Fan Fic (Outlander)
I was dead . That horrible sensation was what it was like to die. I had seen the standing stones, and just had to stick my nose in and get a closer look. I was going to take a picture, too, with my newly bought 35mm camera. I had hesitated, hearing a faint buzzing sound, probably a beehive somewhere in the crevices of the rocks, but ignored it and pursued what I thought was a great photo opportunity. Yeah, right. I had felt the sickening crawl in my skin and it overtook me; it felt like I was being pulled into something, or falling into it. I had promptly dropped the camera and "blacked out". I say "blacked out" only because there is no other way to explain it. It was as if I passed out, but I was aware of myself to a certain point. It was utter chaos in my mind, yet a current slowly and calmly pulling me to....somewhere. Every feeling and emotion contradicted itself. Well, whatever happened, now I was dead, and I didn't have to worry about anything anymore. But my left foot had the most annoying itch on the bottom; my former thought that I was dead slowly deteriorated as the feeling came back to my whole body. It was more comfortable when I was dead, I reflected sourly. I opened my eyes cautiously to find myself staring at a dreary, grey Scottish sky.
I had been in Scotland on a school trip; more specifically, on a trip with my A.P. Euro class. We would be leaving Scotland in three days, to go to yet another European country and visit yet another historical site or museum. Although I was the youngest in the class of sophomores, fifteen, I had the best grades. I was very interested in history, and I planned to be a historian or archaeologist when I was grown up, but the droning teachers and robot-like tour guides always seemed to make it as boring as possible. The teachers! I thought, horrified, and bolted into an upright position. The sudden movement jolted my already sore head, and I clutched it in pain. But my thoughts were elsewhere; the teachers would be furious at me for holding everyone up, or maybe because they were scared that I was lost or kidnapped by pirates or some other wild thing adults always manage to think up. I wondered how long I had been unconcious; it could have been minutes, hours, or even days. I had no recollection of falling down the hill, but that must have been what had happened, or why would I be at the bottom? I stood up and swayed a little bit; it looked as if I would fall, but I got a hold of a bush and steadied myself. I looked at the wood, only a few yards away, and forced myself to think.
I had the most horrible sense of direction in the world, but I thought if I could get to the side I had climbed up, I could find my way to the inn we were staying at. So all I had to do was climb over the hill and - I stopped myself. The last thing I wanted to do was to go near the stones again. I had the feeling that they had something to do with whatever I had felt. So, I'll just go around the hill and meet them at the bus, I thought, and stumbled toward the forest. That was when I ran into some trouble. I was, I thought, half-way around the hill. But as I gained some sense, I looked more closely at the edge of the wood I was following. I had seen it before, but now it was....different. It seemed younger, healthier, and more alive than when I had last saw it. I frowned, getting the uneasy feeling that I wasn't where I thought I was.
"Hello?" came a voice from behind me, and I jumped. I whipped around, stifling a scream, and looked at who had startled me. I was about to say something rude about sneaking up on people when I noticed the man's clothing. He was wearing a deep, sapphire-blue coat and black pants; but they weren't ordinary pants. The came to the middle of his shin and stopped, followed by stockings and ending in shoes with...pewter buckles? His dark hair was long, tied back with a leather thong. On his face was a slightly confused expression, his quizzical eyes looking me up and down. Even though it seemed at first that he was the one wearing strange clothing, I got the feeling that I was the weird one. Our evaluations of each other were interrupted by a shout.
"You there," came a British coice from behind the man in front of me. I saw the him stiffen. "Hey, you," said the voice again, closer than before. The man's eyes scanned the ground in front of him and he relaxed, deciding what to do. He turned around swiftly, in the process shoving me sideways behind a tree. My equilibrium still distorted, I tripped clumsily and fell down. I frowned and was about to say something about how he couldn't get any more rude, but a warning gesture behind his back made me realize that the owner of the British voice probably wouldn't be as nice as he was. I crawled a bit further into the forest and stayed there in a crouched position, barely breathing.
"Yes, sir?" the man said politely, though I saw that his body was still tense.
"Oh, 'scuse me, sir, I just thought I 'eard you talking with someone," answered a Cockney voice, the one I had heard.
"Oh, no, I just thought I heard someone over near the edge of the wood, but it was nothing," explained the man. I noticed that, while his speech didn't sound English, it wasn't quite Scottish either. He spoke like a Scot, but his voice was more accented with French. The next thing I heard the Englishman say jerked me out of my thoughts.
"Well, per'aps I should 'ave a peek, jus' to make sure," said the man, in a bored voice. I heard a shuffling sound as the Englishman came into view. Although I was well hidden behind a tree, if he looked closer, he would most definitely be able to see me. I watched, horrified, as the man walked toward me, as if in slow-motion.
"Sir, I really do not believe that will be necessary," said a testy voice behind the shoulder of the Englishman. "I searched all around there, and there was no trace of anyone. It was probably just an animal," said the Scottish/French man. The Englishman laughed shortly, without humor.
"Well, I think I should," he said, the drawling voice rising a bit. I couldn't see his face, but I could see the Scottish/French man; his expression was no longer the good-natured, kind one I had seen only minutes before. Now it was drawn, and possibly the furthest from "kind" as it could be. The Englishman put a hand to the pistols at his side, but the other man was faster. He had pulled some sort of knife from his stocking and shoved it into his opposer's middle. The Englishman convulsed, and almost immediately dropped to the ground. I let out a half-strangled gasp; I had been holding my breath, and now let it out shakily. The Scottish/French man turned and leaned against a tree. It started to rain then, and I thought there couldn't possibly be another thing that could go wrong. I was beginning to get the feeling that I had been transported to another time. This obviously wasn't a movie, or any other thing modern. This was real; I had just witnessed someone killed, and the fact rattled me thouroughly. The man ignored me, behaving as if he didn't know I was there, though I knew he did. He whistled loudly and a moment later a horse trotted up to him.
"You can come out now, if you wish," he said casually, not talking to the animal. Slowly, I got up and stepped out of my hiding place. The man turned around to face me, and caught a look of my appearance. He stared at me and blinked a few times, as if he didn't believe what his eyes were showing him. He shook his head and turned around again to adjust the saddle on the horses back. Turning around yet again, this time with an air of decision, he looked me straight in the eye.
"I think...yes, I must take you to Milord," he said, as though to himself. He got into a position to boost me onto the horse, but I made no move to come closer to him. He raised an eyebrow, as if asking if I had heard him or not.
"You think, that after seeing you kill someone, that I am going to just say, 'Okey dokey,' and let you take me away somewhere on a horse?" I inquired, putting my hands on my hips. The man nodded, grinning. "I, but, I don't even know who you are! You could be, like, an axe murderer!" I spluttered.
"My name is Fergus," he replied. "I only want to take you to a friend. He will know what to do about your obviously troubled situation." I glared at him.
"Oh really?" I said, trying to control myself. "And what would you know about my situation? I only met you five minutes ago, you don't know anything about me!"
"Look, chere," He said practically. I noticed that he called me chere, making me still more confused about where he was from. "All I know is that you are dressed in strange clothes, your speech is different than I've ever heard, and you look to be only a child," he finished, looking me up and down again. I thought about what he said. It was true about my clothing. I tried to think of another explanation to what had happened, but everything pointed to me somehow travelling back in time. But that was impossible! I thought, mentally shaking myself. Come on, Frankie, I coached myself. Get a hold of yourself. This isn't Star Trek, you know. But, the Englishman was also wearing the strange clothes that I had only seen in history books, in the safety of a classroom. Now, it was brutally real. I had seen someone murdered, so it wasn't a re-enactment. I wasn't dreaming, the fat rain drops splashing down and chilling me to the bone proved that. And if I had, in fact, travelled back in time, of course my speech would be strange. The United States might not have even existed yet! As that fact hit me, the fact that my home didn't exist, that I didn't exist, I swallowed convulsively. I thought of my whole world, disappeared. I saw stars in front of my eyes.
The last thing I heard before everything went black was, "Chere? Are you all...?" Then I fell into the darkness.
I was dead . That horrible sensation was what it was like to die. I had seen the standing stones, and just had to stick my nose in and get a closer look. I was going to take a picture, too, with my newly bought 35mm camera. I had hesitated, hearing a faint buzzing sound, probably a beehive somewhere in the crevices of the rocks, but ignored it and pursued what I thought was a great photo opportunity. Yeah, right. I had felt the sickening crawl in my skin and it overtook me; it felt like I was being pulled into something, or falling into it. I had promptly dropped the camera and "blacked out". I say "blacked out" only because there is no other way to explain it. It was as if I passed out, but I was aware of myself to a certain point. It was utter chaos in my mind, yet a current slowly and calmly pulling me to....somewhere. Every feeling and emotion contradicted itself. Well, whatever happened, now I was dead, and I didn't have to worry about anything anymore. But my left foot had the most annoying itch on the bottom; my former thought that I was dead slowly deteriorated as the feeling came back to my whole body. It was more comfortable when I was dead, I reflected sourly. I opened my eyes cautiously to find myself staring at a dreary, grey Scottish sky.
I had been in Scotland on a school trip; more specifically, on a trip with my A.P. Euro class. We would be leaving Scotland in three days, to go to yet another European country and visit yet another historical site or museum. Although I was the youngest in the class of sophomores, fifteen, I had the best grades. I was very interested in history, and I planned to be a historian or archaeologist when I was grown up, but the droning teachers and robot-like tour guides always seemed to make it as boring as possible. The teachers! I thought, horrified, and bolted into an upright position. The sudden movement jolted my already sore head, and I clutched it in pain. But my thoughts were elsewhere; the teachers would be furious at me for holding everyone up, or maybe because they were scared that I was lost or kidnapped by pirates or some other wild thing adults always manage to think up. I wondered how long I had been unconcious; it could have been minutes, hours, or even days. I had no recollection of falling down the hill, but that must have been what had happened, or why would I be at the bottom? I stood up and swayed a little bit; it looked as if I would fall, but I got a hold of a bush and steadied myself. I looked at the wood, only a few yards away, and forced myself to think.
I had the most horrible sense of direction in the world, but I thought if I could get to the side I had climbed up, I could find my way to the inn we were staying at. So all I had to do was climb over the hill and - I stopped myself. The last thing I wanted to do was to go near the stones again. I had the feeling that they had something to do with whatever I had felt. So, I'll just go around the hill and meet them at the bus, I thought, and stumbled toward the forest. That was when I ran into some trouble. I was, I thought, half-way around the hill. But as I gained some sense, I looked more closely at the edge of the wood I was following. I had seen it before, but now it was....different. It seemed younger, healthier, and more alive than when I had last saw it. I frowned, getting the uneasy feeling that I wasn't where I thought I was.
"Hello?" came a voice from behind me, and I jumped. I whipped around, stifling a scream, and looked at who had startled me. I was about to say something rude about sneaking up on people when I noticed the man's clothing. He was wearing a deep, sapphire-blue coat and black pants; but they weren't ordinary pants. The came to the middle of his shin and stopped, followed by stockings and ending in shoes with...pewter buckles? His dark hair was long, tied back with a leather thong. On his face was a slightly confused expression, his quizzical eyes looking me up and down. Even though it seemed at first that he was the one wearing strange clothing, I got the feeling that I was the weird one. Our evaluations of each other were interrupted by a shout.
"You there," came a British coice from behind the man in front of me. I saw the him stiffen. "Hey, you," said the voice again, closer than before. The man's eyes scanned the ground in front of him and he relaxed, deciding what to do. He turned around swiftly, in the process shoving me sideways behind a tree. My equilibrium still distorted, I tripped clumsily and fell down. I frowned and was about to say something about how he couldn't get any more rude, but a warning gesture behind his back made me realize that the owner of the British voice probably wouldn't be as nice as he was. I crawled a bit further into the forest and stayed there in a crouched position, barely breathing.
"Yes, sir?" the man said politely, though I saw that his body was still tense.
"Oh, 'scuse me, sir, I just thought I 'eard you talking with someone," answered a Cockney voice, the one I had heard.
"Oh, no, I just thought I heard someone over near the edge of the wood, but it was nothing," explained the man. I noticed that, while his speech didn't sound English, it wasn't quite Scottish either. He spoke like a Scot, but his voice was more accented with French. The next thing I heard the Englishman say jerked me out of my thoughts.
"Well, per'aps I should 'ave a peek, jus' to make sure," said the man, in a bored voice. I heard a shuffling sound as the Englishman came into view. Although I was well hidden behind a tree, if he looked closer, he would most definitely be able to see me. I watched, horrified, as the man walked toward me, as if in slow-motion.
"Sir, I really do not believe that will be necessary," said a testy voice behind the shoulder of the Englishman. "I searched all around there, and there was no trace of anyone. It was probably just an animal," said the Scottish/French man. The Englishman laughed shortly, without humor.
"Well, I think I should," he said, the drawling voice rising a bit. I couldn't see his face, but I could see the Scottish/French man; his expression was no longer the good-natured, kind one I had seen only minutes before. Now it was drawn, and possibly the furthest from "kind" as it could be. The Englishman put a hand to the pistols at his side, but the other man was faster. He had pulled some sort of knife from his stocking and shoved it into his opposer's middle. The Englishman convulsed, and almost immediately dropped to the ground. I let out a half-strangled gasp; I had been holding my breath, and now let it out shakily. The Scottish/French man turned and leaned against a tree. It started to rain then, and I thought there couldn't possibly be another thing that could go wrong. I was beginning to get the feeling that I had been transported to another time. This obviously wasn't a movie, or any other thing modern. This was real; I had just witnessed someone killed, and the fact rattled me thouroughly. The man ignored me, behaving as if he didn't know I was there, though I knew he did. He whistled loudly and a moment later a horse trotted up to him.
"You can come out now, if you wish," he said casually, not talking to the animal. Slowly, I got up and stepped out of my hiding place. The man turned around to face me, and caught a look of my appearance. He stared at me and blinked a few times, as if he didn't believe what his eyes were showing him. He shook his head and turned around again to adjust the saddle on the horses back. Turning around yet again, this time with an air of decision, he looked me straight in the eye.
"I think...yes, I must take you to Milord," he said, as though to himself. He got into a position to boost me onto the horse, but I made no move to come closer to him. He raised an eyebrow, as if asking if I had heard him or not.
"You think, that after seeing you kill someone, that I am going to just say, 'Okey dokey,' and let you take me away somewhere on a horse?" I inquired, putting my hands on my hips. The man nodded, grinning. "I, but, I don't even know who you are! You could be, like, an axe murderer!" I spluttered.
"My name is Fergus," he replied. "I only want to take you to a friend. He will know what to do about your obviously troubled situation." I glared at him.
"Oh really?" I said, trying to control myself. "And what would you know about my situation? I only met you five minutes ago, you don't know anything about me!"
"Look, chere," He said practically. I noticed that he called me chere, making me still more confused about where he was from. "All I know is that you are dressed in strange clothes, your speech is different than I've ever heard, and you look to be only a child," he finished, looking me up and down again. I thought about what he said. It was true about my clothing. I tried to think of another explanation to what had happened, but everything pointed to me somehow travelling back in time. But that was impossible! I thought, mentally shaking myself. Come on, Frankie, I coached myself. Get a hold of yourself. This isn't Star Trek, you know. But, the Englishman was also wearing the strange clothes that I had only seen in history books, in the safety of a classroom. Now, it was brutally real. I had seen someone murdered, so it wasn't a re-enactment. I wasn't dreaming, the fat rain drops splashing down and chilling me to the bone proved that. And if I had, in fact, travelled back in time, of course my speech would be strange. The United States might not have even existed yet! As that fact hit me, the fact that my home didn't exist, that I didn't exist, I swallowed convulsively. I thought of my whole world, disappeared. I saw stars in front of my eyes.
The last thing I heard before everything went black was, "Chere? Are you all...?" Then I fell into the darkness.