Disclaimer:
I do not own the characters, storylines or quotations of the 'Highlander' universe I use.
I do own the OCs and the storylines I invented by myself.
This story is not meant to be published for a commercial purpose, unless the owner of the 'Highlander' universe would grant me such a permit.
Summary:
In 2012, rumor as well as an ancient Maya calendar predict, that the end of the world is close. If this is true, it will not only affect mankind, but also the 'Game' and the immortals involved, fighting until just one of them remains. Tired of chopping heads and facing other immortals, Methos returns to a place, whereto he once accompanied an old friend of his. For one reason: Summing up his life.
The rating is 'T' at the moment but it may change to 'M' somewhen later on.
Prologue: Tired of the Game
Byron: "Do you want a tombstone that says, 'He Lived For Centuries' or do you want one that says, 'For Centuries He Was Alive'?"
Methos: "You're not listening to me. I don't want a tombstone."
(Highlander: TV series - from episode 'The modern Prometheus')
Austria – The former province Noricum – Present (Summer 2012)
Excavations and ruins! That is all, that remained of a once beautiful and flourishing Roman junction. A trading spot, settled close to a meeting of two streams, embedded in a picturesque valley, surrounded and sheltered by high mountains and narrow chasms.
Back then, two thousand years ago, when the Romans still used to rule the biggest part of the known world, these ruins were filled with life.
Ancient woods, fertile fields and fruitful soil provided its inhabitants with a not even small amount of wealth. Beside this, it was a place, worth to retire to. A place, to forget about everything one could feel troubled by.
An esthetically built Roman villa once nestled up to the mellow hillside, I just climbed up. Old trees shielded this property from curious eyes and its wells and fountains got fed by a spring of fresh and clear water.
The place held a wide view, including the whole valley, the town and its amazing surroundings.
The place was beautiful.
It still is...
It belonged to a man, a friend! One of those few, I would call a real friend! A cynic, he was, a satirist, an aesthete. And as the place belongd to him, so also did the impressive villa – long before the ancestors of those were born, who were now digging for its relics...
In a different time – two thousand years ago...
I had a look around, tried to find answers to a thousand questions:
What was it, leading me back to this place?
Right now?
After having not thought of it for a rather long time?
Maybe it was due to the rumor?
Exactly that rumor, that told us, the end of the world was supposed to come, was supposed to be closer than ever before...
Once again!
Once again it happens, that uncertainty yields bizarre results, and once again, a few are able to stir the fear of those up, who are afraid of everything and who are willing to believe in the fact, the downfall of men is supposed to be unavoidable...this time...
As it seems, some things will never change. So it always was and so it will always remain.
This time is not the first time and it will not be the last time. And it will make those pay the highest price, who are afraid of death, just to make a try to escape their nonetheless upcoming end – whenever this may be.
Good times for charlatans and religious zealots! Not to mention all those experts, having no idea about what's really going on out there.
I wasn't able to avoid a grin: So, the end of the world was supposed to be close.
I chuckled!
The end of the world...
It sounded strange to me...
What meaning could it have to someone, to whom time itself has no meaning?
What meaning could it have to someone, who did not count in years or decades, but in centuries or even millennia?
What meaning could it have to someone, whose memories are dated back that far from today, that their beginning is nothing to him, but a blurred hint of remembrance?
What meaning could it have to someone, who once had been known for being the end of the world himself...?
None! Not even the blink of an eye...
Unless...
Well, unless the old guys – the Maya – should be right. Then it would be without any doubt, that the end of the world would affect him as well, because, most probably, the end of the world would also mean the end of the 'Game'...
The 'Game'...
An extraordinarily strange and admittedly inoffensive paraphrase of the one and only fact, that apparently grown up people – immortals, living unrecognized amongst their mortal fellows – are constantly on a hunt for each other, just to fight each other till death with archaic weapons in godforsaken lonely places until one of them takes the others head.
Sounds weird, doesn't it?
Yes, it does and, yes, it is...
The 'Game'...
To me it's rather a morbid alteration of a perpetual massacre, warranted by its rules settled somewhere back in ancient times, following just one single aim: In the end there will be one, only one survive – for the collective good, for the good of the world, perhaps even of the universe...
So it says, so it's conveyed, so are its rules.
I'm part of this world. I am part of said 'Game'. Since about more than five thousand years...
But does this mean, I have to believe in it and its rules?
Because, I'm forced to take part in this 'Game'?
Because, I love this world I live in – including all its beauty and even its blemishes?
Because, I'm immortal?
I saw things, I experienced things, meant to be beyond the imagination of every mortal I'm surrounded by.
I came across uncountable people, whose names I do not forget for just one single reason: Because, I decided to write them down since within those days back then, within a dark and blurred past, writing got invented...
In Mesopotamia – also known as the cradle of mankind...
I committed things – things beyond words, things, I neither can expect forgiveness for nor I will get forgiveness for as long as my life will last, as long as I will be the one to take the head of my opponent...
To be honest, I'm tired! Tired of the 'Game'!
I'm tired of a game, I just still take part in, if there is no choice left to avoid it.
I'm tired of the killing and of chopping heads, because both ruled my life – and the lives of so many others – for much too long.
Whoever will be the winner of the 'Game' one day: I do neither own the ambition nor do I own the fire to be the one, holding the world's fate in his hands. To me it's quite enough to remain the one I am: A cynic!
Well, I admit, there are some guys out there, who do not get tired, calling me a pain in the ass, but in the end I'm nothing else but a human being amongst other human beings. I'm just one amongst others, I'm like them – possibly with an insignificant little secret...
But, hey, I love my life...
Yes...
But as hard as I may try, I can't withdraw from the 'Game'. I'm bound to it.
I cannot escape my memories, much less all those memories of those, who once stepped in my way or in my life.
Mostly, they are memories of other immortals, bound to me, having been intimately connected with me or still are...
To count in centuries or even in millennia, means to carry tons of memories with you, although you're not always aware, where they belong to. And sometimes, they tend to catch up with you, if you're not really prepared for them. Mostly, they do, if it's not really the best point of time.
This applies the more, if they are not your own memories, but those of that kind of guy, you're not even hell-bent of being reminded of.
Nevertheless, what applies for all those memories, applies to all ever touching our lives. Our memories are, what makes us the one we are – equal of what kind they are: Good, bad, sweet, bitter...
Standing here, at this place, amongst the excavated ruins of an ancient Roman villa, I cannot remember anything, which troubled me. The whole place is filled with calm and pleasing memories: Of this place, of the man, who took me here and who taught me his sight of the world he lived in...
I guess, one part of the one I am today, found a lot of himself while staying here.
Another part of myself I found, when memories of another time and place caught up with me, of a time and a place, when I was completely different...
They were the memories of Cassandra, who's still not able to forget or forgive, what I did to her.
They were the memories of Kronos, who was not willing to accept, what I changed into and what I became.
Both have or had not the slightest idea, how coming across them changed my life.
Twice!
Our second encounter convinced me, that I'm the one, now, I want to be, that I'm not only the cynic, I love to be, but, that the one, I desperately tried to forget about, also belongs to me.
I'm neither black nor white, I'm made of shades and if my ancient 'I' would not be kept inside of me, I would never have survived that long...
Well, of course, I was not aware of all this when fate – was it fate? – lead us all to our first encounter, which left me, in its aftermath, with just one wish: Becoming someone different...
Who am I then?
A Wanderer? A Warrior? A Lover? Like MacLeod?
Or am I still the watcher, the myth, my own conscience?
The truth is supposed to be caught in the middle of it all.
My name is Methos and my story begins within a time, back in history, when a life had no meaning, when a man lived and died through a sword and when only a few knew my real name...