Author: Kendra A
Summary: Willow and Angel are star-crossed lovers destined to be together throughout time. It’s confusing, I suck at summaries, so just read.
Rating: PG-13, maybe mild R for implied sex and rape.
Status: Part I (finished) in the Forever Trilogy (unfinished). I keep trying to work on the rest, and I have the whole thing planned out, but I'm a lazy bum. Sorry.
Feedback: Feedback to me is like chocolate to Buffy. I sure as Hell don't deserve it, but I love it and indulge in it as much as possible. PLEASE send feedback.
Galway, Ireland, May 1737
"Master Liam!" Her voice was irritated, but held a bit of a laugh in it as she placed two fingers against his chest and pushed him away from her.
"Please, Mary!" He leaned in closer for a kiss, lips pursed.
"Nay, boy! I’ll not kiss you!" Mary pushed him away again. "I’m a far bit older than you, and have work to do as well!"
He wrapped his arms around her waist. "C’mon, Mary! One kiss!"
She sighed and pecked him on the cheek, then pushed him to the grass.
"There! You happy?" She giggled, then gathered up her skirts and ran back to the manor.
Liam sighed and flopped on his back into the lush grass of the field. He hadn’t really thought she’d give him a kiss that was worth anything, he rationalized to himself. But it had been worth a try.
With another long-suffering sigh he pushed himself up to his feet and wandered farther off into the field. He considered the clothes he wore and for a fleeting second cared that if he got them dirty, the housekeeper would have a fit—and then he ran off to the trees in the distance, planning to get a good climb in.
He dashed towards the biggest one—an oak that was so wide not even his father could stretch his arms all the way around it—and began to climb. He found the familiar grooves in the trunk and settled his feet and hands there, quickly reaching the first branch. From there he stood and grabbed the one above, pulling himself up with his hands.
And then there was a shriek. It was a person, definitely, but Liam couldn’t tell where it was coming from. He looked around, trying to peer out through the heavily leafed branches to the field below. He couldn’t see anyone, but the person had sounded close.
He shrugged, and climbed another branch. It shook a great deal with his weight, which had him puzzled for a moment, because usually it held him just fine, but then he simply held on to a branch parallel to it and steadied himself on that as he walked along.
And then he bumped into someone.
That someone was a slender boy about his own age, with fiery hair and huge, dark green eyes that peered at him curiously. His hair was tied back into a long ponytail, just as Liam’s was, and he wore a long tunic and knee-length breeches, and went barefoot. The only thing that suggested he wasn’t a peasant was the heavy silver claddagh ring that was strung through with a long black cord and hung round his neck.
They stood there for several long moments, sizing each other up in silence. The other boy was actually several inches taller than Liam was, and he found himself standing extra straight (with a little bit of tiptoe) to match the boy’s height.
Finally, the boy spoke first.
"What’re you doing in my tree?"
Liam was furious. "Excuse me? What are you doing in mine?"
The boy frowned for a moment, biting his lip as he considered Liam’s retort. "If you say it’s your tree--" Liam nodded, "—but I say it’s mine--" He stopped for a moment, then brightened. "It can be both ours."
Liam considered this for a moment. It meant sharing his favorite tree, which was not a small thing to think of—he’d been coming and climbing here for years. But the boy looked as comfortable on the branch as Liam felt, so it was likely that they had both befriended the oak, simply never bumping into each other. He couldn’t stop the boy from coming—well, he could try--but trying to meant a fight, and Liam...couldn’t fight. And the stranger looked like he could.
"Fine." Liam held out his left hand to shake, still holding onto the above branch with his right. The boy mimicked his pose, and they shook hands rigorously, stopping when the branch they stood on began to shake.
"So," said the stranger.
"Right," said Liam. There was a moment of silence, and then the stranger said,
"I’ll race you to the top."
* * *
Liam and the stranger became fast friends. The other boy’s name was William, and his family owned a manor that was well-known by all the people in the town, just as Liam’s was.
For four years, they met on the weekends and on sunny afternoons under the big oak, and they ran around the fields and swam once in a while in a nearby pond. They climbed the tree and broke off branches by accident and had mudfights and snowball fights and wars using the tree as a fortress.
And then William’s mother gave a big dinner to celebrate the birth of her fifth child (William had 3 older brothers) and Liam’s family was invited. For a few days before the party, William couldn’t be there—his excuse was that his whole family was needed for the preparations. Liam lounged around, lonely, for a few days, and then it was time for the party, and his mother and his father and Liam went.
They were led into the spacious front hall of the mansion by a maid, and soon Mrs. Morris came out of the company room to greet them.
Formal introductions were made, and Liam inquired upon the whereabouts of Master William. Politely told that Master William had been in the garden when the first guests arrived, he went off in that general direction.
After being pointed towards the gardens by a kind old manservant in the kitchen, Liam was happy to have found the gardens at last. They were spacious and quiet, with neat stone paths surrounded by hedges, and with little circles of flowers at each intersection. After wandering for a while, he saw a tall blonde boy, probably about three years older than him, wandering down a path to his right. Liam quickened his pace to keep up with the boy, and finally called out to him.
"Excuse me, but I don’t suppose you could tell me where Master William is?"
The boy laughed. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Pardon?" said Liam.
"I’m William," the boy said, holding out his hand. Liam shook it, but a little confusedly.
"I’m sorry," he said, "but I know a Master William Morris, and I thought he had red hair."
"Red hair?" William asked, frowning slightly.
"And green eyes," Liam said, wrinkling his forehead.
"And tall and thin?" William asked.
"Tall and thin," Liam said agreeably.
"I have one older brother, one younger brother, and two younger sisters," William said.
"I was aware--"
"That I had three older brothers and one younger sister? Quite," William said. "I’m afraid you’ve run into my sister."
"Sister?"
"Second-youngest. She’s sixteen—are you sixteen? Of course—and she has a tendency towards boyishness. She likes to wear breeches and tunics and run around and climb trees. I don’t know what we’re going to do with her," William added to himself.
"Sister?" Liam said.
"Did she have a silver claddagh ring?"
"On a cord around hi--her neck," Liam answered.
"Of course," William said with a tinge of disgust to his voice. Then he snapped back to being cheerful. "Well, Master—I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name…?"
"Liam. Master Liam Donegue."
"Pleased to meet you." They shook hands again. "Well, Master Liam, what you do next is your business. I suppose I’ll see you again sometime." William gave him a small salute and went off through the gardens in the opposite direction.
"Wait!" Liam called. William paused and looked back.
"Yes?"
"Her name—your sister’s name?"
"Siobhan. Good evening!"
And then William left Liam in the garden with a LOT to think about.
* * *
The next day, Liam and…. his friend met in the place they always did, in front of the oak. ‘William’ was full of energy and immediately kicked off ‘his’ shoes and started to climb the tree. ‘He’ looked back down and saw that Liam hadn’t even approached the tree—just stood a couple of paces away and looked sullen. ‘William’ slid back down the trunk of the tree and walked over.
"Liam, what’s wrong?" Liam absently noted how high and soft ‘William’s’ voice was. How had he not noticed before?
"Nothing, really," Liam said. "Why weren’t you at the dinner last night?"
‘William’ stiffened almost imperceptibly. "I had a cold," he said. "But I’m better now."
"I see," Liam said sternly.
"Something’s wrong. Why won’t you talk to me? Did something happen that I should know about?" There it was. ‘William’ had just handed him a chance, on a silver platter, to tell him what Liam had found out.
"No," Liam said. "Nothing’s wrong."
* * *
Four months of tension passed.
Siobhan had no idea what was wrong with Liam. He’d never, ever acted this way before—he had never been secretive (not particularly open, of course, but never secretive) and now that was all he was. He almost never came to the tree anymore, and when he did he climbed grudgingly and stiffly, and wouldn’t look her in the eye.
Does he know? Siobhan had wondered more than once. But, No, she thought. He would have told me by now... he would have been gone long before this if he knew.
She couldn’t bear for him to know. He would have left her, left them, and their wonderful friendship that contained, as far as she knew, only one secret.
She couldn’t bear for him to know, because then she’d never see him again, and she couldn’t take that...because she loved him.
But Liam did know.
If he was a ‘true man’, as his father would have so sympathetically put it, he would have told Siobhan all that he knew and left her, crying, by the tree—and never gone back again.
But he couldn’t do that...and he wasn’t sure why.
* * *
Then Liam and Siobhan both received word of some festivities being held at the local pub. For bars, it was the most reputable place—it was clean, and the food was usually freshly made, and there were very few brawls-- so all the young people were allowed to go.
‘William’ came down with another convenient cold before the party, so would not be going, but Liam fully intended to go. He was tired of holding up his pathetically weak facade towards Siobhan, and ‘needed to integrate himself into the social circles’, as his father so delicately put it.
So with a last, long look out the company room window towards the fields and the tree, Liam went.
The tavern was dim and crowed with many people around his age that he vaguely knew—that is, he knew some of their names and some of their traits from gossip, but not much more—and there were fiddles playing in the background. Near the tables was a clear space where some couples danced to the music.
Liam ordered himself some cider at the bar and sat down, leaning one elbow on the bar to watch the festivities. A barmaid came up to serve him his drink and watched him amusedly as he took it.
"Be careful with yer drink there, boyo. Can’t have ya gettin’ drunk!" she laughed, and sat down on the stool next to him.
Liam laughed darkly and sipped at his cider.
"Beth."
"What?" he asked.
"My name’s Beth," the barmaid said cheerfully.
"Nice to know," Liam replied sarcastically.
"Your name would be...?"
"Why do you care?"
"Such a handsome lad sittin’ all alone in the corner...I try to know everybody’s name," Beth said.
"Liam."
"Master Liam Donegue?" she asked, surprised. He nodded. "Pleased ta meet ya, sir."
"Doubtless, the feeling’s mutual," Liam answered.
"Beth!" The call came from somewhere in the depths of the tavern.
"That’s me call," Beth said, hopping to her feet. "I’ll be seein’ ya later, Master Liam?" He grunted in reply and she nodded happily and disappeared into the crowd.
Liam breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to the bar. There was a little bit of movement on his right—a flash of green—and he turned his head to see.
He recognized that profile—it was William! Not William. This was not William...this was Siobhan, shed her boys’ breeches and shirt. Her long reddish hair, turned gold by tavern light, spilled in waves down her bare back, and she wore a strapless green silk dress that made her eyes seem to glow. And on a slim black ribbon round her neck hung her silver claddagh ring, polished until it gleamed in shadow.
Then she turned to him and smiled, and Liam forgot to breathe.
"Hello," she said, that winning smile still present on her lips (which were currently distracting Liam). "Have we met? You seem familiar..."
He gave a tiny cough. "No, no, I don’t believe we have," he said politely.
"Siobhan," she said amiably. She held out a hand for him to shake, but he kissed it instead. She blushed a charming rosy color, and Liam found himself wondering exactly how far down her body that blush might spread...Don’t go there, boyo, he thought carefully to himself.
"Liam," he said in the same friendly tone as she had, and let her hand go.
"Mind if I sit here?" she inquired.
"Not at all."
* * *
They spent the evening in flirtatious conversation, each taking deliberate measures to touch the other as often as possible—for conversational emphasis, when raising one’s hand to signal for another cider, when getting up to greet another friend.
Liam loved her company almost more than he loved her ‘masculine’ side as his best friend. ‘William’ blushed a bit less, but Siobhan laughed more, and they both were easy-going and humorous, and a delight to be around.
By the time it was midnight, Liam wanted to take Siobhan into his arms, kiss her senseless, and never let her go. He knew now why his reluctance to leave his friend after discovering the fraud was so adamant. He’d fallen in love with both sides of her—the dress-wearing, flirtatious side, and the tree-climbing, wrestling, best-friend side.
And then Beth came over.
"Master Liam! I told ya I’d come back!" This time, she didn’t carry a tray, and her apron was gone. "I’ve some free time now, if I might spend it here--?"
"I was just talking to Siobhan here," Liam said as rudely as he could manage without insulting Beth too obviously.
"Oh, me ‘n Hanna are friends," Beth said cheerfully. "She won’t mind."
Liam glanced doubtfully at his companion, and she shrugged carelessly, though her smile suddenly seemed a little tight. He sighed, and gestured for Beth to seat herself.
After conversing mindlessly with Beth for nearly forty minutes, Siobhan declared she wasn’t feeling at all well, and should probably go home. Relieved, Liam jumped from his seat and offered to walk her. She looked quite pleased and began to accept, but Beth interrupted.
"Ah, Hanna--" Siobhan grimaced at the nickname Beth insisted on calling her—"I’m sure ya can walk home by yerself, ye’ve done it before. Master Liam can stay here and talk ta me."
"Oh, no," Liam said. "I must persist. It simply isn’t proper for a lady to walk home by herself."
"I do admit, the dark is intimidating," Siobhan said helpfully.
Beth sighed. "Fine," she allowed. "Get home safe, then."
Siobhan smiled and linked her arm with Liam’s. "I’m sure I will," she said, and then they left.
The walk to Siobhan’s manor was quiet but cold, and they walked blissfully close together to preserve warmth. At the head of the drive, they stopped, because at the gatehouse there would be a guard, who would not take kindly to seeing Siobhan with an unfamiliar lad.
"The evening was lovely," Siobhan commented wistfully.
"It was until Beth joined it," Liam said bluntly.
Siobhan laughed. "Really, Liam," she said, amused. "It’s not polite to talk of one’s friends that way."
He was immediately contrite. "I’m sorry--"
"No, no!" She laughed again. "I’m sorry she was there as well. She’s so… I don’t know… loud? Disruptive? Aggravating? Attention-stealing?"
"Lady," Liam said seductively, "if you think that my attention strayed from you for one moment, even if Beth was indeed there, you are sadly mistaken."
She took a deep breath. "Really?" she said, trying to sound disinterested.
"Really," he said, and then he leaned in for a kiss.
Liam had kissed girls before—he had been a hormone-infested, thirteen-year-old boy before, after all—but never like this. Never with this much meaning packed behind it. His arms were wrapped around her, her arms around his neck, holding him to her. At first he was surprised—again and again this evening he’d forgotten she was the same lad he spent every day with—but then he realized she might have loved him for much longer, and his heart leapt and the kiss went on.
Finally they pulled apart, ever so slowly. Her hands slid down his shoulders to hold his hands, and they stood together in the cold that neither of them felt anymore, and stared at one another.
She looked as if she was having trouble saying something, and then finally she stuttered, "Liam, I’ve something awful to tell you--"
But he knew what it was, and interrupted. "I’ll see you tomorrow at our oak tree," he said gently, and she looked up at him, smiling through unshed tears, grateful and loving.
He kissed her one last time and touched her cheek, and then he turned and left.
* * *
Siobhan turned away from his figure disappearing down the road, and slowly walked down the drive. Occasionally she dreamily touched a finger to her lips in remembrance of their kisses; her face was joyful enough that her smile could be seen from three stories above.
From a window on the third story of her manor, there watched a man with blonde hair and blue eyes. He had seen the whole exchange—the quiet conversation, the kiss, the parting—and he’d heard his younger sister’s lilting laugh.
He’d tried to stop this once. He would have to take greater measures.
Nobody touched William’s property without his permission.
* * *
Almost dancing with glee, Liam left the house with a kiss on the cheek for his mother, a manly slap on the back for his father, and a wave to Mary. His progress across the fields was quick, and he was at the tree in record time, waiting for Siobhan.
She was already there, her back to him. She was leaning on the other side of the tree, watching the sky. "Siobhan?"
She gave no reaction. Was there something wrong? Had she changed her mind—about them? His heart grew heavy with dread. "Siobhan? What’s wrong?"
Slowly she turned to look at him. She had a bruise on one cheek, under her right eye. Her face was streaked with tears and dirt, and she clutched her ripped shirt to her chest with a trembling hand. "I’ve been out here all night," she said quietly.
"What?" This was definitely cause for alarm—the night had been cold, and her fur coat was nowhere to be seen. "Why? What happened?" He was at her side, kneeling to cup her chin. She turned her gaze away from him, as if she were afraid.
"You’ll hate me," she said, "and you only just saw me--" She began to cry again, lifting her free hand from the ground and awkwardly wiping her face.
"I could never hate you," Liam protested truthfully. He lowered himself next to her and cradled her to his chest. "What happened? Who did this?"
"I—came home…" she choked out the words. "My brother was waiting…on the stairs. For me. He was waiting for me! And he asked me where I’d been, and I told him the pub—he got angry. He got so angry, Liam, you don’t even know what angry is until you’ve seen my brother.
"I asked him why…why it mattered, because I hadn’t done anything. And he said I had, and what a bad girl starts she must always finish, even if it’s with a different person…" Her voice trailed off; she was looking at the sky again.
"What?" The awful suspicion Liam had hidden at the bottom of his heart began to rise. "What did you do wrong?"
"He saw me kissing you," she said to the sky. "Oh, Liam, I told him I loved you, that I didn’t mean to stop…ever. And then he grabbed me and took me to the barns behind the house and he…"
"Oh, Siobhan," Liam said, and knelt to kiss her forehead. "I’m so sorry—It’s my fault--"
"No," she said kindly, looking up at him. "It’s nobody’s fault. How could we have known what he’d do? That he’d be watching or that he’d care? I never thought he would," she said, a little bewildered.
They sat there in silence awhile, staring up at the inappropriately cheerful sky together, until she remarked, "I’m cold."
"You’ve been out here all night," Liam exclaimed, remembering. "Come, back to my house. You’ll need a nurse… something clean to change into… Come, Siobhan."
She awkwardly got to her feet and he wrapped a comforting arm about her shoulders. He had to walk slowly, because she shuffled along with her legs pressed together, but he loved her so he whispered soothing noises when she stumbled.
His house came into sight quickly enough, and then they were at the back door. Before they went in, she turned to him. "I don’t want to be Siobhan anymore," she said. "Siobhan was hurt and scared, and Siobhan is what my brother yelled right before he left me in the barn." He bit his lip, hurting for her, but her next words made him ridiculously happy. "Can you give me a new name? Because if you give it to me, I’ll be yours, and never his…I want to be yours for always."
"Of course," he said. He tried to think of a suitable name. Last night, in the dim light of the lamps in the pub and in the glowing light of the moon on her drive, she’d looked…etherial. Unreal. Like a fairy…but something more mischievous. Like a pixie. Pixie. "Pixie," he said. "You’ll be my fairy-sprite, my magic worker." For some unknown reason, those last words made her grin. "But I can’t call you Pixie with others around, can I?"
"My middle name is Callieach," she said shyly.
"Willow," he translated. "Perfect."
cont'd...