The Immortal Witches' Chronicles

Original Fiction: The Immortal Witches' Chronicles

I Lied

I Lied

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? Except he’s not really worried or regretful about it.

Rating: R (language, non-graphic sexual situations).

Pairing: Well, three-way: Methos/OMC/OFC;

Summary: Methos thinks back on the different stories he’s told people about his origins.

I Lied

By Wesa.

September 8, 2002

Seacouver

Methos lay on his stomach on the blanket Wesa had spread in the bright autumn sunshine and watched his twin daughters trying to rise on their hands and knees to crawl. They almost had it down, and in another month would be crawling everywhere and getting into things they couldn’t be allowed to have. Both he and their mother, as well as their houseguests, would have to find different places to put their swords before the babies could get to them.

His daughters were beautiful, with hair and eyes as dark as his, their mother’s skin tone, and the beginnings of a fine, almost ethereal bone structure that set off alarm bells in Methos’ mind. Ethereal; that was how Zoel described the woman who bore me, he thought.

The tingle of a new buzz crawled up his spine at the same instant he heard Wesa greet Luvik. Luvik, the north European warrior that Methos had allowed to believe was older than he. Luvik, his bold and beautiful lover; Wesa’s too. Methos smiled. He didn’t mind that his two lovers also loved each other, and he waved a lazy greeting Luvik’s direction as his friend kissed his wife in a way that made both his brother and the Highlander crazy. MacLeod couldn’t understand why Methos allowed the kisses – and more, but MacLeod didn’t know about that – and Kronos couldn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed even to kiss Methos’ woman.

And none of them know where any Immortals really come from. Or didn’t, until Kuyenray and the twins were born.

March 17, 1995

Paris

“Five thousand years,” MacLeod mused as they walked along the Seine, amazed at the lifespan, more than ten times his own, that the elder Immortal had lived.

“Give or take,” Methos allowed, not really certain. He hadn’t measured time the same way when he was young. “And that’s just when I took my first head. Before that, it all gets a little blurry.”

“I imagine it would!” MacLeod agreed.

September 8, 2002

Seacouver

I knew you’d believe it; that’s why I said it, Methos thought. I lied.

As if she could hear his thoughts, Mireille turned and looked at him, then laughed. Her laughter attracted Mirari’s attention, and both babies reached for their father’s prominent nose, plunking down on their bellies as their little arms gave out.

“You shouldn’t tempt them like that,” Wesa said, laughing as she lay on her stomach beside him.

Circa 1700 BCE

The Horsemen’s Camp

“Where were you born?” Wesa asked, sitting astride Methos’ lap and tracing one fingertip over his cheekbones, his brow, his nose. “I’ve never met anyone with a face like yours.”

“My father was the chieftain of a great tribe of warrior-horsemen from the grasslands north of the great sea,” Methos replied, slipping one hand into her shirt; the other was sliding slowly up her thigh under her skirt. “One of his women found me as a baby and raised me as her own. My father was killed in battle before I ever really knew him, and one of his warriors took over as chieftain.”

September 8, 2002

Seacouver

I lied. I was the chieftain, and it was my woman who found that baby. Anoush wanted a child so badly that I let her keep him, even though I should have taken him out and beheaded him. We named him Kronos, and I was killed when he was barely walking. I had to leave, and it was years later before I saw him again. I almost lost it when I found out he’d killed Anoush. “Like mother, like daughters,” he quipped cheerfully. “Where did Luvik go?”

“Inside. Will you and the girls be okay out here for awhile?”

Methos looked around. “Got diapers?” He spotted the bag Wesa took everywhere their daughters went. “Yeah, we’ll be fine. Have fun.”

She smiled. “Methos… I love you,” she said softly, and kissed him.

He kissed back, glad to be able to hear her say that and not feel threatened by it. He finally understood that she gave her love to him freely, that she didn’t offer it as bait, to trap him. She loved Luvik too, and their other lover came and went from the island as freely as MacLeod, who owned the cabin they lived in but was not privy to their little ménage à trois. “Tell Luvik to stay in bed,” he said, “and we’ll trade, after.”

Wesa grinned and gave him another quick kiss before she went into the house.

It was nearly an hour before she came back out. Mireille and Mirari had fallen asleep, and Wesa looked as if she’d like to, too. “Hurry,” she whispered as he stood up. “You should have seen him get hard again when I told him you wanted a turn next.”

“Damn,” Methos said mildly. “Well, next time.” He meant it. After the twins were fed and put to bed tonight, he intended to have both of his lovers in bed with him. Immortals are all oversexed. Even me.

Circa 2800 BCE

Northern Europe

“I was a slave. I did as I was told,” Methos said, putting an appropriate level of bitterness into his tone.

Luvik winced at the anger in Methos’ voice. “Was it always bad?”

Methos stooped down and picked up a handful of small stones from the rocky beach, then started taking one at a time out of his left hand and throwing them as far out into the lake as he could while he considered how best to continue the story. He didn’t want to scare Luvik off.

September 8, 2002

Seacouver

I lied, Methos thought as he went into the cabin and headed back toward the bedroom he had shared with Wesa for nearly a year. But it got me what I wanted. I don’t think Luvik would have found the nerve to make a pass at me if I hadn’t.

Luvik was astonished at Methos’ assertiveness this afternoon, and did his best to please him. Luvik’s best was very good indeed, and they were both lying in the bed breathing heavily, the bedcovers all askew, when they heard Wesa come into the cabin. She walked past the bedroom door with a baby astride each hip, warning them, “There’s a canoe coming over from the mainland.”

Methos groaned against the back of Luvik’s neck, running his hand down his lover’s flat belly into territory he had wanted to explore again. “It’s probably MacLeod,” he said softly when Luvik moaned softly and hardened against his hand yet again. Luvik’s oversexed even for an Immortal.

“So? Invite him to join us.”

Methos snorted with laughter at the very idea. “The only person in this house MacLeod would be interested in fucking is Wesa, and she doesn’t want him.”

“Too bad. He’s good-looking.”

“So hold that thought for later, put your pants on, and go see if Wesa needs any help. I’ll change the sheets.” He slapped Luvik’s bare ass. “We’ll mess them up again tonight – with Wesa’s help.”

“You sure have gotten bossy in your old age,” Luvik grumbled.

“Comes from being a demigod for 2000 years,” Methos shot back, throwing back the covers and swinging his legs out. He reached for his jeans. “See what you missed by riding north instead of south?”

Luvik shrugged, pulling on his pants and making sure everything was tucked in before he zipped them. “Killing civilians never really appealed to me. Still doesn’t.”

“Good. I’m glad Kronos hasn’t completely warped you,” Wesa said as she came into the room.

Luvik frowned. “You don’t like him.”

“Oh, I like him.” Wesa unbuttoned her blouse and laid it on top of the pile to be washed. “He’s the guy they named the silver-tongued devil after. He’s incredibly charming, even while he tells you how he’s going to do something terrible to you or to someone you love.” She took a fresh blouse out of the closet and put it on, flipping her hair out over the collar. “But I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”

Luvik had watched with intense interest as she changed, while Methos had finished tying on his boots and pulled his sweater over his head. “Let’s do her now,” he suggested when Methos stood and turned to strip the bed.

Circa 2800 BCE

Northern Europe

“She’s strong and agile, permanently young, and as an added bonus, extremely vocal in her appreciation.” Luvik winked at Methos. “She could probably wear us both out.”

Methos laughed. “Perhaps we should give her the opportunity to try.”

September 8, 2002

Seacouver

“Great idea,” Methos acknowledged, “but company’s coming. I don’t want MacLeod to think I’m turning this place into a brothel. He might kick us out early.”

“I never charged for it in my life,” Wesa quipped mischievously as she went back toward the front of the house. “I’ll start dinner.”

Luvik pulled on his shirt and followed her out. “I heard they require a license for hunting in this country.”

“It’s true,” she told him, and began to explain about human overpopulation crowding out the animals all over the world, her voice fading as they returned to the front of the house.

Methos smiled. He’d known since their Horseman days that Wesa was careful about polluting the environment, but it was only after they married that he’d come to realize how much she cared. He wondered briefly whether it had something to do with her being a witch. All the witches he’d ever known were passionate about caring for Mother Earth.

May, 1691

Boston

His head propped up on his hand, his elbow buried deep into the goose-down pillow, Methos lay on his side, tracing his fingertips lightly over his companion’s breasts and playing with her nipples.

She stirred, looking up at him admiringly. “Wantin’ more, are ye?” Bret drawled lazily. “Are ye nae satisfied with my performance, then?”

He chuckled. “More than satisfied,” he replied softly. “Now I’m just admiring the packaging.”

She raised one hand to his face, slowly caressing his cheek, down his neck to his shoulder and chest. “Yours is nae bad, either, Adam.” She paused and looked up at him, studying his eyes. “Will ye be stayin’ in Boston long?”

He shrugged. “I thought I might go north of the City. Maybe raise horses for a while. Will you be here in Boston?”

“Nae. I only came to sell a few lambs, since I had more than I could raise.” Her green eyes sparkled. “Certainly I didna’ expect to be so well rammed meself.”

He smiled, pleased with himself, though he realized she had carefully not told him where she lived. She was cautious, this one, probably fairly ancient. “You have a Gaelic accent,” he noted. “Were you born in the British Isles?”

“I learned English in Scotland,” she explained. “How about you? Where are you from?”

Ah, she wanted to know about him before she gave away her own secrets; very wise. Of course he couldn’t tell her the truth, though, so – “I was born near Thessaloniki, but I haven’t been back there for a couple of centuries.”

September 8, 2002

Seacouver

I lied. It was close to the truth, I guess, but I was born there – well somewhere near there, anyway – long before the city existed. I almost oopsed that time. Who would have guessed that Bret was a Greek herself? Or that she would be so angry about the Turkish invasion? He shook his head. Or that she and Wesa were friends?

Methos was just finishing re-making the bed when he felt another Immortal buzz and heard Wesa greet the Highlander, adding that she thought Methos was back checking on the girls. He ducked into his daughters’ room for a brief moment – as she said, he liked to keep an eye on them; they were sleeping – then headed out to greet MacLeod.

He looked worried. Of course, when did he not? “Glad you’re safe, Old Man.”

“MacLeod, I’m living on holy ground. Why wouldn’t I be safe?”

“It’s just that… I saw Cassandra and Kronos today.”

Wesa turned from chopping onions for the stew. “Together?” MacLeod nodded, and she turned back to her stew, shaking her head. “Will wonders never cease?” she muttered.

“Is Araminta responsible for that, too?” MacLeod asked her.

“It would have to be some spell!” Wesa told him. “I’m not sure even she has that much power.” She considered. “It’s possible that during the time she carried Methos’ quickening Cassandra came to understand them both much better than she could have done otherwise. I can see how that might let Methos off the hook, but I’m not sure it would allow her to forgive Kronos.” She looked questioningly at the twins’ father.

Methos reached over and swiped a piece of cheese. “Kronos and I were very close once,” he murmured thoughtfully. “Perhaps by understanding me she even learned to like him.”

Luvik frowned at his friends. “You all talk like you don’t like him. Methos… We were all sword-brothers.”

Methos sighed. “It was a long time ago, Luvik. The world has changed. I’ve changed. Wesa has changed. But Kronos… he never will. He still wants power; and what he can’t control he wants to destroy, including me, including MacLeod, including Wesa, and probably including you.”

“If he hurts Luvik, I’ll kill him; Araminta be damned!” Wesa exclaimed.

“You’ll have to get in line,” Methos shot back.

Circa 1500 BCE

Arabian Desert

Kronos studied the witch who stood before him, eventually nodding. “Your belongings will be divided among the Horsemen. We’re brothers; we share everything.”

“And we are your sisters,” Kanetsidohi replied, calmly including herself and Wesa in the family. “We also share in the spoils.” She paused a moment, then added, “There are certain of our belongings that are useless to our brothers but utterly necessary to witches. We will retain those items.”

“Which items?” Methos demanded. He had released Wesa’s shoulders, but retained a grip on her wrist.

Wesa looked up at the blue-faced bandit. “There is a skull,” she said, her voice breaking.

“The source of your new power?” Methos asked. “You weren’t so bold when we met before.”

She dropped her eyes. “In a manner of speaking, yes. I carry Luvik’s quickening.”

September 8, 2002

Seacouver

I nearly killed you on the spot. Methos stroked his hand down her back and curved it over her rump, smiling at her. And I told you I’d enjoy it. I lied. If I ever had to kill you, I’d probably die. I don’t think I could do it. “It’s less than a week before we leave for New York, MacLeod, and Wesa can fight again now that she’s rebuilt her strength. We’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can take Cassandra, no problem, as long as I’m forewarned,” Wesa said, scraping her onions from the cutting board into the stewpot. “Kronos wouldn’t dare to hurt me, and if he killed Methos, I’d kill him.”

Methos turned to MacLeod. “If something happens to both of us –”

“I won’t forget,” he promised.

“Will you stay for dinner?” Wesa invited.

“Thank you, but no,” MacLeod demurred. “I’m taking Amanda out to Lina’s Cocina tonight. I just wanted to make sure you knew they were around.”

“And to see your god-daughters,” Luvik added with a grin.

MacLeod nodded, grinning lopsidedly. “And to see my god-daughters,” he agreed.

Methos chuckled. “They’re sleeping, but I’m fairly sure they won’t mind.” He led the way out of the kitchen back toward the girls’ bedroom.

Wesa grinned at Luvik. “Those two.” She shook her head. “I’m going to have to watch carefully that Methos doesn’t spoil them. It’ll be a little easier once we get them away from MacLeod.”

September 9, 2002

Seacouver

Methos woke with Luvik’s head on his shoulder and raised his head to see where Wesa was. He knew she had gotten up twice during the night to see to the twins, and he smiled to see her curled around Luvik’s back, so sound asleep she probably wouldn’t notice anything short of one of the girls starting to fuss. He eased his shoulder from under Luvik’s head and slid out of bed into his jeans before padding into the room next door to check on his daughters. Mirari looked up at him and cooed softly, kicking her sleeper-clad feet excitedly.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he said softly, drawing Mireille’s attention as well. “And to you as well, gorgeous,” he added. He leaned down and kissed each of them on the forehead. “Mommy’s still asleep,” he whispered. “She’s very tired, and we want to let her sleep, so you’re going to have to make do with me for a little while. So who wants her diaper changed first?”

Both babies giggled and kicked, excited to have their father speaking to them so intently, and Methos started stripping the one-piece pajama from Mirari’s lower limbs to get to her diaper. He cleaned her with a baby wipe, liberally sprinkled baby powder, and slipped a new diaper under her tiny bottom, grateful that Wesa had at last agreed to using disposables, despite her aversion to anything harmful to the environment. He fastened the side tabs of her diaper and put her feet back into the legs of her sleeper, fastening the snaps quickly, pausing just a moment to blow a raspberry against her tummy before fastening the last snap. Mirari squealed in delight, and Methos turned to Mireille.

As he cared for his daughters, Methos reflected that he had himself once been small like this, that his adoptive mother, Zoel, had cared for him in just the same way after his mother had disappeared. He smiled down at his daughters. “Zoel would have spoiled you both rotten,” he murmured. “She wanted grandchildren. I never thought she’d get them but, well, here you are.” He tickled Mireille as he fastened her pajamas, eliciting another peal of laughter.

Several thousand years ago

The Asian Steppe

“We lived at the foot of the mountains,” Zoel told the youngsters at her feet. “I was the headman’s woman, and I was about to bear his child, when one day he came home from hunting with something very unusual; it was a neraida. And it was pregnant.”

“What’s a neraida, Zoel?” asked Methos, the oldest of the children and her favorite. She had wet-nursed him when his mother had disappeared immediately after his birth. He had needed her, and it had healed her hurts after her own babe was stillborn.

“It’s a spirit of the forest, child. The neraides sing to the trees to help them grow, and to tell them when to drop their leaves in the winter and when to grow them in the spring. They tell the flowers when to bloom, when to set seed and when to hide from the snow. And when they have babies, they leave them in place of human babies and take the human babies away. You rarely see one, and never when it’s pregnant, but there it was.

“Jacik kept it prisoner. He bragged to the other men of the village that he had made a neraida his woman, but the women knew that no good could come of keeping it prisoner. It gave birth to a son the very night my daughter was stillborn. I was heartbroken, of course, but the neraida came to me and placed its son – its living son – in my arms. It never said a word, but I knew somehow that the gods had sent it to me to ease my loss.”

“Then what happened?” Anoush demanded, barely more than a baby herself.

“We were attacked during the night. Jacik was killed and I was taken prisoner, carried off with the neraida’s babe at my breast. The neraida was just gone. I never saw it leave, but it wasn’t among the prisoners, and your fathers wouldn’t have killed one such as that.”

“What happened to the boy?” Methos asked.

“Oh, he’s grown to be a fine, strong young man, if a trifle on the skinny side,” Zoel laughed. “I see him around from time to time, and I expect he’ll become the chieftain one day.”

September 9, 2002

Seacouver

“She was a teller of tales, was Zoel,” Methos told his daughters. He held them, one in the crook of each arm, as he sat in the old wooden rocking chair Wesa had bought for the nursery. She was right; it was comfortable. “You’d have liked her. She’d have loved both of you.” He smiled down at them. “It was only later that I realized she was telling me where I came from. I didn’t know then that I was the son of that neraida.” He laughed shortly. “Now, you mustn’t tell anyone, my daughters, because you’re the only ones who know the truth. Oh, I’ve told others where I’m from and how old I am, but I lied.”

He looked down into their tiny faces at their dark, intelligent eyes watching his every move, and he smiled. “What about it, my beauties? Who’s ready for breakfast? Do you think Daddy can heat a couple of bottles as well as Mommy can? No? I’ll bet I can. Shall we find out? Shall we?” He chuckled, rising from the chair, and carried them from the room, whispering, “Let’s be quiet now, so Mommy and Uncle Luvik can sleep. Shhh….”

The End

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