Disclaimer: I don’t own Buffy or Star Wars. Buffy and related characters belong to Whedon. Star Wars and related characters belong to Lucas.
A/N: Okay, so this one was inspired by a conversation with TwistedSlinky. This is set after Buffy Season 7, as well as Angel Season 5 (this is important later). Oh, as when I ever do anything like this, Star Wars, as a movie franchise, doesn’t exist in this version of the Buffyverse, so I’ll be asking everyone to ignore all those great SW jokes in the series (Sorry, Andrew!). Any other settings will become apparent as the story goes on. I’m not honestly feeling that great today, but a challenge is a challenge. As such, this is going to be another Part I/Part II deal. I’ll replace tomorrow’s fic with part II of this one. I’m disregarding the Buffy comics, save for a few ideas here and there. Also, I don’t use the Extended Universe from the Star Wars verse… I’ve just never been fond of it. I hope you enjoy!
It started with a dream. Buffy hated it when things started with dreams. Probably because so much in her life had. Becoming a slayer, the problems with Angel, and even with the Ubervamps. All dreams.
But this one was weird. All her previous “something’s a-comin’” dreams had been different from one another. Not this one. In fact, this one felt strangely similar to her dreams back when she had just become the slayer. It started with a dark place that Buffy had the weirdest feeling was underground. Way
underground. She was being led farther and farther to something, and at the beginning of the dream, Buffy couldn’t see her guide. However, by the time she reached the wide open space, which all root-y and smelled like dirt, she ended up on a rickety wooden bridge. She would take a couple of uneasy steps to the rail, peeking over into a seemingly endless hole lined with sarcophagi.
“The Deeper Well,” her guide said, and Buffy would turn.
Angel had informed her about her. Illyria, an Old One who had killed Fred to inhabit her body. Her lithe, purple-armored form would turn to face Buffy, cocking her head just to the right.
Buffy would wake up every time right at that spot. She had no idea what the hell Illyria meant by it, or why she was even dreaming about the God of Smurfs. But after the third dream, Buffy was sure that it was more than just recurring… it was trying to tell her something. She hadn’t been a slayer for all those years and not learned when to listen to her gut—dreams, whatever.#
It was hard to get a hold of Angel. He was still busy with the whole LA problem, and when Buffy had offered her help, he’d pretty much told her where she could stick it. After all, he had asked earlier. No matter how bad it had hurt, Buffy had understood. Taking way too long on the phone with her ex, she ended up on the phone with another ex, Spike, who was a good deal more amiable toward her.
“I need to borrow Illyria to go to the Deeper Well,” Buffy said to the cell phone in her hand.
“You’ll have to convince her, but otherwise, sure,” Spike answered.
Illyria had said yes before she could even be fully informed. So Spike had gotten her out of LA, and Buffy had met with her in England. Of course, she had traveled as Fred, which had unnerved Buffy. But Illyria was definitely more comfortable in her bluer form, and had switched to it immediately upon reaching the Tree.
That’s when things got to be a little too close to her dreams. Illyria took the lead, and Buffy followed silently behind. They reached the opening a lot quicker than in her dream. As soon as Buffy peered over the edge of the railing, she interrupted Illyria, saying exactly what the God King was going to say.
“He’s awakened,” Buffy said, and Illyria looked more confused than she had in her dream.
“You know,” she said, slinking closer to her.
Buffy shook her head. “No. That was in my dream. You, the Well, the whole prophetic ‘he’s awakened,’ all of it. I was hoping bringing you here would explain some things.”
Illyria grinned, and it was the creepiest thing the Chosen One had seen since the Gentlemen.
“Can’t you feel him? You two are connected through a shared power. It is called by a different name by each, but it is the same.”
Buffy opened her mouth, about to reply that she felt exactly crap, but paused. That wasn’t true. There was someone here… waiting for her. Granted, there were a lot
of someones here. But Illyria was right. Someone was awake… and it felt like… like a slayer.
“This is impossible,” Buffy muttered. “The Slayers were part of what helped take down the Old Ones.”
“Wrong! Prideful human!” Illyria spat, jerking herself away from Buffy. “A slayer killed one of the last left in this realm. Your kind, another pitiful mix between humans and a demon’s essence, would have been nothing but poor amusement in my time.”
Buffy crossed her arms. “Yeah, well, the pitiful amusement
killed one of your kind. But what does any of that have to do with whoever is awake down here?”
Illyria lifted an arm, lazily, and pointed to one of the coffins in the distance. It detached itself from the wall, floating over to rest on the bridge before them. Buffy stepped back, ready to dash if the bridge couldn’t hold the weight. But apparently the old wooden structure was stronger than she thought, as it didn’t even budge. She tiptoed back out toward Illyria, leaning around the Old One to peer at the coffin.
“Slayers were not a new creation when the Daughter of Sineya became the First of the Ones. And the humans on this Earth
were not the first of your weak kind. Behold the awakened one,” Illyria said.
Buffy made her way past her, letting her hands hover over the sarcophagus. She paused, but Illyria shook her head.
“It is more than just the essence within. You won’t be cleared.”
Just checking. Buffy laid her hand on the coffin, a hydraulic hiss issued from it. Dust expelled itself in large clouds, and Buffy sneezed and coughed.
“What the hell is going on?” she asked.
The coffin had not been made of stone, like the others. It was cool and metallic, and Buffy was sure it was more mechanical than mystical. The lid lifted, and a soft groan issued from within. She edged closer, her green eyes widening.
A man, about Buffy’s own age, with blonde hair dressed in a black outfit. Around his waist was a belt of the same color, a high-tech metal hilt that looked like it was missing the rest of its sword clipped around it. The man’s eyes fluttered, suddenly shooting wide open. They were bright blue, not at all demon-like.
“Where am I?” he moaned.
Buffy turned, eyeing Illyria. She turned back to the man.
“My name’s Buffy… Do you remember yours?”
He narrowed his eyes at her, as if this was the stupidest question in the world.
Buffy nodded. “All right. Luke… I think you and I have a lot of talking ahead of us.”
End Part I