Angelus stared at the orb as it flowed through the air towards him, smashing by his feet. He was momentarily blinded by the light and glass, his hand automatically flying up to protect his eyes from the shattering glass. 

What the fuck? 

What was that? In the next instant Angelus felt heavy magicks in the air, tugging at him. Just as quickly, they were gone. Had they incapacitated him? No, he could still move. Was it to bind his strength? No, he felt that flow through him, in fact he felt stronger than ever. This was just weird, Angelus thought in the seconds it took all of this to go through his mind. Buffy, was this something to do with Buffy? Had they harmed her in some way? 

A quick glance behind him even as he reached out through their bond assured him of her safety and her confusion as well. Aslan was still smirking, but it was beginning to fade, as everyone just looked confused, instead of…whatever the other vampire wanted them to feel. No one attacked as they waited their leaders’ orders, Aurelius too well trained to do otherwise, and the rebels unsure as to what their leader was doing with that orb. 

Aslan was in trouble. 

He knew it as soon as the Orb of Thessula shattered, releasing its magicks only to reintegrate itself without that all too important glow signaling a being’s soul. What the hell? The orb was supposed to show Angelus’ soul for all to see, to show his precious warriors, his Firsts, his childer…his wife, just what they were following. A tainted vampire, one no longer worthy of the name. With a soul, Angelus wasn’t whom they thought, not their Ancient, not their King, not their Master. That the last two hundred years were a lie and that he was no longer worthy to lead them. 

How had that not worked? 

Ariana watched her dad in those moments after that orb flew at him and couldn’t help the stab of pride that shot through her. This was the vampire she’d heard so much about, this was the being her mother told her stories of, the one Drusilla and William looked up to, the one even Darla feared. She smiled at Andre as they turned to face the rebels, swords to the ready, back to back. 

“I think this is a fight between the two of them,” she whispered. 

“Shame, I really wanted Aslan’s head on a pike.” Andrew shrugged, “Ah, well, maybe Angelus won’t kill him immediately and I can still play.” 

“Aslan,” Angelus growled in the silence that followed the orb’s explosion and subsequent mending. But instead of threatening the other, weaker, vampire, Angelus switched tactics. 

“For there stands my line, Aurelius, back a millennia’s millennium, and before that,” Angelus said in a loud, clear voice and heard the chant taken up by his warriors, vampires or not. They’d all pledged themselves, through Buffy, to him and his line. “Back to the time of myth, to the time of giants and gods, to the time before the Great Wars and the split of Realms, before all. There stands my line,” the words rang out, echoing around the hotel and even Rupert and Tara smiled as they heard it. “Aurelius, forward, a millennia’s millennium, strong, proud, brave! Victorious!” 

The final words of the ancient and long unused chant were shouted, reverberating around the hotel. Buffy stood by Angelus’ side as they recited the mantra, her hand clasped in his, that faint glow around them as they stood there, proof of their commitment, their unity, and their magicks. 

Aslan was as good as dead, outnumbered or not, and Angelus was going to be the one to see to it. With one last roar of ‘Victory,’ the warriors of Aurelius braced and that was all anyone on both sides needed before they attacked. 

“Sorry, love,” Ariana said, heady from the rush of power she felt flow through her people, as she defended against the mass attack. “It looks like you’re going to have to find another toy.” 

“Damn,” her lover complained as he, too, felt the power of the chant wash through him. It wasn’t that the chant itself held power, but the feeling such an ancient battle cry held. And, it was nice to see Angelus taking control. Andre worried that the master vampire wouldn’t, or couldn’t. Not with his soul. Was he truly no different with or without a soul, or had something happened? Most likely, the latter; if Angelus wasn’t different without a soul, the last forty years wouldn’t have happened the way they had. 

It was a confused mass of swords and death, of blood and dust and commotion. 

The warriors of Aurelius knew who they were and who their enemies were, so friendly fire-deaths weren’t an issue – on their side. But they were seriously outnumbered, even with the magicks the elves possessed and Buffy wielded with ease. Even with her strengths, they were in close quarters and she was unable to properly fight with those magicks. One wild flame and it wasn’t just the other side turning to dust. 

Rupert and Tara were holding the barrier in place so no one could escape, and were unable to join the battle. Willow, for the most part and despite her years with the slayer, was untrained in this kind of thing, so was basically useless. 

Drusilla stepped from the protective circle and into the fray. “Kill anyone who comes to this floor,” she instructed to Willow before disappearing over the side of the balcony and into the chaos below. 

“Kill? I can’t kill; I’m no good at it!” Willow, who was panicking before, felt a whole new level begin to overwhelm her. “I have lousy aim, and, and…. What if I’m wrong and it’s the wrong side, or, or what if it’s someone I know, like…like Oz?”

No one was there to answer her or calm her. Tara was concentrating on the barrier and on her link with Rupert and Rupert didn’t really pay attention to the confused and scared human near him, too focused on their job in this fight. It was their family down there counting on them, and they would not let them down. 

“I’m so not cut out for this,” she lamented. 

“Yes you are, Willow,” Cordelia told her friend, stepping from the room she and Doyle were in. Doyle was still out of it, even if he was insisting he could fight. He couldn’t, he could barely stand, but it was a sign, Cordelia thought as she supported her lover, of just how desperate things were. She hated fighting, she wasn’t good at it, did so only when necessary, and usually had to be saved by someone. Xander commonly referred to her as bait and as much as Cordelia hated to admit anything Xander Harris said was truth, he wasn’t far off. 

Being outnumbered 1,000 to 70-something put things in perspective. 

Fight or die. And since she really liked to live, there wasn’t a choice. 

Doyle leaned against the wall, crossbow in hand, several quivers of bolts at his feet. He held another crossbow, obviously meant for Cordelia, as the woman drug several large pieces of furniture out of the room, huffing as she did so, barricading themselves behind it. It really would’ve worked better if they were behind a door, but there was no hope for that now. Adrenaline leant Cordelia strength, if not brains. If she had any brains, she would’ve never become involved with either of them, would’ve left the moment Doyle and Angel saved her instead of joining in their merry little band and helping. 

Maybe it wasn’t too late now. 

“Princess,” Doyle called and Cordelia realized that it was. She could never leave him. “Put those crosses on the walls, too. Paint some if you can find paint brush near the cans.” 

“We have paint up here?” Willow asked, having not been in the room with the couple. She still stood within the protective circle, ready to lend whatever help she could to the elves. All she really felt like, however, was a drain on their energy and concentration. “What color?”

“Green,” Cordelia said as she improvised with a drop cloth and began smearing religious symbols along the walls and flooring. Did it count if the symbols weren’t blessed? What if they just really, really believed in their power over vampires? “An ugly,” she splashed paint along the hardwood hallway, gingerly stepping over the smear as she formed it into a large uneven cross. “Pale, nauseating,” that was never coming out, “Green.” 

Turning to survey her handiwork, Cordelia gave a quick nod. “When are you going to marry me?” 

Doyle looked over his shoulder at her question, the battle below him, where he’d been trying to see who still stood, forgotten at her question. A slow smile crossed his face and he said, “Tomorrow.” 

“I’m holding you to that.” Taking her weapon from Doyle, who still had that goofy smile on his face, she kissed him hard before turning to Willow. “I’ve seen you do things no one knew you could do in the past couple of days, Willow. You’re as strong as these people say. Besides, if you let me die,” she threatened with another glance at her new fiancée, “I’ll come back to haunt you.” 

Willow laughed, warmed by her friends despite the circumstances. “Nice to know I can always count on you, Cordy, to boost one’s spirits.” 

“Of course,” she smirked, holding the crossbow in her hands and taking a stance facing the still deserted – and hopeful that it would stay that way – hallway. “It’s a talent.” 

“Do I get to be maid of honor?”
~~~~~~~~~~
‘Have we anything resembling a plan?’ 

It wasn’t as hard to concentrate on their link as Buffy thought, even with the constant fighting, the knowledge that there were hundreds of rebel vampires waiting in the background for their comrades to die just to have a chance at her…at their group. Maybe it was just that, that even with so much else going on, knowing there was an indelible link with the only man she loved made that link stronger. 

‘Fight until they’re all dead?’ Angelus asked as his sword whistled through the air slicing the heads off two rebels. Yeah, he missed his sword. 

‘That sounded more a question than anything.’ 

She could all but see the shrug. ‘I’m fine tuning it, still. Give me a minute to work out the details and I’ll get back to you.’ 

Buffy laughed aloud at that, having no comeback for him. There really was nothing to say. They were outnumbered, even with Faith and Riley on their side, Rupert and Tara holding anyone else out, or everyone in, depending, Buffy supposed, on how one looked at it. Willow wasn’t nearly trained enough too actually help, Wesley was dead, or nearly so – or should be for his part in this – Xander was useless, especially as he drug Wesley up the stairs and out of everyone’s way. Cordelia and Doyle were somewhere upstairs. 

William and Drusilla fought side by side near the foot of the stairs; Ariana, Andre, Darla, Nicholaus and Kalman, along with maybe twelve more warriors were somewhere around the back of the mass of dissidents. Oz and Gunn were close by, Buffy knew, but couldn’t see them in the throng. 

Things could be worse, she supposed. But she couldn’t see how. 

‘It could be raining,’ Angelus said. 

That didn’t help. 

Back to back, the vampire and the elfin First fought. If this was the end, they planned to die before their charges did. It was their vow as Firsts, their duty. It was how they wanted it, not because of either of those, but because it was who they were. Before that, however, they planned on taking out as many rebels as they could; this whole revolt was getting old. 

“Have we something resembling a plan?” Oz asked his counterpart, unknowingly echoing his mistress. Oz could feel Gunn behind him swinging his staff with deadly accuracy. This was far from the best circumstances he could think of to have such a battle, but there was no help for it. They fought in unison, so many years of working and fighting together having given them a feel for the other and there was no fear of accidentally hitting their partner with their swinging staff. 

“Fight or die.” Gunn laughed, his face that of his vampire, the scent of blood and death strong in the air. “Maybe we should give them a chance to surrender.” He grinned back at his friend, a wild, scary smile that told Oz just how desperate the situation was. “I doubt they’ll do so, though it’s clear they’re going to lose.” 

Not pausing in his fighting, Oz spared a glance for his friend. It was entirely possible the vampire was loony. But no, it didn’t seem that way. Sound it, yes, but not seem it. “We could ask; it’s only fair to offer them the chance, right?” Or maybe they were both loony. 

They were being driven further back, away from Buffy and Angelus, and closer to the stairs. It was unclear if that was the rebel’s purpose or if it was a lucky accident, but the harder Oz and Gunn fought their way back towards their Ancients, the further they seemed to be. William was suddenly by Gunn’s side and the First acknowledged the other vampire by not killing him. In the melee, it was hard to stop one’s momentum. 

“What’s all this conversation about?” William asked one eye constantly on Dru as he tried not to be beheaded. 

“We’re going to ask them to surrender,” Gunn told him, reeling backwards from a blow to the head. 

Growling at his opponent, Gunn renewed his attack, his staff blocking the flying sword as quickly as the other vampire could strike. A staff was much harder to use in such close proximity, requiring space to brandish it, while a sword only required the user to be strong enough to lift it. He needed a new weapon, but doubted his chances of making it to the weapon’s cabinet. He couldn’t even see the thing. 

“We’ve got them outnumbered fifteen to one,” William laughed as he fought his way to where Drusilla was surrounded, cut off from the three of them. He didn’t know how that happened, but he was worried. Then again, they were all surrounded, weren’t they? “Who’s going to make that offer?” 

“We’re working on that,” Oz shouted as he felt blood run down his face. 

“Good plan!” William called as he growled at the combatants. He, too, wore his vampiric face, anger and blood lust coursing through his body. “Let me know how negotiations go!”
~~~~~~~~~~
Faith whirled and sliced in a graceful and deadly ballet that made her blood sing. Her sword firmly clasped in one hand, the other holding a stolen dagger she’d taken off a now dead vampire. 

Her muscles cramped with every movement, protesting the presence of so many creatures, but she ignored that. The slayer was in her element, fighting a losing fight with her friends, against those who vowed to kill those same friends. It was exhilarating and loads of fun. 

“Riley!” She shouted as she saw her sometimes boyfriend fall under the sword of a vampire.

With a cry of anger and pain, Faith fought her way over to the fallen man, alternately cursing him for joining this fight, and for helping to bring this onto them in the first place, and praying for his life. She couldn’t lose him; he was her touchstone when things got crazy, when she got crazy. He was the one to help her through so many things over the years, and even if she wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp while yelling at him for his stupidity, she couldn’t lose him. 

“Riley!” She shouted again as she fought closer, but she couldn’t see him, not with the snarling mass of demons before her. If she had to cut them down one by one to get to him, Faith intended to do just that.
~~~~~~~~~~
“I’m going to do something really stupid,” Doyle said as he straightened from the wall. 

“I beg you not to,” Cordelia said even as she readied herself. They’d both seen what happened to Riley, were unsure if he still lived, and saw Faith rush to his side, uncaring for her life as she fought to the last place Riley was seen. 

“What,” Willow asked dread threading through her voice, “What?” 

“This is a bad idea,” Cordelia said, her voice trailing off when Doyle spoke. 

“Hey!” Doyle shouted as loud as he could over the balcony railing, answering Willow’s question. He didn’t need to say more, for the vampires below heard him. And came, predictably, rushing forward towards fresh prey. Doyle saw William and Drusilla by the stairs, but the rebels bypassed them with no trouble, as that couple was otherwise engage in their own fight. 

There were a lot more than Doyle anticipated. He hadn’t realized so many still lived. “This was a bad idea,” he admitted even as he fired the first crossbow bolt into the rushing mass of vampires. 

“If you die on me Allen Francis,” Cordelia warned. She couldn’t finish that threat, too frightened that that was exactly what was going to happen. 

Willow swallowed and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see what happened when she did her own something really stupid. Or not, if it worked. Tara taught her some basic spells over the short time they’d been practicing together. One was how to cast fireballs, convenient for torching vamps and other large creatures. Willow hadn’t quite mastered that, the ball part of the fire tended not to appear, leaving the fire to spread uncontrollably across, well, pretty much everything. 

But it worked against vamps, and she didn’t have another weapon. 

Muttering the spell, hoping she got the inflection of the foreign words right, Willow squeezed her eyes tighter closed and concentrated. A shout made her open those eyes, reflexively, to see what happened. 

Sure enough, the hallway was on fire. But several dozen of the vampires within that hallway were as well. She cheered, causing both Doyle and Cordelia to look at her. 

“Put it out, Willow!” Cordelia screeched as Doyle fired another bolt into the remaining ten or so vamps. 

“Oh, right,” Willow said, and tried to remember that spell.
~~~~~~~~~~
There was something in the air that made her skin itch. 

Ariana looked around her at her troops, slowly worn down by the battles. The Aurelius warriors had two things going for them; one was that the rebels weren’t nearly as well trained as they, and two, they were pissed. It wasn’t often someone gained enough power to form a cult where the leaders of a kingdom had to leave that kingdom to deal with said cult. 

But they were hopelessly outnumbered, and no matter how many Ariana cut down, there were a dozen more to take his place. She saw Grace stagger, a snarl on her pretty bronzed face as a flash of fire snapped out of her fingers. But it wasn’t enough, not with the bullet wound she’d sustained earlier against the Watchers. She was going to die and there was nothing Ariana could do to help her. 

An animistic cry sounded from above her, but she didn’t dare look for the source. Ariana heard Andre shout her name, but couldn’t answer him, surrounded as she was. The rebels knew their orders, and those orders were to kill everyone except the queen and princess. Those two were to be taken alive. Unharmed was optional. The one to bring Ariana, they knew, was also rewarded. It was an honor they all wanted. Killing Andre Vladimir was another, if harder to prove with his dust floating in the wind. 

Suddenly Darla was there, slashing her way through anything that stood in the vampiress’ way. She looked wild, Ariana thought as she felt a knife of some kind slash down her arm. Darla looked like a wild, injured animal, attacking anything and everything in her path and Ariana suddenly knew why she’d survived so long, shunned as she was or not. Darla was a formidable fighter, and Ariana felt another stab of pride at that. 

“Are you happy, Ariana?” Darla asked. 

What an inappropriate time to ask such a thing, Ariana thought as she tried to figure out where her arm was bleeding. “What?” 

“Angelus,” Darla asked quickly as she scented more and more of Ariana’s sweet smelling blood leaving her body. In a moment there was going to be even more chaos than there already was, as the rebel vamps lost control and attacked the girl. Darla couldn’t have that and renewed her fighting, even as she finished, “Are you happy he’s back?” 

“Yes!” She shouted, holding her arm close to her as dizziness washed over her, her vision fogging. “Why?” 

“He’s a good man, Ariana, and he loves both you and your mother. Remember that!” 

“Darla!” Ariana shouted, panicking, “What are you talking about?” 

“Remember that I loved you, Ariana,” Darla said, and she was much closer now, the circle around them wider, and, though Ariana was sure this was her imagination, the vamps fewer. Darla still had that wild look in her eye and Ariana, through the haze that surrounded her, wondered at that. “Tell your mother that I understand now, and your father that I’m sorry.” 

“Darla,” Ariana said her arm numb now, her sword arm tiring as she haphazardly slashed at anything not Darla. Without the two handed hold she needed to raise the heavy antique sword, it wasn’t very effective. She found herself terrified at Darla’s words and desperate for answers. “What are you-?” 

The rest of that sentence was cut off as Darla suddenly burst into ash. The sword that wielded the killing blow to the vampiress’ neck had been aiming for Ariana’s, but the half-vampire could do nothing to stop it, her sword nowhere near the place it needed to be to block that blow, and Ariana knew there wasn’t enough time to swing it backwards. 

So she braced herself for the nothing that was to come, and wasn’t entirely disappointed. Nothing happened. Finishing her swing against the rebel she was fighting, Ariana turned to find Andre behind her. He looked so relieved she wanted to kiss him, reassure him that, for the moment, she was alive. If not safe. Thanks to Darla… 

Priestess, Darla… 

And that was when she heard the cry again, this time she looked up, Darla’s ashes still floating around her as if, even in death, the vampiress could somehow protect Ariana, could somehow make up for the betrayal she helped foster. The vampire princess wanted to weep, but knew now wasn’t the time. She wanted to cry and mourn for her friend and protector and she want to tell everyone just how much Darla loved her. And she loved the blonde vampiress. 

Ade-Aman circled above them and it wasn’t the time for any of that. Ariana looked outside the barrier and saw hundreds of Aurelius warriors there, waiting. They were blocked from entering by the barrier. She had no idea where they’d come from, or how they knew where to find the fight – other than the fact that it was obvious, but still, in a planet this size, that was still something. 

“Grandpapa!” Ariana shouted, using every last bit of strength she possessed to lend speed to the message. She urged the wind to pick up her cry and bring it to Rupert’s ears. “Lower the shield, Aurelius reinforcements have arrived!” 

For a long moment she wasn’t sure it worked, that Rupert hadn’t heard her, that she’d been too weak to lend her magicks to her words. But then the barrier wavered and fell, the reinforcements surging forward instantly. Andre fought his way to the side of the hotel, Nicholaus and Kalman suddenly there, and the three of them protected the wounded princess as she collapsed from blood loss.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Well, now,” Angelus said, “It looks like it’s down to just us, Aslan.” 

Angelus was bleeding from several places, the smell of his own blood reaching his nostrils, but he didn’t care. He did care that he smelled Buffy’s blood, that sweet elixir calling to him. He couldn’t let it be a distraction, not now. The Ancient realized that there were fewer rebels, but didn’t really understand why, nor did he care. 

‘Reinforcements,’ Buffy said quickly as she continued to fight, ‘Aurelius reinforcements.’ 

Angelus nodded at her, not asking where they’d come from, that would be answered later but Aslan thought the nod was at him, signaling some kind of end to their standoff. 

“I’d say it’s been a while, Angelus, but with you, it’s never long enough.” The rebel leader stood off to the side during the battle, waiting for his followers to kill everyone. It hadn’t played like that and Aslan wondered how that was possible. He outnumbered these weaklings 15 to 1, how were they not victorious? A faint whiff of something…more floated to his senses, but he couldn’t concentrate on that now. 

“I tend to agree,” Angelus said as he slowly advanced on the younger vampire. Without warning he struck, sword flying through the air and clashing with Aslan’s. They parried back and forth, the heavy steel clanging around the lobby, the remaining participants backing away from the fight. 

“Tell me,” Aslan taunted when he was close enough to Angelus, “What’s it like having a soul?” He punched the Ancient then, sending Angelus backwards a step or two before he regained his balance. 

Wondering how the other vampire knew, Angelus just laughed. “Oh, is that what the orb was for?” There was no other explanation for the sphere and Angelus wondered what it was supposed to do with his soul. If Aslan knew he possessed one, then it wasn’t to give him one, Angelus rationalized. But just what was it supposed to do? 

Their swords crossed to the hilt, and Angelus took that opportunity to kick out, catching Aslan in the stomach. 

“Yes,” Aslan hissed as he renewed his attack, anger making him sloppy as he rushed to impale the Ancient on his sword. Once Aslan had Angelus incapacitated, he thought in a new plan that was rapidly becoming his last hope, he’d force Buffy to give him whatever he wanted in exchange for her husband’s life. Even if that life was short-lived and under extreme torture. “It was to show everyone; for all to see that ugly soul you have, to bring it out into the open.”

Angelus smirked as he went in for the kill. Aslan left himself too open to attack, his wild, angered swings at Angelus exposing his sides and belly. And, most importantly, his neck. “Can’t advertise what you don’t have.” 

Aslan was so surprised, for that one brief second, that he was too late bringing his sword back up and Angelus’ sword caught him, severing his head from the rest of his body in one clean swoop.

For several long seconds Angelus stood there, Aslan’s ashes falling around him as he stared at the spot the other vampire formerly occupied. For all his trouble, for all that Angelus wanted his torture to be prolonged into the next age for what he caused Buffy and Aurelius, Aslan did do one thing Angelus was grateful for. The other vampire gave him back his wife. 

He turned to find Buffy, both link and eyes searching for her. She stood apart from the remainder of Aurelius, watching him. Catching his eyes, she smiled and he started forward. 

Just as he reached her, Buffy fainted. Panicked, his sword clanging on the marble floor, Angelus’ arms went around her quickly, holding her close to him. Blood ran down the side of her face and as Angelus went to push away the tendrils of hair that escaped her tight braid, sticking to her face, he noticed blood on his hand. Her blood, coming from her right side where a large wound gushed her precious life force. 

“Buffy, love,” he whispered fiercely, “Don’t you dare die on me!” 

Oz rushed to his mistress’ side, looking much the worse for ware himself. “Tara’s waiting for the both of you,” he whispered. 

Angelus looked at the elf, questions clamoring for attention at the back of his mind: where the rest of Aurelius came from, how his daughter and her betrothed fared, how his childer fared. Without a word, Angelus carried his wife upstairs to his rooms where the elfin healer waited. Andre stood outside, his normally stoic expression fearful as he glanced at Angelus. 

The older vampire looked at him in dread as he carried Buffy inside and froze as his fear was confirmed. 

His daughter lay on the floor, pillows and blankets from the bed around her as Tara tried to keep her warm. Ariana’s clothes were bloody and removed as much as they could be as she lay prone on the floor, her eyes closed, Tara standing over her. The elfin healer held her hands over his daughter as she chanted the healing spells, luminescence flowing from Tara to Ariana. 

Please, Angelus found himself praying, please let her be okay. I’ve just found her; I can’t lose her. Or, he thought as his arms tightened around Buffy, her mother. Tied as they were, Angelus didn’t care for his life, didn’t care that if Buffy died, he became mortal. What did forever matter if he didn’t have her, didn’t have her love, her in his life? 

All he cared about was the life in his arms. 

He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t. 

Oz nudged Angelus further into the room, and the vampire obeyed, laying Buffy gently beside her daughter on the floor. “I’m staying,” he told the First even as Oz began to move Buffy’s shirt away from the wound, preparing to begin the same chants Tara currently recited over Ariana. 

“I know.”
~~~~~~~~~~
It was the longest hour of Angelus’ life, as Oz healed Buffy. The elfin First used every bit of his remaining strength to restore his mistress, the wound on Buffy’s side deeper than originally thought. But in the end, the vampire held his sleeping wife in his arms, her even breathing a soft echo in the room.

He’d spoken with William, Gunn, and Andre, learning from the latter what happened. Elata, the Junior Intelligence Minister, had a network of spies even Angelus envied.

Apparently, she had an undercover operative in Aslan’s ranks from nearly the beginning, reporting on movements and plans, infrequently, but consistently. It was this operative, whose name Angelus didn’t yet know, who alerted Elata and Theophilus of the attack against the smaller Aurelius force in the Mortal Realms, breaking her cover to do so.

Theophilus, who was now sleeping several doors down, gathered the army Buffy left him in charge of and teleported to LA, using every magick user in the Land to do so. It was, he assured Angelus, the biggest use of magicks ever and the first time in eons where the whole of the Land of Light worked together towards a common goal. Angelus nodded at the minister, respecting his use of force, but the Ancient’s mind was still on his wife.

Gratefully, Theophilus handed control over to Angelus, saying, over and over, how grateful he was - Theophilus was in serious danger of overusing that word - that the Ancient was returned to them. Angelus got the feeling the minister hadn’t liked being in charge. Good, one less councilman to worry about, Angelus thought. The younger vampire thought that his salvation had just appeared, he hadn’t really wanted the headaches that went with power.

Angelus continued to stare up at the ceiling, reliving the last hours in his mind. It seemed he was well and truly back then. No one questioned him, no one wondered about the last years he’d been gone, no one cared that he worked with humans. They accepted him back because he was Angelus. He was Master, King, Ancient of Aurelius. He was Buffy, Queen and Ancient of Aurelius’s husband, joined and bound mate. Actually, Angelus didn’t think there was much distinction between the two. He was accepted as much for his former status as for his marriage to Buffy.

He would’ve laughed if he still didn’t worry for the woman in his arms.

Buffy shifted uncomfortably, her side aching and itching at the same time as the skin mended and re-grew. She didn’t ask how much damage she’d sustained, Buffy hadn’t wanted to know. Besides, she was groggy and her head pounded mightily. All she wanted to do was sleep.

“Did we win?” She asked, not opening her eyes. Her mind was fuzzy and she ached. But the arms around her were Angelus’ and that was all that mattered to the battered queen at the moment. For a second, as she struggled towards wakefulness, Buffy wondered if the past days were all a dream, that she hadn’t found Angelus, that they hadn’t reconciled, that he wasn’t there, with her, at that moment.

Consciousness returned, and with it the feeling of safety in her husband’s arms. And the memory of the two battles they’d fought, side by side, hours before. “I thought I saw Aslan dusted by you.”

“Yes, beloved, we won.” He kissed her forehead as he stilled her movements. She was still weak and he didn’t want her bleeding again. The sight of so much blood nearly sent him over the edge, his fear for her life eclipsing everything else. “I’ll tell you about it when you wake up.”

“Okay,” she mumbled, already falling back asleep. “I love you.”

“And I you, my love,” Angelus said as he stared into the darkened room.

They’d won, and for the first time in forever, he asked himself. At what price? Nearly half of the guard Buffy brought was dead, the other half seriously wounded. Even if he never admitted it to his warriors, never acknowledged it publicly, Angelus knew that they all would’ve perished had those reinforcements not arrived when they did.

Ariana, his beloved daughter, was still asleep, so far as he knew, Andre with her as her wounds healed. She hadn’t woken when Andre lifted her from the floor, carrying her back to their room. But Angelus knew the look on the younger vampire’s face. It was the same he carried in fear of Buffy’s life. Darla was dust, Andre reported as they waited word on their loves, and William was with Drusilla who was seriously wounded.

Each of them, Gunn, William, and Andre looked battered, but they refused to move from their respective positions. Angelus couldn’t blame them. Tara was drained from so much magick and Rupert was tending her, having already seen his daughter and granddaughter.

Riley was hovering between life and death, the blow from the attack and subsequent trampling injuring the former soldier. Wesley was either really injured, or the biggest whiner, but had lost a lot of blood and was bruised from head to toe. An involuntarily growl escaped Angelus at the thought of those two, and Xander. Xander who had not a scratch on him, Xander who let his friends fight for him as he hid in the room with Wesley while Willow used untamed magicks and Cordelia fought with a still reeling Doyle.

Oh, they’d helped. In the end, they’d helped despite their part in starting it. They were going to pay for their part in this, though Angelus was sure that even without Wesley, Aslan would’ve found a way to attack the smaller Aurelius force.

Thoughts turning to the others, Angelus wondered how Doyle was, he knew the seer survived, Gunn told him, but the First was vague on the details, not having any. But he didn’t know about Cordelia or Faith. Angelus was sure the slayer was alive, even if he hadn’t seen her, not since she fought her way to Riley’s side. That scent in the air of predator, of opponent, of slayer, still permeated the hotel. Faith was alive, that he knew. Willow still lived, but she seemed exhausted as well, having apparently preformed a spell to save them.

Burning nearly the whole of the hallway they were in, in the process.

Angelus tightened his arms around his wife and willed himself to sleep. Everything could be dealt with tomorrow. Everything. With Buffy at his side as she should be.

Previous Part        Home Again

Always Index        Christine's Page        Home