A/N: Hello, all. I return triumphantly with the next installment of The Reach. As you probably noticed, I took a long time posting this. This is one of those filler-y, plot-setup-y chapters that I had quite a struggle getting out. This is the fifth version of this chapter, which ultimately ended up being a mash-up of what I had already decided was complete (which I'd like to note is a far cry from the original concept) and the beginnings of chapter 12 that didn't feel quite right. You could say I was reaching by the time it was finished. (Sorry, I'll see myself out)
All of that aside, I hope you enjoy it. There is a flashbacky portion denoted by ITALICS. Next chapter will hopefully be the last boring one before we get back into the action. Or perhaps I'll end up with six failed versions and one success that is nothing like the original idea... We shall see. :)
Tara felt the awareness of her surroundings sharpen slowly into focus as she woke from her sleep. The first thing she noted was the unfamiliar bed beneath her, a rather comfortable mattress compared to her nearly threadbare and lumpy one at the manor. It was covered by a soft cotton sheet that felt cool on her skin, though she herself was not cold with a light, tightly-knit blanket covering her. Though her eyelids were closed, she could see the orange glow of the sun shining in through a window and illuminating the room around her with its early morning light.
She knew that she was not at the manor, nor was she in her usual room at the inn in Riften. Tara remembered, through a series of images behind her eyelids, the men that had accosted her and Faith, their trip through the sewers, and their arrival at the farmhouse in the woods. The inconspicuous, nondescript building surrounded by small swatches of land with freshly-tilled soil waiting for crops to be planted just like any other farmhouse in the province at this time of year. The difference, she knew, lied with the inhabitants of the farmhouse.
A woman and three men; a young landowner and her staff to anyone that did not know any better. In reality, an Imperial battlemage and the three Imperial soldiers assigned to her research station tucked away in the forest at the base of the mountains lining the southeastern border of Skyrim. To Tara, a brilliant and beautiful woman that had truly captured her eye and her heart more quickly than any other person or thing that she could ever recall and her friends, companions to her in the great, unknown land in which they found themselves.
Tara smiled to herself as she woke more fully to these realizations. She had slept more comfortably than she had anticipated that night, being that it was her first night at the unfamiliar farmhouse and she was bunked in a large communal bedroom with the three soldiers, her closest friend, Faith, and her Khajiit companion, Buffy. But, regardless of the unusually large number of people with which she had shared a room, it was quiet and very nearly peaceful.
It was at that moment that Tara's eyes snapped open.
She immediately narrowed them with a groan, the morning sun overpowering her retinas for a moment before they adjusted. As she attempted to bring her hands up to rub at her poor eyes, she realized why it was so quiet.
Within her arms, she felt the slight weight of another person and, as her full sight finally returned to her eyes in the morning light, she saw the fiery red strands spread like silk across the pillow next to her. She traced the strands with her eyes from their ends to the place where they all originated, each one connected to the soft, fair skin of Willow the Imperial battlemage, sleeping soundly under the weight of her knit blanket and Tara's arm across her waist.
Tara sighed in contentment as the memories of the night before flooded into her mind. Their conversation by the dying light of the fire in the common room. Willow's eyes shining over at her while she had bared a piece of her soul to the woman she had been so enamored with. And then the kiss she had given the mage when it became clear that her feelings were returned just as intensely as they were given. It had been some kiss. And it had lasted well into the silence of the early morning, Willow's soft lips eager to meet her own again and again as the moons made their way across the night sky.
At some point, they had broken away from each other, neither knowing how long they had spent conversing with each other in this new, completely speechless way. Willow had entwined their fingers and pulled Tara up the stairs without a word, guiding her gently through her study and into her private quarters, the only bedroom on the second floor. And there, they had collapsed atop the comfortable mattress and soft cotton sheets, wrapped securely in each others' arms as they continued where they had left off in the common room.
Tara was drawn from her memories as the woman in her arms stirred, stretching her torso slightly under the blanket before rolling from her side onto her back. Tara's hand, which had been curled around Willow's waist and resting lightly on her stomach through her shirt, slid around with the mage's movement and came to rest on Willow's far hip, her fingers curling around the bone there. As Willow settled into her new position, Tara realized with a start that their bare legs were pressed together beneath the blanket. Her hand twitched unconsciously on Willow's hip, her fingers tightening almost imperceptibly. At that, Willow opened her eyes.
She, too, narrowed her eyes against the bright sun, but recovered quickly and took in Tara's gaze silently.
"Good morning," she mumbled after a moment, her voice rough with sleep. Tara felt a tiny smile lift the corner of her lip.
"And to you."
"What time is it?" Willow asked in a whisper.
"Still early, I think," Tara replied, glancing at the window to check the position of the sun. It was just starting to peek over the farthest trees. "We can probably manage a little bit more sleep."
"Mmm," Willow hummed, rubbing her legs against Tara's as she stretched them. "That sounds like a good idea... Although, we should probably talk about how odd it is to wake up with another person in your bed when there isn't usually."
Tara's tiny smile widened.
"It doesn't feel odd to me at all," she said quietly, realizing the truth in her words as she said them.
And then Willow was stretching again, her arms appearing from the top of the blanket and raising above her head as she woke her still-groggy muscles. Her shirt rose slightly with the movement, slipping from beneath Tara's hand and landing her palm on the warm, soft skin of Willow's belly. Tara's arm beneath Willow's shoulders tightened slightly, pulling the redhead closer as her hand skittered across the expanse of skin beneath it, reaching for the hip that it had been resting on previously. Without missing a beat, Willow completed her stretch by bringing her arms down around Tara's shoulders and turning into her her body, pulling the blonde closer in kind. Tara leaned her head in as her hand slid right past Willow's hip and around to the small of her back. Willow tilted her head up, her lips just barely starting to brush against Tara's, reveling in their softness even in the early morning.
When Tara could stand the light touch no longer, she pressed forward, sealing their lips firmly together and wrapping her arm up and around Willow's shoulders. Willow took a deep, sharp breath in through her nose as she melted into Tara's touch, rubbing her legs against Tara's once more.
It was at that very same moment that they heard the door to Willow's study burst open and footsteps grow closer and closer to the bedroom. Before either of them could register the sound enough to pull away from each other, the door to Willow's bedroom swung open.
"Will, it's nearly—Oh, sweet gods!"
Willow and Tara sprang apart as if they had been shocked, Willow sitting up with a fury in her eyes that Tara had just enough time to see before she pulled the blanket up with exaggerated force to cover her brightly-blushing face.
"Alexander, what in the name of all that is holy are you doing in my room?!" Willow hissed frantically, her voice steady though Tara knew that her heart had to be pounding just as hard as her own.
"I—I just, um..." the man babbled. "Y-you told us..."
"What?" Willow nearly yelled.
Tara chanced a peek over the blanket, seeing a very red-faced Alexander standing in the doorway between Willow's study and bedroom, looking anywhere but at the bed.
"W-we're about to head into town," Alexander stammered. "You told us to let you know."
Willow, seemingly unconcerned about her state of dress, swung her bare legs over the side of the bed and stood, approaching the young man angrily. Alexander's hand shot up, covering his eyes quickly before he got an eyeful of Willow. And then, suddenly, she was standing right in front of him.
"You couldn't have left a note?!" she growled, her tone making Alexander take a step back.
"You're u-usually up by now!" he argued. "I came to check on you!"
"Without knocking? What is wrong with you?!"
"Willow," Tara said softly from the bed, pulling the blanket down around her waist and sitting up fully in the bed. Two sets of eyes turned to her, Alexander's apologetic and Willow's flaming with frustration. "It's fine."
"He shouldn't have just-"
"It was an accident," Tara muttered calmly, the blush cooling on her cheeks somewhat.
"That's not an excuse!" Willow groused.
"Did you expect to be in this situation this morning?" Tara asked firmly, her eyebrows raising. Willow deflated slightly as she listened to Tara's words.
"No, I didn't."
"Then it was an accident."
Willow sighed heavily.
"You're right," she conceded, holding Tara's gaze for a few moments before turning back to Alexander. It was then that they both seemed to remember that she was not wearing pants. Both Imperials flushed deeply and looked in separated directions, much to Tara's amusement.
"Give us a few minutes... to get dressed," Willow said finally. "I'll see you all off."
Alexander nodded.
"I'm really sorry," he insisted, backing slowly out of the room.
"J-just knock next time," Willow replied, closing the door after him.
They were silent for a moment as they listened to Alexander's footsteps retreat hastily across the study and out of he door on the other side. When they heard his steps on the stairs, Willow sighed again.
"Well, that was not exactly how I wanted them to find out," she muttered, padding back to the bed and sitting on the edge.
"You didn't plan on telling them?" Tara asked, doing her best to keep the hurt from her voice.
"No, nothing like that," Willow insisted, turning on the bed to grasp Tara's hand between both of hers. "I was just kind of hoping to... I don't know... keep you to myself for a little bit. You know?"
Tara raised an eyebrow.
"We all live together in this farmhouse," Willow explained quickly. "And it's not that big. We know a lot more about each other than I ever wanted us to. I wanted to tell them as soon as I got back, but then we ran into some... circumstances. A-and after last night," Willow's cheeks reddened again, "I really wanted to stay locked up in here for the rest of the day without being disturbed for any reason."
Tara's own cheeks flushed hotly as she took in Willow's meaning.
"I'm sure we'll have plenty of time for that later," Tara muttered, smiling in spite of the butterflies that seemed to have taken residence in her stomach.
Willow grinned at her in response and squeezed her hand gently before releasing it.
"I suppose we should get dressed and 'face the music', as they say," Willow said. "I'm sure they could hear me yelling."
Tara frowned.
"I'll never hear the end of this from Faith," she sighed.
"You look really well-rested today."
Tara fought down the flush that threatened to take over her cheeks at the comment that Faith nonchalantly tossed out as she and Buffy entered Willow's study. The Breton smirked innocently as she took a seat at the round table.
It was the first time that Faith had been able to corner Tara alone all morning. They had had a busy morning helping the soldiers make their last-minute preparations to take a quick journey to Riften for supplies. The men had been in good spirits over breakfast and had entertained them all with stories of some of their experiences in the town. Tara had found herself surprised at the easy way that the soldiers had accepted their presence and was happy to see Faith and Buffy warming up to them as well.
After seeing the soldiers off on their journey, Willow had retired to her bedroom to bathe. Rather than stay and be confronted by Faith, Tara had headed outside the farmhouse to explore the grounds. The sun shone brightly as it made its way slowly across the sky, illuminating the swatches of tilled soil and the wildflowers that grew in between.
As she had made her way across the open land toward the edge of the forest around the property, Tara thought back the way she had woken up that morning. She had been somewhat surprised to find herself in Willow's bed, wrapped comfortably around the mage, though she was not too bothered by it. In fact, she found she could not have imagined a better way to wake up if she tried. It had just felt right to her to be in that situation, no matter how much she felt like she should have been more wary. Tara simply could not bring herself to feel anything but happiness about everything.
Regardless of her happiness, though, she knew that she would have to face Faith eventually—especially after Willow had invited them all to her study at midday to try to plan their next move after the events of the previous day. She at least owed her closest friend an explanation, surely.
Which is why she currently found herself losing the battle against her rapidly-heating blush as the Breton leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table and regarded her with that mischievous smirk.
"I mean, I wouldn't know much about how you slept last night, as I was in my own room," Faith continued, "But if your cheeks are any indication, it was eventful."
"Faith, please," Buffy interjected with a sigh, the amusement in her eyes belying her attempt to spare Tara from the Breton's ribbing. "Leave the girl alone."
"No, no, I'm not teasing," Faith insisted. "I'm merely commenting on dear Tara's rosy cheeks! Why, she's practically glowing!"
Tara sighed.
"Faith, I-"
"You guys are early," Willow said from the doorway to her bedroom, cutting off what Tara was about to say. Her eyes flicked quickly between the three women seated at the table before landing on Tara with concern. Tara smiled weakly, though it became more sincere as she took in Willow's still-damp hair flowing in soft waves over her shoulders.
"I-I thought we should get started as quickly as possible," she mumbled quietly, avoiding Faith's eyes. Willow smiled pragmatically.
"A sound idea," she said, taking her own seat at the round table next to Tara. As she took another glance around the table, Tara noted that Faith sat a little straighter and Buffy's eyes focused sharply on the mage. Clearly, the teasing was on hold for the moment. "Do you have the journals?"
Buffy reached to the bench next to her and placed the two leather-bound journals on the table, sliding them toward Willow.
Willow pulled them toward her and lifted one into her hands, examining its covers closely before opening it to a random page. She hummed quietly as she scanned the pages, turned the page, and scanned the next few. With a furrowed brow, she placed the first journal down and repeated the process with the second.
"Which one of you found these?" she asked, not looking up from the pages she was flipping.
"B did," Faith replied, leaning forward with interest. "In the Markarth Treasury House right next to the deed and ledgers and piles of gold."
Buffy scoffed.
"Not piles of gold. A few sacks. Most of the fortune they kept there was in assets—properties, records, and a few valuables. I cleared an entire shelf of books off of a bookcase and these were in the pile."
Willow frowned, looking up to meet Buffy's eyes.
"You were right; that doesn't make any sense... What other books were on the shelf?"
Faith scoffed.
"You expect her to remember every title she pulled off the shelf?" she asked incredulously. Willow rolled her eyes. "It's not like she had time for some light reading in between-"
"There were a few less rare titles that I recognized that still sold for a fair amount," Buffy said, eyes narrowed in thought, ignoring Faith's outburst. The Breton stared at her incredulously. "There were first editions of the Dwemer books that the court mage wrote, the ones that have been going around the scholars lately—I skipped over those... Come to think of it, there were more than a few Dwemer titles on that shelf."
"That makes sense," Tara said. "The Silver-Bloods run a city that was built in the ruins of a Dwemer city. It's logical that they'd have books on the subject."
Faith nodded along with a frown.
"What doesn't make sense to me," Tara continued, "is why they would also have a pair of journals on the architecture of their city written by a mage who was studying restoration."
"I think we need to focus on that," Willow said finally, holding both journals up. "Why would a mage teaching restoration magic send his apprentice on a final assignment all the way across the province for a month? And why this particular assignment—taking notes and drawings about the structures in Markarth?"
"Have you ever seen restoration training that includes architecture?" Buffy asked, looking sharply to Willow.
"I can see how it could fit in with the curriculum..." she began slowly. "It's a stretch, but a more liberal instructor could tie the understanding of how buildings are constructed to how the bodies of each species are constructed and use it as a tool for how restoration magic effects different people..."
"That's not confusing at all," Faith scoffed. Willow ignored her.
"But that's not a recognized form of training—certainly it wouldn't be permitted as a valid final assignment at the Arcane University. Though, from what I've seen so far, the College of Winterhold tends to lean toward more... abstract teaching methods that would oppose a lot of the instruction that I received. So, I guess it wouldn't be too unusual for an instructor to use more unorthodox methods."
Tara frowned in the silence that followed, watching Buffy and Willow think to themselves.
"Do we know anything about the instructor? This Healer Mathus?" she asked suddenly, a hint of an idea springing into her mind. Buffy's brow furrowed.
"We know he doesn't work at the College anymore," Buffy replied, glancing at Faith for confirmation.
"Definitely not," the Breton agreed. "Usually scholars who come across works with their name on it jump at the chance to put it in their collection, even if it's someone else's work. We didn't get any bites from the College."
"We didn't think to look him up," Buffy continued with a shrug. "In fact, the thought never even crossed my mind until now."
"I don't remember a Healer Mathus when we visited the College for supplies," Willow mused. And then, with narrowed eyes, she turned to Tara. "Where are you going with this?"
Tara took a breath and gathered her thoughts.
"What if we're looking at this the wrong way?" she questioned, glancing at each of her companions around the table. "W-we've established that this student was sent to Markarth by his instructor specifically to make detailed accounts of the architecture of the city and return it to him to be graded. Afterward, he would have been awarded his full colours and sent out into the province to find his place. He would have no need of a pair of journals with no hint of Restoration study in them. This instructor, though..."
"What would he want with those journals?" Buffy said, catching on to Tara's line of thinking.
Faith nodded along.
"We want to know his motive," she suggested. Tara opened her mouth to respond, but Willow answered first.
"We need to know what possible connection that Restoration scholar would have to the city of Markarth," she corrected.
"Or the Dwemer in general," Buffy muttered thoughtfully. Tara nodded. "There has to be a reason it was on the shelf with all of those Dwemer texts."
"I think that if we find those answers, we may find out, at the very least, why these two worthless journals were stored with some of the Silver-Bloods' assets," Tara said.
"And at the very most," Faith continued with a smirk, "We'll find out if we have another windfall coming in."
Willow nodded resolutely.
"So, we need to find out more about Healer Mathus," she said. "The College probably keeps records of its teaching staff, including when they left and where they planned to go—most healers end up in one of the temples of the Eight in Cyrodiil. It can't be that different here. That would give us a starting point at least. But..." Willow stopped suddenly and shook her head. "I would hazard a guess, based on what we know of his teaching methods, that he's probably an eccentric. If that's the case, there's no telling where he may have ended up."
"Meaning we may be chasing shadows," Faith said with a sigh. Willow shrugged.
"There really is no way to be certain. Mages here aren't given the same respect as where I'm from—in fact, the locals kind of frown upon anyone that doesn't lug around a broadsword with his breastplate. He could have followed a traditional path like I'm hoping or no path at all."
Tara smiled sadly and opened her mouth to reply.
"Actually..." Buffy said suddenly, cutting off Tara's words. As Willow, Faith, and Tara turned their attention to her, a strange look came over her feline face. "I think I might have an inkling as to where our Healer Mathus ended up. Or at least a starting point."
Faith raised an eyebrow at her partner.
"You want to explain what you mean by that?" the Breton asked, curiosity dripping from her dry tone.
Buffy glanced at each of them before she took a breath and began to speak.
Though the residents bustled through the streets for their own and varied reasons, things were calm in the city of Markarth. Voices echoed off of the stone of buildings as shopkeepers haggled with their customers; a bard sang of a far-off land and a hero's journey; a gentle breeze blew through the winding streets.
Buffy waited patiently in a shadowy crack in the mountain, her eyes barely-visible slits of yellow in the darkness. At her last count, she had been in the alcove for the better part of an hour, waiting patiently for the right time to make her move. It wasn't her fault, of course; Faith was unpredictable at the best of times and this was no different. The Breton had skewed the strict timeline she had set within moments of setting foot in the city. Buffy had decided that she would stick to her own plan and hope for the best from Faith. That course of action had seemed to produce the best results on previous jobs.
And besides, Buffy enjoyed watching people candidly. Normally, people would censor themselves in her presence, or do their best to get away from her, all because she was one of those 'untrustworthy cat people' (They had a point, she conceded, seeing as she was currently making a living from thievery). If they did not know she was there, however, she could get an unobstructed view of men and elves in their 'natural habitats'. It helped her to better understand more about the world around her and she it made her better at her job.
When she had explained that to Faith, the Breton had told her that that was a strange thing to do. Buffy, therefore, decided that she would never tell her exactly how long she had watched her before they had actually met.
Buffy's pointed ears twitched slightly as they caught a sound on the breeze and she leaned forward slightly to get a better listen.
"-ransacked the keep. We'll start at the temples and shops in case they were dumb enough to try to sell anything here."
'Guards,' Buffy thought to herself, leaning back into the darkness as the clanking sounds of armor grew louder. After a few moments, the guards in question passed by, the lot of them heading away from her and down the stone steps toward where she knew the blacksmith and city slums to be. She referenced her mental timeline and deduced that they were slightly ahead of schedule. That meant she would have to speed things up a bit. 'Hope for the best, indeed.'
After the guards got a reasonable distance away, Buffy stepped out of her hiding spot, materializing out of the shadows as silently as she had gone in. If Faith had stuck even remotely to the timeline, she should have been well out of harm's way. But, being that Buffy had not seen her partner leaving the Keep yet, she could not be sure. And so, Buffy turned to her left and stepped onto the streets of Markarth to make her way to the inn.
With her cloak on and hood up, most people generally avoided speaking to her in public places; she preferred it that way. However, this day that she found herself on an accelerated timeline would be the one day that a single person broke the precedent.
"Excuse me! You there!" a voice called from an alcove between two buildings.
Buffy warred with herself. Should she stop and risk exposure or, gods forbid, risk losing track of her partner before they both made it out of the city alive? Or, if she did not stop, would she risk calling attention to herself and potentially being tailed by some two-bit criminal?
She would have to stop.
And so, she stopped and turned her head toward the nondescript man, immediately taking in his ragged clothing and dirty face.
"Ah, you look like a mysterious one," he said, gesturing vaguely at her cloak and hood. "You don't like to show your face in the big cities? Got something to hide?"
Buffy remained silent, her muscles tensing beneath her cloak just in case. The man waved off her caution.
"No matter—no one really cares who you are in this city unless you're a Silver-Blood. Listen, I have a question. Have you ever been to a Dwemer ruin? I'll bet you have. I mean, you're standing in one right now." The man laughed to himself and Buffy found it to be an unsettling sound, almost like the grating of gears that did not quite fit together. "I've seen some of the big ones up close, you know, in person. They've got towers as high as High Hrothgar and underground, too. Who does that? Anyway, it was nice talking to you. Maybe I'll see you around sometime."
With that, he turned back into the alcove and walked away from her.
Buffy frowned in confusion and stared after him for a moment before shaking herself and getting back to the task at hand.
She and Faith had agreed to meet at the inn if there were no complications. Based on what she had very briefly overheard from the guards, their window of opportunity was shrinking rapidly.
And so, Buffy turned back toward the city gates and made her way down the sloping streets of Markarth.
Buffy stared around the table at her companions as she finished describing her brief experience to them. They sat in silent contemplation for several moments before Willow spoke up.
"You didn't notice anything in particular about him?" she asked, brows furrowed. Buffy shook her head.
"He was a very plain man, just as average as anyone else. I couldn't even place his accent, though I'd guess he was a Nord."
"And that's all he said to you," Willow pressed. "'You're standing in a Dwemer ruin, can you believe how great their buildings are?'"
Buffy merely shrugged. Willow frowned in thought.
"What makes you think that he's the guy we're after?" Tara asked quietly.
"I don't know, it's just a feeling," Buffy admitted. "Honestly, I didn't pay him a single mind except for the strangeness of the situation. It just came back to me while you all were talking about finding this healer. I would imagine that this guy could be classified as eccentric."
"You may be onto something," Willow conceded with a sigh. "It certainly sounds like he could fit our description, though he could also just be another garden-variety bum with a soft spot for the Dwemer."
"I was going to suggest that we go back to Markarth at some point," Faith interjected carefully, her face more serious than Tara had anticipated it being. Tara shook her head in disbelief, but Faith continued before she could speak. "Just to see if there was something more we could get out of the Treasury House or the keep. Now it seems like we might have another reason to go back."
"Putting aside how moronic that idea is considering they've probably beefed up security throughout the city by now... I was considering it, too," Buffy admitted.
Willow stared at the two of them incredulously.
"You can't be serious!" she exclaimed, looking between the pair like a fish out of water. "After all that you've been through in the last few days, and everything you went through while you were there, you want to go back to that place?"
"We didn't become such a profitable team by refusing to go where we're not wanted," Faith explained, smirking despite the uncharacteristically gentle tone her voice took on. "I would say this kind of thing is just another run-of-the-mill job."
"Bu-but... They sent people after you!" Willow said. "Big guys with sharp swords!"
Buffy sighed.
"And so have many other wealthy families in almost every hold in the province," she argued. "It's not news to us."
"Heck, I'd wager even old Maven still has a score to settle with us," Faith added.
"Maven," Willow deadpanned in disbelief. "As in Maven Black-Briar, arguably the single-most powerful woman in Skyrim?"
Buffy shrugged nonchalantly. Willow, gaping at the pair of them, turned to Tara as if to call for help. The Nord merely frowned.
"I don't agree with it either, sweetie," she soothed gently, resting her hand atop Willow's on the round table. "But the more we talk about this mage, the more I think going to Winterhold will be a waste of our time. This sounds like it could be a solid lead."
"And if it doesn't pan out," Buffy chimed, "we can always revisit the Treasury House, like Faith suggested."
Willow frowned deeply and stared at the others for a few moments. When it became clear that there would be no more said on the matter, her shoulders slumped in defeat.
"Well, I guess it's settled then," she muttered. "I guess we're going back to Markarth."