But uh...that's part of the "before"--this is the "after" The Teacher III
by
Methos watched the man as he dismounted, naturally, easily. He knew the way of riding as not the way of the people of Akkad, but this man had picked it up easily enough. He watched him do everything, fascinated. He was her last student. The one she trained before meeting her death. The one she built her hopes on not ruining, as she feared she had ruined the others (oh, that did hurt, when she made it known that the killing had begun to disgust her--and what were they supposed to do? Take up the loom and make tapestries?) He seemed ill at ease before Methos, and he would have taken it for disdain, knowing, after all that the man had been a king, and then it occurred to him--
He was unnerved before Methos' presence. Methos wondered what Anath-Sin must have told "Kronos" about him before sending him out. What could she have told him, that would have left him nearly speechless?
"Come, brother, into the temple. You should eat. The journey before we find Silas will be a long one," Methos found himself saying, naturally. Strange to find the young one so interesting that he cared. "Consider my home to be yours."
The younger man looked up with eyes that spoke of thanks and surprise at once. But then, the look hardened--the man was clever, and make no doubt.
"She would have been surprised, I think--to find you dwelling on holy ground. How?"
Methos looked at him, dumb-founded. But it was true. She would have been amazed, because it was the one thing he had needled her about, endlessly. He had bid her leave the temple-steps more than a dozen times, and each time she had said, "no." He could not stir her forth--only love of the child sent her to Uruk, and beyond her temple, her women. She even spoke with disdain once she again rode--disdain for Jude of Larsa, whom she slew--saying he had hid on holy ground.
But at the same time, this could not be any true surprise. It wouldn't have been to her, were it she he faced, and not this man. He had grown tired. After sending Caspian and Silas away--he had learned the bitter truth--
Once alone, he was a moving target. His name was known. He could not afford to become sloppy, but he could not afford to go without cover. And so--Kemet. And so, the Temple of Ptah--where Anath-Sin once sat at the feet of Imhotep. And here, learning the arts of magic, reading the scrolls, he wondered if there was not more than the art of the sword, the way of the horse, the life of the warrior. It seemed like there might be many lives one might lead, if only one was prepared.
"It is always good to learn, Kronos. Always. She would tell you as much, if she were here. And so I came here to learn."
"Never stop...she did say it was wise. And I should have something--the journey was long." He stood, staring, uncomfortable. And then, as if reading his mind, Methos knew how very recently it had happened. He could see that much in a face at times. And that only made him realize how important it was to the young man that he receive training--to learn loss. To learn survival.
Methos looked at the man--seventy-five years of age, strong, accomplished in battle, a leader of men, skilled in words and deeds, and saw a helpless child. He silently cursed at the woman--beyond the grave, she had her wish--if she had need of a man to train him--it would be he. And, if he knew her, she would smile to know he was cursing at her, as his discomfort seemed to bring her special joy.
He found wine, and bread, and fruit, and laid them out, and watched his student eat. He already saw him as his student. It amazed him--a student. And a brother.
Parents might leave their sons with estates, their daughters with dowries. She left her favorite pupil with a burden. He smiled. Just like her. Annoying to the end.
Posted on Mar 20, 2000, 7:39 PM from IP address 171.223.158.248