ROG on Vacation

By Jill

Chapter 6

The four proceeded to Tirmen's keep which was located on the eastern bank of the River Erui. Korvan's home was located just across the river, within sight of Tirmen's. Fortunately for Gondor, there was only one good ford in the river near their lands slowing the progress of the hostilities. If the river hadn't been there, separating the two, violence would have already occurred.

They reached Tirmen's keep late in the afternoon, less than an hour before sunset. It was an ugly building low to the ground and made of heavy gray stone, designed more for defense than pleasure. There was no attempt at elegance made in the construction. The windows were small and placed high up so as not to allow enemy arrows inside and there was very little in the way of adornment, a few unfurled banners was all, no sculpture or elaborate molding.

"Depressing sort of place," Adam observed.

"I could not live with so little light and air," Legolas agreed.

Lord Tirmen, a tall, thin man with rabbity feature and a receding hair line, came out the front gate to meet them. "Your Majesty," he said bowing, "I wasn't aware you were coming this way. I'm afraid we're not prepared to entertain you properly, but we shall make do. Anything in my power... you need only ask," Tirmen said a bit pretentiously as he lead them inside and they handed their horses to a servant.

"I ask you to end this foolish argument you have with Korvan and maintain the peace," Aragorn stated, well aware that wasn't what Tirmen had in mind when he made the offer.

"Ah.. yes.. well.. I would be happy to cease hostilities with Korvan. There's nothing I'd like better, but..." Tirmen stuttered out, nonplused by the king's straightforwardness.

"But?" Aragorn asked, arching an eyebrow challengingly.

"Yes.. well.. you see... I'm willing to be reasonable about the matter and would dearly love to avoid bloodshed, but Korvan, Korvan's being unreasonable. He's the one pursuing this injustice. I'm simply defending my interests," Tirmen said, trying to redirect the king's irritation.

"I see," Aragorn said dryly. "Then I must speak with Korvan." At this remark Tirmen's expression brightened a bit, but quickly turned worried again when the king continued. "Send a messenger across the river. Korvan shall meet us on this side of the ford in two hours time. There we shall end this matter once and for all." Glancing over at his companions who were starting to look a little worn--Gimli and Adam anyway, elves don't look worn--he added, "Tirmen, bring supper. Arguments are more easily resolved over a meal."

"It shall be as you command, Your Majesty," Tirmen assented with another bow. "If you'd care to wash away some of the road dust while I make the appropriate preparations, my man will show you to the guest rooms," he added waving a liveried servant forward.

"An excellent suggestion," Aragorn agreed glancing at Adam's torn and bloody tunic. The damage wasn't too noticeable in the late afternoon light because of the dark color of the fabric, but washing away some of the dried blood was still a good idea.

Tirmen set off in one direction and they followed the servant in another. When left alone in a spacious but poorly lit room with basins of clean water, Adam took off his shirt and did what he could about the blood stains.

"There's not so much as a scratch on you," Legolas said in amazement, looking at the place where the sword had exited Adam's back.

"One of the perks of Immortality," Adam said nonchalantly.

"None of the immortal creatures I'm familiar with are blessed with that particular `perk.' Elves heal faster than mortals, but never that completely," Legolas said.

"Different worlds, different immortals, different rules," Adam replied with a shrug, still working on his tunic. "Didn't we agree to postpone this conversation till later?"

"This is later," Gimli answered, sharing his best friend's curiosity about Adam's nature.

"It is later," Aragorn agreed, "but is it late enough? There are other, more pressing concerns, at the moment. Such as, Tirmen's reaction to our arrival."

"He seemed authentically surprised to see you here," said Legolas.

"But was his surprise because he expected you to be dead, or because he just didn't know you were coming?" Adam added, squeezing the water from his newly laundered tunic.

"How could he not know we were coming?" Gimli asked. "With the kind of trouble he's stirring up here, he had to know you'd come."

"Not necessarily," Aragorn said after a little thought. "Denethor wouldn't have come in person, there were too many other things needing his attention. He would have sent one of his sons or some government official, if his sons were busy."

"So we aren't any closer to proving his guilt or innocence," Adam said, grimacing as he pulled on his damp tunic. "I hate wearing damp clothes, but dried blood is worse. At least water doesn't itch."

"The weather's warm. You'll soon dry," Legolas said taking some amusement in Adam's seemingly contradictory behavior. `He dies and returns without comment, but complains about damp clothing,' the elf observed to himself.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Two hours later, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Adam, Tirmen, and a platoon of servers with all the fixings for a feast were assembled along the eastern bank of the river waiting for Korvan and his entourage to arrive. A small boat carrying Korvan, a short stocky man who was starting to run to fat in his middle years but still had a full head of light brown hair just starting to gray, and a couple retainers rowed into view. As the boat reached the shore, a group of soldiers marched into view on Korvan's side of the river.

"What is the meaning of this?" Tirmen demanded of Korvan as the man came ashore. "I specifically stated that this was to be a peaceful meeting. Why are your men assembled over there?" he said gesturing at the western bank.

"That is why they're assembled over there. They'll stay over there as long as this meeting is kept peaceful," Korvan answered somewhat belligerently.

"Are you saying you doubted my word?" Tirmen hissed back, eyes narrowed in anger.

"Of course I doubt your word. How can I trust the word of a man who would steal my daughter's dowry leaving her to suffer on the pittance you give that wastrel nephew of yours," Korvan answered with a sneer.

"Steal her dowry?!" Tirmen exclaimed, highly offended. "That dowry belongs to my estate by right. I shall no doubt have to pay that amount many times over to save my nephew from your harridan of a daughter's excesses. I won't claim any reparations on my son's behalf, although he would have a right to them, because the luck of avoiding a lifetime with that woman more than makes up for the humiliation of being left at the altar."
Korvan had been growing increasingly red in the face during Tirmen's speech and was slowly approaching the man with murder in his eyes, when Aragorn interrupted. "So you are both laying claim to the dowry out of concern for the welfare of your relations?" he said.

Tirmen and Korvan were both pulled up short by this interjection. They had both forgotten their surroundings in the heat of the moment; this reminder of the king's presence put a damper on their ire.

"Yes, of course that is the reason. My nephew's future is of great importance to me," Tirmen said, hesitant at first but with growing confidence.

"A father has to look out for his daughter's future," Korvan agreed.

"Then the solution to this problem is quite simple," Aragorn said.

Korvan and Tirmen exchanged a confused glance then Korvan said, "It is?"

"Yes, if you're both so concerned about the financial support of the young couple then the dowry should be given directly to them. I had some concerns about what to do for your son, Tirmen, but since you relinquish any claim to reparations on his behalf this situation can be resolved tonight."

"But, you can't..." Tirmen started to say then trailed off seeing the kings disapproving look.

"But, they wouldn't know what to do with it," Korvan said, trying a different tack. "Give those two the dowry and they'll run through it within the year. They need someone older and more experienced managing it for them."

Tirmen, appreciating Korvan's approach, quickly agreed. "Let us manage it for them. I'm sure we can work something out."

"No, giving over control to the couple directly is the only way. They may mishandle it, but that is a risk we must take. I refuse to leave open another opportunity for two such close friends to come to blows," Aragorn dismissed their objections.

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Tirmen said with some reluctance.

"Your Majesty knows best," Korvan said clearly unhappy with the decision.

"Now that this unpleasant business is taken care of, will the two of you not clasp hands in friendship and sit down to the evening meal as friends?" the king suggested.

Tirmen and Korvan clasped hands and exchanged some private words. As they turned toward the tables and the waiting feast they swiftly engaged in conversation and appeared once again as two the friends often seen together in Minas Tirith.

"That was very smoothly done," Adam observed.

"The fastest way to repair a friendship is to give the former friends a common enemy to hate," Aragorn said.

"Are you sure this is the best time to be making enemies?" Legolas asked.

"It isn't much of a risk. If they're innocent of the attempts on my life, I doubt this will drive them to murder," Aragorn replied.

"And if they're already trying to kill you, this doesn't change anything," Gimli added. "I'd watch what I ate though, if I were you. This little irritation might push them into taking a chance."

"I'll have Adam taste everything for me." Aragorn said with a slightly wicked grin.

Methos gave him a dirty look and they all went to dinner.

* * * * * * * * * *

Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, and Methos spent a single night in Tirmen's Keep then rode for Minas Tirith early the next morning. The questioning of Methos began as soon as they cleared the gates.

"You said that your kind are kept ignorant of your nature until you die the first time. To what purpose?" Legolas asked.

"To have a taste of mortal life. Knowing from the start that you might live forever leads to poor character development, for humans at least. And,
there's always the possibility they'll die of old age before becoming Immortal," Methos explained.

"And that would be why you said 'might'?" Gimli said.

"Might?" Methos asked.

"You said 'might live forever'?" Gimli clarified.

"Dying naturally would be an impediment to immortality, but I was thinking more of the game."

"The game?" Aragorn asked.

Methos sighed and said, "The game is where we Immortals go about chopping each other's heads off, which is the only way we can be made permanently dead. 'In the end there can be only one.' The last one standing gets a prize."

"What prize?" Legolas asked, clearly appalled at the concept. "What could be so valuable that an entire race would hunt itself to extinction in order to obtain it?"

"No one knows. Knowledge, power, something big, that is assuming there really is a prize and this isn't all some elaborate hoax." Methos said.

"You kill others of your own kind for an unknown prize which might not even exist?" Aragorn said, shocked at such seemingly mad behavior.

"I don't, but others do. I try to avoid fighting when I can. I only take heads to stop them from taking mine," Methos said defensively.

"I must be glad of your success, thus far, in saving your own head. If you weren't here, I'd be dead," Aragorn offered, half in apology for his hasty assumption, thinking of what might have happened the day before if Methos weren't there.

"That would explain how a scholar got to be so good with a sword," Gimli said, changing the subject slightly. "I suppose you've had a lot of practice."

"You could say that," Methos agreed.

"How much practice? That is to say, how old are you?" Legolas asked, wondering how this immortality compared to that of elves. "If you don't mind my asking..." he belatedly added, remembering his manners.

"I don't know exactly. I lost track somewhere along the way," Methos paused for a second considering how much to say. 'I don't suppose it will make any difference to them. They're not Immortals and there aren't any Immortals for them to tell.' he thought. "I think five thousand years, give or take."

"How can you not know how old you are?" Gimli asked.

"It is the sort of thing one remembers," Aragorn added.

"Well, I don't. I can clearly remember my first quickening." Noticing their blank looks at the unfamiliar expression, he explained, "Quickening, that's what it's called when you kill another Immortal. Anyway, I remember my first win, but before that it's all pretty hazy. I'm not even sure what my true name was, originally."

"Adam isn't your name?" Legolas asked.

"Well it is now. I change it periodically, most Immortals do. An archaic name doesn't help when you're trying to blend in. Actually, just before I came here, I was considering another change. Too many people know who 'Adam Pierson' really is or was," Methos explained.

"And, who would that be? What is it you wish others didn't know about you?" Aragorn said.

Methos paused for a second thinking, 'what would be the best way to word this? I need to sound forthcoming about things I don't normally talk about without touching too much on things I'd rather not touch on.' Choosing his words carefully, he said, "The one name I've carried longer than any of the others is Methos. It's from the Greek word for myth, and I have the majority of Immortals convinced that is exactly what he, or rather, I am--a myth. You see, I'm the oldest which makes me prime real estate. If the truth ever got out, headhunters would be coming out of the woodwork. And, the younger ones would flock 'round looking for wisdom which may in fact be the worse of the two evils. Why people always assume great wisdom always comes with great age is something I'll never know."

"It doesn't?" Legolas asked one eyebrow arched.

"No, it doesn't. I've known more than one vintage Immortal and none could claim any greater share of wisdom than that of mortals. In fact, there are quite a few who are worse than animals. I can say with some certainty, that elven wisdom isn't due to immortality. It's because you're elves." 'If anything,' Methos silently added, not wanting to give offense by openly challenging the assumption that elves are wise. 'They may in fact be as wise as everyone says, but I haven't met enough of them to judge,' he thought.

The conversation continued in the same vein throughout the ride back to Minas Tirith. By the time they reached the citadel that evening, they'd covered all the important points of Immortal existence and even discussed the Watchers. What Methos avoided discussing, were the precise details of his past life. He made sure to keep his time as Death, one of the Four Horsemen, a closely guarded secret, positive his new friends wouldn't understand.

* * * * * * * * * *

The next morning, after breakfast, Methos went to find Legolas or Gimli. Gimli was nowhere to be found. Legolas was sitting under a big oak tree in the Queen's Garden, fletching arrows.

"Morning," Methos greeted the elf. "Do you have a minute? I think there are things we should discuss."

"There are things we did not discuss yesterday?" Legolas said, thinking of their long analysis of Methos's immortality.

"The attempt on the king's life," Methos reminded. "It did get kind of lost in the shuffle," he said sitting on a bench near the tree.

"What else is there to discuss?" Legolas asked, ignoring Methos's odd figure of speech, as always. "We found out what we could just after it happened. What more is there to say?"

"I've been thinking about those tunics. They were all the same, so were probably bought from the same person, if not all at the same time. They were also not brand new. The men must have been wearing them for a month or two, at least, considering the amount of wear and tear. Then you factor in the stitching, a stitch confined to a limited area and number of tailors. I think we might be able to trace them back to their purchaser."

"I see what you mean," Legolas said. "There couldn't be too many tailors who use Gorimet embroidery and sold eighteen or more identical tunics a couple months ago. And, if we find the tailor, he might lead us to the assassin. To another lackey at the very least. A tailor of Gondor would be reluctant to work for eastern mercenaries."

"And?" Methos asked, knowing Legolas could figure the rest out himself, once he thought about it.

"And, the mercenaries themselves had to have been here a couple months ago to get the tunics. Someone must have noticed them," Legolas continued.

"Precisely. What I wonder though, is if they were working for their regular employer at the time or if it was someone else. I seriously doubt the assassin brought those men to Gondor and kept them here for a month or two on the off chance that Aragorn would give them an opportunity. They had to have come here on some other business," Methos said.

"They were probably working as caravan guards. Since the war ended, there has been so much trouble with bandits that even eastern mercenaries can find work. Although, that is changing now that Aragorn has the time to deal with the matter," Legolas said. "I feel like a fool, not realizing any of this until now."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Methos said. "You're a prince. Looking for clues and solving crimes isn't exactly in your line of work."

"But, it is in yours?" the elf said skeptically, still finding fault with himself.

"Actually, in a way, it is. To a scholar, the answers are never clearly spelled out, in black and white, or in the records. A scholar has to sift through information looking for clues and following leads," Methos explained. "Speaking of leads, how should we go about following up on the ones we have?"
"If by 'following up on leads' you mean continuing our search for the assassin, I believe we should consult with Aragorn and Gimli before making a plan of action. If luck is with us, those mercenaries may have made an appearance in one of the dispatches. I know an eye is kept on even the supposedly law abiding mercenaries, seeing as they often turn to banditry when employment is scarce."

"Well, let's hope we get lucky."

Legolas finished fletching his last arrow and put it in his quiver. Then the two of them went to see the king.


Chapter 7

The four divided up their 'leads.' Aragorn and Methos would concentrate on finding reports of the mercenaries. They would read through the dispatches with Methos doing most of the reading, Aragorn being busy with other duties. Aragorn would also have his agents ask around. Legolas and Gimli would try to track down the tailor. They got results almost immediately, or at least Gimli did.

"Where did you put that tunic you saved for evidence?" Gimli asked Methos as they left Aragorn's study.

"It's in my quarters. I'll go fetch it. You'll be... in the garden?" Methos ventured, noting Legolas's presence and knowing that the elf liked to be outside.
Gimli nodded in agreement. "I'll just be a minute then," Methos said before turning down a side corridor.

"Is there something else special about the tunic, besides the stitching?" Legolas asked his friend, wanting to know why Gimli wanted to see it again.

"Not special, exactly. But, every craftsman's work is slightly different. I don't know enough about sewing to tell the difference, but an experienced tailor or seamstress should be able to identify the work of those they know personally," Gimli explained as the two continued toward the gardens.

"I see," Legolas said. "But who do we ask? How do we know the person we ask isn't the one who made the tunic? He, or she, would likely be reluctant to admit the truth. The attempts on the king's life are not common knowledge, but the king's friends asking after the maker of a bloody tunic would make most commoners nervous."

"I hadn't thought of that," Gimli said with some consternation. "Figuring out whom to ask could be a problem." Then after a pause for thought, "What about Dia's maid? She should know several who use Gorimet stitches."

"How do we know she didn't make this herself?" Legolas said.

"We don't, but I doubt it was her. Who would contract a lady's maid to outfit a mercenary troop?" Gimli answered.

"That is a point," Legolas agreed. "We'll question Lady Dia's maid as soon as Adam brings us the tunic."

* * * * * * * *

Adam brought them the tunic; Legolas and Gimli went to find the maid. Her name was Amalia and they found her in the laundry, patching garments. The laundry was one long room with large vats of boiling water at one end and long tables, at which women mended and sorted clothing, at the other. Lines of hanging laundry acted as a curtain between the two halves. Gimli and Legolas entered through the door at the sorting end. Startled by the appearance of two lords below stairs, a hush fell among the women.

"Which one is she?" Gimli asked.

"Short with red hair they said," Legolas said, referring to the various servants they'd asked about Amalia. "The one on the end, that must be her."
The two walked across the room to where Amalia was sitting, as a low buzz began among the women who were exchanging speculative whispers regarding Legolas and Gimli's purpose in the laundry room.

"Amalia?" Legolas asked the wide-eyed girl who was clearly shocked to find two such significant personages talking to her.

"Y-yes, my lord," she answered, rising from her seat and awkwardly executing a curtsy.

Legolas gave her a smile which was meant to be encouraging, but only served to make her more nervous. Then, handing her the tunic, he said, "We have this tunic with Gorimet stitching and were wondering if you could tell us who made it?"

"Of course my lord. I-I mean I can try," she answered examining the stitches. "Grenel made this," she said confidently.

"You're absolutely sure?" Gimli said.

"Yes, my lord. Every fourth stitch is placed low. He's done that since he lost a finger to frostbite one winter," Amalia confirmed.

"Where might we find this Grenel?" Legolas asked.

"He lives in Gorimet, my lord. Ask anyone for the tailor and they'll point you to his house," Amalia answered.

"Thank you for your assistance," Legolas said, taking back the tunic. "You have performed a great service for Gondor."

"You're welcome, my lord," Amalia said, blushing and giving another curtsey.

Gimli and Legolas left the laundry room, Gimli saying to Legolas, "It looks like we have another trip ahead of us."

* * * * * * * *

After discussing their plans with Aragorn and Methos, Gimli and Legolas set out for Gorimet the following day. They made the trip at a leisurely pace, allowing for Gimli's discomfort on horseback, and arrived at their destination late the next day.

"I don't suppose there'll be an inn," Gimli grumbled, taking in the small cluster of buildings. "I'd be surprised if there's even a tavern. There couldn't be more than four or five families living there."

"Actually, there is an inn. It caters to merchants who come once a year to buy pelts," Legolas replied.

"How did you come to know that?" Gimli asked slightly surprised.

"I asked," the elf replied dryly. "I thought it would be wise to find out what I could about Gorimet before we left."

"And what else did you learn, oh wise one?" Gimli said.

"Gorimet consists of half a dozen families, descended for the most part from those who resided in Gondor before the Dunedain came. They make a living by hunting the animals who live in the nearby mountains and selling the skins. The Gorimet stitchery, which we find ourselves so interested in, is related to their main profession. It is derived from a method for sewing leather, and even at present Gorimet's residents tend to wear more leather than cloth," Legolas replied in a mock pretentious tone.

"Did you find out anything of use?" Gimli asked.

"No, nothing particularly useful came to light, other than the fact of the inn's existence," Legolas said, going back to a more normal tone of voice. "There it is," he said, motioning toward a two story wooden building painted blue with red trim.

"It looks vacant," Gimli said taking in the darkened windows in the evening gloom.

"There's a light at the back, where the kitchen must be. It isn't fur season, but someone is there."

They rode over to the front of the building, dismounted, and tied the horse to one of the porch railings. Entering through the front door, they discovered an empty common room with sheet-draped furniture. Legolas and Gimli exchanged a glance, then Gimli called, in a loud voice, "Hello, is anyone here?" Then, banging on a table with his ax handle, he called again, "Hello? You've got customers."

A short, roly-poly, man scurried into the room through a door behind the bar. He was of middle years and had thinning sandy brown hair. This was undoubtedly the innkeeper, he had the harried but good natured expression common to innkeepers the world over. "Welcome to the Wandering Sailor, that was the owner before me, went to sea in his youth and the name stuck. So sorry there was no one to greet you, but I didn't know anyone was coming. Usually, there's no one this time of year. As a matter of fact I can't remember ever having guests in August. Not that I wouldn't like guests in August. I'm always happiest when there are a few guests underfoot, not that you'd be underfoot..." the man babbled on, trailing off when the odd appearance of his guests finally registered. Guests in August were strange enough, but an elf and a dwarf in Gorimet, traveling together of all things, was unheard of. "What can I do for you my lords? You must be weary from your journey. How does a pint of ale, a hearty supper, and a soft bed sound?" he asked, finally getting to the point.

"That sounds about right," said Gimli.

"Right this way then, gentlemen." the innkeeper said rounding the bar and turning down the hall, which opened to one side of it. "There's a private parlor back here which should be a bit more cheerful than this great empty room. Should be more comfortable too. At the height of the season the latecomers end up bedded down in there so I made sure the chairs were something a man could sleep in without doing himself permanent injury," He stopped at a door and motioned Gimli and Legolas in.

The room was richly over furnished. There was a patterned carpet and a tapestry on each wall, none of which matched. Despite the garish appearance, it looked comfortable enough. There were a couple of thickly padded wing backed chairs conveniently placed around a small table. Such an arrangement would undoubtedly be more comfortable than the wooden benches found in most common rooms and was also more convenient than eating off a tray in one's room.

"This will do nicely," Legolas said, grateful for such comfortable and well kept accomodations.

"Make yourselves comfortable and I'll be back in a thrice with the refreshments. For supper there's venison, just roasted today. I don't have a full larder for entertaining, but I suppose I could manage something else, if..." the innkeeper said somewhat doubtfully.

"Venison sounds good," Gimli interrupted.

"It will be up in just a moment," the innkeeper said, relieved, departing for the kitchens.

Legolas and Gimli enjoyed a pleasant meal and retired for the night to comfortable beds in clean rooms. The elf might have been just as happy sleeping under the stars, but Gimli greatly appreciated the unexpected convenience of a well run inn.

* * * * * * *

The next morning, Legolas and Gimli went to speak with Grenel, the tailor.

"Which house did the innkeeper say was his?" Legolas asked Gimli.

"He said it was the green one," Gimli answered.

There was a green house directly across from the inn. It consisted of one long central building and several sprawling additions, added to house a growing family. The two went over to the house and knocked on the front door. A young woman carrying a baby with a toddler clinging to her skirts answered the door. "What d'you want?" she said irritably.

"We're looking for Master Grenel," Legolas answered politely.

"Oh," she said turning back inside the house. Then she shouted "Uncle, you've got visitors," startling the visitors. "Come in, if you're coming," she said to Gimli and Legolas in a more normal tone of voice. "Uncle Grenel's coming," she added before leaving the room.

They ducked into the house through the low doorway, or at least the elf ducked. The main part of the house was one large hall with a hearth at the opposite end from where they were standing. It was furnished with heavy wood and leather couches and chairs which were crudely made but durable. The interior would have had a rather stark appearance but for the wooden toys strewn across the floor and the wet clothes hung to dry in front of the hearth.

An old man leaning heavily upon a cane hobbled in. "You gen'lemen wanted to see me?"

"You're Master Grenel?" Gimli asked.

"Aye, I'm Grenel. I 'spose my niece should have introduced me all proper like, but the childer gettin' ill and their father not taken'em out o' her hair has made her right tetchy," the old man said. "What can I be doing for ya?" he continued as he hobbled over to the nearest chair and took a seat.
Legolas pulled the tunic out of a pouch he'd been carrying, slung across his back next to his quiver and said, "We were told this was your handy work?" looking for confirmation.

Grenel took the tunic from the elf and after a glance at the seams said, "Aye, this is one o'mine. Why d'ya ask?"

Legolas and Gimli exchanged a look and decided to trust the old man, to an extent. "Men wearing tunics like this one were killed in an attempt on a very important person's life. We're trying to find the one who bought the tunics," explained Legolas.

"There was more'n one you said?" Grenel asked.

"Yes, there were more than a dozen," Gimli replied, not wanting to give away too many details.

"It must have been that merchant fella' then. That's the only order that big I ever made,"

"Merchant fellow?" Legolas said, asking for more details.

"Real oily sort. A right weasel. Came here for the fur trading and asked for twenty-three of them tunics. Almost didn't do it for him. I was glad of the custom but only so long as I was sure the payment was comin', if you see what I mean. Wouldn't have except he agreed to pay me up front."

"But, what was his name?" Gimli pressed.

"What was it? Setin, Sorin, Selin..." the old man muttered to himself. "I'm afraid I can't rightly remember. He did brag on the warehouses he had in Dunton."

"Dunton?" Gimli asked.

"Little spot over in Lebennin on the Celos. That's where they load the ships goin' down to the Great River," Grenel explained.

"Is there anything else you can remember? Anything at all?" Legolas asked.

"No, that'd be about it," Grenel said regretfully.

"Thank you, for what you did tell us. It should be enough to find him, even without the name," Gimli said graciously.

"I wish you luck in findin' 'im. I knew he was up to no good, just from lookin' at 'im," said Grenel.

"One other thing, before we take our leave, how is it that a place as small as Gorimet comes to have a tailor?" Legolas asked curiously.

"Gorimet don't have a tailor, not truly. I was a hunter for more'n thirty years, 'fore I busted my leg. The tailorin' is just somethin' folks give me to do to keep me feelin' useful," Grenel said with a self deprecating smile, clearly taking his forced change of career in stride.

"I see," said Legolas. "Thank you once again for your assistance, and we must be going. It appears we have another journey ahead of us."

They said their farewells, stopped by the inn to collect their things and re-provision, and set off for Dunton.

* * * * * *

Gimli and Legolas arrived in Dunton late one morning, several days later. Dunton wasn't very far from Gorimet, but there was more than one river that had to be crossed first. Riding up and down rivers looking for bridges or fords added time to the journey.

Questioning a few passersby quickly yielded the information they were looking for. The only man who fit all the criteria, merchant, warehouse owner, name beginning with an 's' and shifty in appearance, was Trader Sekin. Sekin was quite well off, owning several of the most centrally located warehouses. Sekin's great wealth and prominent position in the local economy was the only reason his presence was tolerated in Dunton. Not only did he have a disagreeable personality, he also possessed a reputation for dealing in the dark arts. When asked about Sekin, most of the townspeople assumed the inquiry was pursuant to a witch trial and were more than happy to explain Sekin's misdeeds, or supposed misdeeds, in detail.

As the friends approached Sekin's place of residence, a garishly decorated mansion on the outskirts of town, they discussed this new piece of information. "Do you think what those people said is true? Is he really a witch? Or is that just the imaginings of superstitious people upset by Sekin's shady business practices?" Gimli asked Legolas.

"It wouldn't be the first time accusations of witchcraft sprung from some motive other than truth, but it does fit together. He's connected to the assassination attempts through the tunics and there was witchcraft involved with the first attempt. Unless he has a partner in this, he would have to be a witch."

"That is what I was afraid you'd say," Gimli said with some consternation. "Asking a weasel of a merchant a few pointed questions is one thing.
Cornering a witch is something else. Dark magic makes me a bit nervous, when there's not some one, like Gandalf, well versed in such matter to help out."

"I share your concerns. Dark magic is not for the unwary to trifle with, but I doubt this Sekin will be too great a danger for us to take in hand. If he had truly great powers, he wouldn't still be a mere merchant. The lesser magics take time to prepare. We won't give him time enough to complete a ritual or a say a chant," Legolas reassured.

"Right. If he looks to be starting some magic we'll brain him. He won't be calling on the forces of darkness while he's unconscious."

The two reached the house, entered through the gate, walked up the front garden path, and knocked on the front door. A man, who could only be Sekin himself, answered the door. He was small, squinty eyed, and looked like a weasel. His overly rich clothing, silks, satins and velvets in an array of colors, confirmed his status as master of the house. When first answering the door, his expression was a mean and irritated one. After taking in the appearance of his callers, he tried to look more pleasant. "How may I serve you my lords?" he said obsequiously, bowing low. "Please come in, out of this dreadful weather." he continued, stepping back out of the doorway and opening the door a little wider.

"I would prefer it if you joined us out here. It is such a pleasant day," Legolas said looking as if he'd smelled something foul.

"Of course, whatever you'd prefer," Sekin agreed. "What business brings you to my doorstep? Buying or selling?"

"Neither," Gimli answered in a grim tone.

"Neither?" Sekin asked beginning to sense something wrong.

"We came to ask you what you know about this tunic," Legolas said taking the blood stained tunic out of his bag.

Sekin glanced at the tunic nervously, starting to sweat profusely. "I've never seen it before in my life. Common goods it looks. I only deal in valuable luxury items," he said quickly.

"Don't bother lying. We talked to the tailor. We know you're the one that bought it," Gimli contradicted.

"Yes, now that you mention it, maybe I did buy it. I bought some tunics to outfit my caravan guards. What of it? That's no crime." Sekin said nervously.

"And?" Legolas asked.

"And what?" Sekin replied.

"And what exactly did you hire those guards to do roughly two weeks ago?" Legolas pressed.

"Nothing. I-I haven't seen them in months, when my last shipment came in," Sekin stuttered out.

"He's lying," Legolas said to Gimli.

"Want me to hit him with my ax a few times? That might bring out the truth," Gimli answered conversationally.

"It might at that," Legolas replied in the same tone. "Try it, but be careful not to kill him. He needs to be able to talk."

Sekin looked from Legolas to Gimli and back again, assessing the seriousness of the threat; then he bolted. Sekin ran around the corner of the house with Legolas and Gimli at his heels. On that side of the house, there was a maze. Apparently, Sekin hoped to escape the elf and the dwarf by losing them in the shrubbery.

Sekin entered the maze ahead of Legolas and Gimli. When the two got inside, Sekin had already turned down one of the leafy corridors. "Which way?" Gimli asked.

Legolas held up a hand for silence, then said, "That way," pointing towards the right most path. They raced down the path Sekin had taken and caught sight of him within moments. Sekin, believing he had lost his pursuers had stopped to draw symbols on the ground with a stick.

"Quickly, he's doing a spell!" Gimli shouted.

Sekin, noticing their arrival, stepped inside the design on the ground and started to chant. Before Sekin was even halfway through the first line the elf
tackled him to the ground and knocked him unconscious.

"I never thought I'd see an elf execute that particular maneuver," Gimli observed as he approached the unconscious witch.

"I thought it wise to stop his ritual as soon as possible. I could feel the dark power rising," Legolas explained, dusting himself off.

"So he's definitely the witch then?"

"Yes, he reeks of dark magic. I knew him for what he was the minute I laid eyes upon him."

"What are we to do with him now? Take him back to Minas Tirith for questioning?"

"I suppose we should. Aragorn would be vexed with us if he didn't get to do the questioning himself," Legolas said rummaging in his bag.

"What are you looking for?" Gimli asked.

"Rope."

"That was good thinking, knowing to bring a bit of rope along. Wouldn't happen to have anything we could use for a gag or a blindfold?" Gimli said hopefully.

Legolas handed Gimli the rope, saying, "You tie him up. I don't want to touch him, if I can help it."

Gimli took the rope and started to tie Sekin up. "What about the gag and blindfold?" he asked the elf who was still cataloguing the items in his sack.

"I'm afraid we'll have to rip pieces from the tunic. Samwise Gangee only waxed eloquent on the myriad of uses for rope. He didn't mention spare bits of cloth. I didn't bring anything."

"Aragorn and Adam aren't going to like us ripping up pieces of evidence, but they'd like burying our spell blasted corpses less," Gimli assented to the suggestion. "Hand me the tunic."

After the dwarf had secured Sekin to his satisfaction, Legolas asked, "Can you manage him on your own or should I fetch the horse?"

"You're truly serious about not touching him?" Gimli said.

Legolas nodded in reply. "Touching those who have turned to darkness is tainting."

"But, it's acceptable for me to be tainted?" Gimli asked pointedly, but not with the antagonism which would have been present before their friendship developed. Gimli knew his friend wouldn't let him come to harm, but he was curious.

"Dwarves have a strong resistance to the powers of darkness. It would take considerably more than your carrying him about for his evilness to have any effect upon you," Legolas explained.

"Thought it might be something like that." Gimli said with some pride. He picked up Sekin and tossed him over his shoulder, none too gently. "He's light enough, but an awkward shape for carrying. You'd better fetch the horse."

Legolas went back around the house and returned a moment later, leading the horse. Gimli tossed the still unconscious Sekin on the horse and the they started walking back to town. "Hauling him across country with you not touching him isn't going to be easy," Gimli observed.

"I was just thinking that myself. Perhaps we should sail to Minas Tirith?" Legolas suggested.

"That will certainly be faster," Gimli agreed, knowing of his friend's new found love of boats. They'd spend this trip sailing upon rivers rather than going out to sea, but anytime spent upon water was agreeable to Legolas.

"When we get back to town, we'll hire a ship," Legolas said with a happy grin.


Chapter 8

Meanwhile, back on earth, a phone was ringing...

"Hello?" Duncan answered distractedly as he finished folding a shirt.

"Hey, Mac. What's up?" Joe asked. "I thought you were flying back to Seacouver last week."

"I was, but there was some bad weather and a lot of flights were canceled. I should be on a plane tomorrow morning. I'm packing as we speak," the Highlander answered, feeling slightly harassed. He didn't mind Joe keeping tabs on him, but every minute didn't need to be accounted for.

"Good, I was worried you'd gotten into some trouble. You know how trouble likes to follow you around," Joe said in his own defense. "But, that's not the reason I called. I finally got some info on Adam."

"What'd you find out?" MacLeod asked, putting down the sweater he was folding, suddenly more interested in the conversation.

"It's strange. I tracked down the Watcher of the Immortal hunting Adam. Her assignment was Nathan Grey a 97 year old Immortal who made a habit of hunting the young and helpless. He wasn't known for being very good with a sword. My best guess is he went after Adam thinking he was a newbie and bit off more than he could chew," Joe explained.

"So Methos definitely won the challenge, what's strange about it and where is he now?"

"I'm getting to that part. Grey's Watcher followed Grey to Switzerland where he challenged an Immortal unknown to the Watcher. Grey challenges this Immortal out in the hills somewhere. So far so good. Then, after the fight begins, the Watcher goes off into the trees to get a safe distance from the quickening. She sees the light show and waits for the winner to come down, but no one comes down the hill. After an hour or two she went back up to investigate. There she finds Grey's corpse and the other Immortal's backpack, but there's no sign of the other Immortal."

"That is strange," MacLeod replied. "Methos could have left without the Watcher noticing, but why would he leave behind his bag? Leaving evidence isn't like him."

"That's what I thought. So I did a little more checking. I called the local inn. They hadn't had an Adam Pierson, but there was a Mike Adams fitting his description staying there about five months ago. The clerk remembered him in particular because halfway through his scheduled visit, on the same day as that challenge, he suddenly disappeared, leaving all his stuff in his room. Then the police got involved. They found his rental car abandoned on the side of the road, near where that fight took place."

"I thought he was going to stop using Adam names for awhile. Are you positive Mike Adams is Methos?" Duncan asked.

"As certain as I can be without seeing him in person. The clerk described him down to the aristocratic nose and wrinkled clothes. He even mentioned the tendency to wax poetic about beer. Mike Adams is probably one of his half dozen back up IDs and he couldn't resist using it at least once before discarding it."

"That does sound like him. Why can't he travel under his own name, like any normal person?"

"Hasn't he said something about not wanting to stay in any place Adam Pierson could afford?"

"Numerous times, usually while he's inviting himself to my couch. What do you think happened to him? It had to be something pretty big, or he would have packed his things," Duncan said, worried for his annoying friend's welfare.

"I don't know. Kidnapping? An old enemy chasing him? There could be any number of reasons."

"Kidnapping? A lot of people think 'Adam Pierson' was my student. It could be another Immortal trying to get to me," MacLeod said with guilt. He had too much experience with enemies striking at him through his friends.

"This happened nearly five months ago. If it had anything to do with you, you'd have heard about it by now. Adam can make enemies all by himself," Joe admonished the Highlander.

"I suppose that's true," Duncan answered a little sheepishly, realizing that yet again he was taking on responsibility for things beyond his control. That particular habit was one his friends were valiantly trying to break him of, but with little success. "Whatever happened, the only clues left behind are sure to be in Switzerland. I think I should cancel my flight and go to Switzerland instead."

"I'll meet you there in a few days."

"You don't have to come. I thought you were having staff problems at the bar."

"All sorted out. Even if they weren't, I could hardly let you investigate a mysterious disappearance without me. What if you suddenly disappeared too? Watcher Headquarters would never forgive me. Besides, two heads are better than one."

"Right, see you there then," Duncan said, grateful to have some help getting to the bottom of things. He'd run into a few mysteries in need of solving over the course of four centuries, but expert detective he wasn't.

"See you in a few days."

* * * * * *

Back in Middle-earth...

A couple days after capturing Sekin, Legolas and Gimli arrived in Minas Tirith with the morning tide, bringing with them their securely tied and gagged cargo. Sekin was confined to a special cell which was warded against magic. It was located in the little used dungeon underneath the citadel. After safely depositing their prisoner, Gimli and Legolas went to see the king in his private study.

"You're certain this Sekin was the one who arranged the attempts on my life?" Aragorn asked.

"Positive. He admitted using witchcraft on the concrete supports and to hiring those men," Legolas said.

"I'm surprised he was so forthcoming," Aragorn replied. "Did he also explain why he did it?"

"That he wouldn't budge on. Couldn't get a peep out of him on that score," Gimli said with some chagrin. "After he knew there was no wiggling out of
the charges, he volunteered all the details of how he arranged it all, but wouldn't say a word about his motives."

"Why wouldn't he say?" the king mused aloud. "Could he be protecting someone?"

"That is a possibility," Legolas said skeptically, "but it would be very... unusual. Normally, practitioners of death magic are only loyal to themselves. I can't imagine Sekin, a man who has delved far into the darkness in search of power, not trying to bargain for his life by turning on his associates."

"If he isn't protecting someone, why not explain, have his sentence changed from hanging to beheading?" Aragorn asked.

"Perhaps, he's protecting himself from one of his associates," suggested a voice from the other side of the room. "He knows you're going to kill him, but no more than that. Perhaps if he says the wrong thing, someone else will do something a lot worse to him," Methos explained himself as he approached the three friends.

"That explanation does seem the most likely one," Legolas agreed. "There are things worse than death and I'm sure a witch would be familiar with more than one of them."

"He did flinch a little when the subject of why he did what he did came up," Gimli added.

"So he's more afraid of whomever he's protecting than he is of us," Aragorn summed up the situation. "I assume this person is the one actually behind the attacks. Now the question is: How do we persuade this Sekin to tell us what he knows?"

"That's easy. We just have to make him more afraid of us than he is of the other guy," Methos said flippantly.

"Easier said than done. He knows he will be hung for treason and is unafraid," Aragorn said.

"Torture?" Gimli asked with some distaste. Dwarves usually avoided such dishonorable tactics, but their innate pragmatism didn't allow them to completely dismiss the possibility.

"No," Aragorn said with conviction. "I will not sink to taking up evil practices in the name of good and expediency."

"Of that I am glad," Legolas supported Aragorn's decision. "If you were a man of lesser principles, I could not call you friend."

"I don't relish the thought of torture myself," Gimli said a bit defensively.

Methos was quiet during this particular interchange, but his superior, patronizing-the-naive-children expression spoke volumes.

Taking in Methos's expression, Aragorn said pointedly, "Methos, do you have a suggestion to make?" Aragorn put stress upon the 'Methos,' emphasizing by his choice of name Methos's millennia of experience.

"Yes, actually I do," Methos replied conversationally. Then in his best teacher-with-dense-students voice he explained, "The reason Sekin isn't afraid of us is because he knows we're the good guys and therefore probably aren't going to torture him. All we have to do is convince him otherwise."

"But we aren't going to torture him," Gimli interrupted.

"Please, save all questions and comments till the end. I'm getting to that part," Methos continued. "The part of torture which makes it truly effective isn't the pain. It's the fear. That means we don't have to actually do anything to him, we only have to make him think we will."

"And how do we do that?" Legolas inquired.

"Well, we don't. He'd never believe an elf would stoop so low. Thinking that King Elessar, poster boy for honor and nobility, would countenance such a thing is equally ridiculous," said Methos.

"Poster boy?" Aragorn said in a slightly warning tone, implying that Methos had perhaps overstepped his bounds just a little.

"It's a compliment. It means you're the archetype, the role model, the person mothers hold up as an example to their sons," Methos answered smoothly.

"I see." Aragorn answered dryly, not buying Methos's explanation and suspecting he was being made into a figure of fun.

"If we can return to the matter at hand..." Gimli interjected. "If Legolas and Aragorn aren't going to scare Sekin, who is?"

"I am and perhaps you as well," Methos said brightly. "He won't believe Aragorn'd torture him, but he might believe that the king's more pragmatic friends would take it upon themselves to do it for him."

"He must know I would put a stop to any such action," Aragorn pointed out.

"But, you can't stop what you don't know about," Methos argued.

"Are you certain you can maintain such a deception?" Legolas asked.

"Positive," Methos confirmed.

"I suppose there is nothing to lose. Try your bluff," Aragorn ordered.

"Gimli, are you in?" Methos asked the dwarf.

Gimli paused, considering, "It sounds like fun, but I'm unused to deception. I will leave it to the master," Gimli said with a nod, getting in a minor dig at 'Adam' for keeping his immortality a secret. Gimli knew how to hold a grudge, even a minor one.

"When will you begin?" Aragorn asked.

"No time like the present," Methos said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "I'll need a few supplies though."

"Supplies?" Legolas asked.

"An actor needs props," Methos said with a wicked grin.

* * * * * *

"The scene should play out like this," Methos said to Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas as they went down to the dungeons. "First, the four of us pay Sekin a visit. You three bluster, threaten unconvincingly, that sort of thing. Tell him you're going to hang him. Then, after he refuses to talk, I suggest we give him some time alone to think about it. A few minutes later, or whenever those guards get here with my props, I come back alone saying that what the king doesn't know won't hurt me and start preparations for torture."

"And you think that will be enough to make him talk?" Legolas asked.

"Trust me. I know what I'm doing. If he's half as spineless as your description makes him out to be, we'll know everything before lunch time," Methos reassured.

"Let us get on with it then. The sooner this is over, the better I'll feel," Aragorn said, impatient to finally end the matter.

Methos unlocked the cell door, using the key provided by the guard, swung it open and motioned the others inside, "After you gentlemen."

Sekin looked a pitiful figure, his elaborate robes soiled and torn from his captivity. He was also looking the picture of despair, his head cradled in his hands and chains dangling down from the shackles on his wrists.

"I assume you've had a chance to discover the properties of this cell. I've been told that having a spell blocked can be a rather painful experience," said Aragorn.

"You were told right Your Majesty," Sekin said bitterly, looking up from his chains to reveal a heavily lined face.

Legolas gasped in surprise and said accusingly, "You were using magic to stay young." He then turned to his friends and explained, "That is one of the worst of the forbidden magics. Trying to undo the will of Illuvatar is the first and greatest evil."

"Why should men care about Illuvatar? He only cared for the elves. They get to stay young and beautiful forever. And what do we get? We get disease, and old age, and death. I was only looking out for myself, taking what I deserved," Sekin vehemently proclaimed.

"The penalty for seeking immortality is death," Aragorn said darkly. "The mistakes which lead to the destruction of Numenor are not to be repeated."

Sekin cackled at this piece of information. "Kill me twice then. Once for treason and again for seeking immortality. But, then again, if you kill me, you'll never know why I tried to kill you or if I'm leaving someone who'll complete the task behind," he said mockingly.

"I wouldn't be so sure of my safety if I were you," Legolas threatened hand on the hilt of his knife. Pushed too far by Sekin's perversity, Legolas took a step toward the prisoner, murder in his eyes.

"Wait!" Gimli said, laying a restraining hand upon his friend's arm. "He's only trying to provoke us and cheat the hangman."

Methos, feeling he'd better step in before the situation got too out of control, said in a reasonable tone of voice, "Your Majesty, perhaps we should leave the prisoner alone for awhile to contemplate his situation. He should be ready to talk once the reality of it starts to set in."

"But..." the elf protested, still too offended by the latest revelation of Sekin's wrong doings to want to stick to the plan.

Methos shot Gimli a pleading look and the dwarf decided on the best tactic for getting the elf out of the room. "A truly just punishment it is, letting him rot down here," said Gimli.

"What?" Legolas asked, startled out of his fixation.

"He tried to stop aging and now he sits chained to that wall, unable to do anything while his spells crumble and he gets very old, very swiftly. It seems just," Gimli explained.

"Yes, it is very appropriate," Legolas agreed.

"Let us follow Adam's suggestion then, and leave our guest alone to ponder his old age," Aragorn said.

Then the four exited the cell and locked the door behind them.

"As soon as Torin and Boric arrive we'll get started with phase two of the plan," Methos said with some anticipation. "The first part got a little off track, but played beautifully." Just then two burly guards rounded the corner carrying a large wooden table. "Here they are now," Methos said to no one in particular.

The guards approached and set the table down in front of Methos. "I hope this table'll do sir, it's the closest we could find to what you asked for," the slightly older of the two guards said.

Methos inspected the table closely. "This will work perfectly. An oval table will do just as well as a rectangular one. We're just going to strap the prisoner to it. How did you do with the rest of the props?"

"I went down to the healers and borrowed a set of the restraints they use for amputations," said the man as he pulled a tangle of leather straps from the front of his tunic and handed them to Methos.

"These are perfect," Methos said after examining the restraints.

"Torin got a set of carving knives from a carpenter. Show'em Torin," the older man continued. Torin pulled out a roll of cloth he had stuffed in his belt and flung it open. Inside was an array of knives and other tools which appeared to be likely torture implements.

"Those should do nicely," Methos said. "But what about the brazier?"

"We left that right around the corner. We couldn't carry it and the table at the same time and I thought the fewer who knew about this the better so couldn't ask a servant to help," Boric explained.

"Good thinking. I'm sure it is just what I asked for," Methos said generously, pleased with Boric and Torin's handy work thus far.

Aragorn seeing all this and starting to feel slightly uneasy asked, "Could you be a little more specific about what 'this' is? You did promise to stop short of actually torturing Sekin."

"Not to worry. Sekin will tell us all he know without me putting a scratch on him. But, I can't bluff with just a speech. He'll be expecting that. I have to set the stage a bit, get all the proper equipment together including my menacing henchmen," Methos explained, motioning at Torin and Boric.

"These are menacing henchmen?" Gimli asked incredulously, taking in the guards' open, honest faces and friendly, helpful demeanors, .

"Don't underestimate Boric and Torin, sons of master thespian Koric. They've been acting since they were in diapers and have been kind enough to assist with our little charade," Methos explained.

Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn still looked a little skeptical. "Perhaps a demonstration, my lords," Boric suggested.

"Excellent idea," Methos said. "You two need to be in character soon anyway."

"Right then," Boric said in agreement. Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and before their very eyes transformed into another man. Without saying a word, the competent, yet unassuming man disappeared to be replaced by someone slightly shifty and more than a little dangerous.

"Remarkable," Legolas said. "I don't think I would have recognized Master Boric as the same person if I had not seen the transformation myself."

"I'm beginning to think this might actually work," Aragorn added. "There are spy holes along the other side of the cell. We'll watch the show from there and let you get on with your work."

Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn turned down an adjacent hall and out of sight. As the three walked away, Methos could be heard saying to his assistants,
"Let's go over this one more time before we begin..."


Chapter 9

Methos walked into the cell, carefully assessing the dimensions, trying to decide what to put where. He carefully kept his manner very casual, as if he were sizing up a window for new drapery.

Sekin, a little unsettled by Methos's strange behavior, looked nervously about the room, trying to figure out what the other man was so interested in. "I'm still not going to tell you anything," Sekin said with false bravado, trying to keep his courage up.

'I have him on the run already,' Methos thought to himself. 'Shifty little weasels. They're all alike. Know the rules of the game, think they hold all the cards and they're fearless. Change the rules a little and they fall all to pieces. But, he's clever. I'll have to be careful not to overplay my hand.' Methos, never actually looking at Sekin in order to emphasize the man's unimportance, said matter of factly, "I didn't think you would, yet. But, you will... eventually. We have all afternoon."

"You're bluffing," Sekin said loudly, not entirely sure of that fact. The 5,000-year-old Immortal didn't look like a man who was bluffing.
Just then, there was a knock on the cell door. Methos opened the door and waved the two guards carrying a large table inside. 'Right on cue,' Methos thought. "Better put that over there against the wall," he said pointing at the wall opposite Sekin's wooden pallet. "Did you bring the shackles?" he asked the men.

"I couldn't get manacles without raising suspicions. I brought some leather cuffs instead. They should do well enough for a runt like that," Torin said, nodding over at Sekin, as his brother and him finished setting the table in place.

"As long as he's held firmly in place, I don't suppose it matters. I just don't want him squirming too much." Methos shot an assessing glance over at the increasingly nervous Sekin. "Strap him down. Don't remove the chains. I don't know if they have anything to do with binding his magic, and I don't care to find out."

Torin and Boric untangled the leather restraints Boric had bundled inside his tunic and started toward Sekin. "Wait! Wait!" Sekin shouted shrilly. "The king ordered that I not be tortured. You can't do this!"

"Yes, that was very kind of him, but not very practical. Fortunately for the kingdom of Gondor, the king isn't here right now and what he doesn't know won't hurt me," Methos explained in a good natured manner as Sekin was being dragged toward the table.

"Stop! You can't do this!" Sekin shouted in panic, as the guards strapped him to the table, spread eagle.

"Make sure to tie him tightly. I don't want him working a hand free once we've begun," Methos instructed the brothers.

"Yes sir," Boric answered pulling an ankle strap tighter and causing Sekin to wince in pain.

"Stop it. Let me up, now!" Sekin demanded.

"You can stop this anytime you want. All you have to do is tell me who hired you," Methos replied in a reasonable tone.

"I... I..." Sekin started then trailed off a calculating look entering his eyes. "You almost had me there. I almost believed your bluff and caused myself more pain than anything you'd do to me. You're good, but not good enough," Sekin said with a sneer. The fear hadn't completely left his eyes, but Sekin was definitely feeling more confident than he was just a moment before.

'Damn. I moved too soon. It's going to take a lot to recover the ground I just lost.' Methos berated himself. Then he gave Sekin his best 'Death' grin and said, "I was hoping you'd say that. There's something I've been wanting to try for years, but an opportunity has never presented itself, until now."

Dropping back to a more normal expression, Methos turned to the guards and asked, "What have you brought me?"

"Here, my lord," Boric said, giving Methos the roll of carpenter's tools.

Methos unrolled the tools on the table Sekin was strapped to. He stared at them a minute, a look of consternation on his face and said, "What are these? I asked for surgeon's knives not workman's tools."

"I'm sorry sir," Torin said obsequiously. "I couldn't find any doctoring kits for sale. Carpenter's tools were the best I could do."

Methos leveled a displeased look at Torin, and Torin flinched back in fear. "I suppose these will have to do," Methos said with some irritation. "Did you at least find a brazier like I asked for?" he continued, clearly put out with all the substitutions.

"Yes my lord. It's right out side. We'll fetch it in and get the fire started, right away sir," Boric said.

"Very well," Methos replied in dismissal.

The two guards quickly exited the room with looks of relief, grateful their master had not taken issue with the substitutions. Or at least that's the way the situation looked from the outside. 'A remarkable job those two are doing,' Methos congratulated himself on his choice of assistants. 'I almost believe they are scared of me.'

Methos started to rearrange the carpentry tools which were laid out beside Sekin. Occasionally, he would pick one up and examine it in the slanting rays of light coming in through a small grate near the ceiling. Then he began to sharpen one of the smaller carving knives. "Good servants are hard to find," he said casually. "I ask for a very specific item and they bring me an inferior substitute. I suppose I must contrive," he added with a sigh of resignation sounding more like a lord complaining about having to eat dessert with a salad fork than a man bent on torture.

Boric and Torin returned with the brazier and placed it at the foot of the table. Torin then took out a tender box and lit the coals inside. "Will there be anything else sir?" Boric asked when the task was done.

"No, that will be all for now. But, stay close, in case I need something." Methos ordered. Boric and Torin left the cell closing the door behind them.
Once again Sekin was growing nervous. He was sweating profusely. 'Good, I have him off balance again,' Methos observed to himself. 'I need to keep him involved.'

"You've suddenly grown quiet," Methos said to Sekin. "No questions, comments, or snide remarks to make?"

Sekin swallowed nervously then said in a slightly shaky voice, "Actually, I do have a question. What is it you always wanted to try, exactly?"

"Excellent question," Methos said encouragingly, in the same manner he'd use with a bright student in one of his lectures. Then he paused and with a thoughtful look said, "But, I'm not sure I should tell you, then I might not get to try it after all."

Sekin paled in fear. He was starting to think his opponent was a mad man, which would mean very bad things for Sekin. Mad men are unpredictable and if Methos were such a one, Sekin had very little hope of gaining the upper hand.

Methos taking in Sekin's appearance was very encouraged. 'It won't take much more to nudge him right over the edge,' Methos thought. "I did invite the question myself, I suppose it's only fair that I answer," Methos said. "What I plan for this afternoon is an experiment."

"An experiment?" Sekin said with growing trepidation.

"Yes, an experiment," Methos answered. 'Careful, carefully now. I won't get another chance if I screw this up,' Methos thought, deciding that reliance upon the truth would be the safest path to success. "You see my brother, Caspian, always said skinning people whilst keeping them alive was the mark of a true artist. Now I always thought fire would be the best way to do that, cauterizing the wounds to prevent the subject from bleeding to death. But, Caspian insisted that fire would only slow the operation and the subject's heart would give out before he was through. Caspian had far more experience at this sort of thing than I ever will, that much I'll grant you. But, he was also insane. He tormented the helpless simply for the joy of inflicting pain, not the best frame of mind for making rational observations. I, on the other hand, am only interested in furthering my knowledge of human endurance." As he gave this speech he was busily cleaning blades and placing things in the fire to heat. "Now then. I believe we're ready to begin."

"I don't believe you. You're making that up," Sekin said, hoping what he said was true, but not really believing it.

"Perhaps I am," Methos said, cutting away Sekin's clothes. "You'll find out in a minute, won't you?"

Sekin's gaze darted around the room, as he tried to find a way out of his predicament. Triumph momentarily flashed in his eyes as he got an idea.
"How are you going to explain my skinned corpse to your king?" Sekin asked.

"Did you know that if you were to try a high level spell in here the backlash might actually burn you to ash?" Methos countered.

Sekin's eyes widened as he became increasingly sure his captor was really going to go through with it. "You don't actually mean to go through with this. What if the king were to find out about this?"

"Then things would go very badly for me, which is why I'm making sure the king doesn't find out," Methos answered as he cut away the last of Sekin's clothes, leaving Sekin's unsightly wrinkled, goose-pimpled, flesh open to the chill air. "Now what am I forgetting?" Methos muttered to himself. "Of course, an apron." Then he went to the door, stepped outside, and asked Boric to fetch him an apron.

"Sorry for the delay," Methos said politely. "I forgot to ask for an apron. My man shouldn't be but a minute fetching one from the kitchen."

"An apron?" Sekin said.

"Yes, an apron. Blood splatters you know."

Sekin stared up at the ceiling, his eyes glazed with fear, and thought over his situation. 'He's cracking. I knew the kindly professor routine would get to him. No late night creature features here. He has no idea what to make of a mad scientist,' Methos thought gleefully.

Boric returned with the apron, then left the room. Methos tied on the apron and said, "Finally, down to business," He picked up the small knife he'd just sharpened and barely touched it to the skin over Sekin's collarbone.

"Wait! I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything," Sekin gasped out, afraid of what Methos was going to do.

"You will?" Methos said putting the knife down and sounding a touch disappointed.

"Yes, I'll tell you all of it, on one condition. Immediately after I tell you, you have to kill me and burn my body to ash this very night."

"I am the one with the knife here. You don't get to set conditions," Methos reminded, giving the impression that he really didn't want to give up this "opportunity." 'I've hooked him. Now I just have to reel him in before he wriggles free of our little deception,' he thought.

"It's the only way I'm telling you anything. I'd rather be skinned than risk what might happen to my still mostly intact corpse. You have to swear to me that my body will be burned to ash or your precious king will never know who wants him dead until too late," Sekin said nastily, getting one last dig in before his inevitable death.

Methos paused, as if considering Sekin's offer very carefully. In fact, there was no real question of whether or not he was going to take it. Then after what Methos deemed an acceptable period time to keep up the charade had passed, he said, "I suppose that's an acceptable condition. I swear to kill you quickly and burn the corpse tonight. But, why?" Methos said honestly curious about the reason for Sekin's request.

"My master. He is a necromancer. If you don't completely destroy my body he will resurrect me and make me his slave, for eternity."

"Ah, I see. Now tell me, who is this master of yours?" Methos asked.

"I don't know. I never saw his face."

"Now, Sekin. I thought you were going to cooperate," Methos said menacingly, arching one eyebrow.

"I am. I'll tell you everything I know, but I truly don't know who he is," Sekin said pleadingly.

"Very well. Start from the beginning. Tell me how you met this necromancer, and don't leave anything out," Methos ordered. Then he walked over to the wooden pallet, and took a seat, settling in to listen.

"It started a few years ago. I was looking for some supplies for the youth spell. My usual supplier couldn't get me everything I needed, but agreed to ask around for me. Then late one night, a man cloaked and hooded came to my door. He said he'd heard that I was looking for some items and that he had them available for sale."

"What sort of items?" Methos interrupted.

"Eyes and tongue of a maiden," said Sekin.

"Go on," Methos said evenly, keeping his disgust carefully concealed in order to preserve the charade.

"I bought them. The same thing happened repeatedly for more than a year. I'd ask my normal man for some ingredient or other. He wouldn't have it. Then a few days or weeks later the man would show up and sell it too me.

"Then one night he showed up and I hadn't asked for anything. He told me to kill the king. I said I wouldn't do it. It was too dangerous and there was nothing in it for me. He said it was a lot more dangerous if I didn't do it. He'd turn me in as a witch, if he didn't just add me to his 'collection.' And, if I did do it I could get elven eyes for my spell, because he wanted to add the Queen to his 'collection' and I could have the leftover bits. So I agreed to kill the king," Sekin finished explaining.

"His 'collection,' what's that?" Methos asked somewhat puzzled.

"That's how I knew he was a necromancer. When they reanimate the dead, they cut out the eyes to separate the soul from the body. Otherwise it will have a will of its own when it comes back," Sekin explained.

"Why would he send you after the king, if he only wanted Lady Arwen?" Methos asked.

"That was the strange part. He said Arwen would never love him if the king was still around. But, necromancers are all a bit mad."

"And witches are the epitome of sanity," Methos said dryly. "Is there anything else you can tell me about this necromancer? Anything at all?"

Sekin thought for a minute, then said, "He stuttered."

Methos stood and started pacing the room. "The mercenaries. Did you hire them yourself?"

"No, I couldn't afford them. The necromancer put them at my disposal when I first agreed to help him."

"Do you trade with the east?"

"No, only nobles have the wealth necessary to fund such long expeditions."

"It all fits together then. A member of the court, with eastern connections, a fixation on the queen, and a stutter. It has to be Landon," Methos said, thinking aloud.

"You know who it is now, you'll not forget out bargain," Sekin reminded, nervously.

"I won't," Methos said picking a knife up from the table and circling around to Sekin's head. "Are you ready?"

Sekin swallowed nervously and tried to resign himself to his fate. From the time he was captured he knew that a quick, permanent, death was the best he could hope for, but that knowledge didn't make it any easier to accept. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and gave a jerky nod.

Methos swiftly and professionally ran his blade across Sekin's throat. The witch was dead in seconds.

* * * * * *

Aragorn, followed closely by Legolas and Gimli, rushed in the door. "You swore to me that this was only a deception," Aragorn said with righteous anger.

"It was. I didn't torture him," Methos protested.

"But, you killed him," Aragorn replied shocked at Methos's behavior.

"It was what he wanted. Besides, he was just going to be executed anyway," Methos defended his actions.

Legolas laid a restraining hand upon Aragorn's shoulder and said, "I too am much perturbed by Adam's cold blooded slaughter of a helpless man, but he does have a point. He did agree to kill Sekin, if Sekin told him what he could. He couldn't honorably not kill Sekin."

"That is true, but Adam still overstepped the bounds set for him," Aragorn relented a bit, his temper cooled by reason.

"I offer an abject apology. I was over zealous in the execution of the task set before me. What can I do to make amends?" Methos said sincerely, executing a courtly bow, the likes of which had not been seen since the first time he sparred with Aragorn and the two men got to be friends.

"You can see to the second half of Sekin's request," said Aragorn.

"Of course, my lord. I will see to it immediately."

"You will see to it personally," Aragorn added.

"Personally?" Methos asked, regretting his offer to make amends.

"Yes, personally. And you had best start soon. A fresh corpse can take most of the day to burn to ash."

"Yes, your Majesty," Methos said not liking this turn of events at all. Minding a burning corpse was going to be an extremely unpleasant task.
Gimli, who'd remained silent throughout this interchange, asked, "Where's Landon?"

All the color drained from Aragorn's face. "He was bringing Arwen silk samples from his latest shipment today."

"Surely, nothing can happen to her here. All of her ladies will be around," Gimli said

"But, they aren't, they went on a picnic. Arwen's alone," Aragorn said as if in a trance.

The four men looked at one another, then as one they ran from the cell and up the dungeon stairs.

* * * * * *

Legolas was the first to reach the queen's solar. The other three arrived shortly afterwards, Aragorn and Methos out of breath from running across the palace. There they were greeted by an unsettling sight.

Arwen was sitting on the floor, her skirts spread around her, pretty as a picture. Pretty, until one noticed the blood spreading from Landon's cooling body and soaking her skirt. Arwen was sitting there, still as a statue, staring at the jeweled handle of dagger embedded in Landon's chest.

"Arwen?" Aragorn said, both relieved to find her alive and worried by the lost look in her eyes.

Arwen, only then noticing the presence of others in the room, jumped up and ran to her husband, tears running down her face. Aragorn held her tightly to him and whispered reassuringly to her, "It's over now. He's gone."

Arwen, not knowing of the recent discoveries in the dungeon, tried to explain. "He was confused. He thought I'd love him if he could take me away from here. I didn't want to kill him, but he went mad when I rejected him. I had no choice. If only I'd realized before how obsessed he was... This could have been prevented. He didn't have to die," she said in a broken voice.

Aragorn was at a loss for words. He didn't know what to tell Arwen to make her feel better. Would knowing of Landon's evil make things better or worse? Methos, seeing Aragorn's situation, interjected, "Landon's the one behind the attempts on Aragorn's life."

That got Arwen's attention right away. "Landon tried to kill you?" Arwen asked of her husband, swiftly pulling out of her personal grief and guilt.

"Yes, he was the man. He was also practicing necromancy," Aragorn confirmed.

Arwen's eyes narrowed in anger, the knowledge of Landon's evil deeds quickly dissipating the sympathy she felt for him. She could forgive his obsession with her, but she couldn't forgive a threat to the life of her beloved husband. "How could I have been so foolish? I never suspected he was anything more than a harmless merchant."

"None of us suspected him, my lady," said Legolas.

"Come, I'll walk you back to our quarters so that you can bathe and change," Aragorn said to his wife.

"Yes, I want to wash away this blood as soon as possible. It is beginning to itch." Arwen agreed, dismissing Landon from her mind.

"Adam, I believe you have a task to see to?" Aragorn reminded, then the royal couple swept out of the room.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to do that, Landon being dead and not in a zombie making position," Methos said.

"A promise is a promise," Gimli reminded.

"I had better get started then," Methos grumbled unhappily. Then he left to collect Sekin's body from the dungeon.

"We should see that Landon is properly disposed of as well," Legolas said. "I vaguely recall a story about a necromancer who could bring himself back from the dead."

Gimli winced and said, "I suppose you're right. I certainly don't want to take any chances on him coming back."

Everyone set about their assigned tasks for tying up the loose ends. The threat to the king's life was officially ended. All that was left was cleaning up the mess.


Chapter 10

Landon and his lackey were dead. Their bodies were burnt to ash and scattered at sea so that they could never return. Landon's 'collection' was found at his estate, once again lifeless, the animating magic having drained away upon the necromancer's death. The mutilated bodies of several once beautiful girls were buried with all the appropriate honors. All the loose ends were tied tightly, and things could finally return to normal in Gondor's royal city.

Gimli and Legolas made plans for their long postponed departures. Legolas intended to spend some time in the elvish settlement he had begun in Ithilien. Gimli wanted to make a return trip to the Glittering Caves. Now that the immediate threat had past, they felt safe in separating for a time.
Methos was also considering a trip. The way home was still unclear, but now there was time to investigate. He'd enjoyed his time in Middle-earth but was missing his friends at home. He'd grown quite fond of Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn in the year he'd known them, but there were too many things he couldn't share with them. He'd gotten used to being around people who knew the whole story and accepted him anyway. Methos missed that. The recent tension, arising from what he did to Sekin, served to underscore the matter.

The evening after the Landon incident was wrapped up, Methos made mention of his desire to find the way home. Legolas and Gimli, conscious of their previous offer to help, suggested the three of them ride out to the place Methos had been found and search for markings. Methos agreed, and they decided to set out the next morning.

* * * * * *

The three set out early that morning but not at the crack of dawn. This expedition wasn't an urgent one and the clearing was only a couple hours away. They rode throughout the morning in an uncomfortable silence. Legolas kept giving Methos contemplative looks, as if trying to figure the Immortal out. Methos noticed the looks but wasn't planning on saying anything unless he had to. Gimli noticed this interchange but didn't take part.
They arrived at the site, mid-morning. "Finally," Gimli said, relieved to be off the horse.

Methos looked around the clearing and said, somewhat disappointedly, "I don't see any markers."

"Nor do I," said the elf, "but there is something here. This clearing is too perfectly circular to be natural."

"Now that you mention it, that is a bit odd," Methos replied, a little more encouraged.

"What are we looking for, exactly?" Gimli asked.

"I'm not sure. On the other end, there was a circle of short round stones covered in carvings, surrounding a single center stone. I don't know what form the circle will take here. However, the shape of the clearing indicates there is one of some sort. We'll just have to look around."

"If there was a center stone there, shouldn't there be a center marker here?" Legolas asked.

"There's a thought," Methos said walking to the very center of the clearing. He kneeled down to inspect the ground at the center more closely. "Well, there's no stone, but come see if this looks odd to you," he said to his companions.

Legolas and Gimli went to see what Methos was referring to. It was a roughly two-foot wide, perfectly circular, depression. "That does look a bit odd," Gimli agreed. "I'd be interested to see what was under there, causing such an odd lay of land."

"As would I," Methos added. "I'll go fetch a shovel," he said, heading back to where their horses were tethered. They'd brought a pack horse along, laden with a variety of useful equipment.

When Methos returned, Gimli took the shovel from him and bent to work. Starting at the edge of the depression, Gimli pushed the blade of the shovel into the soft soil. When he had only pushed the blade in half way, he hit stone. "There's something down there," he said. "I believe we've found what we were looking for."

Gimli continued digging. Legolas and Methos retrieved shovels from the pack horse and started to help. The circle was swiftly cleared of dirt. Underneath, they found a hollow stone hemisphere covered in carvings. Methos knelt to give their find a closer inspection, brushing the carvings free of dirt, "This is most definitely it. Once I can read these marks I should be able to return home... I think."

"They are not in a language of your world?" Legolas asked. "I do not recognize the characters."

"I'd be surprised if you did. The letters are Greek, from my world, but the language isn't. It's probably a language of Middle-earth. That would match what I found on the other stones, a combination of Middle-earth's and my earth's languages," Methos explained.

"You can read some of this then?" Gimli asked.

"Not exactly. I can sound it out, but it all looks like gibberish to me. 'Sayerkee kawen...'" Methos tried reading a few lines.

Legolas, looking thoughtful, said, "It might be Quenya. That first part sounded a little like high elvish."

"That seems a likely possibility. Actually, I'm surprised it sounds like anything recognizable. I'm probably butchering the pronunciation. The Greek alphabet doesn't appear to be the best suited to whichever language this is. There are letter combinations here which would never be used in Greek."

"But you can translate it, given enough time?" Gimli asked.

"Yes, given enough time." Methos shrugged. "Maybe we should look around for the other markers?"

Gimli nodded his assent and gave out the assignments, the dwarf was accustomed to organizing work crews, "Methos, you start on that side," he said pointing across the circle. "Legolas and I will begin closer to the road."

The three worked the rest of the morning, and by noon a ring of six shallow stone depressions had been uncovered. At that point they decided to stop for a meal. They would start making notes of their discovery, for later study, after a rest.

Once the mid-day meal was unpacked and the three settled in to eat it, the uncomfortable silence of the morning descended again. The elf returned to giving the Immortal speculative glances. The Immortal returned to intentionally not answering the questions he knew the elf had in mind. The dwarf took the situation in without comment. The meal went on and the situation got increasingly uncomfortable. Finally, Gimli, not being able to stand it anymore, asked, "Exactly how much of what you told Sekin was truth and how much deception?"

"Well... I can honestly say I've never wanted to skin a man alive for any reason," Methos replied flippantly, trying to keep the conversation light.

Legolas, the ice broken by his blunt friend, then asked, "The things you said about your brother? Was that also a fiction?"

"Unfortunately, not. Caspian really was that bad and worse," Methos answered honestly, but purposely not telling his friends what they truly wanted to know.

"Worse?" Gimli asked, not knowing what could be worse than skinning alive.

"Children," Methos explained simply.

Legolas blanched in horror. He knew of worse things done by the minions of Sauron, but those were done by creatures of darkness. This was a man, one closely related to a man he called friend. That made the acts more horrific somehow. "What kind of monster was he?" Legolas asked, appalled.

Methos shrugged, not certain how to answer the question, and said, "The average kind? He was insane and liked to torment others. He was just better at it than most. Had a lot more practice."

"This doesn't make sense. You said Immortals didn't have families. How could he be your brother?" Gimli interjected.

Methos winced and said, "I was afraid you'd notice that." Then sighing in resignation he began to explain, some of it, "We weren't brothers by blood, but we rode together, as brothers, for a thousand years."

"You chose brotherhood with a madman and a monster?" Legolas said surprised.

"It wasn't as simple as that. If it were only Caspian, I would have killed him soon after we met. I never liked him. But, there were two others to be considered, Kronos and Silas."

"And these men somehow made Caspian less a monster?" Legolas said skeptically.

Methos snorted in grim humor at that suggestion, "Kronos might have made Caspian better, but only by comparison. No, Silas and Kronos only made the situation worse, not better. Where I come from we have a saying, 'If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.' and I couldn't beat Kronos. My choices were helping Kronos by joining his 'brotherhood' thus becoming one of the most powerful men on the continent or dying because he would have killed me."

"You forsook honor and allied yourself with evil merely to preserve your own life?" Gimli said with disgust.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Methos answered, unapologetic.

"And you had to maintain this deception for a thousand years?" Legolas added, skeptically.

"Well... not exactly. I wasn't overly enthused about the plan to start with, but I have to admit to warming up to it over time. Individually, we were formidable. Together we were unstoppable. That kind of power is seductive. But, it was all a long time ago. Things change in three thousand years. I changed," Methos explained, not bothering to sugar coat it any, but not volunteering any details.

"So you're not the same person who... who did what exactly?" Gimli asked, suddenly realizing how vague Methos had been.

"Oh, the usual," Methos answered, significantly downplaying his past activities, "Looting, pillaging, demanding tribute, that sort of thing. Times were primitive. Steel hadn't even been invented yet. The more sophisticated evils were beyond us."

"Common banditry," Gimli said with a snort of derision.

"Basically, except we couldn't be killed," Methos agreed, really not wanting to bring up the bit about being an evil of legend.

Legolas then said, "Why didn't you tell us this before?"

"It never came up. And, there seemed no reason to bring it up. I don't usually tell everyone I meet how I, once upon a time, was evil but have now mended my wicked ways."

Legolas gave Methos a hard look and said, "No, there is more to it than that. What aren't you telling us?"

"What else could there be?" Methos asked innocently. "I did some bad things to save my own neck and now I don't anymore. That's about it."

"There is still something you are holding back," Legolas insisted.

"You're really not going to let this go are you?" Methos said irritated at the elf's persistence.

Legolas only looked at Methos. He was wearing an expression which reminded Methos of the elf's often overlooked status as a prince. Prince Legolas was not accustomed to receiving evasive answers.

Methos finally gave up the struggle and decided to come clean. "I have explained most of it. I didn't tell you any lies. There's just a little bit I left out," he said holding up two fingers less than an inch apart.

"Yes?" Legolas signaled Methos to continue.

"In my world, there's a legend. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. There are four riders, War, Strife, Famine, and Death who are said to bring the end of the world. I was Death," Methos said in an off hand manner, thinking that the more weight he gave to the matter the more weight they would attach to it.

"Why keep that part so closely guarded a secret?" Gimli asked, confused.

"It is a question of magnitude. What would be so fearful that the memory would remain thousands of years later?" Legolas asked rhetorically, the significance of what Methos told them slowly sinking in.

"I need to start documenting the carvings, if I plan to finish today," Methos said, abruptly changing the subject. "Since the lettering is Greek, I should be fine on my own. Why don't you two head back to the citadel?" Methos suggested, thinking to give Legolas and Gimli time to digest what they had just learned. "I'll follow, later."

"I suppose we could do that," Gimli said, "but I'm not sure we should."

Methos rolled his eyes at the dwarf's new found suspicion of him. "I've been here for over a year. If I were going to run off and commit evil acts I would have done it by now. I will simply make some notes and return to Minas Tirith before dinnertime. I might have been an evil bastard in ages past, but I've been a harmless scholar for a lot longer. You haven't been completely mistaken about my character all this time."

Legolas and Gimli exchanged a meaningful glance, then Gimli said, "Right, we're leaving then. See you this evening," in a slightly warning, but not unfriendly, tone. Legolas and Gimli mounted their horse, Legolas nodded to Methos in farewell, then the two headed back toward the city.
Methos, setting to work, muttered to himself, "What is wrong with me? I go millennia without telling a soul about my dark past, then in less than a decade I tell everyone I know. I shudder to think what Freud would make of this. I'm not dealing with unresolved issues. I'm not. All my issues are fully resolved."

* * * * * *

Legolas and Gimli returned to Minas Tirith and went in search of Aragorn, in order to fill him in on their latest discoveries regarding Methos. They found him in the Queen's solar. Aragorn tended to do a lot of his paperwork there. The sunny room was more pleasant than his study and the Queen's presence was an even greater attraction.

After relaying what Methos had told them to Aragorn and Arwen, the group fell silent.

"That does explain many things," Aragorn finally said.

"That it does. I always knew there was more to him than met the eye, and now we know," said Gimli with a shrug. Gimli didn't exactly have complete faith in Methos, but he never really did. Methos seemed a decent enough sort for now, and that's all that really mattered to the pragmatic dwarf.

"How can you be so accepting of his past? He was evil!" Legolas asked, surprised at his friends' reactions.

"But, he isn't evil now. He has been nothing but a friend to us in the time we have known him," Aragorn countered.

"I do not understand. How is it that a man can be evil at one time then later change his heart to good?" Legolas said, trying to understand Methos's side of it.

"I don't understand either, but nor can I understand what it would be like to live thousands of years while everyone I know dies around me. I'm not surprised though. All men have a dark side. Given enough time and temptation it would be difficult to not stray on to darker paths," Aragorn said meditatively.

"I believe it speaks in his favor that he was able to change his ways," Arwen interjected. "Once a man has committed himself to evil, there is usually no turning back. Returning to the dishonest, brutal, and easier methods of before is too much of a temptation."

"Then why did he change? And, how do we know he won't suddenly take up evil ways again?" Legolas asked, starting to see Methos's side of things, but still unsure.

"You would have to ask him that, but I would guess it was a woman," Arwen said shrewdly.

"A woman?" Gimli asked, surprised by the queen's answer.

"He keeps it hidden well, but Adam has some decidedly romantic tendencies. I believe a woman he loved could easily convince him to give up that life," Arwen elaborated. "And, I very much doubt he will change back to what he was. There doesn't seem to be any evil in him, not anymore."

"I agree with that assessment," Legolas said, "I have never believed him evil which is why I can't understand this. How can a man change so very much?"

"Perhaps it wasn't that great a change," Aragorn suggested. "Perhaps he did evil things, but was not himself evil."

"How could that be?" Gimli asked, not understanding what Aragorn meant. Was not an evil man simply a man who did evil?

"We weren't there and have no idea what happened," Aragorn explained. "There could have been good reason for him acting as he did."

"Justification for slaughtering innocent people?" Legolas asked.

"Not justification. There is no excuse for killing innocents. But, some mitigating factor which would explain why he did it. Even a good man can make mistakes," Aragorn pointed out.

"That is true." Legolas agreed. "We don't know the circumstances. Perhaps there is an explanation."

"And he does seem to feel some remorse," Gimli pointed out, "and didn't make excuses for himself. I don't think we're in any danger of him going back to those ways."

"I keep coming back to thoughts of his isolation. The pain and loneliness of an Immortal existence must be maddening. I can't bear the thought of watching all those I love age and die while I stay young forever. To know that he has experienced that over and over again, makes me think that perhaps he wasn't quite sane at the time. Also the proposal of a brotherhood which would not die had to be very tempting, even if its members weren't the ones he would have chosen," Arwen suggested, herself very sensitive to the issues involved in immortals associating with mortals, from personal experience.

"Yes," Legolas agreed, "it could have been madness. I haven't given very much thought to that particular aspect of his immortality. Perhaps, because it strikes a little too close to some of my own concerns," he said, looking around at his friends, all of whom would die some day.

"In any event, this new revelation about Adam's past in no way changes anything. He is the same man who saved my life a few weeks ago and assisted in catching an assassin. I don't know why he did the things he did, but I don't think it matters. All that is important is the man he is now. Aside from being occasionally irritating, his behavior has been above reproach," Aragorn said in support of his friend.

"It was good of him to help find the assassin. Gondor isn't his country and its fate is of no concern to him. A bunch of ancient history which took place on another world makes little difference to me," Gimli said in support of Methos. "But, it is nice to finally have all the pieces to the puzzle. All those little things which didn't quite add up were irritating me."

"I suppose you are right," Legolas conceded. "His story just caught me off guard. I never would have thought a friend capable of such things, even sometime in the distant past."

"So, none of you plan on holding his past against him?" Arwen asked.

"Nothing to hold against him," Gimli said, "he never harmed me or mine."

"The past remains the past," Aragorn agreed.

"I too shall try to treat him the same as ever. Although this new knowledge will undoubtedly color our future relationship, I have no ill will against him," said Legolas.

"Excellent," Arwen said, pleased to have things her own way. "Evening approaches and I must dress for dinner," she added rising from her seat and putting away her embroidery.

The gentlemen rose also, as Arwen left the room. Then, they too went to their rooms in order to put on the appropriate dress for the evening meal.


Chapter 11

That evening Methos went about his normal routine at court, charming the ladies and entertaining the nobles with tales of earth, almost as if nothing had happened. Almost, but not quite; he did make it a point to avoid Gimli and Legolas. Realizing how much the revelations about his past disturbed the elf, Methos wanted to give Legolas some space. 'He's not so close-minded and judgmental as to never let it go, but that strong sense of justice is bound to get in the way, for a while at least.' Methos thought, considering the situation as he prepared for bed. 'Since Mac got over it, I'm sure Legolas will too and probably a lot faster. But, I think I shook up his worldview some and I better give it time to settle before trying to enter into polite dinner conversation with him. No sense asking for trouble.

'Gimli seemed to take it better than anyone I've ever met. He didn't bat an eyelash. I wonder why that is?' Methos mused on his situation. 'Perhaps it has something to do with the rather simplistic concept of good against evil they have here. That old enemy of theirs was just EVIL, no explanations added, and Aragorn and his friends are GOOD, simple as that, completely black and white and very tidy. Since he knows I'm one of the white hats I couldn't really have been one of the black hats. Then again it could be that Gimli didn't really grasp what I once was. It's not like they have the biblical imagery of the Four Horsemen engraved upon their collective psyches here, the way it is on earth.

'But Legolas, he understood some of it. He could imagine what it would take to make such a lasting impression. I can only be grateful he can't know how lasting an impression I, we, made. Then I don't think he'd ever let it go. Ah well, what's done is done. They're all grown ups who've seen a thing or two in their time, they'll come to terms with my past sooner or later. I just hope it's sooner. I've gotten too used to having friends in the past few years and don't fancy giving them up, even temporarily.'

Having sorted the situation out in his head, Methos went to bed and slept the sleep of the innocent. In 5,000 years of life the Immortal had learned the trick of sleeping anywhere, anytime, with or without a guilty conscience, and no matter how stressful the situation. A very useful trick considering his past experiences. If he weren't able to block all else out in favor of a restful night's sleep, Methos would never be able to rest, too many evil acts and painful memories.

* * * * * *

Early the next morning Legolas and Gimli were saying their farewells. Legolas was headed toward Ithilien and Gimli to the Glittering Caves. The two were going to miss each other, but there were things each had to see to, things which had gone undone while they'd stayed to protect Aragorn. Lordship carried many responsibilities, and the two were nothing if not responsible.

"I have been away from my kindred for too long," Legolas said. "Minas Tirith is a beautiful city, but it is no match for the beauties of nature. I miss the musical sounds of my own language and the shade of trees over head."

"I know what you mean," Gimli replied. "This human city is growing tiresome and wearing upon my nerves. I'm looking forward to further exploration of my new home. We only saw the central branch when we were there last. I want to know what further wonders the side passages hold. But..."

"But, you hate to say farewell to the friends you have made," Legolas finished for him.

"That, and the journey. I've gotten too used to sharing a mount. I'm still not very fond of horses, but walking is going to seem very slow by comparison. Walking without companions to pass the time with shall seem even slower," Gimli grumbled.

"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do to make the journey swifter," Legolas said with a grin. "But, the farewell won't be for very long."

"That's right," Gimli said, "Aragorn has his yearly gathering where the Lords of Gondor must account for their past year, but I thought we were exempt?"

"We are, but we should still attend if there's nothing pressing elsewhere. Our absence may cause ill will among the nobles," Legolas explained.

"Then by all means, we'll attend," said Gimli. "We shall meet again next spring then?"

"Next spring," Legolas agreed with a nod, grasping Gimli's arm in farewell. Then the elf mounted his horse and said, "Safe journey my friend."

"Safe journey," Gimli returned.

The elf circled his horse and rode away. Gimli took up the reins of his supply pony and began walking toward his beloved caves.

* * * * * *

Methos, who'd been asleep during their departure, went looking for the elf and the dwarf. He didn't think he'd given Legolas enough time yet, but wanted to test the waters anyway, in order to gauge the elf's state of mind. Instead, he found Arwen gathering flowers in the palace gardens.

"My lady," Methos greeted her with a bow. "I'm surprised to find you picking your own flowers. I thought that was one of the tasks performed by your platoon of gardeners."

"It is, normally," Arwen agreed not looking up from her work. "But, this small task makes a pleasant change from needle work and household accounts."

"I suppose it does at that. Have you seen Legolas or Gimli this morning, my lady?"

"Were you not told?" Arwen said turning away from her work and looking at Methos with confusion in her eyes. "They left this morning, returning to their own lands."

"Oh yes, they did mention leaving, a couple days ago. I'd forgotten," Methos said evenly, carefully concealing his true reaction. 'If they left without even saying goodbye they must be more upset than I thought they were.' he thought with some chagrin and a tinge of sadness.

Arwen, noticing Methos's mostly hidden dismay, said, "Legolas did leave you a note. They left very early and did not think you would appreciate being wakened, only for them to say their farewells. I left it on my desk; perhaps you should send a page to fetch it."

"I'll do that, my lady." Methos went back inside the palace, sent a page to the Queen's solar to fetch the note, and returned to Arwen. He sat down on one of the benches near the queen and studied her closely. She was the picture of serenity. She stood next to a climbing rose vine with a flower basket hooked over one arm. She'd carefully study the plant, cut a flower with the gardening shears she held, and place the flower in the basket. Each movement performed with the precision expected of a surgeon, rather than the more relaxed demeanor most would approach the task with. After a moment Methos broke the silence, "You know, don't you?" he asked shrewdly.

"Gimli and Legolas did share what you told them with Aragorn and me," Arwen replied carefully. "However, I don't claim to know anything. I don't know what you did, why you did it, or why you've changed."

"Are you asking me? Do you want me to explain myself?" Methos asked with a combination of bitterness and cynicism. He didn't like being questioned, but knew it was his own fault. He appreciated her giving him the benefit of the doubt, but dreaded proving her wrong. There were no excuses for the things he had done.

"I want to understand," Arwen stated simply.

"There's not a lot to understand. I did some very evil things and I enjoyed it. Then it stopped being fun," Methos said.

"There has to be more to it than that," Arwen insisted.

"There isn't. My brothers and I would ride into a village, kill everyone who resisted or just got in our way, took what was useful, burned the rest, and enslaved all the survivors. That was our idea of a good time. Riding down helpless people running in fear was good sport. I can't even cite greed as a reason. There wasn't much to steal in most of those villages. There were times when we went hungry because there wasn't any food to take. Not having anything worth looting was no reason for us to avoid attacking. Bloodlust was reason enough," Methos explained, growing frustrated by Arwen's continued belief in him. He was trying to tell her he was evil and she clearly wasn't buying it.

"But, why did you do it? What was the reason for such acts?" Arwen asked, distressed by the picture her favorite courtier had painted for her but unwilling to believe him to be so completely evil.
"
There was no reason. I did it because it was fun. I liked terrorizing people. The thrill of bloodshed, the sense of power, it was intoxicating," Methos said, trying to disabuse Arwen of any illusions she might have.

"If that life was so 'fun,' why did you change?" Arwen asked shrewdly, positive that Methos's heart wasn't as black as he'd have her believe.

"Various reasons. You do anything for long enough and it's bound to get old. Riding into a town and randomly killing people was getting boring. Then there were the growing tensions among the four of us. Kronos and Caspian were never exactly sane, but as time went on they got progressively worse. Caspian was becoming an uncontrollable lunatic. Kronos, seemed sane enough on the surface, but he was a megalomaniac with growing paranoia. And, I was beginning to realize what a limited existence that truly was. There was so much I didn't know about the world, so much I wanted to learn, and terrorizing the countryside doesn't leave much time for study."

"And?" Arwen asked, one eyebrow raised.

"And what?" said Methos puzzled by Arwen's question.

"What event was it that made you change? The reasons you named would explain your leaving the company of your brothers, but they don't explain how you changed as a person. What specific events led you to the realization that what you'd done was wrong?" Arwen elaborated.

Just then the page returned with the note from Legolas. Methos thanked the page and opened the note, saying to Arwen, "That is an excellent observation my lady. Not many people would catch that detail." Then, continuing to stall for time, he quickly read through the note. It said:

Methos,
I regret that we should part on less than friendly terms, but there are tasks which cannot be delayed any longer. I must depart. I was surprised and dismayed by what I learned yesterday, for I cannot understand it. However, I am not your judge and there is nothing for me to forgive. Whatever your past consists of it is your own and I shall not sever our friendship because of it. Farewell, my friend and should you still reside in Minas Tirith come spring I will see you then. Gimli also adds his farewells.
Sincerely,
Legolas

Arwen gave Methos a moment to read the note, but was not about to let her line of questioning go. "I am correct in my assumption? There was some specific event which changed the course of your life?" she prompted when she saw him reach the end of the note.

"Yes there was something," Methos confirmed, "a woman."

"Alexa?" Arwen asked.

"No, Alexa wouldn't be born for another 3,000 years or so and we only met a few years ago," Methos said.

"A few years ago... you mean your wife was mortal?" Arwen said shocked by the realization. When she'd found out about Methos's immortality she'd assumed that his wife was the same and had simply lost a duel.

"Yes, she was. All of them were. I couldn't marry another Immortal."

"All of them? How many times have you been married?" Arwen asked, horrified at the prospect of watching not one, but multiple, mortal loves die.

"Sixty-nine at last count," Methos said with a shrug.

"But how can you stand it? How can you marry a woman you know will die while you go on without her?" she replied, completely bewildered by this staggering bit of information.

"It's not easy, but it's better than the alternative. 'It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.' When the choices are being happy for a time then suffering the pain of losing the one you love, or always being alone, unhappy, and only half alive; I'll chose momentary happiness every time. Love is too important and rare for any chance at it to be passed up, no matter how short the duration."

Arwen nodded in assent, that being a sentiment she shared. She had made a similiar decision when she chose to be mortal in order to be with Aragorn. "I suppose living with mortals and grieving their deaths is better than being alone..." Then, after a short pause she asked, "but why can't you marry another Immortal?" puzzled by Methos's previous comment.

"Well, there's the Game for one," he explained, "knowing that one day you may have to fight to the death tends to put a damper on the relationship. There's also the level of commitment involved. 'Til death do us part' takes on a whole other meaning when it comes to Immortals. Several thousand years is a long time to live with just one person."

"You believe immortality makes marriage impossible?" Arwen asked somewhat incredulously, knowing more than one happily married elvish couple.

"Not impossible, so much as extremely difficult, for humans at least," Methos clarified. "Humans are too changeable to make such a long term commitment work. Several centuries go by and you're looking at two people with little in common with the two who originally married each other. Occasionally, they change in ways that compliment one another, but mostly they drift apart. There's no way of knowing beforehand which it is going to be, making marriage a rather large gamble."

"You said yourself that love is too precious to be avoided, but now the risks of marriage between Immortals is too great?" Arwen asked archly, pointing out the flaws in Methos's reasoning.

"I never said I was consistent," Methos said with a grin, "But, you're right. With the right woman the future isn't too great a risk to take. With Alexa I would have taken that risk, if I could have," he continued grief momentarily reflected in his expression.

"I am sorry. I didn't intend to remind you of your loss," Arwen said with sympathy. "You never told me about the woman who changed your life?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"Cassandra, we're just moving from one painful subject to another today," Methos said flippantly, trying to cover his true feelings.

"Another lost love?" Arwen asked, not really wanting to pick at Methos's old wounds, but feeling he needed to speak of them to someone. The queen was positive Methos was judging himself too harshly and needed to forgive himself for his past misdeeds.

"No... yes... I don't know, maybe." Methos said.

"If she wasn't your love, what was she to you?" Arwen prompted.

"If you want the short version, I owned her. She loved me and I... cared for her. Then Kronos reminded me of our oath to share and share alike, so I gave her to him rather than cause a fight between us," he replied conversationally, sure that this would be the final straw. His treatment of Cassandra would be what finally convinced Arwen of the truth about him.

"And, he killed her," Arwen stated, thinking she finally understood.

"No, actually, she killed him, temporarily. Then she escaped. I didn't see her again for another three thousand years or so, when she tried to kill me a couple years ago," Methos said casually, but underneath his calm facade he was squirming, anxious for the interrogation to end.

This revelation left Arwen completely nonplused. For the first time in centuries she found herself speechless. The queen had no idea what to make of what Methos had just told her. Everything else fit neatly into Arwen's personal theory regarding his past, that he had cracked under the pressures of being an Immortal and fell into some evil ways, but this didn't match up. It didn't disprove her theory, but it didn't quite fit. This particular incident showed him to be more self-centered and spineless than it showed him to be mentally unstable.

The two sat in silence while Arwen ruminated on what he had told her and Methos waited for the other shoe to drop. Finally, Arwen asked,
"Cassandra clearly didn't succeed in taking your life, does that mean you killed her?"

"No, I didn't kill her. I couldn't and still live with myself. I told her to go ahead and kill me if she must. Mac convinced her not to because I wasn't the same man I was all those years ago."

"I see." Arwen said with a smile, feeling her assessment of Methos to be confirmed by this story. If the person most wronged by him could see her way to forgiveness, he must be deserving of it. The queen wouldn't normally pry so far into another person's life, but after her great misjudgment of Landon she wanted some reassurance that her ability to judge a man's character was still intact. Reassured, the queen asked, "Would you take the flowers to Aragorn's study for me? I need to fetch a vase. I think these roses will be just the thing to liven up that gloomy room."

Methos blinked a couple times, surprised by Arwen's calm acceptance of it all, and said, "Of course my lady, I would be delighted."

Arwen handed Methos the basket and went inside the palace. Methos watched the queen leave, an expression of bemusement on his face. Then, he slowly followed her, shaking his head slightly and saying under his breath, "Elves... they're just strange."


Chapter 12

An airport in Switzerland, a few weeks before Christmas...

Duncan was waiting at the airport for Joe. He looked around at the huge crowds wandering why it hadn't occurred to him how many people decide to take family ski trips for the holidays. The airport was a madhouse, harassed travelers looking for misplaced luggage and trying to keep track of tired children. 'I should have come later,' the Highlander thought eyeing the enormous line at customs.

After a half hour or so, Joe cleared customs and the two went out to Mac's rental car. "How was the flight?" Mac asked.

"Horrendous. I was next to a woman with a baby."

"That screamed the entire time?"

"No, the baby was fine. It was the woman who was a problem. She changed his diapers right there next to me then would hand me the used one and ask if I would 'be a dear and give this to the stewardess next time she comes, since you're on the aisle,'" Joe said in a high pitched voice, imitating the woman from the flight. "Remind me not to travel during Christmas if I can help it."

Mac laughed, nodding in agreement, and said, "I'm afraid our accommodations at the inn aren't ideal either. They were almost completely booked. We'll have to share a room."

"Perfect. Just remember, annoy me and there's no telling what might end up in your chronicle," Joe warned.

"No singing in the shower at the crack of dawn?"

"Not unless you want future generations of Watchers reading a critique of your song choice and singing ability."

"I think we should spare them that," Duncan conceded with a grin.

They rode along the winding road for a few moments in silence. "Have you found anything on Methos?" Joe asked on a more serious note.

"Not yet. I went up to the clearing where they fought and saw the stones he came for, but I didn't find anything," Mac replied with a shrug, sounding frustrated.

"Maybe there's something on his laptop that will help."

"The police took that."

"And the Watchers took it from the police and I persuaded them to ship it to me at the inn."

"They just agreed to send it to you? I'd think they'd be too concerned about what Adam Pierson, former Watcher, might have on it to let it out of Headquarters."

"They probably wouldn't have given it to me, if they knew it was Adam Pierson's."

"And you just forgot to tell them," Duncan said, feeling like they might actually get somewhere now. Methos kept all of his important files password protected, but Duncan had been given the password. In case Methos finally lost a fight, he didn't want the most recent of his diaries to be lost.

"I don't know if Adam Pierson and Mike Adams are one and the same. I never saw Mike Adams with my own eyes." Joe said innocently.

* * * * * *

Back in Middle-earth...

Aragorn and Methos were sparring in a corridor in one of the areas of the citadel which had fallen into disuse. It had been raining for the past three days and the king, ever practical, suggested that practice be moved inside where it was dry, for him and Methos at least. The guardsmen still had to contend with the weather for the country needed to be protected rain or shine, but rank does have its privileges.

The oldest Immortal didn't particularly enjoy weapon's practice, it was too much like work, but 'When in Rome, do as the Roman's do.' had been the ancient Immortal's motto for millennia. The Romans of Middle-earth were very serious about practicing their fighting skills. Methos and the king had regular twice weekly matches. On the practice field Aragorn and Methos were about evenly matched, after Methos got back into top fighting form. Inside the palace, Methos had an edge.

Methos was advancing on Aragorn, backing the king up a staircase. One step and another and another, step by step halfway up the staircase King Elessar was still managing to hold his own, but Methos was watching very carefully for his chance. Then it came, Aragorn stepped back a fraction of an inch too far and his heel brushed the edge of the next step up, throwing him off balance. Methos took advantage of his opponent's momentary distraction to twist his sword around Aragorn's and wrench Aragorn's sword from his grasp. Methos then moved in for the kill, metaphorically speaking. But, it wasn't to be so easy. Aragorn ducked Methos's swing, dropping to almost a reclining position against the steps, and kicked Methos over the side, giving himself time to recover his sword.

"You very nearly had me there," Aragorn observed as the two faced each other in the hallway. "Those stairs nearly did me in. I haven't had much occasion for fighting indoors."

"That's what I was counting on," Methos replied, as the two circled around looking for an opening. "Nice kick by the way," he added shrugging the shoulder he had landed on, "I didn't see that one coming."

"Lucky for me," Aragorn said distractedly, planning his next attack. Methos almost never made the first move, preferring to see what his opponent was up to before committing to anything.

This time Methos did the unexpected. He attacked first. The battle went on for another few minutes, but the two men had been chasing each other up and down corridors for quite some time now and both were getting tired. Finally, Methos managed to shove Aragorn into a corner and trap his sword against a wall, winning the match.

The two men, breathing heavily and rubbing various sorer parts of their anatomy, hobbled over to the stairs and sat down for a moment's rest.

"Where did you learn that parry you used when we were stumbling over the benches?" Methos asked, "I thought that maneuver could only be used with a saber."

"As did I. I didn't see any other choices so I decided to try it anyway," Aragorn said with a grimace. Rubbing his shoulder he continued, "I now know why it is only used with a saber. Almost dislocated it. By tomorrow the shoulder's going to be worse than the ribs."

"A wrenched shoulder is better than being a corpse," Methos observed.

Aragorn nodded in agreement with that sentiment, still manipulating his shoulder in order to assess the damage.

"Sorry about that. You're better with a sword than half the Immortals I know. I tend to forget that you're not one of us and fight like I would if I were sparring with MacLeod or another Immortal," Methos said, with an apologetic smile.

"There is nothing to apologize for. A few bruises and pulled muscles will heal. I have learned many things from you which I don't believe I would have learned had you held back," said Aragorn waving away the apology.

"All right then, no going easy on you. But, why so concerned with learning this? You're already one of, if not the best swordsman in Middle-earth, you haven't any enemies to speak of, and you're the king," Methos asked curiously.

"Old habits are not easily left behind. I was not always king. For many years I was a Ranger with only my wits and my skill with a blade keeping death at bay. And... although there is no threat at present and my sincerest wish is for the peace to continue, I have no knowledge of what the future might bring."

"Hope for the best, but plan for the worst," Methos said, nodding in approval.

"Precisely," Aragorn agreed. Then changing the subject, "So, Immortals regularly injure one another just for practice?"

"Friendly matches are usually no holds barred short of broken bones. Bruises, no matter how bad, heal in seconds. Breaks don't take much longer, but they hurt a lot more. Killing someone temporarily is also a no-no, usually."

"Usually? There are times when it is acceptable to kill your friends for practice?" Aragorn asked, surprised.

"Sometimes it's necessary to run a student through a few times to make them take the lessons seriously."

Aragorn gave Methos an incredulous look and said slowly, "You find it necessary to kill your students a few times in order to teach them?"

"What? They get back up, good as new." Methos said defensively. Then, after a pause for reflection, he conceded, "I suppose it's not exactly necessary. There are other ways to bring the seriousness of the situation home to them, but that would take longer."

"And require effort on your part," Aragorn tacked on to Methos's statement.

"Okay, I admit it. I'm lazy. There are reasons I never take on a student unless I absolutely have to. I never claimed to be a good teacher."

"I pity any student who has you for a master," Aragorn said with a chuckle.

"I thought you said you'd learned a lot from me?" Methos reminded Aragorn of his previous comment, arching one eyebrow.

"I..." Aragorn started to reply but stopped when a page entered the corridor clearly looking for them. Aragorn rose from his place on the stairs and walked toward the page.

"Your Majesty," the boy said, bowing, "a visitor has arrived from Ithilien."

Knowing that elves rarely visited the dwellings of man without some pressing reason, Aragorn was put on alert. "Is there some trouble in Ithilien?"

"I don't believe so, Your Majesty." the page answered, a little uneasy about being questioned by the king. "Master Sandir came to see Sir Adam. He said he had heard many interesting things about him and wanted to see for himself." They had decided not to inform the entire court about Methos's past. Most of the nobles still knew him simply as 'Adam.'

"I see. Tell Master Sandir that Sir Adam will meet with him shortly," Aragorn said, relieved to know nothing untoward was afoot. "Sir Adam," Aragorn called, turning toward Methos, "An elf by the name of Sandir is here to see you. No doubt he can assist with your translation."

"Oh yes, I'd almost forgotten about him," Methos said as he walked over to where Aragorn was standing.

"Forgotten about him?" Aragorn asked, confused by Methos's statement.

"Your archivist sent him a letter asking for his help when I first arrived here," Methos explained.

Then, they went off to clean up a bit before greeting Sandir.

* * * * * *

Methos walked into the library, where Sandir was waiting for him. The elf wished to get right to the task which drew him to Minas Tirith and was already examining the copies Methos had made of the markings on the stones when Methos arrived. Methos stopped in the doorway for a moment to examine the new arrival. He was young in appearance, looking not more than thirty, if that, as were all the elves. But, his silver, not gray or white but a true silver, hair and that indefinable something which the truly ancient carry with them belied his young appearance.

Having heard Methos's arrival, Sandir looked up from the papers and turned to Methos. "You are Sir Adam?" he asked with a pleasant smile.

Methos nodded in assent. "Sandir, I presume. It was good of you to come," he greeted the elf. Taking in the elf's welcoming expression and the look of wisdom in his clear blue eyes Methos thought to himself, 'If there was ever a candidate for Methos: Ancient Wise-one, this is he. He could probably convince me he was Methos, if he put his mind to it.'

"After the things Prince Legolas told me of you and your... journey, my curiosity wouldn't allow me to stay away," Sandir replied jovially.

"Have you found any answers yet?" Methos asked curiously, looking over at the copies Sandir had been examining.

"Not yet, but perhaps with your assistance... I do not recognize these characters, but I'm told you do. If the words are Quenya I should be able to understand them, if you would be kind enough to read them out?"

"Of course. When would you like to begin?" Methos said, both excited at the possibility of finally making some progress at finding a way home and nervous because it may in fact turn out to be a dead end. The language might not be Quenya or, even worse, it might be and the stones might say that there is no way back.

"There are several hours yet before the evening meal. We could begin now," Sandir suggested, sensing Methos's anxiety and more than a little curious about what the writing said himself.

"Sounds good to me," Methos agreed.

Sandir took up pen and ink and prepared to take notes. Methos gathered up the copies and slowly read the first line. Sandir winced a bit at Methos's pronunciation saying, "Prince Legolas was correct. That is Quenya."

"That is a relief, but I take it my accent needs work," Methos said, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a self-deprecating grin, one of his concerns having been alleviated.

Sandir simply replied by repeating the line as it should have been said.

"I see. It should sound a bit Scandinavian, but more musical. I'll see if I can't do better with the rest of it," Methos said. Then he read the next line. This time Sandir didn't wince, although the pronunciation was still far from perfect.

They spent the next couple hours working on the translation. Methos would read a line or two and Sandir would write down the translation into common tongue. For the most part it went very smoothly, Sandir having to ask for repetition and Methos having to try another pronunciation only a few times. As the sun began to set, they finished the translation and what the stones said was this:

The gate is locked and the path is hidden
Death of the undying shall turn the key
When the time is right and the sign is given
To those undying a passage will be

In light and darkness the worlds align
The longest day from there to here
The longest night from this to thine
At these times the paths appear

'By my blood bridge the worlds'
And swiftly draw the blade
Speak the words and spill the blood
And travel the roads away

"I'm not entirely satisfied with the translation," Sandir said meditatively. "I am fairly sure that this is the meaning, but in Quenya the rhyme has much elegance and beauty which my poor translation does not convey."

"It's not a masterpiece of literature by any means, but the instructions seem clear enough. I just have to go to the stones on the winter solstice, cut myself, and say 'by my blood bridge the worlds.' That's what I really wanted to know."

"That does appear to be the way, but I don't understand the first part. It seems to be saying that only immortal beings can pass and only the death of an immortal can unlock the 'gates' to start with. How can that be so? You, a man, passed from your world to this. And how can one who is immortal die? I suppose it could refer to the death of the body, as happens to sorely wounded elves, but Prince Legolas said there were no elves in your world. I think, perhaps, we should try translating the first part again."

"Yes... well... actually it does make sense. I know what it is referring to," Methos said a bit uncomfortably. The cat was already out of the bag, so to speak, with a good portion of his Middle-earth acquaintances. And, by this time he had accepted the fact that people knowing his secret would present no particular danger to him on this world. If that weren't the case, he would have pretended to be as confused as Sandir and done the translation again in order to protect himself. As it was, he was prepared to share the truth with the elf but he still wasn't exactly sanguine about it, especially considering that they'd only met hours ago.

"You do?" Sandir asked, eyebrows arching in surprise.

"It's something I generally try to keep as quiet as possible, so I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself..." Methos paused to get Sandir's assent.

"I will keep your confidences," Sandir agreed very seriously.

"Good. You see, I happen to be an Immortal," Methos said in an intentionally very offhand manner. Something about the appearance of wisdom always made Methos want to ruffle a man's feathers a bit.

"And the one to die, he was another like you?" Sandir deduced, slightly surprised by Methos's revelation.

"Yes, that's pretty much the shape of it."

"Are all the men of your world immortal?" Sandir asked, fascinated by the possibility.

"No, there's only a few of us. Most men are pretty much like the ones here, mortal."

"Then, this does seem to be the correct translation."

"Yes, it does sound right. I suppose I'll know for certain in a few months when the winter solstice comes," Methos agreed.

"In the meantime, perhaps you could tell me a little more about your variety of immortality?" Sandir asked, hopefully.

"I don't see why not," Methos shrugged, "You were such an enormous help with the translation, it is the least I could do."

* * * * * *

Months passed and the winter solstice arrived. Aragorn and Arwen, along with a small troop of guards, rode with Methos, once again dressed in his earth clothes, to the stone circle. The guards stayed back behind the trees while Aragorn, Arwen, and Methos went into the clearing to say their farewells.

"I shall miss my favorite courtier," Arwen said with a slightly sad smile. "None of the others are half so creative in their flattery."

"It was simply the truth my lady," Methos said with a courtly bow.

Hoof beats sounded off in the distance, drawing near the clearing. Then Gimli and Legolas rode into the circle. "You didn't think we'd let you leave without saying goodbye?" Gimli called as they dismounted.

"It wouldn't be a proper leave taking without you Master Gimli, and you, Prince Legolas," Methos answered.

Legolas walked over to Methos and the two clasped hands in friendship. "I've come to wish you a safe journey and to give you a parting gift," the elf said, handing Methos an elven bow.

"It is... exquisite," Methos said examining the beautifully crafted weapon.

"You once said you had not practiced archery in several centuries. I thought this gift might motivate you to take it up once more," Legolas explained.

"That it shall," Methos agreed caressing the finely carved wood, "Thank you."

"I know you're too attached to that sword of yours to use even a much better made replacement," Gimli said, referring to a past conversation about the merits of dwarven made blades, "but, I thought these might come in useful." He pulled from his belt a pair of dwarven made daggers. They were simply crafted, with plain leather wrapped handles, clearly made for practical use, but the precision with which they were executed made them beautiful instruments.

"I'm sure they will," Methos thanked the dwarf and put the daggers away in one of his trench coat's deep pockets.

Then Methos came to Aragorn. The stood together in silence for a few moments. Then Aragorn spoke, "I shall miss my favorite sparring partner."

"I doubt you'll miss the assorted bumps and bruises," Methos returned.

"I don't suppose I will miss those... Methos, thank you. Thank you for my life." Aragorn said solemnly

"You're very welcome," Methos said with a dismissive shrug, brushing aside the king's gratitude.

"You will be careful once you've rejoined this 'game' of yours? I hope your head remains attached to your shoulders for a long time to come."

"I hope the same thing and I'm always careful," Methos said, refraining from rolling his eyes, but the tone still clearly present in his voice.

Aragorn grinned at Methos's childish reaction, like an adolescent when his mother tells him to be careful. "Farewell my friend, safe journey home," Aragorn said grasping Methos's arm in farewell.

"Yes, safe journey," Arwen agreed going up on tiptoe to kiss Methos on the cheek.

"Well, this is it, the moment of truth," Methos said walking to the center of the circle and taking out one of the knives Gimli had given him. He took one last look at the friends he had made while in Middle-earth. Then bracing himself slightly, he drew the blade across the palm of his hand and as the blood dripped into the stone bowl he recited the key line of Quenya Sandir had drilled him on.

The script inside the stone hollow began to glow and to spin, much as the other circle did, but this time the glow was softer. The light slowly spread up from the bowl and enveloped Methos growing brighter by the moment. Eventually, Methos had to close his eyes to the blinding light. He had no way of knowing how long he stood in the light with his eyes tightly shut, it could have been hours or mere moment, but at some point he lost consciousness.

Next thing he knew he awoke lying on a patch of frozen ground, snow dripping onto his head from an overhanging branch. Slowly he sat up, clutching his throbbing head and looked at his surroundings. The low stones and the trees were exactly as he remembered from a year and a half ago, only now it was all covered in snow.

There was one other difference between this time and the year before. This time Methos wasn't alone. "Damn it. 'Undying' must have meant any immortal rather than just Immortals," he muttered to himself as he bent to examine the unconscious elf.

~Fin~

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