"Gwendolyn!" called Methos to the darkness at the docks.
"How did you know I'd be here Beloved?" she asked, the endearment sarcastic and almost painful on her tongue.
"I know you love the ocean, I thought you'd come here seeing the Scottish Boy Scout has been driving you mad."
"The man is insufferable!" she growled.
"If you wanted a teacher who wouldn't care, you shouldn't have come to MacLeod. He really is a chivalrous and over protective bastard."
Gwen stared out over the water recalling again the first time she'd ever seen the ocean. How vast and frightening it had seemed to her. Now it stood as her representation of herself, of time. It stretched out in a vastness that most could no comprehend, the sheer distances and volume of it. It was like that with her and time.
"What is it you want Methos?" she asked short temperedly.
"Forgiveness…" he said softly.
Gwen turned to look at him with blazing brown eyes and he regretted his weak and pitiful entreaty. That was never the way to win with her.
"Forgiveness beloved? For what? For abandoning me perhaps? For forsaking the vows we took together and running off. Or are you after forgiveness for the countless thousands you put in their graves as I chased you across our world?" she had moved in closer to him, invading his space with her presence.
Tears pricked and Methos' eyes but he would not cry them. He was five thousand years old and he was beyond grief, beyond remorse and regrets. Or so he chose to tell himself. Maybe it was just that there was little he could do today that would hold a candle to the evils he had wrought so long ago.
"For everything." He answered quietly.
"Well you're shit out of luck." She stated.
The profanity on her lips struck him severely. Whatever else she may have been, Gwen had always been a lady. A woman.
"All those people you killed, they could grant you forgiveness, they might when you finally join them. It might even be that the Goddess we swore to will forgive you your transgressions. But I will not."
With that her back was once again to him and he was struck by how alone that simple action made him feel. Her back towards him, at least while she was chasing him, he knew he had her attention. Now he was deemed unworthy of her sight, of the depth of her eyes and the wisdom. God the things she knew… Methos turned slowly and began making his way back to Mac's.
"I loved you." Slight and soft as a summer breeze but it was there. He hadn't imagined it.
"I loved you too, believe it or not." He said softly not turning around; he didn't have to, to know she was looking at him.
"Why did you do it?" was that fear, or simply regret?
"Because I was young. Because I was stupid and because I was angry. I needed very much to be a man on my own, but I wasn't. You were the moon and the sun to those people."
He heard her soft and self mocking laugh behind him and was oh so tempted to turn, to look at her face for some traces of the forgiveness now forever denied him. Somehow, he held firm and didn't turn.
"I live indefinitely Methos. Or so it seemed to me then… the adoration of villagers who would die in the blink of an eye to me was nothing. Not compared to someone I could love forever. You did it for something I would have given up, had you asked me." She was moving up behind him then, so close he thought she might touch him. "I stayed with them only because they needed someone, but I needed to, needed for you to love me. The only other Immortal I knew to exist… I thought you'd be the last to come into existence…"
Methos couldn't help it; he turned and looked down at her. Down he realized on a small woman with a plain but unearthly round face and the deepest of brown eyes. She really was diminutive, and it was quite possible, if he hadn't ignored it, that she might have had the chance to be small, to be diminutive in her lifetime, if only to him. His mind drifted back easily to a time when he had held her to him and not felt any fear of her.
Five Thousand Years Ago
Methos lay at ease in a bed made largely of bear firs, pelts of animals that no longer exist. He was dressed in a leather tunic and soft leather pants that fit him loosely. Newly arisen an Immortal, suddenly given into this woman's care to learn their ways.
She entered the heavily draped doorway letting the skins fall back into place keeping out the bitter chill of a newly settled winter. Her hair fell in heavy and thick waves of ebony down her back, it shone in the light of the fire.
"Love," he smiled at her openly, he had not yet learned to lie.
"Love," she answered him easily.
Crawling contentedly onto the bed platform she fit her self closely against his side and rested her head against his chest. His long arms went about her shoulders on instinct and he held her tightly against him. The picture of them together was picturesque. An old love, uncluttered by culture, uncertainty or fear. There was no marriage, only the profession of love. No expectation other than it is honest.
No one knew what her first name had been, but when she came to the village the name she gave them was beyond their ability to pronounce, so she began calling herself Gwendolyn, possibly a bastardization of her real name?
Outside in the world there was nothing she bowed too. She carried around with her a kind of knowing that the people feared and revered at the same time. Her small stature detracted nothing from her power of them, her suggestions were done and he judgments on points of law were final. Inside her tent however, her diminutive stature was very real. Inside the tent she shared with Methos she allowed herself to be fragile and soft and all the things women are meant to be.
The same could be said for being in his arms, even outside and in front of the villagers, she showed no hesitation to sink into his embrace and openly acknowledge his ideas and opinions. Her world was neatly divided into the things that she loved; half her love lived in the village with the people who needed her. The other half rested squarely in the chest of the only other Immortal she had found in over a thousand years.
1 Now
"Gwen…" he started, his hands moving out, itching to pull her to him, to be forgiven, erase his biggest regret.
She took a step back and shook her head. It couldn't be that easy. After all this time, the pain at first may have been forgivable, but like many unpleasant things, it festers with time. Now, almost five thousand years later, it was something harbored, something that was so much a part of who she was that it couldn't be forgiven. For thousands of years that mistrust and pain had shaped who and what she was, and now she was meant to give it up, Simply because he had the gall to ask for forgiveness? No, no matter how much she might want to, she wouldn't give in.
"Don't touch me Methos, don't even dream about laying your hands of me ever again." There was contempt in her voice that stung even more than the words.
If it had been a hollow repetition of a practiced phrase Methos could have moved through it. Worked up his courage and taken her into his arms anyway. That was probably all that was needed to break her stout resolve. But Gwendolyn was a great actress, a formidable warrior and too much a woman to allow that. Her performance was above reproach.
"You should go back to MacLeod. He'll be going nuts." Methos managed without sounding Broken. He could act too.
"The man is insufferable!" she burst out, "He treats me like a child!"
"You look like a child to him… you're pretending to be one. Don't blame him that you're a good actress." Even saying the words from his own mouth Methos had no idea how good.
Gwen took the rebuke without batting an eyelid. He was right of course; Duncan was acting as he would act if she were a newly woken Immortal fresh from her first death. A real father figure.
She pulled her heavy leather coat around her tighter and walked past Methos without answering, without a backward glance. Methos noticed again the way she unerringly managed to make him feel completely worthless. What was it she'd said? "Of course not Methos, that would imply your worth something". He had little doubt that she meant it. No one could forget things like Gwen could, no one knew the art of sealing things out of the heart as well.
He didn't bother following her back to the Do Jo there was really no point. He wouldn't get anything from her but the same callous dismissal and he didn't think his ego could take anymore of that. After all this time, he'd thought he didn't have an ego; that he was beyond guilt. Turned out he wasn't quite so blessed.
"How did you know I'd be here Beloved?" she asked, the endearment sarcastic and almost painful on her tongue.
"I know you love the ocean, I thought you'd come here seeing the Scottish Boy Scout has been driving you mad."
"The man is insufferable!" she growled.
"If you wanted a teacher who wouldn't care, you shouldn't have come to MacLeod. He really is a chivalrous and over protective bastard."
Gwen stared out over the water recalling again the first time she'd ever seen the ocean. How vast and frightening it had seemed to her. Now it stood as her representation of herself, of time. It stretched out in a vastness that most could no comprehend, the sheer distances and volume of it. It was like that with her and time.
"What is it you want Methos?" she asked short temperedly.
"Forgiveness…" he said softly.
Gwen turned to look at him with blazing brown eyes and he regretted his weak and pitiful entreaty. That was never the way to win with her.
"Forgiveness beloved? For what? For abandoning me perhaps? For forsaking the vows we took together and running off. Or are you after forgiveness for the countless thousands you put in their graves as I chased you across our world?" she had moved in closer to him, invading his space with her presence.
Tears pricked and Methos' eyes but he would not cry them. He was five thousand years old and he was beyond grief, beyond remorse and regrets. Or so he chose to tell himself. Maybe it was just that there was little he could do today that would hold a candle to the evils he had wrought so long ago.
"For everything." He answered quietly.
"Well you're shit out of luck." She stated.
The profanity on her lips struck him severely. Whatever else she may have been, Gwen had always been a lady. A woman.
"All those people you killed, they could grant you forgiveness, they might when you finally join them. It might even be that the Goddess we swore to will forgive you your transgressions. But I will not."
With that her back was once again to him and he was struck by how alone that simple action made him feel. Her back towards him, at least while she was chasing him, he knew he had her attention. Now he was deemed unworthy of her sight, of the depth of her eyes and the wisdom. God the things she knew… Methos turned slowly and began making his way back to Mac's.
"I loved you." Slight and soft as a summer breeze but it was there. He hadn't imagined it.
"I loved you too, believe it or not." He said softly not turning around; he didn't have to, to know she was looking at him.
"Why did you do it?" was that fear, or simply regret?
"Because I was young. Because I was stupid and because I was angry. I needed very much to be a man on my own, but I wasn't. You were the moon and the sun to those people."
He heard her soft and self mocking laugh behind him and was oh so tempted to turn, to look at her face for some traces of the forgiveness now forever denied him. Somehow, he held firm and didn't turn.
"I live indefinitely Methos. Or so it seemed to me then… the adoration of villagers who would die in the blink of an eye to me was nothing. Not compared to someone I could love forever. You did it for something I would have given up, had you asked me." She was moving up behind him then, so close he thought she might touch him. "I stayed with them only because they needed someone, but I needed to, needed for you to love me. The only other Immortal I knew to exist… I thought you'd be the last to come into existence…"
Methos couldn't help it; he turned and looked down at her. Down he realized on a small woman with a plain but unearthly round face and the deepest of brown eyes. She really was diminutive, and it was quite possible, if he hadn't ignored it, that she might have had the chance to be small, to be diminutive in her lifetime, if only to him. His mind drifted back easily to a time when he had held her to him and not felt any fear of her.
Five Thousand Years Ago
Methos lay at ease in a bed made largely of bear firs, pelts of animals that no longer exist. He was dressed in a leather tunic and soft leather pants that fit him loosely. Newly arisen an Immortal, suddenly given into this woman's care to learn their ways.
She entered the heavily draped doorway letting the skins fall back into place keeping out the bitter chill of a newly settled winter. Her hair fell in heavy and thick waves of ebony down her back, it shone in the light of the fire.
"Love," he smiled at her openly, he had not yet learned to lie.
"Love," she answered him easily.
Crawling contentedly onto the bed platform she fit her self closely against his side and rested her head against his chest. His long arms went about her shoulders on instinct and he held her tightly against him. The picture of them together was picturesque. An old love, uncluttered by culture, uncertainty or fear. There was no marriage, only the profession of love. No expectation other than it is honest.
No one knew what her first name had been, but when she came to the village the name she gave them was beyond their ability to pronounce, so she began calling herself Gwendolyn, possibly a bastardization of her real name?
Outside in the world there was nothing she bowed too. She carried around with her a kind of knowing that the people feared and revered at the same time. Her small stature detracted nothing from her power of them, her suggestions were done and he judgments on points of law were final. Inside her tent however, her diminutive stature was very real. Inside the tent she shared with Methos she allowed herself to be fragile and soft and all the things women are meant to be.
The same could be said for being in his arms, even outside and in front of the villagers, she showed no hesitation to sink into his embrace and openly acknowledge his ideas and opinions. Her world was neatly divided into the things that she loved; half her love lived in the village with the people who needed her. The other half rested squarely in the chest of the only other Immortal she had found in over a thousand years.
1 Now
"Gwen…" he started, his hands moving out, itching to pull her to him, to be forgiven, erase his biggest regret.
She took a step back and shook her head. It couldn't be that easy. After all this time, the pain at first may have been forgivable, but like many unpleasant things, it festers with time. Now, almost five thousand years later, it was something harbored, something that was so much a part of who she was that it couldn't be forgiven. For thousands of years that mistrust and pain had shaped who and what she was, and now she was meant to give it up, Simply because he had the gall to ask for forgiveness? No, no matter how much she might want to, she wouldn't give in.
"Don't touch me Methos, don't even dream about laying your hands of me ever again." There was contempt in her voice that stung even more than the words.
If it had been a hollow repetition of a practiced phrase Methos could have moved through it. Worked up his courage and taken her into his arms anyway. That was probably all that was needed to break her stout resolve. But Gwendolyn was a great actress, a formidable warrior and too much a woman to allow that. Her performance was above reproach.
"You should go back to MacLeod. He'll be going nuts." Methos managed without sounding Broken. He could act too.
"The man is insufferable!" she burst out, "He treats me like a child!"
"You look like a child to him… you're pretending to be one. Don't blame him that you're a good actress." Even saying the words from his own mouth Methos had no idea how good.
Gwen took the rebuke without batting an eyelid. He was right of course; Duncan was acting as he would act if she were a newly woken Immortal fresh from her first death. A real father figure.
She pulled her heavy leather coat around her tighter and walked past Methos without answering, without a backward glance. Methos noticed again the way she unerringly managed to make him feel completely worthless. What was it she'd said? "Of course not Methos, that would imply your worth something". He had little doubt that she meant it. No one could forget things like Gwen could, no one knew the art of sealing things out of the heart as well.
He didn't bother following her back to the Do Jo there was really no point. He wouldn't get anything from her but the same callous dismissal and he didn't think his ego could take anymore of that. After all this time, he'd thought he didn't have an ego; that he was beyond guilt. Turned out he wasn't quite so blessed.