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Swan Song of Reflection

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***Buffy-1***


 

It was Sunday, a sunny day and a picture of the perfect warm spring day. The sky was blue, cloudless, and birds were singing their songs.

It was a weird thought … but she was glad to be dying on such a day.

Her two previous deaths happened in the dark.

Her first death was when she was merely sixteen years old – as a Slayer she was about two years old at the time, and she died away from home and she left them, her friends and family alone with danger. She didn't want to die on that day.

Her second time was at daybreak; she had nice view on the rising sun when she jumped from that tower. As of wanting to die at that time – she is still unsure if that was what she wanted but she knew that she could not let Dawn jump. Her little sister had her whole life ahead of her. A family of her own and a little house with picket white fence – the whole nine yards.

In comparison, what did Buffy have to look forward to?

Death that's what and she made peace with that fact – that she would die before her time. So she jumped, because now she could save her sister from dying – and it had nothing to do with saving the world. Besides unlike before with her first death when the Master walked – Glory most certainly did not.

Though she was still bleeding out, from the gunshot wound, she wheezed in amusement. Just like now.

Warren was somebody that will be caught by the police … no matter their incompetence when dealing with the supernatural – Warren Mears was not supernatural, crazy yes – supernatural no.

"Hang on, Buff." Xander was kneeling beside her on the grass, which smelled very nice, as freshly mowed grass usually does; oh and there were violets and daisies that the lawnmower missed because of their low steams. They smelled very nice too.

Xander pulled his T-shirt off and pressed it to the gunshot wound on her upper chest. It didn't hurt. She didn't feel anything, though she could feel blood pooling beneath her back. Another white blouse ruined by blood. But hey nothing lasts forever in her line … of work that she gets no pay for, only bills.

When she thought of dying … before being handed the death sentence – being called as The Slayer, she hadn't thought about it.

Death was an abstract thought.

Until Celia died in the hospital.

Then she was chosen and at the beginning death was something to be scoffed at. It won't happen to her; how can it when she is stronger than the ones she fights?

Others died - people, teens, and her schoolmates. And then her Watcher sacrificed his life for her.

It was no longer a game.

She didn't want to … no, she didn't want to be the Slayer any more, but she did want, desperately even, to help, to save people from the vampires that massacred her friends at the school dance.

She did that – staked Lothos and hunted down his remaining minions, before her trip on the back of the Pike's motorcycle to Vegas.

Then when Giles read that prophecy … she died again, but she went there by her own choice. She thought that her choice was an informed one. It wasn't; it was a pity that Giles was focusing on the big print, and forgot to explore the angles or little print, if he did then the Master would have never walked out of that cave.

And now Warren Mears, one of the nerd trio, apparently decided to go to the dark side of dorkiness, not the cute kind …the evil kind.

The sky was blue, with hardly any clouds and like before, when she took the leap to save Dawn, she knew that her family will be all right in the end.

R.I.P.

Warrior of the people, friends, and sister

Buffy Anne Summers – third time’s the charm, may she find peace in the afterlife

Born January 19, 1996 – third death on the 19th of March 2017


 

 

***Tara - 1***


 

It was nice to be woken by sunlight and the songs from birds and her lover waking up with her again. Tara was content. She and Willow were together again and she was back in the Summers' residence. It was hard being away from Dawn and Buffy; her family, her sisters, by choice. She smiled at Willow who pulled on a white shirt. She idly wondered how long it would take for this shirt to retain its pristine snow white color.

"Hey, clothes," Willow said, and Tara's smile winded.

"Don't get too used to them."

"Yes ma'am." Willow reached over to her and pulled her into a kiss. The kiss was full of softness, tenderness, and love.

Opening her eyes, Tara saw Buffy in the garden – through the window – poking at something. Perhaps Buffy will take up a hobby of gardening. Maybe she should suggest it to her; Buffy was stressed to a breaking point, and patrolling was hardly a healthy stress reliever. And then she saw another figure approaching Buffy from behind.

"Mmmm…Xander," she murmured. Willow pulled away and gave her a very funny look.

"Okay, not quite the response I was fishing for." Willow pouted.

Tara smiled. "No, silly, he's here, look." Tara went closer to the window, Willow following close behind – they looked to see Xander standing before Buffy and talking to her.

Willow looked over her two best friends with hopeful eyes, "Think they're making up?"

Tara sighed, how she wished that they would. But both had a point, and neither was really wrong or entirely right.

"I hope so," she told Willow as she turned her back to the window, feeling the warmth of the sun.

"That is the best part," she told Willow.

"Yep, except, they are not at all the couple-y kind of best part," Willow started to babble, and Tara smiled at the quiet normalcy of the day.

The babble of her lover was interrupted with a THUNK sound in the window behind her, and a searing – but short pain at the middle of her back, between her shoulder blades – then she felt nothing.

One moment she was talking to Willow, the next she was hearing Willow's distant voice calling for her and seeing Willow's front splattered in blood.

Her happy Willow face was twisted into horror and pain now. Was she hurt? She was splattered with blood.

Tara took one step; she was losing feeling in her legs, her arms, but all she saw was the blood on Willow's white shirt.

"Your shirt …" she heard herself say from a great distance and then … black spots colored her vision

R.I.P.

Gentle soul, lover, and friend

Tara Maclay – may she find peace in the afterlife.

Born January 16, 1995 – died on the 19th of March 2017


 

*** Cersei - 1***


 

Queen, I am a Queen, no I'm The Lannister Queen, she thought as she stood before the mirror that hung on the wall, one of many in the Queen's Ballroom. She liked to spend her time here.

The main room was spacious and connected to the gardens, with fourteens, trimmed shapes of shrubbery and all manner of roses. The solar itself was enormous, the size of two solar that her father had at Casterly Rock, and there lined with mirrors that reflected light, so it was bright inside for the entire day.

Spending time here always brought peace to her, especially now when her movements were restricted due to her condition.

Fortunately, Robert was leaving her alone now that she was with his first child. And yes this child was his, not her darling Jamie's. Robert was even now finding company with various ladies, taverns wenches, and whores. She could already picture a half dozen bastards being conceived at this very moment to compliment the already existing ones.

He better be a good father to this little one, Cersei thought as she smoothed her hand over her big abdomen, as Robert was already proving to be a horrid husband to her. But that was the kind of man Robert Baratheon was, with his drinking and then taking her without regards to her opinions, her thoughts, like she was just a piece of lamb spread for his pleasure. Like those tavern wenches, serving girls and really any women that crossed his path.

She was not a lamb, or a doe to his stag; Queen Cersei was a lioness of Casterly Rock. And no Stag King would demine her so. She'll not allow it, she thought, her nails biting into her hand when she clenched her fists, and then patted her protruding belly when she felt movement from her baby in her womb.

The child was due to be born any day now or so Maester Pycelle says. When Maester Pycelle informed her that she was with child, Jamie was in the Eyrie doing a task appointed to him by Robert's Hand Lord Arryn, and he was there for three months already. So Cersei was certain this child was Robert's.

How Robert boasted his virility that he managed to put a child in her in the first month of their marriage. She was tempted, for a moment, to use Moon's Tea, to purge herself of his seed, but the risk of using it, at that point of her pregnancy, stopped her hand. Besides this was still her child as well.

"You are still beautiful, sweet sister," a deep voice of her twin, her dearest love, interrupted her. "Even, when you are about three sizes bigger than normal," Jamie teased her, as he always did, when she had grown the size of the Iron Throne.

"He is going to be big," she stated, watching him in the mirror as he approached her. His steps fluid and long, his golden hair shone in the sunlight and nicely offset the brilliant white of his cloak.

"Or a she," Jamie added, and hugged her from behind, leaning his chin on her shoulder and looking at them both in the mirror.

She shook her head. "Maester Pycelle stated that it's a boy, a Prince. It is why my belly is so big, and why I crave meat so much." She looked down sighing. "I cannot even see my feet and my back is aching terribly."

"Pain in the foot, sweet sister?"

She shot him a pleading look. "Yes."

"Well, now, what kind of brother would I be, if I didn't relieve my sweet sister's pain?" With those words, Jamie guided her to a settee, where she usually reclined in a half seated half lying position. He used soft plushy pillows to back up Cersei's aching back and took off her slippers to massage her foot. Something he was doing a lot lately. All the while Robert was whoring, eating, and drinking. If he continued like this he would lose his attractive physique, his only redeeming quality – Cersei thought with spite, who'd have known that under that coal black haired, with sapphire blue eyes, all broad shouldered and muscled like a maiden's fantasy, hid such a whoring drunkard of a foolish buffoon.

"So where is my husband? Hunting boars or fucking whores?" she asked just for courtesy sake, she really didn't care at the moment.

"Hunting boars with spears, I bowed out of that, fortunately," Jamie informed her with a smirk and a kiss on her lips. She bit back a moan of pleasure. Jamie's mouth, while often demanding, was always gentle and he always took care to smell fresh of peppermint. Not rough and hard like Roberts who often stank of drink, other women, and sweat of a horse and men.

But that was Robert; he left all concerns of the realm to his Hand of the King and small council … but barred her from attending in his place. He didn't even attend council meetings. All he cared about was fucking, eating, drinking, and hunting.

"Don't scowl so, sister," Jamie said, tearing her away from her thoughts of Robert. "You'll get wrinkles."

"Yes well…" she winced as a pain cut through her, spreading like fire in her back and lower stomach. It was worse than the pain when her moon's blood comes. And suddenly there was a puddle of water beneath her.

But Jamie was already yelling at her ladies in waiting and maids to fetch the Maester, and he lifted her up and took her to the room that had been prepared for birthing beforehand.

"What in Seven Hells is going on?" Robert Baratheon's voice boomed.

"Queen has gone to labor, Your Grace," Jamie answered for her.

She however could only glare – but in the small corner of her heart, a corner where there is a wish for a happy marriage – despite Robert's insistence on whispering another woman's name at night – she hoped that her husband would stay and support her through the ordeal.

Robert just looked at her and then turned away – that beastly man. Robert could boast about blood and conquest and old battles, but when it came to Cersei's battle in the Bed of Blood, he turned away.

He could brag about how he defeated Prince Rhaegar Targaryen at the Trident, conveniently forgotten that the dragon Prince left him heavily wounded after their battle. All what mattered was that Robert spilled his enemies' blood.

But he cowered at the mere mention of a woman's blood.

Cersei stifled a groan as a sharp pain washed over her once more and tightly fisted the sheets beneath her in repose of that pain. She won't scream; the pain was not so unbearable.

"I'll go on the hunt, to celebrate my son's birth!" Robert exclaimed to the Kingsguard standing outside. "We'll hunt a stag for the Royal table tonight. Saddle the horses, gather the men, and bring the hunting dogs, we'll leave the Queen to her women's work."

With that he left and Grand-maester Pycelle walked in, maids with fresh linen following behind him. His bald, spotted head, with sparse hair – unlike his hair, his beard was long and snowy that ran down to his chest, where his two dozen maester's chain laid. Forged from: six links of Valyrian steel for magic and the occult. Six links black iron for ravenry. Six links of yellow gold for math and economics and six links of silver for medicine, healing, and the functions of the body. All this came out nicely on his wears, not the boring grey robes worn by most masters. Pycelle, who was her father's man, wore a red velvet robe with an ermine collar and golden fastenings.

Her observations could not distract her from the pain and she screamed.

And Septa told her that ladies don't scream, she thought as a pain like she never felt before ripped through her abdomen, like her insides were on fire.

If she saw that Septa again after giving birth, she'll throw her in a cell for being a liar.

Feeling a wet cloth on her scalding forehead, cooling the fires there, Cersei looked up and saw Lady Bella, her mothers Joanna, cousin from Lanisport, dabbing her forehead.

Lady Bella Lannister, Cersei thought, was as old as her mother would have been if Tyrion didn't kill her. Sometimes she wondered why lady Bella wasn't married or became Septa, since she was highly educated, if she had been born a man she would surely have become a maester. In any case Cersei was glad that she decided to stay with her at the capital. Perhaps she'll takeover as a governess for her children.

***

Cersei had been in the birthing bed for hours at this point, screaming, grunting, and panting every time she felt her womb tighten. Once she gives birth to her golden son, she'll become a real Queen and the most powerful woman in the realm for mothering the Crown Prince. And if her husband died, she hoped that he would fall off the bed of some whore and break his neck, and then she could be the Regent and rule for her son. It was the only thoughts that kept her from losing consciousness and just give up on the whole process.

"I can see the head," Maester Pycelle proclaimed, "girl fetch a linen blanket for the babe," he commanded. Then he turned his beady eyes to her.

"It's time to push, Your Grace; I can already see the head of our Prince," Maester Pycelle, who was kneeling in front of her, said.

Cersei hoped so, because that brought on more pain. It was a type of pain, which bubbled in her abdomen and dug in like the sharpest dagger which shot through her veins. Her muscles clenched and she felt tears stream down her cheeks and mingle with the sweat that dripped down her forehead.

She felt a big, rough hand grab her right hand… Jamie, she knew without looking – Septa and a maid helped with supporting her legs.

"One more, sweet sister, one more and everything will be over…" Jaime whispered in her ear as he continued to hold her hand, and her eyes squeezed tight and were lined with wrinkles. She could feel her skin stretch and tear as the baby moved out. It burned more than the fires of Seven Hells.

"Ahhhhh!!!" She roared as the lioness she was and worked with force that she had pushing the baby outside of her body.

There was a loud cry.

"It's a boy, a black haired boy," Pycelle states, taking the wailing baby and washing it up, and then giving him to the maid to wrap in swaddling linen.

"You did it sister," Jaime whispered again and kissed the crown of her head before wiping the cold sweat from her brows.

But Cersei had no time to demand her son; she let out another surprised scream as another wave of rolling pain hit her, and reflexively she pushed again.

"Maester! There is another head!" called out Septa; well maybe, Cersei won't throw her into the cell for her previous remark.

"Hmm, oh!" And with that Pycelle hurried back at his place, to pull another baby out of her. "Push again, your majesty," he urged her.

And with a grunt and another yell she did just that –

"By the Seven," Cersei heard Septa whisper. "There are two."

The maid that was supporting her leg turned around and grabbed linen to wrap up the two new babies, the first of them that Pycelle was washing. The second one Lady Bella Lannister was carefully washing in the basin.

Those babies were quiet, not making any sounds. There were no cries at the birth, like there were with her boy. Only silence.

"Why are they not crying?" she asked. Fear gripped her as she saw Lady Bella call for the maester; Maester Pycelle's reaction when he came over to her didn't calm her down.

They were looking at the third baby, now cleaned of blood, with a shocked expression on their faces.

"Err, hem," Pycelle coughed delicately as he quickly swathed the third bundle that came out of her.

"What's happening!?! Why are my babies not crying?" she asked in a panicked tone and the maester and Lady Bella suddenly snapped from their trance.

"Nothing's wrong with the two Princesses, Your Grace. Their hearts are beating normally," Maester Pycelle answered and scrambled about with a baby in his hands.

So she had a son and two girls. But why were Pycelle and the maids, and now Lady Bella, looking at her third daughter so strangely. The thought that there was something wrong with her child was like a barbed-vice sneer constricting her heart.

"You heard what they said, Cersei, your daughters are fine; you should stop shaking. I'll go check on her," Jaime said as he let go of her hand and went to Maester Pycelle, who was just standing there with her youngest, her older sister already linen-wrapped in a cooing maid's arms. Cersei wanted to tear the child away from her and slap her – but she was too focused on the worry of the strange looks aimed at her third child, which remedied that violent need.

But her confusion only grew as Jaime shared the same look as Maester Pycelle when his eyes landed on the baby in the Maesters arms.

"Jaime?" she called out. "What's wrong?" she asked again.

"Nothing's wrong, sweet sister," he said as he took the baby now wrapped in a warm white fabric from Maester Pycelle. He walked towards her, still looking shocked and confused, and his eyes never leave her last baby.

"Give her to me," she commanded and Jaime handed Cersei her daughter, "and bring the oldest daughter and my son as well. I want to see and hold all three of them," she said as she sat up, her hair plastered and clinging to her face, chest, and neck. Cersei didn't care; nothing would keep her away from holding her babies, not even her sweaty and tired appearance.

Jaime carefully placed her tiny, youngest daughter in her arms and Cersei furrowed her brows; there seemed to be nothing wrong with her daughter. The child was looking intently at her with dark blue eyes, like a sky that was darkening into night, and she smiled as she traced the baby's pinkish small, round face.

"She's so beautiful," she murmured as she gently removed the white cloth that covered the baby's body to check if her limbs were complete and to find out what was the reason why the people surrounding her looked so shocked by her perfect daughter.

But a gasp suddenly escaped her lips when she removed the part of the fabric that covered the baby's head.

Her youngest didn't inherit Robert's jet black hair like her boy, as she half expected, instead her hair was blonde, not like the golden blonde hair of the Lannister's but it was the silver gold hair of the Targaryens. Then she blinked, spotting a streak of ebony locks among silver. She heard Jamie chuckle, and then her middle child was thrust forward.

Curls dark as night and eyes green as emeralds greeted her, and a shot of silver hair was among the dark.

"It appears that your two daughters are mirror images of one another," her brother proclaimed. Cersei watched in wonder of how the two infant girls seemed to regard one another, like two lion cubs.

"Your grace, the King is here!" the page outside the door announced and Cersei, along the people surrounding her, glanced to the door.

Robert entered the room, bringing the stench of sweat, dogs, filth, and alcohol with him. His doublet and breeches still bloody from the blood of the animal he had probably killed in success. Cersei frowned disappointedly at the appearance of her husband; didn't he even consider that she and the children were sensitive to dirt and surroundings? That they could still die of fevers?

He had fathered a lot of bastards and she bets that he didn't even care about the birth of those children, she scorned, what he knows other than making them.

"Where's my boy?" he then asked in his slurry voice that made Cersei glare at him, not that he noticed it; he was already drunk.

Maester Pycelle cleared his throat, and then motioned at her son. "Here is the Prince your grace. The Queen gave birth to one son and two daughters."

"Three babies," Robert inquired, "Show me the first born and work down the line," he commanded, a wide smile stretching across his face, a white line in his coal black beard.

"The oldest is our son, my love," Cersei inserted coolly.

"Oh, then show me my boy!" he commanded and Pycelle complied, handing Robert his son. Robert uncovered his son's face, which made baby cry again.

"Oh you'll be a soldier and a fine King." Robert smiled at the crying infant, then handed him to the maid, who stepped forward to take Cersei's son to be fed by a wet nurse that was called in. Cersei knew that the woman was a scullery maid that had given birth five days ago. Idly she wondered if the brat was another one of Roberts.

"He'll be named Prince Steffon the First of his name. Now which girl is next? I'll name her Argella!" When he saw the child he did not comment on the silver streak of her hair among Baratheon black. If he even noticed it in his drunken state; at the corner of her eye she saw Jamie shift.

"And this little one is our youngest." Cersei lifted and showed him the third bundle.

"And her name will be Elenei," Robert ruled as he kneeled by her bed. "Now show me the youngest, give her to me." Cersei carefully handed him the baby and as the man received and studied the princess Elenei, Cersei noted that his face turned into stone as he removed the swaddling cloth and saw the silver hair on their youngest daughter's head.

"She has your eyes," Cersei stated, before he could utter another word, "and" she reached forward to run her fingers through her silvery hair, marveling at the thickness and softness of the texture, to the streak of ebony black "Some of your hair coloring; the other is from your own grandmother Princess Rhaelle Targaryen," she remarked holding that single black strand of night for Robert to see.


 

***Tara – 2***

 

After the pain vanished – she was shot and died in her lover's arms - she found herself floating as though she was immersed in a soft liquid, yet she was not drowning.

Her time passed in quiet conferment, not that she could tell if it had been days, weeks, months, or even hours.

Was she in Heaven?

She felt warm and loved and surrounded by her family – but then a shudder went through her, like a silent whisper – a footfall on her grave- but then another warmth, familiar, bumped by her and the dreadful feeling was gone, and she was again contently floating.

But the wrongness returned, something tugging at her – the warmness beside her felt it to and stirred in worry. Tara recognized the flavor of the tugging that was coming for her … and for Buffy – the Warmness beside her was Buffy.

And so Tara threw up protection after protection around herself and Buffy against the Wrongness. She managed to save herself and Buffy, whose hand had closed on hers.

Some time passed and the space around them, Tara discovered that there was another beside them, shrank around the three of them. Now it felt as if she was in some sort of container – she was suspicious of this, the walls felt fleshy and sometimes she could hear muffled voices behind those walls.

Then an opening appeared a bright light – the other, the person that was with Buffy and her, went and vanished. And then Tara felt a strange urge to rush after; she felt Buffy's finger wrap around her ankle … progress toward the light was gradual and then – light blinded her and for a moment she could not see or hear anything.

Though she could feel the cold air and big hands holding her and then washing her in warm water … tiny body? Was she a baby? Was she just born along with that other person and Buffy as a middle child of triplets?

Goddess! Buffy and her were reincarnated into another life? And she had trouble seeing clearly, all of it was just one big colorful blur. She could hear well though, and her sense of touch was okay. Now she regrets not making sure to remember what she learned in Health class about baby development.

"Why are they not crying?" a woman's voice asked, afraid.

"Err, hem. Nothing's wrong with the two Princesses, Your Grace. Their hearts are beating normally," the gravely old man's voice… wait 'your grace' and 'princesses'?

"What is happening!?! Why are my babies not crying?" she heard the same woman's voice demand; Tara guessed that this was her new mother.

"You heard what they said, Cersei, your daughters are fine, you should stop shaking. I'll go check on her," a man's voice said, this one younger than the first.

Cersei … her new mother's name sounded familiar, why? She heard movement and saw a golden-white blur move towards what Tara assumes was the bed.

"Give her to me," the woman's voice commanded again – but this time Tara could see the colorful blur that was her mother, - Tara thought the woman's hair was a dark blonde and she was lying in a big bed. The man-a gold white blur- gave her something; startled, Tara saw that that 'something' was a baby.

"And bring the oldest daughter and my son as well. I want to see and hold all three of them."

With those words, the woman that was holding her brought her to the bed; Tara could see better the shape of things now. She noticed that the man-gold and white had on golden armor and a white cloak. And blonde hair, and now he was looking her over and Tara could see now that he had green eyes.

And he was grinning and letting out a quiet laugh, and then he brought her all the way to the bed.

"It appears that your two daughters are mirror images of one another," he proclaimed with a suppressed laughter. Tara now had a very good view of her new mother … and a baby … a baby that had a familiar feel, a familiar soul … and that was watching her just as intently as Tara was watching the baby. Tara knew … the other baby WAS Buffy. Without any doubt now Tara settled into the man's arms watching Buffy.

"Your grace, the King is here!"

Everybody faced the entrance – assuming that the bright area everyone was facing was an entrance.

And suddenly there was a – black and green- huge man in the room.

"Where's my boy?" He had a booming voice that slurred a little. Tara shrank back slightly; maybe she made a sound, because the gold armored man – he might be a knight related to her new mother; they do kind of look alike - holding her bounced her a little.

"Here is the Prince, your grace. The Queen gave birth to one son and two daughters," the old man's voice said - he was white and red and gold accompanied by clinking sounds when he walked.

"Three babies," the man inquired, her new father, Tara deduced. "Show me the first born and work down the line," he commanded, and she could see that he was smiling – a white upturned line in the black. He had a beard Tara decided, and very white teeth.

"The oldest is our son, my love," her mother inserted coolly.

"Oh, then show me my boy!" Her father sounded so joyous, and she could see that he was bending over the bundle another woman was holding.

So she had an older brother…again. Tara hoped that he'll be a better brother than Donald was.

"Oh you'll be a soldier and a fine King," her new father said as he straightened. Then he turned so that he was facing her mother, who was holding Buffy, and to the knight who was still holding her.

"He'll be named Prince Steffon Baratheon the First of his name. Now which girl is next? I'll name her Argella!"

What!

Baratheon!

Cersei!

Those names! Now she knew where she heard them. It was in the series of novels that she had read.

Were they born to Westeros – the world that only existed to her in the form of novels!?

As in A Song of Ice and Fire series of novels!?

Oh my Goddess, Tara thought … she was an incest baby!!!!

Robert Baratheon was peering very closely at her and she could see him more clearly … which she supposed was normal, her vision was not yet developed for distance.

Her imagination didn't do the man justice, yes he was handsome, his face was square with a strong chin – or at least what she could see through his coal black beard. He had equally colored coal black hair that fell to his broad shoulders. And his eyes were the color of a deep sea blue and deeply set into his face under bushy eyebrows.

"And this little one is our youngest." Cersei – her mother was Cersei Lannister – and she was a beautiful woman with an oval face, crowned by thick curls of old gold, and had a pointed straight nose above full lips, and large emerald eyes with thick and long eyelashes - lifted and showed Buffy to Robert Baratheon.

Buffy who made a strange face? Did she read the books as well? Did Buffy know where they just got reincarnated to?

She never mentioned reading or even having the books!

"And her name will be Elenei," Robert said, he kneeled by her bed. Tara pitied the man; he obviously cared for his children – even if they were all incest babies.

"Now show me the youngest, give her to me." Tara saw how Cersei carefully handed the baby-Buffy over.

But when he removed the swathing cloth - Buffy had silver hair! And then Cersei reached forward and lifted a strand of black hair?

"She has your eyes and," Cersei said as she let the black locks curl around her finger. "Some of your hair coloring; the other is from your own grandmother Princess Rhaelle Targaryen."

Cersei then carefully covered Buffy's head. "Besides that, Robert, sweet Argella has a strand of silver among the Baratheon black, just like dear Elenei has a strand of black among the silver."

Okay so they were not incest babies?

Then Tara remembered Willow perfected telepathic connection magic; maybe she could reach Buffy?

She made eye contact – tried to make her tired new brain work- Tara suspected that she would soon fall asleep, like a baby.

 

'Buffy?' she sent mentally, hoping that the connection link Willow did was still intact even in this new life.

'Tara? I thought it was you.'

'Thank the Goddesses, this worked.'

'Yeah – so just so you know, if I ever get a whiff of Warren he'll wish he was dead. I mean Game of Thrones – I suppose Star Wars would have been worse.'

'How could that be worse; we are incest babies Buffy and …'

'Nope first born – our brother suppose was a true born in the show. He died of a fever later – besides you have black hair.'

'Show?' Tara asked, she could admit however that she forgot that Cersei mentioned that she was born with dark hair.

'Don't sweat it, Tara, you were in shock. And I watched all six seasons, in fact I was going to watch the last episode, but Warren ruined that by shooting me.’

'Us; I died by gunshot – I think –as well.'

'Oh.'

'Yeah – I didn't know there was a show, I just read the books.'

'There are books?'

'Yes, had been for years. Though how did you get … oh perhaps that rumor about King Aerys II Targaryen and Joanna Lannister were true no matter what Pycelle claimed.'

'What rumor – no wait, let me guess that they were lovers while our grandmother was at court?'

'Was that in the show?'

'I don't think so, I'm not sure though. But I was hearing theories that Tyrion is the son of the Mad King.'

'That's unlikely, for one Joanna was not at court when Tyrion was conceived; she was when the twins were however.'

'It would explain my hair color; I got a dose from two lines of grandparents.'

'And the eyes …I think you don't have dark blue but indigo.'

'You do know that indigo is more blue than violet – besides it's its own color in the rainbow.'

 


 

***Buffy – 2***

Well this was officially weirder than usual for her.

One moment she was watching Xander and the blue sky above as he tried to stop her bleeding out from the gunshot. Then the blue turned to white and then black. And now she was floating away in some kind of a liquid cushy thingy.

But she was not alone; there were two others.

Huh that kind of reminded her of the time she was in Heaven, in fact it was the same feeling. Safe, warm, and floating freely without care- and time held no meaning - only before she was alone. Now there were two more people with her.

One of them felt familiar – the gentle feeling she felt around Tara! Did Tara die as well? Then who was the third; she or he didn't feel familiar?

Her days –or hours or months or years – passed in tranquility. She occasionally felt Tara and the other person turn. Because their space was shrinking steadily – but she didn't feel any concern at that fact; in fact there was anticipation inside of her – this was what was supposed to happen.

Then she felt dread – Willow!

She was doing it again!

Pulling her from her Heaven!

But Tara was there and together – but mostly Tara, because Tara apparently still had her magic, Buffy could feel waves of protection rebuffing Willow's grabbing magic and suddenly Willow was gone and the peace returned to their quiet corner.

But then there was a nudge inside their crowded bubble – sometimes she could hear a woman's voice, an old man's voice, and a young voice – and names –that were freakishly familiar – and OKAY she knew NOW that Tara, the other person, and she were in someone's womb. They were unborn babies!

Buffy wondered upon that realization if that happened the first time around and that Willow meddling caused a miscarriage or stillbirth in resurrecting her.

Then a bright light appeared –opening- and she knew that it was time – the third person – no the first born was already on its way followed by Tara, and she just went with the flow and grabbed Tara's kicking heel –

By the way, being squeezed through your, new, mother's vaginal channel was … wiggy and traumatizing – if you knew what was happening. Buffy pretty much imagined that she was squeezed through a tube to preserve some of her sanity.

It was still wigg worthy enough that Buffy didn't make a sound when she popped out –

Huh should an infant's eyes be so sharp?

Because her vision now was just as good as it was when she was … alive…before the shooting incident.

"Why are they not crying?" a woman's voice that she most often heard lately demanded. Maybe she should cry a bit. No need to scare her new mother.

"Err, hem. Nothing's wrong with the two Princesses, Your Grace. Their hearts are beating normally." The gravely old man's voice was familiarly annoying in their groveling quality.

Though the lady bathing her was very pretty, with rounded doe like eyes and a rounded face was all she could see, because besides her face, the woman was completely covered with rough, blue-steel grey, shapeless clothing. Like some sort of nun …and her round mouth was open in disbelief.

Then there was another lady, an older, about forty, she was tall and graceful, with golden hair and grey pinned down at the top of her head and jade eyes, she had a bit of age lines around her mouth and eyes … and she stared as well at her, or rather her head.

Buffy tried to reach the top of her head to see what was so shocking that now two people were staring like they could not believe what they were seeing.

"What is happening!?! Why are my babes not crying?" she heard the same woman's voice demand; curious she looked in the direction of a voice and saw a woman on the bed and a man beside the bed.

Both with golden hair.

Both had green eyes.

Twins!

He was in golden armor and had a brilliant white cloak.

Buffy's thoughts spun at the implication – she had a strange urge to laugh hysterically, because this was so out there – on second thought, being reincarnated into a TV Show was no different than slaying vampires every night! And stopping multiple apocalypses!

"You heard what they said, Cersei, your daughters are fine, you should stop shaking. I'll go check on her," he, Jamie freaking Lannister, was saying and Buffy's eyes zeroed in; he was holding another infant that he passed to another girl standing by – yep it was that creepy maester what's-his face, who was fussing around with another black haired infant. But that infant with blue eyes was looking around a bit more intently – so Buffy guessed that the baby could have been Tara.

But then Jamie was holding her and yep, there it was – expression of shock that really was starting to get old. But boy he was hot! Also apparently her uncle, because if she remembers correctly, the first born was black haired beauty of a boy – well now it was three beauties, a boy and two girls!

"And bring the oldest daughter and my son as well. I want to see and hold all three of them."

Called it!

Jamie gave her to Cersei to hold, and Buffy could see her new mother's face and wow! Her looks would make Scarlett Johansson jealous!

And why did everyone looked so shocked? Buffy wished that somebody would say something!

Then Jamie chuckled and brought over the infant the creepy old pervert had before, all the way to the bed.

"It appears that your two daughters are mirror images of one another."

Ok, she was wrong, she thought as she stared at the bright emerald eyes. Tara was the black haired baby with green eyes and not the one with blue eyes… and was there a lock of her hair that went from the top of to the left side her forehead that was silver?

"Your grace, the King is here!" that came from the door and everyone else turned toward there and …okay Robert wasn't fat yet.

"Where's my boy?" His voice was the same as in the show – though he looked better, yet she really didn't see why there was such fuss about Robert Baratheon-he looked average – he was rugged with mesmerizing sapphire eyes and a square face with skin of the man that was out a lot, oh and sooty black hair and beard.

"Here is the Prince, your grace. The Queen gave birth to one son and two daughters," what's-his-name the old pervert said.

"Three babies, show me the first born and work down the line," Robert said.

"The oldest is our son, my love," her mother inserted coolly and wow was she pissed about something.

"Oh, then show me my boy!"

Buffy angled her head so that she could look. Yep the bouncy baby boy – big brother- had black hair. Ugh that was not hygienic, she thought as she watched Robert poke the fussy child.

"Oh you'll be a soldier and a fine King." Nope, canon says he'll die of a fever. And Joffrey, well Joffrey was not his son – biologically -would be king.

"He'll be named Prince Steffon Baratheon the First of his name. Now which girl is next? I'll name her Argella!"

Tara got a pretty name. Buffy hoped that she'll get a pretty name as well.

She felt the hands holding her shift. "And this little one is our youngest," Cersei said – huh, she'll have to call them mother and father at one point.

Robert came closer, "And her name will be Elenei," he proclaimed, "Now show me the youngest, give her to me."

She supposed the name was pretty enough – Elenei. Not bad, not bad at all. And now King Bob's face was – ruddy and his mouth had gone thin. She gave him her best innocent are-u-mad look.

"She has your eyes and," Cersei said as she ran her fingers through her hair. "Some of your hair coloring, the other is from your own grandmother Princess Rhaelle Targaryen."

Ahh, well Bobby-boy, Karma is a bitch – Buffy was pretty sure that the people from Robert's Targaryen side of the family were laughing themselves silly in their graves – oh yeah royal's tombs- over this curve.

"Besides that, Robert, sweet Argella has a strand of silver among the Baratheon black, just like dear Elenei has a strand of black among the silver."

So, Buffy thought with amusement, we are like total mirror image! Cool.

 

'Buffy?' The sudden voice in her head was startling, but at the same time... comforting.

'Tara? I thought it was you.' She was half expecting something like that. Even though Tara never started this linkage in Sunnydale – it was always Willow.

'Thank the Goddesses, this worked.'

'Yeah – so just so you know, if I ever get a whiff of Warren he'll wish he was dead. I mean Game of Thrones – I suppose Star Wars would have been worse.'

'How could that be worse; we are incest babies, Buffy and …'

'Nope first born – our brother suppose was a true born in the show. He died of a fever later – besides you have black hair.'

'Show?' Tara asked.

'Don't sweat it, Tara, you were in shock. And I watched all six seasons, in fact I was going to watch the last episode, but Warren ruined that by shooting me.’

'Us, I died by gunshot – I think –as well.'

That bastard! He has shoot Tara! 'Oh.'

'Yeah – I didn't know there was a TV show, I just read the books.'

'There are books?'

'Yes, had been for years. Though how did you get … oh perhaps that rumor about King Aerys II Targaryen and Joanna Lannister were true no matter what Pycelle claimed.'

'What rumor?' then she mentally scoffed –'no wait, let me guess that they were lovers while our grandmother was at court?'

'Was that in the show?'

'I don't think so, I'm not sure though. But I was hearing theories that Tyrion was the son of the Mad King.'

'That was unlikely, for one Joanna was not at court when Tyrion was conceived; she was when the twins were however.'

The irony was strong with this one; Tywin hated Tyrion – but prized Jamie and his twin sister. To think he wasn't the natural father of the twins. Oh yeah the irony was strong with this one.

'It would explain my hair color; I got a dose from two lines of grandparents'.'

'And the eyes …I think you don't have dark blue but indigo.'

'You do know that indigo is more blue than violet – besides it's its own color in the rainbow.'

                                       


                                                                                                               

***Somewhere in the darkness of a Great Riff at the Equator of the world***

 

"Well now," a youthful looking man in pointy green hat smiled as his baby-blue eyes landed on the chirping soul birds – Rukh – swirling about.

 "There was another change in the world, just like two years ago. How interesting!" His eyes swam with excitement, and then his eyes closed.

"But I don't wanna leave here; it's nice and dark and quiet!" he fell on the side, his long- braided flaxen blonde hair flopping down like a tail of a despondent puppy.

Yunan really didn't want to leave his cottage in the Riff. Though sometimes he had to – once two years ago to raise a Dungeon for a chance that a child born there would, eventually, capture it.

And now on the other side of the great Riff another King Candidate that had the potential to change the world needed to be guided.

There was one problem however; Yunan was not good with people, crowds and the like. So guiding his King candidate was always problematic for him.

So when Rukh told him to go somewhere, he went, wandering this way and raising Dungeons. And sometimes he dropped a hint to promising individuals.

And the Other side of the Riff was even more loud and chaotic than This side of great Riff.

"But then again," Yunan perked up. "Perhaps I can find a new blend of tea! I haven't been to that side – Westeros or Esoss in a score of centuries."

To be continued.

Next chapter: Slice of Life part 1: Father

(POVs: Ned Stark, Badr of Parthevia, Ren Hakutoku, Sixtus Alexius (OC father of Muu Alexius)