"So Kiernyn...I guess somehow Guinevere knew..." Joe trailed off. He knew that's exactly what Methos was thinking.
"She's in there Joe," he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. "I could see her soul through her eyes, and I think she knows it, just not exactly who she was."
Joe began to shake his head, understanding finally the man before him. "I get it now. All that mumbo jumbo about chivalry, back when Kristen was here. From first hand experience is the only way one can have such a condemning opinion."
A sly smile appeared upon Methos' mouth. "When you live through it and watch it destroy all that you know, yes, you'll have such an opinion. Only, I couldn't tell you back then."
"So, Sir Lancelot, what's your plan now?"
That was answered with a piercing scowl. "I'm fresh out of ideas. Can't just storm his place because I don't know where he is."
"Something tells me that he'll find you," Joe noted. "He's hiding for a reason."
Methos scratched his side. "I think I'll go home, and wash this stuff off of me. Maybe I'll get some peaceful sleep."
The man behind the bar was making his way out to Methos. "I think I'll do the same, go home that is. I'll lock up behind you."
Methos grabbed his blood soaked coat. "Guess I need to wash this too."
Joe nodded. "Call if..." Methos nodded, understanding his intent.
He stepped back out into the cool night air. Shivering in just the t-shirt, he thought to quicken his pace. He didn't want to don the coat until it was washed, but it made getting to his sword more difficult when it was draped across his arms.
The tingling overcame his body as he thought of his Ivanhoe. Hurriedly, he reached for his sword, but not before his head exploded with agonizing pain. He fell limp in the alley behind Joe's, dropping his coat in the darkness.
"Hey Joe, Kevin! I just wanted to tell you thanks for the gig."
Joe smiled. "You on the plane?"
"Yeah, great technology in the world today. Listen, I just wanted to see if Kiernyn was still there."
Joe's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"
Kevin was silent for a minute. "She left the airport with one of your new band members. I thought you sent for her?"
There was no new band member. He wanted to say something, but thought better of it. There was no reason to alarm him. Hopefully, whatever had happened to her, Methos would solve before any harm was done. "Oh, she was here earlier. She had told me if the bank president called with pressing matters to send for her. Must have been an emergency," he lied, something he hated to do.
"All right. I'll try her at home later then. Again thanks for the gig."
"No problem, good luck." Joe slammed the phone down. "Damn!"
He hurried to the door. Maybe he could catch Methos before he got too far down the street. Even if he didn't, he knew where he was headed.
Once in the alley, he was about to get in his car when he noticed a heap on the ground at the far end, the end near the front entrance. It hadn't been there when Joe had arrived earlier in the day. Probably just trash, he thought, but something drew him to it.
Hobbling in its direction, with each step, the heap began to look more familiar. And at the point where the light from the street out front came into view, he was nearly blinded by a reflection. That reflection was coming off of a thick blade peeking out from underneath the black heap.
Again, his heart skipped a beat. It was a sword. Once he reached the spot, he confirmed his thought. Not only was it a sword, it was Methos' and the heap was his bloody coat.
Bile caught in Joe's throat. This wasn't happening. How in the world could he find Methos? Somehow, he had to. The man needed his sword.
Leaning over to snatch up the coat and sword, he noticed a puddle of blood. Whoever had done this, and Joe knew who it was, must have stabbed Methos or done something more horrible to have him leave his sword. What they didn't realize, was that his blood trickled onto the pavement, and to Joe's surprise, it trailed out into the front of the bar.
Following the little drops of blood, it was becoming apparent that Garret, the fool, had left a trail with Methos' blood. Joe smiled wickedly at his luck. Well, don't call it luck yet, he said to himself. You've got to see if he's still alive first.
Joe was about to exit into the alley when the phone rang. He wondered who would be calling at this hour. "Joe's."
After gathering up what men he had remaining, which was most of them, Methos ordered the dead gathered outside the keep. Such anger lived inside of him at how foolish everything had turned, and he planned the unthinkable.
"Stack them around the stake, and them set it ablaze," he ordered to much the amazement of the others. When no one moved, he yelled, "Do it!"
Suddenly he felt like he had several thousand years ago, murdering innocent people, and in one brief moment, he enjoyed it. Only because he needed comfort in his rage. For Guinevere, he did this, and only for her.
When the last of the fifteen bodies was thrown onto the pile, Methos himself lit the fire. Soon, the stench of burning flesh proved to be too much for him, and he ordered his men to march. He returned to the keep for Guinevere, and they too left for Joyous Garde.
Looking around, he guessed he was in some junk yard on the outside of town. But for some reason, he seemed to be on top of the junk. Suddenly, he wished he hadn't have looked down.
No longer did he wear the t-shirt Joe had given him and his jeans. He was dressed in the garb he had donned the night he had professed his love to Guinevere.
God tell me I'm still dreaming, he pleaded, the first time he had looked to heaven in centuries.
In his head, he repeated the plea once he realized that he was tied to a stake, situated in the middle of shreaded boxes, old furniture, and other flammable material. This could mean only one thing.
To his right, protruding from a pile of the same junk was another stake, and Methos' throat contricted when he saw her tied to it. Kiernyn, made up like Guinevere was the day of her supposed burning. Her head fell to one side, and he had no way of knowing if she still lived.
"This has got to be a dream!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. Kiernyn should have been on an airplane at this moment, and he should have been in the shower. This had to be a dream.
And then, the sensation overrided his senses. The hair on the back of his neck, caked with dried blood, did its best to rise on end. Garret was nearby, and Methos was helpless.
"Oh, I hate to disappoint you, gallant knight, but you're not dreaming. And now it's time to play!"
The voice came from every direction. A sound system had been set up, and Garret's voice boomed louder. "Much more dramatic, don't you think? At least, now we actually have her at the stake!"
Kiernyn still appeared oblivious to what was going on, and he sent an extra prayer that she would not wake until it was over, whether she live or die.
"Garret, or should I call you Gareth, show you're face. You're still a coward if you ever were one!" Methos taunted. He needed to see his face, know what he intended to do when. His eyes, if he remembered correctly, always betrayed his thoughts.
"Why Lance, oh is it okay to call you that? Don't get pushy, I'm the one calling the shots here, if you hadn't already noticed."
Methos could feel his hands, they weren't numb, so he must not have been there long. But a rope circled not only his waist to chain him to the stake, but his chest and feet as well. He had thought to work his way out of them, but it would be almost immpossible. He began with his hands.
Silence rang through the yard, and Methos was beginning to feel uneasy. Garret was still there, he could feel him, but where was the question. He had to break free before he lit the fire. That would be his only chance to save Kiernyn. But then what? he asked himself. You don't have your bloody sword!
"Tell me one thing," Garret's voice returned, still from the loud speaker. "Why is it you didn't just take my head? Saved me the misery?"
Methos kept his head high. If his foe was in front of him, he'd never know what was going on behind. "I never knew. In all the time I was in Camelot, I had never run across another immortal. I never felt you, even the presense."
Garret's low, villainous laugh filled the air. "Likely story. Luckily, I awakened not long after your men left us to char. Crawled out with less than severe burns, wondering why in the hell I was alive. Do you know what that's like?"
Methos chuckled, still working at the ropes. "No, actually I don't. I don't play with fire."
Garret growled menacingly. "Don't toy with me!" and again he was silent.
Sure now that he was coming, he worked more diligently. The ropes, he had discovered, was actually one rope looped around many times. So if he could untie his hands...
Then Garret was before him, insanely dressed in a knight's uniform. More elegant that what Methos wore, but minus the armor. "You know, I would love the taste of battle again, especially with you. Just like the good old days when you trained me. But I've thought over and over it, and I like this much better. To see you go up in flames would give me more pleasure than taking your head."
Trying to hold him off longer, Methos tried a different tactic. "Let her go. She's innocent to all of this."
"Let her go?" Garret mocked him. "Let her go! She shall suffer also! If it weren't for her, Camelot would still stand, Arthur would still be alive!"
"God man, you're insane! That was fifteen hundred years ago! They're all dead, every one of them!" Methos countered, almost free of his binding.
Garret licked his lips. "Everyone but you, and me. And I for one intend to live for far longer!"
Finally, Methos had loosened the knot and his hands were free. Tossing the rope, that loosened the holds around his midsection, chest, and feet, and he was falling into the heap below him. Luckily, he landed in the cardboard boxes.
Maniacal screaming ripped from Garret's huge frame, and Methos quickly sprang from the pile to face him. "You never could tie a knot. You should have known my friend MacLeod, he could've taught ya."
His adversary looked on in disbelief. It had been his plan to burn him to death, and then take his head, thus having no sword at the moment. "Now we'll see who the better fighter is," Methos challegend.
Stealing closer to the maniac, Methos glanced around for anything that could be used as a weapon. Something sharp, he preferred, but mostly the yard was full of old furniture and the like. No metal. But maybe if he could find a mirror...
"Where's your sword?" he decided to play with him a little longer.
Fear began to dwell in Garret's dark gray eyes. "Somewhere out of your reach," he spat, trying not to reveal that his plans were ruined.
Laughter rang out through the yard. It felt good to once again do that, Methos thought. "So that means out of your reach, too. A shame, you'll have to resort to the old way of fighting, with your hands." And Methos lunged for him, taking him by surprise, as Garret had done to him already several times.
The two men went tumbling into the rubble. Several cracks could be heard, but Methos wasn't sure if it was his or Garret's bones. He could feel nothing but the fury he felt toward his one time student.
Methos stood and kicked the man in the stomach. Garret grumbled in pain, but rolled to the side just as Methos was about to deliver another blow. This caused him to lose his footing.
It was Garret, who now kicked at the opponent on the ground. Methos knew this time, his bones had been broken because he could feel the warm, stickiness of the blood as it trickled down his side. Damn, his ribs again.
Escaping the kicks, Methos sprang on top of an old chest of drawers, holding his side. "Too bad I don't have a horse," he commented, as Garret rushed toward him.
In one fluid motion, Methos leapt from his perch and came down upon the other immortal. Garret was ready for this attack, flinging his arms out to throw the jumper aside, and he did so but not before Methos got in a blow to his head.
One immortal tumbled into more debris while the other staggered, trying to right the images that began to swim. "You'll pay for that," Garret gave a weak bellow.
Methos himself groaned at the pain in his side. His nose was now bloody and full of dirt. He swiped at it with the back of his hand, noticing blood there too from Garret. He had not seen so much blood shed since his days in Camelot.
"Do you want some more?" Garret was screaming, not sure where exactly Methos had gone.
Keeping low, he crept along the edge of the waste in a circle around Garret. With a smile, he congratulated himself for knocking the brute senseless. Looking up, he saw that Kiernyn was still asleep to the ordeal. Again, he prayed she was all right.
"So, do you want to finish this or not?" Methos finally spoke once he was behind the immortal.
Garret swung around with his arm outstretched, hoping to knock Methos down. But, the older immortal had expected it, ducked, and delivered a blow below the belt. The younger, insane immortal doubled over in pain. "Are you through now?" Methos questioned.
"Never, not until you burn in hell!" Garret screamed and came at Methos unexpectantly.
Again they rolled to the ground, lashing out at each other every chance possible. When they were finally halted by the desk Garret had rolled against, Methos clipped him one more time.
Garret was still conscious, but Methos pulled away. His body ached, and he needed to find an object to put an end to his misery. But not one single item in the yard contained a piece of metal or mirror. And suddenly, he knew it had been Garret's doing. Without his sword, he could not beat the immortal.
And then he was sent flying back to the ground. "Made sure you'd be helpless!" came Garret's hiss. "Now you see who has the upper hand here!"
Methos couldn't stand. He laid on the ground, face down, and didn't have the strength to rise. It was hopeless, he had been defeated. Garret continued to taunt him.
"Not such a gallant knight anymore, are we? Couldn't have her then, and won't have her now!"
Methos twisted his head to see the brute searching for his matches, which he must have lost during their struggle. Slowly, Methos began to inch across the ground, using his hands to pull him near the stakes. Surely, there was something in that heap he could use. There had to be.
And about that time, a brilliant light blinded him, an object thrust into the ground right before his eyes. Squinting for only a moment, he realized what it was. The Ivanhoe. And Joe stood behind it.
Methos thanked God for listening. "Joe," he whispered. "Get back, don't let him see you."
Joe hobbled to the stake Methos had been tied to and hid behind the post. Methos reached for the hilt of his sword and pulled himself up. With the last of his strength, he pulled it from the ground, let out a deafening roar and charged Garret.
Garret swung swung around and cowered at the sight. "How?" was all he could manage to say.
"It's time that I finally rid myself of you!" Methos shouted as he swung the sword down and beheaded the immortal.
His energy spent, Methos collapsed to the ground as the quickening began. The sword glowed with the streaks of lightning as they bounced off and through Methos' body. Head thrown back, his mouth opened and his cries were lost in the sounds of the security lights shattering, debris whipped about by the wind. One scream filled the air that was not his own, but he couldn't hear it.
Joe barely did, and he glanced up to see Kiernyn very much alive, and horrified at the sight before her. Damn, what explaining they were going to have to do later.
The last jolts of electricity racked Methos' body and he fell forward again, catching his breath. Oh, but somehow, that had felt good, he thought. Finally, it was all behind him.
He too glanced up at Kiernyn and was ecstatic to find her alive and breathing. From her expression, he knew she had witnessed the part of the Game necessary for survival. What he didn't notice was the fire that had begun below her.
Joe shouted to Methos, "God man, get her down from there! The trash is on fire!"
Methos horridly noticed the flames now, that seemed to have errupted so quickly. The quikening must have cause it, he decided. The flames began to lick at Kiernyn's feet.
Finding renewed energy, he sprang to his feet and practically flew to her back. With one swift swing of the sword, he had freed her of the bindings. Quickly, he tossed the sword aside and caught her as she fell, taking her to safety.
Joe had picked up the sword, and ushered them toward the gate. "Let's get out of here."
"That's the best offer I've had all evening," Methos remarked.
"Sounds like they'll be calling him back really soon," Joe congratulated her. "Maybe next time you'll get to go."
Kiernyn nodded and looked to the door once more. The bar had just opened and was beginning to fill, and every time the door openend, she turned to see who it was.
"He'll be here," Joe assured her. "By my watch, it should be any minute now."
She blushed at his teasing. The past couple of days had been horrible and satisfying. Having been kidnapped from the airport, knocked over the head with a blunt object, and being tied to a stake in the middle of a fire had been the horrible part. But the satisfying part...
Adam had rescued her. Granted, she still had many questions about what had happened that night, but it had made her heart swell to see the love in his golden green eyes when he had carried her to safety.
Of course, not having known him that long, this all seemed absurd, but it all went back to the night he had walked her home, the same night when she had almost lost her life. There was some connection between them, and she knew that at one time, in one lifetime, they had been lovers. And now, their chance at making amends for whatever happened before had been renewed.
Adam had been far worse injured than she had. Not only had he been knocked over the head, but he had recieved several punches that had broken his nose and a few ribs.
Joe was thinking about Methos' injuries also. Unknown to Kiernyn, they had already healed, but he was doing a great job of pretending to be hurt. That only brought on the tenderness with which she handled him.
In the past two days, they had become close. Joe didn't know exactly how close, but they each understood the other and what had happened at one time. But, he didn't think Methos had yet to explain the sword or the quickening.
And again, the door opened, and to Kiernyn's delight, Methos walked in, dressed in his usual sweater and jeans routine, covered by his long black coat. His presence brought on that glorious smile that brightened the entire room, and Joe could see how such a face would have made a man insane for not being able to be with her.
In that moment, Joe was glad that Camelot had fallen, and that Methos was never able to have Guinevere. Because Kiernyn was free to live the life she wanted, and she was everything Guinevere was, and he dared to think more.
