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Title: The Elsewhere Part 1
Author: Morgan R.
Email: Lshallot@juno.com
Rating: PG?
Summary: Willow visits Angel in LA to help out on a case, and Morgan
steals pieces of every book she's ever read
Spoilers: Season 4 spoilers
Feedback: I need it to survive
Disclaimer: Joss owns all. Even you. Grr Argh
Note: Look, Omitted and Something Offered are eluding me for awhile. Until I get back on track, I need to write this one. (But don't worry--I'll get to them real real soon.) Someday, I promise I will actually finish a series.
Just not today.
***********************************************************************

For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul outwears the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest. (George Gordon Noel Byron, Sixth Baron Byron)

***********************************************************************

Angel looked up as Cordelia walked into his office. After throwing down a file on his desk, she let out an exasperated sigh and put her hands on her hips. "I knew it. You're not working, you're brooding. As usual. I sit out there, typing and organizing, and you hide in your office and
brood. What sort of employer are you, hiring an eighteen year old girl with nothing more than a high school diploma and a great pair of legs and then making her do all the work? You're a disgrace."

Angel said nothing in response.

"Fine. Don't deign to reply, O Pensive One. Just try to look like you actually do some sort of work when Willow gets here, okay?" She turned on her heel and walked to the door. Angel's voice stopped her before she crossed the threshold.

"Thank you, Cordelia."

She nodded, and returned to her desk. He had thought he was doing her a favor when he had hired her, but she had turned out to be an incredible asset to him and his work, apart from bringing a bit of normalcy into his all too depressing world. Opening the file on his desk, he did what he usually did when Cordelia gave him an order.

He obeyed.

***********************************************************************

Cordelia looked up as Willow entered the outer office. "Willow! I'm so glad you're here!" If the warm welcome was a little surprising, Willow was too polite to let it show.

"Cordelia, hi. You look great."

"You're a much better liar than you used to be. That's good-- it will probably come in handy. Let's go into Angel's office, and we'll explain everything to you, okay?"

Angel smiled as Cordelia brought Willow in. "Here she is, boss." The two girls sat down in chairs opposite Angel's desk.

"So, Angel," Willow said as they all settled in. "What is it you need my help with? Cordelia was pretty vague on the phone. Is it a spell or something?"

"No, it isn't a spell," he replied. "Let me start at the beginning. Did Buffy ever tell you what she did last summer, right before she came back?"

"Um, something about a hell vortex with runaways and demons. I do know that it was very bad."

"Right. Well, Cordelia, Doyle and I have been hearing some strange things recently. Rumors about new portals being opened, all very vague, as usual. Most of it has been traced to one man, a man named Taylor. It turns out he was one of the people Buffy helped escape, but he had been there awhile-"

"Which explains why he's basically a loon," Cordelia interrupted.

"Cordelia, as usual, has summed it up perfectly. He is definitely not all there, which makes it that much more frightening that he's messing around with the fabric of reality."

"Okay, so a crazy person is opening portals that traverse time and space," Willow said finally. "Why exactly do you need my help?"

"Angel has a pla-an," Cordelia sang. Angel shot her a look before replying. "Our Mr. Taylor has a weakness. Most of the time he plays it pretty close to the chest, but when he's around a beautiful woman, he tends to lack...concentration. Unfortunately, he already knows Cordelia,
so she's out of the question. In perfect honesty, I didn't feel up to asking Buffy, which really only left you, Willow."

Willow looked at him in shock. "You asked me to come help me because you need a pretty face?"

Angel grimaced. "I know it may sound insulting, and I wouldn't have asked if I hadn't..."

Willow wasn't listening. "You think I have a pretty face?"

"No, I think you have a beautiful face. Does that mean you'll help?"

"Angel, look at the grin. That's answer enough, I'd say. Besides, when was the last time Willow said no to anybody?" Cordelia pointed out as she stood up. "Okay. Here's the plan. Angel, you will stay here and work, not brood, until sunset. Willow, you will come with me and I will deck you out in an outfit that's a little more...distracting. We'll rendezvous out front after sundown and you two can go stop the crazy. Good plan?"

"Good plan," they both responded simultaneously. Cordelia and Willow left the office together. Angel listened as they laughed out in the main office. Having Willow around couldn't help but remind him of everything he had given up, especially the blonde slayer he had forced himself to
leave behind...

He jumped as Cordelia popped her head back in his door with a fierce "Work! Not! Brood!" Chuckling to himself, he devoted his full attention to the file before him.

***********************************************************************

Willow watched from the bed as Cordelia went through her closet. "How do you like working with Angel, Cordy?"

"It's cool, I guess. I mean, he still has his Buffy days, but sometimes, he's actually fun to be around..."

"His 'Buffy days'?" Willow asked.

"Yeah. He gets that look, and I know he's thinking about her. Wondering how she's feeling, what she's doing, whether or not she's kissing that guy you all tried to not let him find out about-"

"Riley?"

"Yeah, him. And I can't really object. If anyone ever had more than enough reasons to ponder the twists of fate, it's Angel. It's just, every once in awhile, he escapes it. He stops thinking about the pain and the loss and the demons and the night, and he's...fun. He's not a laugh a minute, but he smiles, and I've even known him to tell a joke."

"Freaky." Willow smiled at the thought of Angel making people laugh.

"I'll say. So, how is everyone?" she asked oh-so-casually.

"Xander's fine, Cordelia. And no, he's not seeing anyone." Cordelia threw a shirt at her head, and all seriousness was lost as they dissolved into giggles.

It was almost as if they weren't hunters of demons. It was almost as if they were...teenage girls.

What a thought.

***********************************************************************

Willow smiled up at Angel nervously as they stood in front of Taylor's door. Angel put a comforting arm around her shoulder. "It'll be fine, Willow. He's only a little crazy, not evil. And you look lovely."

"Flattery will make me less scared."

"I know." Truth be told, it wasn't flattery. Cordelia may have complained over her inability to buy the clothes she wanted, but she had found the perfect outfit for Willow to wear on their 'mission'. Cordelia had decided that it would be useless for Willow to try playing a seductress, especially in her nervous state. Instead, Willow's clothes all seemed to be part of a perfectly demure outfit gone awry.

She was wearing a gauzy floral wraparound skirt that fell just above her knees, and it had looked completely modest on a hanger. The material of the skirt, however, clung to Willow's body like a second skin. Furthermore, the edge tended to slip open, exposing a large amount of Willow's right thigh.

On top, she was wearing a simple white tank top. Of course, the tank top belonged to Cordelia, whose clothes were a few sizes larger than Willow's. This meant that the straps of the top were constantly slipping off her pale shoulders, exposing the fuchsia straps of her bra. The
neckline dipped dangerously low, in front and back.

Cordelia had given her a blouse to wear over the tank top, but it covered nothing up, due to its being transparent. Furthermore, it was slightly shimmery, and it made Willow's skin look like it was glowing. Despite her 'perfectly modest' attire, Willow looked like she was about to fall out of her clothes at any second. She felt practically naked, which was, of course, what Cordelia had intended all along.

Willow cast one final nervous glance at Angel before the door opened.

***********************************************************************

Willow yawned behind her hand as she leaned up against a blank wall. She and Angel had been in Taylor's house for hours, and they had learned nothing useful. 'It's probably me,' she thought gloomily. 'Anyone else would be able to charm the information out of him, but not me.' She absentmindedly adjusted her skirt, which was yet again slipping to reveal her upper leg. She didn't notice Taylor staring at her aforementioned leg, but Angel did.

Taylor had been more elusive than he had expected, but he was sure something would slip before they left. As the strap of Willow's shirt began travelling down her shoulder yet again, Angel began asking more questions.

"Have you ever heard of 'The Family Home', Taylor?"

Taylor never took his eyes off Willow's shoulder as he answered. "Mmmm-hmmm."

"I heard something about some guy there- Ken, I think his name was."

"Right." Taylor hardly seemed to notice Angel's presence.

"He went around, looking for runaways to take in?" Angel moved around beside Willow so he could see Taylor's face.

"Runaways?" Taylor replied vaguely.

That was when Willow felt it. There was no way she could possibly have described what 'it' was-- a sudden foreboding, a stirring in her blood, an instinctive sense of danger. She even thought she could feel the hint of something soft against her cheek. "Angel-" she began.

But she was too late.

The distracted look disappeared from Taylor's face as he grinned at the two of them. "Oh, this is exciting. If I was less of a coward, I'd go myself, but as it is..."

Angel tried to leap at him, realizing too late that they had been trapped. Angel found that his feet wouldn't move, though he was still able to grab Willow's hand and hold it tightly. "What are you going to do?" he asked harshly.

"Well, I opened a new one," Taylor replied. "But I don't know where it goes! So, since you're so interested in the topic, I figure you can explore for me."

Willow gasped as the feeling of strangeness grew and Angel began to growl. "Fine, I'll go explore, whatever, just let Willow go."

Taylor shook his head. "Oh, no. What if it's daytime when you get there? You can't tell me anything if you turn into a pile of dust. Besides, a girl can't wear an outfit like that without expecting some sort of consequences." Willow glared at him, and the material of her skirt stirred in an almost nonexistent breeze. Angel's grip on her hand grew tighter, and she looked up at him in fear. In looking at him, however, she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She gasped as she saw that the blank wall was no longer quite so blank. It had become a sort of black opening, completely blank and incredibly frightening. Actually, it was less an opening and more a maw, in her mind.

Willow looked back at Angel in panic. "I'm sorry, Willow," he whispered.

The breeze became a wind, and the two of them were engulfed in black.

***********************************************************************

As they were surrounded and filled with darkness, Willow no longer felt the grip of Angel's hand, and the howling of the wind drowned out any sound of his voice...

***********************************************************************

It wasn't the sound of voices that woke Willow up, though they were speaking in hushed tones as she dragged herself into consciousness. It was the feeling of a warm breeze on her cheek, though once awake she wasn't sure whether or not she had dreamed it.

Her ears began functioning before she managed to raise her eyelids, and she slowly began to focus on the conversation being conducted in hushed tones very nearby.

"...don't think it's right. She shouldn't be some sort of olive branch for the sake of the country. She's a living breathing and lovely girl, not a peace offering," a sympathetic voice whispered.

"She isn't just any girl, she's royalty. And royalty's got obligations, as sure as they've got blue blood." The second voice was not unkind, but it held a harsh edge of reality. Willow wondered about the unnamed girl they were discussing. She was fairly sure she was able to open her eyes, but kept them shut, hoping to hear more of the discussion.

"Whatever color her blood is, she has a heart, and to see it wasted on a scoundrel like that boy-" the first voice insisted.

"Not very respectful words, considering he's your future king."

"Pah! She's my present princess, and I don't want to see her spoiled by the likes of him."

Willow found herself more and more interested. So, she was in a land of royalty. That was fairly exciting.

"Think of the lives that will be saved," the down-to-earth voice pointed out. Willow heard the other woman snort in response. "Yes, and only think of how her life will be ruined."

Willow was fascinated by her eavesdropping, but the urge to open her eyes and see her surroundings overwhelmed her desire to hear more. She moaned ever so softly as her eyes fluttered open.

The first thing she saw was the heavily brocaded canopy that blocked her view of the ceiling. Looking down at herself, she found the disobedient tank top gone, replaced by a nightshirt of forget-me-not satin. The eiderdown quilt that covered her was a deep maroon, with patches of
darkness fading in and out in the flickering light of a large fireplace.

Her contemplation of her surroundings was cut off as two women immediately flanked her bedside. They looked similar in age—late forties. One had once had blonde hair, hair which had been more white than gold for at least a few years. The other was a former brunette, but
gray had been encroaching as time had passed. Each had faces with abundant smile lines, though there were marks of repeated sadnesses as well.

Most of all, Willow found them comforting.

"Well, look who's awake," the blonde woman smiled as she brushed a strand away from Willow's face.

"We've been worried, since you fainted at the banquet last night." The brunette added.

Willow judged it best to say nothing, since she had absolutely no idea what they were talking about.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Your Highness," the first woman said.

A startled look crossed Willow's face at the sound of the word 'highness'.

This was so very not good.

***********************************************************************

Willow sat in her dressing gown, staring rather dully into the fire. She had finally convinced Marie and Gwen (blonde and brunette, respectively) that she didn't need ladies-in-waiting to hover as she sat in a chair.

Ladies-in-waiting. No, no, no, no, and no.

"This isn't possible," Willow said out loud to no one in particular. Technically, she should have been right. It shouldn't be possible for an eighteen year old college student to go help a friend in LA and be sucked through a mysterious portal only to discover that she was still an eighteen year old, but instead of a college student, she was the only daughter of an aging king and betrothed to the son of their long time enemy.

Yet, there she was...

Willow had done her best to find out what was going on, but it was difficult, since Marie and Gwen had no idea that anything out of the ordinary had occurred. She had mostly gathered that the foreign king and his son were considered barbarians by her father, which is why the two
countries had been at war for as long as there had been history. Unfortunately, barbarians or not, they were good at warfare, and a peace agreement had finally been reached. Each king, weary of a stalemate that was no less bloody for its lack of change, would give up that which they held most dear.

Their children.

Of course, the fact that the children were adults did not change the fact that they were forced to submit to the wills of men who were not just their fathers, but their monarchs besides.

So it was that Her Royal Highness Aurelia Celestyn Isolde Leoline Meridel Solenne Wilona Yolanthe was engaged to be married to His Royal Highness Alaric Calhoun Garrard Jarlath Nealon Raynor Thedric Ware.

Willow moaned again at the thought. Betrothed? She had agreed to help Angel, but holy matrimony to a strange prince was a bit more than she had anticipated...

Suddenly, she sat straight up in her chair. Where was Angel? Was he even alive? She thought they had arrived in the night, but there was no way to be sure. How would he find blood to eat? What if someone saw his 'grr' face and tried to kill him? How was she ever going to find him if she was stuck in the Royal Palace all day?

Slumping back in her seat, she let out a frustrated sigh. If she had been a...dairymaid, or some other variation on a peasant girl theme, she would have been able to look for him. As it was, in the midst of the machinations of an upcoming Royal Wedding, she would simply have to hope
he was somewhere nearby.

A timid knock came from the huge carved door. "Yes?" she answered wearily. Marie came in quietly.

"Willow, dearest, what's the matter?" Willow looked at her strangely for a moment.

"You called me Willow." Having the same name would definitely make things easier, but she was sure it hadn't been one of the eight carefully selected royal monikers she now possessed.

"Ever since you learned how to speak," Marie replied.

"Tell me the story again," Willow asked, hoping she had heard it before. Fortunately, Marie smiled, making Willow think the tale was commonly repeated.

"You were only twelve months old," Marie began, "and you were just learning how to speak. You never replied to your name, however. We called you Princess, we called you Aurelia, but you paid us no mind.

One day, I sat you on my knee and began telling you about your christening. You looked up at me with those huge green eyes, and I could have sworn you understood every word I said. When I got to the part about naming you, I imitated the priest who had performed the ceremony. He had said all your names, so I named them as well-- 'Princess Aurelia Celestyn Isolde Leoline Meridel Solenne Wilona Yolanthe'. You had been listening till then, but your eyes just lit up when I said all your names. Well, one in particular, it turns out. A few moments later, you spoke, repeating back the second to last name. Actually, you couldn't manage the 'n', so it just came out 'Willow'. Ever since that day, you refused to be called anything else." Marie smiled, taking hold of Willow's hand.

"What does it mean? Wilona?" Willow asked.

"Desired," Marie replied. "Your father had wanted a child for so long, that the name seemed completely suitable. He chose all of your names for the meanings-- Aurelia means golden, and even as a newborn your hair seemed to glow. Furthermore, he has always said you are more precious than gold to him. Celestyn means heavenly, Isolde means fair lady, Leoline means lion. We could all tell how brave you were, even then. Meridel is a form of Mary, and it was given to you to honor me, so close was I to your mother. Solenne means sunshine, and that is what you have always been to everyone around you. Finally, Yolanthe means violet flower. That may not mean much to most people, but your mother loved violets, and your father loved her, so he
gave you that name." Willow was looking forward to meeting her father, a man who loved his wife and daughter so much, yet would give his daughter away to an enemy prince...

"Marie?" she asked. "What is Prince Alaric like?" Marie frowned but did not speak, so Willow tried again. "Never mind What do his names mean?" Marie's frown deepened.

"His names mean that his father has delusions of grandeur, mostly. Alaric means ruler of all, if that gives you any indication. The rest are as bad if not worse. Calhoun means warrior, and Garrard means 'with a mighty spear', of all things. Jarlath means man of control, which is typical of how they run their country's affairs. Nealon means champion, Raynor means mighty army,
Thedric means ruler of the people, and Ware means defender.

All in all, his names mean that he's the crown prince of a country full of bloodthirsty barbarians. I honestly don't know much about the son, but if the father is any indication..." Marie broke off, realizing that she was hardly assuaging the fears of a young girl being forced into an arranged marriage. "But what do I know? For all I know, he may be very...kind," she finished lamely. Her voice betrayed her thoughts, and Willow sensed that she should expect no kindness from her fiance.

Marie left her with a comforting pat on her shoulder, and Willow groaned yet again. She had never missed the Hellmouth so much.

***********************************************************************

Angel woke slowly, feeling much more sluggish than usual. For a moment, he thought he felt a gentle breeze on his face, but it disappeared as soon as he felt it. His face merely felt warm, but he couldn't tell why, as his eyes were particularly disinclined to open.

He heard brisk footsteps approaching, then entering the room. "How is he?" a harsh voice asked.

"Better, your Majesty," was the hushed response.

"Woken up yet?"

"Not yet."

"Inform me when he does." Angel again heard the footsteps, this time leaving the room. Finally, and with great effort, he managed to drag open his eyelids.

That was when he discovered why he felt so warm.

He was bathed in sunlight.

With a blinding speed and a muffled yell, he leaped out of the bed. As he retreated from the sunny window, he panted heavily, barely registering the sounds of surprise coming from the person who had been caring for him.

Angel realized there were more than a few things wrong with the picture before him. There was the fact that the room he was in consisted entirely of stone, with walls covered with tapestries and armor. There was the fact that he was dressed in a nightshirt such as one would find in history books. Most of all, there was the fact that his skin was still intact after prolonged sun exposure, besides which, he was panting. As in breathing. Furthermore, he almost fell over as he looked across the room and saw someone in the mirror.

Himself.

He could be forgiven for fainting, in such shocking cirumstances. He could be, but he won't, because he didn't faint. Instead, he ran to the mirror, looking at his face for the first time in two and a half centuries. It was like seeing someone and recognizing them, without really knowing who they are. He grinned as he reexamined his long-lost face, until another thought hit him and he dashed away from the mirror. He jumped back onto the bed, throwing open the window and laughing out loud as he basked in the morning sun. He had always sworn that if he ever found humanity again, he wouldn't waste it like he had the first time. So he hung out the window, laughing like an idiot, practically inebriated with joy as he sunbathed in his nightgown.

He almost fell out when he felt a hesitant hand on his back, but managed to retain his grip on the sill. He reluctantly pulled his head inside to discover the person who had witnessed his recent antics. He saw a young man about his age ('Age! I have age!' A voice in his head cried), arms crossed, with a quizzical expression on his face.

"Feeling better, are we?" he asked wryly.

"You have no idea," Angel replied sincerely. The other man smiled in response. "Come on, Angel, let's get you dressed." He gestured towards a chair, and Angel walked over to see what he would be wearing. He smiled again at the difference between the clothes he began putting on
and what he usually wore in his own world.

Here there were no silk shirts or long mysterious dusters. Black was usually only for mourning, and there were absolutely none of the white t-shirts he had worn in the past.

His breeches were leather, but not at all like the pants Angelus had preferred, being soft and tan. He pulled a full-sleeved shirt over his head that laced up at his neck, then shrugged into a velvet doublet. Once his leather boots were on, he walked over to the mirror again,
convinced that he would never tire of looking at his reflection.

'That's me,' he thought. 'That's what other people have been seeing all these years. Those are my eyes, that's my nose, that's my mouth, that's-- whoa, what is up with my hair?' His thoughts were interrupted, however, as his companion grabbed him by the arm.

"C'mon, Angel, let's go. Oh, wait, I guess I should ask if you're feeling well enough to leave your room."

Angel nodded. "Fine, fine, let's go." He was hoping they would be going outside...in the sun...during the _daytime_...

As they left his bedchamber, they passed an older woman in a maid's uniform. "Hey, Aggie, where's the king?" She smiled fondly. "He went out to resolve the final details of the peace agreement, so you all can probably break your fast in peace, Garwin." She had not seen Angel
behind him, but dropped into a curtsy as he stepped out into the hallway. "Are you feeling better, highness?"

Angel frowned at Garwin, not liking the implications of the curtsy or the word 'highness'.

"He's feeling much better, Aggie," Garwin answered, looking oddly at Angel. She straightened up, still smiling.

"You had us all a bit worried there, Prince Alaric."

***********************************************************************

Angel sighed again as he stabbed his fork at the ham on his plate. It was the first time in over two hundred and forty years that he was eating food for nourishment instead of entertainment, and he couldn't enjoy it.

Perhaps he was overreacting. He was thrilled to be merely human, so maybe it didn't matter that he was...royalty. The only thing he really missed from his old life (using the term loosely) was Buffy, and he missed her anyway, since he had moved to LA. He at least seemed to have
friends here...

Friends.

Willow.

He practically choked at the thought. Here he was, so excited about being human and confused about being a prince that he hadn't remembered her until now. Where was she? Was she alright? He was responsible for her well-being, and he didn't even know where she was. How would he find her?

Coming out of his frantic thought-processes, he saw Garwin looking at him strangely.

"What?" Angel asked.

"You've been acting oddly all day, Angel. What's wrong with you?"

Angel couldn't figure out a way to avoid the question, so he ignored it instead. "Why does Aggie call me Alaric if you call me Angel?" Garwin looked surprised at the question, answering nonetheless.

"Alaric is one of your real names, Angel is what your mother called you before she died, so your friends call you that as well. There was a time you answered to nothing else. Your father, of course, beats anyone he hears calling you by your 'insipid nickname', as he refers to it. He
doesn't feel it lives up to the names he gave you. They're all about war and power, and not many people are going to be frightened of a warrior named Angel."

Not unless they have good reason to, Angel thought.

"You already know all this, Angel," Garwin continued. "Why all the questions you could answer yourself?"

"I...I just want to hear your version of it, that's all."

"Right. So shall we go visit your horse? She's been worried about you."

Angel, resigning himself to the fact that he would have to look for Willow later, rose from his chair. "Let's go."

He followed Garwin through the castle courtyard, trying not to stop and sunbathe.

"So, are you looking forward to meeting your bride tonight?" Garwin asked. Angel froze, and for a few timeless moments, even the sun was forgotten.

***********************************************************************

Angel stood in the stables, brushing down his horse's side for the fourth time. He was a gorgeous stallion (the horse, not the prince), a huge but somehow graceful animal the color of his master's eyes. His name was Bishop.

Angel sighed as he ran the brush over Bishop's broad flank. Being a prince hadn't been that bad. Being betrothed, now that was simply unacceptable. But what was he supposed to do about it? The wedding was mending an age-old rift between two countries. If he even attempted to cry off, it would mean war all over again. He would be sacrificing hundreds and even thousands of lives for his own emotions, and the righteous fighter of evil in him could not allow that to happen.

His heart, however, was having serious problems with the new situation. He had been in love with Buffy since the first moment he saw her. She had been his everything, and anything good he had ever done had really been in her name. She had inspired him, and he couldn't really remember how he had existed before loving her.

The devil's advocate in his head argued that no one expected him to find love in a marriage of state, and some cultures considered affection for one's spouse to be in bad taste. Still, he didn't want to marry a complete stranger. If he couldn't have Buffy, he didn't want anyone.

But 'not having anyone' was no longer an option, and he knew it, which was why he was still standing in the palace stables and mindlessly brushing his increasingly confused horse.

***********************************************************************

Willow walked through the royal gardens listlessly. Her attendants looked at one another uneasily, having no idea how to deal with the overly pensive princess. Finally, she dismissed them all, knowing they would never be more than a hedge away if she needed anything.

Sighing, she sat down on an ornamental bench. Normally, she would try to put a brave face on, no matter how grim things seemed. This time, though, she couldn't seem to find a bright side.

Maybe the trouble was that things weren't grim enough. An apocalypse, or the hellmouth, or an ascension, or a master vampire hunting down her best friend-- these were things she considered herself equipped to deal with. But marriage to a complete stranger? That was a frightening prospect that she had never even considered.

And that very night, she was meeting him. She was meeting the man that she would marry in two weeks time, the man she was expected to have children with, the man who would become her master and monarch for the rest of her life...

No. She couldn't accept it. There was always a spell, or a portal, or a helpful demon. And if she couldn't find one, she would use her unending supply of spunk to make up the difference. After all, she had stopped frightening things before.

A reputedly chauvinistic fiance couldn't be any worse.

***********************************************************************

Willow met her mother and father about five minutes before they entered the banquet hall where she was scheduled to be introduced to Prince Alaric.

Her father was white-haired, though he looked no older than fifty. Her mother looked the same age as Marie, though she had a more regal bearing. The fondness in their eyes when they looked at their only daughter made Willow blush, and left her with more than a little feeling of melancholy. Her real parents had never looked at her like that, never looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen, like she was their most exalted accomplishment in their all-too-short lives...

Shaking herself, Willow held up her chin. It wouldn't do to burst into tears before seeing the entire court, as well as the man who would call her wife.

Bravely, she stepped through the carved oak doors held open by the heralds in bright livery.

***********************************************************************

Angel cast a nervous glance at Garwin as they prepared to be announced.

"Don't worry An- um, Alaric, everything will work out." Angel's father glared at the two young men.

"Just for once, Alaric, try not to disappoint me." He stalked away with his attendants, leaving Angel rather crestfallen. True, he had only met the king that afternoon, but he felt some sort of compulsion to please him already.

Garwin clapped him on the shoulder encouragingly. "Don't listen to him. And don't worry about the princess. I'm sure none of the rumors are true."

Angel looked at him sharply. "Rumors?"

Garwin winced. "Yeah, you know. She can't be as stupid as they say."

Angel sighed. This evening couldn't be any more fun.

***********************************************************************

Willow stood as the heralds opened the main doors and blew their trumpets. Her parents stood behind her on the dais, and Marie was at her right hand. Her mind was whirling as the king and his son were announced, but she barely registered the words as the majordomo cried out their names. She heard a 'majesty', a 'highness' and a few of the prince's eight names, but she could only hear one name in her mind.

It was him. Across the Great Hall, in a doublet of midnight blue velvet ornamented with jewels of state and silvery gray hose, it was him. His permanently haphazard hair was covered with a small crown of beaten gold, but it was him. Surrounded by servants and his father's men, it was him.

It was Angel.

***********************************************************************

Angel's eyes were drawn to the thrones on the raised dais all draped with purple watered silk, hoping to see his future bride, and when he saw her, he almost laughed in relief. He would recognize that red hair anywhere, and her barely suppressed grin of recognition precluded any doubt that it was her.

She was so bright it almost hurt to look at her for long, her scarlet hair glowing against the sapphire brocade of her bodice. Her full skirt was a slightly darker blue, open at the front to reveal her ivory kirtle. Topping everything was the pearl circlet that dipped down into her
forehead, emphasizing the heart shape of her face.

She was a princess, but she was still Willow. His day was looking up.

***********************************************************************

"Welcome, Prince Alaric," Willow said, trying to keep the ironic tone out of her voice.

"We meet at last, Princess Aurelia," he replied, his eyes twinkling madly as he leaned over to kiss her extended hand.

"At long last." Garwin was startled at the sarcasm that seemed to drip from her innocent statement, but no one else seemed to notice. Taking Willow's arm, Angel led her out to the dance floor as the court musicians began to play. Under cover of music and the chattering nobles, they were finally able to speak.

"This is unbelievable," Willow began.

"You're telling me. One day, I own a private detective agency in LA with a former prom queen as my surprisingly capable secretary, the next I'm a crown prince, engaged to be married, I'm human, and I find out that my betrothed is my ex-girlfriend's best friend-"

Willow cut him off, a startled look in her eyes. "What did you say?"

"Ex-girlfriend's best friend?"

"Human?" she squeaked. Angel grinned in response.

"Oh, definitely. I went outside. In the sun, no less. It was wonderful."

"Angel, I'm so happy for you! I want to hug you, but I think half the royal court would die of shock."

"You're probably right. In any case, I appreciate the sentiment."

"Too bad it had to happen after passing through the vortex thingy, instead of back in Sunnydale. That would have solved a whole lot of problems."

He nodded ruefully. "Things never happens like they should. I think that's my motto in life." A few moments later, the dance ended and dinner was served.

"So Willow," Angel said oh-so-casually, "did you know that I now eat food for its nutritional value?" Willow found that after such a statement, she didn't care what might or might not be proper for a princess. She laughed out loud.

***********************************************************************

Angel put his lips to Willow's delicate hand. "Goodnight, Princess Aurelia." There was a warm smile on his face as he looked up at her, a smile which she was glad to reciprocate.

"Goodnight, Prince Alaric." She withdrew her hand slowly, wishing they could stay together. It had done her a world of good to find him in this new reality, and they really needed to talk over their rather interesting situation.

Especially the part with the marriage.

But it would have to wait, because there was no way two young nobles would be able to meet in secret. So Angel reluctantly left for his suite, Garwin at his side. At the doors of the Great Hall, he looked back at Willow, standing so straight and firm. Her eyes were on him still, like he was the only thing keeping her sane. It made sense, since he knew the feeling himself.

***********************************************************************

Willow yawned as Marie helped her out of her gown, occasionally sending a longing glance at her bed, with its silken sheets, and its down pillows, and the quilt that was so soft and warm she could almost-

"Willow?" Marie's voice hesitantly broke into her reverie.

"Mmmm?" was Willow's incredibly eloquent reply.

"You really liked Alaric, didn't you?"

Willow smiled to herself at Marie's question. "It's as if I've known him for years," she said wryly.

"I'm glad you like him, Willow. I'm glad, very glad." Willow heard an undertone of uncertainty in Marie's voice, and she turned to look at her. "What is it, Marie? What is it you're trying so hard not to say to me?"

Marie sighed, and the sound practically brought tears to Willow's eyes, a fact which at least one corner of her brain considered absurd. Yet something in that sigh was so forlorn, so helpless, so mournful, even, that Willow looked at the blonde in sympathy.

"I want you to be careful, my dear. That's all. A girl's heart is so tender, so easily damaged. I don't want that to happen to you because you give it away too soon. Guard your heart, darling. Watch over it, and no matter how charming Alaric may seem, don't let him shred you the way-" Marie cut herself off suddenly, and Willow thought her face looked pale in the firelight.

"Don't worry, Marie, Alaric can be trusted. He is a good man, a good man. I can tell you that-"

"You can tell nothing. However you perceive him now, he comes from a horrible place. I don't want you to be dragged there, marriage or not. Marriage doesn't have to touch your heart, Willow. Beware your heart, Willow. Be very aware." With that comment, Marie stood and quickly left the room.

Willow stared at the door she had passed through in shock. She had only known Marie for a day, but she knew her well enough to realize that this was in no way her normal behavior. Willow couldn't understand it. Marie seemed determined that Alaric was a scoundrel, and even more determined that Willow should not be harmed by him.

'But it's Angel!' her mind cried out in protest. Angel was a perfect gentleman and a loyal friend, and he in no way resembled the cad that Marie imagined him to be.

Crawling into bed at last, Willow's mind was filled with conflicting thoughts as she drifted off to sleep.
***********************************************************************

Angel was looking in the mirror yet again as Garwin regarded him in amusement. "Yeah, your face is still there. Shocking, I know."

"You can say that again," Angel replied without thinking first. He decided that he would simply hope that Alaric was supposed to have an obscure sense of humor. As he looked at Garwin in the reflection, he saw unanswered questions in his dark green eyes.

Garwin spoke suddenly. "You're quite taken with her, aren't you? The Princess?"

Angel smiled. "She's quite a girl."

Garwin nodded, his lips almost imperceptibly tight. "Well that's wonderful. I hope you'll both be very happy." His voice was strained, and Angel thought he could see a slight thread of bitterness in Garwin's usually cheerful face.

"Garwin? What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"What's wrong, Garwin?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Okay, that just contradicted your 'nothing', so let's try again. What's wrong? Did you not like the Princess? She really is wonderful, I'm sure you'll learn to love her."

Garwin laughed softly. "I'm sure I will." Angel walked over to him and seized his broad shoulders. "Garwin, talk to me."

Garwin stared at the ground, his voice halting as he began to speak. "You'll marry the princess, and you'll settle down to produce heirs and learn to be a good king. You'll live here, because your father's castle is really no place for newlyweds. You'll settle here, and the people will learn to love you once they realize that you are nothing like your tyrannical father. You'll become king one day, a king in love with his beautiful queen, a king with lovely children, a king adored by his
adopted country as well as his father's subjects, a king who understands the art of ruling inherently. You'll live your idyllic life, and I'll be happy for you, but it will be from a distance, and I'm selfish enough to say that I wish you didn't have to get married and that maybe then you
could stay at home..."

Angel looked at him in extreme confusion. "Garwin, what are you talking about? What do you mean, 'from a distance'?"

Garwin's eyes were already lonely as he looked up at his prince. "Oh, come on, Angel. You know your father will drag me back with him. He took me in as a foundling, and as such, I'm bound to him. He's never liked us being so close, and I'm sure he's relishing ending our
companionship."

"A foundling," Angel stated, trying to understand.

"I was abandoned on the castle doorstep, four months after you were born. The king, out of what he refers to as 'the goodness of his heart', a doubtful title as he has neither goodness nor heart, allowed me to be raised in the castle. Aggie raised me, and though the king didn't like it, you and I grew up side by side. While your mother was alive, she loved our friendship, and when she died, she told the king to let us be.

But now, there's really no hope. You may insist that I stay here, but he is my monarch, and he may command me as the bastard foundling I am. I will never be able to marry, because no noblewoman would look twice at a man of unknown lineage, whether or not he be a friend of the prince. I have been raised on ladies, and cannot honestly see myself marrying a common wench. I have some degree of snobbery instilled in me, though a good deal of it is aimed at myself.

So I will return with your father after the wedding, and as I doubt he plans on visiting you too often, this is the end. Perhaps I sound melodramatic, but you were the only thing protecting me from him all these years." Garwin's eyes were bright, though his tears would never make it down his cheeks. "I'm glad you'll be happy with her, Angel. It's just that if you had despised each other on sight, I could have consoled myself with the idea that we would both be miserable for the rest of our lives."

He dropped his head in his hands, clutching at his wavy chestnut hair. "I told you I was selfish."

Angel looked at him helplessly, having no idea what to say. He glanced again at his reflection, but his image there was as silent as himself.

***********************************************************************

Angel awoke as someone briskly shook his shoulder.

"Rrrrnnngghh," he said, demonstrating his incredible talent for conversation. "No...sleep."

"Angel, wake up," a voice replied.

"Sleep," he said with great assurance.

"Wake up, you big lump of royalty. We'll miss it!"

Angel finally recognized the voice as Garwin's. He cracked open his eyelids to glare at his disgustingly awake compatriot. "Miss what? This had better be good."

"Well, it's just, you were so excited about being in the sun yesterday, that, I guess I thought you might like to see the sunrise. You can go back to sleep if you don't want--"

Angel threw back the blankets and dashed for the door. "Let's go, let's go!"

"Angel!" Garwin's voice arrested him. "I did allow enough time for you to get dressed."

With a sigh, Angel turned back to throw on his clothes in great haste.

***********************************************************************

He had never really witnessed the dawn, the first time he had been human. He sometimes stayed out carousing until the wee hours, but he was too drunk and caught up in the pleasures of the flesh to care about something as commonplace as the dawn.

He had been mistaken.

There are occasions in life where the feeling of anticipation overwhelms every sense in the body. It happens to children when they wake up on Christmas morning, it happens to actors right before the curtain goes up. Adrenaline sings hymns in their veins, they breathe faster in
excitement.

Angel felt all this and then some as the first grey streaks of dawn tinged the dark early morning sky. He could hear songbirds begin to sing in the distance as they sensed the morning coming, and their song was the same of his overflowing spirit. In the capitol city, cocks were crowing,
and the world was coming to life. But he remained frozen amongst the spires of the royal palace, willing the sun to rise sooner so that his heart wouldn't leap from his chest.

Slowly, ever slowly, the sky lightened, promising a beautiful day. Garwin heard his prince gasp as the sky caught fire, flaming into amber and violet and gold. The clouds were everchanging masterpieces, shifting in a faraway wind.

Angel's knuckles were white with clutching as the sun himself finally crested the horizon. It was nothing and exactly like he remembered. It began to dry up the morning dew and Angel let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding in.

Finally he turned to the man at his side, a look of incredible gratitude in his eyes.

"Thank you, Garwin."

Garwin looked at him for a moment, his green eyes unreadable in the morning light. Finally, he nodded, leaving Angel alone with his sunrise for company.

***********************************************************************

Willow was awakened by the sun streaking through her window. She stretched luxuriously, smiling sleepily as she saw Marie was sitting beside her bed. "Morning, Marie. How are you?"

Marie smiled at the newly awakened princess, brushing her tousled red hair away from her face. "I'm fine, Willow. You need to get up and put on your habit now, love."

Willow looked at her in tired confusion. "My habit?"

"Your riding habit, dear." Marie gestured to the plum colored garment laid across the foot of the bed. "You and Prince Alaric are going riding this morning."

Willow looked at her in shock. "Prince Alaric? Riding? With me?"

Marie looked out the window. "I suggested it to your mother. She thought it would be a good way for the two of you to get to know one another."

"I thought you didn't trust him."

Marie said nothing for a long moment. "I don't really know him, my dear. He may be nothing at all like-" With a hasty look at Willow, she amended her statement. "Like, like the sort of man who would do you harm. Now quickly, you need to eat your breakfast and get dressed. You
are meeting Alaric in the stables in one hour."

Willow gave her a smile as bright as the morning sun as she threw back her blankets. "Thank you Marie. I will be glad to spend some time alone with-"

"I didn't say you would be alone, Willow. That would hardly be appropriate. His man Garwin will accompany you."

Her statement gave Willow pause. Garwin had watched her like a hawk at the banquet the night before, and only Angel's presence at her side had made his scrutiny bearable. Still, if it meant she would be able to talk with Angel, she would be able to deal with Garwin's company. If Angel liked him, he couldn't really be bad at all. Besides, she had more
immediate concerns to think about.

How on earth was she going to ride a horse?

***********************************************************************

Angel and Garwin were already saddling the horses by the time Willow arrived in the palace stables. She looked like a gem, her hair flaming like the recent sunrise against the dark purple of her fitted riding habit, but Angel mostly noticed the expression on her face.

Fear.

He smothered a laugh as she scanned the horses with wide green eyes. This was a girl who had been raised on a Hellmouth, who had fought against vampires for the past three years, a girl who had fought countless demons and random nasties, a girl who was best friends with a
Vampire Slayer, a girl who was dating a werewolf, a girl who had seen Xander eat. Yet here she was, looking for all the world like she had never seen anything more frightening than a gently whickering mare.

"I'm told you're exceptionally fond of riding, Princess," he said with a wry smile upon his lips.

She glared at him, but nervousness severely reduced the steel in her gaze. "Yes, well, horses..." she trailed off.

Angel shook his head wonderingly, turning to see Garwin looking at her quizzically. "Garwin, I don't think you've actually met the Princess yet. Your Highness, this is my lifelong friend Garwin. Garwin, this is Princess Aurelia, as you already know."

Willow almost stuck her hand out to shake in greeting, but stopped herself as she saw Garwin bowing respectfully. Biting her lip, she did her best to curtsy. "I'm so glad to meet you, Garwin. Thank you for accompanying us on our ride today. It is much nicer to have you than
some anonymous groom."

Garwin looked at her with some degree of surprise. Angel didn't know if it was because she was being so gracious or because she had used polysyllabic words like 'accompanying' and 'anonymous'.

"It is my pleasure, Highness. Now, can I help you mount?"

Realizing that Garwin would notice instantly that she was no horsewoman, Angel stepped in. "Oh, allow me. Please." Taking Willow's hand, he led her to the curious mare, all the while whispering in a low voice. "Your horse's name is Salla. She is fast but steady, and she thinks she knows you. She will follow my horse until you learn to control her. Just hold the reins and pretend you know what you're doing. It's easier than it looks." With that, they were at Salla's side, and Angel was cupping his hands to boost Willow up.

With a sigh of extreme trepidation, she placed her foot in his hands.

***********************************************************************

Garwin was confused. Anything he had ever heard about this Princess had been disappointing at least. She was supposed to be plain, dull, and foolish. Instead she was a vivacious bundle of loveliness and sweetness, treating him like an equal instead of the servant he essentially was.

Suddenly, Willow gasped and pointed to some indistinguishable spot amongst the trees. "Did you see that? Did you see that?"

"What?" Angel and Garwin asked simultaneously.

"That," she began, still pointing and somewhat in shock, " was Colibri coruscans. Colibri coruscans! Here!"

"Yes. And what, pray, is a Colibiri coruscans?" Angel asked.

"A sparkling violet-ear!" she replied in great excitement.

"A sparkling...violet...ear." Angel said slowly.

"It's a hummingbird," she explained patiently. "But the thing is, they live in Ecuador. How on earth can one live in this sort of habitat? I mean, the difference in temperature alone would seem to be prohibitive to their survival, but what could it possibly be eating here? There's quite
a difference between an equatorial rainforest and a deciduous forest, yet here it is, flying around for all the world like this is it's natural biome. Amazing." Shaking her head in amazement and an overload of scientific facts, she rode ahead of the two men, who looked at each other in confusion. Eventually, Angel rode on to catch up with Willow, while Garwin continued to trail behind.

"Guess she's not stupid," he muttered softly, no one hearing him save one curious sparkling violet-ear.
***********************************************************************

Angel couldn't decide whether he was perfectly happy or extremely frustrated. Part of him was overjoyed that he was riding a responsive horse through a forest trail dappled in golden sunlight and living amongst diurnal creatures yet again. Another part of him wanted desperately to talk to Willow alone, a feat that would be nearly impossible to accomplish.

Meanwhile, Willow was doing her best to make friends with Garwin. She liked the unnaturally silent man, who had Angel's build and a few of his mannerisms. She liked the way he watched Angel, making sure his friend was alright. She even liked the way he didn't immediately trust her, knowing all too well that best friends adopted significant others with difficulty. As a result, she really, really wanted Garwin to like her in return, and not just because of Angel's good opinion.

"So, Garwin, are you enjoying your stay at the palace?"

"Of course, Your Highness. His Majesty your father is a gracious host."

"Please," she asked beseechingly, "Don't let's be so formal out here. You don't have to call me Willow, if you'd rather not, but at least use one of my many superfluous names. I might not remember to answer to most of them, but it would be fun to see which ones I actually recognize as my own."

Garwin smiled in spite of himself.

"Now really, all graciousness and decorum aside, how do you like our court?"

"I thought the decoration of the dais was a little ostentatious, but I was raised in a more Spartan environment, so I might be exposing my lack of sophistication. The banquet was exquisite, though I thought the game a little tough and at least one of the sauces overtart. With that in mind, I am constantly impressed by the level of courtesy that abounds under your father's rule. No one has cut me because of my low position, which is a delightful surprise, unmerited though it may be."

"I agree about the dais. It was overly stagey, however lovely the overall effect. I thought it was more an attempt to impress your party, rather than to welcome you. I actually didn't touch the game last night, and only tried certain sauces at Angel's insistence. Furthermore, anyone who would be rude to you deserves the same treatment themselves. Royalty has an obligation to treat everyone with respect. Nobility is nine tenths self-importance and snobbery anyway."

Garwin looked at her, noting the complete ease and honesty in her manner. Nodding as he quickly came to a decision, he pulled up on the reins of his horse. Noticing that he had stopped, Willow and Angel both halted their steeds. "Is something the matter, Garwin?" Angel asked.

"I'm afraid we forgot something terribly important."

"What?" Willow asked.

"Neither of you have any provisions in your saddlebags, do you? Nor do I. I obviously can't go back to the palace, but I believe there is a village not far from here. If you two are capable of riding on alone, I can go procure some luncheon for us."

Willow looked at Angel in delight, knowing that he wanted to talk about their situation as much as she did, but Angel's eyes were still fixed on Garwin.

Giving his prince half a smile and a lazy wink, Garwin spurred his horse into the woods.

***********************************************************************

"So, Angel," Willow began, "It's not that I'm not enjoying this ride, but, well, we're engaged."

"I would have to agree."

"Is this what you and Cordelia do regularly?"

He laughed. "No, I have never been forced to get married to Cordelia on any of our cases. We have occasionally masqueraded as a married couple, but it wasn't real. It wasn't a time/reality portal that landed us in nonexistent countries."

"Do you think we're even on earth?" she asked as the thought struck her.

"I have no idea. I really don't know what we should do in this situation. We can't tell anyone who we really are, because they would never believe us."

"What I wouldn't give for the internet and a stack of Giles's books right now. When it comes to that, what I wouldn't give for Giles right now."

"Yeah," Angel answered vaguely. Willow heard a decidedly noncommittal tone in his voice, and she searched his face, but only his face, as his eyes refused to meet hers. "Angel?" he looked down the path, though it was doubtful his mind was occupied by the view.

It was then that Willow realized something she had known already. "You like it here, don't you?"

His eyes remained focused on some distant point, and only the clenching of his jaw betrayed the emotions stirred by her quiet question.

"Yes," he finally responded, "I like it here. I like...breathing. I like rediscovering the feel of sunlight on my face, and knowing that eventually, my skin will darken. I like getting hungry for food, instead of someone's life-essence. I _love_ garlic.

I like meeting somebody and not feeling like a fraud when they assume I'm human. I like talking to people without being distracted by the sound of their blood rushing through their veins. Furthermore, I like having a pulse again, and I like knowing that the blood within me is my own.

I like the fact that I'm already forgetting what it feels like to do battle with a demon living inside me. I like knowing that I can get upset without worrying that my face might change into something frightening. I like having this face finally be my _real_ face. I like knowing what my face looks like, because I have a reflection again. I like the fact that I've stopped thinking there's someone else in the room when I see myself in the mirror.

I like waking up in the morning in warm sheets, sheets that are warmed by my body, which is finally above room temperature. I like getting out of bed with the knowledge that I'm a day older than I was yesterday, and then running outside to see the morning sun. I saw the sun rise this morning, did you know that? I witnessed the dawn.

I like having normal strength. I like sneezing when I walk into dusty rooms, and shivering when I walk into cold ones. I like never running into invisible barriers that guard places I haven't been invited. I like touching crosses.

I like never having to frantically search for a stake. I like knowing that no one in this world has ever known the feeling of fangs piercing their neck. I like the fact that none of the horrible things I did exist in this world." He paused. There were so many emotions in his quiet
voice, emotions ranging from bitterness to long-awaited hope.

He continued, but his voice was a husky whisper. "The only thing I loved in that world was Buffy, and I had to leave her. Ever so slowly, just being around her was making me happy, and so I left her and all possible joy.

But now I'm here. I don't know why and I don't know how, but here, maybe I could someday find happiness without her, and that happiness would be a blessing instead of a clause in an ancient curse." Willow, having no words to contribute, placed a gentle hand on his forearm. He finally looked at her, and his eyes were full of conflict.

"Yes, Willow. I like it here. I like it so much that I'm worried. I'm worried that if we don't find a way back soon, I won't be willing to take it when we do."

"You could stay here. I could go back alone," she offered.

A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Somehow, I don't think that's allowed. Nothing about this situation has been random, and I doubt either of us can choose independently of the other." Mustering up some of his earlier cheer, he grabbed her hand and squeezed comfortingly.

"Don't worry, Willow. It's my fault we're here, and if you want to go back, we'll find a way back. For now, though, let's play royalty, and enjoy our scandalously unchaperoned ride through the Royal Forest." With an increasingly common grin, he kicked his horse into a gallop and Willow squealed as her mare followed suit.

***********************************************************************

Once Garwin returned with luncheon, the three of them picnicked on a patch of moss next to a crystal brook. Willow gave Angel an evil grin as she turned to Garwin. "So, Garwin, tell me what Angel was like when he was little."

Garwin smiled at her, and his smile was not unlike the one she had given Angel. "Well, let me see. I bet you didn't know, for example, that Angel has a deep seated fear of squirrels."

Angel snorted, practically spraying wine all over himself. Garwin continued undaunted as Willow prompted him with a laugh. "You see, one day, long ago, as six year old Angel wandered about the castle garden, he saw some squirrels frolicking among the seedlings. Being a naturally generous fellow, he decided to share a snack with the boisterous creatures. He had some nuts, and had been informed that squirrels love nuts. He did his best to draw them closer, but the squirrels kept running away. Eventually, he hit upon the idea of laying down a trail of
nuts. The squirrels, seeing that he meant no harm, crept ever closer.

Finally, one of them came close enough to eat from his hand. Angel found this very exciting, especially once the first squirrel's compatriots joined in the feast. Unfortunately, one of the squirrels, possibly with a case of shortsightedness, mistook one of Angel's tender digits for one
of the nuts he was offering. In its haste to devour all the nuts, the squirrel bit Angel's middle finger.

You should have seen His Royal Highness, tearing into the castle with tears streaming down his cheeks and blood dripping from his poor, chewed upon finger."

Willow laughed in sympathy, and Angel looked at her in amusement.

"Such an experience," Garwin continued melodramatically, "would almost certainly scar any young monarch for life. But alas for poor Prince Alaric, this was not his last run-in with the dreaded beasts. Oh no, four years later, by then a manly ten year old, he was again attacked by one of the monsters. He and I were playing hide and seek in a small patch of forest. I was counting against a tree while Angel hid himself. I had been looking for no more than two and a half minutes when I heard a yell. Angel suddenly fell out of the tree in which he had been hiding,
fortunately landing in a small bed of pine needles. As I rushed over to my friend's side, I noticed what looked like a small piece of fur attached to his neck.

It was, of course, a squirrel. Apparently disturbed by an intruder in its sylvan home, it had grabbed onto the back of his neck, clinging to him with its tiny yet sharp claws. I helped Angel free himself from the grasp of the creature, and together we ran to Aggie, our nursemaid, knowing she would fix him. She did indeed bandage his neck, but there are some wounds that go too deep for healing, and ever since, your future husband has been leery indeed of the bushy tailed marauders that respect not his crown." His story ended with a flourish, he finally cracked the smile he had been holding in, and the three of them laughed together like old friends.

Which, in fact, whether indirectly or no, they were.

***********************************************************************

Upon returning to the palace, Angel had been dragged away to some royal council, so Willow was left to her own devices to find some amusement. After changing out of her dusty riding habit and donning a bright white kirtle covered by a lavender colored bliaut, she decided to go exploring.

She found her way to the Great Hall by memory, determined to learn some of the geography of the palace. There were no visible signs of the recent festivities, and Willow made her way towards a large doorway on the far side of the huge chamber. Passing through the elaborately carved door, she found herself in a series of long galleries, each more magnificent than the one preceding it.

The first gallery held armor, brightly polished suits accompanied by all their requisite accessories. It was a bit too militaristic for Willow to understand the purposes of much of it, but she couldn't help but be fascinated by the variations each knight made in designing his defensive
suit. Most of all, she loved looking at all of the different shields. She knew that a shield was often the only thing to save a knight from death, but the patterns on each one were as interesting as the knights themselves must have been. Some depicted towers and fortresses, grand constructions that certainly had a great deal of meaning for the men who immortalized them in metal. Some were more fanciful, containing griffins, manticores, undulating serpents, and one even had a unicorn.

The ones that interested Willow most of all were the ones with beautifully scripted words covering their surfaces. Some were in ancient languages she couldn't even begin to understand, with words consisting of runes that she had never seen. Others, however, were in varied forms of Latin, and even with her basic knowledge of the language, she could figure out at least some of their meanings. There were strong words of protection and blessings placed on those shields, words containing power. She ran her hand lightly over them, and she knew that if she had been a knight, she would have wanted one of those shields. Willow, of all people, knew the power of words.

Upon reaching the end of the gallery, she moved into the next with a gasp of delight. The room was made of vast stone walls, but she could hardly see them, for almost every inch was covered in magnificent tapestries. She could only guess at their immense weight, even as she was dazzled by their color and incredible detail. Moving closer to one, she hardly dared breathe, unconsciously hesitant to disturb the tiny figures made of brightly colored thread.

Entire lives were lived in each patch of woven history, and Willow was enthralled by the incredible detail. She couldn't decide if the weaver's greater talent had been in pure artistry, or in the insightful telling of the many tales she was seeing. She saw miniature dukes proposing to
beautiful ladies in the middle of rose arbors. She saw great treaties being signed between powerful nations, she saw said treaties being broken, and she saw the wars that resulted. She saw men dying by the thousands on battlefields made of silk, with their woven blood flowing in
frozen rivulets past fallen horses and generals.

She saw women dying in childbirth, and women who lived to watch their children grow old. She saw death and mourning, and she saw joy occurring for no reason at all but that people wished for its existence. She saw castles from long ago, courtiers flirting and insinuating with words, even as footmen and maids kissed in the servants' passages.

She saw valiant knights who rode out against great dragons, with some emerging victorious, and some being charred in the attempt. She saw sorcerers who strove for anarchy, wizards who upheld the law, and the populace forever caught in the middle.

She saw a young girl, clad all in magnificent white, given away by her father at the altar. The magnificence of the royal wedding was caught forever in the strands, but the girl's face could not be seen as she was passed into her husband's care. Willow wanted so much to see her
expression, to know if she was happy to be married, or if it meant an end of herself...

Standing abruptly, Willow shook her head to clear away her suddenly disturbing thoughts. Perhaps Marie's harsh words from before were finally catching up with her. Deciding she had had enough of tapestries, Willow quickly moved into the next gallery.

She suddenly felt very self conscious as hundreds of eyes stared at her.

Catching her breath, Willow almost laughed in relief as she realized that there were no people in the room; rather, she had entered the hall of Royal Portraits. Her former curiosity restored, Willow began working her way through the paintings, staring intently at the images of the
ancestors of her other self.

There were a few redheads, and many green eyes, but the common factor between most of the portraits was the expression of extreme intelligence in every ancient face. Their costumes were rich and varied, but they all had that look in their eyes, the look of knowledge within, the look of an active mind that works incessantly. They might not have vocalized the constant stream of mental activity the way Willow did, but she could see it had happened internally nonetheless.

Willow didn't know them, but in a strange way, she still felt that they were her family. Not just that they were part of her bloodline, but that she belonged among them.

"Ridiculous," she muttered, turning quickly to find her way out. But she paused at the door, looking back at all of her great great great great grandmothers and uncles and cousins. She was their legacy. She was part of their line.

She was very nervous.

***********************************************************************

Determined not to revert to old habits, Angel stifled his instinct to growl as the chancellor of his soon-to-be father-in-law began yet another speech. Every possible benefit of his marriage to the princess had been covered several times already, but no one else seemed to object to
hearing them again. They were all so delighted that the betrothal was in place, that none of them seemed to think it necessary that he spend any time with his bride-to-be until she was actually his bride.

Meanwhile, he was going slowly mad as everyone recycled the same speech by putting emphasis on different words. "...and the GREAT advantages of this union are not ONLY manifest in the aspects of CHANGE..."

Angel's foot went to sleep.

Admittedly, at least some part of him was thrilled by the tiny reminder that he was human. However, as reminders go, it was certainly one of the less enjoyable. He really couldn't put up with their nonsense for much longer.

The chancellor finally finished, beaming at those seated near him. Angel could see that another councilor was about to stand, and unable to bear it any longer, he leaped to his feet first. The table fell deadly silent at the sight of the standing prince. Praying that his talent for
improvisation had not left him, Angel spread his arms.

"Your Majesty," he began, nodding at the king who continued to look at him in surprise, "and gentlemen of the court. I am indeed honored by not only your gracious welcome into your country, but your welcome into your royal family as well. I had heard many tales of the princess' beauty, charm, and wit, but not a one approached the truth. It is with the greatest of care that I will attempt to be something close to the husband that she deserves."

The king beamed at Angel's words, and he knew that flattering Willow had definitely been the proper way to begin. "I know that our kingdoms have histories that some might say stand in the way of this union, histories of war and betrayal. But I will not speak of the details." In fact, he
wouldn't have been able to if he had tried. He knew none of the histories he hinted at.

"All that I can give to you," he continued, his voice echoing strongly and his eyes blazing with sincerity, "is my word, my word that not only will I care for your princess with all the respect that she should be afforded and more, but that I will care for your people. I do not mean I will provide for them, because you have taught them to do that themselves. I mean that I will care for them, I will consider their welfare as important a thing to be preserved as my own. When I marry Her Royal Highness, I do not just wed a woman. I wed her family, I wed her country.

You have no reason to believe that I am trustworthy, and I will never fault any of you for being wary of me. But I swear that I will watch over your people with a vigilance as great as your own. I embrace the responsibility you are affording to me, and I thank you for it.

There is a day in the future I am looking for, a day that I must create myself. On that day, you will trust me as one of your own people. You will not regard me as a foreigner, but you will embrace me," Angel looked around the table, making eye contact with every man there, "...as a son." He sat down slowly, wondering if he had been just a little too melodramatic.

That was when the table erupted in applause and cheers, men standing to express their appreciation. Angel allowed them a humble smile, though he was grinning madly within. "Overexcited much?" he thought, feeling a pang as he thought of his absent secretary. He had no time to wonder about Cordelia, however, as everyone in the room rushed at him in an
effort to shake his hand and welcome him properly.

He didn't notice his father, sitting in the chair where he had been all along. He alone did not stand, did not applaud, did not smile. He had watched his son through narrowed eyes, scowling at him through the length of his encouraging speech. As Angel smiled and chatted with his father's former enemies, he stood and stalked out, a look of disgust twisting his grizzled face.

***********************************************************************

Garwin looked up in surprise as the king stormed out of the councilroom, a look of barely muted fury on his face. Garwin had not been allowed to attend the session due to his lack of a pedigree, but he had been able to make out Angel's speech, and been delighted to hear how well it was received. Unfortunately, it looked as though Angel's father had been somewhat less impressed. Even less fortunately, he spied Garwin sitting in the corner.

"You," he snarled, "What are you doing here, hanging around like the worthless pup you are?"

"I, I was waiting for Angel-" Garwin realized his mistake too late, and his head cracked back at the force of the king's blow to his jaw.

"What did you say?"

"I'm sorry, I meant I was waiting for Alaric-" The king's fist lashed out again, causing Garwin to stumble.

"I was waiting for His Royal Highness," Garwin mumbled through the blood in his mouth. Seizing him by the hair, the king threw Garwin to the ground. Nearby sentries stirred uneasily, but they could hardly prevent the king from disciplining his own servant.

"That's right," the king ground out, his face a mask of fury. "He...is...your...prince." Each word was accompanied by a kick to Garwin's side. Garwin could feel his ribs breaking, but didn't say a word, hoping silence would make him stop sooner.

"His mother thought it was a good thing for you two to be friends. His mother also thought 'Angel'," his face twisted in distaste at the name, "was a suitable nickname for our nation's prince and one day leader. His mother thought it was a good idea to allow you," his fist threw Garwin back against the wall, "a sniveling little forsaken bastard, to be his constant companion." Garwin's vision was becoming gray around the edges, and he closed his eyes only to see starbursts behind his eyelids. "Well, my boy, that will all change soon. You aren't going to follow the 'happy couple' around after the wedding. You don't deserve to be happy, to even witness happiness, because you don't even deserve to live. Let's never forget how worthless you really are."

That was when Garwin fainted.

**********************************************************************

Worn out from wandering aimlessly through myriad hallways, Willow paused when she heard a man's furious grunt. Curious, she looked round a corner in the direction of the noise.

There she saw Angel's father, pounding his fists into a bloody and apparently unconscious Garwin.

With a horrified gasp, she ran forward unthinkingly, grabbing the king and pulling him away from her wounded friend. Willow may have looked delicate, but years of assisting in the tasks of slaying gave her an unusual power, and the king almost fell as she threw him off Garwin's inert form. He looked at her in shock for a moment, then his face darkened in fury.

"Are you crazy?" she gasped angrily, trying at the same time to ascertain the extent of Garwin's wounds. She looked at the king in horror. "What did he do? What did he do to deserve this? You- horrible, horrible man! How could you do this to your son's best friend? He's served your
family loyally his whole life, and this is how you repay him? What could he have possibly done to you?"

For a moment, she thought the king might turn on her, so menacing was his face and figure. She saw him clench his hands in incredible rage, but by some miracle, he restrained himself. His white-knuckled fists slowly uncurled, his fingers trembling in trapped emotion. Then he answered her.

"What did he do? He exists. He lives and breathes." Suddenly, he spat contemptuously on Garwin's slumped body. With a look at Willow, daring her to provoke him any further, he turned away and walked down the hall. With a flick of his wrist, he flung away a few drops of Garwin's blood that still clung to his hand.

"Good e'en, Princess," he called back without turning, his voice heavy with disgust.

Righteous ire rose in Willow's breast, but she forgot it as Garwin emitted a low moan at her feet. Heedless of his blood, she knelt beside him, her face pale and tight with worry. "Garwin? Can you hear me? It's Willow. The...the princess. Are you alright? No, that's a stupid question. Are you conscious? Oh, Garwin, please be okay. Please, wake up, say something." She clutched his hand tightly, wishing for a sign that his injuries weren't as bad as she already suspected.

"Your Highness." His voice was rough and thick with pain, but he tried to look up at her face. "I'm sorry you had to see that-" Willow interrupted him with a sound that was half sob, half laugh of relief. "Garwin, Garwin! Thank goodness. I can't believe this happened here, in
my home, in my father's palace."

"It's not _your_ father I need to worry about," Garwin muttered, wry even in his battered state.

"Garwin, why didn't you try and stop him?"

"Strike my king? I may be in pain, Princess, but I didn't want to risk a hanging offense just to keep my ribs intact."

"He broke your ribs? Oh, Garwin, he belongs on the hellmouth, not here."

"Hellmouth?" He asked in confusion. Pretending not to hear him, Willow gently pressed her lips to his bloody forehead.

That was how Angel found them.

**********************************************************************

His head still reeling from all the congratulations he had received, Angel let out a sigh as he stepped into the hall. When he saw the two figures on the floor, however, the sigh was turned into a choked gasp and he flew to Willow's side.

"What happened here- Garwin?!" he recognized his friend in horror, wincing at his injuries. There was a time when the sight of so much blood would have made him weak with hunger, but that time was past, and he could only feel shock at the sight of his friend's crumpled body.
"Who did this? Who laid a hand on you? I'll teach them to-"

"It was your father," Willow interrupted, her voice more sad than angry. "I found him here, beating him, but he was already on the ground. Garwin had already fallen, and he was still hitting him over and over..." Her voice began to crack, and Angel took her into his embrace, one hand still resting on Garwin's shoulder. "Garwin, we need to move you into my
chambers," Angel said quietly, squeezing Willow's arm in silent support.

"That's right. We need to have him moved. I can do something about that." Willow gave Angel a grateful smile, then left the shelter of his arm to walk over to the nearest guardsman. "You," she barked harshly. "Go get help. Now." The man began walking down the hall. "RUN!" she
commanded, and the man dashed away hurriedly. Stalking over to the next man, she glared up into his face, though she was more than a foot shorter than him. "What are you about, to have let this occur right under your very nose?" she demanded furiously.

"The king," the soldier began weakly, but Willow cut him off with a fierce shake of her head.

"Don't give me any weak excuses. The council room is all of two paces away, you couldn't go in and ask for help? Maybe you are forbidden to restrain the king, but my father could have helped you! Instead, you chose to stand here like a statue, to watch as my good friend was
attacked by my fiance's father! What can you say in your defense? Are you so braindead that you couldn't think of any course of action more useful than pretending to be inanimate? I am disgusted by you, by all of you!" she cried, gesturing to every other guard in sight.

"Why do you think you carry weapons? As jewelry? It is your job to protect people, not watch as they are brutally beaten! I am sickened by your apathy, and by all rights, you should be flung out of the palace like the spineless scum you are."

Angel couldn't help but hearken back to the time when he himself had felt the burn of Willow's ire. Still, looking at Garwin lying helplessly on the ground, he felt no pity for the sentries.

"And yet, for all that I would wish to exact my revenge for your tremendous displays of cowardice, I am, in the end, a princess. However I may criticize you, it is my duty by blood to rise above my emotions. I know well that you may have families that might suffer if I were to
discharge you in disgrace, that you may have elderly mothers who depend upon your wages. Therefore, as much as my friendship with this man screams against it, I will not discharge you. I will merely assign you to extra guard duty for the next six months, cut your rations in half and
issue a proclamation that any man that acts in such a feeble manner in the future will suffer much stiffer consequences."

The soldiers imperceptibly slumped in relief. "Don't _ever_ let it happen again, understood?" Willow's voice was impossibly chilly. The men nodded frantically, and each bowed at her feet to kiss the hem of her robe before going slinking away in shame. One soldier remained, his face
resigned.

"Highness, I beg of you, I must speak."

Willow glared at him. "You think my judgement too harsh for the enormity of your crime?"

"No, Princess, in fact, I think you are overly generous to me. I have no family, my mother is in good health, and I think it right that you should discharge me, for I have betrayed my duty and my intentions. I deserve no leniency, and it is not just that I should accept it."

Willow's face softened as she studied the man. He was quite young for a guard, now that she looked closer. He couldn't be more than a year or two older than herself. Back in Sunnydale, they probably would have taken classes together. "Wherefore do you seek the wrath of a princess?" she asked quietly.

"I know too well the plight of your friend there," he said softly, gesturing towards Garwin. "My stepfather used to beat me and my younger brother cruelly. I longed all my life to become a soldier so that I could be stronger than him, so that I could protect my family from his violence. When he died, he left my mother well-off, and I was free to come to the palace. I came here to become a brave man, a man who would never harm anyone who couldn't fight back...

I am ashamed, because I let my own memories stifle me just now. All the months of training, all my shiny good intentions, and none of it has done any good at all. When the king attacked, I could only see my stepfather striking my brother as he did for so many years, and as much as I wanted to stop him, I knew that if I intervened he would be able to kill me easily-" his voice faltered, and his head dropped. "I am here to stop it from happening to others, and now I have failed in the only objective of my occupation. I have failed you as my princess, your father as my king, and most of all, I have failed this man because he reminded me of myself."

Willow halted his confession by placing her hand on his sleeve. "The wounds of childhood cannot be erased. I shall not send you away, because to be perfectly honest, we need more men of your make amongst our numbers. If you truly wish to make amends, you may be Garwin's personal sentry while he recuperates. Your regular duties shall be forfeit as you guard his life with your own. You may not have saved him this time, but it is possible that you shall in the future."

The soldier looked into her eyes, and she saw that tears had made their way down his face. "Princess, I-" he stopped, eyes widening, and even from behind, Angel figured he was getting a dose of the redhead's willpower. "I would be honored."

Willow nodded at him. "You may stand guard while we wait for assistance to arrive. Forget your shame, and focus on your new responsibilities." Releasing his arm, she walked back to kneel beside Angel.

"Check out the princess," he murmured, half teasing and half in awe.

"Yeah, well, when in Rome," she replied with a smile. "It's just like learning a foreign language, only it's still...English. Just more Giles-y."

Angel looked at her speculatively. "You seemed pretty comfortable in your authority, though. That has nothing to do with speech patterns."

Willow's eyes registered confusion when she looked into his own. "What do you mean?"

"I just-" he broke off as palace healers rushed into the hall.

"Here he is. Help him," Willow commanded, though an undercurrent of worry and helplessness surfaced in her voice. As Garwin was prodded and examined, she held his head in her lap, stroking his hair, ignoring the blood that had formed it into clumps. Seeing that there was not much he could do, Angel determined to make himself useful in a somewhat different capacity.

"Willow, Garwin, if you could excuse me, there is someone I must talk to." Willow's nod was slightly reproachful, but Garwin immediately understood Angel's veiled meaning. "Your Highness, don't-"

"Don't call me 'your highness'. Call me Angel like you're supposed to, and trust me. All may not be well, but I won't do anything too stupid." Garwin looked doubtful, but he waved his hand in dismissal. Smiling grimly at his injured friend, Willow finally understood his intentions as
Angel set off to find his father.

***********************************************************************

The guard's eyes widened as he saw Angel approaching. "Your Highness, perhaps you shouldn't-"

"Is my father in?" Angel interrupted, his voice oily with politeness.

"Sir," the guard began, verging on desperation. He was never allowed to finish his thought, however, because he was cut off yet again.

"Send the boy in!" an angry voice rang out from within the royal suite, and Angel smiled grimly as the soldier blanched. They both heard the insult in the word 'boy', but Angel was angry enough that no new insults would increase his cold rage. Brushing past the petrified guard, he
entered the room.

"Well, well," the king began, "your friend Garwin soiled my new shirt with his filthy blood."

Angel, refusing to be baited, merely stared at him.

"Good thing the princess showed up," he continued. "I guess that's pretty much the story of his worthless life-- totally helpless but for the protection of women." He dropped all pretense of polite conversation at that point, and the look he gave his heir would have withered plants. "Well, I wonder how interesting I can make his life once there are no more skirts to hide behind?"

"What do you think you will accomplish by threatening my friend?" Angel asked quietly.

"I don't need threats, my boy, when I have all the time in the world to make good on my plans."

"Do you honestly think I'll allow him to return with you?" Angel asked with a cocky smile, a smile that he had rarely unleashed in the many years since the return of his soul. It was a smile he had perfected over decades, capable of maddening women with lust and infuriating those he
wished to torment. It was a calculated attempt at irritation, and had never failed.

"I own him," the king growled, feeling all the condescension implied in Angel's smirk.

"Hardly," Angel replied breezily. "Anyway, I inherited Mother's quick mind instead of your lust for violence, a fact for which I am constantly grateful. Don't you think I'm capable of convincing Willow's father that Garwin should stay here permanently, all the while making it seem as if
it were his idea?"

The king slowly rose from his chair, glaring at his rebellious son. "I swear, boy, if you don't-"

"If I don't what? Will you hit me, try to beat me as you did Garwin? The whole palace knows about your violent temper, and though they may not have much say in how much brutality you dole out to your servants, they will not stand for you to bloody my lip, for they like me very well here. Furthermore, I, unlike Garwin," here Angel paused, sidling so close to his father that they each could feel the breath of the other on their faces, "am not afraid to hit back."

They stood at an impasse for a moment, neither backing down, neither daring to move. Angel was the first to break the silence.

"I may not be the son you wanted, milord," he murmured, his voice silky, "but in some ways, I am more like you than either of us would dare admit." He swiftly turned away, pausing at the door to look back at his seething father. "Don't ever lay hands on any of my loved ones again."
With a mocking bow, he exited the room.

***********************************************************************

Garwin awoke to see Willow's extremely worried face. Some of the worry, however, turned to joy as he opened his eyes. "Garwin! You're conscious! Oh, I'm so glad!" She bent to hug him tightly, and Garwin had just enough coherent thought to spare that he noticed her firm grip didn't grip him in any of the places where he was in real pain.

"Thayne! Come here, he's awake!" Garwin had time to blink before a new face appeared. He saw a hesitating young man with gold hair and grey eyes, a pike held loosely in his right hand.

"Your Highness," Thayne said respectfully, "perhaps I should remain by the door. Lord Garwin doesn't really know me..."

"I'm not a Lord," Garwin croaked as Willow quelled Thayne's worries.

"Don't worry Thayne, I'm sure that you and Garwin will be great friends. Garwin, this is Thayne, a soldier in His Majesty's service, currently employed as your personal bodyguard."

"Good my Lord," Thayne began, bowing as best he could beside the bed.

"Still not a Lord," Garwin replied.

"Oh, Garwin, don't be silly. If he wants to call you a Lord, let him."

"I will do my utmost to see that never, under any circumstances, will you again be subjected to such disregard as you unfortunately experienced today."

"Disregard?" Garwin looked at Willow questioningly.

"Thayne feels badly because he didn't step in to stop the king."

"Indeed, milord, I swear that never again shall my own inner turmoil paralyze me as it did during today's incident-"

"STOP!" Garwin sternly said. "There is too much going on right now for a person in my position to understand it all at once. As far as I can tell, Thayne is a palace guard who is now my personal guard who insists on calling me Lord. Yes?"

"Yes, but-" Willow began.

"Princess, may I ask a favor?"

"Of course, Garwin," she replied, softening.

"Can I muddle through the explanations later? Please? My head hurts, and listening to convoluted accounts of todays events is only making it worse."

"Right you are, Garwin. You deserve to be coddled, and coddled you shall be."

"I didn't say that I wanted-"

"Coddled you shall be," Willow finished firmly. "Thayne, call a page, and send for more pillows and some broth."

Thayne bowed out of the room, casting guilty glances at Garwin all the while. Once he was gone, Garwin gave Willow a wry look. "You like protecting me, don't you? You want very much for me to like it here. Don't you know your kindness will make it that much harder when I'm forced to leave?"

Willow looked at him sadly, brushing his hair away from his forehead. "I'm sort of hoping you won't have to leave, Garwin. I think you fit here."

"So do I," a voice came form the doorway. Angel walked in slowly, reaching out his hand as Willow came to meet him halfway. Seeing the questions in their eyes, he shrugged. "I...spoke with him."

"I'm hearing less 'spoke' and more 'got in his face and tried to infuriate him," Willow commented.

"Perceptive as always," Angel smiled.

"Look at the two of you," Garwin blurted out. "Goodness, it almost makes me angry how perfectly suited you are for one another, if only because it isn't fair that you both get to be so happy."

Willow and Angel had hardly had time to exchange a look before Marie came in. "Your Highness, the banquet is soon. You had not forgotten? I had such a time finding you. Where have you been, and why are you here?" Seeing Angel, she bowed. "My Other Highness, a pleasure. And who is..." Marie looked towards the bed, her words breaking off and catching in her throat as she looked at the mutilated man under the covers.

"Do I really look that bad?" Garwin asked as Marie stared in what appeared to be horror. Feeling the curious gazes of Willow and Angel, she managed to tear her eyes away. "Willow, I will help you dress. I will be in your chambers-" the rest of her sentence was lost as she fled
into the hallway.

"What was that about?" Angel asked confusedly.

"I have no idea," Willow admitted. "But I guess I should go get ready. Garwin," she crossed over and kissed his more or less intact cheek, "I hope you feel better. Thayne will help out. Angel, I'll see you at dinner. Now, I'm off to turn into a proper princess." With a smile, she
glided out the door.

"Too late," Garwin murmured. "Well, Angel, you should probably go get ready as well."

"I don't want to leave you alone-"

"I have Thayne, and later maybe we can bribe a page to tell us what everyone was wearing and who danced with who. Now go!" Angel gave up with a laugh and headed out the door. Garwin had almost drifted off to sleep again when he heard fanfare in the hallway. Thayne dashed in
breathlessly, somehow still balancing a bowl of soup.

"My Lord, he approaches-" Thayne began choking as he struggled to catch his breath, and an unpleasant thought crawled into Garwin's mind. Surely Angel's father wouldn't attempt to attack him again?"

That was when liveried heralds entered the room. "His Majesty the King," one bawled as Willow's father swept into the room. Garwin couldn't help but muse that he had never in his life been so popular before his cruel beating. Already, his room had contained a Princess, Prince,
lady-in-waiting and his earnest guard, and now he was seeing the king.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, I fear I am in no condition to bow to you," Garwin said respectfully.

"My boy, I, like my daughter, am deeply distressed by what happened to you today. I feel the need to make amends."

"Your Majesty, there was nothing you could have done."

"I disagree, but I will do something now. Do you feel capable of being carried in a litter?"

Garwin looked at the king in confusion. "A litter?"

"I would wish you to be our guest of honor at tonight's festivities, but methinks your chamber a bit small for the entire royal court. Therefore, the only solution is to take you to them." The king's face had not changed, but there was a tone of gentle teasing in his commanding voice. Garwin smiled in spite of himself. The smile faded as another thought occurred to him.

"I do not wish to question Your Majesty in anything, but might it not be...impolitic to bring me to a feast where His Other Majesty will be present?"

The king smiled grimly. "it is well thought of, but I spoke with him this morning before the council of my advisors. He informed me that he 'wouldn't be caught dead at any more wasteful festivities celebrating something so entirely mundane', so I think we need not worry about his
presence."

"Well, in that case...to be sure, Your Majesty, I think I could be carried if my attendants can try not to jolt me too much."

"You are being pert, which I will take as a sign that you are feeling better. Very well, I will be honored to have you at my table this evening. My daughter thinks very highly of you and your Prince, so I have no choice but to love you as well. We will speak further this evening, but for now I shall leave you to your rest. Fare thee well." In a swirl of ermine and a blast of trumpets, he was gone. Looking across the room, Garwin saw a somewhat flabbergasted Thayne still
clutching the bowl of broth in his hand.

"Isn't being an invalid fun?" Garwin grinned.

***********************************************************************

"So, Rajah, is there anything else your heart desires?" Angel smirked as an earnest young page brought Garwin yet another concoction of fresh fruit juice.

"Angel, so help me, once I'm mobile again," Garwin threatened vaguely. He was lounging in an extravagant litter covered in silk cushions made from every conceivable color of silk and velvet. None of them, however, could match the brilliance of the amethyst dressing gown borrowed from the king's own wardrobe. Garwin had tried to protest, but the king's valet had been quite insistent, and Garwin hoped that the honor of wearing the king's clothing outweighed how ridiculous he imagined he looked.

Willow walked over, a wide smile on her face. "Angel, it looks like these pillows could be made from your old wardrobe. Multicolored silk and velvet-- that was your Bronzing gear." Angel smiled ruefully before Garwin interrupted.

"What are you talking about? Bronzing?"

"Oh, it was just a joke. A very incomprehensible not funny at all joke. So, Garwin, is there a particular reason that Marie is so terrified of you?" She looked over to where her lady-in-waiting was sitting, her face white and her hands twisting the train of her gown. She looked
everywhere in the room but at Garwin, and her eyes looked suspiciously bright.

"Have you been bullying courtiers again, you naughty boy?" Angel remonstrated.

Garwin shrugged helplessly, or as well as he could in spite of his injuries. "I've never met her, so the only thing I can guess is that the color of this robe hurts her eyes. Oh, um, Princess, don't tell your father I said that."

Willow laughed, then saw her father gesturing for her to approach the throne. "Oh, Angel, this is the ceremony of the evening. Garwin, we'll be back in a minute." She and Angel began working their way towards her father, when she suddenly stopped at Marie's chair. "Marie, Garwin was requesting some mulled wine. Could you take him a flagon please?"

Marie began to protest, but Willow had already continued on her way. "You're bad," Angel whispered. "Eighteen years on the hellmouth will do that to a girl," she replied. They reached her father, who held up his hands for silence.

"Tonight is truly a great night, my countrymen. We are celebrating a union, not only between nations, but between two truly wonderful people. Most of you must know how remarkable my daughter the Princess is, but it has been my privilege to get to know her fiance, and I can honestly say that I will be glad to welcome Prince Alaric into my family. He is an honorable and upright young man who will someday make a wonderful king. In other words, he is almost worthy of her hand." The court seemed to hold its breath at the king's audacity, but at Angel's grin, there was a swell of relieved laughter.

"The marriage is fast approaching," the king continued. "There were those who questioned the wisdom of an alliance of any sort between our two countries, but I think their worries have proved almost entirely unfounded. Here," he cried, raising his goblet, "is to the Prince and
our Princess!" The hall erupted into cheers.

The silence was almost imperceptible at first, because silence by definition cannot be heard in a din. Yet slowly it spread, snaking through the crowd, and the jubilant yells died away in a wide path leading to the main doors.

For there stood Angel's father.

He was drunk and sneering, for alcohol could not change his disposition for the better. He glared around him, and the richly dressed people near him backed away as much as those behind them would allow.

"My good King Aylmar," Willow's father said calmly, "how good to have join us."

"Very good,' he replied bitterly. "You're thrilled, in fact, to see me, yes?"

"Of course," he replied.

Aylmar made his way towards the throne, stumbling occasionally. He came up the steps till he was within an arm's length of Angel. "Well, Padraic, this is a lovely scene here." Willow's father raised his eyebrow at the casual use of his name, but he made no comment. "The newlyweds," Aylmar continued. "Or, is it soon to be weds? Watch out for her, my boy," he whispered loudly to Angel. "She's violent."

"Like you?" his son asked coldly.

Shaking his head, the king laughed. "Well, I shouldn't have come. I just heard everyone having such a nice time, I thought I'd come down and look at the ridiculous show you're putting on. Parading these two around like prize horses, then marrying them off next week so your daughter can start breeding-"

"That's enough," King Padraic snapped, his voice no longer so controlled.

"Breeding royal brats even worse than these two. But, that's enough out of me. I'm a bit fey this evening, all the excitement, you understand." His voice was more poisonous than usual, and he did his best to bow mockingly. "I'll be on my way, then-" he broke off as his eyes landed on the multicolored litter where Garwin was doing his best to look like an unusually large green-eyed pillow.

"Well, I'll be damned," the king whispered. Willow winced as he began to laugh. "If that isn't too perfect. I wasn't aware it was your royal policy to shelter whores," he remarked viciously. Willow looked at Angel in confusion, but gasped as she saw the abnormally grey color of Marie's face. Running over to her, Willow barely managed to catch her before she fell to the floor.

"Lovely. A whore and her children, adoptive and abandoned. What a tableau."

Seizing his father's arm violently, Angel shook him. "What is wrong with you? Is there nothing but monster left in you? You come here with your insults and your lies-"

"No lies, my boy. If the truth is an insult, then you have to live with it. Look at her eyes, when she wakes up--the same green as his own." Ripping his arm from his son's grasp, he turned away. "I apologize, good people. Return to your festivities." His smile was full of satisfied
hatred as he walked out.

Angel looked at Garwin, who glanced at him in despair before he refocused on Willow trying desperately to wake Marie up.

***********************************************************************

The celebratory ball had ended in confusion, a weak and humiliated Marie being rushed out with Willow at her side, Garwin's litter trundling him back to the room, and every shocked guest milling about having no idea how to proceed. The ballroom slowly emptied, and a horrified hush spread over the palace.

In Garwin's chambers, he stared dully ahead while Angel looked at him in concern. Angel had taken great strides in his ability to relate to people, but he couldn't find any words of comfort, and all he could offer was his supportive presence. Both men looked up as they heard women's
voices in the hall. After a moment, Thayne entered with a hesitating look on his face.

"Milord," he began, bowing ever so slightly, "Her Royal Highness is here, and so is...her lady, Marie."

Garwin's brow furrowed, but he nodded, indicating that they might enter.

Marie entered first, her head held high and her cheeks streaked with tears. Willow followed, and she shrugged helplessly at Angel's questioning look.

"I would wish to explain," Marie began in a voice tight and high with emotion.

"Pray be seated milady, Your Highness," Garwin answered, his eyes never leaving the older woman's face. She complied with a grace that seemed surprising after her rather traumatic evening.

"I was raised by a farmer," she began to explain, her eyes never meeting with those of her audience. "He was a good man, a wonderful father and he raised me without ever telling me two things that would turn out to be somewhat important. One was that I was not a peasant. I was not told that I was adopted, so I had no way of knowing that my station was a bit higher than that of the common peasant wench. The other," she continued, her voice turning hard, "was that I was pretty. I may look like any woman past the blush of her youth now-- worn out, faded. But when I was young, I now know that I was a beauty. I never understood why the village boys stared so, why women got such strange looks on their faces if I smiled at their husbands. Fortunately, my adoptive father was well-off for a farmer, and he managed to keep me from any unwelcome advances until I was sixteen years of age.

It was one day as I stood beside him in one of our wheatfields that we heard horns and horses. Recognizing the sound of Royal Trumpeters, we both bowed low as the king's convoy approached. Unfortunately, I was curious, and I allowed myself a peek as the king came abreast.

That was when he stopped.

"What is your name, lass?" he asked in an almost friendly voice. I had high minded ideas about kings and how they were supposed to 'protect' their subjects, so I replied without fear. "I am called Marie, Your Majesty," I smiled up at him.

"A lovely name for a lovely girl," he answered. I never thought twice about it, because I assumed it was the sort of politeness they indulged in at court. I didn't notice the looks exchanged between his men, the smiles that were not as kind as an innocent girl would wish them to be." She paused, looking down at her hands sitting limply in her lap. "I have learned to notice more, now." She closed her eyes for a moment, waiting for her voice to regain some of its strength.

"I cannot remember exactly how it happened, but somehow the 'generous' king had offered me the great honor of a position working in his castle. I, of course, was thrilled beyond measure. A simple country girl, leaving the farm, going to the capitol city to live amongst royalty-- it
was like a dream. All of my friends were jealous.

I packed up my few belongings and a few days later, was escorted by a royal guard to the palace. It was the first time I had gone more than ten miles from the house I grew up in, and to say I was excited would be a ridiculous understatement.

I won't bore you with descriptions of my first few weeks there- they were a blur to me, and so exciting I thought I would burst. The next important part of the story happened one day as I was dusting in a room that was rarely used. I suddenly heard footsteps, and the next thing I
knew, the king and his entourage had entered. When he saw me, a look of
recognition crossed his face.

"Marie, isn't it?" he asked. I curtsied shyly. He stared at me for a moment, then smiled. "Forgive us for interrupting your work." I had no idea how to reply, and I began to blush in confusion when he turned and left. Later that evening, as I sat with other girls over our dinner, a
page came into the staff kitchen. He asked for me, and told me to follow him. He led me to a room I had never seen before, and there was the king."

Angel winced, for although he had known where the story was headed, to actually arrive there was something else entirely. He had first lived in an age when being lovely, poor, and female was asking for abuse; and he was sorry to discover that droit du seigneur could exist in any universe where men considered women to be for their use and nothing else.

"He flattered me at first, but I was so young, and I did not know what to do or where even to look. I blushed and was silent, because I was not used to handsome words or men. I think it was then that he became impatient, for I did not turn out to be the kind of girl he had anticipated. Most women would have been honored by the idea of a liaison with a king, but I was afraid of him. I was afraid of his strong hands and his rough cheek and his dark eyes. I wished to be back in the kitchen with the soft spoken women who had never thought to explain to me what my real reason for being employed in the palace was, but he held me so tightly..." Marie's eyes were screwed shut, and her breath was coming more quickly. Willow put her hand on her arm, and Marie clutched at it like a lifeline.

"Yet he let me go that night. I ran back to my room and cried like a child, hot tears of confusion and destroyed illusions soaking my pillow. I decided to leave the next day, but in the morning it seemed like I was overreacting, and I went about my chores.

The daylight convinced me to stay, and it was in the bright light of a huge bay window that he found me that afternoon. That was the day that I discovered 'divine right' isn't always to do with statescraft.

In the weeks that followed, I didn't ever think of going home. After all, there was nothing left to save myself from. At least that's what I thought, until one of the other girls remarked that I was always getting sick before breakfast. I went to a healing woman, and she told me the one thing a woman almost always already knows.

I had no idea what was to be done. I was wondering if it was even worth telling the king, when heralds were sent around the nation to announce the anticipated birth of an heir." Marie looked at Angel, and her eyes were almost tender. "Everyone was so thrilled to discover that you were
coming. I figured there was no point in telling the king. My situation was ages old, but a legitimate child is always much more exciting.

That night, tired of silently weeping into my bed, I fled to the castle chapel. It was dark in the middle of the night, but I fell on my knees and let my sobbing echo around me.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I thought it was him and I tore myself away, only to find myself looking into the eyes of the queen. "It was Aylmar that did this, wasn't it?" she asked quietly. I was so tired, and I couldn't keep myself from falling at her feet in hysterics. "Your Majesty, please, I couldn't- I couldn't- oh please, don't send me away. I have nowhere to go. I have no one to help me," I begged.

"Of course I won't send you away. It isn't your fault," she told me. I looked up into her sad and kind eyes, and I tried to let her know how sorry I was. "I don't know how to care for a child," I whispered.

"A child?" her voice was shocked, and I realized that she had imagined nothing worse than yet another affair. Her hand absently passed over her own already swollen stomach, and her chin lifted. "I have never hated the women my husband chose," she said proudly, "because most of them were well able to understand his intentions. How old are you, dear?" she asked. I told her I was sixteen and she winced. "Well, seducing wenches is one thing that I am sad to say I am used to his doing, but deflowering maidens is not and never shall be." She gently lifted me from my place on the floor, putting her arm around my shoulders.

That night, I was placed in the care of the castle nurses, and under the queen's orders, I was to be guarded day and night. She had confronted the king, and told him that as my child was his as well as the one she was carrying, he would have to live with both children. I remember being
surprised by the outpouring of sympathy from women in the palace, women who saw themselves in me, women who wished they could have protected me as no one had been able to protect them, whether from the king himself or some other man. A nurse named Agatha was my most constant guardian during those months."

"Aggie," Garwin murmured, a small smile on his face.

"Yes, Aggie. I had been told that she cared for you after- well, I'm getting there. The queen gave birth four months before I did, a beautiful baby boy. The king's advisors came up with lists of valiant names, but when she came to visit me and introduce her son, she always
called him 'Angel'.

The day that I reached my ninth month, I received a letter. My father was dead, but he had written me during his illness. In it, he explained that I was not his daughter. A foreign nobleman and his wife had been captured in the course of war. The lady gave birth to a daughter in the
barn of a softhearted farmer who had no interest in diplomacy, and she begged him to take the young girl. They would never had been able to escape with an infant, at least not if they wanted her to live. So that girl grew up to become a maid in the castle of the greatest enemy of her
true country.

I had a second cousin here. Her name was Neile, and she was-"

"My mother," Willow gasped.

"Yes, your mother, who was by then betrothed to the king. The king who was at war with the father of my child." Marie's eyes flickered towards Garwin for a moment before returning to her lap. "Angel's mother told me that I must try and find my cousin, who would surely welcome me, as she had a reputation of kindness.

Unfortunately, I, as my mother before me, could not travel with a newborn babe, yet it was necessary that I leave as soon as possible. The Queen assured me that once I had discovered whether or not I would find myself in the good graces of my cousin, she would send my son to me.

The day that I arrived at this very palace was the day that the borders were closed. For five years, it was almost certain death to try to cross them, for it was a hideous war. I had no word of my child, and I prayed for his safety every night, fearing the wrath of his father as much as
anything else. Eventually, the battles became less frequent and deeper in the countryside, and I finally received word of the queen. Word of the queen and not from the queen, because she was dead.

That was the day that I knew I would never see my son again, because no one else in the kingdom had the power to get him out of the country as long as the king did not wish it. All I could do was love my redheaded niece and dream of a dark haired baby boy with green eyes that run in the family." Marie's voice cracked with exhaustion and emotion. "When the war ended and the marriage was tentatively planned, all I could think of was that I might see him again. I did not even know his name, because I had left so soon after his birth. The queen had promised to choose one for me, but I never found out what it was...

And last night, when I heard that Aylmar had beaten a friend of the prince, for a moment I wondered if it might be him, if he was here, still suffering for the foolishness of a girl who didn't know what real life was until too late-" Marie stopped talking as Garwin moved. He crawled
out of his bed, and although he couldn't stand upright, he was able to make his way towards her on hands and knees, since it wasn't a very far distance. Pulling himself up into a kneeling position by the arms of Marie's chair, he slowly wound his arms around her waist and buried his face in her lap. Her hands trembling with the separation of too many years, Marie wound her fingers through his dark hair, trying to remember the feeling of holding her son.

***********************************************************************

Willow and Angel made a mutual attempt to inconspicuously leave. Once they reached the hallway, they each let out a sigh of great relief. They made their way to the palace library and sat down together in front of a roaring fire.

"So," Willow began, "Does this mean we're related?"

Angel looked at her in surprise, then thought about it. "Well, Garwin and I are half brothers, and you and Garwin are...distant cousins? But you two are cousins through Marie, and he and I are brothers through my father, so I don't think so. Furthermore, are our bloodlines contingent
upon this world, or the old one?"

"I don't know," Willow answered. "I just- well, in either case, I don't think we're related. Marriage to you is one thing, marriage to cousin you would be another."

"Willow? What exactly is marriage to me?"

She looked at Angel in surprise. "Well, I guess we're going to have to go through with it, unless we get home before then. Is that what you mean?"

"Not exactly. I was thinking more...are you worried about it? Dreading it?"

"Dreading it? Of course not! Granted, I wasn't expecting it, seeing as how I hadn't even declared a major yet back in Sunnydale, but no, I'm not dreading it. I mean, as far as freaky magical escapades go, this is relatively benign."

"Marrying me is benign. Okay, benign is good."

"No, I didn't mean it that way-"

Angel laughed at her embarrassed backpedaling. "Willow, for about two and a half centuries I was one of two things--a vicious monster or a guilt-plagued loner trying to repress a demon that wanted to kill everything in sight. Being called benign has been one of my many
unrealized dreams."

Willow smiled, relieved. "So, how about you? What is marriage to me?"

"Well, at least I can keep my eye on you," he grinned.

"Oh, very funny." Willow's smile slowly faded. "I wonder how Marie is doing?"

"I was thinking the same thing about Garwin," Angel admitted. "He hasn't had it easy."

"Oh, but he had a friend like you, which had to have something to do with his turning out so well."

"And in return, I'm sure that you made Marie's difficulties easier to bear."

As Willow yawned slightly, Angel gracefully stood up. "You have had a long day, Princess. Shall I sort you to your chambers."

"La, milord, you are too kind," Willow replied, batting her eyelashes shamelessly. Taking Angel's arm, she giggled coquettishly.

"Should I be concerned that you're so good at that?" he asked mildly.

"Very," she replied in an ominous voice. As they reached the library doors, Angel stopped to face her. "All joking aside, Willow, I want you to know that we'll find a way to make this work. I don't know how long we'll be here, but I promise to do my best to prevent you from hating it
here."

"I have no doubt that you will," she answered quietly. Together, they made their way towards the grand staircase.

***********************************************************************

When the palace awoke the next morning, Aylmar was gone.

He and his entire entourage, minus two sons, had somehow managed to slip away in the middle of the night. It had helped that they had been housed in a wing of the palace that was somewhat removed from those who might try to stop them or even alert Willow's father, but the fact that they had disappeared so quickly took the entire court by surprise.

Willow, Angel, Garwin, Marie, and Thayne all shared a stunned brunch after hearing the news. No one said much, until Willow, incapable of restraining herself for a moment longer, made a sound of exasperation in the back of her throat.

"What a...a...oh, I don't know, idiot, for want of a better word. Ugh! First he attacks Garwin, then he attacks Marie, then he leaves! How pathetic and utterly irritating! I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't speak so plainly-"

Angel silenced her by placing his hand on hers and smiling. "Willow, look around you. Do you think that anyone in this room is going to disagree with you when you call my father an idiot?"

She returned his smile with a small one of her own. "I see your point. Still, isn't ignoring huge problems and putting a brave face on things one of royalty's few strengths? He would have been leaving soon anyway."

"Less than a week, yes?" Thayne asked quietly. "The wedding is next Friday. Not a long time to wait."

"No," Willow murmured. "Not a long time." She was getting married.

To Angel.

On Friday.

Hoo, boy.

"What?" she asked Garwin, shaking herself out of her somewhat frightening thoughts.

"I said, do you think he intends to stop the marriage from occurring by his leaving?"

"I don't think so," Marie answered thoughtfully. "The one constant about Aylmar is that he will generally use the simplest means to get what he wants." Her voice was tinged with distaste and regret, but she continued. "This vanishing act would be accompanied by a demand that the wedding be halted, or something else equally ridiculous. The fact that he left with absolutely no word, to me says that he is turning his back on all of it. Angel, the marriage, his imagined hold on Garwin."

"Let's hope he's not also turning his back on the treaty," Angel added, his eyes worried.

"Indeed," a voice came from the doorway. Looking round, Willow saw her father. Thayne jumped up from his place at the table, realizing just how inappropriate it was that he should be eating with royalty. Garwin unwillingly pulled his hand out of Marie's grasp as she curtsied with her eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

The king laughed, a rich resonating laugh that extended to dark corners of the room. "You all look at me as if I would order your executions in a fit of temper. Marie, you need never fear to meet my gaze, for you are of my wife's blood, and I cherish you as my own kin." His words, though said cheerfully, did much to dispel her horror and shame left over from the night before. "Garwin, though I have not known you long, let me assure you that I am filled with joy that you know your mother at last. And you, young sir," here he turned to Thayne, whose knuckles were white with gripping his pike. "You are, I assume, invited by their highnesses to break your fast with them, and I firmly believe that friendship is sometimes more important that decorum." He clapped Thayne on the shoulder, and the soldier almost fell over, a combination of shock and the strength of the king's gesture.

"I, for one, see no reason to postpone the wedding. If it is Aylmar's wish, then all the more reason not to fulfill it, for he has made it quite plain that he is no fan of many of our decisions here. Furthermore, the entire country is waiting in anticipation for the joining of our two lands. To back out now would merely spread the seeds of doubt that are already rife in a land that has long been at war. I need not say that many of our citizens feel this union will be the end of
terror, the beginning of a time when they need not fear sending their sons off to die.

Then again, there is the fact that many in this land are quite smitten with our handsome Prince Alaric." He smiled broadly, and the group laughed quietly.

"Well, if all of you agree with me, I will inform my councilmen that we shall proceed as originally planned. Forgive me for interrupting your meal." With a bow so courtly it would have flattered an emperor, he left the room.

There was a momentary pause which Angel then interrupted with a plaintive, "See, I could never do that!"

"Do what?" Willow asked with a smile.

"That whole...king...thing. He comes into a room and everyone just snaps to attention, hanging onto every well chosen word that he says. He's got such presence. He's swimming in presence."

"He's also about twice your age," Willow pointed out. With an odd look that only Angel understood, she shrugged at the recently incorrect statement. "Besides which, there have been a few instances when I've noticed people stare at you after one of your entrances, or I've noticed people hanging onto your every word. Remember the days when Cordelia
didn't realize what you were?"

Angel laughed in remembrance, but Marie looked at Willow in confusion. "Is there a lady at court named Cordelia? The name is unfamiliar to me."

Willow winced, trying to backpedal. "Um, I don't think you ever met her. I'm actually quite sure you didn't. So, would it be awfully rude if Alaric and I were to take Thayne and go look at the rooms full of gifts downstairs? Would you two be alright alone together?"

Marie's eyes were enigmatic as she replied. "We'll be fine."

Willow took Angel's offered arm, and with Thayne leading the way, they left.

Silence reigned in the room before Garwin sighed, closing his tellingly green eyes. "I used to dream about you," he began. "They never told me anything about you, but I tried to figure out what you had been like. I wanted to know how tall you were, whether you were fat or skinny. I
wanted to know how smooth your skin was, and I wanted to measure your fingers against my own hand as I sometimes saw Angel do with his mother.

I wanted to know what you smelled like. Even as a child, I knew that every woman has her own unique smell, and I wanted to memorize yours. I thought if they could just give me one piece of clothing that you had worn, then I would be able to learn it so well that I would be able to find you by your smell alone. I could have been a boy shaped bloodhound, sniffing out the mother I had never seen." In a convulsive gesture, his hand shot out and his finger quickly laced with hers.

"I think that most of all, I wanted to hear your voice. You didn't even have to talk to me, I just wanted to hear you speak." He stopped, shaking his head helplessly.

"What do you want me to say?" Marie asked, and he smiled slightly. "Would you like to hear about the way I fell asleep every night thinking of you and woke up every morning wondering where you were? I wanted to hear you cry and put up with your colic. I wanted to watch your first tooth come in, to watch your little bald head grow hair.

The years passed, and I knew I was missing you learning to speak and walk and even love. I knew that I was having no say in what you believed or who you trusted or what you thought of yourself. I didn't get to tell you bedtime stories. I never got to hear you snore.

You'll have to forgive me if I sometimes forget that you are grown, if I sometimes cradle you like a newborn, if I sometimes tell you how much I love you in front of other people."

"If it comes to that, I think you'll find that I can be surprisingly magnanimous." She laughed, bending forward to kiss his head for the forty-third time that day.

***********************************************************************

Leaving Thayne outside, Willow gasped as she and Angel entered the room filled with gifts. "There are perks to being royalty," she finally managed.

"Yeah, but I bet there aren't any blenders," Angel replied, smiling ruefully as he picked up a jeweled scepter.

"Probably not. I don't think we'll find a fondue pot, either." Willow opened a small chest, her eyes widening at the amount of gold it contained. "Wow."

"That'll teach us not to register." He slid his arms into a heavy velvet robe.

"Of course, I don't think they have department stores here," Willow answered. "Ooh, look at this," she whispered, holding up yards and yards of the most beautiful lace she had ever seen.

He slid a huge ring on his finger as she put a medallion around her neck, the lace still wrapped around her shoulders. "Do you think we could get in trouble for touching this stuff?"

"Willow, first of all, we are the authority around here, remember? Furthermore, these are our gifts. We're allowed to touch them."

"Ours. Hmmmm."

"That was somewhat ponderous. Incredibly huge ruby for your thoughts?" he asked, holding out the fire-red precious stone the size of his fist.

"Fair trade. I was just wondering...are we who we are?"

"Once more, in English."

"Oh, you know what I meant!" she laughed. "I mean, here we are, called different names, living different lives, but even those closest to us haven't yet figured out that anything is different. It just seems unlikely that we fit in so perfectly."

"I know what you mean," Angel mused. "Still, I think we're definitely adapting, don't you? I still remember our world, with the vamps and the demons and everything else equally enjoyable. But sometimes, when I'm not paying attention, I think I can almost remember the life the other me had here. Did that make sense? Like I can feel and see memories that belong to Alaric."

"I actually understood that, oddly enough," Willow admitted. "I'd say it was just me trying to imagine what 'Princess Aurelia's' life might have been like, except that I somehow know details that I shouldn't be able to."

"Maybe it's just one of the quirks of travelling through mysterious portals."

"Undoubtedly," Willow replied with a smirk. She trailed along a huge table covered in an intricately worked silver and gold service, eventually coming to another door. "Oh, Angel, more presents! Let's look!"

He followed her as she passed through the doorway.

"I wonder what all this is- oh. Oh my," he heard her say. Coming into the room, he couldn't help but second the sentiment contained in that quiet 'oh my'.

In the very center of the room sat the largest and most elaborate bassinet that either of them had ever seen. The draping gauzy material covering it traveled up to the ceiling, where it hung like a gently swaying cloud. The rest of the room was filled with similarly themed items. There was a very impressive crib, carved out of mahogany. The bars contained images of unicorns and griffins, dwarves and elves all together in a massive forests, all the same color and smelling slightly of wax.

There was a christening outfit so lovely that it seemed a pity its wearer would never remember the occasion for which it would be worn. There were caps and tiny shoes, all elegant and perfect and made on a very tiny scale. There were toys as well, rocking horses that looked so real they might whicker and shy at any moment, dolls more beautiful than most real babies. There were bright shiny balls begging to be thrown and bounced, there were spinning tops and gliders and music boxes.

But all Willow could see was that bassinet.

"They're very...goal-oriented, here," she finally managed. Taking her by the elbow, Angel gently guided her back into the first room. She pulled off the necklace and the lace, and he silently slipped out of the ring and robe.

"I'm eighteen, Angel. I know that on their scale, I'm practically past my prime, but I'm only eighteen. Teen. I'm a teenager." He could hear a hint of panic in her quiet voice.

"I know, Willow. I sometimes forget, because you act so sure and confident and intelligent, but I do know that you are still young. I also know that you're not ready to get married, especially not to someone you know as little as me-"

"I wouldn't say I know you 'little'. All I'm saying is that I hadn't anticipated starting a family before I could legally drink back home."

"Don't worry, Willow. I keep saying that, and it doesn't stop the impending wedding, but I hope you know that however I may care about fulfilling my duties as a prince, making sure you are okay is my number one priority. You can ask anything of me, and if it's in my power, I'll
do it. I swear."

She looked into his eyes, and was slightly overwhelmed by the reassurance she found there. She gave him a small smile. "And you say you don't have presence."

The door opened, and Thayne peeked in hesitantly. "Forgive me, Princess, but there is a woman here looking for you. She says it's urgent. Something about 'gown fittings'?" Willow sighed dramatically. "A princess must face certain things, and being poked full of holes by
malicious pins is one of them. My prince, I shall see you later." With the majority of her apprehension left behind, she followed Thayne out the door leaving Angel in a state that couldn't be described as anything but bemused.

***********************************************************************

Well.

It was Friday.

***********************************************************************

The day began with the pealing of the bells. They could be heard for miles and miles, celebrating peace and matrimony and the happiness of a well loved princess. The joyful cacophony rang through the entire palace, waking everyone to greet the marvelous dawn.

Almost everyone. A certain red headed princess hadn't slept a wink all night, her stomach tied in knots. It was ridiculous when she really thought about it. She had dreaded being married to a complete stranger, and instead, she was getting Angel. She knew Angel, she trusted Angel,
and everyone was jealous of her good fortune.

Willow winced at the thought. Despite the fact that she was in an alternate reality, she still had the irrational fear that Buffy would show up and find out. It was probably just left over from her excursion into infidelity with Xander, but it didn't make the sick feeling in her chest go away.

Sitting up, she looked out her window. It was a beautiful day, and she was getting married to Angel. Throwing the blankets back, she threw on her dressing gown and walked over to the mirror. She had dark circles under her eyes and she was getting married to Angel. Running her hand through her hair, she flopped down into a chair. Her head hurt and she was getting married to Angel.

"Get a grip, Willow."

She was talking to herself and she was getting married to Angel...

***********************************************************************

Angel had been in the ramparts since half an hour before dawn, watching the sun rise yet again. He wasn't sure when he would be able to see it next, since it would definitely be remarked upon if he left the honeymoon suite in the wee hours every day.

He wasn't sure what the day would hold for him and his bride. Well, other than the wedding. That part would be hard to ignore. He was more worried about the evening, worried about what he would say to her, what she would be thinking, where he was going to sleep.

It was certainly going to be a unique sort of wedding night.

***********************************************************************

Willow had been hustled around the palace all day as preparations to make her the most beautiful bride in the country's history exhausted her even further. Her hair had been coifed to perfection, her skin's natural luminosity seemed to glow, her wide green eyes were expertly emphasized by an attendant who had a way with a brush and some shadow. Finally, she was dressed. And wearing that dress, she began to think that maybe getting married had some definite perks.

She would actually have been hard pressed to describe it, it was so dazzling. She could feel the incredible softness of the silk kirtle that was against her skin, but it could hardly be seen. The overdress was a phenomenal concoction of swaths of fairy-fine lace and brocade so lush it
looked like it had been carved out of marble. Sewn into the gown was an impressive amount of iridescent seed pearls. The pearls, however, were overshadowed by the diamonds.

To merely cover a dress in oversized diamonds would be impressive, but ostentation of that sort would be inappropriate for a wedding. Instead, the diamonds were so small they could really only be seen by the light bouncing off of them. They were somehow woven into the cloth, and the slightest movement Willow made sent up another shower of sparkles.

A veil so light it looked more like mist than cloth was billowing out from underneath a circlet of beaten gold that almost seemed part of her shining hair. She was undeniably and completely lovely.

Turning in front of the mirror, she was almost as entranced as Angel had been the first time he saw his own reflection. It was the inexplicable stirring of her veil that gave her pause. She thought she could feel a breath of wind on her cheek, but that should be impossible as the room
had no windows and the door was closed...

Willow almost fell over when she saw it. Well, more like the lack of 'it' or anything, because the wall was gone. In it's place was the same nothingness that had sucked her in all those weeks ago as she tried to help Angel on his mission.

She almost dove headfirst into it, thinking of home and habits and the familiarity of her old life, when another thought stopped her.

Angel.

On one hand, he loved the new world and would probably be quite content to spend the rest of his days there. But she didn't have it in her to just leave him alone. To leave would be a mutual decision, as would staying. She had to find him.

***********************************************************************

Marie looked up in surprise as Willow burst out of her dressing room. "Marie-" she began breathlessly.

"Oh, Willow, Your Highness, never has a girl been lovelier."

"Marie, you have to listen to me now. You have to go get Angel."

"What?"

"Prince Alaric, whatever, His Royal Highness, my fiance, my betrothed, my intended, that tall dark haired guy with brown eyes and sometimes a crown, I need you to find him and bring him here." There was panic in her voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see the portal.
Was it just her imagination, or had it gotten smaller?

"Don't be ridiculous, dearest. You can't see him before the wedding."

"Marie, please!" There were tears now, threatening to make desperate tracks on her carefully tended face.

"Willow, what's gotten into you? Besides, I couldn't bring him here even if I thought there was any reason to. He's busy getting ready to get married, just like you-"

"Marie," Willow interrupted, grabbing the older woman's arm. "I can't explain, you wouldn't believe me if I tried to, but you must find a way. There has to be a way. I need him here, now." It was definitely shrinking as the seconds ticked past.

"You'll have him for the rest of your life, dear. Now let go of my arm. You're squeezing a bit tight. I could maybe take a message for someone to give to him, if that would help. What do you want to tell him- Willow, what's wrong?"

Willow sank to the ground, her dress of diamond billowing out around her. The portal was only a handsbreadth now, and she watched in despair as it winked out of existence all together. A hoarse sob ripped from her throat.

Her way back home was gone.

And she was getting married to Angel.

***********************************************************************

Angel had to squint as Willow came up the aisle, and he smiled at the gasps of delight from the guests. He held out his arm for her to take, and it was the trembling of her white hand that first told him something was wrong.

Looking at her face, he swore to himself, because she looked to be on the verge of tears.

'Well, big surprise there, Angel,' he thought angrily. 'You think an eighteen year old girl likes the idea of giving up the rest of her life and most of her freedom for the privilege of being your wife?' He sighed, knowing he couldn't have done anything to prevent it, wishing that he could have.

Willow barely heard the priest, and she didn't notice the worried glances Angel kept throwing in her direction. There were phrases floating about, words of commitment and forever and love. She remembered to say "I do", but her fingers were ice cold as she and her husband exchanged rings. He pulled the veil away from her face, stroking her cheek gently, trying to silently ask what was wrong. She apologized with her eyes, and he leaned over to kiss her softly. He tasted the salt of quiet tears and hated himself for making her unhappy.

Both did their best to smile as they retraced their path between the cheering guests.

***********************************************************************

Angel thanked his occasionally operative good fortune when he and Willow actually had a moment alone together after leaving the sanctuary.

"Willow, I'm so sorry. I guess I had underestimated how much you didn't want to reach this point-"

She cut him off by bursting into tears. "No, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, it's just that it came and they wouldn't get you and I meant to be happy today and I'm so so so sorry..." she lost the ability to speak as she gasped for air, Angel all the while rubbing her back to help her calm down.

"What came?" he asked as she finally regained some small amount of composure.

"I was looking in the mirror, and I was liking the dress and the veil and thinking that maybe it would turn out to be a pretty great day after all, and then I felt this breeze, and in the room, on the wall, it was there. It was just like the first time, all swirly yet empty and black and nothingness and it was on the wall but I couldn't go without you and they told me that you couldn't come. I could see it shrinking and then it disappeared and it was time to get married and I ruined our wedding because I was so upset and I'm sorry, because I feel selfish but it was
our chance and I couldn't go alone." She took a deep breath, trying to clear away the frustration and the choking sadness. Angel just stood looking stunned.

"You mean you finally found a way back home, and you didn't take it? Why?"

"I told you. I couldn't go without you," she responded, looking slightly irritated. "You wouldn't have left without me. You don't really think I would just jump back into our own reality without a backward glance, did you?"

"No, I just-"

"I mean, do I seem like the sort of person who would just abandon a good friend to fend for himself in a strange world? That I would be so excited about going home I would forget the fact that we're here together? Well, I feel so flattered. I just got married to a man who thinks I'm a self centered fair weather friend with no thought in my head for anyone but myself. This bodes well for wedded bliss, I would say. I can see it now. "My name is Prince Alaric, meet my wife. No need to tell her who you are, she won't remember, because she's too self-involved to notice that other people exist." We'll have a great and glorious reign, King Alaric the Valiant and Queen Aurelia the Selfish. I'm so very-"

She stopped speaking as she heard Angel laugh. She glared at him, all her earlier listlessness melted away in the heat of her anger. "What are you laughing at?"

"Oh, Willow," he sighed. "I'm so relieved. I'm not used to seeing you sad. I knew the real you had to resurface soon. I'm also slightly relieved to discover that your sorrow wasn't about getting married to me."

"Stop being ridiculous. Okay, the thought of marriage itself was daunting, but you? Let's end this conversation. Can we just throw ourselves into the roles of a happily married couple?"

Her tears had mostly dried, and the only ones remaining made her eyes sparkle more than usual. Her cheeks were rosy, courtesy of her pique, and her usual expression of irrepressible optimism had resumed it's proper place. "Come, my prince, let us depart for the banquet. I feel
that some refreshment is in order."

Halting her for a moment, Angel looked closely into her face. "I know how much you miss home, Willow. The fact that you stayed means a lot."

She gave him a smile. "So do you. Mean a lot, I mean."

Their first domestic quarrel ended, the newlyweds walked down the hall together.

***********************************************************************

Three weeks after the wedding, Willow and Marie were strolling through the palace gardens after luncheon. Willow spotted Angel up on the balcony of the library and waved. He waved back, and she could see him smiling.

Marie looked at her oddly for a moment, then put a hand on Willow's arm. "Dear, can I ask you question?"

"Of course," she answered blithely.

"Why haven't you and Alaric yet consummated your marriage?"

Willow's mouth opened and shut a few times, with no sound save a small squeak coming out. Her eyes were wide and more than a little panicked. "How did you-" she finally managed.

Steering the dumbfounded princess towards an ornamental bench, Marie sat down next to her and sighed. She didn't say anything, she merely looked at Willow, waiting for her to regain her composure.

"Angel told me this would happen eventually. I was just sort of hoping it would go away..."

"Willow, I thought you liked Alaric, and I was beginning to think that you maybe even loved him. So it leaves me somewhat confused as to why you should be waiting. The two of you sleep in the same bed every night, and yet...well, I'm guessing we won't see an heir anytime soon if you keep up this insistent celibacy."

Willow was thinking back to the night of their marriage, when Angel had told her that the servants would know because of certain...physical aspects that would be, well, missing. It had been an uncomfortable yet reassuring conversation, but he had warned her that it was only a
temporary solution. Eventually, word would get beyond the servants quarters, and neither one of them wanted the king to give them a lecture regarding the duties of royal marriages. Still, it had been a fine arrangement as long as it had lasted...

"What are you waiting for, dear?" Marie asked gently.

"I don't know. It's just- we had only known each other three weeks ('or three years', she thought) before the wedding, and I would really like to get to know him better before we, well, consummated anything."

"At the risk of sounding crass, wouldn't that be one way to get to know him better?"

"Marie!"

"Don't look at me with that shocked expression, Willow! Part of marriage is a certain amount of intimacy. You promised that to him and to your country when you took your vows. You are supposed to become one with him, one mind, one flesh, one spirit. That is what marriage is supposed to be. I know that some young ladies might say that it forces to give you to give up some degree of freedom, but what you would get in return is so much greater."

Willow rubbed her temples slowly, having no idea what to do. Suddenly, she looked at Marie in fear. "You aren't going to tell my father, are you?"

Marie almost laughed out loud at Willow's expression of wide eyed fear. "Funny you should put it like that. When most girls ask that question, they mean the opposite. No, I'm not going to tell your father. Yet, Willow. But you can only take so long to get acclimated to marriage before the king finds out. I'd rather he never had to- I'd much rather you and Alaric figure this out before your father feels the need to get involved."

Willow's eyes were full of conflict as she leaned against her waiting woman.

"Talk to him about it," Marie suggested. "I mean, you are his beautiful, intelligent and utterly charming wife. I'm sure he wouldn't mind...anything, actually."

"Oh, Marie! For heaven's sake!" Willow rolled her eyes.

Marie laughed again, giving Willow a squeeze before making her stand up and directing her towards the library.

***********************************************************************


Angel smiled as Willow came in, but he became somewhat curious as she looked around carefully before shutting and locking the door behind her.

"Secret conference?" he joked.

"You better believe it, mister. Can we sit down? We are alone here, right?"

Sitting down next to him on one of the leather sofas, she leaned in close so that she could speak in a low voice. "Marie talked to me today." With that ominous statement, she sat back, awaiting his reaction.

"Doesn't Marie talk to you everyday?" he asked.

"No, Angel! She didn't talk to me! She TALKED to me! About...things. Like sheets and observant servants and royal duties."

"Oh." He sat silent for a moment, when a look of panic crossed his face. "She isn't going to tell your father, is she?"

Willow managed to smile. "That's what I said. Then Marie pointed out that it's usually the opposite problem that leads to that question. No, she's not going to tell him, but she said yet. He's going to know eventually. The whole laundry already does, I'm sure, which means all
the maids, most of the kitchen staff, and the footmen are next. Once the footmen know, the underbutlers are only a matter of time, then the valets, and once the valets get hold of gossip, well, I'm sure you can imagine how long they'll be able to keep it..."

Angel smiled at Willow's delineation of the discovery of their secret. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and the vigor of her thought processes. She was wearing a simple overdress of pale blue over a lavender kirtle, and the pastels of her attire merely made her hair seem to flame brighter. Every day was revealing more and more of her princess within. She spoke with perfect aplomb to everyone but him, and she was unleashing an enormous amount of grace that might have seemed too formal in their old world.

Angel loved attending royal functions with her. She would link her arm with his for the whole night, and beamed up at him as was fitting for a new bride. The whole court had applauded in delight when she had kissed him at dinner one night. When she spoke, she would touch him
occasionally, soft momentary touches that made sure he was paying attention. Even when she no longer had to pretend for onlookers, she treated him like he was her closest friend and most trusted confidant. She had a wry sense of humor that he was more often privy to than anyone else, and she sometimes whispered his name when she was dreaming. He wondered again why their marriage was in name only...

No. The fact that she was so upset over Marie's finding them out was proof enough that she wasn't ready for anything else. She loved him, but she loved him as a companion and fellow adventurer, which was the same way he cared for her.

He was almost sure of it.

***********************************************************************


For her part, Willow was hoping that if she just kept talking, her embarrassment over the whole situation would just fade. She really loved being friends with Angel, and all this discussion of intimacy was not conducive to a platonic relationship. He treated her like, well, a princess, but it was more than that. He had changed so much from the mysterious vampire he had once been. In all fairness, she knew part of the change was from his time in LA, but becoming human had somehow revived all the inner chivalry that he had always managed to possess.

The ladies of the court practically swooned in his presence, for all that he was lately wed. Willow was sometimes reminded of the reaction Angel had always inspired at the Bronze, if the Bronze had ever had a period dress night. Yet through all his courtesy towards every lady he met, his real concern was for Willow. He was so solicitous it sometimes made her head spin. No matter where they were, if their eyes met, he would give her a certain smile. With that smile, he told her that he was watching out for her, that he still remembered who she had been, that he was glad to be with her as she tried being someone else. That smile made her miss home less. It was the sort of smile she had always dreamed of someone reserving for her.

Of course, she was forced to remind herself, though the smile was full of love, it wasn't that kind of love. And why would she want that kind of love from him anyway?

She didn't. Of course not. Just like she didn't mind the time every night before they fell asleep, each lying in the same bed, neither daring to touch the other. She didn't mind the speed with which Angel disentangled himself the few times that their slumber had decimated the carefully kept space between them.

She didn't mind that her husband didn't kiss her in private.

Angel interrupted her increasingly disturbing thoughts. "The way I see it, Willow, there is really only one solution. You'll simply have to fall in love with me."

She looked at him in horror. She hadn't been vocalizing her thoughts, had she?

"I'm kidding, Willow," he gently prompted.

"Kidding! Well, yeah? Because of the...funny. Yes."

The excruciatingly uncomfortable moment was fortunately ended by a sharp knocking on the door. Angel excused himself and opened it to find a frightened looking page. "His Majesty requests your presence, Your Highness. In the War Room."

"The War Room?" Angel shot Willow a troubled look over his shoulder, then turned back to the page. "Do you know wherefore?"

"A messenger arrived today on horseback, his steed almost running dead from his haste. It is supposed he carried a message of grave import, Your Highness, for the king called for his councilors upon speaking with the man."

"I will come presently." Angel shut the door again, turning back to Willow. "This sounds bad."

She nodded. "You'll tell me about it tonight, won't you?"

"Of course. I should go. I'll see you later. Try not to worry too much, okay?" In an action so swift it seemed completely natural, he placed a quick kiss on her lips as he headed for the door. His footsteps slowed as he realized what he had done without thinking, but it was too late to apologize. He decided not to worry about it as he exited the library and ran down the hall.

For her part, Willow's thoughts were not too concerned with war as she sat with her fingers lightly brushing her lips.

***********************************************************************

Angel wearily shut the door behind him as he crept into the bedroom. He was trying to be quiet so as not to wake Willow up, but the point became moot as he saw her sitting in a chair by the mostly dead fire.

Her lids were obviously heavy in her pale face, but she had not yet succumbed to sleep. Her velvet dressing gown glowed softly in the flickering light, as did her luminous eyes.

"What's happening, Angel?"

"Why aren't you in bed?" he asked.

"Is it so bad that you can't even tell me?"

He moved towards her, falling into the chair beside her own. "Well, my dear father is, as ever, his old charming self. He's been gathering forces for a few weeks now, and his liegemen are bringing their armor out yet again. The messenger that arrived today barely made it out of the
country alive."

"Has the king declared war?"

"No, that would be too obvious. He's getting ready, and while there is always the chance he plans on attacking another country, I needn't mention that no one thought that was much of a possibility. None of the other countries on his borders would ever resemble anything like a
threat." He rubbed his head violently.

"So what are we going to do?" Willow's voice was almost a whisper.

"Well, we're going to get ready ourselves. We're going to hope it has nothing to do with us and prepare the country for war with my father..." with a sudden movement, he stood and hurled a tiny table that had been next to his chair across the room. It landed in a sadly splintered heap by one of the closets, and Angel could almost hear Willow trembling as he braced himself against the fireplace mantle. The room was silent but for the crackling of the logs, and he struggled to regain control.

"I'm sorry," he said finally.

Willow looked at the back of his head. She had rarely seen him so angry.

"This was what I was supposed to prevent. My whole point for being here was prevention of another war. Your people loved me as much for the peace that I represented as for anything else. And now? Now mothers have to send their sons off to war again. Wives will lose their
husbands, children will lose their fathers, all because one father in particular has no sense of honor." His fists clenched again.

"You don't really think that, do you?" she asked after a moment.

"That my father has no honor? I certainly do."

"No, that's not what I meant. You don't really think that the people of this country only love you for the treaty?"

He shrugged noncommittally. She stood and walked up behind his tense back.

"People don't love you for anything, Angel. They love you. They think you're the greatest thing since...well, me."

He chuckled quietly, and considering it a success, she went on. "They love you because you are the opposite of everything they ever imagined you to be. They love you certainly because you are handsome and charming, but also because you are kind and polite. They love you
because you love me and my family, and they love you because they can tell you have a good heart. They love you for your love of Garwin, they love you because you are nothing at all like your father. They may fear and hate him, but you are his antithesis, and they adore you for becoming such a wonderful man in spite of his parentage. Furthermore, I am their princess, and they love you because...I love you."

He turned to face her then, but backlit by the fire, she couldn't read his expression.

"You really think everyone knows how we love each other?"

'Do we know how we love each other?' Willow thought. But she couldn't find any words to return to him.

"Do you really think they aren't all resenting me right now?"

"I think the aftereffects of a soul tortured for a century are affecting your judgement. My father has accepted you as a son, and most of the people who you think are judging you have already forgotten that you were any relation to Aylmar. All that they know is that they trust you."

"Trust me?" he muttered.

"Completely. Like I do." She dropped her eyes, but looked up sharply as Angel seized her by the shoulders.

"Why do you trust me?"

"Why do I have any reason not to?"

They were locked in time for a moment, the embers of the fire washing them both in a dull red. His hands instinctively clutched at her shoulders, and neither seemed capable of releasing the others' gaze. Whether it was the stress of a long and disturbing day or something less
easily defined, they seemed to think they would be able to find the answer if they stared at one another long enough.

It was the sound of a servant walking briskly down the hall that ended the moment. Angel released Willow's shoulders as if he was in a daze, while she pulled her dressing gown tighter around her.

"Well, I'm tired," she said finally. Moving blindly towards the bed, she crawled under the covers, willing her heart to stop beating so fast, trying to convince herself that only the threat of imminent war was capable of causing her such distress. Her husband, meanwhile, dressed
for bed, damping the fire and blowing out candles. He laid down beside her with a sigh.

"I had forgotten how tired humans get," he remarked.

"Right."

"Well, goodnight-"

"Angel?" She cursed herself for a weakling, but she was beyond the place where she might have cared how embarrassed she might be in the morning.

"Yes?" he answered. She blamed her fatigue for the fact that she thought his voice sounded hopeful.

"If you wouldn't mind, could you maybe, um, hold me? It's just been a pretty unpleasant day, and I wouldn't even ask, except that I-"

She stopped talking as his arm slid around her waist. Forgetting about consequences and repercussions and embarrassed pauses, she nestled closer and closed her eyes. The feeling of his gentle kiss in her hair was the last thing she was aware of before she fell asleep.

***********************************************************************


There are some dreams that are so unutterably lovely, it seems like a crime to abandon them for real life. Willow was having one, and she was near frantic not to wake up. Nothing extraordinary was going on in the dream. In fact, anyone else would have thought it dull. She and Angel were sitting together in front of a cheerful fire, neither one saying anything. She was dimly aware of Garwin dancing in the periphery of her vision, and she was almost certain she saw Giles playing chess with Marie. Yet none of it interested her, and she was content to just lean against Angel's velvet-clad side.

He kissed the top of her head and she smiled. Then he kissed her cheek and she held her breath. Then he kissed her jaw, and only the small detail that they were married (even in her dreamscape) kept her from being frozen in guilt. Dream Willow could have pulled away, but just like her dreaming counterpart, it had been too long and she had thought about it too much to not be a little more willing than might be expected when he tilted her chin and kissed her tingling mouth.

***********************************************************************


Angel was fighting his father in his dream. He slashed and stabbed with his sword, the king constantly losing ground. Then the sun rose in all its fiery glory and Aylmar exploded into dust, his sword falling uselessly onto the blood-stained battlefield.

Angel stood proud, knowing that the sun was some sort of metaphor and had not in anyway robbed him of his inevitable victory, actually feeling regal as his troops cheered behind him and the opposing army surrendered. Then a white horse galloped up to his side and he saw that Willow had somehow materialized on the front lines. She dismounted gracefully, running up to his side.

"Oh, Angel! You did it!" she gazed up adoringly into his face. Ostensibly, it was the typical sort of manly dream that gets made into foolish books and worse movies, where the hero conquers all available evil and gets the beautiful girl. Yet, even in his dream, even though he could see that his army was celebrating success by playing tag and occasionally tripping over the bodies of their dead foes, the only thing he could see was Willow. And for all the overly typical parts of his dream, the real hero was her.

And she touched his bruised cheek and avoided his wounded side and he carefully gathered her in his arms, making sure she would not be crushed by his armor, and kissing her almost made the war worthwhile.

***********************************************************************


Sometimes parts of the real world get incorporated into dreams. The sounds of alarm clocks and talking people, instead of waking up the dreamer, merely involve themselves into the random storylines created by the subconscious. So, it can't be said that this instance was too much different...

Everyone has resided between dreams and reality, and most often they want to stay in the dream, unless the reality they are slowly waking to is more interesting. And here appears the curious dilemma of the morning. How could Willow be expected to choose between the dream Angel's kiss and the lips of her suddenly real husband? On the one hand, her dream could not compare with the genuine article. On the other, she didn't have to worry about what to say to dream Angel later, once she was fully awake.

Opting for indecision, Willow ignored both options. Believing herself capable of blaming it on sleep, she found herself awake, wrapped in her husband's arms, and being kissed with a fervor that one would not expect from sleepers.

Furthermore, since they agreed about so many things while conscious, it seems logical that Angel had chosen the same path. An irritating part of his brain insisted that he was extremely awake, that no dream could contain so much tactile delight. Yet he had no inclination to stop and apologize, and if all had been done in sleep, there could be no question of fault. To finally feel her kissing him back was the sort of gift he was very well able to accept from his dreams.

***********************************************************************


Willow and Angel had already experienced the intrusions of servants on their personal lives, and that interesting morning was to be no different. For as it became increasingly obvious (and simultaneously denied) that neither was asleep, a maidservant-in-training in the hallway dropped a tray stacked high, and the resulting crash and shatter caused both prince and princess to jump in surprise.

'Good morning' seemed inappropriate.

Sleep was long lost, but coherent thought was not long functioning, and it took a moment for their situation to register. It took a moment to notice their entwined legs, their lack of breath. It took a moment to notice Angel's hand gripping the small of Willow's back, her hand entwined in his hair and her other hand clutching tightly at his nightshirt. (While it is true that only one of Angel's hands has been accounted for, neither participant permitted themselves to admit that it
was resting where it was, so perhaps it was never there to begin with, and need not be mentioned.)

"Oh," Willow said.

"Um," Angel replied.

In a flurry of sheets and blushes, husband and wife escaped from their bridal bed.

***********************************************************************

Garwin looked on in half amusement, half confusion as Willow and Angel continued their carefully choreographed dance of avoidance. They not only managed to escape any and all physical interaction, but there was absolutely no eye contact. What Garwin found truly amazing, however, was the fact that they were so obvious in doing so. He was sure that he was not the only person noticing their odd behavior. He was sure that most people would chalk it up to the stress of impending war, but he knew the news of Aylmar's betrayal could never have this sort of effect on them.

He smiled as his mother sat down beside him and took his hand. He looked twice, however, at the expression on her face.

"From whence comes this bemused smile?" he asked.

"I have no doubt but that you have noticed the strange behavior of our prince and princess?"

"Indeed. I think most of the court has. But from your knowing smile, should I assume you have an idea?"

"I believe I do."

"Have they finally consummated their marriage?" he asked quietly.

"Why, my son! How did you know about their...hesitancy?" she asked with genuine surprise.

"Fear not, Alaric did not tell me. Yet I am perceptive enough, and I have had my suspicions that their bridal bed has remained pure."

"Well, unfortunately, both for their mutual felicity in marriage and for the kingdom's hopes for an heir, you are right. But I do not think they have amended that lack, exactly. Instead..." she stopped thoughtfully.

"Confide in me, mother. I will keep your counsel faithfully."

"I do not know to what extent, but I believe they have experienced at least some small amount of new intimacy. New lovers are never this uncomfortable around one another. No, I think they are both struggling from the discovery of something else entirely."

"Love?" he asked.

"Desire," she intoned, winking playfully at her son when he laughed in surprise.

***********************************************************************

Willow was going to die.

She could feel the curious stares of the court, but she could not seem to do anything to stop the waves of embarrassment that were emanating from her body. Sitting next to her husband, all she could think about was the feelings that had been coursing through her that morning when she had awoken to find herself in his arms. She could not help but remember his arms wrapped so tightly around her, the heat from their combined bodies, the feeling of his lips, the taste of his mouth...

Yes, she was going to die. She was going to wither and perish solely from the torture of extreme embarrassment. She tried to concentrate on her meal, but thinking about food took her mind to naughty places. Food was bad.

She wanted to run out, to escape his presence, to stop thinking about the feeling of being pressed up against him. She wanted to stop wanting him.

She wanted to die. Anything but have to sleep next to him that night.

***********************************************************************

Angel was about to use his fork to poke out his eyes, in the hope that the horrible pain might distract him from the small woman sitting next to him. Of course, he knew it probably wouldn't work, and if it couldn't even do that, there was no point in making himself blind.

He was supposed to be her friend and protector. He was supposed to be the one person she could trust. He was NOT supposed to take advantage of her in her sleep.

There was a subversive yet logical voice in his head, pointing out that they were, in fact, married. It also made the observation that Willow had been no more asleep than he had been that morning, and that she could have easily stopped him, that if she had really objected to the feeling of his lips on hers, she could have pushed him away.

Angel wished that voice would shut up.

He needed to concentrate on his duties as a prince (providing an heir, the voice said. Shut up, Angel replied), he needed to think about the war, about how he could prevent his father from destroying everyone he cared about (especially his extremely lovely, extremely soft wife, the
voice said. Shut UP, Angel replied.).

Above all else, he needed to fight the urge to sweep her into his arms and take her back to their bedchamber, where he would finish what their respective subconsciouses had already begun.

He needed to put down his fork.

***********************************************************************

Garwin had sent Thayne away for a few hours, while he and Marie spent some time together. Wandering into the stables, Thayne stopped suddenly when he heard a low voice speaking nearby. Turning around, he looked for the person whose voice he was hearing, but there was no one in sight. A horse whickered and the voice laughed in response. The laugh was louder
than the words had been, and Thayne followed the sound.

He found a man sitting next to a horse a few stalls down. The horse was in poor shape, for it was not even standing, but had lay down in the bed of straw. The man looked up apprehensively, but Thayne smiled amiably to put him at ease.

"Forgive my intrusion," Thayne apologized. "I heard a voice, and followed it to...you."

"Not at all. I was just having a conversation with Evadne here."

"Is she going to be alright?" Thayne asked, coming over to pat her hindquarters.

"I hope so," the man replied. "My name is Stephan, by the way."

"What happened?"

"We rode hard all the way from the border."

"Oh! Then you're the one who brought the message about Aylmar's preparations for war."

"Yes. Evadne did all the work, though." His eyes were shadowed as he ran his hand up her graceful nose.

"Good work it was," Thayne remarked.

"It's worse than ever," Stephan said, his face worried. "The country has been at war for so long, but it's different this time. This isn't going to be about victory-- this is going to be about inflicting as much pain as possible. This is going to be intimately horrible."

Evadne nudged his still hand worriedly.

"The prince doesn't deserve this. Neither does Garwin," Thayne said sadly.

"You speak as if you know them."

"I am Garwin's personal guard, appointed by the princess," Thayne explained, his grey eyes miraculously empty of any and all pride. He said it merely as a statement of fact.

"That's quite an honor," Stephan remarked with a little awe for the unassuming man kneeling next to him in the straw, but Thayne just shrugged.

"I wish we could avoid this war. I don't want to see more people die." Thayne dropped all pretense of being any sort of soldier, and he looked exactly like the frightened young man he was.

Evadne looked at them, and each of the two humans fell silent. Her still belabored breathing was the only sound in the stall.

***********************************************************************


Willow glowered at the leaves falling all around her. She and Angel had arrived in late summer, and fall was coming quickly. The air was already becoming chilly, and soon it would be winter...

"Of all the ridiculous times to start a war!" she muttered into her fur lined cloak. War was always atrocious, but it was even worse in winter. It meant even more unnecessary deaths.

Thinking about death and mayhem was the most effective way to keep herself from thinking about Angel. She had used the same method when she found Xander kissing Cordelia, blocking out the confusion and overwhelming emotion with a focused view of the impending disaster.

Of course, now, just as then, it couldn't work completely. She did her best to keep her mind focused, but nothing seemed to work for very long, and memories of the morning would come scampering back. Abandoning all pretenses of princesshood, she began kicking the leaves covering the ground with a brutality she had used only when fighting demons in the past. After a few minutes, there were leaves in her face, on her cloak and floating in the air, and she herself was flushed from the exertion. Much as she had been flushed that morning...

"Aaaaaahhh!" she screamed. "Shut up, brain!"

"Direct approach," a voice came from behind her. "Does it work?"

Willow whirled around to find Marie smiling. "Not one word," she threatened through clenched teeth.

"I didn't say anything," Marie pointed out innocently. "Come along, walk with me and I shall distract you from your incalcitrant brain with the inane chatter that comes so easily to a lady-in-waiting like myself."

With a sigh of relief, Willow took her arm, and the two women walked away together.

***********************************************************************


Of course, Marie could only distract Willow for so long. Willow was forced to endure yet another wretched meal with her silent husband beside her, but she wished it could have lasted forever. She knew that however uncomfortable she and Angel were as they picked at the food on their plates, it would not be able to compare to what they would be suffering in a few hours. They would be sharing the same bed yet again.

Willow cursed her unruly subconscious. She had learned to control herself, to create a persona she felt she could present to the world, but there was nothing she could do when her own dreams were betraying her. She could smile at Angel like she cared for him in a friendly way, she could take his arm with a casual grace that belied no sort of further emotion, but there was no way the morning's performance could be regarded as platonic.

The worst part of her situation was that there was no way to guard herself against similar gaffes in the future. She wasn't a very light sleeper, and if her body was enjoying itself-

Stifling a groan, Willow tried to think about something else, all the while knowing that bedtime was dangerously close.

***********************************************************************

Angel felt that he should say something. He felt that he should break this heavy silence, try to penetrate the deadly tension that seemed to cover their bedroom.

Say something. He knew there were words available for use, he just had to figure out what they were. He had to find something benign and comforting, something that could sound apologetic but not regretful. He needed words with no sexual implications, words that would put her at ease but not make her feel vulnerable. Oh, and perhaps some words with just the slightest touch of tastefully heartwarming humor. He needed words that wouldn't make him cringe immediately after he said them, words that wouldn't embarrass her either.

He needed to say something before she fell asleep.

"Goodnight, Angel," her soft voice said suddenly, as she rolled onto her side, her back facing him. She was as far to her side of the bed as she could be without falling off.

"Goodnight, Willow," he replied. They were not, perhaps, the words he had been looking for, but they would do until the morning.

***********************************************************************


Their dreams that night were oddly vague and unimpressive. They were so dull, in fact, that neither would be likely to remember them the next morning.

As Willow woke up, her first cognizant thought was to check and make sure her lips were having nothing to do with Angel's. They were not, and she deemed it safe to completely rouse herself from sleep. It was in doing so that she realized she really did not want to, owing to the comfort of her position.

In Angel's arms.

Now, although she froze at the thought at first, it was quite different than the previous dawn. There was no intertwining, no movement. She was cradled in his arms as if he could protect her from anything, at least during sleep. It was, all in all, not a bad place to be.

Deciding herself to be in no immediate need to vacate the bed, she closed her eyes again. She felt Angel shift, and, knowing he would wake in a moment, wondered what his reaction would be. She felt his arms tense as he realized situation, but he relaxed as quickly as she had. Neither
moved, and for a short time, there was no need to explain, no need to wonder or surmise what had happened.

Opening her eyes once more, Willow looked up at Angel.

"Good morning."

His smile, though sluggish with sleep, made the warmth of his embrace complete.

"Good morning, Princess."

***********************************************************************

Angel burst into the room where Willow was reading, his cheeks flushed and a wide grin on his face. "Willow! You have to come see this."

"See what?" she asked with a bemused smile.

"Just come outside. Look, I even have your cloak. Come on!"

Allowing him to bundle her up in the thick velvet garment, she could hardly keep up as he practically ran to the doors leading to the palace gardens. Pausing before the large doors he gave her a mysterious smile. "Are you ready?" he asked ominously.

"I suppose I'll have to be," she replied.

Throwing open the doors, he pulled her out amongst the frost covered flower beds. "Watch," he whispered. Then...

"What?" Willow asked as he looked at her expectantly. She hadn't seen anything to occasion remark.

"Look! I'm breathing!" he cried.

"Angel, you've been breathing since we got here," she pointed out.

"Yes, but now you can see it!" he laughed. Willow finally saw what he meant, as his breath fogged in the crisp morning air. She couldn't help but giggle as her husband, prince, and future king remained enraptured by the visual manifestation of his breath.

Actually, Willow herself was not overly used to it. After all, Sunnydale winters were not known for their freezing temperatures, save the miraculous snowfall the year before. It wasn't long before Willow and Angel were both trying to make rings out of their crystallized breath, and practically hyperventilating in the excitement of it all. They both fell onto an ornamental bench, feeling refreshed, both from the chill in the air as well as the unmitigated silliness of their games.

"I love how it swirls around," Angel said, puffing out once more to prove his point.

"I like the way it gets tossed around by the breeze," Willow added.

"Hey! Would your breath do the same thing to my breath as the wind?" he asked.

"Let's see," she replied. He gently exhaled, and Willow leaned forward to breathe upon the dissipating cloud. They each watched the fine mists swirl and dissipate, only to find their mouths excessively close once the experiment had evaporated. There was yet another moment of awkwardness. Such instances had lessened in the weeks since their dream induced intimacy, but still cropped up now and again.

Yet, something had changed, Willow realized. There was a new sort of confusion, not the fear of getting caught, and not just embarrassment...

"Oh," she said suddenly, falling off the bench.

"Are you alright?" Angel asked with concern as he helped her up.

"Fine, fine, just a little cold. I'm just going to go back to the library, warm up, I'll see you later." she walked away quickly, her cheeks rosy, but no longer from the cold. She was determined not to think about it, but all her determination was for naught as her incalcitrant mind kept turning over her fresh realization. Her almost-kisses with Angel were becoming increasingly difficult to deal with not because they made her uncomfortable.

Rather, she had started wishing they would actually come to pass.

***********************************************************************

If Willow's subconscious was anything to go by, then she had been waiting for Angel to kiss her long before the morning's small epiphany. But the fact that her waking mind was finally catching up disturbed her in a way she couldn't even define.

She focused again on the book, but her mind was thinking only of how warm his lips would have been in the cold air...

"Bad! Bad wrong bad bad bad bad." Willow's self-scoldings had been with her for many years, but she cut herself off suddenly. "Bad?" she said to the empty room, her brow furrowed in thought. She looked at the ring on her finger.

Shutting her book, she began to pace around the library, occasionally clutching at her head as she was overtaken by somewhat...revolutionary thought processes. She was still there several hours later when the sun went down. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her back and marched out of the room with undeniable purpose.

***********************************************************************

Angel was tired. He had ridden out into the town in the hopes of taking his mind off his rather peculiar home life, but it hadn't worked. He seemed to choose the one day when all the young lovers in the country had convened in the capitol city to make him feel wretched. There were pretty wenches flirting with their admirers, some bold young men even stealing kisses. One couple had been so amorous, they hadn't even noticed their prince riding by. A tradesman and his glowing, pregnant wife had bowed as Angel rode past, and he couldn't help but notice how
happy the young settled couple had looked.

To make it worse, the town had been absolutely crawling with redheads.

In a modest church on the outskirts of the town, he had seen a wedding procession, the bride positively sparkling with love for her proud husband. She did not cry tears of sadness on her wedding day, Angel thought disloyally, though he scolded himself for the unworthy notion in
the next minute.

Eventually, the prosperity and goodwill of his nation proved too much for his gloomy disposition, and he headed back to the palace and his oddly platonic marriage. Having retreated to his bedchamber, he sat in front of a dying fire, wondering why they had been dragged through the portal in the first place.

He looked up as Willow entered the room.

She was as jumpy as a cat, her eyes wide and her movements oddly jerky. She kept twisting her hands together, and her whole demeanor was one of concentrated nerves. Yet she came toward him purposely, with a determination that was only slightly lessened by her palpable fear.

"Angel," she began, her voice unnaturally high and tight. "Hi."

She stopped then, and seemed to be waiting for permission to continue.

"Um, hi," he answered.

"I've been thinking. A lot. About, well, stuff, like who I am. And stuff."

"Right," Angel replied.

"I started wrong...Okay. We are not in Sunnydale anymore. Well, you've been out of Sunnydale longer than I have, but what I mean is that I'm not in Sunnydale and you aren't in LA and this world is completely different. Because, you know, of the whole alternate dimension thing. And we both had...roles, before. And duties, and loyalties. But we aren't there anymore, so I was sort of thinking that our duties in this world are more- wait, that sounds stupid."

Angel looked at her in disbelief. Could she possibly be saying what he thought she was saying, or was he just hearing what he wanted to hear? She wouldn't meet his eyes, so it made it more difficult to tell.

"Ummm," she continued. "Well, we've been here for quite some time now. And, you know, I always cared about you. Because, well, you saved my life all the time and that was really great, but also because you were...you. I mean, I guess I always trusted you, except when you were
evil, but I liked you a lot. Because you are likeable. And I did. Like you. Um, but, you know, now we're here together. And sometimes I think that it was a mistake that I came with you, because it didn't seem to make much sense. But I am here, with you, and during the time that we've been here, our relationship has...changed. No, that isn't what I meant. Well, I mean to say, that we've, um, gotten to know one another much better. And, also, see each other in different circumstances. Because, before, whenever we ran into each other, it was to fight evil or because you had something cryptic to- never mind. We saw each other in specific places and situations. But here, it's very different.

'This world is sort of, well, classier. You know? I can't honestly say that I don't like being a princess and having people adore me on principle. But that isn't the topic. Well, you know, as a prince and my husband besides, you have to treat me in a certain way. And I guess I sort of like it. Because having a handsome man smile at me like I'm all he sees and escort me about with my hand on his arm and do all the chivalrous things you do is...nice. But people like your father remind me that you, as in you, Angel, are the gentleman. It isn't your upbringing and it has nothing to do with the portal travelling. It's you. And...wait, I lost the topic." She paused, looking confused.

"Willow-" he began, but her eyes brightened and she held up a finger.

"No, I remember. Okay. Well, I mentioned all my thoughts about who I was. Because Willow Rosenberg, UC Sunnydale student and best friend of Buffy Summers, was in love with Oz. Still is, in many ways, even though he left. And then there's Angel, Angelus, vampire and former resident of hell, who loves aforementioned Buffy Summers.

'But Princess Aurelia never technically knew any of those people. Neither did Prince Alaric. And, as a married couple, since we are they, I just find myself wondering if, maybe, we wouldn't be completely right in abiding by the rules of their marriage by-"

She stopped, and Angel almost sighed out loud. She had almost said it, and he was really, really hoping she would say it.

"That makes it sound like a moral obligation, and that isn't what I mean to say," she corrected herself. In her nervousness, she began walking in small circles, still refusing to look at him. "I don't want to say this and have you be disgusted with me, Angel. I just hate living like this. Seeing you every day, sharing a bed with you, wishing it wasn't just an act. I'm only human, and you've been so wonderful, and I'm tired of feeling guilty when I find myself..." her words faltered then, and she sat on the back of the sofa, her back facing Angel. Her shoulders were
stooped with the difficulty of the words she had been trying to say.

"Why do you feel guilty?" he asked then, his voice quiet.

"Well, I started wondering that myself! I mean, from the looks of it, we aren't going home anytime soon. We're married, after all. Different names used, us nonetheless. And Oz left me, and Buffy's trying to move on with her life without you, and yet I feel like-"

He came around in front of her then, and put his finger under her chin to make her look at him. "Like what?" he whispered.

"Like they would be, maybe, scandalized, if they knew." Her breath was getting caught in her throat as he looked at her so closely, the dark red embers of the fire glowing in his dark eyes.

"If they knew what? That we're lost? That we're married?"

"No," she shook her head. "That-"

"That I might be falling in love with you?"

She was holding her breath, that he could tell in the silence of the room.

"You can't blame me," he smiled. "Every day, I'm amazed yet again by your strength and grace. Some people would have broken under half so much pressure, but you not only keep going, you're determined to be cheerful about it. That takes a lot, but you keep managing."

"And you tend to be attracted to strong women," she pointed out with a half smile.

"True. Furthermore, I haven't even mentioned your incredible beauty. I just didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to impose. Also I'm a coward."

"Didn't want to take advantage?" she guessed.

"That too."

"Well," her eyes looked searchingly into his own, "take all the advantage you want."

It was his turn to catch his breath, but her eyes were truthful, with just a hint of shame at her own brazenness. Determined not to let her take back her offer or her admittances, he took her at her word.

With a swiftness stemming from the long denial of his desire, he leaned over and pressed his lips to her upturned mouth.

***********************************************************************

Marie entered the royal bedchamber quietly, but almost tripped over her own feet at the sight within. Her dearest princess was being ruthlessly kissed by her husband as she precariously balanced on the back of a sofa. Silently backpedalling, Marie exited the room and tried to stop the wicked smile that kept surfacing on her face.

She really needed to prepare Willow for the banquet, but...

Perhaps she should just take a short walk before she returned.

***********************************************************************

Willow's brain managed to reflect that it was certainly to her benefit that Angel had retained his centuries of romantic experience, right before all her cognizant thought processes shut down.

Her perch on the sofa was uncomfortable, and her head was still aching from her hours of intense thought, but she noticed nothing save the insistent pressure of her husband's gifted mouth. If this was what he could do to her with nothing more than a kiss, then why had she waited so long? The room was dark and cold, but she was burned by his every touch. She was glad her speech (if you could call such a convoluted mess of random words a 'speech') had worked. Oh yes, she was very very glad.

For his part, Angel was just as glad. He had been using quite a bit of control to keep his relationship with Willow stable, and to finally let go was turning out to be a marvelously pleasant experience. Perhaps it was the long time that had elapsed since he had kissed anyone, perhaps it was the unresolved sexual tension that had been circulating between them for weeks, perhaps it was the novelty of being human again. In any case, the mere feeling of her lips was-

There was a loud knocking at the door. He broke away from Willow with an exasperated sigh, and she leaned her face against his chest. "I'm beginning to hate servants," she muttered against the velvet. He laughed in reply, and she hopped off the sofa. She stole one last kiss, then called out, "Enter if you are able!"

"Wrong universe," he pointed out.

"Right," she smiled, her lips rosy from his attentions.

Marie came in with an odd air of excitement. "Your Highnesses, the banquet will begin soon, and neither of you is ready. Come, Princess, I will attend to you, and your husband must do what he can for himself. You are decidedly late! What were you doing?"

"Lost track of the time," Willow explained, her eyes on her husband's. He smiled at her, a sensual smile full of promises, but neither one was aware of the knowing look that crossed Marie's face.

"Of course," she replied in a neutral voice, dragging Willow away to her dressing chamber. Willow was decidedly dazed as Marie dressed and arranged her, chattering on and on about nothing at all, the whole time observing Willow's dreamy face very carefully. It was only as they were about to depart for the feast that Willow actually noticed the gown she was wearing.

"Marie!" she hissed. "I can't wear this!"

"Why not, pray? I think you look vastly fetching in it."

"Look at me!" Willow looked at the mirror hesitantly. The dress itself wasn't really problem. It was more the lack of the dress that left her so concerned. The amount of decolletage revealed by the neckline was not in her usual style, and she futilely tugged at the firm brocade.

"It's a little, low, don't you think?" she squeaked. One wrong move, and she would find herself quite exposed to the entire court.

"Don't be ridiculous. Now hurry up, dear. You are already late," Marie reprimanded her. Willow walked out the door with a somewhat defeated air, so did not see the look on her lady's face. Marie smiled at her reflection in the full length mirror.

"It will do him some good to go mad with wanting during dinner. Don't you think?" She winked at herself, and with a youthful giggle, swished out the door herself.

***********************************************************************

Angel strummed his fingers on his forearm impatiently as he waited for his wife. He just wanted the evening to be over, so that he could take her back upstairs and finally-

"Oh, sweet heaven," he whispered, for Willow had entered the room. He would not have been able to really describe the dress. His eyes registered neither color nor fabric, neither embroidery nor trim. All he could have said was that the dress managed to destroy all his capacity for thought at first sight.

"Angel? Angel!" he realized Willow was saying with some concern.

"Mmm?" he replied, his tongue being sluggish to form any actual words.

"Is something wrong with my dress? You keep staring. Should I change?" her question was not asked to fish for compliments, but merely out of self-conscious ignorance.

"No," he replied firmly. "You should NOT change."

The glossy look in his eyes convinced Willow that he was completely sincere, and for the first time, she began to realize why Marie had chosen that particular dress. Taking his arm with a small smile hovering around her mouth, she looked up at him through her lashes. "Shall we
dine, milord?"

"Only if it won't take too long," he replied, the look in his eyes making her flush with pleasure.

They entered the main hall together.

***********************************************************************

There were moments during that evening when the rest of the court might as well have been nonexistent, for all the notice the couple of honor took of them. Course after course came and went, with neither prince nor princess eating very much.

"It's about time," Garwin declared as he and his mother watched the lovestruck pair.

"You'll have nieces and nephews in no time, dear," his mother replied. "I just hope they have some time together before this ridiculous war occurs, as it no doubt shall."

She would later curse herself for her unlucky words, but had no idea of their import as she said them, and continued to chat with her son.

A few moments later, a special platter was brought to the princess. One of her other ladies-in-waiting, Gwen, conveyed the good wishes of the chef. "He prepared this dish specifically for you, Your Highness," she said as she curtsied before Willow. "He has understood that you are fond of chocolate, and has prepared this tart in the hopes that it will please your discriminating palate." The nobles politely applauded, and Willow smiled in delight.

"Thank you, Gwen. I will convey my thanks to the chef as well. Oh, but I couldn't eat another bite, not just yet. Will you taste it for me?" she begged.

"Princess, I doubt not that it is delicious, but I would not presume-"

"Oh, please. I am too full right now. You try a bit, and if it meets your approval, I will endeavor to eat some more." Willow was just remembering that Gwen had once been as important a companion as Marie to the princess, and her guilt made her hope that her mark of favor might restore some of Gwen's status. She dug her fork into the delectable looking dessert, and held it up to the lady's mouth. "Please, I would love for you to try it," she pleaded.

Gwen smiled and nodded, and everyone waited expectantly as she took the fork into her mouth. Her eyes widened at the flavor, and she nodded as she chewed.

"Good?" Willow asked.

Gwen nodded emphatically, and Willow used a fresh fork to dig out a bite for herself. She almost had it to her mouth, when Gwen's hand suddenly clamped down on her wrist. Willow looked up at her in shock.

"I think," Gwen gasped, "Your Highness should not taste it." Her lips were blue, and she began to shake. Clawing at the air, she fell backwards, her head striking the stone floor quite hard. Willow fell to her knees beside the woman, chafing her trembling hands as others gathered around.

"Poisoned, Princess," the poor woman whispered. "Please, I didn't know. I think-ah! I think the chef is innocent. I," her words were halting, and all the blood had rushed from her face. "I- I am glad you, you did not- taste it. Your kindness saved- saved your life- I-" her body
convulsed then, and her hands went quite limp.

"No," Willow breathed, backing away in horror. "No!" she shrieked, clutching at her gown. Angel helped her up, but she hardly noticed as her eyes rolled in panic.

"Who would dare attempt to attack my daughters life?" the king's voice thundered across the hall. Suddenly, guards ran into the doors.

"Your Majesties," he bowed before the king, "A young woman was seen riding away from the palace. She had been engaged as an assistant in the kitchen for three weeks. She was riding towards...the border." The soldier's voice was filled with dread.

"Aylmar," the king growled. "Gentlemen, let us adjourn to the councilroom. My dear," he said in a softer voice as he turned to Willow, "I am sorry, but you it will not happen again, I swear. We will teach him that he cannot make attacks on your inviolate person and expect it to go unpunished." He whirled away, his face as hard as stone.

Angel was quite upset, not only by the attempt on Willow's life and the death of her servingwoman, but by the fact that he was forced to leave her to plan a war. She was trembling quite violently in his arms, and he could tell that her slipping self-control was really only the first stage of extreme panic.

Marie appeared, her face much older than it had been earlier, and she took Willow into her arms gently. "Go, my prince," she said to Angel. "Plan your war, and I will watch over your bride until you return."

He nodded gratefully, and kissing Willow's white cheek, he followed the king.

***********************************************************************

As Angel entered the room, the first thing he noticed was that Marie had fallen asleep in a chair in front of the fire. She stirred as he walked over to her, and she stood up, putting a finger to her lips. "She's asleep," she whispered, gesturing to the mound of blankets Angel assumed
to be his wife.

"How is she?" he asked with great concern.

The look on Marie's face did nothing to allay his fears. "I have never seen her this distressed. She is not quite herself, and though she has ample reasons to be upset, I cannot help but worry. I hate to see her so shaken."

Angel nodded. "Thank you, Marie."

"So, Your Highness, what are the king's plans?"

He shut his eyes wearily. "We are to march at daybreak."

Marie's gasped. "No! Not yet! You have only just- but it isn't my place. I am sorry, Your Highness." He looked at her curiously, but she curtsied wearily.

"You will want your rest. Goodnight, Prince Alaric." She left the room with a tired air, and Angel remembered that she had only just begun to know her son, but Garwin would be leaving the next day with the rest of them.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he crossed the room to the bed and looked down at his wife's pillow.

It was empty.

"Willow?" He threw back the blankets, but the bed was unoccupied. Suddenly panicked, he looked around the room in terror. She was nowhere to be seen.

He shivered, and as he saw that the balcony doors were slightly open, his heart seemed to stop. Throwing the doors open, he cast his glance out over the stone railing. "Willow?" he asked again. Then he saw her.

She was huddled against the wall, her thin shift no protection aginst the cold night air. Cursing under his breath, he ran over to where she had crumpled.

"Me. He wanted to kill me..." she whispered as he gathered her up in his arms. Her thin body was terribly cold, and he ripped of his doublet to wrap it around her shoulders. he carried her back inside, securing the doors on the way in. He settled her into the bed, and kicking off his
boots, he climbed in next to her. Her skin was still much too cold, and he rubbed his hands up and down her shaking arms, hoping the friction would warm her.

"Are you insane?" he whispered, his voice angry and frightened. "You could have gotten frostbite, or hypothermia. You could have died."

"Dead. He wanted me dead!" she cried.

"Yes? We knew he hated us. Why are you so upset that you would let yourself almost freeze to death?"

"I've been attacked and nearly murdered by any number of monsters," she began, "but this is different. Even Faith, who at one time was on our side, was different. But Angel, that man is your father! I tried to love him, I wanted him to be happy for us. And he tried to kill me! So
cruelly, such calculation. Faith was hot tempered, it reminded me how weak and utterly human she was. But him- poison! And not even himself. To send a spy... He didn't want me dead because he even hated me. He just wanted me dead to start a war. And then...Gwen..." she stopped then, squeezing her eyes together. "It's my fault."

"What? What are you talking about?" Angel asked, furious that his father had reduced her to such a state.

"I should have known something horrible would happen if I said those things to you. I should have known it was wrong-"

"Willow, something horrible happened because my father is horrible, not for any other reason. Gwen died because of my father, not because of you. Remember that."

Willow nodded dumbly, but her eyes were grateful. Some warmth was seeping back into her extremities, and her face was regaining color. "What happened at the council?" she asked.

"We're leaving tomorrow." Angel's voice was low and heavy.

Willow shook her head violently. "No! You can't! Not when I finally realized-" she paused, looking up at him. "Not when I finally realized that I love you."

"Oh, Willow," was all that Angel was able to say.

"Now you'll go to war and I won't have the time to-" he stopped her with a kiss. The tragedy of the evening seemed more and more distant as they realized that they had only one night left, one night before he disappeared. Her body was no longer cold, it was hot and throbbing, and
his felt much the same way.

And his mouth, his lips, were as eloquent as any of the words he didn't have the breath to whisper. He clung to her desperately, and she would not have been able to tear herself away if her life had depended on it. She could only do her best to reciprocate each feverish embrace.

There was no thought of war or treaties that night, no thought of duty or even servants. If past loves were remembered, it was with the vague fondness of a pleasant memory, and not the shooting pain of broken hearts. Actually, the night was not for much thinking. It was far more
focused on touch.

***********************************************************************

"You'll be careful?" Marie asked in a small voice, stroking Garwin's hair with trembling fingers.

"Of course I will."

There were not many hours left till daybreak, but the pair had been sitting together for a long time, and neither showed any inclination to leave.

"Did you get your boots mended?"

"Yes, Mother. The cobbler repaired them." His head shifted under her hand, but he stayed where he was.

"Has your sword been sharpened?"

"Yesterday."

"Oh, Garwin?"

"Yes, Mother?"

"I love you," she whispered.

He stood up from his position at her feet and yanked her into his arms. He hugged her as tightly as possible, and felt her tears on the nape of his neck.

"Mother, I swear," he promised, "I swear I will come back alive. I will protect my prince and brother, I will fight against the army of the most despicable man on this earth, and I will come home to you. I will come home to you and we will never lack for each other ever again. Okay? I love you. I will not die just yet."

She squeezed him even tighter.

***********************************************************************

Willow awoke suddenly, not really knowing why. She thought she had felt something brush against her cheek, but there was nothing there as she opened her eyes. Instead, she got an eyeful of her sleeping husband, no longer just in name, and couldn't help but smile. If only the morning could never come, she thought she could be perfectly content. To lay in their bed with his arm wrapped posessively around her waist-

There it was again. It was like a breath of air. She hated to leave the comfort of the blankets and her lover, but her perpetual curiosity caused her to disentangle herself, shrug into her dressing gown, and walk across the darkened room. Some instinct led her towards the main door leading into the hallway. Not really knowing why, she opened the door and walked
out of the room.

"Oh," she sighed, because there it was. The same swirling nothingness that had started the whole adventure, the same lightless vortex that she had seen on her wedding day. Even in the darkness of the hallway, it was not difficult to see. It stood before her, unblinking and shifting. It
was no dream, no part of her imagination. It merely waited, either for a traveller to use it or to open up in another dimension.

So it had arrived. Her transport home, her ticket back to the 'real' world. This world, with it's own set of rules and complications, would disappear, and she would return to the life she had been forced to leave. No more palace, no more war, no more princess.

No more Angel.

She knew they would not be able to explain, to go home and transfer their relationship, their roles. They had pre-established lives, there. Nothing she currently cared so much about had even ever existed a few months previous.

All she needed to do was go wake up Angel, bring him out into the hallway, and they would make the homeward journey. She would see her friends again, resume her life where she had left off. All she had to do was go tell Angel...

She was suddenly a blur of motion. She didn't know the rules of these portals, and from what they had seen, they were somewhat unstable. She didn't want to mess up this time. She flew back into the room, determination etched into every line of her slim body.

She locked the door.

She went back to bed, and drifted off to sleep.

***********************************************************************

"Oh, this can't be happening," Willow whispered into the crook of his neck.

"How many times have you said that in your life?" he asked, a ghost of a smile on his face.

"I mean it this time! Well, yeah, okay, I meant it all those other times too, but it doesn't make it any less valid just because it's the most recent in a string of many similar such-"

"I know," he cut her off, tightening his grip around her waist.

"I don't want to watch you go. You're the one thing that has kept me sane, made me sure that I'm not just some princess with a strange and oddly inventive form of amnesia. I don't want to watch you get on your horse and leave."

"I don't want to get on my horse and leave. I want my father to choke on his own bitterness, I want the war to be declared null and void, and I want to take you back to bed for the rest of the week."

"Why do we have to be noble?" Willow asked in an exasperated voice. "The majority of the world, this one and the old one, is filled with people who don't care about doing the right thing. Selfish people, who never need to think twice about doing what they want to do. I wish we
could be them, just for a little while."

"No, you don't," Angel whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

"No, I don't," she replied. "I just want you to stay."

He kissed her then, because he knew that his words could make nothing better. He kissed her like a husband should, possessing and freeing her at the same time, making her his and something more all at once. It cannot be said that either of them had ever been brought up to think too much of marriage. His parents had fought constantly, and he had been raised to treat women as his playthings. Willow's parents had never been affectionate, with her or one another. But all at once, in the power of one farewell kiss, they each understood what matrimony really was. One mind and one flesh while remaining two vibrant individuals. One love and two promises.

"I'll store that up," he gasped as they broke apart. "I'll keep that kiss for cold and lonely nights. I'll give you that kiss every time I dream. That kiss will bring me back." He buried his face in her hair one last time, memorizing her scent and the feeling of holding her close.

He broke off suddenly, knowing that one moment more would have made him stay. He walked away as quickly as he could, every step carrying him too far. At the door he turned, gazing at her one more time.

"I love you," he promised.

"I love you too," she echoed.

And then the Prince was gone.

***********************************************************************

Marie had said goodbye to Garwin quickly, making sure all his needs were provided for before kissing his cheek and retreating back into the palace. As he looked at his saddlebags, however, he found a letter tucked into one of the pockets. Opening the seal, he absently stroked the horse's flank as he read his mother's delicate handwriting.

'Dear Garwin,

There have been times when I have cursed fortune and wished to die.
There have been times when I hated the world for not knowing my misery.

But during those times, I did not know you. I knew you were alive, but I
knew nothing about you. I called you son in a vague way, because it is
hard to believe when there is no evidence.

The day I met you, my heart healed.

I am the luckiest woman alive.'

Gritting his teeth against the pricking of tears, he mounted.

"This war better not take too long," he ground out beneath his breath.

***********************************************************************

Angel and Garwin rode side by side in a sort of companionable misery. Despite all their weaponry and armor, there was nothing too intimidating about their forlorn faces.

"Where's Thayne?" Garwin asked suddenly

Angel blinked once, twice, and his half brother knew his thoughts had been with a certain Princess. "I haven't seen him. He must be amongst the troops."

"Well, let's find him. It will be something to do."

Shrugging in acquiescence, Angel reined in his horse. Dispatching a few pages to see if they could speed up the search, they scanned through the multitude of soldiers, but neither could spot the fair youth.

At last, a page came running up to them. "He's marching with the foot soldiers, Your Highness."

Angel frowned. "I gave instructions that he should be given a horse. Why is he on foot?"

"Here he comes, Your Highness," the page bowed.

Thayne approached in the wake of his captain, a burly man who did not seem completely at ease with an audience with the Crown Prince.

"Thayne, there you are," Angel said calmly. "Wherefore do you march? I had made provisions for you to be on horseback."

"Yes, Your Highness, I know," Thayne replied quietly.

"If you knew of my plans for you and yet you remain with your old regiment, then the only thing I can imagine is that your good captain has insisted upon it. Is this so, Captain?" he asked coolly.

The man reddened, harrumphing uselessly. "Fact is, Your Highness, I figured there was some mistake. Thayne here has never been much of a soldier, and I didn't see as he could have deserved a horse-"

"You are mistaken, good Captain," Angel interrupted smoothly. "Thayne is the epitome of an honorable man, and I am delighted that he has chosen to remain in my army. In recognition of his loyal services to Garwin and myself, I had hoped to see him seated upon a horse. Other than your lack of faith in his talents, which I assure you is completely mistaken, have you any objections to my wish that he ride?"

"No, Highness, of course not," he answered, not daring to meet his eyes.

"Splendid," Angel smiled. "Come Thayne, Garwin and I are desirous of your company."

"Ride with you, Your Highness?" Thayne asked in surprise.

"But of course. We can't have Garwin riding without his personal guard, can we?"

The bewildered captain gaped as Thayne was led away by two of the most powerful young men in the kingdom. He heard whispers as he made his way back to his post, men wondering about the condescension of the prince, his graciousness towards one such as Thayne.

They loved the Prince.

***********************************************************************

Thayne was a welcome diversion for the two men, though he was somewhat astonished by their vehement insistence that he tell them every pleasantry and tale that he had ever known. He told them of his childhood fears of cats, the time when he was thirteen that the squire's comely daughter had kissed him full on the mouth. If they were not paying complete attention, it was more to do with their own separations than with their opinion of Thayne. Ever understanding, he did not mind, and babbled on until they made camp at sunset.

Since the capital city was not far from the border, they were not a great distance from their destination, and the men were quieter than they had been as they realized their proximity to certain war. Angel, however, did not feel that he could sleep, and remained staring into the embers of the dying campfire as most of the army retired for the night.

Thayne hesitated beside him, trying to stifle a yawn. "Is there anything you require of me, Highness?"

Angel smiled at the sleepy boy. "No, I am as well as I will be. Go to bed."

"My Prince, if there is a single thing-"

"Go to bed. That's an order, a royal command even. Sleep. Dream of peaceful times and unused armies."

Still Thayne paused. "Was that last part an order as well?"

"Very funny. Just sleep."

Thayne departed at last, and a moment later, Garwin joined Angel before the fire.

"He's a good man," Garwin observed.

"He's still too young to be a man. If he survives this war, though, he'll be more than that. He'll be a great man."

Garwin tilted his head, studying the lines of Angel's profile.

"What?" Angel asked at last.

"I grew up with you. I have seen you at your worst, throwing tantrums, misbehaving and causing all the trouble that boys are expected to produce. I remember how you used to blush when your voice began changing. And now-" he stopped.

"What? I'm even more irritating?"

"No," Garwin smiled. "No, you're a prince. Not just the son of a king kind of prince. You act like a monarch already. Don't shake your head at me, you do. You command and approve with this air of authority and power that has only lately come to you. Look at all the men in this
camp-- they know what you are, even if you deny it. Every part of you proclaims your birth, your lineage, and your breeding. Not from your father, but from your ancestors. I have all the respect in the world for King Padraic, but you will be the most wonderful monarch his country has ever seen."

Angel squinted at him in the soft glow of the smoking fire. "Garwin, if I can exude that sort of carriage, that sort of attitude, then I'm glad, because it will make my life easier for people to respect and follow me. But I'm not different. I promise."

"You're wrong. You're better than you've ever been. Probably something to do with escaping from the power of your father, but I think a lot more to do with your wife. In any case, it becomes you. Let's just hope it will help you win this war." Clapping Angel on the shoulder, Garwin ducked under the flap of his tent.

"Me too," Angel muttered.

***********************************************************************

Willow sneezed again.

"Princess, I like not your sneezing. You sound unwell." Marie looked at her with concern.

"No, Marie, I am well," she said quietly. The scratchiness of her voice, however, belied her words.

Marie placed a cool hand on her forehead, and gasped at the temperature of Willow's white skin. "Willow, you have a fever and did not tell me!"

"Marie, I do not feel so bad-"

"Do not feel so bad! Get into your bedclothes immediately! A princess's first duty to her country is to keep herself alive and well. You are not well, and you look only half alive. Get abed, get abed! You must get well."

Willow permitted herself to be hustled into bed.

"Where have you caught this fever? Have you neglected to dress warmly in this frosty weather?" Marie asked sternly.

"Of course not! Except-"

"There must be no exceptions! The cold will harm you if you give it occasion. What have you exposed yourself to?"

"Well," Willow reluctantly explained, "Last night I sort of went out onto the balcony without dressing properly."

"What were you wearing?" Marie asked threateningly.

"My shift," Willow replied in a small voice. Marie gasped.

"My love, how could you?"

"I was upset!" Willow pleaded. "I wasn't thinking properly!"

"Oh, of course. And after finding you nearly frozen, your dear prince very capably drove all other thoughts out of your mind, I'm sure."

"Marie!" Willow exclaimed, a blush stealing across her face.

"Well, and what if he gets sick? Off he goes to battle, and he cannot afford to be ill! But sure, it is not your fault, and I am certain he will be well," she amended, seeing the stricken look on Willow's face. "The only thing you need to do is to get better. Now sleep, and when you
awaken, I will bring you some warm broth." Kissing her forehead, Marie swept out the doors.

Willow found that she was quite sleepy, but she turned to look at the empty pillow beside her own. "Angel, come home," she whispered. Gathering his pillow into her arms, she inhaled deeply, loving his smell. With a piece of bedding taking the place of her husband, she drifted off
to sleep.

***********************************************************************

Before setting out the next morning, Padraic and Angel broke their fast together.

"I find myself quite envious of you, my boy," the king said.

"Excuse me?" Angel asked, startled.

"My people are proud that I am their monarch. But I find that they are not quite so entirely in love with me as they are with you."

"Your Majesty, I don't think that is exactly-"

"Ah ah, divine right says that I'm not mistaken." The look on Angel's face made him laugh, his baritone echoing out through the camp. "I'm jesting, but I do not jest about what I said before. I think it's wonderful that they love you so much. Almost as much as my daughter, in fact. What ho there, steward!" Nodding to his son-in-law, the king strode away.

"Told you so." Garwin's voice came from behind Angel, making him jump.

"Don't do that!" Angel exclaimed.

"Come on, Princey boy. Get up on your horse."

Angel scowled at him. "Ooh, if you weren't my half brother..."

***********************************************************************

There was no more laughter, a few hours later.

The troops had halted, and Angel looked grimly ahead. They stood facing the border, and to cross it was to begin the war proper. Many of the men who stood behind him would die within a very short amount of time. He wished with all his might that they could turn back, run back to the comfort and quiet of the palace, pretending they were good friends with Aylmar.

But Angel was well acquainted with impossible wishes, as he had made a great many in his old life. They could not, would not forgive Aylmar for his many insults, for his breaking of the treaty.

For his attempt upon Willow's life.

With the memory of her kiss lending him courage, he led his men forward.

***********************************************************************

At the sound of a woman's scream, Garwin began running.

He had been exploring an abandoned village by moonlight as the rest of the troops slept, depressing himself even further, when the sounds of a struggle reached his ears. Tearing through the silent streets, he heard a man's deep laugh, and began running even faster.

Rounding a corner, the first thing he really saw were the terrified, though still furious, eyes of a girl in the grip of a monstrous beast of a man. He had pinned her up against a wall, and she showed signs of ill usage already. Her cheek had a bruise about the size of a large hand on it, and her dress was ripped down the front. She was still struggling in his grasp, but he was tugging up her skirt, and Garwin could almost smell her despair. Furthermore, her hair was blonde, so much like his own mother's...

"Release her at once, cur," he demanded, pulling his sword free.

The girl gasped, a spark of hope springing into her eyes, and her attacker slowly turned.

"Who're ye?" he growled in Garwin's direction.

"A man who still believes in honor, you blackguard. Need I remind you that I have demanded you release yon maiden immediately?"

Keeping his huge paw around her pale neck, the brute leered at Garwin. "Don't worry, sonny. I'll let you have a turn when I'm finished."

The girl squealed as he tightened his grip, and Garwin's jaw clenched.

Forty-seven seconds later, the churl was stretched out on the ground, and Garwin found his arms full of grateful softness.

"Milord, milord, I thank you with all my soul, and all my life! I thought that my screams were for naught!" she cried into his shoulder.

"Here now, damsel, you are safe and well." He deftly removed his doublet and placed it around her shoulders, restoring her modesty and thanking heaven that the night was not too cold. Still, she trembled so that she was incapable of walking, and with his arm around her waist, he began leading her away from the body of the fallen knave.

"What is your name, fair maiden?" he asked softly, hoping to distract her from the trauma of her recent trials.

"Dalenna is my name, good knight."

"Dalenna, how came you to be here in this lonely village, helpless against the wiles of evil men?"

"Good sir, you must know about the impending war. To protect ourselves from the coming slaughter, the inhabitants of this village, and many others in the land, sojourned to the fortress of the king. My father is the county squire in these parts, and we had hoped to be safe there.

'Upon arrival, however, I found that my father's position was yet too low to protect me from the advances of the king's men, and I was horrified when I was harshly informed that my duty to my country was obviously lacking, if I could behave so missish in the company of his brave troops. Missish, they said! To protect my honor and be censured for it, I felt was the outside of enough. My father tried to complain on my behalf, but the overly familiar men merely seemed to seek me out because of his
pleas.

'One night, I accidentally overheard them talking about me... I will never repeat the things they said, but I knew that I would rather risk death than endure the horrors they had in store for me. I snuck out that night, and fled back here, but I suppose I must have been followed. I recognized that man as one of the soldiers who attempted to importune me."

Her voice had been growing stronger thorughout the speech, and Garwin was pleased to see her regaining color in her cheeks. True, she was flushed with rightous ire, but she was looking vastly better than when he had asked her name. She walked under her own power, her back stiff with indignation, her eyes snapping with fury. She suddenly looked at him in suspicion.

"I realize now you are a soldier too. Did you also follow me from the city?"

Garwin was a bit insulted that she should even think such a thing, but he reminded himself that she was bound to be a bit wary of men after her experiences, and rightly so.

"I am a soldier, but I am of the army come to wage this war."

She stepped back with a gasp of fear, and he realized his explanation had probably caused yet more worry, rather than alleviating her fears.

"Fear not, you will be safe. I swear. Besides, can you really be loyal to the king whose men had the gall to accost you so?"

Confusion flitted across her face. "But, he is the king."

"He is _a_ king," Garwin corrected her. "And a foul king at that, one who has no thought for the safety of his subjects, or the sanctity of his promises. I grew up in his castle, and I serve a much better king now."

"Padraic?" she asked, still trying to understand.

"Indeed. He is a good and honorable man, one who knows how to rule fairly. But above all, I serve Prince Alaric, and if even he marches against his father, then I know which side I am on."

Her eyes were still shadowed with doubt, but she came to his side again. "May I ask your name, milord?"

"I am called Garwin."

"And why do you fight against the king, Sir Garwin?"

"You need not call me 'sir', Dalenna. I have no title. And I march against Aylmar because...he is my father."

*************************************************************************


Willow was tossing and turning in her feverish sleep, sweat standing out on her parchment white forehead. "No, no, don't leave me, don't leave me!" she cried out.

"Sshh, sshh," Marie tried to soothe her, laying a cool cloth on her brow. "Quiet now, dearest."

"No, I need, I need Giles! He can help...he can fix it..." She struggled to sit up in the throes of her dream.

"Lay down, Willow." Marie restrained her, pushing her back down.

"It was just a clothes fluke, I swear! I didn't want anyone to get impaled!"

As her delusions became stronger, her words became more and more lucid, although nothing she said made any sense to Marie. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked at Marie intensely. Her pupils were dilated, and she blinked abnormally quickly.

"Listen to me, Jesse. I'm not in on Angel's plan. It's his plan. Say hi for me?"

Marie stroked her hair futilely. "Willow, you need to sleep-"

"It's not lunchtime, I don't even care. I'm Willow group."

Marie could feel tears forming, and she stood up from the bed quickly.

"My mom bought it for me. Are we gonna study, or are we gonna talk about boys? Plus, I can't turn the pages."

Another gentlewoman was at her side for the rest of the night, tending to the sick princess, ignoring her ravings that seemed to make no sense whatsoever.

"I felt something go through me. Not dead, nor not of the living. She'll be here soon."

*************************************************************************


Angel looked up as Garwin reentered the camp, but he did a double take as he saw the woman walking beside him.

"Hey, Garwin. I would imagine this isn't a soldier."

Garwin rolled his eyes. "Your Highness, this is Dalenna. Dalenna, this is Prince Alaric."

Upon hearing his name, she let out a muffled sound of surprise, then sank into a low curtsy. "Good Prince, I am indeed honored."

Angel bowed in return. "Good lady, allow me to offer you my tent for the rest of the night, at least until we can find you some more appropriate sleeping arrangements."

Her eyes widened. "Your Highness, I could not presume-"

"Come now, I insist. I will share Garwin's tent, so you need not worry. Get some sleep, maiden. We will be departing early upon the morn."

Dumbfounded, she allowed herself to be ushered into his tent, and Angel turned to Garwin, his smile gone.

"Her dress is ripped. What happened? Was it one of our soldiers?"

Garwin's face darkened in response. "I went looking around that village we spotted. I thought it was abandoned, but I found her being accosted by one of Aylmar's soldiers."

"Of course." Angel's voice was thick with disgust.

"Indeed. So, I knocked him out, and brought her back with me. Everyone she knows is staying at the castle, but she ran away, fearful for her virtue. What a shock."

Angel rubbed a hand across his face. "How did we grow up there, Garwin?" In his anger Angel didn't seem to notice the oddity of his statement, considering that he had only heard stories of his childhood in the home of his father. "How did we never see all the evil that was going on around us? That place... I hate that place. I want to raze it to the ground and never have to worry about what goes on there, ever again."

Garwin simply nodded, understanding all too well.

"So, this girl. Do you think there is any risk of her turning against us?"

"Not that I can see. I may be wrong, but I think gratitude and her wounded pride will be more than enough to keep her on our side. Also, I sort of told her..."

"Told her what? Garwin?" Angel was amused at the almost guilty look on Garwin's face.

"About, um, Aylmar being my father. And other related information."

Angel clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly. "Well, that story would probably be enough to convince almost anyone that we're in the right. There's also the fact that she looks like she might be in love with you."

Garwin was silent for a long moment. Then, "What?!"

"Oh, you won't know it till everyone else does, I'm sure. Let's just get some sleep. I want to dream about my wife. Besides, if Dalenna ran here from the capital city, chances are we're in for some action tomorrow."

*************************************************************************


"Don't tell her about Angel. I don't think she would understand," Willow whimpered.

No one was listening. One of the palace nurses was asleep beside her, but the images of her old life kept flashing through her uncomprehending brain, and she was trying desperately to explain herself.

"He saved me from a horrible flamey death. Past tense rule! You'd be cranky? Oh, Angel, why did you leave me? Where are you? What's happening? Princess Aurelia. Willow Rosenberg. Angelus, the one with the angelic- no, no, no, no, no, no...

*************************************************************************


Marie didn't know what to do. As her husband, the prince had every right to know that Willow was ill, and Marie really couldn't keep the information from him in good conscience.

Unfortunately, the war complicated things. He needed to have his wits about him, and worrying about Willow's delirium was sure to distract him, especially since he was so very much in love with her. It was not Marie's place to make that decision, but who could she ask for advice?

"Marie?" She looked up as the queen entered the library she was pacing around. "Is she doing any better?"

Marie looked up and winced at the pinched look of Queen Neile's face. "Your Majesty, she is...delirious, I'm afraid. She continues to cry out in her fever, names I don't know, words I don't understand."

The queen sank down into a chair. "What shall we do?"

Marie came to sit beside her. "My Queen, we must consider the possibility of sending a message to the King and Prince."

Panic crept into Neile's eyes. "Wouldn't that be unwise? She is not so sick as all that! Is she?"

Marie couldn't meet her gaze. "I don't-"

"Will she die?"

The soft question shook Marie more than she could have anticipated. Neile did not know Willow as well as a mother should, but the princess was still her daughter. Neile had never posessed her daughter's extraordinary health, and her middle age had been plagued with weakening illnesses. With everyone fearful of harming the royal infant, Willow had been raised by Marie, only seeing her mother during her sadly infrequent periods of recovery.

This situation was new for everyone. For the first time ever, Neile was well, Willow was ill, and Padraic was gone, incapable of helping wife or daughter.

"The palace healers are trying," Marie said quietly. "The fever came up so quickly, and her delirium is so strong- it is unlike any sickness they really know."

"Can they do nothing?"

"They are going to try bleeding her tomorrow."

Neile nodded, reassured. "Good. That should help the fever escape, don't you think?"

But Marie seemed not to hear.

*************************************************************************

This was not a normal war.

The death was just as bloody, the screams as terrified, and the weapons
as busy as in any war. But most wars were extended campaigns, made up of
strategy and flanks and elaborately designed plans of attack.

This war was destined to have only one battlefield. And though they were
separated by distance and hordes of screaming soldiers, the two men who
really owned the war could feel one another. Father and son, they fought
like machines, knowing that every man they cut down was a single step
closer to the one person they were finally ready to destroy. One of them
would win, and one of them would die, because coexistence in the same
world was simply no longer an option.

*************************************************************************


Angel ducked his opponent's mace with all the dexterity he could manage
in his armor, and feinted towards the man's face, forcing him to pull
round his shield. With a speed he would never have dreamed possible in a
human body, Angel swung his sword around, plunging it into the man's
side.

Before the body had even dropped from the saddle, Angel was parrying the
downswing of a pike headed for his face. The man wielding it pulled back
to strike again, but found the prince's sword in his neck before he could
even aim, and the pike dropped uselessly to the ground.

Angel looked around anxiously, trying to find evidence that they were
winning. He saw Padraic fighting with about six of his lords in a circle
around him, and if the grim smile on the king's face was any indication,
he was as good a fighter as he was a monarch.

His foot soldiers were all well trained fighters, and it was evident that
discipline was somewhat atrophied in Aylmar's troops. Still, Angel
reflected, as he blocked a sword swing with his shield, it would never do
for him to count on any weakness in the enemy lines.

The part of the war that discouraged him the most, was that the men he
was fighting against, the men he was killing, should never have been the
enemy lines to begin with. He was their prince, and he had probably been
protected by them in his childhood. They should be swearing fealty to
him, not screaming hoarsely as he cut them down.

All the death was a direct consequence of his father's inhumanity, but
these men were not the monsters Aylmar had become. They were brothers
and farmers, and each man that died at Angel's hand was one more son who
would never return home...

Angel swung Bishop around to face another knight, and mentally reproved
himself. He couldn't afford to let his overdeveloped guilt complex
affect his actions, or he, and his troops, would be quickly killed.
Moral ambiguities had no place in war, and he would have plenty of time
to reflect upon the damage he had done...after he had won.

Ignoring the gurgling scream of a man being trampled down by Bishop's
slashing hooves, Angel finally caught sight of Garwin. He saw Thayne
near him, unaccustomed to fighting on a horse, but managing with a
dexterity born of necessity.

Angel's mouth tightened. Necessity? This war, as deadly as it was, was
completely frivolous. It was founded in the prejudice of a bitter man
who had forgotten how to love anything but cruelty, but that prejudice
was strong enough to cover a battlefield with blood and dead men.

His sword flew through complex passes, confounding his foes as it ended
their lives, and he prayed for the war to end.

*************************************************************************


Marie paced through the library, the painful decision she was attempting
to make causing her head to throb.

Where did her responsibility lie? Which did she owe more to her king-
full truth about his daughter's condition, or a silence that would
preserve whatever peace of mind he had left?

And which would the prince prefer? If she sent the messenger, he would
want to rush back to the palace. It could make him fight more fiercely,
or it could make him hasty and rash, which would surely get him killed.

Who was she to decide, anyway?

But she knew. She was Willow's protectress and mentor and friend. She
was someone trusted implicitly by the entire royal family, and if they
couldn't count on her in this situation, then all her years building up
that trust had been essentially false.

She had been tormenting herself for hours. Neile had left the
responsibility with her, as Marie had known the queen would, but her mind
was so crowded with worry for the sick princess and concern for the men
off at war, that she had no assurance that she was even capable of
logical thought.

There was a knock at the door.

She looked up as the palace healer came in.

"We are ready to begin. Do you want to be with her while we-"

"Bleed her?" Marie finished. "Yes, I will be with you in a moment."

He bowed out of the room.

Straightening her back, Marie closed her eyes. She found whatever
resolve she was searching for in her mind, because her back straightened
and she walked swiftly to the door.

Going into the hallway, she signaled for a page.

"I need someone to take a message to the king."

*************************************************************************


Angel would never be able to describe how, exactly, it happened. One
moment, he was watching the battle unroll before him, fending off a large
knight with some amount of difficulty. He could see men losing limbs, he
could see Garwin hacking at the soldiers who were coming at him from both
sides.

He knocked the weary knight off his horse and headed towards his brother,
determined to help him. For a moment, he felt completely detached from
everything, as he felt Bishop moving beneath him. He evaluated the
skills of the men fighting around him, and remembered the battle
techniques he had picked up over hundreds of years. He noticed the
places in his armor that pinched his skin, he felt his halberd shift with
the movement of his horse. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his
neck, its movement completely clear and distinct.

The sky was a clear blue, and his attention was suddenly drawn by some
jarring movement in the periphery of his vision.

And that was when he saw the king die.

Not the king he despised, not the man who had tried to rule him with
spite. To see Aylmar dying would have given him some measure of peace
and justice.

But Padraic-

He wanted to scream out, to roar against the sword embedded in his
father-in-law's collarbone, but the only sound that would come from his
dry throat was a small, whispered, 'no'.

The man whose sword had killed a king was swiftly cut down by furious
soldiers, but he had served his purpose.

And Angel could hear his father laughing.

The ugly, exultant laugh of a tyrant echoed in his ears, and they stung
from the sound. He was preparing to find that voice and end it forever,
when Aylmar and his army did the one thing Angel did not expect.

They began to retreat.

The clash of metal on metal died away as his troops fell back, the field
emptying as quickly as was possible, and Angel could only stare in shock
as all the fighting ceased. He began to understand, however, when he saw
that Aylmar was among the last to leave. His eyes, though far away, were
glittering with power, and Angel hated him even more than before when he
heard him shout across the field.

"Check and mate, my boy. Or perhaps I should say, Your Majesty?"

Aylmar turned his charger and galloped away, his laugh only fading as he
disappeared behind the swell of a hill.

Angel was numb as he urged Bishop forward, heading for Padraic. He
dismounted and looked down at the man whose body had been placed on the
ground. The sword that had killed him was broken in two pieces, but too
late.

He was regal even in death, his snowy hair being all the crown he needed.
His face looked resigned, somehow, like he had known this battle, this
campaign, would be his last. The strong planes of his face looked
sharper, and Angel knew the body was growing colder every minute.

A numb sort of horror ran through his mind like a shockwave. All of his
anger and adrenaline crumbled away, and his eyes fell shut with pained
weariness.

He sheathed his sword and knelt, bowing his head. The nobles around him
followed suit, and for a span of minutes, the battlefield, so recently a
scene of pure chaos, was completely silent.

Angel felt dead himself. He felt cold and empty and blamable, though he
knew it was illogical. And though his mind was working sluggishly, it
managed to latch onto, but not really comprehend, one unbelievable
thought-

Angel was king.

*************************************************************************


Years of fleeing from vampires had taught Willow one extremely important
thing- her blood was her life. To lose it was to lose herself.
Creatures of the night may have regarded it as a meal or a prize, but to
her it was precious.

It was perhaps for that reason that she struggled so violently when the
healers tried to relieve her of her supposedly poisoned blood. She
thrashed and screamed, calling out her husband's name in a desperation
borne of fevered fear.

He couldn't help, however, and she could do nothing as short slits were
made in her forearms. Basins nestled in the bedcovers caught the viscous
rivulets winding around her elbows, and she stopped fighting the people
trying to help her.

Her fever didn't lessen, though her energy did, and her delirious
rantings faded away as her blood dripped and pooled in old crockery...

*************************************************************************

Garwin hissed as Dalenna wrapped a bandage around his wrist.

"You don't really need to do this, you know. I know how to tend to
wounds."

She gave him a superior look. "Yes, I have seen the sort of field
dressings soldiers are capable of, and if you can forgive me, I think I
can do a bit better. And since I cannot fight, the least I can do is be
some use to this army as a nurse."

"We have nurses."

"And now you have one more."

He examined her face carefully, then flexed his wrist slowly. "Thank
you."

"You don't need to thank me. After all, I owe you-"

"Sir Garwin?" a voice came from the entrance of the tent.

"Come in," he called out.

A foot soldier entered with a respectful salute. "Begging your pardon,
my lord, but your presence is needed."

Garwin looked at him in confusion.

"At the coronation," the soldier explained.

Garwin and Dalenna shared a look, and then he stood, offering his arm to
her.

She looked at him in shock. "My lord, I cannot!"

"Come with me, Dalenna."

She hesitated, but he didn't waver, and they left the tent together.

*************************************************************************


The Duke of Glenlea stood to begin the ceremony, his lined face dusky in
the firelight.

"We lost many men today. We saw lives snuffed out before us, but since
that is one of the wages of war, we were not shocked by it. Friends and
fathers died all around us, and we, for our part, killed some of the
same.

'I say these things because I do not want to make it seem that these
deaths are unimportant in the face of what has occurred. I think that
His Majesty," here the duke's voice faltered, but he made his mouth a
firm line and continued.

"His Majesty would have said that his life was no more important than the
life of the lowest foot soldier. He would have been right, in a sense,
because hearts are broken by every death that occurs. And yet, he would
have been wrong too.

'King Padraic was born to be a leader. He commanded attention and
respect by merely existing, which is a quality possessed by all the best
kings that have ever ruled any land. He was more than kind- he was just,
which is more important. He ruled our country with duty and care, and
every citizen has felt the effects of that.

'I wish we had the time to eulogize him here. But, it will wait, because
remembering our late king is not why we have gathered in this camp.

'We are here to coronate a new king.

'There are those who are blinded by misguided loyalty to Padraic, who are
deceived by unfair opinions that our late king would never have condoned.
They say that the man who will become our next king is not one of us,
that he doesn't care about the welfare of our people.

'Fortunately, such people are not many, and more fortunately, they are
wrong. Because the man who is here with me now is the only person I have
ever met whom I consider a worthy successor of our departed king. His
every action since he first arrived in our land has been honourable, his
every impulse correct. He fought among you all today, and I do not think
any of you can say that his conduct was anything less than royal.

'He has been loved as a Prince. I am here, on the edge of this
battlefield, promising you that he will be revered as a king."

The duke lifted the crown, the crown that had been worn by Padraic only a
few hours earlier. It was not the crown of beaten gold that had been
left back at the palace, the sort of crown one would associate with kings
and luxury. It was a crown of war, simple and unornamented, and it
fairly reeked of power.

Angel stepped forward, his face frozen and sad, and he knelt as Glenlea
placed the crown on his head. "I give you your monarch- King Alaric."

The crowd cheered as enthusiastically as they were able, following the
events of the day. Angel put up a hand, and they silenced respectfully.

"I have prayed this day would not come so soon, because I loved King
Padraic, and I would have preferred to always remain a prince if it meant
that he would remain King. I am more saddened than I can say by his
passing." He stared into the flames for a moment, and those who could
see his eyes found that they could not help but believe him.

"Aylmar is a mockery of kingship. His one talent is hatred, and I plan
on making him an expert on one other thing."

He looked around, and his eyes were cold. "Losing."

The cheers were louder the second time, because they were righteous and
wounded, and he retreated with the knowledge that they all hated his
father almost as much as he did.

*************************************************************************


Angel lay in his bedroll, his eyes wide open, staring into the darkness.

What was he going to tell Willow?

She had learned to love her new father, and Angel was coming home a king.
The king. Her king.

He knew that even as he tried to sleep, messengers were being sent back
to her, to tell her that he had failed to stop it from happening. And he
knew that she wouldn't blame him, that she would tell herself what Garwin
kept telling him- that it wasn't his fault, there was nothing he could
have done.

But he also knew that she would be hurting, and that she would be alone.

Which is why the war had to end.

*************************************************************************


Dawn was just breaking when Garwin found Angel outside, staring at the
sunrise with the same sort of bewildered wonder he always did.

"What's your plan of attack?" he asked.

"Kill our father."

Rays of sunshine were bouncing off Angel's new crown as the camp buzzed
with preparations for the day ahead.

"Do you ever get the feeling," Garwin mused softly, "that the world you
grew up knowing, the world you understood, just up and disappeared? And
it's like you've been transported to some other reality entirely?"

Angel replied with a tired chuckle. "You have no idea how much I know
what you are talking about."

*************************************************************************


The armies had rushed at each other in the early morning hours, and there
was no end in sight as the sun looked on from its zenith. Angel could
hardly feel his sword arm, and he was bleeding from a gash in his side.
The whole day, he had been trying to get closer to Aylmar, to get within
killing distance, but the armies seemed to plot against him.

He no longer cared about the inhumanity of war, about guilt or sorrow or
regret. He knew victory and loss, and when his regiments advanced, he
felt a grim satisfaction. When they lost ground, he felt bitter
disappointment.

When he saw Garwin turn to find Aylmar's sword at his throat, he froze.

"Well," their father's voice oozed with triumph, "Look who fancies
himself a lord."

Aylmar carefully dismounted, then had two of his knights unhorse his
helpless opponent.

"Fighting for your king and brother? Convincing all your new friends
that you're something more than a useless, illegitimate piece of trash?
Quite a trick. But it's the sort of thing I'd expect from the pathetic
country you've settled in. A country that makes a weak snob like Padraic
king, a country that allows whores like your mother to raise princesses,
a country that deserves to be erased for its insipidity and weak blood."

He circled Garwin slowly, tracing lazy patterns with the tip of his
sword. "I had always hoped that my _real_ son would be able to help me
absorb it into my own kingdom, but since he betrayed me, I find I'll have
to take it the old fashioned way. I'll just kill everyone who refuses to
call me their monarch."

He grabbed Garwin by the hair then, and pulled his head toward him as he
whispered in his ear. "You think I hate you, don't you? That's the
saddest part. You think I care about you. It may be difficult for you
to understand this, but please do try- you...are...nothing. If you had
died in childbirth, I would have shrugged and gone hunting. You are
negligible in my world. You are a visual reminder of a pretty slut I
once ravished and then threw away. And when I kill you, I will regret
your passing as much as I would that of a worm."

He threw Garwin's head away from him and smiled. "Are you afraid of my
sword, boy?"

Garwin's eyes were cold.

Aylmar nodded. "Well, you don't need to be. Death by the sword holds
some sort of glory, some sort of honor in the eyes of the world. And you
don't even deserve the patch of grass that your body will soon occupy."

His face was inflamed with all the emotion his words had denied as he
buried his dagger in Garwin's abdomen, and twisted.

*************************************************************************


There was a scream as Garwin fell, and Aylmar turned to parry a wildly
swinging sword.

Thayne's grey eyes were like liquid anguish as he attacked, and the man
he wished dead simply laughed. "Who are you, stripling?"

Thayne tried not to sob. "Protector to Sir Garwin." He thrust again,
but the king blocked him without batting an eye.

"Well done, then. A good effort. Were you supposed to keep him alive?"

Thayne gripped his sword with both hands, chopping with all his strength,
but all his strength was not enough, and he was disarmed in the matter of
minutes. Aylmar cut him down almost as an afterthought, his sword
flashing from the boy's shoulder downward. He was uninterested in
Thayne's death, because his attention was focused on someone else
entirely.

King Alaric had arrived.

Angel would mourn his friends later, but for the moment, he was conscious
of only two things- the length of bright steel in his hand, and the man
he hoped to soon run through with it.

*************************************************************************


Willow stirred in her bed, her arms bandaged, her mind hazy.

"Please."

Marie woke suddenly, unsure as to whether or not she had heard something.
"Willow?"

Willow's eyes opened. "Please."

"Please what, darling?"

Her eyes were foggy and dark with exhaustion, but she begged with them.
"Please? He can't."

"Can't what? What's the matter? Can you hear me?"

Willow whimpered. "He has to come back."

"Do you mean Alaric?" Marie took her hand, praying that the princess
could become coherent for even a moment.

"His soul is..."

Her eyes fell shut, and Marie began to cry.

*************************************************************************


Aylmar still wore his infuriating smile as he circled his son, but there
was a wildness in his eyes that Angel noted with grim satisfaction.

"I heard that my little present for your pretty bride didn't work as I
had planned. A shame, really. Still, once you're dead, and I rule your
country, I'll find some way to make it up to her." He feinted
half-heartedly, waiting for Angel to attack.

Angel's own smile came over him slowly, but he knew the effect it would
create was well worth the waiting. The smile had been invented by a
demon he no longer dealt with, but his face curved in the old familiar
way. "You really don't realize how...obsolete you are, do you?" He
parried another of Aylmar's thrusts, but he felt the force behind it, and
knew that the look on his face was working.

"Your age of tyranny is over. You keep holding on, but it's gone, and I
think you know it."

"Tell that to your brother," Aylmar snarled, his sword snapping out as
violently as his words.

"He knew it. He's known it all his life, because if you were as powerful
as you pretend to be, he would have been dead a long time ago." Angel
began a complicated crescent maneuver with his sword, but his
concentration still seemed to be focused on the deadly conversation.
"He's always known how weak you really are."

Aylmar managed to block Angel's swift sword, but Angel disengaged quickly
and thrust at the older man's exposed side, nicking his shoulder through
his armor. He pulled free and danced backward, avoiding the wild swing
of his father's weapon.

"Padraic taught you false confidence well, boy, but it won't be much use
to you when you die." He jabbed furiously, but Angel spun away to the
side.

Angel was ready to end it. He had drawn first blood, but he was tired of
exchanging meaningful insults with an embittered opponent. His control
was not slipping, but his fury over Garwin and Thayne made him feel like
his heart was being constricted somehow.

He had lived for hundreds of years in the old world, watching people
around him die. He had moved through time silently, knowing death while
never achieving it. He had become reconciled to it, because it was one
of the wages of immortality.

But it was supposed to be different in this world. Why was he forced to
watch the people around him die no matter where he was? They were
excised from his life, as he moved on, ever increasingly alone. His
friends were taken from him, but he survived to be attacked by his enemy.

Depressed but determined, he studied Aylmar's technique, looking for any
flaw, any opening. It was frustrating, because the man was justifiably
proud of his prowess in battle. He moved like a machine, preprogrammed
and inexorable-

Angel paused, parrying absentmindedly. Machines were efficient and
powerful, but there was one thing they were not- inventive.

Angel gathered himself, wiping away all his emotion to save for later,
and focused on the movement of his body. He allowed himself to give in
to his natural grace, remembering his acquired stealthiness, remembering
his predatory instincts.

Remembering...Angelus.

Aylmar felt a twinge of shock when he looked into his son's eyes. That
sort of vicious bloodlust could not be counterfeited, and the sword in
Angel's hands was practically blurring with silvery speed. It seemed
liquid in his hands, a steely snake no one could avoid forever.

This, in the end, was the entire war. Everything that had gone before,
every gruesome and lamentable death, had been essentially preliminary.
This familial conflict had begun every antagonism, and it would end it as
well. A disparity in one man's mind about the difference between love
and ownership had caused the irreparable rift, and Aylmar was about to
learn the consequences for misunderstanding the rights of a father.

His sword was twisted out of his hand before he could blink, and he was
staring down the length of his son's victorious sword in shock. He had
called his son weak and pathetic, but one look into those bored, cold
eyes told him that he could expect no mercy.

"Sorry, Your Majesty." Angel's velvety voice sent chills down the
supposedly infallible warrior's spine. "You lose."

He thrust the sword home, and turned away with disgust. He looked at
Aylmar's dukes, and he wore the haughty eyes of a king. "You can
continue to fight me, if you are that interested in losing. Your other
option is to abide by the conditions of a treaty Aylmar refused to heed.
That treaty, which acknowledged me to be your prince, stipulated that I
would someday be your king. I leave the choice to you."

Of course, after they saw his glare, there was never really a choice.

*************************************************************************


Dalenna had appeared a few moments later, her face going white when she
saw Garwin's body sprawled in the bloody turf. Thayne lay a few feet
away, and she sank down to the ground, her skirts billowing around her.

Angel watched her weep over his brother, and he was about to join her
when he heard an urgent voice behind him.

"Message for the king!"

He turned and saw a travel weary man wearing his royal colors. Soldiers
pointed in Angel's direction. The messenger was confused, still thinking
him a prince, but saw the crown and came forward.

"Your Majesty," he began, bowing deeply, "I bring you news from the
palace."

Angel frowned. "What sort of news?"

The man's eyes fell. "It's the princess- rather, the Queen, Your
Majesty."

Angel felt dizzy. "What about her?"

"She is...ill."

"How ill?"

The messenger's jaw tightened.

The king fell to his knees in despair, and overhead, the sky was still
blue.

*************************************************************************
The tears of a king aren't really more precious than the tears of anyone else. They are, however, more shocking, more painful to see. If your monarch is saddened enough to weep, then musn't the tragedy be something horrible beyond imagining?

The sight of Garwin lying with a dagger buried in his mangled stomach, Thayne's inert form looking small and crumpled beside him, and the thought of his sweet wife's life ebbing away while he could do nothing for any of them- it was too much for any man, let alone one who had only become king the day before. His carefully crafted armor was violently flung away, his broad shoulders slumped as he sat next to his brother's
body. Dalenna was still sobbing, occasionally whispering 'wake up, please' in hushed tones.

Angel couldn't look at the knife whose hilt was still standing proudly, so he focused on Garwin's face. The face that looked so much like his own, the face that contained the green eyes so reminiscent of Marie's-

Angel shut his eyes tightly when he thought of her, the sweet woman who had been like a mother and best friend to all of them. Was this the best he could bring back to her? Was she to find her long lost son, only to lose him again, killed by the man who had nearly done the same to her spirit?

He stroked Garwin's cheek lightly, feeling the warmth that lingered there still. If he just looked at the quiet face, then he could almost believe that Garwin was sleeping.

Of course, with such a thought, his perverse eyes turned to look at the gruesome sight. The dark blood staining Garwin's slashed tunic, Garwin's right hand covered in blood, the guilty dagger laying beside his thigh.

Angel looked back at the handsome face, brushing Garwin's lips and why was the dagger on the ground?

Angel did a double take, and then looked at Dalenna, as if she would have been able to remove the weapon, but she was still huddled on Garwin's shoulder, begging him to wake up. His eyes became positively wild as he realized the reason his hand was so warm was because of the breath caressing the tips of his fingers.

"Garwin- can you hear me?" his voice was strained, hopeful and completely desparate.

Silence.

And then Garwin took a ragged breath, his chest shuddering with the effort, and Angel choked with relief. Dalenna shrieked and looked up at the king with a radiant smile. They each clutched one of Garwin's hands, and after an eternity and a half, his clear green eyes were looking up at both of them fondly.

"Did we win?" he asked in a rough voice.

"We did now," Angel answered.

*************************************************************************

Nurses were brought with all possible haste, bringing bandages and healing herbs, and during all of their ministrations, Garwin managed to grit his teeth and keep on smiling.

"I just can't seem to stay out of bandages these days. Perhaps I can make them fashionable."

Angel laughed. "Well, a lot of the other soldiers are already wearing them, so I'd say you already did."

"Maybe it's my own fault- I enjoyed being an invalid so much, I decided to get injured and resume my life of pamperings and personal attendants. Oh, that reminds me- where's Thayne?"

Angel looked away.

Garwin shook his head firmly. "No. He isn't dead."

"Garwin, I'm sorry-" Angel began.

"No, you're not listening. He is not dead."

"I know how upset you must be-"

Garwin cut him off with an exasperated sound. "Angel, I'm not saying he didn't get hurt. Where is his body?"

Angel pointed, and Garwin sighed. "Okay- help me get over to him."

"Are you in jest?" Dalenna gasped. "You cannot be moved in this condition!"

"Unless you plan on leaving me in this field while you all head back home, you have to move me sooner or later. It might as well be sooner, and that way we can check on Thayne. Now Angel, help me up."

If the distance had been longer, he would have refused, but the determination in Garwin's oddly unworried eyes convinced Angel that it couldn't cause any excessive harm to comply. Together, they moved the few feet over to the young man's blood-covered body. Garwin placed his hand under Thayne's jaw, and smiled. Angel reached out to the same spot, and muttered an exclamation when he felt a weak pulse.

"How on earth? I saw Aylmar cut him down!"

Garwin held up a hand, then pulled up Thayne's tunic, revealing a vest of chain metal. "He may be 'just a foot soldier', but he's my personal guard, and I wanted him to have some insurance. This is where all the blood is coming from." He gestured at Thayne's left arm. Aylmar's sword had slashed him from shoulder down to his wrist, and although the damage was considerable, not to mention bloody, it wasn't fatal.

"I thought I had lost everyone." Angel's eyes were filled with relieved tears.

"Well, you'll have to put up with us a little while longer." Garwin squeezed Angel's shoulder. "You'll bring us both back to the princess, and we'll be playing games with her before you know it."

Angel's face closed down, and Garwin looked at him in dismay.

"What? What's wrong? Is she okay?"

*************************************************************************

She was sleeping.

Marie was combing out Willow's long, red hair as she slept silently. She had stopped thrashing, she had stopped crying out, and she had stopped waking up. Her skin was the color of white ash, her cheeks sunken, and her eyes had been closed since her last bloodletting. The blood on her bandages and the red of her hair were the only places of color on her thin frame.

Yet for all the fiery color her body had made, the tips of her still fingers were cold.

*************************************************************************

The messenger ran through the palace halls, skidding as he turned corners too sharply. Maids got out of his way quickly, exchanging glances as they saw where he was headed.

Marie looked up at the quick knocking. She let go of Willow's waxy hand and walked over to the door, not looking very surprised when she saw the breathless young man on the other side. He bowed quickly.

"My lady, I have come with a message for you. King Alaric and his army return from the war victorious, and they shall most likely arrive back this evening. His Majesty sent me to tell you especially."

Marie nodded. "King Alaric."

She didn't really ask the obvious question, but he answered it with his solemn eyes. "He instructed me to tell you that King Aylmar is dead, and also that King Padraic's funeral will be in two days time."

The order of the information was purposeful, and the reason for it was not lost on Marie. She was about to dismiss the man, when he bowed once more.

"King Alaric expressed his wishes for you to tell the Queen that he will be home as quickly as he may." The messenger paused, and Marie could imagine how the king must have looked when he dictated this message. "He said that he wished for you to tell it to the Queen...even if she couldn't hear you."

*************************************************************************

As much as Angel had wanted to ride Bishop at a hard gallop until he was back at the palace, he knew that a king could not arrive home without his army, and he rode in front of them, going insane with the waiting and wondering about how Willow was doing.

Garwin and Dalenna watched from the cart they were riding in together. Garwin had insisted he could ride, but Angel had rolled his eyes and ordered him into the cart upon pain of death. Dalenna fussed over him with a gentleness at odds with her often sarcastic words, and Garwin hardly even noticed the gaping wound in his stomach.

"May I ask you a question, milord?"

He looked up at her with a smile. "Stop calling me 'milord'. And ask away."

"What is the queen like?"

His eyes took on a faraway look. "She's like...life. Vibrant and funny and honest. Exquisitely lovely. I never had a sister before her, but I find I like the experience."

Dalenna looked forward to where Angel rode, his back tense. "You have been lucky to have a brother like the king."

Garwin nodded, his eyes fond. "He is so very much in love with her. He has known a lot of love lost in his life, but he never lets any of it reach her."

"She must love him."

"If you could see the look in her eyes..." he trailed off, and then he met her gaze, and he realized that he really didn't have to explain anything.

*************************************************************************

Marie heard the footsteps in the hall, and she knew who it was even before the door opened.

Angel ran in, nodding gratefully at Marie as he rushed to Willow's bedside. There was a canopy tumbling down around the bed, and he pulled it aside with a gentle hand.

He froze completely, impossibly still as he looked down at what was left of his wife. He had left her flushed with love and desire and a deceptive appearance of health. This creature lying before him, this shade of life, this was not his princess, his Queen, his Willow.

He saw the bangages wrapped around her forearms and elbows, and he turned to Marie in confusion. "What are these wounds?"

"Well, when her fever continued to climb, the healers had to bleed her, Your Majesty."

"They did _what_?" His voice was low and deadly, and Marie took a step back in surprise and some fear.

"They decided that bloodletting would be the best solution-"

Angel didn't hear the rest of her sentence. He had been born in a time that believed such barbaric methods worked, but the thought of anyone slashing at Willow's body, letting her lifeblood flow away...

He touched her hand softly, and hissed when he felt how cold it was. "She's freezing!"

"I can't seem to keep her warm."

He remembered the feeling- the clammy coldness that he had known for centuries. He had hated it.

"Thank you, Marie. If you want to see Garwin, I believe he was escorted to the infirmary when we arrived."

"Infirmary?" her voice was sharp, and Angel tore his eyes away from Willow's face.

"Aylmar." It was explanation enough, and her mouth became a line.

"The messenger told me he was dead-"

"I killed him. I fought him, and he lost, and he knew the feeling of cold steel slicing through him before his miserable life finally ended. I left my sword buried in his soiled flesh, and I forbade anyone from removing his corpse from the place where it fell. His lords swore fealty to me, and our countries are united as Padraic always wished them to be. Somewhere out in the dark, his body still lies on the battlefield,
rotting, just as his soul did so many years ago."

Marie nodded. "Goodnight, Your Majesty."

She closed the door quietly, and Angel quickly stripped off his travel clothes. Wrapping himself in a dressing gown, he crawled into the bed beside his unconscious bride. He wrapped his arms around her, willing his body heat to thaw her, to bring her back from the edge-

But no, he wouldn't even think that thought. He would just hold her close, his warm breath on her cheek, and forget about war and crowns and blood. And he would hope that when he woke in the morning, she would open her eyes and welcome him home.

*************************************************************************

When Marie entered the palace infirmary, one of the nurses smiled and pointed out Garwin's bed. She paused as she saw the beautiful blonde girl kneeling next to him. Dalenna had fallen asleep, her head pillowed in the crook of her elbow, but Marie noticed that her left hand was still entwined with Garwin's.

He smiled happily when he saw his mother approaching, and she bent over to kiss his upturned cheek. She saw the many bandages wrapped around his midsection, but the look of peace on his face put her mind at rest.

"Who is your friend, dear?" she asked as she stroked his hair back from his forehead.

"Her name is Dalenna. She lived in Aylmar's country before the war."

"How did you meet her?"

"She was being accosted in a village I was exploring. I stopped the man and she returned with me."

Marie's eyes filled with tears, and she realized she had never loved anyone quite as strongly as the man who lay before her. "Well done."

He shook his head. "There was nothing else to be done."

"My darling, I am so glad you have come home." She kissed him again, and Dalenna stirred. She opened her eyes, and stood quickly when she saw Marie. She sank into a deep curtsy.

"My Lady," she greeted Marie.

"Dalenna, I am delighted to meet you. Pray, sit down, so that we may become acquainted."

Dalenna complied, smiling shyly at the older woman.

"One request," Marie added with a smile.

"Anything, milady."

"Please, do not bother to call me 'Lady'. We are too similar to bother with extraneous titles."

The three of them settled into comfortable conversation, and so did the evening pass.

*************************************************************************

Angel was dreaming again. He was sitting in the royal throne, but instead of being located in the throneroom, the dais was in the main room of the Crawford Street mansion. As he fiddled with his scepter, the majordomo (who looked and sounded suspiciously like Wesley) announced that any citizens who wished to address the king should step forward.

Then someone did, and it was Padraic.

He smiled broadly, and Angel bowed his head in respect.

"It takes a long time to get there," Padraic remarked. "Just remember- they always lose your bags." Then he hailed Drusilla, who was dancing in the garden.

Angel watched the white haired king as he waltzed gracefully with the dark haired vampiress, not noticing as the next petitioner tried to get his attention.

"Angel..."

He shook his head, trying to understand.

"Angel-"

*************************************************************************

He jumped as he awoke, the image of Padraic's smiling face being the only part of the dream he retained.

Except...

"Angel?"

Her face was white, her eyes were confused, but her skin was warm, and Angel kissed Willow's cheek as softly as he was able.

"You're awake," he whispered, as relief flooded through his veins.

*************************************************************************

"Marie, let me in!" Angel pleaded.

"Your Majesty, let the healers do their work-"

"I need to be with her!"

"You can't help her now. Just wait a little while longer-"

"Marie, please!"

The door opened, and Angel clutched Marie's hand tightly. His eyes were wide and anxious, and every muscle in his body was unnaturally strained.

The midwife smiled reassuringly. "Her Majesty the Queen is quite well-"

"May I come in?" he begged, looking very unlike the stoic monarch he had been for the past year. Gone was the poise borne of crown and throne. He looked like a terrified young man.

"Right this way, Your Majesty."

He followed her nervously, craning his neck to see his wife and his-

"The Prince is very healthy, Your Majesty." The midwife curtsied, then left him alone with his family.

Willow looked exhausted but happy as she held their newborn son. "Angel, come look at him," she invited him.

He knelt beside the bed, looking at the infant in bewildered awe. "What a miracle," he whispered softly. He stroked Willow's hair absentmindedly. "Do you know, the councillors are already holding meetings over what to name him?"

"Well, I had thought about that," Willow began.

"Tell me," he urged her.

"Back in Sunnydale, before Buffy ever came, Xander and I had a friend named Jesse. The master turned him into a vampire before the Harvest, and Xander staked him." Angel squeezed her shoulder, encouraging her to
continue. "We promised each other that whoever had a son first-"

"Would name him Jesse?"

They shared a smile, and Angel nodded, looking back at their sleeping child. "Prince Jesse. I like it."

"The councillors can figure out his twenty-four other names," Willow dryly noted.

Angel laughed, then leaned forward to press a tender kiss to her lips.

*************************************************************************

Tears coursed down the Queen's cheeks, and the King kept his arm around her waist, he himself under the sway of equally strong emotions.

"She looks so beautiful," Willow whispered in his ear.

Angel nodded, incapable of speaking as he watched Garwin slide the ring onto Dalenna's finger.

*************************************************************************

Willow woke up to find her husband's side of the bed empty.

"Angel?" she called out.

Suddenly, a loud laugh came out from the king's dressing room, and he dashed out, leaping into the bed to land beside his wife.

"What's going on?" she asked bemusedly.

"Look," he said excitedly, pointing at his head.

"I don't really-"

"Gray hair, sweet wife of mine! I have gray hair!"

"And this excites you?"

"Willow, I lived for two and a half centuries without ever getting any older. Gray hair was a secret fantasy of mine for years."

She laughed as she understood. "So, how do you want to celebrate?"

He thought for a moment. "Oh, I know. Let's make a national holiday!"

*************************************************************************

Prince Jesse bounced on his uncle's knee with glee.

"Uncle Garwin, higher!"

He complied with a laugh, and Dalenna dropped a kiss on her husband's head.

"Shouldn't your father be doing this?" The fond look on Garwin's face belied the exasperated tone of his voice. He was one of his nephew's favorite playmates, an honor he greatly appreciated.

"Can't," Jesse replied in the laconic manner once characteristic of his currently absent father. Garwin looked at his wife, and she shrugged.

"Why not, princeling?" Marie asked from her spot next to the fire. Jesse's face was wreathed in smiles as she said the familiar nickname.

"He's looking for his crown."

Garwin stopped bouncing his giggling nephew. "He lost his crown?"

"Well..."

"Jesse, do you know something?"

The boy's hazel eyes twinkled. "It's underneath my bed," he whispered.

Garwin laughed until his stomach hurt, and Jesse found himself being tickled mercilessly by his Aunt Dalenna. Marie remained in her chair with a smile on her face, knowing that she should go tell Willow, but
putting it off for just a minute more as she watched...

*************************************************************************

"Thayne, what's wrong?" Angel asked.

The ex-soldier looked startled. "Oh, oh, nothing, Your Majesty."

Angel rolled his eyes. "Thayne, you look like you're in mourning, your face is so gloomy. Also, you only call me Your Majesty when you're distracted. Has someone you care for died?"

"No."

"So you're in love, then."

Thayne looked shocked. "How did you-"

"You're not as subtle as you think. Besides, you've been brooding as much as I used to, and I recognize the symptom. Who is she?"

Thayne sighed. "Merchant Goodman's daughter."

"I know the one. She makes, as an old friend of mine once said, googly eyes at you every time you enter a room. So what's the problem?"

Thayne shook his head. "I am in no way assured of her regard. Besides, her father would never allow her to even look in my direction."

Angel shrugged. "Okay. I'll make you a Duke. Anything else?"

His fair companion blinked in shock. "You- you would do that? You could do that?"

"Of course."

"I don't know. Can I ask her to marry a man such as myself, flawed and scarred?" He looked at his left arm, his arm that had never really healed properly after its encounter with Aylmar's sword. His right arm was as dextrous as ever, but his left hung uselessly by his side.

"Thayne, that arm is evidence of your remarkable valor and loyalty. She'll be honored to marry you." Angel paused, then smiled slyly. "Your Grace."

*************************************************************************

Jesse paced like a caged animal. "What's taking so long?"

His father tried to soothe him. "It will be alright. Just sit down."

"I want to go in!"

The queen pulled him into a chair. "Jesse, darling, everything is going to be fine. She is going to be fine." Willow looked up and exchanged a fond look with her husband.

"Mother, couldn't you go in? They would let you go in and see her, wouldn't they?"

She smoothed down his frazzled hair. "The midwife is taking good care of your wife, sweetheart. It won't be much longer."

Angel watched his wife, so graceful, so lovely, and his son, so inherently elegant and handsome. He remembered how frantic he had been on the day of Jesse's birth. Actually, he had behaved in a very similar manner for the births of all of Jesse's royal siblings...

A baby's cry was heard through the ornately carved door, and Jesse's face broke into a broad smile.

*************************************************************************

Angel was old.

He wasn't just old in years, anymore; he was old in body. At last.

His reign over the kingdom had already spanned decades. His first gray hair had been followed by the rest, his handsome face had become mapped with wrinkles, and it had been a long time since he had really been able
to remember the taste of blood.

Willow was no longer the adventursome teenager she had been upon arriving in their royal world. She was utterly a queen. Age could not diminish her fair beauty, though her fiery hair had become considerably more washed with white.

But the really amazing thing, the omnipresent condition, was that they were in love. For forty years they had loved each other without reserve. They knew each other completely, and their souls seemed to work in harmony.

Their children had grown into adults in the presence of their love, their friends admired and imitated it, and even the laws enacted during their reign were affected by it. They shared good and bad memories from two worlds, they suffered and rejoiced together, and their love continued to grow.

One fine summer morning, they strolled though the palace gardens arm in arm. Various members of the royal family were scattered through the manicured lawns and the carefully tended paths, and the King and Queen
walked together in love.

They paused next to a fountain, and Angel bent down to place a gentle kiss on Willow's smiling lips.

"Grandma! Grandpa!" a voice interrupted.

They looked down to see one of their youngest grandchildren beaming up at them.

Angel stooped to ruffle his hair, as grandfathers often do.

"I saw something in the woods," the boy said with wide eyes. "It was pretty."

Willow smiled. "Why don't you go back to your mother, and we'll see what it is."

The boy impulsively hugged her knees, then ran off down the path. His grandparents both laughed, then headed towards the spot the boy had pointed out.

Angel walked ahead into the small grove of trees, Willow following close behind with her hand clasped in his. The trees had unusually thick foliage, and very little light filtered down between their branches. There was an almost solemn hush, and Willow was surprised that she couldn't even hear any birds singing.

"What do you think it was?" Angel asked her.

"Perhaps a deer? I don't think he's ever seen one before. He would probably think a deer was pretty." A gentle breeze ruffled her skirts.

She froze.

"Let's go back." Her voice sounded odd, choked, and... frightened. She pulled on Angel's hand, and he looked at her in surprise.

"Why? What's wron-"

But it was too late.

They saw it at once, that slash of emptiness, that swirling opening into time.

"No," she whispered.

He gathered her into his arms, pressing kisses into her fragrant hair, whispering frantic words of love. They tried to back away, but they knew it was futile, and the breeze became a howling wind, and then everything was black.

*************************************************************************
Willow was certain it had all been a dream.

As she slowly drifted back to consciousness, she reassured herself that
she would be awakening in the silken sheets of the royal bed, her crown
sitting on its cushion on her dresser. She would wake up and tell her
husband about her dream, and he would comfort her, and they would break
their fast together. She remembered that it was Thayne's birthday, and a
great celebration was planned. All of their families would be there, and
she was certain Thayne would be ecstatic once he saw his present...

But the surface she was lying on was hard, and her husband's arms felt
cold.

Then she opened her eyes, and a raw sob was ripped from her throat.

He was so, so beautiful. It had been two score years since she had seen
him like this- young and flawless. But he was so, so pale, and his hair
was dark once again. So she clung to his grey sweater as they lay
together on the floor of his office, and she cried.

*************************************************************************

As Angel woke up, he never had the chance to notice his surroundings.
All he could notice was the demon.

He had lived without it for so long, that his mind was thrown into
confusion. His soul was by no means weak, but it had forgotten how to
constantly subdue a demon long ago, and he struggled violently for
control. The stab of despair that told him what had happened couldn't
really be properly noted, because all his attention was absorbed with the
war within him.

He had to win.

He had to fight.

He had to subdue.

His soul took up its old, long forgotten burdens. He wearily accepted
the guilt and the silent roars of an enraged minion of hell, and only
then did he open his eyes to look at the sobbing woman in his arms. No,
girl, for she was the soft little thing she had been at eighteen, and she
was no longer his Queen. He recognized his office furniture, and he
pulled her closer, each one of her sobs slamming into him with unbearable
torment. Every man hates to hear his wife cry-

But he stopped himself. He was not a man anymore, and she was not his
wife, and his ring finger felt naked without his golden wedding band. He
was a corpse with a demon shredding at his recently joyful self, and he
was not the husband he had loved being.

Her sobs started to die down, and he opened his eyes to look into her
own, and she was not ready to accept what had happened.

He pulled her upright, and they stood together.

"Willow, I-" he broke off as the demon slammed against him once more.

She couldn't seem to see anything but his shirt. No longer a doublet, no
velvet and no ermine- gone were the rich garments of the past forty years
of splendor. Gone too were the colors of royalty- deep purple and
crimson, gold, and all manner of lush fabrics the color of wine- just
gone. His clothes had been reduced, their colors washed away, and it had
all faded into grey, grey the color of her despair.

How she wished to be awakened by the sound of a servant building up their
morning fire. To remain a queen until she died, not because she cared
about royalty, but because she cared about him...

Angel opened his eyes with a small gasp as he shackled the demon down
into the depths of himself. His gaze locked with hers, and she could
read his unshielded eyes. Torment and bewildered sorrow swam in them,
and he looked so lost that she shuddered. She was losing it. She was
about to collapse into his-

"Hey guys, there you are!"

Their heads snapped up at once, and they looked over to the doorway where
Cordelia stood smiling.

No, no, no, Willow's mind cried, not this, not now-

"How did it go last night?" she asked.

She could have been speaking a foreign language, for all the confusion
her question inspired.

"Last night?" Willow asked, her expression incomprehensible.

"Um, yeah. Insane portal guy? Thomas, or whatever?"

Willow shook her head, trying to clear it, dislodge some sort of answer.

Cordelia looked at them more closely. "Man, you guys look terrible. Did
that guy do something to you?"

There was a sort of horrible humor to her question, but Willow felt as
though she had forgotten how to laugh. Queen Aurelia had loved to laugh,
but Willow remained mute.

"Well, I guess you can tell me about it later. Anyway, Willow, I came in
to tell you that Xander is here to drive you back to Sunnydale."

She screamed.

Well, she meant to, and her soul did, but all that came out was a
whimper.

Cordy laughed. "Yeah, I've seen him drive. And people call me a scary
driver..."

No.

Angel said nothing, but his fingers were digging into her arms, and she
would have felt the pain if she could have felt anything.

He was so close to ignoring the world and its obligations and rules, and
just pulling her against him. He would drag her down to his apartment,
and he would remind her that he had loved her as well as he could. He
would reclaim her in this world, and if they had to start again, then so
be it. They had built their lives together before, and they could do it
again. He would not let his princess just walk away.

His feet had actually begun to step towards the elevator. His decision
was made. He would regard this newfound youth as a blessing, and not
a...

Curse.

And so he couldn't. He couldn't take what he wanted. He couldn't
translate her into this world. He couldn't keep her as his joy, because
he could have no joy.

Princes were allowed happiness, and likewise kings.

But not angels.

He had been forbidden to one woman, and now he was the same to another.
He had promised to protect her and keep her from harm, but from the
anguish emanating from her body, he knew that he had failed. Her eyes
were begging for something, some succor, but it was not something he
could give.

"Hey, Angel?" Cordelia's voice sounded amused, but slightly perplexed.

He turned his dark eyes to his secretary. She smiled hesitantly.

"You're going to have to let her go."

And the truth was there, and so he did.

They had sworn forever, death do them part, but his cold skin and
unbeating heart attested to the fulfillment of that promise, and his
hands which had been hers- his hands unclenched, and he released her
arms. She almost fell over from the lack of support as he stepped away.

"Well, Angel, since I'm assuming that you probably don't want to see
Xander or burst into flames, I'll take Willow out."

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the sight of his
no-longer-wife leaving. He didn't see the last despairing look she
directed at him. He simply heard retreating footsteps, and then the
office door slamming.

He was engaged in another battle, but it was no longer with his demon.
He had to fight to remain still, to prevent himself from running out and
begging her to stay.

After living a few more eternities, he heard the door open again, and he
looked up to find Cordelia looking rather irritated.

"Could you be ruder? You didn't even say thank you! She came all the
way out here to help you, which I assume she did- and you just stand
there, completely mute! She seemed a little upset by it, to tell you the
truth."

A little upset.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, the words coming slowly and with great
difficulty.

"Don't you have any recollections of what it's like to be human?"

He turned around and walked into the elevator, closing the gate softly.
The elevator sank down into his apartment, but by the time it reached its
destination he was huddled in the corner, his grief robbing him of the
strength to even leave the cage.

*************************************************************************

Willow stared out the window, befuddled by the sights of the modern world
surrounding her once more.

She jumped when Xander put his hand on her arm.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked.

She stared at him blankly.

"Your mind seems to be elsewhere," he commented.

She turned away, and allowed the sounds of morning traffic to permeate
her shattered heart.

*************************************************************************

The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of love, I cannot share,
But wear the chain.
---George Gordon Noel Byron, Sixth Baron Byron

*************************************************************************