Standard CYA Disclaimer: Not mine, no money, just fun.... Thanks P/D and Rysher and everyone else who gave us Highlander: The Series to play with. We really appreciate it!!
Adult for violence and implied same m/m...okay, maybe a little more than implied. <eg>
Muchos gracias to Dail and AnneZo, my steadfast beta readers and restrainers of the delete button. This story was a struggle if I've ever had one, let me tell you. They really helped me when it was no longer possible to be objective. Methos started it and then backed off, leaving me to pick up the pieces of his emotional garbage. We're taking him to a shrink next week!
========================================================They'd be tearing down the camp tomorrow and moving on to the next site. The next tribe of people to die under their swords...the next village to fall victim to their torches. Methos must have had this on his mind, for he surely wasn't thinking clearly when he instructed Kronos to take his share of the booty. If he'd been watching, the look in the clear blue eyes would have been enough to warn him. He should have been clued in by the man stopped in his tracks, gaping after the departing figure. But he was either too preoccupied, too tired or just too glad to be back where he could clean up and rest before the evening meal.
Kronos narrowed his eyes as they followed Methos into the tent. The stubbled jaw clenched in agitation as he stood contemplating the change in his brother. Nothing had been the same since they'd brought that bitch Cassandra into their midst. Kronos had been against it from the beginning. He and Methos shared responsibility for the band, however, and it wouldn't have been good for morale to make such a big deal over a captive slave. Unity was important. He was willing to please his brother by letting her live...for now. But, he would not fight the memories of their time together forever. If Methos was to maintain his high ranking position in the Horseman, Kronos knew they would have to re-establish their relationship.
*I should have killed her myself*, thought Kronos, walking his horse to the corral. She'd come between him and his brother in more ways than one. There was a time when he and Methos shared everything, including a bed. Since that witch had joined the camp, Methos had withdrawn his favors, preferring the softness of female flesh to Kronos' own solid masculinity. Yes, he missed the camaraderie and brotherhood, but most of all, he didn't like what it was doing to the Horsemen. Silas just wanted a warm body now and then, but wouldn't dare go up against Methos. Caspian he wasn't so sure about. The grimmest of the lot, Caspian had been watching Cassandra since the day Methos had dumped her so unceremoniously on her ass, tied up in a sack flung across his horse. Kronos could tell it wouldn't be long before the woman would mean trouble...trouble Kronos didn't need or want. Nothing or no one should come between the brothers.
Methos dragged himself through the entry of his tent and was greeted by Cassandra with a cold cup of water. The cool liquid ran down his parched throat and eased some of the soreness caused by dust and heat. The muted sounds of camp activity faded as he let himself be spoiled.
"It's good," he mumbled as he dropped to the cot, wearier than he remembered being in a long time. He barely heard her telling him how she'd cooled it in the river as he stared at his hands, callused from hundreds of years of holding the reins. Had he become complacent in the face of Cassandra's care? Today he'd rode as always beside Kronos, but he wasn't satisfied with the result of his day's work. He'd let the other three do most of the killing and only asserted himself when it came to taking Cassandra as his prisoner. Was he still the tough mercenary who'd planned each raid for his brothers with precision and led them in artful tyranny. Was he still the man whose blood rushed with excitement when they rode into a village? Did he still have what it took to be Death?
He never would have considered these things before the woman healer had entered his life. Somehow her presence was making him rethink his life and now was not the time for that. He still had too much invested in the Four Horsemen to abandon them.
The feel of the wet cloth on his sunburned face made him notice her again. She took such care to satisfy his every whim...what a difference from that day he'd brought her back to camp all those weeks ago. He remembered it like it was yesterday, because things hadn't been the same since.
Methos recalled that first turbulent week. Three times he'd killed her in as many days. That's what it had taken before she was finally taught acceptance or at least discretion. The first time he'd caught her trying to escape again and staked her out with wet leather thongs at wrists, ankles and neck. The sun soon dried the thin strips, choking the life right out of her. But she was stubborn...or stupid. He wasn't sure which. The second was quicker and an accident. She was being her usual insolent self and he'd lost all patience and slapped her to the ground. Her head hit a large boulder as she went down, cracking her skull.
Then there was the last time. He'd spent the night instructing her in the manner in which he most liked to be pleased. After cleaning her up, she wasn't even that bad to look at and with that filthy rag of a dress ripped off, she'd aroused him easily. It had been far too long since he'd enjoyed a steady woman, he decided. Methos was reveling in the feel of her mouth wrapped around his manhood when all of a sudden she'd shifted position slightly and a blinding pain had torn through his thigh, causing him to jump to his feet in shock. Looking down, the immortal could barely detect the teeth marks and blood through a thick fog of pain. He turned his rage toward the source of the injury, falling on Cassandra like a madman. She'd scurried across the tent to the far corner, but it wasn't enough to save her from her own folly. With deadly silence and murder in his eyes, Methos was towering over her cowering figure in a second. By the time his rage was under control, the woman's screams where fading into the night and she lay sprawled across the dirt floor in a pool of her own blood, gutted with the knife he always kept within arm's reach when dealing with the witch.
It took her the rest of the night to revive and well into the morning before her groans of pain eased. Methos lay propped on his cot, watching her through slitted eyes, tossing and catching the recently cleaned knife. Once she was mobile again, Cassandra silently crawled out of the tent in humiliation and prepared the mid-day meal, not once speaking or making any show of rebellion. After that, she started down the road toward the docile servant she was today. Never again did she actively disobey him, even if he did occasionally catch glimpses of resentment in her movements or look.
Methos turned to face the woman occupying his thoughts and reached to caress her cheek. He really had no complaints any longer, but he knew their simple existence couldn't last forever. He was one of the Four Horsemen...it was the life he'd chosen and the importance of the Brotherhood ranked higher than even his own happiness. He would not see them torn apart. There was no room in his world for an immortal woman. It wasn't like she was all that exciting anyway. Her docility and obedience grew tiresome sometimes and he'd found himself, especially of late, yearning for the thrill of the chase...the rebellious spirit. He understood why she obeyed him, but some perverse part of his psyche would not be satisfied without conflict and struggle. He longed to test his power once more.
For the last two weeks he'd been preoccupied with what he was going to do with her. She probably deserved better than her lot with them. And then there was Kronos. He was the real reason Methos hung onto to Cassandra far longer than necessary or wise. He really didn't even want her any longer. But, she was his buffer. As long as he claimed her, Kronos had seemingly accepted that their time was over. Seemingly. The two had been inseparable at one time and had come to know each other with an intimacy few mortals could ever hope to share. Thus, Methos knew that he was only fooling himself to imagine that he could remain a Horseman and not be an intrinsic part of Kronos' life.
Oh yes, he knew that Kronos was his weak spot. The man knew every button to push when it came to manipulating Methos...and he let him punch them one by one. He could barely remember his life without Kronos in it. The two had ridden together for centuries, side by side, sharing the power, the wealth and their lives. The Horsemen *was* his life. He couldn't imagine it being otherwise and he liked it that way. Soon after their reign of terror had begun, Methos and Kronos had begun their course of erotic power games. While sharing the euphoria which often accompanied the heat of bloodlust after a raid, the two would fall upon each other with a fierceness bordering on violence. The aphrodisiac of omnipotence. There was nothing to compare. And now he had to settle for the insipid attentions of Cassandra, doing his will only because he wished it and she was tired of dying at his hands. Gods, he missed the feeling of vitality and exhilaration he could only find with Kronos.
He knew the rejection Kronos must have felt when he'd kept Cassandra as his personal property instead of throwing her in with the other camp whores. Then he remembered his own mixed emotions when he'd made that decision. The initial thoughts of escaping Kronos' hold, his doubt at the wisdom of letting her live, and then his final choice to keep her over his own common sense. He didn't like not being in control, and his relationship with Kronos had been sending him into a spiraling vortex in which he was no longer master. But, was he satisfied now? No.
Until tonight, he was fairly sure he was doing the right thing for his sanity and for the good of his Brothers. At the time, Cassandra had been a good tool with which to fight his growing addiction to Kronos and their tightening bond. But the strain between them had festered like an open wound and it was getting to the point where having Cassandra wasn't worth the price of the Four Horsemen, for that's what it was coming to.
He looked up as a shadow blocked the late afternoon sun from the tent opening and saw the man whose body he knew by heart and by touch...the man he'd been avoiding. Kronos walked in and stopped a few feet from the cot where Cassandra and Methos still sat.
"My compliments, Brother. You taught her well in everything I see." Kronos stood in the doorway, waiting to see if he'd be thrown out or invited in. He was neither.
"And it seems she keeps the best fruit for you," he continued testing.
"It tastes no different from the rest." Methos looked up and answered quietly, determined not to let Kronos get to him.
"Maybe it just tastes better in here." Kronos looked around the tent, making a show of noticing Cassandra's hand in its comfort. "Made quite a prize of her, haven't you," he continued, letting his eyes come to rest on the woman they both knew was just a pawn in their game. Who would make the first move?
While Kronos was munching the sweet fruit and discussing Cassandra like so much loot to be distributed, Methos watched his face and realized how much he'd missed the touch of it. The feel of a rough cheek scraping against his own just before a kiss or the muscular arms holding him beneath his body, forcing him to admit to his own desires.
"She's no different from the others." That was a lie.
"Except you seem to prefer her to all others." Kronos put a slight emphasis on the word 'others', which was not lost on Methos. "You've grown attached."
Here it comes, Methos thought. "No." He would show no emotion.
"Good. I didn't think you'd make a mistake like that, Brother, because now it's time to share the spoils of war." Kronos grabbed Cassandra by the wrist, confident now that Methos would do nothing to stop him. By his very indifference, Methos had admitted what Kronos had suspected all along. Cassandra was only a buffer...his aegis of defense against a power he could no longer deny.
Slowly Methos got up and walked across the tent to stand with his back to both Kronos and Cassandra. Brushing past his brother, he noticed how much shorter Kronos was than himself. Strange, he'd never realized that before. Kronos was the smaller of the two, but he was most definitely not the weaker. Words would not come and he wasn't sure what he would have said if they could. He heard, rather than watched Kronos drag her from the tent...heard her calling his name in plaintive, confused cries for help. Yet he stood, fondling the fruit which she'd given him, squeezing the pulp from it in his frustration. Let the girl go, his mind reasoned. She is nothing...nothing compared to that which you have come so close to losing. If this is what it takes to bring you peace, so be it.
Knowing he'd made his decision earlier, he was relieved that Kronos had acted. He also knew that tonight was another turning point in their game. Kronos had played his hand and called Methos' bluff. The dynamics of the Brotherhood was at stake and they both knew how it would end. The getting there, however, was still in question. Kronos' pride was strong, but from the day of the raid which destroyed Cassandra's village, Kronos had realized that Methos had brought their relationship to a ruthless and abrupt end. For that, a price would have to be paid and taking Cassandra was just the beginning.
He was still standing at the entrance to his tent, watching the stars twinkle in the moonless sky, when he heard the cry and saw a slight figure furtively scurrying from Kronos' tent, while a bellow of pain echoed in the stillness. He watched passively as she darted around, looking for the most expedient escape route. He knew the best thing he could do for himself, Cassandra, and Kronos was to let her go. It was done. He and Kronos would be together once more.
While he waited, he recalled the look of naked hatred he'd often surprised on Kronos' face as he watched Cassandra serve Methos his meals, sometimes fighting the other women for the best pieces. And when their own eyes would meet across a cool evening's fire, Methos could not hold his gaze, quickly looking away from the cold blue eyes in a combination of guilt and yearning.
After what he figured to be a reasonable amount of time, Methos headed for Kronos' tent. The lamp inside cast eerie shadows on the walls and he could just make out the prone figure beginning to stir on the fur rug. He found Kronos recovering from a stab wound to the lower abdomen. That had to hurt, Methos idly thought as he kneeled beside his brother. Kronos peered up at him suspiciously. Methos knew the man well enough to suspect what was going through his mind.
"It looks like you got more than you bargained for, Brother," Methos spoke softly as he lifted Kronos' head and placed it gently in his lap.
"She's escaped?" Kronos said through teeth gritted in pain.
"I suppose so. I thought I'd join you, only to find you gutted like a fish and the witch nowhere to be found." Methos looked directly into the blue eyes which now regarded him with interest and, as he expected, suspicion.
"You were going to join us?"
"Yes. It's been too long since we were together, don't you think?"
Kronos seemed to ponder this last question as his body finished the healing process. He raised himself up on his elbows and regarded Methos with a curious look. Had he read him wrong earlier or did the very act of demanding Cassandra spend the night with him, force Methos into action? One of the things he admired most about his Brother was the devious way his mind worked, calculating and sagacious. His plans never failed and that is why the Horsemen had achieved the infamous notoriety they enjoyed today. But he would not stand for that same scheming shrewdness to be turned on himself. Kronos looked deeply into the hazel eyes which now regarded him with openness, without guile or deceit. He'd let Cassandra go. There was no doubt in his mind that Methos could have stopped her. Whether the tale of his joining them was true or not was irrelevant. What mattered was that he had returned. Methos was his again.
Kronos reached up and pulled Methos toward him. The dark-haired man let himself be drawn down and gathered into the other's arms as he settled beside him. Kronos seemed to have fully regained his health judging by the bulge in his loose trousers. Methos sighed with contentment...and resignation... as they lay there in the quiet of the night. He'd come full circle it seemed.
The kiss started out tentative and soft. Kronos had surprised himself as much as Methos and both men wanted to be sure of the path on which they once more traveled. Before tonight, Kronos didn't believe he could ever forgive or forget Methos' abandonment. Although he would never admit it, even to Methos, their relationship had been the most important of his life. He hadn't given it the thought and analysis that Methos had, thus would not have recognized his own need as an addiction which needed the fuel of competition, power and domination, but he did know that living in the same camp with Methos and not being able to be with him had hurt more than he'd thought possible.
Taking Cassandra as his servant, using her for a shield...it had all been a ruse, Methos thought. A temporary respite in the dance they couldn't stop. For here they were again and Methos could hardly believe it was the lips of his brother against his own. Cassandra could never understand what it was these two shared and thus, she could not understand what had made Methos stand passively while she was dragged away, feeling betrayed and used. He hoped one day she would understand a little and forgive him for letting it all happen without a word of protest.
No protest now when Methos' tongue parted the lips against his. Just the welcoming response of sweet acceptance and welcome. *He must have known I'd be back", Methos mused as he slipped into the comfortable cadence of their lovemaking.
The kiss deepened quickly after that and Methos worked the bloody tunic up, breaking the contact just long enough to pull the cloth over Kronos' head. The skin had fused cleanly leaving only a slight indentation similar to an old scar. Methos knew that too would be gone soon. He lightly touched the spot with his hand, then leaned down and kissed it. Kronos was watching him intently when he raised his head again.
"The price of getting you back?"
"I let her go you know. I could have stopped her." Methos waited to see what the reaction would be to this revelation.
"I know. I knew you would be waiting and watching. When she stabbed me and ran out, I remembered my last thought before dying was, "Don't stop her. Let her leave. It's been too long."
"Yes. Too long."
Kronos reached up to pull Methos down by his shoulder again. He situated his lover in the crook of his arm while idly picking at the laces binding the neck of his tunic. Seldom had they been this gentle with each other. Theirs had been a turbulent and sometimes violent union. Neither ever spoke of love...only need and desire. Methos wondered for the first time if love had anything to do with his action tonight...or non-action, really. The thought was unsettling. Certainly Kronos and the dangerous life they shared had become an addiction, feeding his soul in a way none of his other lives had. But rarely had there been moments of tenderness which often marked a more traditional relationship.
He was brought back to the present by hands growing impatient with his clothing. He sat up and undressed, slipping his own tunic and trousers off with quick, jerky movements. No sooner had he tossed the clothing aside than the hands returned to caress and stroke his back. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes in remembrance of times past. Methos lowered his head across the still prone body to nibble and lick at the sun-darkened skin of Kronos' neck, then raised slightly to hold the head below him for a kiss which spoke of reunions and wanting, contrition and acceptance.
Eventually, by mutual consent, the shift began. Kronos' touch began a tender tyranny of assault upon Methos' body. It was understood and accepted that he must pay for his abandonment of Kronos. But once the penalty had been paid, Methos was determined that they return to an equality of control.
They battled back and forth for the better part of the night, each giving and taking, and sometimes sharing the power of domination. The contest of wills caused a thrill and the blood ran hot in Methos' veins. He was aroused in a way that Cassandra would never have understood or been part of. Both men rolled together on the floor, naked and sweating, in their struggle for power, neither giving nor asking quarter.
At the moment of their mutual climax, Kronos was atop Methos, taking him in animalistic mastery. When the men collapsed, side by side, chests heaving for the cool night air, Methos felt satisfied again.
"It's been too long, Brother." Kronos lay with his eyes closed, but spoke clearly. "Don't ever leave me again." It was not a request.
Methos was silent. What could he say? He didn't have the strength or will to explain himself right now and it would be a moot point by the morning. They would dismantle the tents and ride on northward. Life would continue as it had for the last few centuries. So, instead of self-recrimination and regrets, Methos planned the next course of action for the Horsemen and together he and Kronos laid out their future.
The end
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