A/N: Hello all!
As you may have noticed, this fic is a little something different. This is a BTVS/Skyrim crossover. It was inspired by the (very NC-17) uber-fic "Hellebore" by Chris Cook. You can find it at the Through the Looking Glass story archive (uberwillowtara stories). It will help to have a little bit of familiarity with the province of Skyrim, though you can find links to a map and images of some of the places described in my profile.
I have "recently" been on a Willow/Tara kick (as in "they've been my entire life for the last three years"). So, this is a work of femmeslash fanfiction and if that is not your cup of tea, please brew yourself something else. I'm not sure how long this will be or how often it will be updated, but I hope you enjoy the ride.
Thanks for tuning in!
The normally solemn city of Windhelm was abuzz with activity.
A new trading vessel had just arrived at the city docks, rumored to be carrying all sorts of exotic wares. The shopkeepers, nearly salivating with the idea of this fresh wealth, were busy cleaning their shops and putting their best merchandise on display. They all hoped to strike deals that would be talked about for years to come. At the docks themselves, a small army of man, elf, and beast moved around the large ship, fastening sails, hoisting boxes, and preparing cargo to move. A crowd of spectators lined the stone walls of the city, craning their necks to watch every individual piece of action.
Amidst the relative chaos, a gentle-looking blonde woman stood perfectly still and silent at the end of an empty stone dock. The cool wind blew her hair off of her shoulders as she stared out to the Sea of Ghosts. She held no interest for the spectators of the new ship and thoroughly enjoyed the space that they gave her. It was rare that she got moments to herself as the farm in which she resided was always a hive of activity. She was thankful to have an excuse to get away for a while, even if it was only to the city to watch a ship dock.
She took a deep breath of the chilly, salty air and closed her eyes, tuning out the sounds of the docks for a moment. The sound of the water moving filled her ears as a small wave crashed against the dock she was standing on and splashed water against the bottom of her skirt. She smiled to herself.
"M-miss Tara!"
The woman started, her clear blue eyes snapping open and she turned her head to find the person that had called her name. She searched for a moment before landing on a tall, lanky young man with scraggly light-brown hair scurrying carefully through the crowd surrounding the ship. When she met his eyes, he made his way over to her, his nerves evident in his gait.
"Miss Tara," he repeated, bowing his head slightly as he stopped a few feet from her.
"I've told you before, Roeth," the woman said softly, pulling his attention back to her. "Just call me Tara."
The young man's cheeks and ears reddened in embarrassment as he nodded quickly.
Roeth was one of the newest employees of Chillstream Manor, the farm just outside Windhelm at which Tara worked. Tara doubted that the young man had ever even seen snow until he had arrived at the farm, but he seemed to be adjusting well. At barely twenty years old, he was eager to work hard and see more of the world. He was a nice young man, if a little more formal than Tara was used to.
"O-of course, Mi-uh... Tara," Roeth stuttered.
"Thank you." She smiled kindly at him. "Now, how can I help you?"
Roeth held up a folded and sealed piece of parchment that looked to Tara as if it had seen better days.
"Th-this letter arrived for you this morning by messenger. I was unable to find you to give it to you earlier."
"Well, you found me eventually," Tara joked. Roeth merely blushed again as he glanced warily around the docks.
"It was with m-much searching," he muttered, holding out the letter. Tara turned fully from the edge of the docks and took the letter from the young man.
"Thank you, Roeth."
The young man nodded again and stepped back as Tara glanced at the address printed on the front of the letter in a familiar, messy scrawl.
Lady Tara
Chillstream Manor
Windhelm
She slipped her finger under the seal of the letter and broke it, careful not to tear the paper. She was about to fold it open when she noticed that Roeth was still standing there; she had expected him to scarper off like he usually did.
"Was there something else?" she asked carefully. He blushed again.
"Ald was concerned when I couldn't find you this morning. I will have to tell him where I found you..." Roeth trailed off nervously.
"And?" Tara sighed, knowing where the conversation was quickly headed.
"And you know that he will not approve of you spending time with these..." he lowered his voice dramatically, "Creatures."
Tara arched an eyebrow at the young man as he continued to glance around as if he were being watched.
On the docks around them, several Argonians and a few elves bustled about, now beginning to offload the wares from the large ship. The lizard-men stood on the gangplanks while passing crates back and forth, using their scaly tails to help them balance on the uncertain surface. One particular Argonian was marking off items on a list as he walked the deck of the ship. The few elves in the area were rolling lengths of rope and checking sails.
If there was one thing that she did not enjoy about her life at Chillstream Manor, it was that her employers were not very accepting of the elves and beastfolk living in Windhelm. Ald would rather see the Grey Quarter, the city's dark elf community, walled off and segregated from the rest. The man was also quite outspoken about his distaste for the Argonians that called the city home. Tara could argue all she wanted with him, but she knew that they would never see eye to eye.
"These creatures are people just like the rest of us," Tara scolded gently, pulling Roeth's attention back to her with her warning tone. "And where I choose to spend my time off in the city is none of Ald's concern. I am a grown woman."
Roeth flushed even harder.
"O-of course, Miss Tara."
Tara was about to open her mouth to correct him again when he turned on his heel and walked off quickly, obviously uncomfortable with the situation. She sighed heavily as she watched him go. It was only after Roeth had disappeared through the city gates that Tara turned her attention back to the letter he had come to deliver. She unfolded the battered paper and read the brief note.
Meet me at the usual place. We have a lot to talk about.
Tara's eyebrow quirked once more.
"Short and sweet," she mused, casting her gaze once more on the sparkling water surrounding the dock. She took a deep breath of the cool, salty air, expelling it in a heavy sigh. The dingy scrap of paper crumpled easily in her fist.
"She must have something important to tell me."
Most homes in the province of Skyrim were compact with single bedrooms on the lower floors and in basements to maximize the heat from the fireplaces. Farms were slightly larger, generally with several rooms for family and employees, as well as large kitchens and storage areas. Chillstream Manor, however, was a different story entirely.
The gigantic, three-level manor sat just across the river from Windhelm, surrounded by lush fields of wheat, leeks, and lettuce. A few outbuildings housed stables, a mill, and a smith. It was almost large enough to be considered a small town. The manor itself boasted seven bedrooms on the upper levels along with a sprawling master suite and kitchen on the main level. It was large enough to house the owner and his family as well as the entire staff of hands that worked the farm.
Tara had been lucky enough to be hired by Ald and and his wife Lieske when she was fifteen years old. She happily left her place at the orphanage in Riften to help tend the crops and do other odd jobs around the farm. She took shifts with the other employees to sell their goods in the Windhelm market when there was little to do and often helped the hired cook prepare meals for their large group. A few times a year, she and Ald would take some of their goods to other cities to sell and trade with other merchants. And, as her decade of service made her the longest-employed hand at the farm, Tara had been given her own bedroom.
Tara tossed a billowy, white cotton shirt onto her bed next to several others of varying color. Standing with her hands on her hips, she carefully contemplated the assortment. After a few moments, she picked up the white shirt and its light blue cousin and folded them neatly into the travel bag laying open at the foot of her bed.
A quiet knock sounded from the doorway and Tara glanced up to see the wife of her employer, Lieske, leaning against the door frame with a frown on her face.
"Going somewhere?" the elder Nord woman asked.
"Riften," Tara replied quietly, moving back to her wardrobe and replacing the shirts that she had decided against. "I'm leaving in the morning."
"I trust Ald is sending you with some goods to sell?" Lieske asked, though Tara was quite sure that she meant it more as a statement.
Tara glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow as she picked out a few pairs of riding pants.
"I wouldn't be going otherwise."
Lieske hummed in response. She watched quietly as Tara bustled around her room, picking items from various drawers and adding them to her still-open pack.
"You always over-pack when you visit Riften," Lieske observed after a few minutes, her tone very slightly accusatory. Tara stiffened and froze in the process of packing a small dagger, the weapon suspended briefly over the leather bag before she dropped it in. "It is only half a day's ride from here. Is there something you'd like to tell me?"
Tara sighed softly as she folded over the flap of her traveling pack and secured the straps to hold it closed. She lifted it briefly to test its weight, dropping it back onto her bed when she found it to be light enough.
She knew that she was entering dangerous territory with Lieske. Too much information could have her banned from Riften. Too little, and she would never be allowed to leave the farm again. She decided to try a more opaque approach.
"What is it that you came here for, Lieske?" Tara asked after several moments of tense silence. "I know that it wasn't just to interrogate me about my trip."
"I only meant to find out where you were going. You have to be careful-"
"I was there at dinner," Tara said sarcastically, staring the older woman in the eye. "You don't have to reiterate what Ald said."
Lieske blushed, looking somewhat abashed.
"My husband only means to protect you and I agree with him. Whether that means spending less time at the docks with the animals or taking fewer trips to Riften," Lieske chided.
Tara frowned, the ever-present irritation flaring within her. She didn't think the Argonians and Dunmer that worked at the docks to be animals at all. They were people just like the Nords of Windhelm and deserved to be treated with the same respect rather than insulted at every turn. And her trips to Riften had nothing to do with anything, she thought. So, she schooled her irritation into resolve as she crossed her arms over her chest.
"Then I will tell you the same thing I told him when he barked his message of 'protection' at me in the main hall," Tara said. "Where and with whom I prefer to spend my time is, frankly, none of your business. I am twenty-five years old and more than capable of taking care of myself. I don't need you or Ald peering over my shoulder at every turn."
"But Tara," Lieske began, her voice raising in decibel as she took a cautious step toward the younger woman, "Accepting these creatures as men... It is not the Stormcloak way. If you would like to continue living comfortably at this farm and earning a wage, then you would be wise to remember your Stormcloak values." Lieske tilted her chin defiantly. "We don't have to allow you to stay."
Tara's blue eyes flashed in a moment of very uncharacteristic anger as she stared at Lieske; that had been a low blow. Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, she took hold of the strap of her traveling pack.
"I am no Imperialist," she stated calmly and firmly. "And I am certainly no Stormcloak."
She flung her traveling pack over her shoulder and strode past her employer to the door, throwing it open as she spoke.
"I'll aim to be back next week. Don't wait up."
With that, Tara walked briskly from the room and through the halls of Ald and Lieske's manor. She reached the main entrance in a matter of minutes, earning several curious glances from the other hands as she went. Finally, she pushed through the heavy doors and stepped out into the cold evening air of Eastmarch.
It would be a simple matter to stay the night at the inn and set off for Riften in the morning as she had planned. But, if she was being honest with herself, the conversation with Lieske had gotten her very worked up.
Tara's calm nature usually allowed her a very long time before her anger would get the better of her. The encounter with Roeth that morning had irked her, but not terribly. It was worse at dinner earlier that evening when her employer, Ald, had admonished her for being anywhere near those "nasty creatures" in front of the entire staff of the farm. She had managed to keep her composure with some trouble. Lieske's contribution had been the last straw and Tara knew that she had to leave before things got ugly.
Tara was as Nord as they came: Tall, broad-shouldered, and fair-haired with eyes the color of the cloudless sky on a clear spring morning. She believed in hard work and good ale. Heavy swords, large axes, and tightly-strung bows were like child's play to her. She loved to sail when she had the chance and enjoyed picking away at her lute on occasion. And she preferred to worship all the gods of her culture, regardless of the ban put in place by the Empire.
At the same time, she was also a student in the varied magical disciplines, studying spells that caught her eye and learning a few when she could. For fun, she sometimes brewed her own potions and sold them at the street market in Solitude. And she particularly enjoyed mingling with people from all over Tamriel; she was interested in learning about all races and held none to be more superior over the others.
It was those very non-Nord traits that made Tara's relationship with her "family" so strained. They would never tire of explaining to her how the elves, Khajiit, and Argonians of Skyrim were so beneath them. They never listened to reason, no matter how many times she gave them evidence that these people were clearly as strong as Nords in their own ways.
And, if their racial prejudices weren't enough, Ald's brother Vlad had helped to set off the war against the Empire that brewed all around them. One day, they had received news that the High King was dead in Solutide. Within a few weeks, Vlad burst through the city gates at Ulfric Stormcloak's back along with several hundred other men. They claimed to be the true Nords fighting for their culture and heritage against an Empire that only sought to unite all cultures and heritages. Though Tara had no particular fondness for the Empire, she also disagreed with the causes that this new radical group fought for.
Just thinking about it now was making Tara more angry.
She did her best to remain as neutral as possible, but it was extremely difficult when she was surrounded by only one side of the war. Perhaps, she thought, it would be best to set off for Riften tonight. She would arrive much earlier than necessary for her meeting, but she could use that time to decompress a little bit. Perhaps, after her meeting, she could do a little bit of traveling; visit a few friends and disconnect from the war for a few weeks. She could spend some time in Whiterun, possibly make a name for herself there. If she did that, she would only have to return to Windhelm to retrieve her few possessions and move them to her new home.
Tara found herself nodding as she pondered, wondering why she had never had that idea before.
The answer was simple, she thought. She had never been angry enough.
She would set off for Riften tonight, she decided. Assuming she did not run into any trouble, she should make it by mid-morning the next day.
And then, maybe she could have a few tankards of good mead to blow off some steam.
