FIC :: Tower of Fable (1/4 probably)

["C S Armitage" <soren_nyrond@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

And so, another episode.

People keep saying they like this, so it looks as if Angelina's challenge has paid dividends (which is only fair, given that she writes as well as shedoes).


TITLE: Tower of Fable (1/?4) 
AUTHOR: Soren Nyrond
DISCLAIMER: All characters in this part belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Some ideas have been borrowed for elsewhere to illuminate this story: they did once belong to Other Companies (and still do, I imagine), but since they are by way of being generic concepts, I don't think anything's awry.
SUMMARY: It's got Buffy and Willow in it, and another generic city-state, also some flashback, and a little smoochage just to keep the Gutter happy. It still doesn't have Giles in it, but the G-'shippers will just have to cope with that.
ARCHIVING:: What archiving ?  
SPOILERS: None for BtVS; several scenes might cause concern among the under-14s, and they are advised to go read "Winne the Pooh, the Awfully Snuggly Blanket and the Afternoon Nap".
AUTHOR'S NOTES: All nice feedback welcome. Thanks to all those who've written so far.

 
 
  
Tower of Fable - - Part 1

  

"Well, so far I'd say we're ahead of the game," Buffy Summers said.

"Seems so," Willow Rosenberg replied, snuggling deeper into Buffy's embrace.

The two of them were lying together, naked, in a bed deliciously just too small for two people, in a room in an inn in Clomisport, just after midnight, fed and wined, and feeling (for once, in the last few days) satisfied.

Buffy gently reached round and caressed Willow's nipple. It reacted, as a good nipple ought, to a lover's touch, and Willow shifted position minutely, to give Buffy even better access. Then, gently, Buffy's other hand started a slow, deliberate progress down willow's flank, and across the plain ofher waist. Willow knew where that hand was heading - indeed, she'd been trying to think of a way to hint it would be more than welcome to make the journey - and again she shifted position a little. Whether she meant to, orno, her shiftings were having another effect, as they gently rubbed the skin of her back over Buffy Summers' nipples, sending interesting reactions through the Slayer's body . and mind.

Buffy's hand sped up a bit, and then, reaching its target, slowed again, delicately to brush the silken little patch of hair, slowly (ever so slowly) to move further, deeper, closer .

 

This time, they had prepared for their journey. Willow's translation of the glyphs on the stone disc in the mountains about Qu'dim had confirmed thatthey had found an onward gateway. Once the two of them had made their necessary preparations, they had walked, slowly and deliberately, into the centre of the disc, Willow in her leather-fetish armour with the Moon Sword and Buffy in her sports-bra and peasant skirt, carrying Willow's magick-bag and her own quarterstaff-ritual-thingie.

And the darkness had swallowed them up, for a moment, and then they had been in a damp, smelly street, outside a door, obviously about to go in. Which they did, to find the saloon bar (indeed, the saloon, public, private andselect bars, also the dining room, sitting room, smoking room and general room) of the Starcrossed Wyvern Inn.

Not that they were Serena the Warrior Scout and Gabrelita her Companion anymore, or at least, not in those clothes. Nor were they back in the clothes they'd been wearing when they'd left Sunnydale. Both wore grey cloaks, over what looked and felt like armour of some sort. Metal armour, hung (thankfully) over leather. And they had hip-boots on. And they each had a backpack (the cloaks were cunningly wrought to fit over the resulting hump).

And, thankfully, belt pouches with money in it. Not money as they knew it:no notes, with dead presidents, but money as the inn-keeper made it clear he recognised: silver guildsmen, and golden nobles.

So they had hired a room, and ordered dinner, and tried to take stock.

 

"Clomisport," the grizzled man on the next table, who smelled of tar and stale ale, told them "is the finest port on the Bay of Starsdrift, and that'sthe finest bay in all the twelve seas, and the Wyvern is the finest tavernin any of all of the ports, and as tavernkeepers go, Moora Tabulson is the. "

"Finest of them," Buffy finished for him. So, when they'd had something toeat, they went to look for Moora, with a couple of nobles.

"A man ?" he said, when they asked him. "We get plenty of them. Do you ladies have any particular one in mind, or will any man do ?"

Willow considered turning Moora into a lizard, just for a few seconds, but reflected that lizards tend to be uncommunicative in answering questions.

"A scholar," Buffy explained, deftly taking back the noble she'd offered, and holding it just outside Moora's reach. "He may be calling himself Gilesor Gilles."

"According to what we were told yesterday," Willow put in, "He would be travelling with two other men, escorts."

"Ah, yes, of course - the Brothers of Nathe," Moora said. "They were here,but they left this morning."

"Oh." Buffy let her hand drift in a little and Moora slipped the noble from between her fingers.

"You don't know where they were going, do you ?" Willow asked, happening totwist another noble between her fingers.

Moora looked round, and beckoned them further into a back parlour he kept.

"I was told to ask a question," he said. "By Master Gilles. He said only a few people could answer it."

"Go on," Buffy said, scenting either a scam or a genuine message. Using a password was just what Giles would think of.

"He said if I gave you two names, you could tell me the other two without hesitation."

Buffy thought: it had to be them - herself and Willow, and Xander and . would it be Oz or Cordelia ?

"Go ahead," she said.

"Fred and Shaggy," Moora said.

Buffy floundered.

 

And right on cue dependable Willow stepped in: "Velma and Daphne," she said: "The other two Scoobies."

And, like a magician with a (slightly ageing) rabbit, Moora produced a crumpled piece of paper.

"Urmelwen Golden-Haired: find her, and follow me."

 

"So," Buffy said, sleepily, "all we do is find this Urmelwen, and she can send us on."

"Mmm," Willow said.

Then, like a little animal looking to make sure that no scrap of food remained before it slept, she stuck her tongue out and lapped at the little knobof flesh in front of her mouth. There was just a taste of nectar left, but perhaps, if she licked a little longer .

 

End of Bit 1

 

Bit 2, to follow, in a bit.

(It'll give the Woodland Folk time to recover their senses)