Farewell Yet Not Forever
He kissed her, searchingly, absorbingly, so deeply she wanted nothing more than to believe that they would come together again. She wrapped her arms around him. If nothing else, she could leave him knowing her love. They caressed one another in the gently lapping water, seen by nothing but the moon and stars. She thought, not for the first time, on the immensity of the heavens. Once, she had lay on the ground, wet, and beyond hope, looked at the sky, and thought it to be empty, endless.
Methos had been by her side that day. How could she ever forget that? It seemed as if, since she had known him-it was he, younger but wiser and stronger, who had come to her rescue. She had leaned on him. She almost felt she owed him, but knew what she had done for him.
He never knew what it was to really be a part of the Game-this she had done. She kept him in her protection by always surrounding him with others-teaching him the only way to survive would be by keeping others close. It was a strategy she had learned, but knew it would be more valuable for him. He didn't even begin to know his own skill. He didn't know that in that terrible Game that went on among their kind-he was good enough to be prized.
She was beginning to be afraid about leaving him. He might be known as Death, but it was always she, drawing the attention away from him-she, the Oldest. Any who knew of Anna, would easily pass him by to know her head. She worried what might befall without her.
But had she not given him this gift again? With Caspian, Silas, and the rest of the crew she had assembled-would he not be shielded by them-would they not help him endure? She knew she had done what she could, and then put all thoughts out of her head. She let him hold her, and they left the water, and were coming to shore.
She let him walk her backwards, and lay her on the sand. They held each other, and she closed her eyes, just enjoying him, for what might be the last time, even if every nerve in her told her this could not be so. She brushed the wet hair back off of his neck, and let her lips roam down his skin, gently pushing him aside, until it was he on his back, and she who hovered over him, her mouth roving over his flesh like fire.
"Anna?" he asked, questioningly.
"Methos, love, just lay back, and let me please you. I want nothing more. I want you to remember this night fondly, and think well of me."
"I'll always..."
"Quiet, please, Methos. No words should spoil this."
And she returned to her gentle kisses, her hands exploring his chest, relishing the feel of his body. Even if she did not love him for himself, she would miss his beauty, and the way they fit together as lovers. He always pleased her-stirred her. She wanted to show him what she felt; what she had always felt.
She hoped that was enough.
Her mouth was so warm it seemed to almost sear his flesh. He looked down on her, helplessly. He once said that he thought of her as a flame-she never felt more like a flame as her mouth worked its way down his skin. Her hands, too, seemed warm as they caressed him, and then he felt one battle-rough hand tenderly grasping his manhood, and he realized he had no choice but to let her do what she must...not that he was arguing with this.
Anath-Sin considered what she might do. She had known many men over the years--gods, who even knew their number! But Methos she might remember for his responsiveness to her touch-not in the hurried manner of a youth, too soon spilling what sap ran through-nor the manner of an old man, groaning to satisfy. His was the manner of one who enjoyed every sensation and knew how best to make it last. But she wanted to make him quiver at her touch and explode with passion and this was an art she knew.
She held his manhood firm between her fingers, and let her tongue paint the tip of it gently with soft, gentle strokes. She knew that he was unused to expecting this of her-but the truth was, she even thought well on the look of his member. Still holding the shaft, she let her other hand rest warmly on his sack, well-liking the ripple of sensation he seemed to enjoy at that. And then she would not deny him a pleasure she knew he enjoyed a great deal, she took his member into her mouth, that she might bring him to that point where he might release. She knew she would want him well-pleased, that he slept well, for ere morn she would go.
Always she was loath to do this with some men, for they would have her do that which she disliked, and take it deeper than was best. But his taste was for the head to be well-wetted, and for her tongue to sweetly taste him, and this was how she did it.
She could tell he was pleased by this, for she heard his first rough groan of excitement, and felt his hips shift ever so slightly. She steadied him with her hand...it would be better for this if he were still. With the hand not steadying him, she still gripped his member, but now she would slip it back and forth, to enhance his excitement-she wished for him to release quickly, that their love-making would be long. She did desire to enjoy as much of him as she could have, knowing their time would be brief.
She knew by the twitch of his flesh that the time had come to pass, and he would come forth with his pleasure, and she knew she would take it in, and not let it spill to the ground. This was a thing she did not care for-to let it be spilt-when her mouth was warm, and it was not so terrible to know. If she would have it in that region of herself that was sacred, then why not her mouth, which those who knew the sharp side of her tongue would know, was profane?
The throes of this went hard for him, and again she suspected something in the drug passed by the brother of the Oracle. She did not care for it...her head seemed strange, and she wondered if it did not slow Methos' enjoyment-she knew wine to do the same.
She slipped the hand that steadied him down over his hip, loving the feel of his muscle, and let it wrap about his ass-she always thought that a sweet part of him. She gripped it there, and she let the other hand slide down, to the base of his member, and there let her fingers feel his soft hair, and gently touch his sack, that he might feel renewed excitement. Happily, he responded to this, and the hand again rose, stroking and stroking, until the moment was at hand.
She found the sounds of a man at this crisis so exciting she nearly found her own release. For the work she needed, it was clearly worth it for him-even when she ceased to lap at the damp remains, his face was rapt with awe of the sensation, and she perceived his member to twitch. And for this, she knew she had done well.
She lay beside him, wondering when he would be ready to speak. She knew he would have some thing to say-he usually did. But he said nothing, and when he turned to his side, the better to hold her, both of them rolling on the sand, they looked at one another, and felt nothing but love. She wanted to tell him of the joy she saw when she looked at him, but he spoke instead.
"Anna, I know you will do your will. You always have. I would have you stay, but I would have you..."
She felt the pain inside of him-there was little she could hear from Methos and not judge his moods by it--
"Methos, I know you would have me happy. You make me happy, and always have. But I would have you know this..." And with this she felt his member. She knew this of him-he was quick to recover, and would be ready to know her soon. She stroked it as if she did so absently, as if she was not trying to build his passion to the point where he would ravish her. She looked into his eyes, seeing his thoughts slip away.
"Anna, I know what you are doing..." It was plain enough that she was trying to distract him.
"But Methos…do you not want to enjoy me?"
"I want nothing else," he said suddenly, turning and mounting her. He slipped in with ease, as she was damp with anticipation. She felt him deep within her, and stirred to new excitement. She knew how it would go with this-she would thrill to every stroke, for she felt at ends. She was caught up in their mutual lust.
"Anna, I know...you will leave..."
He said this with such difficulty, Anath-Sin wanted to make it a rule-men should not speak during lovemaking. She put her finger to his lips, and her legs wrapped about his. She felt her knees softly brush against that wonderful ass for a moment, and then she simply concentrated on enjoying him. Everything about his body pleased her, even the way it moved against her. He never rushed matters, but let the passion build.
Her hands tangled themselves in his hair, long, brown and flowing...she loved that he was a man of the horse, and the sword, that he was always the wild creature she had found...but still, ever more intelligent than any she found in city or temple. She loved that he cared little for cities or temples-he was a warrior, even as herself.
"Methos, I can never truly leave you. So long as there is that in me which remembers you, I would return. The Oracle…if I remember any of ought she said, I remember this-she said we were forever."
Their lips met, and there was a fire in this meeting. He was always passionate, but he was most passionate in the use of his tongue and lips-she loved this in him, the use of these-they had done her many a good service. She longed to feel that from him, but more, she would rather take him in her arms, and let him know herself...and know her deeply, and be close to her.
She felt his manhood thrust deep within her and she was pleased. She loved this within him best-that he might take her where no other might go in their lovemaking. He stirred her always as no other-loving her well, and leaving her exhausted. She enjoyed the feeling of a man knowing her so well that she might not wish to stir after-that she might not be able to.
Her legs wrapped about his own limbs, and she cherished the feel of his skin--the hairy coarseness of his limbs against her own white thighs. She clasped him tight against herself, loving every moment of that which they shared. She righted herself, thrusting her pelvis forth, that she might even more enjoy him thrust into herself, so deep she clenched her jaw at the feel of him.
She would speak, even in the midst of this act-well she knew that her words might mean nothing at this point, but it seemed it needed to be said.
"Methos, this is beautiful."
His answer was to meet her lips with his own. They kissed deeply and well. Their love was a passion the sky despaired of, not knowing the earth so well. Air despaired of their love, not knowing space so well. The very gods despaired-they made love before the eyes of the gods-and would again.
If Anath-Sin had anything to say about it, they would.
****
Though exhausted, he turned to her, and his voice was filled with a certain urgency. He looked into her face, and as usual, seemed to be trying to read it.
"Anna, what were those words?"
"Words?" she asked, her voice a touch hoarse.
"The words you and the Oracle spoke. It was as if you had known them always."
Anath-Sin smiled. It reminded her of Imhotep-he taught her those words, and a thousand other things besides. But it was the words that he had made certain she remembered-even speaking them to her before he asked her to take his head. This she had done-and oddly enough, she thought it might have been that act that made them a part of her.
"I am Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow. I have the power to be reborn. I am the Beginning and the End of Time. These were the words of Osiris, taught to me by Imhotep. He believed that the soul might live on in another form after death."
"Do you think that could be?"
She saw what he meant by that. He did not want to believe in her fate anymore that she herself felt resigned to it. She never thought on such things, but it was a thing she might like to believe in.
"Should I pass, Methos-if my head be taken, I do not think I should wish to go easily. If I could, I would return. I should only hope to come in so…pleasing a form. And not be a toad, or some such."
He laughed at that. "You should have hair like blood, and eyes like lapis."
She laughed herself. "I should curse like a slave, drink like a scribe, fight like a warrior, and ride like…"
"An idiot."
At this she roared. It was correct-she rode like an idiot. How many times had she worn a poor beast out just to see it go faster? What ravines did she coax the poor creatures to jump? And who else was not happy unless she were in constant motion? She was pleased he knew her so well.
"And make love with every breath," he added. "That's how you are. Even killing is like that with you."
She grew quiet.
"I grow tired," Methos then said. "But I would know you one last time."
They made love for the last time that evening, and Methos slept. She looked well on his face, and it had never seemed so dear to her, but she must go. She knew she had no choice. She knew he would have to bear the tale back to Caspian and Silas, but it could scarcely be helped. Should they return to camp again, she should never want to leave.
It was time. With her, motion was the substance of her being-she would not be still if there were a thing to be done. She had to find the one the Oracle called "the Fatherless one."
The one who could be none other than the Prince she left in Agade.
She rose from him gently, and considered placing a kiss on him, but would not for fear of waking him. Her heart felt heavy, but she could not think that things were finished between them. Of men, she had known lovers, husbands-men who would fight beside her. He had been a lover, and had fought beside her, but he had been something more precious still. She had always been able to speak with him, and he had always been there for her.
She thought of him as her closest friend.