Work Text:
Author: A Lanart
Title: Misery Turns
Fandom: Highlander
Characters: Siannon O'Niall(OFC) & Methos
Rating: G
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is not mine.
Title from the song by The Faces of Sarah
~*~
Misery Turns
*
Greece was the pinnacle of civilisation, or so she'd been told, and Athens was the centre of that world. That it was a world somewhat in decline was something that everyone had neglected to mention. Centre of the world or not Siannon found herself feeling jaded and weary, even in this place of temples and song where man had reached out to touch something more, something beyond for over a thousand years. Bitterly, she reflected that for an immortal there was nothing more; just life and more life in an endless and unbroken circle. She'd lived for 250 years, seen and done things she would never have imagined and learned more than she thought was possible when she was just a carefree child feeding the family ducks on the river.
When Siannon had first become immortal it had seemed to be such a wonderful thing but 250 years of watching all those around her briefly flower, then whither and die had taken its toll. She was sick of it all, heartsick and homesick and wished she could return, even if it was only for a moment, to being the young woman she had once been, unfettered by immortality, running wild in the woods and marshes of Ireland, learning of music and healing at her grandparents feet while her parents taught her of life and love and surviving in a harsh world. Those days were long gone, and only the music and surviving remained. Even her music seemed flat and lifeless in this ancient city and failed to bring her the pleasure and peace she had come to expect. It was as if there was nothing left for her.
She kicked idly at a stone as she let the last notes of another lament rise into the too-bright sky; the stone bounced satisfyingly and seemed to leap for the edge of the cliff, ricocheting off the rocks below with a clatter. In a fit of hopeless rage she threw her harp after the stone and sent it crashing down the cliffside. She could hear the wood and strings shatter and snap with an unholy cacophony as the harp hit the unforgiving rocks that made up the bones of the Acropolis. She stood and peered down the precipice, watching as the wreck came to a final halt and contemplated sending herself after it even though she, unlike the harp, would eventually live to see another day. She took a step closer to the edge and raised her face until she could feel the herb-scented breeze drift across her skin. As she stood there, another sensation crawled along her nerves, mimicking the touch of the air on her face. She ignored it, and began to shift her weight to enable her to put more power behind a leap over the cliff edge.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. The Athenians take a dislike to dead bodies that pick themselves up and walk away; they seem to think it's an insult and a sign that you've been rejected by the Gods, which makes them rather angry."
She would have ignored the words and thrown herself off the cliff anyway but for one thing; they were in the language of home. Just hearing the soft cadences of her mother tongue soothed a raw and gaping wound in her soul. She let her head fall, and took a step backwards as she turned slowly to face the immortal who held her life in his hands in more ways than one, unsure of what to expect. It certainly wasn't the outstretched hand that confronted her, palm empty and fingers just waiting for her to reach out and grasp them. She stared at the long fingers for a moment before she did the only thing she could and offered her own trembling fingers in a gesture that was part supplication and part thanks. The clasp that met them was warm and firm, calloused and alive; the touch of a warrior. He pulled her away from the edge of the cliff and led her to a half-hidden stone bench. He sat, and patted the sun-warmed stone next to him; she accepted the invitation and joined him on the bench, unconsciously taking his hand again like it was a lifeline she didn't want to lose. They sat in silence for a short while, their fingers still linked, with the sounds and smells of the temple complex weaving a spell around them. Eventually she raised her head to glance at her rescuer, wondering just what sort of person would interfere with an immortal death wish when he could have so easily taken advantage of the situation. Whatever she had expected, it was not what met her eyes. She let his hand fall from her own as she took stock of him.
He didn't look Greek for a start, but then she had expected that; no-one who spoke Goídelc like that was likely to be a Greek. She was fairly certain he wasn't Irish either, no matter how well spoken he was, even though he was fair enough to be of the clans or maybe cruithen. Not that it mattered; he was immortal, he could have been from Tír na nÓg or Atlantis for all she knew or cared. It wasn't a pretty face when compared with all the marble beauty that surrounded them, there were too many planes and angles for that, but it was striking. She could imagine it being the face of someone who was the power behind a throne, or perhaps a scholar and teacher; he had that sort of manner about him. She realised she was staring when his gold-green eyes crinkled at the corners from the smile that was spreading across his face, destroying the appearance of solemnity completely. She smiled tentatively in response, she couldn't help herself.
"That's better," he said.
"I feel I should thank you. I just..." Siannon waved a hand around vaguely, unusually at a loss for words. The smile on his face turned into something a little more serious, but didn't disappear completely.
"Felt the weight of your immortality pressing down, squeezing the last remnants of a normal life out of you."
"Yes, that's it exactly! You've felt like that too?"
He nodded,
"We all have at one time or another. You're still young I take it?"
"I'm 250!" She protested. In no way, shape or form did Siannon feel that 250 years old was young. If she'd remained mortal she would have been lucky to reach 50 years, 5 times that was *not* young as far as she was concerned though going by the expression on his face the other immortal didn't agree with her.
"Like I said, you're young. That will pass if you're lucky, as will feeling like you do. Maybe some day you can return the favour and stop another immortal doing something foolish."
"Foolish?" She supposed wanting to throw herself off the top of a cliff in a sacred place anywhere in the world was foolish when you were just going to get up and walk away again. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time though. She sighed, the man was right; she had been foolish. "I might just do that one day," she added as she cast a glance over to where she had been standing earlier; the rocks seemed a lot less enticing than they had. "Right now I need to find myself another harp and how I'm going to do that, I don't know." To her surprise the man laughed.
"This is Athens; you can buy and sell anything, including your soul. I don't recommend doing that though as it can be difficult to renege on the bargain," he said after he had brought his laughter under control. She gaped at him inanely for a moment, unsure as to whether he was really telling the truth or was just joking. She decided to play it safe and believe him, not matter how ridiculous it seemed; there was often a grain of truth in the most preposterous stories. He raised an eyebrow as if daring her to disagree; she declined to take him up on the offer.
"In that case I shall endeavour not to sell my soul and to find myself a half decent harp instead. Maybe I can play something that will keep the demons away." Musical charms that reinforced the power of belief in some way were something she used to do very well; she wondered if she still had that skill.
"So you *are* a bard?"
"I had some training as one, yes. Fate decided otherwise for me though, and I'd say I was more minstrel now than true bard." Not that she minded particularly, she had never had the skills or power to master the great bardic magics so the everyday power of music was all she ever had and it had generally served her well. Perhaps she should try to remember that. She realised that she was under scrutiny as her unknown companion shifted on the bench beside her.
"I don't agree," he said with conviction. "From what I understand, whether you are a true bard or not depends on if you feel the music in your heart and soul and no amount of training will make up for the lack if you don't. I was listening to you play for a while and you have that, or you do to my ears anyway."
Siannon felt a weight rise from her shoulders; that was what every musician wanted to hear, trained as a bard or not. Maybe she hadn't felt the power of her music because she hadn't been listening properly, after all the power was only there for those with the ears to hear.
"Thank you." She looked down at her hands, calloused from gut and wire and wood as well as from the sword; they weren't the hands of someone who was only a warrior. She raised her head, and met his eyes. "I am Siannon ni Aobh of the Ui Niall."
"You're a long way from home, Siannon ni Aobh of the Ui Niall." She nodded in acknowledgement of the fact; she was a long way from home, in time as well as distance. He smiled. "Just think how much further you could travel if you go where the music takes you; the places you could see, the people you could meet, the songs you could sing. There's a whole world waiting for discovery and only we immortals have the time to see it all. Take your life in your hands and live it, Siannon, you're the only one who can."
As he spoke she could feel the hunger to travel, to learn, to live and love and be, begin to nibble at her core once more. The pall of hopelessness that had lain over her disintegrated in the light from his smile as he looked out over the city as if he were remembering other times, other places.
"How old are you to be so wise?" She asked.
"Old enough to know that life is precious, and should be lived to the full no matter whether we're hiding in the shadows or walking in the light."
"That isn't a proper answer."
"But it's the only one I'm giving." He unfolded himself from the bench and began to walk away from her.
"Wait!" He stopped and turned to face her; his smile was still firmly in place and didn't just light his face, but his whole demeanour. "You didn't even tell me your name!"
"No I didn't, did I?" He turned away again, then appeared to think better of it and walked back toward her. He stopped right in front of her, close enough that she could feel his breath ruffling her hair, and reached out to squeeze her shoulder, his smile gentler now. "Live and grow stronger, Siannon of the Ui Niall; fight another day."
Before she could open her mouth to say anything else, he was gone, darting through the bushes that surrounded them with barely a sound, the touch of his hand a fading warmth on her shoulder. If she hadn't known better she would have thought him one of the Sidhe, capricious but sometimes more than helpful. Maybe he was; no-one really knew who or what the Sidhe were... she then laughed at herself for even considering it. He was as human as she was, she was sure, just a *lot* older. They would meet again, she was certain of that, though not of where or when, and maybe then he would tell her his name; she would look forward to it. She pressed her fingers to where he had touched her, and smiled. A while later, she was still smiling as she picked her way across the Acropolis in the fire lit dusk, taking her first steps towards tomorrow.