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Part 34 of Methos Chronicles
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2021-06-17
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Methos Chronicles 34

Summary:

They rise and fall, rise and fall.

Work Text:

The coliseum, once a masterpiece of ancient architecture, then quarry for  he ignorant people during the Dark Ages and now a fawned over ruin, flooded with tourists every day. That was why Methos had decided not to live directly in Rome. Seeing this every day would have just annoyed him. The forum was no better. A few pillars left from what had once been the center of the ancient world.

Methos sat in a little café near the Vatican waiting for Joe, pondering the fleetingness of well, pretty much everything. Joe was such an example. He was growing older every day and soon he would be gone, dust and forgotten. Maybe that was why MacLeod had taken up his wandering days again a short while ago. To not have to see Joe grow old.

Whatever the reason, Mac had now a new Watcher while Joe kept an eye on Methos. A young one, capable of keeping up with the Highlander and his antics. The Watchers hadn’t worded it that way but the subtext was pretty clear. They also knew that once Joe was dead, Methos would disappear again. He would stay with his friend until the end, he had decided that a while ago, but then he was out. They would try to keep tabs on him, but he knew all their tricks and some the Watchers had never even heard off.

 

“Must be awfully important what you’re thinking about.” Joe commented as he sat down opposite the old Immortal.

“I’m always thinking about awfully important things, Joseph.” Methos replied lightly.

“Right. Care to enlighten an old mortal?” Joe asked.

Methos merely smiled at him and drink from his coffee.

“Ah, just as well, I hate writing reports these days.” Joe finally muttered and ordered an espresso from the young waitress who was making mooneyes at Methos. Who was either completely oblivious, which Joe found highly unlikely, or ignored her because he was a taken man. Ever since he and Marique were an item things were…different. Not bad different, just different. Joe still missed Murron, but Marique seemed to be a better…fit with the old man in the long term. Hah, long term, that was funny.

“You could just dictate them and have some newbie type them.” Methos suggested. “I heard there’s something called Bluetooth that does it automatically.”

Joe looked affronted. “No, thank you. I’m not invalid yet. Where’s Marique, by the way? Haven’t seen her the last couple of days.”

Methos shrugged. “Taking care of some business.”

“That business go by the name of Ganshuk, by any chance?” joe wanted to know. He had read up on her Chronicles once it became clear that this was more than just a casual fling between them.

Methos shrugged. “It might.”

 

Hong Kong, China

Standing at the railing of the observation deck of the new skyscraper, Marique took in the sprawling city beneath her. Night was falling and it was raining constantly but for once there was no smog in the air and she could see for miles.

Ganshuk had chosen an interesting place for their last meeting. Because this would be the last, only one of them would walk away from this.

When she felt his presence approaching, she turned to watch him exit the elevator and come towards her. Marique drew her sword and waited.

“Fascinating place, is it not. I can understand why Lian has chosen to live here. Pity I had to kill her to get your attention, she was beautiful still, for a woman in her late fifties.” Ganshuk told her conversationally.

“Why exactly are you telling me this? To show off that you finally learned how to gather information? If you wanted to challenge me, you could have just called.” Marique told him coldly.

“And risk you not coming? No, I know you, you try to avoid fighting whenever you can. But not this time.” Ganshuk drew his own curved blade. “Today you’ll pay, witch.” He hissed.

Marique raised her own sword. So much hate over some words she had said nearly seven hundred years ago.

 

Near Kiev, Ukraine, 1341 AD

Yeshen Xua had just ordered to break camp in the early morning light when the perimeter guards announced a messenger, but not one of their own.

Not liking this one bit, as no one was supposed to know there were even here, he ordered the man to be brought into his tent. Whatever this was, he preferred to find out without his entire cohort watching.

Just before the tent flap opened Xua felt the presence of another of his kind. Well, this day was getting better and better.

The man led before him was taller than most Mongols, but among Europeans he was of average height. His hair and beard were blond, like fresh straw almost, and well-kept, his eyes sky-blue. He wore quality armor and the sword at his hip appeared to have seen quite some use.

“I’m Yeshen Xua, leader of the cohort in honor of the Great Khan.” Xua introduced himself. He had no great love for any of the Khans but they were ruling most of the world right now and therefore he had to make do. Besides, no matter how bloody, one had to appreciate there accomplishments.

“Ecbert of Wessex.” The stranger said with a respectful nod. He wasn’t afraid of Xua or his men. Xua liked that. Most Europeans were so scared of the Mongol horde that they hardly dared to put up any resistance. It made conquering them easy, but his men were growing discontent with how little fighting they could do. Which led them to commit massacres that were completely unnecessary.

“My guards tell me you have a message.” Yeshen didn’t offer him a seat or something to drink. That wasn’t an honor extended to Westerners.

“I do, from a common friend.” Ecbert handed him a folded and sealed parchment.

Xua examined the seal. He knew it and it indeed belonged to a friend. Breaking it open, he read the message. Not knowing whether to be crushed or elated he looked to the messenger. “Do you know what it says?” he wanted to know.

Ecbert shook his head. “No, only that I should lead you to the meeting point, if you’re interested, that is.”

Of course he was interested. No one in his right mind would say no to this. “I will come.” He told Ecbert. “Wait outside until I’m ready.”

Ecbert nodded and Xua instructed one of his men to assemble a guard to ride with him. He trusted Marique enough to not betray him, but this lands were far from peaceful, thanks to the Mongol armies.

 

Ganshuk watched Yeshen Xua leave the camp in the company of the foreigner. How he could trust that pale man Ganshuk couldn’t understand. It was obviously a trip, no matter what the message may say. Not that Ganshuk knew what it contained but he was convinced of it. One couldn’t trust these Latins. They were weak, treacherous creatures, only fit to be conquered.

Making his way between the tents, Ganshuk made sure no one was watching him as he readied his own horse. Yeshen Xua had forbidden anyone following him, to stay in camp and be ready to move once he returned, but Ganshuk was sure that he wouldn’t return unless, he, Ganshuk, son of Bontai, would come to his aid. His father had always told him he was born for great things, and this was it, he knew it in his bones.

 

Following at a safe distance, Ganshuk tracked them to what had once been a Christian monastery. The outbuildings lay in ruins but the main building, what the Latins called a church, was still in somewhat good repair.

Securing his horse out of sight, Ganshuk made his way to the back of the stone building. He had never understood why someone would want to live in such a structure. He would go mad if he didn’t have the freedom of the steppe.

As he passed the ruined outbuildings he saw Yeshen Xua’s men idling in the open space in front of the church, eating and drinking what a pair of scared looking servants brought them. Again foolish, how did they know it wasn’t poisoned?

Of Yeshen Xua and the messenger there was no trace. They had to be inside the building.

Carefully he made his way to the church and crouched beneath one of the broken windows. He couldn’t see inside but he could hear what was being said all too clearly.

“Are you sure of this, Marique?” Yeshen Xua was asking.

“I see what I see. No one lives forever, and nothing lasts forever.” A female voice replied. Marique presumably. “But in this case death will come sooner rather than later. You might reach Karakorum before the Great Khan goes to meet his ancestors, if you leave now.”

“I cannot leave without Güyük’s permission. And why should I? the Great Khan’s death is a tragedy but I’m just a soldier, I don’t get involved in politics.” Yeshen Xua told her.

“You might want to rethink that position.” Marique said calmly. “If you wish to prolong the existence of the Mongol Empire, that is. Güyük won’t become the next Great Khan if you don’t help him.”

“Which begs the question why you’re telling me all of this. You have no love for the Mongols.” Yeshen Xua pointed out.

“No, indeed, I do not.” Marique simply stated.

“Then why?” Come on, Wessex, what’s she not telling me?” Yeshen Xua wanted to know.

“I can only speculate.” The messenger spoke up.

“Then speculate.” Yeshen Xua demanded angry.

“When the Great Khan dies, all the Sub-Khans have to return to Karakorum to choose a new one from among their ranks, yes? Even with Güyük the clear favorite, traditions have to be observed. Which means the campaign here has to be put on hold for a significant amount of time, if not abandoned entirely. Ecbert said.

“You think Ögedei’s death will save Europe from being fully conquered?” Yeshen Xua asked incredulous.

“I know it will.” Marique told him with utter conviction. “The only question remaining is who will become the next Great Khan, and that will be up to you.”

In his hidden spot, Ganshuk was frozen with anger and fury. That witch had cursed the Great Khan to die. How else could she know when he would join his ancestors? And Yeshen Xua was talking to her as if they were family. Why had he not struck her down already? It not to avert the Khan’s death, than to avenge it.

If Yeshen Xua wouldn’t do it, then he, Ganshuk, would. The witch’s death would bring great glory to his name and maybe even save the Khan and bring great riches his way too. But first he had to kill her without Yeshen Xua knowing. Ganshuk knew he couldn’t defeat him in battle, and the messenger would defend the witch too. Ganshuk had to wait until she was alone before he could strike. But first he had to return to the camp unseen. It wouldn’t do for Yeshen Xua to grow suspicious.

 

The hours passed in agonizing slowness. Ganshuk had never felt like this, not even before his first battle. Yeshen Xua was busy making preparations to return to the steppe and Karakorum. And his men followed him willingly. Ganshuk hadn’t believed it. No one had questioned his decision. Did they not see the witch’s hand in this? Was he the only one who could see the truth? Now he was even more convinced that she had to die.

Finally the camp quietened down for the night. Again Ganshuk slipped by the guards posted at the perimeter and made his way back to the Christian church.

When he arrived the build was empty but there was a fire and the horses were still in the stable. The witch had to still be here. There weren’t many places she would be able to hide. The outbuilding next to the stable was the most logical choice. Careful on the lookout for the messenger and the servants, Ganshuk circled the building.

He found her in the back room, getting ready for bed. For a Latin woman she was probably attractive but he could only see her foul magic. Her glowing red eyes betrayed her.

“Meet your death, witch!” Ganshuk hissed and sprang through the open window.

The witch calmly turned to face him. “Ah, the little eavesdropper. Shouldn’t you be in bed at this late hour?” She dared to tease him.

For a moment Ganshuk froze. She had known he had been listening, that he would come back for her. Was this a trap? Was the messenger lying in wait for him somewhere? He cast his eyes around but there was no one aside from them.

“Don’t worry, we’re quite alone.” The witch told him.

He didn’t trust a word she said, of course. “Lift the curse you put on the Great Khan and I’ll let you live.” He had no intention of doing so, but she wouldn’t know until it was too late.

“There is no curse, at least, none cast by me. Your Khan is but a mortal man, and his time to leave this world is fast approaching.” She stated calmly.

“You lie!” Ganshuk shouted and took a step towards her. She wasn’t intimidated by him and that infuriated him even more. How dare she not be afraid of him? He was Ganshuk, son of Bontai, he served in the mightiest army the world had ever seen. She should be on her knees begging for her worthless life.

Instead she pulled a sword from behind her back. A slim, elegant blade that had been hidden by her equally slim body. She seemed very comfortable with it in her hand. But that wouldn’t safe her, she should have called for her protector.

Ganshuk attacked her and was stunned when he found his first sword blow deflected with ease. He stared at the witch who still looked utterly calm. No, no, she wouldn’t leave here alive! He renewed his attack but he never came close. And then the unthinkable happened, she disarmed him, and she wasn’t even breathing faster! Was there anything more humiliating than being defeated by a Latin woman?

“I suggest you run now, little eavesdropper.” She told him. “Or you just might miss your army.”

Ganshuk was torn, he wanted her dead, not only to safe the Great Khan but to eradicated his shame but he had no weapon anymore. He might be able to tackle her but she seemed to be expecting that. Therefore he had to do as she had said. His face burning with shame, he hurled himself out of the window and ran to his horse. If he was lucky, no one would have noticed him missing and he would be able to get another sword before the loss of his own was discovered. If anyone ever found out about his humiliating defeat he wouldn’t survive it.

 

Present Day

The clash of swords could be heard across the rooftop. Fortunately, no one except the Immortals was there to hear it. Ganshuk fought with furious anger driving him on. Seven centuries he had waited for this day but it was like nothing had changed. He never even got close to Marique. Her blade stopping his every single time, no matter what he tried, as if she knew them beforehand.

“Fight me without your magic tricks, Witch!” he spat at her.

But Marique was unimpressed. “Why? Give me one good reason.”

“You have no honor!” Ganshuk raged.

“No, not really. Honor, after all, is a concept invented by men to have an excuse to behave like idiots.” She calmly informed him and with a quick flick of her wrist she disarmed him. “You should have learned to let go of the past.”

“Never! I will avenge my Khan!” Ganshuk panted and dived for his sword.

He never got close. Marique ran him through and then took his head. As the body collapsed and the head rolled across the roof, Marique knelt down and grabbed her sword tightly. A moment later the Quickening descended onto her.

 

When she arrived back in Roma a couple of days later, Methos was waiting for her at the airport. He even had brought flowers. She hadn’t told him when she would be back but he had always been good at getting information when he wanted to. He didn’t need to be a clairvoyant when he could just hack the Watcher database.

He took her suitcase, leaving Marique with her sword case and the flowers. Never would he part a woman from her blade, unless she wanted to cut off one of his body parts, then all bets were off.

“When did you turn into such a gentleman?” Marique asked tiredly.

“Pssst, not so loud, people might hear you:” Methos joked. “I can be nice, when I think it’s worth the effort.”

Marique chuckled. “Then I’m afraid, it’s wasted. All I want is a shower and a bed.”

Methos kissed her cheek. “That I can provide.”

 

Marique was fast asleep and Methos headed to his atelier to work. Ganshuk had been an idiot, thinking that Marique would be easy to defeat, but then Ganshuk had never been accused of being smart.

When the Great khan had died there had been some fighting to decided whom should follow him. Yeshen had had the presence of mind to back the right guy, Ganshuk had chosen the wrong one and died for it.

Methos had never met the man himself, but his Watcher Chronicles were very detailed. Ganshuk had liked to boast of his victories to others, and Watcher were very good at eavesdropping.

The Mongols themselves, well, Methos was somewhat ambiguous about them. After all, if it weren’t for them the Goths might not have overrun the Roman Empire, and maybe, just maybe, the world, Europe, would have been spared the Dark Age. Or maybe not, Rome had been ready to fall.

 

Rome, Italy, 376 AD

The first rumors reached Rome in the middle of a hot, boring summer. Methos didn’t pay much attention to it. What did he care about those Goths? Someone was always looking for trouble at the border. He had more important things to do.

He quickly forgot about them, but not for long. The rumors were soon followed by reports from the legions and local governors. The Goths were unstoppable, they said, led by a man who couldn’t die. And they were coming straight for Rome.

When Methos heard that he packed his things and headed for Ravenna. The emperor had no longer the strength of old but even the Goth army would think twice about attacking the new capital, even an army led by an Immortal.

Ravenna was rife with corruption and incompetence. Methos wasn’t surprised, but what could he do? Leave again, but where would he go? War could be found everywhere. And it wouldn’t last forever. And there was still a chance that the legion would man up, perform a miracle and defeat the Goths. Or the emperor, and his councilors, could give them land and get them settled. It had worked before.

“Where you’re from?” the owner of the inn asked Methos when he asked for a room.

“Rome.” Methos replied shortly.

The man nodded knowingly. “Would have left too. Those barbarians eat their enemies, I heard.”

Methos doubted that but didn’t correct the man. Did he really care about the Goth and their customs?

 

As it turned out, he did. In Ravenna he had the chance to study the movement of the Goth army, even before they crossed the border of the empire. He checked everything twice, and he came to the same conclusion twice. The Goths were running from something. but what in the world could make a warlike people like them flee?

No one in the empire seemed to know the answer to that questions, nor did they seem to care. Ignoring what was going on outside of Ravenna seemed to be the new favorite pastime of the Romans these days.

Methos couldn’t stand it. He found it disgusting how these mortals let their once great empire fall to piece around their ears. He didn’t want to see that. After only a few months, Methos left again with no fixed destination in mind, aside from somewhere in Africa.

 

Rome, Italy, 476 AD

Walking through the streets of Rome, Methos wasn’t surprised to find it in such a sorry state. It had been abandoned by the emperors decades ago, had been besieged, attacked and sacked. Now it had more in common with a hollowed out shell than a city.

A shame, really, he had spent some good times here and some not so good. But that was always the way his life tended to go.

He had heard about the abdication of Romulus Augustus when he had been living in Jerusalem and was curious about this new ruler, Odoacer. After all, he hadn’t killed Romulus, only sent him into exile, most wouldn’t have been so generous.

But then letting a weak emperor, a child, live was no great feat. What was more interesting was that Odoacer was much more decisive than all the last few real Roman emperors put together. But he also took Ravenna as his capital, not Rome.

After a few days that was where Methos went too. By now he looked more like a barbarian than a Roman himself anyway. But even his low expectations of the man were disappointed. There was nothing there for him. And there was still the Easter Roman Empire. Constantinople hadn’t been conquered yet. Should be fun.

 

Present Day

Methos was preparing breakfast when Marique came into the kitchen. “Hey, doing better? He asked.

Marique nodded, leaning against him. “I hate the Game.” She muttered into his shoulder.

“I know.” Methos sighed.

Marique sighed and stole a slice of orange from his plate. “I need a holiday.”

“Alright, where do you want to go?” Methos asked.

Smiling she bumped her orange slice against his nose. “Surprise me.”

Methos rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

 

They decided on Sicily. A few days at the each was what Marique needed. Methos had gotten them a room in a hotel close to said beach. It was a small one, a family business, really, but with direct access to the sea and no noisy tourists.

A couple of hours after they had checked in, Methos sat on the terrace overlooking the beach, drinking a coffee while Marique took a stroll along water’s edge. It had been centuries since he had seen her like this, and he didn’t like it.

Lian had been her friend for over 40 years and utterly mortal. She should never have been drawn into the Game.

When Marique finally came back she was soaking wet.

“You know you’re supposed to take your street clothes off before you take swim.” Methos stated with a smile.

“Yes, I know.” Marique replied and gave him a quick, wet kiss. “They’ll dry. And I’m feeling better, a bit.”

End

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