[A/N: We’re moving along steadily now, so hopefully, they’ll be something leading to a conclusion herein. I sure hope so. . . I have to thank two people who have helped me enormously in the last couple of months – Addie Logan for her constant support through this, and instant feedback and Spikeslovebite (Tam) who has done the most amazing beta job and I’m so glad she talked (begged) me into letting her beta in Atlanta at WriterCon. I don’t know how I would have done this last bit without either of you. Title (which is from Emily Dickinson’s As imperceptibly as Grief) and quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]

Previously: All is quiet in Sunnydale, Drusilla is gone and so is Hawkins. Faith has run out on Jenner; Giles and Anya have slipped off to sleep. Buffy has just witnessed Willow’s sentence and discovered who helped Spike. The vampires are on the move again, heading through the mountain.

Book Two. Chapter Seventy-Four A courteous yet harrowing grace


Ye are fallen from grace.
Galatians v. 4

You dared to take into your own hands
the laws of both God and man.
You set yourself up as both judge and executioner.
You caused inhuman suffering, and took life
not from any sense of justice,
but from hatred and self-gratification.
You showed no mercy to your victims,
and no mercy will be shown to you.
Il Boia scarlatto (1965)

Alack, when once our grace we have forgot,
Nothing goes right; we would, and we would not.
Measure for Measure, act 4, sc. 4, l. 33-4.

On thy brow
Shall sit a nobler grace than now.
Deep in the brightness of the skies
The thronging years in glory rise.
And, as they fleet,
Drop strength and riches at thy feet.
William Cullen Bryant, Oh Mother of a Mighty Race


Willow shifted, struggling against the invisible bonds holding her. Gywn’s words were still echoing in the hall, everyone’s eyes focused on him. The silence was nearly complete until Willow’s eyes bled black and her voice, guttural and harsh, broke the silence.

“You won’t. Wouldn’t dare.”

“Dare? It is not I that dares, child. ‘Tis you who dares much.” His booming tones resonated, nearly shaking the walls and the dark haired man moved forward, standing before Willow and looked down at her. “You presume much, child. I decree it so. There is no recourse.”

Arianrhod stepped forward, staring at Willow, who had finally grown still. “It is done.”

Her hands stretched forward, one palm outward and facing Willow, the other flat. A strange, greenish orange orb bloomed over the flat palm, pulsing fast. When Arianrhod’s voice faded, the pulsing increased and a murky brown color was added to the mix, then black and red. The orb whirled, hovering over Willow’s head as the crowd began chanting softly, their collective voices blending into a beautiful, inhuman chorus. Involuntary tears filled Buffy’s eyes as she stood, transfixed by the sensory overload.

Willow’s body shook and she shrieked, writhing and flailing as the orb darkened.

When the orb exploded in a shower of light, Willow lay on the floor, all color leached from her body. Her eyes were pale green shards of pain, surrounded by even paler skin.

Anticipating Buffy’s question, the woman who had gone to help Spike whispered softly into her ear. “In time, her natural color will return. Until then she will remain as she is.”

“But. . .she’s all. . She’s Gandalf.”

A soft, barely audible laugh, rippled from the redhead. “Tis true. Humility is but one of the lessons Gwydion thought it best she learn.”

“Gwydion?” Buffy’s tongue tripped over the unfamiliar name. “I thought Gwyn was in charge?”

“Aye, this is his hall. However, it is Gwydion who rules over magics. He alone has the final decision.”

While they had been whispering like two little girls in church, the crowd had dispersed. The other girl tugged on Buffy’s arm, pulling her forward. “Come now, they wish to speak with you.”

Buffy followed, her heart suddenly pounding with worry.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The hounds were crouched in the middle of the trail, waiting for them with tails thumping wildly. The two vampires hadn’t spoken once Rianwyn left them. Spike was in no mood for idle conversation, concentrating on thoughts of Buffy. Wasn’t hard, she was always there, some part of his mind ever focused on her. His true north, his lodestone. The light shining in his darkness. His golden girl. He still felt her absence keenly, though it was nothing like before, when she was truly gone.

And Dawn.

He was worried about her, without either of them there to watch over her. Knowing Wesley and Giles were there went a long ways toward easing his concerns, though it wasn’t completely gone. Poor girl had been through too much in the last few days, and he feared for her and what she might do. Spike could only hope that the stress and strain had finally caught up with her and she collapsed into exhausted sleep. He’d feel better, though, if he knew for certain because it wasn’t just her he was worried about. Everyone at home would be exhausted, with only Faith there if anything should happen. And although his pact with Jenner might still hold, Spike knew they were in a vulnerable position. The only bright spot was the fact Angelus no longer existed. And Willow wasn’t there. . . Which brought him right back to thoughts of Buffy. . . .

The scuffle and thump of heavy boots and the soft padding of the hounds’ paws were the only noises echoing through the tunnel. Spike gauged they’d been walking about two hours when the howling began shaking the walls. Lawson paused, but Spike just growled out a vicious curse, doing his best to ignore the noise.

Further and further they walked, Spike refusing to give in to the knee-weakening noise. It neither increased nor abated, merely rang in continuous loops, almost as if one beast ended as another began, assaulting their sensitive ears. He could barely hear himself think and if the noise continued, he knew both of them would be useless when one of the beasts attacked.

The echoes reverberated, bouncing off one wall then the other, buffeting into them like breakers on boulders and it took long minutes for Spike to realize there was light ahead and the noise had ceased.

His ears were still ringing as he followed Lawson and the hounds out into the sunlight. The tunnel ended in a broad bank, sloping downward toward a narrow strand of beach. The bright blue water lapped lazily at the pale sand, and both vampires had to blink away reflexive tears. There was no sign of the predicted bridge and Spike’s hackles rose. He sniffed the air, searching the skies for any sign of the beasts.

It was eerily quiet.

Too quiet.

Spike ducked, seeing the shadow swoop down, blocking the sunlight. The beast struck in silence, claws extended and wings outstretched.

His borrowed sword sang, and the whoosh and hiss of outraged, injured demon roared into his ears as black blood sprayed everywhere. Spike dropped the backpack, pushed Lawson out of the way and hopped neatly over one of the hounds. Lawson dropped down out of Spike’s way, fumbling at the ties holding the backpack closed, searching for another weapon.

The beast swooped in, spittle dripping from its open mouth and Spike thrust into its side, easily loping off one arm. His arm was back, preparing to deliver a death blow, when he was pushed forward, a second set of claws embedded in his back.

His roar of pain galvanized Lawson into moving and he swung the backpack up and into the side of the second beast’s head, the force of the blow hard enough to kill. The dead weight dragged Spike down and he was buried under the steaming carcasses. Wriggling and shifting until he could get free from the claws in his back, while Lawson lifted the first beast and tossed it aside, Spike spewed invectives. “Fuckin’ bastards. Bloody fuckin’ hurts.”

Sam leaned over him, a smile cracking his otherwise worried features. “You should be okay.”

“What? Are you outta your fuckin’ mind?” Spike grasped his offered hand, looking at Lawson like he’d gone crazy.

“Nope. You’re yelling, so I know it’s not that bad.” He grinned then, noting the black blood covering Spike and the slow trickles of red mixing in. “If you weren’t, then I’d be worried.”

Grumbling more, Spike shrugged out of the duster. “If you’re so sure I’m gonna be fine, jus’ take a look at my back.”

The other vampire leaned over to look, watching the holes close up as he did so. “They’re closed already. Didn’t even have a chance to get dirty.”

Spike flexed his back, testing for himself the amount of healing. He tried looking over his shoulder, and couldn’t see anything. Sam started shaking his head, saying, “They’re all gone. Look at your arms.”

He did, and saw the marks were disappearing, fading into bright pink. “Must be that blood she gave me. Said it packed a punch.”

Pulling the duster into his lap, Spike stuck his fingers in one of the holes. “Too bad it doesn’t help this.” He got to his feet, kicking at one of the beasts. “Wonder what it was in the blood.”

“Didn’t she say it wasn’t Slayer blood?”

Spike nodded in answer. “She did. Didn’t say exactly what it was, though.”

“Spike?” He picked up his head to look at Sam and saw him pointing at the water. “That wasn’t there when we got out of the tunnel.”

“Too bloody right it wasn’t.”

There, at the bottom of the strand, arching up into the now mist covered water, was a bridge.

“Looks like we’ve passed this bloody test.” Spike shrugged on the duster, hefting the sword and backpack. “Let’s go.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Faith slammed into the house, the door banging hard against the wall hard enough to make her jump. “Fuck.”

She realized after the door had already opened that more than likely everyone was asleep. This was confirmed when she took two steps into the hallway to see Wesley sprawled out on the floor in front of the couch where Dawn was sleeping. Thankfully, neither one of them moved and hadn’t reacted to her overly dramatic entrance. Breathing out a soft sigh of relief, since she really didn’t want to talk to anyone, Faith headed for the kitchen.

The cupboards and refrigerator yielded Christmas cookies, a half-eaten tray of brownies, cheese, and plenty of beer to drink. Setting everything out on the counter, Faith started eating with a vengeance, her mind blank until she found herself staring down at a cookie with Connor’s name on it.

Angel’s kid.

All this was because of Angel’s kid. The fight they’d managed to survive, all the vampires being in Sunnydale. . .

No. Not thinking about vampires.

Slow tears trickled from her eyes, dripping onto the dark brownie in her hand. Faith didn’t want to think of him, but she couldn’t stop herself. He was . . . he set her entire body tingling, every nerve ending flaring into overload when he was near. But it wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just physical. Some part of her ached for him, and it wasn’t her pussy.

Surrendering control – or allowing him to seize it – had her wondering how it would be to let go all the time. Let someone else be strong, let them get the upper hand. And that wasn’t something she could allow.

She didn’t dare.

The last person Faith had surrendered control to had used and abused her trust, hurting her in ways she couldn’t ever allow again. She wouldn’t. It hurt to much too care. Caring meant she would be hurt.

Caring meant she was vulnerable.

Something, though, had cracked. The shell she’d erected around her heart wasn’t as hard. Otherwise, she would have stayed in prison, left Buffy to survive on her own.

Faith thought she knew why she’d busted herself out of prison. She’d fooled herself into not thinking too closely about why she needed to be in Sunnydale to help, but she couldn’t any longer. Buffy had needed her and on some level, Faith trusted that Buffy wouldn’t turn her away.

Buffy’s absence all summer had been the first, deepest crack. She’d known the moment it happened, known something had gone very, very wrong in the world beyond her prison cell. That some light had gone out in her soul, dimming it. The best part of her died right alongside Buffy. That night had been the first time in a very long while that Faith allowed herself to cry, but it was the following nights that were harder. Angel’s presence had only confirmed what she’d already known, but it wasn’t his grief she could touch or taste. He’d been too. . . untouchable . . . unapproachable. Too remote for her to feel anything from him.

No, the grief she’d picked up on had been harsh and immediate. Like she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs, because every time she did, it felt like her heart was being ripped out.

That grief. . . . it had belonged to someone who’d been with Buffy. She knew now that had been Spike. And Dawn.

They’d been so lost to it, drowning in it, that Faith couldn’t not feel it.

It had cracked open the walls Faith tried so hard to dam up; split them apart and allowed all the emotions she’d tried so hard to hold close an exit.

Faith dropped the brownie, furiously wiping away the tears she couldn’t stop. First Buffy. . . and now Jenner.

Her heart was a raw, thumping mass of scarred emotions, leaving her a frightened, terrified little girl who craved nothing more than love but was so horribly afraid to admit it. Oh god, what the hell am I gonna do now?

There was a rustle of noise to her right and Faith looked up to see a battered and woozy Dawn leaning on the doorjamb. Her voice was barely there when she spoke, a husk of sound, though the concern was real. “Are you okay?”

A harsh, bitter laugh sounded in the otherwise silent kitchen. “I’m five by five, kiddo. Can’t you fucking tell?”

“Oh yeah. I can see it from here.” Dawn’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on either of them. “I feel like shit, if you wanna know.”

Faith stared at her for a minute, wondering how much she’d actually seen before she made any noise. “Go back to bed, Dawnie.”

“I need something to drink.” She moved past the other girl, heading for the refrigerator.

“Stay there. I’ll get it. You shouldn’t really be up.” Faith stopped her with a soft hand on her arm. “You do look like hell.”

“You don’t look much better.”

“Still, I’ve got slayer stamina and you don’t.” She handed the younger girl a glass of orange juice and a brownie. “Might as well soak up the sympathy while I’m in the mood.”

“Thanks.” Dawn drank down the entire glass, her hand a little shaky, but neither one of them mentioned it. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

In a moment of vulnerability, still feeling raw, Faith glanced up, ready to give Dawn another angry retort when the look in her blue eyes stopped her. A sigh huffed from her and Faith looked away. “I will be. I’m just . . “ Realizing at the last second she was about to tell Dawn she was exhausted, and how ridiculous that sounded, she said instead, “It’s been a helluva couple of days.”

Dawn snorted inelegantly at that, sounding very much like her father. “No shit.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry about all this.” They shared a look and Dawn bit into the brownie, making a face. “What’s wrong?”

“Hurts to chew and swallow.”

Glancing at the bruises ringing Dawn’s throat, Faith didn’t doubt that for a second. “Want something for the pain?”

Swallowing carefully, Dawn wouldn’t meet Faith’s eyes. “Can’t take anything.”

“Why the hell not? You’re in pain.” Faith headed toward the downstairs bathroom, intent on getting some painkillers for Dawn. “Nothing like a little pharmaceutical therapy to make the pains go bye-bye.”

“Faith. I can’t.” Dawn’s voice was choked, heavy with something other than pain, enough to make Faith stop in her tracks.

“Why not, Dawnie?”

“Because I just can’t.” Dawn’s voice rose a bit defensively and Faith got the picture.

“You didn’t . . . . “ Faith’s words trailed off as she walked back toward the other girl. “Why’d you do it?”

Dawn wouldn’t look at her, just set her jaw and looked away. Tears glittered in her eyes, but she refused to allow them to fall. She started to turn away, but Faith’s next words stopped her.

“Dawn. You aren’t the only one to. . . “

Her head whipped around, long straight hair whirling in the pre-dawn light. “What?”

“Yeah. I tried. Couple of times.” Faith didn’t shrug it off, didn’t flinch when their eyes met. “Living sucks sometimes. Easier just to leave it all and go away.”

Dawn stared at her for long moments, her eyes boring into Faith’s. The unshed tears finally fell, and a choked hiccup sounded in the air. Dawn crumpled, sobbing out her grief and pain. Faith stepped forward to take her into her arms, holding her and letting Dawn’s head drop onto her shoulder.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


“Where are we going? And how do you know they want to talk to me?” Buffy trailed along behind the other girl, questions firing from her at a rapid pace. “Who are you? How is Spike? Is he okay? Was he hurt badly?”

A bright smile was directed at her over the other’s shoulder and she laughingly said, “One question at a time. Which do you really want the answer to first?”

There was no question in Buffy’s mind about that. She knew exactly which question she wanted answered first. “Is Spike okay?”

“He was fine when I left him. And why do you call him Spike?” She stopped short, turning to look at Buffy as she waited for an answer.

“Because it’s his name.” Buffy shrugged, getting a look at the disbelief on the other’s face. “Okay, it’s a nickname.”

“Like an endearment?”

A laugh was her answer. “Not really. More like. . . he got it from . . “ The thought of why he was called Spike made her pause and wrinkle her nose.

“Ah. A battle epitaph.” A wistful look came over her features and the other girl smiled. “I know another who wasn’t called by his right name. History does not even remember his real one.” She grabbed Buffy’s hand again, pulling her forward. “And I am called Rianwyn.”

They stepped into a hallway that ran perpendicular to the great hall and Rianwyn raced forward, breathlessly explaining the others were waiting for her. She skidded to a halt before an ornately decorated door, gesturing Buffy to precede her inside. “Come, they’ve been waiting.”

The room was more rustic than the great hall, with large, roughly hewn stones for the flooring; plain and plain, whitewashed walls sectioned with thin strips of dark wood. A large fireplace covered almost an entire wall. Chairs were scattered about in loose groupings, musical instruments propped against some. Opposite the fireplace was a long, wooden table where food and drink were laid out. The far wall opened onto a wide terrace and people were milling about, talking and laughing, and a few were singing. Buffy felt so small staring into the room that she was hesitant to enter, but Rianwyn was there beside her, pushing her in.

“Relax. They asked to see you.”

Hanging on the wall over the table was a huge tapestry. It gleamed with bold colors, drawing Buffy’s eyes. She walked closer, trying to discern the pattern. It seemed to be interlocking whirls and circles, but the closer she got the harder it became to see. And then, in a flash the pattern changed, becoming something different. “Huh? How did that happen?”

“It was woven so.” The low, melodic voice sounded from above her and Ceridwen smiled warmly when Buffy glanced up at her.

“It’s beautiful. Who did it?”

Ceridwen handed Buffy a platter, placing pieces of cheese and other tasty tidbits on it while she answered her. “My sisters and I all had a hand in it.”

Buffy watched as she piled the plate higher with food she didn’t totally recognize and wondered how on earth she was expected to eat all of it. “I don’t think I can finish all this.”

“Nonsense, dear, your stomach’s been growling for ages.” Guiding her toward one of the chairs, Ceridwen smiled again. “Besides, you needs must eat for the bairn.”

“How did you know?”

Ceridwen sat her down, waving a hand. A small round table appeared between them. “Silly question, cariad. I always know when one of mine is with child.” She motioned Buffy toward the food. “Eat.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Buffy stuffing herself with the delicious food and Ceridwen watching the flames. After a bit, Ceridwen began speaking again, her voice pitched low and soft.

“You have a hard road ahead of you, cariad; though the way is not always full of hardship. Love and laughter will temper the storms, and years of happiness. Your William is of strong stuff and he will not fail you.” When Buffy looked up at the mention of his name, Ceridwen laughed. “Even now you long to be reunited with him. In time, my child, in time. For now you must bide here with me.”

“Have you told her?” Arianrhod dropped a hand onto Ceridwen’s shoulder, glancing down at her.

“Told me what?” Buffy’s eyes grew wide and she tensed in her chair, wondering what the bad news was going to be.

“Relax, ‘tis naught to worry yourself about.” Ceridwen shushed the other goddess, shaking her head. “Arian is just anxious for you to know, tis all.”

“For me to know what?”

A sigh broke from the blond goddess, while Arianrhod laughed. “Leave off, Ceri, stop torturing the child.”

“Very well.” After directing a pointed look with the redhead, Ceridwen directed her comments to Buffy. “The magics taken from Willow rightfully belong to another. One not yet born.”

“What?” Buffy’s hand closed protectively over her belly, but both goddesses were shaking their heads.

“Nay. Other gifts has that one.”

“What? What other gifts? Gifts aren’t always so good. What’s going to happen?” Buffy didn’t relax, her whole body poised for flight.

“Cariad, do not fret so. Your bairn is safe.” Exchanging another glance, Ceridwen relented. “Heed me here, child. There will be those seeking to separate your family. Do not ever give up. Ever. Should you have need of us, we are always here for you. Do not forget that.”

“We do not abandon those we love, Buffy. Remember that. You and William, both.” Arianrhod knelt down, looking intently into Buffy’s eyes. “You are all that we could ask for in a Chosen One. You are one of us.”

“Us?” Buffy hated the fact her voice squeaked and she cleared her throat, trying again. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“All aspects of the goddess converge in you at this moment. Maiden, Mother, Crone and Warrior. . . and we honor you for that.” Arianrhod held onto Buffy’s hands, drawing her to her feet.

“I’m not a Maiden.”

Tinkling laughter met her statement, and it was Ceridwen who answered. “Though you are bonded to your William, your union is not yet sanctioned by the gods; so in that you are Maiden. And before you speak, you are the elder Chosen One, are you not?” At her reluctant yes, Ceridwen continued. “Therefore you are Crone. But above all, you are Warrior. And that is what we honor.”

Gwyn appeared behind them, his look grim and tired. “Ladies, it is time. Our guest needs must return to her home.”

“Not yet.” Both women stood, motioning Gwyn to wait.

First Ceridwen and then Arianrhod stepped foward, placing their hands on Buffy. Their voices blended together, chanting a blessing for her, the words easing themselves into Buffy’s soul. “Rest you gentle, child. Sleep you safe. And remember, we are with you.”

Buffy’s eyes drifted closed, a smile playing softly on her face and her last conscious thought was for the baby she carried under her heart. I need to remember this, so I can tell you . . .

The last thing she felt, as she drifted way, was the soft kiss of grace.






















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