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Entry tags:
Gogmagog by Sylvia Volk (M)
Fandom: HIGHLANDER
Pairing: None really; same as in show
Length: 32000 words+
Author on LJ: none
Author Website: A Trivial Page of Fanfiction
Why this must be read: Sylvia Volk provides a long, plotty, historical fic. Taking place both in the past and in the show's present, Gogmagog is probably my favorite of the fics in this particular verse. You don't have to read any of the fics that take place before this to enjoy and appreciate this, but it is well worth reading the entire series. Gogmagog is a story about Immortal friendship, about love and answers the question of just how and why the Methuselah stone came about. Sylvia creates rich original characters, while delving into the pasts of familiar canon characters. Her imagined past for Methos and Rebecca is vivid and full and while this particular story doesn't provide the full background, the weight of their history is felt throughout. One of the nicest aspects of this fic is the illustration of the relationships and friendships between the Immortals and teachers and students.
He saw Rebecca in her alchemist's smock, sitting at a rude trestle table, reading from an enormous book. In a house in Baghdad, in the year 4464--which was to say, 704 AD. He had stepped through a doorway, his sword bare in his hand, wary for a fight . . . and she had turned her head, saying, "Malik, look! Here is the Book of the Quinte Essence, which is to say, Man's Heaven. For this is the burning water that restores man's youth--so sovereign a medicine, it is called the joy of paradise."
In his mind's eye, the memories were swirling images: fragments of sight mixed with fragmented sounds.
. . . "But who is this?" he had demanded, pointing with the tip of his sword. And the man who had been reading over Rebecca's shoulder had shrugged at him, lazily, raising one eyebrow. He was dark-haired, but not black-avised; clever and bookish and bony of face, with eyes so bright that they seemed to twinkle with mirth and cheer. He had been Methos, and this had been their first meeting.
"Hush!" Rebecca had said. "Dear heart, this is a well-beloved friend, known to me of old. He has many names. But you may call him Magister Kerogin."
Malik had lowered his sword, stepped closer--gaging the stranger with a hard glance. "That is the name of a fool."
"Or Doctor Loqman," said the stranger, pleasantly. "A harmless wandering physician."
"And that," Malik had said, "is the name of a trickster."
"Or perhaps Killidge Ak-Saghal?"
"'The old man with the sword'? Well, well. I suppose that next, you'll tell me you're the first of us all?"
"I see you know more legends than are told in Baghdad," the stranger had remarked. "You are a Jew?"
"The Exilarch of the Talmudic Academy. Yes. I am a good Jew." Malik had sheathed his sword. They were, all three, conversing in Hebrew. "Are you one of those immortals who claims we must have no truck with mortals--that we have our own battle, and no part in their history? Well, if you are, you are a grievous fool. True enough, we are warriors born, while they--next to us, they are gentle as nestling doves, helpless as chrisome lambs. Made for better things than war. While we were created with lion-claws and dragon-fangs. How could it be other, than that we are meant to protect them? But the day will come when we shall witness the lion standing guard over the lamb."
The stranger had gazed at him. Then he had extended his hand. "Methos," he had said. "My name is Methos. Not the first, but the fourth."
". . . what?"
"The first of us lives in Chang'an, in the country of Cathay. His name is Dimitri and he has not left holy ground for four hundred years. The second-oldest and third-oldest are in Byzantium. I," Methos had said, with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes, "am the fourth."
And Malik had taken Methos' hand, while Rebecca looked on in astonishment.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Pairing: None really; same as in show
Length: 32000 words+
Author on LJ: none
Author Website: A Trivial Page of Fanfiction
Why this must be read: Sylvia Volk provides a long, plotty, historical fic. Taking place both in the past and in the show's present, Gogmagog is probably my favorite of the fics in this particular verse. You don't have to read any of the fics that take place before this to enjoy and appreciate this, but it is well worth reading the entire series. Gogmagog is a story about Immortal friendship, about love and answers the question of just how and why the Methuselah stone came about. Sylvia creates rich original characters, while delving into the pasts of familiar canon characters. Her imagined past for Methos and Rebecca is vivid and full and while this particular story doesn't provide the full background, the weight of their history is felt throughout. One of the nicest aspects of this fic is the illustration of the relationships and friendships between the Immortals and teachers and students.
He saw Rebecca in her alchemist's smock, sitting at a rude trestle table, reading from an enormous book. In a house in Baghdad, in the year 4464--which was to say, 704 AD. He had stepped through a doorway, his sword bare in his hand, wary for a fight . . . and she had turned her head, saying, "Malik, look! Here is the Book of the Quinte Essence, which is to say, Man's Heaven. For this is the burning water that restores man's youth--so sovereign a medicine, it is called the joy of paradise."
In his mind's eye, the memories were swirling images: fragments of sight mixed with fragmented sounds.
. . . "But who is this?" he had demanded, pointing with the tip of his sword. And the man who had been reading over Rebecca's shoulder had shrugged at him, lazily, raising one eyebrow. He was dark-haired, but not black-avised; clever and bookish and bony of face, with eyes so bright that they seemed to twinkle with mirth and cheer. He had been Methos, and this had been their first meeting.
"Hush!" Rebecca had said. "Dear heart, this is a well-beloved friend, known to me of old. He has many names. But you may call him Magister Kerogin."
Malik had lowered his sword, stepped closer--gaging the stranger with a hard glance. "That is the name of a fool."
"Or Doctor Loqman," said the stranger, pleasantly. "A harmless wandering physician."
"And that," Malik had said, "is the name of a trickster."
"Or perhaps Killidge Ak-Saghal?"
"'The old man with the sword'? Well, well. I suppose that next, you'll tell me you're the first of us all?"
"I see you know more legends than are told in Baghdad," the stranger had remarked. "You are a Jew?"
"The Exilarch of the Talmudic Academy. Yes. I am a good Jew." Malik had sheathed his sword. They were, all three, conversing in Hebrew. "Are you one of those immortals who claims we must have no truck with mortals--that we have our own battle, and no part in their history? Well, if you are, you are a grievous fool. True enough, we are warriors born, while they--next to us, they are gentle as nestling doves, helpless as chrisome lambs. Made for better things than war. While we were created with lion-claws and dragon-fangs. How could it be other, than that we are meant to protect them? But the day will come when we shall witness the lion standing guard over the lamb."
The stranger had gazed at him. Then he had extended his hand. "Methos," he had said. "My name is Methos. Not the first, but the fourth."
". . . what?"
"The first of us lives in Chang'an, in the country of Cathay. His name is Dimitri and he has not left holy ground for four hundred years. The second-oldest and third-oldest are in Byzantium. I," Methos had said, with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes, "am the fourth."
And Malik had taken Methos' hand, while Rebecca looked on in astonishment.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4