A deep frown and a dangerous glitter to his green-gold eyes suddenly marred  Methos' face. "That prosperity lasted for only a bit longer than a century until the Elamites came and captured me and Ur-Nammu's grandson. Ur was destroyed."

***^***

They had grown lazy and complacent. *He* had grown lazy and complacent. He had no one to blame but himself. It had been so long since any serious challenge to Ur had come along that he had become soft, weak. The peace with Akkad and the legendary might of Ur had held back the tides of war for so long that he had allowed himself to believe that it might never come again. Now his beloved city and his cherished people were paying the price in blood and pain for his ignorance.

With a long bronze sword in one hand and a cruel hook pointed obsidian dagger in the other, Methos fought like a man possessed, cutting deeply into mortal flesh and blood. Around him, his temple guardsmen hacked and swung their weapons at their armored opponents. And hadn't *that* been a nasty surprise. While he and his warriors wore simple woven skirts about their waists, the Elamite warriors wore vests and skirts of thick cured leather that was difficult to cut or stab through.

The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning wood, cloth and flesh, the smoke dark and choking. The cries of the injured mixed and mingled with the desperate pleas of a frightened and panicked citizenry and the shrill screams of horses. The paved stones beneath his feet became slick with the blood of his enemies and still he fought on, a killing machine in the midst of his dying people. No one could face him and live, he was simply too good a fighter, too strong an opponent.

Finally, someone got smart and shot him in the back with an arrow. Then another. He spun around to face this new threat only to see two more arrows fly at him out of the sky to find new homes in his chest. He tried to push back the pain and the darkness that was creeping over him so that he could continue to defend his beautiful city. His limbs shaking with fatigue and loss of feeling, he killed one more enemy before false death stole over him and he knew no more.

***^***

A long pull from the beer in his hand. "Ur was eventually rebuilt as a part of the Larsa kingdom which was then overthrown by the people of Babylon. *That's* when the Babylonians began their empire; when they took over the rule of Ur. I wasn't there to see that though. I spent several centuries as a prisoner in the Elam city of Susa." Methos snorted, it was a bitter sound. "I found out later that when the Elamites were sacking Ur, they found my library and read through my journals. They brought back the worship of Nanna, telling the people that an immortal who had been dead for two-thousand years had returned from the underworld to have his revenge on me. Then, they destroyed my library and all of the records I had kept. Oddly enough, the worship of Nanna continued for another thousand years. Which I don't really mind...much. The fact that they dedicated *my* temple to him, thus making me want to resurect the fools just so that I can have the pleasure of killing them again is besides the point."

Joe snorted in amusement. "A bit bitter, old man?"

Methos glared at him. "Wouldn't *you* be bitter? It was MY temple. I was worshipped there for over two thousand years! Then they turned around and dedicated it to some fool who lost his head due to a combination of laziness and arrogance! The idiot blighters."

Duncan flashed a brief grin at Joe before turning serious eyes on Methos. "So what happened then? How long were you a prisoner of the Elamites?"

Methos frowned again. "About two centuries. Not that they let me go, mind you. I escaped. Fled down river to the Persian Sea and then from there I made my way to Ur. That's when I found out about the whole Nanna thing. It... *hurt*. I couldn't stay. I made my way up river to Babylon. By then, they were at the height of their power in a strange sense. They had a lot of land, but very little control over it. Kassites were invading the outlying districts regularly and the Elamites had left behind a lot of physical and cultural damage that was still being borne out. Things were a mess. I was bitter over my casual disregard in Ur and in a rage over my torments in Elam, but these were still my people in a sense and I cared for them."

"I bullied my way into the royal court and made myself a tutor of the young princeling. His name was Hammurabi. He was arrogant and spoilt. I disabused him of that right away and then spent several years teaching him how to read, write and most importantly, how to think. I pointed out what was wrong with his father's empire and offered several suggestions on how to correct them. I worked on him about politics, economy, the military, religion...everything I could think of. Then, when he was crowned Emperor, I left Babylon."

"Uhhh..." Joe interrupted. "Hammurabi is considered to be one of the greatest rulers of that time. You realize that, don't you?"

Methos shrugged. "Well, he certainly had his work cut out for him, I'll give you that. The culture of the ruling class was decadent and lacking in morals to say the least. And the commoners plight was pitiful. Each of his father's underlings were in charge of different areas of the city and the surrounding countryside and each ruled according to their own whims. Invaders and raiders were a scourge and the militia only guarded the main city of Babylon and left the smaller towns and villages that supported that city to their own defense. It was a mess, but Hammurabi did a good job of fixing all of that. He was ruthless and cruel, but he solidified the empire and unified the people."

***^***

The small dark child glared up at him, his thin arms crossed over his chest and his chin lifted in haughty arrogance even as his lips twisted into a sneer of disdain. "*I* am Hammurabi, Prince of all Babylon. I'll do whatever I please."

Methos snorted in amusement and bent low to place himself nose to nose with the spoilt child. "You are the heir to a decadent and crumbling empire that is on the very verge of shattering apart. It's strength is weakened from within by the corrupt and the unjust even as it's strength is battered at from without by raiding warriors against a hopeless and terrified populace. If you and your family want Babylon to be the seat of power for all Sumeria then you must *rule* all of Sumeria and stop playing these petty games of trying to impress each other with your personal wealth and glory."

The child puffed up his thin chest in indignation and practically shook with righteous anger. "How *dare* you speak to me such? I could have you killed for that impertinence!"

Methos grinned a nasty grin and drew his dagger. A flicker of fear crossed the child's face, but he stood his ground almost defiantly. A sliver of pride in that fact shivered through Methos, but he didn't let it stop him. With an almost casual flick of his wrist, he used his dagger to slice open his own hand. Together, he and the child watched as sizzling blue lightening raced across his wound, healing it closed and then fading the scar away as if it had never been. "Go on child...have me killed. I shall simply rise again and come back to finish your education."

The boy's dark skin grew ashy as the blood fled his cheeks. "How...why...if you are descended from the gods and cannot be killed...then why do you care about me?"

Methos eyed the small boy and hardened his heart. "I don't." The boy looked crushed. "I care about Sumeria, child. I think that you have the potential to be a great ruler, better than your father could ever hope to be. I have come to you to see that you have the chance to do just that, but you *must* put aside your belief that *you* are more important than Sumeria. That's why your father and his council of advisors are leading the Babylonian Empire into ruin. They are putting their own needs ahead of the needs of the empire. If you do the same, there won't be much of an empire to hand over to your own son."

A long endless moment stretched out silently as Methos watched the small boy consider what he had just seen and been told. A niggling voice of doubt spoke up in the back of Methos' mind to inform him that if he didn't have the boy's cooperation than teaching him the difference between being an emperor and a tyrant would be difficult. He almost wanted to nibble on his bottom lip, but then the child's dark eyes turned to look up at him, a fierce determination in them.

"Teach me what I must know."

***^***

"The next several centuries I spent traveling as a nomadic vagabond. I went from city to city, learning what I could and avoiding danger as best as possible. I worked for food and lodging as a storyteller and a teacher. It was a little lonely at times, but I was content for the most part. After a while, the power shifted from the Babylonian Empire to the Elam Empire. This was prompted by the fact that the Elamites finally managed to dispose of the Kassites that had so long plagued both Elam and Babylon. However, after a few generations had passed, I couldn't ignore the fact that the Elam culture was quickly becoming the main culture of the entire area. Their language was overtaking the shared language of Akkad and Sumer. Their gods and their clothing and their writing was appearing everywhere. I still hadn't forgiven the Elamites for disposing me of my divinity, so I went north."

Methos took another beer from Joe and drank deeply, his eyes losing their focus once again. "It's odd, but I almost felt as if I had gone back in time by over two thousand years. Ur was located at the base of the Euphrates River and I headed towards the headlands of the Tigris River and found a people that were surprisingly like those early Sumerians. When I left Ur it was arguably the most powerful city in Sumeria, but when I arrived it was just a ramshackle town, little more than a village of crude huts. And that's what I found in the northlands. Crude little villages."

A sad and haunted look flashed across Methos' eyes almost too quickly to see. "I also found my second immortal student. I came across a young immortal man who was in the process of building a huge funeral pyre for a little more than half of the people of his village."

"Raiders?" Methos looked up at the concerned tone of Duncan's voice and gave a mirthless little bark of a laugh.

"No. Sickness. To this day, I don't know what plague killed off over half of the village, I just know that my newest student had lost his parents and his brand new bride to it. In fact, he had died trying to prevent the illness from killing any more of his people by traveling to the next village over to bring back their healer. The neighboring villagers killed him and dumped his body in the river in fear of him spreading the disease to them as well." Methos' raised up one eyebrow and stared Duncan right in the eyes. "My student's name was Kronos."

***^***

He sat cross legged in front of the tormented young man with the beautiful haunted eyes and the painful scar that he would bear forever. The pyre had been built and the bodies of the dead had all been cleansed and wrapped. When the sun set over the hills then the torches would be lit and the corpses would be burnt to ash. The young one, Kronos, had been almost hysterical when he realized that the village's only holy man had succumbed to the plague and there was no one left who could perform the ceremony to send his people on their way. Methos, in an effort to calm and comfort him had promised to perform the task, although it would be in the style and language of Sumeria. Kronos and the few remaining survivors agreed.

So now, here he sat before the young one to get him ready for the ceremony. A crude wooden bowl filled with a hastily made paint was held in one hand and simple and hurriedly cleaned clothing of the palest shade that they could find was drying by the fire. Methos dipped two fingers into the paint and then reached up to gently draw a line dividing Kronos' face in half.

"I lived for fifteen hundred years in the great Sumerian city of Ur, young one. This custom is ancient, even older than I am. Your people's spirits will rest easy, I promise you that."

Kronos' eyes flickered to him briefly before returning to stare sightlessly into space. Suppressing a sigh, Methos began to fill in one half of his handsome face with the blue paint.

"We wear the palest of linens, preferably a stark white to reflect all the energy of life from us to the dead we honor. White is pure, like their spirits and to cover our bodies in that color comforts them. The blue paint that we hide half of our face with is the color of mourning and sadness. It is this way that we show those that are still living that our hearts are divided, one half of us among the living and one half of us praying and longing for the dead."

Methos continued to paint Kronos' face silently. Finally he finished and put his bowl aside. For a moment he thought that Kronos would remain silent, but then those haunting eyes turned to catch his own green-gold ones. "How...how long should I wear the white and blue of death?"

Methos' face was serious and his own eyes reflected loss after loss after loss. "For as long as you need to."

***^***

Both Duncan and Joe sucked in a deep breath of surprise. Methos simply lowered his eyes in regret. "He never recovered from that trauma. Emotionally, I mean. He carried that pain with him until the day you took his head, Highlander." Methos looked up again, his eyes reflecting millennia of hurt. "I always sort of wondered what he would have been like if he hadn't lost so much in such a horrid way. Or even if that healer had been at least *willing* to try and save them. Who knows..."

Duncan's face was set into a hard expression, his jaw muscles clenching. "Was he...violent and psychotic even then?"

Methos sighed and took a swallow of beer, his eyes losing focus as he thought back. "No. No, he was sad and hurt and utterly obsessed with human frailty and sickness, but he wasn't violent. He didn't go out and...hurt anyone. At that point in time, he still kept all the pain and hurt inside. He was a good man...and a good friend."

Duncan gave a noncommittal grunt, but Joe was intrigued. "How did you go from a wandering storyteller to the Four Horsemen? I mean, that's a huge leap in job descriptions if you ask me. And were you still going by the name Methos?"

Methos shook his head. "No. I mean, I did when I was tutoring Hammurabi in Babylon and I told Kronos my name...but I took another one when I was around regular people. It had been several centuries and it was a different part of the world, but the name Methos was still widely known. Okay, granted it wasn't a very far distance by today's standards, but at that time it was almost the other side of the known world."

He smirked slightly. "As for the Horsemen...that was still to come. Kronos and I spent a little over a century traveling from random village to random village. We'd only stay for five or ten years and then move on. I taught him to smelt bronze and copper. I showed him how to forge his own sword and then how to use it to fight. I taught him how to use a spear, a bow and arrow and how to hunt. I taught him how to dress that kill and how to preserve the meat and how to tan the hide. I taught him how to speak the Akkad/Sumer language and how to read in cruciform. I also taught him how to speak the Elam language and what little I knew of thier pictogram writing. I taught him how to recognize edible plants and how to cook. I taught him how to ride and care for a horse and I taught him what little I knew of healing and tending the injured."

Methos' smile softened. "We were...content. Not happy, mind you. We had each lost too much that was important and special to us, but...content."

Joe handed Methos another beer and he smiled at the Watcher before continuing. "At the time, I didn't realize what I was doing, but looking back on it now it is so clear, hindsight being 20/20 and all. To me and Kronos it was so simple then. We traveled to a village and made a home for ourselves. I would set myself up as a teacher and he would apprentice himself to a healer if he could or I would teach him some craft if he couldn't. And I was good at what I did. I had been a professional storyteller for a few centuries and a professional *god* for a millennia and a half. By the time we left a village, it was changed. The children's heads were filled with ancient knowledge of crafts not yet reaching into this backwards part of the world and their hearts were filled with stories of the great empires of the south and the fabled city of Ur. This pattern was repeated over and over and over again."

The look that Methos shot to Duncan was painfully self-mocking. "Is it any wonder that this land of simple villagers and farmers suddenly found themselves struggling painfully towards their own form of empire?" Then a seemingly careless shrug that was anything but. "It probably would have been a smoother and easier transition if it weren't for their location. Akkad and Babylon to the south were out of power and struggling under the yoke of Elam. Raiders from that area found easier targets to the north as far as pillaging and looting for food and supplies. Elam was the strongest nation and had overpowered the Kassites, but there was still a violent undercurrent in that land due to strong pockets of Kassite resistance fighters. And while Luristan was a buffer between Elam and the northern villages, they were a very weak nation at that time and did little, if anything, to prevent random armies of either side from marching through their territory. To the far west by the rumored Mediterranean Sea were the lands of Anatolia. While they were far enough away to be harmless, in between them and us were several bands of nomadic raiders and warrior clans. As time moved on, the number of attacks on the northern villages grew greater and it became increasingly apparent that they would have to band together to face off these invaders."

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