The Kitten, the Witches and the Bad Wardrobe

[umgaynow]

Title: The Traveller's Tale
Author: Sandi aka umgaynow aka That Big Tease
Pairing: Do you even need to ask?
Summary: A/U...originally a response to the Anytime But Here challenge, that I tossed aside many many moons ago...now an exercise to loosen up my writing muscles without pressuring my muse by working on previous projects...in a time long past, where our two girls are very different indeed...it may not be up to my usual standards, but I hope it is at least readable
Disclaimer: Not only do I not own Willow and Tara, I haven't owned anything in over 3 years...also I'm stoned on Percocet right now and therefore it logically stands to follow that I can't be held accountable for my actions
Rating: PG-13 for language

[b]The Traveller's Tale


The Stableman's Daughter. Always, she had been just The Stableman's Daughter.

"I beg your pardon?" the traveller glared in the direction of the voice, "I dare say, Madam! Who is telling this story? If you don't mind!" She rose to her feet, her expression shifting into another that was rather less friendly, "May I proceed then? Oh, very well...if you do insist..." she took a deep breath, blowing it out in such a fashion that the unkempt hair, which hung in her eyes, stood straight up for a moment, "Perhaps it was not precisely always..."

For it is true that Cordelia, the notoriously waspish lady-in-waiting, generally addressed her as peasant or wretch and I will grant you that her own father, when her bothered to speak to her at all, called her merely girl.

"There now, is that to your satisfaction? Excuse me, but if you would...to speak in the vernacular of the peasantry...sit down and shut up, then you might be better able to hear what happens next, now mightn't you? If you please, Madam! Do you wish to hear the tale or not? Well then...if you gentle ladies may be imposed upon to forgive a humble bard, should she now and again resort to the tiniest bit of exaggeration for dramatic effect, I assure you things will go much more smoothly. After all, there is no denying that the oral traditions of the region certainly set precedent for such...I mean really, if one occasionally indulges in a wee bit of hyperbole in order to...it's not like anyone has ever been...and I can't see the harm in a little...Pardon me? Ah...so we are agreed then? Excellent! Now where was I? Oh yes...thank you..."

The Stableman's Daughter. Not a soul had spoken her true name since that dark day when her Nona had been taken into The Lands Beyond. As her own Mum had passed from this world in bringing the babe into it, her grandmother was the closest thing to a real parent that the child had ever known. So, it was indeed a tragic day when the old woman had merged with the infinite, but still it was a tragedy which had befallen her in a year long since past. She had been but a mere slip of a girl then. All bones and brashness, with a wild shock of red hair, so unruly that it scarcely afforded even the briefest glimpse of the startlingly green eyes that stared out from beneath her pale brow.

How, you may ask, could something so fundamental as a name fall into disuse? And I will tell you the plain truth of it.

It was not, as you may posit, were you given to fancy, that her name was a holy name, nor even one to be feared. No. It was nothing so exciting as that. It was quite simply that the courtiers and townsfolk alike, regarded her much as they did the heavy oak table that sat in the great hall. Sturdy, yes...necessary, indeed...but ultimately replaceable...a fixture...consigned to the shadows and hardly worthy of notice. Just the stableman's daughter spoken in precisely the same way as one would say the pig or the chair or the chamberpot. In fact, it had been so long since she had heard the name pass another's lips, that she oftimes wondered if she would even recognize the sound, should someone deign to utter it.

Fortunately, our girl was strong of mind and determined of spirit and had made a solitary oath that she would not allow herself to forget. Fearing that if she did, she might indeed become that non-entity, that wretched piece of furniture, that the world around her saw when they bothered to look her way. So, whenever she could steal a moment alone, away from the ears of the gossips that thrived at court, in the form of fine ladies and scullery maids alike, she would speak the name aloud. Repeating it over and over again, until it became so formless and nonsensical that even she could not be certain that she was remembering it right.

And it is thus that we find her as our tale begins...reciting her ritual litany as she walks the nigh on ten miles between the manor and the marketplace.

"Willow...Willow...Willow...Willow...WillowWillowWillowWillow...my name is Willow...Willowy Willowy Willow...Will-ow...Will-ow...Will-ow...Will - Oh blast!" she snarled, having planted her foot smack in the middle of a fresh pile of ox dung.

Being the stableman's daughter, she was actually something of an authority on the subject of dung. After all, she'd scarcely drawn breath away from the foul stench of it in all of her two and twenty years. As for this particular pile, Willow could tell it was fresh by the core temperature and relative humidity of it as it squished through the hole in her shoe and oozed between her toes. Try as she might, she couldn't help laughing at the sheer typicalness of her predicament, if only to keep from falling to her knees and sobbing.

Here she was on her monthly pilgrimage to the forge, in search of new shoes for the baron's pampered ponies, while she herself had been wearing the same tattered weasel-hide slippers for nearly two summers. At this point, they were less a pair of shoes than an assemblage of holes and patches. Not that her situation was unique, for those of her station, it was quite simply the way things were and had been as long as anyone could recall. The horses ate better than she did, slept in warmer, drier quarters, were washed and groomed on a regular basis and in most cases, had never felt the sting of a courtier's whip on their backs. I'll get even with that harridan Cordelia one day, I swear on my Nona's grave.

Willow was also fairly certain that the horses had never been chased through the bowels of the castle by Wilkins, the lecherous tanner. Thankfully, for her sake, years of mucking out stalls and carrying water had made the redhead strong and nature had gifted her with a certain fleetness of both mind and foot. Also, a tenacity and ferociousness, if needs be, that belied her diminutive stature. Running and hiding were skills a girl had to master early on, when she was constantly surrounded by soldiers, tradesman, pages and even the occasional knight errant. From the time she'd come into her body and ceased to be believable as a young boy, the redhead had learned quite quickly that even the most high-born of courtiers was not put off by the stench of stable on her, once his baser urges took hold. Still, swift mind and swift foot beat drunk and randy on any day with a Y in it.

The moment she had been old enough to comprehend, Nona had begun drilling into her head the importance of protecting her virtue at all costs. If she was spoiled, no man would want her for his wife. Spoiled. What was she, a pail of milk? And Willow was certain that her grandmother was smiling down at her from The Lands Beyond. She had done her proud; for it would not be hyperbole to say that the little redhead was more likely than not, the only virgin of two and twenty in all the region, perhaps further on than that.

Admittedly, respecting her Nona's wishes had not been all that difficult. For she had no desire to be wife to any husband, years of watching the men who came through the stables convinced her of that. Much to her dismay, her father was not of the same opinion on the matter. He had, of late, been making noises about marrying her off to the first man who made him a decent offer. A spinster daughter of two and twenty was like a black mark on the name of a man, when other girls were often married by four and ten and either mothers or old maids by ten and six.

Willow knew that she must escape from the trap her father was laying for her and soon, but it would require a lot of planning and no small amount of luck. You see, simply running away was not an option. Everyone knew that a woman on her own could only be one of two things. A whore or a corpse. Since Willow didn't fancy either of those options, she'd need to come up with a third.

TBC?

[Zooeys_Bridge]

dibsy!

how delightful! i love your storytelling, it's really quite quaint and grabs me in nicely.

Poor Willow, when will her lass come sweep her off her feet?
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bloggish fun, Lotus

[Zampsa1975]

Good beginning... I hope that Willow's gay white knight soon arrives and makes her father a suitable offer...
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We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

[whatmakesyouhappy]

keep on going it's really good

[Belli Bear]

that was such an enjoyable beginning, a real treat lol, I love introductions that have odd lighthearted undertones to awful circumstances ie: the ox dung incident which shall never be spoken of again. oh our poor poor Willow, lets hope Tara is a lady of station ey?


-bell
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let me live forever.. in the space between our lips...

[Willowtree252]

I love this Sandi I cant wait for more this was a wonderful beginning. I always get excited when I see you posting a fic all of your story s have such passion and substance.
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Dia the spelunker
Never underestimate the powerful love of a good woman
If you were a cave what kind of cave would you be

[Paint the Sky]

Poor Willow. Such a hard life, and such an overlooked one. Thankfully, things can only get better for her, I mean, its not like they could get anyworse, unless she meets someone nasty who can run faster than she can.

What stuck out for me though was the comment on dung. Yes I'm a little strange that way! As a gardener, I couldn't help but agree with Willow's assessment on the varying characteristics of manure. I swear I've shovelled enough shit over the years too, to be able to age it, tell what beast it came from etc. Pig and chicken are the worst

Anyway, loving the start of this, and I have only one thing to say "Run, Willow, run!"
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People grow through experience if they meet life honestly and courageously. This is how character is built. Eleanor Roosevelt

[Alcy]

Hi there Sandi, woohoo, AU all the way. That was a great challenge so I’m pleased to see it has spurred you onto writing a complete fic. (although I have to admit my own submission didn’t quite get finished…maybe I will one day)

I loved your little bit of banter at the start, a great way to set the tone for your fic. I love the flow of your prose; it’s very easy to read.

[Artemis]

Ouch, poor Willow's in an unenviable spot. But I like how you write her - the situation is grim, but she's got a spark of brightness about her that promises she'll think of something, though no doubt it won't be easy. I like how you're writing this, choosing words, using the ebb and flow of sentences - it feels very much like a story being told, always with an entertaining quirk of humour or flair in delivering a bit of information. I'm sure our bard's audience is riveted (in spite of occasional interruptions - the switching early on between the story and the storyteller was very cute).

So now the question is, what form might Tara take in this world? I'll be here waiting to find out
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Chris Cook

Through the Looking-glass - Every world needs a Willow and Tara.
The Fairytale Bureau of Investigation - Casefiles in the Bed Time Stories thread.

[umgaynow]

So now the question is, what form might Tara take in this world? I'll be here waiting to find out

I can guarantee you it will be a way in which I doubt anyone has ever thought of Tara...also I predict it will make at least a few kittens drool

I watched Stardust tonight so I'm just humming with Middle Ages type inspiration

[whatmakesyouhappy]

I could see Tara as a knight who has to save the fair Willow (swoon)

[satinpaper]

Then I guess your Tara has nothing to do with your avatar Tara. I can put two and two together like it's nobody's business.

And see what I did? I created an opportunity for you to say "my Tara", which could be a nice thing to say.

It lookes to me like everything is set for a great,unusual tale... Or at least Willow is all set and ready to roll.

[umgaynow]

[CrazyTaraWitch]

This story's intriguing. I feel compelled to comment that my grandmother's name is Nona. Can't wait to see more!
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And if you ever change your mind,
You know I'm not hard to find,
And if you ever need someone,
I'll still be waiting...
~Jas

[amberholic08]

Wow I'm already liking this story from the AU timeline, poor Wilow. Ohh, Tara going to be Willow's knight and shining armor? Cause if she looks anything like your avatar I know I might be wrong but it doesn't hurt to think it.
I cant wait for your update!
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I can multi-task (talk and piss you off at the same time)
They say that money talks but mine just waves, "Goodbye."

[umgaynow]

I had a really good idea for this story as I was lying awake in bed at 4:30 this morning...so there may be an update fairly soon...and thanks for all the lovely, encouraging feedback

[cammy]

luv ur story

[umgaynow]

I just finished a rough of chapter 2... but my poor little paws need a rest before I do a rewrite or type it up...it should be posted tomorrow or Tuesday at the latest, excepting unseen catastrophe

[umgaynow]

Sorry about the delay in posting my kittens...just this once I was not intentionally being a tease, just that with the weather we have been having my hands are not cooperating...perhaps one of you more persuasive felines could convince them that they are only 43 years old and shouldn't be having arthritis, damn it! I haven't had any luck...anyway, I'll post as soon as I can...thanks for your patience

[JujuDeRoussie]

This seems a nice story I'm curious of it. Oh and Willow is just so.. cute

I like that kind of story, so dear fingers, stop suffering and go back on the key board!

Will they understand?

Friendly,

Julia
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Broken Dolls | The Stadium's Goddesses | Seeds Of Beauty

"Joie est mon caractère, C'est la faute à Voltaire; Misère est mon trousseau, C'est la faute à Rousseau." Gavroche. Victor Hugo, Les Misérables (chap. XV)

[MsKittyB]

I really like this story. Patience is a virtue. I have it. I think. I'll wait. I really want to see were this story is going.
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{Carpe Diem}

[umgaynow]

OK...Chapter 2 is finished...I just have to find the time and energy to type it in and post it...most likely later tonight

[umgaynow]

Title: The Traveller's Tale: Chapter 2
Author: Sandi/umgaynow
Rating: PG
Summary: AU...Willow and Tara in another time and place...see previous
Disclaimer: Prithee good sir, do not prosecute me...for I am but a humble peasant with not a farthing to me name
Note: I have lost the will to avoid linguistic anachronism in this story...so if you come across a contraction or a turn of phrase far too intellectual for a stableman's daughter, well then...live with it!

The Traveller's Tale: Chapter 2

What to do? What to do? Willow pondered the question feverishly as she trudged along the road to the marketplace. Suddenly, it hit her.

A list!

Yes, that was certainly the very thing for it. She would determine the boons and pitfalls of each option, before sorting the results into sets of smaller more precise lists, based on commonality and objective reasoning. Next, she would endeavor to create some sort of organizing system to facilitate the process of comparing and contrasting the various facts and notions, in order to arrive at the truest conclusion possible.

Just as she was considering the availability of various hues of ink and the probability of being able to talk the monks into giving her some, Willow remembered that she could neither read nor write. Bollocks! Ah well, she would just have to settle for analyzing each and every bit, in ridiculous detail, within the confines of her own very busy mind. Truly, it was better this way. For even the most skilled apothecary could not mix the colors that her heart could conjure.

Plan #1 - Allow Father to sell me, like a fatted hog, to the first man who comes along with enough jingle in his purse. More likely than not, some hairy, foul-smelling brute, who will expect me to scrape the dung from his boots, dress and cook his kills and...[i]Oh God! She supressed a gag reflex. Moving on then...

Plan #2 - Take the veil. Not the most obvious choice, I will grant you, but do the sisters really need to know that my mother's folk came out of Judea? Then of course, there's the whole not believing in God or Jesus bit. We could work around that, right? Still, I suppose lying, particularly on that subject, would rather go against the central idea of the place. This is definitely going to take a little more thought...

Plan #3 - Take my own life. Hardly my favorite choice, but outwardly the most foolproof of the lot. T'would be rather hard to cock up dying, I should imagine. Then again, as miserable as my life here may be, what proof do I have that being dead would be any better? For all I know, walking into the pond with a pocketful of stones could just spawn a whole new flock of problems.

"Come on now, Red! You are thinking like you've got a black cloud stuck up your arse! Try to look at the good things that might come of a new path!"

Hmmmm...Red...I suppose there is Alexander. He is a good boy, sweet and gentle, but every time he calls me Red I want to thump him over the head with a bale of hay. I've no doubt that he would marry me as soon as look at me. He has been following me around like a whelp for the last ten years, after all.

Willow tried to imagine herself into wedlock with the Baron's page. It would mean a place at court, a lowly place, but certainly warmer, cleaner, safer and better fed than she was now. Also, it would save her being traded like livestock by her brutish father. Doubtless to some hardscrabble farmer, dooming her to a life sentence of muck and drudgery and perish the thought, childbearing, lots of it.
That last bit would be a hard one to avoid, no matter the man, but she felt sure that Alexander, at least, would not force her. Although the facts seemed to dictate that he should be her salvation, somehow she simply could not bear the idea.

There was no denying that her life had always been a spare one, barely scraping by from day to day. Subsisting on the paltry sundries not spirited away to the manor, along with the few morsels she could grow on her own or gather in the wood. Still, every bite that passed her lips was paid for in full, with the sweat of her brow and the ache of her back. She did not live, like a lapdog, off the table scraps of the royals, which was not only descriptive of Alexander's eating habits, but essentially his whole existence. While it was true that he was indeed a good boy, she only wished he were a good man instead. Now, you mightn't think that self-respect would be a high priority for someone who passed her days amongst large piles of dung, but it was all the girl had that was her own, the one thing that kept her from simply laying down and dying.

Then there was that other matter. A secret the redhead had been keeping tucked close to her heart, since even before her courses had come upon her and it was hardly the sort of thing one could share with a perspective husband. Not even the gentle Alexander was that understanding.

You see, Willow had realized quite early on, that the shiver of joy that bubbled up inside her, each time she saw the ladies at court done up in all their fine jewels and lush gowns, had very little to do with the shining pearls and intricate brocades. The way her heart would flutter like a captive sparrow, the fire that seemed to run through her veins, was much more about those wonderful plunging necklines.

The quiver of soft, white bosoms as the frivolous girls giggled and gossiped, coupled with thoughts of the natural womanly curves hidden beneath all those undergarments, took her breath away more than the most constrictive corset ever could. In truth, the thought of any man's rough, calloused hands on a woman's smooth, pale flesh made her feel ill. Of course, the redhead kept such truths to herself. Even an illiterate stableman's daughter knew how those sorts of thoughts could get a girl a quick date with a very large stake, a pile of kindling and a torch.

Plan #1: Conclusion - Alexander is too nice a boy to be saddled with a wife who doesn't love him, who can't love him. Yeah, that sounds convincing...and since he is the only even remotely acceptable prospect, avoid this option at all costs.

Perhaps the veil might not be so bad at that. At least in the nunnery she would be free of the constant stench of the stables. Hadn't she heard something about ritual baths? Maybe she could actually be clean for once, really clean, like a lady of the court. She allowed her mind to drift off into lovely clean thoughts, but with her next step, her rather educated toes sent her a message that the dung in her shoe was now dry enough to dump without leaving any nasty moist traces behind.

As she beat the shoe on a rock, then slipped it back on, she chuckled and spoke aloud, "That's me, Lady Willow of the Burgh of the Roses."

The girl had been so wrapped up in her musings that she hadn't even noticed that she'd reached her destination and so, when a group of boys began to hoot and howl with laughter, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Some of the lads clutched at their sides, doubled over in mirth and gasping for breath, while others pranced daintily on tiptoe, holding up their trouser legs as though they were the finest silks.

"Ooooh, look at me!" they trilled, "For I am Lady Pigslop of the Dung of the Horses!"

A single baleful glare on Willow's part was all it took to send them running off toward home. For as any child knew, you should never meet the eye of a crone or a redhead, lest you be captured in the gaze of a witch or even the devil himself. Also, the boys were old enough to have learned that it was never a good idea to anger a woman who could heft half again her weight in horseshoes. They might have been ignorant peasants, but they weren't dumb.


TBC - that's all for now...have already started on a rough of chapter 3...no time guarantees though...hope you liked it

[satinpaper]

Well, I do, I like it very much, and the anachronisms work just fine for me, they add to the humorous effect. I seldom read middle age period pieces in English, but I would if the writer handled that ornate style with your irony and playfulness.

I didn't notice any trace of Tara in any fathomable form, but I can't complain.

[thiswomanswork]

This is very fun. Can't wait to see where it goes!

[Zampsa1975]

Yay for excellent update-y goodness... I hope that Tara makes soon a memorale entrance to Willow's life and makes her life a little better...
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We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

[Pinocchio1940]

I just starting reading this - Great story so far, Sounds a little like King Arthurian days. Keep it giong!
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"Only the pure of spirit may find the treasure of knowledge". - Teddy Ruxpin

By the Power of Grayskull!

[umgaynow]

Aw shucks, ladies Thanks...glad you like it and I promise there will be at the very least a glimpse of Tara in the next chapter

[MsKittyB]

Lovely update. Willow is just so adorable in this story. Can't wait to see Tara's appearence in the next chapter.
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{Carpe Diem}

[umgaynow]