Part Two: Sword of Desire
[Desire]...not all the fountains of the sea
Have waves enough to quench it, nor on earth
Is fuel enough to feed,
While day sows night and night sows day for seed.
~from "On the Cliffs" by A. Charles Swinburne
The Island of Britain
ca. 539 c.e.
Arthur was dying and not all the skill of the court physicians could stem the ebbing of his life. The last battle at Camlan between his forces and those of his erstwhile nephew and heir, Medraut, had claimed the lives of most of the Round Table.
From the shadows amongst the trees, O ro' dred watch Verus, one of Arthur's first friends and companions, step to the edge of the lake and hesitate. Twice before the warrior had stood there and declined to do what Nin had whispered to Arthur must be done... the sword must be returned to the Lady of the Lake. Only with her would it be safe until another champion arose.
This time, however, Verus turned about resolutely and swiftly flung the great sword into the air, arcing it over the choppy waters. The sword gleamed almost red in the sunset and then, pommel down began its swift descent. Just as it touched the waves... a hand seemed to grasp it... brandish the sword three times in the dying light... then pull it into the waters.
O ro' dred chuckled. "However does she do that?" he thought as he stemmed the sound of his laughter. The men of this court thought him long dead. He'd quietly withdrawn to a safe retreat and Nin had become his emissary to Arthur's court over the last years... offering guidance and counsel. She still spoke little... but when she did... it was as if an oracle spoke through her... at least that was the effect he'd tried to arrange.
As for the Lady's boy... O ro' dred had marveled how that one always managed to stay on the fringes of Arthur's court. A man of little importance... a scholar barely noticed... a planner of campaigns when asked... a speaker of philosophies when pushed, a voice of wisdom in dark days. Throughout his time there... Methos had stayed as far away from the sword as he could manage... and spoken with O ro' dred or Nin only in secret. He'd managed to learn Nin's finger language as well as O ro' dred had. Sometimes within the court itself before O ro' dred had staged his own death... they'd spoken in secret with no one the wiser.
The few other immortals who frequented the court had watched them with cautious eyes. O ro' dred no longer had the moment of his final death clearly before him... and as the years had passed and his life with Nin had become precious to him... he'd forgiven the boy for not killing him. He let Nin protect him if she wished. To challenge him... one had to face Nin... and despite her size... she had a passion for his life and a determination to protect him that helped her face all challengers successfully. The Lady's boy met his own challenges in his own way. He avoided them... or he slew them if necessary. But he had left years ago... finally feeling perhaps that he had been in one place too long... or perhaps feeling too strongly the desire to possess the sword that should have been his... the sword he had declined.
Now... Arthur was dying and the sword was returned to the Lady. In the rising fog on the lake... O ro' dred watched the small open boat approach. The Lady stood tall and perilous within it... and the boat moved as though it were propelled by magic. Once it beached on the rocky shore, Arthur was carried to it by his final honor guard and made comfortable... his head on the Lady's lap as she sat to receive him. Nin, too, climbed aboard and joined her king and the Lady on their final voyage. Then the small boat retreated once more as if by magic onto the lake's surface and was hidden within the thickening fog. O ro' dred watched only a moment more and then turned to find his way to the far side of the lake where he'd been told to meet them.
"So what happens now?" O ro' dred wanted to know. They'd buried Arthur's body deep within a small cave and sealed it with a fall of rocks. The legend that he would return would be carefully passed on to others... paving the way for a new champion bearing the sword in some future day.
The Lady turned. "Still anxious to die, my friend?"
"No... not anxious... but if everything... if all my time here led to the moment your boy was supposed to claim the sword... Well... we know how well that worked. If everything led to that moment... what happens now?" O ro' dred puzzled. "How will your plans move forward? Why didn't the old plan work?"
Aja through back her head and laughed. "Oh my friend... free will is always a part of the game... it must be. I cannot make anything happen. I see the possibilities that might be... I set my found ones on the paths destiny has for them... but they must always be free to make the final choice... the final decision... It is the way of it."
Silently Nin flicked her own question, "The sword, Lady... what happens to it now?" Nin's eyes were strangely bright as she regarded the sword of power. Working closely with Arthur at times over these last few years, she had been entranced by its compelling voice which spoke to her of how she might better protect her man from those who would steal him from her. The voice had grown more insistent in the past few days as death had finally claimed the mortal king.
Aja gazed sadly into Nin's dark eyes and tried to fathom the depth of the woman's soul. Finally she sighed and pulled out the crystal... tossing it to Nin. "Tell me what you see Nin," she whispered sadly.
Nin caught the glowing crystal within her hands and rubbed the rough, faceted crystal... as she turned it over and over in her tanned hands, her mouth opened in fear and she gasped. The crystal dropped to the ground as she backed away from it. Her eyes betrayed a sense of loss and pain much as the one O ro' dred had first seen reflected in her eyes so long ago.
Nin buried her face in her hands and wailed in torment.
Quietly Aja retrieved the glowing crystal and replaced it within her bag. She grasped her staff and rose to leave.
O ro' dred hugged Nin to him... attempting to calm her... but nothing seemed to work. Suddenly she threw off his arms and raced after Aja's departing form. "Leave it with me... if I have it... what I saw will never happen!" Furiously her fingers flicked her desperation.
Aja gazed at her sadly. Slowly she unbuckled the sword from about her waist and handed it to Nin. "By your choice... It is not truly yours... but hold it for a time... until it is claimed once more." She reached out to press her palm against the silent one's face with an expression of sad acceptance. Aja's thumb rubbed softly at a stray tear on Nin's face.
Nin settled on the ground... her attention focused on the blade she now possessed. O ro' dred held his breath as she drew it forth and stroked the edge with an almost feral sense of glee. By the time he looked away from her to question the Lady... the old one had vanished. He had no sight, or sense of her. Within him... his heart was troubled. What had Nin seen that had so terrified her? Why had possessing this thing been so important to her? Why had Aja spoken of choice and free will and then been so saddened by Nin's request?
Slowly O ro' dred knelt by her side and pushed the tangles of her brown hair away from her dark eyes. Nin gazed at him with glee. Her fingers flicked. "It is mine! I will protect you! Now you will be forever safe!" O ro' dred held her close within his embrace and feared that what Nin was now focused on... might very well prove their destruction.
Norway, Viking Lands
823 c.e.
Methos dismounted and carefully approached the mountain cave, standing without for the immortals within to acknowledge his presence and have time to prepare. He stood easily... confidently... the only uncertainty in him was the reason why word had come to him that the old one wished to see him once more.
As always when he ran across O ro' dred, he was struck by the sense that the old one knew something about him that he would not say. The old man would chuckle at his questions and deflect the conversation to some obscure witticism... some ancient philosophy. In other words... he managed to ever avoid answering Methos' questions.
The old one knew him from somewhere... Methos had long ago decided... but from where? He had no memories of ever meeting the man before that day in the Giant's Dance... among the Standing Stones. He had stood that day before the sword that teased at his resolve to never take it... never wield it... never lose himself in the visions of blood and power that it called up in him... Visions of his past... visions he feared would once more overwhelm him and lead to his final death.
Methos did not like being here. He squared his shoulders and waited, accepting that he must face the old ones one more time... and the sword.
Finally O ro' dred came to the cavern entrance and beckoned Methos forward.
The old one clutched Methos' arm in friendship. "My thanks for coming, boy... I had despaired of help." He motioned with his head toward the wails that emanated from deep within the cavern... echoing like some other-worldly demon trapped between the veil of reality and the veil of dream.
"Darius told me your message said she grows worse... that he fears for you both."
"Aye boy... and I do not think that even his calming words to her will quiet her mind ever again. I fear she is lost... but I wish now only for a moment in time to find the strength to bring her back for just a little while." O ro' dred's shoulders sagged as though weary of a heavy load. For almost three hundred years he had watched helplessly as Nin's overwhelming need to protect him against all challengers had slowly altered to her attacking without regard for life all immortals upon whom they happened. Recently... she had also begun to use the sword on mortals. It was at that point that O ro' dred had withdrawn with her to the wilderness, far from human habitation, sending word before he did so to Darius in Paris.
Since taking the quickening of the Ancient One... Darius had become much like the holy man had been... quiet, thoughtful, reflective, gentle. O ro' dred had not known the general Darius had been... but he'd known of him. And... he had known the Ancient. This change in Darius had seemed to be for the best. Once Darius had even asked the old potter about the wandering woman... the Ancient he called Anya.
O ro' dred had simply smiled and shaken his head. "She reveals herself to us in her own time and in her own ways. Best not to speak of her to anyone, ever."
Darius had nodded his compliance. Instead the priest had spoken to Nin... trying to ease her mind about what she felt. He, too, had learned her way of speaking, and flicked his fingers in the silent tongue of Nin's long-lost people. The sword for him had always been just a sword. It had never called to him nor troubled his sleep with visions of power drenched in blood as it did Nin. He had no frame of reference within himself to counter the lust for the sword that grew in Nin's mind. With each quickening she took with it... her mind seemed less and less able to focus on the here and the now.
Methos stared at the wailing Nin... She rocked to and fro on the floor of the cave and mumbled unintelligible sounds. She waved her hands about and beat her head. Suddenly she glanced up to see him. With a ferocious growl of anger she leaped toward him... her hands extended in claws to scratch at his eyes.
Methos backed up a step, watching as the chain binding her to the cave's wall snapped with an angry "clank" and pulled her up short. She regained her balance and roared at him... desperate to reach him.
"She no longer knows friend from foe. I fear she would kill even me... and then be entirely lost to reason from the guilt of her actions," O ro' dred sadly clucked. "I need your help, boy... I dare not take her back to the world of men until she is better. Here we are and here we remain."
Methos shifted his weight. "What do you expect me to do?" He was not pleased to be here. He'd come because Darius had thought it important. He'd dropped the life he was living... left friends he'd not wanted to leave quite so soon, and vanished from the sight of his Watcher all too easily.
He'd tried to convince Darius to come as well... but his friend had shaken his head with that smile of his that reminded Methos all too much of the Ancient. "My place is here. This is a task I think is set for you... a path you must trod."
"I think you know boy," the old potter whispered. He nodded toward the far wall of the cave where lay the sheathed sword.
"I won't take that thing! I refuse it! Three times I have said no to it... what makes you think I would change my mind now!" Methos felt his own anger rising... and at the base of it... the whispered pleas of the sword.
"Please Methos... only for a while... just so I can reach through to her once more. If you take it far away... she may not hear its call... Then I can teach her to ignore it as I do... as you do."
Methos sighed. "It's dangerous old man... especially in my hands. If I falter for even a moment, the world will fall into a cycle of chaos and death from which it may never recover... not this time."
"You will not falter!"
Methos turned away. "I can't take it!" he insisted.
The old man's voice rose in his desperation. "You are responsible for your own actions boy... don't blame who or what you are or what you have done or might do on those within. You have the strength to ignore its call... as you have done before."
Nin had retreated into a huddled ball on the cavern floor... moaning and hissing in her delirium. By the light of the small flickering fire, Methos could see her hands reach spasmodically toward something that seemed to appear only to her and, failing to grasp it, she wailed in her despair and hatred.
"Only you can hold this for a while without falling victim to it. I cannot leave it unattended nor can I leave her to even take it elsewhere. Help me boy... for all our sakes. If this thing stays here... I will not be able to control her much longer... and with my death... she will hunt the world. I fear then for all our sakes, and all the world's," O ro' dred pleaded. "There is no one else."
"There is Darius."
"No... the great sword has passed beyond him now. His path lies elsewhere."
Silence settled on them for a time... punctuated only by Nin's moans. Finally Methos stood with a great intake of breath. "Very well... but only for a short while... it is not mine... Until she passes it on of her own will... the sword is hers. I will take it from here... and pray that time and distance grant her some measure of peace once more."
"It is all I ask," remarked O ro' dred sadly.
Methos crossed the cavern and grasped the sword... feeling even as he did so the desire to wield it. He shuddered and let the desire bounce off him. "I do not guarantee how long I can hold it for her... I may have to bring it back sooner than you would like."
"I understand."
Methos turned toward the old man and regarded his sad expression. "Do what you can for her and do so quickly... and pray that it will be enough." At first he made to leave only carrying the sword. But something stopped him. His eyes glazed a moment as the voice of the sword whispered of justice. Slowly, as though in a dream, he removed his own sword from about his waist, letting it fall on the stony floor of the cave. Then he buckled the great sword about him and adjusted it. The sword seemed satisfied. Steeling his resolve against any more of its seductive whispers... he strode from the dark cavern once more into the waning light of evening.
In the distance he could see a flock of ravens circling on the wind, and he could hear the cries of a pack of wolves on the hunt. Some part of him wanted to join in the blood-lust of the hunt... to run pell-mell through the forest and slice his way through the hunters to be the first on the quarry. He wanted to swing the great sword about him and revel in the carnage it could do.
Methos shuddered. This was not going to be easy. He would need all the concentration... all the focus of a thousand forms of meditation to hold down the beast that dwelled within. He was no longer the savage who had roamed the ancient world killing with abandon. He was no longer death incarnate... but death was still within him... a part of him... perhaps only waiting for the moment to ride forth once more.
Striding to his horse... he leapt upon his back and pulled sharply at the reins. One glance at the cave showed him O ro' dred waving his farewell and his thanks.
Methos turned and road swiftly down the mountainside once more toward civilization. If he dwelt there among men whose lives were civil and quiet... then perhaps he would not hear the siren call of the great sword. Perhaps if he listened to music or contemplated art or literature... or lived and worked within the framework of their courtly manners... he could keep the call at bay. But he did not know for how long. And he dreaded what might happen if he were forced to take another immortal's head.
Within the cave, O ro' dred watched him go with both relief and fear. Relief that he might have the chance to redeem Nin's mind from the darkness... and fear that the Lady's boy would not have the strength to bear the burden.
The old potter had neither seen nor felt the Lady's presence in centuries. He had begun to wonder if she even still existed. Thus, without guidance, O ro' dred had done what he could. He had hoped Darius would reclaim the sword... but as he'd told Methos... he did not think that was any longer an option for the Goth. Whatever forces held Darius now... the great sword was no longer a factor for him... no longer a thing he might carry or wield.
O ro' dred knelt beside the weeping Nin and brushed her tangled hair with a smile. Despite it all... he loved her... he enfolded her within his arms and rocked with her all night on the cavern floor... aware that the further Methos was from them with the great sword, the quieter Nin became.
At last with dawn's first light, Nin looked up at him with a teary smile. Her fingers flicked briefly the sign she used for his name. Then she burrowed her head into his chest and relaxed... clasping him tightly. She knew him once more. There was still a chance he could save her... if only for a little while.