Part Five: In which old friends come back together

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"To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due."

The Season of Mists Episode 1 by Neil Gaiman, p. 18 panel 1

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The night was made for reveling. The crisp, clean scent of the Aegean danced languidly on the evening breeze, mingling with the light, carefree fragrances of the nearby flower garden. The music of the bards and the laughter of the partygoers carried to the heights of Olympus.

Methos smiled. It had been too long since he last visited the lands of the Greeks and he was determined to enjoy himself properly. The day had started out with the wedding of his young friend Orpheus to the beautiful Eurydice and was ending with a party that would make even Dionysus jealous.

The Immortal scanned the crowd, looking for some lovely maiden to woo into joining him for a little private celebration. He felt his heart leap into his throat when he heard a soft voice behind him.

"Looking for anything in particular?"

He spun around to see a woman standing before him. Her long black hair fell in waves down her back, framing her pure, white face perfectly. The black chiton she wore, while cut loose, accentuated the long curves of her body wonderfully, and the small gold ankhs that dangled from her ears and around her neck twinkled merrily in the firelight. She looked up, met his eyes and smiled at him with genuine warmth and affection. Methos found himself smiling back at her.

He took her hand in his and brought it up to his lips. "I was looking to find the most beautiful woman here. Instead, she finds me." Death's smile grew at his gallantry. "Every time I see you, my dear, you look more and more lovely."

"You always did have a way with words," she teased.

"Comes from spending so much time in the company of talented bards. So what brings you here this evening?" He hesitated and his smile faded. "Have you come for me?"

She shook her head slightly. "No, Methos, I have not. Not yet anyway. I would be remiss in my familial duties if I did not come to the wedding. Young Orpheus is my nephew."

Methos couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "Your nephew?"

Death nodded with a smile. "Oh, don't look so surprised. It is possible for the Endless to have children. Oprheus is Dream's son. Destruction's boy is off terrorizing the far-east and Desire… don't get me started on that brood!"

"And what about you?" Methos asked, looking down at her with a mischievous smile. "Do you have any children?"

She looked up at him and raised a highly manicured eyebrow quizzically. "Do you honestly see me as the maternal type?"

He laughed. "No, I suppose I don't." He turned his attention to the people laughing and dancing around the fire. Orpheus was swinging Eurydice around, who in turn was laughing too hard to make her protests believable. "Do you ever long for such a love?" Methos asked.

Death followed his gaze. "Not really. I'm too busy to have a 'great love'. I'll leave the areas of wishes and loves to my siblings. Besides," she added squeezing his hand, "you're the only man for me."

"Tease," he replied squeezing back.

They stood, holding hands, in silence, watching the festivities. Methos' mind whirled. It had been over three centuries since he had last exchanged words with Death; a battle of words that would live in his thoughts until his dying day. He wondered if she remembered it as well.

Several minutes later, he felt her gaze on him. He turned back to her and broke the silence. "What?" he asked, letting go of her hand.

"Nothing," she said. "It's just good to see you again, my friend." She raised her hand and caressed his check. "Greece agrees with you. You are once again the Methos I met so long ago."

Methos looked down at the ground. She did remember. He cursed himself for being so stupid as to think that she would forget. She was a member of the Endless. Of course she would remember. A wave of guilt flooded over him as he remembered how he had acted towards her the last time they spoke.

"Um," he stammered, "about the last time…"

Death raised a finger to his lips. "You don't need to say it. I know."

He looked at her and removed her hand from his face. "Just hear me out, all right?" She nodded, total acceptance written on her face. "I behaved badly. To quote you, I was a monster." He suppressed the growing urge to flee, or, at the very least, fidget. He may have been the terror of the known world at one point, but he could never forget who and what she was. She was Death of the Endless, second eldest of a race more powerful than the gods. She was his best friend. For the last reason alone, he needed to apologize for his actions. Unfortunately he was having trouble finding the words.

"Methos, if it's too difficult…"

"Will you shut up and let me do this?" he snapped, though his voice remained without a harsh edge. "It's hard enough doing this without you saying I don't have to. You're wrong. I do need to say it."

"Then say it."

Methos took in a deep breath. "You were right, I was wrong. I'm sorry," he said quickly as he exhaled. Then in a quiet voice he added, "There's no excuse for the way I treated you."

"Apology accepted," she said lightly.

"I still don't know what came over me," he explained, sadness coloring his voice. "Before I met Kronos, I had killed men, but never had I taken such… pleasure in it. I became a completely different man."

It was Death's turn to look at the ground. "Actually, Methos, there was a reason for it."

"For what?"

She looked back up at him. "For your actions. For your sudden change in personality."

Methos felt his heart sink. "What do you mean?"

Death looked around. "Let's go sit down and talk," she said taking his hand and leading him to a bench on the far side of the bonfire. Methos felt his stomach wrap around his spine. Her nervousness could only mean that what she was about to say was bad.

"So what is it?" he asked after they were seated. Death looked down at her hands, folded daintily in her lap. He reached out, placed his forefinger under her chin and lifted it so that she had to look at him. "We've been friends too long to keep secrets. I'm sure that whatever it is, I can handle it."

She smiled nervously at him. "You're right. We've been friends for too long for you not to know." Here eyes met and held his as she continued. "I'm the reason you became part of the Horsemen."

Methos dropped his hand and leaned back in startled disbelief. "I…don't understand."

"Think back to just before Kronos found you. Back, to when Inianni was killed," she said softly. Methos allowed his mind to drift back through the centuries to when his family had been slaughtered. "Do you remember how distraught you were?"

He nodded, though his eyes glazed over as his mind replayed the images. The emptiness that he felt at his wife's death flooded through him. "I remember," he whispered.

"You had fallen into the realm of my sister, Despair. The longer you stayed there, the harder it would have been to get you out. You spurned my offer of help and turned your back on our friendship; not that I am blaming you. You had every right to do so. You are, after all, only human." A small teasing smile played at the corners of her mouth, but Methos ignored her attempt to lighten the mood.

"The only way," she continued, saddened by his lack of response, "that I could have physically removed you from Despair's clutches was to take you into my realm."

"So why didn't you?" he asked, the tone of his voice flat and distant.

"Because, it wasn't your time to join me," she explained. "When it's your time to journey to the sunless lands, you'll know."

Methos turned his gaze towards her. "But that doesn't explain how my becoming involved with Kronos and his damned fool ideas was your fault."

Death sighed. "When you refused to let me help you, I just couldn't stand idly by and watch you waste away. You mean too much to me to let you do that. But Despair wasn't about to just let you go. I needed to find a way to help you get yourself out."

Despite the warm air and the proximity of the bonfire, a cold chill danced across Methos' spine. "What did you do?"

"I asked my brother to give you a dream that would help you leave Despair," Death murmured, guilt heavily coloring her voice.

A memory rose to the surface of Methos' consciousness. A man, tall and thin, with a voice as dark as a starless sky. "So tell me, Methos, what do you dream of?" he had asked.

"And at that time I dreamt of revenge; of causing the world to hurt as much as I did," Methos said, his voice barely more than a whisper. He turned his gaze towards her. Shock, hurt, rage all conflicted within the golden depths of his eyes.

"We had no idea that the dream he granted you would last so long," she added quickly. "Dream had never dealt with an Immortal before. According to him, for mortals even the longest lasting dream lasts no more than sixty years. He and I never considered what the repercussions would be by granting such a dream to an Immortal. It was almost a thousand years before I knew what had happened. I made him stop the dream as soon as possible."

"But only after thousands of people lay dead because of me," he commented glaring at her.

"I'm sorry. I was only trying to help you get over your grief. I never thought…"

"No you didn't. Maybe this will teach you Endless to stop interfering with the lives of us humans." He sighed deeply before proceeding. "I accept that you did what you did to help; that you thought you were acting on my best interest. But I am reserving the right to be irrationally and inexplicably upset about it. And I am upset Death. More than upset. I'm angry as hell. It is taking all of my self-control not to explode [on you] right here."

She looked up at him, her big blue eyes clearly showing her dismay. She opened her mouth to say something, but he raised his hand to cut her off. His voice grew flat and cold. "But I won't," he continued. "Not because I don't want to. Not because we're friends. But because I am sitting at the celebration of the wedding of a dear friend of mine and I will not ruin it because of my temper. A temper I didn't know I had until you 'helped' me. But I…"

Before he could continue, the two immortal beings were joined by Orpheus. "Methos, my friend," the bard said, clapping his hand on Methos' shoulder before sitting down next to him. "You never told me you knew my aunt, Teleute."

Methos smiled at his friend. "And you never told me who your relations are." Orpheus blushed slightly at the admonishment. "For your information, I have known your aunt for as long as I can remember." Orpheus looked questioningly at Death, who nodded in agreement.

"I'm glad. Tonight is for celebrating and I want all the people I care about to be happy."

The Immortal smiled at the bard. The young man had every right to be happy and wanting his loved ones to be so as well. Unfortunately, happy was the last thing Methos could be described as. He needed to get away and think.

"I'll let the two of you have some family time together," he said as he stood up.

Orpheus looked up at him. "Don't leave because of me."

"I'm not, my friend," Methos said placing a reassuring hand on the young man's shoulder. "I find the need to stretch my legs. And now that you are here I can be assured that a lady as lovely as your aunt will not be left alone."

Before either of his friends could argue, Methos turned and walked away.

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Far enough away from the revelry that he would not be constantly bothered, Methos stood in a small copse of trees. The temper he had fought to control while in the presence of others boiled to the surface and he slammed his right fist into a nearby sapling.

How could she do that to him?

His assault on the tree grew heavier.

She had no right to play with him like that!

Bark flew as the tree stood against the barrage.

Just where does she get off playing with his life like it's some kind of toy? That accursed, meddling woman!

Something in his hand cracked.

Methos sagged to the ground, his anger spent. He looked down and watched as his bloodied and broken hand sparked and began mending itself back together. "But that's the problem, isn't it?" he muttered to himself. "She's not a woman. She may look and feel like the most beautiful woman you've ever met; she may talk and act like any other human you've known. But in the end, she's not human."

He may have played the part of Death superbly, but at the end of the day, he was still Methos. She on the other hand, really was Death.

The rational part of him knew that what he had told her was true. He did understand that she did what she did because she thought she was helping him. And a small part of him appreciated the gesture. But another part of him, the part that a thousand years ago he never would have guessed he had, was glad she did it.

He could have left the Horsemen earlier than he did. There had been plenty of opportunities to do so. But he had chosen to stay. Not out of some loyalty to Kronos and the others. Not out of fear of what his brothers would do if he left. Not out of some misguided need for revenge. That had been taken care of shortly after they formed the Horsemen. He had stayed because he liked it. It was something that he was good at. It was a power thing. The power over life and death. The power over another being. It was a heady rush that intoxicated him. They saw; they wanted; they took. It was the only rules they lived by. Even now, centuries after he had walked away from that life, that small part of his psyche still craved for it.

When Kronos reappeared a century ago, trying to resurrect the Horsemen, Methos had been tempted to go back. Tempted but not swayed. He wanted more out of life. There had to be more than raping and killing. He had told Kronos that. But the scarred fool wouldn't hear of it.

Methos looked towards the south, the direction of the island monastery that was home to the well he had locked his brother in. He should have taken his head. But he couldn't. Not for lack of opportunity; but rather out of an act of conscience. If he judged Kronos worthy to die, he judged himself so as well. After all, they had been brothers. In spirit, in arms, in blood, in every way that mattered. If the crimes Kronos had committed were so bad that they warranted his execution, then Methos deserved to die beside him, and he was not ready to break free of the mortal coil. Not yet anyway.

He looked back towards the area of the bonfire. From where he sat he could just barely make out the shape of Death sitting next to her nephew. His life was certainly an interesting one. How many people could say that they were on a first name basis with Death and of those how many could count her as friend? If there were any, there weren't many.

"Looking back," he asked himself, "would you change any of it if you could?" He laughed at the question. "No, not really," he told himself. The experience had made him who he was. It was as much a part of him as his Immortality was. He regretted some of his actions while he rode with his brothers. There were things that he had done that haunted his dreams. But to change the experience would be to change the man. And, despite everything, he was beginning to like who he was becoming.

Leaning back against the tree he had abused earlier, Methos looked up at the stars. Like Death, they were one of the few constants in his life. Death…beautiful Death. He knew that he couldn't stay mad at her for long. But he wasn't going to tell her that anytime soon. After all, he did have his pride to think about.

He sat there, beneath the stars, contemplating just how long he would wait before he "officially" forgave her. It would have to be long enough that she realized that he was mad at her, but not so long as to destroy the friendship.

Methos' thoughts were interrupted by a loud, anguished cry. He jumped to his feet, looking for the source of the cry.

"Oh, gods, no!" Orpheus' voice called through the trees. Methos ran in the direction of his friend's keening. As he cleared the trees, he saw Orpheus kneeling over the limp body of his bride. Methos quickly made his way to his friend's side. Taking Eurydice's wrist in his hand, the Immortal felt for a pulse. When he felt none, he carefully lowered her hand back down.

"How?" he asked softly.

Orpheus looked up at him, eyes red with tears. "An asp," he said between sobs, indicating with his chin towards the remains of the serpent. "What…what I d…don't understand is w…what she was doing out here."

Methos looked down at Eurydice. She looked so peaceful, as if lost in slumber. He looked back up at his friend. "Perhaps she needed to clear her head and get away from the press of people."

"Perhaps," Orpheus answered, his voice barely a whisper. Methos put his arm around the young man and allowed him to weep against his shoulder.

"Orpheus," a soft, familiar voice said. Methos looked up to see Death standing across from them. Her face radiated the sadness she felt.

"You," Orpheus spat as he lurched to his feet. Methos rose to put himself between his two friends. "How could you do this to me? To us? I'm your nephew! Doesn't family mean anything to you?"

Death took a step forward. "Orpheus, I…"

Methos held up a hand towards her to stop her."Let me take care of this," he advised. She looked from him to her nephew and back before conceding with a nod. "Come, my friend, why don't we go talk," he said gently as he turned the bard around. Orpheus allowed his friend to lead him away from his wife's body. Others from the party were approaching and could take care of Eurydice.

When the two men entered the copse of trees where Methos had been earlier, Orpheus collapsed to the ground sobbing. "I hate her. How could she do this to me?" he demanded.

Methos knelt in front of his friend. "I know exactly how you feel," he gently said.

Orpheus looked up at him, brown eyes meeting green. "It wasn't your aunt who took her."

"No, it wasn't," Methos said shaking his head slightly. "But your aunt happens to be my best friend. And you are not the first man to have her take his bride."

The young bard looked up at him in amazement. "And you are still friends with her?"

Methos nodded. "It hasn't always been easy. It took me a long time to forgive her after the last time she took my wife."

"The last time? You mean there's been more than one?"

"Yes," Methos said softly as the faces of those he had lost flashed before his eyes. He looked at his friend. "I struggled for a long time not to blame her for taking them."

"I will always blame her. She had no right to take Eurydice so soon."

"Orpheus, my friend, she's Death, or have you forgotten who you are related to? It's her responsibility to guide us when our time comes. She has no choice as to when that happens. It's nothing personal." As he was saying the words, Methos realized that he actually believed them.

"But we had promised each other a lifetime." Orpheus said, his voice close to breaking again.

Methos heard the words that Death had said to him when he made the same protest. "And you got a lifetime. Your aunt once told me that for some a lifetime is measured in minutes, for others, years." He placed a reassuring hand on the young man's shoulder. "You need to be thankful that you had Eurydice in your life at all, and treasure the memories of the times you had with her. If you remember her, part of her will still live. That is how we grant immortality to our loved ones, by remembering them when they have crossed over."

For a long time, Orpheus stared at Methos, not moving or saying anything. Finally, he nodded once. Methos offered him a smile, and gently helped him back to his feet. "I will remember her, Methos," Orpheus declared.

Methos nodded. "You will, and in time, the pain will fade."

Methos led Orpheus back to the wedding party, knowing that he had finally been able to lay to rest his own anger.

TO BE CONTINUED…