Epiphany

By Wesa

AU: Immortal Witches' Chronicles version of Highlander

Disclaimer: Highlander, the series, concepts and characters, are the property, copyright and trademark of Gregory Widen and Rysher - Panzer/Davis. No ownership or claim on said property, copyright or trademark is made or implied by the use in this work. This work constitutes a personal comment on the aforesaid properties pursuant to doctrines of fair use and fair comment. This work is non-commercial, not for sale or profit, and may not be sold or reproduced for commercial purposes.
Category: Angst

Rating: PG (language).

Note: This work contains historical people, places, and events, all of which have been re-interpreted from traditional texts. In no way is this meant to offend anyone, and if it does so, I apologize in advance.

Thanks: to Marq and Jen, my betas.

Summary: A pivotal meeting makes Methos realize he must desist from killing indiscriminately and leave the Horsemen.

By Wesa.

Methos stood on a hilltop, wrapped in furs against the chill of the early winter night, watching intently as the next constellation, the Fish, rose in the east. He missed Wesa intensely at such times, and wished he hadn't said anything to Kronos about the dangers of allowing the witches to increase their numbers. They had used their powers for the benefit of the Horsemen, so what would have been so terrible? After all, Parvaneh had actually liked Caspian. If she had come to have any influence with him, she might have been able to temper his cruelty a little, at least within the camp.

"Methos!" Kronos called out, climbing the campward side of the low hill. "Are you going to stay out here all night?"

"Look, Brother," Methos said, indicating the constellation he had been watching for the last three weeks. "There's something happening there, something important."

Kronos looked. "I don't see anything."

"That's because you haven't been here night after night, watching it change," Methos told him. "See those three bright stars? They've been moving toward each other for weeks. Soon they will all be in the same place in the sky."

"So?" Kronos asked. "What does it mean? Do we move? South or north? Or should we stay here?"

"I don't know."

Kronos raised an eyebrow at that. "You don't know?" he repeated, taunting his know-it-all friend. "Then why worry about it?"

"Because I don't know," Methos replied easily. "I've never seen anything like it, and I don't know what it means. The group of stars themselves represent Judea, but -"

"Those Israelites again?" Kronos grumbled. "I thought we were rid of them when they were all carried away to Persia."

"I did, too. They're a resilient bunch, for mortals, I have to give them that. But no, the other stars represent Judea. The three that are moving closer are the ones that concern me. I don't know whether they mean we should go to Judea, or if perhaps they have nothing to do with us at all. I need to go to Babylon to find out what the star-masters there say about it."

Kronos scowled. "What can mortals know that you do not, my brother?" He eyed the three bright stars as if they were deliberately depriving him of his most able assistant's services.

"The star-masters must have seen this coming, as I did. They will have discussed it, and may have come to some conclusion as to what it means. I want to hear what they think, but rest assured, Kronos, I will make up my own mind about what it means for us." He turned, leading the way back down the hill into camp.

Kronos nodded, following him. "You always do. Go ahead, then, and we'll expect you back in a few weeks."

Methos agreed to this without even thinking that it might be the perfect time to break away from the Horsemen, and Kronos in particular. Such thoughts were dangerous. "I ride at dawn."

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

The road south was hilly and rough, providing great cover for bandits, and Methos traversed it as quickly as possible, not wanting to have his small pouch of gold stolen. Granted, he'd stolen it himself, but he was riding then as one of the most feared marauders that had ever been. Now he was just one man alone, and vulnerable to other, lesser bandits. Inwardly he cursed the witches for having made him aware of the fact that he could die, at Kronos' hands or any others. He was nearly 3000 years old now, and he still wanted to live, despite the fact that because of the witches' spell he would never have a position of leadership. He no longer truly desired leadership; he wanted freedom.

He reached the Syrian road without incident and turned east. This road was much better-traveled, and he was less vulnerable. There would be caravans here - the Horsemen had attacked them often enough - and he could find companions to make his journey more pleasant and even safer. Perhaps someone would have heard what the conjunction in the sky meant, and he could save the trip. If it had nothing to do with the Horsemen, he would go anyway for a while, though perhaps not to Babylon, just to get away from Kronos and his obsessive need to control everything and everyone.

His pale gray mare loped easily along the hard road to the east. Her usual footing wasn't nearly so sure, and she seemed to appreciate the change from sand and dust. He paused at midmorning to let her rest, and ate a few dates from his pack while she snuffled though the small portion of oats he gave her. He kept her ration lean even though she had worked hard for him so far that day. They had a long way to go yet, and he didn't want her to founder and strand him in the middle of the desert. When she finished, he put away her feed bag, then gave her one of his dates before he re-mounted. She plucked the sweet fruit delicately from his palm, her soft lips just brushing his skin, and in that moment Methos understood Silas completely. A gentle smile briefly curved his lips in an unfamiliar direction, then he swung back up into the saddle and turned the mare's head east again.

Three days passed, similarly uneventful. Methos began to wonder where the season's caravans were. Then, on the evening of the third day, he heard the sounds of animals and their keepers and smelled the odors of cooking food. His stomach growled in anticipation.

Many tents were set up at the edge of the stream in the next valley. Methos ignored the animal keepers on the outskirts of the camp, seeking the caravan guides or those who had hired them, and pulled the mare to a stop before one of the three most opulent tents. He dismounted and handed the mare's reins to the eunuch who stood before the tent. "Methos, of Alexandria," he said, having long ago learned to claim residence in a large enough city that not all its citizens knew one another. He waited to be announced as if there could be no question he would be received, and in fact entered the tent as soon as the eunuch had alerted his master to his visitor.

Three men dressed as richly as kings sat at meat within, but stood to welcome their unexpected guest, in the custom of the land. Methos' practiced eye took in details of fine silks and rich leathers, jeweled rings and winsome slaves even as he greeted his surprised hosts. "I beg your forgiveness for the intrusion," he said, "but I am traveling alone, and would be glad of company, if only for one evening."

"Your timing is fortunate," replied the tallest of the Persians. "My companions are Gaspar and Melchior. My name is Balthasar. Come, sit and eat with us." He clapped his hands twice, and a comely slave appeared with a goblet of wine and a bowl of spiced meats for Methos, offered to him from her knees, her hands upraised to him, though her face and eyes were downcast.

Methos smiled, accepting the invitation, and seated himself on the cushions other slaves brought in. Balthasar's slave was attentive, and the meat and wine were excellent. He could get used to living like this.

"Your business must be urgent for you to risk traveling alone on a road the Horsemen are said to frequent," Melchior observed. "Do you not fear them?"

"The Horsemen wouldn't bother with one insignificant traveler," Methos said, without revealing how he would know such a thing. "I'm not carrying enough wealth to be of interest to them. Is it known, then, that the Horsemen are near?"

"Caravans disappear," Gaspar replied. "Men and women are found dead, along with their sons, their slaves, and many of their daughters. The Horsemen spare no one."

"If you are going west, you should travel with us," Melchior suggested.

"Would that I could," Methos replied. "Alas, I seek the star-masters of Babylon to explain what is happening in the sky."

"You saw the conjunction," Balthasar said certainly.

"Last night." Methos nodded. "The coming conjunction was what sent me on the road. Does anyone understand the signs?"

The other travelers exchanged glances. "Indeed, the portents are the very reason we are traveling west," Balthasar replied. "A new king was born last night in Judea."

Such good fortune would have been beyond belief for anyone else, but Methos smilingly accepted it as his due. "Then if you will have it so, I will travel with you. I wish to see this king whose birth is announced by the very heavens."

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

Traveling with the astrologers of the Persian royal court proved to be exactly to Methos' tastes. The meat, the bread, and the wine were all excellent. The conversation each evening was enlightening. And at night when he retired into silken bedding provided by his hosts, he was pleasured by the companion of his choice, also provided by his hosts. Life was good.

The astrologers debated their exact destination each evening. Balthasar wanted to go directly to Bethlehem, the village where the young king was supposed to have been born, according to the ancient texts, but Gaspar and Melchior argued that by the time they reached there, the child's family would already have returned to the palace.

After eleven days they reached Jerusalem. As they rode along the streets, Methos studied the Roman soldiers he saw. There were more than he had expected. Why? Judea was hardly a warrior nation. Was revolt so likely? And why had the Romans felt it necessary to conquer so inoffensive a people as the Jews anyway? What profit had it brought them? After puzzling it over several times, he decided there was no answer, and turned his mind away.

Gaspar and Melchior had at last convinced Balthasar to check the palace before going to Bethlehem, and they waited there several hours before being admitted to see King Herod.

Though it galled Methos to bow before anyone, he'd gotten pretty good at deferring to Kronos, and he put that experience to use in dealing with Herod. He needed to, because though Herod was polite, he was clearly seething. The very idea of a newborn king infuriated the man who currently held the position. He extracted from them a promise to return to the palace when they located the babe, saying he also wished to offer reverence to the child chosen by the Lord to succeed him.

As the four men left the palace, the Persian astrologers worried about Herod's plans. Methos tried to put them at ease. "What's he going to do?" he asked them. "Kill every boy baby two years old and younger? You never told him when the child was born."

Balthasar shot him a worried glance. "But we told him where. What if he *does* kill the children? This child is supposed to be king."

They traveled on to Bethlehem the next day, debating about how to find one baby born twelve days before. "Bethlehem is a small village," Methos told them, thinking that if Kronos didn't so dislike Judea, Bethlehem might not exist at all. Such a small village of mostly shepherds would have been an ideal target for the Horsemen. "Everybody knows everybody else's business in small towns."

Melchior smiled, commenting, "Like the royal palace."

Methos smiled; he couldn't help himself. "We could probably ask the first person we see, and learn exactly where the child is."

The first person they saw was a shepherd, who looked too young to even grow a beard. Gaspar sent his body servant across the hillside to bring the young man over to them, and all four of the travelers were taken aback by the radiant joy on his beaming face. "Your servant says you wish to ask me about our blessed village," he said.

"Blessed?" Gaspar repeated.

"Since that night," the man said softly. "Since the Lord's messengers told us about the baby." His eyes sparkled with joy. "We went to see him, and he was right where the messengers told us he would be."

"This was twelve nights ago?" Melchior asked.

"It was," the man agreed.

"Take us to him," Gaspar said. His tone, though gentle, was that of a noble unaccustomed to being disobeyed.

The shepherd hesitated, earning sharp glances from all three astrologers. Methos intervened. "His sheep will be unprotected," he pointed out. "And the entire caravan going in might bring unwanted attention to the babe."

"Your point is well-taken, Methos," Balthasar replied thoughtfully. "We will leave our belongings here, and our servants to set up our camp and look after the flock," he decided, "and only the four of us will enter the village." Thus reassured, the shepherd willingly led them into the village as night fell.

He took them to an inn, where he knocked and spoke in a low, respectful voice to the boy who opened the door, asking if his companions might see the babe. The boy looked over his shoulder past the travelers who had stopped at the inn, toward an older man and woman who tended to their customers' needs. Both were oblivious, and the boy, seeing no reason why they should not, sent them to the stable.

"The stable!" Melchior objected. "This is not suitable for a king!"

"How could they treat their king so shabbily?" Gaspar wondered.

"It's been cold at night," Methos murmured. "The stable is probably the warmest room in the inn."

Gaspar grunted, only slightly mollified, as they reached the stable door and opened it, stepping inside. But then they saw the small family, and all other considerations were forgotten.

The father was a young man no more than twenty years of age who looked up in surprise at the unannounced visit. He resembled the busy innkeepers so strongly that he could be no one but their son. His face betrayed his anxiety when he saw the four men at the door. "Yes? Have you horses to stable?" he asked politely.

"We don't wish to intrude so much." Melchior barely raised his voice enough to be heard. "We came to see the babe."

The young father glanced at his even-younger wife, who had been nursing the baby when they entered, but had placed the baby in the manger which was apparently serving as his cradle, and modestly covered herself. Surprisingly, the infant didn't squall at having his dinner cut short. "Come," she invited them in a soft voice, waving them forward.

Methos stepped forward with the astrologers and looked down at the child. One by one they knelt beside the manger and presented the child with a gift: frankincense, myrrh, and gold.

When it was his turn, Methos knelt to look at the babe. Babies had never meant a lot to him, noisy, messy, demanding creatures, but somehow this child was different. He looked up at Methos with wide eyes and cooed softly, thrashing his arms excitedly and kicking his feet and legs free of the swaddling his mother had wrapped him in. Cautiously he reached out to the child with one hand, his forefinger extended, and intercepted one flailing hand. Tiny fingers wrapped around his much larger one, and the child was suddenly still, looking up at him intently.

Transfixed by that gentle, intelligent gaze, Methos stared into the depths of the understanding eyes. This was no ordinary baby. He knew things. He knew everything about Methos, who he was, how old he was, where he was from, and all the things he had done in his long life, both good and bad. He knew Methos was a rapist, a thief, and a murderer, and he forgave him for all of it. He loved Methos.

Methos felt his throat tighten, and he fought back tears. In that instant, Methos knew he would do anything for this child, would lay down his life to defend him.

Defend him? Herod would be looking for this little usurper. Fear clenched his heart, and he looked around to find the boy's father when the baby released his finger. He rose reluctantly and moved to speak to the proud father.

"Your son is in danger," Methos said in a voice too low for the astrologers or the young mother to hear. "King Herod knows about him. You must take your family away - far away." After only a moment's hesitation, he pulled out his small bag of gold. "The other gifts won't be enough. Take this and go somewhere else - anywhere else - until Herod is no longer a threat." The young man looked frightened, which reassured Methos that he'd take his advice.

He moved to speak to Balthasar, still keeping his voice low. "We should go. Herod probably has spies out."

Balthasar looked at him in shock. "Would he do that?"

"It's what I'd do."

They took their leave then. While Balthasar was hurrying Gaspar and Melchior out, Methos took one last lingering look at the baby. "What did you name him?" he asked.

"Yeshua," replied his father. "His mother is Maryam, and I am Yosef Ben-Yakov, of the house of David."

Methos knelt briefly beside the manger again. "Live, Yeshua Ben-Yosef," he said softly. "Grow stronger. I hope to see you again one day." He nodded then to the child's parents, and left.

The Persian astronomers left the next morning, taking another road back to their country and avoiding Jerusalem and Herod entirely. Methos remained on the hillside with the shepherd and his flock, listening again to his story of what he saw the night of the babe's birth.

He stayed until he saw the small family leave Bethlehem the next day, then he breathed a sigh of relief, gathered his belongings, and mounted up. He was reluctant to return to the Horsemen, but he knew Kronos would hunt him down and kill him if he followed his heart and joined Yeshua Ben-Yosef and his family on their journey south.

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

"A new king was born in Judea," Methos said calmly when Kronos inquired as to what he had learned. "Herod is furious, of course. I heard he killed all the children under two years old." He carefully kept all emotion out of his voice so as not to betray how he really felt about that. For some reason it turned his stomach. Death had never bothered him so much before, and he didn't dare let on to Kronos now. Kronos would see it as another weakness, and might decide that Methos had outlived his usefulness. But Methos had made up his mind. He was through with the Horsemen. He just had to find a way to get away.