Part 1 Prelude

Methos looked out of his hotel window at a scene not too different from one of the earliest of his clear memories. It had a different name then, and certainly a different role. Now it was the Holy City . . . the city on a hill . . . Jerusalem.

Perhaps the most prized and bloody city in human history was to see yet another battle, much quieter, held in the shadows but potentially as important as any before. Far too many people were aware something untoward was going on, but only a handful outside of the participants and their designated observers knew the whole truth. The Gathering.

Methos wasn't happy about the location for the end of the world, or at least the end of the immortal world. It suggested to the gullible that Divine forces were at work, forces Methos had distrusted for millennia. Even now, his roommates were working themselves into a frenzy about the meaning of the Gathering in Jerusalem.

The two were annoying enough by themselves, together they set his teeth on edge and, on this topic, they had driven him to the edge. The ledge of the balcony to the room, his room these children had waltzed into as if they owned it. "I'm paying for this room and that view you're so enjoying, Methos, at least you could pretend to be a good host."

The younger one, more earnest and therefore even more irritating that his older 'brother.' "I am being a good host, MacLeod. I'm out here instead of in there telling you two infants how foolish you sound." Methos dragged himself back in to take his medicine.

"So, your ancient wisdom says it's just a coincidence that the city most closely identified with G-d happens to be where we've all been pulled." The Highlander – that's how Methos identified Connor MacLeod – was even less respectful of his ancient wisdom than their mutual acquaintance.

"Closely identified with G-d, closely identified with war and death," Methos retorted. "Or are those the same thing"? The two boys -- less than 1000 years old between them for . . . goodness sake -- glared at him.

"All right," Methos raised his hands to forestall dual diatribes, "perhaps the place of the Gathering had to be one which has shared history with our kind and be one known to all immortals. Perhaps the most quickenings have been taken here and that energy is what reeled us in. "Perhaps . . . "

Methos stopped himself. In another of the fits of pique he had suffered since first feeling the pull of a Gathering he didn't believe in, he had almost shared the theory put forward by Jerusalem's resident ancient immortal. And that was someone whose existence he didn't yet wish to reveal to the brothers prim.

"Yes, old man? Was there something more or has senility finally caught up with you?"

"No, MacLeod, exasperation has. Since we're all going to be dead in a few days anyway, there has to be something better to do than listening to the two of you. Like drinking."

"On my money, no doubt."

"Are you saving it for a rainy day, MacLeod? Because unless it rains very hard for a very long time, you're not going to have any need for it very soon."

"Thanks for showing so much confidence in me, friend."

"Come on MacLeod, they're all here. The best and worst of our kind over thousands of years. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. We all die." The last word was punctuated in the tone Methos used when informing you what 5000 years of experience said about the situation.

Connor MacLeod was unfazed. "Speak for yourself, old man, I survived one Gathering and I'll survive this one. Duncan, too. Even you, if you like."

"You barely survived a 'Gathering' that existed only in your mind. This is the real thing. Everyone left is capable of taking your head on your best day."

"And the reverse is true, as well. There's no one better than the Kurgan and I've already beaten him once. I can do it again."

The three men pondered Connor's near-miss with the Kurgan and the even odder story of how he had believed they were the last two.

end part 1