Archive of Our Own

This was originally prefaced with a long meta post about Definitive Works In Fandom and having that fic that after you're finished, you have to sit back and go "wait, what the fuck do I do now, now that I've just written that?" that I decided to scrap because it was long and boring and pretentious and can mostly be summed up as, hey, wow, I like this fic of mine an awful lot, as opposed to all these others fics, which are total crap, but in a nice way.

So, yeah. DVD commentary ahoy for the two fics that I feel are my Defining Works in Highlander fandom.

Because, and oh my god this sounds so egotistical, but And Fray and Fade are kind of my magnum opus. They really belied the idea that a short fic takes a short time to write. There was actually meant to be a third, tentatively titled Number The Stars, which I started, but it never got off the ground. It was about Methos and Joe, about why Methos started killing and why he stopped, and how on earth Methos found out about the Watchers. It never got close to finished, but that's life. And I do really like how Fade ends. Looking back, it would really have been weird to have a third fic after that, because Fade does end kinda, you know, finally.

So, yes. On to commentary! The fic in italics, even the parts that were originally in italics.

--

And Fray

...And Fray

Wow. How melodramatic to start with the end of a phrase that 1) I never give the beginning to anywhere in the fic, 2) doesn't occur in any form in the fic, 3) isn't a quote from the show, and 4) is just dropped in with no context whatsoever.

Yeah. As you can tell, I had no idea what to call this thing. I decided on "And Fray", but that sounded weird, like *what* and fray? So I added the ellipses. Sometimes I get a title in my head and a story idea from there, and sometimes I get a story idea and then think like hell to figure out a good title for it. Some times I'm more successful than others. (And, yes, I was totally aware of how pretentious the titles were at the time I posted them.)

Methos hated being asked The Question.

Heckler in the back: Top or bottom?

Me: *facepalm* I walked into that, didn't I?

Second heckler: Paper or plastic?

Me: Oh, shut up.

Third heckler: Take the blue pill, Methos! The blue pill!

Most asked when he was born, where he grew up, the names of his adoptive parents, the date of his first death.

Little known fact: Methos invented Twenty Questions by his sheer existence.

And most were dissuaded by his disarming smile and well-practiced explanations.

Methos has survived this long because he can disarm people with his mouth. (That sounded less dirty in my head.)

He didn't remember any of it and, besides, it was in another country and the wench was dead.

I spent like five minutes googling the exact quotation, because I couldn't remember if the word was "wench" or "whore".

past didn't matter, not the way they thought. It was only trivia and the same as every other Immortals'.

You can tell when I wrote this fic, because I hadn't yet forced myself to change from "s'" to "s's".

It's only the details that changed.

No prize to whoever can guess where that quotation is from.

Methos supposed Duncan knew of the frustration.

Methos supposes his toeses are roses?

His first question was asked in bed, quietly and with no force of righteous curiosity behind it.

A major achievement for Duncan MacLeod.

He wanted to know what Methos' name meant.

So he could write literalist love poetry.

"Atlantis?" Silas was laughing. "You must be mad."

And so am I, because I actually googled when the word "Atlantis" was first used, if Plato invented it, or whatever. Can't remember what I found, if anything, but it was enough that I kept it in as not being too anachronistic.

"Or joking," Caspian said and slammed his fist down on the table. "No jokes, Methos. Tell us."

You call tell I wrote this because there's a lot of actioning going on during dialogue. People can laugh and talk. And slam and talk. And sigh and talk. See, writing dialogue isn't my problem. It's writing everything that *isn't* dialogue that gives me headaches.

Joe's first question was rushed, in the middle of last call. "And-oh-yeah-when's-your-birthday?" Methos asked for another beer.

Is there a drinking game for how soon in a random fic does Methos have a beer?

Two months later, Joe slid an ancient piece of parchment across the bar top.

Because if there's one thing the Watchers don't care about, it's taking proper care of Chronicles.

"The earliest mention of you we can find," he said in explanation.

I'm sure there's a good reason why I didn't write "explained". There's gotta be a good reason.

"Well," he amended. "The earliest mention we can translate."

That needs to show up more in fic, imho. That the Watchers have translation problems. I'd love to see a fic where Joe got something from Methos's past totally wrong because they translated a key word into something completely bizarre, to great hilarity.

Methos looked it over, then laughed. "The equinox? Really, Joe, I'm more of a Capricorn."

"Or a Sagittarius?"

Okay. So, um. I need to explain this one. And I'll do it here, because it's really embarrassing, so I can get it over with. The way I see it, there are two kinds of blatant canon mistakes. There are the ones you make knowing very well and true that it's in contradiction of canon, but you do it anyway, because it's fanfic and you have a reason or maybe you just don't care. But the thing is, you know you're making it. And then there are the kind of blatant canon mistakes you make because you're a total idiot and forgot.

So. Um. I thought it would be a good idea to give Methos my birthday. My birthday's kind of poetic and I figured, what the hell. The problem with this? I was born on the Winter Solstice.

I'll let that sink in for a minute.

...Yeah. So, guess who forgot Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod's birthday?

*facepalm*

So. I gave Methos that same birthday as Duncan MacLeod. And even worse, I did that, and then did nothing with it. I have this whole build-up with Duncan and Methos and then I give them the same Birthday Full Of Meaning For Their Lives and...it just hangs there, randomly. Because I didn't realize that I did that.

Worst stupid careless canon mistake I have ever made, in any fandom, ever. And I did it in a fic I'm actually really proud of.

The word Oops does not contain enough headdesking to contain my headdesking when I realized I did that.

Methos came over the hill in time to see Kronos hand the merchant gold in exchange for the bauble.

Wow, that reads awkward.

"Have we sunk so far, brother?" Methos asked, smirking.

Oh, and people have a lot of facial expressions in my fic, too. People have faces and actions. And sometimes adverbs.

The necklace was heavy and would leave rough marks during sex.

Because my OTP is a recurring character and a guy who showed up for five episodes. And they have consensual kinky sex. In the bronze age.

It's the Anachronistic!Methos and Kronos show!

...I should icon that.

Kronos growled, but let Methos pocket it.

I just realized I wrote "pocket it" when it's really unlikely that Methos had interior pockets. Um.

Methos is so fashion-forward, he invented inside-pants pockets. *nods*

"For me?" Methos' surprise was white in the harsh morning air. "What's the occasion?"

It's your birthday! Happy birthday, Methos! *offers birthday hat*

Methos watched her pace along the barge, came with her when she stole, drove the getaway car.

Duncan is righteous. Joe has a bar. Methos angsts. And Amanda is a thief. I'm just a genius at characterization, aren't I?

After all, he would tell Joe when really, really drunk, the Trojans had thought so, too, and look what happened to them. Defeated by a bunch of sea-faring, sheep-shagging, oil-rubbing Greeks.

Methos never lets anyone live anything down. Even after they're dead.

But there was something to be said for burning cities to the ground just for fun.

And that something is: In two thousand years, I need to rub my boyfriend's face into the fact I was a mass murderer in order to break up with him. Might as well rack up the body count while I can. It'll be more impressive.

He loved the smell of napalm in the December morning.

Does that answer the question of Cake Or Death?

That was when Duncan would run out of the room and Joe would have to fork over the fifty dollars. Never bet against the oldest man alive.

Okay, so, the thing is, in my personal canon, Methos isn't the oldest man alive, and he knows that. Except that when Joe loses a bet, Methos is all "neener, neener, kiddo, I was winning bets when your ancestors were still killing each other with rocks." To which Joe says, "takes one to know one, rock boy." And then Methos whines that he never *killed* anyone with a rock, because rocks are really bad ways of killing people, and thank god for the iron age, which made mass murder so much more efficient.

And then Duncan vomits again. Wimp.

Stay away five hundred years and the landscape wouldn't match your memories.

I actually love this section. All the sections were moved around a bazillion times to see where they fit best. And despite my poking fun, I really do love this fic. It was a labor of love. But this section? I want to hug it, put it to bed, and make sweet, sweet love to it with the lights off.

But the waters kept rising, dark and black as the night.

This whole thing is part of my personal canon for Methos, and it comes from a total throw-away line in Methuselah's Gift where Methos says that "Noah survived the great flood." And in my personal view of Methos, by this point in his life, he ain't gonna believe nothing he didn't see with his own two eyes. So, sayeth I, if Methos believes in the great flood, he must have seen it. He must remember it. He must have been there.

And, hey...

What if that was his first death?

Then he'd *really* remember it.

(And it's even canon that he doesn't like the water. And thinks it's a great place to dump immortals who keep trying to kill him. Hey, I don't judge.)

Amanda's question, when it came, was simple.

In case I totally failed to make any of this clear in the fic: Methos is getting asked different questions from everyone. Duncan wants to know what his name means, Joe and Kronos want to know his birthday (and Kronos actually figures it out), Amanda wants to know how many people he's killed, Silas and Caspian want to know where he was born, and Richie wants to know where Immortals came from. Because I just realized I spelled out everyone's question except for Amanda's. Oops. Sorry, Amanda! Nothing personal!

Cassandra was gone for six days before she came stumbling back. She came back in the early dawn to steal a horse and almost succeeded.

Because Cassandra ran off into the night in blind panic and we're really supposed to believe that she escaped from four horsemen just like that?

Methos had forced a dagger into her heart, then tossed her into the river.

Alas, the eternal question of why Methos just can't manage to kill Cassandra is one to which I do not have an answer. Maybe it's an ego thing. Someday, eventually, he'll have killed Cassandra enough times to tame her and she'll be like "I'm so sorry, Master Methos, how can I make it up to you?" and he'll be like, "I don't care that it took three thousand years. Worth it!"

Sometimes time did play tricks on his mind. Sometimes he really couldn't remember.

Because, hey, we're none of us perfect.

And in case I didn't make it blindingly obvious in the fic, in my personal canon, Methos is a lying liar who lies in Methos-the-episode. But, yeah, that probably went without saying.

In five thousand years, how do you even begin to count?

Generally speaking, when we count we begin with 1, 2, 3. (And when we sing, we begin with do re mi, but that's beyond the scope of this commentary.)

He couldn't. That was Kronos' gift to him.

Methos made himself a murderer all by himself. Kronos made him into a monster, because he taught him how to forget. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. (Well, for the purposes of this fic.)

"What a pile of shit." Caspian spat onto the ground. "What do they call it?"

As unovis_lj pointed out in the comments, I got Darius's timeline extremely, embarrassingly wrong. Oops. But, actually, unlike The Worst Canon Mistake I Have Ever Made *points up*, this is a mistake I would have knowingly made, had I made it knowingly. I just would have done it totally different, in a totally different context of time period, etc, and have written it better, so it's clear I'm fucking with canon deliberately, just so I can get a mention of the word "solstice" into this fic somewhere, and mention that Methos is a total recruiter and goes looking for new brothers when he's starting to get tired of the old ones (hey, Methos *did* leave, and later was much with the "I am not your brother" repudiation). And have Darius "in" the fic, but not in the fic, to hint the idea that you can be redeemed from a life of gleefully killing, but you're going to have to pay a price, and have Methos have his face rubbed into it at a time in his life when he needs to hear that, even though he'll probably ignore it. But, yes, the way I did it is distracting because it's so wrong. Maybe I would have screwed around with the Horsemen timeline a little more, maybe done something with the fact that it's been more than "a thousand years" since the horsemen last hung out, maybe aged Darius a little bit, stuck him in Paris a hundred years earlier. Not sure. But, anyway, yes. Totally my bad.

This section is also problematic because it's not from Methos's point of view and it's unclear whose POV it is. Oh well. Artistic license. This entire section really does need to be scrapped and rewritten. *shuffles it under the rug and pretends it never happened*

What do words mean in obsolete languages?

Okay. I lied. I like *this* section the most. Nyah! Okay, actually not, because it's borderline pretentious. But I still love it! *cuddles it*

How can you describe the fear of darkness swallowing, darkness everlasting?

Heckler: Cheer up, emo Methos!

"It means nothing at all," Methos said. "My mother liked the way it sounded."

Methos answering (read: lying through his teeth) the question Duncan asked in the first section. Which, yes, was clear, but I am one with the obvious today.

I tried to go for the idea of paralleling each question and answer to be on opposite ends of the fic, with the "hinge" of the fic being the section where Methos tries to find his birthplace and fails. Didn't work and I ended up scrapping the idea.

But, yeah. You can pretty much subtitle this fic, You Can't Go Home Again.

Like iron and bronze.

Trying to indirectly reference the Bronze and Iron ages, and how totally different they were from anything Duncan knows. And the idea that Methos has lived through them and they're a part of him in ways Duncan can't imagine or comprehend, and now I'm starting to sound pretentious, so I'll stop.

Like the chill in the air and frost on the ground.

Winter solstice as informing on Methos's life, etc etc. As above, with the nights getting longer and longer and the winter dragging on, and to, y'know, rage rage against the dying of the light. Etc etc.

Like death and searching forever without finding your home.

Yes, I used the D-word to describe Methos. And I am not ashamed.

Like indigo sunsets after crimson dawns.

Crimson supposed to reference blood. I totally forget about the indigo. Yay pretension?

After five thousand years, how can they expect you to remember? (But how can you forget?) How dare they expect you to tell them? (But they don't know. They can't understand.) How dare they presume?

Oh my god, I love dualities. I love parentheses. I love angsting. I'm just going to sit here and not apologize for this section anymore. I love it so.

Monsters. The lot of them.

And Methos should know.

'My gift,' the mother whispers.

Intentional tense change, not a typo.

She holds the baby close against her breasts. 'My Methos.'

This turned out to be more of an emotional sucker punch, judging from various comments, than I intended it to be. I was just going for it to be an answer to the question at the beginning of the fic, as to what his name means. And the fact that it's a universal, that it can just be summed up in any language, that Methos was a gift and his mommy loved him. And that duality with the found baby in the middle of winter, a little life in the darkness, and the mass-murdering monster that Methos grew up to be. And the fact that Methos thinks of this as something he keeps to himself, something he values, his most precious secret, that he isn't going to start blabbing about to anybody. Because it's his name and his mommy loved him, so there.

--

On to Fade! Which is a "companion piece" because it covers a lot of the same ground as And Fray, so it's not really a sequel or a prequel, but it's still meant to be read after And Fray. And Fray was mostly about Methos, where he came from, who he is. Fade is about Methos and Kronos, the two of them together, and the idea of brotherhood. So you do need to have that background on Methos for the whole Methos and Kronos thing. (If anyone actually read Fade first, can you tell me if it worked as a standalone?)

---

Fade...

Starting the phrase which began "...And Fray". Which I totally planned to do when I added the ellipses to "And Fray". Totally. Right. Yes. Of course. *looks shifty*

Shadows and regrets had no place in the life of an Immortal.

This section was never meant to be the first section. In fact, I think for most drafts, I had it third or fourth. That was never meant to be the first line of the fic. But it is, and it's still so jarring to read it as the first line. Because it just doesn't fit. There's absolutely no context whatsoever, especially coming off And Fray. The entire first paragraph is just so wrong as the first paragraph of the fic.

But the fic wasn't working without Duncan accusing Methos at the start, and I ended up having to cut an entire section that wasn't working, and...did I mention before about how these two put to lie anything about short fics not taking eternities to write? I went through a significant percentage of a ream of paper printing this thing out, making corrections on hardcopy, correcting the Word document, printing it out again, just so I could actually get this thing *done* and *finished* and *over with*.

This section had to be first for the fic to work. And maybe it's just me, because I know it was never meant to be first, that I think it's jarring. But it still is. Very jarring.

never expecting to mourn yet again for his brothers, these ones chosen with care to never die, to never leave him.

And this is one of the reasons why this section needed to be first. Because you need to state the whole point and theme of the fic as early as possible. Methos chose his brothers, because these wouldn't die. And then ended up killing one and being the reason two died. Yes, I will hit people over the head with the Anvil of Angst, if it suits my purposes. :p

Valuable lives, irreplaceable lives, now as fallen as Babylon.

Fallen Babylon from Isaiah 21.

Immortals were never born to die, but too many did.

A better question might be if Immortals were born at all.

Alas, my brother...

I think this was indirectly inspired/influenced by King David's lament for Avshalom (Samuel 2, 19:1), but I can't remember for sure.

It was a month after the double Quickening

Enough time to forget the horrible special effects.

breathe, believe, and mourn.

Those are the main key words of this section, and they were totally lost later in the fic. And, yes, I am still making excuses to myself for moving this section up. Oh well.

Thirty days, then thirty more,

Judaism (see my earlier meta about just how much Judaism I stick into this fandom) has different stages of the period of morning for a close relative, of which one is a brother. One is a thirty day period, called Shloshim, which is the first thirty days after the death. (Shloshim means 30. Judaism is big on literalism in naming things.)

and a thousand years of fraternity were reduced to a sole, desperate plea for more time.

*angsts*

Five thousand years of regrets, and Duncan assumed that Methos' ancient constant companion had been merely a petty tyrant.

Probably didn't help that Kronos acted like one around him. But, hey, I'm not criticizing!

That was the cruelest cut of them all

Hey, Mark Antony, how's Egypt treating you?

Methos didn't try to explain. Duncan was too young to understand, too young to have truly lost, too young to understand the impossible choices.

Anyone think Methos is being really arrogant and underestimating Duncan? *counts hands* Okay, and who think he's totally right? *counts hands*

The "Duncan can still go home to Scotland, and he's still got a kinsman around, for heaven's sake" people win.

Maybe that was why he always sought out the young ones.

Also, they're too young to know better than to hang around with Methos.

...just sayin'.

"How many people have you killed by leaving?" Macleod asked one dark afternoon, sky overcast. "Two, five, ten?"

And the Lifetime Achievement Award for just not getting it goes to....Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Congratulations!

"How many more by turning your back, by closing your eyes, by doing nothing?"

Originally these were split up more, but they worked better right after each other, even though The Laws Of Alternating Dialogue state that this line is actually being said by Methos, not Duncan. I plead artistic license. Also, it's obvious that it's continuing-Duncan, so it's not like it's added confusion or anything.

I was going for the idea that Duncan would make this distinction between people killed by action and people killed by inaction. And which is more cruel, to kill someone outright, or to turn your back and walk away and let it happen. And does it make you responsible, if you could have stopped it, but didn't. Because those are the kind of moral questions Duncan deals with. Whereas Methos is kind of post-morality, in a sense. To him, they're dead, and why does it matter beyond that.

They had never learned the bitter lesson of why the gods only required you to fight to the death to prevent the loss of a brother.

Judaism identifies seven close relatives for which you are required to sit shiva: father, mother, sister, brother, spouse, daughter, son. I took it one step further. (okay, like twenty steps further.)

"How much blood, Methos? How much blood is on your hands?"

None. As we know from watching Chivalry, he washed his hands this morning.

It was the same question. It was always the same question.

And, as we all know from reading And Fray, Methos has a personal vendetta against question marks.

Methos stared at the glint of light reflecting in his fingernails

See, no blood there!

Also, an indirect reference to Havdala.

at the only friend in centuries to both know the truth and reject it.

Either because Methos didn't tell anyone else, or...yeah, he probably just didn't tell anyone else.

"You can't even begin to imagine."

No, but that's why we have flashbacks. Whee!

He wrote their names in the first snow he ever saw.

The same idea as writing names in sand. It doesn't last. But this way is more melty. Also the usual about someone who has never encountered snow before thinking it's a special mystical power thing from the gods.

Ninhos, Poratha, Parshandatha, Ashraya, Aspatha, Parmashta, Kinhos

Most obscure reference ever. Five of those are names of the sons of Haman.

The youngest, whose place Methos had usurped. He was the gods' gift, coddled and pampered, and his brothers had protected him far longer than they should have.

I elaborate on this later in the fic, but it's the idea that if you're really, really, really good, to atone for a really big mistake, the gods will reward you by making sure you're never forgotten by sending down someone who will remember forever, because they'll never die. And cementing the idea that, yes, Methos knows what his name means, in case I didn't hit you over the head hard enough with the anvil in And Fray.

There is the rest of this idea is something I don't *think* I've ever managed to stick into a fic I ever finished, but what eventually happened is that one of these god's gifts accidentally took a quickening when he was out with another immortal, and news got around, and the perception changed from being a gift to being a curse and thing of evil. And while each individual tribe would safeguard their own, eventually the immortals and pre-immortals were all cast-out and they made their own tribes of the immortals. And when more pre-immie babies showed up in other tribes, they were either cast out or secretly raised and when they were old enough or were outed as being immortal, were cast out and sometimes found their way to an immortal tribe. And so you had immortals like Methos, who remembered when they were loved and revered, and you have immortals like Kronos who know only fear and hatred from humans, and of course you have the inbetweens and other stuff like that, but the main thing is that there is a serious POV shift in regards to how immortals view humans from when Methos was a lad and from when Kronos was growing up. Not sure that ever made it into a fic. (Probably for good reason, too.)

They had given him life and his first death, seeking that he should die amongst them.

His brothers had stabbed him, so that he wouldn't drown, not knowing that he would revive. Hey, have I shown you my shiny angst anvil recently?

They had taught him to walk away, but not how to forget.

As mentioned in And Fray, nope. Kronos did that.

The new brothers were rough and they did not fear the rage of the dead.

Which is shorthand for Methos noticing that culture and religion and perception of the afterlife, and so on, have changed a lot since he was young. Trying to underscore that Methos is very old by the time he rides with the horsemen.

Kronos, the eldest of the three, the one Methos himself had named in the desolation of the solstice night for the sun itself

Happy birthday, Methos! Hey, what's my name? I forgot it, you just fucked me so hard. (Sorry, had to get some kind of OTPness in here somewhere.)

As for Kronos meaning sun...well...um.... hey, Wikipedia says no one knows the etymology. So there.

Julei and Mnentek were young hunters, always bickering, who could not be trusted with even the secrets of their own existence.

1) That Methos isn't going to tell them they're Immortals until he's sure he isn't going to take their heads.

2) That Silas and Caspian, for all that they aren't modern names and, yes, are extremely old, never struck me as being the kind of names two marauders would have in the bronze age. So I made some up.

They called him Kiri, the devil spirit of the East, until the ghosts disappeared into the northern snow and Methos was free to give them that power over his heart.

Thus establishing the chronology for these flashbacks. And that Methos isn't going to tell anyone his real name until they're his brothers and he can trust them. Because his mommy loved him, goddammit. His mommy loved him. (Also, names have power, etc, etc. But mostly because his mommy loved him.)

(Total lucky accident about this: I was just rewatching The Messenger and during the part where Methos is having his snarky wish-fulfillment dialogue with the Messenger, he says: "And if their mother had loved them truly, then it would have been a different world." Total mocking, total snarking, and I totally burst out laughing, because I DID NOT mean to reference that in any way, shape, or form (or if I did, I have completely forgotten about it), that Methos is like, "pop psychology? What a stupid, stupid fad. And stop blaming it all on my mother!"

Oh, that was just an awesome scene. Methos rocks when he's being snarky and mocking.)

He went back to avoiding Macleod after that.

And this section always happened after-the-flashback from the section-that-became-the-first-section. So this became the second real-time section.

Joe didn't question it when Methos asked him to help him get a new passport under a different name.

Because if there's one thing the Watchers can do, it's flagrantly break the law.

Methos had learned that lesson the hard way.

Because life kept hitting him over the head with the easy way and he never learned, one assumes.

There never was any other way to accept the brutal equation.

The little seen, yet widely feared, cousin of the quadratic equation. Like Bigfoot, in a way.

It was the last resort of a learned coward.

Heckler: Run, Forrest, run!

Methos didn't keep track; there were no notches on his swordhilt.

That's good, because they'd take up a lot of space.

Simple arithmetic, years multiplied by centuries, and any man would be forced to kill far more times than would suit Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod.

Any man would, yes. But you're the guy who said you liked it, Methos. Methinks this is your fault that Duncan is like "um, ten thousand? *freaks out*"

(Stepping back and being serious for a moment, and don't worry, it'll just be a moment: as much as I find canon!Duncan MacLeod to be annoying and don't like him as much as it seems everyone else does, I think it says a hell a lot about him as a person Immortal fictional character person that he was able to forgive Methos and be friends him again after having it rubbed into his face the kind of atrocities Methos committed and the fact that Methos *enjoyed* them. All kidding aside, Methos really was a nightmare, and kudos to Duncan MacLeod for being able to see beyond it to the man Methos is present-day.)

(Okay, now back to making fun of stuff.)

Even the champions of the age were too soft-hearted, too tender.

Better ask Caspian about that. I'm sure he could tell you how to cook them better so they toughen up.

Kronos had understood the consequences of constrained power, the freedom of the tyrant. Never weak, always severe.

Ah, the good old days. Back when blue face paint was fashionable.

(My playlist just started up with San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear Flowers in Your Hair). Heh.)

It was what had tempted Methos the most

Methos needs to join Megalomaniacs Anonymous. (Please tell me someone's written that. Please. And, links plz.)

and it was his deepest regret.

Yeah, I'd regret the face paint, too. And the hair.

When he walked down the street, he had eight shadows.

Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters!

(Eight is from his seven brothers + Silas. The one he killed and the seven he failed to save. Oh, the angst.)

(And I'll stop with the parentheses now.)

When he embraced Duncan, he could feel the ghosts still standing behind him, Silas' gaze the most accusing of them all.

Silas no like Duncan MacLeod. Silas think Methos could do better. Silas want a monkey.

His brothers had taught him how to hunt and they had pushed a dagger into his chest as the first waves rose. He had choked on his own blood, and they had taught him how to kill. They had lowered him with love to the floor, and they had taught him how to worship the gods. They had closed his eyes and taught him about death.

I love this paragraph. That is all.

Kronos had never known. Mac never asked. Joe believed him when he said that he awoke after the floodwaters had receded. Joe believed him when he said he woke up, surrounded by the bodies, still trapped in the house. Joe believed him.

Going back to And Fray, Kronos and Duncan never asked where he came from. Silas and Caspian did, and Methos would never tell them. I think of all the present-day folks, Joe is the one most likely to actively research Methos and put two and two together, and is the only one Methos might tell the truth to about his first death. But he'd still gloss over the more disturbing details. If Joe figured it out enough to ask, Methos would just give him the plain facts, and leave out the horrors. I think Methos respects Joe enough not to torture him with too much information.

Joe didn't know that, after the knife, the flood lasted forty deaths.

Using deaths instead of days for the length of measurement of the flood, and keeping the forty.

The gods sent orphans to test the people and to give them eternal life. The people rejoiced. The orphans grew, died, and were forever condemned to carry the weight of the dead, the burden of years and memory. But they remembered.

Hey, Methos. Would you like some angst with your survivor's guilt?

Four hundred years ago, Methos had consigned his brothers' ashes to blue-lipped Genhe.

Blue-lipped, BECAUSE THEY ALL DROWNED. AND METHOS DROWNED. METHOS DROWNED A LOT. Whee, anvilling!

Okay, actually not. This was one of those lucky accidents. I was writing it and was like "okay, need a good epic-poem-esque epithet of the deity of the afterlife" and was like, "oh, I know! *scribbles*. And only reading it over later did I realize how well it worked.

Seriously. I am not *that* blunt with the anvil. :p

He should be dust mingled with red clay. He should have died a true death long ago. But after four hundred years, he no longer sought death. It would come to him or not at all.

Methos himself not truly believing in the stories he was told until they happened to him and he discovered he could not die.

He could live with the ghosts, the regrets, the memories. He settled in deserts, walked across kingdoms, and finally married a widow in a land beyond the setting sun.

Trying to give the impression that a ton of time is passing.

Two years later, the devil wind ripped through his body for the first time and images assaulted his mind.

My views on the Quickening are that it's a war of personalities, with one of them finally dominating, but there's a lot of flashes of images and thoughts and such.

And when the wind retreated, he knew what he was. Gagras, the undying.

Methos is so angstful, he never had a first teacher. No, he had to find out the hard way, while he was being killed by lightening. Methos is so hardcore with his angst.

But also the idea that Methos is completely alone in this. Yes, he has families and companions and so on, but they're all human. At the end of it all, his first thousand years as an Immortal is a time in which he is alone, with only the details changing.

And he wondered which of his brothers had sired his long-dead children.

I wanted to give the impression that Methos isn't angry about this, but instead genuinely curious, and kind of heart broken that there was something about his family that he hadn't known, and was only finding out, so far away from them, and with all of them dead, so they can't explain their reasons. And that it's completely logical for him. He's sterile, but he had children. His wife must have slept with one of his brothers. Perfectly logical.

"Hey, Adam," Richie asked after he had been persuaded to take up the sword once more, after they had returned from France, his motorcycle helmet dangling from his fingers,

Trying to establish some sense of where this ties in with canon here. Totally failing.

if you're so old and wise, do you know where we come from?"

Richie clearly didn't watch The Messenger. Or any other Methos ep.

Joe scoffed, but Methos nodded.

Joe has so little faith. Joe knows Methos so well. ;)

"We're from the blood spilled in a kinslaying. The gods send a born orphan to absolve the families of bloodguilt and our lives are the renewal of their honor."

This makes perfect sense to me, and I think it's very likely that Methos would believe something like this. That Immortals are, first and foremost, a second chance for the humans around them, and way for them to redeem themselves. And in return, the Immortals remember them for their entire lives. And Immortals, having no kin, make their own kin amongst their own.

"We're the shadow of the Quickening." The brotherhood of orphans, the fraternity of the fatherless.

Quickening as just another kinslaying, if you believe that all Immortals come from the same place, and therefore how Immortals procreate. Making the Gathering just another way of ensuring that more and more Immortals exist. As long as Immortals keep killing each other, their kind will never become extinct.

I can totally see why Methos would like to believe this.

"You ever tested that or is it just some fairy tale?"

Yes, Richie. Because Methos really took a head and then stuck around to see if a baby popped into existence.

In his mind, Methos saw blades striking against blades, the eternal struggle played out to its deadly conclusion time after time.

*sings* Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage!

He shook his head. "We're as old as the first murder, that's all anyone knows for certain."

Methos is the king of not actually answering questions. Too bad Richie didn't call him on that first murder thing.

"There are hundreds of legends," Joe said, giving Methos a sharp look. "The older ones emphasize battlegrounds. The newer ones have more to do with aliens than unforgiving gods and weregild."

Weregild is one of those words that I really love and try to use in fic whenever I can get away with it.

"But there's a reason you believe that one, Adam? Did someone in your family kill his brother?"

Richie as the voice of exposition. *pets Richie*

Methos paused, his mug halfway to his lips. I did. He lifted it to the ceiling, then drank it down.

Where's that "Methos in a bar" drinking game?

"No," he said. "Joe's right. It's just a legend." He'd done more for the continuation of his species than any protecting Watcher ever had, but the child was still too young to understand.

Methos the Mass-Murdering Immortal: Killing you for the species's own good.

The Watchers knew enough to make life very difficult for Immortals, but not much else. Methos had made certain of that. He'd whitewashed history the way he couldn't his memories and never let himself forget that Immortals would have to live in the world long after the Watchers were dust. It was no sin to lie to a mortal.

Methos the Book-Violating Pragmatist: Screwing with chronicles to save his own ass.

Joe, bless his conflicted soul, understood that.

My theory on Joe is that if he ever had any ideals about what he does, he lost them after Horton and even more so after they nearly executed him. Now he's just trying to keep his own Immortals alive, while following his oath as best he can.

"Good morning, kinsman."

Because they're Immortals! Get it?! All Immortals are siblings! *anvils*

Methos' eyes snapped open.

Heckler: Oh, snap!

This one was young; Methos could read it in his face. Scarred, yes, but not beaten.

Once again, Methos going for the immortals too young to know better than hang around him. :p

"That way. I'm Sata."

Sata as shorthand for Saturn which is Roman for Kronos.

"Kinhos." It was a safe name.

Methos using the name of a dead person instead of his real one. I wonder where Connor MacLeod learned it from...

Methos tousled his hair to remove the clumps of dirt.

The disadvantage of having that horrible Bronze Age hair. Stuff gets stuck in it.

Sata said diplomatically.

See! Kronos can be polite when he wants to! He just, well, normally doesn't want to. :p

It was better when one of the wanderers was candid about what he was. "Has business been that slow, mercenary, that you walk the crossroads, waiting for those robbed to revive and pay you for your services?"

*Not* a headhunter. That Methos would fully expect to be able to live and breathe easy under the paid protection of another immortal, even one he just met. That there is more to immortals interacting with each other for the first time than just whacking each other's heads off.

A mercenary in his employ would ease the way.

Heckler: KY works, too!

They were five feet away from the first marked mound before they saw the bodies.

One thing I want to get across with this section without bringing out the anvil is that Methos just casually and indiscriminately killed a bunch of people, and has done it countless times before. And has no compunctions about doing it. And doesn't bother to stop and bury the bodies, or even blink. He just gets his stuff back and moves on.

That Methos is a cold, calculating, creative murderer, all before he meets Kronos. One of my pet peeves in Highlander fic is that Methos was all nice and innocent and *farm farm farm live live live* and then Kronos corrupted the hell out of him.

I mean, Kronos himself was like, "dude, you have a heart? I DID NOT KNOW THAT. Here, wait, let me cut it out of you with a blunt knife. Better now?"

Methos laughed. "No, merely a scholar."

Hey, knowledge *is* power.

a true smile lighting up his face,

Heckler: Ooooh, Heaven, let your light shine down!

Heckler 2: *waves lighter*

"And therefore kill themselves, saving me the trouble." Methos searched the bodies for his sword. "All mortals should be so considerate."

See above, re: murderer. And he's lazy, too! For shame, Methos. If you're going to kill people, at least put some effort into it.

In the hollow month of February

This is a very literal application of the description of Jewish (lunar) months with 30 days as "full" and months with 29 as "hollow".

Methos told only the truth, knowing he shouldn't be surprised by the results, but still amazed and amused.

Yeah, he may have been there and done that, but if it doesn't match what's in the history books, he's going to get laughed off of Jeopardy. And that people are going to focus only on the big changes (like continental drift) and not the little ones (like, you know, haircuts). (No, I am never letting that Bronze Age Hair thing go.)

"I'm fascinated by term limits," was pillowtalk to Duncan. "Peaceful transitions of power."

So am I. All of these, actually, are things that fascinate me, considering human history.

Duncan was still too young to have experienced true culture shock. He would ask about Plato, about Alexander, never understanding that history was the tide that washed over the names written in sand, names only Methos remembered.

There was something here originally about specific great people in their time who Methos remembered, but history had never heard of them. That it's a total crapshoot if you get written up in some history book, and even more if people two thousand years later remember your name. I dunno, maybe it was too depressing. (I think it may have made it into another fic, but I'm too lazy to go check.)

And when he had walked away from their burnt ashes, he had vowed never again.

I absolutely love the mental image of Methos walking away from the funeral pyre of his past. (I'll stop self-congratulating eventually, promise.)

The gods were unforgiving of those who failed in their duties. Methos did not want to ever pay that bloodprice again, the price of ages spent alone, the leper exile from the community, until the gods forgot him.

Based on the idea in Jewish law that if you accidentally killed someone, you could run away from the next of kin trying to be the goel ha'dom (literally, redeemer of the blood; yep, we're talking blood feuds here) and have asylum in a city of refuge until the death of the High Priest, which would atone for your accidental murder.

He wanted Kronos' memories.

Then maybe you should have killed him yourself? Just a thought.

He wanted all those lost moments spent together, wanted them like his throat begged for water, like his soul cried out for the end of the wanderings.

See: nearly all of Lamentations (specifically "Pour out your heart like water" -- 2:19), and Psalms 42:3 and 84:3 (aka Tsamah Nafshi).

(I just spent a moment googling if there was a standard transliteration for that, and the third google hit is called "Songs for a Brother". Heh.)

(Oh, and, btw, in case it wasn't obvious, I am totally not doing all these chapter-and-verse quote citations from memory. Allow me to introduce you to the love of my life, Mechon Mamre.)

Methos had buried bodies of Immortals he had killed

Of all the people I specifically have him kill, the only mortals Methos buries/performs funeral rites upon in this fic are his relatives.

and considered none of them his brothers, but he had let a child kill his Kronos because he had not the strength to do it himself, to do what he had known to be necessary.

They're your brothers. If they have to die, do it your own damn self. Interesting philosophy.

Methos blamed himself and knew it to be true.

Hecklers, in chorus: Cheer up, emo Methos!

He missed Kronos.

Get used to it.

After an excruciatingly public Quickening and subsequent resurrection, he'd been forced to accept this role once more.

Fic convention #22: Methos pretending to be a god.

Fic convention #22a: And liking it. A lot.

He loved the bowing and the scraping, loved the sacrifices and palace intrigues, loved the sheer power of it all.

Cf. above. Methos became a power-hungry murderer all by himself. Kronos just helped him up the body count.

Kronos had taken the east road, Methos the south.

Referencing the parting of Avraham and Lot, with Avraham letting Lot choose which path to take, and then taking the other.

but when the wanderings were complete, Methos knew he would meet Kronos in the ancient quarrel and one of them would die.

"Ancient quarrel" being an early prelude of the inevitability of Immortals trying the self-extinction thing.

He had lost too many brothers to lose another to his own blade. He would not lose Kronos, the friend he himself had named. He would lose everything in those final days and he would not allow himself another brother to mourn.

And here we go. Why Methos won't kill Kronos. Because, dammit, he's been there, done that, and doesn't want to do it again. *throws temper tantrum*

Respite was scarce and he was far, far too old for love.

Oh, the irony, because this entire section takes place *before* he became a horseman. *pets Methos*

Even in this modern age, voices still cried out in the night over forgotten graves.

Okay. Should I start here? Okay.

The entire section was modeled on Kaddish. I wanted it to feel perfectly natural if I had stuck Yisgadal v'yiskadash shmei rabbah after the last line, that it would fit perfectly in with the beat. And I think it worked. (Don't tell me if it didn't. I like my delusions.)

The idea that this is a call-and-response that Methos is doing alone. That he is standing alone in a graveyard saying Kaddish for Kronos, completely alone, with just the voices of his past sounding in his head. That this is a prayer for Kronos. That only Methos, with everything in his past, would ever even consider mourning for Kronos, for what he was, for who he was. For Duncan, this was the villain of the week, kill him and move on. For Methos, this is his entire past and all it means to him.

"Ten are the times I have stood and watched as my brother fell."

Seven birth brothers + Kronos, Caspian, and Silas.

Who is that crying out in the night

Based on Lamentations 1:2: "She cries out in the night."

giving the mourner's call to witness?

Methos doing his own version of the Mourners Kaddish.

"Eight are the faces I've erased from all memory.

Going back to Haman, the idea that there are some names that should be completely erased from history.

Who mourns for Kronos killer of ages,

I kept going back and forth between "Kronos, killer of ages" and "Kronos killer of ages". I think I made the right choice going with no comma. It scans better and makes more sense. I'm the sort of person who uses commas less as punctuation and more as a way to indicate beats, especially in more "poetic" stuff. Combined with my fervent belief in the Oxford comma and you can totally identify a fic I wrote based solely on the comma count vs. word count.

for legions of men who marched until death?

Probably inspired by Tennyson's Charge of the Light Brigade, although I'm not sure. Let's just say it was.

for the brides who sowed their wombs with blood and salt?

This is also probably a reference to Lamentations, but I can't remember exactly from where or if it is.

"Six are the villains that the gods forsook.

I can definitely see Methos being raised with morality tale of six people who were so horrible the gods abandoned them.

Five are the generations between slave and king, oxcart and scepter."

Social mobility, for the win?

If he mourns for Kronos, will he mourn for Death itself

Based, ironically, on a snippet from a wedding song.

"Four are the names of the gods of vengeance, whom we worship above all others. Three are the divisions of the stars, the celestial tripod which holds up the world."

Methos-generation theology and astronomy in one fell swoop.

Who calls him to justice and his mother's arms?

Going back to the queen of stars arms above and Methos's Mommy from And Fray.

Who makes him Immortal with a thought?

Because if I don't reference "Immortal with a kiss", then it's just not a fandom.

Two are the seasons

Rainy and dry.

two are the crops,

I honestly cannot remember which ones I meant. Um. Some grain and grapes, probably.

Who mourns for the survivor and comforts him in his grief?

The one thing that stuck in my head after reading Beowulf was the idea of the tragedy of the last survivor.

No one will close his eyes or cross his wrists upon his chest. No one will slide a coin into his mouth or cover his ankles with the ashes of a tree planted at his birth.

Various funeral rites, taken from here and there. (The coin is the most obvious one.)

"And there can be only one."

Funny how it all works out. I was working my way down numbers-wise, going with the tried-and-true theme of counting down from ten that's so prevalent in Jewish prayers and stuff, and it was like, oh, ooooooh. Ouch. Hey, that works. That *really* works.

And that's all, folks. :) I apologize for any omissions, mistakes, embarrassing typos, etc.

....This is 29 pages in Word. o.O