’ worth of Slayers enter her body at once, fifty-two thousand years of power and knowledge, of blood and pain and screams and death.
She is Sineya, the First Slayer, chained to the earth and crying as the blackness enters her…elle est Jeanne d’Arc, La Pucelle d’Orleans, et elle sait qu’elle va mourir, mais elle sourit, parce q’une autre sera Choisi… Sie ist ein deutsches Mädchen, das gerade entdeckt hat, daß der Führer, den sie folgt, ein weit grösseres Übel als die Vampires ist sie geschworen wird, um zu zerstören…
It hurts, it hurts more than anything she’s ever felt in her life, and she’s convulsing but doesn’t feel it, screaming at the top of her lungs but unable to hear. So much to learn, so much to know - languages that nobody’s spoken in centuries, fighting techniques long-since lost. How to make weapons, how to kill demons…everything any Slayer has ever known, she knows, they know, it’s part of her, it’s all of them, it’s in the blood and it won’t come out again.
This is the price she knew she would have to pay. Her mind isn’t her own, and may never be again. There are thousands of people inside her, tens of thousands…
But it’s hurting more than it was supposed to, and there are screams that aren’t her own, and she realizes, suddenly, that she’s bleeding from the nose and ears, and her last coherent thought is that something, somewhere, has gone seriously wrong.
Still alive, still happy, in 25 years. What would it be like? She’d already lived longer than any Slayer, longer by far than she’d expected to. Another 25 years was more than she could imagine…but she had no reason to think he was making it up.
Fifty years old, and still happy. Would she still be Slaying? Would she still be able? Slayers got stronger as they aged, up to a point, but would that always be true? Or did a Slayer’s powers start to wane, and then fade to nothingness, as age set in? She’d been afraid to ask, and he probably wouldn’t have told her if he had…but if she wasn’t Slaying…
If she wasn’t Slaying anymore, she could picture herself still with Max in 25 years. And that meant being his wife - and his Queen.
And the really, really scary thing is, when she lets herself, she can picture that too.
*****
It’s been an hour or so of walking the halls when she hears the footsteps. She turns, pulling her sword, to face whoever it is, and then freezes when she sees Buffy Summers, running in her direction. “B! Hey, what…”
“Faith!” Buffy shocks her by throwing her arms around her, hugging her tightly. “God, you’re really alive! They said you were, but I couldn’t believe it, not until…”
Faith stares at the top of Buffy’s blonde hair in surprise. “…yeah, I’m fine, B…”
Buffy hugs her for a minute more, then pulls away. “Good. We need you. Come with me.”
“…OK.” Faith falls into step behind the other Slayer, fingers twitching. She has her badge. She can get away anytime. She made a promise.
They need her.
Sighing, she follows Buffy through the halls.
*****
The room is dark except for the candles, empty except for Faith. She sits in the middle of the candles, naked except for the mud and the ritual symbols painted on her with her own blood, and starts speaking, calm and accepting.
It’s a necessary risk.
“Hear me, Sineya, Mother of the Line of Ones, for I am your Chosen daughter. I come before you as you walked the world, clothed in earth and blood, to beg your aid. Evil threatens our world, and my need is dire. By the blood and destiny we share, I call to you. Loan me your strength, your knowledge, your power. Become part of me, that we may prevail against the dark. Join me, my Mother. Join me, my Sisters. Make of me a weapon that none can withstand. I know the price, and accept that it must be paid. I am the Slayer; my life is forfeit.”
For a second, nothing happens, and she’s sure it didn’t work - and then she falls backward, screaming, as fifty-two thousand years’ worth of Slayers enter her body at once, fifty-two thousand years of power and knowledge, of blood and pain and screams and death.
She is Sineya, the First Slayer, chained to the earth and crying as the blackness enters her…elle est Jeanne d’Arc, La Pucelle d’Orleans, et elle sait qu’elle va mourir, mais elle sourit, parce q’une autre sera Choisi… Sie ist ein deutsches Mädchen, das gerade entdeckt hat, daß der Führer, den sie folgt, ein weit grösseres Übel als die Vampires ist sie geschworen wird, um zu zerstören…
It hurts, it hurts more than anything she’s ever felt in her life, and she’s convulsing but doesn’t feel it, screaming at the top of her lungs but unable to hear. So much to learn, so much to know - languages that nobody’s spoken in centuries, fighting techniques long-since lost. How to make weapons, how to kill demons…everything any Slayer has ever known, she knows, they know, it’s part of her, it’s all of them, it’s in the blood and it won’t come out again.
This is the price she knew she would have to pay. Her mind isn’t her own, and may never be again. There are thousands of people inside her, tens of thousands…
But it’s hurting more than it was supposed to, and there are screams that aren’t her own, and she realizes, suddenly, that she’s bleeding from the nose and ears, and her last coherent thought is that something, somewhere, has gone seriously wrong.