Grrrr. Why can't ideas spread themselves out? I get one idea for a new part in two weeks, and then they all come at once! Basically, there's an update. Warning - it's very long to make up for the mini updates.
Gem
Part 4c – The Elders
“Ready?”
“Ready,” Tara confirmed, clutching her mother’s hand tightly and expecting the severe pain from before. There was none, as she and her mother seemed to blink out of existence. Momentarily, she found herself alone in the room that she and Willow shared, and glanced around it, confused.
“Sorry,” Delyth said breathlessly. “That happens sometimes when you’re travelling. You wanted to return to that place, and it was too strong for a moment.”
“It’s okay,” Tara said absently. She was too preoccupied by her new surroundings to worry about what had just happened. “Where are you?” she asked curiously. “I can hear you, and it feels as though you’re near, but I can’t see you.”
Delyth suddenly appeared beside her, and Tara gasped in shock. “We’re not here, Tara,” her mother explained. “Our souls are, but not our bodies. I’ve just created temporary illusions to make it seem a little less…”
“Dead?” Tara asked dryly.
“You’re not dead, Tara.”
On some level, Tara knew that she should have been shocked by the male figure walking towards her, but somehow it felt as though he should be there, as though he had always been there. The body was that of an elderly man, indistinguishable if one passed him on the streets yet in every essence of his being he radiated power. The magick – pure, white, powerful magick - was the first thing she sensed, even before he came close to her, cupping her chin in one hand and peering into her eyes. Tara tried to pull away, but the identical frowns from both the Elder and her mother told her that she must obey in whatever he asked.
“You got yourself a pretty one, Delyth,” he informed her mother gruffly. His manner was that of a grandfather, and Tara couldn’t help but be reminded of her own Grandaddy, her mother’s father. At the same time, she knew that there were liberties she had taken with her Grandaddy that she would never dream of with this man. He commanded respect and admiration, both of which Tara gave freely.
“Well,” he announced loudly, and she cringed away from the sound. “Things have become a little difficult around here lately. Fact is, Tara, you died too early, and we’ve got to figure out what to do about it. If you were anyone else, then we’d have to accept this new destiny, but in your somewhat unique situation, another conclusion must be reached.”
Tara frowned in confusion. “Unique?”
The Elder glared fiercely at her. “Don’t interrupt me, please, Tara. The very fact that you are Tara Maclay makes you unique. There are things that you were meant to do in life that you were robbed of, and those circumstances are far too unusual to just ignore.”
“What kind of things?” Tara asked curiously. “Doesn’t that happen all the time – people dying before they were meant to?”
Delyth spoke up quietly. “You’re not exactly dead, Tara. You can’t move on and die truly because The Powers That Be won’t let you die until you complete the duty that was assigned to you the moment you moved to Sunnydale, and met Willow.”
Tara exhaled loudly. She wasn’t a rude person – often she was too quiet for people to even notice she was there, let alone draw any conclusions about her. Even if they did, it was one of pity or disgust as they listened to her stammer out a sentence. Still, she’d noticed lately that since meeting Willow, her stammer had decreased drastically. With Willow and the rest of the Scoobies, it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. No, Tara Maclay was not rude, but she had her limits, and she was becoming very frustrated.
“Why Willow and I?”
The Elder smiled. “So many questions. Why can’t young people these days just accept things?” he asked Delyth. Rightly assuming it as a rhetorical question, she stayed silent. “This gift, this duty, is given to two people of pure heart. Witches by birth and wiccans in heart, they must truly understand and appreciate their craft,” here Tara thought of her mother’s explanation for Willow’s addiction. “Their love must be forged by fire, so to speak. The fact of the matter is, Tara, you and Willow have been chosen and that’s that.” For one ridiculous second, Tara imagined this stately, elderly man sticking his tongue out and saying “neh-neh-ne-neh-neh!” as Willow did when she was in one of her silly moods. Which was often.
Tara wasn’t finished yet, though. “What do you mean, duty?” she demanded. “Sir,” she added in a small voice as her mother glared at her.
“You have a duty in life, a sacred duty,” the Elder informed her. His voice was as caring and gentle as it had been before, but Tara detected a slight hint of impatience at her lack of understanding.
“Like it’s Buffy’s duty to be the Slayer?” Tara asked, trying hard to comprehend what he was saying. Duties were, to her, chores that had to be done. Washing the dishes, or helping Dawn with her homework. Not lifelong responsibilities.
“No. The Slayer has a destiny. From the moment that she is born, it is decided what tasks she will accomplish throughout her life, and when and how she will die. Do not misunderstand, Tara, changes may be made within her destiny. Buffy Summers has avoided her destiny time and time again, but it will always stay on the same path. She is born, she fights evil, she dies. You and Willow, however, have been graced with a sacred gift, one that is only given to those who truly deserve it, and the last time it was received was,” the Elder paused, for the first time seeming confused, “at least three millenniums ago, I believe. Jesus Christ was born about a millennia later.” Tara’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to question the Elder further.
He fixed her with a stern glare. “There is no time for sidetracking, Tara. The fact is, Warren – who has been dealt with firmly, you may be sure of that – prevented you from receiving that gift. Which is why you must return to Earth, and to Willow.”
Tara’s hopes and spirits rose at the thought of seeing Willow again. “I’m going back to Willow?” she asked, seeking confirmation that the truth had been spoken and she hadn’t just dreamt that her only wish had been granted.
“Yes. I can tell you no more about the gift, Tara, as it must be received with surprise, love and joy as it was before. If you accept it freely and prove to us that you are worthy and willing to receive it, then that gift is yours forever. If not,” his words lingered, and Tara caught her breath, “then your destiny must follow in the path that it was meant to.”
“You mean – I’ll die?” The look on his face showed that the Elder thought that was perfectly obvious. Which, if she thought hard about it, Tara realised, it was. “Well,” she said firmly, straightening her body as the sense of accomplishment and determination washed over her. She and Willow would soon be reunited, and that was all that mattered.
“Where will I return?” Tara asked, trying not to think too hard about what she had just been told. She and Willow would just have to expect the unexpected, that was all. They were strong enough to withstand anything. “Strong like an Amazon,” Tara murmured fondly, a smile slowly crossing her face.
“You will return to the place where you feel safest, Tara,” Delyth informed her. She paused, wondering about something. “Where do you feel safest, Tara?”
The answer was immediate, and expected by Delyth and the Elder. “With Willow.”
The brunette glanced pleadingly at the Elder, who shook his head slowly. “We cannot do that, Delyth, you are well aware of the circumstances in Sunnydale, and in England.”
“What is it?” Tara asked sharply. “What’s wrong with me wanting to be with Willow.”
She’d known this moment would come since she’d watched her daughter die, and yet Delyth still dreaded it. Despite that, Tara deserved to know the truth – no, she needed to know the truth. “Tara – things have changed a lot in Sunnydale since you… died.”
Tara exhaled slowly. “You mean, what Willow did? Mama, you said that there are things in this world that are meant to be. If Warren had killed Willow, I would have done the same thing, and I would never have regretted it as she does. Willow is far purer than I, Mama, and she has repented. Now she deserves a second chance from me, from you, and from her friends. Which she has received. There will be no more discussion about it, not whilst I am in hearing and certainly not where Willow is. She held up her side of the bargain. She’s fallen as far as it is possible to fall. She’s murdered a human being. Believe me, she can teach about dark magick, and she can truly appreciate the magick that we have together because of it. I’ll help her through the withdrawals – we all will – but I won’t continue to blame her for an action that was supposedly written in her future, taking away her free will.”
The diatribe had started as a casual reassurance to her mother that she held no blame against Willow for her actions. Then, as she was talking, bitterness started to collect in Tara’s heart on Willow’s behalf. If it had been anyone else… if Buffy, Dawn or even her mother had committed the same crimes again the Wiccan nature, she was well aware that her attitude towards them would have been cold at the least. Tara was a placid, kind, gentle soul, but she was also a wiccan who adored her craft. Willow’s misuse of the gift that they had both been granted had felt worse than her father’s betrayal and cruel attitude towards her for most of her life.
However, Tara was a human first and a wiccan second. There was just… something about Willow that made her want to forgive her, to see the justifiable reasons behind the crime rather than the action itself. It was that - and her ever-strengthening love for the redheaded wiccan that made every moment without her a waste of time - that had brought her to Willow’s door that evening.
The evening that had ultimately led to her death, and Willow’s downfall.
“Tara?” Delyth stared in her daughter’s eyes, willing her out of the almost comatose state that the blonde had fallen into. “Tara, honey, come back to us.”
With a start, Tara awoke from her trance-like state. “Oh, sorry.”
“How did you know?” Delyth asked curiously. “About what Willow did, I mean. I never told you.”
“I just knew,” Tara responded simply. And she had. She didn’t know when she’d discovered that fact, and there had been no sudden realisation that Willow had killed Warren in revenge for what he had done. All the same, she’d known when she’d died that her girlfriend – why wasn’t she her wife yet? – would go to drastic measures to avenge herself and Tara, and she’d known when she’d met her mother that her murderer was dead, but that Willow was safe and happy in Xander’s arms. Tara had gone forward with a free heart, knowing without a doubt that Xander, Willow’s best friend, would take care of her in a way that only he could. Buffy was Willow’s best friend, but even she could not penetrate the bond that the lifelong friends had, and Tara wouldn’t trust even the Slayer to care for Willow in the way that she needed.
The Elder coughed pointedly. “Yes, well your connection is admirable and somewhat astounding, I’ll grant you that. However, can I also point out that we are re-arranging destinies here, not having a coffee morning? The futures of others are affected by your path in life, Tara, and I assume that you are anxious to return to your soulmate.” Tara nodded sheepishly. “I thought so. However, Tara, you may not return to Willow yet. She is in England, and there are many conclusions that she must come to herself, before she is aware of your existence. You will return to the place where you feel safest. Now, where is that? I could go into your mind and find out myself, of course, but I can reassure you that you will not enjoy the experience.”
“Our room,” Tara told him quietly, thinking back to that day – the day that they had resurrected Buffy.
This is the room where you can be scared, and I’ll still love you.He nodded. “Fine. You will return to your room in Buffy Summers’ house.” The Elder paused, and a sympathy crossed his face. “I will leave you know to say goodbye to your mother. Delyth,” with a quick look, filled with concern and sympathy, at the brunette, “you know what to do.”
With that, he had disappeared. Tara was sure that, though some Elders took advantage of their powers to create elaborate entrances and departures, this man carried out his job – his life after life – and relied on his actions to provide all the elaboration he needed. Without a doubt, she knew that he was the First Elder, the warlock who had been around since the beginning of all time and would continue to stay until the end of time. Wide-eyed, she also realised that she was supposed to treat him with a lot more respect than she had done. Oh, well. She was entitled. It had been a long day – just how long
had she been dead, anyway?
Tara turned to face her mother, suddenly realising that Delyth was crying. “I’m sorry,” Delyth told her, wiping away her tears roughly with the back of her hand, almost ashamed to be sad when it was obvious that Tara needed Willow so much more than she needed her. She’d survived four years without her – yet a month without Willow was almost unbearable to the fragile young wiccan.
Words didn’t matter here, Tara knew. Nothing that she could say would erase the hurt that they both felt at finding and then losing each other again. So she reached forward and kissed her mother on either cheek, her arms slipping naturally around her mother’s waist. They embraced for several minutes, enjoying each other’s company once more before Tara pulled back.
“Well, get on, you,” Delyth said, forcing a jovial smile. “Don’t you have a soulmate to find?” For some reason, her mother’s actions and words reminded Tara of Willow as they bade Giles goodbye for the first time. She hoped he was taking care of her.
“Yes, I do,” Tara replied, and suddenly she couldn’t wait to get out and hold Willow in her arms again. “I love you, Mama.”
“Love you too, Tare-Bear. I’ll be watching both of you, so make sure you take care of yourselves, okay?” Delyth shook a finger in her daughter’s direction, faking a stern face. “I’d better not see either of you up here for a long time.”
The two exchanged kisses once more, and Tara resisted the urge to fling herself into her mother’s arms and cry as she had when she was a little girl. Not that she had anything to cry about – she was going to see Willow again. She just wanted to cry in her mother’s arms that one last time. Try as she might, tears would not come, when all she could think was that she would be in Willow’s arms soon.
Delyth closed her eyes and concentrated, and Tara gritted her teeth, expecting the excruciating pain from before.
The white light suddenly shone in front of her, and Tara resisted the urge to close her eyes against the brilliant, instead staring, fascinated, right into the centre of it. As she felt herself being pulled towards Willow again, as her heart sang out in joy, she squinted hard. There, in the middle of that light, was a pair of eyes – one a brilliant blue, identical to her own, and the other an inquisitive green as Willow’s were.
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Rupert Giles stood, pulling a blanket over the redhead who was curled up on his ageing couch, her cheeks tearstained, but the exhausted tinge that they had grown used to, missing from her face and her brow clear. She’d cried all the way home from the airport during the three hour car journey, and hadn’t had the energy to make it in from the car.
As he made his way, peering furtively over his shoulder at his guest occasionally, to the kitchen, Giles mulled over the events of the past year.
“You knew it,” he muttered angrily to himself. “You knew she would try it, Rupert, and you bloody well ran away like the coward you are.” Talking to himself was a habit that he had picked up since leaving America. It was not a sign of impending insanity, he justified, when one lived alone, but was used to being surrounded by young Americans who could never seem to keep their mouths shut. A smile crossed his face as he realised that he ought to enjoy Willow’s silence while he could – the babbling would begin as soon as she awoke. If he was honest with himself, he’d missed it. He’d missed them all – Willow, Tara, Xander, Anya, Buffy, Dawn, and God forbid, even Spike.
Buffy’s death had not been his fault. He’d placed blame appropriately on those responsible, only Glory and Ben, a long time ago. However, her life was. He’d considered resurrecting her himself, but argued that she was probably in Heaven, having more than completed her task as the Slayer, by closing the Hellmouth. Giles had also known that he lacked the necessary power, whereas Willow had been alarming competent in her channelling of the darkest magicks. Tara was a good standby, but her training meant that she avoided dark magicks like Spike avoided sunlight. “You ran away, Ripper,” he announced angrily to the kitchen. “You ran away and let her get herself addicted.”
Giles didn’t blame himself for Buffy’s death but he blamed himself for Willow’s addiction. If he’d taught her better… if he’d resurrected Buffy himself rather than leaving Willow alone to do so… if only he’d told her how very severe his own addiction had become.
*********************************************************************
Tiredness ran through her and settled in her limbs as Tara found herself sitting on the big double bed that she and Willow had once shared – would share again. Willow wasn’t here, so there was no need to hurry. She’d missed Dawn and Buffy desperately, but now she just wanted a few minutes to herself.
Nothing had been moved. Her school books, beside Willow’s, were perched precariously on the dresser, ready to fall. Tara righted them, running a finger down the spine and noting that the dust had settled on even those. Buffy wasn’t too bad, but Dawn and Willow avoided housework like the plague.
“I’m alive,” she whispered. The words sounded strange on her lips, though one part of her was saying “Well, duh!”. It was true, though. She was going to live a long, happy life, and grow old with Willow and have lots of kids who would grow up to play-fight with Xander and Buffy, while Willow helped them with their homework and she baked them cookies.
She, Tara Maclay, was going to do all of that with Willow Rosenberg. First, though, she had to find her.
Full of plans, a silly smile spread over her face as Tara headed for the door. Her hand was outstretched, ready to open it when it opened by itself. Dawn stood there, her mouth agape with shock but already pure joy was registering itself in her face.
Tara: There's just so much to work through... and can you just be kissing me now?
by xita » Fri Aug 23, 2002 12:38 am 
Yay me! Sorry, but I am not a terribly intelligent person and it took me about a year to figure out that you just pressed the link below the reply box. Oops!
Thanks.
heh heh