Date: Tue, 15 Mar 1994 23:39:48 -0700 Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Robin Fingerson Subject: HLFIC: And Promises to Keep (2/3) Hello! On to part two: My husband (the test reader) assures me that you ABSOLUTELY have to read PART 1 for this to make any sense at all. If you haven't read part 1 (I posted it the very first day the HLFIC list started and missed many subscribers) please retrieve it from the archives or email me directly (robinf@pvi.com) for a copy. Thanks all for the comments and hints....keep them coming! Robin Fingerson robinf@pvi.com "...And Promises to Keep" (2/3) It didn't take much to convince Averroe to stay. Friends were few and far between, and the chance to spend time with Duncan was a tempting offer for which she was willing to risk discovery by the Watchers. But after three days in the city, she was getting restless, pacing the loft every evening liked a caged animal. Being constantly on the move had kept her alive and was a habit she was loathe to lose. Duncan realized she would move on soon as she always had in the past. Since they had met three centuries ago, he and Averroe had swept into and out of each others lives like summer storms, all fire and lightning and chaos. She had always been there when his life had taken a turn for the worse, bursting in to bring trouble and her lust for life with her. Then she would be gone as fast as she had come, leaving him wobbly and breathless and wishing she had stayed. She was so full of _life_. He had often envied her that. He wondered, after five millennia, how she still found life so enticing. Averroe sat on the low arm of the couch, leaning precariously over the lacquered chessboard, toying with the bishop she had taken several moves earlier. It had always irritated Duncan how she played - in spurts of intense concentration punctuated by frenetic activity. Chess was meant to be a solemn game, he had always thought, requiring skill and discipline and a keen understanding of tactics. Averroe played with a casualness of a practiced tactician, never seeming to pay attention, and it annoyed Duncan to realize that she had been beating him for years. She started tapping her foot against the table, rattling the delicate chess pieces. Duncan reached out and moved the chessboard to still their frantic dance. His thoughtful gaze locked on hers over the low coffee table, and she was forced to look away abruptly. "I have to get out of here for awhile, Duncan," she finally said. Duncan merely nodded. He had been expecting that. Averroe stood and collected her long coat and sword. Duncan watched her quietly for a moment. He could hardly remember a time in his life when she was not some part of it. She never meddled, except when it suited her, and she never intruded on his life unless he wanted her to. And although it could have been glorious, they had never been lovers. That, he thought wryly, as truly regrettable. She caught his devilish look and laughed as she went out the door, knowing his thoughts all too well. . . The sudden sensation of Averroe's presence starting in his head like a drumbeat woke him before the grating sounds of the elevator could. Slipping from the bed, he padded out into the darkness, blade held low. The metal gate screeched as it went up, and the light in the elevator blinked on. Averroe stumbled into the loft clutching one hand to her belly and her face white with pain and shock. Her bloodied sword hung slackly by her side. She collapsed on the low couch, a low sob escaping her. The rasping of her breath was the only sound in the cavernous loft. Duncan was at her side in an instant. "What happened?" he asked when her eyes opened. She had the desperate look of a hunted animal and it frightened him. "I met Parset on the pier. " Averroe said slowly, straightening her hand with a popping sound that Duncan knew was broken bones. He recognized the name P Parset was one of the ancients, and he and Averroe had a history that spanned dozens of centuries. She sounded near tears. "We were interrupted, and he ran. I can't believe that he and I would ever be reduced to this. " She stood up shakily and crossed to the liquor cabinet, poured a full glass of brandy and swallowed half of it in a hurry. "This goddamned game! I don't understand it anymore. How can I face him? Why is he doing this?" "I know you and he were friends..." Duncan began, trying to calm her. "Friends?" she said incredulously, rounding on him with a shocked expression, "I've known him most of my life. We were lovers for twelve hundred years! He has to know that I would never hurt him." Duncan thought wryly that Parset probably knew just that, and was counting on Averroe's refusal to come to blows with him. He would never be able to raise a sword against Fitz, or Richie, or against Amanda, he thought sadly, even if they were the last. It was the ultimate cruelty to turn on her after so many years. There were friends never intended to be seen over the glittering sliver of a blade. Averroe set the empty glass down and fumbled with the decanter to pour another. She couldn't understand how Parset could betray her like that, and Duncan watched her with painful understanding. They sensed the other immortal at the same time. Duncan reached for his katana, but Averroe caught his hand. "He's come for _me_, Duncan." she said with resignation, "This is not your fight." She picked up her sword, still dulled with blood, "I didn't think he'd find me so fast." The anguish on her face was unmistakable. While Parset had been her friend and lover for a long time, she knew the nearness of the gathering had changed him. He was no longer going to honor their friendship. The fear of the gathering had forced him to look upon her as an adversary, someone of immense power who could ensure his possible survival. She had become prey, not only for Parset, but for hundreds of immortals who would try to kill her in their desperation to survive. "Let me do this for you." Duncan said softly, "You don't need to face him." Averroe didn't speak for long moments, so stunned she forgot to breathe. The magnitude of what he offered surprised them both. To go in her place, possibly to lose his head in a fight that was solely hers, was a sacrifice she couldn't let him make. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and terrifyingly sure. "No. It's me he wants. Please stay here, Duncan. I don't want to lose you to, too." He raised a hand to her face, one thumb wiping away the tear that slid down her cheek, then sheathed the katana. He picked up the half empty glass of brandy, and drained it as he listened to Averroe's footsteps go down the stairs. Setting the glass down with enough force to break it, he slid out into the darkness and followed his friend. Parset was waiting in the alley behind the dojo, certain she would come. He almost smiled when she emerged out of the darkness and bowed mockingly. Averroe stopped a few yards away, her sword still sheathed and her hands at her sides clasped into fists to still their trembling. She would not fight unless she had to. "Why are you doing this?" she asked in a pained voice. "I want to survive, my dear." he said, the barest hint of a smile gracing his elegant features. "Killing you now will give me an edge." "I don't want to kill you, Parset. " Averroe murmured. "We meant something to each other once. Why after all these years do you want my head?" Parset raised his sword, a long serpentine-bladed kris. The yellowed streetlights glittered off the wavy blade. "The gathering is near, Averroe. What you are is far more important than who you are." Averroe didn't move as he advanced. " I loved you, Parset. Does the time we spent together mean nothing?" she was desperate to avoid confronting this man. "I don't care." Parset said flatly. He lunged forward, but Averroe wasn't there. She slid aside and her fist connected with his cheek with an audible crack. He lunged again, and she stepped back easily avoiding the stroke, finally unsheathing her sword. Parset retreated, his face smug. Averroe stepped into the pale shaft of moonlight, sword poised overhead. The glittering blade caught the light on its mirrored edge, and he saw the reflection glance off her eyes, almost lambent in the darkness. For just a brief moment, doubt crossed his face. There was no hesitation in those eyes, no pity. He had truly counted on Averroe's unwillingness to engage his challenge to give him an edge and was surprised to see her anger surfacing. He waited for her to speak again, and was unprepared for the blinding ferocity of her attack. Averroe drove him backwards, leaving him gasping with the effort of parrying her blows, then stepped away. She crouched out of his range as he collected himself, then flew at him again with blinding speed, forcing him on the defensive. He realized that Averroe was toying with him, showing him that his skill was far less than her own. Giving him a chance to save face and turn away. Duncan, standing in the shadows beneath the fire escape, realized suddenly that she was also showing him that she was unwilling to hurt him, and Parset pressed that advantage deliberately. Parset drew first blood, lunging in under her parry to slide the deadly blade into her belly above the hip. Averroe pulled herself off the steel, staggering back in shock. He raised his sword, teeth bared in hatred, ready to take her head when Duncan stepped out of the darkness. Both immortals turned as his presence stung their senses. Parset with a furious howl and Averroe with a sad, ages-old expression. His intrusion was a defiance of the code the immortals lived by, and they knew it. One on one. "This doesn't concern you, Duncan Macleod." Parset said angrily. Duncan ignored him. The distraction was enough to allow Averroe to bring her sword up again, and she steadied the blade with effort. "Your fight is with me, old friend" she purred at Parset in a deceptively gentle voice. "I'll take your head, then his, " Parset nodded cavalierly towards the tall highlander, "it doesn't matter. " She looked upon her ancient lover sadly, the fact of his betrayal striking her like a physical blow. Duncan watched as Averroe's doubt fled, replaced by indignation and anger. Her attack was accompanied a predatory snarl. Averroe dominated Parset with the sureness of five thousand years spent playing the Game. Behind each thrust, each riposte, was the endless torment of centuries survived at the expense of friends and lovers. The years spent waiting for the inevitable change, as mortals moved through their short span and immortals realized that her knowledge and power was more valuable than her companionship. The Greek fended off her blows frantically, returning the attacks with increasing hysteria. Averroe was unappeasable. Finally, Parset sank to his knees, obviously beaten. His sweat soaked hair hung in straggled hanks across his pale face, and he stared up at Averroe with frightened eyes. His sword spun from his hand and slid away on the pavement. His gamble to beat her, take her power with him to the gathering, had failed. But there was still a chance, he thought, searching her murderous glare as Averroe raised the blade for the killing stroke. "Averroe, please! I didn't..." he whimpered pathetically. The blade hesitated a moment, but Averroe sneered at him "Don't try to play on my sympathies now, old man. Anything we shared died when you tried for my head." Parset was sobbing now, pleading. They had been together for so long, and she felt a sudden, irrational stab of pity for him. He had never been a strong as she, as determined. Her blade lowered imperceptibly. She had lost too many friends to this damned game, to the spectre of the gathering. The point fell another foot, and Averroe took a step back, the hard look on her face softening. "Go." she began steadily, " Leave now and I'll let you go." The other immortal took a shaky breath, eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. He could still win! Averroe had refused to take his head, still clinging to some archaic code of honor that wouldn't allow her to break the bonds of friendship. Parset's conscience held no such barrier, and he reached down for the poignard strapped to his leg even as he raised the other hand in supplication to his executioner. Averroe reached a hand out to the fallen man. With a yell, Parset flung the slim knife towards her as he surged to his feet, lunging towards his sword to attack once again. Averroe was unable to avoid the blade as it sank into her chest to the hilt, almost blinding her with the pain. Gasping, she brought her blade across her body reflexively. Parset rushed forward, victorious, and Averroe was unable to stop the deadly arc of her sword. It slid into Parset's chest with a wet crunch and came to rest against bone. They both stood motionless, staring at the blade emerging from Parset's chest with disbelieving eyes. Blood trickled from his open mouth, and he coughed once. His hand raised feebly to ward her off. Numbly, as if moved on strings like a puppet, Averroe pulled the blade from his chest. Parset's body sagged to the pavement, and she took his head as it fell. The hurricane violence of the quickening started instantly, violently. The whirlwind force coalesced and leaped to Averroe with a force that threw her backwards. Her limp body was splayed out on the coursing energy, wracked by the force of Parset's quickening and the force of his _will_. Averroe staggered under the relentless agony of this outpouring of energy. clinging desperately to her sanity. She sagged on her feet, the sword falling from nerveless fingers. When the quickening was spent Averroe collapsed onto the wet asphalt like a limp ragdoll. She pulled herself to her hands and knees, retching weakly. When Duncan knelt beside her, she buried her face against his chest. "This is the last, Duncan." she whispered hoarsely. "I can't do this anymore." "Come on, " he said, coaxing Averroe to her feet. "We need to go. Quickly" Averroe allowed herself to be led from the dark alley, letting Duncan support her weight, disoriented and weak. She stopped suddenly, her hands gripping his shirt. The desperation of her action was as shocking as her request. " I want his to end, Duncan. I don't want to repeat tonight endlessly for centuries." "What are you asking me?" 'I want you to take my head, my friend. I want you to end this for me." =========================================================================