Date: Fri, 19 Jan 2001 20:37:42 -0500
From: cat's eye <jade_prophecy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Endgame--Chapter 3
Disclaimer--I don't know any members of *NSync, nor if any of them are gay,
nor do I care, as long as they keep singing their tails off. I am makig no
claims about the actual people represented by the names in the story. THIS
IS FICTION. *'s mean italics. Feedback please. If you want to see the
story in all its properly formatted glory, check out my site:
http://portallis.tripod.com
Chapter 3
The next morning, Lance sat up and blinked owlishly in the bright morning
sun. The conversation of the night before had eventually turned to the
stars, which Lance held an unwavering fascination for. They had tried to
pick out the different constellations they knew of (Lance privately thought
that whoever had actually seen such elaborate patterns in a few randomly
placed stars must have had too much ale), then made up their own. Then that
had eventually dissolved into a rare, comfortable silence that lasted until
just before dawn.
"Lancey?" His mother's voice drifted lazily on the still morning air.
"Lance dear?" He really didn't feel like crawling out of bed.
"JAMES LANCE BASS, DO YOU HEAR ME CALLING YOU?"
"I'm coming, Mom, I'm coming." Lance's mother was usually a very patient
woman, but morning was not one of her favorite times. He yawned and
thought, not for the first time, that it was a good thing that he did not
have to get up early for school. He quickly changed clothes, and went down
the hall to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. Trotting down
the stairs at the end of the hall, he was greeted with the tantalizing aroma
of bacon and eggs.
"Good morning, dear," his mother said as she greeted him with a kiss.
"Morning, Mommy," he replied as he seated himself at the kitchen table. As
soon as she set his plate in front of him, he dove in. Night walks always
left him starving the next day. He was well into his second plate of eggs
when Justin's head appeared over the lower half of the back door.
"Morning, Lance. Morning, Mrs. Bass." The time of day seemed to have no
effect on Justin's endless supply of energy.
"Good morning Justin. Have you eaten breakfast already?"
"Weeellll, yeah, but..." Justin hedged, not wanting to preclude himself from
getting more food.
Mrs. Bass chuckled indulgently and pointed at the seat across from Lance.
"Well, wash your hands and go sit there." After doing as he was told,
Justin sat down and proceeded to make his plate of bacon and eggs disappear
at an alarming rate.
Having finished, Lance watched Justin eat with one eyebrow crooked. "So,
what do you want to do today?"
Justin shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe go to the creek and try to catch frogs or
somethin'?" he managed between mouthfuls.
" 'Kay." Lance stood, picking up his plate and reaching for Justin's. The
younger boy quickly scraped the remnants of his second breakfast into his
mouth and handed it over. Lance took their plates over to the sink and
handed them to his mother, who began rinsing them off.
"Oh, Lancey--your father won't be able to come home for lunch, so I want you
to take some to him." Lance looked over his shoulder to see if Justin had
caught the use of the childish nickname. Judging from the huge grin on his
face, making him look like a small sun, he had. Lance scowled. Oblivious
to her son's hatred of the use of his nickname in front of Justin, she
pointed at the large cloth sack on the counter. "It's right there. Now
both of you wipe your mouths and wash your hands and you can go."
Justin obediently joined Lance at the sink and smirked as they rubbed their
soapy hands under the water. "Yeah, Lancey, we have to be nice and clean
when we--" Justin's mirth was suddenly cut off when Lance's elbow connected
with his stomach.
"James Lance, we do not hit. Apologize." Lance's mother said this
absent-mindedly, almost perfunctorily, as she was used to this kind of
behavior.
"Sorry," Lance muttered, glaring at Justin, who looked truly chagrined that
his teasing had resulted in his best friend getting into trouble so early in
the day. Lance's face cleared when he saw that his friend looked truly
sorry, and he grabbed the lunch sack off of the counter. "C'mon, let's go.
'Bye mom," he called, as she had moved off to other chores.
"Bye, Mrs. Bass," Justin echoed.
"Goodbye, boys. Stay on the *side* of the road," she called back.
The walk into town was mainly uneventful, except for a near meeting with
the aforementioned future Mrs. James Lance Bass, currently known as Janna
Taylor. Both boys held their breath as they passed her yard, but luckily
she was absorbed in giggling with one of her friends--*Probably something
stupid*, Justin thought--to notice them.
The ringing sound of metal on metal greeted them as they entered the
smithery. Lance's father ignored the rivulets of sweat pouring down his
face, grimly intent on the horseshoes he was pounding out. Ever since the
last apprentice "hadn't worked out", as his father liked to put it (kicked
out of the smithery amidst lots of yelling was more like it, if you listened
to the town gossips), Jim Bass had to shoulder his already heavy workload
alone. Having been raised as a blacksmith's son, Lance knew enough to stay
near the entrance, well away from the flying sparks. Finally, the elder
Bass turned to them and smiled.
"Hello boys, is that my lunch?" He wiped his face on an already damp towel
as he came towards them.
"Yes, Dad," Lance said, handing the sack over. "It's probably soufflé from
last night."
"Ah yes, your mother's soufflé. Light as a rock," the older man sighed,
putting his hand over his stomach with a mock grimace, making both boys
giggle. They walked outside, so Lance's father could take advantage of the
cool breeze that was wafting through the village. "So, boys, what's on for
today?" he asked as he settled into a chair just outside the door, grateful
for an excuse to rest.
"Um, well, we were thinking of going to the creek to look for stuff,"
Justin said shyly. Though he had known this man for practically all of his
life, he was a bit intimidated by the burly, bearded man, who seemed as
though he could bend an iron rod with his bare hands.
"Going after some frogs, eh? I heard there's lots of turtles this year,
too. Just watch out for the mosquitoes. Big as buzzards this time of year.
Might carry you off to their evil queen." He wiggled his eyebrows
wickedly.
"Okay dad, we'll watch out," Lance laughed. He glanced at Justin, who was
already fidgeting, clearly ready to be off. "Well, I think we'll be going
now. See you at home."
"Okay, son. Tomorrow, though, I want you to come down and watch me.
You're never too young to start learning the trade, you know."
"Okay," Lance said agreeably, though inwardly he sighed. He didn't really
want to be a blacksmith--he wanted...well, first he wanted to figure out what
he wanted.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
After a full day of terrorizing frogs, turtles, and other small
animals (with a brief lunch break, of course), the boys retired to their
special place to wait for sundown, and dinner.
The special place was indeed that, their own secret hideaway where the
outside world wouldn't even know where to find them, much less bother them.
They had found it (or rather it had found them when Justin had nearly broken
his neck after tripping over an exposed tree root) the year before while
playing "Very Brave Explorers". Two large trees felled in a storm years
before had somehow fallen in an "X" position against a large rock. Smaller
trees, bushes, and creeping vines formed leafy screens impenetrable to
everything except light and small boys. After clearing away the forest
debris, the boys had a perfect hideaway with a cool dirt floor. It was big
enough for both to stand up comfortably, if they wished, and was about
twenty Lance-steps across in any direction. After crawling in, Lance lay on
the floor and watched Justin spar with an imaginary foe. After seeing his
young friend execute a particularly spectacular sequence that would surely
have been impossible in a full suit of armor, or even in just chain mail,
Lance spoke.
"Just?"
"Hi-yah! Take that, foul demon!"
"Justin?"
"And that! Back to the depths of Hades with you!!"
"JUSTIN RANDALL TIMBERLAKE!!"
"And that--huh?" Justin whirled around, breaking out of his reverie.
"When are you gonna try out?" Each year, tryouts were held for spots in
the king's army. Contestants had to overcome a series of challenges, and
the top three finalists from each town were taken to the castle for
training. Each year's event was generally treated as a holiday, with school
closing, businesses shutting down, and general merrymaking the whole day.
The entire town would turn out to the local arena to watch the events, or
"games", as they were known. Concession stands always did about three times
their usual business, and the ale flowed from early morning late into the
night. Bets were placed on the entrants, and cheaters were dealt with very
seriously. The mayor would always make a grand opening speech, and the
younger children would form a parade, marching from the town square to the
arena itself.
"Well, my dad said that the guys are usually seventeen or eighteen when
they try out, so I figure I'll go when I'm fifteen or sixteen."
"Why do you wanna do it so young? The other people will be bigger and
stronger!!"
"Well, so I won't only be the *best* knight, I'll be the youngest to ever
make it!" Justin rolled his eyes at Lance's seeming thickheadedness.
"Yeah, and so if you mess up there'll always be next year." Lance smirked.
"Thanks," Justin said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Lance could be
extremely cynical for his age, and it drove Justin crazy sometimes.
"Don't be mad, J--I didn't say you *would* mess up."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever..." Justin muttered.
Oh, no. Not the pout again. "Aww, come on, Justin. Let's see--would you
feel better if I did...*this*?" Lance asked, reaching out and ruffling
Justin's thick curls.
"Aahh!! No!! Stop!! You know I hate that!!!" Adults were always
messing with Justin's hair--it drew their hands like a magnet, it seemed, and
there was nothing that the boy hated more in the world.
"Are you sure Justin? I think you like it. You're not pouting anymore,"
Lance pointed out, working his hands through the younger boy's hair
mercilessly.
Desperate to defend himself, Justin reached out and started tickling his
tormentor in the ribs. Lance shrieked, suddenly on the defensive, and
crossed his arms in front of himself. However, that was a futile action, as
Justin simply moved around and began to tickle his back. Lance was one of
those rare unfortunates that was ticklish *everywhere*. Soon both boys were
giggling and rolling around on the floor, in an all-out tickle war.
Finally, exhaustion caught up with them, and they lay back, panting. As
their breathing slowed, Justin turned to look at Lance.
"Lance?"
"Hm."
"Are you gonna miss me when I go?"
Lance snorted. "Are you kidding? I'll finally have some peace and quiet
for once."
Justin punched him in the arm. "That's not funny. Be serious."
"Okay, okay. Of course I'll miss you. You're my best friend."
"Are you gonna get married when I'm gone?"
"WHAA-AAT?" Where had *this* come from?
"Are you gonna get married after I leave?"
"Well, I guess...after a while. It's what you do when you grow up."
"But everything'll *change*! Whenever I wanna see you, she'll be there."
"You mean when *you two* wanna see me. You'll get married, too."
"No way. I told you already. I don't *wanna* get married."
"Too bad. You grow up, meet someone, fall in love, and get married. Just
like our parents," Lance said matter-of-factly.
Suddenly Justin sat up and grabbed his best friend's hand. "Promise me you
won't get married." His tone was suddenly desperate, his gaze on Lance's
face almost frantic.
"What? Justin? What's wrong with you?" Lance, suddenly uncomfortable,
tried to extract himself from Justin's grip.
Having some idea of how he must look to Lance, Justin dropped his hand and
looked away. "Nothing. The sun's setting. It's time for dinner."
And with that, he was gone.
Copyright 2000-01 cat's eye