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Title: To the Ends of the Earth
Author: sandbarDragon
Rating: PG-13 for now. I will rate updates separately.
Pairing: W/T (surprise surprise!)
Disclaimer: I don't own Willow, Tara, Xander, Giles, or Buffy blah blah blah. I do, however, own Dominic.
Summary: AU. Pirates. Action and adventure on the high seas. That's all you really need to know for right now.
Warnings: This fic is in no way light, airy, or fluffy. This is going to be a novel of epic proportions. There will be serious angst. A good deal of violence. And plenty of adventure. (And most likely a healthy serving of smut.) So buckle up and hold on tight, kiddies.
Feedback: Please
Notes: Please don't get put off by the introduction of my OC. Bear through it and you will realize that Willow is the central character. I wasn't going to post this until it was finished, but it's far from it and I'm getting antsy. I have 7 chapters finished, but I'm only going to post the first 3 until I get some feedback. Thanks and enjoy.
Chapter 1
The wind blew swiftly under the dark, velvet-blue sky - dotted with bright stars in the few spots that weren’t covered by ominous gray clouds- carrying the stench of stormy seas to come. The crew of The Sherwood had dropped anchor on a remote stretch of beach off the coast of Morocco, having just dropped off a heavy handful of rescued slaves who would there be free to serve in Morocco’s military, have children, and own land. To reward themselves for a job well done the crew had lit a large fire and were now gorging themselves on barrels of rum and exotic African foods, the sounds of mirth and merry-making bringing a sense of joy to the otherwise dark and somber environment.
Willow sat on an overturned log by the fire, sipping on a tankard of rum, but opting to remain by the captain’s side rather than partake in the merriment. She turned her gaze to her captain, one Dominic Blake, as he watched his men with stern but proud eyes, the wind lapping at his short, but unkempt auburn hair, one hand stroking his neatly trimmed chin-strap of a beard while the other clutched a tankard of the finest Scotch whisky he had procured on a previous excursion. She admired him, adored him really; he was the closest thing she’d ever had to a father, though he was really only old enough to be more like a brother. He had spent his entire life at sea, growing up under the harsh, but watchful eye of his own father, an Irish privateer-turned-explorer under the rule of King William III of England, Scotland, and Ireland. Dominic had started his sailing career as a young powder monkey, hauling buckets of gunpowder to the cannon gunners during battle upon his father’s frigate, and slowly worked his way up the ranks, gaining experience as a rigger, master gunner, carpenter, boatswain, sailing master, and even navigator before his father had made him quartermaster at the tender age of 19. It was around that time that a hungry, orphaned, 13-year-old Willow had sought refuge as a stowaway on their ship. She had been lurking in the shadows for several days, rummaging for scraps of food before Dominic had stumbled upon her. She was terrified at first, certain that the fates would greet her with an untimely end or agonizing future upon being discovered, but she was wrong. Dominic saw something in her, and he opened his heart to her, allowing her to stay and join the crew, teaching her everything his father had taught him, from the inner workings of a well-run ship to the martial arts and swordsmanship his father learned while traveling through Asia.
That was nine years ago, and a starving, scared 13-year-old Willow was now a confident, proud, capable 22-year-old Willow, quartermaster and first mate upon Dominic’s own legendary and renowned warship, The Sherwood. Its name spoke volumes, as Dominic, breaking from his now deceased father’s vicious, selfish ways, had turned himself into a veritable Robin Hood of the high seas. Known most commonly as The Sandbar Dragon, technically - and certainly in the eyes of the European nobility - he and his crew were pirates, bandits, and thieves; but to the common people and less fortunate, they were heroes, myths, the subject of fables and fairytales and lullabies to calm frightened, hungry children. They devoted their energies to the pursuit of justice and liberty for those who could not stand up and take it for themselves. They plundered slave ships, killing the masters of the crews and taking the would-be slaves back to their homes, or somewhere where they could be free and happy. They would board royal merchant ships meant to carry goods and luxuries to cruel and spoiled kings, and distribute the bounties among the common folk, who would in turn provide them with whatever supplies and quarter they would need for the next journey. They preferred not to fight, even more so not to kill, and would rather board a ship peacefully, take what they needed, and depart, but when using force became a necessity they had no qualms in doing so. When they weren’t fulfilling their duties to the underdogs of the known world, they were running from privateers and navy ships whose captains would have their heads brought to their kings on a silver platter. They had become quite adept at the art of fleeing, but none among them were bitter about the work they did. Dominic’s entire crew was with him by choice, believed in their cause, always ready to sacrifice their own lives for the good of the many. They loved their fair and fearless captain and would follow him to the farthest corners and deepest recesses of the earth, Willow especially.
As she watched him, she noticed the way his piercing green eyes danced in the firelight and wondered if hers did the same. The physical similarities between them were intriguing to say the least. Though Willow was shorter and slight of build while Dominic was tall and broad, everything else from their pale and freckled skin, fiery red hair, and emerald green eyes, even their smiles and the teeth which accompanied them were strikingly similar. With the lecherous ways of his father and the fact that Willow had never known hers, neither would be surprised to discover they were at least half-siblings, but verification of such would always remain elusive.
After a short while Dominic noticed her watching him and turned to her with a warm smile. He raised his tankard of scotch before her and offered, “you sure you don’t want some of this? I don’t know how you can choke down that swill.”
She returned the smile and shook her head with an amused laugh, “nah. I’m perfectly comfortable with my ‘swill.’” That was the truth. She had never acquired a taste for the finer delicacies of their excursions, preferring the simple scorch of the sweet beverage in her belly over the complexities of a dutifully crafted whisky. He just shrugged and took a swig of his drink.
“You know,” he started, turning his gaze toward the firelight of a far off village, “there sure were some pretty dames back at that village. You should go make merry with them while you’ve got a chance.” He smiled broadly at her. She turned her gaze toward the fire before them and a look of pensive discomfort came over her delicate features. Suddenly he was sorry he mentioned it, though it was only with good intention. It had been about a year before, Willow had fallen head over heels for a girl that had temporarily joined them on their quest, and he had to watch helplessly as her heart broke more and more with each passing day the girl did not return her feelings, and was in fact disgusted by them. He wasn’t sure she would ever fully recover from it, but he was determined to do what he could to help her, for he also knew, all too well, the agonizing pangs of unrequited love. His smile faded and he too averted his gaze, “sorry, I didn’t…” he trailed off, not wanting to say the wrong thing.
“No, it’s fine. I’m just not feeling large with the merry-making right now,” though she tried to make light of it, he could hear the pain in her voice.
He reached out and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, “listen. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but I promise you, one day, and probably not too long from now, you’re going to find a girl who loves you so deeply you’ll forget all about that skanky broad.”
She looked up at him and smiled feebly, but soon the smile faded. “How could you possibly know that?”
He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head, “trust me. I just know.” Even though she couldn’t bring herself to fully believe his words, she took comfort in his unfaltering brotherly love, knowing that in his eyes she could do no wrong. She sat with him and let her mind wander for several more minutes before he rose to his feet. “Make sure you rest well this night. Tomorrow we set sail for England to gather supplies, and then it’s off to the New World!” His statement was directed mainly toward the whole crew which responded with a hearty “aye, captain!” but he locked gazes with Willow as if to tell her that this would be the beginning of a fresh start for all of them. They would leave behind the jungles of Africa and the cobblestones of Christian Europe for whatever wonders would await them across the Atlantic.
Chapter 2
It was in the wee hours of a Sunday morning, when the sky was still dark and the townsfolk still slumbered, when The Sherwood pulled into a remote bay off the shore of Sussex. They always had to be careful when treading through Europe as they were wanted criminals and could all be detained and executed at any given moment. If it weren’t for the common folk who loved them with loyalty - always willing to offer aid to their cause - The Sherwood would never be seen anchored so close.
Dominic, Willow, and a sailor who went by the name of Xander Harris - a close friend to both the captain and first officer, who served as the crew’s master carpenter on board - disembarked from the ship. Quietly and without aid of light, they hunched low to the ground and crept across the landscape and into a small town. Their dark clothing was well suited for this type of environment. As three of the four highest ranking members of the operation, they adorned forest-green frock coats over tunics, breeches, and cavalier boots all black in color. Dominic and Xander wore their coats belted closed as they both carried their weapons on their backs, strapped with brown belts. Willow wore her coat open and allowed her weapons to rest at her hip, holstered by a dark gray sash. Her coat was modified to her slender frame and her boots were not stocky like the men’s, tailored for a snug fit all along her lithe calves to enhance her intrinsic sneaking abilities.
Once amid the small town, Dominic led them down a rank, shady alleyway to a small door at the end. He knocked an intricate series of knocks and taps before the shutter slipped open. The man inside took one look at Dominic and hastily slipped the shutter closed, opting to open the door instead. He ushered them in with a smile and welcomed them with cold drink and hot food. He was a tall, bespectacled man with weary eyes and graying hair, but his smile was warm and his gaze soft.
“Xander, this is our good friend, Giles,” Willow offered the introduction, “He’s our eyes and ears on land, and he helps us acquire supplies between journeys. Giles, this is Xander, The Hammer.” Each of Dominic’s most important crew members had epithets bestowed upon them by the people of Europe, probably more for dramatic effect in the telling of stories than anything else, but the names stuck and were generally rather accurate. Dominic, of course, was always the ‘Sandbar Dragon,’ a name allotted by the perturbed monarchs who saw him as nothing more than a cunning predator of the seas. Xander was ‘The Hammer,’ both for his skilled craftsmanship and for the fact that his weapon of choice was a medieval war hammer he had picked up on an early excursion in the Netherlands. Willow was known as ‘The Red Wolf,’ for her fierceness and swift agility on the battlefield, when fleeing from angry soldiers, and most importantly when infiltrating enemy territory. And Buffy, the resident lazy wench with no work ethic, but incredibly fierce fighting skills, was known simply as ‘The Slayer.’ The four of them were the heart and soul of the operation, though that’s not to say that the rest of the crew was undervalued.
“Yes, yes. It’s very nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard many stories.” Giles extended his hand, which Xander gladly shook, then cleared his throat, “so tell me. What brings you all by this morning?” He looked over at Dominic, who was taking a hearty swig of the wine Giles had offered.
“Well,” Dominic began after swallowing his mouthful, “We are to be headed off to the New World as soon as possible, and we need supplies. Whatever you can attain, food, of course, sail cloth, clothing, lumber, rope, weapons,” he took another swig of his wine, “a few barrels of rum for my men,” he added with a sheepish grin.
Giles cleared his throat again, “Well, the New World then? That’s quite a journey.”
Dominic smiled and put an arm around Xander’s neck, “aye, but my men can handle it!”
“And might I ask, why now? Surely you can’t believe that the work you do here is no longer needed.” Giles’ expression conveyed a sense of worry.
Dominic’s smile faded and his brow furrowed, “no, my work will never be done.” He paused for a moment, trying to choose his next words wisely. “But there are other people who need my help as well. And frankly, we’ve got King George hot on our trail. He’s pretty peeved about that last merchant ship we captured. Apparently one of his nephews was on board and got roughed up pretty nasty. So it’s probably best if we disappear for a while, but I do plan on returning.”
Giles only nodded his response and scurried away to flip through some books. The three sailors exchanged a knowing glance. A short while later Giles returned, “well I can get you what you need, possibly by the end of the week. You can shove off and return or I would be more than happy to provide quarter for you within the town.”
Dominic was quick to answer, “as much as I appreciate it, I really think it best if we stay as out of sight as possible. We shall return at week’s end.”
They continued with small talk and partook of the meal Giles had offered, then exchanged handshakes and quickly departed. Dominic took the lead, scouting out the dark alleyway before allowing the others to catch up. As he peered around the corner of a wall, he was met with a bayonet positioned between his eyes, coaxing him out onto the main road, where he found himself surrounded by a number of British soldiers, staring down the tips of their cutlasses and pistol barrels. With a discreet gesture, he signaled for Xander and Willow to stay back in the alley way and not try to intervene, knowing the three of them could never make it out of this situation alive, and raised his hands in surrender. He did not, however, avert his line of vision from the eyes of the men surrounding him.
The highest ranking officer of the platoon came forth, “Mister Dominic Blake, by order of George the First, ruler of the Duchy of Brunswick-Luneburg and King of Great Britain and Ireland, I hereby place you under arrest for piracy and various crimes against the crown.”
Dominic blinked for a moment then smirked, “there should have been a ‘captain’ in there somewhere.” That was the last thing he remembered before seeing the butt of a rifle hurdle toward his face.
Willow and Xander watched in horror from the shadows. This was not the first time their captain had been faced with arrest, but it was the first time that there were so few to defend him. Usually when they found themselves in a situation of impending detainment, it was the result of brazen boldness involving a large number of his crew. They had never been caught when traveling stealthily in small numbers. Willow realized that she was going to have to use her infiltration capabilities to their maximum potential and conduct a solo operation to retrieve him. She turned to Xander, “They must have been ready for us. Go back to the ship. Keep the men on high-alert and be ready for an attack. I’ll go forward and gauge the situation. Have several able-bodied sailors ready for reconnaissance in case we end up requiring force to infiltrate.” Xander nodded his confirmation and as soon as the soldiers were out of sight, took off toward the bay.
Keeping to the shadows, Willow furtively trailed behind the cart that carried Dominic to the local jailing building. When they arrived, the sun was only beginning its threat to rise, and she still had enough time to slip past the exterior guards in the lingering darkness. She slunk her way around the building until she found an opening through a window near the front of the building that appeared to be unmanned. Once inside, she found her obstacles to be few and far between. Frankly, she was rather appalled that they would trust such a sub-standard operation to detain the Sandbar Dragon. Many of the guards were fast asleep with empty tankards wobbling in their loose grips. She had little trouble obtaining the path in which Dominic was being escorted because she could hear the sounds of the shepherding soldiers kicking the sleeping guards into consciousness and shouting at them as they walked by. Much to Willow’s amusement, the guards would usually resume their slumber when the soldiers were out of sight. In the few cases that they did not, she had no problem putting them back to sleep herself before continuing through the building. Willow lingered behind when the corridors narrowed, knowing that if she followed too close she would surely be discovered. She slipped into the darkest shadows of the rank building, focused her hearing to get a sense of where the soldiers had taken Dominic, and then waited until they exited the building before continuing her search. Given what she had seen of the mediocre guards, she never considered retreating to retrieve back up.
Chapter 3
Willow released her dagger from the sash around her waist and grasped it firmly in her right hand as she crept her way down the dank and dimly lit corridors. She was so satisfied with her conclusion that this mission would be effortless that she allowed her cockiness to dull her sharpened senses. She didn’t hear the footsteps approaching behind her as she rounded a corner. She was startled into a jump when a voice called out, “hey you! Halt!” After a moment of paralyzing alarm, she turned around and was met with the tip of a cutlass blade beneath her chin and a harsh but melodic “where do you think you’re going?” The voice alone made her knees wobble. Her eyes slowly made their way up the slightly curved blade, pausing for a moment at the handle which was grasped by a strong but slender hand, then followed it to an arm covered in the sleeve of a scarlet British Army frock coat - which hung open with no belt attached, framing a very form-fitting shirt and breeches, both white in color - up to a smooth, creamy-white neck which supported a head flowing with silken, honey-brown hair. The face of the woman holding the sword was toned and beautiful, with prominent cheekbones, full lips, and a strong jaw - a face one might expect from a noblewoman, not a soldier. Aside from missing a belt, she was also missing the standard issue tricorn hat, and by the state of her uniform it appeared as though she was either just beginning her shift or just about to retire from it. When Willow’s gaze met with the shimmering sapphire pools of the soldier’s eyes it took her breath away. The dim torchlight danced across the soldier’s features, making them stand out even more. Willow couldn’t think, let alone speak, for she found herself lost in the other woman’s stare. An abrupt clang brought her back to her senses and she realized she had dropped her dagger.
“I…uhh….” Willow still couldn’t seem to form words. She raised her hands in submission, but her weakened state was certainly not brought about by fear.
“I said where do you think you’re going?” The other woman’s voice had lowered in pitch and she spoke slowly and steadily, staring intently at the redhead and still holding the tip of the sword to Willow’s throat. When several moments had passed without a response from the trembling redhead, the soldier decided that perhaps she wouldn’t get any answers with such an approach. She lowered the cutlass blade, but did not sheathe it, never taking her eyes off of the deceivingly slight woman before her. She raised an eyebrow, expecting an answer to her question.
Willow still couldn’t speak. She found her eyes traveling, of their own accord, down along the length of the soldier’s body, taking in the sight of ample breasts, a slender abdomen, and the tantalizing curves of her hips which flowed into long, lean legs. She swallowed hard, trying desperately to regain her composure. There was just something about this woman in front of her. She couldn’t figure out why, but she felt as if she had known this woman all her life, as if she could feel their energies interlacing and melding together in perfect synchronicity at that very moment. As if they simply fit together. ‘But that’s absurd,’ Willow thought to herself, ‘surely she’d sooner have my head on a spike!’ Finally remembering where she was and what she was doing, she shook her head to clear her mind from its trance.
“Perhaps I should call in the rest of the guard to lock you up and interrogate you,” the soldier’s tone was far less than harsh, but was it…teasing? Willow wasn’t sure. The only thing she could think to do in response was grab her scimitar from its sheath on her hip and lunge at the soldier. The soldier reacted quickly, raising her blade for a block as the clang of metal on metal echoed throughout the long, stone corridor. With a growl and a thrust the soldier shoved Willow back and charged her way. Willow raised her blade and they dueled half-heartedly for several moments before stepping back. They stood silent, swords poised for the next strike. The soldier smirked, “well it seems I’ve underestimated you. Pity, I really would have preferred to leave that pretty pink skin as flawless as I had found it.” Willow’s eyes widened at the statement and she felt the already present flush deepen her cheeks. When the soldier lunged again, Willow faltered, nearly losing her grip on her own sword, but recovered quickly and met the soldier’s blade blow for blow until she had the soldier backed up against a cold, damp, stone wall.
Realizing her advantage, she decided to play along with the soldier’s game. Sliding their blades together, she moved right up into the soldier’s face, allowing their lips to lightly brush together and their eyes to lock as she whispered with a smirk of her own, “you fight well. Tell me, is your tongue as swift as your blade?” Both women could feel something stir inside them with the proximity of their bodies and the sweep of hot breath along their faces. Sweat began to bead on their foreheads and necks despite the lingering winter chill blowing through the open windows. Willow couldn’t explain away or rationalize the feelings she was experiencing. She knew lust. She thought perhaps she had even known love. But this was something far deeper. She wanted to own this woman and be owned by her, to give herself over completely, body, mind, and spirit; to sink in and be devoured, consumed, decimated, transformed. Something raw, primal, and savage within her being fought to burst free. As their skin brushed together she could feel what she could only describe as an electric jolt surge through her body, magnetizing, trying to pull her nearer. By the glimmer in the soldier’s eye, she thought perhaps she was not the only one feeling it.
The soldier launched her free arm around Willow’s waist and pulled their bodies together, sending another paralyzing wave of fire and electricity pulsing through her. Pressing her lips against the redhead’s ear, the soldier countered, “more so. And my fingers swifter still.” With that she clamped her hand around Willow’s left buttock and gave it a tight squeeze and a deft smack. Willow felt her body shudder at the contact and her breath catch in her throat, but the soldier quickly advanced, pushing Willow backwards and resuming their duel. Their combat had a gracefully composed flow to it; they moved in perfect synchronicity as if they were playing out a fully choreographed dance. They could read each other’s bodies and anticipate each move before it was dealt.
Suddenly Willow found herself on the floor, having tripped backwards over her forgotten dagger. The soldier stepped over her, with a leg on either side of her body and knelt down close to her face, allowing the long dirty-blonde hair to sweep across Willow’s cheek. The soldier’s eyes narrowed and she licked her lips before saying, “I was wondering how long it would be before I’d have you on your back for me.” Her voice was smoky and sultry and Willow couldn’t help but run her tongue along her own lips in response. The soldier raised the blade of her cutlass, resting it gently behind Willow’s left ear so that it made delicate contact with her jaw and neck as well. She watched the soldier trace her glistening blue eyes slowly over Willow’s face, slower down her prone body, and then back up, resting her gaze on Willow’s lips. The whole action sent a hot shiver up Willow’s spine and she found her breath becoming increasingly labored while a molten puddle of passion pooled at her core. Her sword was still in hand but she made no move to strike, though it would’ve been almost too easy to skewer the soldier from their current position. In one smooth motion the soldier dipped her head and ran the flat of her tongue from Willow’s collarbone up her neck to her earlobe, stopping to take the soft nub of flesh between her teeth for a long moment. Willow couldn’t restrain her drawn out moan or keep her head from lurching backward at the feel of the gorgeous soldier’s warm, wet tongue against her skin. The soldier returned, with a sinful smirk, to face Willow whose heart skipped a beat as their gazes met in electrifying intensity.
“What’s your name?” Willow breathed her inquiry, barely audible.
“Tara,” the soldier responded in an equally breathy gasp before promptly moving in to claim the redhead’s lips as her own. The kiss was forceful and urgent at first, but soon became slow and much more intimate. Willow released her grip on her scimitar and raised both hands to Tara’s head, wrapping her fingers in the honey-brown locks, and delicately but thoroughly explored the inside of Tara’s mouth with her tongue, running along her inner cheeks, the roof of her mouth, and across her teeth before stroking the other woman’s tongue with her own. When she finally relented, Tara mimicked her actions and did the same. They caught each other’s breathy moans in their mouths as Tara lowered her voluptuous body onto Willow’s slender frame. They lost all sense of time and reality in that kiss; at that moment nothing else mattered, nothing else existed. They could feel a resounding sense of oneness as their auras joined and their energies converged, such that neither woman had ever experienced before. After what could have been an eternity, they both pulled back, chests heaving with arduous breath, and lost themselves in each other’s eyes which were darkening with desire, leaving the comfortable silence unbroken.
Before they even had a chance to catch their breath several rapid footsteps rang from down the adjoining hallway. “Lieutenant MaClay! We heard a fight!” One gruff male voice called out, long before they came into view. Willow swiftly grabbed her sword and effortlessly pushed the slightly larger woman off of her, bringing them both to their feet. She shoved Tara against the wall, pressing their bodies together with fervent force, and kissed her one last time, sucking the soldier’s bottom lip into her mouth for an all too brief moment before running off down the corridor away from the approaching men.
“Who are you?” Tara called out before she was too far gone.
“The Red Wolf!” She turned her head and responded with a smug smile and a wink before whisking off into the shadows and out of sight.
Tara’s eyes widened in realization, “The Sandbar Dragon’s first mate!”
_________________
There are no such things as automatic doors, only gentleman ninjas.
Last edited by sandbarDragon on Sun Nov 25, 2012 3:18 am, edited 3 times in total.
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