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rivendellroseHere's a little something I've been dabbling with - I blame Modern Poetry class for putting the pieces all in such positions that they could fall into place like this. ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
narsilion, you don't want to read this yet, I don't think. I can't remember how much spoilers we gave you. And no, this isn't a happy fic.
I'm dealing here with a scene that was dealt as officially as it ever could be in "Postcards from Alexa" in the Evening at Joe's anthology but, to be honest, I felt like they missed something really important in that series of vignettes. So if you count that as canon, this is a bit of a re-write. Maybe this is just me as a lit major taking things a bit too far, but once the idea got in my head I found that I couldn't just leave it, no matter how hard it was to write it properly. I still don't know if I managed, but this is as good as it's going to get, I'm afraid.
The next vignette I write will be happy and silly, I promise.
Title: Death Be Not Proud
Fandom: Highlander.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I only own the words I'm writing right here in this journal.
Pairing, etc: Methos/Alexa. Mostly just a bit of Methos-introspection, set just after "Methuselah's Gift," with spoilers for "Comes a Horseman."
Rating: G
In a life that had so far spanned five thousand years, Methos had been many things to many people, but some identities left a greater mark than others. Some lifetimes he passed in relative peace, without much excitement, managing to live as a simple farmer or tradesman, or whatever quiet occupation was available at the time, without incident or excitement. Others... well, others were often best left to the vault of time.
It was the most memorable of those that occupied his mind as he sat by Alexa's bedside in Switzerland. He was not normally a man to let the past rule him, or even concern him more than he could avoid it. He had regrets, yes, but at some point they and the years of his life had added up to the point that he'd discovered resignation, and accepted them. And yet, the ironies of life still caught up with him, at times.
Millenia ago, he had been Death, one of the four most feared men on the continent. A pitiless murderer and pillager who brought thousands to brutal and wholely unpleasant ends. Men, women, children, the young and the old - it hadn't mattered to the Horseman. He had taken lives because it was what he did - it was what he knew, and there hadn't seemed, at the time, to be anything terribly wrong with it. And now he found himself on quite the other side of that coin.
Alexa was dying. There was no denying it, especially not for one who had seen ages upon ages of young men and women wither and fade away. His last chance to save her had failed, and now it was only a matter of time before the end - and not a long time, either, judging by the way the nurses eyed him with sympathy, and spoke in gentle, soothing tones whenever they thought Alexa or he might be awake. Judging by the tired, purple stains under Alexa's eyes, and the shallow rise and fall of her thin chest. And, hovering over her while she slept, he felt like another incarnation of that same Death he had been named so many centuries ago.
"Adam?"
"Shhh..." He leaned closer to the bed and squeezed her hand, careful not to disrupt the IV tube into her wrist. Damn modern medicine - at least in the old days she might have been left with the dignity of not having tubes coming in and out of her body at every possible juncture. "I'm sorry, Alexa. I couldn't get it."
"It's alright." She forced a weak smile. "You're back."
"I told you I'd be with you until the end." He smiled back and kissed her knuckles. "And I will be. Just rest."
Alexa nodded and settled back into the pillow, letting Methos trace the lines of her face with his fingertips, memorizing each curve and wrinkle, and whispered pointless sweet words in her ear while they waited. If he slipped sometimes into languages she didn't understand, Alexa didn't give any indication of annoyance.
In a different time, in a life long ago, Methos had been the Death that rode down on villages, raping, pillaging, burning, and bringing pain and horror at the edge of a sword. Now, he could only stand by and wait for death to take Alexa, ushering her through the pain and fear and hoping that his company made the passing easier for her. It was a cruel irony, but also something of a comfort. For Alexa, there would be no terror - only a quiet journey into peace and darkness, with Death holding her hand, and whispering in long-forgotten languages into her ear.
narsilion, you don't want to read this yet, I don't think. I can't remember how much spoilers we gave you. And no, this isn't a happy fic.I'm dealing here with a scene that was dealt as officially as it ever could be in "Postcards from Alexa" in the Evening at Joe's anthology but, to be honest, I felt like they missed something really important in that series of vignettes. So if you count that as canon, this is a bit of a re-write. Maybe this is just me as a lit major taking things a bit too far, but once the idea got in my head I found that I couldn't just leave it, no matter how hard it was to write it properly. I still don't know if I managed, but this is as good as it's going to get, I'm afraid.
The next vignette I write will be happy and silly, I promise.
Title: Death Be Not Proud
Fandom: Highlander.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I only own the words I'm writing right here in this journal.
Pairing, etc: Methos/Alexa. Mostly just a bit of Methos-introspection, set just after "Methuselah's Gift," with spoilers for "Comes a Horseman."
Rating: G
In a life that had so far spanned five thousand years, Methos had been many things to many people, but some identities left a greater mark than others. Some lifetimes he passed in relative peace, without much excitement, managing to live as a simple farmer or tradesman, or whatever quiet occupation was available at the time, without incident or excitement. Others... well, others were often best left to the vault of time.
It was the most memorable of those that occupied his mind as he sat by Alexa's bedside in Switzerland. He was not normally a man to let the past rule him, or even concern him more than he could avoid it. He had regrets, yes, but at some point they and the years of his life had added up to the point that he'd discovered resignation, and accepted them. And yet, the ironies of life still caught up with him, at times.
Millenia ago, he had been Death, one of the four most feared men on the continent. A pitiless murderer and pillager who brought thousands to brutal and wholely unpleasant ends. Men, women, children, the young and the old - it hadn't mattered to the Horseman. He had taken lives because it was what he did - it was what he knew, and there hadn't seemed, at the time, to be anything terribly wrong with it. And now he found himself on quite the other side of that coin.
Alexa was dying. There was no denying it, especially not for one who had seen ages upon ages of young men and women wither and fade away. His last chance to save her had failed, and now it was only a matter of time before the end - and not a long time, either, judging by the way the nurses eyed him with sympathy, and spoke in gentle, soothing tones whenever they thought Alexa or he might be awake. Judging by the tired, purple stains under Alexa's eyes, and the shallow rise and fall of her thin chest. And, hovering over her while she slept, he felt like another incarnation of that same Death he had been named so many centuries ago.
"Adam?"
"Shhh..." He leaned closer to the bed and squeezed her hand, careful not to disrupt the IV tube into her wrist. Damn modern medicine - at least in the old days she might have been left with the dignity of not having tubes coming in and out of her body at every possible juncture. "I'm sorry, Alexa. I couldn't get it."
"It's alright." She forced a weak smile. "You're back."
"I told you I'd be with you until the end." He smiled back and kissed her knuckles. "And I will be. Just rest."
Alexa nodded and settled back into the pillow, letting Methos trace the lines of her face with his fingertips, memorizing each curve and wrinkle, and whispered pointless sweet words in her ear while they waited. If he slipped sometimes into languages she didn't understand, Alexa didn't give any indication of annoyance.
In a different time, in a life long ago, Methos had been the Death that rode down on villages, raping, pillaging, burning, and bringing pain and horror at the edge of a sword. Now, he could only stand by and wait for death to take Alexa, ushering her through the pain and fear and hoping that his company made the passing easier for her. It was a cruel irony, but also something of a comfort. For Alexa, there would be no terror - only a quiet journey into peace and darkness, with Death holding her hand, and whispering in long-forgotten languages into her ear.
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Date: 2005-02-25 07:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-25 08:01 pm (UTC)And your icon is so very true. XD
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Date: 2005-02-25 09:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 01:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 01:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 12:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 01:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 02:19 am (UTC)The Kronos episode? Yup, I saw that one. So, can I read it??
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Date: 2005-02-26 08:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 04:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 02:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 08:18 pm (UTC)