Disclaimer: The Royal Glasgow Pipe Band and its members are entirely fictional. Almost all pipe band tournaments/highland games and most places used in this story aren’t fictional.

Rating: R for adult situations, slash (boy x boy lovin’), and language.

Author’s Note: Yeeeah... I was at a Scots Highlanders military tattoo not long ago, and while I watched the male highland dancers, the idea for this story suddenly struck me. Goooo me! Oh, and the songs in here are pipe band tunes, so if you don’t know what they are, go listen to the MIDIs. They’re grand. =) One more thing: the title of this is an actual pipe tune which is gaelic for ‘Of Thee I Dream’.

centerMo Shuil Ad Dheidh

Ochòin! Mo chailin, 's mo shùil a'd dhéigh;
A chailin, mo chailin, 's mo shùil a'd dhéigh;
A Lili, mo Lili, 's mo shùil a'd dhéigh;
Cha léir dhomh am bealach le sileadh nan deur.

Horo, my cailin, of thee I dream
My cailin, dear cailin, of thee I dream
My own, my cailin, throughout the years
Dark is my pathway, bedimmed with tears.

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I once heard a story about a ghostly piper, who would occasionally be seen on the walls of Edinburgh Castle. Whenever there was to soon be a death, the sound of the Graveside Lament was heard from the spectre. It’s odd, really, how the bagpipes can be connected to such a horrid thing, when they’re such a brilliant instrument. For instance, I received my first chanter when I was nine, and from then on, I fell absolutely head-over-heels in love with the pipes. Now, at the age of seventeen, I’d like to consider myself an excellent piper, though in reality I’m just beginning. I’ve seen the old, grizzled pipers at the World’s and Cowall; how they drink enough for ten men then pick up the pipes and play the most complex, beautiful melodies I’ve ever heard. That’s how I want to be, but I’ve got so many years ahead of me.

My mate Gowan says that a piper needs to be right sloshed before they can play anything of worth, though I beg to differ. In all honesty, I’ve heard some marvellous pieces from completely sobre pipers.

Gowan is never quite sobre though, it seems. And that’s saying a lot, as I’ve known him since I first joined the Royal Glasgow Piping School; almost a year ago, now. I remember my first time walking through the doors of that dark, sombre brick building, and hearing the sounds of pipes filling the air from some distant place. I swear to god, I’d thought I was in heaven. I’d soon found myself in a little office with a tall, sturdily-built man that had great jowls and thick, dark hair with bushy sideburns.

I also remember the first thing he said.

“So, ye think ye can join Royal Glasgow?” He’d asked, quirking an enormous eyebrow at me as though I were an insignificant little bug he would soon squash.

“Er - yeah.” I’d answered hesitantly, not sure whether to sit down in the chair behind me. He leered at me over a desk blanketed with papers and files, waiting for me to continue. “Yes.” I’d said again, in a vaguely firm way.

“Hm.” He sat back, and somehow magically produced a blank form and pen from under that mountainous pile. “Name?”

“Max... er - Maxwell Mackay.” Shooting him a nervous glance as he scrawled something down, I quickly sat in the chair.

“Age.”

“S-sixteen.” I stammered out, my fingers gripping the arms of the chair tightly. White knuckles. Wimp, I inwardly hissed at myself.

From some remote place, the song ‘Caber Feidh’ began to play. It was - and still is - my favourite pipe tune, but at the time, I didn’t realise it was being played by the guy who would eventually become my best mate in the whole band - Gowan Campbell.

“Hometown.” The grizzly bear before me said, completely ignoring the music.

“Longniddry... in East Lothian... it’s a little town near Edinbur-”

“I ken where Long-bloody-niddry is, ye great prat.” Grizzly growled out, glaring up at me from small, faded blue eyes set deeply into his face.

“Oh... sorry.” I apologized, face burning. “I just thought-”

“I’m surprised ye’ve come all this way... by yerself, I’m guessin’.” He prodded.

“Well, it was quite quick. I caught the train from Longniddry to Edinburgh, then transferred to the Glasgow train and came here. Took maybe two and a half hours tops.” I replied slowly, trying not to make him too uppity again. “And me mam doesn’t care too much... she’s not half nice, and I never met me da‘. So I just, ya know, packed up and pissed off and came here so I can join the band and travel the world and all that.”

“Aye, well. We’ll see aboot tha’, lad. Now, do ye have yer own pipes so ye can demonstrate for me what ye ken? If yer good ‘nuff, then I’ll start you up with the new joiners - this is a school of piping, after all, so ye can stay in the dorms, here - and if ye prove that ye’d be an asset to the band,. then ye can join the playing band. And aye, that means ye can travel all o’er the bloody world.”

It took me a moment to comprehend all this fully, but when it finally got through, I had to stop myself from whooping aloud with joy. This was brilliant! I’d be eating, sleeping, and learning here at the piping school, and my god... if I was good enough, I could join the playing band which, incidentally, toured the world nine months of each year... this was bloody brilliant!

“Alright...” I answered. “And yeah, I did my bring my pipes. Would you like me to take them out now?”

“Nay, let’s take ‘em tae an empty classroom and ye can show me yer stuff there.” He pushed back from his desk and clambered to his feet, towering above me. “By the way, I’m thae Pipe Major of thae band. Macdonald is me name. Joseph Macdonald, but jes’ call me whate’er ye want. As long as it ain’t cheeky, lad.”

Two hours later, I was accepted. I felt incredibly elated, realising that the Piping School would be my new home. I soon called my mother and asked that she send me some more clothes (I’d only packed a small bag with a couple of trousers, underwear, and shirts), but she either never got the message, or chose to ignore it. My mother and I had never had the best relationship. I was like a pebble in her shoe: an unwanted child, the product of a long-forgotten night with some ex-boyfriend. It was alright, though. Me mates and I mucked about after school and in the evening, so when I’d get home late at night, mam was either out or asleep; thus we barely ever saw each other. We were living a sort of demented type of symbiosis, I reckon.

But I settled quickly into life at the Royal Glasgow Piping School. I kept myself busy with classes, friends, piping, and homework. Hours soon became days, days became weeks, and weeks became months, until I’d been there for about three-quarters of a year.

It was then that my life took a couple of odd turns.

The first came about one afternoon after classes, when I lay sprawled out on my bed in the dorm room that Gowan and I shared. My headphones, blaring out Busta Rhyme’s ‘Pass the Courvoisier’, were hung around my neck, and my maths homework sat before me. I was attempting to solve a particularly difficult trigonometric problem, and was having quite a bit of trouble getting the proper answer. And then--

“Max!” A voice hollered from the hallway, “Max, you ginormous lucky prat!”

At that moment, the door to my room flew open and bounced hard against the white-washed wall. Mike Labelle bounded in half a second later, beaming at me. Mike was a rather short, athletic boy in the year below me, with a shock of dyed-blue hair, a pointed nose, and dancing grey eyes.

“Jesus fuck, Mike...” I hissed, turning off my Discman. “The hell are you wanking about...?!”

“You’ve been bloody accepted, mate!” Mike exclaimed. “I heard Mac and that cow Mrs. O’Shay talking about it, evidently in what they thought were hushed tones, during my geography class...”

I blinked at Mike. “Right, what are you on about, then? Accepted for what?” I queried, sitting up.

“YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED INTO THE BAND!” The boy shouted at the top of his lungs. “YOU’RE IN!”

It took a moment for me to digest Mike’s words, and when it finally sunk in, I realised nearly my whole existence had been leading up to this moment. Being a member of Royal Glasgow was just about the one thing I’d ever wanted most in life...

“YES!” I yelled, leaping to my feet and doing a strange little dance around the small room. “YES YES YES YEEEEESSSS!”

As if to further prove Mike’s point, the P.A. suddenly crackled to life.

“Would Gowan Campbell, James Fraser, and Max Mackay please go to Mr. Macdonald’s office.”

Mike and I exchanged a wildly happy look. “My god! They’re going to tell you for real!” Mike exclaimed, clapping my back. “You lucky bastard, get down there!”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

I’ll never, ever forget that incredible elated feeling I got when I was informed by Mac that I’d been accepted into the playing band. Even better, Gowan and Jamie were also to be in it! As I left the office, I realised this was the happiest moment of my life.

And that night, we got piss drunk.

Right after the evening dress practice, me, Jamie, Gowan, Mike, and another lad in our year - Brendon Shaw - snuck out of the building and made a bee line for the nearest pub. I’m sure the patrons of the Strathcona Arms, upon seeing us enter, figured we were a bunch of smarmy Piping School pricks who thought themselves superior to the rest of society. In all honesty, they were pretty much dead on.

We hadn’t changed after practice, so we were still clad in our full pipe band regalia, which was a rather complex affair. It began with the black gillie brogues (special shoes), then the thick white hose socks, flashes, the kilt bearing the Macdonald of Glenallendale tartan, the long horsehair sporran, belt, crisp white uniform shirt, black tie, silver-buttoned Bonnie Prince Charlie jacket, and the glengarry hat. Yes, we definitely looked like a bunch of right cocky wankers, especially when we tossed our jackets over some chairs and loudly ordered a round of beers.

My god, we drank, drank, drank. An hour and a bit into our little celebration, a couple of girls - our age - entered the pub. Their eyes immediately fell upon our group of five (we were extremely hard to miss, as we were sloshing beer around and laughing our arses off), so they approached us and struck up a conversation with Jamie and Brendon.

Two beers and several hours later, the girls were sitting on their laps and macking heavily with them.

It was then that the second odd turn in my life came about.

Gowan, my best mate in the whole world, was seated beside me and draining a shanty. As I mentioned earlier, he was without a doubt the biggest drinker I’d ever met; he could down a ton of alcohol and still be begging for more. But he and I got along brilliantly: probably because we were so opposite.

Gowan was absolutely insane and horrible at school work, all at the same time, and was a sarcastic, critical cynic who was blatant about everything. I, on the other, was usually optimistic, although I could get rather serious at times. I generally enjoyed life and looked upon everything as a new, exciting challenge to conquer. I was enthusiastic, that’s for sure, so I did well in my work. But don’t get me wrong, we weren’t just opposite personality-wise. We also looked unlike. Gowan was tall and slender, with naturally tanned-looking skin, unruly dark brown hair, azure eyes, and a crooked front tooth. As for myself, I was of medium height and skinny, with pale skin, short messy rust-red hair, sea-blue eyes, and a very straight nose. I also had a birthmark just below my collarbone, but I suppose that doesn’t count.

Anyway, all this to say that, despite our differences, Gowan and I were - and figured we’d always be - best mates forever.

But something sort of changed that.

I was sitting there, dimly watching the girls practically having sex with two of me mates, when Gowan spoke up.

“Eh... d’ya thiiink thosegiiiirlies is p... pritty?” He drawled, toying with his shanty glass.

I stared at the girls for a moment, then lightly shrugged my shoulders. “Tha’r arrah, I reck’n. D’nno if tha’r m’type tho’...” I eventually replied.

“Wha’dya meeean by tha’, Maaaaxweeell...” He prodded, elbowing me slightly in the ribs. He then giggled loudly at the fact that he’d just said my full name.

“D’nno, I reck’n,” was my slurred answer. Looking back, I suppose I should have said something more, but I didn’t. At my age, it’s without a doubt normal to be obsessed with the opposite sex... and considering that the only girls at the Piping School were a small handful of “butch bitches” (as Gowan put it), we were positively starved for ladies. And yet... I was so busy with working and whatnot, it was like I was immune to those hormones. Or something. I really had no idea what was wrong with me. Especially when many of peers would wake up stiff as a pole and have to douse themselves in cold water, while I was just normal as anything. It made me uncomfortable. I just didn’t get it, really.

But Gowan didn’t seem to accept my response, I soon found. Incidentally, my left hand was loosely clutching a beer bottle, while my right hand rested on my knee, under the table. Suddenly, something warm covered my hand and grasped it lightly.

My eyes widened and I turned to Gowan, faint shock registering on my face. He smiled slightly, cheeks flushed with alcohol and... and something else. Leaning his face close to mine, he said in a hushed tone-

“Then wha’iiiis yer type, Max...?”

“Fuckin ‘ell... I... I d’nno...” I answered softly, feeling startled. ‘The fuck is he playing at?’ I wondered.

At that exact moment, the sound of cursing and shouting met my ears. Gowan and I simaltaneously turned and stared at what was going on, and his hand slipped off mine. The skin still tingled from the sensation, and it made my stomach feel oddly unbalanced. Or perhaps that was the drinks. Ah, bugger it.

I couldn’t really think much about myself at the moment, as my mates were currently engaged in an argument with some scruffy looking lads from the nearby public highschool.

“Yer all goddamn nancy-boys!” One of them exclaimed, eliciting a laugh from his three cronies. “Wif yer lil’ skirts... I’ll bet ye all fuck each other silly every damn night, eh?”

Another one of them made a grinding motion towards our group, laughing cruelly, then sang- “Bamp chicka wow wow!”

More laughter.

And Gowan, suddenly sobred up, wasn’t having any more of it.

“Oi! Piss off, ya wankers!” He said loudly, getting to his feet.

All eyes turned towards my best mate, whom they hadn’t noticed before.

“Oh look, ‘nother poof!” The first guy shouted. “What’re ye gonna do tae me, try tae rape me or summat?” He mocked.

Okay, now this was getting personal. Nobody - not NOBODY - picked on me BEST MATE. The next thing I knew, I was standing up - so abruptly that my chair fell backwards. I quickly crossed the space between me and that arsehole and it was like time moved in fastforward. My arm was suddenly pulled back and next thing I knew my fist had connected with the lad’s nose and he was falling... falling... falling down to the ground.

More shouts and yells, and suddenly the pub-owner and several burly looking patrons were rounding on us, telling us to get the hell out.

Somehow, we stumbled out of that pub and reeled our way down the streets until the Piping School came into view, but everything was so blurry and it was like there were two of everything - two Gowans, two doors, two staircases, and finally two beds and then just me, collapsing onto one of them and almost instantly passing out.

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To be continued. =P

And PLEEEEEEEAAAAASSSSEEEEE review! I live off reviews! They’re the fuel that keeps me writing!/center