Disclaimers...don't own any of the characters from Highlander, they would make a really great gift though.... I put in a few new characters. This is not related to my other stories, kind of a thought from the past.
Bronze Age
Methos struggled to control his emotions. The struggle was invisible to the world, his face a blank mask. He was disgusted with himself for being weak, for caring about the weak mortals he'd seen in the village. He was one of the Horsemen. He was Death! What did he care about the fools that made it easy for he and his brothers to take what they wanted?
Sensing his internal battle, Methos' horse shifted beneath him, forcing him to concentrate on the present. He felt rather than saw Kronos on a horse to his left, Silas to his own right. Caspian was on Kronos' left. This was always their unspoken position. An unconscious display of alliances. Once in the village, the alliances would merge and they would move to attack as Kronos wished.
As they waited for the village gates to be locked open for the day, the sun rose behind them. Kronos would head towards the heart of the village to destroy and distract the village elders, Caspian would attack the market throwing it into complete chaos, Silas would follow Kronos and branch off to the soldiers barracks and Methos would be free floating to undermine any attempts at an organized defense.
Flashback to the week before:
Methos had ridden from the Horseman's camp in the early hours before dawn. He waited, unmoving on his horse for the village gates to open for the day. Before leaving camp that morning, he had removed what few pieces of armor he wore, and hid his iron sword and daggers carefully in the folds of his clothing. Wearing the light desert wear with his cloak, hood down he rode into the village.
It was spring so strangers were not uncommon, but he was not invisible by any means. His whole demeanor screamed that he was a warrior and not to be bothered without consequence. Leaving his horse in the care of a stable boy with a look that implied dire torture if the horse was not cared for, Methos walked the village.
Delivering some leatherworking tools her father had sharpened, Rebecca could only stare in awe when she saw him. He was not like the hired thugs that guarded the gates at night. Even across the market she could see that he was so much more. He was tall and wiry, but still broad of shoulder. With a female's eye she saw that he moved with grace and power, like the great cats that the merchants sometimes brought in their caravans. His hair was dark and full, falling like a mane to his shoulders. His face was angular and chiseled, his nose strong and distinct, adding to the character of his face rather than distracting from it. His eyes were fierce, his intellect evident as she moved closer to him, a moth to his flame.
He casually prowled the market place; she couldn't call it a walk. Again he reminded her of the large cats the merchants caged and displayed. His eyes took in everything around him, almost predatory in its nature. He tensed, eyes darting around the market as if he felt her looking at him. Seeing her, his body relaxed. He looked her over, head to toe. He smiled, just for an instant and she instinctively knew that he had liked what he saw. Then without a word or backward glance, he moved on.
Putting the blonde, pre-Immortal girl from his thoughts, Methos walked the market and looked for signs of weaponry or defendable positions. This village was like so many others, designed with the merchants and common people in mind. There was very little thought given to defend what they were working so hard to attain. They had bothered to create a village wall, but had put several smaller gates in its perimeter. The main gate only had a few guards casually hanging around it. The guards had looked away and not challenged his entrance that morning. Showing only fear at his cold stare. They were only local thugs hired to bully the weak and timid. The smaller gates weren't even watched, merely bolted by a stout timber that could easily be moved by a single man. This would not be a difficult raid at all.
His mind, already bored with the ease that this village could be taken, shifted unconsciously to the more difficult and challenging task of how he could defend it. He would put bigger timbers on the secondary gates so that a single man couldn't lift and move them; movable blockades that could quickly and easily be rolled in front of the gates and the wheels knocked out. He'd have archers stationed above the main gates, a few stationed around the walls so that they had a clear view of the secondary gates. Guards posted at the main gates with an eye towards defense and suspicion and not boredom. Even something as simple as a market administrator to keep track of the merchants and visitors (like himself) that so easily came into the village. He'd noticed that several villagers had built lean-tos and stalls against the village wall. Making it easy to hide, or start fires. He would have forbidden that.
Rebecca kept an eye on the warrior as he moved about the village that day. His actions were secretive and suspicious. Midday she watched him buy a bowl of stew and then wander to the side where he could watch the comings and goings at the gate. Several hours before sunset, he collected his horse and left. Riding off without a backward glance.
He appeared in her dreams that night and the nights after. Sometimes he was a hooded stranger that she followed, when she caught up to him she couldn't remember what she had wanted to say. Sometimes he was in a cage like the wild cats, angrily pacing his confinement, glowing, untamed eyes searching for a way out.
Day of the Attack
Steeling his emotions and his face into a mask of coldness, Methos looked at Kronos.
Kronos had been staring at him intently as if sensing his brother's internal conflict. Meeting Methos' eyes, Kronos asked. "Are we ready brothers?" He spoke to all of his brothers, but his eyes asked it of Methos.
Methos put all the ice he could into his voice. "We ride."
Pulling down their masks of horror, they all shouted together, "We ride!" In a singular motion, they urged their horses into a run and stormed the village.
Once in the village, Kronos spurred his horse towards the village center. Slashing and striking at everyone he passed, Kronos initiated the pandemonium that began the attack. Silas followed until they reached the guard barracks where he began his berserker rage through the ranks of the few guards that the village had.
Caspian remained in the market cutting a path of death and destruction. Methos steered off to the street that ran parallel to the village wall, intent on watching the secondary gates.
The attack was unexpected and put the village into chaos. Rebecca had been drawing water from the well near her father's Blacksmith shop when she heard the screams. She ran into the street but froze at what she saw. A Horseman mounted on an excited horse, watched the chaos from the center of the street. He easily controlled his wild-eyed horse with only his legs. In his right hand he held an iron sword at ready, a king's ransom according to her father. His left hand easily, lightly on the horses reins. He was dressed in the light colored clothes that one might wear in the desert, a light cloak with the hood up. There was something familiar about this figure. When he turned the horse and faced in her direction, she was frozen in fear. His face was a mask in the likeness of a skull.
All around her, people ran in panic. The Horseman didn't threaten or shout at them, merely watched. When a child ran past him and fell down, he reared his horse up.
Rebecca watched still frozen, as he spun his horse around and rode to the nearby secondary gate. In the panic, no one had even thought to open it and flee to safety. In an instant he was off his still moving horse, and had pushed off the bracing timber. Slamming the gate with his shoulder, he forced it open. With a leap, he was back on the horse and moving away. He stopped far enough from the gate so that no one should have been afraid to use it.
Rebecca gasped as he removed the mask to reveal his face. Even with the right side of his face marked with blue, she recognized the man from the market. He slid the hideous mask under a leather jerkin he wore and pushed the hood off of his head. In effect, becoming a man instead of a demon.
Having made a decision to act, Methos began to direct the panicking villagers out of the gate. When they couldn't control their fear enough to save themselves, he used the horse to herd them towards the open gate and to safety.
Realizing what he was trying to do, Rebecca moved to help. She grabbed several of her neighbors and pushed them towards the gate. She stayed inside the walls herself, grabbing more people as they ran by in panic and shoving them at the gate. She caught the Horseman's eyes once and he silently acknowledged her with a nod.
Methos moved his horse down the street and herded more people towards the woman. Hearing screaming nearby, he moved his horse over to one of the huts. Leaning over on his horse, he grabbed up a child that was screaming in terror in the doorway.
Rebecca turned around in surprise when the horse appeared behind her. The Horseman handed a child into her surprised arms and spoke to her in a voice that was gruff but kind, "Lead them to the cliffs and hide. Don't come back for several days."
With that he spun his horse and moved down the street, looking for more frightened villagers and any sign of his 'Brothers'. He glanced back, in the few moments that his attention was distracted, Rebecca saw her father slip from the side of a building and pull him off his horse. Rebecca screamed and ran to stop her father.
Timon had been at the market when the Four Horsemen rode through the gate. Seeing one of the Horsemen turn down the street towards his house, he ran to follow. Grabbing weapons from his Blacksmith shop, he looked for the Horseman. When he saw the Horsemen coming towards him, he quickly hid against the building. He was strong of body, and right now he was strong in determination. He'd seen Rebecca at the gate, holding one of the village children. He would see that Rebecca would get to safety, even if it were the last thing he ever did! Seeing that the Horseman was distracted by something behind him, Timon jumped from the cover of the building. He pulled the Horseman down and slammed him in the head with one of the wooden clubs he used to seat wagon wheels.
His club had stunned the Horseman and as he struck a second and third time, he heard Rebecca shouting. He looked up to see if she was in danger. She reached his side and grabbed the arm with the club in it. It took him several seconds to hear what she was shouting.
"No father! He was helping!"
"No Rebecca, he's one of them." He shouted shaking off her small hands.
"He is one of them, but he was helping! Hear me father!" Rebecca shouted grabbing at his arm again. She continued when he paused. "He opened the gate and was helping me get people out. He was handing me the child. He is one of them, but he's not."
Not knowing what to believe, Timon knew his daughter sometimes spoke with words and wisdom beyond her years. The Oracle had even spoken to him about taking her in as a student. Timon nodded. "We will take him with us."
Rebecca nodded. "To the cliffs, I told the others to hide at the cliffs."
At the Cliffs
Methos returned to consciousness with a terrible headache. He could feel the pre-Immortal woman, already he recognized her muffled 'buzz'. Slowly he shifted his limbs to find that he had been tied. His arms were tied above his head and his feet were tied together. He could move his hands but not very far. He could feel the cold, hard surface of the floor below him. He heard a rustle of clothes beside him and opened his eyes fully. He was in a dimly lit cave.
He saw the pre-Immortal woman kneel down beside him. "You're awake. You've been asleep for nearly two hours. My father must have hit you pretty hard."
Methos pulled on the ropes that held him. "Let me go." His voice was a command, cold and menacing.
The woman looked towards the cave entrance and shouted, "Father! He's awake now."
A big man entered the cave, his bulk blocking all light from the outside at his entrance. He walked up to Methos and looked down, his face blank.
"My daughter said that you were helping or you'd be dead now."
Methos was silent.
Timon lifted one of his arms to display the skull mask he had found in Methos' jerkin. "You are one of the Horsemen, one of those monsters. Which one are you?"
Rebecca looked at the prisoner, the question in her eyes.
"Death." Methos watched as the large man struggled to control his anger, then said. "And if you want to live, you'll release me. My brothers will be looking for me. If I return they'll just take what they want and leave. If they have to come looking for me, they'll kill you all." He moved his arms to indicate that he should be cut free.
Timon shook his head. "I won't free a monster." Turning, he left the cave. Outside he tried to think of what to do. Being a blacksmith he knew, this he didn't. He would ask the Oracle.
Rebecca stared at the prisoner. She struggled with her feelings, finally picking up a pitcher of water and pouring a glass. Slowly and carefully she offered it to him, watching his eyes for danger. Slowly she tipped the cup to his lips to allow him to drink from his prone position.
Unbidden, an image came into her mind. In her dreams she had seen him trapped in a cage like a wild cat. Pacing the cage and wanting out, angry at his imprisonment, his eyes haunted. "You don't want to go back." She said without thinking.
He looked at her, his eyes full of surprise. In an instant he looked away, getting control. "There is no choice. Kronos never gives up what belongs to him." To himself he thought, (and Kronos 'owns' me).
"What is your name?" She asked quietly.
"Death." He answered, still not looking at her.
"That is your mask, but who are you under the mask?"
She was afraid that he wasn't going to answer when she heard the whispered words. "Methos. I used to be Methos."
Timon was collecting a few things before setting off to see the Oracle. She lived in a temple a day's walk from the village. He gasped in surprise when he saw her, and was speechless at her next words. "I have been called here. Something important to the world is happening."
"We have captured Death." Was all Timon could stutter.
They both looked abruptly at the cave entrance when a shadow blocked the light. A slight, elderly woman stepped in and stopped, staring long and hard at the prisoner. Timon stood behind her. Rebecca stood quickly. The elderly woman indicated that Rebecca should remain.
The elderly woman sat beside Methos. She closed her eyes and folded her hands in her lap. Methos watched her carefully, struggling to control his nervousness. Magic and mystics always scared him. All his skills as a warrior were useless against magic!
When she opened her eyes and reached for his face, Methos struggled and snarled, "No!"
As soon as her hand touched his forehead, he felt a shock of pain and then nothing.
Rebecca saw the fear in the Horseman's eyes, and then he screamed, his body arching as the Oracle touched him. His eyes closed and his body became lax. The Oracle closed her eyes again and leaned forward. Timon stood close to hear what she would say.
"He is Death. But he is Life. He is trapped in pain and anguish. He carries the pain of all that have fallen beneath his sword, and by the swords of his brothers. He is the conscience of the Horsemen and the Key to their destruction. If he does not return, his brothers will grow stronger in revenge for his Death. They will become unstoppable. If he returns, they will be stopped. The time is very near. He is already firmly on that path." The Oracle's voice changed, becoming softer and less ominous. "He is the Scribe of the ages. He was there in the beginning and he will be there at the end. He is one of the Chosen. He knows what will defeat the darkness; he will be the guardian of the Champion. He alone can command the light."
Breaking from her trance, the Oracle sat back. She put her hands to her forehead and took a few deep breaths. Standing she looked up at Timon. "You must let him go. He is one of the Chosen. His path has already been set. We cannot interfere."
Timon nodded. He followed her from the cave.
When Methos awoke he found his arms and legs had been released from the bonds. He quickly staggered up and forced down his nausea. His head throbbed. What had that witch done to him? Rebecca stood quietly and watched him recover. "You are free to go. Please don't tell the Horsemen where we are hiding." Gesturing him out, she followed.
Methos stepped out into the bright sunshine and blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the drastic change. Timon approached him and handed him his iron sword. "I don't know where your horse is." Watching carefully to see what the Horseman would do, Timon mentally prepared for his death. Surely that would be the punishment for trying to hold Death prisoner.
Methos felt the comforting weight of his sword in his hand. A voice inside of him screamed to take the head of this man in front of him. To kill them all for daring to hold him prisoner. The other voice, the louder voice, told him to let them live. He listened to the louder voice.
"Stay here for another day. When you return to the village, make some changes to the wall." He quickly listed off the things he had noted to Timon who listened carefully. When he'd finished with his instructions, Methos looked around and got his bearings before he began the walk to the village.
He was standing in the road outside of the now empty village when his brothers appeared. He stood quietly as they thundered up to him and slid their horses to a stop, nearly on top of him. He stood firm, without flinching. He looked up at Kronos, his face unreadable.
"Brother, we were just coming to find you. We were beginning to think you had left us." Kronos said putting suspicion into the words.
"I fell into a well and knocked myself out. It took me this long to crawl out. Where is my horse?" Unconsciously, Methos put his hand to his head as he remembered being hit by the blacksmith. That had hurt! He was going to remember that man in his journals!
Kronos stared at Methos intently, considering the story. Methos' horse had returned to camp without any blood on it, and Methos did look dusty and disheveled. Deciding to accept the story, Kronos laughed and extended his arm. Methos took it and pulled himself up behind Kronos. "You fell down a well, and here I was worried." His brothers laughed at his expense as they galloped off into the hills, back towards the Horseman's camp, back to his life as Death.
Rebecca peered out from behind the building she had hidden behind. She had followed him from the cliff. Methos (not Death, Rebecca told herself) must have lied to his brothers. She had read in his body language that he didn't want to go back to his brothers. He had gone back knowing what he was going back to, but also knowing what would happen if he didn't.
The Oracle had said that he was on the path to destroy the Horsemen. He must believe that he could only do that from within. A tear rolled unnoticed down her face as she thought of the horrors he would endure. She had seen into his eyes. She had seen the anguish of the deaths there.
She thought that was perhaps the bravest thing she had ever seen.
The End
The Path
Fanfic by wajag 9/25/2002 6 of 7
Bronze Age
Methos struggled to control his emotions. The struggle was invisible to the world, his face a blank mask. He was disgusted with himself for being weak, for caring about the weak mortals he'd seen in the village. He was one of the Horsemen. He was Death! What did he care about the fools that made it easy for he and his brothers to take what they wanted?
Sensing his internal battle, Methos' horse shifted beneath him, forcing him to concentrate on the present. He felt rather than saw Kronos on a horse to his left, Silas to his own right. Caspian was on Kronos' left. This was always their unspoken position. An unconscious display of alliances. Once in the village, the alliances would merge and they would move to attack as Kronos wished.
As they waited for the village gates to be locked open for the day, the sun rose behind them. Kronos would head towards the heart of the village to destroy and distract the village elders, Caspian would attack the market throwing it into complete chaos, Silas would follow Kronos and branch off to the soldiers barracks and Methos would be free floating to undermine any attempts at an organized defense.
Flashback to the week before:
Methos had ridden from the Horseman's camp in the early hours before dawn. He waited, unmoving on his horse for the village gates to open for the day. Before leaving camp that morning, he had removed what few pieces of armor he wore, and hid his iron sword and daggers carefully in the folds of his clothing. Wearing the light desert wear with his cloak, hood down he rode into the village.
It was spring so strangers were not uncommon, but he was not invisible by any means. His whole demeanor screamed that he was a warrior and not to be bothered without consequence. Leaving his horse in the care of a stable boy with a look that implied dire torture if the horse was not cared for, Methos walked the village.
Delivering some leatherworking tools her father had sharpened, Rebecca could only stare in awe when she saw him. He was not like the hired thugs that guarded the gates at night. Even across the market she could see that he was so much more. He was tall and wiry, but still broad of shoulder. With a female's eye she saw that he moved with grace and power, like the great cats that the merchants sometimes brought in their caravans. His hair was dark and full, falling like a mane to his shoulders. His face was angular and chiseled, his nose strong and distinct, adding to the character of his face rather than distracting from it. His eyes were fierce, his intellect evident as she moved closer to him, a moth to his flame.
He casually prowled the market place; she couldn't call it a walk. Again he reminded her of the large cats the merchants caged and displayed. His eyes took in everything around him, almost predatory in its nature. He tensed, eyes darting around the market as if he felt her looking at him. Seeing her, his body relaxed. He looked her over, head to toe. He smiled, just for an instant and she instinctively knew that he had liked what he saw. Then without a word or backward glance, he moved on.
Putting the blonde, pre-Immortal girl from his thoughts, Methos walked the market and looked for signs of weaponry or defendable positions. This village was like so many others, designed with the merchants and common people in mind. There was very little thought given to defend what they were working so hard to attain. They had bothered to create a village wall, but had put several smaller gates in its perimeter. The main gate only had a few guards casually hanging around it. The guards had looked away and not challenged his entrance that morning. Showing only fear at his cold stare. They were only local thugs hired to bully the weak and timid. The smaller gates weren't even watched, merely bolted by a stout timber that could easily be moved by a single man. This would not be a difficult raid at all.
His mind, already bored with the ease that this village could be taken, shifted unconsciously to the more difficult and challenging task of how he could defend it. He would put bigger timbers on the secondary gates so that a single man couldn't lift and move them; movable blockades that could quickly and easily be rolled in front of the gates and the wheels knocked out. He'd have archers stationed above the main gates, a few stationed around the walls so that they had a clear view of the secondary gates. Guards posted at the main gates with an eye towards defense and suspicion and not boredom. Even something as simple as a market administrator to keep track of the merchants and visitors (like himself) that so easily came into the village. He'd noticed that several villagers had built lean-tos and stalls against the village wall. Making it easy to hide, or start fires. He would have forbidden that.
Rebecca kept an eye on the warrior as he moved about the village that day. His actions were secretive and suspicious. Midday she watched him buy a bowl of stew and then wander to the side where he could watch the comings and goings at the gate. Several hours before sunset, he collected his horse and left. Riding off without a backward glance.
He appeared in her dreams that night and the nights after. Sometimes he was a hooded stranger that she followed, when she caught up to him she couldn't remember what she had wanted to say. Sometimes he was in a cage like the wild cats, angrily pacing his confinement, glowing, untamed eyes searching for a way out.
Day of the Attack
Steeling his emotions and his face into a mask of coldness, Methos looked at Kronos.
Kronos had been staring at him intently as if sensing his brother's internal conflict. Meeting Methos' eyes, Kronos asked. "Are we ready brothers?" He spoke to all of his brothers, but his eyes asked it of Methos.
Methos put all the ice he could into his voice. "We ride."
Pulling down their masks of horror, they all shouted together, "We ride!" In a singular motion, they urged their horses into a run and stormed the village.
Once in the village, Kronos spurred his horse towards the village center. Slashing and striking at everyone he passed, Kronos initiated the pandemonium that began the attack. Silas followed until they reached the guard barracks where he began his berserker rage through the ranks of the few guards that the village had.
Caspian remained in the market cutting a path of death and destruction. Methos steered off to the street that ran parallel to the village wall, intent on watching the secondary gates.
The attack was unexpected and put the village into chaos. Rebecca had been drawing water from the well near her father's Blacksmith shop when she heard the screams. She ran into the street but froze at what she saw. A Horseman mounted on an excited horse, watched the chaos from the center of the street. He easily controlled his wild-eyed horse with only his legs. In his right hand he held an iron sword at ready, a king's ransom according to her father. His left hand easily, lightly on the horses reins. He was dressed in the light colored clothes that one might wear in the desert, a light cloak with the hood up. There was something familiar about this figure. When he turned the horse and faced in her direction, she was frozen in fear. His face was a mask in the likeness of a skull.
All around her, people ran in panic. The Horseman didn't threaten or shout at them, merely watched. When a child ran past him and fell down, he reared his horse up.
Rebecca watched still frozen, as he spun his horse around and rode to the nearby secondary gate. In the panic, no one had even thought to open it and flee to safety. In an instant he was off his still moving horse, and had pushed off the bracing timber. Slamming the gate with his shoulder, he forced it open. With a leap, he was back on the horse and moving away. He stopped far enough from the gate so that no one should have been afraid to use it.
Rebecca gasped as he removed the mask to reveal his face. Even with the right side of his face marked with blue, she recognized the man from the market. He slid the hideous mask under a leather jerkin he wore and pushed the hood off of his head. In effect, becoming a man instead of a demon.
Having made a decision to act, Methos began to direct the panicking villagers out of the gate. When they couldn't control their fear enough to save themselves, he used the horse to herd them towards the open gate and to safety.
Realizing what he was trying to do, Rebecca moved to help. She grabbed several of her neighbors and pushed them towards the gate. She stayed inside the walls herself, grabbing more people as they ran by in panic and shoving them at the gate. She caught the Horseman's eyes once and he silently acknowledged her with a nod.
Methos moved his horse down the street and herded more people towards the woman. Hearing screaming nearby, he moved his horse over to one of the huts. Leaning over on his horse, he grabbed up a child that was screaming in terror in the doorway.
Rebecca turned around in surprise when the horse appeared behind her. The Horseman handed a child into her surprised arms and spoke to her in a voice that was gruff but kind, "Lead them to the cliffs and hide. Don't come back for several days."
With that he spun his horse and moved down the street, looking for more frightened villagers and any sign of his 'Brothers'. He glanced back, in the few moments that his attention was distracted, Rebecca saw her father slip from the side of a building and pull him off his horse. Rebecca screamed and ran to stop her father.
Timon had been at the market when the Four Horsemen rode through the gate. Seeing one of the Horsemen turn down the street towards his house, he ran to follow. Grabbing weapons from his Blacksmith shop, he looked for the Horseman. When he saw the Horsemen coming towards him, he quickly hid against the building. He was strong of body, and right now he was strong in determination. He'd seen Rebecca at the gate, holding one of the village children. He would see that Rebecca would get to safety, even if it were the last thing he ever did! Seeing that the Horseman was distracted by something behind him, Timon jumped from the cover of the building. He pulled the Horseman down and slammed him in the head with one of the wooden clubs he used to seat wagon wheels.
His club had stunned the Horseman and as he struck a second and third time, he heard Rebecca shouting. He looked up to see if she was in danger. She reached his side and grabbed the arm with the club in it. It took him several seconds to hear what she was shouting.
"No father! He was helping!"
"No Rebecca, he's one of them." He shouted shaking off her small hands.
"He is one of them, but he was helping! Hear me father!" Rebecca shouted grabbing at his arm again. She continued when he paused. "He opened the gate and was helping me get people out. He was handing me the child. He is one of them, but he's not."
Not knowing what to believe, Timon knew his daughter sometimes spoke with words and wisdom beyond her years. The Oracle had even spoken to him about taking her in as a student. Timon nodded. "We will take him with us."
Rebecca nodded. "To the cliffs, I told the others to hide at the cliffs."
At the Cliffs
Methos returned to consciousness with a terrible headache. He could feel the pre-Immortal woman, already he recognized her muffled 'buzz'. Slowly he shifted his limbs to find that he had been tied. His arms were tied above his head and his feet were tied together. He could move his hands but not very far. He could feel the cold, hard surface of the floor below him. He heard a rustle of clothes beside him and opened his eyes fully. He was in a dimly lit cave.
He saw the pre-Immortal woman kneel down beside him. "You're awake. You've been asleep for nearly two hours. My father must have hit you pretty hard."
Methos pulled on the ropes that held him. "Let me go." His voice was a command, cold and menacing.
The woman looked towards the cave entrance and shouted, "Father! He's awake now."
A big man entered the cave, his bulk blocking all light from the outside at his entrance. He walked up to Methos and looked down, his face blank.
"My daughter said that you were helping or you'd be dead now."
Methos was silent.
Timon lifted one of his arms to display the skull mask he had found in Methos' jerkin. "You are one of the Horsemen, one of those monsters. Which one are you?"
Rebecca looked at the prisoner, the question in her eyes.
"Death." Methos watched as the large man struggled to control his anger, then said. "And if you want to live, you'll release me. My brothers will be looking for me. If I return they'll just take what they want and leave. If they have to come looking for me, they'll kill you all." He moved his arms to indicate that he should be cut free.
Timon shook his head. "I won't free a monster." Turning, he left the cave. Outside he tried to think of what to do. Being a blacksmith he knew, this he didn't. He would ask the Oracle.
Rebecca stared at the prisoner. She struggled with her feelings, finally picking up a pitcher of water and pouring a glass. Slowly and carefully she offered it to him, watching his eyes for danger. Slowly she tipped the cup to his lips to allow him to drink from his prone position.
Unbidden, an image came into her mind. In her dreams she had seen him trapped in a cage like a wild cat. Pacing the cage and wanting out, angry at his imprisonment, his eyes haunted. "You don't want to go back." She said without thinking.
He looked at her, his eyes full of surprise. In an instant he looked away, getting control. "There is no choice. Kronos never gives up what belongs to him." To himself he thought, (and Kronos 'owns' me).
"What is your name?" She asked quietly.
"Death." He answered, still not looking at her.
"That is your mask, but who are you under the mask?"
She was afraid that he wasn't going to answer when she heard the whispered words. "Methos. I used to be Methos."
Timon was collecting a few things before setting off to see the Oracle. She lived in a temple a day's walk from the village. He gasped in surprise when he saw her, and was speechless at her next words. "I have been called here. Something important to the world is happening."
"We have captured Death." Was all Timon could stutter.
They both looked abruptly at the cave entrance when a shadow blocked the light. A slight, elderly woman stepped in and stopped, staring long and hard at the prisoner. Timon stood behind her. Rebecca stood quickly. The elderly woman indicated that Rebecca should remain.
The elderly woman sat beside Methos. She closed her eyes and folded her hands in her lap. Methos watched her carefully, struggling to control his nervousness. Magic and mystics always scared him. All his skills as a warrior were useless against magic!
When she opened her eyes and reached for his face, Methos struggled and snarled, "No!"
As soon as her hand touched his forehead, he felt a shock of pain and then nothing.
Rebecca saw the fear in the Horseman's eyes, and then he screamed, his body arching as the Oracle touched him. His eyes closed and his body became lax. The Oracle closed her eyes again and leaned forward. Timon stood close to hear what she would say.
"He is Death. But he is Life. He is trapped in pain and anguish. He carries the pain of all that have fallen beneath his sword, and by the swords of his brothers. He is the conscience of the Horsemen and the Key to their destruction. If he does not return, his brothers will grow stronger in revenge for his Death. They will become unstoppable. If he returns, they will be stopped. The time is very near. He is already firmly on that path." The Oracle's voice changed, becoming softer and less ominous. "He is the Scribe of the ages. He was there in the beginning and he will be there at the end. He is one of the Chosen. He knows what will defeat the darkness; he will be the guardian of the Champion. He alone can command the light."
Breaking from her trance, the Oracle sat back. She put her hands to her forehead and took a few deep breaths. Standing she looked up at Timon. "You must let him go. He is one of the Chosen. His path has already been set. We cannot interfere."
Timon nodded. He followed her from the cave.
When Methos awoke he found his arms and legs had been released from the bonds. He quickly staggered up and forced down his nausea. His head throbbed. What had that witch done to him? Rebecca stood quietly and watched him recover. "You are free to go. Please don't tell the Horsemen where we are hiding." Gesturing him out, she followed.
Methos stepped out into the bright sunshine and blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the drastic change. Timon approached him and handed him his iron sword. "I don't know where your horse is." Watching carefully to see what the Horseman would do, Timon mentally prepared for his death. Surely that would be the punishment for trying to hold Death prisoner.
Methos felt the comforting weight of his sword in his hand. A voice inside of him screamed to take the head of this man in front of him. To kill them all for daring to hold him prisoner. The other voice, the louder voice, told him to let them live. He listened to the louder voice.
"Stay here for another day. When you return to the village, make some changes to the wall." He quickly listed off the things he had noted to Timon who listened carefully. When he'd finished with his instructions, Methos looked around and got his bearings before he began the walk to the village.
He was standing in the road outside of the now empty village when his brothers appeared. He stood quietly as they thundered up to him and slid their horses to a stop, nearly on top of him. He stood firm, without flinching. He looked up at Kronos, his face unreadable.
"Brother, we were just coming to find you. We were beginning to think you had left us." Kronos said putting suspicion into the words.
"I fell into a well and knocked myself out. It took me this long to crawl out. Where is my horse?" Unconsciously, Methos put his hand to his head as he remembered being hit by the blacksmith. That had hurt! He was going to remember that man in his journals!
Kronos stared at Methos intently, considering the story. Methos' horse had returned to camp without any blood on it, and Methos did look dusty and disheveled. Deciding to accept the story, Kronos laughed and extended his arm. Methos took it and pulled himself up behind Kronos. "You fell down a well, and here I was worried." His brothers laughed at his expense as they galloped off into the hills, back towards the Horseman's camp, back to his life as Death.
Rebecca peered out from behind the building she had hidden behind. She had followed him from the cliff. Methos (not Death, Rebecca told herself) must have lied to his brothers. She had read in his body language that he didn't want to go back to his brothers. He had gone back knowing what he was going back to, but also knowing what would happen if he didn't.
The Oracle had said that he was on the path to destroy the Horsemen. He must believe that he could only do that from within. A tear rolled unnoticed down her face as she thought of the horrors he would endure. She had seen into his eyes. She had seen the anguish of the deaths there.
She thought that was perhaps the bravest thing she had ever seen.
The End
The Path
Fanfic by wajag 9/25/2002 6 of 7