![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sinanjuThis is from "Break the Day" by Ecolia (http://www.seventh-dimension.org/stories/Ecolea/BreaktheDay.txt)
Warning: if you want to read the story (and I think it's worth reading), this is a spoiler:
This conversation takes place at the very end of the story, after Methos has recovered from traumatic amnesia. That's a classic gag in countless stories, of course, but it works better here than in a lot of stories, I think.
"What's the matter with you, MacLeod?" Methos asked, smiling. "I thought you'd be pleased. I'm getting involved in the war against
terrorism."
"But you never get involved!"
"Of course not," he waved off MacLeod's comment as they started walking. "I never get involved in anything when I'm going through an
extended period of ennui."
"Ennui?"
"Yes. Ennui," Methos rolled his eyes. "You know, that feeling you
get when it all seems pointless? When you don't want to die, but there really isn't anything that makes you want to live? That's what I've been suffering from for the last two hundred years. Ennui. Happens to all Immortals every few centuries. In fact, you should be getting your first bout any time now. Word of advice," he added sagely. "Try not to take any challenges while in the midst of it. I've found that's the best way to survive until you get back your zest for living."
"'Zest for living?'" MacLeod repeated, obviously shocked to hear
these words coming from Methos.
"Absolutely," Methos nodded. "Why the hell do you think I've been
around for five thousand years? I'm not afraid to die, MacLeod. I just love living."
Stunned, MacLeod followed as Methos briskly walked up the street. "And all this is because...?"
"Because I can't not live after what I've been through. I can't let
their deaths be meaningless. I must and will make a difference in
this."
"But it isn't our fight, Methos."
The ancient Immortal paused in his stride, looking as stunned as
MacLeod had been earlier. "Of course it's our fight, you big Scottish dolt! We live here, you know. In the West. Among the Infidels.
Granted, I fought with Saladin against the Crusaders, but in those
days the Arab lands were the last bastion of civilization, and the
Christian invaders wanted to destroy it. Now, it's reversed. But it's
still fighting for the same thing. I wouldn't let Richard take back
Jerusalem and I'll be damned if I let bin Laden have New York or any
other city."
"But...
"Look, MacLeod, it's very simple," Methos sighed. "I don't want to
live in a yurt beating my women and trying to think of something holy to do in the evenings. It's not my style and I can't imagine it'd be
yours either."
"Well, no," he agreed.
"And it's not about politics, policies, religion or cultural
differences," Methos explained. "It's about diametrically opposed
ideologies. Which do you want, MacLeod? A world with only one book in it or a world filled with millions of them? A life of choices or a
life predestined? Technology and medical advancement, or oil lamps and sickness? I've seen that other world and I like this one better. Now which is it to be, MacLeod? And hurry it up, time's a wasting!"
MacLeod was now smiling broadly at his passionate, fiery new
friend.
"This world, Methos. You've convinced me. I really do like the
world I live in."
"Good. Now, are you coming? I know you speak Farsi."
Little gems like this are why I like fanfic. You never know when you're going to stumble across them.
Warning: if you want to read the story (and I think it's worth reading), this is a spoiler:
This conversation takes place at the very end of the story, after Methos has recovered from traumatic amnesia. That's a classic gag in countless stories, of course, but it works better here than in a lot of stories, I think.
"What's the matter with you, MacLeod?" Methos asked, smiling. "I thought you'd be pleased. I'm getting involved in the war against
terrorism."
"But you never get involved!"
"Of course not," he waved off MacLeod's comment as they started walking. "I never get involved in anything when I'm going through an
extended period of ennui."
"Ennui?"
"Yes. Ennui," Methos rolled his eyes. "You know, that feeling you
get when it all seems pointless? When you don't want to die, but there really isn't anything that makes you want to live? That's what I've been suffering from for the last two hundred years. Ennui. Happens to all Immortals every few centuries. In fact, you should be getting your first bout any time now. Word of advice," he added sagely. "Try not to take any challenges while in the midst of it. I've found that's the best way to survive until you get back your zest for living."
"'Zest for living?'" MacLeod repeated, obviously shocked to hear
these words coming from Methos.
"Absolutely," Methos nodded. "Why the hell do you think I've been
around for five thousand years? I'm not afraid to die, MacLeod. I just love living."
Stunned, MacLeod followed as Methos briskly walked up the street. "And all this is because...?"
"Because I can't not live after what I've been through. I can't let
their deaths be meaningless. I must and will make a difference in
this."
"But it isn't our fight, Methos."
The ancient Immortal paused in his stride, looking as stunned as
MacLeod had been earlier. "Of course it's our fight, you big Scottish dolt! We live here, you know. In the West. Among the Infidels.
Granted, I fought with Saladin against the Crusaders, but in those
days the Arab lands were the last bastion of civilization, and the
Christian invaders wanted to destroy it. Now, it's reversed. But it's
still fighting for the same thing. I wouldn't let Richard take back
Jerusalem and I'll be damned if I let bin Laden have New York or any
other city."
"But...
"Look, MacLeod, it's very simple," Methos sighed. "I don't want to
live in a yurt beating my women and trying to think of something holy to do in the evenings. It's not my style and I can't imagine it'd be
yours either."
"Well, no," he agreed.
"And it's not about politics, policies, religion or cultural
differences," Methos explained. "It's about diametrically opposed
ideologies. Which do you want, MacLeod? A world with only one book in it or a world filled with millions of them? A life of choices or a
life predestined? Technology and medical advancement, or oil lamps and sickness? I've seen that other world and I like this one better. Now which is it to be, MacLeod? And hurry it up, time's a wasting!"
MacLeod was now smiling broadly at his passionate, fiery new
friend.
"This world, Methos. You've convinced me. I really do like the
world I live in."
"Good. Now, are you coming? I know you speak Farsi."
Little gems like this are why I like fanfic. You never know when you're going to stumble across them.
