Forging the Blade, Part II: Conclusion 3/3
kageorge@EROLS.COM
Fri, 30 Aug 2002 11:09:39 -0700
Forging the Blade, Part II: Kithe and Kin
by MacGeorge
Rating: PG-13
~~~~~~~
Someone jostled him, and he made a small attempt at
responding, but daylight leaked painfully into his eyes, and
he squeezed them closed, only to be jostled again.
"Signore," a familiar voice spoke close to his ear,
reverberating around and sending spears of agony into his
brain. "Signore, you must come home now." Someone moved
his arm and tried to pull him up.
"Leave me alone!" Connor growled, intending to push the
intruder away, but his arms and legs were unresponsive to
his commands.
"Now, now, Signore. Come along, you can do it."
Connor squinted up into Giuseppe's concerned eyes. "He did
it, Giuseppe," Connor sighed sadly, and his valet blinked
and coughed, probably from the fumes being breathed into his
face. "I thought I could protect him from it, but I can't,
can I?" Connor mumbled as Giuseppe somehow managed to pull
him to his feet and chivvy him towards the door.
"None of us can truly protect the ones we love," Giuseppe
advised. Connor would have replied, but it took all of his
concentration to stay upright as they wove through the
streets past the early vendors just beginning to set up
their wagons and wares. "You did everything you could,
Signore. The rest was always up to him."
By the time they had reached Connor's home, the walk and the
air had helped clear the worst of the effects of his drunken
binge, and he was shuffling along on his own, but almost
keeled over when Duncan's presence struck him, stronger,
more caustic than before because of the recently taken
Quickening. A surge of guilt washed over him. A true
friend would have stayed, helped his student understand the
Quickening. But no, Duncan couldn't be his student any
more. That's why Ramirez had always said taking students
was, more often than not, only a heartache. Because once
they took their first Quickening, they were in the Game
forever - until they died or took the Prize. And nine of
out ten students learned only the one, important,
unalterable fact of an Immortal's life: There Can Be Only
One. Connor could hear the words ring in his head, and the
voice he heard was Duncan's.
He pushed into the front hall, and froze. Duncan was
waiting, watching him warily.
Connor brushed past him, and headed up the stairs.
"Connor...," Duncan began, but Connor didn't want to hear
apologies or explanations, or how sorry Duncan was, or how
they could still be friends.
"No," Connor raised his hand to stop whatever Duncan was
going to say. "I'll write letters of reference as a
bodyguard, and I think you've got a little money from your
work with Munter's horses. That should be enough to tide
you over until you find a position."
Duncan's already pale face went gray, and his lips pressed
together before he nodded his head with a jerk. "If that's
what you want," he said hoarsely.
Connor turned away and went on upstairs to his study, where
he sat and stared out the window the rest of the day.
Sometime during the night, he forced himself to write
letters extolling Duncan's virtues as a swordsman and as a
man. He had to stop several times when his throat closed,
his eyes watered and the page blurred too much to continue.
Giuseppe hovered nearby, bringing food, which Connor
couldn't bring himself to touch; and drink, which he
probably touched too much. Somehow, dawn worked its way
over the landscape, he heard a gentle tap on the door, and
knew who it was.
"Enter," he called, pulling his coat on and running his
fingers through his hair to reestablish some small sense of
decorum.
Duncan stood at the door, wearing his traveling clothes, his
claymore strapped to his side. "I've come to say goodbye,
Connor," he said softly. He looked sad and tired, as though
he, too, hadn't slept for almost two days.
Connor cleared his throat, and reached for the letters on
his desk. "Here," he said, thrusting them towards Duncan.
"There are possible opportunities in Florence, Genoa and
Rome. The letters should serve you well." He turned away
and poured himself a goblet of wine.
"Thank you," Duncan whispered. "I wish...,"
"We could wish a lot of things," Connor interrupted. "But
this is who we are, what we do. You are no longer the
student. I am no longer the teacher. There is only the
Game."
"No, that's not all there is!" Duncan insisted, and Connor
turned to chastise the stubborn fool.
"Yes! That is all there is," Connor hissed. "You fought.
You killed. It didn't matter whether the man had killed
Munter. You would have killed him anyway because That Is
What We Do! You've tasted it now. The power, the energy
slamming into your body like the greatest orgasm you ever
felt. The craving for it can become the driving force of an
Immortal's life, and that, Duncan, is why There Can Be.
Only. One." Connor turned away, heartsick at the look of
hurt on Duncan's face. "Now go."
"All right," Duncan sighed. Connor heard retreating
footsteps, and he pushed his desk chair back with his foot
and collapsed into it. Then the footsteps returned, hard
and sharp on the tiles.
"No, it's not all right," Duncan slammed back into the
room. "You think that somehow I've changed because I took a
head. Well, in at least one way, you're right. It made me
sick and disgusted. I don't know whether Dunningham took
Wilhelm's head, but whether he did or not, all I was out for
was a fight." Duncan swallowed and looked at the floor, his
face haggard and sad. "I made a mistake, Connor. But I'm
the same person you taught, the same person who shared more
of my life and myself with you than anyone I've ever known.
The same person you said you trusted, and to whom I gave my
trust."
"Duncan," Connor sighed, "I'm sorry, but once you're in the
Game, once you've taken a Quickening, everything changes."
"The person I am, the person you taught, didn't change!"
Duncan insisted. "But you have always said that taking a
Quickening under the wrong circumstances can be horrible,
that someone who does that isn't worthy of your trust or
your love. Well, I took a Quickening before we even met!
Does that mean everything we have shared is a lie?"
Connor rose, staring at Duncan in shock. The lad's eyes
were glittering with tears. "What did you say?"
"I told you about the hermit," Duncan turned away, his voice
low and subdued.
"The hermit? You mean the one who predicted that we would
meet?"
"Yes," Duncan whispered. "I didn't know it at the time, but
he...he was an Immortal. I didn't know that Immortals even
existed. He said...," Duncan shuddered, reaching for the
wall to steady himself. "He said he had been waiting for me
for 600 years, and that I had to taste the truth of what I
was. Then he came at me with a sword. I thought he was
crazy! I was only trying to defend myself and get away when
he...he grabbed my blade and...." Duncan choked. "He,
uh,..." Duncan was breathing shallowly and his face had gone
gray.
Connor grabbed Duncan's arm and dragged him to the settee.
"He what," Connor demanded.
"He beheaded himself on my blade," Duncan said in a strained
whisper. "I...I don't really remember much of anything
after that. Some villagers found me days later and took me
to the priest at Strathconnon."
"My God," Connor whispered, finally laying a hand on
Duncan's shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked,
although he suspected he knew the answer, and his lips
thinned at his own blind insensitivity.
"You...you said that when an Immortal takes his first
Quickening, it brands him for life, and without
understanding it, without a teacher there to explain it, the
Immortal becomes someone not to be trusted." Duncan lifted
his head. Tears had tracked down his cheeks. "I was afraid
you would abandon me. And I was right, wasn't I?"
"Oh, Duncan," Connor sighed. "What an awful thing to live
with all this time. I'm so sorry."
Finally, Duncan took a deep breath and pulled away, wiping
his face and straining to smile. "However you feel about me
now, Connor MacLeod," he said. "You are still my friend. I
once told you that I would never raise a blade against you
in earnest, and that has not changed, the Game be damned."
Connor took a long breath, the painful band that had
constricted his chest loosening a little for the first time
in two days. "Duncan," he smiled tentatively, "we need to
talk. Stay." When Duncan shook his head, he added quickly,
"Not as a student. As a friend."
Duncan's tense face relaxed into a gentle, genuine smile.
"I think," Duncan said, blinking rapidly, then clearing his
throat before going on. "I think you were right, Connor."
He stood. "It is time for me to go, but not in anger, or
mistrust." He held out his hand. "Be well, Connor
MacLeod," he said, his voice rough with emotion.
His throat was far too tight for Connor to be able to say a
word. He stood and clasped his friend's forearm and pulled
him in, relishing the warmth and solidity of that strong
body. The student wasn't the only one with much to learn,
Connor realized. If Duncan could deal with all that had
happened and still be the man Connor had come to know and
love over the past five years, maybe - just maybe - he would
be strong enough to survive, to grow, to continue to learn,
to be a friend - a brother - for the long centuries to
come. Duncan was right. The Game be damned.
"Graham Ashe," he finally managed to say, and Duncan pushed
away a little, looking confused.
"Graham Ashe?"
"One of the best swordsmen in the world, an Immortal, and a
good man, so I hear," Connor explained. "The last I heard,
he was in Florence. He could teach you, if you've not given
up on teachers entirely."
Duncan laughed, the sound ringing off the hard, whitewashed
walls. "Oh, I think I still have a thing or two to learn,"
he quipped. He turned and Connor followed him out to the
hall and down the stairs, where Giuseppe was waiting
outside, flirting outrageously with the young lad who was
holding the big black stallion that had once belonged to the
late Baron Wilhelm Munter.
Duncan stood for a moment, squinting against the bright
morning sunshine. "I guess this is goodbye, then," he said.
"Not goodbye," Connor corrected, resting a hand on Duncan's
shoulder. "We will see each other again. After all," he
leaned close to whisper. "We're Immortal."
Giuseppe stood with Connor and watched Duncan ride away with
a clatter of hooves on cobblestones. "Is everything all
right, Signore?" he asked, looking up at him in concern.
"Are you and Signore Duncan still friends?"
Connor swallowed past the tightness in his throat. "Always,
Giuseppe," he assured him softly. "Always."
With a deep breath, he turned and went inside, his mind
already on re-writing his letter to Seamus O'Brien. It
would seem the <Brigitte> was about to get a new captain.
~~The End of the Beginning~~