"Come here often?" Amanda quipped, trying to pull him back from… wherever it is his mind is. "Methos?"
"Hmm?"
"I have no idea where you were right now, but I'm sure it has to be better than here," she dryly observed, once again stealing a glance out the window as the rain splashed up from the sidewalk as it hit in overlarge drops.
Methos offered a thin smile. "I was just thinking of Alexa. She thought Paris was beautiful, even when it rained."
Amanda's expression softened. "I wish I could have met her."
That smile warmed, then. "You would have liked her, Amanda. She had this way about her… You know that saying about the briefest flames burning brightest? That was her."
Amanda's soft smile slowly fell as she considered her next words. "I'm sorry," she began, feeling her way with cautious but genuine sincerity. "For thinking that you would have killed me for the crystal, I mean."
Methos smiled slightly, slighter than his brief laugh. "I think MacLeod was more upset at the idea than I was."
Amanda nodded. "He swore up and down that you wouldn't betray a friend."
"He didn't know me well back then." That statement, coupled with the expression on Methos's face, gave Amanda sudden pause.
"I kept thinking he meant me," she said. "I didn't have the heart to tell him that we… weren't exactly friends."
Methos blinked. "We're not?" He sounded sincerely surprised.
Amanda quickly schooled her shocked expression. "I'd like to think we are now," she offered. "We weren't then. I was just the little girl, Rebecca's student who you named Leaswene."
Methos half-shrugged. "It sounded like a good idea at the time," came the enigmatic reply.
"Rebecca agreed with you," Amanda admitted quietly.
That brought Methos up short. He sat up straighter. "You never said anything before," he said, sharply.
"Because I was still Amanda to her."
A look of rueful realization crept across Methos's face. "You asked her what your name meant, didn't you."
Amanda could scarcely believe that this hadn't occurred to him before, but she nodded as though it were a trivial thing. "Right after you said that it didn't fit me, and took to calling me Leaswene."
"I never meant to hurt you," he said, and meant it.
Amanda snorted a laugh, bit back a retort about how he hadn't cared that she might have been hurt incidentally, either. "No," she admitted. "You just never intended me to ask Rebecca about it."
"You always seemed intimidated by her."
Amanda nodded. "Oh I was. I was just never hesitant to ask her questions, either."
"Now why does that not surprise me?"
Brief laughter quieted back to comfortable silence for a time, until Amanda broke it..
"I meant what I said though. About being sorry."
Methos pulled his gaze away from the depths of his coffee. "I know you did."
"You would never lay a hand on me," Amanda continued. "I forgot about that for some reason."
"I wished I could have forgotten." Methos surprised them both with the admission. "Else I would have taken Luthor's head the very next day. I was in Paris, with all those lovely watcher files at my fingertips. It would have been so easy..." Darkness pooled in the depths of his expression, swallowing up the green of his eyes and leaving them hard, chips of golden flint.
Amanda sympathized.
"I didn't know you were in town. I figured that you would have gone to the funeral if you were."
"Watcher," was all Methos had to say. It was a good reason, and the derision that crept into his tone only added validity to the statement.
Amanda didn't question it. "I didn't run into you again until a full year later," she said, trying to change the subject to happier things.
Methos nodded. "Kalas," he spat, with considerable venom.
"I don't know who was the more surprised," Amanda mused. "Me for seeing you as a watcher, or MacLeod for seeing that we've met before."
That startled a laugh out of the ancient immortal. "I think it was the fact that you never told him that you knew who I was." He didn't need to elaborate.
"He was just surprised that I could keep that type of secret," Amanda concluded dejectedly, staring down into her own coffee.
"I wasn't." The reassurance fell swiftly from Methos's lips, and with utter sincerity. Amanda looked up, but saw no platitudes in Methos's expression. Only truth.
But that didn't mean she believed it. "Not of Leaswene?"
Methos shook his head. "Not of Amanda," he corrected.
A brief pause and then Amanda's face lit up with the brightest smile she had. Methos had no choice but to share in the sudden joy.
"He was really worried about you," Methos said at length, remembering. "He didn't think he'd ever see you again. He thought he'd lost you."
Amanda nodded. "I know." Then, quieter: "I thought I'd lost me too."
"Kalas killed many immortals," Methos said gravely. "Many much better than you."
Amanda shot him a withering look. It was easier than dealing with the truth of the words. "Gee, your confidence is underwhelming."
Methos half shrugged, offering that lopsided, disarming 'Adam Pierson' grin. But it didn't stay long. "I didn't even know you were in town until MacLeod said that Kalas had you."
"Duncan said that you and Joe came to Paris to deal with that watcher's wife—"
"Christine Salzer."
"Right. Christin Salzer." Amanda sighed, letting the memories resurface. "Kalas killed her husband."
"And for revenge, she wanted to destroy us all."
Amanda nodded. "You know, I was more worried about Duncan keeping his head a while longer than I was about that whole Tribune business."
"I know," Methos acknowledged, and something in the way he said that gave Amanda pause. She studied him, narrowing her gaze, but he said nothing more nor was anything betrayed by his demeanor. At length Amanda sighed and pushed back in the booth.
"But I'll never forget the look on his face when he saw we knew each other!" she exclaimed, laughing suddenly at the memory.
Methos joined in the laugh. "That certainly was a Kodak moment," he agreed.
Paris
May 29th, 1995
Methos watched as Joe headed back towards his car. He had damage control to take care of. The watchers needed to know. He would have to explain just why exactly he had failed to kill Christine Salzer. MacLeod had just wandered off, vanishing into the morning fog. He'd ensured that Joe wouldn't have to live with the… reality, of having killed Christine, but in doing so, the Highlander had made the situation that much worse for immortals--and watchers--everywhere.
With a heavy sigh, Methos redirected his attention to the front doors of the Tribune building, vainly hoping that Christine would just walk back out the door after having had a miraculous change of heart. Of course, when he realized what he was doing he had to shake his head and laugh quietly at himself. Then he walked away, leaving fate to choose its course. For lack of anything better to do, he hailed a cab and headed for the barge.
He sensed the buzz when he reached the gang plank. MacLeod was home. Or, someone was. Methos backed off, retreating to solid ground, and let the Highlander come to him.
Duncan stepped into view with his katana drawn and ready. Many thoughts and emotions flashed in his expressive face as soon as he recognized the world's oldest immortal.
"Happy I'm not Kalas and upset I'm not Amanda?" Methos asked through that disarming grin of his.
Duncan deftly tucked his katana behind his shoulder. "Something like that," he admitted. "Though I probably would have been happy to see Kalas and get this over with."
"Not his style," said Methos as he walked back up the gang plank. "If he indeed does have Amanda, he will use her against you to the best of his ability."
The two immortals stepped back inside the boat.
"Don't remind me," said Duncan as he made his way over to where his opened bottle of scotch sat next to a dirty shot glass.
Methos thought about stopping him. After all, he would need all of his senses about him if he were to take on Kalas. But then, a brooding and depressed Duncan had less chance of winning than an angry Duncan, and perhaps the alcohol could help with that, so Methos left it alone.
"I can't believe she's gone," Duncan confessed to his now empty shot glass.
"You don't know that she is," Methos countered, trying to sound reassuring.
"Kalas won't just let her go."
"No, but if she were dead, he would use the fact to taunt you. And he hasn't called."
Duncan nodded dumbly and sat down heavily in his chair. Methos had already claimed the entire couch.
"I told her not to go," said Duncan, referring to the classic diversion tactic used to separate them earlier. "She went anyway."
"Since when does Amanda listen to you?"
Duncan managed a strained, discordant laugh. "It was a classic divide and conquer. Of course they didn't want me. I should have known that, should have seen…"
Methos sat up and swung his legs back down where they belonged. He leaned intently forward, his gaze fixed on the Highlander. "You can stop that right now," he said firmly. "You have no chance at beating Kalas if you're trying to beat yourself too. He doesn't need any help from you."
Duncan turned, surprised to hear Methos say such things, but then he nodded. "I can't help it," he said weakly in his defense.
Methos laughed slightly, knowingly.
"Amanda was only doing this to help me," Duncan continued. "I guess she felt like she owed me or something."
"Well, she does."
Duncan's laugh turned biter. "She should've known better. She's still the only person who can make me laugh when… I don't much feel like laughing."
Methos sighed. He could really use that kind of help now! "Amanda has been called many things," he began, "and most of them are rather unflattering. But never let it be said that she isn't loyal to her friends, not for the important things."
Duncan nodded at the truth of his friend's words. "Immortal things."
This time Methos nodded. He could really use a shot of that scotch right about now. Too many of Rebecca's students had already died...
Those depressed musings (that somehow Methos had allowed the Highlander to drag him into) were interrupted by the sensation of an approaching immortal. They both stood and drew their swords. Duncan advanced on the front door while Methos hung back, making ready to make a break for it through the rear entrance. Then the door swung open and…
"Amanda!" Duncan dropped his katana quite unceremoniously on the couch and rushed towards her.
"Who else is here?" she asked. Her sword was drawn yet she didn't hold it in a threatening position.
Methos obligingly stepped into view as he stowed his sword. Amanda's eyes went wide and she dropped her own sword into the umbrella stand. However, her chance at reacting to this definite surprise was taken away by MacLeod, who used that same moment to envelop her in a bear hug. Amanda returned the embrace, kicking up her heels as he swept her off her feet and around in a circle.
"You have no idea how happy I am to see you!" Duncan exclaimed, grinning like an idiot.
"I can guess," Amanda teased, kissing him playfully. Then she replanted her feet and stepped back. Duncan kept his hands reassuringly on her shoulders to make sure she was really there. "Miss me?"
"You have no idea."
Amanda grinned and allowed him to kiss her passionately. She responded in kind, of course. It was almost enough to make her forget Methos's presence in the back of the barge. Then the world's oldest immortal cleared his throat. Duncan stepped back, simultaneously pulling Amanda into view. Methos got his first good look at her then. Her hair was shorter than the last time he saw her. She looked good.
"Oh, Adam, this is Amanda," Duncan introduced. "Amanda—"
The rest of the introduction was cut off by Amanda finally recovering from her surprise. "Adræfan!" she squealed with delight and rushed over to him. Methos caught her roughly and they kissed both cheeks. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"Amanda," Methos greeted rather awkwardly.
"Adræfan?" came Duncan's confused yet amused voice. He was still standing where Amanda had left him.
"Adam?" Amanda asked in disbelief, ignoring Duncan.
Methos shrugged. "Adam Pierson at your service."
Amanda looked him up and down. "Not bad," she conceded. "It suits well enough."
"Adræfan?" Duncan had come to stand next to them now, and was definitely sure that somewhere, he had missed something.
"It was my name in England, circa 850 AD," Methos explained to the Scot. Amanda flashed him a questioning look, her eyes searching.
"It's alright," he said to her. "He knows who I am."
Amanda shot Duncan that same look only to discover that his expression was a mirror of her own. Then Duncan looked at Methos, who nodded gravely over Amanda's head.
"You never told me you knew Methos," said Duncan, still trying to get his mind around this evening's events.
"Neither did you," Amanda retorted.
Methos tried rather unsuccessfully to restrain a chuckle.
"And you never said you knew Amanda!" Duncan wasn't about to let Methos off the hook for this one.
Methos shrugged. "You never asked."
"How long have you two known each other?" Duncan asked, still in disbelief.
"I could ask you the same thing," said Amanda, looking back and forth between the both of them.
"I only met him two month ago!" Duncan defended. "And you?"
Amanda just smiled innocently, which only served to irritate the Highlander further. Methos decided to intervene before this got ugly.
"Did I not just remind you that Amanda's loyalty should not be questioned when it comes to important matters, MacLeod?" he said weightily.
Duncan stuttered a bit, pointing back and forth between the two of them, before being silenced by their identically innocent expressions.
"I met him back when I was Rebecca's student," said Amanda, turning serious. "Before he was the world's oldest immortal."
Duncan looked to Methos, who nodded.
"Rebecca and I were acquainted," he admitted.
Amanda could tell that he wasn't about to say more on the subject and so she wisely decided to change it. "As much as I hate to interrupt our little reunion of sorts, Methos, what on earth are you doing here?"
Methos sighed heavily, now reminded of the original reason he was in Paris. "You'd better sit down," he warned.
Duncan did so immediately, shifting his katana onto the coffee table as he settled heavily on the couch and pulling Amanda onto his lap. Methos just shook his head in amusement as he grabbed the Highlander's now forgotten bottle of scotch and wordlessly handed it to Amanda. She looked from the bottle back to the immortal who gave it to her as Methos reclaimed his seat in the chair, and her look turned fearful. Methos nodded, wordlessly reassuring that yes indeed she may want that bottle before he's through.
"I'm not going to like this, am I," she said to that bottle.
Methos shook his head. "No you're not," he admitted. "Now, have you ever heard of an organization called the Watchers?"
The Café
Present Day
Methos and Amanda had finally stopped laughing. The look on Duncan's face was forever going to be the bright spot of that entire evening.
"I still can't believe Rebecca never mentioned the Watchers," said Amanda, her voice wistful.
"She was not one to share her secrets lightly," Methos pointed out with a weight that sealed the doom of their earlier mirth.
Amanda grimaced. "Tell me about it. I've known her… knew her... for over a thousand years. I still don't think she ever told me more than was necessary in the moment."
Methos gave her the courtesy of ignoring her slip of the tenses. "I know what you mean."
"Like when we first met," Amanda continued. "There you were, this strange immortal who rode up to the abbey like a bat out of hell, the king's men hot on your heels..." Methos groaned and covered his eyes with his hands. "We finally get you safe inside, and Rebecca knows you! Of course, when I ask her who you are, all she said was that you were the 'Eofrea,' whatever that meant, and that you sought sanctuary."
Methos frowned. "I don't remember that part," he confessed.
"Well, you had already died at that point."
"Ah."
Abbey St. Anne
Wessex
851 AD
It was mid afternoon on a clear summer day. Amanda and Rebecca were circling each other with drawn swords on the roof of one of the abbey towers. After an exhausting morning of Latin grammar exercises, Amanda was thoroughly enjoying sword practice. The fat, elderly monk she had for Latin was nice enough, if slightly deaf, but swords she got to practice with Rebecca alone. That fact alone made each and every cut, scrape, fall, and humiliating defeat worthwhile.
"I could have had you that time!" Amanda pouted from her spot on the ground. Rebecca was holding both swords pointed towards her student's head. Her expression was hard, but Amanda paid no heed. She was too busy massaging her sore backside.
"I'm sure," Rebecca noted, not quite dismissively and yet far from sincere. "But only if you remember to never turn your back on an opponent."
"It would have been fine if you'd stayed where I left you," Amanda groused.
Rebecca's stern expression softened as she extended a helping hand to her student. Amanda took it and was instantly lofted to her feet. Idly she wondered if her teacher ever got tired. Then Rebecca returned her sword.
"You should never be where you opponent expects you to be," her teacher advised. "Now, how were you standing before I disarmed you?"
Amanda got back into her stance and made ready to demonstrate the stroke she had used right before her ill-timed twirl when suddenly one of the young gardeners burst through the door and onto the roof.
"My Lady!"
The gardener stopping short and out of range when he saw Rebecca and Amanda with their swords out. Rebecca turned sharply. She did not like to be disturbed when teaching swordplay… hence the rooftop location.
"What is it, Grenhyrde?
"My Lady, there's a rider approaching. He's got six mounted archers behind him!"
Rebecca cursed in a language Amanda didn't recognize. "Where?"
"Towards the North Gate, Lady," said the gardener, pointing.
Rebecca slipped her sword into her robe and took off at a run, cutting across the high reinforced walls of the abbey and drawing guardsmen out of their stations as she went. Amanda and Grenhyrde followed closely on her heels. Finally she came to the center of the inner northern wall. From there she looked across the vegetable gardens and to the far wall where the North Gate sat, down and locked as usual. Amanda and Grenhyrde came to stand on either side of her.
From this high vantage point, Amanda could see a rider, clothed in forest greens, weaving in an irregular pattern as arrows whizzed by him. While this sight was odd and exciting in its own right, Amanda noticed that the mysterious rider had to have been steering his horse with his knees, because his arms were waving frantically, trying to catch the abbey's attention. He had a piece of cloth clutched in each hand, one yellow, one white. While Amanda failed to note the significance of this, Rebecca was instantly on alert.
"North gate!" she called out. "Raise the Sanctuary flags and open the gate!"
Amanda and Grenhyrde watched in awe as two giant flags were sent up the poles, one on each side. A golden flag, richly embroidered with green thread in a design that Amanda couldn't make out as it flapped in the breeze, overlapped the crest of the King of Wessex on the left of the gate. On the right side, a Silver flag, equally embroidered in dark thread in another indiscernible pattern now covered the Anglo-Saxon Christian symbol. This being done, the large gate groaned to life, attendants hoisting it aloft from within the walls.
"What are those flags?" Amanda whispered to Grenhyrde, squinting as she tried to see them better.
"Archers!" Rebecca called out as soon as the gate began to rise. Bowmen appeared from their hiding holes and took positions along the top of the north wall.
"You've never seen them before?" Grenhyrde asked. He had grown up within these walls, whereas Amanda had only been here a little over a year.
"Keep the gate!" Rebecca called out, ignoring the conversation behind her. "Give him cover!"
Amanda watched as a lieutenant took command of his guards and a volley of arrows was released. They sailed passed the mysterious rider, who was by now hunched down along his horse's neck and steering deftly towards the open gate. The six pursuers faltered as arrows sailed at them, falling short of their marks by design in hopes of deterring the pursuit.
"Never," Amanda answered, though her attention was fixed on the action in front of her. The deterrent didn't work. The pursuers kept pursing the rider, and they kept firing arrows. Amanda saw one strike the rider in the back and she covered her mouth with one hand. Rebecca seemed unmoved, even as the rider pulled the shaft out of his back without missing a step in his all out gallop.
"They're the same as those that hang in the great hall," Grenhyrde explained as they both watched Rebecca's archers release another volley.
"But why are they flying by the gate?" Amanda asked as the rider finally passed under the gate and entered the safety of the abbey.
"Drop the gate!" Rebecca ordered, and it was done. The archers stayed in place, however, bows notched. The rider looked up at the three on the inner wall just as Rebecca and Amanda felt the buzz: he was an immortal. However, Rebecca didn't appear at all surprised even when Amanda gasped.
"Grenhyrde," Rebecca commanded, and the gardener stepped forward. "Please see to some quarters for our guest."
"Yes, my Lady!" And the gardener disappeared to do as he was bidden, leaving Amanda's last question unanswered.
Confused, Amanda turned to her teacher, who still hadn't taken her eyes off the mysterious immortal. Their guest had dismounted, but was leaning heavily on his horse as various monks and nuns from the abbey began to gather around him. "Rebecca?"
"The pursuers have broken off, Lady Rebecca!"
The Captain of Guards now stood behind them now. Amanda hadn't noticed his approach.
Rebecca nodded, but didn't take her eyes from the sight below. "Good. Have your men stand down, but double the watch. I don't want his 'friends' returning to catch us unaware."
"Yes, my Lady!" A quick bow and he too was gone.
Rebecca finally turned to face her student, who by now was practically thrumming with curiosity and not just a little impatience. "Let's go see to our guest." Her tone clipped, and it only made Amanda the more curious. Rebecca had given sanctuary here to many, mortal and immortals alike. Yet she had never heard her teacher's emotions concerning them show in her voice, for good or ill. Before Amanda could voice the question though, Rebecca turned away and began making her way down to the North Gardens, where the vegetables grew. Amanda had to jog a pace to catch up to her.
"Step back!" Rebecca commanded as she approached. "Give the man some room."
Three monks, two nuns, and four gardeners parted like a sea before the two immortals as they made their way to where the rider stood, still leaning on his horse and muttering something in yet another language Amanda didn't recognize.
"It's you," said the rider as he panted, his voice was raspy.
Amanda barely registered the strange greeting; she was too busy staring at the blood covering the immortal's tunic. Obviously he'd had been hit by more that just the one arrow on his mad dash from wherever to the abbey.
"And you," Rebecca returned in a tone that could have frozen the sun.
The man opened his mouth as if to say something more, except suddenly his eyes rolled back and he collapsed. If he wasn't leaning up against his horse he would have hit the ground hard, but that slowed his descent just enough for Rebecca to move with the reflexes that only immortals possess. She caught him as he fell, and righted him against his horse, allowing the animal to bear most of his weight. She flung his arm about her shoulder and turned to face Amanda.
"Go find where Grenhyrde placed his room, and then come find me."
Amanda nodded, and knowing better than to question Rebecca at a time like this, took off in search of Grenhyrde. The last thing she heard before moving too far out of range was Rebecca's directions to the crowd to go back to their business and that there was nothing more to see.
After learning from a young monk scrubbing the masonry inside the great hall that Grenhyrde was preparing guest chambers in the south wing, Amanda traced her steps back to the entrance to the North Gardens. From there she simply followed the trail of blood the immortal was trailing behind him until she found Rebecca. Her teacher had gathered the immortal up in her strong arms and was carrying him like a child, moving slowly towards the infirmary. This action seemed to fly in the face of the contempt she had shown him earlier and Amanda had to bite her tongue to keep from asking.
"Can't have him reviving in the arms of some unsuspecting mortal now, can we?" Rebecca said suddenly, correctly discerning her student's thoughts.
Amanda nodded. That made sense at least. Of course, it didn't explain the way Rebecca suddenly clutched him tighter when he stirred slightly, whimpering in pain though barely audibly.
Amanda dashed ahead and opened the infirmary doors for her teacher. The old nun who had been reading something in a very old tome looked up when she saw her Lady enter.
"Take a walk, Miranda," Rebecca directed sternly, though a smirk was tugging at her lips. The nun smiled knowingly, rose from her chair, bowed politely, and made her exit.
Rebecca carried the immortal over to a bed and gently eased him onto it. His presence had faded by now… the immortal song inside Amanda's head reflected this change, though still being a student who hadn't encountered many 'dead' immortals, she didn't know what to make of it. Rebecca did, however. She felt for the man's pulse and then sighed heavily.
"Help me get his clothes off."
Amanda nodded and moved towards the immortals feet and began unlacing his boots. From this position at the foot of the bed, Amanda watched as Rebecca deftly removed his soiled outer tunic. His white under-tunic, which aside from being caked in mud and blood, was sporting a tear from where he ripped off the piece he used to signal the abbey.
"Poor bloke's lucky he's immortal," Amanda concluded as she tossed one boot aside.
Rebecca flashed a secretive smile but said nothing. Amanda had his other boot removed by the time Rebecca had cut away the rest of the immortal's under tunic. Amanda then saw the frown on her teacher's face. It didn't take her long to detect the cause of Rebecca's unrest, however.
"Fetch me the surgical box," Rebecca directed, not removing her eyes from the arrowhead protruding from the immortal's side.
That wasn't where they saw him get hit.
Amanda sat and watched, enthralled, as Rebecca used buried the tips of her forceps in the immortal's skin. Apparently when he tried to remove the arrow, the shaft hand splintered and the arrowhead remained in his flesh, not quite removed all the way. Amanda winced in sympathy. It had to be painful.
"What about the other arrow?"
Rebecca gingerly rolled the immortal onto his other side and scrutinized the wound closely. "Looks like he got that one out all right," she concluded . Then Rebecca gently lowered him back down. "Put the arrowhead and the forceps by the basin," she directed, wiping her bloody hands on a rag. "Miranda can wash them later… After she gives him some decent clothes."
Amanda nodded and did what she was told before returning to stand beside her teacher at the side of the bed. Rebecca was gazing down at the still form of the immortal, watching his quickening ripple and heal some of the minor cuts and abrasions to his torso right before their eyes.
"He's too thin," Rebecca noted absently. "I wonder how long he's been running this time."
"Running from whom?" Amanda asked, confused.
Rebecca didn't answer.
"Rebecca, who is he?" Amanda persisted, not liking being ignored. "I know you know him."
"He is Eofrea," Rebecca said at last, but it didn't answer Amanda's question. That was a title, Horse Lord, used in the King's court. It wasn't a name. "He's here for sanctuary," her teacher continued. "And I must grant it."
AN- The King referred to here is Æthelwulf, King of Wessex AD 839-856. A powerful monarch, some historians also name him as king of all England at the time. A more in-depth historical overview will be posted at the end of the last chapter.
