Fic: Tantalus (Highlander - PG-13) [1/7]
This is being posted in parts, both because it is long & needs breaking up for LJ-posting purposes, and because I need to re-write some of it to Fix some Errors. (pat-t likes it anyway, but now that I know I got those things wrong I can't let them stay wrong....) Hopefully, by starting posting this I will then get said re-writing done.
Title: Tantalus
Author: Lferion lferion
Written for: Tes_fic tes_fic
Characters/Pairings: Methos, Duncan, Joe, OCs
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 18000-ish
Summary: What if escaping is the easy part?
Warnings, if any: No sex. Pre-slash. Disturbing themes. Original characters advancing the storyline. Do any of these really need to be warned for?
Author's Notes: Tes' request was for Duncan/Methos slash or gen, "First time stories. Action, drama and plot. Hurt/comfort." There's a real element of challenge in plausibly damaging an Immortal. I hope I rose to the occasion.
This story would not have gotten written without the encouragement, brainstorming, hand-holding, commentary and detailed nit-picking of reshcat and auberus. temve provided a very useful outside the fandom point of view and caught the rest of the double spaces. Thank you so much, ladies. I could not have done it without you. Originally posted to hlh_shortcuts 14 Dec 2008:
Tantalus - part 1/2
Tantalus - part 2/2
From out of the dark came the rush of feet, the scuff of bare sole on leaf-mould, the quick, harsh breath of exertion, imperfectly stifled.
Run run, get away, live to fight another day
Behind him sounded a rattle like drums, coughing and shouting and a high piercing shriek that no bone pipe had ever made, only a throat of metal, tongue and teeth of brass. His feet were too soft for the ground, stones and roots lurking under the fallen leaves, hungry for his blood. If he fell the hounds would catch him, their claws would rend his bones, deaden his mind, his muscles, and he would never escape the fire in his veins.
Flee the merry month of May - fire burns the doomed who stay
He shook his head fiercely, baring his teeth to the chill air that flew at him as he ran. Not Beltain: Samhain. The light and noise climbed behind him, wind overtaking him, pushing him faster, blinding him with bitter grit, heat curling the hairs on his skin, crisping the dead leaves that shivered and whirled about him. One chance. One moment. One hope to make his body a blade and cleave the poisoned earth, the air that suffocated, the water that parched, the stone that lifted from his belly and breast only to fall, shattering, again and again and again.
Pay the piper lest he play a tune to death to make him stay
There was something he should be laughing at - the childish chant, the ridiculous words. But he had no breath to laugh, hardly enough to run. Blood beat high in his throat and he tasted metal. His feet flinched from the earth, his hands spasmed, reaching before him in the dark. Something he should be missing, remembering, holding on to, a weight that wasn't there, but the imperative to escape swept all before it. Thought shredded like thin cloth on the twigs and thorns, baring his spirit to the air. Stones and the skeletons of grass slashed ribbons from his soles. Let the Hunt feast on his leavings, while substance fled.
Run run, get away, live to fight another day
The baying of the red-eared hounds gradually fell silent as he ran, subsumed by the rasp of air dry and cold in his mouth, the scent of grass and reed-edged water. The trees no longer reached out root to trip and branch to catch, but stood in ranks, warding a path that breathed apple and acorn. Sweat stung his eyes, ran chill down his flanks. His back remembered the burn of salt in wounds renewed so often that they failed to heal. The fire in his veins had spread to his skin, leapt before his eyes and danced, flickering before him. It led him to a little cliff of stone, pillared and roofed with resin-sweet wood. His feet stumbled down to snag on smooth and grassy earth. Another cliff appeared before him, stepped sheer and insurmountable. He caught the pillar, stopping, clinging, but all strength had fled. His hands slipped down the bole and he crumpled, utterly spent.
The light multiplied, sang cool and safe and sacred ground.
He let it take him.
*** *** ***
Title: Tantalus
Author: Lferion lferion
Written for: Tes_fic tes_fic
Characters/Pairings: Methos, Duncan, Joe, OCs
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 18000-ish
Summary: What if escaping is the easy part?
Warnings, if any: No sex. Pre-slash. Disturbing themes. Original characters advancing the storyline. Do any of these really need to be warned for?
Author's Notes: Tes' request was for Duncan/Methos slash or gen, "First time stories. Action, drama and plot. Hurt/comfort." There's a real element of challenge in plausibly damaging an Immortal. I hope I rose to the occasion.
This story would not have gotten written without the encouragement, brainstorming, hand-holding, commentary and detailed nit-picking of reshcat and auberus. temve provided a very useful outside the fandom point of view and caught the rest of the double spaces. Thank you so much, ladies. I could not have done it without you. Originally posted to hlh_shortcuts 14 Dec 2008:
Tantalus - part 1/2
Tantalus - part 2/2
From out of the dark came the rush of feet, the scuff of bare sole on leaf-mould, the quick, harsh breath of exertion, imperfectly stifled.
Run run, get away, live to fight another day
Behind him sounded a rattle like drums, coughing and shouting and a high piercing shriek that no bone pipe had ever made, only a throat of metal, tongue and teeth of brass. His feet were too soft for the ground, stones and roots lurking under the fallen leaves, hungry for his blood. If he fell the hounds would catch him, their claws would rend his bones, deaden his mind, his muscles, and he would never escape the fire in his veins.
Flee the merry month of May - fire burns the doomed who stay
He shook his head fiercely, baring his teeth to the chill air that flew at him as he ran. Not Beltain: Samhain. The light and noise climbed behind him, wind overtaking him, pushing him faster, blinding him with bitter grit, heat curling the hairs on his skin, crisping the dead leaves that shivered and whirled about him. One chance. One moment. One hope to make his body a blade and cleave the poisoned earth, the air that suffocated, the water that parched, the stone that lifted from his belly and breast only to fall, shattering, again and again and again.
Pay the piper lest he play a tune to death to make him stay
There was something he should be laughing at - the childish chant, the ridiculous words. But he had no breath to laugh, hardly enough to run. Blood beat high in his throat and he tasted metal. His feet flinched from the earth, his hands spasmed, reaching before him in the dark. Something he should be missing, remembering, holding on to, a weight that wasn't there, but the imperative to escape swept all before it. Thought shredded like thin cloth on the twigs and thorns, baring his spirit to the air. Stones and the skeletons of grass slashed ribbons from his soles. Let the Hunt feast on his leavings, while substance fled.
Run run, get away, live to fight another day
The baying of the red-eared hounds gradually fell silent as he ran, subsumed by the rasp of air dry and cold in his mouth, the scent of grass and reed-edged water. The trees no longer reached out root to trip and branch to catch, but stood in ranks, warding a path that breathed apple and acorn. Sweat stung his eyes, ran chill down his flanks. His back remembered the burn of salt in wounds renewed so often that they failed to heal. The fire in his veins had spread to his skin, leapt before his eyes and danced, flickering before him. It led him to a little cliff of stone, pillared and roofed with resin-sweet wood. His feet stumbled down to snag on smooth and grassy earth. Another cliff appeared before him, stepped sheer and insurmountable. He caught the pillar, stopping, clinging, but all strength had fled. His hands slipped down the bole and he crumpled, utterly spent.
The light multiplied, sang cool and safe and sacred ground.
He let it take him.
*** *** ***