RotM: 1.55.1 - I think that somehow, we learn who we really are...
I think that somehow, we learn who we really are and then live with that decision.
It was dark. Dark and stale and it was a wonder I saw them at all. Shining like jewels of unimaginable worth, and all of them priceless somehow. I remember my arms ached from holding the sword over my head and my ears rang with his screaming. Duncan's yelling. Begging me with only my name to stop.
"I want him to live!"
How could he ask this of me? After all I'd told him and, no doubt, what Methos finally admitted to him, how could he ask it of me? I looked down at the man who's life I was about to end. My tormentor. My lover. At one time, even the creature I worshipped as a life giver. He was none of those things crumpled before me now. A shell. A shell with tiny, heartbreaking jewels sliding down his cheeks, forcing visions from the past to flood my eyes and ears.
Bronze Age
"Where is my water, Cassandra?" He'd flown into the tent in a mood and she could sense his irritation right away. His eyes flicked around the tent and finally settled on her huddled form in a darkened corner. She didn't need to look up to feel his obsidian eyes searing into her like blazing flames. She didn't scream or even whimper when he strode over and yanked her off the floor by her hair. Her throat was too raw to make much noise anyway. She slammed her eyes shut, waiting for the onslaught to begin.
She'd tried to get his water. That was how it had all started. She'd gone to the stream, as she had every afternoon before he returned and hummed softly to herself as she kneeled down. She'd seen the other slaves gathered just a few yards away, but she never approached them. She didn't speak to anyone but Methos, and that was only when he allowed it. In retrospect, that was what got her into this position. The older of the women had come up behind her, and Cassandra hadn't even noticed. She let out a scream of terror when the woman yanked her by her hair and began dragging her back to the group. They screamed at her and began kicking her, beating her with rocks and sticks; anything they could get their hands on. She couldn't understand most of them, but a few spoke her language and she caught bits and pieces. Special. Too good. Favorite. She tried to defend herself, but they held her down. The beating must have gone on for hours. She vaguely remembered blacking out, only to awaken to more beating.
And now here she was, barely standing on her own in Methos tent; covered in her own blood and scarred nearly beyond recognition. When his attack never came, her eyes opened as much as she could get them to and she saw the look on his face. The anger she'd heard in his voice earlier was nowhere to be seen.
"The other slaves?" It wasn't much of a question, but she nodded in response and then hissed as she felt something hot searing her cheek. She soon realized they were tears, sliding into the deep gashes on her cheeks. She watched his eyes narrow and he let go of her hair to bring a hand down to her cheek. He was gentle enough that it didn't make her want to scream in agony at his touch, but she winced slightly at the pressure. He brought his thumb to the corner of her eye and wiped a tear away.
"This?" He placed his thumb in front of her face, the pad of it still soaked with her tears, "This... is mine. This little jewel right here? It belongs to me. They all do. You're not to give them to anyone but me. Do you understand?" It was all she could do to nod and attempt to control herself. She had to stop crying. He spun on his heel and stormed out of the tent.
When he woke her the next day, he was gentle. "Little one, rise. Your scars are gone. Do not be afraid. You have much work to do. We ride today and shall not be back until the moon is high. Have food prepared for everyone," And he was gone. She rose and walked outside, aware of the sudden quiet that filled the camp. Where were all the slaves? Had they not packed the horses? Had they...
It was then that she saw the fire. Blazing in the middle of camp, she stood in horror as she realized what had happened; what he had done. They were gone, and all that was left was a pile of bones and ash in the middle of a raging fire. She was all alone now. He had told the truth. There was much work to be done.
I didn't spare him for Duncan. I spared him for those jewels. They were mine. After nearly three centuries, he'd given them back. It was enough.
It was dark. Dark and stale and it was a wonder I saw them at all. Shining like jewels of unimaginable worth, and all of them priceless somehow. I remember my arms ached from holding the sword over my head and my ears rang with his screaming. Duncan's yelling. Begging me with only my name to stop.
"I want him to live!"
How could he ask this of me? After all I'd told him and, no doubt, what Methos finally admitted to him, how could he ask it of me? I looked down at the man who's life I was about to end. My tormentor. My lover. At one time, even the creature I worshipped as a life giver. He was none of those things crumpled before me now. A shell. A shell with tiny, heartbreaking jewels sliding down his cheeks, forcing visions from the past to flood my eyes and ears.
Bronze Age
"Where is my water, Cassandra?" He'd flown into the tent in a mood and she could sense his irritation right away. His eyes flicked around the tent and finally settled on her huddled form in a darkened corner. She didn't need to look up to feel his obsidian eyes searing into her like blazing flames. She didn't scream or even whimper when he strode over and yanked her off the floor by her hair. Her throat was too raw to make much noise anyway. She slammed her eyes shut, waiting for the onslaught to begin.
She'd tried to get his water. That was how it had all started. She'd gone to the stream, as she had every afternoon before he returned and hummed softly to herself as she kneeled down. She'd seen the other slaves gathered just a few yards away, but she never approached them. She didn't speak to anyone but Methos, and that was only when he allowed it. In retrospect, that was what got her into this position. The older of the women had come up behind her, and Cassandra hadn't even noticed. She let out a scream of terror when the woman yanked her by her hair and began dragging her back to the group. They screamed at her and began kicking her, beating her with rocks and sticks; anything they could get their hands on. She couldn't understand most of them, but a few spoke her language and she caught bits and pieces. Special. Too good. Favorite. She tried to defend herself, but they held her down. The beating must have gone on for hours. She vaguely remembered blacking out, only to awaken to more beating.
And now here she was, barely standing on her own in Methos tent; covered in her own blood and scarred nearly beyond recognition. When his attack never came, her eyes opened as much as she could get them to and she saw the look on his face. The anger she'd heard in his voice earlier was nowhere to be seen.
"The other slaves?" It wasn't much of a question, but she nodded in response and then hissed as she felt something hot searing her cheek. She soon realized they were tears, sliding into the deep gashes on her cheeks. She watched his eyes narrow and he let go of her hair to bring a hand down to her cheek. He was gentle enough that it didn't make her want to scream in agony at his touch, but she winced slightly at the pressure. He brought his thumb to the corner of her eye and wiped a tear away.
"This?" He placed his thumb in front of her face, the pad of it still soaked with her tears, "This... is mine. This little jewel right here? It belongs to me. They all do. You're not to give them to anyone but me. Do you understand?" It was all she could do to nod and attempt to control herself. She had to stop crying. He spun on his heel and stormed out of the tent.
When he woke her the next day, he was gentle. "Little one, rise. Your scars are gone. Do not be afraid. You have much work to do. We ride today and shall not be back until the moon is high. Have food prepared for everyone," And he was gone. She rose and walked outside, aware of the sudden quiet that filled the camp. Where were all the slaves? Had they not packed the horses? Had they...
It was then that she saw the fire. Blazing in the middle of camp, she stood in horror as she realized what had happened; what he had done. They were gone, and all that was left was a pile of bones and ash in the middle of a raging fire. She was all alone now. He had told the truth. There was much work to be done.
I didn't spare him for Duncan. I spared him for those jewels. They were mine. After nearly three centuries, he'd given them back. It was enough.