The Summer After. Prequel.
Apr. 10th, 2007 02:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elisi posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
gen_storytellerAs promised, here's the prequel. I hope you like - like the rest of the fic it was written more than 2 years ago, but I'm still fairly satisfied with it.
Title: The Summer After. Prequel.
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elisi.
Summary: Angel, Spike and Illyria paid someone else a visit before they went to see Giles.
Rating: PG.
Feedback: Please?
Notes: 'The Summer After' has a surprise/plot twist at the end. This prequel gives it away - so please read the main fic first!
'The Summer After' can be found here.
The Summer After. Prequel.
It was a beautiful summer evening. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon a while ago, the shadows were lengthening and Roger Wyndam-Pryce sat in his office translating an ancient text while his wife did the washing-up in the kitchen. He was absent-mindedly debating with himself whether he should ask her to make coffee or tea, when there was a knock at the door.
His wife, knowing full well that he didn’t want to be disturbed when he was working, went to answer it. He could hear her exchange some words with whoever was at the door, and a moment later she tentatively opened the door to the study.
“I know you don’t want to be disturbed Dear, but there are two American gentlemen and a young lady at the door, wanting to talk to us. They say it is about Wesley.”
Roger sighed. He had been expecting this day for years now. Foolish young men who failed spectacularly at their allotted task, bringing shame on the family, and who then went to work for a vampire - a vampire of all things - pretending they were demon-fighters or investigators or some such nonsense, were bound to end up on the wrong side of the law. The only mercy was that the whole thing was taking place in America, so hopefully he would be able to hush it up.
“Show them into the sitting room Myrtle,” he said, and noted with irritation that she was still holding a tea towel in her hand. The woman sometimes showed no sense of proper behaviour!
A little while later he was shaking hands with the young lady who had introduced herself as Miss Burkle. A most attractive woman he thought approvingly, wearing a plain, black dress and smiling shyly. He looked up to greet her companions and couldn’t believe his eyes. In front of him - in his own sitting room! - stood the two most notorious vampires of all time.
Faltering for a moment due to the shock, he rapidly pulled himself together. He was still a good fighter, but he knew that he could not take them both at the same time. He looked at Angelus and said stiffly.
“If you spare my wife, I shall not resist.”
The vampire sighed and looked pained.
“Mr. Wyndam-Pryce we are not here to kill anyone. We need to talk to you and your wife. Feel free to bring out as many crosses and stakes as you like if that will make you more comfortable. But please listen to us.”
Myrtle was looking from one to the other trying to understand.
“Roger dearest, what is the matter?”
He turned to her, his momentary fear turning to cold anger.
“It very simple, darling. You let the two most dangerous vampires on record into our home!”
Myrtle looked as though she was about to faint, but the blond vampire reached out a hand to support her and sat her down in an armchair. When she looked at him with obvious confusion he smiled reassuringly:
“We also happen to be the only two souled vampires in the world, fighting on the side of good. I am sorry if we frightened you Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce, that was never our intention.”
She nodded, but could obviously not think of anything to say. Roger turned back to his visitors.
“Well, why don’t we all sit down, and you can tell me what is so very urgent that you have come all the way from America to tell me!”
The vampires and Miss Burkle having seated themselves on the sofa, Roger stiffly sat down in his favourite armchair, warily eyeing his visitors. Unaccountably, Angelus turned to Myrtle instead of the head of the household and began to speak:
“As you might have guessed, I am Angel. Your son worked for me since he was thrown out of The Council. I am sorry that I am going to be the one to tell you this, but... Wesley’s dead.”
***
Spike watched the woman closely. Her heartbeat was erratic, and living with the old ogre had obviously taken its toll. How she would react to the news of her son’s death was anyone’s guess. To his surprise she didn’t seem as shocked as her husband. She was fighting back the tears, but she didn’t appear too surprised.
“He... he called a few weeks ago and said that a big battle was coming. I asked him to be careful, but...” she started sobbing.
Her husband, almost more astounded at her words than those of the vampire, turned to her.
“Wesley called and you didn’t tell me?”
In between sobs, she stammered.
“He just said that - that he loved us, and hopefully everything would go well - he would give me a call when it was all over. But - but - every day that went by had me more worried. Mr. Angel - how did he die?”
Angel looked at her and recognised the pain in her face.
My son is gone! I can’t get him back!
He spoke to her gently, ignoring her husband, who was thankfully quiet.
“He was killed by a very powerful sorcerer named Cyvus Vail. We - my team and myself - were trying to stop an apocalypse.”
He thought for a moment, then continued.
“Your son was the most loyal, the most honest man I have known. He never shied away from the hard decisions and he was a brave and cunning fighter in battle and in life. He died a hero, Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce. You should be very proud.”
She smiled gratefully, but her husband wasn’t impressed.
“When you say ‘trying’ would that imply that you failed, Mr. Angel?”
Angel felt the air pressure change as the vampire to his left and the goddess to his right abruptly turned their heads. Knowing that he had to stall them before their impulses made them attack, he shot Spike a glance and put a hand on Illyria’s arm, making her momentarily stop. He knew how to get to the man across from him. Smiling pleasantly, as though discussing the decor of the house, he began.
“Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, as I suppose you know I spent a hundred-and-fifty years perfecting the art of destroying a human being. The artistry thrilled me. In the end this caused me to be cursed with a soul. And I recoiled from my former behaviour. But if I had met you say - two hundred years ago, I would have greeted you as a fellow craftsman.”
Looking steadily at the man across from him, he continued.
“I preyed upon the weak and damaged, but the two are not the same. Wesley was damaged - by you, the person who should have loved him no matter what, because that is what it means to be a father. But... he was not weak! Your abuse was a test of fire, and he came out stronger. You despised him, because he was never good enough - or so you thought. As a matter of fact he was better than you ever imagined. I cannot tell you everything that has happened in the last few years, but I want you to know that Wesley was the backbone that held things together when I failed. Who wasn’t loyal to me, like you presume, but always to the greater good. He was ready to do - and did - anything when he thought he was right.”
Angel stopped for a moment to think. He desperately wanted to get through to this man the level of his son’s commitment. He stole my son. He killed you. He...
Angel realised that Roger had thought him finished and was replying, the coldness of his voice barely disguising the anger.
“You dare compare yourself to me? You presume to know what it is to have a child? The arrogance you possess might only be surpassed by the foolishness that my failure of a son was capable of! He wasted his life-”
His rant was cut off by the sudden failure of all light sources. As the room was plunged into darkness the young woman across from him rose in a chilling, fluid motion, her features changing, and she seemed to glow from within. Her eyes - now icy blue - unblinkingly fastened on the elderly man, and she started to speak, her voice deep and shivering with anger.
“Mortal man, more worthless the smallest worm - how dare you look down upon what is above you! In your life you have achieved nothing, except to father a son who won the favour of ME - Illyria - a God older than you can fathom. I - Illyria - who despise the feelings and lives of this useless race of men, grieved for your son, and adorned his grave with the broken and mutilated body of his killer. I will never forget him and so he will be remembered when the last of your species is dust!”
Roger was for once completely overwhelmed and unable to utter a single syllable. Wesley had some months ago sent a letter mentioning an Old One, named Illyria, and asked if his father might look up any information. He had done so, but never passed on what little he had found out knowing that The Council was not talking to W&H. Suddenly he saw the request in a new light. Tearing his eyes from the blue wraith in front of him he looked at Angel, who suddenly seemed like an ocean of sanity.
“Is...’ he croaked out.
Angel nodded and answered coldly.
“Yes, this is indeed Illyria, one of the Elder Gods. Did you not hear of a disturbance at the Deeper Well? She came forth as was predestined, and took as her body the woman Wesley loved. Sir, you did not know your son.”
Roger tried to swallow. His eyes were drawn back to the goddess in front of him. She however had turned her head and was now looking at the vampires.
“I wish to kill this man. Would this have incurred Wesley’s anger? He killed him himself.”
Spike answered, quietly.
“When Wesley killed his father, there was a reason. This time there is no reason except your feelings and the man’s blindness.”
Illyria swivelled her head around and looked at Roger again.
“I would kill you if it were not for Wesley’s memory. If you ever dishonour him again, my vengeance shall be swift.”
With these words she walked out, the lights turning themselves on again as she did so.
***
Roger dimly became aware of his surroundings and the whimpers from his wife’s direction. He ignored her and focussed on Angel, trying to organise his thoughts into a coherent question.
The vampires, however, were also getting up. Spike went to Myrtle’s side and talked to her, too softly for Roger to hear.
Angel was silently studying Roger and after a while spoke again. “We are on our way to see Rupert Giles. We will tell him of Wesley’s death and make sure that the events of his life are written down for all generations of Watchers and Slayers to study. As you witnessed, an Elder God found him worthy of the highest praise. He died trying to stop an apocalypse - the apocalypse of the Senior Partners of Wolfram & Hart, which is a far greater thing than you could imagine. I lost all my people except Spike and Illyria.”
He stopped briefly, then added.
“We came here because of Wesley, not for your sake. If you wish to learn who your son was, I suggest you ask Mr. Giles to lend you the book about him once it is written. Good evening, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.”
Turning to Myrtle, demeanour changing, he said quietly. “Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce, I am sorry for your loss.”
With these words he joined Spike at the door and left.
***
Roger Wyndam-Pryce was standing in the middle of his sitting room, feeling that his entire world and all its absolutes had collapsed in one fell swoop. He gathered his wife into his arms and let her cry for their son. Their son, who had earned the respect of a goddess...
A strange feeling began to overwhelm him, a feeling he had decided to banish many years ago - regret.
The End
Title: The Summer After. Prequel.
Author:
elisi.Summary: Angel, Spike and Illyria paid someone else a visit before they went to see Giles.
Rating: PG.
Feedback: Please?
Notes: 'The Summer After' has a surprise/plot twist at the end. This prequel gives it away - so please read the main fic first!
'The Summer After' can be found here.
It was a beautiful summer evening. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon a while ago, the shadows were lengthening and Roger Wyndam-Pryce sat in his office translating an ancient text while his wife did the washing-up in the kitchen. He was absent-mindedly debating with himself whether he should ask her to make coffee or tea, when there was a knock at the door.
His wife, knowing full well that he didn’t want to be disturbed when he was working, went to answer it. He could hear her exchange some words with whoever was at the door, and a moment later she tentatively opened the door to the study.
“I know you don’t want to be disturbed Dear, but there are two American gentlemen and a young lady at the door, wanting to talk to us. They say it is about Wesley.”
Roger sighed. He had been expecting this day for years now. Foolish young men who failed spectacularly at their allotted task, bringing shame on the family, and who then went to work for a vampire - a vampire of all things - pretending they were demon-fighters or investigators or some such nonsense, were bound to end up on the wrong side of the law. The only mercy was that the whole thing was taking place in America, so hopefully he would be able to hush it up.
“Show them into the sitting room Myrtle,” he said, and noted with irritation that she was still holding a tea towel in her hand. The woman sometimes showed no sense of proper behaviour!
A little while later he was shaking hands with the young lady who had introduced herself as Miss Burkle. A most attractive woman he thought approvingly, wearing a plain, black dress and smiling shyly. He looked up to greet her companions and couldn’t believe his eyes. In front of him - in his own sitting room! - stood the two most notorious vampires of all time.
Faltering for a moment due to the shock, he rapidly pulled himself together. He was still a good fighter, but he knew that he could not take them both at the same time. He looked at Angelus and said stiffly.
“If you spare my wife, I shall not resist.”
The vampire sighed and looked pained.
“Mr. Wyndam-Pryce we are not here to kill anyone. We need to talk to you and your wife. Feel free to bring out as many crosses and stakes as you like if that will make you more comfortable. But please listen to us.”
Myrtle was looking from one to the other trying to understand.
“Roger dearest, what is the matter?”
He turned to her, his momentary fear turning to cold anger.
“It very simple, darling. You let the two most dangerous vampires on record into our home!”
Myrtle looked as though she was about to faint, but the blond vampire reached out a hand to support her and sat her down in an armchair. When she looked at him with obvious confusion he smiled reassuringly:
“We also happen to be the only two souled vampires in the world, fighting on the side of good. I am sorry if we frightened you Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce, that was never our intention.”
She nodded, but could obviously not think of anything to say. Roger turned back to his visitors.
“Well, why don’t we all sit down, and you can tell me what is so very urgent that you have come all the way from America to tell me!”
The vampires and Miss Burkle having seated themselves on the sofa, Roger stiffly sat down in his favourite armchair, warily eyeing his visitors. Unaccountably, Angelus turned to Myrtle instead of the head of the household and began to speak:
“As you might have guessed, I am Angel. Your son worked for me since he was thrown out of The Council. I am sorry that I am going to be the one to tell you this, but... Wesley’s dead.”
Spike watched the woman closely. Her heartbeat was erratic, and living with the old ogre had obviously taken its toll. How she would react to the news of her son’s death was anyone’s guess. To his surprise she didn’t seem as shocked as her husband. She was fighting back the tears, but she didn’t appear too surprised.
“He... he called a few weeks ago and said that a big battle was coming. I asked him to be careful, but...” she started sobbing.
Her husband, almost more astounded at her words than those of the vampire, turned to her.
“Wesley called and you didn’t tell me?”
In between sobs, she stammered.
“He just said that - that he loved us, and hopefully everything would go well - he would give me a call when it was all over. But - but - every day that went by had me more worried. Mr. Angel - how did he die?”
Angel looked at her and recognised the pain in her face.
My son is gone! I can’t get him back!
He spoke to her gently, ignoring her husband, who was thankfully quiet.
“He was killed by a very powerful sorcerer named Cyvus Vail. We - my team and myself - were trying to stop an apocalypse.”
He thought for a moment, then continued.
“Your son was the most loyal, the most honest man I have known. He never shied away from the hard decisions and he was a brave and cunning fighter in battle and in life. He died a hero, Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce. You should be very proud.”
She smiled gratefully, but her husband wasn’t impressed.
“When you say ‘trying’ would that imply that you failed, Mr. Angel?”
Angel felt the air pressure change as the vampire to his left and the goddess to his right abruptly turned their heads. Knowing that he had to stall them before their impulses made them attack, he shot Spike a glance and put a hand on Illyria’s arm, making her momentarily stop. He knew how to get to the man across from him. Smiling pleasantly, as though discussing the decor of the house, he began.
“Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, as I suppose you know I spent a hundred-and-fifty years perfecting the art of destroying a human being. The artistry thrilled me. In the end this caused me to be cursed with a soul. And I recoiled from my former behaviour. But if I had met you say - two hundred years ago, I would have greeted you as a fellow craftsman.”
Looking steadily at the man across from him, he continued.
“I preyed upon the weak and damaged, but the two are not the same. Wesley was damaged - by you, the person who should have loved him no matter what, because that is what it means to be a father. But... he was not weak! Your abuse was a test of fire, and he came out stronger. You despised him, because he was never good enough - or so you thought. As a matter of fact he was better than you ever imagined. I cannot tell you everything that has happened in the last few years, but I want you to know that Wesley was the backbone that held things together when I failed. Who wasn’t loyal to me, like you presume, but always to the greater good. He was ready to do - and did - anything when he thought he was right.”
Angel stopped for a moment to think. He desperately wanted to get through to this man the level of his son’s commitment. He stole my son. He killed you. He...
Angel realised that Roger had thought him finished and was replying, the coldness of his voice barely disguising the anger.
“You dare compare yourself to me? You presume to know what it is to have a child? The arrogance you possess might only be surpassed by the foolishness that my failure of a son was capable of! He wasted his life-”
His rant was cut off by the sudden failure of all light sources. As the room was plunged into darkness the young woman across from him rose in a chilling, fluid motion, her features changing, and she seemed to glow from within. Her eyes - now icy blue - unblinkingly fastened on the elderly man, and she started to speak, her voice deep and shivering with anger.
“Mortal man, more worthless the smallest worm - how dare you look down upon what is above you! In your life you have achieved nothing, except to father a son who won the favour of ME - Illyria - a God older than you can fathom. I - Illyria - who despise the feelings and lives of this useless race of men, grieved for your son, and adorned his grave with the broken and mutilated body of his killer. I will never forget him and so he will be remembered when the last of your species is dust!”
Roger was for once completely overwhelmed and unable to utter a single syllable. Wesley had some months ago sent a letter mentioning an Old One, named Illyria, and asked if his father might look up any information. He had done so, but never passed on what little he had found out knowing that The Council was not talking to W&H. Suddenly he saw the request in a new light. Tearing his eyes from the blue wraith in front of him he looked at Angel, who suddenly seemed like an ocean of sanity.
“Is...’ he croaked out.
Angel nodded and answered coldly.
“Yes, this is indeed Illyria, one of the Elder Gods. Did you not hear of a disturbance at the Deeper Well? She came forth as was predestined, and took as her body the woman Wesley loved. Sir, you did not know your son.”
Roger tried to swallow. His eyes were drawn back to the goddess in front of him. She however had turned her head and was now looking at the vampires.
“I wish to kill this man. Would this have incurred Wesley’s anger? He killed him himself.”
Spike answered, quietly.
“When Wesley killed his father, there was a reason. This time there is no reason except your feelings and the man’s blindness.”
Illyria swivelled her head around and looked at Roger again.
“I would kill you if it were not for Wesley’s memory. If you ever dishonour him again, my vengeance shall be swift.”
With these words she walked out, the lights turning themselves on again as she did so.
Roger dimly became aware of his surroundings and the whimpers from his wife’s direction. He ignored her and focussed on Angel, trying to organise his thoughts into a coherent question.
The vampires, however, were also getting up. Spike went to Myrtle’s side and talked to her, too softly for Roger to hear.
Angel was silently studying Roger and after a while spoke again. “We are on our way to see Rupert Giles. We will tell him of Wesley’s death and make sure that the events of his life are written down for all generations of Watchers and Slayers to study. As you witnessed, an Elder God found him worthy of the highest praise. He died trying to stop an apocalypse - the apocalypse of the Senior Partners of Wolfram & Hart, which is a far greater thing than you could imagine. I lost all my people except Spike and Illyria.”
He stopped briefly, then added.
“We came here because of Wesley, not for your sake. If you wish to learn who your son was, I suggest you ask Mr. Giles to lend you the book about him once it is written. Good evening, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce.”
Turning to Myrtle, demeanour changing, he said quietly. “Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce, I am sorry for your loss.”
With these words he joined Spike at the door and left.
Roger Wyndam-Pryce was standing in the middle of his sitting room, feeling that his entire world and all its absolutes had collapsed in one fell swoop. He gathered his wife into his arms and let her cry for their son. Their son, who had earned the respect of a goddess...
A strange feeling began to overwhelm him, a feeling he had decided to banish many years ago - regret.
