Fic: I Ven Eden (A new road) FRT 6/9
Disclaimer in Part One
Inn good. Bed better.
Buffy had more or less fallen into the soft welcome of the bed that the bustling innkeeper had ushered her towards, and she’d fallen asleep almost as soon as her head had hit the pillow. Her dreams had been distant ones, filled with unfolding images that held calmness and conclusion. Willow, rising up, her hair a halo of white and her expression serene, Xander, laughing and wrestling with a whole bunch of children, before racing to embrace an amused Faith. Her sister smiling and waving and slowly fading from sight. And after her family, new horizons - a wide, rolling landscape over which she flew with confident wings. A dark range of mountains and a distant valley filled with shadows and menace. A city, rising up like a white tower from a vast plain .. another, wreathed in gloom and filled with a sense of menace … and at the last, a billowing of white sails, the surge of the sea beneath her, and a pale mist lifting, like a shimmering curtain, onto a memory of heaven …
“Wow,” she breathed, opening her eyes to polished wood panelling, thick bullseye windows, and the embrace of a deep feather bed. For a moment, all she could recall was warmth and peace and rest … and then the previous day came back to her in a startled rush and she sat up, grappling with sheets and blankets and thick fat pillows.
She found herself sitting in a folksy furnished room with old fashioned windows and a rustic, if extremely comfortable bed. Sunlight was streaming through the glass, and there was a roaring fire burning in a small grate on one side of the room, making everything warm and cosy.
The place was so English, that her first thought was that she’d been dreaming within a dream - that the whole foggy nightmare and the bumpy horse ride that followed it had been nothing but imagination inspired by a cold day on the moors. Giles had promised her a night in a country inn, hadn’t he?
Except that the clothes laid out on the trunk at the foot of the bed were not her clothes, since they seemed to be a long green gown and some kind of medieval jacket thing - and that was definitely a sword, lying on the table beside the bed, along with a long bladed knife, and all the belts and scabbards to hold them both. “Right,” she acknowledged resignedly. “Not in Kansas. Or merry old, either. What did Hal-bad call this place? Oh yeah. Brie. Like the cheese …”
She climbed out of the bed, a little relieved to see she was still wrapped in the same linen shirt that Halbarad had given her the evening before. The first thing she did after that was check the door. There was a passageway on the other side of it with a number of other doors leading off and what looked like a stairway going down at the end of it. Voices - a mixture of deep male tones and lighter, female ones, drifted up from the floor below. Other sounds filtered in from outside - horses, and cart traffic, and the sounds of a settlement astir for the morning. The door had a thick and heavy bolt on her side, so she pulled that across so that no one could wander in unannounced, and set about making herself respectable again. She really wanted a shower - but there was no sign of an en suite and there was no way she was going to start wandering around the place in a makeshift night shirt looking for potential communal facilities. Fortunately someone seemed to have provided what she needed, even if it was a little more primitive than she might have liked. There was a bowl, a flannel, a towel and a brush sitting on one of the side tables, and a pitcher of steaming water placed close to the fire; she poured one into the other, found the soap - it was sitting in a neat little pottery dish under the flannel - and gave herself a morning scrub down, getting rid of the last lingering remnants of dead yrchy things and even deader dead guy.
She only had vague memories of their arrival, the night before. There’d been the surly gatekeeper with a covered lantern who’d tried to turn them away, and Halbarad banging on the gate and insisting that they be let in … and something about Giles getting angry, and making an impatient gesture that had slammed all the bolts on the gate wide open … after which the gatekeeper had turned decidedly civil, and not only let them in, but let them have his lantern so they could make their way up to the inn …
“Whoa,” she realised, pausing in mid scrub to check that memory again. Yup - Giles had been tired and cranky and really had gone mojo wielding Ripper on the gate. Well, semi-Ripper, anyway. If he’d been in a really bad mood, he’d have probably ripped them a new opening in the town wall.
That could be a good thing, or a bad thing, depending on how people viewed the use of magic around here. She had a vague memory of Halbarad grinning at the gatekeeper as they’d rode through the open gate. He’d been okay with the ‘bonfire of the bad guys’ thing too, but that didn’t mean others would be. Still, she was here, comfortably ensconced in the inn, and not being hounded down the street by a mob, so that was probably a good sign …
She finished her ablutions quickly, deciding that she needed to find her Watcher and make sure he hadn’t been thrown into some deep and dark dungeon somewhere. She didn’t know enough about this place to feel safe just yet - and she needed to be sure he was safe, and not just because he was language guy, but because - well, just because. Giles was family, and he might well be her only family if it turned out they were stuck in this place. Which was … well, after those dreams? She wouldn’t be at all surprised, and only a little regretful. Xander and Willow would take care of Dawn, and they’d take care of each other too. There was nothing else she’d have wanted to stay for - and a lot she’d happily leave behind. Living in a thankless world, with a thankless destiny, and a target for every demon and vampire and ambitious necromancer painted on her back? She’d died for that world once, and she’d resented being called back to it. Maybe in this one, she could find something - or someone - worth living for.
First things first, though. She ran the complementary brush through her hair, climbed into the soft green gown - it came down to mid calf on her - slid her feet into the soft leather slippers she found beneath it, added the jacket for warmth, pulled back the bolt … and then went back for her sword, buckling it on and making sure that the matching knife was comfortably to hand.
Then she went looking for Giles. And hopefully some breakfast, once she’d found him.
Neither quest took her very far; she could hear her Watcher’s voice drifting up from the floor below almost as soon as she stepped out into the passageway. The scent of frying bacon was also drifting in the air, along with the equally warm smell of freshly baked bread, and what appeared to be hints of honey - although that could just have been beeswax from the polished wood, or from the sculptured drip of candles that stood in smoke stained sconces along the walls. The place was definitely leaning towards the rustic end of hospitality, but it was warm and felt welcoming, and there had been a lot of love and effort put into polishing the wood wall-panelling and the soft worn planking that served as the floor.
The passageway did indeed led to a descending flight of stairs, and that led down into the open common room she had vague memories of from the night before. It had been a place of dimly lit figures, shadowed corners and looming shapes back then, painted with the reek of smoke, a hint of sweat and the cloying scent of beer, but morning threw a whole new light on the subject.
Quite literally, as it happened. The sunlight that had filled her room was filling this one too - golden shafts of it streaming in through tiny paned windows and spattering itself across what was actually quite a large and airy space. A huge fire was crackling merrily in an even huger fireplace on one side, and a rotund, cheery faced man was busy bustling behind the bar on the other. In the middle were a number of well worn tables and a scattering of chairs, several of which were occupied. A group of rough clad farmer types gathered at a spot close to the fire; a bunch of - were those children? - were seated round a low table in the middle, with laden plates in front of them; and, at the far end, a couple of familiar faces and a couple not at all familiar, although … whoa!
Buffy closed her mouth with a disconcerted snap and swallowed. Hard. She shut her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and then cautiously opened them again. Nope, she registered dazedly, not dreaming …
Giles was there, still clad in his new and nifty armour, which was glimmering in the sunlight as if it were made of polished silver rather than sturdy steel, and Halbarad was beside him, looking all roguish and manly in dark leathers and a grey cloak, but sitting with them both were two of the most gorgeous men Buffy Summers had ever seen. They both had long dark hair, and shapely faces with prominent and sculptured cheekbones, and they looked exactly alike, from the high cut and armoured boots on their feet all the way up past softly gleaming chain mail, and the soft silver grey cloaks that fell from perfectly proportioned shoulders, to the neat little leather headbands that were busy keeping glorious silky locks from falling into two pairs of deep and dreamy grey eyes.
Eyes that were - for the moment at least - fixed on Giles with a thoughtful intensity that sent a shiver down Buffy’s spine.
A good shiver. A goosebumpy, Slayer says oh yeah, kind of shiver, that was completely and utterly the opposite of the here-be-evil vibe that vampires and demons and other nasties in the night inspired.
Whatever they are, she realised, making her way slowly down the stairs, they are not human. But they are pretty …
Oddly enough, they weren’t making their definitely human company look ugly in comparison, although the farmers by the fireside seemed a whole lot more weather worn than they had at her first glance. In the daylight, Halbarad was just as much of a rough diamond as he had been in the darkening dusk, ruggedly handsome behind a sprinkling of stubble and a knowing grin. And Giles - well, that armour stuff really suited him, because he was looking all noble and stern and … knightly, in a grown up, wise warrior-scholar kind of way.
Which was pretty cool for a guy chowing down on a huge plate of eggs and bacon and drinking from what looked suspiciously like a mug of beer. Buffy’s stomach clenched with sudden hunger. She’d not really eaten since breakfast the previous morning, and that had been in another world entirely.
Inn good. Bed better.
Buffy had more or less fallen into the soft welcome of the bed that the bustling innkeeper had ushered her towards, and she’d fallen asleep almost as soon as her head had hit the pillow. Her dreams had been distant ones, filled with unfolding images that held calmness and conclusion. Willow, rising up, her hair a halo of white and her expression serene, Xander, laughing and wrestling with a whole bunch of children, before racing to embrace an amused Faith. Her sister smiling and waving and slowly fading from sight. And after her family, new horizons - a wide, rolling landscape over which she flew with confident wings. A dark range of mountains and a distant valley filled with shadows and menace. A city, rising up like a white tower from a vast plain .. another, wreathed in gloom and filled with a sense of menace … and at the last, a billowing of white sails, the surge of the sea beneath her, and a pale mist lifting, like a shimmering curtain, onto a memory of heaven …
“Wow,” she breathed, opening her eyes to polished wood panelling, thick bullseye windows, and the embrace of a deep feather bed. For a moment, all she could recall was warmth and peace and rest … and then the previous day came back to her in a startled rush and she sat up, grappling with sheets and blankets and thick fat pillows.
She found herself sitting in a folksy furnished room with old fashioned windows and a rustic, if extremely comfortable bed. Sunlight was streaming through the glass, and there was a roaring fire burning in a small grate on one side of the room, making everything warm and cosy.
The place was so English, that her first thought was that she’d been dreaming within a dream - that the whole foggy nightmare and the bumpy horse ride that followed it had been nothing but imagination inspired by a cold day on the moors. Giles had promised her a night in a country inn, hadn’t he?
Except that the clothes laid out on the trunk at the foot of the bed were not her clothes, since they seemed to be a long green gown and some kind of medieval jacket thing - and that was definitely a sword, lying on the table beside the bed, along with a long bladed knife, and all the belts and scabbards to hold them both. “Right,” she acknowledged resignedly. “Not in Kansas. Or merry old, either. What did Hal-bad call this place? Oh yeah. Brie. Like the cheese …”
She climbed out of the bed, a little relieved to see she was still wrapped in the same linen shirt that Halbarad had given her the evening before. The first thing she did after that was check the door. There was a passageway on the other side of it with a number of other doors leading off and what looked like a stairway going down at the end of it. Voices - a mixture of deep male tones and lighter, female ones, drifted up from the floor below. Other sounds filtered in from outside - horses, and cart traffic, and the sounds of a settlement astir for the morning. The door had a thick and heavy bolt on her side, so she pulled that across so that no one could wander in unannounced, and set about making herself respectable again. She really wanted a shower - but there was no sign of an en suite and there was no way she was going to start wandering around the place in a makeshift night shirt looking for potential communal facilities. Fortunately someone seemed to have provided what she needed, even if it was a little more primitive than she might have liked. There was a bowl, a flannel, a towel and a brush sitting on one of the side tables, and a pitcher of steaming water placed close to the fire; she poured one into the other, found the soap - it was sitting in a neat little pottery dish under the flannel - and gave herself a morning scrub down, getting rid of the last lingering remnants of dead yrchy things and even deader dead guy.
She only had vague memories of their arrival, the night before. There’d been the surly gatekeeper with a covered lantern who’d tried to turn them away, and Halbarad banging on the gate and insisting that they be let in … and something about Giles getting angry, and making an impatient gesture that had slammed all the bolts on the gate wide open … after which the gatekeeper had turned decidedly civil, and not only let them in, but let them have his lantern so they could make their way up to the inn …
“Whoa,” she realised, pausing in mid scrub to check that memory again. Yup - Giles had been tired and cranky and really had gone mojo wielding Ripper on the gate. Well, semi-Ripper, anyway. If he’d been in a really bad mood, he’d have probably ripped them a new opening in the town wall.
That could be a good thing, or a bad thing, depending on how people viewed the use of magic around here. She had a vague memory of Halbarad grinning at the gatekeeper as they’d rode through the open gate. He’d been okay with the ‘bonfire of the bad guys’ thing too, but that didn’t mean others would be. Still, she was here, comfortably ensconced in the inn, and not being hounded down the street by a mob, so that was probably a good sign …
She finished her ablutions quickly, deciding that she needed to find her Watcher and make sure he hadn’t been thrown into some deep and dark dungeon somewhere. She didn’t know enough about this place to feel safe just yet - and she needed to be sure he was safe, and not just because he was language guy, but because - well, just because. Giles was family, and he might well be her only family if it turned out they were stuck in this place. Which was … well, after those dreams? She wouldn’t be at all surprised, and only a little regretful. Xander and Willow would take care of Dawn, and they’d take care of each other too. There was nothing else she’d have wanted to stay for - and a lot she’d happily leave behind. Living in a thankless world, with a thankless destiny, and a target for every demon and vampire and ambitious necromancer painted on her back? She’d died for that world once, and she’d resented being called back to it. Maybe in this one, she could find something - or someone - worth living for.
First things first, though. She ran the complementary brush through her hair, climbed into the soft green gown - it came down to mid calf on her - slid her feet into the soft leather slippers she found beneath it, added the jacket for warmth, pulled back the bolt … and then went back for her sword, buckling it on and making sure that the matching knife was comfortably to hand.
Then she went looking for Giles. And hopefully some breakfast, once she’d found him.
Neither quest took her very far; she could hear her Watcher’s voice drifting up from the floor below almost as soon as she stepped out into the passageway. The scent of frying bacon was also drifting in the air, along with the equally warm smell of freshly baked bread, and what appeared to be hints of honey - although that could just have been beeswax from the polished wood, or from the sculptured drip of candles that stood in smoke stained sconces along the walls. The place was definitely leaning towards the rustic end of hospitality, but it was warm and felt welcoming, and there had been a lot of love and effort put into polishing the wood wall-panelling and the soft worn planking that served as the floor.
The passageway did indeed led to a descending flight of stairs, and that led down into the open common room she had vague memories of from the night before. It had been a place of dimly lit figures, shadowed corners and looming shapes back then, painted with the reek of smoke, a hint of sweat and the cloying scent of beer, but morning threw a whole new light on the subject.
Quite literally, as it happened. The sunlight that had filled her room was filling this one too - golden shafts of it streaming in through tiny paned windows and spattering itself across what was actually quite a large and airy space. A huge fire was crackling merrily in an even huger fireplace on one side, and a rotund, cheery faced man was busy bustling behind the bar on the other. In the middle were a number of well worn tables and a scattering of chairs, several of which were occupied. A group of rough clad farmer types gathered at a spot close to the fire; a bunch of - were those children? - were seated round a low table in the middle, with laden plates in front of them; and, at the far end, a couple of familiar faces and a couple not at all familiar, although … whoa!
Buffy closed her mouth with a disconcerted snap and swallowed. Hard. She shut her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and then cautiously opened them again. Nope, she registered dazedly, not dreaming …
Giles was there, still clad in his new and nifty armour, which was glimmering in the sunlight as if it were made of polished silver rather than sturdy steel, and Halbarad was beside him, looking all roguish and manly in dark leathers and a grey cloak, but sitting with them both were two of the most gorgeous men Buffy Summers had ever seen. They both had long dark hair, and shapely faces with prominent and sculptured cheekbones, and they looked exactly alike, from the high cut and armoured boots on their feet all the way up past softly gleaming chain mail, and the soft silver grey cloaks that fell from perfectly proportioned shoulders, to the neat little leather headbands that were busy keeping glorious silky locks from falling into two pairs of deep and dreamy grey eyes.
Eyes that were - for the moment at least - fixed on Giles with a thoughtful intensity that sent a shiver down Buffy’s spine.
A good shiver. A goosebumpy, Slayer says oh yeah, kind of shiver, that was completely and utterly the opposite of the here-be-evil vibe that vampires and demons and other nasties in the night inspired.
Whatever they are, she realised, making her way slowly down the stairs, they are not human. But they are pretty …
Oddly enough, they weren’t making their definitely human company look ugly in comparison, although the farmers by the fireside seemed a whole lot more weather worn than they had at her first glance. In the daylight, Halbarad was just as much of a rough diamond as he had been in the darkening dusk, ruggedly handsome behind a sprinkling of stubble and a knowing grin. And Giles - well, that armour stuff really suited him, because he was looking all noble and stern and … knightly, in a grown up, wise warrior-scholar kind of way.
Which was pretty cool for a guy chowing down on a huge plate of eggs and bacon and drinking from what looked suspiciously like a mug of beer. Buffy’s stomach clenched with sudden hunger. She’d not really eaten since breakfast the previous morning, and that had been in another world entirely.