Paris
Amanda had managed to drag Methos out of his apartment, down the stairs, and out of the building. She held his hand as she pulled him towards her car, giddy almost, like a little girl dragging a friend to a hidden clubhouse where childish secrets could be shared. Methos allowed himself to be enveloped by her sudden good cheer.
"Where are we going?" he asked as the car pulled away from the curb.
"You'll see," she answered cryptically as she merged in with the flow of traffic.
"I want to know before I see," Methos protested. While he was willing to follow Amanda's lead, he wasn't too comfortable doing so blindly.
Amanda snickered delightedly. "That's too bad, Methos. You'll just have to wait and find out when we get there."
"I could always jump out of the car…" Methos threatened half-heartedly. His hand was already resting on the door release.
Amanda silently reached over and hit the automatic door locks.
"Cute," Methos noted sarcastically.
Amanda merely grinned as she flicked the turn signal and made a right-hand turn. A few blocks passed in silence.
"What's so important that you can't tell me about it?" Methos asked, honestly curious. His hand was no longer holding the release. Now his fingers were strumming absently on the side of the door. He hadn't moved to release the automatic lock, even though the button was within easy reach of his tapping fingers.
"Awww, what's the matter, Methos?" Amanda teased. "Don't like being left out of the loop?"
"There's only two of us, Amanda. That makes it more of a line. But I don't like being kept in the dark."
Amanda smirked devilishly. "I know the feeling."
Silence.
A few more blocks and then a left turn.
"We're going back the way we came," Methos observed as the scenery scrolled by. Then he turned and faced Amanda. "You're taking me back to the cemetery."
Amanda smiled wickedly. She laughed and bells tinkled and he was reminded once again of a much younger Rebecca.
Then his heart caught in his throat.
"You're taking me to her, aren't you."
It wasn't a question. Amanda just continued to smile.
"Amanda?" Methos's voice was pained.
She spared him a sideways glance before returning her eyes to the road. The entrance to the cemetery came into view ahead on their right.
"Amanda!" That pain rose nearly to panic. "Why did we come here?"
"I asked you to trust me, Methos," Amanda reminded him plainly as the car pulled in to the small cemetery parking lot.
"But why here? Why now?"
Amanda found a parking space and killed the engine. She undid her seatbelt and turned to face Methos. His eyes were wide and green, Adam Pierson out of his element.
"Because I have a hunch," Amanda explained. She reached over and pressed the button for Methos's seatbelt to release. It flew out of the attachment and Methos flinched away from it. "Now come on," she continued, reaching over to hit the unlock button on the car door. "I want to take you to Rebecca's grave." She hit the button and the doors unlocked with a deafening CLUNK. Methos jumped at the sound. Amanda blinked slowly, cocking her head to the side just slightly as she regarded him sitting there. She looked so much like Rebecca then that it actually hurt.
"I know exactly where Rebecca's grave is," Methos snarled. "I don't need you to show me."
"Oh I know," Amanda replied. "And I'm not showing you, I'mtaking you." Amanda opened the door and climbed out of the car.
Methos's eyes tracked her as she came around the front of the car and made to open his door for him. Then, before she could lift the handle, his hand shot forward and hit the door locks, more to be petulant than anything else. Amanda scowled exaggeratingly at him and fished for her keys. She unlocked the door manually and pulled the door open.
"Cute," she echoed, the sarcasm falling flat.
Methos didn't say anything until he finally climbed out of the car. "Tell me why we're here, Amanda," he asked tiredly. "Why here, why now? What is so important that we had to come all the way back here?"
Her answer was short, succinct, and cut through his heart like a serrated blade.
"Rebecca."
Methos's breath caught and he shut his eyes. Amanda gently reached out and took his hand.
"You've never been to visit her, have you."
It wasn't a question. Methos barely shook his head 'no' before opening his eyes. He saw Amanda regarding him intently. She gave his hand a small squeeze.
"I didn't think so."
"Whether or not I visit Rebecca is my choice," Methos declared in a low, cold voice as he ripped his hand away from hers. His eyes were hard and blazing in his anger. Amanda reflexively took a half-step away from him. Her brown eyes were wide and questioning, seemingly innocent of the thousand-plus years of living that they had endured. Methos sighed loudly in aggravated frustration.
"Why have you never chosen to visit her?" The statement was plain, even simple. No accusations and no meaningful inflection. Just a question, an innocently curious question that threw Methos's own words back into his face like a well-placed fist. He sputtered slightly, reeling, before turning sharply away.
His gaze fell across the entrance to the cemetery. "Aren't you just going to tell me why?" he asked, his voice defeated and bitter. "You've done a pretty good job of that so far."
Amanda blinked.
Touché
"It's not like you haven't put me in my place too, Adam," she reminded him as she stepped closer.
Methos turned in surprise when he heard the name.
"Adam," she said again. "The man who chose Eve over Eden."
"Careful, Leaswene," he warned.
Amanda shook her head.
"That's what Rebecca told me once. When I asked her about you, when we met up again after the abbey fell. She said that once you chose Eve over Eden. I knew she was referring to Sanctuary, but I didn't know what she meant by that statement. I think I do now." Amanda paused, her knees knocked together and she clasped her hands, trying to maintain courage and keep from fidgeting. "I know you did something, Methos," she continued bravely. "I know you made a choice, somewhere along the line, and now you can never have your Sanctuary back." A beat. "Your paradise." She took a step closer. "I think Rebecca understood it. After St. Anne fell and there would be no more sanctuaries. I think, whatever it was, she understood, Methos. And she forgave you."
Methos's eyes widened then narrowed. The look he fixed her with would have withered all the flowers in the cemetery. "What do you know?" he spat through clenched teeth. "You know nothing! You may look like Rebecca when you stare at me, adopting her mannerisms like a good little mimic. And you can sound like her when you try and talk to me about things you know nothing about simply because you knew her so well that you can fake it. Well I won't fall for that anymore, Leaswene! You aren't her, do you hear me? You. Are. NOT. HER! You're just a student, the last to see a Sanctuary and so you think that makes you an authority. Well were you there when Ur crumbled to the ground? Did you watch the fires spread when Babylon was razed? Where you there, drowning in the streets when Alexandria was consumed? Did you stand by The Master when he gave his head for Paris, noble and futile sacrifice that it was? Were you even there, in St. Anne's, when the Christians finally came to beat down the doors? You know nothing of Eden, child! You know nothing of choices and you know nothingof ME!"
"You don't think I know that?" Amanda shot right back, all tense and brittle, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "You don't think I know how I'm nothing like Rebecca? How I'm just one of her charity cases that happened to be in the right place at the wrong time? Don't you think I know how I can never measure up to her? How she died without my even oncemaking her proud of me? You think I don't know what Rebecca was, and how I can't even hold a candle to that?" She choked on a sob—couldn't help it.
"Maybe you're right," Amanda forced herself to continue. "Maybe I really don't know anything of Eden—how could I? I was just a thief who learned to spread her legs and get wealthy men to lower their guard. Then I was just a student, one who came too late but didn't even catch the joke because Rebecca assumed—correctly, don't you know—I was too naïve—just too plain stupid to handle the punch line." The tears were flowing freely now. Amanda sniffled loudly—unconsciously, and swatted at her eyes with a vicious hand.
"But I do know what it's like to be a let-down to the only person in this world whose opinions mattered. I know what it's like to avoid returning phone calls because you're afraid to hear the disappointment in their voice. I know what it's like to know you're a failure at everything you had ever hoped to be but can get passed the fact by gleefully parading around like you had no standards in the first place." Amanda seemed trapped then, suddenly blindsided by her own runaway tongue. Then she swallowed, hard, and forced herself to go on.
"I know what it's like to avoid seeing a person because not seeing them is easier than facing the moment where you suddenly know that what you've feared is actually true. I know what it's like to avoid seeing Rebecca, Methos, because having her disappointed that I was too busy to stop by for tea was the better fate than confirming finally that—that—" And Amanda lost it then. She sobbed loudly into her hand.
Methos just stood there, paces and millennia away, content to let her break down. He watched as she wrapped her free hand into herself, coiling down like frightened child—shrinking even as she stood there. He watched her impassively, coldly savoring the sight of poor Leaswene, finally caught in her own trap. Too long she had put on a Rebecca mask and spoken to him with authority. Too many times she has taken him to the brink, with Rebecca's gaze and unspoken judgment, quiet wisdom and damning truth. All this time he's let her get to him, let her only because in a moment of weakness it felt good to pretend that she was in fact her teacher, when all this time she was onlyAmanda, little Leaswene, a pathetic imitation in the same way he was no comparison to the Ancient One. Amanda had tried to be Rebecca for him and he'd let her, but then she'd forgotten her place and damn but it felt good to remind her! That little girl could never hope to fill Rebecca's shoes and he was tired of watching her try at his expense.
The satisfaction Methos felt as he watched her cry—the gratification, that he was the one to snap her back to reality, to strip her delusions away and remind her just who she was, and, more importantly, who she was not!—
—Only stayed with him for less time than the breath of release before a quickening.
Then the coldness melted. Reality swung back around—full circle—and bashed him cruelly upside the head.
Amanda, little Leaswene, last surviving student of Rebecca, last surviving student of the Ancient save himself. The horsemen were dead. Byron was dead. She'd said it herself—she was the last of his family, his true family, alive on earth. "Oh, hell."
Methos strode purposely over to where Amanda stood. He knew nothing in that moment save the agony of having been the one to make her cry. He had to stop this. He needed to... make it right, somehow. Whatever she was—whatever she wasn't—it was nothing to be ashamed of. She did not know the meaning of shame! He had to make her see that.
"Amanda—"
—SMACK!—
Methos's head flew backwards, reeling from the sudden punch. Amanda had taken her coiled hand and released it like a spring straight into his jaw. Her eyes, still bright with tears, held a fierce, boiling hatred.
Methos's eyes flashed dangerously—a reflex, really—as he licked at a split lip, but he restrained himself and approached her anew. "Amanda." he tried again, cautiously.
She swung out again, violently, around a soul-deep cry of pain and anger as she tried to connect her fist to his face again.
Methos easily sidestepped the punch, catching her arm and halting its movement as he did so. "Amanda," he spoke again, calmly, not letting go of her fist.
Her eyes widened and she screamed again, though this time she hadn't voice enough left for it and it sounded more like a fierce groan. She tried to bring her other fist down onto his shoulder, but he caught that one, too.
"Amanda." His face was perfectly calm as he brought both her fists together. He lowered them and moved in closer so that they were standing face to face, mere inches apart.
Amanda squirmed, her eyes burning. She panted in her struggle, grunting.
Methos's hands tightened.
"Amanda. Daro!"
That seemed to reach her. Amanda blinked in surprise; Methos had just spoken to her in the ancient tongue, the one she thought only students of Rebecca knew.
"Daro?" she repeated, questioning, her eyes searching his face for answers or confirmation—something to explain why the word echoed in her ears and left her weak at the knees.
She snapped out of that soon enough, when she felt that Methos's hands about her wrists were supporting her weight. "Why do you hate me, Methos?" she asked painfully after she'd straightened her knees.
Methos winced a sharp intake of air.
"I don't mean to be such a poor substitute for Rebecca…"
"You could never take her place," he told her gently, his honest eyes glinting gold in the failing light, boring into hers. "Don't try for something you can't achieve."
Amanda's eyes threatened tears again. "But—"
"No buts, Amanda," he cut her off. "You can never be Rebecca just as I can never be the Ancient One, and none of my students can ever be me, nor none of yours can take your place. Be Amanda, little Leaswene. It's all you need."
"But… Amanda's a rogue, a thief! No one trusts her. No one can even stand her company for more than a few weeks except—" she bit her lip, her throat clicking over a pained sort of squeak. "People who are dead now."
Methos laughed suddenly, though not unkindly. "And you're the same Amanda who kept my secret safe. The same thief who spent centuries robbing aristocrats and tax collectors so that poor farmers could afford to eat. The same rogue who used her illegally obtained wealth to buy slaves into freedom. Do not be ashamed of the life you've lived simply because you don't carry the influence that Rebecca did."
This time it was Amanda who laughed, and bitterly, as she finally wrenched herself free of Methos's grip. "Easy for you to talk," she scathed, just as bitterly. "Methos. Adræfan. Infamous martyr."
That gave Methos sudden pause. "Is that what you think?" he asked, taken aback.
Amanda nodded. "You would have let them take your head in the abbey, if it came to it. You tried to get Duncan to take your head so that he could beat Kalas—"
"You know about that?"
Amanda continued as if he hadn't interrupted. "You killed Kristen to keep him safe, exposing yourself to the watchers—"
Methos winced. "Right, about that—"
"You risked yourself to save him during his dark quickening, and put yourself on the line for Joe at his tribunal—"
Methos sputtered. "Do they tell you everything?"
Once again Amanda continued to ignore him. "You challenged Keane even, and let Duncan kill those you care about… Your family, Methos. All your sarcasm and pragmatic avoidance tactics aside, I think you beat out Duncan in the self-sacrificing game."
"You're naïve, Amanda," he chided dismissively. "MacLeod would never have taken my head simply for my quickening. Don't you think that Adam Pierson, watcher, would have known that before going out there? It was a ploy, a way to get him to protect me after I'd so adamantly refused him the first time. And Kristen—" he spat her name as though it sat foul on his tongue. "That was a personal vendetta. I'd wanted her dead for centuries for reasons that had nothing to do with MacLeod, but to stay out of the game I was hoping that he'd be able to kill her would do it for me. And the tribunal? Amanda, think! I was a watcher, known for being a close friend of Joe Dawson. If I kept silent and let him die, they might have gotten suspicious when they tried to see how far his network of sympathizers really spread—not to mention how gravely shaken up the organization was at the time made it unsafe for all of us. And Keane? Don't forget, you're the one that came to me."
"Believe what you want to, Methos," Amanda answered him.
"Well,you obviouslywill," he interjected.
"You can't deny that you were willing to die, permanently, in the abbey if it really came down to it."
Methos hung his head and sighed tiredly.
His silence was the only answer Amanda needed.
The Abbey
Æthelbert's contingent arrived barely an hour after the first warning was given. Rebecca had her guards placed and ready, and all of the civilians were safely stowed away within the inner sanctum of the abbey. Amanda tried to stay out from under foot, despite her lingering curiosity, as Rebecca made the rounds ensuring that everything was in readiness. Adræfan, for his part, stayed on the topmost tower, gazing off in the direction of the impeding visitors' eventual approach.
Finally the denizens of the abbey heard the distinct sound of horns.
"Milady! They approach!"
Rebecca appeared, seemingly from nowhere. She stood in the central courtyard by the main gait.
"Should I open the gates, Milady?"
Rebecca's eyes narrowed. "No," she called up to the gateman. "Let them make themselves known to us first."
Her sentence was punctuated by a louder call of the horn. Hoof beats could now be heard, as the party came to a halt outside the shut gates of the abbey. "Hello the abbey!" a strong voice shouted.
Methos, as he made his way down from the parapet, knew instinctively to whom the shout belonged. Æthelbert.
Rebecca stood fast, allowing her guardsmen to handle the opening pleasantries. "Prince Æthelbert!" a guard called out. "Please state your business with St. Anne's!"
Some members of his party bristled at being treated like common strangers. "I am here on errand for my brother the Crowned Prince," Æthelbert called back.
"The Crown usually sends forewarning whenever it has business with us, especially when royalty is to be expected. Why have we not heard tidings of your coming?"
"If my brother failed to send a missive then that is his misstep," Æthelbert replied. "He gave me an errand, and I am carrying it through. My men and I are not to blame for my brother's lack of planning. Do you intend to hold us thusly responsible, or will you open your gates and grant a few weary travelers a moment's rest?"
The gateman looked down to Rebecca, who nodded. Then the gates were lofted with a slow, rusty creeking sound. Rebecca stood firm and regal, nothing but tranquility showing on her face. By now Methos lingered in the doorway out of sight. Rebecca had to have sensed his presence. Amanda stood inside with a few of the civilians, watching in eager anticipation.
"Greetings and fondest welcome, Prince Æthelbert," Rebecca greeted in a warm yet oddly detached voice. "Please forgive the rudeness of my gateman, but as you see, we were not expecting you, and in this late hour there are many enemies who lie in wait to storm our gates, perhaps in High disguises."
Æthelbert nodded in acceptance of her apology. "Tis quite alright, Lady Rebecca. I believe that now it is my place to apologize on behalf of my absent-minded elder brother."
Rebecca smiled warmly at him. "Think naught more of it, your highness." Rebecca spread her arms in greeting. "I formally welcome you and your men to my Abbey. The day is waning to its end; I shall have my staff prepare rooms for you. You are invited to join us for the evening meal, but no doubt you shall wish to retire shortly thereafter as I sense you are weary from your days of journey. When we break our fast together on the morrow you may share with me your purpose here, after we are all well rested and in sturdier frames of mind."
Amanda was grinning from ear to ear: this was the first time she's heard Rebecca speak so formally to anyone. Idly she wondered if Æthelbert knew there were guards with bows and swords trained on his every move. Rebecca may sound formal and inviting, but truly, she was only being cautious.
Methos picked up on it as well. Every hair on his body stood on end in rueful anticipation.
"Milady Rebecca," Æthelbert responded candidly. "I humbly accept your offer for food and shelter for my men. However, I fear that my business here cannot wait until morning. With your reprieve, I shall help to see to my men and then I would entreat a chance to speak to you. In private."
Rebecca's eyes hardened even though she didn't miss a beat of her welcoming, disarming smile.
Amanda gasped, relishing the tension with a child's naiveté.
Methos wasn't surprised at all.
"The matter must be serious indeed, good prince, if you are willing to forgo your first real meal in days in order to discuss it with me."
"I believe it is, Milady," Æthelbert answered.
Rebecca nodded. "Very well then. We shall secure lodging for your men, and then you and I shall privately discuss the business at hand."
From his hiding place, Methos smirked and silently thanked Rebecca.
"Thank you, Milady, on behalf of the Crown."
Rebecca bowed slightly in acknowledgement. "Grenhyrde!" she called. Amanda saw the young gardener materialize from one of the other doorways.
"Yes, Milady?"
"Does Brother Leonard have six rooms available and ready?"
"I believe so, Milady."
"Good. Please introduce him to our guests." Her eyes darted briefly back to Æthelbert. "When the Prince is ready, you may show him to my study."
"Yes Milady."
Grenhyrde led the men of Æthelbert's party into the abbey. There they were met by Brother Leonard, who dispatched a few of his underlings to show the guests their rooms. He personally escorted the prince to his temporary quarters.
Rebecca still stood in the courtyard after they had gone. Methos came to stand beside her, and shortly thereafter, Amanda did too.
"They will ask for my head before the night is out," Methos informed her.
"I know," Rebecca answered, her voice neutral.
"What are you going to do?" Amanda asked, her voice slightly fearful.
Rebecca's eyes were hard. "That depends on them."
The Abbey
A hour later
Rebecca sat in her study, patiently waiting for Æthelbert to arrive. Methos was behind an adjoining door, so that he might listen in without being discovered. Amanda was making the rounds with one of the guards, as an agent of Rebecca. She was collecting their guests' weapons—standard policy when Rebecca didn't trust their owners.
Soon enough there was a deliberate knocking on Rebecca's study door.
"Enter," she calmly called out.
"Here you are, your highness," came Grenhyrde's voice, far enough away that Methos was certain he hadn't actually entered.
"Thank you, Grenhyrde," Rebecca said warmly. Methos heard soft footfalls as the gardener-turned-errand boy took his leave.
"Do come in, Prince Æthelbert," Rebecca entreated.
The prince obeyed, and Methos heard him shut door as he did so.
"I thank you again, Lady Rebecca, for granting me this audience."
"That's quite alright, your highness," Rebecca replied, her voice smooth as silk. Methos heard a chair scraping against the floor—the prince must have taken a seat.
"If the matter at hand is as important as you claim, then surely I shall be the one to thank you for your prudence in the matter."
From his hiding spot, Methos had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. Rebecca had learned the diplomat's dance from the very best. Then he heard the subtle groan of stressed timber. Æthelbert, for his part, must have shifted uncomfortably in his seat at Rebecca's put-on assumption.
"If you please, Milady," he said candidly, "allow us to first discuss this matter before any thanks are given."
Both Methos and Rebecca detected the sudden reluctance in the prince's voice. Methos sighed inaudibly, trying to decide what to do with the revelation.
Rebecca's voice hardened at the veiled implications. "By all means, Prince Æthelbert. Speak your peace, so that we may then discuss it."
A heavy silence, sparsely interrupted by a few groans and scrapes of the same chair, followed by a stifled sigh and an awkward clearing of the throat. Æthelbert was stalling for time.
"Milady Rebecca," he at last began. "As I have said, I have come on an important errand as dictated to me by my elder brother, Crowned Prince Æthelbald. I am bound by my honor and my loyalty to carry out this errand to the best of my ability, and as such I intend to do simply that." Then the prince sighed again, louder this time, clearly ill at ease.
Rebecca gave no signs revealing that she was enjoying his discomfort. "None may doubt your loyalties to both your brother and the Crown, if your duty to them overshadows your personal beliefs and yet you endeavor anyhow to act on their behalf."
Of course, that didn't mean that Rebecca wasn't going to have a bit of sport. Methos relished the concealed barb for selfish reasons.
Another groan of timber. Methos fancied that Æthelbert was holding tight to his armrests in order to prevent himself from fidgeting. "Milady Rebecca," he began. "I am a soldier, not a diplomat. I have not the skills for the dance tongues and shadowy cloaking of intentions. Please let me speak my peace, before your considerable skills further muddle my thoughts and impede my ability to carry out my designated task."
Rebecca hid her surprise at his formal plea. "The freedom for candor has always been yours, Prince Æthelbert. All you must do is speak your mind." Æthelbert was younger than Amanda, Methos suddenly remembered, and right now the prince surely must appear his age.
Æthelbert's voice carried a measure of relief as he spoke. "Milady, with your permission given I shall now be as blunt as the circumstances have presented themselves. My brother the Crowned Prince has reason to believe that you are harboring a traitor in your midst—though be assured that no blame rests on you as of yet, Lady Rebecca. My brother highly doubts that our enemy is foolish enough to create accomplices to his treason."
"These are heavy allegations, Prince Æthelbert," Rebecca said gravely after a moment's pause. "If your brother believes these claims whole-heartedly, then he would be justified in sending a legion to march against this abbey and break down every door until the rat is flushed into his hands."
Æthelbert paled slightly. "Milady…" He faltered, tried again: "Milady Rebecca. Rest assured that no one in this kingdom wishes for the destruction of St. Anne's. My father the king personally guaranteed your safety long ago and as rash as Æthelbald may be at times, my brother surely would not go so blatantly against our father's wishes."
"Your reassurances are welcomed Æthelbert, but provide little comfort," Rebecca said with brutal candor. Methos noted how she left out his title this time and would have paid a fortune to see Æthelbert's face right now.
"My Lady, please, I beseech you to hold the king's word in higher regard. His laws still stand for as long as he draws breath." Even the prince must have heard how hollow the words sounded, as his voice lost its confident edge there at the end.
"Name this traitor," Rebecca directed, ignoring the plea. "And state your terms. This is why you've come here, is it not?"
Another sigh. More stalling. How Methos wished he could see them!
"My Lady Rebecca," Æthelbert began, his voice concealing his inner turmoil surprisingly well. "I officially demand that you release the traitor Adræfan Eofrea into my custody at once, to do with as I see fit on behalf of the Crowned Prince Æthelbald so that justice may be served for his crimes of high treason against the Crown."
And there it was. The official demand. Rebecca had formally been asked to hand Methos over to agents of the Crown. Doubtless he would be held without trial and later executed—if even they were that merciful. No, more like Æthelbald would demand the execution to take place here at the Abbey to deny Methos the chance to escape en route to the palace. And that execution would have to be a beheading, because Æthelbald would of course demand a trophy of his victory.
If Rebecca refused this request (command), then she risked bringing an entire legion of troops loyal to Æthelbald down upon her head. They would tear the Abbey apart to search for Methos, and then raze it to the ground—regardless of whether or not they actually found him—in punishment for Rebecca's refusal to cooperate.
There was only one real choice, and they all knew it.
Then the tense moment was punctured by sudden intrusion of the dinner chimes.
When Rebecca spoke, she had banished all traces of emotion from her voice. "Prince Æthelbert, I officially recognize your authority on behalf of the Crown to make such demands, and I can guarantee the full cooperation of this Abbey as you endeavor to complete your appointed task. However I must insist that your royal inquisition wait until after the evening meal. I would be most honored if you and your men were to join us."
Æthelbert seemed genuinely torn by her offer, as he took a moment to formulate response and when he spoke his voice was slightly pained. "Milady Rebecca, with all due respect, I cannot in good conscience allow my attentions to be diverted, even for something as simple as the evening meal. Now that you are thusly forewarned, how would I be sure that you did not facilitate Adræfan's escape whilst my men and I dined unawares?"
Mistake, Methos thought, even before Rebecca answered.
"You would not be questioning my word of honor now, would you?" she asked, her voice a smoothly purring through merciless intent, velvet over steel. "Or my allegiance to the Crown?"
Æthelbert sputtered, realizing he had just squarely planted his foot in it and at a loss for how to answer her.
That's when Methos decided to make his appearance.
The door swung wide and the traitor in question strode confidently into the room in time to see Æthelbert's jaw drop open wide.
"Oh, I wouldn't worry, Prince Æthelbert," he said casually. "In fact, you can escort me to the Dining Hall personally."
Æthelbert's eyes were wide, and it took several seconds worth of silent stammering before he regained enough sense of self to react to Methos's sudden appearance. "Lord Adræfan!"
Methos inclined his head just slightly, his hands clasped behind his back. The robes he was wearing made him look even statelier than the prince in that moment, as disheveled as Æthelbert's appearance was after days of traveling.
Rebecca didn't try to hide her grin at Methos's impeccable timing. She stood from her desk and came to stand beside him. "Will you be joining us, Prince Æthelbert? Or shall I escort your prisoner to dinner myself?"
