Somewhere in Southern England
Title: Ex Arcadia Veni
Author: Brightly
Email: chosentwo4381@yahoo.com
Rating: I'll say PG-13 for now. Might go up. Who knows?
Crossover with: HP and the DaVinci code. Sorta. Yes I know it's strange.
Disclaimers: I don't own anyone
mentioned in this bit. They belong to
Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Kuzui.
I suppose I do own the excavation crew, but they’re faceless and none of them
have any lines, so I don’t think they count. I promise not to hurt the rest and
return them in the condition I found them. Mostly.
A/N: Starts in the summer after Chosen,
So SPOILERS for that. Also Post OotP, again SPOILERS.
And for the purposes of this fic, Ootp
and season 7 were occurring simultaneously. All you need to know about The DaVinci Code will be explained in the course of things. I
think that's all.
The
rumble of a diesel engine disturbed the quiet of the English countryside. As he
sat in a tented pavilion about one mile away from the site of excavation, a
middle aged man took a break from the mounds of paperwork in front of him.
Removing a handkerchief from his pocket he used it to clean his glasses before
dabbing at the perspiration on his forehead. This summer was shaping up to be
every bit as hot as the one previous. If Rupert Giles didn’t know better he’d
have thought that something supernatural was afoot; two extremely warm summers
in a row was unheard of in southern England.
Cutting
his musing short he unbuttoned the cuffs of his white linen dress shirt and
pushed up the sleeves before returning to work. Sifting through and cataloging
the remains of what was once the headquarters of the Council was a tremendous
undertaking. First earthmoving vehicles would lift out mounds of dirt and place
them into a dump truck to be carried down to the base where the pavilion was
located. Once there, the larger pieces of debris would be removed and the rest
placed into machines that would gently sift the excess soil from the smaller
pieces of salvage which would then be identified if possible. Human remains
were sent for DNA testing to identify those who died in the house for
interment. The rest of the identified material, if redeemable at all, would be
sent to the London townhouse where Willow
and the other refugees from Sunnydale who had accompanied the Watcher to England
were residing.
Glancing
over the list of identified items salvaged from the wreckage and groaned
inwardly at its short length compared to the gargantuan listing of the contents
of the manor provided by the Swiss bank. That brought another mystery to mind.
It had been entirely too easy in his mind for him to gain access to the Council
account. He’d expected to have to wait several days while various calls and
confirmations were made and the veracity of his claims assessed.
In
reality however, he and Faith, who was accompanying him as protection as she
did every time he left the safety of the London house or the Cleveland
apartment building, despite his insistence that he did not need a bodyguard,
were swept away to the Council vault almost immediately after he identified
himself. The bank manager himself had been at their beck and call attempting to
ensure that they would keep the Council’s rather large account with the bank.
Yes,
obtaining the list had been easy. It was the subsequent tasks that made things
difficult. After the preliminary identification at the site, they were shipped
to London where Willow with the assistance of Kennedy, Dawn, Andrew, and Vi
(though how much assistance anyone other than Dawn provided was questionable)
would then verify the preliminary ID, and through a painstaking series of tests
determine whether the book or piece of magical paraphernalia was salvageable
enough to be restored with the aid of some contacts Giles had made in his
pre-Ripper but still suitably wild younger days.
One
of them would then make the notation on their copy of the list and then call
Giles so that he could update his list and then call the Cleveland Branch so
that Xander could make the same notation on his list. The bookkeeping measure
seemed extreme, but taking into account the near annihilation of every one and
everything connected to the Watchers’ Council, Giles thought he was being
reasonably careful. The entire process, from excavation to notation, was slow
going but the only feasible plan they could come up with to accomplish the
gargantuan task.
Giles
turned in his chair as he heard someone enter the tent opening behind him.
“Well,
hello Faith. Is it time for the workers to quit for the day already?” the
watcher asked, glancing at his watch.
“Not
even close boss, but the crew stumbled across something I figured you’d want to
check out yourself.”
“Is
it a find of such value or importance?” he asked rising from his chair.
“Actually
it doesn’t look like much.”
“Then
what, might I ask, makes you think that it merits such personal attention?”
“You’ll
see when we get there,” Faith replied, leading the way out of the tent.
“Get
there?” Giles repeated incredulously. “Why didn’t you have the crew load it
into the Land Rover?”
“That’s
part of the interesting part G,” the slayer ignored the older man’s scowl in
response to the hated nickname. “I guess I should have mentioned that none of
the crew can get anywhere near it. The foreman came to find me to see what I
could make of it. I managed to walk right up to it, but not even slayer
strength could budge that bad boy.”
The
two made their way through the encampment to the area where Faith had parked
the black sport utility vehicle she had become so fond of during their stay in Dorset.
They climbed in, and as they secure their seatbelts Giles asked, “What exactly
is this piece that we’re discussing?”
Faith
maneuvered the vehicle out onto the path between the encampment and the
excavation site. “Shit. I’m a complete dumbass. It’s some sorta trunk looking
thing. Wooden with the seal of the Council inlaid on it in gold,” she
explained. “Any idea what it might be?”
The
watcher was quiet for a moment, staring out the passenger side window, as if in
deep thought. Then he spoke in a solemn tone of voice, “When each Watcher
trainee is initiated into the Council following the completion of their
training there is a ceremony in the Great Hall of the headquarters. He paused,
thinking of the Great Hall that was no more, like the rest of the stately
building that had been home to the Council for centuries.
“At
the end of the ceremony, each initiate enters a small antechamber off the hall
and performs a minor blood rite.” He looked at the girl in the vehicle with
him, “Are you paying attention to me?”
“Sure
I am boss. Blood rite, right there with ya.”
“Good.
Do try to remember this. I am painfully aware that I am the only watcher left
and there are no potential initiates as yet. Willow
and Dawn being the closest two that we have to being ready, and I’d hate for
this information to die with me.”
“What
about Wes; doesn’t he count?” she interrupted as they reached the excavation
site and she cut the engine.
Giles
shook his head. “Wesley, though still ostensibly serving the best interests of
humanity, is no longer serving the slayer line. He willingly relinquished his
ties to the cause. Therefore, though he possesses all the training necessary to
be a Watcher, he is no longer a Watcher in truth.”
Faith
took a moment to consider that. “What about the time you were fired? And that
test that B had to do?”
The
Watcher smiled wanly, proud of his pupil’s quick thinking, but saddened by the
remembrance of the test that nearly cost him Buffy’s trust. “Those are both
very good questions. The answer to the first, to the best of my knowledge, is
that the blood oath I swore was to the line of the Slayer not specifically
contingent upon my service to the Council. I was still dedicated to Buffy, and
as such retained my tie to the magic.” He sighed. “The cruciamentum however is
not so easily explained. I performed the test under duress, which might have
had something to do with it, but as long as the council has existed, so has the
test in some form. It could be that the first Watchers to perform the believed
themselves to be acting in the best interests of their slayers. I do not
pretend to know the ends and outs of all the council’s doings. Which is I
suppose for the best. I get the useful parts without the less desirable traits
in my new Watchers Council.”
Faith
nodded thoughtfully, “So this blood oath, what happens exactly?”
Giles
opened his door, “Lead me to this chest and I’ll explain as we go.”
The
slayer quickly exited the vehicle and joined him on his side of the SUV before
leading the way through the maze of idle crew members and equipment.
As
they made their way past the resting crew of workers who were all visibly
appreciative of Faith’s Lara Croft-esque attire, and
down the trail created for easy access to the bottom of the pit, the British man
explained. “The beginning of the ceremony is much like any leaving ceremony, or
graduation as you Americans would say, they announced the highest achievements
of the initiate class, speeches were given, and the head of the council would
give a speech about the importance of the sacred duty we had to perform as
Watchers. Then, clad in our ceremonial robes, we would enter a small
antechamber behind the head table, and while making a cut with a boline,” he caught her confused look and explained. “A boline is sort of the opposite of an athame,
the ceremonial knives used by wiccans to cast their
ceremonial circle. The athame cannot be used for
cutting in the material world, so the boline is used
for those needs. It traditionally has a white handle and a curved blade in
contrast to the black handle and double sided blade of the athame.”
Faith
grinned at him, “Can’t stop with the teaching can you G?”
The
British man grinned somewhat self depreciatingly, before responding, “Yes,
well, as your watcher it is my duty to instruct you in the manner I see fit.”
The
dark slayer smirked in faint amusement, “You keep instructing watcher man and
I’ll keep pretending to listen.”
Giles
ignored the typically sarcastic commentary, before continuing his explanation.
“As I was saying before I was interrupted, while making a small cut with a boline, the initiate would incant the Watcher’s Creed and
then at the end place their hand on the seal imbedded in lid of the casket that
is the physical embodiment of all that the Council is supposed to stand for.
The seal would soak up the blood, accepting the offer of service.
“The
description you gave, combined with the fact that no
one other than yourself could even approach the relic gives me reason to
believe that it is in fact the chest that is purported to hold the most secret
documents ever entrusted to the council.”
“Well
then let’s go see what’s in that box.”
“Really Faith, box? Can you not show more respect for a
mystical artifact imbued with the solemn oaths of countless watchers over
hundreds of years?”
“G
man you know I’m a take action kinda slayer. Wooden boxes that don’t have vampires coming out of them?
Pretty much not important to me no matter how many solemn oath takers bled on
it.”
He
cut off his pithy retort as they approached the wooden chest. As they stepped
closer, the casket began to glow with a golden sheen that was visible from the
workers’ rest area if the faces beginning to peek over the edge of the hole
were any indication.
Giles
knelt next to the chest and placed his hand on the seal; he could still feel
the magic pulsing through the relic. He attempted to open the catches but they
resisted movement. At that he paused, thinking for a moment, before a thought
occurred to him.
“Faith,
I know that this, your vocation considered, is a silly question, but do you
have a knife that I might borrow.”
She
wordlessly handed him an eight inch blade. The length of the implement gave him
pause considering the brevity of her clothing, but he finally gave it up as
something better not questioned before using it to create a small wound on the
palm of his hand, letting the blood well up. He then placed his hand on the
seal and the latches sprang open.
Giles
ignored Faith’s congratulations as he removed a scroll from the box and began
to look over its contents. Then the scroll dropped from suddenly nerveless
fingers.
“Oh Dear Lord.”
