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Title: But a Day ``°°ºº¤oøO§Oøo¤ºº°°``°°ºº¤oøO§Oøo¤ºº°°``°°ºº¤oøO§Oøo¤ºº°°`` Methos yawned hugely as he came awake and stretched luxuriously. He listened, his ear cocked at the open window. He heard the odd calls of the indigenous wildlife - musical trills from the birds, a faint droning hum of insect life, the rustling sounds of deer grazing, strange mewing sounds from the various felinoids that seemed to dominate the local environment. It reminded him comfortably of Ancient Egypt, all these cats stalking around everywhere. Egypt without all that infernal sand, which was a definite improvement. They came in all sizes and colors, the cats, from tiny kittenish scamps that liked to try and steal his fish to the great, sentient, panther-like creatures that came to his dwelling daily for conversation and companionship. The indigenous humanoids were really ridiculously and erroneously afraid of the huge creatures. As a result, they tended to give Methos, himself, a wide berth. They knew he consorted with the K'rrah, as they called themselves, and the townspeople therefore did not trust him. That suited him, though. He had his little outpost with its carefully disguised technology and his quiet existence. He smiled wryly to himself. He'd engineered the ultimate coup d'état, he supposed, the quintessential survival maneuver. He'd found a planet where there were no Immortals, and it was far enough out of the way that there wouldn't likely ever be any other Immortals here. Relaxing among the heavy, warm blankets heaped on his large, comfortable bed, he let his mind drift back. Back a thousand years. All the way back to Earth. * * * * * * * * * * * It started out as a whimsy, more an idle fancy than a conscious plan, this idea he'd had of flying away from Earth and finding himself a world where headhunting Immortals never trod. He supposed he should've seen it coming, should've known that humanity would eventually conquer the stars. Well, at least visit and explore, if not conquer, though it'd started out that way. He snorted. Stupid greedy bastards, the lot of them in those days. But somewhere around the 23rd century, the old institutions had fallen away, and the United Federation of Planets was born. True to form, Methos had spent a number of years as a professor at Starfleet Academy. Ancient cultures and antiquities, of course. He'd enjoyed his time at the Academy, especially when they sent him off world to investigate cultures in the early stages of development. Always undercover, of course, but the thrill was still the same. But that position had to be abandoned in the fullness of time, before other people noticed he hadn't aged. He'd drifted then, traveling from world to world as a scholar, doctor, merchant, anything to keep his mind occupied. He'd lived like that for 600 years, keeping to the margins, staying resolutely aloof. He kept his head down and his blades sharp. He took a head every few years - usually in random challenges he couldn't avoid, but once or twice another specter from his past had arisen and needed to be dealt with. He'd deliberately avoided his friends from the 20th century. Once Joe Dawson had passed on, he'd become somewhat estranged from the motley, Immortal Clan MacLeod. It wasn't that he didn't like them; on the contrary, he'd been secretly overjoyed to have Immortal friends for once. They were just too damned conspicuous. There were the de Valicourts, alternately in the throes of wedded bliss or screaming enmity over the centuries. Way too volatile and too noisy for Methos' taste. And then there was Amanda. The sneaky little thief was always getting into some kind of mischief that she needed help getting out of. She attracted trouble like a magnet. Connor MacLeod was almost as bad. He was the original hot-headed Scot, as far as Methos was concerned, prone to drunken carousing and quick temper, neither of which were conducive to keeping one's head. And one couldn't forget Richie Ryan, Duncan's rash young student at the time, taking ridiculous risks as he tested the limits of his own invincibility. There were others, of course, all of them more or less considered "the good guys" in the Game. Being "the good guys," they naturally attracted all manner of unhealthy attention from "the bad guys" and headhunting young punks out for a quick kill, the Rules be damned. The whole situation had set off every last alarm in the head of the world's oldest survivor. It had been exciting while it lasted, but exciting was really just another word for dangerous, which was a quick road to suicidal. And then there was Duncan. Ah, Duncan. He hadn't thought of Duncan MacLeod hardly at all these last thousand years. No, that wasn't true. He should at least be honest with himself, he supposed. He'd tried to convince himself every single day not to think about the Highlander. Not to think about the Immortal Galahad, the consummate Clan Chieftain who never failed to ride to the rescue, who always fought the good fight, prudent or not. So upright and good that he fairly glowed - a candle so bright that he'd even managed to attract Methos, jaded and cynical old moth that he was. MacLeod the heroic; MacLeod the just; MacLeod the charismatic. Methos chuckled as he remembered. He remembered MacLeod at Joe's bars, smiling and laughing over beer and conversation. He remembered the Scot, as magnificent as an avenging angel in his righteous anger at injustice. His tragic beauty when he was forced to confront the darkness in himself. His determined protection of his Clan, mortals and Immortals alike. His unconscious but adorable pout when he was in the throes of a first-class Scottish brood. His smiles of open friendship. Methos frowned as other memories surfaced. He remembered those hurtful words that MacLeod had spat at him after the Horsemen debacle. He remembered Duncan at his most judgmental. Worst of all, he remembered the times when Duncan had nearly given up his head for the sake of his friends or the sake of his principles. Methos' mouth went dry and he felt the first stirrings of panic. Too important to lose, Highlander. Don't you dare die. Bloody stupid boyscout. He sighed. It wasn't his concern anymore anyhow. He wondered if Duncan was still alive after all these years. After the mess with O'Rourke, Methos had gradually faded out of the dour Scot's life, and they'd lost track of each other. He reflected morosely that Duncan was almost surely lost to the Game by now. He was too attractive a target, and too caught up in his foolish chivalry to survive this long. Silently, Methos mourned what might have been, what could never be. He sighed again and levered himself out of bed. Time to face the day, old man. He strode across his bedroom, heading for the bathing facilities. His dwelling was neither small nor overly large; three or four people could easily call it home. For just himself, it was more than adequate. He'd spent a great deal of his accumulated assets on this place, he mused. With the help of some of the finest engineers and shipbuilders money could buy, he'd designed and constructed his remarkable ship. With careful cloaking, holographic projection, and some physically real purchases, said ship now looked every inch a log cabin built form local hardwoods and decorated with local furnishings and tapestries. He'd designed it so that it was capable of long-term interstellar travel, yet was small enough to manage himself and land on a reasonably accommodating planet surface. After he'd finished building it, he'd filed his first flight plan, an entirely fake intention to take it to Alpha Centauri on a trial run. He'd then pointed his nose to the stars and traveled in a more or less straight line at maximum warp for eighty years. Lost in space, as far as the Federation was concerned. When he judged himself far enough away from Earth to avoid Immortals for good, he'd scanned for a hospitable planet and found Riyal, a smallish, lush M-class world with friendly inhabitants just beginning to explore the possibilities of technology beyond simple electricity. He'd landed his ship under cover of darkness, set up the "cabin" and gradually fit into the community, posing as a young thinker from a far-away land who came to the mountains to get away from it all. Not a bad existence at all, he mused as he replicated himself some coffee and wandered out to the fruit trees he'd cultivated over the last twenty years to pick some breakfast. Fortunately, the humanoids on this planet were very long-lived. They had a life-expectancy of around 300 standard years, which meant Methos had lots of time before he needed to worry about relocating. He smiled contentedly as he munched the sweet purple fruit. He felt a faint presence brush against his mind - not the tingling hum and prickling nerves that another Immortal would bring, but a quiet brush that told him his K'rrah friends were about to pay him their daily visit. The great cats were not anatomically constructed for human speech - it came out as unintelligible growls and snapping snarls. Instead, they spoke directly to Methos' mind. He'd wondered, at first, how it was possible for them to speak to him but not any other humanoids on the planet. They'd responded with a characteristically cryptic explanation, saying something about the energy in his head that made him easier to hear, the lightning that carried their words to him. His Quickening, then. There was a soft rustle as two Kats, one midnight black and one a deep red-brown, slunk into his clearing. //Fair morning to you, friend.// The chestnut cat, who called himself Hrryn, came nearly every day. He'd apparently taken a fancy to the furless creature who'd come among them. //Greetings to you, travelers. My den, my lands, and the creatures I hunt are offered in welcome. I wish you fair morning and safe journeys.// Methos gave the traditional response. He then broke into an impish grin. //Morning, Hrryn. Who's your friend?// The other Kat had kept silent and would not offer mind-speech until invited. The K'rrah were excruciatingly polite. //My friend and packmate Skyrr. He wishes to offer you his friendship.// Methos nodded gravely and treated the offer with the solemnity it was due. He unsheathed the stiletto at his hip and scored his palm deeply. He offered the bleeding palm to the Kat who still sat silently before him. Skyrr lifted one massive paw and dragged his fangs across it. The Immortal and the Kat briefly clasped hand to paw, then the wounds healed of their own accord. With the exchange of blood, the friendship was sealed. //Thank you, human, for so freely offering your friendship.// //The honor is mine, Skyrr. Please, call me Methos.// The Kat cocked his head. //A strange name. One feels it must be difficult to voice aloud.// Methos grinned. //Not for humans. Our mouths and voices are constructed differently.// He repeated the sentence aloud to demonstrate. Skyrr's eyes widened. //A most unusual manner of speaking. I see now, however, how it would be easier for you to say such words aloud.// Hrryn chuffed with laughter and regarded Methos expectantly. //And what are you smirking about, old friend?// he asked the chestnut Kat, knowing full well what he wanted. The game was as much a tradition as the ritual K'rrah greetings they exchanged. //It is the hour of the day for breaking fast,// the Kat prompted. Methos affected astonishment. //And you expect me to feed you?// The Kat's features stretched into a feral feline grin. //Yes,// he growled. Skyrr watched in mortification as his packmate all but demanded food from the human. He wondered when Hrryn's manners had slipped so. //Relax, Skyrr,// Methos' mental voice was amused. //I've some fish if you're both hungry.// Mildly excited rumblings filled the clearing. Methos chuckled and headed into his cabin to retrieve the two fish he'd caught the previous day. He plunked a plate down before each Kat and tore into another purple fruit to finish his own breakfast. The Kats ate delicately and licked their jowls clean. Hrryn spoke up. //I have spoken with my packmates and our leader. He has decided to allow you to see the Vortex. The energy in it matches that which you carry in you, and he has deemed you trustworthy to keep its existence secret from other humans.// Methos' ears perked up at this. Some kind of vortex with energy like his Quickening? This should be interesting. //It is far from here,// the Kat continued, //in a place where the humans will not go. You will have to ride upon my back to get there.// Methos started. //Are you sure? I wouldn't want to degrade you by forcing you to carry a passenger.// The great chestnut Kat padded towards him and swiped a rough pink tongue across one of Methos' cheeks. //The honor of carrying you is mine, friend Methos.// Methos nodded and stood uncertainly at the Kat's side. //Um, how do I... That is, how should I... Where should I sit?// Methos finally asked. Hrryn chuffed his amusement and sent Methos a pair of images. One was of him sitting upright close to the Kat's front legs. //For when I move slowly,// the Kat clarified. The other image showed Methos stretched out along Hrryn's back, arms and legs both clasped about the huge Kat's sides. //This one is better if I need to run,// the Kat explained. //Right.// Methos grinned wryly to himself. After all his centuries riding a horse, he never would've expected to be riding a horse-sized cat. He retrieved his sword and a pack full of traveling essentials from his ship/cabin, strapped both across his back, and then hopped blithely astride his friend and stretched out to give the Kat freedom to run. The two K'rrah set off at an incredible pace. They ran that way for at least an hour while Methos dozed, the rhythmic strides lulling him. A mental nudge brought him back to himself. //You may wish to be more alert now. We must climb high, and the ground is uneven. I do not wish to throw you off.// //Right. Thanks, Hrryn. I didn't mean to doze off like that.// Hrryn's tail flicked lightly across his back in silent reassurance. Methos smiled to himself. He really liked these Kats. They were altogether satisfactory companions. The trio climbed higher and higher into the mountains, heading towards the crater of what appeared to be a large volcano. The air grew steadily colder until Methos was forced to do something about his increasing discomfort. //Friends, can we stop for a moment? I must put on more coverings since I have no fur to keep me warm in this cold.// Skyrr chuffed with laughter. //You humans. Never understood why you all insist on being bald. Fur is good for a lot of things.// He sounded very sure of himself. Methos chuckled. //I'd grow fur to keep me warm if I could, Skyrr. Humans don't grow fur, you know. This baldness, as you put it, is our natural state.// A vast surprise flooded Methos. The Kat clearly hadn't even considered the possibility that land-going creatures might be born with no fur. Skyrr ruminated on the possibility. //Then you are more resourceful than I thought for developing ways to deal with it.// Respect given where respect was due. After changing his warm-weather tunic for a more substantial garment, Methos tied on his cloak and pulled on an extra pair of socks. He laced up the boots he'd donned in lieu of his sandals and resettled his sword and pack on his back //Thanks for waiting. I'm ready to be off again now.// Hrryn crouched, and Methos climbed aboard again. The Kats climbed to the very summit of the mountain. They paused for a moment at the high-walled entrance to a rocky enclosure. Methos glanced upward and gasped. There, sitting straight and proud and silent before the pass were a pair of stone sentinels - not just any sentinels, but figures with which Methos was very familiar. It was Bast, Ancient Egyptian cat goddess. He sat astride Hrryn, stunned. How in the world had the image Bast made it all the way out here - light-years and millennia away from Ancient Egypt? Hrryn stopped. //I am not sure if they will let you past. The Guardians have never let a human by them. You may have to temporarily give your conscious to Skyrr and myself to fool them.// Methos didn't answer. He simply raised his voice in an ancient chant, a prayer to Bast. The eyes of the stone sentinels began to glow and pulsate. Hrryn looked startled. //The Guardians have accepted you,// he sent, a wealth of unspoken question in his mental voice. //I knew her as Bast, several hundred lifetimes ago. I said a prayer to her that I learned then. Looks like she'll listen to me even here, so far from my original home.// Hrryn was suitably impressed. //Our Guardians have never given us their names before. Perhaps they will not mind if we use yours.// Skyrr spoke up next. //Our leader is coming. He wishes to know what has awakened the Guardians. Only he among us can do that; he wishes to see who else can arouse their notice.// A huge, tawny male Kat with a full mane approached, anger snapping in his eyes. He spoke to his packmates sternly. //What have you done? I have tolerated your rebelliousness, and now you bring this human to our sacred place. You have angered the Guardians!// Hrryn's eyes flashed their irritation. //Calm down, Kyrragh. You asked us to bring him here, remember? We were trying to figure out how to get him past the Guardians alive, and he spoke to Them in a language I have never heard before. They answered him.// Kyrragh looked only slightly mollified. He advanced on Methos, who had slid from Hrryn's back. The Immortal drew his sword, preparing to defend himself if necessary. Kyrragh stopped, puzzled. //What is this thing you hold?// he demanded. Methos grinned ferally. //I don't have sharp claws or teeth. I use a blade instead.// The pack leader rumbled warningly. The eyes of the Guardians flared brighter. The big Kat looked up nervously. //It seems They wish you to proceed. I cannot say that I trust you, but if They do, then I shall allow you into our sacred place. I feel it now. The energy of our Vortex runs strong in you.// The big golden male sat on his haunches, bared his fangs, and scored his paw. He offered the bleeding limb to Methos. //I offer you the welcome, friendship, and alliance of the pack. I offer you my own friendship as well, and I apologize for distrusting you.// Methos drew his palm along the blade of his Ivanhoe, scoring his flesh deeply. //I accept your offer of friendship and give you mine in return. My blade for your defense, my lands for your hunting, my loyalty to the pack.// He grasped Kyrragh's paw, their blood mingling briefly as the wounds closed. The Kats turned and stalked into the huge canyon. Shedding his five thousand years of "just a guy" image, Methos, the Oldest of his race, strode after them with a final, grateful nod of acknowledgment to Bast. He halted just inside the canyon. Kats in all imaginable shades of brown and black and grey and amber lounged on rocky ledges all about the walls. The place looked like it positively dripped felinoids. Feline eyes regarded him curiously, then a ripple of understanding shivered about the place. This one was here at Kyrragh's invitation - the human that Hrryn had found. A silent acknowledgment, and Methos slowly approached what appeared to be a round pool at the center of the canyon. He mounted the steps leading up to it and peered in. And gasped. Not water, but the familiar lightning of Quickening fire swirled and tumbled in the deep purple depths. Before he could blink, a tendril of pure energy snaked out and grabbed him. He felt for a moment like he would be flayed apart with the intensity, but the Vortex suddenly released him, becoming quiescent again. Methos felt as though his brain had been expanded. //What was that?// he asked Hrryn. //The Vortex tested and accepted you and made you a true member of our pack. You will be able to share mind-speech with all of us now without the ritual.// Methos didn't get a chance to respond. Suddenly, the Vortex surged, and a streak of lightning arrowed towards the cloudless sky, a massive clap of thunder rumbling in its wake. Hundreds of feline heads snapped upwards, clearly startled. //What was that?// Methos asked, feeling like a broken record Hrryn's expression was unreadable. //As far as we can tell, that only happens when the Vortex calls a spirit to it or sends a soul out from itself. It called you, though it's call was much less violent.// Methos was surprised. //How do you know?// //It flares when one it has summoned arrives here. The day you came, it flashed with a brilliance we've never seen before.// //And it took you twenty years to get me up here?!// Hrryn rebuked him mildly. //We are a patient and cautious people.// //Patient?!// Methos was incredulous. //Immovable, more like,// he snapped. Hrryn chuffed with amusement, then padded off to join his packmates as they gathered around Kyrragh. //What's going on?// //My people live in small bands in the mountains and forests around this place. Kyrragh is the leader of all these bands. Twice during each moon cycle, we all come here and tend to pack matters. This is the day of one such pack meeting. It was convenient to bring you here to be accepted by the Vortex and the pack at the same time.// //Ah.// Methos stood respectfully off to one side as the silent council continued. He could hear the muted rumblings of the Kats' voices off in one corner of his mind. Suddenly, the Vortex began to glow and hiss and heave in agitation. The Kats turned to look at it, muttering worriedly among themselves. Suddenly, Methos' eyes were drawn skyward. There, he saw the unmistakable flare of orange against blue sky that heralded the arrival of a ship, in this case, a ship in serious trouble. A tendril of energy from the Vortex flashed out and touched his head briefly. Go, it said. Someone on that ship needs your help. They were so far from other human habitation that Methos realized the consciousness in the Vortex was right. His centuries-old medical training came to the fore. //Hrryn, Skyrr, sorry to interrupt, but I need you. Whoever's on that ship is going to be in bad shape when it comes down. You've got to get me there, fast, and you may need to help carry back the injured.// The two Kats came immediately to his side, ignoring their leader's demands for an explanation. Methos flung himself astride Hrryn, and the three set off, bounding out of the canyon and racing to beat the ship to the plateau towards which it was plummeting. Methos and the Kats arrived first, but only just. The small craft, which Methos was startled to realize was a Federation shuttlecraft, slammed nose-first into the ground with a fiery explosion from its port nacell. Even more surprising was the feeling that skittered along Methos' nerves just before impact - a sensation he had not experienced in over a century. There was an Immortal on that ship. The buzz of Presence winked out seconds after impact. Whoever it was hadn't survived the crash. Methos set his jaw grimly and loosened his sword in its scabbard. He'd have to go in and see if the stranger's head was still attached. If so, whoever it was would be waking soon, disoriented and shaken up, for sure. If the stranger was hostile, well, he'd rather be out in the open for that anyhow. Fire suddenly erupted from the front of the craft. Methos broke into a run as he approached the shuttle. Whoever was on board didn't have much time before the whole thing blew itself to pieces, and there was a good change that the stranger would lose his head in the blast if Methos didn't get him out. Pulling a tricorder and modified phaser from his pack, Methos first scanned the ship and located the body, only one, thank the gods, and then aimed his phaser at the ship's hull close to the spot where the body lay. After melting a good-sized hole in the hull, Methos dove through and grabbed the inert form at the controls under the arms. He gave a mighty tug and dislodged the person from its seat. He groaned as the dead weight threatened to yank his arms from their sockets. Of course, the pilot would have to be a large, heavy male. The body was suited up in full EVA gear, so he couldn't immediately tell if it was anyone he knew. Methos yanked his wandering thoughts back on track. It didn't matter who the man was. He needed to get them both out of there and off the plateau before the fire reached the warp core. En route to the opening in the hull, Methos spotted a long, slim case with strap running from one end to the other, probably the man's sword. He really should save it if he could. The case rested against a miraculously intact satchel. Methos shouldered both objects, then took hold of the temporarily dead Immortal again. He heaved his patient ungently through the hole in the bulkhead, then shimmied through, himself. //Skyrr! I need you.// Methos' mental command was sharp. The Kat obeyed immediately. Methos flung the heavy body over the Kat's withers, balancing it as best he could Skyrr grunted and glanced reproachfully at the old Immortal. This human was heavy! //Sorry, friend, but we have to get off this plateau NOW. That ship is going to blow any minute now. Hrryn!// The chestnut Kat leaped to his side. Methos threw himself astride. //RUN!!// They did. The Kat's strides lengthened and brought them to the edge of the plateau in a heartbeat. They dove over the edge and tucked their large bodies into an indentation in the cliff wall. Suddenly, there was a tremendous detonation as the shuttlecraft blew itself to smithereens. Methos sighed with relief. They were safe. Now to see to his patient, who still hadn't revived. //Thank you, friends,// he said gratefully to the Kats. //I need to get this human to some even ground to see to his hurts.// //Of course,// Hrryn said. //One is grateful that you were not injured. One was very concerned when you went into the ship to bring out the other human. One is of the opinion that you were very brave.// Hrryn dropped into formal address to emphasize the seriousness of his declaration. //Thank you, friend. One is honored by your esteem,// Methos replied in kind. The Kats slowly picked their way down the steep slope to the level ground at the base of the plateau. He dismounted quickly and hauled the other Immortal to the ground. First in order of business was the fragment of shattered control panel embedded in the man's chest. So that was why he hadn't revived. Methos yanked the large piece of shrapnel from the inert body, knowing that the wound would heal on its own. Now to see who his unexpected guest was. He wrestled for a moment with the seal connecting the helmet to the rest of the EVA suit before the seal finally gave and allowed him to pull the thing off the man's head. Methos finally got a good look at the other Immortal and gasped, stunned. "By all the gods!" he whispered. "Duncan!" He blinked. Twice. But the man was still there, long black hair drawn back into a somewhat haphazard queue, handsome face in repose. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod lay unconscious before him. Methos was still blinking stupidly at his friend when the big Scot's body heaved up off the ground, and he coughed once. As soon as the bolt of white-hot energy had come out of nowhere and struck his shuttle, Duncan had known he was in trouble. If he could believe his shipboard instruments, he'd been transported more than twenty thousand light-years away from the colony on Ragos II, the place where he'd made his home. He'd been en route to make some EVA repairs on an orbiting subspace communications grid when the anomaly had struck, and he'd prudently suited up during his headlong rush through space, not knowing if his craft would survive the trip in one piece. Once again, if he could believe his instruments, the journey he'd taken should've lasted 80 years, but it took only minutes. Then, suddenly, he'd been caught in the gravitational field of a large, M-class planet. He could do nothing more than brace for impact, hoping that his EVA suit would give him a better chance for survival. Duncan came awake all at once. His first thought was that he was glad his head had remained attached during that horrific crash. His second was to flail for his sword as Immortal Presence fizzed across his nerves. "Mac, Mac, it's okay. It's just me. You're safe," said a suspiciously familiar baritone. Duncan's eyes opened and slowly cleared. He gasped, scarcely believing what his eyes told him was true. His gloved hands fumbled to grab the other's forearms. "My God. Methos?!" Duncan was absolutely incredulous. A sardonic smile spread lopsidedly over the old man's face. "Welcome to Riyal, Mac. Mi casa es su casa. I'd offer you a beer, but I left it all back at my cabin." A strangled chuckle escaped Duncan's lips, and then suddenly, he was pulling Methos down into a fierce bear hug. Methos knew he should feel startled, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world to melt into the Highlander's embrace, to throw his arms about the other warrior's neck and bury his head at the juncture of strong bronze neck and muscular shoulder. "Gods, Mac, it's good to see you again," Methos said softly. "I was sure your boyscout code would've gotten you killed by now. I'm more glad than I can say that I was wrong about that. A thousand years, Mac..." Duncan's arms tightened their hold, and he smiled into his old friend's shoulder. "I've missed you, Methos. I can't even tell you how many times I've come home expecting...hoping...to see you sprawled all over the furniture, drinking my beer. Every time you weren't there, I died a little, I think. A thousand years is too long to go without seeing a friend. Let's not do it again, all right?" Methos laughed. "I think I can handle that, Highlander." The old man realized that he should probably get Mac on his feet and check for other injuries, but he couldn't quite bring himself to crawl out of the Scot's lap. Not yet. Duncan finally noticed their audience. He stiffened, eyes casting about desperately for his sword. "Um, Methos? I think we have company," he said tightly. Company? Methos' eyes scanned the area. He laughed when he saw the Kats regarding them with puzzled expressions, having forgotten all about them. "Relax, Mac, they're friends. Sentient felines that communicate mentally. They call themselves the K'rrah, and they're much more intelligent than the local humans. Since you're Immortal, you should be able to hear them - something to do with our Quickenings, I think. I'm part of their pack now. I'll introduce you." //Hrryn, Skyrr, come meet my friend. He is from my original home, and we were friends a very long time ago. He is a brave and fierce warrior; he fights with honor and always for what is good and right. He is no threat to you and yours and will be a friend to the pack.// The Kats approached slowly and warily. "Did you hear anything I said to them just now?" Methos asked, wondering if his telepathy extended beyond the Kats. "Nope, not a thing." Methos made a non-committal noise and extricated himself reluctantly from Duncan's arms. He spoke his next words both aloud and in his mind, so that everyone would hear. "Hrryn, Skyrr, meet Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. It's a long name, but he'll answer to Duncan, MacLeod, or just Mac. Mac, meet Hrryn and Skyrr of the K'rrah." He drew his stiletto and passed it to Duncan. "Score your palm and offer it to them. It's a gesture of friendship and a ritual that will allow you to share mind speech with them." Duncan complied and clasped bloody appendages first with Skyrr, then Hrryn. Methos heard their mental greetings to the Scot, and watched his handsome face transform with wonder as he exchanged thoughts with the Kats. "Incredible!" he whispered aloud to Methos. Hrryn turned to look at the older Immortal. //It is fortunate that the Vortex called your mate here to be with you.// Methos nearly swallowed his tongue, wondering how the Kats had managed to overhear the whispers of his attraction to the Highlander, which he kept locked tightly away in deepest recesses of his soul. Duncan, having overheard the remark, looked acutely discomfited. Well. Looks like I'd best disabuse them of that notion, thought Methos to himself. //Duncan's not my mate, Hrryn! He's my friend!// Skyrr looked puzzled. //But you have each other's marks upon your minds. For us, that is a sign of mating. This is not the case for you?// Duncan and Methos glanced at each other in comical confusion. "Marks on our minds?" Duncan asked helplessly. Methos' mind worked furiously for a moment. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "The double Quickening. Remember Bordeaux? We shared a bit of each other then along with Kronos and Silas." Duncan was nodding even before Methos finished. "How could I forget Bordeaux? You're probably right. Now how do we explain it to them?" "Hmmm..." Methos then addressed the Kats. //We bear each other's marks because we are shieldmates - brothers in battle. It was during a fight against evil warriors that our minds joined briefly and exchanged marks.// The Kats looked surprised but communicated acceptance and understanding. //This does not happen with us,// Hrryn said, //but then, your minds are different from ours. Perhaps it is different for you.// Methos nodded and got to his feet. He held out his hand to Duncan. "On your feet, Highlander. I need to see if anything else needs fixing." Duncan accepted the offer of assistance and was pulled upright by a surprisingly strong grip. He wobbled unsteadily for a moment, then regained his equilibrium. "I think I'm more or less in one piece, Old Man." He glanced over at the jagged hunk of control panel that Methos had pulled from his chest. Duncan paled slightly when he saw the liberal amount of blood smeared all over it. He glanced down at his torn jumpsuit. "I take it that was..." he gulped. "Yeah. Kept you out for awhile." "I think I'm glad I didn't feel it." Duncan proceeded to strip out of his torn EVA suit, leaving fitted leggings and ruined shirt beneath. He examined his shirt and grimaced. "Well, looks like that's no good anymore." He peeled the tight, torn garment off over his head. Methos tried not to stare. Good grief, but the youngster could've been a god! Tall, bronze, muscular, overwhelmingly masculine. No wonder women fell all over themselves for MacLeod. Good thing the younger man was so staunchly heterosexual, or Methos might've been in serious trouble. It was no end of danger to get involved with another Immortal - went contrary to everything in the older man's survivalist credo. Thank any god that was listening that the only Immortal Methos had ever had any serious feelings for could never return them. Now all he had to do was get those feelings to go away and leave him alone. He raked another covert glance up and down the younger man's frame. Not very likely. Not while he looked like that. Duncan looked over at Methos. "I don't suppose you have another shirt - I wasn't packed for an overnight trip. Even if my packs had made it out, I wouldn't have had any extra clothes." Methos opened his pack and removed his spare tunic. "This might be a bit small in the shoulders for you, but it's the best I can do for now. We'll go into town tomorrow and get you some clothes. And your packs did make it out, by the way. I figured you'd want your sword." MacLeod exhaled with relief when he opened the slim case and found his treasured katana unharmed. "Thanks, Methos. I'd never have forgiven myself if I'd lost Hideo's sword. I take it my shuttle didn't make it?" "Nope. Went up like a firecracker before you revived. I'm afraid you're stuck here until I decide to leave. My ship's the only warp-capable vessel on the planet." Duncan looked surprised. "This is a pre-warp planet?" He reflected on that for a moment. "Of course. The Federation leaves pre-warp civilizations alone. Perfect place to hide." Methos bristled. MacLeod made it sound like he was a coward, running away from everything. "Not hide, Mac. Live. Perfect place to live. No headhunters, and none likely to land here, though I've yet to figure out how the heck you got here." MacLeod snorted as he donned Methos' tunic and belted it at his waist. "Actually, I was hoping you could tell me. I was in orbit around Ragos II to make some repairs to a subspace grid, then my ship got hit with some kind of energy surge. All of a sudden, I was holding on for dear life and hoping I didn't end up splattered all over the planet surface. I'm not even terribly sure where we are." "Energy surge, eh? Hmmm, looks like there are other forces at work here, Mac. I'll explain it all when we get back." Methos switched to mind speech. //Skyrr, would you mind carrying my friend?// //I would be honored. I will bear you willingly, human.// MacLeod nodded and approached the huge black Kat, a bit nervous about the prospect of riding a feline the size of a horse. Skyrr growled and nudged the Scot playfully. //I will not bite. I have already eaten today,// the big Kat deadpanned. A startled laugh burst from MacLeod's lips as he climbed astride his mount. Methos followed suit, stretching out on Hrryn's back to give him freedom to run. MacLeod followed his example. The Kats set off at a rapid pace, not slowing until they approached the entrance to the Vortex canyon. Methos dismounted and indicated that Mac should do the same. The older man grabbed Duncan's hand and began chanting in Ancient Egyptian, imploring Bast to allow his friend to pass the canyon Guardians. The statues' eyes began to glow and pulse again. Methos took that as a good sign and began to tug Duncan into the canyon. The younger man resisted. "Methos, what...?" "Not now, Duncan! They've decided to let you in. Let's not test their patience, hmm?" Duncan closed his mouth and followed his friend into the canyon. He gaped. The rocky walls were positively packed with huge felines. Kyrragh approached them growling. //I consented to the first human. Why do you bring another?// Hrryn visibly attempted to control his temper. Sometimes, the revered pack leader could be a royal pain. //This is Methos' packmate, from the lands where he hunted before he came among us. He was inside the thing which fell from the sky. Their spirits bear each other's marks.// Kyrragh looked patently unconvinced. //They are mates?!// He was incredulous. Methos begged any deity listening for patience. //We are brothers in battle. He is my friend, and he is an honorable man. The Guardians let him past, as you can plainly see. If you offer him your friendship, he will offer you his and pledge his loyalty to the pack.// Kyrragh snorted with distrust. //This one is a natural leader. I will not allow him to take over the pack.// Mental amusement from Methos. //Why would he want to lead a pack of another species? Just don't order him around, and he'll leave you alone.// Methos turned and whispered in Duncan's ear for a moment. The Scot nodded and drew his katana from its sheath across his back. He scored his palm on its edge and offered it to the big Kat. //My name is Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. As Clan Chief, I offer you friendship and alliance. When I run with your pack, I will defer to your leadership. My blade for your defense, and the loyalty of me and mine to the pack.// Kyrragh hesitated briefly, then nodded once, apparently satisfied with that. //As pack leader, I accept your offer of friendship and alliance and offer you the same in return. As Clan Chief, you may call on us at need. We will fight with your Clan as we would fight with our own.// Duncan nodded his acknowledgment, then turned to examine the canyon's interior more thoroughly. The swirling vortex at the center caught his eye. "Methos? What is that?" he asked, unable to take his eyes from the maelstrom of Quickening fire at the canyon's center. "That's a damned good question, MacLeod. I've been trying to figure that out for the better part of the day, myself. When I wasn't trying to rescue your sorry ass, of course." Duncan smiled wryly. Some things never change, not even in a thousand years. The two Immortals were still standing there, contemplating the mystery in front of them, when it suddenly flared to life again, transfixing them both with searing bolts of energy. It was Bordeaux all over again, lightning arcing between them and pulling inhuman screams from their throats. Hrryn and Skyrr lunged forward, concerned for their human friends. //We've got to get them out of here! It will kill them!// //No!// Kyrragh's order crackled sharply across their minds. //It is not our place to interfere. Besides, if we remove them now, we may do more harm than good.// The Kats subsided uneasily, still tensed to spring forth and snatch the Immortals to the dubious safety awaiting outside the canyon. As abruptly as the Vortex had lashed out, it quieted, leaving the two men gasping on the ground. Well. Wasn't that delightful, Methos thought wryly to himself. This "quiet life" he'd found for himself was becoming less and less quiet. "You can say that again," MacLeod rasped weakly, still recovering from the charge that had surged through them. Methos snorted sardonically, then froze. "Mac, what exactly could I say again?" Duncan flicked a confused glance at his friend. "That comment you made about uninvited electrocution being delightful, of course. What else?" Methos swallowed. "But I didn't say it. At least not out loud." Comprehension dawned in chocolate brown eyes. "You mean..." "I don't know what I mean." Methos' eyes were a bit wild. He thought he'd seen everything in his 6000 years, but this definitely took the cake. "Concentrate on something, Duncan, something I couldn't possibly come up with on my own." Duncan's eyes darkened in confusion for a moment, then he thought for a moment. "Okay. Whatever you're doing, try it now." Somehow, Methos concentrated in Duncan's direction. It felt like his brain was stretching towards the other man. Without warning, he burst out laughing. To his mortification, Duncan felt his cheeks grow hot, which of course made him blush even more. "Whot're ye laughing at?" he grumbled, his brogue thickening. "Nice legs in a kilt, eh, Mac? I'll have you know that these legs have been worshipped before." "Yeah, sure," Duncan said shortly. "Whatever made you think about my legs in a kilt??" "You said to concentrate on something you couldn't think of on your own. I figured that was it." "Well you're right about one thing - I certainly wouldn't have come up with something like that on my own. Do you really think that..." Methos cut himself off. "Gods, Mac, do you realize what we just did." "Aye, I think I've got a pretty good idea," the Scot said nervously. //So you can hear me?// Methos sent. //Aye.// //Well. Isn't this lovely. First you crash on my planet, and now I can't get you out of my head.// Amusement sparkled along their mental link. //So I guess I finally have an opportunity to return the favor, eh? You certainly freeloaded enough a thousand years ago.// Methos had the grace to look faintly guilty, but didn't get a chance to respond. He was interrupted by a pair of very concerned Kats who nudged ungently at them with their huge pink noses. //Friend Methos? Are you hurt?// Hrryn was worried. //No, Hrryn, I don't think so. Duncan and I can speak to each other now as we speak to you, but that appears to be the only effect.// Skyrr looked Duncan over from head to foot. He whuffled at the long black hair that had come loose from the tie that normally confined it. The ticklish sensation made Duncan laugh, and he cuffed the Kat affectionately across his muzzle. Skyrr looked surprised for a moment, then butted the Scot with his huge head. //One was concerned for your welfare, friend Duncan. One is pleased you are not harmed.// Sensing the grave formality of the address, Duncan responded accordingly. //One is grateful for your concern, and one will try not to warrant it again.// Skyrr's yellow eyes gleamed. Methos' stomach suddenly rumbled loudly. He glanced at the pack leader. //My friend and I have not eaten for quite some time, and I have a feeling that you don't have anything appropriate for us here. I think we should return to my home.// Kyrragh nodded. //That would probably be best. I will enjoin you, however, not to come here unless we are all present. The Vortex has taken quite an interest in you two, and I think it is safer for everyone if you do not come here alone.// //Fair enough,// Duncan said. Hrryn and Skyrr crouched to allow Methos and Duncan to mount. Both men nodded silently to Kyrragh, and then the two other Kats carried them out of the Vortex canyon and headed for Methos' home at a leisurely trot. "So, Methos, tell me about this planet I've crash-landed on," Duncan said to break the silence. Methos looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, not much to tell, really. Tolerable climate, wildlife is generally friendly, native fruits and vegetables are not only edible, they are quite palatable. There are is a large variety of feline wildlife, of which the K'rrah are the largest and the only sentient variety. The indigenous humans do not trust the K'rrah because they cannot speak with them. They view the Kats as unintelligent predators, though the K'rrah never hunt humans. Because of this, they don't trust me, since I have been seen with Hrryn on several occasions." MacLeod snorted. "Losing your touch, old man? I know you're better at hiding than that." Methos looked offended. "I'm hurt, Mac, truly hurt," the ancient man said in an injured tone. "It happened before I knew that the townspeople couldn't communicate with the Kats. Losing my touch, indeed." "Tell me about these people, then. I'll probably have to interact with them sooner rather than later if I'm to start over here." Something in the Highlander's voice made Methos cast a penetrating glance at him. "Where were you living before that Vortex dumped you here?" "Ragos II," Mac said shortly. "I'd actually been asked to run for governor of Chelain province. I was really considering it seriously." Methos nodded thoughtfully. "You'd make a good governor, Mac. Not so different from being Clan Chief, I suppose." His voice turned gentle. "Did you leave behind anyone important to you, Duncan?" Duncan shook his head. "Not the way you mean. Amanda will wonder where I've gone off to, and Rich was supposed to visit me next month. Connor will be worried sick. We built our homes near one another, claimed some land on a new world for the Clan MacLeod. Even invited some of the remaining Clan members on Earth to build there, now that the Highlands have been settled and built up." "A fine dream, Mac, to give your Clan a new home. Your father would be proud." Duncan winced. "Not of me. He couldn't abide having an 'unnatural demon' as a son." Methos cursed himself silently. He should've known better. He should've known that that would still be a sore spot, even after 1500 years. "S'not your fault, Methos. 1500 years should be long enough," Duncan responded to Methos' thought. Methos started. "Do you mind? I'd like to keep my thoughts private unless I invite you in, thanks," he said testily. "Sorry. I couldn't help overhearing." "I'll have to start thinking in Aramaic again, or something," the older man grumbled to himself. Duncan laughed. "Somehow, I don't think it'd make much difference. Even if you don't articulate your thoughts with words, I still have a general sense of them. Does it go both ways, old man? Do you know what I'm thinking?" "Well, of course I do," Methos said irritably. "I've just been tuning it out because I had the notion that you might like to keep your thoughts private." Duncan winced again. "Right. Sorry." Methos sighed. "No, Mac, there's no need to be. You didn't ask for this any more than I did." He grinned somewhat ruefully. "I suppose I'm too set in my ways after 6000 years, and I'm not dealing with this very well." Duncan grinned. He spoke up as another question popped into his mind. "Say, how long did it take you to get here, anyway?" "If we leave today and travel at maximum warp, we'll reach Earth in 80 years." Duncan blinked. "Wow. When you depart for parts unknown, you really make sure they're unknown, don't you?" Methos chuckled mirthlessly. "The ultimate survival maneuver, Mac. I came to a planet where there are no Immortals, and where Immortals will never come, at least not until the local populace becomes warp capable. That should be several more centuries. They still haven't gotten the hang of air travel yet, much less space travel." Methos looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'll go into town alone tomorrow and get you some clothes. There's no way you'd fit into much of mine, and you can't be seen in Federation garb. They'd be immediately mistrustful." Methos trailed off. "Oh, by the way, you can wear your sword openly here; they still wear weaponry. But don't draw it in public unless you absolutely have to. That's very bad form." Mac was smiling bemusedly at his friend's distracted rambling. "Sure, Methos. Consider me your student." Methos turned amazed eyes on his friend. "At 1500 years old, I hardly think you need a teacher any more, Mac." MacLeod snorted. Methos spotted the roof of his "cabin" through the trees up ahead. "Ah, here we are then. Home sweet home." The two Kats came to a halt inside the clearing, and the two men dismounted. Hrryn, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during the journey, spoke up. //Friend Methos, Skyrr and I spoke at length while we traveled. It is not right for members of the pack to live alone and away from their packmates. You and your shieldmate are our brothers now. With your permission, Skyrr and I would like to join your pack and make our dens on your grounds.// Methos' eyes widened. //You would live apart from your own kind?// Skyrr whuffled in amusement. //We are young males. We will soon be asked to leave our family group and form our own packs. We may be civilized, but mating and territorial imperatives are difficult to ignore. Adult males always send their sons away to form their own families, partly because they want the young males to be successful, but partly because we could one day challenge their positions.// Methos considered that for a moment. //What are your requirements for shelter?// The Kats glanced at each other. //It is customary for our kind to live in dens of rock. Caves, I think you call them,// Hrryn said. //We are, however, flexible. We will sleep in the trees on the edge of your clearing. Perhaps we could have a shelter of some kind to sit under when the rains come?// Methos snorted. //I can do better than that.// Duncan was eyeing Methos' cabin nervously. //I don't know, old man. I think they'd have a bit of a problem fitting into your house.// He projected his thoughts without even thinking about it. A grin spread slowly across the old Immortal's face. //Not everything is as it seems, youngster. I think you two will find that the cargo bay on my ship is large enough for you.// He stepped through the door and addressed the wall. "Computer, change cloaking parameters on cargo bay 1 as follows and then open the bay doors." His fingers flew over a control pad that materialized under his fingers. The rocky outcropping against which the house had been built suddenly shimmered and shifted until it became a large, dry cave. Duncan blinked. //Very nice, old man.// The Kats rumbled approvingly as they investigated the interior. Skyrr then bounded lightly up to the top of the "rock," where he stretched out in the warm sun. //Most satisfactory,// he sent with a contented rumble. Hrryn padded over to the door of the cabin and poked his head inside, butting Methos affectionately. //You furless folk are better with your front paws than we give you credit for.// His amusement burbled along the links to the two men and his K'rrah packmate. "So, Mac, this is home sweet home. What do you think?" "I'm impressed, Methos. I presume that this is your ship, as well?" he asked as the older man sauntered over towards what appeared to be a food cupboard. He opened a door, muttered a few words, and a pair of cold beers appeared on an empty shelf. "That it is, Highlander," he responded with uncharacteristic good humor as he tossed the younger man a bottle. "Have a beer." Duncan drank gratefully. "Nice set-up. I'm really impressed with the cloaking and projections. Does it come with a guest room?" "Sure thing. Down that hall, second door on your left. Why don't you make yourself and sack out for awhile. You've got to be tired after all that's happened. You also need new clothes, and you can't go into town looking like that." Methos gestured to Mac's bloody leggings and too-small borrowed tunic. "I'll be back in a couple of hours. Feel free to replicate yourself something to eat if you want. There's native produce in the cupboard if you prefer. And the stream's about three hundred yards east of here if you're really feeling enterprising and want to catch some fish. I'll tell the Kats to let you sleep." Duncan couldn't get a word in edgewise, so he let Methos' nervous chatter fill the silence, and the normally morose man whirled out the door, pack in hand, striding rapidly toward the south. He chuckled, shook his head, then took his case and sword and found the guest quarters. He flopped down to test the bed and was asleep in seconds. Methos muttered distractedly to himself as he headed towards town, gesticulating wildly as he went. Why the hell was he so nervous? This was Duncan, for crying out loud. Duncan the brave, Duncan the polite, Duncan the chivalrous, Duncan the friendly, Duncan the superb cook, Duncan the gorgeous... Oh, dear. Never mind that he'd been a more or less permanent guest in Mac's barge or loft for several years all those centuries ago, this was entirely different. Mac was a guest in his house, and he couldn't just pick up and leave when it got too hard to be in Duncan's presence and not throw himself at the Scot. It wasn't long before Methos' long legs carried him within reach of Shin'ra, a medium-sized town close to his mountain retreat. He strode purposefully toward the market square. He glanced around at the fair-haired, fair-skinned townspeople and winced. Duncan would never blend in. His own dark hair was enough of an oddity, but at least he had his pale complexion. Tall, dark, handsome Duncan would stick out like a black rose among lilies. He sighed. He'd have to drop some story about a visitor from far to the south, warmer climes were he hoped people were naturally darker. "Methos!" a high-pitched voice cried. He turned to see Fress, the baker's young maid, shouldering a basket of fresh bread on her way to the market. She was a petite, rosy-cheeked girl with long blonde braids who had taken a definite shine to Methos' assumed philosopher persona. Methos groaned inwardly. She was a nice enough girl, but she just wouldn't get the message that he wasn't interested. "Good morrow, Fress," he said politely. "Are you bound for the market?" A sparkling giggle spilled from her lips. "Indeed I am, as you well know," she said coyly. Methos resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I am headed there, myself. If you would grant me the pleasure of your company, I would be honored to escort you." "Certainly. I would be delighted." She batted her eyelashes. Methos decided that now was the time to drop a few strategic hints. Fress was an incurable gossip, and she'd quickly spread the story of his new visitor. "I need to purchase a few things for a visitor I have staying at my cabin today. I've not needed new clothes, myself, for quite some time. Are there any new men's clothiers I should look at? My friend's belongings were destroyed in a storm." "Oh, how awful! Is your friend unharmed?" "Yes, thank you, he is quite alright. He is from far to the south, and he is not accustomed to the climate here. He was caught asleep in a downpour, and his pack was washed away in a flooded stream. He wasn't ever in any real danger." "I shall speak to my father. Perhaps you and your friend could join us for dinner some evening soon." Methos cursed silently. He hadn't counted on this. "Perhaps. My friend is very tired from his journey. I'd like to give him a few days to recuperate." Fress' blue eyes widened. "Oh, of course, how thoughtless of me. Please do give him my regards, won't you Methos?" Methos sketched the socially polite half-bow. "Of course. And here is your baker's stand. I hope you have good business today, Shra Fress." "Good day, Ser Methos," she called as she hurried to the baker's table. Methos ducked into a clothier's he'd patronized in the past. He was friendly with Chulla, the middle-aged tailor who ran the place. "Good afternoon, Ser Chulla," he called. "Yes, who's there?" The little man emerged from his workroom, blinking owlishly after being hunched over his stitchery. "Friend Methos!" he cried happily. "I haven't seen you in nigh on a year now! It's good to see you again." "Thank you, Chulla. It's good to see you as well," Methos said with a smile. He genuinely liked the mercurial little man - he had a quick wit and was always an excellent conversationalist. "What can I get for you today, my friend? A new suit of clothes for calling upon a lady friend, perhaps?" he said with a wink. "I know young Fress has her eye on you." Methos snorted. "No, I think not. Actually, I'm here on behalf of a friend. I've got a visitor - the son of an old family friend. He's traveled here from far to the south, and his luggage got washed away in a storm. I need some suitable attire for him. Perhaps 2 or 3 suits of everyday clothes, like I'm wearing, a couple pairs of winter leggings, a few warmer tunics, um, a suit of fine clothes, two cloaks, one light, one heavy, both waterproof. Also, socks, undergarments, and a couple pairs of loose trousers. We share an interest in swordplay, and he'll need something to spar in." Chulla was scribbling rapidly. At the end of Methos' list, he squinted up at the old Immortal. "Forgive me for asking, friend, but can you afford all that?" Methos pulled out a stack of coins and raised one eyebrow. Chulla's eyes widened. "I don't know what you do to get paid that much, but your coin's as good as the next man's." Methos laughed. "I help the city council solve engineering problems from time to time. They pay me well, and I don't spend much. I've been waiting for a rainy day. Since my friend got caught out in just such a day, it seems fitting that I buy him clothes to replace what he lost." Chulla shrugged. "It's your money, friend. Why so much, though? Seems like you're outfitting him for a year-round stay." Methos nodded. "He's going to be with me for quite some time. He's a military expert, and he wants to observe the province's forces while they train after spending a bit of a holiday at my place." "Ah. I see. And what size is your friend?" Methos paused for a moment. He was unnaturally tall compared to the native people here; surely Mac would be a giant. Well, it wasn't like he could get Mac to fit into smaller clothes. "He's probably a good three inches taller than I, perhaps 50 or 60 pounds heavier, very broad in the shoulders, barrel-chested, muscular all over." Chulla blinked. "Bigger than you?" he squeaked. "Lords, he must be a giant!" The tailor started pacing. "You'll have to bring him in so I can get accurate measurements. I can probably scrounge up something from what I've got on hand. That should get him here tomorrow. Fair?" Methos nodded. "Certainly. At the moment, he's trying not very successfully to fit into some of my things." Chulla rummaged in a few chests. He came up with two tunics, a pair of leggings, and a pair of loose trousers. "There you are. That should tide him over." "Thanks, friend." Methos made to hand over all the coins. "No, Ser Methos, I'll take ten tranas for what you've got there, not a penny more until I've completed the rest to your friend's satisfaction." Methos nodded. "Fair enough. I'll bring my friend in tomorrow morning. You mustn't let him put you off, though. He's a rather imposing figure." Chulla snorted. "After meeting you, I'm sure I'll never find anyone imposing ever again. You're even bigger than the governor, and he's the largest man in the province. Or at least he was until you appeared." The tailor cuffed him affectionately on the shoulder. "Get yourself home and see to your guest. Tell him that Chulla will outfit him in the morning." Methos grinned. "Will do, my friend. A good evening to you!" Whistling merrily, he stopped by the baker's stall on his way out of the square for fresh bread. Fress, of course, was there, and she latched onto Methos almost immediately. Methos, for his part made polite but firm excuses that he really had to get home for his friend. Methos escaped the town gratefully, beset with ludicrous visions of Fress trying good-naturedly to trap him and tie him up with her braids. At length, he approached his cabin, pleased to see the Kats napping on the "rocks" and soaking up the last of the sunlight. //Are you well, friends? Is your new home to your satisfaction?// Skyrr never stirred, but Hrryn raised his head and regarded Methos sleepily. //Most satisfactory. You chose a good spot - plenty of game and fish available near here. Our new den is warm and dry. Most satisfactory, indeed.// Methos smiled. //Excellent. Enjoy your nap; I must see to Duncan.// Hrryn yawned and sank back into sleep. Methos stepped through the door of his cabin and was met with the aroma of something delicious coming from the kitchen. "Mac?" Duncan had clearly made a trip to the stream. He'd washed away the evidence of his crash, and his hair was loose and damp. Methos couldn't help but gaze appreciatively at that hair for a moment. Duncan had let it grow; the older man imagined that this was closer to what Mac must've looked like while he was still a Chieftain's son all those centuries ago. It was no longer the short cap of black curls that Mac had worn when they parted company, nor was it the shoulder-length waves that it had been when the two of them first met. No, it was now a glorious fall of rippling ebony that reached all the way to the middle of the Scot's back. Methos forcibly suppressed a groan. For a thousand years, he'd wanted to bury his hands in that hair, and now there was so much more of it to enjoy. "Dinner's almost ready, Methos." Duncan carried a couple of covered dishes to Methos' small dining table. He'd removed Methos' spare tunic, both because the evening was balmy, and because he didn't want to stretch the seams unnecessarily. As a result, Methos was treated to the vision of a half-dressed Highlander serving him dinner, and the half that was dressed filled sleek black leggings that looked like they'd been painted on. Stuff of fantasies, indeed. "Mac?" he croaked, then cleared his throat to cover his reaction to the Scot. "I've got some new clothes for you - all the tailor had in your size. We'll have to go to town tomorrow to get you measured for the rest of it." Duncan accepted the bundle Methos handed him. "Thanks, Methos. I'll pay you back as soon as I find something in the way of gainful employment." He started to turn towards the spare bedroom to change his clothes, then turned back, glancing quizzically at his friend. "What do you mean, 'all the tailor had in my size?'" Methos grimaced. "Sorry to tell you this, Mac, but you're going to stick out like a sore thumb in town. I'm unnaturally tall compared to the indigenous people. You're going to be seen as a veritable giant. It's all he had large enough to fit you." Duncan rolled his eyes. "Delightful. Ah, well. They'll have to get used to me, I guess." "Oh, and by the way, if anybody asks, you're the son of an old friend of my father's family, come up from far to the south to visit with me for awhile. You've been in correspondence with me for some years, and have been looking for a new challenge, new occupation, new home, you get the idea, for quite awhile. That's the story I dropped to a couple of the town gossips." Duncan nodded. "Why so detailed? Why can't I just be a visitor from a few towns away?" he asked, curious. Methos shook his head. "Everyone in this part of the world tends toward the blond-haired, blue-eyed, milkmaid pale end of the spectrum. My dark hair makes me stick out, but at least I've got the right skin tone. Nobody'd believe you're from anywhere near here, not with your dark hair and complexion. I'm hoping that everyone in this place is provincial enough not to have traveled very far south, in case I'm wrong." Duncan grinned ruefully. "So much for blending in with the local populace. You're nothing if not devious, Methos," he said, affection warming his voice. He ducked into his new quarters to change, donning the tan suede breeches and loose linen tunic, which he belted with a dark brown leather belt Methos had given him. He put his standard issue boots on over the stockings. They looked a bit strange, but they'd serve until he could buy a more appropriate pair. He examined his reflection critically. Not bad. Refreshingly familiar, even, though he hadn't worn clothes like this in nearly 1200 years. He pulled the tie out of his slightly tangled hair, dragged a comb through it, and tied back just a topknot to keep the long black waves out of his face. When he returned to the kitchen area, Methos was sniffing approvingly at the steaming dishes on the table. "Not bad, Mac. Your first day on the planet and you already have a good idea of what goes well together. I'm impressed. Maybe you should open a restaurant," he kidded. Methos was desperate to keep the mood light. The Scot looked good enough to eat in his new clothes, and the older man could definitely see why he never lacked for female attention. If he could manage to keep some humor in their exchanges, then maybe he could keep the younger man from sensing his interest and desire. Duncan ducked his head, abashed. They sat down to a companionable dinner Duncan's culinary instinct was right on target. Despite his lack of familiarity with local foodstuffs, the simple meal he'd prepared of roasted fish, boiled, seasoned grains, and sautéed vegetables was excellent. The meal was completed with Methos' bread and a bottle of replicated wine. Methos sighed contentedly after he finished eating. "Best I've had in a very long time, Mac. My compliments to the chef." Duncan chuckled. "D'ye mind if I cook in lieu of paying rent?" His brogue was more pronounced, thickened with wine, fatigue, and general contentment. Methos grinned. "Sounds like a fair exchange to me." He cast a quizzical glance at the Highlander. "Let your hair go, eh, Mac?" Duncan ran a hand self-consciously over the drying black waves. "Ragos II has a cold climate. At first, I grew it out for the warmth. Then Connor challenged me to see how long it would get before it drove me completely insane. I should probably cut it so that I blend in a little better." "No, don't," Methos said a little too quickly. To cut that beautiful hair seemed sacrilegious. He chuckled to cover his error. "You'll never blend in anyhow. Might as well give them something to look at." "So I'm a little on the tall side," Duncan griped. "Surely I'm not all that conspicuous." Methos laughed. "Mac, even I stick out, and you know I've made blending into the background a personal goal for the last six millennia." Duncan chuckled. "If even you stick out, then I guess I haven't got a prayer. Seriously, though, I think I'd like to take off about 6 or 8 inches. It'll be short enough then that I can wear it in a queue without it getting in the way. I've been wearing it braided for the most part." Duncan mused contemplatively for a moment. "You must've been a barber sometime during the last 6000 years, Methos. Can I trust you to give me a trim without butchering it?" he ribbed. Methos raised an silent eyebrow, at which Duncan exploded into laughter. Methos agonized privately for a moment. To cut that gorgeous hair seemed wrong. But then, he'd have license to run his fingers through the silky stuff like he'd always wanted... Decisions, decisions. One look at Duncan's deep brown eyes, and Methos buckled, as he knew he would. "Sure, Mac. If you really want to cut that impressive hair of yours, I'll do it for you, and I'll do it right. You can trust me," the older man said softly. "Well a'course I trust ye, Methos. There are verra few people I'd trust with my life, old man, and ye're at the top of the list." Duncan's accent thickened a bit more with the emotional declaration. Methos blinked. "Do you really mean that, Duncan?" "Aye. Ye may be a devious old bastard, but there's no one else I'd trust so much to guard me back." He flashed Methos a thousand-watt smile. Methos' mouth quirked in an answering half smile. "Thank you, Duncan. I'm honored. Of course, it goes without saying that I trust you. If you don't trust Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, eternal boyscout, then there really isn't anyone you trust at all." Duncan's eyes narrowed. "Nay, Methos. I dinna think it goes without saying. Ye've had only yourself to trust all these long millennia, and I count myself blessed to have broken through that instinctive suspicion of everyone but yourself and earned your trust." Methos flushed under his friend's serious regard and felt the conversation start spiraling into territory way too intense to approach tonight. "So tell me, Mac, am I still a legend back home?" Methos asked to lighten the atmosphere. Duncan grinned. "Aye, that ye are. Amanda, Richie, and I are the only ones who know that Adam Pierson is really Methos. I never even told Connor. In fact, about a hundred years after you disappeared for parts unknown, I saw to it that a report of Adam Pierson's demise made it into Watcher Headquarters. As far as anyone in the Game is concerned, you were taken out by a pack of headhunters, and I later took the head of the one who killed you." "Protecting me again, eh Mac? Playing the avenging angel?" Methos asked gently. Duncan had the grace to flush slightly. "No, not exactly. Just... returning the favor you did me during that whole O'Rourke mess." "That was never a favor, Duncan. You're my friend, the only Immortal besides Darius that I could actually and unreservedly call my friend. I don't let my friends die, not if I can help it. Not ever." Methos' hazel eyes flashed with his vehemence. He immediately cursed his indiscretion. He gave away too much. Duncan sat silently and stared at Methos for a moment. The old man's eyes were suspiciously bright. The Scot rose to his feet, circled the table, and hauled Methos up into a rough embrace. "I canna tell ye how honored I am by that, Methos," Duncan's voice rumbled softly in the older man's ear. Methos could do little else but hold on tight as an entirely unaccustomed wave of emotion swept over him. He was mortified to discover that he was shaking with the intensity of it. Duncan held the older man tightly, held him steady when he felt Methos' sleek, wiry body start trembling. The Highlander took a shaky breath, feeling none too steady himself, and wondering how the older man managed to evoke such a strong response in him. He held Methos close, unwilling - unable - to let him go. "Duncan...gods, what the hell is...do you feel it?" Methos rasped hoarsely. "Aye," Duncan's voice was husky. The brawny Scot's arms tightened even further, and Methos was sure he heard his ribs creak. "Mac," he gasped, "Air! I don't fancy death by asphyxiation much, thanks." Something that sounded like a breathless chuckle erupted from Duncan's lips. "Sorry, Methos. I just...I feel very much like I'm not supposed to let go of you." Duncan snorted softly. "I'm sorry," he apologized again. "You must think I've lost my mind." He started to loosen his grip against the compulsion to hold the old man close. "No, don't!" Methos' voice was desperate. "Don't let go," he blurted before he could stop the words. Duncan gratefully wrapped the other man in his arms again. "Not on your life," he assured the other Immortal. After another moment, he pulled his head back and searched Methos' brilliant eyes. He found desperation, affection, confusion, and faint embarrassment. Methos was sure he was drowning. Drowning in great, deep pools of soft chocolate brown. Such beautiful eyes...! The older man read so much from those expressive eyes - affection returned a hundred-fold, a hint of confusion, wonderment, dawning joy. He scarcely noticed that Duncan was leaning closer as though driven by an irresistible compulsion. Didn't register at all that those full lips parted slightly. Methos was conscious of nothing but the Highlander's eyes until they fluttered closed. He didn't even have time to wonder why before Duncan's lips brushed against his mouth, and the world dropped out from under him. Oh! Oh, so soft, so sweet! Surely, nothing in the world was as perfect as Duncan MacLeod's kiss. Of their own volition, Methos' bones liquefied, and he melted into the Highlander with a quiet sigh. Duncan's head was spinning. He had no explanation for his behavior, for the sudden irresistible need to kiss his friend, but neither could he deny it. He felt hunger rising from deep within his soul, and he moaned softly as he deepened the kiss. The last coherent thought in his head was that Methos was just as enthusiastic a participant as himself, and that should've surprised him. But it didn't, and then such trivial concerns as rational thought evaporated into a haze of desire. Devoured. Methos was being devoured by his friend, and he couldn't care less. He was ridiculously, supremely content to give and give and give of himself so long as Duncan would take and give in return. Finally, the need for oxygen reasserted itself, and the two men broke apart, gasping. Methos sagged against the Highlander's chest, his legs turned to rubber with the realization that the one thing he wanted for a thousand years might finally, impossibly, be his. Duncan stroked the long, leanly muscled back while Methos recovered his equilibrium. "Wow," the older man breathed. Duncan chuckled. "Why the hell didn't we think of that before?" he asked with a wry grin that the other man couldn't see. "If I'd known that kissing you would be that good..." Duncan trailed off as Methos finally lifted his head and flushed endearingly. "Now that you mention it," he mumbled. Duncan caught his chin and stared incredulously into Methos' eyes. "You mean you did think of this before? Why didn't you say something?" he demanded. Methos snorted, his dry sense of humor returning. "Really, Mac, do you honestly think that I would say something like that to Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, poster boy for rampant heterosexuality?" His eyes turned serious. "I valued your friendship to highly to risk losing it," he said quietly. Mac gravely nodded his acknowledgment of the other man's admission. Then he grinned. "Well, a thousand years ago, you'd have been right. About the 'rampant heterosexuality,' I mean." "And I'm not right now?" "Strictly speaking, no. I've never done anything really serious, though. Explored the options, I guess you could say, but never any real relationships. Never really wanted one, until now." "Until now?" Methos berated himself for sounding so breathless. "I don't know that I want to dive headfirst into anything, but...Dammit, Methos, that kiss!" he said explosively. "I'd be a damn fool if I said I didn't want to do some serious exploring of options with you." Methos grinned. "I'm with you 100% on that one, Mac. Come on," he said, tugging affectionately at a handful of silky black hair, "I'll give you that haircut if you're still interested." "You bet. Thanks." Duncan grinned lopsidedly at Methos and sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. Methos opened a wooden box and pulled out a phaser. He twiddled with the settings for a moment, then glanced up at the other man. "You'd better stand back up, Mac. I'll never reach the ends with you all the way down there." Duncan stood obediently. "How much do you want taken off?" Duncan considered that for a moment. "You'd better take it up to my shoulders. It'll be easier to take care of that way." Methos knew the other man wouldn't see the regretful smile that touched his face. "You realize it's sacrilegious to cut off all this gorgeous hair, don't you?" he teased Duncan threw a surprised glance over his shoulder. "Like it, do you?" Methos carded his hands through the long, long, soft waves. "I've waited a thousand years to do this, you know. Run my hands through your hair, I mean." MacLeod swallowed hard. "Jesus, Methos," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. A deep chuckle warmed the air behind him. "Sorry, Mac. Didn't mean to catch you off guard, there. But you must know that you've got a bloody amazing head of hair!" Strong, slender hands massaged his scalp and sifted through black curls. Duncan made a decision. "Tell you what, Methos. I'll leave it up to your discretion. I'm way overdue for a haircut, and I definitely need to take some of it off, but I'll leave it to you to decide how long it'll be when you're done." "Fair enough. I told you that you could trust me; I wasn't kidding." Methos frowned at the long dark hair, considering. Right about...there. Slightly below the shoulders - just a bit longer than when he'd first met MacLeod. It would take off about eight inches of hair. "Hold still, Mac. I wouldn't want to take your head by accident," he deadpanned. "Not bloody likely," Duncan growled. Methos chuckled and activated his phaser at low power. He aimed it at Duncan's hair and carefully cut a straight line across the dark fall. Long, curly locks tumbled to the ground and the faintly acrid scent of overheated hair filled the air briefly. Methos took a hairbrush and stroked through Duncan's hair, looking for any uneven strands. He nodded, satisfied. "Never seen a phaser used for that," Duncan commented. "Faster than clippers," Methos answered. "Looks good, Mac. Short enough for you?" Duncan pulled a handful of hair over his shoulder and examined it critically. "Terrific. Just enough off to make it manageable again. Thanks, Methos." "No problem. If you don't mind, I'm going to put the clippings outside for the birds. They'll be living in the lap of luxury with this to line their nests." The wry grin was back in force. "Sure. I haven't got a use for it, after all." "Thanks. Be right back." Methos gathered up the discarded black curls into a generous handful and strode outside. Once out of the Highlander's sight, he separated out a thin lock. He scattered the balance at the edge of the wood, and feeling more than a little foolish, he wove the purloined lock into a thin braid, tied of both ends, and coiled it into his pocket. Back inside, Duncan tied off a topknot to keep his newly shortened hair out of his face and started tending to the dinner dishes. He whistled tunelessly as he worked, then abruptly grinned wryly to himself. He felt so bloody domestic, but surprisingly enough, that didn't bother him a bit. This...thing...with Methos, whatever it might eventually become, felt incredibly, remarkably right. He turned when he heard the older man come in. "Dishes are done, old man." "Oh, thanks, Mac." He glanced out the window, noting that it was full dark already. "We'd better turn in. I told Chulla, the tailor, that I'd have you in his shop first thing so he could take some measurements and get started on some clothes for you." Duncan yawned. "Sounds good. I've had a full day anyway. I could use the sleep, honestly." An awkward silence fell. At length, Methos took a deep breath and broke it. "Duncan," he said and paused. "I don't know where this thing with us is going, but I feel a pretty strong compulsion to be close to you right now." He almost collapsed with relief when Duncan nodded, agreeing. "We don't have to do anything, but I want you to know you're always welcome in my home and in my bed, even if only to sleep." "Thank you, Methos," Duncan said quietly. "I think I'll take you up on that offer." "Just to sleep?" "For now. Whatever this is between us, I don't want to ruin it by rushing it." Methos smiled. "Good. Me neither." He extended a hand to the Highlander. "Shall we?" Grinning, Duncan took his hand and followed him into his bedroom. Methos stripped blithely down to his underwear and hopped into bed, obviously expecting Duncan to follow. Feeling somewhat silly as he struggled out of his new clothes, Duncan did. Methos flopped over and draped himself over his new bedmate in a half-conscious drowse. "Mmm, won't be cold tonight," he slurred. "Finally. Always cold." Yawn. "Bloody blast furnace, you are." Methos wriggled a bit more, snuggling in for the duration. Duncan chuckled. Methos was obviously a sneak cuddler, asleep or not. "Aye," he murmured, brogue grown thick again. "Sleep warm tonight, my friend. I'll hold ye and watch your dreams." "Such a nice boy," Methos mumbled. Duncan suppressed a laugh. Methos was even more fun sleepy than he was intoxicated. "Go to sleep, old man," he said affectionately. "Mm-hmmm." And with a sigh, Methos did. Feeling warm all over, Duncan followed. Neither man stirred until dawn came, and their packmates started wondering where they were. //Hrryn, where are the hairless ones?// //Their dens are not as open to the sun as ours. It allows them to sleep longer.// //Then we should wake them up,// Skyrr sent, a devilish glint in his eyes. //Skyrr, I don't think...// With a playful rumble, Skyrr padded up onto the porch, but was halted by the too-small doorway. He grumbled and headed around the house until he found Methos' bedroom window. //Aha,// he said, looking in, //I found them, Hrryn!// He poked his huge head through the window and saw Duncan and Methos sleeping peacefully, wrapped around each other and buried in a pile of blankets against the chill. His neck was just long enough so that he could just reach Duncan's uncovered feet with his tongue. A wicked glint in his yellow eyes, Skyrr did just that, tickling the big man's feet unmercifully. Duncan jerked and flew out of bed like he'd been shot. "Wha...," he shouted incoherently. Methos opened his eyes and blinked crossly at the big Scot. "What the bloody hell was that?" he groused from his burrow deep within the blankets. "Feet," Duncan said intelligently, still more asleep than awake. Methos scowled at his overly clever friend and glanced out the window to see Skyrr rolling on the ground, grunting and huffing in an excess of feline hilarity. Hrryn sat off to one side, shaking his head disapprovingly at his packmate. //I apologize for my packmate's behavior, friend Methos. He was not right to rouse you and your shieldmate from sleep.// Methos sighed and scrubbed at his face. //That's alright, Hrryn. We should be up and about anyhow.// Duncan, by this time, had cleared his brain of the sleep-induced fog. //Try that again and I'll get up in the middle of the night just to lop off your tail,// he threatened the big black Kat teasingly. Methos scrambled out of bed, tugging the blankets into a haphazard order. "Got to get going, Mac. Chulla's expecting us. Dibs on the shower!" Shivering in the early morning chill, Methos raced for the shower after grabbing clean clothes out of a cupboard. Duncan watch, bemused, as Hurricane Methos swept out of the room. He wandered drowsily into the kitchen and browsed through the pantry for breakfast food. He settled on boiling some grains he found for a hot cereal and slicing some fresh fruit over it. He prepared a bowl for Methos, which the other man took gratefully after he emerged from the shower. Showered and dressed himself, Duncan exited the house to find Methos waiting for him, buckling his swordbelt low about his hips. "Feels good to wear a weapon again," Duncan commented, adjusting the belt that held his katana. "I've missed it, and I always felt a little guilty hiding it under a coat." Methos grinned. "I know exactly how you feel. Let's get started. I'll fill you in on your life story as we walk." "Eh?" "Well, I couldn't very well tell my acquaintances from town that you fell out of the sky in a spaceship, now could I?" Duncan flushed. "Right, of course. So who am I and what am I doing here?" "Well, like I told you yesterday, you're the son of an old friend of my father's. I'm a younger son, myself, a thinker, you see, with no land obligations to see to. I came to these mountains to stake a land claim, even though the ground is not fit for farming. This is considered somewhat odd by most of the locals. When a man builds up an estate, he usually wants to establish what we would call a manor - big house, farms, livestock, lots of people, you know the drill. I'm a philosopher, a loner, so my solitary existence is tolerated without question. "Now, as far as you're concerned, you grew up in the tropical regions on the Southern Continent where I hope the people are naturally darker because of the warmer climate. Given your size, you're a warrior - that should suit you down to the ground - and you've come to visit me for a couple of reasons. First, your older brother is being groomed to take over your father's estate, and you're not really cut out to play second fiddle. You're such a natural leader, no one will have any problem believing that you were chafing at the idea of being under your brother's thumb. Your father has always been in regular contact with my father, so he knew that I was in a similar position and established myself here. He told you about me, and you decided to come up here for a bit of a holiday. After relaxing for a few days, you wanted to observe the provincial infantry as a military observer. You've expressed interest being a strategic consultant, but you're not interested in becoming an officer - you've already done your time as a soldier." Duncan had been nodding as Methos spun his tale, committing as much to memory as he could. He leapt at the chance to speak when Methos paused for a breath. "How well am I supposed to know you? Are we friends, or have we just met?" Methos' brow furrowed. "Hmmm. I think perceptive people will pick up on the fact that we're comfortable around each other; that's not something we can count on being able to hide. We'd better be childhood friends because your father sent you and your brother to my father's estate to learn about the merchant trade." Duncan nodded again. "Oh, and the reason you need a new wardrobe is that you were caught out in a very bad storm far to the south of here. You weren't hurt, but your luggage was washed away in a flooded river." "Right." "And before I forget, the polite form of address when speaking to an adult male is 'Ser.' You'd be Ser Duncan, for example. The female form is 'Shra.' Male children are addressed as 'Seran,' and female children are addressed as 'Shretta.'" "Ser, Shra, Seran, Shretta. Right." "And surnames are not commonly used as part of the name in normal address. They're reserved for more formal occasions. So you'd better not introduce yourself as Duncan MacLeod. Here, you'd be Duncan of the Clan or House of MacLeod. I'm Methos of the House of Ashraket, by the way." "Ashraket?" Methos shrugged. "The name of a village I lived in in Egypt about 3500 years ago." "Using your real name here?" "No one's ever heard of me. I haven't worn the name Methos openly for over 4000 years. It still fits me well. Fits the best of all my names, I think." Duncan laughed. "Aye, that it does." They rounded a bend in the path and came in sight of the town. "That's Shin'ra, the provincial capitol and closest town to my house." They continued in friendly conversation as they approached the first buildings. Methos focused part of his attention on the way Duncan walked. He had a definite swagger to his step which was even more pronounced thanks to his swordbelt. He walked as if he owned the place and exuded animal magnetism and virile, exotic charm. Methos suppressed a grin. Oh, was Duncan ever going to have fun fending off the ladies. They had to pass the bakery on their way to the market square, and, predictably, Fress was just exiting the establishment with a basket of fresh bread. It's almost like she lies in wait, Methos thought somewhat savagely. "Methos! You are back so soon! Did you come to visit me?" She batted her eyelashes. Methos tried not to roll his eyes. "Not specifically, Fress, though I'm happy to see you as always. This is Duncan, the friend I told you about yesterday. Duncan, this is Fress. She works at the bakery, obviously." Duncan took hold of Fress' free hand and bowed over it. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Shra Fress." Fress took one look at Duncan and just about fainted. He was gorgeous! So big and strong and darkly handsome... She giggled prettily. "The pleasure is all mine, Ser Duncan. I am glad you were not injured in the storm that took your bags." Duncan flashed her a million-dollar smile. "As am I, my lady. I am unaccustomed to the climate on this continent, and it caught me unawares." Fress' eyes grew round. "You're from the Southern Continent? You've come a long way to visit a friend." "I was looking for a change of scenery, my lady. And Methos here is worth a long trip, after all." Fress preened visibly at the respectful address Duncan was using with her. "I would have to agree with you, ser." She glanced coquettishly at Methos, who tried not to groan. Duncan's silent laughter echoed along the mental bond between the two men. //Oh, be quiet,// Methos groused. //Wait'll her friends get their claws into you, and then we'll see who's laughing!// "Fress! Fress!" a male voice shouted from down a side street. "Papa? Is anything wrong?" A stocky, muscular man came barreling down the street at them. "No, but your mother asked that you bring home a sack of flour this evening. She's nearly out." The man, clearly one of the city's blacksmiths, glanced at the two Immortals. "Who are these men, Fress?" he asked sternly. Fress smiled. "This is Ser Methos, Papa, the scholar I told you about," she said, indicating Methos. Fress' father drew himself up to his full height, some four inches shorter than Methos, and eyed him threateningly. "So, you're the bookworm I hear so much about. I won't have you trying to do anything inappropriate with my daughter, mind?" Methos bowed in a courtly gesture. "Naturally not, Ser..." He paused. "The name's Roldan," the smith rumbled. "Naturally not, Ser Roldan. Your daughter is quite safe both with me and my friend Duncan." The older Immortal indicated his friend. Roldan turned to face the Highlander and found himself nose-to-chest with the big man. "Skies, you're a pair of giants, the two of you!" he exclaimed. Duncan bowed gracefully, following Methos' lead. "We both come from tall bloodlines, Ser Roldan. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, and please let me echo my friend's assurance that your daughter will come to no harm in our company. We would defend her honor with our own, if need be." Methos surreptitiously rolled his eyes. //Bloody boy scout.// Duncan coughed to cover a chuckle. Roldan bowed awkwardly to the two Immortals, obviously unaccustomed to courtly manners. "I'm relieved to hear you've no dishonorable designs on my daughter." Fress looked less than pleased with this development. She clearly was looking forward to behaving in a somewhat less than honorable manner with Methos. "I must go," she sniffed. "The baker will be waiting for me." The two Immortals bowed politely in perfect unison. "Shra Fress," Duncan acknowledged. "It was my pleasure to make your acquaintance, as well." After she'd gone, Roldan chuckled. "You must forgive my daughter; she is more pretentious than her station warrants." Methos smiled. "She's ambitious. Can't fault her for that." "She either guesses or knows that you're from a noble house, Ser Methos. She looks to land you as her husband, I'm sure." Methos' grin turned rakish. "If she sees the house where Duncan and I live, she'll probably change her mind. I came to these hills to get away from my "noble" obligations." "I hear that!" Roldan exclaimed heartily, now clearly willing to be friends once he discovered neither man had any obvious designs on his daughter. Methos narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps that's not such a bad idea after all," he mused. "Duncan, what do you say to some dinner guests a few nights hence?" "If you mean 'am I willing to cook for more than two,' sure. We wouldn't want to subject them to your cooking, after all." Methos snorted. "Well, then, Ser Roldan, you and your family are hereby invited to our cabin for dinner, say, three nights from this night, if you don't mind the culinary efforts of two confirmed bachelors." He grinned. "Actually, Duncan's cooking is probably better than what you'd find in any of the restaurants here." "We'd be honored, Ser Methos!" "How many should we expect?" "Five, if that's alright. Myself, my wife, my two daughters, and my son. My boy's still quite young, so he shouldn't eat you out of house and home." "Very good then. I'll meet you here at the close of business to escort you to our house. It's about a half-hour's walk; will that be too taxing on any of your family?" "Certainly not. We're used to walking." "Excellent! I will see you again in three days, Ser Roldan. If you'll excuse us, Duncan and I were on our way to Chulla's." "A fine day to you both, then." "To you as well," Duncan called as they turned out of the square. He turned and regarded Methos quizzically. "What was that about?" Methos grinned hugely. "If Fress sees the house I'd bring her to if I married her, she'll probably drop me like a hot potato!" "Evil old man," Duncan teased fondly. "Will they be nervous around the Kats?" Methos stopped and frowned. "I'd forgotten that. We'll have to ask Hrryn and Skyrr to stay away. The natives are terrified of the Kats, even though they don't pose any real threat." They rounded the corner into Market Square, and Methos steered them into a shop. "Ser Chulla!" he called out. The tailor emerged from his workroom. "Friend Methos!" he greeted the old Immortal. He glanced at Duncan, and his eyes widened. "You brought your friend, I see. You were right. He is big!" Methos laughed. "This is Duncan of the Clan MacLeod. He's a friend from the Southern Continent come to visit me for awhile." Duncan bowed. "Ser Chulla. Methos tells me you're the man to see for a new wardrobe." Chulla smiled. "Indeed, I am, ser. Come this way, if you would. I'll take your measurements and get started on the clothes Methos ordered for you." Duncan raised an eyebrow at Methos. "Nothing extravagant, Mac," Methos hastily reassured his friend. "I just ordered you the basics. You can pick out the colors and make any additions you like." Duncan nodded and followed the tailor into his workroom while Methos waited in the shop proper. Twenty minutes later, Chulla ushered the Highlander back through the curtained door. "Give me three days, Ser Duncan, and I'll have your order ready." "Thank you, Ser Chulla," the big Scot rumbled. "That works out well," Methos commented as they left the shop. "I can pick up your things when I come for Roldan's family." Duncan made an approving noise. "Now, let's go have a chat with the governor. We need to get you some kind of military consulting position so that you can earn some money and have a valid reason for staying here." "Sounds good. You know the governor?" "Certainly. I helped solve the irrigation problem in the province's southern estates and designed a more efficient system of dams along one of the rivers. The governor thinks I'm quite the engineering genius." "You're incorrigible. You know that, don't you?" "Naturally," Methos said with all the self-assurance in the world. Duncan snorted and rolled his eyes. They approached a large, ornate stone building. Methos stepped up and spoke to the guards. "Methos of the House of Ashraket and his friend Duncan of the Clan MacLeod to see the governor," he said importantly. The guard gazed skeptically back at the older man. "D'you have an appointment?" Methos drew himself up. "I need none, and you'd best remember that," he thundered. Catching on, Duncan loomed impressively behind his friend, face grim with a black scowl. "Yes, ser," the guard quavered. "Certainly, ser. One moment, please, ser. I'll inform the governor that you're here." The man beat a hasty retreat. A few moments later, he hurried back. "The governor will see you now," he gasped out. Methos strode grandly into the huge foyer with Duncan at his heels. A pair of halberd-armed guards pulled open a set of double doors to their right. A heavyset gentleman, tall by his people's standards but still a good head shorter than Duncan, came forward to meet them. "Ser Methos!" he exclaimed effusively, "So good to see you again. What brings you to my office today?" Methos bowed. "Governor Rahdian. Thank you for agreeing to see us on such short notice." Rahdian guffawed. "The guard made it sound like I had visiting royalty on my hands, complete with fearsome bodyguards. Though by the look of your friend, I can see why he was nervous." Methos grinned. "Governor Rahdian, allow me to introduce an old friend of mine. This is Duncan of the Clan MacLeod. He's come up from the Southern Continent to stay with me for some time. I'll let him tell you why he's here." He stepped back, effectively giving Duncan the floor. //Thanks a lot, old man,// Duncan groused. He bowed. "Governor Rahdian," he said formally. "I've come here looking for changes. My older kinsman will inherit the Clan's lands and leadership; I seek a life of my own. I am a trained warrior. I've seen battle and done my time as a soldier. I would like to observe your provincial military. If I think I have something in my experience to offer them, I would like to work for your government as a military observer and strategist, on a limited basis, of course. If you have need of such a person on your staff, then I humbly offer my services." The governor looked thoughtful. "We could use someone like that. Have you any credentials to offer?" "I'm sorry, my lord, but my luggage was lost in a storm. All my military papers were lost with my bags. I can give you no official documents, but surely a demonstration of my abilities will be sufficient." "Perhaps. What sort of demonstration do you propose?" Duncan shrugged. "I will take on a champion of your choice, both with longsword and with a weapon of either your or his choice. I will also show you what I can do with ranged weapons and unarmed combat, if you like. Then you and your generals may put as many questions of strategy to me as you wish. This way, your evaluation of me does not depend on any papers, but rather on your own convictions. Will this suit?" Satisfied the governor nodded. "When would you like this test to take place?" Duncan paused to give the appearance that he was considering the question. "One month from now. I should rest from my journey before I undertake such serious physical exercise." The governor nodded. "One month it is, then. Thirty days from this day, please report to the city training grounds at first light. Ser Methos knows where they are." Duncan bowed again. "Thank you, my lord." Rahdian lost his businesslike demeanor. "Now that formalities are dispensed with, gentlemen, come and sit and have a drink with me. I've some questions for you, Ser Methos." It was another hour before they managed to escape, and the governor was convinced that Duncan was as much a genius as Methos. He blustered them effusively out the door in time for his next appointment. Once back outside, Methos laughed and clapped Duncan on the shoulder. "Well done, MacLeod. You've got him eating out of your hand." Duncan chuckled. "No more so than you, yourself, old man." Methos grinned. "Come on. It's nearly lunchtime. We can eat at Leranni's place. She makes excellent stew, and the ale is always cold, always good, and always plentiful." "Sounds like my kind of place." Methos and Duncan ducked into the tavern, their height making bending necessary. The tavern mistress herself was behind the counter, and she smiled when she saw Methos. "Two large bowls of today's stew," she hollered into the kitchen, "and a fresh loaf." She drew two foaming tankards of ale and plunked them down in front of the Immortals. "Methos, my friend!" she said. "It's been a long time since you last darkened my door." Methos grinned at the lean, muscular woman who wore breeches instead of a dress. "Ah, Leranni, I was just trying to give you some time to recover your reputation." Leranni laughed and addressed Duncan. "Drunk me under the table, he did, without barely breaking a sweat." Duncan smiled. "Aye, I believe that. He can out-drink me too, and that's saying a lot." She laughed again. "Big fella like you? I can believe that's saying a lot. Methos here gets free lunch whenever he comes in. Nobody's ever been able to best me, so I figure he's got it coming. You're new, so your first lunch here is on the house." "Thanks, Ler. This, by the way, is my friend Duncan. He's come up from the South to stay with me for awhile." Leranni stuck out one lean hand. "Any friend of Methos' is always welcome here. Have a seat, boys. Your stew and bread will be ready in a moment." No sooner had Duncan and Methos sat down at a table than they were suddenly beset by a pack of helpful barmaids, all of whom were eyeing Duncan appreciatively. "Girls!" Leranni bellowed. "Leave the gentlemen alone so's they can eat their lunch. Back to work, all of you!" She swaggered over to their table and plunked huge bowls of hearty stew and a thickly sliced loaf of peasant bread in front of them. "Eat up, gentlemen, or my girls will likely be able to swarm you under." Methos snorted and winked, then tucked into his lunch. Duncan nodded at Leranni and followed suit. Twenty minutes later, they had finished, paid their respects to Leranni, and exited the tavern into the noonday sun. "Say, Methos, do you suppose we could walk around the market a bit? I need to know a bit more about locally available food and spices if I'm going to be doing the cooking. Maybe you could give me an idea of what I'm dealing with?" "Good idea, Mac. Come on." Methos proceeded to drag his friend about Market Square, rattling off a constant stream of information about the meats, grains, vegetables, and spices that the merchants had available for sale. At length, they decided to head for home, and were met by a pair of agitated Kats half way there. //Friends! The Vortex has summoned you - we must leave at once!// Hrryn's voice was urgent, and he nudged at Methos with his huge head. //Wait, what, why?// Methos asked intelligently. //The Vortex spoke to one of the priests and asked for you by name, friend Methos. The Highlander's presence was likewise requested.// Duncan glanced at Methos and shrugged. "I'm not about to offend the local deities on my second day here. What do you say?" Methos blinked. "I suppose we'd better go, then." They climbed onto their friends' backs, and the Kats took off like a shot. A couple of hours later, they stood once more before the Vortex, which was flanked by four older Kats, presumably the priests, and the pack leader, Kyrragh. The quiescent, flickering pool of electricity seemed to recognize the Immortals, and it flared to life, snapping, and crackling. A bolt suddenly flashed out and transfixed Methos, who was catapulted backwards into Duncan's arms. The big Scot could do nothing but hold his friend as he screamed and shuddered with the force of the lightning flowing through him. After several seconds, the Quickening fire receded, and Methos sagged in Duncan's arms, shaking with the aftershocks. He raised astonished hazel eyes to Duncan's face. "Mac!" he rasped. "I remember!" "What do you remember, old man?" Duncan asked quietly, visibly affected by the wonder on Methos' face. "I remember my life before I became Immortal. I remember my Immortal life before I took my first head. Duncan, I remember where I spent my childhood!" "Where?" "Atlantis," Methos breathed. "Before it sank into the sea." Duncan blinked, stunned. He did some rapid mental calculations. "Methos do you realize..." "Twelve thousand years, Mac. I lived 6000 years before I took my first head. A whole entire lifetime that I didn't even remember!" He gripped Duncan's arms fiercely. "I remember how it's supposed to be!" he said hoarsely with dawning realization. "The Game...We aren't supposed to be killing each other! That only happened when they left... The whole city, Mac. All of us were Immortal. It was our homeland, our place in the world, and it had existed for millennia before I happened along. The technology we had was even greater than what the Federation has today, in its own way. "We never killed each other for power. We were peaceful people, until some of our youth left to live among the mortals. They learned how to kill there. And one of our expatriates discovered that if you took an Atlantean's head, you gained his power. And so it began. Gods, Mac, we've been going about this all wrong for thousands of years!" Duncan was reeling from his friend's revelations. ...TBC... |