flighty_dreams

Title: January
Author: flighty_dreams
Rating: PG-13 for a little darkness
Disclaimer: I wish I owned Methos, but I don't.
Word Count: ~3,000
Summary: Death in a marketplace.
Note: First in a series of 12, one for each month of the year--but they won't be within the same year. They'll be spread out over millennia. Consider it Methos' personal journey from the Horsemen to the present.

Death studied the piece of linen carefully. Phoenician, he noted dismissively, not Egyptian, and bad Phoenician at that. He placed it back down on the merchant’s pile and turned away, ignoring the trader who sought to sell him mediocre quality goods.

Instead he let his gaze roam over the marketplace, searching for his real reason for being here. Never would he have dawdled here so long without a serious purpose to it.

He hated the stench of mortal humanity surrounding him, overwhelming him. The bustle of mortals around him going about their daily business unhindered made his lip curl in a superior sneer. Bees frantically seeking ways to keep the hive going, the lives of each were only brief spots on the endless cycles of time. Breeding and breeding, always there were more of them, no matter how many he and his brothers killed. Standing here in a sea of them, it was enough to suffocate the wild part of him, and make him long to slaughter his way through them. The few slaves they kept back at camp he tolerated as a necessary evil. Someone had to do the menial work, and it wouldn’t be the Horsemen.

But this place was a fairly big settlement, and it was filled with more mortals than he could stand all at once. Impatient, he glanced up at the sky again, noting that the sun was at its apex, the time they’d agreed upon. Damn her to Hades, where was she?

Just then he felt Immortal presence wash over him, and his eyes narrowed as he searched the crowded market around him. He found her quickly, her copper hair standing out from the darker mortals surrounding her. She was already staring back at him, his height no doubt making him easy to distinguish.

Nodding towards a quieter corner of the market, off the main congested area, Methos led her to it. Once they reached it, they stopped and faced each other two body lengths apart. She wore white robes, the hem at her feet dirty from travel, and the hood pushed back to reveal her reddish hair. The sword belted to her side remained in its sheath, at least for now.

Methos wore light robes similar to her own, the type suited to the desert climate of the area. He knew in colder climates it would be wintertime, but this arid part of the world didn’t feel seasons so much. The desert nights were colder, but the days still held the heat of summer. He’d left his mask back at camp, and removed the paint from his face, not wanting to draw any extra attention to himself.

Her gaze was wary but intense, studying him intently. No fear there, but she radiated disappointment and broken faith. Seeing her stirred some emotion deep within him, something he hadn’t felt in centuries. Guilt, an old, knowing part of him whispered, and he tried to ignore it.

“Rebecca.” The thick note in his voice surprised him. She was part of his distant past, centuries that he’d put well behind him. Why were they suddenly so vivid?

Although Rebecca was several centuries younger than him, they’d had the same teacher, and it had forged a bond between them. Reconnecting over the years, they had kept tabs on each other, and both had mourned the loss of their teacher. Sometimes lovers, sometimes friends, until Ankarak’s end and the birth of Death.

Methos shoved down the feelings those thoughts stirred; Death was beyond emotions. They only made you weak.

“Methos,” she acknowledged, bringing his focus back onto her. Her amazing blue eyes were hard; her old affection for him had vanished like clean air in a sandstorm. “My friend no more.”

He swallowed down the faint pricking in his dead heart at her denial of him. The cold, rational part of him—which had ruled his mind and body for centuries now—wondered at it though. He’d seen Rebecca once before since he’d begun riding with Kronos, and he’d felt nothing then. With his brothers at his side, he’d needed nothing else. Apparently more had changed inside him than he’d noticed.

Since he was here to request a favor from her, he suddenly realized he should at least make an attempt at courtesy. Death bristled at having to do anything he didn’t want to, but the lingering embers of Methos ignored him.

“How do you fare these days?” he asked her.

Rebecca frowned at him, unsettled by the mundane question. “You call me so far from home to ask me trite questions?”

Death’s savage urge to strike her for her arrogance rose within him for a moment, but he controlled himself. “I thought to be polite,” he snarled at her. “You would prefer I go right to business then?”

Her lip curled, the disgust that marred her ethereal face obvious to anyone looking. “Yes. Seeing you, knowing what you have done, offends me.”

Death stared back at her, arrogant enough to face the loathing in her eyes without flinching. Hatred was something he understood well. “You made your opinion clear the last time we met,” he told her snidely.

Her blue eyes flashed, an icy fire burning in them. “I thought I also made it clear that the next time we met, it would come to swords between us. I let you go once out of respect for the friendship we once had. But only once. I have regretted it ever since, knowing how many you have killed since then.” She put her hand on the hilt of the sword at her waist in warning. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

A smirk twisted his mouth and he settled one hand on the hilt of his own sword, his gaze sharpening at her challenge. “You think to beat me?”

The look she gave him then was the saddest one he’d ever seen upon her face, and it unsettled him for a moment. “No,” she said softly, “but honor demands that I try.”

“Honor,” he scoffed. “Honor belongs to fools. Survival is all that matters.”

“I don’t remember Ankarak ever teaching us such a lesson,” she countered, eyes narrowing.

Ankarak had taught them the opposite actually, that life without honor was meaningless.

“He never learned that lesson, but he should have. He was too trusting, and he paid dearly for it,” Methos told her, striving for coldness but falling short of it. He hadn’t thought of their old teacher in years, and he sorely regretted getting into a discussion of him. It stirred up too many tangled emotions, and complex feelings were something he’d given up. Give him rage, lust, pride, hate and violence; that was all Death needed.

“Better to trust too much and get burned sometimes than to give it all up and become a monster,” she replied, her words and face filled with revulsion. “Now tell me why you wanted to see me, so we can get to the Challenge faster. I can’t stand to look at you any longer.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “So eager to die?”

She said nothing, crossing her arms tightly in front of herself.

Methos shifted his hand away from his sword, and brought his empty hands palm out in front of her in a gesture of peace. “There will be no fight.”

Irritation flowed over her face. “I will not walk away again, Horseman.”

His face sobered, showing neither amusement nor anger. “You will, or you will be sentencing another to death.”

She blinked, confusion driving her annoyance away. “What game do you play?”

He shook his head in denial. “No game. I asked you to come, in Ankarak’s name, because I have a student for you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Her name is Cassandra. She has been a slave in our camp for months now.” Methos watched Rebecca’s eyes flash with sudden angry understanding, and continued. “It will not be safe for her there much longer. I want you to take her into your care.”

“She is one of us?” Rebecca asked, sounding fairly sure but wanting verification.

“Yes.”

Renewed loathing glittered through Rebecca. “So it is not just mortals you abuse. You betray your own kind as well.”

Death shrugged, not letting her increasing disappointment disconcert him.

“For how long?” When he merely lifted his brows questioningly, she clarified, “For how long have you hunted our kind as ruthlessly as you do the mortals?”

He shrugged again, knowing it would anger her. “Our kind kill each other, it is the nature of the Game.”

“Kill yes, but enslave? Especially new Immortals… young ones with no idea what they even are. How could you enslave them? Kill them?”

“The same reason the Horsemen hunt mortals. Because we can,” Death told her, his tone cold enough to freeze the desert.

Her eyes spewed hatred at him, and her hands shifted down to her sides, fists clenching. “I was right to call you monster.”

He waved his hand, brushing her words aside. “Call me what you like. Words fly away on the wind, they are nothing to me.”

“But the blood on your hands and the stains on your soul will remain, until your Quickening fills another,” she warned him, scowling.

He gave her a cold smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Let it remain. Fresh blood will drown out the old.”

Her words did bother him, but he would never let her see it. Better to anger her further, distract her. Let her think the worst, think that he continued to get pleasure from his life as a Horseman. In truth he was bored; it no longer excited him and his brothers’ companionship grated on him now. This ennui had been with him a long time now, but he hadn’t noticed it until Cassandra. Next to her fire, his passion had dwindled to a mere spark. That realization had made him see how tedious his Horseman life had become to him.

Through gritted teeth, Rebecca said, “You are beyond all hope. The world is better off without your evil in it.”

“The world is a big place. I’m sure it can handle my presence.” His eyes twinkled, wanting to see her grow even more livid.

Her scowl shifted to a frown, and her next words were uttered slowly, surprise in her tone. “You are goading me. I recognize that look in your eyes.”

“Ah, at last she sees clearly.” His face softened for a moment, remembering happier times with her, when they’d joked and played and made love, enjoying the stolen moments of joy life gave them.

The intensity with which she studied him now made him uneasy, as if she were weighing all his parts and deciding which to keep and which to toss away. His expression grew solemn. Or perhaps she was examining all the words he’d said today, and judging which she thought were lies and which were truth. He shifted uncomfortably, not liking the feeling that she could see right through him, into his soul. Death snarled within again, wanting to strike her down, but she was one of the few people on Earth that he could not hurt.

“There is something different about you,” she said, startling him out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“The last time I saw you, you were all Death. There was no Methos left in you.” She paused, considering. “But now I see some of my old friend in there, where once there was only Death.”

He glared at her, not liking how much she saw. “You are delusional, woman.”

“Delusional? Then why am I here? Death would not care for the safety of some woman, even an Immortal. You said as much earlier, that you hunt the young ones too. So why not this one?”

Methos said nothing, because Death was too much a part of him for him to admit to any feelings aloud. But neither could he deny it.

Emboldened by his silent admission, she added, “You care for her, as much as you are able, as you are now.”

“Whatever feelings I may or may not have do not matter,” he rasped, his words sticking in his throat like molasses. “Will you take her as your student?”

“Yes, Methos, I will. But for her sake, not for yours. Despite the glimmer of you I see behind the mask of Death, your sins are too great. I hope one day you realize just what you have done, if someone does not kill you first. Death would be too quick a mercy for your crimes, but as your once friend, I hope that finds you first.”

Death flared up at the mention of his hoped for demise. Survival was everything, and he would live on for a long, long time. Rebecca would be cold in her grave long before he left this world, he vowed to himself.

“Don’t wait around for that,” he snarled unpleasantly.

She laughed coldly. “Oh, I won’t.” Changing the subject, she asked, “How will you bring me Cassandra?”

He took the switch in stride. “Kronos loses more patience with her every day. He will not tolerate her much longer. I will make his endurance fade even faster, driving him to anger. He will demand the use of her, and when I do not defend her, she will take it for betrayal and run away. I will hint at the location of this town to her sometime before that, so she will know to head this way. All you must do is stay here and wait.”

“How far is your camp from here?” Rebecca asked him pensively.

“A few days ride. Once we are a bit closer, I will make sure we are delayed.”

“Will she be walking or riding to here?”

“Walking, she does not know how to ride,” he informed her.

Rebecca frowned unhappily. “It will take her many days to get here. She could be recaptured.”

“I will convince Kronos she is not worth the effort.” He paused, thinking. If Cassandra angered Kronos enough before escaping, he might not be able to deter him from chasing her. So Methos added, “However, I cannot guarantee that I’ll be able to persuade Kronos to let her go without chase. So if you are worried, you could risk getting closer to the camp by going part of the way. It is your decision.”

She nodded in understanding. “I will not take the chance of her being recaptured then. Tell me which direction to expect her from, and I will go that way and make a camp a day’s ride outside of this town.”

“A good plan,” Methos agreed, and he told her which direction to head towards to catch Cassandra.

Rebecca looked at him consideringly. “Should I tell her your role in this?”

He frowned, weighing the options before finally saying, “It’s best you don’t. She will trust you more if she is unaware that you know me.”

She laughed bitterly, pain flickering across her face. “I did once, but no longer.” Her eyes hardened. “My words from last time still hold true. For her sake, I won’t fight you today, but if I see you again, we will fight.”

He shook his head, bemused and irritated at the same time. “Your death will achieve nothing.”

“We will see who dies that day,” she replied, her tone ominous.

Death studied her, remembering the lithe frame that her loose robes hid from view. Rebecca was over a thousand years old, and no novice with a blade. But she only fought when pressed to, and took no joy from it. Compared to himself, who eagerly lived and breathed battle and violence, who considered his sword an extension of his own body, and who was not above cheating, the honorable, peaceful Rebecca didn’t stand a chance.

“You delude yourself, old friend,” he told her softly. “Give up this foolishness.”

“I no longer call you friend,” she told him coldly. “Now if our business is done, I would have you gone from my presence.”

Death bristled at being dismissed so harshly. “Tread carefully, Rebecca. It would not do to make me angry.”

She smiled, but it was as icy as her eyes. “You need me to teach Cassandra.”

“Or I could let Kronos have her after all. I’m sure if you continue to stand here insulting me, you will make me angry enough to do so.” He took spiteful pleasure in lashing back at her.

Her eyes raked over him once more disgustedly. “I will take my leave then, since you refuse to go.”

And she was as good as her word, turning away from him quickly. But she didn’t get more than two paces away before something in his voice halted her.

“Rebecca.” The word was wrenched out of him before he could stop it.

She looked back over her shoulder, both curious and wary.

He swallowed thickly over the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. So much he wanted to say, but couldn’t. Finally he let one sentiment out.

“It was good to see you one last time.”

Sighing, she gave him another sad, long look. “I wish I could say the same, Methos.”

He nodded, jaw clenching, his own eyes turning regretful at their lost friendship. “Good luck with Cassandra. Take care of her.”

She gave him a small but genuine smile at last. “I will, Methos.”

And then she was gone, fading into the crowd and leaving him alone with nothing but his thoughts. Cassandra would be in Rebecca’s care soon, and then Methos could start the next part of his plan: escaping the Horsemen.