Two knights stood facing each other across a wide field. The stark
contrast between them was belied only by the intensity of their identical
steely gazes as they studied each other across the vast plain. One was
clothed all in white, and a bright light shone around him. The other was
shrouded in the darkest ebony, his menacing presence casting a gray shadow
across the expanse between him and his opponent.

For the moment, the two knights stood unmoving upon either edge of the
plain. They each knew that this battle would be to the death, that one of
them would be consumed by the deadly power of the other, yet they were not
afraid. They were eager for the end of this long endeavor, yet neither of
them were willing to be the first to make the opening move. They waited for
a sign… an unmistakable portent signaling that the time had finally come to
end this long conflict. And until they received the sign, they would remain
as they were, silent sentinels on the hills. Waiting, and watching…

---------------------------


"We're through."

The words still sliced through Methos like a knife. He was standing beside
Alexa's grave in the pouring rain, his hands stuffed deeply into his
pockets. "Well, here I am again." His voice was a soft whisper, barely
audible through the patter of the rain. "I know that *you* understand how
it feels to be alone." He sighed and looked around as if he expected the
desolate graveyard to vanish along with everything else. "I hope I made
your last few months a little less lonely, love. You brought such joy into
my life…"

//And I miss you so…// Adam slowly turned away from the gravestone. //Alexa
accepted me for who I was. She knew there were things about me that I could
not tell her, I could see it in her eyes. But she never complained. She was
willing to take whatever I offered and love me for it. Unlike Mac…//

Why did his thoughts always return to Duncan Macleod?

"We're through." The vorpal blade went snicker-snack… left him dead…

Duncan's words still reverberated through his skull. Although he had
helped Mac destroy the horsemen, although he had killed his own
brothers-in-arms to preserve the Highlander's life, Mac still could not
accept Methos for who he really was. Mac was blinded by actions of the man
that Methos was 3,000 years earlier. Their friendship had been very tense
for the past few months, and Methos was slowly being overwhelmed. "I will
not do this any more. I can't." A few passers-by looked at him strangely,
but he ignored them.

This time he was leaving for good. And he would not be coming back, at
least not in the next century or so.

The rain was getting heavier, but Methos didn't notice. He was simply
walking… he didn't know where he was going, he just knew that he had to
keep moving, keeping running… and not look back. Otherwise, he might not
have the courage to leave…

------------------------

//Oh no.//

Methos had been wandering for weeks, not knowing what city or what country
he was in, and not caring. Yet after all his wanderings, he always ended up
in the same place. And he always regretted it.

He stared gloomily up at the windows of the loft. A single light burned in
the window, and it seemed to beckon him closer. //Like a moth to a flame…//
Duncan Macleod was the flame, and every time Methos surrendered to the urge
to crowd close to the light, he got burned. So why did he keep coming back?

---------------------------

The sun shone down upon the field, casting an orange glow over the green
plain. The two knights had moved closer together now, and each of them had
their weapons in hand. Yet, they still did not attack. Their eyes were
locked across the ever narrowing gap that separated them, gauging one
another's strength, gauging one another's weaknesses.

They could feel the call to battle, it was raging in their blood, and it
was reflected in their eyes. But the signal had not come. So they waited,
and watched…

---------------------------

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought---
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.

Duncan Macleod sat in silence, staring out into the darkness of night.
Below on the street he could see cars slowly passing by, see people
walking, talking, and laughing together with smiles on their faces. //They
seem so carefree…//

But Duncan Macleod was not so lighthearted. Memories of a certain old
immortal were overwhelming him, and he dreaded the nightmares he knew would
come later in the night. For the past few months his dreams had been filled
with visions of Methos and the Four Horsemen raining down death on the weak
and innocent. //Is that how I see him now?// Something within him refused to
believe what his own eyes had seen. Yes, Methos had been one of the Four
horsemen, but he had changed. Visions of Methos when he had taken Kristin's
quickening, when he had rescued Mac from the dark quickening, when he had
offered Mac his own head so that Mac would have the strength to defeat
Kalas, all swam through his head, contrasting sharply with the vision of
Methos as death incarnate.

And yet Mac could not accept all the atrocities that Methos had committed.
He could not accept them any more than he could accept those he had
committed himself. Things he had done during the dark quickening, and many
many more… They were like a fearful monster threatening to consume him. And
he was afraid…of himself. And of Methos…

Slowly he turned away from the window and suddenly paused as a familiar
presence washed through his senses, leaving him trembling in fear and
excitement.

Methos…

-------------------------

Duncan's presence burst like a flame through Methos senses. He stopped
breathing, his entire body stiffening, ready to run. But he could not. He
was drawn closer, ever closer to the flame… and his own destiny…

------------------------

Swords clashed and sparks flew, the two knights circled one another, their
eyes flashing. The time had been decided, and now they were ready to fight
to the death. Blades clashed against armor, and then against flesh, but
neither knight would yield.

The white knight's armor was covered with dust and grime, turning it into
a dirty gray, yet a light still shone from him, reflecting off his
opponents dark armor and giving it a silver sheen. They battled for what
seemed like an eternity. The sun began to set and gray twilight covered the
plain. A white mist rose around them, and still they battled on.

Then, when the moon was high in the sky a cold wind suddenly began to blow
around them. Their bloody battered forms were pushed apart and a dark shape
began to coalesce in the mist around them. Out of the mist rose a monster
more fearsome than any they had seen before. Its eyes were flaming and
smoke came from it's nostrils. Its body was formless, and its foul breath
seemed to reach for them both, drawing them in to their destruction.

The knights raised their swords, prepared to fight against the loathsome
creature that dared to disturb their battle. Together, they swung their
swords in a clashing arc, their blades meeting at the center of the
creatures erethreal form. The creature screamed in agony and twisted away
from the blades that burned through him, placing the two knights side by
side. Their eyes met, and they charged forward together, their battle cries
sounding forth with overwhelming strengh. The biting jaws, the catching
claws of the monster reached for them, its foul breath lifting them off
their feet and flinging them apart. Yet despite the strength of the foe,
they doggedly pushed forward, coming together and raising their swords one
more time…

------------------------

Duncan moved slowly toward the door, every sense tingling. He felt Methos'
presence, it was closer now. He was having trouble thinking, he was
confused and afraid, and yet he realized that it was now or never. He and
Methos had to settle what was between them, or their friendship would not
survive. And this was probably their last chance.

Slowly, he laid a trembling hand on the knob…

------------------------

Methos was standing in front of the door to Macleod's loft. He kept
telling himself over and over that coming here was not a good idea, but he
couldn't make his body react to the statement. It was moving without
conscious thought, moving on instinct alone. //And haven't I always lived
this way? By instinct?//

Now or never… He reached up to knock, and jerked back as the door opened
in his face.

The two men stood face to face for the first time in months. Their eyes
met, tentative and full of distrust. Yet each was determined to see this
meeting through, whatever the outcome.

Methos saw the dogged determination in the highlander's eyes and managed a
small smile. "Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod."

Mac slowly relaxed and raised an ironic eyebrow. "Methos." He stepped back
and a small smile came to his face as well.

Methos jerked as a dark object came flying through the air at him. He
reached out automatically to catch it and stared dumbly at it for a silent
moment, before meeting the highlander's smile with one of his own.

"Have a beer."

Methos' smile grew as he stepped into the loft and the door closed behind him.

"I think I will."

-----------------------

The creature howled as the two knights came rushing towards him one last
time. They were no longer, white, or black. Their armor and their eyes
blazed with the same fire, and their swords gleamed with an inner light
that pushed back his own darkness.

The two blades clashed together at his center and their flames engulfed
him. His death cry was drowned out by the roaring of the fires that burned
through his center and tore him apart. His body evaporated in the thick
mist, his darkness slowly being pulled apart and cast away… it was the end.
And his last vision was of the shining eyes of the two knights, swords
still interlocked, their eyes burning bright in the gray dawn of morning.

---------------------------

Dawn had come to the plain, and the two knights stood together as the
morning sun rose and engulfed them in its brightness. The sun slowly burned
the grime and blood from their armor, cleansing them and giving them
strength. Their mail gleamed silver in the morning light, and their hair
was whipped around by the early morning wind.

Their eyes met and they smiled, their hands clasping each other in the
firm handshake of brothers. The battle was not over, but their own conflict
was finished. Their darkness had been destroyed, consumed by their combined
powers, and now there was no longer anything to fear. Death had been
vanquished, and the morning had come.

And now they had been set free from their own darkness.

--------------------------

Two knights stood facing each other across a wide field. They wore
identical armor and their gazes burned with a fire born from some inner
strength. They were clothed in mail of polished silver and their helmets
were adorned with gold. Their presences cast a visible glow over the vast
plain, bathing it in a golden light.

For the moment, the two knights stood unmoving upon either edge of the
plain. They each knew that a battle was coming, and that they would be
facing death once again, yet they were not afraid. They were eager for the
end of this long endeavor, and they would face the coming conflict
together. They waited for a sign… an unmistakable portent signaling that
the time had finally come to end this long fight. And until they received
the sign, they would remain as they were, silent sentinels on the hills.
Waiting, and watching…



The End


Jabberwocky

by Lewis Carroll


'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought---
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And, hast though slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

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