toscas_kiss (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
toscas_kiss) wrote2010-06-26 12:03 am
toscas_kiss) wrote2010-06-26 12:03 am
Entry tags:
FIC: Stones and Stars [Highlander/Sandman, Methos & Morpheus, G]
For: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
enigel
Title: Stones & Stars
Fandom: Highlander/Sandman
Characters: Methos, Dream
Prompt: Highlander/Sandman, Methos & Morpheus, stars and stones
Rating: G
Thanks: Todaegaer for the super beta!
Stones & Stars
It's twilight and the edge of winter is in the air. The surface at his back is damp, hard stone. He pulls his cloak tighter around him, the wool coarse and prickly against his palms.
Methos has been in this place before, stood in the shadow of its stones on many a grey, wet day. He's watched the priests inter ashes and futures, the lamentations of the women snatched by the wind into the cold sky. He's watched the life strangled from the condemned, legs kicking as they struggle for a last breath that will never come. Tomorrow he will watch an execution again, this time of one of his own kind.
He's been waiting a candlemark or more now, and the chill is settling into his bones. Thoughts of griddled trout and a hot fire are tempting, but patience has always been one of his few virtues. He'll wait until the counsellor arrives. In this matter it's critical to let Æðelred believe he holds the upper hand, to flatter his pride. To let him think it is his idea that a blade is a more fitting end than a noose for Wulfhere's spy.
The light seems to dim suddenly, and the quiet sounds of the plain fade into silence, as if every bird and burrowing thing has stilled into hushed expectation. From the southern entrance he sees a figure approaching, too tall and thin to be Æðelred. The stranger appears to hold no weapons, but Methos still wraps a hand around his sword hilt until the man is close enough for Methos to see his features, and then his fingers loosen in shock.
The stranger is loose-limbed and angular, fine-featured, pale as a Pict and with a head of long, bramble-wild black hair. One would think him a Celt, or perhaps a Breton, but his eyes are like the night sky on Samhain - dark and eldritch and filled with stars.
"Metos-ta-e-a."
He hasn't heard that name in many decades. Maybe even a century or two. He's known as Cædmon here and now.
"Lord Zaqar," he bows, no insincerity in the reverence.
"A fit meeting place for goodbyes," the God's mouth gives a slight wry twist as he scans the standing stones around them.
"Lord?" The query is full of confusion.
"I am travelling on before you, old friend," the fathomless eyes hold his, as weightless as starlight and as heavy as stone.
"Lord?" This time the word hides trepidation.
Zaqar laughs. It is the first time in all his thousands of years Methos has ever heard the God laugh; the sound resonates with the perfect joy that only the divine may know. Methos shudders, and hopes he will never hear that sound again.
"Peace," the god smiles, "It is of my choice."
Methos doesn't understand. But then, in this type of matter he has never really understood, and he thinks that a fair price to pay for his sanity.
"Fare well, Lord Zaqar," he bids the God.
"Until we meet again," is the reply, and the God and the henge fade . . .
Adam wakes. The bedroom is warm, even a little stuffy, but he feels cold.
He twists onto his side and watches as the morning sun inches up over the duvet and falls across Alexa's sleeping face. In the warm light she looks serene and lovely and heartbreakingly young.
In a few minutes he'll kiss her awake and they'll wash, dress, and go downstairs for breakfast. Then they'll drive into the countryside and, along with a hundred other gawking tourists, spend the day hiking around the monument splashed across the colourful tourist brochures that litter her bedside table. He'll tell her amusing lies and anecdotes that never happened, until she laughs with that mixture of bright joy underlain with sadness which is utterly Alexa and wholly mortal.
In a few minutes. For now, he'll leave her safe and happy in her dreams.
Notes:
Metos-ta-e-a – 'Who Comes From Metos'
Zaqar - Akkadian God of Dreams
Stonehenge (Anglo-Saxon for 'Stone Gallows' or 'Hanging Stones') was a cremation burial ground until 1500 BCE, and later an execution place until the Middle Ages. Several corpses were buried there, and one - a C.7th mid-30's Saxon - was killed by decapitation. Sounds like an Immortal execution to me!
Methos is 5,000 years old so Zaqar is a good probability for what he first called Morpheus, Lord Dream of the Endless.
Morpheus from "The Sandman" died/moved on in 1996's "The Kindly Ones", which is roughly concurrent with the Alexa storyline in "Highlander", where Methos/Adam Pierson takes the dying Alexa on a tour of the world in her last 6 months. It seems reasonable to me to assume Stonehenge would be on her 'bucket list'.
enigelTitle: Stones & Stars
Fandom: Highlander/Sandman
Characters: Methos, Dream
Prompt: Highlander/Sandman, Methos & Morpheus, stars and stones
Rating: G
Thanks: To
daegaer for the super beta!Stones & Stars
It's twilight and the edge of winter is in the air. The surface at his back is damp, hard stone. He pulls his cloak tighter around him, the wool coarse and prickly against his palms.
Methos has been in this place before, stood in the shadow of its stones on many a grey, wet day. He's watched the priests inter ashes and futures, the lamentations of the women snatched by the wind into the cold sky. He's watched the life strangled from the condemned, legs kicking as they struggle for a last breath that will never come. Tomorrow he will watch an execution again, this time of one of his own kind.
He's been waiting a candlemark or more now, and the chill is settling into his bones. Thoughts of griddled trout and a hot fire are tempting, but patience has always been one of his few virtues. He'll wait until the counsellor arrives. In this matter it's critical to let Æðelred believe he holds the upper hand, to flatter his pride. To let him think it is his idea that a blade is a more fitting end than a noose for Wulfhere's spy.
The light seems to dim suddenly, and the quiet sounds of the plain fade into silence, as if every bird and burrowing thing has stilled into hushed expectation. From the southern entrance he sees a figure approaching, too tall and thin to be Æðelred. The stranger appears to hold no weapons, but Methos still wraps a hand around his sword hilt until the man is close enough for Methos to see his features, and then his fingers loosen in shock.
The stranger is loose-limbed and angular, fine-featured, pale as a Pict and with a head of long, bramble-wild black hair. One would think him a Celt, or perhaps a Breton, but his eyes are like the night sky on Samhain - dark and eldritch and filled with stars.
"Metos-ta-e-a."
He hasn't heard that name in many decades. Maybe even a century or two. He's known as Cædmon here and now.
"Lord Zaqar," he bows, no insincerity in the reverence.
"A fit meeting place for goodbyes," the God's mouth gives a slight wry twist as he scans the standing stones around them.
"Lord?" The query is full of confusion.
"I am travelling on before you, old friend," the fathomless eyes hold his, as weightless as starlight and as heavy as stone.
"Lord?" This time the word hides trepidation.
Zaqar laughs. It is the first time in all his thousands of years Methos has ever heard the God laugh; the sound resonates with the perfect joy that only the divine may know. Methos shudders, and hopes he will never hear that sound again.
"Peace," the god smiles, "It is of my choice."
Methos doesn't understand. But then, in this type of matter he has never really understood, and he thinks that a fair price to pay for his sanity.
"Fare well, Lord Zaqar," he bids the God.
"Until we meet again," is the reply, and the God and the henge fade . . .
Adam wakes. The bedroom is warm, even a little stuffy, but he feels cold.
He twists onto his side and watches as the morning sun inches up over the duvet and falls across Alexa's sleeping face. In the warm light she looks serene and lovely and heartbreakingly young.
In a few minutes he'll kiss her awake and they'll wash, dress, and go downstairs for breakfast. Then they'll drive into the countryside and, along with a hundred other gawking tourists, spend the day hiking around the monument splashed across the colourful tourist brochures that litter her bedside table. He'll tell her amusing lies and anecdotes that never happened, until she laughs with that mixture of bright joy underlain with sadness which is utterly Alexa and wholly mortal.
In a few minutes. For now, he'll leave her safe and happy in her dreams.
Notes:
Metos-ta-e-a – 'Who Comes From Metos'
Zaqar - Akkadian God of Dreams
Stonehenge (Anglo-Saxon for 'Stone Gallows' or 'Hanging Stones') was a cremation burial ground until 1500 BCE, and later an execution place until the Middle Ages. Several corpses were buried there, and one - a C.7th mid-30's Saxon - was killed by decapitation. Sounds like an Immortal execution to me!
Methos is 5,000 years old so Zaqar is a good probability for what he first called Morpheus, Lord Dream of the Endless.
Morpheus from "The Sandman" died/moved on in 1996's "The Kindly Ones", which is roughly concurrent with the Alexa storyline in "Highlander", where Methos/Adam Pierson takes the dying Alexa on a tour of the world in her last 6 months. It seems reasonable to me to assume Stonehenge would be on her 'bucket list'.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
I've been sitting on that Stonehenge corpse for years, ;-D and I was chuffed to finally use it. Maybe I'll get around to using it more fully some day...
I always particularly liked the Hobb stories, so thank you!