Inheritance

Disclaimer: I own nothing except any OCs and unfamiliar plot elements, you'll know them when you see them, so please don't sue!

Summary: To have survived as long as he has Methos has to be better with a sword than he has shown. Just what secrets is he hiding? And just how is he linked to Macleod's line of teachers and students?

--Seacouver, Macleod's Dojo, 21st September 1996--

It was the day after the 'other Methos' had been killed, after their early hours of the morning discussion about the Game and Richie and Macleod were at the dojo having a pre opening sparring session to work out tension. It was the first time since Richie had returned that he had agreed to spar with his former teacher. Things were still rocky between the two, and Macleod still had to win back Richie's trust, but slowly things were improving. The relationship would never be the same again, Richie would never entirely trust Macleod as a teacher again, but perhaps as friends they had a chance.

However as Methos noticed this did not seem to be stopping the kid from sparring with Macleod now, and from letting Macleod instruct him. Apparently he still had enough sense to realise that he needed to learn as much about fighting as possible, in order to have any chance at all of survival. Perhaps the kid was smarter than he had thought.

Walking into the dojo Methos noted his friends pausing as they registered his presence, but then continue fighting when they recognised him as not being a threat… Well, not being after their heads at any rate, it was clear that Richie was still a little off balance about discovering 'Adam Pierson' was actually Methos, the 'oldest immortal'. The kid clearly didn't quite know what to make of the discovery that the guy he'd thought of as only maybe a little less than a decade older than him, was actually over ten times the age of his teacher, who from the kid's perspective, was scarily old himself. All things considered, aside from looking for universal wisdom in the wrong place the kid was actually taking things pretty well.

Watching the two spar Methos observed their techniques, it never hurt to be informed about possible opponents, and Methos was never anything less than paranoid. Though, considering the fact that, Day'ell, Rena and Mara would kill him if he touched the two of them, even if they attacked him, he was more likely to run than take their heads, not that he was about to tell them any of that.

Obviously Macleod was the better of the two, he had far more experience, he was stronger and he had the belief that he could win. But credit where credit was due, the brat wasn't half bad with a blade. He didn't try to use strength against Macleod, what would be the point? He knew that Macleod was bigger and stronger, so instead he relied on speed and cunning to stay ahead, a very wise move. He also knew enough of Macleod moves and tactics to hold his own, at least partly with his teacher, and he wasn't afraid of using underhand tactics or trickery to win. Not unlike his parents, Methos was pleased to note, Rena and Day'ell would be proud of his shrewdness.

All mockery aside, if the kid toughened up, and wised up some he might just survive the Game, and considering his sarcastic attitude and defence mechanisms he was growing on Methos, if only slightly. The kid hadn't been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, like Macleod had, but all things considered, maybe that wasn't a bad thing. He had picked up skills that not many kids of his generation had, by all accounts he was an accomplished thief, and almost as much of a pathological liar as Methos himself, both traits that would stand him in good stead for the future, more so than truthfulness or honour ever would have done. He was still too naive for the ancient's taste, but he'd either fix that problem fast, or he'd die, and the majority of the time he was suitably suspicious, paranoid and sceptical, more so than the Highland Boy Scout anyway.

Finishing their fight, predictably with Macleod's sword at Richie's throat and the kid's sword knocked out of his hand. The Highlander then pulled the brat to his feet, murmuring some inane words of comfort to the kid, who was now nursing a seriously bruised ego, about being knocked on his arse by his former teacher yet again, despite the months of living on his own and head hunting since their last session.

"Bravo!" Called Methos mockingly from where he was leaning against the dojo wall to watch the fight.

Still sore about loosing Richie replied in anger, "You think you that you can do better huh?" He spat angrily, most likely forgetting exactly who he was talking to, or perhaps still realising it, but remembering the scene he had walked in on not so long ago of Macleod's sword at Methos' throat, and assuming that the ancient was therefore nothing special with a sword.

"Ah the naivety of youth!" Thought Methos, in amusement, "I guess even now, he's buying completely into the grad student persona, even though he should know better. Does he honestly think that I've survived this long in the Game without being good with a blade, and smart enough to hide the fact if it suits my interests?" Methos wondered, trying not to laugh, this kid had absolutely no idea who he was dealing with, or he would not be suggesting this.

"Bring it on." Richie suggested gamely, picking up his blade and beckoning Methos onto the mats.

He should refuse, intellectually he knew that, Methos absolutely hated anyone knowing what kind of shape he was in, or what moves he was capable of. He had only once sparred with the Highlander and that had been under extreme circumstances, making a point about the stubborn Scot killing Kirstin while he had the chance. He never allowed even his allies to know what he was really capable of, it was easier to survive if your enemies underestimated you, most of the old ones knew that, and lived by that maxim. He couldn't seriously be considering this!

But he was, the brat needed exposure to more fighting techniques than Macleod's, he needed as many teachers as he could get in as short amount of time as he could to have any hope in hell of surviving. But he wasn't seriously contemplating becoming one of those teachers, was he? Despite his bests efforts he was actually quite fond of the kid, and his ability to infuriate and exasperate Macleod, and he didn't particularly want to watch him die because he was unprepared. Nor did he particularly want to have to pick up the pieces of the kid's teacher if he got himself killed.

These thoughts speeding through his mind, Methos cocked his head to the side and smirked slightly at the brat, nodding his agreement to the idea. That alone should have been enough to warn Richie that he had no idea what he had just let himself in for, but of course it wasn't.

"Sure kid, whatever you say." He smiled ominously, moving to take of his trench coat, hanging it up on a peg at the side, and removing his Ivanhoe from the lining. He then removed his shoes, and walked onto the sparring mat, customary blue jeans and baggy sweater still in place. He turned to Richie, gripping his sword between two hands, and assuming a ready posture, dropping all pretence of 'Adam Pierson' and letting the kid see just what he was letting himself in for.

Richie seemed slightly taken aback by this turn of events, not only at the old man's assent to sparring with him, which Mac had informed him he never did, but also at the type of sword he carried.

'Adam Pierson' did not seem the type to carry a broad sword like an Ivanhoe; he did not seem strong enough to carry such a heavy and unwieldy weapon, though he was certainly tall enough to handle that type of sword. His long limbs making his appearance seem almost gangly, but Richie quickly realised that he was no longer looking at 'Adam Pierson', for the first time since they had been introduced Richie was now looking at Methos. A man he could well believe was the oldest immortal, those eyes were too cold and jaded to belong to the harmless academic he pretended to be, filled with the kind of wisdom it took millennia and untold amounts of blood to achieve.

The transformation was so fast that he almost missed it, but suddenly there was nothing of the mild mannered grad student in Methos' demeanour. Now his back was straight, his posture proud, and Richie was looking directly into the unfathomable hazel gold eyes of a stranger, a seasoned warrior who had seen more years, and more battles than Richie could even fathom. It was all he could do to hold back an impulsive swallow, just what had he gotten himself into? This fight no longer seemed to be such a bright idea on his part.

Holding back his sudden fear Richie made his opening move, which was parried easily by Methos. At first it was easy, and Methos appeared to be on the defensive, but then, having apparently taken the measure of his opponent, he abruptly changed tracts and went on the offensive. Before he had only been playing with Richie, now things were getting serious. He could have taken Richie's head then with that first swing, but he didn't, he gave the kid a chance to turn the fight around.

Richie tried to do as Mac told him, hold his ground and look for an opening; only problem was that he couldn't seem to find one. This was nothing like fighting with Macleod, Methos style was totally different, and he wasn't pulling any punches, at least it didn't seem that way to Richie. This guy was good, very good, and experienced, was there anything he hadn't seen in five thousand years, anything that Richie could possibly do to surprise him? He was being completely outclassed here and he knew it.

They were only a few minutes into this fight, and already Methos could have taken his head probably ten times by now, and he still had yet to find any kind of opening in his defences. Every time he thought he might have spotted one, Methos would pull some bizarre move out of thin air, completely throwing Richie off track, and preventing him from taking advantage of the perceived weakness. It was unbelievable how fast he could move such an unwieldy looking sword, but he made it look effortless, graceful, like a dance, a very deadly dance…Thank God this guy was on his side, at least…he really hoped he was because there was no way in hell that he could beat him.

Then suddenly it was all over, Richie's sword was knocked out of his hand, as he over balanced and fell to his knees, and Methos' sword was at his throat before Macleod even had time to blink. The fight had taken approximately five minutes, and there could be absolutely no doubt as to who the winner was.

Methos had to admit, that things hadn't gone as badly for Richie as they could have. He wasn't wrong in his earlier assessment of the kid; he was really quite good, especially considering that he had only been immortal for a few years. Of course the kid had never really stood a chance against him, but he'd put up a fairly decent fight.

Dropping his sword from Richie's throat Methos slipped back into, 'Adam Pierson' mode and smiled offering his hand to haul the kid to his feet. "Well that could have been a lot worse." He offered as a form of mild praise.

Richie scoffed, incredulous, "You wiped the floor with me." He exclaimed.

"Well I do have a few years on you ya know." Laughed Methos, amused at Richie's expression.

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm gonna get pulverized one of these days…." muttered Richie, dejectedly running a hand through his cropped blond hair and dropping his head into his hands briefly.

"Because you're a bright boy." Methos couldn't stop himself from retorting, but seeing Richie's hurt expression he had sudden attack of conscience and then sighed and said, "Hey, don't beat yourself up about it kid I've been at this a long time ya know, how else do you think I've survived this long? And you weren't that bad. Just remember to defend your right side more, and practice and you should be fine." To which Richie just shook his head, unconvinced.

Meanwhile Macleod had been fairly shocked himself about just how good Methos was with a sword. He knew for a fact that even among immortals Richie was fairly good, and Methos had completely wiped the floor with the young man. It looked to have taken almost no effort on his part as well. Macleod knew to have survived this long that Methos had to have been pretty good with a sword, when the situation called for it, but he had the impression that the ancient had been out of the game for a long time, and would rather run away than fight and this didn't quite mesh with the level of competence he had just shown. He was good, he was more than good, he was clearly a master at this, so why then did he run away from fights, if not from fear then from what?

Crossing the floor to stand with them Macleod joined the conversation, "I didn't know you could fight like that." He stated redundantly.

"Well there's a lot you don't know about me Macleod." Smirked Methos crossing his arms over his sweater clad chest. That had to be the understatement of the century, what Macleod actually did know about him would probably fit on the back of a postage stamp.

"So are you ever actually gonna spar with me?" he asked hopefully.

"Now why would I do that?" asked Methos teasingly.

"Oh come on Methos!" exclaimed Macleod, "Look you've already got your sword out, it'll only take a few minutes!" he pleaded.

Amused by the Highlander's pleas Methos figured he couldn't really do much more damage to his reputation as non threatening if he tried, so what the hell, maybe he would spar with the Highlander, though like with Richie, he had absolutely no intention of going all out with him.

"Fine! Fine! If you want to spar with me, who am I to argue!" acquiesced Methos, resting his sword against his leg and throwing his arms into the air in a gesture of submission.

Grinning happily at his victory Macleod moved onto the sparring mat, moving his katana from its position folded against his arm into the ready position and waited, while Methos readied himself and Richie walked off to sit by the wall. This was going to be fun! He couldn't wait to spar with the old man and see how good he really was. Sure Methos had beaten Richie, but Richie was still in many ways his student, and Macleod had never had any problems beating him himself, so why should Methos?

Watching the ancient immortal move his sword into position Macleod was not entirely prepared for what he saw. He had noticed that Methos seemed a bit different during his fight with Richie, a bit less friendly, a bit more intense, but he had not been able to see his facial expression as Richie had been blocking it. He was not ready for the difference in his friend's countenance.

Methos seemed to drop the 'Adam Pierson' persona as one would drop a mask, until all that was left was unfathomable, ageless gold eyes, in the face of a man that he had only had brief glimpses of before. This was the man who had survived five thousand years, not the 'eternal grad student'. Learning was clearly an integral part of the man before him, but so was fighting, and just because he preferred to avoid fights, didn't mean that he couldn't fight if he had to. The man in front of him was a warrior, pure and simple, and he could clearly kill if the occasion called for it.

Trying to curb any misgivings he was now having about the wisdom of asking for this fight Macleod centred himself and prepared to strike. The two then parried blows for the next few minutes, and like in his fight with Richie Methos appeared to be taking the measure of his opponent, but after seeing this happen once Macleod was not fooled by the easiness of the fight so far.

Sure enough, within minutes Methos had piled on the pressure, going on a punishing offensive, which only Macleod's 400 years of experience let him weather without letting his guard drop. Methos sword was dancing so fast through the air in lightening fast swipes that it was almost impossible to parry, it was very tough going, and offered him no opportunity to try to get through the old man's defences. This fight was not going well for the Highlander, but he hadn't lost yet. Using an opening to mount his own offensive Duncan pushed back and tried to break through Methos' defences, but it was as if the old man could see every move coming before Macleod even launched them, he was getting desperate.

Moving back to techniques that Connor had taught him, and which had been passed down from to teacher to student in his line for generations of immortals Duncan attempted to regain some ground. But even that had limited success, it was as if Methos recognised the moves, the technique, but how was that possible?

Duncan didn't have long to ponder the impossibility of it, before he recognised a move himself, though not in time do anything about it. Like every other time he had seen that move, it had the desired affect and Duncan found his sword pinned by his opponent and Methos' Ivanhoe at his throat. But how on earth had Methos known that move? The only times Duncan had ever seen it, were from Connor, his teacher, and Graham Ashe, Ramirez's teacher (Ramirez of course being Connor's teacher).

Looking up with undisguised awe at Methos' harshly breathing face Duncan saw in his eyes something that unnerved him more than a little; blood lust. He'd been a soldier often enough to recognise it when he saw it, but it was down right frightening to see that look in his friend's eyes and realise that that look meant that Methos had been a soldier. It shouldn't have surprised him, most immortals ended up in a military organisation at some point in their lives, but Methos had never seemed to have enough discipline to be able to cut it as a soldier. Finally, after what seemed to be a super human effort on his part, the look in Methos' eyes disappeared, or at least it was covered up, and he lowered his sword, smirking in a self-satisfied way at his victory. Perhaps this was why Methos preferred not to fight, he didn't want the blood lust to overwhelm him, maybe?

Smiling Methos finally spoke leaning on his sword, which was balanced point first on the mat, "Well done Highlander!" Enthused the ancient, "Very well done!"

Macleod blinked, momentarily stunned, before moving into a normal standing position, his katana once again folded against his arm. "What are you talking about!" he exclaimed in disbelief, "You won!"

"And you expected otherwise!" Asked Methos mockingly, cocking his head to the side to look at the Highlander before saying gently, "What did you expect Macleod? I haven't survived this long without having a few tricks up my sleeve."

"Well no," confessed Macleod wearily, "but I've never seen you show anywhere near that amount of skill before!"

"And that surprises you Highlander?" Asked the ancient with a raised eyebrow, of which the meaning behind was clear, why would I show my true level of skill if I didn't have to? Which of course begged the question why he had done it this time, and if he had actually gone all out against them. Everything Macleod knew about the elusive ancient told him that this probably wouldn't have been the case, a frightening thought considering that he had beaten both of them without unleashing his full potential. Just how good with a sword was the old man? If he was even half as good as Duncan suspected he could easily be a major player in the Game. Just how many heads had Methos taken?

But all this wasn't what was worrying the Highlander, just where had Methos picked up the move he had used to take him out? As far as he was aware only those teachers and students in his line knew it, was then Methos a part of his line? And if he was, what part? This had not been what he was expecting.

Meanwhile Methos himself was more than a little concerned by his slip-ups. He had been determined not to let the Highlander win, might help the kid's ego to know that his teacher wasn't infallible, but not like this. He had lost control for a minute there, let the Horseman, the soldier come to the fore and let the blood lust show in his eyes and he knew that Macleod had noticed.

He had put far too much passion into his fight with Macleod, had to in order to win as the Highlander really was quite good, like with Kalas it would take too much passion on his part to win, and he really was not about to open Pandora's box again, not intentionally anyway. But he had, for a minute there he had lost control, had forgotten who he was fighting, and where he was… he could have killed his friend. This was why he didn't spar with friends! (Young friends anyway, ones who couldn't defend themselves against a full on attack from him.)

All that had mattered in that moment was the fight, and consequently he had done something monumentally stupid he had used a move that Macleod would recognise. One that the Highlander believed to be only known to his line, passed down from teacher to student, and now, no doubt he was pondering how Methos knew it, and probably coming to the right conclusions. Definitely not good.

The last thing that Methos wanted was Macleod figuring out anything about his past, especially not his relationship with Macleod's line, which was essentially that Methos had started it. He had invented that move and passed it down to his student, Rathmethes, who'd taught it to Aganesthes of Tiryns, who'd taught it to Tjanefer, who in turn had taught it to Tak-Ne (Ramirez), who'd taught it to Connor, Connor'd taught it to Duncan, and Duncan of course had taught it to Richie. If Macleod figured that one out, he'd tell Dawson, who'd tell the Watchers (eventually anyway), and then it'd go in the chronicles, where in black and white he'd be linked to the Higlander's line, all of whom were master swordsmen and his reputation as a scholar not a fighter would be shot to hell. Could this day get any worse?

Apparently it could, as at this point Macleod broached the very subject that Methos had been hoping to avoid.

"I know that move Methos." Stated the Scot ponderously.

"I suspect a lot of people do." Retorted Methos mildly.

"No," Macleod shook his head vehemently, as Richie approached the two, "I've only seen that move two other times, from Connor and from Graham Ashe, both of whom were teachers in my line…" He trailed off, apparently not quite believing where this was going, which was all the better for Methos.

"Something you wanted to ask to me Macleod?" asked Methos smugly, praying that the Highlander would continue to be disbelieving about this.

Just as Macleod was opening his mouth to reply Richie arrived gushing excitedly, "Wow, I've never seen a fight like that…" he trailed off, "I mean…" he shook his head in amazement, "That was totally awesome man I can't believe you did that!" He told Methos, blue eyes wide and curious, reminding Methos unbearably of Day'ell, who had now been missing for nearly two years, last known location, a military base, of all places!

"Saved by the kid." Thought Methos sardonically, "I'll have to buy him a beer later… on second thought, maybe I'll just put it on my tab, no point giving Joe a heart attack by actually paying for something."

"Like I said kid I've been at this a looong time." Methos drawled still leaning casually on his sword.

"I know but…." Trailed off Richie nervously, "Just how many heads have you taken Methos?" he asked, with morbid curiosity.

Now that was a question he did not want to answer. He had taken far too many heads, probably the most of any immortal. Amazing what a thousand years as Death, and another, perhaps fourteen thousand years of challenges could do for your head count, even the other really old ones hadn't taken quite as many heads as him.

" I don't keep track." Muttered Methos flippantly, that was true enough, who the hell wanted to know how many people they'd killed? And Richie was just asking about immortals, God only knew how many mortals he'd killed.

"I'm sure you don't." Muttered Macleod under his breath, looking slightly put out; hopefully he had forgotten what he had been getting at earlier.

Deciding that a strategic retreat might be the best option Methos turned to grab his coat from the peg by the door, slipping it on and putting his sword back into the hidden sheath in the lining.

""You're leaving?" asked Macleod, disappointment apparent in his tone.

"Places to go, people to see." Evaded Methos, turning swiftly towards the exit, "Catch ya later." He smirked, sweeping out of the dojo as Richie and Macleod offered halfhearted goodbyes.

Once Methos was well outside the dojo Richie turned to look at his former teacher in wonder, "Just how many heads do you think he's taken?" asked Richie curiously.

At this Macleod paused, and appeared to hold back a shudder, remembering that telling look in the ancient's eyes, "God only knows Richie." He stated, "God only knows…" He muttered again, under his breath, he didn't even want to consider just how many people his friend could have killed…

Finally realising that he had been put off the track, by the old man, with Richie's unwitting help, Macleod remembered the other times he had seen that move performed.

--Ravenna Italy, 1631--

Duncan and his teacher had been staying in Italy for the past few months practicing in the city's many duelling halls and, as Connor said, taking in the 'ambience' of the city, since it was Duncan's first time visiting.

But here, in the small duelling club in the city centre of Ravenna Duncan Macleod was getting frustrated. He had been training with his teacher, Connor, for nearly six years, and he was still no closer to being able to win against the man! He knew the man's technique, and his own technique had improved massively in the time that he had studied with Connor but it still wasn't enough!

Every time Duncan thought that he had found an opening in the man's defences Connor would use some move he had never seen before to completely turn the tables, it was getting irritating! Just how many more moves could Connor possibly know? Sooner or later he would surely have to run out of ways in which he could surprise his student, but… apparently not yet.

Duncan suddenly found his sword pinned and his opponent's rapier at his throat. So much for him having improved any! Smiling Connor dropped his sword from his protégés throat and laughed at the stunned expression on his face, apparently Connor still had a few unknown moves up his sleeve yet.

Dispirited Duncan dropped his head as he took a step back from Connor, holding his sword limply by his side. "Och, I'm never gonna be able ta beat you." He huffed disappointedly

"Give it time lad." Soothed Connor, "You've still got much to learn, just give it time." He repeated calmly, not even winded by the fight.

"That's easy for you ta say, you're the one tha always wins." Bitched Duncan despondently, to which Connor just laughed.

"Yes, but when Ramirez was teaching me, do ya think tha I was the one that always won then?" he asked, amusement apparent in his tone.

"No." Conceded Duncan, still not entirely convinced.

"And as for that move tha I'm sure you're wonderin' about," lectured Connor, "tha was used on me many a time by Ramirez ta teach me a lesson, one of his favourites…" He muttered the last part under his breath in a slightly bitter tone of voice, before continuing, "Tha move's been passed down from teacher ta student in our line for generations, we're the only ones tha know it, comes in very handy if ya want ta surprise an opponent in a fight, usually guarantees victory if used under the right conditions." He explained, "You'd do well ta remember it." He warned.

-- Seacouver, Macleod's Dojo, 21st September 1996 --

And Duncan had, that move was not something that he was ever likely to forget, especially not considering that he saw it during a time other than that as well, a time when he trained with Graham Ashe.

-- Italy, somewhere in the Italian countryside, June 1756--

Duncan Macleod was getting his arse kicked, again. He had thought that since his release from training with Connor that he had improved with his sword fighting, but apparently not. Graham Ashe was beating him over and over with apparently minimal effort on his part and it was starting to get slightly humiliating…

Well, okay maybe it had actually started to get humiliating hours ago, but the point was he should have been able to find some kind of opening in the man's defences by now, but, no such luck. This was getting exasperating.

Duncan had just performed yet another desperate lunge, you'd have thought that he'd have come up with a more refined plan of attack by now, but apparently not. When suddenly Graham swung his sword and preformed a move that Duncan hadn't seen in a hundred and twenty years, not since Connor had taught it to him in Ravenna. However apparently recognising the move would not help him to defend against it, as suddenly Graham's sword was at his throat, and his own sword pinned to his side, useless for defence.

But how did Ashe know that move? Had Graham perhaps been one of Ramirez' students before Connor? That seemed to be the most likely solution to the young Highlander, how else could Ashe have possibly known that move? He'd have to remember to ask the man later…

-- Macleod's Dojo, Seacouver, 21st September 1996--

Unfortunately he had never had the chance to ask, and it wasn't until that awful day when Graham Ashe was killed by Haresh Clay that Macleod actually found out that Ashe had not in fact been one of Ramirez's students, but had in fact been his teacher.

-- Joe's Blues Bar, Seacouver, 21st September 1996, later that morning--

"So let me get this straight," cleared up Joe, "you two," he pointed at Macleod and Richie, "both sparred with the old man, and he handed you both your asses on a plate." At this Joe raised his eyebrows and gazed at the two men in disbelief. Richie was one thing, he was just a kid, but Duncan Macleod was one of the great fighters, and Methos was…Methos. Joe couldn't quite imagine the sneaky old man taking out Macleod, but apparently…

"Without even breaking a sweat." Confirmed Richie miserably, turning to take another gulp of his beer.

Joe shook his head in shock. WOW, who knew the old man had it in him? Macleod certainly did not look happy at this turn of events.

Raising his head from his whiskey Macleod finally replied, shaking his head as if trying to work something out, "That's not what's got me thinking, I'd expect Methos to know how to use a sword, its just how he did it…" He trailed off, a pensive expression on his face.

"That move he pulled to take you out?" Questioned Richie gently, gazing at his former teacher with concern.

"That's the thing," conceded Macleod, a strange expression on his face, "there is no way he should have known that move."

"It's just a move Macleod, what's so special about it?" asked Joe in confusion.

"Because Joe that move is only passed down through our line." He nodded toward Richie, saying to him, "Didn't you recognise it?"

Closing his eyes Richie tried to picture Methos' movement, and it clicked, "You mean that move you taught me where you pin your opponent's sword, putting your own sword at their throat."

Macleod nodded grimly, "It's passed down from teacher to student, Connor taught me, Ramirez taught him, Graham taught him, you see where this is going right?" He questioned rhetorically, "And we don't teach it to outsiders." He explained, a worried look on his face.

"So how did Methos know it?" Asked Richie, voicing what everyone was now thinking.

"That is the question." Agreed Macleod.

"So," pondered Dawson, "either someone broke the rules and taught it to Methos, or…." At this point the old Watcher trailed off, not sure he liked where this was heading.

"Methos is a part of our line?" Suggested Macleod, gesturing towards himself and Richie wearily. To which Joe exhaled a long breath, loudly. This was just weird!

"Considering the way he fought today I can believe it." Admitted Richie, nodding his head at the idea.

"So can I, that's what scares me." Mumbled Macleod, taking another sip of his whiskey, as though the very thought was freaking him out.

Joe shook his head, apparently a little overwhelmed by this conversation, "I need a drink." He muttered loudly, moving to pour himself a scotch, only the old man could drive him to drink this early in the day, it wasn't even nine o'clock yet!

"But if he is a part of the same line, then why haven't I heard of him? Who did he teach?" Pondered Macleod out loud, "Obviously not Connor or Ramirez, Graham maybe?" he offered, scrunching his face in confusion.

"No, not Graham Ashe, the Watchers have a teacher listed for him." Admitted Joe, sipping slowly at his drink as he mulled things over.

"They do?" asked Duncan curiously, he had never had a chance to ask Ashe himself, "Who was it?" he asked.

"Aganesthes of Tiryns." Said Joe proudly, "A far as we can figure." He amended, "Its not like we could exactly ask, but we think that 'Graham' was killed in the siege of Troy, about 1184 BC. AndAganesthes found him there. "

"Jesus," murmured Richie, "he was that old?" He asked plaintively.

"Yeah well think about Methos, that length of time is just a drop in the pan compared to him." Joe suggested miserably.

"Aganesthes of Tiryns…" Pondered Duncan, "Wait a minute wasn't he Rebecca's teacher?" Realised the Scot.

"Yep, that he was. At least as far as the Watchers know." Confirmed Joe.

"And who was his teacher?" asked Macleod curiously, "Methos?" He asked.

"Not unless Methos is a tall well built brunette with blue eyes." Scoffed Joe.

"That's a no then." Laughed Richie, "So who was he?"

"We only have about one or two mentions of the guy in the chronicles, back then he went by the name Rathmethes." Admitted Dawson.

"Back then?" Questioned Macleod, curiosity piqued by this unknown piece of what was, essentially, part of his past.

"We couldn't keep a Watcher on the guy, reckon he knew about us or something, but we know that he was old even then, probably predated the Watchers. Haven't seen him since." Conceded Joe bitterly.

"So you've got no idea who his teacher could have been?" Asked Macleod dejectedly.

"Not that I can remember, but I haven't looked at any of those chronicles for years." He admitted.

"Why did you look at them in the first place?" Asked Richie in confusion.

"I was curious about the line of teacher's and students leading up to Macleod when I became his Watcher." Admitted Joe with a guilty chuckle.

"Lucky us." Conceded Macleod with a wry grin at his Watcher, who was trying not to meet his eyes.

"I could email the Research department though, someone there may have some information, and they might just be obsessive enough to be in this early and reply fast." Chuckled Joe.

"Alright," agreed Duncan, "lets give it a shot."

Nodding Joe moved off into the back room to send the email and returned a minute later. Looking at his friends he said, "I've sent the email, and said that you'd mentioned something about Graham Ashe mentioning something about Aganesthes of Tiryns teacher's teacher, and I wanted to check. I'll check for emails in fifteen minutes, since the guy I sent it to is usually pretty eager to please." He smiled.

"Sneaky." Smiled Richie, "I like it, didn't think you had it in ya Joe." He smirked.

"Yeah well I'm not about to make a habit of it so don't get used to it." He lectured, "But," he conceded, "I am curious to see if I can find out how Methos is involved in this…" he trailed off uncertainly. "How good was he anyway?" He asked, looking with rapt attention for Macleod's answer.

Stopping to take another sip of his drink Macleod finally answered, " Very, very good." He conceded, "I've never seen him fight like that before Joe, I mean I've seen him take a head before, and we sparred once before, but…nothing like that. He beat me, I never stood a chance, and what's worse is I think he was still holding back when he did it…. I mean I never thought of Methos as the soldier type, but he had clearly seem some serious battles… If it actually came to a fight between us, I think he'd probably win…" Duncan muttered.

"He's that good?" Asked Joe with disbelief, he really couldn't picture that happening, but Macleod seemed so sure…

Duncan nodded grimly, and suddenly all three men found their drinks to be very interesting as they fell into a heavy silence that none of them seemed to want to break, all locked away in their own minds.

An indeterminate amount of time later Joe rose from his stool announcing that he was going to check his email, and when he came back there was a definite grin on his face which immediately caught Macleod and Richie's attention. "Jackpot." He announced happily.

"Joe, what?" Asked Macleod impatiently.

"I just got a message from George," he paused, realising that his friends would need some kind of explanation as to who he was, "he's one of our researchers working on Aganesthes of Tiryns chronicle, so he knows probably more than anyone about your line." He nodded towards Macleod and Richie as he spoke, before getting down to what the email had actually said, "Apparently when Rathmethes showed up to visit 'Graham' in about 330 BC in Athens he had a friend with him. A friend called Barbas. A friend that he apparently really respected, one who the Watcher at the time thought could have been his teacher." Joe paused for emphasis.

"You're killing us here Joe." Muttered Richie in exasperation, "Spit it out already." He pleaded.

Shooting Richie an irritated look Joe continued to speak at his own pace, "And this is where it gets good," smirked Joe, "according to the Watcher's description this man was tall, black haired and pale, with angular features. Sound familiar to anyone?"

"Methos." Stated Duncan, who seemed not to know whether he should be amused or worried by this revelation.

"Looks like." Concurred Joe.

"So Methos was this guy Rathmethes' teacher?" Questioned Richie, looking to Joe for confirmation.

"It's a fair guess," Joe conceded, "and ironically enough this unknown immortal was one of the candidates for being Methos before," he paused expectantly, eyes glinting in amusement, "and get this Adam Pierson eliminated him from the running."

"That sneaky, manipulating bastard!" Exploded Macleod predictably, while Richie burst out laughing.

"Well that settles that!" Laughed Richie, "Its gotta have been Methos, why else would he try and cover it up?"

"That'd be my guess too but we'll never get him to admit it ya know." Mused Joe, defeated.

He was right of course, and they all knew it. Methos was never going to admit to being Rathmethes teacher, and an ancient description wasn't really enough evidence to trap him. He'd either claim mistranslation or that it was someone who looked a bit like him. Methos always had a hundred and one excuses for everything, and worst of all was that they were all perfectly logical explanations. No Methos would not be telling them anything.

This the first Highlander piece I've published, though not the first I've written. Written primarily for myown enjoyment it is part of a larger set of Crossover stories which I will probably never publish. You may have picked up on a few comments which don't make much sense without the other stories, howeverI felt that removing them might alter the flow of this story as well as screwing up its background so I didn't remove them.

It'd be really great to hear what people thought of this story, this an idea which has been floating around in my head for literally years so it'd be nice to hear what other people think of it!

Thanks for reading!

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