Turning and Burning, Chapter 9

[tigerstriped86.livejournal.com]

Title: Turning and Burning, Chapter 9
Author: tigerstriped86
Fandom/Pairing: BtVS/Xander and a lot of yummy men like Angel (slash!)
Rating: M (for an uniformed view of ritualist vampyre practices-no hatemail please)

Prompt 105: Conqueror
Disc.: Is that Joss Whedon or Mutant Enemy/Dark Horse/ect in the mirror?  Nope.  So move on then.
Notes: AU from Xander running from the alter and Anya.
Story thus far: The second meeting of the Order goes better than planned.  Xander's getting that theatrical knack he's been lacking.
Personal: I didn't have internet until about five minutes ago.  I almost cried-once again.  I also am halfway through the prompt for next week!  Yay Blossom!  Go my muse!

The full story: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4237605/1/Turning_and_Burning

There was a candle in the window. He remembered this during sleep. The glow had been soft, cascading down from the frosted tips of the glass and onto his old pram in the midst of the nursery. The slight chill of the air was smothered by a soft blanket, light blue with little yellow duckies. There was a voice singing softly and rocking him back and forth. He could register the creaking of the chair and her.

She sang an old song, a song of victory. His namesake Alexander had been a conqueror. She sang it as a hymn as he clung to her breast. She hadn't known him well before she died. He had been coming upon his sixth birthday when Grand matron LaVelle had passed. Xander hadn't cried for her but many had. Her hair had been long and wavy, dark ringlets cascading past her ample bosom. And that song always rang through his mind.

Xander Harris, former court jester for the Queen of the Scoobies. Alexander LaVelle Harris, screw up son of the town drunk spiraling down his father's path. Eldridge, leader of the Order of Aurelius until Angel returned to his senses and duty. He was none of these and yet all of these at the same time. What would she think of him now? Of his strength or the sense of duty she tried to instill in him at such a young age in lieu of his grandfather?

So he tossed and he turned as he thought of her. Xander awoke with his shoulders tensed against his bed and his feet dangling from the overhead lamp in the master suite. He was keeping Angel's bed cold for him. He'd be there and wait there, never staying with Elvin, who had made the mansion his permanent residence in the room that had once been reserved for Xander.

Xander stumbled his way to the marble bathroom after softly touching back to the ground. He could sense that he was falling into shambles. How could he allow all this to happen? How could he lead these things that he had vowed to protect the world from? What had he done, whom had he offended? Alexander LaVelle Harris was from a long line of good and benevolent French rulers. And yet he was not them either.

His eyes caught his absent reflection in the dripping tap. His claws grasped upon the marble and he allowed each droplet to move across his finger as he dipped each into the basin. There was no reflection he wanted to see in either case. It made him sick, this loneliness and absurdity. It was despair and folly. To protect, to lead, to serve. That was not Xander Harris. Histories and occasions piled upon him and yet he had failed them all. Would he always fail them all?

Xander was becoming stronger each day. He read until his eyes burned. He trained with swords and weapons until his biceps rebelled against him and his knees went weak with sweat. He was Eldridge some nights and Xander other nights with the girls. Angel would have known what to tell him, but Angel was conquered by his own destiny. Was this the path Xander should have taken? He might never know.

There was a knock on the door that interrupted his thoughts. The seeping darkness engulfing his soul sucked itself inward long enough for Xander to straighten himself out. Outside the door stood Charlie, silently waiting.

“What is it?”

“You're awake. I brought you some blood with herbal sedative, warmed just slightly.”

Xander opened the door and studied Charlie. “You've stayed.”

“I wouldn't leave. Even to expand my mind I wouldn't leave.”

“But you can't expand your body here either.”

“Who says?”

Xander's eyes narrowed. “Have you been...”

“No. I haven't allowed anyone entrance here. I'm not a fool, Eldridge. But I have had time to meditate and time to learn about myself and about you.”

“My dreams. Damn.”

“I wouldn't pry if you'd let me teach you, but they are so strong.”

“I don't mess with spells. I'm cursed with bad results.”

“Could you be doing it to yourself?” Charlie pushed the cup skillfully through the opening of the door and onto Xander's bare chest. “Sleep well, sire. At least, while you can.”

Xander stood at the doorway as Charlie walked off. It was painful seeing him almost. Xander felt like he was chained somehow, an entwined destiny as doomed as it could be. He shook off the feeling as he looked into the blood. Charlie did have a point. Was it possible that he was jinxing himself? Thinking on such negative terms must affect some spells, if not all. Was all the attraction to danger and evil a beacon he sent? Heaven forbid, Xander thought. That's one thing I don't need. Not tonight.

Xander had done his best learning about vampyre ritual from the remnants of shredded pages Angelus had left in the old fireplace of the library. But they were in difficult languages and harder to master without others to assist you. He took a sip from the cup and allowed himself to feel the blood pumping through his absent veins. Chalices, prayers, other esoteric rituals that meant almost nothing and yet everything. It was fear and lore and all those things which he abhorred, that which subjugated the mind. What would Angel do?

You can't ask yourself that. It was a voice in his mind, gentle and kind. He turned in the empty hallway but there was no one there. You must do what is right. Was it her again? Xander yawned. The herbal sedative was working.

There was a lot of darkness in the rituals. Xander sat in Angel's old chair at the head of the stairs. He had moved the infamous piece of furniture for both show and function. A couple of nearly-dilapidated books hung close to the end of the table next to it. The smell of silver polish was in the air, marking Charlie's business for the moment. The grandfather clock chimed forth with an ominous four. Xander watched the movement of the brass piece as it swung. Tonight would change the balance of power in the Order. He wasn't comfortable undermining Angel like this, but he could barely stomach Cordelia's voice on the other end of Angel's Investigations. He had called three times and heard her voice twice.

The air seemed to still as seven approached. It was a delicate hour, far from midnight and either end of the sun's deadly kiss. The armchair throne had been moved once more to the top of the staircase. Xander wished he could conjure an image of himself in the blank space where a mirror once hung in Angel's bathroom. He moved into the hallway at a nearly frantic clip and was greeted on the stairwell by Elvin. Charlie looked up from the bottom of the banister, the greenish hue in his eyes flashing just briefly.

“You cleaned up nicely.” Xander nodded at Elvin.

“It helps when it's not your money. Did you get confirmation from Dalthers?”

“He promised to be here and bring along the appropriate associates.”

“So they'll all be here then?” His eyebrow quirked and a small piece of caramel and brown bang moved against his eyebrow.

Xander's tongue reached for that sensitive area just behind his left fang. “If everything goes according to plan.”

“Just to be clear, what is the plan exactly?”

“Oh no you don't. Just play your part Elvin. Angel's money looks very tempting on you.”

“You like it?” Elvin's arms raised as Xander appreciated the suit. “I always thought green was a good power color for me.”

And it was. His black silk shirt was off-set well by his dark green tie and his darker green blazer. Black slacks and a small gold belt buckle complimented his classic Oxfords. Charlie didn't react to the appraisal of the outfit. He just watched Xander and Elvin, gripping the banister a bit tighter the closer the pair moved toward each other. Charlie was glad when there was a knock on the door.

Xander's face gave a characteristically goofy grin. “Places everyone!”

Charlie drifted toward the door and Elvin took a place on the right side of the banister. Xander's legs swung over the left arm of the chair just as the first guests arrived. It was a powerful image, Xander lounging at the top of the pristine white stair. It was an artistic sculpture of power and manhood. His gaze passed over the small knot of four that entered. For the next five minutes, drinks were poured as more guests filed in. Xander remained silent and indifferent as the nervous din began to cascade over the parlour and the library.

Ten minutes passed and Xander was seriously beginning to think he should have just hung a banner that read Aurelius Con 98. Even if that was the wrong year it did have a nice ring to it. He hadn't touched his goblet of blood resting in between his fingers and Elvin hadn't yet flinched, reclining amusedly against the banister. After the fifty fourth guest had passed the door at seven fifteen precisely, Xander's claws clinked delicately against his glass.

Charlie echoed the sentiment by slamming the front door. “If they are not already here, then they are late and will be punished. And I will know if they are not here.” Xander's words echoed down the stairs and drifted through the ears of each guest. A few shuddered. Word of what had happened to Butch had gotten around. The few that weren't grateful for Butch's death certainly cowered in fear of Eldridge, who had gone from mysterious geek to leader of the Order.

Elvin followed closely behind as Xander greeted each guest, some by name. Mr. Dalthers could barely contain his amusement at Xander's showmanship. But already being warned of the proceedings to come, he played along. The only sounds of laughter were Xander's and the rest of the guests waited in dreadful silence.

“Why hello ladies.” Xander reached down to the hand of a pale blond waif wearing a slimming auburn cocktail dress. “My, I didn't know the Order had such comely ladies available to its disposal.”

“Why, Mr. Eldridge, we are honored by your invitation. My name is Amber. These are my sisters Melanie and Victoria.” They were carbon copies of each other and Xander was sure he wouldn't have gotten the time of day from them if he were anyone else. Melanie wore a purple dress with black lacing that matched her sister's shoes and Victoria wore a beige dress that matched the other's tiny beaded purse.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Xander winked instead of throwing up, which was quite a feat for him tonight. His grand matron would have said that there was so much horse manure in the air that you could have produced tomatoes the size of your head with it. And she would have been right. But watching Buffy send a mandate to the Watchers council had taught him how to react to groups. And right now he was tightly in control of this one.

“Mr. Eldridge is happy to announce that the formal meeting shall take place in half an hour in the dining hall. Feel free to mingle with him until then when all shall be revealed.” Charlie moved towards the kitchen silently and Xander smiled mercilessly as the girls tried to corner his attention for the rest of the night. Too bad they were the greatest point of interest in the new crop. Xander hoped that there was untapped potential. He saw no reason for so many bad seeds to be poisoning the Order.

A small gong retrieved and borrowed from the Sunnydale museum of history hissed a greeting at the precise time and Xander lead a procession into the dining room. The large table had been converted to a chalice alter. The scent of sandalwood and lavender lay around the dark candles, which were a small variety of white, red, and purples. The shadows leapt violently with the invisible wind. There were no places with which to sit and each guest's face was enhanced by the darkness.

“Many of you do not know this ritual. But this is the binding ritual of our Order. It is an ancient custom, lost after many years of war and strife. I have recovered the Chalice of Destrome thanks to a mutual friend of the Order and I plan to reinstate the hierarchy that Angel and Spike have frittered away in previous years of glory and disdain.” There was a communal shudder. The few survivors from the tortures of Darla, Drusilla, Angelus, and William the Bloody preferred the past to remain dead. Truth be told, they liked weaklings so that their fears would never come to realization again. Xander himself was a man set to confront and twist them for his purposes.

“One of my mortal ancestors was Alexander the Great. He was a model of war and a model of prosperity. He was a leader and a gentleman.” Xander's absent reflection glared from the silver punchbowl bearing a variety of winged flourishes. “I plan to bear his memory gladly. You do have a choice tonight. But you will regret the wrong one. You should know, in all fairness, that this is not one of those choices. This is demanded of you. This is the Order. Come and prick your finger and fill your cup. Let the strength flow through us.”

“What about the blood of Angelus and the others? Should it not be in there as well?” There was a panic in the stocky man's voice as it shot up. Xander thought that he might have had to jump to get that much air into his diaphragm.

“They have done this ritual before. Once your blood enters the bowl, it never quite leaves. Anyone else?”

There was silence in the air as each fledgling and sire gaped at each other. Xander bowed then and nodded his head towards Charlie. Xander's claws bit deep into a jagged wing and his own blood flowed into the cauldron, the only reflection of the the candles. There was a small hiss that escaped from his lips as a reaction to the cut. But Charlie was there with a fresh towel and a reassuring smile. “My servant and several associates have all taken this oath with me. Take it now or leave. You will not be returning and you will not make it very far.” His tone was not argumentative or very loud.

The sincerity of the clap that followed startled Elvin. An older gentlemen who Charlie diagnosed as “greasy” moved forward and began to stroke the chalice. “The older ones were worried.” The words hissed from his non-existent lips. “But I believe you will bring us into the new age foretold of in this time. Even someone associated with the Slayer.” His hand bit upon the jagged wing across from Xander and the murmuring began again. The man gained Xander's ire, which was his intention.

“Fine. Let us settle this now. Yes, I am in league with the Slayer. She is only the enemy of those not under my protection. From this moment on we will learn to understand and cooperate with each other. We do not live in an age of darkness and even she learns that right and wrong is not as simple as councils and demons. Even she learns this and more. And so shall we all. Walk out now and face her without me.” Xander glared and the crowd shrank back. The man with no lips glared at having lost.

The came in pairs, some believing the chalice to be made of poison. But the room was soon full of white towels briefly spotted with blood before the wounds closed.

“Now we should move back to the parlour. Phase two is the least painful of tonight's events. And then we shall all partake of some rather fine blood cake.” Xander's smile was as warm and hearty as the good-natured soul he still partly retained from the hyena and the soldier's spirits inside of his former self, that which clung dearly to the bits of his now darkened soul.

“Mr. Dalthers and Mr. Elvin are two of my greater associates. They are the new juniors of the Order and all problems of finance or management shall be brought to Mr. Dalthers attention. All problems concerning education, art, or persecution shall be brought to Elvin. And dear Charlie shall handle all matters regarding the Slayer or rumors of other demonic activity. I'd prefer to hear anything of interest involving prophecies or vengeful demons from all of you at the weekly meetings. You have ears and it is time you use them. As for those of you wishing lessons on fighting with weapons or hand to hand combat, I shall be leading you. Please see me after the meeting. These are serious things that must occur and this is not playtime. The Order shall be glorious and efficient and in time Angel may even return.” There was a brief pause and then Xander found himself moving toward the projector that Elvin was finishing putting into place.

“Oh, and by the way, if you double cross me I shall know. Each week we shall have a meeting and there are several spells on that chalice. We shall all know if there are traitors or ones who hold back allegiance. Allegiance is something I treasure.”

The meeting dragged on for an hour more and then Xander spent quite a bit of time shrugging advances away from the girls and various men of the meeting wanting to know about his strength. The time would come for orgies and bull sessions, Xander was sure, but that was not tonight. He was wiped from the character acting.

Elvin could no longer contain his chuckle as the last guest retreated home. “Allegiance is something I treasure? Laying it on a bit thick are we?”

“I had to think of something. I'm pretty sure I sprinkled enough doom on them.”

“Just to be honest here,” Charlie's brow furrowed as he turned toward Xander from the parlour and Elvin turned from the middle of the stairway, “which spells did you use on the chalice? I thought you couldn't on that particular piece of lore.”

“Well, dear Charlie, you know that and so do I, but how many of them do you chance are aware of such a vital piece of information?”

Elvin snorted through his nose and then sighed as he continued laughing all the way back towards his room.