Finally, I have managed to finish the story! I'm sorry that it took me so long to end it but I had some problems: First my holidays were over what left me with almost no time, then my muse was on a strike and at the end my computer stopped working (I had to reformat it, and finally bought some new hardware).
I want to thank all my reviewers very much (I love reviews, they makes me write faster :-), and I especially want to thank joslin and Village-Mystic who almost reviewed every chapter (a big hug to you).
To all others who haven't reviewed yet: I would be very happy if you let me know if you liked the story (and which part most).
To Eldricht : I use the spell-check of Word (but it's not very good; I tried another one in the Internet for this chapter - but it also was not much better than Word), so if you know a really good one, please let me know.
And now: read and have fun!
Somewhere in Seacover
Damn, Dr. Wildwather thought in fury, her hands clenched tightly around her BMW's steering wheel while she raced as fast as she could manage to Joe's bar. She already had been deeply asleep when she had gotten a phone call from Joe Dawson, telling her about Adam's current psychical state – no, not Adam, she corrected herself: METHOS, the oldest of all Immortals. And if this revelation had not been enough, Joe had also told her about DEATH, Death on a horseback, former – or maybe not so former – Horseman. Horseman with capital H as she made herself clear once again.
She silently cursed Joe Dawson for not telling her the whole truth from the beginning... No, he had to wait until the things had gotten in a complete mess. And even then Joe had not wanted to admit the whole truth to her, had only told her something about Adam being a bit older and that there would be some past-problems hunting him now – all very nebulous. If she had not insisted that she needed to know the whole truth or else would not be able to help Adam, Joe still wouldn't have told her a single thing.
It was not really so that she was not able to understand Joe; a part of her was – after all Methos was Joe's friend and he only tried to keep him safe. But another part of her, the doctoral part, cursed him very loudly for keeping Methos's identity a secret towards her. If she had known, she would have treated Methos in a completely different way, would have been able to interpret the signs he had shown so far properly... would maybe have been able to prevent the disaster from happening.
His fascination for the Horsemen as they had visited the 'Hale of Fame', his strange associations of the words she had given him, and not to forget his very disturbing personality-change during their last session, that all made sense now – terrible sense... but far too late.
But the whole disaster was not only Joe's fault, she decided. MacLeod was at least as guilty as Joe; had MacLeod looked after Adam more carefully as he had promised to her, the whole mess may have never happened. But no, MacLeod had to leave Adam alone, had not been there to prevent him from taking three quickening within a very short time – three! And that although he knew that the Ancient, according to Joe, took quickening very badly! No wonder Adam's mental state was now the way it was.
The big question now was if it was not already too late to help. Joe had told her about Adam's recently displaced acts of violence that had culminated in the attack on MacLeod. Her only hope was that Adam apparently hadn't totally surrendered to darkness yet, or he would not have gone to Joe for help ... But he was already damn close – far too close for her taste: only one quickening more and Adam would probably completely turn into his Death-persona again... and very likely remain there.
Dr. Wildwather suspected Methos to have created Death once because he had needed a strong persona to guarantee his survival back in the Bronze Age. With a relatively week personality like Adam, Methos would never ever have been able to stay alive during the violent past. Back then the motto had been 'rule or be ruled' - not wanting to be the later, Methos apparently had created Death. And now that he obviously felt weak again because he was not able to remember his identity, he once more subconsciously called for his stronger Death-persona to safe him.
Dr. Wildwather normally would have called a stronger personality not a bad thing; the problem was only that Death was not a person that could be called nice. To be honest: remembering the slight glimpses she had gotten during their last session were enough to bring back a cold shudder on her back. She neither liked to meet Death again face-to-face, nor had she the slightest intention to let Death lose on humankind once again.
The most logical thing was to keep Adam from taking any future quickening, but for how long? Two weeks, a month, a year? Or maybe even longer? She had absolute no information she could rely on.
Inhaling deeply, she finally concluded the only way for preventing Adam from turning into Death again: he needed to gain access to his memories, needed to become Methos again. Methos had the wisdom and the memory of 5000 years to rely on, Methos would be able to control his darker persona without any problems – after all, he had been succeeding in doing so for 3000 years now. But how to get Adam to remember again?... She had not the slightest clue...
30 minutes later, Joe's Bar
"A what?" Joe starred with a bewildered expression at the doctor who was sitting between Methos and MacLeod. When she returned his look, Joe could see in her eyes that she was not very lucky about her proposal herself. "An Indian ritual?" Joe repeated.
"Yes."
He could hear her take a deep sigh while she wiped with her left hand over her face.
"I know how that sounds... especially out of my mouth. You don't have to remind me that I'm the psychiatrist here." She sighed again, fixing Joe with her dark eyes. "But honestly, Joe, I no longer know any other way to deal with the whole mess. As I told you before, after you informed me about Adam – Methos! - I really thought very hard of a way...," she looked down at the floor, "and I couldn't come up with any good solution... Then I remembered something my grandfather told me long ago- you know, he is the medicine man of my tribe. I decided to call him and ask him for advice. He means that there is maybe a way for Adam to remember..." She looked up again and faced Methos who was starring at her out of wide eyes, his feet once again drawn up to his body while he obviously kept his distance to MacLeod. "But there are some risks," she continued, playing nervously now with the clock on her left hand.
"Risks?" Joe heard Duncan echo. According to the expression on his face, Duncan liked the whole situation not the slightest bit. "Which risks?"
"According to my grandfather, Adam could completely lose himself during the ritual, he could totally turn into Death... everything is possible; although my grandfather thinks that the risks are minimal."
"No, Methos won...," Duncan wanted to say, but was immediately interrupted.
"I do it." Methos voice was deadly serious. Looking at him, Joe saw determination glitter in the green eyes and knew immediately that the decision had been made.
"But..." Duncan nevertheless tried to argue with Methos.
"No, Mac, please understand." Methos turned to face Duncan, on his face now a pleading expression. "I almost killed you; I don't want this, I don't want to harm my friends... If I want to stop Death in me, I need my memories back... You don't know how horrible it is not to know who you really are... I know the risks and I decide that I WILL and CAN bear them."
Joe heard Duncan inhale deeply while he stared at the floor. He knew that Duncan was thinking of Richie now, that Duncan was remembering how he had killed his own student against his will, that he was feeling once more the pain that act had caused in him. After a few seconds, Duncan then finally looked up, a somehow sad expression on his face as he nodded. "Ok, we'll do it together."
A few seconds later, Joe felt the green eyes then fix on him, asking him silently for his support. Although Joe didn't like the whole thing the slightest bit more than Duncan, he nodded, too. A shy smile thanked him for his support before Methos turned his head to face Dr. Wildwather. "When?" he asked, his voice now absolutely determined.
"I'm going to call my grandfather and tell him what we have decided. I thing that he'll need a few hours to arrange everything he needs for the ritual... I suggest that we part now so that I can drive home to have a shower before we meet here again in two hours or so."
Several hours laterSeveral hours later, Joe stood with Methos, Duncan and the doctor in her grandfather's house and examined the surrounding. As much as he had seen so far, the whole house was decorated with many Indian looking figures and some amulets made of feathers and other natural materials. Behind them Joe could see some beautifully decorated weapons hanging on the wall: several tomahawks and a big bow that was wrapped around with blue coloured leather. Next to it, Joe discerned a red and black painted mask, several also red and black coloured feathers were arranged around it. It looked very... disturbing.
Joe was just about to ask the doctor about its meaning, as suddenly a small man entered through the with a feather-shade covered entrance. It was an old Indian clothed in brown leather pants and a long white shirt that had embroidered symbols on it. The hair of the old Indian was totally white and very long, almost reaching to his buttocks. He was wearing it openly, only kept out of his face by a small red leather band that was tied around his forehand. According to the many wrinkles on his sun-tanned face, he had to be at least over 80 years old.
The man looked up and smiled as he discerned his granddaughter. "Bozho," he then greeted her while he took her into a warm hug. After a few moments, he then finally let go of her again and looked at Joe.
When he suddenly felt the dark eyes of the old Indian on him, Joe had for a short moment the feeling as if the Indian could look down on the bottom of his soul. Then the dark eyes wandered to MacLeod, hesitated on him for some seconds, judged him. Finally the Indian examined Methos who stood near the wall, looking as if he was going to flee every moment. Without saying a single word, the Indian continued to stare at Methos for several minutes, his face giving away nothing. Then he finally bowed his head. "Kmode ma'oni ye'i ka'akwayen nanimwe," he said.
Joe heard the doctor's gentle voice translate, "he says that he feels honoured to meet 'the one who has been before the ancestors'."
"OshkIsh neye'zonya biak mjumnito ne'bmoge. Ke'nup ginan nwepmongonektosha," the old Indian then continued while he made some symbols with his hands into the air.
"My grandfather says that he can see the darkness in him, that he sees Death lurk in the shadows. He fears that Death will ride again if we don't hurry."
The Indian then once again said something to the doctor and she answered him, both talking in Indian so Joe was not able to understand a single word. After a few minutes, the doctor then finally addressed them again, "my grandfather has already made a room ready for the ritual. We have to change our clothes and then we can begin." She nodded to the door. "We should follow my grandfather to the prepared room now."
A few moments later, all five stood together in a small room without any windows that was only illuminated by small terracotta-vessels filled with burning oil. In the centre lay a big, red carpet, embroidered with several Indian symbols that were - according to the doctor - the Indian symbols for spirit and dream. Placed around the carpet, Joe could see several blue and red vessels full of dried herbs.
The old Indian took several white clothes that were lying on a small wooden closet and handed them to each of his visitors. After they all had changed, he took a small vessel with powder out of the closet and painted on their faces symbols while he murmured some words. They all got red paintings except of Adam, whose face the Indian painted in blue. Then he nodded to them to sit down on the floor, Adam in the middle.
Before the old Indian sat down himself, he lighted the vessels with the herbs up. Immediately a very pleasant aroma began to fill the room; Joe felt himself relax. The Indian took a bigger red vessel and placed it in front of him on the carpet while he continued to murmur in Indian and made gestures with his right hand into the air. As Joe bent a bit forward, he got glimpses of a green looking liquid that was contained inside the vessel.
Suddenly the murmur of the Indian stopped, and Joe could see him offer the vessel to Methos, indicating him to drink. The green eyes of Methos were wide open as he stared at the old man in front of him, hesitating a second before he took the vessel into his hands. But then he swallowed the liquid with one single gulp. After he had placed the vessel back on the ground, Joe watched a shudder run through his friend's body. Methos closed his eyes and sighed deeply.
A second later, the Indian began once again to murmur words, getting louder and louder while his small body rocked for and back. Joe felt himself pulled into another realm; his thoughts blurred. Only with a great effort of willpower, he finally managed to shake off the influence of the Indian's chanting and found back into reality again. A glance at Methos showed him that his friend was totally drawn into another sphere now. Methos eyes were wide open... starring into his past? Or his future? Joe did not know, but he wished with all his heart that it would be Methos and not Death looking back at him in the end.
Inside the vision
Adam found himself standing on a plateau. Below, a gage plunged away to dizzying depth while the sun was setting over the hills, pitching them into a red glowing fire. When he turned around, he suddenly found himself face-to-face with a pale looking woman with long, dark hair. He instantly felt a connection to her, as if he knew her very well... but he couldn't catch the memory.
The woman smiled at him while she said with a beautiful voice, "I'm here to guide you through your past."
"Who are you?" he wanted to know, feeling his heart beat quickly as he examined her very closely, trying desperately to place her face in his mind.
For a short moment, he meant to see a slight flicker of sadness cross over her face, but then she smiled and offered him her right hand. "You will remember me when you are ready... But now come, it's time to meet Death."
When he took her hand, the world around him changed from one moment to the other. Instead of standing on the plateau, he now found himself in the middle of a camp that was surrounded by desert. The sun was burning hotly at his skin while he noticed several people hurry with vessels that were apparently filled with food and liquid between several tents. It seemed that they were not able to see him because they did not react the slightest bit to his sudden appearance. "Where are we?" he tried to ask the woman, but she was gone.
He was not able to get concerned about her abrupt disappearance, because suddenly a scream came out of the tent to his right. It was a scream of incredible fear and pain. Following it, he then opened the tent and entered. Because in contrast to the gleaming light outside it was relatively dark in there, his eyes needed some seconds to acclimate before he was able to see a young woman lying on the ground. Her eyes were wide of fear and her cheek was dark-red; apparently, she had been beaten by the man who stood over her, staring down at her with an angry expression. Methos needed some seconds before his mind registered that this man was no one else than Kronos, the man he had seen in his dreams.
"You stupid little scum," Kronos spat before he grabbed her by the long hair, drawing her brutally to him. Getting now a better look at the ground, Methos noticed there a broken vessel and some spilled liquid. He watched Kronos then backhand the already terrified woman before suddenly the entrance of the tent opened and another man entered.
Methos blinked in surprise as he realized that the man was himself, an amused expression on the other Methos's face as he examined Kronos and the slave. "Problems, brother?"
"Ah," Kronos snarled while he pushed the woman back to the floor, backhanding her once again roughly, grinning as he saw tears run down her face. Without paying her any further attention, he then faced his brother. "Have you finished the plan yet? It's time that we ride again or Caspian and Silas will drive me into madness soon. They argue all the time." Kronos twisted his face in anger as he approached the other Methos, nodding him to sit down while he screamed at the still terrified woman to bring them something to drink.
Methos watched his other-self sit down on the ground. Nothing on his face indicated that he felt any mercy for the slave; instead, it looked more to him as if the other Methos found the whole scene quite amusing. His other self grinned and faced Kronos. "It's not Silas's fault that Caspian ate his fully. I mean, Caspian knew that Silas loved it and cared for it; he did it out of purpose."
"Yeah, I know, I know," Kronos sighed. "I already..."
From one moment to the other, Methos no longer stood in the tent but on a battlefield instead – or so it appeared at first sight. When he looked around, he saw many dead bodies, men, women and children lying on the ground, covered in blood. To his left Methos noticed dark clouds coming from several burning houses. As he walked into their direction, terrified screams filled his ears, making him shudder. Suddenly he discerned a group of frightened people who were trying to flee from a man on a white horse, in his hand a sword that was shining of blood. Methos was not able to see his face because it was covered by a silver mask that was shaped like a skull - the man looked as if arisen out of a terrible nightmare.
For a short moment he found himself looking into golden eyes – there was no mercy in them, nothing human. Then the man rode past him, following the fleeing people while he screamed an ancient war cry that brought Methos's blood to freeze.
"Nooo," Methos wanted to scream in horror as he then watched the golden-eyed man raise his weapon at a gallop and behead one of the fleeing men with one powerful stroke. Blood spurted everywhere around. Without a single second of hesitating, he then once again raised his sword and rammed one of the older woman threw while he laughed all the time – it was a very terrible laughter. A few moments later, he had killed all people except a beautiful woman that was now cowering on the ground, her eyes wide of terror, her body trembling. The rider got up from his horse and approached the woman while he removed the mask from his face. Methos heart made a few painful beats as he starred at the rider's face.
"No," he whispered in denial as he made a few steps back, shaking his head unbelievingly. "No." The horseman was no one else than himself, his face painted in blue. Methos closed his eyes, wishing himself far away, not wanting to believe what his eyes showed him. He counted to ten, hoping that when he opened his eyes again he would be somewhere else - but his hope was in vain. Instead, he watched his blue-painted other-self grab the woman by her hair and drag her from the ground, suddenly producing a dagger that he then held to her throat. An evil grin appeared on his face while he whispered into her ear, "I'm Death. You live to serve me... understood?"
Then the scenario changed once again. Methos found himself back in the camp again. He once more discerned his other-self, this time sitting on the ground together with Silas, Caspian and Kronos. Around them were several slaves that were serving food and whine. Methos heard their laughter as Caspian suddenly grabbed one of the women and bit her hard into her lips, drawing blood. The terrified woman screamed in pain and fear and tried to back away, an act that brought her a hard slap by the horseman.
Kronos grinned, "looks as she has some spirit." He fixed Caspian. "Do you like her? She belongs to Methos, but I think he doesn't mind sharing her with you." He then turned and faced the other Methos, "or do you, brother?"
Methos watched his other-self grin before he nodded to Caspian, "of course not, brother. We share everything. If you like her, Caspian, she is yours... But it would be nice if you don't damage her too much, so she'll still be able to do her work tomorrow." Paying no further attention to the now even more terrified looking slave, he then once again turned back to Silas and continued their conversation.
Methos shook his head, a part of him absolutely terrified of the lack of mercy his other-self was showing. Could this man really be him? There was no love, no trace of any human feeling in this other Methos. He only knew how to kill - that was the only thing he was able to. A feeling of abhorrence began to spread in his stomach as he continued to stare at himself. No, he finally decided, that couldn't be him.
Methos blinked when he suddenly found himself once again standing on the plateau. Because the sun had already settled down, Methos could now see the moon and the stars illuminate the landscape, making it appear almost supernatural. Then he discerned once again the dark-haired woman; she stood outside the railing at the edge, holding her face into the wind while she looked up at the starry firmament.
After a few seconds of silence, she finally turned to him. "Someone told me that every star you can see in the sky is the soul of a loved one who's left us," she then whispered.
He stared at her, for a moment totally stunned, not knowing what to respond while he watched her climb over the fence again, coming back to him.
"It's time we move on," she then said and touched his shoulder "I'm afraid my time here is limited."
From one second to the other, he then found himself standing in an empty church, only lighted up by the moonlight that was shining through the windows. Methos opened the door to his left and followed the small corridor leading to some chambers. Suddenly he heard a gentle voice, a voice that seemed somehow very familiar to him come out of one of the chambers.
Very carefully, he opened the door and discerned two people sitting on a table, in front of them two glasses of wine and a chess game. Methos also could see a small fireplace that illuminated the room with a warm light. When he finally entered, he could see that one of the men was once again himself; the other was a dark-haired priest with gentle eyes who smiled warmly at his other-self. There was an aura about this man, an aura that radiated incredible peace - it made himself relax and feel...at home?
The priest smiled as he raised his glass to take a sip, watching the other Methos make his move. The other took a pawn and moved it next to the priest's king, a smile appearing on his face. "Checkmate, Darius," he said.
The priest bent forward while he eyed the board a bit closer, his eyes narrowing as he concentrated on the figures. After a few seconds, he then finally looked up, a smile on his face. "Looks like you won again, old friend... Do you want a refill?" he then asked, pointing at the other Methos's glass.
When the other nodded, the priest got up and took a bottle of wine out of his cupboard, refilling the glasses while he suggested to move a bit closer to the fire. After they had settled down there, he smiled again at the other Methos. "By the way, I almost forgot to mention that Marcus called. He asks if you like to join him for another poker-game next Friday." The smile on his face widened, "he says that he wants to get his money back you pinched from him the last time... And he promised to bring some bottles of the old whiskey he bought recently – you know, the really expensive one."
"Pinched?... ha, he ..." Methos heard his other-self reply, a laugh audible in his voice. He no longer listened what they said because his attention was drawn to his own thoughts. This man was not Death, of that he was sure. Death would never have been friend with this gentle priest, would never have played chess with him - no, this was a total other man instead.
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by another change of the surroundings. He was now standing in a room that was lighted up by lots of candles. The room was decorated by hundreds of roses of every shade, buds woven into wreaths and long-stemmed in vases. In the back he could hear music play at a low volume; and in the middle of the room he discovered a canopied bed, covered by petals of red roses.
The door suddenly opened; he watched himself enter the room, in his arms he was carrying a woman. Blinking in surprise, he realized after a few seconds that it was the same woman he had recently met back on the plateau. When the light illuminated her features, he could see love there, making her eyes gleam in an almost supernatural light.
His other-self stepped into the room and then lay the woman gently on the bed, smiling at her while he took a white rose of one of the vases and offered it to her. "I hope you like roses," Methos then heard him say.
"I hope you removed the thorns," she whispered while tears glittered in her eyes.
"I promise you, every thorn that is in my power," he heard his other-self answer before Methos watched him bend down to kiss her.
Then time seemed to speed up: suddenly the woman lay almost naked on the bed of roses, a golden necklace of gemstones glittering almost magical in the light. Her dark hair was spread in luxurious waves behind her, her skin gleamed alabaster as she looked with wide eyes shining of love at his other-self: a beautiful bridge in her marriage bed, Methos thought as he starred at her. He felt something in his heart respond.
He blinked, and suddenly the surroundings transformed again, though the woman remained lying in the bed – but she no longer lay in a bed of roses but a cold-looking hospital-bed instead. Although he still could see the love in her eyes, she now looked very pale and terrible ill.
Next to her sat his other-self, holding her hand and trying to smile at her. There was nothing left of Death in his other-self now, only love and endless sadness as he looked down at the sick woman.
The woman suddenly shivered uncontrollably while she called, "Adam! Adam!"
"I'm here baby, I'm here," he then heard the other Methos say while he gently stroked her hairs.
"I'm so cold... Could we... light a fire?"
While Methos felt something deep inside of him broke at her words, he watched his other-self climb into the bed with her, trying to warm her with his body, holding her tightly while he caressed her face.
"Adam," the woman then suddenly whispered, her voice weak but her eyes gazing full of love at his other-self. "I'm sorry..."
"For what, baby?"
"... I'm so tired...," she whispered, almost inaudible now,"... have to sleep now."
"Then let it go, it's time now."
While Methos felt his own heart brake in sorrow and pain, he watched his other-self kiss her one last goodbye, tears running down his face.
He almost believed the woman to be gone already, when she suddenly once again whispered, "remember me."
He blinked, totally stunned. As if these words had been a key, he suddenly remembered her, remembered the love he had felt and was still feeling for her, the pain he had suffered after she had died and left him behind. A hot tear rolled down his check as he stepped closer to her. "Alexa," he whispered, pain making his voice tremble. "Alexa," he once again repeated, his throat so tight now that he almost was not able to breath any longer.
"Yes, my Love," he then suddenly heard her beautiful voice coming from behind. He turned. Through a veil of tears he saw her standing in front of him, a gentle smile on her beautiful face as she extended a hand and touched his, caressing it, whipping away the hot tears. "You are not Death, my Love, Death is long gone... Death could have never loved me, would have never wept beside my bed. Death was never able to feel love – but you do." Her smile widened as she touched his lips. "I cannot stay with you, my Love. But I want you to know that I love you, Methos... and I will always guide you."
Then he suddenly felt her lips on his, warm and soft; her sweetness filled him. A warm feeling exploded in his stomach, swept away the darkness that had claimed him for so long, made him finally whole again. For a moment that felt like eternity to him, he remembered his past, saw the people he had met and the things he had done: he rode again with his brothers, sat with Darius under an old oak, wept at Rebecca's grave, walked with Marcus Constantine through Rome, laughed with Ramirez in front of the pyramids and sang together with Byron.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself back in the room of the old Indian, the concerned face of Joe in front of him. A warm feeling rose in his stomach as he looked back at his friend, "I remember," he said, a smile appearing on his face.
Two days later
Two days had passed since he finally had gotten his memory back. He had spent the whole time with MacLeod and Joe, the old watcher apparently not wanting to leave him out of his eyes again. Methos smiled as he watched Joe; he hadn't expected that, but the amnesia had apparently made their friendship even tighter.
He raised his glass to take a sip as suddenly the door opened and Dr. Wildwather stepped into the bar, hesitating one moment and looking searchingly around until she discerned him. Then a smile appeared on her face and she walked towards him.
"Adam," she greeted him, looking into his eyes. "I only wanted to tell you that I move back to my tribe. The watchers offered me a job in the medical department around there; it's paid very good." Her smile widened. "I also wanted to let you know that I deleted your files, or at least changed them a bit... no one will ever discover your true identity."
"Thank you," he whispered as he looked at her, very grateful for her help.
"You don't have to thank me... Methos," she almost inaudible added while she bent forward so her lips nearly touched his ear. "Maybe you'll come to visit me someday? I would be honoured... You could tell me about the old times," she smiled. Then she took something out of her coat and offered it to him. As he got a closer look at it, he saw that it was the totem he had inspected back in her office.
"I thing you need it much more than I do," she whispered when he took it from her, "may it help keep Death away... Goodbye, Methos."
"Goodbye, Doc," he smiled, watching her then turn and leave.
"She is a good woman," he suddenly heard Joe's voice coming from behind. A few moments later, the old watcher stood next to him, placing another bottle of beer in front of Adam.
"Yes, she is," Methos agreed, a still thankful smile on his face.
"I'm going to play in a few hours," Joe then continued, "do you want to stay and listen?"
Methos looked up and fixed Joe. "I really would like, Joe, but there is something else I have to do... but I have to do it alone."
He felt the watcher's eyes on him, examining him closely. Then Joe finally nodded, "ok, buddy. But you call me if you need something, alright?"
"Thanks Joe," Methos smiled before he grabbed his coat and hurried to the door.
A few hours later
A few hours later, Methos stood at the same plateau he had stood in his dream/ vision. Above, he could see the eternal light of the stars. He smiled as he climbed over the fence, turning his face into the wind and closing his eyes as he let himself feel eternity.
Suddenly he heard a voice, the voice of Alexa whisper in his ears, "where do you think my star will be?"
He remembered his own answer, "see that bright one there, that's Venus, the goodness of love and beauty... I think you are going to be right next to her. And the beauty of Alexa will burn so brightly no one will be able to ever see Venus again."
He looked at the sky, searching for Venus... and for a moment, he meant to see Alexa's face there, smiling back at him in love.
END.
Notes: Maybe you remember some of the Alexa - Methos passages in this story; I took them out of 'Highlander: An Evening at Joe's. Postcards from Alexa by Gillian Horvath & Donna Lettow'. Many of the dialogues between Alexa and Methos are original taken out of the book, so they do not belong to me. (I love that book, read it!)
The Indian language I use is called Potawatomi, but don't try to translate the sentences, they would make no sense because I only took some words and added them together.