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Title: But a Day ``°°ºº¤oøO§Oøo¤ºº°°``°°ºº¤oøO§Oøo¤ºº°°``°°ºº¤oøO§Oøo¤ºº°°`` //Hrryn, where are the hairless ones?// //Their dens are not as open to the sun as ours. It allows them to sleep longer.// //Then we should wake them up,// Skyrr sent, a devilish glint in his eyes. //Skyrr, I don't think...// With a playful rumble, Skyrr padded up onto the porch, but was halted by the too-small doorway. He grumbled and headed around the house until he found Methos' bedroom window. //Aha,// he said, looking in, //I found them, Hrryn!// He poked his huge head through the window and saw Duncan and Methos sleeping peacefully, wrapped around each other and buried in a pile of blankets against the chill. His neck was just long enough so that he could just reach Duncan's uncovered feet with his tongue. A wicked glint in his yellow eyes, Skyrr did just that, tickling the big man's feet unmercifully. Duncan jerked and flew out of bed like he'd been shot. "Wha...," he shouted incoherently. Methos opened his eyes and blinked crossly at the big Scot. "What the bloody hell was that?" he groused from his burrow deep within the blankets. "Feet," Duncan said intelligently, still more asleep than awake. Methos scowled at his overly clever friend and glanced out the window to see Skyrr rolling on the ground, grunting and huffing in an excess of feline hilarity. Hrryn sat off to one side, shaking his head disapprovingly at his packmate. //I apologize for my packmate's behavior, friend Methos. He was not right to rouse you and your shieldmate from sleep.// Methos sighed and scrubbed at his face. //That's alright, Hrryn. We should be up and about anyhow.// Duncan, by this time, had cleared his brain of the sleep-induced fog. //Try that again and I'll get up in the middle of the night just to lop off your tail,// he threatened the big black Kat teasingly. Methos scrambled out of bed, tugging the blankets into a haphazard order. "Got to get going, Mac. Chulla's expecting us. Dibs on the shower!" Shivering in the early morning chill, Methos raced for the shower after grabbing clean clothes out of a cupboard. Duncan watch, bemused, as Hurricane Methos swept out of the room. He wandered drowsily into the kitchen and browsed through the pantry for breakfast food. He settled on boiling some grains he found for a hot cereal and slicing some fresh fruit over it. He prepared a bowl for Methos, which the other man took gratefully after he emerged from the shower. Showered and dressed himself, Duncan exited the house to find Methos waiting for him, buckling his swordbelt low about his hips. "Feels good to wear a weapon again," Duncan commented, adjusting the belt that held his katana. "I've missed it, and I always felt a little guilty hiding it under a coat." Methos grinned. "I know exactly how you feel. Let's get started. I'll fill you in on your life story as we walk." "Eh?" "Well, I couldn't very well tell my acquaintances from town that you fell out of the sky in a spaceship, now could I?" Duncan flushed. "Right, of course. So who am I and what am I doing here?" "Well, like I told you yesterday, you're the son of an old friend of my father's. I'm a younger son, myself, a thinker, you see, with no land obligations to see to. I came to these mountains to stake a land claim, even though the ground is not fit for farming. This is considered somewhat odd by most of the locals. When a man builds up an estate, he usually wants to establish what we would call a manor - big house, farms, livestock, lots of people, you know the drill. I'm a philosopher, a loner, so my solitary existence is tolerated without question. "Now, as far as you're concerned, you grew up in the tropical regions on the Southern Continent where I hope the people are naturally darker because of the warmer climate. Given your size, you're a warrior - that should suit you down to the ground - and you've come to visit me for a couple of reasons. First, your older brother is being groomed to take over your father's estate, and you're not really cut out to play second fiddle. You're such a natural leader, no one will have any problem believing that you were chafing at the idea of being under your brother's thumb. Your father has always been in regular contact with my father, so he knew that I was in a similar position and established myself here. He told you about me, and you decided to come up here for a bit of a holiday. After relaxing for a few days, you wanted to observe the provincial infantry as a military observer. You've expressed interest being a strategic consultant, but you're not interested in becoming an officer - you've already done your time as a soldier." Duncan had been nodding as Methos spun his tale, committing as much to memory as he could. He leapt at the chance to speak when Methos paused for a breath. "How well am I supposed to know you? Are we friends, or have we just met?" Methos' brow furrowed. "Hmmm. I think perceptive people will pick up on the fact that we're comfortable around each other; that's not something we can count on being able to hide. We'd better be childhood friends because your father sent you and your brother to my father's estate to learn about the merchant trade." Duncan nodded again. "Oh, and the reason you need a new wardrobe is that you were caught out in a very bad storm far to the south of here. You weren't hurt, but your luggage was washed away in a flooded river." "Right." "And before I forget, the polite form of address when speaking to an adult male is 'Ser.' You'd be Ser Duncan, for example. The female form is 'Shra.' Male children are addressed as 'Seran,' and female children are addressed as 'Shretta.'" "Ser, Shra, Seran, Shretta. Right." "And surnames are not commonly used as part of the name in normal address. They're reserved for more formal occasions. So you'd better not introduce yourself as Duncan MacLeod. Here, you'd be Duncan of the Clan or House of MacLeod. I'm Methos of the House of Ashraket, by the way." "Ashraket?" Methos shrugged. "The name of a village I lived in in Egypt about 3500 years ago." "Using your real name here?" "No one's ever heard of me. I haven't worn the name Methos openly for over 4000 years. It still fits me well. Fits the best of all my names, I think." Duncan laughed. "Aye, that it does." They rounded a bend in the path and came in sight of the town. "That's Shin'ra, the provincial capitol and closest town to my house." They continued in friendly conversation as they approached the first buildings. Methos focused part of his attention on the way Duncan walked. He had a definite swagger to his step which was even more pronounced thanks to his swordbelt. He walked as if he owned the place and exuded animal magnetism and virile, exotic charm. Methos suppressed a grin. Oh, was Duncan ever going to have fun fending off the ladies. They had to pass the bakery on their way to the market square, and, predictably, Fress was just exiting the establishment with a basket of fresh bread. It's almost like she lies in wait, Methos thought somewhat savagely. "Methos! You are back so soon! Did you come to visit me?" She batted her eyelashes. Methos tried not to roll his eyes. "Not specifically, Fress, though I'm happy to see you as always. This is Duncan, the friend I told you about yesterday. Duncan, this is Fress. She works at the bakery, obviously." Duncan took hold of Fress' free hand and bowed over it. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Shra Fress." Fress took one look at Duncan and just about fainted. He was gorgeous! So big and strong and darkly handsome... She giggled prettily. "The pleasure is all mine, Ser Duncan. I am glad you were not injured in the storm that took your bags." Duncan flashed her a million-dollar smile. "As am I, my lady. I am unaccustomed to the climate on this continent, and it caught me unawares." Fress' eyes grew round. "You're from the Southern Continent? You've come a long way to visit a friend." "I was looking for a change of scenery, my lady. And Methos here is worth a long trip, after all." Fress preened visibly at the respectful address Duncan was using with her. "I would have to agree with you, ser." She glanced coquettishly at Methos, who tried not to groan. Duncan's silent laughter echoed along the mental bond between the two men. //Oh, be quiet,// Methos groused. //Wait'll her friends get their claws into you, and then we'll see who's laughing!// "Fress! Fress!" a male voice shouted from down a side street. "Papa? Is anything wrong?" A stocky, muscular man came barreling down the street at them. "No, but your mother asked that you bring home a sack of flour this evening. She's nearly out." The man, clearly one of the city's blacksmiths, glanced at the two Immortals. "Who are these men, Fress?" he asked sternly. Fress smiled. "This is Ser Methos, Papa, the scholar I told you about," she said, indicating Methos. Fress' father drew himself up to his full height, some four inches shorter than Methos, and eyed him threateningly. "So, you're the bookworm I hear so much about. I won't have you trying to do anything inappropriate with my daughter, mind?" Methos bowed in a courtly gesture. "Naturally not, Ser..." He paused. "The name's Roldan," the smith rumbled. "Naturally not, Ser Roldan. Your daughter is quite safe both with me and my friend Duncan." The older Immortal indicated his friend. Roldan turned to face the Highlander and found himself nose-to-chest with the big man. "Skies, you're a pair of giants, the two of you!" he exclaimed. Duncan bowed gracefully, following Methos' lead. "We both come from tall bloodlines, Ser Roldan. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, and please let me echo my friend's assurance that your daughter will come to no harm in our company. We would defend her honor with our own, if need be." Methos surreptitiously rolled his eyes. //Bloody boy scout.// Duncan coughed to cover a chuckle. Roldan bowed awkwardly to the two Immortals, obviously unaccustomed to courtly manners. "I'm relieved to hear you've no dishonorable designs on my daughter." Fress looked less than pleased with this development. She clearly was looking forward to behaving in a somewhat less than honorable manner with Methos. "I must go," she sniffed. "The baker will be waiting for me." The two Immortals bowed politely in perfect unison. "Shra Fress," Duncan acknowledged. "It was my pleasure to make your acquaintance, as well." After she'd gone, Roldan chuckled. "You must forgive my daughter; she is more pretentious than her station warrants." Methos smiled. "She's ambitious. Can't fault her for that." "She either guesses or knows that you're from a noble house, Ser Methos. She looks to land you as her husband, I'm sure." Methos' grin turned rakish. "If she sees the house where Duncan and I live, she'll probably change her mind. I came to these hills to get away from my "noble" obligations." "I hear that!" Roldan exclaimed heartily, now clearly willing to be friends once he discovered neither man had any obvious designs on his daughter. Methos narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps that's not such a bad idea after all," he mused. "Duncan, what do you say to some dinner guests a few nights hence?" "If you mean 'am I willing to cook for more than two,' sure. We wouldn't want to subject them to your cooking, after all." Methos snorted. "Well, then, Ser Roldan, you and your family are hereby invited to our cabin for dinner, say, three nights from this night, if you don't mind the culinary efforts of two confirmed bachelors." He grinned. "Actually, Duncan's cooking is probably better than what you'd find in any of the restaurants here." "We'd be honored, Ser Methos!" "How many should we expect?" "Five, if that's alright. Myself, my wife, my two daughters, and my son. My boy's still quite young, so he shouldn't eat you out of house and home." "Very good then. I'll meet you here at the close of business to escort you to our house. It's about a half-hour's walk; will that be too taxing on any of your family?" "Certainly not. We're used to walking." "Excellent! I will see you again in three days, Ser Roldan. If you'll excuse us, Duncan and I were on our way to Chulla's." "A fine day to you both, then." "To you as well," Duncan called as they turned out of the square. He turned and regarded Methos quizzically. "What was that about?" Methos grinned hugely. "If Fress sees the house I'd bring her to if I married her, she'll probably drop me like a hot potato!" "Evil old man," Duncan teased fondly. "Will they be nervous around the Kats?" Methos stopped and frowned. "I'd forgotten that. We'll have to ask Hrryn and Skyrr to stay away. The natives are terrified of the Kats, even though they don't pose any real threat." They rounded the corner into Market Square, and Methos steered them into a shop. "Ser Chulla!" he called out. The tailor emerged from his workroom. "Friend Methos!" he greeted the old Immortal. He glanced at Duncan, and his eyes widened. "You brought your friend, I see. You were right. He is big!" Methos laughed. "This is Duncan of the Clan MacLeod. He's a friend from the Southern Continent come to visit me for awhile." Duncan bowed. "Ser Chulla. Methos tells me you're the man to see for a new wardrobe." Chulla smiled. "Indeed, I am, ser. Come this way, if you would. I'll take your measurements and get started on the clothes Methos ordered for you." Duncan raised an eyebrow at Methos. "Nothing extravagant, Mac," Methos hastily reassured his friend. "I just ordered you the basics. You can pick out the colors and make any additions you like." Duncan nodded and followed the tailor into his workroom while Methos waited in the shop proper. Twenty minutes later, Chulla ushered the Highlander back through the curtained door. "Give me three days, Ser Duncan, and I'll have your order ready." "Thank you, Ser Chulla," the big Scot rumbled. "That works out well," Methos commented as they left the shop. "I can pick up your things when I come for Roldan's family." Duncan made an approving noise. "Now, let's go have a chat with the governor. We need to get you some kind of military consulting position so that you can earn some money and have a valid reason for staying here." "Sounds good. You know the governor?" "Certainly. I helped solve the irrigation problem in the province's southern estates and designed a more efficient system of dams along one of the rivers. The governor thinks I'm quite the engineering genius." "You're incorrigible. You know that, don't you?" "Naturally," Methos said with all the self-assurance in the world. Duncan snorted and rolled his eyes. They approached a large, ornate stone building. Methos stepped up and spoke to the guards. "Methos of the House of Ashraket and his friend Duncan of the Clan MacLeod to see the governor," he said importantly. The guard gazed skeptically back at the older man. "D'you have an appointment?" Methos drew himself up. "I need none, and you'd best remember that," he thundered. Catching on, Duncan loomed impressively behind his friend, face grim with a black scowl. "Yes, ser," the guard quavered. "Certainly, ser. One moment, please, ser. I'll inform the governor that you're here." The man beat a hasty retreat. A few moments later, he hurried back. "The governor will see you now," he gasped out. Methos strode grandly into the huge foyer with Duncan at his heels. A pair of halberd-armed guards pulled open a set of double doors to their right. A heavyset gentleman, tall by his people's standards but still a good head shorter than Duncan, came forward to meet them. "Ser Methos!" he exclaimed effusively, "So good to see you again. What brings you to my office today?" Methos bowed. "Governor Rahdian. Thank you for agreeing to see us on such short notice." Rahdian guffawed. "The guard made it sound like I had visiting royalty on my hands, complete with fearsome bodyguards. Though by the look of your friend, I can see why he was nervous." Methos grinned. "Governor Rahdian, allow me to introduce an old friend of mine. This is Duncan of the Clan MacLeod. He's come up from the Southern Continent to stay with me for some time. I'll let him tell you why he's here." He stepped back, effectively giving Duncan the floor. //Thanks a lot, old man,// Duncan groused. He bowed. "Governor Rahdian," he said formally. "I've come here looking for changes. My older kinsman will inherit the Clan's lands and leadership; I seek a life of my own. I am a trained warrior. I've seen battle and done my time as a soldier. I would like to observe your provincial military. If I think I have something in my experience to offer them, I would like to work for your government as a military observer and strategist, on a limited basis, of course. If you have need of such a person on your staff, then I humbly offer my services." The governor looked thoughtful. "We could use someone like that. Have you any credentials to offer?" "I'm sorry, my lord, but my luggage was lost in a storm. All my military papers were lost with my bags. I can give you no official documents, but surely a demonstration of my abilities will be sufficient." "Perhaps. What sort of demonstration do you propose?" Duncan shrugged. "I will take on a champion of your choice, both with longsword and with a weapon of either your or his choice. I will also show you what I can do with ranged weapons and unarmed combat, if you like. Then you and your generals may put as many questions of strategy to me as you wish. This way, your evaluation of me does not depend on any papers, but rather on your own convictions. Will this suit?" Satisfied the governor nodded. "When would you like this test to take place?" Duncan paused to give the appearance that he was considering the question. "One month from now. I should rest from my journey before I undertake such serious physical exercise." The governor nodded. "One month it is, then. Thirty days from this day, please report to the city training grounds at first light. Ser Methos knows where they are." Duncan bowed again. "Thank you, my lord." Rahdian lost his businesslike demeanor. "Now that formalities are dispensed with, gentlemen, come and sit and have a drink with me. I've some questions for you, Ser Methos." It was another hour before they managed to escape, and the governor was convinced that Duncan was as much a genius as Methos. He blustered them effusively out the door in time for his next appointment. Once back outside, Methos laughed and clapped Duncan on the shoulder. "Well done, MacLeod. You've got him eating out of your hand." Duncan chuckled. "No more so than you, yourself, old man." Methos grinned. "Come on. It's nearly lunchtime. We can eat at Leranni's place. She makes excellent stew, and the ale is always cold, always good, and always plentiful." "Sounds like my kind of place." Methos and Duncan ducked into the tavern, their height making bending necessary. The tavern mistress herself was behind the counter, and she smiled when she saw Methos. "Two large bowls of today's stew," she hollered into the kitchen, "and a fresh loaf." She drew two foaming tankards of ale and plunked them down in front of the Immortals. "Methos, my friend!" she said. "It's been a long time since you last darkened my door." Methos grinned at the lean, muscular woman who wore breeches instead of a dress. "Ah, Leranni, I was just trying to give you some time to recover your reputation." Leranni laughed and addressed Duncan. "Drunk me under the table, he did, without barely breaking a sweat." Duncan smiled. "Aye, I believe that. He can out-drink me too, and that's saying a lot." She laughed again. "Big fella like you? I can believe that's saying a lot. Methos here gets free lunch whenever he comes in. Nobody's ever been able to best me, so I figure he's got it coming. You're new, so your first lunch here is on the house." "Thanks, Ler. This, by the way, is my friend Duncan. He's come up from the South to stay with me for awhile." Leranni stuck out one lean hand. "Any friend of Methos' is always welcome here. Have a seat, boys. Your stew and bread will be ready in a moment." No sooner had Duncan and Methos sat down at a table than they were suddenly beset by a pack of helpful barmaids, all of whom were eyeing Duncan appreciatively. "Girls!" Leranni bellowed. "Leave the gentlemen alone so's they can eat their lunch. Back to work, all of you!" She swaggered over to their table and plunked huge bowls of hearty stew and a thickly sliced loaf of peasant bread in front of them. "Eat up, gentlemen, or my girls will likely be able to swarm you under." Methos snorted and winked, then tucked into his lunch. Duncan nodded at Leranni and followed suit. Twenty minutes later, they had finished, paid their respects to Leranni, and exited the tavern into the noonday sun. "Say, Methos, do you suppose we could walk around the market a bit? I need to know a bit more about locally available food and spices if I'm going to be doing the cooking. Maybe you could give me an idea of what I'm dealing with?" "Good idea, Mac. Come on." Methos proceeded to drag his friend about Market Square, rattling off a constant stream of information about the meats, grains, vegetables, and spices that the merchants had available for sale. At length, they decided to head for home, and were met by a pair of agitated Kats half way there. //Friends! The Vortex has summoned you - we must leave at once!// Hrryn's voice was urgent, and he nudged at Methos with his huge head. //Wait, what, why?// Methos asked intelligently. //The Vortex spoke to one of the priests and asked for you by name, friend Methos. The Highlander's presence was likewise requested.// Duncan glanced at Methos and shrugged. "I'm not about to offend the local deities on my second day here. What do you say?" Methos blinked. "I suppose we'd better go, then." They climbed onto their friends' backs, and the Kats took off like a shot. A couple of hours later, they stood once more before the Vortex, which was flanked by four older Kats, presumably the priests, and the pack leader, Kyrragh. The quiescent, flickering pool of electricity seemed to recognize the Immortals, and it flared to life, snapping, and crackling. A bolt suddenly flashed out and transfixed Methos, who was catapulted backwards into Duncan's arms. The big Scot could do nothing but hold his friend as he screamed and shuddered with the force of the lightning flowing through him. After several seconds, the Quickening fire receded, and Methos sagged in Duncan's arms, shaking with the aftershocks. He raised astonished hazel eyes to Duncan's face. "Mac!" he rasped. "I remember!" "What do you remember, old man?" Duncan asked quietly, visibly affected by the wonder on Methos' face. "I remember my life before I became Immortal. I remember my Immortal life before I took my first head. Duncan, I remember where I spent my childhood!" "Where?" "Atlantis," Methos breathed. "Before it sank into the sea." Duncan blinked, stunned. He did some rapid mental calculations. "Methos do you realize..." "Twelve thousand years, Mac. I lived 6000 years before I took my first head. A whole entire lifetime that I didn't even remember!" He gripped Duncan's arms fiercely. "I remember how it's supposed to be!" he said hoarsely with dawning realization. "The Game...We aren't supposed to be killing each other! That only happened when they left... The whole city, Mac. All of us were Immortal. It was our homeland, our place in the world, and it had existed for millennia before I happened along. The technology we had was even greater than what the Federation has today, in its own way. "We never killed each other for power. We were peaceful people, until some of our youth left to live among the mortals. They learned how to kill there. And one of our expatriates discovered that if you took an Atlantean's head, you gained his power. And so it began. Gods, Mac, we've been going about this all wrong for thousands of years!" Duncan was reeling from his friend's revelations. ...tbc... |