BtVS: Bonfire Night (9/9)

[alixtii]

Title: Bonfire Night (9/9)
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters: Dawn/Giles, Madelyn
Rating: PG-13
Summary/Notes: A family celebrates a British holiday and suffers an attack of British poetry. For karabair. This fic involves Eliot's poem "The Hollow Men." You can find it here.

Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV. Part V. Part VI. Part VII. Part VIII.
Bath, England—November 5, 2019

Remember, remember the fifth of November, gunpowder, treason, and plot,
I see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, 'twas his intent to blow up the King and the Parliament.
“So who was the first horseman,” Dawn asked as she began to undress. “Guy Fawkes or James I?”

Giles sighed. “It could have been the Dh’rgth demon who whispered into Fawkes’ ear and told him to confess for all I know. It’s not as if Christian eschatology is really any of our strong suits. The Tradescan Codex is much clearer and more reliable as prophetic texts go.”

Dawn nodded and sat on the bed. “So what are we going to do about it?”

“I’ll call London tomorrow and ask Lydia to put someone on the case. If it’s been over four hundred years since the first horseman of the apocalypse, I think it’ll wait until tomorrow.” He sighed. “I’m more worried about Madelyn.”

“She seemed okay when I put her to bed.”

“If she’s that sensitive to astral currents, then she’s not just vulnerable to Yshnaks. There’s a whole host of mystical phenomena that could have a similar threat. And with the type of power she holds, I can’t imagine a greater danger.”

Dawn looked up at her husband. “What are you suggesting?”

“She has to learn greater control, Dawn. Being able to control her own powers isn’t enough, not anymore. She has to have such a strong discipline over her own mind that there’s no way something like this could ever happen again.”

Dawn nodded. “I’ll call Althanea in the morning. Now come to bed, Rupert. She’s fine for the night.”

And Giles turned off the lights, got in bed, and made love to his wife.

Three score barrels of powder below,
Poor old England to overthrow:
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, make the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
Hip hip hoorah!
The End

Comments

[likeadeuce.livejournal.com]

nice!

thanks for writing this -- digging the Guy Fawkes and the TS. . .

[alixtii.livejournal.com]

Sadly, London was just like any other night on Guy Fawkes Night (with the exception of fireworks, if I remember correctly; I think there were fireworks). So this is sort of my chance to celebrate it as it should be celebrated. (With demons making people recite poetry, because that's how all holidays should be celebrated, of course.)

[cadence-k.livejournal.com]

I've really enjoyed this series! Thanks for sharing it.

[alixtii.livejournal.com]

You're welcome! It was fun to write. Dawn/Giles makes me happy.

[pinkdormouse.livejournal.com]

Nice little series there.

Gina

[alixtii.livejournal.com]

Thanks!