© 1998

It was a familiar dream.

He always saw the lake first. It was morning, and mist was rising off the surface of the water, obscuring the far side. Around him were trees taller than he had seen in a long while. The ancient forest was alive with sound in the early morning. He could hear the calls of the birds and the chitterings of squirrels. The lake waters lapped gently on the shore, and there was a heron in the weeds just beyond the edge.

Sometimes, they were already at the shore, but this time, they walked by him on the path to the lake. They came from the small farming village that he somehow knew was just on the other side of the hill behind him. They were both dressed in furs, with decorations that he could only assume were of bone. The little boy skipped ahead of the older man. He looked to be about eight years old, with longish dark hair and hazel eyes. The man followed a bit more slowly, carrying two spears. His hair was more fair, and his eyes were a clear blue. His face had a small blue tattoo of concentric circles that pulled at the watcher's memory. He had known what it was, once, of that he was quite sure.

As it always did, something changed at the sight of the boy. His perspective shifted, and he was the boy. They stopped at the lake side and he looked up at the man- father?, who grinned down at him and handed him the smaller of the spears he had been carrying. "Ready to go, Maethas?"

"Yes, Jathan." Jathan- was it a name or a title? He could never remember.

There was a small boat at the lake side- skins stretched over a wooden frame. He climbed in as Jathan pushed the boat into the water before he too stepped in. They poled out a little way, Jathan looking over the side of the boat until he saw what he wanted, when he stopped. "Do you remember what to do, Maethas?"

He hefted his spear. "I've just gotta stab 'em!"

Jathan smiled. "There's more to it then that. You have to watch, and be very careful. If you're not quick enough, they'll get away."

"I'm gonna catch ten!" he found himself announcing.

"Then we'll have a proper feast!"

They waited for a while, both peering into the water. He saw them first, slipping through the water below. "Jathan, I see them."

They both leaned over a bit more, and he quickly thrust at a shape. The spear came up empty. Jathan had two fish on the floor of the boat already. He leaned over further, and thrust with all his might at another bit of quicksilver.

Jathan caught his ankles just before he fully slipped into the water. Strong arms pulled him back into the boat. As his spear came closer to the surface, he saw the fish he had caught. "Jathan, look!"

Jathan pulled up the fish, and gave him a huge grin. "A fine fish, Maethas. We'll have Mavi cook it especially for you." The adult in him noticed that it was only half the size of the smallest fish Jathan had caught.

The little boy felt himself beaming at Jathan's praise.

"Next time, try to stay in the boat. If you end up in the water, you'll scare all the fish away." Jathan's face was stern, but he could see the loving look in Jathan's eyes.

That was when he usually woke up.

This time, Methos woke up to the soft light of the street lamp outside his window, and the low drone of cars on the nearby road. As he always did, he tried to grasp the fading memory of the dream. He'd always known it was real, two thousand years of repetition had reassured him of that.

Where was the lake, and who was Jathan? Was it his father; could he have once been a part of a family? As always, he eventually gave up. The only memory that had penetrated the block on his mind could reveal no more secrets.

He settled down into the blankets, letting his mind drift back toward sleep. The woman next to him stirred, and he gathered her into his arms. "What is it, Adam?" she asked sleepily.

"Nothing," he answered soothingly. "Just remembering a day when I was young."

"What was it?"

He looked at the mortal woman lying in his arms and contemplated telling her of his five thousand years of life.

"I was learning how to fish."

"My Dad took us out in the boat every summer. Did yours?"

He buried his face in her hair to hide the pain in his eyes. "Yes," he answered as sleep reclaimed him.

It was raining, and the forest was quiet . . .

This is a little something I thought of while lying in bed listening to the rain one weekend. I've decided for the sake of the story that everyone's favorite ROG was born somewhere in Europe, which was a little more backward than the first civilizations in the Middle East. As far as I can tell, this is historically accurate, but the books I looked at didn't have much info for Europe in 3000 BC.