As Joe greeted them from the bar, Duncan and Methos looked around. It was
full for a Thursday night and college being out of session. "Joe, you're
getting a reputation," Duncan said, getting a grin from the grizzled man
as an ice cold beer was slid infront of him. Joe and Methos exchanged a
look and then Joe shrugged. A second beer was set down beside Duncan's and
he looked over at Methos. "What was that about?" he asked as some one
mangled a country song.
"I wanted to know why he kept giving you beers for free and he said it was because you were the oldest guy he knew. Then I asked why I didn't get any when I was older then you," Methos said with a wry smirk and Duncan rolled his eyes with a groan, seeming to be wondering why he put up with Methos's odd humor. "Hey, you asked," Methos said as he winced at a performer's voice cracking painfully. "Joe missed that one," he muttered into his beer, setting Duncan into a fit of laughter. Methos set the book of poetry down and leafed through it. "So, how long have you been hiding this from me?" Methos said with a smirk. Duncan shrugged and took another swallow of beer to avoid answering the question.
The polite applause from the audience signified the ending of one torment and the possible beginning of another. Duncan glanced back and saw a trio of women standing near the stage as two men walked up there, looking expectantly at one of the three. Duncan nudged Methos in the shoulder. "They signed her up and she didn't know it," he said with a smirk, finding a sense of dark amusement in the entire scene, recalling simmilar incidents in his own past. Methos turned and watched with a mild look of boredom, he'd seen it too many times to get a chuckle out of it, though the furious blush that came over the dark haired woman's face as she was literally dragged on to the stage did make him smile a little.
She glared at the other two women who were laughing and saluting her with raised glasses. With a sigh, she looked at her two companions who shook their heads. The mic picked up her muttered "Fine, I'll do it but I better get a decent shot of whisky out of this." Methos glanced at Duncan who shared the conspiratorial glance with a laugh. The young woman tossed her dark hair and closed her eyes, composing her self as an uncomfortable silence began to fill the room. It was taking too long, maeby there wouldn't be anything out of this trio after all. Finally, she walked a bit closer to the mic and began to speak. "This song is old. Some of you may not like it. Some of you may. It's not some cheezy love song or something else like that. It dates from roughly the Medieval period, I suspect the later portion of that time," she said and looked at her friends on stage.
"It's called The Three Ravens," she said and Methos picked up the book of poetry. He leafed through it on a nagging guess and came to a poem of the same title. As another silence, this one filled with the same pregnant tension of a looming thunderstorm, descended over the bar. A harmony that was more commonly found in a cloister rose from the three performers, the baritone and tenor both presenting an unexpectedly solid basis for the young woman's contra-alto voice. As the three sang, Methos read, mouthing the words.
There were three ravens sat on a tree
Downe a downe, hey downe a downe There were three ravens sat on a tree With a downe There were three ravens sat on a tree They were as black as they might be With a downe a derrie derrie derrie downe downe
The one of them said to his mate Downe a downe hey downe a downe The one of them said to his mate With a downe The one of them said to his mate Where shall we our breakfast take? With a downe a derrie derrie derrie down down
The two Immortals sat in silence as the bar slowly began to murmer with sounds aside from the spellbinding harmony of the trio on the low stage. Behind the bar, Joe nodded in appreciation of the study and practice that went into the piece. As the trio sang, Duncan found himself unnerved to hear what was a tavern song during his early years as an Immortal sung with such solemn and grave harmony. It was the high and clear voice of the woman as she sung with her eyes closed that seemed to perice the veil of the past and lay bare something that had been haunting him in recent days. As he listened to her sing, his thoughts returned to Tessa and how this would have been a voice that she would have loved to hear. Duncan was reminded of Richie, who's death he had thought that he was past after sojourning in France. This young woman was of the same build and apperiance that Richie would deliberately point out and ask Duncan's opinion on, as though trying to get him to see that blonde women weren't the only thing worth looking at.
Methos stared at the page before him and was uncertian how to approach the situation. Here, in Joe's bar, well past the time that this song was popular, stood a group singing with such clarity and knowledge of the song that he had a difficult time believing that they were mortals. In sheer appreciation of their academic knowledge, Methos was silent. It was a rare thing for him.
The trio split into their own parts, the two men singing the chorus lines as the young woman sang the verse. Together, they moved through the rest of the piece. Duncan stared at the singer, ignoring his drink (much to Joe's amusement) and listened with rapt attention to the song as though it was the first time he had ever heard it.
Standing there, a waif beneath a powerful spot light that was reserved for such occasions, the dark haired woman sang. She was composed and still, though her voice throbbed with an almost painful intensity of emotion. The words rang in the crowded room.
Down in yonder greene field
There lies a knight slain under his shield
His hounds they lie down at his feete So well they can their master keepe
His hawkes they flie so eagerly There's no fowle dare come him nie
Downe there coems a fallow doe As great with yong as she might goe
She lift up her bloudy hed And kist his wounds that were so red
She got him up upon her backe And carried him to earthen lack
She buried him before the prime She was dead her selfe ere even-song time
With the final verse, she opened her eyes and their distant gaze focused and sharpened, fixing on the two Immortals. With chilling directness, the young woman sang, as though to them,
God send every gentleman
Downe a downe hey downe a downe God send every gentleman With a downe God send every gentleman Such hawkes, such hounds, and such a leman
With a downe a derrie derrie derrie downe downe
Silence filled the bar with the final verse, sung in solo by the young woman. In that silence she stepped from the stage.
"I wanted to know why he kept giving you beers for free and he said it was because you were the oldest guy he knew. Then I asked why I didn't get any when I was older then you," Methos said with a wry smirk and Duncan rolled his eyes with a groan, seeming to be wondering why he put up with Methos's odd humor. "Hey, you asked," Methos said as he winced at a performer's voice cracking painfully. "Joe missed that one," he muttered into his beer, setting Duncan into a fit of laughter. Methos set the book of poetry down and leafed through it. "So, how long have you been hiding this from me?" Methos said with a smirk. Duncan shrugged and took another swallow of beer to avoid answering the question.
The polite applause from the audience signified the ending of one torment and the possible beginning of another. Duncan glanced back and saw a trio of women standing near the stage as two men walked up there, looking expectantly at one of the three. Duncan nudged Methos in the shoulder. "They signed her up and she didn't know it," he said with a smirk, finding a sense of dark amusement in the entire scene, recalling simmilar incidents in his own past. Methos turned and watched with a mild look of boredom, he'd seen it too many times to get a chuckle out of it, though the furious blush that came over the dark haired woman's face as she was literally dragged on to the stage did make him smile a little.
She glared at the other two women who were laughing and saluting her with raised glasses. With a sigh, she looked at her two companions who shook their heads. The mic picked up her muttered "Fine, I'll do it but I better get a decent shot of whisky out of this." Methos glanced at Duncan who shared the conspiratorial glance with a laugh. The young woman tossed her dark hair and closed her eyes, composing her self as an uncomfortable silence began to fill the room. It was taking too long, maeby there wouldn't be anything out of this trio after all. Finally, she walked a bit closer to the mic and began to speak. "This song is old. Some of you may not like it. Some of you may. It's not some cheezy love song or something else like that. It dates from roughly the Medieval period, I suspect the later portion of that time," she said and looked at her friends on stage.
"It's called The Three Ravens," she said and Methos picked up the book of poetry. He leafed through it on a nagging guess and came to a poem of the same title. As another silence, this one filled with the same pregnant tension of a looming thunderstorm, descended over the bar. A harmony that was more commonly found in a cloister rose from the three performers, the baritone and tenor both presenting an unexpectedly solid basis for the young woman's contra-alto voice. As the three sang, Methos read, mouthing the words.
There were three ravens sat on a tree
Downe a downe, hey downe a downe There were three ravens sat on a tree With a downe There were three ravens sat on a tree They were as black as they might be With a downe a derrie derrie derrie downe downe
The one of them said to his mate Downe a downe hey downe a downe The one of them said to his mate With a downe The one of them said to his mate Where shall we our breakfast take? With a downe a derrie derrie derrie down down
The two Immortals sat in silence as the bar slowly began to murmer with sounds aside from the spellbinding harmony of the trio on the low stage. Behind the bar, Joe nodded in appreciation of the study and practice that went into the piece. As the trio sang, Duncan found himself unnerved to hear what was a tavern song during his early years as an Immortal sung with such solemn and grave harmony. It was the high and clear voice of the woman as she sung with her eyes closed that seemed to perice the veil of the past and lay bare something that had been haunting him in recent days. As he listened to her sing, his thoughts returned to Tessa and how this would have been a voice that she would have loved to hear. Duncan was reminded of Richie, who's death he had thought that he was past after sojourning in France. This young woman was of the same build and apperiance that Richie would deliberately point out and ask Duncan's opinion on, as though trying to get him to see that blonde women weren't the only thing worth looking at.
Methos stared at the page before him and was uncertian how to approach the situation. Here, in Joe's bar, well past the time that this song was popular, stood a group singing with such clarity and knowledge of the song that he had a difficult time believing that they were mortals. In sheer appreciation of their academic knowledge, Methos was silent. It was a rare thing for him.
The trio split into their own parts, the two men singing the chorus lines as the young woman sang the verse. Together, they moved through the rest of the piece. Duncan stared at the singer, ignoring his drink (much to Joe's amusement) and listened with rapt attention to the song as though it was the first time he had ever heard it.
Standing there, a waif beneath a powerful spot light that was reserved for such occasions, the dark haired woman sang. She was composed and still, though her voice throbbed with an almost painful intensity of emotion. The words rang in the crowded room.
Down in yonder greene field
There lies a knight slain under his shield
His hounds they lie down at his feete So well they can their master keepe
His hawkes they flie so eagerly There's no fowle dare come him nie
Downe there coems a fallow doe As great with yong as she might goe
She lift up her bloudy hed And kist his wounds that were so red
She got him up upon her backe And carried him to earthen lack
She buried him before the prime She was dead her selfe ere even-song time
With the final verse, she opened her eyes and their distant gaze focused and sharpened, fixing on the two Immortals. With chilling directness, the young woman sang, as though to them,
God send every gentleman
Downe a downe hey downe a downe God send every gentleman With a downe God send every gentleman Such hawkes, such hounds, and such a leman
With a downe a derrie derrie derrie downe downe
Silence filled the bar with the final verse, sung in solo by the young woman. In that silence she stepped from the stage.