Methos, We Hardly Knew You…
The Third Holy Ground Highlander Forum
Midweek Challenge
Archivist’s Note: The stories and vignettes
offered here from various Rysher Forumlanders have not been edited or changed
other than having a spell-check performed and being reformatted for this
website.
A cool alternative possibility for Methos:
Posted
by HonorH the
Arctic Wolfe on Wednesday, 19 April 2000, at 7:53 a.m.
What
if he'd been a villain? I mean, what if he'd been the recurring villain DM
could never quite kill? Or if not an outright villain, an antagonist? Think
about it. Change Methos just slightly, and he could be. Rather than befriending
DM, what if Methos had been just a little more nihilistic or amoral? Can you
imagine the fascinating dynamic? DM might be a superior sword fighter, but
Methos can out think him any day. Might that not have been extremely cool?
Anyway, it's a thought.
Thanks, HonorH. Sounds like a perfect MID WEEK CHALLENGE!
Posted
by Leah CWPack
on Wednesday,
19 April 2000, at 8:03 a.m.,
in response to A cool
alternative possibility for Methos:, posted by
HonorH the Arctic Wolfe on Wednesday, 19 April 2000, at 7:53 a.m.
Here's
the scenario, for those who care to take it on:
Duncan MacLeod has discovered evidence that,
despite his good behavior around MacLeod and company, Methos has been
continuing to perform dreadful acts elsewhere in some respect, as a throwback
to his Horseman past. Methos may have been doing this consciously, or
otherwise.
Write a short scene of dialogue where MacLeod
has taken Methos by surprise, and is confronting him with this knowledge. Any
outcome is valid. Remember, keep it short to preserve the intensity!
Good luck!
A challenge? A mid-week challenge? Okay, here goes!
Posted
by Alaska Man
on Wednesday,
19 April 2000, at 9:59 a.m.
Oooh,
this is fun! Wow, my first original post in....whoa, a very long time. Warning,
this post is quite long. I apologize for what I've done to Methos. I just had
to.
By the way, I'm working on a site redesign of
HAM, and Harmony and I are working on finishing up the rest of the episodes.
I'll be posting the link real soon here.
AM
------------------------------- "Do I Know
You?", by Alaska Man -------------------------------
"Why?"
A simple question, really. And MacLeod needed
the answer. Desperately. Up until now, he had hoped his doubts would be
disproved and he would find that the man he had trusted with his life was, in
fact, worthy of that trust. But, no longer. Tipped off by Joe Dawson, who had
finally managed to get a Watcher on Methos, MacLeod had watched him stalk, then
kill an Immortal by the name of Hans Verbrennen.
Not that killing another Immortal was
necessarily a bad thing. Indeed, MacLeod himself had done his share of hunting.
But this was different. Verbrennen had become known as the oldest of Immortals,
a distinction that he shared with Methos, but for a different reason. While
Methos was roughly five thousand years old, Hans was no more than five hundred.
It was the fact of his first death that gave him his title. For, unlike most
Immortals, Hans had not had the traditional violent death, from a gunshot or
car wreck. He had died falling down his stairs. Because of a broken hip. At the
time, he had been nearly ninety-five years old.
And now he was dead, at the hands of one MacLeod
would have called one of his best friends. And he wanted to know why.
Methos was still recovering from the Quickening,
on his knees, but a light smile creeped into his features. "You shouldn't
be here."
"And yet I am, Methos, and I asked you a
question."
The ancient rose to his full height and evaded
the question again. "How did you find me?"
"Dawson," came the simple reply.
"Freaking Watchers."
MacLeod didn't tell Methos how Dawson had gotten
a Watcher on him, or why. Since the revelation that the Oldest Immortal was
still alive, Joe had tried to assign someone to "Adam Pierson", but
it hadn't worked. Methos always sniffed them out. Still, Joe had kept trying,
and finally succeeded. MacLeod remembered the night Joe had called him on the
telephone to tell him what he'd discovered.
"MacLeod, we need to talk. Get over to the
bar. Now."
At the bar, Joe had laid out all the evidence.
First, the debacle with the Horsemen. Had Methos really wanted MacLeod to win?
Then, the encounter with Morgan Walker. Joe told MacLeod of the chilling
efficiency with which Methos had dispatched "the help." Worse still
was the impression Joe had had at the time that Methos had relished the
killing. So, he had come to the conclusion that he needed Watchers on his
friend. After all, the Watcher charter was to learn as much about them as
possible.
"Okay, Joe, what's so urgent?"
"Have a seat, MacLeod. Trust me," said
Joe, with a serious tone and expression that made the Highlander comply.
"Just how well do you think you know Methos?"
And with that, Joe had laid it all out. After
the Walker fiasco, Joe had assigned no less than five Watchers to Methos,
although none of them knew of the others. He pulled in people from five
seperate Watcher organizations for the task, and gave them each very small
segments of "Adam's" life to observe. And it had come to light.
Methos was living two lives. In one, he was a sly Immortal, hovering under
MacLeod's powerful persona and protection. In the other, he was a deadly
hunter, stalking and killing lesser Immortals with ruthless efficiency.
"What did you think, MacLeod?" the
voice was Methos', and it pulled MacLeod back from his reverie. "Did you
think that I really never hunted? Did you think I was content to let you
continue to grow stronger, and not grow myself? Live, grow stronger...ring a
bell?"
MacLeod's face mirrored his confusion and anger.
"But, you're..."
"...your friend? You young ones amaze me
sometimes. Immortals are the great pragmatists, MacLeod. We befriend when we
have need, and we kill when we have need. I needed you. I was no match for
Kalas, and I knew of your history with him. Now, how do you think I knew of
that history?"
Again, the confusion, but now mixed with denial.
"No. No, it's not..."
"...possible? Grow up, MacLeod. Why
shouldn't I befriend him? We made quite the team, too, didn't we? I had it all
in place, MacLeod. If he took your head, Amanda would have gone after him. If
he'd killed her, I would have killed him. And I would have STILL looked like a
hero! It was a beauty of a plan."
The light was beginning to dawn. "But I
killed Kalas."
"Bright boy. And so I've been waiting. I
thought I had a winner with Kronos, but it didn't quite work out, did it? Not
to worry, though, I'll come up with something."
MacLeod drew his sword. "No, Methos, you
won't."
Methos laughed. "You think you can kill me?
Please, I was killing young ones like..." His speech was cut short by a
groan, as his sword dropped to the ground. Both hands flew to his temples as he
cried out. "NO! No, I won't go back!" He cried out one last time,
then collapsed.
MacLeod watched, concerned. Still reeling from
Methos' confession, he didn't know what to make of this latest development.
Where had he seen this before?
"MacLeod?" The voice was Methos', but
lighter than it had been only moments ago. The Oldest Immortal rose to a
kneeling position, his face showing utter confusion and dismay. "What's
happening? Where am I?"
Barnes. Quentin Barnes. THAT's where MacLeod had
seen this. He remembered his heart breaking as he realized he had to kill his
friend Michael Moore in order to stop his alter-ego from killing again. Could
he do it again? And how could he have missed this in Methos? Well, he'd missed
it in Michael.
"MacLeod?" The entreaty came again,
and this time, MacLeod responded. Kneeling beside Methos, he placed his hand on
his friend's shoulder. What would he do? How could he help his....
His thoughts were interrupted by the
unmistakable feeling of steel between his ribs. The dagger had penetrated his
right lung, and he couldn't draw a full breath. It took several seconds to
realize that the hand connected to the weapon indeed belonged to Methos. He
locked eyes with the man he still called a friend, and saw what Joe must have
seen, that spurred his suspicions. As MacLeod's arms lost their strength, and
he collapsed to the ground, he heard the last sentence he would ever hear.
"I love good guys."
-------------------------------------------
HAM Reviews Redesign (a work in progress)
Midweek Challenge answer:
Posted
by HonorH the
Arctic Wolfe on Wednesday, 19 April 2000, at 3:24 p.m.
I'm
borrowing gratuitously from Janeen Grohsmeyer's "The Tide that Drags"
to create this twisted little love story. Hope you enjoy it. Bwahahahaha!!!!!
Wild
Child
“What’s the truth, Methos?”
Methos smiled as he heard the words he’d been
expecting for some time. It had taken MacLeod some time to catch on, but catch
on he had. Bright boy.
“Just what truth are you looking for, MacLeod?”
The Highlander stepped further into Methos’
apartment, radiating fury. There was nothing that infuriated him more than
being betrayed, and Methos had done that. In spades.
“What’s the truth about the man I just killed?”
demanded MacLeod. “Who was he?”
Methos shrugged. “An inconvenience. Much like
Kronos, actually. A student of mine. I might have been able to take him myself,
but it was so much more fun to push you into it.”
MacLeod was literally trembling with rage. “And
those things you told me about him?”
“Exaggeration, mostly,” said Methos. “Granted,
he was no saint, but he wasn’t exactly a Horseman, either.”
“I thought I knew you!” MacLeod’s voice was
tight with anger and suppressed tears.
“Then you were a fool.” Methos’ voice was cold.
“No, I take that back. You’re no fool, MacLeod. Only young. Given time, I think
you could have become my equal. As it is, you trusted too far. You were useful
to me; you are no longer.”
The dragon’s head katana was in MacLeod’s hand
with a thought. “You want me, you’ll have to take me, Methos,” growled MacLeod.
Methos smiled. “Ah, but I’ve a secret weapon,
MacLeod.” He looked behind him, at his bedroom door.
Out stepped a female form. A very familiar one.
“Cassandra,” whispered the Highlander.
“Don’t feel bad, Duncan,” she purred. “I’ve
tamed older men than you.”
Methos turned to Cassandra, reaching up to
caress a few strands of her hair. “It wasn’t all a lie, what we told you,
MacLeod. It’s just what we left out.”
A rich laugh came from Cassandra’s throat. “He
tried to tame me, but it didn’t work out that way, Duncan. What he did was
teach me.”
“And centuries later, she used that knowledge,”
said Methos. “I paid for my Horseman days. She made me pay. And it was then
that I discovered . . . she’s my perfect woman, MacLeod. We’ve been together,
on and off, ever since. Such a touching story, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yeah. Too bad it has to come to an end.”
MacLeod brought up his katana.
“Drop it, Duncan,” Cassandra ordered in the
Voice.
To his horror, MacLeod obeyed.
“Now kneel.”
He obeyed again. MacLeod was forced to watch as
his onetime lover walked over, picked up the katana, and lifted the edge to his
neck.
“Wait, Cassandra.” The order came from Methos.
Cassandra turned, eyes narrowing. “I get this one,
Methos. You promised me: one of the Horsemen, or MacLeod. You and he got the
Horsemen. I get him. You promised me!”
MacLeod was only dimly aware of the ensuing
argument. In his mind, he felt the remnants of when he’d taken Kantos’
Quickening. There was a way around the Voice, wasn’t there? Something . . .
Cassandra was caught by surprise as MacLeod
suddenly broke free of her hold and exploded off the floor. He grabbed the hilt
of his katana, used it to deliver a smashing blow to her face, then whirled,
pulling something from his waistband.
Two shots rang out. MacLeod felt Methos’ bullet
hit him in the shoulder, but the ancient apparently hadn’t expected MacLeod to
come prepared. MacLeod’s bullet hit Methos in the heart.
Cassandra screamed with rage, pulling out a
short sword. MacLeod realized he couldn’t face both of them—not now, not
wounded. So he ran.
A short time later, Methos awoke. He quickly
discovered the reason he couldn’t move was that Cassandra was straddling his
chest, eyes full of fire.
He relaxed. She was magnificent like this, the
wild child he’d found in the desert. He wondered if she had always possessed
this darkness, or if it came about only as a result of his actions. Whatever
the case was, she had become a far better hunter than any of the others Methos
had run with since the dawn of history.
“This will be the ultimate hunt, my love,” he
whispered to her.
The anger in her eyes was slowly replaced by a
passion to match his. She smiled, a feral light in her eyes.
“Yes. And the perfect prey . . .”
My attempt to meet the the midweek challenge.......
Posted
by Harmony
on Thursday, 20 April 2000, at 2:11
p.m.
...and
Leah, about keeping the dialogue scene short....sorry, no can do. *g*
***********************************************
The Watchers had been the first to alert Joe.
Field operatives from two continents had reported remarkably similar incidents
and there were just too many of them to be coincidental.
Joe's first reaction had been to keep his
suspicions to himself, in as much as that were possible, until he could
personally check the reports out. But he quickly dismissed that idea. Too many
events were happening too fast and he needed someone with enough experience and
skill to handle whatever obstacles would inevitably arise from investigating.
It couldn't be just anybody, it had to be someone of unquestionable character;
incontestable trust. Someone who wouldn't even contemplate the concept of
failure. It had to be MacLeod.
Even given everything he had been through in his
lifetime, convincing Mac had been the most difficult thing Joe had ever faced.
First had come blatant denial, Mac's refusal to accept what his heart and soul
clung to; but luckily, his stubborn Scottish fortitude still ruled his head.
And that keen intellect, which had kept him alive all these centuries, belied
his heart's sensibilities; forcing him to acknowledge that the world's oldest
Immortal, his friend, the man who on more than one occasion he had trusted his
life to, was and always would be Death.
The result of all of Joe's convincing efforts
had led Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod to this small village outside Lyon.
A place Mac had visited many times in previous lives. A place rife with fond
remembrance and extraordinary sentiments; and now a place that would forever be
the scene of his saddest moment. For henceforward this would be the place where
he had confronted and challenged his peerless friend.
"Methos" Duncan called. "I know
you're here, I can feel you."
Silence.
"It's over!" Duncan continued.
He heard a slight rustling sound and spun
around. The autumn leaves were scattered about the ground, their brilliant
colors dotting the landscape and creating a beautiful intensity that served as
a lush backdrop for this tragedy. The irony of all of this wasn't lost on
MacLeod, for he had long ago learned that many times, beauty hid an ugly truth.
And the truth about Methos couldn't get any
uglier.
The world's oldest Immortal emerged from the
shadows, pausing to lean against the giant tree.
"What are you doing here MacLeod?"
Methos asked.
"I was going to ask you the same question.
You've left a string of bodies behind you from Seacouver to Lyon." Duncan
exclaimed.
"Ah, so you finally pieced it all together,
did you? Well, it took you long enough. And I always thought you were a bright
boy."
"I didn't piece anything together. The
Watchers did. Joe told me about your victims. I don't make a habit of checking
up on my friends," Mac returned.
"You're so gullible, MacLeod. How have you
lived this long?"
"And you're so duplicitous. How can you have
lived with yourself for this long?" Duncan countered.
"Easy. I don't have your overblown sense of
rectitude. You think it's been easy to stay alive for over five thousand years?
You don't have a clue, my misguided friend."
"I'm not your friend. Not anymore."
Duncan said quietly.
A sardonic grin crept across Methos' angular
face and he slightly bowed toward Duncan.
"So let's have it?" Methos said.
"Have what?
"The question you've been aching to ask
ever since you set out to find me. Why? Why did I do it?" Methos said.
"You think I give a damn what your reasons
were? You slaughtered innocent people just for the sheer joy of killing. Like
you said, it wasn't for vengeance, it wasn't for greed. It was because you
liked it. I remember your words well."
Methos turned to walk away, but halted at the
tone of Duncan's voice.
"Methos! Damn you to hell. I'll not let you
walk away this time."
"You want to fight me, MacLeod? Let's go.
You think I'll hesitate to kill you? After five thousand years of killing, no
one's life has value to me."
"Not true. I saw you weep when you killed
Silas," Duncan reminded him.
"It was a pity, I was rather fond of
Silas," Methos replied. "Still, it was all part of the illusion,
MacLeod. The big picture."
"What about Alexa? Was she part of the
illusion, too?"
For a split instant, Mac saw Methos' expression
change, almost perceptively soften. Just as quickly the steely gaze returned
and through it all he remained silent.
"What's the matter, Methos?" Duncan
taunted. "Cat got your tongue?"
Methos squinted, never removing his eyes from
Duncan's face.
"Did you come here to reminisce….or
fight?" Methos queried.
"I came here to get the truth."
"One man's truth is another man's
illusion" Methos said. 'Remember, truth is merely the agreement between
appearance and reality."
"Don't even try to pull that philosophy
crap on me. You are just as accountable for your actions as anyone else is. It
doesn't matter how old you are or how clever you believe yourself to be."
"I think I've proven myself to be
exceptionally clever," Methos retorted. "I certainly had you fooled.
And that fop, Dawson." Methos shook his head slightly. "You two
deserve each other."
Duncan glared at Methos, feeling the hate and
disgust rising within him. Methos continued.
"The Watchers are a joke. They try to
convince themselves they spy on us for noble reasons, but the truth is, they're
eaten up with jealousy. They're pathetic mortal parasites. Masquerading as one
of them was one of the more repugnant things I've ever done; dumping them was
one of my more liberating."
Duncan stood his ground and stared at Methos.
"Adam Pierson was one of your finer
personas," Duncan finally said.
"Pierson was a pansy! A means to an end,
MacLeod, a means to an end."
"Kronos and Cassandra were right about you
all along. You never changed."
"Now isn't that a kick in the proverbial
ass?" Methos retorted. "You agreeing with Kronos. Time is but the
measurement of change and I, MacLeod, am changeless. As far as Cassandra is
concerned, she had long been a used piece of goods by the time you bedded
her."
"This isn't about Cassandra, or Kronos for
that matter." Duncan replied.
"Really, MacLeod? What exactly is this all
about? You want a confession? I already gave you that. I'm Death on a horse,
remember?"
The betrayal and disgust he had felt when Methos
had first admitted to his Horseman days came flooding back to him. He had
walked away then, but he'd be damned if he would turn his back now. Duncan
pulled the katana from underneath his coat, the blade gleaming with the
refraction of the setting sun. He saw the glint from his steel in Methos' eye.
"Ah, at last, we get down to it, eh?"
Methos quipped, silently slipping the broadsword from behind his back. "I
always knew it would come down to the two of us someday."
MacLeod didn't speak; he brought the katana up,
engaging Methos' blade. In a millisecond of remembrance, Duncan thought back to
the few times they had sparred and faint images of Methos' moves caressed his
mind. But this was different. The older Immortal's swing was far stronger than
Mac remembered; his footwork swifter. Duncan parried then spun around to
counter Methos' rapid thrust, barely bringing his blade up in time to block the
blow.
Common sense told him that after all these
centuries; Methos had to be a good swordsman in order to have survived this
long, even if he more often than not chose to disappear. What Duncan wasn't
prepared for was how skillful Methos really was, using moves that were totally
alien to him. Duncan had always believed that regardless of the difference in
their ages, he was the better swordsman….the better fighter. He was quickly
reassessing that belief. This was not Methos he was fighting, this was one of
the four Horsemen and more than any fight he had engaged in before, the
Highlander knew one way or another, this one would end it forever.
Methos came at him again and Mac had to clear
his mind of all thoughts and concentrate on fighting. Blade against blade,
steel against steel, they fought for what seemed an eternity to Duncan. He was
growing tired, but Methos' stokes seemed to be as strong as ever.
They disengaged their blades and broke apart,
momentarily pausing. Sweat was running down Duncan's face and he blinked to
clear the salty moisture from his eyes.
"Why do you insist on being the champion of
mortals, MacLeod?" Methos suddenly asked. "They die. They always have
and they always will. Why do you waste your time and effort on them?"
"What other purpose is there for us to
exist, Methos? Only we have the time to make a real difference in the world.
You and other Immortal's like you want only to destroy. Why is that?"
"Because we can," Methos replied.
The two Immortals stood slightly apart, facing
each other down.
"I can't believe it's come to this,"
Duncan said. "I wanted so much to believe you had changed. Now, I have to
kill you."
Methos smirked. "Is that what you think is
going to happen here? Think again."
With that he charged Duncan and Mac had a split
second to turn and bring the katana around to block the broadsword. He felt the
momentum of the swing up through his arm as it resonated down the entire right
side of his body before he lost all perception.
A young couple walking in a nearby park looked
up in the sky as dark clouds suddenly appeared and lightning began streaking
through the air. It had been such a clear, beautiful autumn day, and then out
of nowhere the darkness and the lightning came. After a few long moments the
streaks disappeared and the clouds cleared. They watched as a far away figure
stumbled from the trees and walked off.
The young girl turned to her boyfriend with a
puzzled expression on her face.
"Was that a sword he was carrying?"
she asked.