Fic: I Ven Eden (A new road) FRT 7/9
Disclaimer in Part One
“Good morning, milady.”
The warm and rumbly voice made Buffy jump. Not, thankfully, a fully slayer on alert type jump, since she’d had no sense of approaching danger, but enough to make her shy a little, and immediately look embarrassed over it. The burly barman was smiling at her. A friendly, can I help you type smile that she found herself returning. He was dressed in warm browns, all scrunchy wools and rough linens, there was a crumpled white apron tugged tight around his portly frame, and his hands were full of pottery tankards. Empty ones, no doubt being collected up after last nights drinking.
She had no idea what he’d said, but it had sounded welcoming, so she nodded and smiled and then felt totally awkward, wondering just how stupid she’d look if she started pantomiming a request for breakfast.
The man chuckled warmly, clearly in the know about her lack of language skills, and nodded towards Giles and his company with amused deference. “You just sit yourself down, milady, and I’ll bring you a little something from the kitchen. Nob!” That last wasn’t for her, but for the diminutive figure that darted out from behind the bar in response. Nob - contrary to immediate impressions - was not a child, but an adult, even if he was less than four feet tall. He had a mop of curly hair, a cheeky grin a mile wide, and was also sporting an apron, although his was cherry red rather than white. Buffy watched in bemusement as the barman thrust his load of tankards in the small man’s direction. Were Nob’s feet bare? And did they have … fur on them?
Her eyes darted towards the other diminutive figures sat at the low table near the middle of the room. They weren’t children either, even if they had an air of carefree innocence about them. Bare, furry feet looked to be a common fashion - as did long slender pipes and - tweed waistcoats? She blinked, wrestling with the incongruity of finding what seemed to be a whole race of English type country folk sitting in a medieval style inn, where chain mail and swords barely raised an eyebrow among the clientele.
Well, she corrected herself as the now unencumbered barman ushered her over towards the far side of the room, not when the guys wear them, anyway …
Some of the farmer-y types - the normal height guys - were frowning at her with distinct disapproval as she sashayed by. They weren’t a particularly handsome bunch; one had a squint, another an oddly shaped and nobbly nose, and a third looked a little as if he’d walked straight into a door at an early age, so that all his features had flattened into squashed blobs. That one wasn’t frowning. He was leering, and not in a nice way, either. The barman gave him an annoyed look as they passed, countering something he said with curt and disapproving words. The flat faced man laughed, and some - but not all - of his company joined in. Those that didn’t made muttering noises instead, making Buffy hurry past, seeking more friendly company.
“Hi,” she announced as she arrived at the good guy table, amused to see both Halbarad and the hotties leap to their feet in gallant greeting. Giles had got out of that habit with her a long time ago, but he put down his tankard and smiled a warm hello.
“Good morning,” he said. “Sleep well?”
“Like a log,” she grinned, nodding her thanks to Halbarad as he offered her his seat. That put her close enough to Giles to let her lean across and snag an eggy soaked piece of bread from his plate. “A very hungry log.” The bread was heavenly - all fried and crisp and rich with oozy egg yolk. “Do logs dream? Because I kinda did. Nothing - hellmouthy,” she added, since Giles’ brow had started to furrow. “Just … preview-y, trailer type stuff.”
His expression cleared. “Ah,” he said. “I suppose that might make sense. Especially as I … yes, well, we’ll - compare notes later. Let’s get you some breakfast first. Before you eat the rest of mine … Master Butterbur?”
The burly barman stepped up, all smiles and nodding deference. “Buffy, this is Barliman Butterbur, the owner of this inn. Butterbur, this is the Lady Summer.” Giles hesitated for a moment, looking for words, then added: “please, step in her breakfast?”
“Fetch,” Halbarad corrected with amusement, and Giles grimaced.
“Bugger,” he muttered, annoyed with himself. The innkeeper was busy smooshing down a grin, but it was one backed with warmth, not mockery. Buffy decided she was going to like him. “Yes. Sorry. Fetch her breakfast?”
“Right away, sir.” Butterbur nodded, then paused, a vaguely worried thought crossing his face. “Will the lady want the same, sir? I gave you a Hobbit portion. What with you missing first breakfast, and everything.”
Buffy got absolutely none of that, and Giles frowned, clearly having to take a moment to review the bits that he’d managed to unravel. Halbarad leant forward and pointed at the half empty plate.
“The same?” he asked, looking a little worried himself. “For such a little lady?”
She didn’t get that either, although she did work out it was about her in some way or other. Giles blinked at Halbarad - glanced at her - and then burst out laughing. “Twice as much,” he said, gesturing with both hands as if to indicate a much bigger plate. Buffy finally twigged.
“Portion size?” she asked and Giles nodded. She smiled, put out her hands and widened the gap between his, just a little. Normally she’d be watching the calories, but she really hadn’t had much to eat the day before, she’d had a really good workout with the yrchy guys, and she had no idea if, or when, she might get to eat again. Lunch time, or that night, she hoped, but you never could tell on an adventure. Besides, she was a Slayer - and she was hungry.
Halbarad gave her a bemused look. Butterbur shrugged, sighed, and bustled off, his instructions clear, even if he didn’t quite believe them. Hottie number one was raising an eyebrow at her, all Vulcan like - the vaguely pointy ears helped a lot with the impression - and hottie number two was glancing between her, the little guys and her feet - one of which she stuck out and wiggled, just to prove it wasn’t furry. His eyes widened a little and he hastily looked away, as if caught looking at something he shouldn’t be.
“So - you gonna introduce me?” she asked, smiling at hottie number one and reaching over to snag another piece of bread off Giles’ plate - just so she didn’t faint from hunger before her own breakfast arrived. “Or do I just sit here and try to look as pretty as they do?”
“Hmm?” Giles had turned his attention back to whatever it was he’d been studying while stuffing his face - a map of some sort by the look of it. “Oh - yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry - this …uh … is Elrohir?” Hottie number one smiled and dipped his head in greeting and acknowledgement. “And this is Elladan. His brother.” Hottie number two also smiled, although he still looked vaguely embarrassed. Buffy smiled back, partly to be friendly, and partly because they were making her slayer senses feel all warm and tingly inside. “These are the friends that Halbarad was hoping to find here.”
“Friends,” Halbarad confirmed, pointing at the brothers and then himself. He hesitated for a moment, then extended the gesture to include both Giles and herself, repeating the word with determined confidence. “Friends. Yes?”
“Yes,” Giles answered, nodding confirmation so that Buffy got both the word and the intention behind it.
“Yeah,” she breathed with a nod of her own. “Friends. For now, at least. Giles - you do know they’re not exactly human, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said. “I - uh - had noticed. They are - eldar. Members of an ancient race that apparently shares this world along with men - and halflings. Hobbits,” he added, nodding towards the table with the mini tweed wearers.
“Okay.” Buffy added that to her things I know about this place list. It still didn’t add up to much. “So yrchy guys are sort of goblins, and hobbits are munchkins with hairy feet … are all the - eldar - this pretty? ‘Cos I have to say, it’s a good look on them.”
“I would hope so.” Giles put down his fork for a moment and reached for his tankard. “The eldar are … you and I - would probably call them elves.”
“Elves?” Buffy stared at him. “Really? Wow. If I’d know Santa’s little helpers were that good looking, I’d have tried much harder to be good every year …”
Giles winced. “Not - modern story book elves. Buffy. Not even medieval Fay, or the Celtic Sidhe. True Elves. The Nordic alfar - the semi-divine beings that haunt the old sagas. Immortal, ethereal, and very, very powerful. Kin to the Aesir and the Vanir. Spirits - and forces - of nature.”
“Oh.” That put a whole new twist on what her slayer senses were telling her. “Powerful, huh?”
“Very.”
“Dangerous?”
“Undoubtedly. Mostly to their enemies, but it would be wise not to anger them.”
“And immortal?”
“Practically. These two - “ He indicated the brothers with a cautious nod of his head, “recognised the armour I’m wearing. And the sword. Apparently they knew the man that was buried with it.”
“Knew of him?”
“No - knew him. They are … much older than they look.”
“No kidding.” She had no idea how long dead-but-not-lying-down-about-it guy had been haunting his barrow, but it had felt as if he’d been there forever. Centuries, at least. Which meant that … “Older than Angel?”
“Almost certainly. But living, breathing souls, not …”
“Yeah,” Buffy breathed, not really wanting to go there again. Fortunately Butterbur chose that moment to bustle back again, a loaded tray in his hands and Nob tagging along behind him with a clean tankard and a jug. Giles might be indulging in a morning beer, but she got a generous serving of fresh creamy milk, along with her equally generous plate of food, which had bacon, sausage, eggs, mushrooms, fried bread, and a tumble of something vegetably with a toasting of cheese on top. She was a pancake and waffle girl by preference, but the sweet smell of fried bacon was more than enough to make her mouth water. The crisply fried bread was probably oozing with calories and the cheese topped whatever it was, was racking up the fat count even more - but, quite frankly, Buffy didn’t care. Everything was fresh and perfectly cooked and tasted wonderful. And while she considered the contents of her plate, Butterbur brought over racks of hot toast, along with little curls of butter and a stack of little pots that hid honey and marmalade and several different types of jam under their cute little lids.
“Yum,” she declared, tucking in with relish. The Els and Halbarad helped themselves to toast, as did Giles once he’d polished off what was left of his fried bread and bacon.
“So,” Buffy considered around a mouthful of sausage and egg, keeping one eye on the pretty-but-pretty-old pair sitting on the other side of the table,” these guys? They’re - okay with you … me … doing the Jones and Croft thing?”
Giles - who’d been busy trying to follow the conversation going on in the other language being exchanged across the breakfast table - halted his bite of dripping butter and honey toast and gave her totally bemused look. “What?”
Buffy grinned. It was probably mean of her, expecting him to wrestle with pop culture speak while he was coping with managing at least three languages at once, but since he was making no effort to translate anything for her benefit, she felt smugly justified in reminding him that - occasionally - being language guy didn’t automatically mean that you knew what people were talking about. “Indiana Jones? Laura Croft? You know - the tomb raiding stuff? You walking around wearing someone else’s property? I mean - you didn’t exactly steal it, because … dead guy gave it to you, but … do they know that?”
“Oh. Ahh … Yes. Yes, I - I think so.” He didn’t sound entirely sure - and his frown suggested that his uncertainty was troubling him. “That is … they seem to know about something evil and deadly haunting old barrows and burials on the moor, and … I think they believed me when I explained that we’d been able to kill one …well,” he corrected self-consciously,” that is - um … you killed it, I merely - distracted it so that you could do so …”
“Yay me,” Buffy muttered, shivering at the memory. Dead-guy had been bad news. Really bad news. And she seriously doubted that she’d have been able to strike it down as easily if Giles hadn’t been around to distract it in the first place.
“Yes. Quite. Anyway … they seem to think … Halbarad seems to think that - we were … sent here. To help with … something. And Elladan said something about Araphor having unfinished business, and … that finishing it probably came as part of his legacy, so … he’d be glad to have passed his sword to someone who’d put it to good use …” Giles tailed off, his voice having become more and more hesitant as he went on, and Buffy rested her fork down for a moment so she could fix him with a wary stare.
“Just how much of what they said did you actually understand?” she asked, and he heaved an apologetic sigh.
“About a third. I think. This really isn’t easy, Buffy, I - I’m trying to translate a language I’ve never heard before, based on vague memories I seem to have inherited from a man who’s been dead for centuries. And while it’s easy enough to build up basic vocabulary of nouns and active verbs purely from pointing and asking, abstract concepts and historical references are another matter entirely. It’s a bit like … trying to read Shakespeare when the only reference texts you have are - Janet and John.”
“Hey,” Buffy reacted, hearing the frustration in his voice. She put down her fork and reached for his hand instead. “Don’t, okay? You’re being totally amazing here, and I really, really appreciate it. We’ve made friends with Hal-bad, and these El guys, and did the room at the inn, thing, and … I got something to wear, and you ordered breakfast and … Shakespeare would be neat, but, right now? Janet and John is pretty awesome. Might even be something I can get my head round. If you … help me a bit. I’d be lost, and scared and totally out my depth if you weren’t here, so give yourself some credit, okay?”
His smile was wry; the soft squeeze he gave her fingers conveyed both warmth and gratitude. “Yes, well, not all of that was my doing, but I will - try,” he promised. “And I have no doubt you’ll shortly be mangling the Westron tongue as confidently as you mangle your own. You’re not just a pretty face, you know.”
“Hey!” Buffy snatched back her hand and used it to administer a friendly, if indignant, thwap to his arm. Something of a mistake, since the intervening armour made her fingers sting - but it was worth it to see his smile blossom into something more, a soft crinkling at the edges of his eyes, and a twinkle of amusement deep within them. “I resemble that remark,” she huffed, only too aware that the teasing insult had also been a compliment. She held the indignant look for just long enough - and then laughed, and returned to her breakfast, leaving Giles quietly grinning around his toast, and the rest of their company staring at the two of them in total bemusement.
“Good morning, milady.”
The warm and rumbly voice made Buffy jump. Not, thankfully, a fully slayer on alert type jump, since she’d had no sense of approaching danger, but enough to make her shy a little, and immediately look embarrassed over it. The burly barman was smiling at her. A friendly, can I help you type smile that she found herself returning. He was dressed in warm browns, all scrunchy wools and rough linens, there was a crumpled white apron tugged tight around his portly frame, and his hands were full of pottery tankards. Empty ones, no doubt being collected up after last nights drinking.
She had no idea what he’d said, but it had sounded welcoming, so she nodded and smiled and then felt totally awkward, wondering just how stupid she’d look if she started pantomiming a request for breakfast.
The man chuckled warmly, clearly in the know about her lack of language skills, and nodded towards Giles and his company with amused deference. “You just sit yourself down, milady, and I’ll bring you a little something from the kitchen. Nob!” That last wasn’t for her, but for the diminutive figure that darted out from behind the bar in response. Nob - contrary to immediate impressions - was not a child, but an adult, even if he was less than four feet tall. He had a mop of curly hair, a cheeky grin a mile wide, and was also sporting an apron, although his was cherry red rather than white. Buffy watched in bemusement as the barman thrust his load of tankards in the small man’s direction. Were Nob’s feet bare? And did they have … fur on them?
Her eyes darted towards the other diminutive figures sat at the low table near the middle of the room. They weren’t children either, even if they had an air of carefree innocence about them. Bare, furry feet looked to be a common fashion - as did long slender pipes and - tweed waistcoats? She blinked, wrestling with the incongruity of finding what seemed to be a whole race of English type country folk sitting in a medieval style inn, where chain mail and swords barely raised an eyebrow among the clientele.
Well, she corrected herself as the now unencumbered barman ushered her over towards the far side of the room, not when the guys wear them, anyway …
Some of the farmer-y types - the normal height guys - were frowning at her with distinct disapproval as she sashayed by. They weren’t a particularly handsome bunch; one had a squint, another an oddly shaped and nobbly nose, and a third looked a little as if he’d walked straight into a door at an early age, so that all his features had flattened into squashed blobs. That one wasn’t frowning. He was leering, and not in a nice way, either. The barman gave him an annoyed look as they passed, countering something he said with curt and disapproving words. The flat faced man laughed, and some - but not all - of his company joined in. Those that didn’t made muttering noises instead, making Buffy hurry past, seeking more friendly company.
“Hi,” she announced as she arrived at the good guy table, amused to see both Halbarad and the hotties leap to their feet in gallant greeting. Giles had got out of that habit with her a long time ago, but he put down his tankard and smiled a warm hello.
“Good morning,” he said. “Sleep well?”
“Like a log,” she grinned, nodding her thanks to Halbarad as he offered her his seat. That put her close enough to Giles to let her lean across and snag an eggy soaked piece of bread from his plate. “A very hungry log.” The bread was heavenly - all fried and crisp and rich with oozy egg yolk. “Do logs dream? Because I kinda did. Nothing - hellmouthy,” she added, since Giles’ brow had started to furrow. “Just … preview-y, trailer type stuff.”
His expression cleared. “Ah,” he said. “I suppose that might make sense. Especially as I … yes, well, we’ll - compare notes later. Let’s get you some breakfast first. Before you eat the rest of mine … Master Butterbur?”
The burly barman stepped up, all smiles and nodding deference. “Buffy, this is Barliman Butterbur, the owner of this inn. Butterbur, this is the Lady Summer.” Giles hesitated for a moment, looking for words, then added: “please, step in her breakfast?”
“Fetch,” Halbarad corrected with amusement, and Giles grimaced.
“Bugger,” he muttered, annoyed with himself. The innkeeper was busy smooshing down a grin, but it was one backed with warmth, not mockery. Buffy decided she was going to like him. “Yes. Sorry. Fetch her breakfast?”
“Right away, sir.” Butterbur nodded, then paused, a vaguely worried thought crossing his face. “Will the lady want the same, sir? I gave you a Hobbit portion. What with you missing first breakfast, and everything.”
Buffy got absolutely none of that, and Giles frowned, clearly having to take a moment to review the bits that he’d managed to unravel. Halbarad leant forward and pointed at the half empty plate.
“The same?” he asked, looking a little worried himself. “For such a little lady?”
She didn’t get that either, although she did work out it was about her in some way or other. Giles blinked at Halbarad - glanced at her - and then burst out laughing. “Twice as much,” he said, gesturing with both hands as if to indicate a much bigger plate. Buffy finally twigged.
“Portion size?” she asked and Giles nodded. She smiled, put out her hands and widened the gap between his, just a little. Normally she’d be watching the calories, but she really hadn’t had much to eat the day before, she’d had a really good workout with the yrchy guys, and she had no idea if, or when, she might get to eat again. Lunch time, or that night, she hoped, but you never could tell on an adventure. Besides, she was a Slayer - and she was hungry.
Halbarad gave her a bemused look. Butterbur shrugged, sighed, and bustled off, his instructions clear, even if he didn’t quite believe them. Hottie number one was raising an eyebrow at her, all Vulcan like - the vaguely pointy ears helped a lot with the impression - and hottie number two was glancing between her, the little guys and her feet - one of which she stuck out and wiggled, just to prove it wasn’t furry. His eyes widened a little and he hastily looked away, as if caught looking at something he shouldn’t be.
“So - you gonna introduce me?” she asked, smiling at hottie number one and reaching over to snag another piece of bread off Giles’ plate - just so she didn’t faint from hunger before her own breakfast arrived. “Or do I just sit here and try to look as pretty as they do?”
“Hmm?” Giles had turned his attention back to whatever it was he’d been studying while stuffing his face - a map of some sort by the look of it. “Oh - yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry - this …uh … is Elrohir?” Hottie number one smiled and dipped his head in greeting and acknowledgement. “And this is Elladan. His brother.” Hottie number two also smiled, although he still looked vaguely embarrassed. Buffy smiled back, partly to be friendly, and partly because they were making her slayer senses feel all warm and tingly inside. “These are the friends that Halbarad was hoping to find here.”
“Friends,” Halbarad confirmed, pointing at the brothers and then himself. He hesitated for a moment, then extended the gesture to include both Giles and herself, repeating the word with determined confidence. “Friends. Yes?”
“Yes,” Giles answered, nodding confirmation so that Buffy got both the word and the intention behind it.
“Yeah,” she breathed with a nod of her own. “Friends. For now, at least. Giles - you do know they’re not exactly human, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said. “I - uh - had noticed. They are - eldar. Members of an ancient race that apparently shares this world along with men - and halflings. Hobbits,” he added, nodding towards the table with the mini tweed wearers.
“Okay.” Buffy added that to her things I know about this place list. It still didn’t add up to much. “So yrchy guys are sort of goblins, and hobbits are munchkins with hairy feet … are all the - eldar - this pretty? ‘Cos I have to say, it’s a good look on them.”
“I would hope so.” Giles put down his fork for a moment and reached for his tankard. “The eldar are … you and I - would probably call them elves.”
“Elves?” Buffy stared at him. “Really? Wow. If I’d know Santa’s little helpers were that good looking, I’d have tried much harder to be good every year …”
Giles winced. “Not - modern story book elves. Buffy. Not even medieval Fay, or the Celtic Sidhe. True Elves. The Nordic alfar - the semi-divine beings that haunt the old sagas. Immortal, ethereal, and very, very powerful. Kin to the Aesir and the Vanir. Spirits - and forces - of nature.”
“Oh.” That put a whole new twist on what her slayer senses were telling her. “Powerful, huh?”
“Very.”
“Dangerous?”
“Undoubtedly. Mostly to their enemies, but it would be wise not to anger them.”
“And immortal?”
“Practically. These two - “ He indicated the brothers with a cautious nod of his head, “recognised the armour I’m wearing. And the sword. Apparently they knew the man that was buried with it.”
“Knew of him?”
“No - knew him. They are … much older than they look.”
“No kidding.” She had no idea how long dead-but-not-lying-down-about-it guy had been haunting his barrow, but it had felt as if he’d been there forever. Centuries, at least. Which meant that … “Older than Angel?”
“Almost certainly. But living, breathing souls, not …”
“Yeah,” Buffy breathed, not really wanting to go there again. Fortunately Butterbur chose that moment to bustle back again, a loaded tray in his hands and Nob tagging along behind him with a clean tankard and a jug. Giles might be indulging in a morning beer, but she got a generous serving of fresh creamy milk, along with her equally generous plate of food, which had bacon, sausage, eggs, mushrooms, fried bread, and a tumble of something vegetably with a toasting of cheese on top. She was a pancake and waffle girl by preference, but the sweet smell of fried bacon was more than enough to make her mouth water. The crisply fried bread was probably oozing with calories and the cheese topped whatever it was, was racking up the fat count even more - but, quite frankly, Buffy didn’t care. Everything was fresh and perfectly cooked and tasted wonderful. And while she considered the contents of her plate, Butterbur brought over racks of hot toast, along with little curls of butter and a stack of little pots that hid honey and marmalade and several different types of jam under their cute little lids.
“Yum,” she declared, tucking in with relish. The Els and Halbarad helped themselves to toast, as did Giles once he’d polished off what was left of his fried bread and bacon.
“So,” Buffy considered around a mouthful of sausage and egg, keeping one eye on the pretty-but-pretty-old pair sitting on the other side of the table,” these guys? They’re - okay with you … me … doing the Jones and Croft thing?”
Giles - who’d been busy trying to follow the conversation going on in the other language being exchanged across the breakfast table - halted his bite of dripping butter and honey toast and gave her totally bemused look. “What?”
Buffy grinned. It was probably mean of her, expecting him to wrestle with pop culture speak while he was coping with managing at least three languages at once, but since he was making no effort to translate anything for her benefit, she felt smugly justified in reminding him that - occasionally - being language guy didn’t automatically mean that you knew what people were talking about. “Indiana Jones? Laura Croft? You know - the tomb raiding stuff? You walking around wearing someone else’s property? I mean - you didn’t exactly steal it, because … dead guy gave it to you, but … do they know that?”
“Oh. Ahh … Yes. Yes, I - I think so.” He didn’t sound entirely sure - and his frown suggested that his uncertainty was troubling him. “That is … they seem to know about something evil and deadly haunting old barrows and burials on the moor, and … I think they believed me when I explained that we’d been able to kill one …well,” he corrected self-consciously,” that is - um … you killed it, I merely - distracted it so that you could do so …”
“Yay me,” Buffy muttered, shivering at the memory. Dead-guy had been bad news. Really bad news. And she seriously doubted that she’d have been able to strike it down as easily if Giles hadn’t been around to distract it in the first place.
“Yes. Quite. Anyway … they seem to think … Halbarad seems to think that - we were … sent here. To help with … something. And Elladan said something about Araphor having unfinished business, and … that finishing it probably came as part of his legacy, so … he’d be glad to have passed his sword to someone who’d put it to good use …” Giles tailed off, his voice having become more and more hesitant as he went on, and Buffy rested her fork down for a moment so she could fix him with a wary stare.
“Just how much of what they said did you actually understand?” she asked, and he heaved an apologetic sigh.
“About a third. I think. This really isn’t easy, Buffy, I - I’m trying to translate a language I’ve never heard before, based on vague memories I seem to have inherited from a man who’s been dead for centuries. And while it’s easy enough to build up basic vocabulary of nouns and active verbs purely from pointing and asking, abstract concepts and historical references are another matter entirely. It’s a bit like … trying to read Shakespeare when the only reference texts you have are - Janet and John.”
“Hey,” Buffy reacted, hearing the frustration in his voice. She put down her fork and reached for his hand instead. “Don’t, okay? You’re being totally amazing here, and I really, really appreciate it. We’ve made friends with Hal-bad, and these El guys, and did the room at the inn, thing, and … I got something to wear, and you ordered breakfast and … Shakespeare would be neat, but, right now? Janet and John is pretty awesome. Might even be something I can get my head round. If you … help me a bit. I’d be lost, and scared and totally out my depth if you weren’t here, so give yourself some credit, okay?”
His smile was wry; the soft squeeze he gave her fingers conveyed both warmth and gratitude. “Yes, well, not all of that was my doing, but I will - try,” he promised. “And I have no doubt you’ll shortly be mangling the Westron tongue as confidently as you mangle your own. You’re not just a pretty face, you know.”
“Hey!” Buffy snatched back her hand and used it to administer a friendly, if indignant, thwap to his arm. Something of a mistake, since the intervening armour made her fingers sting - but it was worth it to see his smile blossom into something more, a soft crinkling at the edges of his eyes, and a twinkle of amusement deep within them. “I resemble that remark,” she huffed, only too aware that the teasing insult had also been a compliment. She held the indignant look for just long enough - and then laughed, and returned to her breakfast, leaving Giles quietly grinning around his toast, and the rest of their company staring at the two of them in total bemusement.