An abode near Island Fortress, outside of Camelot
He was met by a man sent from King Bademagus when he reached the outskirts of the area. The tale was relayed of how Meleagant rebelled and stole Queen Guinevere in the night so that he might hold her ransom. What the ungovernable son asked in return was his father's kingdom.
It had been rumored for years that Meleagant had gone mad after his mother's death. No one but his father knew to what extent. And now, Methos vowed to kill the insane brute.
King Bademagus' man brought forth a petition for Lancelot. It was he, the knight that had been chosen to seek justice for the queen, and Methos could not help but wonder why.
Even so, he knew in his heart he would have done the same without the petition. After waving the man away, he ventured through the trees until he had come upon the house in question. He dismounted his steed, and decided to journey to the house on foot. Methos wanted to bring the element of surprise.
It was in quite better shape than the hut the hermit had resided in. Of course, this was an abode that belonged to King Bademagus, probably at once housed one of his mistresses. The sun gave excellent light for his sneak attack. Keeping to the edge of the trees, he crept to the back.
Through a window, he could see her. Just as beautiful as he had left her a year ago, but this time, her dress was torn near the bottom, her face smudged with dirt, and her hair an unruly mess. Ire like he had never experienced rose in his throat, and he nearly choked on it. If Meleagant had harmed her...
She was seated in a chair facing the door, as if she expected someone to come. After further investigation, Methos realized she was alone. The fool had left her unattended.
Making a dash for the entrance, he could not wait to hold his love in his arms again. And she was alone, but when the door opened, she cringed, expecting... Her blue eyes opened wide with disbelief. She looked as if she had just seen a ghost.
And how he reveled in her shock. How good it felt to be missed. "Guinevere..." he choked.
With an outstretched hand, she reached for him. Methos delayed her touch no longer. He took her hand in his, and she squeezed tight. "'Tis you! 'Tis really you! I had thought to be dreaming!"
Methos wiped the tear from her cheek that had fallen when she realized he was real and before her very eyes. "Yes, 'tis I. King Bademagus and Arthur sent for me. How could I not come for you?"
"But the Grail," she began, but Methos put a finger to her lips, just as she had done the last time they were together.
"Hush, love," he whispered and replaced his finger with his lips.
Guinevere showed no restraint, and heartily returned the kiss. Methos smoothed her hair back when he broke from her lips. Gazing into her blue depths, he said, "How I have missed you, longed to see you again, to feel your lips again! I care not to hide my feelings any longer."
Trembling lips turned into a smile and she repeated the confession. How she had longed for him also, feeling guilty every minute, but no longer denying it.
With every beat of his heart, Methos knew he could not love her any more that what he did at this moment. Capturing her lips again, he lifted her from the chair and carried her to the feather bed in the corner. All thoughts of Meleagant and his father and even Arthur were long forgotten. All that mattered was that Guinevere was there in his arms, and she loved him.
The pounding of her own heart could be felt through his tunic and her dress. Taking care not to destroy the fabric any more than it already had been, he untied her laces and let it fall in a heap around her. Still clad in her shift, he also removed that in a quick motion. "He did not touch you?" he asked, suddenly remembering the torn dress.
She could only shake her head as she helped him to rid his clothes. Relief flooded him and he dove down for another deep kiss. How sweet she tasted, he thought.
The intensity of the kiss quickened, and finally bare skin touched bare skin. Methos cupped her breast in his hand and savored the feel of it. Soon, his mouth sought to do the same. Guinevere cried out in ecstacy, and he could wait no longer.
Like a man starved, he took her, but did not falter in pleasuring her. Her need was just as great, for they had been apart far too long and denying their love far longer. Sweat glistened on his brow and soon he was spent. Falling to her side, he drew her near him just to savor the warmth of her body.
And as they lay there, she explored his lean, muscled form. Methos' breath caught in his chest at her bold caresses. This was what he had wanted all these years, to be with her, to touch her. Now he had his wish.
But his heaven did not last long, for he heard him coming. No, he felt him coming...
So caught up in the past, Methos had not realized he had no idea where he was. And the presence had fallen upon him like a rain shower. Turning his head in every direction, he could not see anyone. "Sure, wander to the street with no lights," he cursed himself.
Reaching inside his coat, he withdrew his sword, ready for battle. The night had whiled away as he had been lost in his thoughts. He had seen Kiernyn safely home to her brother, who was readying for a flight to Los Angeles just an hour away. Methos knew Kiernyn would be at the airport even now, ready to fly to safety.
And he had wandered about the dark streets of Seacouver, opening himself up for the encounter he knew he was about to face. "Show yourself," he called.
The sensation was stronger. He knew he had to be close. But where? And just as he thought it, he looked up and discovered the location of his opponent. Only a bit too late.
A heavy mass of a body collided with him. The brute had jumped from atop the building! Methos was sent sprawling out into the street, his sword sliding out into the darkness.
Deep, wicked laughter escaped the jumper. "Thought you had imagined it?"
And Methos knew the voice instantly. It was Garret. "No," he said between breaths. "I just thought you were too chicken to face me." He put a hand to his side and drew his fingers away to discover blood. It felt as if he had broken a couple of ribs.
Garret's laugher filled the darkness. "It is you who should be the coward. For I will do to you what you have done to me, let you feel what it's like to burn in a fire from the pits of hell, and then I will take your head."
"Don't be so sure about yourself," Methos spat at him. "I did it once, I can do it again." He began to inch his way in the direction his sword had taken.
"But you're not as strong as you were back then," Garret remarked, inching closer to him. "You're weak, been out of the Game far too long. And found another lady to champion so like your Guinny."
Methos knew the route Garret was taking. Somehow, he had to pretend that Kiernyn meant nothing to him. But, that seemed almost impossible, after his showing their first meeting. "She is of no interest to me. Lucky for her, I decided to do a good deed."
"Hmph, if I know you, Sir Lancelot," he spat the name, "I'd think that this would be one of your tactics to stray the enemy away from the lady. But it won't work on me! I watched you, trained with you for so long I know how you work. Surely you haven't changed much!"
"Time takes it toll on every one of us, Garret. What I've become because of it remains to be seen." Finally, he had reached his sword and he took it up, wincing from the pain in his side.
"Ahh, you're too hasty boy. I've got grander plans for our battle. I only mean to ruffle your feathers a bit!"
At that, Methos charged him. Garret sidestepped his blow, and twisted to face him again, not at all lifting his sword. "I am no boy!" Methos bellowed, and charged again. Why he felt so weak he could not comprehend.
Garret chuckled, low and menacing. "That remains to be seen." And with that, he fled into the night.
Methos gave chase for a couple of blocks, but finally relented. He needed to sit down, but he knew he couldn't here, on the street. Just how far am I from Joe's? he wondered. Time would tell.
Joe was about ready to go insane. It had been three hours since Methos had left with Kiernyn. He had called Kevin two and a half hours ago to find out his sister had been delivered safely. Despite the age difference, his fatherly instinct caused him to worry. "Where are you, old man?"
"I'm here," Methos called from the entrance.
Joe popped up and noticed the state Methos was in. "My God!" he exclaimed.
Methos had removed his coat and uncovered his sweater, soaked with blood. "I'm all right now. Just a few broken ribs, healed right nicely."
The Watcher shook his head at the sarcasm. "Garret?"
"Who else? But Kiernyn should be on her way to Los Angeles as we speak."
"I take that to mean you didn't kill him," Joe said.
"Element of suprise sure suprised the hell out of me," Methos chuckled. "That bastard means to toy with me, but I'll have none of it."
"What do you plan to do?" Joe asked, because from the look in Methos' eyes, it appeared the immortal had no idea.
Methos said just that. "Let me see that stuff you found. Maybe that'll help me. I don't know how strong he is. He wouldn't fight."
Joe set the information out on the bar and pulled a t-shirt from a drawer. "Here, put this on and get rid of that," he instructed, tossing the shirt to Methos. "Garret's saving his strength? Maybe he was just sizing you up."
"I suspected that too." Methos browsed through the information, taking mental note of battles his enemy had won over the centuries.
Joe remained silent for quite some time. It was no secret what he was thinking. Once Methos had revealed his one-time identity, the story had been intriguing. To discover that King Arthur and his knights were real was mind boggling! But the tale had been left hanging, and Joe didn't want it to go unfinished no matter that he could and would never write it down.
"You're wondering about what happened," Methos stated, knowing what was on his friend's mind.
A bit embarrassed to be confronted, Joe nodded. "Why did you kill Garret?"
Methos set the papers down and scratched his head. "So much happened, I don't know where to start."
Relieved to know that he meant to finish the tale, Joe asked another question. "It was Guinevere, wasn't it?"
With eyes closed, the immortal nodded. "Ever since I had rescued her from Meleagant and killed him, we had secretly been meeting. The affair had gone on so long, we were both oblivious to everyone who knew. My man Bors warned me, but I ignored him. I should have known that Agravaine and Mordred were plotting against Arthur."
"So was it true, was Mordred Arthur's son?" Joe inquired.
Methos laughed. "Let me finish, unpatient child." He motioned for a beer. Joe gladly obliged, knowing that the words would flow as long as the drink did.
"Mordred was Arthur's son, but by his half-sister, so he had no stake in any inheritance. That's what drove him to his nasty ways. He and Agravaine planned to usurp the throne. They were waiting for the perfect time, and I provided it for them. Those two coniving bastards caught us together." He paused to let it sink in.
"Fully clothed, thank the heavens I had my sword handy. I slit Agravaine's throat, and Mordred fled to Arthur. So stupid I was to leave her there. Bors and I went to Joyous Garde, to hide away, but I didn't hide long..."
Methos looked at the man for the first time, with fright in his eyes. "What do you say?"
The messenger continued. "The king returned and with counsel discovered the queen's betrayal. Queen Guinevere has not denied the charge, but does not give away her lover."
A quiver of his voice revealed that all knew it was he. Methos, Lancelot. "Go on," he prodded.
"She is to be burned at the stake on the morrow."
Fear as he had never known dwelt in his heart. "Is that all?" he demanded.
When the messenger nodded, in fear that he would be slain, Methos waved him off before he was tempted to do just that. Burned at the stake! Arthur, in a fury no doubt, had done the unthinkable. Without Mordred's prodding, the king would have never condemned his wife to such harsh punishment.
At once, he searched for Bors and ordered him to gather as many men as was possible. Methos had a plan of his own, no matter how out of sorts it was, but he would see that his love would come no harm.
By noon, his battalion was prepared to march. They trekked to Camelot, and charged the castle by surprise. Never had Methos ever imagined doing such a thing. He just prayed that he wouldn't have to face Arthur.
Showing no mercy, every knight that came in his way, attempting to halt his rescue, he cut down. Most, if not all, had been his friends, followers.
What surprised Methos most was the lack of defenders at Camelot. One knight drew his sword as Methos made his way through the castle to Guinevere's chambers. "Why lack of defense?" he demanded before he decided to strike.
The knight glared at him. "What manner are you here?"
Methos raised his sword and his voice. "Do not test me, boy. You know for why I am here. Answer me!"
"They travelled to Camlan, for war. Arthur and Mordred with them," he replied, not wanting to meet his elder in battle.
"Good God Almighty! War, 'tis no war! Mordred that lying bastard!" Methos ranted. The knight flinched. "Let me pass!"
To his relief, the knight let him pass, but he met another before he could reach Guinevere. This one, he knew quite well.
"Sir Lancelot, 'tis truly maddness that you storm the castle! She has been sentenced and will meet her fate," Sir Gareth, once his protegee, announced.
"You will step aside, or I will be forced to slay you," Methos warned.
"I will never let you pass, traitor!" Gareth bellowed and rushed Lancelot.
The battle ensued, each almost equally matched. Methos himself had trained this knight, and was somewhat proud of his efforts. But this day, Methos had the upper hand. His love of Guinevere and his rage against her unjust condemnation pushed him to the edge of lunacy, granting him greater power.
His Ivanhoe plunged deep into the gut of Gareth, and Methos twisted it to make his point. "Now you will step aside."
The knight slumped to the floor once Methos rid him of his sword. Now his path to Guinevere was clear.
She rushed into his arms. "I knew you would come!" she exclaimed.
After a long, excruciating kiss, Methos pulled away. "We must get you from here."
"I did not tell them of you," she assured him.
Methos shook his head. "They knew. Come, let us leave this place."
Back to Joyous Garde he went, this time with his love. But more dreadful news was to come. Again, a messenger from Camelot appeared in his hall three days later.
"What is it this time?" he demanded.
With great sorrow, the messenger gave an account of Arthur's death by the hand of Mordred. But the murderer had not gone unavenged. For when Arthur fell, he struck his bastard son a blow as equally fatal. Both died on the field at Camlan.
Methos showed great control over his emotions for his men, but in the company of Guinevere, he let loose all that he had held inside. The man, his king, had been like a father to him, and he had respected no other as he had Arthur.
Guinevere had comforted him, all the while showing her grief, but she did not comfort him as a lover would. She had already made a decision, and the news of Arthur's demise, it had been finalized.
"Lancelot, I am going to the convent," she whispered.
Methos looked up to her with an incredulous expression. "What do you mean?"
"I cannot stay with you. I love you too much to further condemn you. What we have done was wrong, although I do not regret it. And now that Arthur is dead...I fear my deeds have condemned him."
Methos could hardly believe what he was hearing. "No, you cannot mean it! This has been no fault of yours. If any blame is to come, it shall rest on my shoulders. I did not protect my king as I should have!"
Guinevere did not cower at his anger. She fully expected it. "It is decided. This is what my mother wanted from the beginning, but my father had a greater vision. I am afraid this was not a part of it. I will go to the convent, and nothing you can say or do, save killing me, will stop me."
Methos knew by the way her eyes no longer shone, that the fire was had been extinguished. He nodded, in defeat. "It shall be as you wish."
"Remember this, Lancelot. I will always love you, but know that patience is the greatest virtue of love."
