Manchild
They came back bearing two litters, and Anath-Sin feared the worst. She feared it was a true death. She didn't know if she could bear it if one of hers did not make it back. If anything happened to Caspian or Methos, she herself would ride out and teach the fatherless one that did it a lesson of vengeance. And when someone said, "It is Methos," her heart almost stopped pounding. She looked at the grisly sight.
It was not permanent, but it was serious-his head had been nearly cleaved in two-well, perhaps not, but nearly. She gathered herself together and barked orders to one of the women who stood by-
"Have you no legs? Run, fool, fetch water and a cloth that I might rinse the blood."
Face pale, the woman ran off to get a bowl. Anath-Sin noted with contempt that she stopped to tell another along the way. Weaklings...they were already in mourning. She did not think they understood the basic concept-their masters did not die. Certainly, a mortal could not survive the wound Methos had, but Methos would.
"Who is the other?" she then asked, almost absently. She was beginning to feel the familiar sensation-and then she caught a look at the man. He was large-Immortal, but none of her camp. "He was also wounded, but not so terribly. Why has he not awakened?"
Caspian explained. "He is the man who smote Methos-he used the butt of his axe. And Methos retaliated-in the heat of it, and with the wound being what it was, he did not think to take the man's head, not that he'd have a use for it.
"This death is the man's first."
Anath-Sin hid a smile. Methos could show a temper. And yes, perhaps with the wound, it would not have occurred to him that he was about to do to the young one.
"And you did not think to do the deed?"
"I did not think to-I felt," and at this, he too, was smiling, "I felt it would not be right. The man," and at this he gestured, "is simple."
At this, Anath-Sin laughed outright. Her clever, dear Methos-laid low by a simpleton!
*****
Two women came bearing bowls of water and cloths, and from the looks in their eyes, she could tell that they were afraid for Methos. She rolled her eyes-he might be rough with them, but still they looked well on him, for his features were fine and his voice could be gentle. This was the reason they looked ill on herself at times, because she lay beside him each night. That, and because she had helped murder their husbands and brothers. That Methos, too, was a killer, they could accept.
"Does he live?" one asked timidly.
"I care not if he lives or dies. Prepare him for a funeral or a feast, I care not, just get the blood off him," Anath-Sin said. She did not mind this kind of cruelty, but only hoped to see their faces when he bolted upright.
Caspian touched her shoulder. "The young one stirs. What should we do with him?"
"I shall speak with him. And I shall decide. You, guard these wenches well with my man," she added, but then gave a laughing look at Caspian. He was amused at her ways with these women. She then stood on her toes to whisper in his ear, "Little Brother, be sure to tell the idiot when he wakes that he may have added another to our camp."
With that, she turned to meet the newcomer.
The big man seemed confused and dazed, like a child waking from a dream. She could not help but smile at this. She approached him slowly, however. There was no telling how one might behave after awakening from the first death-it could be quite a surprise, to say the least. She tried to make her voice soothing.
"Greetings, I am Anna."
"Where am I?"
"You are in the camp of the man whom you smote with the axe. Do you remember this? That there was a man-"
"Yes, he was rude...and I killed him, but he did not die right away-he..." At this, he looked down at the bloodstain on his tunic and stared in amazement. "What is this he has done? This would have..." And then he looked at her, uncertain.
"Yes, this would have killed you, but we do not die as other men. This is a thing you must know-you are not as other men."
At this, a sad look crossed the man's almost child-like face. He looked down, and sighed.
"I know I am not like other men."
Behind her, she heard the gasps from the women and realized her man was awake. This would be most instructive for the young one, who seemed certain that he had killed Methos. But she was more concerned at the moment at the look of sad confusion on the face of the new-made Immortal.
"How are you not like other men?" she asked, softly.
"The people of the village, they did not like me. Always they would say, 'Silas has done this,' or 'Again Silas causes trouble.' They said they wished I was not found. I did not like how they spoke to me. I became angry, and I fought with them! But then they drove me out, and I-"
"Did they hurt you when they drove you out?" she asked, suddenly sly.
"They used stones."
Anath-Sin could still feel the sting from the hail of rocks that proceeded her departure from Uruk, naked on the back of Methos' horse. She could see this creature was gentle, but she wondered if he had any anger to him-size, he had, yes-strength, he had-yes, but she needed to see passion if he would ride with them.
"The people of your village are now dead. They do not live to gloat over driving anyone out. They are not even going to last as a memory-how do you feel about this?"
She saw then, the glint in his eye-this did not displease him. But he would not say he was glad.
"I care not. I lived among the shepherds when I had gone. It was they I defended. But they were not strong like me-they died." He did not seem sad about this either.
Anath-Sin judged him. He would be strong-he cared not if he saw death. This was enough for her. He would live, and he would ride among them. Besides, she did not know how else he might survive-another Immortal would take his head easily by guile, for this man seemed as guileless as a child.
"They were not strong like you, for they were not your people. Do you wish to know what your kind are? I am of your kind. Watch me, that you may know what you are-even as myself." With that, she drew forth the copper dagger that she kept strapped to her leg. The copper would burn in her blood, but the pain would be brief. She looked into Silas' trusting eyes, and realized that this would make something of an impression if she did it drastically.
She drove the point into her wrist, just below the palm, and then laid down the flesh to the bone.
"Behold!" she exclaimed, and watched his face.
She thought he might be sick. He stared, but made no move to stop her or to exclaim, only watched, eyes wide, even as she sank to her knees, even as the blood streamed forth from her. Then, he shook himself, and bent down,
"No, this is-what have you done?"
And then it hit her even as she was having a little death that she had startled him out of his wits, and that when she came to she would have to explain everything. Because she was old, she knew this would not take long.
He was holding her arm, trying to do something about the blood, and then he dropped back. He gasped, and crawled backwards for a bit away from her. She watched this, trying not to feel amused.
"I am well, Silas. This will not harm me. You might do this to yourself-you will heal. You are as I am," she said, and tossed him the blade, still wet with her own blood. She then wiped the blood from her arm, and held it up, wiggling her fingers. "See?"
He looked at the blade doubtfully. "This is a thing I might do, and yet live? You mean to trick me."
"Did you not receive a wound in your guts today? I know my man, Methos-he would have twisted the blade that you feel your death. I am certain of it. And if you can not remember clearly, I am certain you would hear it from Methos himself. Ask him."
"Ask a dead man?"
Anath-Sin rose to her feet, and called out, "Methos! Your killer requests your presence!"
The look on Silas' face as he fainted dead away was enough to rob her of her disappointment at seeing the looks on those women's faces. She laughed until she could take no more. Methos came up behind her and steadied her, wondering if she was not the most bizarre woman in all of the world.
"Oh, Methos," she gasped, "He's priceless. Can we keep him?"
"I do not think so," Methos answered, sternly.
"Please," Anath-Sin said, still gasping. "You are angered at him because he fixed your hair for you. He is...like a child. He is strong, but like a child. You can not think to-Methos!" she then suddenly exclaimed, appalled. "You can not be thinking of taking his head? It would be...beneath you."
Caspian loped up to them. "If there is such a thing."
Methos glared at the man-the blood between them was still bad, but they had now fought alongside one another, and so Methos would let it pass. But the look on his face made it known that he would keep the slight in mind, and not bear a second.
"I had been thinking of simply letting him go his own way-but yes, perhaps taking his head would be more humane-look at him! He has not the wits to appreciate what he is."
"Perhaps you have not the wits to appreciate what he is, then-" Caspian began, taking Anna's part, but then, Anath-Sin interjected, seeing Methos about to lunge for him-
"Enough! I will not have you bickering like this. I have told you once, we are family-you show respect one to the other-or mark me-we are nothing. Do you hear me? Family."
She looked at them. They broke the fierce looks and stepped back from each other. She noticed that Silas had risen, and he now looked on them in shock. He seemed to be in awe of what she had said, and she turned to him.
"Silas?"
He lowered his head.
"Have you ever known a family? Come here Silas, and bring the dagger. I want to show you what your family is. Methos," she said, then turning to him. "Caspian was simply saying, you do not appreciate that Silas is strong. He has not your subtlety, nor your wits, but he is strong, and he is like ourselves. But I appreciate this."
"Hand me the dagger, Silas, and give me your arm," she then demanded. Obediently, he did so, and as she held it in one hand, she said, "I know one of you has done this with me-this was a rite I learned of old-Caspian...you know what this is."
He nodded, and held out his own arm.
"What do you say, Brother?" Caspian then asked Methos.
"We have shed blood--why not share it?" Anath-Sin pleaded.
"With you alone, I might, Anath-Sin."
"Then go to your tent, and I shall join you, but this is for the good of the camp-and you may even understand why I have done this, someday."
At hearing this, Methos stalked off. Anath-Sin's eyes flashed. In this instant, she knew what she had done. She made the crew her own.
*****
"Why did you do that, Anath-Sin-willfully go against me?"
She dreaded that his voice was more hurt than angered. At the same time, it might almost be easier to deal with his pain than his anger. She knelt beside him, and folded her hands on his knee, and looked up at him.
"Methos, you must know by now that even I do not know why I do all that I do. And this is one of those times that I had no motive-I did as I pleased."
She did not care for the way he answered, nor for the way he rose. Her heart was beginning to pound inside her-she had made her allegiances, but at this cost-Methos' trust? She did not think it should have come to that. That had not been her intention at all; she merely had intended to bring another within their fold and cement the bond, so that they understood. It was a thing warriors had done of old, that they might better shed blood alongside each other. It was a thing done so they might better die for one another. She had hoped that even he might understand.
"Methos, I would give anything to have you know my heart. I did not mean to make you seem weak, or wrong, only to make my point. I do not wish for anything to change between us."
"Everything's changed!" he said, and his hurt was so apparent she felt tears come. "Ever since you brought your brother," and these words he practically spat, "here, things have changed. And now you bring in another? To what purpose?"
She rose, and went to him, putting her hands on his shoulders, and looking in his eyes. She loved him. He had to know that. "It is an old way. We have found a young one and he must be trained. If he is cast out, he may return to take one of our heads. If you take his head, as he is but a child, it is a blasphemy. All of us know these things. So he is better with us, than not."
"It is better you have men taking your part-standing up for you."
She shook her head. "This only matters if you are against me. Do not be against me, Methos. When we are together, we might do great things. Do you know my heart? Do you know that I care for you?"
He looked into her face, searching her eyes, her features. He knew she might do many a thing but at lying was she famously bad. He could read her face, and see everything in her heart-it was true. It did not change that he disapproved, but it was true.
He did not answer with words, but kissed her. This was the only answer she needed to understand.
It was ever thus, she thought as he walked her backwards and eased her down to the soft bed of furs. They fought, and then they made love. They might do this a thousand times-it never changed. He pressed his body against her, and she felt the stirring within, as she always did when she was with him, something fierce that was more than just sex-but an emotion she did not know with another. Perhaps it was because he frustrated her so, and she him, that they were this way.
She compelled herself to say nothing, to simply make love to him, but part of her still puzzled at his reluctance to do the rite with her. Perhaps it was because of the others-that Caspian he still disliked, and that Silas was unknown to him. But with her? He would. But she would not press that matter, not now. Had they not been as kin since the beginning?
His hands kept him righted as he hovered over her, but she wrapped her own arms around him tightly, and held him close. The closeness meant everything to her-feeling him in her arms in the here and now always seemed the answer to her questions about him.
She was wrong to push it with him, she now saw-not so close to his having been dead. Not in front of the others. She hated herself at times...a thousand thoughts streamed through her mind as they made love. But all Methos thought of was herself.
This rift would be made right if she could help it. And she would hold on to this extended family of hers. It would be for the best.
Some way or another, Methos would understand.
*****
After they made love, she watched him leave the tent with a purposeful stride, and approach the newcomer. She looked on this with no apprehension. It was apparent enough to her by his manner what he was doing-simply giving the man a proper welcome to the camp. He might not see him as part of the family yet, but he would be civil.
She smiled at this, knowingly, and then made to clean herself, that she might rest, but then Caspian entered, and his look was one of concern.
"How has he..."
"We have come to an understanding. See now, how he approaches Silas? I think he will accept him. If nothing else, the man is strong, and will be able to fight alongside us. And I do not believe him to be as slow-witted as he might let on-only very simple-innocent, perhaps. Methos may even come to like him."
Together they watched, as Methos lifted the axe of Silas, inspecting the weapon that had recently landed on his skull. Who knew of what they spoke? It was only apparent that Methos had no intention of retaliation. That was enough.
After a time, Caspian spoke,
"You were right about him taking me on, and also you were right about this. Is there anything about which you are not right?"
Anath-Sin thought wryly on the many mistakes she had made, the many regrets she had known, and also the hundreds of things she had never set right. It was a compliment she couldn't accept.
"About many things am I wrong, Little Brother. I can not number the stars, nor take measure of the sand of the great desert, and I can't for the life of me say what the future might hold-but about Methos-I think I am right. About ourselves, I am right. Of these things alone, I might be sure."