It was a cold dark evening in Paris. Duncan MacLeod was walking home trying not to think about the events that happened two years ago when he saw her. A tall woman in a tan raincoat, with her long red hair in two braids down her back. She stood there on the corner quite nonchalantly, her fifteenth century side-ring sword held loosely in one hand. It was a street MacLeod often walked down. He concluded she was probably waiting for him. Checking his coat for the reassuring presence of his katana, he kept walking towards her.

As he felt her buzz, she looked around, obviously sensing him too. Her face hardened to blank hatred as she recognised him. Then she stood, made sure he was watching, turned and walked down the alley behind her. An obvious invitation. MacLeod decided to take her up on it.

He stepped into the alley with his sword drawn and on guard in front of him, paused for a moment to adjust to the dimmer light. She stood a few yards away, one hand with her sword loosely in front of her, the other by her side, casually hidden in the folds of her raincoat. A gun? But if she had wanted to shoot him she could have done it before now. He took a few steps towards her.

“I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.” He declared.

“No, you are just a murdering bastard.” She said calmly, and brought her hand around to reveal a crossbow. As the bolt thudded into his chest he recognised her voice. Tisiphone.

“Hello, Adam Pierson speaking.”

“Hi, Adam, it’s me. I’m in Paris.” she said, keeping an eye out in case anyone should happen along.

“Erin! When did you get back in town? It’s been too long.”

“Listen, I’d really love to see you again, talk some things over, but I don’t have time to chat right now.”

“Running out of change? I’ll call you..”

“No. MacLeod’s dead in an alley a couple of blocks away from his place. You might want to come over here and pull the arrow out. Then again, you might want to just take his head and save us all a lot of hassle.” Erin finished crisply, and hung up on Methos’ stunned silence.

“She’s gone.” Methos told him, offering him his katana now he was sure he knew who he would be using it on.

MacLeod took it and got up, unconsciously rubbing at his neck. “Did you see her? She’s been phoning for weeks, telling me all my sins are catching up with me. She was waiting on the street with a sword. I thought she was going to challenge me. Then she shoots me. It’s lucky you came along or she would have my head by now.”

“So someone calling herself after an avenger from Greek mythology has been phoning you for weeks and it didn’t occur to you to mention it?”

“Why bother? It’s just another Immortal crackpot after my head.”

“Some of whom have been known to threaten your friends to get to you.”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on things. I can look after myself.”

“Yes, of course you can.” Methos said, and looked down at the arrow he was holding.

Flashback- 986 CE, Europe

<=====

Methos looked down at the arrow he had just pulled from the tree trunk next to his head and sighed. And to think he had hoped for a few years of quiet boredom hanging around with Nicholas. The man was certainly boring enough, although a bit too enthusiastic. Methos had been hoping for a lazy afternoon next to the fire, but Nicholas had insisted he come on this little ride in the woods.

He noticed there was a small note tied neatly around the shaft, so he pulled it off read it.

‘Nicholas- her spirit grieves for her unborn babe. Think you that ghosts are swayed by money? Tisiphone.’

“Give me that.” Nicholas said gruffly and snatched the note. He read it, lips moving as he puzzled it out, then crumpled it up and threw it into the bushes.

“Nicholas..?”

“You will not speak of it. It is nothing. Come, there should be a good meal waiting for us by now.” Nicholas replied, and rode off.

So the arrow had been meant for Nicholas. He wasn’t exactly surprised. A man with an attitude like that made enemies. Methos’ friend sometimes seemed to confuse his noble birth with a right to be as objectionable and arrogant as he liked. Unfortunately with his wealth and power he could remain under the illusion he was popular anyway. If it weren’t for his habit of handing out free beer Methos would never have stayed long.

But the content of the note was puzzling. Not just what they said, but how they signed themselves. Who in this time and this backward bit of the world even knew of Greece, let alone cared for it’s mythology?

He started to ride off, more slowly than his angry acquaintance, and then the buzz hit him. An Immortal. Well, that explained some things. Methos was in no mood to fight, let alone play target for an Immortal with a bow, so he put his heels to his horse and galloped for the shelter of Nicholas’ hall.

In the days following this incident Methos noticed Nicholas become more and more disturbed. He no longer went on rides in his woods. He stamped around with a scowl on his face, coming out of his room less often and in a worse mood when he did. He jumped at shadows, and some people whispered that they had caught him talking to his wife and son, dead now for more than a year. Then one night at supper he cut open a pie and found a tiny rolled up note inside. With trembling hands he reached in, unrolled it, and read the single word thereon. ‘Soon’.

He ran from the hall calling “Ellie, forgive me! Forgive me!” over and over, and barricaded himself in his own room.

Right then Methos had a pretty good idea of where to look for the Immortal whose presence had often nagged at the edges of his awareness but who had never shown themselves. As soon as his absence would not be noted, he headed out to the kitchens.

There a young looking woman busy washing up, who had arrived recently with nowhere to go and been given this menial job, got a sudden dizzy spell and excused herself to go outside for some air.

She emerged from the kitchens just as Methos was about to enter, her shawl wrapped around something long and probably sharp. She recognised him, and gestured to the yard behind the stables, empty and quiet while the stable hands were at their supper.

“I’m not here to challenge you.” Was the first thing she said. Her sword stayed wrapped up, lending some credence to her words.

“Then why are you here?” Methos asked, hand resting on sword, still wary.

She looked at him a moment, seeming to try and judge what kind of man he might be. She nodded at whatever judgement she had come to, and replied with a question of her own. “Do you know what happened to the Lady of the house and her babe?”

“They died in childbirth.” he replied. It was common knowledge, along with gossip on who Nicholas would wed next.

“Ah yes, the official story. But the midwife they ran out of town told it a different way. Seems when she was called here the Lady was covered in bruises, new and old, and one of her ribs was cracked. The child was coming early, and he never started breathing. A tragedy, but it happens. Seems her Lord wouldn’t see it that way. The midwife saw him start to yell at his wife and shake her, then he remembered the audience and ordered the midwife thrown off his lands. The next day they announced the tragic deaths.”

Methos thought about the story. With what he knew of his fr- no, he wouldn’t call him a friend again, from what he knew of Nicholas’ temper it could quite well be true. Even so..

“So, what of that concerns one of our kind?”

“Maybe you while away your eternity drinking beer and waiting for the next fight, but some of us find something more constructive to do. I am that I am for a purpose.”

“To play the fury in the affairs of mortals?”

“To avenge those who have no others to stand up for them. Not many women in these times have a chance should a man raise a hand to them. Not many children either. But I can do something, to those that go too far. Like the bastard in yon castle, shut away hiding from the ghosts in his guilty conscience.”

“Hiding from you more like. What are you waiting for, haven’t had another clear shot?”

“Oh, I don’t kill them. Not usually. I teach them. Then... well, sometimes they end up dead.” she shrugged and slipped a hand into the folded shawl for her sword. “So, think you to challenge me to protect your friend?”

“No friend of mine.” Methos replied. “I’ll be gone tomorrow.”

“Good. In future, try to pick your friends more carefully.” she told him, and went back to the kitchens.

By morning, she had disappeared, and Nicholas was dead. Hung with his own belt in a room it took the servants hours to break into. But still, Methos wondered.

=====>

Back in the present day, Methos looked up across the alley at his friend Duncan MacLeod and wondered. Erin did not tend to go off half cocked. Mac was going to start having a very bad time. And Methos?

He threw the arrow in the junk at the side of the alley and sighed. “Come on, we’ll go have a beer and you can fill me in. Maybe I’ll recognise her style, know something that might help.”

“And maybe you’ll just empty the fridge again. All right then, I owe you at least a few beers.” MacLeod said, led him home.

But in the hours they talked before he left, Methos never once mentioned the name Erin.