milliways_bar | (no subject)

Melkor peers over Giles' shoulder at the book, instantly understanding the meaning, if not the specifics.

"Dangerous magics for one so fragile."

Giles replied stiffly, "It can be if improperly applied. However, it remains highly useful to study thoroughly, rather than cavalierly using it." The fact is, there was times that he had to use extremely dangerous magic for good reason. Also for bad reasons, but that was before he understood the effects completely.
"Otherwise, one does not know the price one is paying to utlise such powers."

Melkor sits nearby.

"Yes," he all but hisses. "There is always a price to consider."

Giles frowned at that, getting a sense of unease from talking to this individual. And a innate sense of wrongness permeated the air.

"Yes, only most realize this fact too late."

"So true. You are unexpectedly wise for a Man. How are you called?"

Giles caught the implication of that sentence in a moment. Of course, it had long been believed that names held power, and it was unwise for a magic practioner to give away their true name. Lest their enemies could hold power over them, or destroy them. Plus, using the term, 'man' in a such way, implied that this being was not so. Possibly one of power as he was warned about? And his instincts were warning him that yes, powerful, and dangerous.

He nodded, "My thanks. I am called Giles by many." Which was true.

"May I inquire as to how you are called?"

The care that Giles takes in answering is not lost on Melkor. He is one who understands the power of Naming. He must tread carefully with this one.

"I am he who is named Morgoth Bauglir."

Giles nodded, but inwardly his mind of knowledge was hard at work. That name seemed familiar, perhaps he had read it somewhere long ago? The implications of the name suggested demonic connotations, or very least, a being of age and power. Bugger, he should know this.

"I see." Was his only reply.

How long since you brushed up on your Tolkien, Giles?

"And what manner of Man are you that requires books on such magics?"

Giles had read all of the books back in his Oxford days before he took his rebellious leave. He had casually flipped through them on occasion, but his pursuits had taken him elsewhere. He had some leisure when he had been fired from the Council, and without employment. But most of his reading remained on what was coming, and what creature had been drawn to the Hellmouth. So while he recognized the name from the book, and was beginning to get a sense of which, he still couldn't pinpoint the exact source. Much less the being's nature.

He simply remarked, "A teacher, a guide, and a researcher who has need for such topics." He certainly wasn't going to bring up that he still uses magic at times, or how handy he was with a sword. Or a chainsaw...

Melkor narrows his eyes. "It must be a very strange school indeed."

"Perhaps, but important and highly necessary." Giles replied, attempting to keep a note of defense out of his voice.

"Is that so? What is it that you teach, then, Giles?"

"A variety of highly practical subjects." Giles skirted the issue, especially since he was increasingly getting a sense of a deathly chill from this being.

Melkor leans forward, turning his soulless eyes up to him for the first time.

"Practical subjects such as Elementary Demonic Binding, perhaps?"

Giles started at that, noting the eyes. Eyes of darkness, of the Void. God in heaven... who is this?

He stiffly replied, "Important subjects of merit. That is all."

"You are very careful with your words, Giles. You guard them fiercely, as though they would fly from you without your hand. What do you fear?"

He does not merely speak the question; he extends his will, pushing on the boundaries of the Watcher's mind like a wave against a sea wall.

"Where I come from, caution is the tool of the wise against great danger." Giles said.

But then oh... bugger and felching hell. His hands tightened into fists as he felt his mind being assaulted, and all of his Watcher training rose to the surface, shoring up the supports.

He was softly muttering and vibrating in an undertone, 'Yeshua.' The Rose Cross, a simple but surprisingly effective shield for the moment. And there were other spells he knew of as well.

The light flares across Melkor's inner sight as the shield pushes him back.

"Surprising," he murmurs.

He thrusts his thoughts forward again, more focused, honed like a blade. One little chink, one small doubt or insecurity is all he needs to slip through.

Giles does not reply, since he remained focused on his shields, not daring to let them slip for a second. But the change in the probe has him searching for something more effective.

He murmered to himself, since he had no foci to assist. None but words. "Mentis protis, venite spirtus vente, ignis, pluvae, terra. Gabriel, Raphael, Michael, Uriel, venite!"

But that brief search was enough to drop his guards a little for a fraction of a second.

Just a subtle shift, but it's enough to open a pinprick of a hole. Melkor narrows his focus even more and slips through, past the first line of defenses, and into the man's outer mind.

The curiosity about this person has grown too great, and Melkor must know the truth of him. He aims to press deeper, into the core of his psyche.

Giles grimaced as he felt something powerful begin to invade his mind, and he cries, "No, stop. Ferri incurso!" But now his will was beginning to falter.

No, I can still stop you. Get out! But that only caused some memories to surface, when the First Slayer attacked their minds after they combined their essences to stop Adam.

Desperately, he attempted to create a mental feedback loop.
I'll tip my hat to the new constitution
Take a bow for the new revolution
Smile and grin at the change all around
Pick up my guitar and play
Just like yesterday
Then I'll get on my knees and pray
We don't get fooled again
No, no!

Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.

As the formidable mind fights with itself, Melkor dances through the pauses, weaves through the rests, and shoves his way through to find the source of this strange Man's power.

And picking up his darkest fear while he's at it would just be a bonus.

Primarily while Giles taught himself magic, he really didn't have natural ability as far as he knew. Not like Willow. It was all based on knowledge, practice and training.

His source was his immense library of knowledge, of facts known and obscure on the magical, the supernatural, the paranormal, the scientific, the historical, the literary, even performing arts.

One of his fears was once already realized. His Slayer, his surrogate daughter, Buffy, lying dead, and he could do nothing to stop it. Because she had to sacrifice herself to save them all. He had failed as a Watcher, allowing his charge to die. And when Willow turned to dark magic, and he was away, unable to stop it, but to only come back to redeem her, to redeem himself and his failures.
All of these were not fears but memories now.

Yet, some persisted, like if they had lost of all their team in the Last battle of Sunnydale's Hellmouth. They were all alive, he was certain, and no more had fallen into darkness. But the fear persisted.

Melkor takes all of this in, sifting through the Man's -- the Watcher's -- memories like sand falling between fingers.

The concept of the Slayer fascinates him, and he absorbs much of these memories and learned histories as well.

As he prepares to back out, he comes across another interesting tidbit -- his own name. With a dark smirk, he blows the dirt off that memory, shines it up, and places it where Mr. Rupert Giles would be sure to see it. Figuratively speaking, of course.

And then, as suddenly as he was in, he's out, peering at Giles from without his head instead of within once more.

"You intrigue me, Rupert."