Come the Wild Weather
DISCLAIMER: Based on the Highlander series, the characters are not mine.
Come the Wild Weather
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- Eiffel Tower, Paris, 1995
As the Quickening struck Duncan opened himself to it as he rarely did. Instead of merely enduring the lightning-edged invasion he welcomed it, searching through the turmoil of sights, sounds and textures for some sign of his old friends. That moment of genial tranquillity - had that been Brother Paul? There was so much, so many voices clamouring for attention and overriding them all the warped, glittering spirit of Kalas that gloated even as it melted into him. "Looks like I win a round after all, MacLeod."
He shouted despairingly, "Fitz! Fitz, where are you?"
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- National Portrait Gallery, London, 1990
"Fitz, good to see you again!" Duncan slapped Fitz on the arm in relief as much as pleasure in seeing his old friend again. He had been in London to arrange the purchase of a 19th century bronze, which had gone though so quickly that he was now left with several days of free time. The gallery was one of his favourite places to visit when he was in London, the faces seemed so familiar even when they belonged to people he had never met. The sharp pulse of another Immortal disturbing his peace had almost made him groan out loud, but scanning the room he had recognised a well-remembered face.
Two familiar faces in fact, since as he greeted Hugh Fitzcairn, he found himself glancing at the portrait behind and doing a double take between the painting and the man who must have posed as the model of one of the subjects. The picture was a Van Dyck of two cavaliers standing facing each other but staring out of the frame with sensual arrogance. He read the title with curiosity to see what name he would see displayed. " 'Sir John Fotheringay and an Unknown Gentleman.' Well, at least they got the Unknown part correct."
"I'm crushed, MacLeod." Fitz drew himself up in a passable imitation of hurt hauteur. "Or, at least, I would be if I didn't know what an unregenerate barbarian you are."
"You were good friends with Sir John then?" Duncan asked, gesturing at the picture.
"Yes," replied Fitz, and then grinned, "and even better friends with his wife, the lovely Anne. Such ankles, such eyes, such lips, such a perfect pair of ... everything." But his face sobered again as he gazed at the face of a dead man. "But, of course, they're both gone now; over 350 years ago. He died in the Great Rebellion."
Duncan raised his eyebrows in a question at his friend and then had to ask as Fitz seemed to drift into a brown study. "The Great Rebellion?"
Fitz turned and Duncan caught a glimpse of a rare sadness in the usually frivolous eyes and then Fitz was tsking like a college professor. "What are they teaching youngsters nowadays. They've taken to calling it The Civil War, as if there was only one Civil War, instead of it just being one among many."
"Did you fight in it?" Duncan asked gently.
"No. I was off in Italy being harassed by foolish young immortals. Anyway, I don't mind a fight, but I prefer it to be against people I don't know. When it comes to brother against brother, it leaves a nasty taste in the mouth." And he grimaced as if tasting that bitterness again.
Duncan watched Fitz with some curiosity. Fitz had always seemed to be one Immortal reconciled with his immortality, content to live in the moment and glad to have so many moments to enjoy. Many a time he had been the one to josh Duncan out of some black mood, but now he seemed to be caught in some melancholy of his own.
"So, were you just in the neighbourhood and decided to look up some old friends?" Duncan probed tactfully.
Fitz looked at him as if weighing him in some balance and then seemed to come to a decision. "I'm 800 years old this year, and every 100 years I come home. It's a little ritual I've adopted over the centuries, MacLeod, just to let me see how far I've travelled." He shrugged dismissively. "No big ceremony, just a little habit that's hard to shake - those old habits are the worst." He gave a self-deprecating laugh and then after a hesitation said, "I'm going down to Sussex tomorrow, to where I lived when I was mortal. Would you like to come along, Mac?"
Duncan stepped forward and grasped Fitz's forearm with his hand. "I'd be honoured, Fitz. Thank you for asking." Fitz returned the grip and they stood for a moment before Fitz said, "Let's drink to it. I know a great pub not too far from here."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" said Duncan in mock long-suffering and they laughed together as they left. Sir John stared after them from that frozen moment of utter confidence where faithlessness, wars and time itself would never come.
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- Sussex, England, 1990
Although it was still only springtime, Duncan wore sunglasses to cut out the glare from the sun. Theoretically Immortals did not get hangovers, but in practice Immortality just meant you could drink without dying of alcohol poisoning - permanently. A large enough quantity of alcohol still had the undesired effect the next morning, and it had been a very large quantity of alcohol. Fitz had raised the old English tradition of 'the pub crawl' to new heights as he decided to see how many pubs still remained from the previous century. Duncan had finally objected when they crossed the river and were in the Elephant and Castle with Fitz giving every indication that he was prepared to walk to Sussex by navigating from pub to pub.
They had managed to bribe a taxi driver to take them back to Duncan's hotel where they had both collapsed fully-clothed onto the bed. Fitz must have developed a natural immunity to the local ale over the years since he was up first thing and off to get his car, breezily telling Duncan that he'd be back in an hour and they could set off then. Only four hundred years worth of stamina, a pot of black coffee and a refusal to be bested by an Englishman managed to get Duncan up and standing outside the hotel doors within the hour. He almost turned round and went back to bed when Fitz drove up in a minuscule flame-red MG Midget, but he gritted his teeth, dropped his coat and sword into the back and manoeuvred his long frame into the front seat of the tiny sports car.
Once they were outside of London the fresh air had helped considerably. They drove in near silence after Duncan had threatened to challenge Fitz there and then if he did not stop singing, but Fitz did break out in the odd wordless hum which Duncan could ignore for the most part. They had stopped for breakfast and although Duncan had stuck with coffee and toast he had revived enough to steal some of Fitz's bacon to make a sandwich.
Duncan had not known what to expect of Fitz's old home but having to pay to get in still came as a surprise. Fitz had flirted with the two old dears manning the kiosk by the gate and gravely listened when they pointed out the best parts of the garden to visit at that time of year. Duncan glanced at the house as they passed, but it was quite modern, only a couple of centuries old and obviously of no interest to Fitz. He was striding down an avenue of trees that led down from the terraced gardens to a plinth with an obelisk standing on it. There was a ha-ha beyond it preventing them going any further so they stopped and looked over the grass before them. A cow looked back at them silently, and then turned and left a steaming comment on their presence before sashaying off to a more salubrious corner of the field.
"I learnt to ride in that meadow." Fitz's tone was that mixture of incredulity and laughter usually adopted by people looking at pictures of the clothes they wore as teenagers.
"I hope there were less cows." Duncan deadpanned back.
Fitz laughed. "Yes, but it was a lot rougher then and smaller. There were more trees as well. There to the west, it was still forest." He gestured wildly, managing to indicate most of the horizon. Duncan smiled at his friend's enthusiasm, took off his sunglasses and leant back comfortably against the nearest tree.
"So, tell me more, Fitz. Did you always live here after you were found?"
"No. When I was very small I lived about 10 miles in that direction. There's a motorway there now. But I don't remember much about it anyway. My father, that's my first step-father, died when I was six and my mother arranged to marry the lord of this manor. He was widowed with two sons, so it suited everyone."
"Your mother arranged? Sounds like she was quite a forceful woman." Duncan fished delicately.
Fitz looked at him with an expression of almost shy pride. "She was an Immortal."
Duncan straightened. "An Immortal?"
"Yes. I was lucky," Fitz said simply.
"Lucky! I should say. Come on, Fitzcairn, don't leave it at that. Tell me more."
"Her name was Elgiva which meant in the common tongue 'the gift of the faeries'. She found me in the forest and took me back to her home. Her husband was a mortal but he knew about her. I think she loved him very much, although she never said a word about him to me in later years. I only remember him a little. He was tall and blond with blue eyes, one of the old Saxon line. She had the same colouring, although she always covered her hair as befitted a married woman. I always thought her the most fair of women but perhaps all men think that of their mothers." He paused as the image became clearer to his memory. "After his death we came here and she married Sir Ranulf. He was shorter than me when I was full-grown, with dark hair and eyes, his face all scarred from the pox. There was no love between them but no hate either, just a need on both their parts which later grew into respect. Although I think she respected him from the beginning. I asked her once why she had chosen him and she said, 'Because he keeps his word when no one is looking.' "
Duncan felt prompted to say, "It seems a little cold."
Fitz replied enigmatically, "Sometimes the cold is safer than the warmth. Ranulf was in many ways a cold man, stern but not overly cruel, devout but also tolerant. He had his own inner demons and that made him more thoughtful than many of his kind. I found out some time later that he was a lover of men."
"Fitz!" Duncan exclaimed with some concern, but Fitz was already waving away his worries.
"No, nothing like that. I've no horrific tales of abuse hiding in the shadows. I said he was devout. He would always welcome any passing priest and he twice made the pilgrimage to Becket's shrine in Canterbury. To him, homosexuality was a sin, and he never placed himself above the law whether it was made by man or God. But my mother was surpassing wise; she knew that I was safe from him, but she also knew that he could not help but love me. His own sons were dark and sombre like himself and she bought this little blond-haired moppet to entrance him. I could always wrap him around my little finger; I was never short of charm." Fitz smiled at Duncan, showing off his dimples to good effect.
"When I was eighteen and became a knight she told me about my immortality. I thought she was mad," he chuckled in remembrance. "She was mad, livid even, after she'd had to cut herself three times to prove it to me. She didn't suffer fools gladly. A few months later, a strange Immortal came here and challenged her. She died on that hill there. Ranulf had built a small shrine, and she went each day to pray. Or that's what we thought, perhaps she did pray a little but she also used the time to practise with her sword. I think the stranger found her a harder battle than he'd bargained on."
"Did you see her die, Fitz?"
"Yes. Ranulf and I were both there. Ranulf wanted to take the challenge, but she ordered me to keep him back, and forbade me from interfering even though I had not met my first death at that time. Years later I tried to make a song for her in the common tongue." His voice softened and he turned to face the hill where she had died. He began to speak, almost chant, words in some strange language that sounded like the wash of waves on a pebbled shore. Duncan moved to stand behind his friend and laid his hand on the shaking shoulder nearest him as Fitz translated.
"She wore only her white shift,
and her yellow braid hung down behind her
like a golden rope.
Her feet were long and white
amidst the green grass.
Her sword shone silver in the light."
Fitz turned to him, unashamed to let him see the tears on his cheeks. "The worst thing was not to see her beheaded but to see the Quickening leave her, it seemed like her soul had been devoured by the other. I would have killed him then, but Ranulf stopped me, even though he was more shocked than me. He knew that the Rules had been important to my mother and that by breaking them I would only dishonour her death. Later, I was glad he had held me back, since her Quickening would have been lost for all time. I left soon after, although I often came back to visit Ranulf. The secret we shared bound us together and he became in truth like a father to me. I last saw him in an abbey where he had retired when he felt his death approaching. He asked me then to take his name, since before I had gone by the name of Elgiva's first husband. So I took his legacy and carry his name with me through the centuries. Even when I have to put it aside at times, I remember that I am Hugh of the family of Ranulf fils'Cairn." The old pronunciation sounded soft and lonely in the shade of the trees and then he chuckled with a slight catch in his throat. "I've often thought it strange that I love all women in memory of the mother I honoured, and honour all men for the father I loved."
Duncan smiled and shook Fitz gently by the shoulder he was still holding. "You were always a little perverse, Fitz."
Fitz reached up and mimed a mock punch at Duncan's chin. "I'm glad you came, Duncan. It's good to have a friend to stand by your side." Then Fitz grinned his usual devil-may-care grin and said, "Of course usually I bring my students, but I guess you fall into that category."
"Student am I?" growled Duncan. "And what did you ever teach me?"
"I taught you everything you know about women," said Fitz with a broad grin. Duncan threw up his hands in disgust and stalked back up the avenue of trees. Fitz chased after him. "Well, how about reading? You'd never have learnt to read if it hadn't been for me. Or opera? Who was it who introduced you to all the finer ... "
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- Eiffel Tower, Paris, 1995
Were his memories all that remained of Fitz? Had Kalas subsumed all that laughter and charm into his own bitter soul? He heard again a mocking voice. "Nobody here but us."
The screeching of the tortured metal surrounding him reminded him of the agony of horses and men in the aftermath of battle. But as he listened more closely he could make out a voice quietly singing. It was a wholly ridiculous song with a chorus that seemed to mostly consist of dings and nonnies, and was, of course, about lovers. He had heard it before many times, and now it took him back to a time centuries before. There had been a battle and he had died ...
His lungs painfully inflated with air as if he had taken a breathe of ice-water. It was night and a black darkness with no glint of moon or star. Clouds covered the sky and a mean drizzle spitted around him. But a cloak covered him to keep the worst of the weather away, and his head was resting on the warmth of someone's lap. In the distance he could hear the sobs and screams of the wounded, but above his head a voice was singing quietly.
"In spring time, the only pretty ring time When the birds do sing, ..."
The pulse of immortal presence suddenly resonated in his head even as he half-recognised the voice, and he jerked trying to force his healing body upright. A hand gently pressed him back and then reached up to stroke his head even as the words echoed out of the past into the present. "Sssh. Gently now, laddie. No need to fret, I'm here."
Duncan sighed and let the warmth cradle him. Everything was all right, his friend was by his side.
THE END
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Come the Wild, Wild Weather
by Noel Coward
Time may hold in store for us
Glory or defeat,
Maybe never more for us
Life will seem so sweet
Time will change so many things,
Tides will ebb and flow,
But wherever fate may lead us
Always we shall know -
Come the wild, wild weather,
Come the wind and the rain,
Come the little flakes of snow,
Come the joy, come the pain,
We shall still be together
When our life's journey ends,
For wherever we chance to go
We shall always be friends.
We may find while we're travelling through the years
Moments of joy and love and happiness,
Reason for grief, reason for tears.
Come the wild, wild weather,
If we've lost or we've won,
We'll remember these words we say
Till our story be done.
After Duncan MacLeod kills Kalas on top of the Eiffel Tower he remembers his friend Fitz