“We’re not actually human, are we,” said Loki one day as they lounged on a Midgard hillside, interrupting a languid debate on the nature of the bifrost. Neither of them held any strong opinion; they had been arguing for the joy of it, for the pleasure of leading the other into a trap made of his own words. “These bodies you made for us, I mean. You left something of Asgard in the flesh.”
Methos grinned, and leaned back on his elbows, enjoying the soft prickle of grass beneath his body. “I was wondering how long that would take. The answer is no, but also yes. I’ve made us as human as my magics can. But humans come in two varieties these days. Mortals - and Immortals.”
“Immortal humans?” Loki looked down at his hands, fascinated. “Why has Father never told me of this?”
“Your father doesn’t know,” said Methos.
Loki looked shocked. “But - how could he not?”
Methos shrugged. “I never bothered to tell him. We made the mortal humans together, your father and your uncle and I. But Odin and Ve lost interest in them. I was the one who discovered the Immortals, in the days when humans had first learned to work bronze, and it pleased me not to tell. They look human, they live among humans, they are raised by their unwitting parents to think they are human - but they’re something new.”
“Who created the Immortals, if not you and your brothers?” Loki asked.
“Could they not simply have evolved from humankind?” Methos asked, tone deceptively mild.
Loki shook his head. “ How can the children of an entire species be raised by mothers of another? Humans are nearly as sentimental of their children as Asgardians. Did no Immortal mother ever wish to retain her babe? Not even to maintain her reputation in her people’s eyes? No. Either Immortality does not breed true, or it does not breed at all. These are greatly unnatural things. Who created the Immortals?”
Methos nodded. “Now that’s the question, isn’t it. To be truthful? I don’t know.”
“You don’t?” Loki sounded mildly offended, as if his ignorance were a personal insult.
“No. But I’ll tell you what I do know: whoever did it was Asgardian.”
Methos sat up, flicked his knife from its sheath, and made a shallow cut across his palm. He raised his hand for Loki to watch as blue sparks seal the wound. “Immortals have lightning in their blood.”