The hood of his cloak had fallen from his head, revealing shoulder length chestnut hair. He had kept it that length for some centuries and discovered that it was once again the latest style. It wouldn't prove to difficult to disappear within a crowd.
But that was the least of his worries at the moment. This warrior had asked the unthinkable of him, and that he was actually contemplating his request...Methos thought himself out of his mind.
Lancelot du Lock. The name was as unfamiliar as his surroundings. This part of the country had never been blessed with his presence, the reason why he was there, seeking seclusion. The warrior appeared to have wandered into unfamiliar territory also. Having scaled the hill, Methos discovered that the cliff was unnoticeable from travelers, hidden by the tall grass.
Camelot he had never heard of. A noble king was there, according to the warrior, but did this king know that Lancelot du Lock was on his way? That's where the problem he faced lay. What was he to do if this king sent troops out in search of the warrior and found him? Or, what if he did pose as the warrior and it was discovered that he was an imposter?
"Bah," he spat. "Why do such a thing?"
"Your face, I have seen it in my dreams. You are to succeed me, take my place in the court of the king..."
The warrior's voice echoed in Methos' head. Maybe it was his destiny. This hadn't been the first time he had come across someone who could foresee the future, and everything he had been witness to had been true to their predictions. But the future, Methos held in his own hands. After surviving as long as he had, the world began to adapt to him, not him to it, or so he was beginning to think.
"Why a warrior?" he wondered aloud. He had thought his "fighting" days were over outside of the Game. "Couldn't he have been a monk?"
The sound of horses caused him to whip his head in the direction the warrior had been travelling. In the distance, several horses thundered his way, and there appeared to be someone on foot in front of them, running as if being chased.
Methos removed his sword from underneath his cloak and climbed atop the warrior's horse, neglecting the armor he had stripped from the dead body. At full speed, he steered the horse toward the other riders. A closer look revealed a woman to be the runner, with a flaming mess of hair flying behind her, crying out for help.
Without a second thought, Methos continued on his path and upon reaching the lady, reached down and grabbed her around the waist. He hoisted her up behind him and slowed the horse.
"And what is the trouble milady?"
Taking a moment to catch her breath, the woman held tight to Methos. "They burned me hut and killed me husband!"
"Such drastic measures to take on an unarmed lady," he murmured, astonished at the sense of honor suddenly enveloping his soul.
"Will ye help me?" she asked in desperation. Not the most beautiful of women, Methos noted, but how could anyone treat a woman in such a way? he wondered.
"Aye, I will. Do you know who they are?"
"No," she whispered.
Methos jumped from the horse, a magnificent white steed he had not bothered to make notice of before, and held his sword high. "You there!" he called to the approaching riders. "Come down and face me!"
Both riders pulled up and one leapt to the ground with knife in hand. He wore a doe skin tunic and matching breeches, not a sign of wealth or royalty. The other rider was a younger version of the first. Probably his son, Methos thought.
"What business do you have with the lady?" Methos demanded.
The pock marked man withdrew his sword and faced his opponent. "She's a whore and a thief. She stole me deer!"
Methos began to move ever closer. "Obviously because her family was starving!" he countered. By looking at the woman, one could see that what he said was true. Her body was thin and her face conveyed the weariness she had dealt with in her lifetime just to survive. And now, her husband was dead.
"That does not make it right!" the commoner bellowed. "I'll cut your throat if you don't let me at her!"
"Just you try," Methos challenged.
The man lunged forward with a horrible cry of battle, and Methos was ready. With one swift motion, he lowered his sword and ran the man through, plucking the knife from his grubby fingers. "Do you follow your father?" Methos shot at the boy.
The lad frantically shook his head. "No, he forced me to come."
Methos tossed the body off of him, and returned to his horse. "Milady, you have nothing to fear. I have rid you of your annoyance and swear to escort you wherever you wish. Where shall I take you?"
She smiled slightly and brushed her red tangles from her dirtied face. "The village is just through yonder wood."
Her trembling hand pointed to the forest beyond the boy. "And what am I to do with you?" Methos asked of the lad.
The boy pleaded for his life. "Please, I did not do the things he did. He made me come. I wanted to stay home."
"All right, boy. Does your mother stay in the village?"
He nodded. "Then off you go," Methos motioned him away, and the boy fled.
"Thank ye, sir. Ye saved me life. How can I ever repay ye?"
"Do you know the way to Camelot?" Methos asked.
The lady's eyes widened in surprise. "Ye serve King Arthur?"
Methos shook his head. "I have yet to meet this noble man," he replied, repeating the warrior's words. "My journey leads me there."
"‘Tis just right above the village," she replied. "I will show ye."
Methos bowed to her with a smile. He could get use to this hero stuff, if only his ladies in peril were more beautiful. Once atop his now fine white steed, he set off for his destiny.
"Who are ye?"
No thought involved, Methos replied, "Lancelot du Lock."
A spectacular sight, the castle loomed atop a hill to the east of the village. Ivory towers and walls were covered by royal blue banners bearing the crest of royalty. It was like no other structure he had ever seen, equipped for defense and at the same time, beautiful.
By the time Methos reached the drawbridge of the fabulous castle of Camelot, word had spread about his defeat of Emyr, the deer skin clad murderer, and the rescue of Ade, the red haired widow. Already he had made a name for Lancelot and had no trouble entering the castle.
Hundreds of people milled about the outer ward, trying to get in good position to see this new champion who had made his way to Camelot. A small trail was left to the inner gate so that the horseman could enter the court where the king and queen awaited.
He had never been the center of such attention and found that it felt wonderful to be revered. This was certainly a greater feeling than being feared by hundreds, or even thousands.
"Are ye Lancelot, the hero?" one lad asked as he passed.
"Aye, I am Lancelot," Methos replied with a sly smile. Hero.
A few shouts of joy erupted from the merry crowd. Three women, dressed in some of the finest material Methos had seen in quite a while, preceded him with a cascade of flowers from which they plucked the petals and tossed them at the hooves of his steed. He felt more like a king than a hero.
Inside the court, more people awaited his arrival. Word spread quickly in this kingdom. He had stopped only long enough in the village to have a drink of water and a crust of bread, offered to him by the boy's mother. She had actually praised him for ridding her of the bastard. Ade had told the story to a few, but it was the boy who had recounted the one sided battle outside the forest.
Now, Methos brought the steed to a halt before the platform where a royally adorned man sat, no doubt the king, with an extremely beautiful ginger haired woman with amazing azure eyes, his queen. On either side sat an assembly of soldiers, clad in the same royal blue as their king.
Dismounting, he did the only thing he knew to do in the presence of a king. He bowed.
"Stand, mighty warrior," the king commanded. "Are you this Lancelot we have heard about?"
"Yes, my lord," Methos responded. "Lancelot du Lock. Are you the noble king I have been searching for?"
"Noble, I am not sure, but I am King Arthur of Camelot, and these are my knights," he waved his had to either side of his throne. "They serve to protect me and my people of Camelot. And this is my queen, Guinevere."
Methos' golden green eyes met her blue ones, and some cord of connection existed between them, a strong thick line promising a passion neither had ever felt before. He knew she felt it, by the way she blanched when he took her offered hand and pressed his lips to her delicate skin. Electric fire coursed through his veins, and he only grinned knowingly at her. "Milady."
"Come," Arthur beckoned him, unaware of the exchange between his lady and the new found warrior. "Join me and my knights for a drink. We have much to discuss."
"Well," Methos broke the silence and reached for his coat. "I think I'll be on my way."
It took several moments for Joe to gather his wits. "Methos!"
Nearly to the door, Methos halted and turned back to his friend. So many horrible things no one knew about him, yet so many devastating things they did. "This, as far fetched as it may seem, happened Joe. What more can I say?"
"It's not that. I just wanted you the know that I'll do some checking up on...Garret."
Methos nodded and left his friend in amazement. Chalk up another bomb, he thought to himself. "Oh wouldn't MacLeod have a field day with this one."
Normally, the thought of Duncan coping with such a dilemma would be quite amusing. But the memories he had drudged up had such a chilling effect that his amusement was frozen solid. Methos had thought the past was behind him, but event this so-called legendary period in history was coming back to haunt him.
How could he have not known about Gareth? Had he not ever felt his presence, even if he hadn't died his first death? "Your mind and body were centered on other matters," he mumbled.
The streets were damp with the previous fallen rain, and he didn't bother to side step the puddles. The dreary evening matched his mood, which had not changed all day, except in that brief moment...
Sleep, he thought. That's what I need.
But his run in with an old aquaintance only prompted the chain of pleasant and not so pleasant dreams...
He was seated at the table Arthur was so fond of, the round table at which he and all his knights sat around to discuss important and pressing matters. It had been years since Methos had joined this band of noble men and all regarded him as a knight, equal to all.
Since joining Arthur, he had been following the ways of Christianity. This was the religion of the area, intent upon holding the world together. Of course, the real Lancelot was supposedly descended of a holy and sainted pedigree. Because of Arthur's pushing, Methos found himself among the other knights at daily prayer and fulfilling other principles they believed just. It had become second nature to him.
Having adapted to his new life, many joys had been achieved from his adventures. Proving himself a worthy candidate that first day he had arrived, he was appointed to the chivalrous group of knights whose rightful places were at the table at which he now sat.
It was an hour yet until they were to meet, as they did daily, to discuss the latest on the quest for the Grail. He had come early to think, something he did habitually. Quite often, he sought solitude to ponder his fortunes he had aquired since coming to Camelot.
It had to be anything but coincidence that he bore a remarkable resemblence to the real Lancelot. Few had truly known this man so he had no challenges to his identity. Methos had learned that his "father" was King Ban of Benwick, who had lost his life in battle not long before his true son had lost his life. Because of his death was the reason, Methos had replied when asked, that he had set out in search of Camelot leaving behind his inherited castle of Joyous Garde.
He had fought many judiciary combats, setting right what had been wronged. he settled open issues of land and rule, and he buried the dead and honored their graves. These functions were kingly and given to him for his honor, dignity, and pedigree.
Methos had certainly made a name for Lancelot on the battlefield. Of course he had had much experience in this area. Men crossed themselves when they saw him arriving on the field because he struck such awful blows. A tactic he used was catching on fast amongst the other warriors. Lancelot would leap from his horse upon the enemy, crushing helmet and skull. He showed no fear or pain.
Several times, he had been fatally wounded, but he was thought to have been blessed by God to have extraordinary healing powers. Methos chuckled to himself. If only they knew.
The Grail was the most important topic of late. Not long ago, Sir Gawain swore that he saw the cup in a vision, and he vowed to find the vessel which held the blood that had bled from the wound in Christ's side. Others had claimed to make the same journey, only in a separate direction. This quest had become one that only the best were to be chosen for.
Today, Arthur would appoint those chosen ones. It was whispered all over the kingdom that the king had hated to make the decision. Only five were to go at present, and the others may object the decision. Combat between the knights was what Arthur feared, or quite possibly that he might lose his best knights.
Methos, personally did not want to go on some silly quest. It was more likely to become involved in the game again if he went trekking so far. His adventures to date had gone successfully, meeting up with no other immortals. But, it was whispered that he was one of the chosen.
Certainly Gawain was another, since it had been his vision, and any of the others could be chosen, all were chivalrous enough.
Another reason he did not want to stray from Camelot had to do with his queen. Guinevere, how often she had entered his thoughts. Since that first day when he had kissed her hand, he knew something went on between them. Occasionally, they would find themselves alone at prayer and would just stare at each other with longing. Both felt the same bond, but had not acted upon it.
How could he. Arthur was his king and Guinevere his queen. Such action would condemn her. Methos had nothing on his part to worry about. His life would go on, maybe not willingly.
Many times, he had been tempted and given in to many beautiful maidens. Most had been in need of rescue in some shape or fashion. He saw the looks the women gave him when he passed, Guinevere harbored those same looks in her azure eyes. She was the one he longed for, the others had done nothing but satisfied his need at the moment.
The sudden jolting of the door caused his thoughts to flee. Turning in that direction, he spied Gawain entering, followed by the other knights.
"Ah, I see Lancelot has beaten us with his excitement," Gawain commented and the others chuckled. "Fear not, I am certain you will join myself and the others."
That is what I am afraid of, he thought to himself. These men had no idea what torture he went through for his exterior presented the calm and collected image of the knight he was known to be.
The others joined them and took their seats at the table once Arthur had taken his. The king, blondish-white haired with an elegant pointed beard tinted with red, proudly admired his congregation before speaking. "My knights, you know why I look out over you now with great pride. Each of you have proven your worth to me and my kingdom in providing our safety. Today, it is with a heavy heart that I send five of you on the greatest journey of your life."
Some of the knights shifted uneasily. There were mixed emotions among the group. Methos had heard many of them express their objections to the journey. Many feared for their life, but would never deny Arthur. It would do not but honor him to make this journey, so whoever be it chosen would do so nobly.
"Gawain, it is you who will be first chosen given the vision. I know that you will go and seek the Grail otherwise. Lancelot, you are next. You have proven your capabilites of survival, and I feel you are destined for more greatness."
Methos nodded as did Gawain, but inside, he cringed. Just as he had expected, he was chosen to meander his way through the countryside, exposing himself to others who would be after his head. Arthur continued to name the other three knights, Gareth, Percivale, and Galahad.
That young chap, Galahad, had caused quite a commotion. At such a young age, he had proven worthy to be a knight. But the greatest commotion had come at the announcement by his mother, Elaine of Corbenic, that he was Lancelot's son. Of course, this was not true, unless he became of the real Lancelot. Methos had never met the woman and denied her claim. Arthur had granted his name free of scandal, which was uncommon, but he had made a home in Arthur's life and therefore was protected like a son.
Galahad neither denied nor confirmed the claim. He simply did as his king wished and performed his knightly duties.
Methos survived the rest of the gathering and was congratulated numerous times by the knights who were unfortunate to not be named to the expedition. The other four lingered with Arthur to finalize details. This he struggled through, longing for the sight of a certain fair lady.
He had not seen her this day and wanted to do so because he knew it would be quite some time before he may ever see her again. But Arthur proclaimed that there was to be a feast in their honor, a send off. Tomorrow, they would go their separate ways in search of the holy vessel.
One night was what he had in which to do what he had suspected would happen sooner or later. There would be no more denying his feelings, no more hiding. He would seek out Guinevere this night and confess his sin.
Down the hall he ventured toward his chamber and once inside, he broke into a fit of laughter. Thousands of years ago, he would have never imagined what he would become. Then, he was the murdering knave he now sought to kill. How ironic it was that he had become soft, falling at the knees of a beautiful woman. Back then, he would have just taken what he wanted. But now...
Arthur had become his mentor. He was everything Methos wasn't and would never be. Even though he strived for such greatness, and many thought him to be that, he could never posess the greatness Arthur exemplified.
But he wanted to do good. Another laugh escaped. This was ludicrous, he thought. If Kronos could hear his thoughts, that would be the end of Methos. Soft, he had gone soft. It was something he did not mind one bit. This had gained him much respect, and he was finally where he wanted to be in life.
Once he had composed himself, he donned the special attire the knights wore in times of celebration of honor. On each shoulder of his blue tunic was stitched the holy cross, white outlined in gold. His leather belt hung at his waist, securing his sword to his side. The tunic touched to tops of his knees which were clad in black hose, and his feet were enclosed in leather boots.
It was still an hour before the festivites were to begin, but he had another mission. Cautiously checking each end of the hallway, he slipped out of his room unseen. Her chamber resided just around the corner, and if he guessed the time right, she should be there alone.
The orantely carved door was closed, and Methos put his ear to it so that he might hear if anyone else was in her company. No voices came from within, and he sent a silent prayer that she was there and alone. Careful not to be heard or seen by anyone in the hall, he nudged the door open and stepped inside, soundlessly closing the door behind him.
She was there, across the room seated by the fire, with a book in her hand. Only, she did not appear to have been reading it. Just standing there, not saying a word, Methos took in her loviness.
Truly, he had never seen anyone as captivating as Guinevere. Even what he thought he felt for Kassandra couldn't compare to this. She sat there, as if unaware of her own beauty. Dressed in a gown of baby blue silk, it set her eyes afire with blue flames. Something was troubling her, and he intended to find out what.
"Guinevere," he whispered, her name heaven on his lips.
Her head whipped toward the door, adorned with braids beneath a veil that cascaded down her back. A smile touched her face at the sight of him. "Lancelot," she nearly whispered back.
Some force, the force of love, sent him to her, causing him to kneel before her. He tenderly removed the book from her grasp and took both her hands in his. "There is something I must tell you."
Guinevere gazed into his golden green eyes with what he knew to be love, for his same gaze was reflected in her blue depths. She slipped a hand from his grasp and place a finger on his lips. The spark it ignited through his body!
"Shhh," she said. "I know, I have seen the way you look at me, and I confess, I return your emotion."
A slight blush covered her cheeks as she spoke, and once she finished, Methos took her hand once again and kissed it. His lips lingered there for a moment, and then they traveled slowly up one arm. When his face was before hers, her lips slightly parted and he felt her sweet breath on his face. "Oh how I love thee!"
At his declaration, she leaned forward and met him in a passionate kiss. Methos' heart nearly burst at the endearment. This was what he had wanted for so long, and now he finally had it. His hand caressed her face as the kiss deepened. When he was about to break the barrier of her teeth, Guinevere tugged at his sleeve. He took this to mean to stop.
He pulled away and beheld the glowing woman before him. Eyelids drooped to try to hide the lust filled fire of her eyes. Her lips were swollen, but she grabbed his hand.
"We musn't," she whispered. "I know that it is quite near impossible, but Lancelot, we must keep away from each other. If Arthur were to find out..."
Methos stood and dropped her hand. "It will be as you wish, but know this. I love you with all of my being and along this journey, there will be not one moment that I will not think of you and long to return just to see your lovely face."
A tear rolled down her cheek, and he longed to wipe it away, but he refrained from touching her. It would be hell enough to go through the festivities this night after what had just happened.
"Very well. You know I shall miss thee also," she replied matter of factly and stood before him.
With all his heart, he claimed her in one more kiss that left them both breathless. And then, for the last time that day, he drank in her loveliness with his eyes, and left her chamber.