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Death and the Slayer

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Summary: Death is your gift, the First Slayer told her. A collection of Buffy's dealings with various aspects of Afterlife.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Multiple Crossings > Buffy-Centered > Ficlet CollectionsdagonFR721,445021,37430 Nov 0830 Nov 08No

Three Times Rightly

Three Times Rightly


Rating:  K

Pairing:  the god of death

Summary:  Oh Valley Girl of springtime.

A/N:  Obviously, Greek mythology. Is it possible for anyone to own that?



The first time she died, she was barely a woman.  A dark magic struck her after a few moments' struggle.  She had not fully grasped the burden she carried then, and she was the only one.  She only stayed there for a few minutes, not enough for her to see what her afterlife.

            It was enough, however, for the afterlife to notice her.

            The second time she died she was not much older in years, but tragedy aged her spring meadow eyes.  Her death was deliberate, then, for she had family to protect, and friends fighting at her side.  Her stay here was longer, and she was peaceful lying amongst pallid flowers.

            But then she was stolen once again, and a shadow went forward to its king.

            The third time she died she was neither young nor old.  Her kind was mortal, and so full of power that too often they met a violent end.  She saved the world and succumbed to illness, but passed peacefully away for the last time.  Her friends and her daughters—for that was how all of her kind had come to regard her, as their proud mother—did not try to wake her again.

            Powers met to discuss her fate.  They argued long and loudly, some for her return to the earth once more, others for her just reward, and others still for her soul's annihilation.

            At this, a murky shadow traveled to its master's side, and whispered something in his ear.  The power stood, then, and made his request.  None could deny him. 


            She stood on the banks of a black river, vaguely recalling the hooded figure in the boat.  When she searched her person for a coin, the boatman shook his head.

            "There is no need, my lady," he said, the most he would say to any shade, and he helped her into the boat.  On the other side of the river, the three-headed dog barked in greeting, and she walked until she reached a black palace.

            She was taken to a court where three hags sat, three horrors who she knew would judge her worth.  Two alabaster thrones lay empty and waiting.

            You are ruled by your passions, she was told by one, but you lived the life of a virtuous hero.

            You hid in frippery and babbles, spake another, but your intellect was keen and piercing.

            You lived three times rightly, judged the last, and for that you shall live in the islands blessed.

            She could not account for the sheer sense of loss suddenly plaguing her heart.  A shadow form appeared by her side, coalescing into a giant of a wolf that clutched fear around him like a bone.  While the three gasped and shied away, she felt only relief.

            Leave us, it commanded.  And the three judges fled.

            The form—it had no face—bowed to her.

            My lady, it said.  I am your gift.

            "And it appears that you've finally received it," a voice said behind her.  She turned, and was still.  The bleak realm seemed to brighten for a moment, tint slightly in the light of spring. 

            He was tall and pale, slender but built a warrior.  Rich black curls hung just above his shoulders, framing a powerful, perfect face.  It seemed only she could see the compassion in that stern onyx gaze.

            Compassion, and something deeper.  It was coming to her slowly now, trickling in like water from one of the sacred two pools...

            He took her hand, and the contact resonated in her soul.  She looked up at that perfect, beloved face again.

            "Welcome home, my love," he said to her, "my Persephone."

            She smiled then, her face filled with spring and sunlight. 

            "It's Buffy now," she said.

            And she greeted her king, her husband with a kiss.


            The lord of the underworld once saw the young daughter of the harvest and loved her.  He took her to be his wife in the cold land of the dead.

            Now her mother wept and raged, for spring was missing and the gods above could not tell her where she went.  And so the green earth was green no more, and the fields went barren and grey.

            The queen of the dead was made, the, to leave her lord and walk the living world once more.  But she had eaten three pomegranate seeds, and so was bound to the afterlife.  For six cycles she spends existence in the world above, and another six ruling beside the lord of the underworld/

            Yet no one knew that she had fallen in love with her lord, and yearned for the earth to sleep.

            She had come home, at last.



Well, what do you think? First Buffy fanfic. Eeep.
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