Happy Holidays, silvercobwebs

[amand_r]

Title: the fire-breather
Author: amonitrate aka James Earl Jones as the narrator in The Grinch
Written for: silvercobwebs
Characters/Pairings: Duncan MacLeod, Methos, Amanda, Joe, Rebecca. Implied DM/A/R; M/A, M/R, M/R/A. Hahahahhaa. Poor Joe.
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: thanks to unovis_lj and juniperphoenix for insightful betas.
Summary: "Will you just let her tell the story, Methos? Who cares if it's anachronistic?"



the fire-breather

"Whose turn is it?"

"I told the last one."

"Methos, you stole that story from Malory. Any tenth-grade English Lit student has read Le Morte d'Arthur."

"And who's to say Malory didn't steal it from me, MacLeod?"

"I think it's Amanda's turn."

"All right, Joe, what do you want to hear?"

"I'd like to hear where she got that string of pearls the size of--"

"I've never heard how you met Methos, Amanda."

"Oh, that's a boring story."

"You only think it's boring because you already know what happened, Adam."

"Exactly. Why would I want to hear a story I already know?"

"You really don't get the point of this, do you?"

"Shush, both of you. Okay, here goes..."

The first time I met the oldest of us all, he breathed fire.

"Well, isn't that a melodramatic opening."

"If you want to tell the story, please, be my guest--"

"No no no. I'll stay very quiet."

"There's a better chance that I'll join a nunnery. You--"

"Amanda, are you going to tell the story or not?"

"--are the most ridiculous man I've ever--"

"You know, for two of the oldest Immortals I know, you're both--"

"Yeah, yeah, we get it, MacLeod, we're immature. And you're a paragon of--"

"Is this on the record?"

"Joe, sweetie, I'll go on the record for you anytime."

"'Manda, you'd better get on with it before MacLeod loses what's left of his legendary maturity."

"I never said I was--"

"Fine. Okay. Where was I?"

"The first time you met--"

"Right, right, thanks, Joe. The first time I met--"

the oldest of us all, he breathed fire. A troupe of gypsies had sought permission to camp on Rebecca's estate--

"Gypsies? When was this? The Roma didn't arrive in Europe until--"

"Duncan, for the love of--"

"Well, he's right. It wasn't gypsies. I should know--"

"You were there. Yeah, we got it, Methos. So what would you call them, then?"

"Exotic dancers."

"..."

"Well, we were exotic, at least for the times, and we danced--"

"It wasn't that kind of dancing. They were like a circus. Only without the clowns, and elephants, and cotton--"

"It wasn't like a circus at all. That's ridiculous. To call it a circus would be even more anachronistic than calling us gypsies. Amanda, your grasp of history is truly appalling for somebody who was there at the time."

"Will you just let her tell the story, Methos? Who cares if it's anachronistic?"

"You're recording this for posterity. Can't have you--"

"Oh, now you're suddenly worried about historical accuracy? That's rich, coming from the man who made up his own Chronicle from whole cloth--"

"Will you both just shut the hell up? This is my damn story."

A troupe of nomadic entertainers sought permission to camp on Rebecca's estate, which she granted in return for a performance before her household. It seemed scandalous to me that a lady like Rebecca would allow such an event. Of course, back then I never considered that it might have been more scandalous for a lady such as Rebecca to take in an urchin of the street like myself--

"You were thirty years old, Amanda. Hardly an urchin."

I never considered that it might have been more scandalous for her to take in a waif--

"Waif is just another word for urchin."

"Really? Are you going to do this every two minutes?"

"No. Sorry. Go on."

I was very young then--

"Young? You were thirty when you died. Back then, that practically--"

"METHOS."

"Okay, okay. Shutting up."

I was a very young Immortal and I'd learned not to question my teacher's eccentricities. For Rebecca was very old. Old beyond time, beyond imagining. Old and gentle with a core of bright steel.

"..."

"Why'd you stop?"

"I was waiting for you to interrupt."

"But that part wasn't half bad... Hey! That was a perfectly good handful of peanuts you just wasted."

"'A core of bright steel.' That was Rebecca in a nutshell. If only she--"

"Don't, Duncan. Just don't. I'll never be able to finish this story if I think of her like that."

So that night as twilight fell over the abbey yard the troupe tumbled through the gate, the whirling bright colors of their exotic dress dizzying me as much as the still-new thrum of Immortal presence. I stiffened, realizing the presence lurked among the performers, and sprang from my cushion, wide-eyed as a deer under the huntsman's bow, but Rebecca just smiled and tugged my sleeve, gesturing at me to sit. And then I remembered we were safe on Holy Ground.

There were many acts that night, mysterious feats of trickery and skill, wild jangling music and whirling dances and songs in tongues I'd never heard. But what I remember most clearly is the fire-breather. The Immortal fire-breather.

"I assume that was you."

"MacLeod, I was behaving. This time it's your fault."

I'd never seen a circus before -- this was a millennium before the idea of a modern circus -- so when he appeared before us in a flash of light and sulfurous smoke, I took him for a sorcerer. He towered over most of the men I'd known, tall and narrow-waisted, his sharp features made otherworldly with glittering paint. He called and ate colored fire, he juggled flaming brands, he created a fountain of sparks like bursting stars. And for a finale he breathed balls of dragon-fire. He terrified me.

"Good to know I hadn't lost my touch... Ow. What is it with you people and peanuts?"

I wanted to hide. I wanted to steal his secrets. As the laughter and claps of excitement rose from the audience, the fire-breather stepped forward and bowed to Rebecca. The bow of an equal -- nothing subservient about that gesture. But instead of the frown of insult I expected, Rebecca smiled her private, genuine smile, and then the sorcerer was gone, replaced by full-skirted fortune-tellers.

"I see your talent for making a quick exit is long-standing."

"Can't argue with that."

That night all I could think about was the strange Immortal -- the fire-sorcerer. I went looking for Rebecca, but she was nowhere to be found, and I feared she'd been carried off by the strangers.

"Afraid I'd ravished her, were you? Sadly, there was no--"

"Methos, for the last time--"

So I sneaked out of the abbey, wrapped in a rough cloak and borrowed men's clothes. The troupe had circled their tents in a field a respectful distance from the abbey. It was still on Holy Ground, but even so I clung to the hilt of my sword and crept into the camp -- only to find the fire-breather and my teacher bent dark head to light over a handful of stones and piles of fine powder that lay spread out on the top of a leather-bound chest.

The stranger raised his head first and grinned, all white teeth and black eyes in the dim light from the campfires. Up close he looked of an age with myself, his features finely-chiseled but wholly earth-bound without the paint.

"And this must be the young Amanda," he said, laughter spilling over into his pleasant baritone.

"Pleasant. Did you hear that? She thought my voice was pleasant."

"If you don't shut up, I'll tell the story about the time I caught you passing yourself off as--"

"Which time?"

"Passing himself off as what?"

"Does anyone else care about this story? Because Amanda and I can take this somewhere else."

"..."

"Thank you."

Up close he looked close to my age, but even before I became an Immortal, I'd learned that appearances can be deceiving.

"And this must be the young Amanda."

I glanced from the man's lanky form to the graceful lines of my teacher. They sat too close for propriety, the rich cloth of Rebecca's skirts draped over one of the man's bare feet. Rebecca gave me a smile of reassurance, though there was wariness I didn't understand in her eyes.

"She was worried I'd seduce you away from her."

"In your dreams, bub."

"Johannes," my teacher scolded, "you'll treat my student with respect."

"I didn't go by Johannes until--"

"Ignore him, Amanda."

"Don't worry, I usually do."

"Of course, m'lady." The Immortal Johannes gave a comical bow. "So, most esteemed student of my most esteemed lady, do you come seeking your teacher or my head?"

"Always looking at the bottom line, eh, Methos?"

"Hey, she had a sword, okay? Do you know how big those things were back then?"

I started, and realized the sword was still bare in my hand, but before I could react Rebecca rose and turned a fond frown on the man.

"You are ever the Fool, Johannes. 'Ware you don't step lightly off the cliff in your haste to chase folly."

He didn't stand, as a gentleman would, but instead sprawled back on one elbow, dancing eyes moving slowly down Rebecca's slim body.

"The plunge into the abyss would be worth such follies as these."

"Bow-chicka-BOW-bow."

"Now you've got Joe doing it. Are you happy?"

"Well, yeah, reasonably so. I'd be happier with another beer, though. Maybe a sandwich. Where's the waitress?"

For a moment the two elder Immortals forgot the camp around them and I hovered before them in confusion. Worlds passed between their gazes. Something changed in Johannes' face then -- the joy fell out of his smile of invitation and was replaced by a resigned smirk.

"You have no idea the case of blue balls I left with that night--"

"METHOS."

"What? We're all adults here. You all talk about Rebecca like she was some kind of chaste saint, when she--"

"Oh, I know she was no saint. Remember that time in Munich, darling?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Mmm."

"You mean, you both--"

"Well, not at the same time, clearly. I didn't meet Methos until Kalas--"

"Joe, there's a lot that doesn't make it into the Chronicles."

"Yeah, like Immortal threesomes in Munich?"

"Moving on..."

"Ah well, Lady, many thanks for your hospitality and your advice," the Immortal said to Rebecca. "'Tis late, and I see your student is anxious for your return."

"Another time," Rebecca replied. Johannes the fire-breather sighed, and his eyes held the seriousness his banter had lacked.

"Well met, my ladies. And gentle dreams to you."

With that Rebecca took my arm and led me back to the abbey. When I glanced back towards the camp, the gypsy -- excuse me, the nomadic entertainer -- was still watching us.

Later, wrapped under furs in our high bed, I asked Rebecca if the Immortal knew magic. Rebecca smiled, then her regard turned solemn.

"He knows many things, my dear. Deep things. You should behave yourself around him, lest you are taught a lesson you do not seek."

"Was that a nice way of saying he was trouble with a capital T?"

"Hey! I resemble that remark."

"What kinds of deep things?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Boys. If you'll allow me to continue--"

He was a strange one, this new Immortal whom Rebecca treated with such wary affection. Besides a fire-conjurer Johannes was also a tumbler with the troupe and an occasional blacksmith. The next night, the troupe of nomadic entertainers performed again, and again I found Rebecca out with them afterwards. That night I was more careful. I used all my ill-gotten skills to spy on them, and learned he was also an alchemist like my teacher, and an astrologer. So when I guessed him a sorcerer I was not far off the mark.

It was clear he and Rebecca had known one another for many years--

"How many years, Methos?"

"That's another story for another night."

--for the fluid ease of their movements together betrayed a long intimacy. Even then I was boldly outspoken--

"Just a little bit."

"Methos. You are the worst audience a girl could ever--"

"Yeah, sorry. I'll be quiet as a mouse from now on, I promise."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Even then I was boldly outspoken, so I asked my teacher if she and the fire-breather were lovers. Never affronted by my impertinence, always patient, Rebecca was oddly serious when she answered the question I had not asked.

"You're a grown woman, beloved, and an Immortal, and you can do as you will with your body. But be sure not to pin your heart on an illusion."

"Hey, I'm not a magic trick--"

"I don't think that's what she meant, Methos. And I thought you were a mouse."

"Mice really aren't that quiet."

"Clearly."

And though I didn't understand fully what Rebecca meant, I heeded the warning in her tone.

"Well, that time you did, anyway."

"So when did you two--"

"That's--"

"Another story. Got it."

Two nights later the caravan trundled on, the strange Immortal with them. He left behind a small sack of fire-powder for Rebecca and left me delirious with unquenchable curiosity. I scoured the flattened grass of the field where the troupe had camped, but nothing remained save the ashes of their campfires.

"Leave 'em wanting more, that's the nomadic entertainer code. Glad to see something rubbed off on you, Amanda."

"So what happened after that?"

"Well, they inspired me to join the circus. But you already know about--"

"That was a thousand years later."

"Picky, picky."

"Children--"

"Who's next?"

"Tell us a story, Joe."

END