NEW FANFIC: THE MEETING III 4/6
Vi Moreau (vi@moreaufamily.us)
Tue, 18 Mar 2003 21:15:14 -0600
THE MEETING III by Vi Moreau et al
vi@moreaufamily.us
As Alexa and John walked toward the feast hall, Methos took several long
steps in the opposite direction, into the shadow of one of the outbuildings.
This forced MacLeod to follow him. Methos was aware the Highlander was
behind him, but knew he was safe--for the moment. Then he turned abruptly
and said, almost with one breath, "Yes, I am Methos. No, I didn't follow
you here and I'm not after you or your son. Yes, I have used the Watchers
to get information about other Immortals, friend and foe alike. No, we're
not going to fight. And no, I am not your enemy." He looked directly into
Connor MacLeod's cold grey eyes.
MacLeod stared Methos down. After a moment the Scot said, "Maybe you didn't
follow me here. Maybe it is a coincidence. But I won't have you knowing
everything about me and my family."
Methos might try to cajole Duncan, and he might flee outright from another
Immortal, but he couldn't run today. Plus, with Connor MacLeod he had to
confront, or else the Highlander would lose respect for him. And Methos
wanted this MacLeod's respect. He leaned a bit closer to the other man. "I
cannot unlearn what I know, and I fully intend to continue using the
Watchers. If you feel compelled to do something about it, it will have to
wait."
"Until you get married--or until she dies?" MacLeod said, harshly. "How
sick is she?"
MacLeod was perceptive, damn him, but Methos knew that. MacLeod was also
brutal, damn him even more. It made Methos want to strike back. Instead,
he pulled his shoulders back and simply said, "Very." Then he turned to
walk toward the feast hall, where Alexa and John were waiting. He could
feel MacLeod's hard gaze boring into his back.
MacLeod caught up to him within three steps. "We're not finished."
Methos smiled charmingly but kept walking. "You're right. I still want you
to give the bride away. But as far as a duel, it's not going to happen
today."
They slipped into the feast hall. At the back of the room was a long wooden
table, obviously for the royal party, with long rows of many other tables
lined up perpendicular to it. Water glasses, pewter tankards filled to the
brim with various brews, chunks of thick bread, and bowls of fruit and some
sort of creamy soup were at each place. Buxom serving wenches with braids
and lace decolletages walked among the tables. They carried prodigious trays
with pewter plates each containing a thick slice of roast, potatoes and
vegetables. The smells were wonderful, but as Methos glanced at Alexa's
face he could tell she wouldn't eat much. Damn. And now he also had to
worry about MacLeod, who hadn't yet agreed to postpone the duel, if there
was to be one. Methos couldn't even run away this time, and MacLeod would
know that. He also knew the Scot could be stubborn, and he had neither the
time nor the inclination for further discussion, so he suggested, over his
shoulder, "As for later, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod will know where
to find me."
Hard fingers dug into Methos' arm, holding him in place. "And you know
where to find him. If your 'friendship' costs him his head, I'll know who
to hunt," MacLeod purred into Methos' ear.
Methos had learned that most threats were empty, some weren't enforceable,
and a very few were to be taken seriously--even by someone as skilled in
survival as he was. This threat was one of the third type. <This is not
Duncan MacLeod,> he repeated to himself. <Less sense of humor. More
paranoid, more easily roused, and absolutely deadly with that katana at his
side.> "Understood. Can we eat now?" he asked, pulling loose. He hid his
nervousness by waving at Alexa and John. John waved back enthusiastically,
but Alexa merely wiggled her fingers. She looked pale and exhausted, even
from a distance. Maybe he'd let her do too much today.
Methos went to sit next to her, with MacLeod on the other side of John.
"Are you all right?" Methos asked her.
Alexa and Methos had established a code. When he asked if she were all
right it wasn't just a polite question.
"I'm a little tired," she murmured. "But I'd like to see the feast."
That meant she probably wasn't going to eat after all, damn, and she was
feeling badly. Beyond Alexa, Methos saw Connor carefully scrutinizing them
both. Dammit, dammit, dammit! Methos was fairly certain the Highlander
would not take advantage of Alexa's vulnerability, especially with John here
as well. However, this Highlander was capable of single-mindedly hunting,
attacking and destroying those he thought deserved it, like Slann Quince and
the Kurgan, and when it came to being deserving--but the MacLeods didn't
know Methos' history, and if the gods were kind they never would find out.
MacLeod had also fought Kane practically in front of John, so the boy's
presence was no guarantee of peace. Methos took a deep breath. Bora Bora
would be nice just about now.
The royal court entered with much fanfare, and every one in the hall stood
and yelled, tankards high, "God bless the King and Queen!" The King said a
few words, then toasted the crowd. Then the Queen said a few words.
"She doesn't have a Spanish accent," Methos whispered in Alexa's ear,
getting a weak smile for his effort.
There was another toast to the Queen, then the King enjoined his subjects to
eat. Moments later, the Mayor of New Market Village stood and offered yet
another toast. The serving girls finished serving the plates, and people
were eating in earnest while the servers ran around refilling tankards of
ale, beer, and wine, as well as the children's soft drinks. This time, when
Alexa raised her heavy pewter tankard, Methos saw her hand definitely shake.
She put it down, and Methos handed her a watercup, which she sipped from.
"Let's leave," he suggested.
"I'm fine," she replied, smiling at a richly dressed woman seated at the
King's table, the Duchess Spendalot, who announced the beginning of "the
show." Two jongleurs appeared. Methos had a flashback to when he'd been a
jongleur, and remembered what he'd hated most about it--the bells sewn onto
the costume, which, guards or no guards, made one truly consider murder most
foul a hundred times a day. He turned to John and said, "John, I really
like your costume."
"Yes. It's very pretty. And the plaid matches your Dad's," Alexa added
softly.
"Thanks. It's the MacLeod tartan, the real thing. It's supposed to match."
"I know," Methos answered. Then, knowing Connor was carefully listening,
and throwing caution to the winds, Methos said, "You might tell your dad a
katana doesn't go with a great plaid."
"Don't get him started," John whispered, glancing covertly at Connor, then
turning innocently back to his dinner.
Connor said nothing about the Japans this time. He looked at John, who was
wolfing down the roast beef, then over at Pierson, who was eating very
little, and Connor realized he'd lost his own appetite. At first Connor had
been beyond fury. -Methos, the Watcher, here!- His presence had surprised
and unnerved Connor, but he had quickly realized that the ancient Immortal,
even if he were as old as he'd told Duncan--
And here a thought hit Connor, primitive in its savagery: <a
five-thousand-year-old Quickening. Older than the Kurgan.> He lifted his
tankard and gulped some ale to cover his face, in case his expression might
have betrayed him to the experienced and very observant Methos.
He picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and openly studied Methos while he
chewed. Although he was still not hungry, he hadn't eaten since breakfast,
a disadvantage if they should cross swords anytime soon. Tall and thin, the
other Immortal had a long reach and moved well; Connor remembered thinking
the man looked like a marathoner. Methos was intelligent and ten times
Connor's age. And he hadn't shown even a hint of disappearing, which Duncan
had told Connor was Methos' favorite habit. Of course he wouldn't run, now
with the woman here. And of course he would be a formidable opponent--what
made Connor think this old man's Quickening would be possible for him to
take?
He shook his head and those thoughts cleared. He would not go after
Pierson/Methos' head just for the sake of an ancient Quickening; he had a
few of those under his belt, thank you very much. It wasn't Connor's style.
The important thing was that Methos was a Watcher. But Methos could not
have followed him here to Texas. He and John had made the decision to come
to the Renaissance Festival yesterday, the same day they had arrived.
Besides, if Methos were hunting him, the man wouldn't have brought along a
mortal woman who was obviously very ill. It didn't make any sense. Her
color was bad, and Connor didn't think she'd last out the meal without
falling down. Methos had said she was "very" sick and hadn't responded to
Connor's jab about her dying. Was Alexa, in fact, dying?
What Connor needed was to get away and call Duncan to see what Duncan knew
about this. He could easily excuse himself from the table, but was not
about to leave John alone with an Immortal, so he decided to wait until the
end of the meal. Although Methos had said he didn't want to fight, there
might still be a duel. Connor needed to keep John close, but not close
enough to see anything, or to interfere, and Connor had no one around to
leave the boy with. Dammit! As he pondered his next step, his decision was
made for him.
The singers had just finished their first song when Alexa put her soupspoon
down and said softly, "I need to lie down now."
Pierson--Methos--rose smoothly, helping her to her feet. Together they slid
out of the bench. Connor elbowed John softly and the MacLeods followed,
John grabbing a roll as he stood.
"What's going on, Dad?" John asked him, stuffing the bread into his mouth.
"She's sick," Connor answered.
They walked outside. Methos was bending over Alexa, who was murmuring
something Connor didn't catch. She managed two steps, then stumbled
slightly. Immediately Methos swept her up in his arms, and her head hung
back.
"If she needs a doctor," Connor said. "There's a first aid station by the--
"
"I don't need a doctor, Rhett," Alexa said, talking to Pierson/Methos, not
to Connor. She had raised her head, and seemed to get her second wind now
that she wasn't using energy to keep herself on her feet.
Pierson smiled at her, obviously relieved that she was still talking. "The
thing is, Scarlett, that I do give a damn."
"I know you do." She sighed. "I just need some place to rest for a little
while."
"Back to the camper?" Methos suggested.
Connor realized they were probably in the same campground he and John had
spent the night in.
"No," Alexa answered. "It's too far to walk, and no, I don't want to be
carried. Besides, we'll miss the rest of the festival. I'd just like to
close my eyes for a moment. Maybe we could sit under a tree?"
Methos and Connor both looked around. There were certainly trees, but it
had rained recently. Although the ground was not muddy, it was still quite
dirty.
"Is she all right?" a jewelry saleswoman dressed in overbright colors asked
from behind her counter. "Do you need help?"
Connor shook his head. "Thanks, we're fine," he said, wondering if Alexa
was fine, if Methos was fine, even if he himself was fine; if he'd wind up
making the first miserable by killing the second. Connor couldn't leave
this sick, possibly dying woman alone in the middle of Texas, even if he did
have to take Methos' head. She wouldn't be eager to take Connor's help at
that point anyway. He wondered if she knew about Immortals. Probably not,
he decided. So she'd be hysterical, then, if he killed Methos, unless he
managed to hide it somehow. It was an impossible situation all around.
Alexa's soft voice protested, "If I can rest in the shade, you can put me
down. People are staring." She smiled the whole time.
Surely she knew she was dying? If she did, Connor thought, she had a lot of
guts. And if Methos knew.
"But this is such fun," Methos argued. "Let them stare." Nevertheless, he
gingerly placed her back on her feet.
Connor summed Methos up: protective but not smothering; solicitous, but
sensitive to what she needed him to do, not what he needed to do for her.
And he definitely did not want to fight today. That much was obvious.
Once on her feet, she still held onto Pierson. "Adam," she breathed softly,
but Connor heard.
"I'm here, my sweet. I'm right here with you." Methos' voice was soothing,
concerned. Calmly and efficiently he moved with her toward a shady area
between the wooden buildings.
"Believe it or not, I'm cold."
"What's wrong, Alexa?" John asked.
"She's very sick, John," Connor answered softly. He could see Methos was
torn between wanting to hold onto her and taking off his trenchcoat--with a
sword inside, no doubt--to warm her. Then Methos looked directly at Connor,
as though expecting him to do something.
They were across the way from a quilt "shoppe." Connor walked over, pulling
some bills out of his sporran, threw them down, snatched up the nearest
quilt, and handed it to Methos, who wrapped it around her as they walked
toward the trees.
Methos' whole attention was on her, not sparing Connor a single glance, and
showing on his face only his love for her. It occurred to Connor that
Methos had held a fainting woman before. Methos murmured something
reassuring to her, their faces close.
"You know, Rhett Butler left her," she whispered, and Connor, on the other
side of her, heard.
"He was a scoundrel and a cad," Methos answered. Connor took the quilt off
her and laid it over a mossy area under the tree, away from the root system.
Methos helped her down, her back against the trunk, then covered her with
the overage and knelt down beside her, one foot on the ground, and took her
hand in the classic "Will you marry me?" posture. "I will not leave you,
Alexa."
"Not even at the end?" she murmured, a slight tremor in her voice.
<Christ!> By this time Connor felt like a voyeur, but neither Methos nor
Alexa seemed to know he was still there. Connor stepped back, but not far
enough to miss Methos' answer.
"Not even."
Connor cleared his throat. "Can I get you anything, Alexa?" he asked
pointedly, making sure Methos understood he was doing this for her and not
for him. "A drink? Water?"
Methos looked up at him. "Brandy would be better. Or even some good
Scotch," he suggested with a knowing smile. "But we'll settle for mulled
wine, from the feast," he decided, gesturing with his head toward the King's
Feast Hall.
Connor looked toward Alexa, and she nodded. "Come on, John," he said, still
not wanting to leave his son, no matter how preoccupied the Immortal seemed
to be.
"Jeez, Dad, what happened to her?"
"I think she was sick before she got here, John."
"What do you think is wrong with her?"
<Do I look like a doctor?> Connor wanted to say, but curbed his impatience.
"I'm not sure." John wasn't to blame for what was happening. Apparently
the boy hadn't caught on to Pierson/Methos being an Immortal. Good. The
last thing he needed now was for John to be worried for him.
Connor went to the waitress who had served them; she remembered him. "Say,
is that girl all right, sir?" she asked. "She seemed awful pale."
"She's a little faint. Can you give me a mug of that mulled wine for her?"
"Sure thing." She handed Connor a brimming tankard. Then she put three
clean mugs in a gift bag and gave them to John. "These are your souvenir
gifts from the royal court of His Majesty King Henry of England," she
announced, then smiled at John and added, "Y'all take care, now."
Tudor clothes and a Texas accent. Connor suppressed a smile. "Thank you."
As they walked, John suggested, "Hey, Dad, I bet if we put our two mugs in
the fridge, they would get really cold, and then we could fill them with
beer--one for you and one for me."
Connor flashed a quick smile. Like a true pre-adolescent, John was always
pushing. "You meant root beer for you, right?"
"Yeah, sure, root beer, that's what I meant, Dad," John said, smiling slyly.
Then out of the blue, in an entirely different voice, he asked, "Is Mr.
Pierson an Immortal?"
Connor stopped in his tracks. Damn, John had noticed something, and Connor
didn't lie to his son if he could help it. "Yes."
"But he's Uncle Duncan's friend, right? Alexa said so. And he doesn't look
like he's.scary or anything."
"You can't always go by appearances, John."
"Yeah. Right. So.are you gonna fight? I mean--" He didn't or couldn't
finish his sentence.
A hard lesson to learn, but the son of an Immortal had to learn it. Over
and over again. "Sometimes I don't have a choice, John."
"You do this time. You can walk away, can't you? We can just go. Dad, let
's just go." John pulled on Connor's arm, who almost spilled the wine.
Connor stood his ground, shaking his head. "We're here for a vacation, and
I won't be driven away. And it's not so simple; we'll meet again later."
"But that's later. Now let's just go!"
Connor looked into this son's frightened face and shook his head again. "I
can't." If he walked away, Methos might smell blood in the water and come
after him. Besides, John or no John, Connor couldn't afford to back off
like this. He had to settle it now, or it would come back to him later.
"Look, I'm going to take this drink to Alexa, and-- " But John needed
reassuring, so he finished, "Pierson said he doesn't want to fight."
"Do you believe him?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah, you're right. I mean, he's got Alexa with him, and I'm pretty sure
she's not immortal. Did you tell him you don't want to fight?"
The year before, while touring the Highlands, Connor had sat John and Alex
down and discussed what could happen if/when they met an Immortal. There
were too many variables to predict, but the number one rule was that the
mortals had to stay out of it.
John wasn't staying out of it. "Dad, did you tell him?"
Connor hated the fact that his son was scared, pale, his voice almost
desperate. He wished he could spare John this. He wished he could just put
all the blame on Pierson, the big bad Immortal, but this time he couldn't.
He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "John--"
"Can't you just tell him you don't want to? Can't you do that?"
He could, but he would make no promises he couldn't keep. "I'll do what I
can, John." He could always catch up with Methos later. In fact, he was
pretty sure he'd run across Methos again.