Fic: The Lesson
May. 18th, 2014 12:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonyphoenixTitle: The Lesson
Fandom: BtVS
Summary: When Rupert returned to them, the Council didn’t immediately trust him
Rating: PG
Characters: Giles
Disclaimer: They aren’t mine, not yet, but they will be … once I’ve conquered the world. Bwah-ha-ha!
Note: Written for a prompt at Giles Shorts: book
Note: Influenced by Kerkevik, who wrote a story about an enslaved girl who became the Slayer
Rupert had brought the book to his room, set it on his desk, and sat, staring past it for the better part of an hour. It was a copy, of course. No mere student would have been trusted with the original. Still, that didn’t change the fact that this was the lesson that had driven him from the Council. This was the Journal of Nicholas Stone.
Quentin, assigned to mentor Rupert in the more occult aspects of his education, had asked Rupert to face the same lesson again. It hadn’t been worded in such an obvious manner. Quentin had merely handed Rupert the book and requested an essay. “Anything you might want to write about.” As he opened the book, Rupert knew that Quentin wouldn’t be the only one reviewing his response.
2 August 1812
I have received my assignment. May the Lord have mercy upon my soul. The next Slayer, the one I will lead to her destiny, has been located in the Americas, in a territory referred to as New Orleans. As the name suggests, the area was recently under French control. I cannot believe I will be welcomed by the savages who abide there, but I will fulfill my duty even though my task may be more horrific than I’ve suggested. While a Slayer of French descent would have been bad enough, coming from a nation where a variety of races comingle, it is possible that my Slayer may belong to one of the inferior breeds. If that is true, I shall persevere. My training has covered all eventualities.
Rupert shoved the book away until it smacked up against the wall. He fell back into his chair as he thought about the essay. He could work up quite a plausible thesis on racism and its influence on how the Slayer was perceived, how being thought of as subhuman was equated with enhanced physical stamina as well as with diminished mental capabilities. Rupert allowed himself to imagine he had the freedom to write such an essay. The historical records, both ancient and recent, contained more than enough data but that, in fact, was the problem. The attitude hadn’t changed. The discrimination was less blatant now, but it still existed. Writing an essay denouncing, or even hinting at, current prejudices would not endear him to anyone who would have access to this essay. Rupert, as prodigal son, could not afford to disparage the Council. He picked up the book again.
12 September 1812
Before we disembarked I overheard one of the sailors congratulating another on an easy crossing. I hardly dare wonder what a difficult crossing might be like, having been ill for almost the entire journey. Concern about the uncertain welcome a European might receive in the wilds of the Americas have induced the Council to send two of their Enforcers with me. They do not seem to have been wracked with seasickness. In fact, I believe they spent the trip gambling and drinking. Their brutish constitutions must make less of sea voyages than a more refined physique. Presumably the Slayer will have no problem whatsoever upon our return to England.
The Detection Spell has not provided a precise location, but the Slayer is in New Orleans. The city resembles a madhouse. Servants, even slaves, fill the streets and do not make way for their superiors. The local gentry – it is with difficulty that I apply such a term to them – still considering themselves French no matter what the Louisiana Purchase has done to their official designation, are reluctant to assist an Englishman. They affect the manners of the French nobility but are, in fact, little more than barbarians.
Rupert paused. The Detection Spell, once widely disseminated among Council members, was now known only to a chosen few. During the First World War, when politics had split the Council in two, the two sides had vied for power. Good men had died hunting and fighting to control the Slayer. The Council, learning from its mistake, had, since then, controlled access to the spell. That could make for an interesting essay topic – it would certainly be a safe one – but no, the Council wanted an affirmation of their principals. As essay on a matter of historical interest would hardly fit the bill.
15 September 1812
I can barely credit the direction the Detection Spell has led me. I found the next Slayer huddled with others of her kind, wallowing in muck and filth. I would have preferred a decent, or even an indecent, French girl of unquestioned European stock, but instead I am burdened with a feculent, ignorant Negress. Even beasts know enough to keep themselves clean but, unfortunately, that is more than I can say for my new charge.
16 September 1812
As improbable as it seems, the situation has worsened. I made use of an informant, a man of no good character but one willing to speak in exchange for drink. After innumerable rounds, in which he drank much of my share, his tongue loosened considerably. I have taken the trouble to confirm his information with other sources and, much to my dismay, it is not a falsehood. The Slayer’s father was a leader in a rebellion of slaves against their rightful masters. I had imagined the Slayer’s character could not be any lower. I fear I was mistaken.
Much as I dislike this knowledge, it was of use when I purchased the girl. The auction master seemed to believe that I, as a foreigner and an Englishman, could be induced to pay an exorbitant price for what was, in actuality if not appearance, shoddy goods. His disappointment showed when he realized I knew the girl’s history and I was able to work him down to two-thirds of the going rate for a female of that age. I hope she will be worth the price.
Rupert opened the window, sat himself halfway onto the ledge, and lit himself a smoke. Good Lord, buying a person was bad enough but counting the cost atop of that? That Stone had been a real bastard. Rupert knew, though, that there was worse to come.
He thought back to the lecture introducing the potential Watchers to this journal. Outdated notions and historical curiosities, that had been the tone of the day, but there had to be a reason this specific journal was part of their teachings. And, of course, there was a reason. There were certain expectations guiding how Watchers would relate to their Slayers. Watchers had to be taught how they were expected to behave.
Skimming through the text, Rupert passed over Stone’s training of the Slayer, her first kill, as well as the letter informing Stone he would remain in America. Rupert slowed down as he approached the end of the journal. This was the meat of it, the part he was supposed to integrate into his psyche.
2 October 1812
I now realize, to my chagrin that I have given short shrift to Gordimer’s description of the difficulty of locating a Slayer who does not settle in one location. For the past three weeks my enforcers have been moving among the slaves at night, encouraging them to provide information and finally their work has borne fruit. I bless the man who realized their training should include harming a body without leaving visible bruises. I would hate to have to damage anyone’s property.
Based on what we’ve learned, the Slayer has abandoned her sacred calling, her duty to all of humanity, in order to steal recalcitrant slaves from their owners. This is why she’s been impossible to track. She’s been continually on the move, involved in something called an underground railroad.
6 October 1812
We apprehended the fugitives, where they’d been hiding like dogs, in a farmhouse not ten miles outside of Richmond. I do believe the Slayer would have fought my enforcers if I hadn’t threatened to shoot her companions. She paused then, as if she thought their lives worth preserving. I shot her dead before she could escape again.
I made the decision to take the time to deliver the remaining slaves to the proper authorities. It took only a few hours and did not delay our return to England. It was the correct thing to do.
In reference to the Slayer, there was only one course of action I could take. Given the number of excellent candidates for the position of Watcher, I realize I will not be assigned a second Slayer, but the needs of the Council, not to mention those of humanity, must outweigh my ambitions. A Slayer who would abandon her duties is of no use to the Council. It is far better that another be Called to take her place.
The book slammed shut with a heavy thud. Rupert knew exactly what the Council wanted, an essay agreeing that Stone’s action was not only correct but was the only appropriate course to take. Rupert could write that essay – he’d certainly heard Quentin expounding often enough to know exactly what points to make – but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He understood that Stone had acted to save humanity, but Rupert still couldn’t condone that choice. It wasn’t something he could explain, even to himself. Stone’s actions were simply offensive.
But in what way, when push came to shove, was Rupert’s own choice any different? When Eyghon had escaped, Rupert had killed Randall knowing it would force the demon off of this plane. Rupert had chosen humanity. Stone had made the same choice. How then could Stone’s choice be wrong?
Rupert forced himself to put pen to paper. It didn’t matter what he thought. What mattered was that he gave the Council what they wanted. Then he could put this lesson behind him.
Fandom: BtVS
Summary: When Rupert returned to them, the Council didn’t immediately trust him
Rating: PG
Characters: Giles
Disclaimer: They aren’t mine, not yet, but they will be … once I’ve conquered the world. Bwah-ha-ha!
Note: Written for a prompt at Giles Shorts: book
Note: Influenced by Kerkevik, who wrote a story about an enslaved girl who became the Slayer
Rupert had brought the book to his room, set it on his desk, and sat, staring past it for the better part of an hour. It was a copy, of course. No mere student would have been trusted with the original. Still, that didn’t change the fact that this was the lesson that had driven him from the Council. This was the Journal of Nicholas Stone.
Quentin, assigned to mentor Rupert in the more occult aspects of his education, had asked Rupert to face the same lesson again. It hadn’t been worded in such an obvious manner. Quentin had merely handed Rupert the book and requested an essay. “Anything you might want to write about.” As he opened the book, Rupert knew that Quentin wouldn’t be the only one reviewing his response.
2 August 1812
I have received my assignment. May the Lord have mercy upon my soul. The next Slayer, the one I will lead to her destiny, has been located in the Americas, in a territory referred to as New Orleans. As the name suggests, the area was recently under French control. I cannot believe I will be welcomed by the savages who abide there, but I will fulfill my duty even though my task may be more horrific than I’ve suggested. While a Slayer of French descent would have been bad enough, coming from a nation where a variety of races comingle, it is possible that my Slayer may belong to one of the inferior breeds. If that is true, I shall persevere. My training has covered all eventualities.
Rupert shoved the book away until it smacked up against the wall. He fell back into his chair as he thought about the essay. He could work up quite a plausible thesis on racism and its influence on how the Slayer was perceived, how being thought of as subhuman was equated with enhanced physical stamina as well as with diminished mental capabilities. Rupert allowed himself to imagine he had the freedom to write such an essay. The historical records, both ancient and recent, contained more than enough data but that, in fact, was the problem. The attitude hadn’t changed. The discrimination was less blatant now, but it still existed. Writing an essay denouncing, or even hinting at, current prejudices would not endear him to anyone who would have access to this essay. Rupert, as prodigal son, could not afford to disparage the Council. He picked up the book again.
12 September 1812
Before we disembarked I overheard one of the sailors congratulating another on an easy crossing. I hardly dare wonder what a difficult crossing might be like, having been ill for almost the entire journey. Concern about the uncertain welcome a European might receive in the wilds of the Americas have induced the Council to send two of their Enforcers with me. They do not seem to have been wracked with seasickness. In fact, I believe they spent the trip gambling and drinking. Their brutish constitutions must make less of sea voyages than a more refined physique. Presumably the Slayer will have no problem whatsoever upon our return to England.
The Detection Spell has not provided a precise location, but the Slayer is in New Orleans. The city resembles a madhouse. Servants, even slaves, fill the streets and do not make way for their superiors. The local gentry – it is with difficulty that I apply such a term to them – still considering themselves French no matter what the Louisiana Purchase has done to their official designation, are reluctant to assist an Englishman. They affect the manners of the French nobility but are, in fact, little more than barbarians.
Rupert paused. The Detection Spell, once widely disseminated among Council members, was now known only to a chosen few. During the First World War, when politics had split the Council in two, the two sides had vied for power. Good men had died hunting and fighting to control the Slayer. The Council, learning from its mistake, had, since then, controlled access to the spell. That could make for an interesting essay topic – it would certainly be a safe one – but no, the Council wanted an affirmation of their principals. As essay on a matter of historical interest would hardly fit the bill.
15 September 1812
I can barely credit the direction the Detection Spell has led me. I found the next Slayer huddled with others of her kind, wallowing in muck and filth. I would have preferred a decent, or even an indecent, French girl of unquestioned European stock, but instead I am burdened with a feculent, ignorant Negress. Even beasts know enough to keep themselves clean but, unfortunately, that is more than I can say for my new charge.
16 September 1812
As improbable as it seems, the situation has worsened. I made use of an informant, a man of no good character but one willing to speak in exchange for drink. After innumerable rounds, in which he drank much of my share, his tongue loosened considerably. I have taken the trouble to confirm his information with other sources and, much to my dismay, it is not a falsehood. The Slayer’s father was a leader in a rebellion of slaves against their rightful masters. I had imagined the Slayer’s character could not be any lower. I fear I was mistaken.
Much as I dislike this knowledge, it was of use when I purchased the girl. The auction master seemed to believe that I, as a foreigner and an Englishman, could be induced to pay an exorbitant price for what was, in actuality if not appearance, shoddy goods. His disappointment showed when he realized I knew the girl’s history and I was able to work him down to two-thirds of the going rate for a female of that age. I hope she will be worth the price.
Rupert opened the window, sat himself halfway onto the ledge, and lit himself a smoke. Good Lord, buying a person was bad enough but counting the cost atop of that? That Stone had been a real bastard. Rupert knew, though, that there was worse to come.
He thought back to the lecture introducing the potential Watchers to this journal. Outdated notions and historical curiosities, that had been the tone of the day, but there had to be a reason this specific journal was part of their teachings. And, of course, there was a reason. There were certain expectations guiding how Watchers would relate to their Slayers. Watchers had to be taught how they were expected to behave.
Skimming through the text, Rupert passed over Stone’s training of the Slayer, her first kill, as well as the letter informing Stone he would remain in America. Rupert slowed down as he approached the end of the journal. This was the meat of it, the part he was supposed to integrate into his psyche.
2 October 1812
I now realize, to my chagrin that I have given short shrift to Gordimer’s description of the difficulty of locating a Slayer who does not settle in one location. For the past three weeks my enforcers have been moving among the slaves at night, encouraging them to provide information and finally their work has borne fruit. I bless the man who realized their training should include harming a body without leaving visible bruises. I would hate to have to damage anyone’s property.
Based on what we’ve learned, the Slayer has abandoned her sacred calling, her duty to all of humanity, in order to steal recalcitrant slaves from their owners. This is why she’s been impossible to track. She’s been continually on the move, involved in something called an underground railroad.
6 October 1812
We apprehended the fugitives, where they’d been hiding like dogs, in a farmhouse not ten miles outside of Richmond. I do believe the Slayer would have fought my enforcers if I hadn’t threatened to shoot her companions. She paused then, as if she thought their lives worth preserving. I shot her dead before she could escape again.
I made the decision to take the time to deliver the remaining slaves to the proper authorities. It took only a few hours and did not delay our return to England. It was the correct thing to do.
In reference to the Slayer, there was only one course of action I could take. Given the number of excellent candidates for the position of Watcher, I realize I will not be assigned a second Slayer, but the needs of the Council, not to mention those of humanity, must outweigh my ambitions. A Slayer who would abandon her duties is of no use to the Council. It is far better that another be Called to take her place.
The book slammed shut with a heavy thud. Rupert knew exactly what the Council wanted, an essay agreeing that Stone’s action was not only correct but was the only appropriate course to take. Rupert could write that essay – he’d certainly heard Quentin expounding often enough to know exactly what points to make – but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He understood that Stone had acted to save humanity, but Rupert still couldn’t condone that choice. It wasn’t something he could explain, even to himself. Stone’s actions were simply offensive.
But in what way, when push came to shove, was Rupert’s own choice any different? When Eyghon had escaped, Rupert had killed Randall knowing it would force the demon off of this plane. Rupert had chosen humanity. Stone had made the same choice. How then could Stone’s choice be wrong?
Rupert forced himself to put pen to paper. It didn’t matter what he thought. What mattered was that he gave the Council what they wanted. Then he could put this lesson behind him.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-05-18 10:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-18 01:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-18 04:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-18 05:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-18 09:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-18 09:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-18 10:59 pm (UTC)Giles would only be in a "dorm" if he was at school. Brits don't use the word for universities.
no subject
Date: 2014-05-18 11:07 pm (UTC)Giles would only be in a "dorm" if he was at school. Brits don't use the word for universities. And thanks for the tip. I forget Brit-speak is different. Would Giles have his own apartment do you think or would he live on campus (as we would call it). If so, what would he call his room?
Lovely icon.
no subject
Date: 2014-05-19 09:33 am (UTC)Oxford doesn't have a campus as such, because it's been in the town for around eight centuries and the colleges grew up in and around the rest of town. Students mostly get around on bicycles or walk, because it's all pretty concentrated, but with a busy industrial city and major shopping centre sort of intersecting with it. Cambridge, Durham and several of the major Scottish universities operate in much the same way.
I didn't mean to be nasty, BTW, just thought you'd like to know. Giles learns some American while he's in Sunnydale, but he's still pretty British. We do stuff differently. ;-)
I hope you don't mind, but I'm friending you. We BtVS fans need to stick together, a decade after AtS ended. (How can that possibly be?)
no subject
Date: 2014-05-19 02:20 pm (UTC)I've friended you back. Actually I'm surprised I hadn't friended you already. I was totally convinced I had.
no subject
Date: 2014-05-19 03:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-19 04:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-19 11:46 am (UTC)Anyway, very poignant piece! Thanks for sharing!
no subject
Date: 2014-05-19 02:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-20 09:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-20 09:43 pm (UTC)Wow, which is much more explanation than I'd intended. ;-)
no subject
Date: 2014-05-21 03:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-21 07:02 pm (UTC)