Guiding

The lone figure on the horse paused at the crest of the hill and surveyed the area. Donan Woods. Thirty-two years had passed since the last time he had set eyes on this place. He had vowed to never return to its secrets and memories, yet here he was.

Briefly, he let his thoughts drift to the woman who hid herself in the darkest recesses of the woods, wondering what the years had been like for her. He hoped she wouldn�t sense his presence and seek him out; his heart grew heavy with remembered guilt.

Then there was the young one, the reason he was here, the foundling, now called Duncan MacLeod. Months ago, he had begun to feel an ache, a pull to return here. He�d managed to shake off the feeling, but never for long. Giving in, he had acknowledged that a higher power was calling him to Scotland and a destiny that though it frightened him, brought great comfort and warmth to his cold, empty soul.

Letting his thoughts roam free for a moment, the Immortal wondered what it would be like to meet Duncan MacLeod. Would he teach him? It had been years, centuries, since he had taken a student. Did he really have enough drive and fire and patience to teach someone else how to survive and kill? He had been alone for so many years that he didn�t think he was fit company, much less qualified to teach a new Immortal what was right and what was wrong, or at least what was foolhardy. No, it was probably best if he find what he had come here for and leave as quickly as possible. It was best if he never came face to face with Duncan MacLeod.

A presence washed over him, strong, young. Scanning the area, he spied the tall man, whose leery stance told him he was being watching with a practiced eye. Clan colors wrapped around his sturdy body, sword in hand, this Highland child stood ready to fight if necessary, but it wouldn�t be.

The Highlander watched the figure dismount from his steed. He had met few of his kind in his hundred years, but he clearly remembered everything Ramirez taught him so many years ago. This man walking towards him was a stranger, an Immortal stranger, and a possible threat.

The pale man walked to the Highlander�s fire and squatted near its warmth, seemingly oblivious to the guarded looks of the other Immortal. Wondering about the pale Immortal�s sanity, the Highlander introduced himself.

�I�m Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.�

Lifeless green eyes met his, and he sensed no fear, no threat, nothing. It was unsettling. Cautiously, the Scottish warrior took up his position on the opposite side of the fire, never once letting his eyes leave the pale man�s tired face.

After warming himself, the older Immortal returned to his horse and retrieved a food sack. He shared his meager offerings with the Highlander, an unspoken truce formed between them. Connor disappeared for a moment and returned with a flagon of wine. A small smile appeared on the pale Immortal�s face, and Connor felt warmed with its sincerity.

Hours later, long after darkness had fallen, the older Immortal finally spoke.

�You have a kinsman who has become an Immortal.�

Connor lifted his head, but said nothing.

�You must find him and teach him.�

Thousands of questions swirled within the Highlander�s head, but only one came out.

�Who are you?�

Shaking his head wearily, �I am no one.�

Not understanding, but unwilling to press the issue, Connor returned his gaze to the crackling fire. They maintained their silent companionship until the older Immortal rose to retrieve his bedroll from his waiting horse.

Before he had the chance to unroll the crude pallet, his eyes met Connor�s over the fire, and a new heat began to build. He waited, as if needing to know, needing to hear what the younger Immortal wanted before making a move.

�It gets cold alone,� Connor said softly, but the message was clear.

Moving around the fire slowly, their eyes never once broke contact. With few words, the two Immortals spread their blankets together, seeking warmth and comfort that was too often alien to them. The two men lay together, bodies touching, seeking and giving pleasure until exhaustion claimed them.

***

Shivering, Connor awoke, alone. All traces of the other Immortal were gone. Only the few words he had spoken remained.

Not wasting any time, Connor gathered his belongings and set out in search of his kinsman, the newest Immortal. He had promised the stranger that he would find and teach him, and Connor was a man of his word.

It could have been weeks or maybe months later when he first felt the presence of a new Immortal. Sighing in relief, he scanned the area, and spied the wary young man, ready to fight, ready to run.

�Who�re yew?� the younger Immortal asked, keeping his distance.

�I�m Connor MacLeod, and I�m going to be your teacher, Duncan.�

Surprise and fear flickered in Duncan�s dark eyes.

It was just the beginning.

***

Seacouver-Present Day

�So, you found Connor for me,� Duncan said softly, sipping his coffee.

Methos slid his hand across Duncan�s back, feeling the tight muscles under his fingertips.

�I didn�t think I could teach you, Mac. I didn�t have much to offer anybody at the time.�

�But how did you know I was an Immortal? How?�

�I don�t know, Mac. I still don�t know.�

Sitting on the couch, Duncan watched the ancient Immortal watch him.

�Tell me more, Methos.�

The end.

For now.

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