Disclaimer: All Highlander characters are property of Rysher. Victoria, Justin, Elizabet, and Kane belong to me.
The song “Hands” is complements of the extremely talented Jewel. Lyric Wheel challenge complements of Amand-r *g*. This story does not fit in with my “Forever Sequence” -- think of it as another alternate universe. This is rated PG, and be forewarned, it’s not beta-read!
June, 2453
It was impossible. No one ever thought that it could ever happen. He had always been there. His sarcasm and cynical wit had always brought his friends back to earth when they seemed to be floating away from reality. And now he was dead.
Methos was dead.
Not that others had not died before this. Kane Nalamas had been gone for five hundred years and had graced the world with his presence for only a short time. Gwennolaik had been gone for a long time, too, and her death had been even harder to take. Conner and Duncan MacLeod had both been lost to the Game, as had Hugh Fitzcairn, Kenny, Richie Ryan, Amanda, Elizabet Aspen, and an endless list of names that spiraled down through time. Even Justin Le Faye had been lost to the Gathering twenty horrible years ago.
In other words, all of Victoria DiThon Kestral’s friends, family, were dead. She didn’t think she had anything left to live for. Her teacher, her companion, her only friend left in the world was dead, forever. Victoria never thought that she’d survive for as long as she had. The Game had exploded in its intensity in the twenty-third century. Victoria had survived only by hiding in the South Pacific Islands. As far as she knew, with Methos dead, there was only one other Immortal left. Methos’ killer.
The cemetery had a false sense of peace. The sun shone, the birds chirped, the flowers bloomed in the peaceful summer air. It could almost be a place of contentment. Methos’ mortal friends had left about two hours ago, after the burial. Victoria felt that if she left, she would be severing the last link between Methos and herself. It wasn’t as if she was safe on Holy Ground. That had proved to be a complete myth centuries ago.
Victoria stared at the headstone. It read in Arabic, the current world language - "Arthur Merodan, 2420-2453. A friend to all." In English, the language of her birth, Victoria had had inscribed below it - "Methos, est. 3000 BC-2453 AD. Simply a friend." No one else knew English anymore. Not that it mattered.
Lowering her gaze to her hands, Victoria imagined that she saw blood there. After all, it was partly her fault that Methos was dead. He had warned her that the other Immortal, who had killed all three of the other last Immortals before them, would attack immediately if they appeared alone. They didn’t know who the other Immortal was. Victoria had never sensed his or her presence to see if she was familiar with the aura. They had been holed up in their estate, pretending to be on vacation from the university where Methos taught and Victoria was a student.
But when Victoria’s two closest and only (mortal) friends had come to convince her to go out one evening, she had been easily persuaded. She ignored Methos when he warned, ordered, pleaded with her not to go. She had not looked back.
And when she returned the next morning, his blood had been on the driveway. The massive Quickening had scorched the entire front of the ancient mansion, and burned his car to a crisp. His sword had been shattered. And his body had been lying there.
True death.
No awakening ever again.
The death was blamed on the serial killer that had killed three times before. The “London Beheader”, for England was apparently where the Final Gathering was to take place. Arthur Merodan’s niece, Toria Merodan had been sole heir, and at sixteen, a legal adult. The mess was cleaned up, Methos’ body buried, the report written up, and Victoria was left to deal with the funeral. And life without Methos.
The young-looking Immortal felt the presence of another; the only other Immortal left. The one who had killed Methos. A fitting place for the final battle, over the grave of the oldest. But Victoria made no attempt to reach for the sword she wore. Someone walked over the hill towards her. Victoria did not look up.
“Victoria?” a soft voice asked. Victoria started in surprise. Her eyes welled with tears. The last Immortal was Cassandra, who had once been Victoria’s friend.
“You killed him,” Victoria sobbed, sinking to the ground. “You killed Methos.” Cassandra attempted to put her arm around the girl, but instantly found a knife at her throat. “Why, Cassandra? I know, deep down inside, that you still hated him, but why? He was my friend!”
Cassandra was at a loss for words. She had known Methos was one of the last Immortals, and that he had a friend with him. She never knew that it was Victoria. How could she explain to this ageless girl that it was the Final Gathering? The bloodlust that had driven her to challenge three already had apparently not touched the seven hundred-year-old. Cassandra knew that it must have hit Methos even harder than her, but his love for his former student had prevailed.
“It’s the Final Gathering, Victoria,” she said. “I had to.”
“You had to rip my life apart,” the younger Immortal snarled. “If I could tell the world just one thing, it would be that Methos was supposed to win. Darius was first supposed to win the Prize, but he died. Then Conner MacLeod was. Methos was next in line. You’re not supposed to win!” Victoria leapt up and ran, for all she was worth. Out of the cemetery and into her car, then deep into the metropolis that was London.
Cassandra was left staring. Her instincts urged her to go after the girl, challenger her, kill her. But her heart remembered the girl she had first met seven hundred years ago, when Victoria was a mere eight years old. The suspicious child's stare that had eventually warmed to acceptance, even a small measure of trust. Cassandra looked at her hands, and saw blood in her mind’s eye. So many Immortals, and now she and Victoria were the last. It was almost inconceivable.
December, 2953
It was five hundred years and a galaxy later. Tor DiStrall was a scientist on a remote planet studying a nebula close by. She shut down her portable computer and headed for the small shuttle that would take her back to the living complex a few miles away. Her hypothesis that the nebula was slowly being shaped by the solar winds of the sun of the planet she was on was nearly proved correct. After two years of mapping solar winds and carefully studying the nebula, her experiment was almost finished.
“Personal log, Tor DiStrall,” Victoria said she piloted the shuttle home. “I swore that I wouldn’t name this nebula unless my experiment was proved correct, and I think I’ve won. I’m still planning on submitting my research to the Spatial Science Academy, and I think I’ve got a good chance of winning one of this year’s grants for another experiment. Anyway, to name my nebula.” Victoria looked out the veiwport in front of the pilot’s chair and gazed at the mass of colors – purple to red to black to blue and back again. “Methos,” she finally said. “I’ll name it the Methos Nebula.”
A few days later, Cassandra stood in the viewing lounge of the passenger ship and stared out at the small nebula. She glanced back at her printout on it and let her gaze rest on its new name, by the scientist who was studying it. There was only one person it could be, and her picture had proved Cassandra correct.
Victoria was out in the field, packing up the last of her surveying equipment. Her grant had been approved, and she was off to Earth to attend the awards ceremony. Then she could go wherever she wanted. The sound of a small shuttle descending made her look up. It landed, and the back hatch opened. A woman Victoria hadn’t seen in five hundred years walked towards her, sword in hand. Victoria hastily grabbed her sword out of her pack, thankful that sheer habit had made her keep practicing against holo-characters and in real tournaments. She knew that Cassandra had been tracking her for the last five hundred years, ever since Methos’ death.
“You can’t run forever, Victoria DiThon Kestral,” Cassandra called. “The Game is over. The Gathering is over. You can’t run from your destiny.”
“I’m not running,” Victoria replied. “I’m surviving. I don’t want the Prize, but I don’t want to die, either. You were never supposed to win the Prize, Cassandra, and damned if I’m going to let you have it now.”
Cassandra ran towards Victoria, letting lose a battle cry. Victoria blocked, and attacked fiercely.
They fought.
In the midst of the fight, a white light descended, suddenly blinding both women.
“HERE IS YOUR PRIZE, LAST TWO IMMORTALS,” an ethereal voice called. “FOR YOU HAVE BOTH BEEN DEEMED WORTHY.”
Victoria and Cassandra stumbled back, away from each other. The nebula, clearly visible in the evening sky, appeared to be growing. Tendrils reached through the planet’s atmosphere to wrap around both women.
Their galaxy exploded.
A woman and a teenage girl in another galaxy died, and reawakened.
The Gathering continued, anew.
~finis~
"Hands"
By Jewel
If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we're all ok
And not to worry cuz worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these
I will not be made useless
I won't be idled with despair
I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear
My hands are small, I know,
But they're not yours they are my own
But they're not yours they are my own
And I am never broken
Poverty stole your golden shoes
But it didn't steal your laughter
And heartache came to visit me
But I knew it wasn't ever after
We'll fight, not out of spite
For someone must stand up for what's right
Cause where there's a man who has no voice
There are shadows singing
My hands are small, I know,
But they're not yours they are my own
But they're not yours they are my own
And I am never broken
In the end only kindness matters
In the end only kindness matters
I will get down on my knees and I will pray
I will get down on my knees and I will pray
I will get down on my knees and I will pray
My hands are small, I know,
But they're not yours they are my own
But they're not yours they are my own
And I am never broken
My hands are small, I know,
But they're not yours they are my own
But they're not yours they are my own
And I am never broken
We are never broken
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's mind
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's heart
We are God's eyes
God's hands
God's eyes
God's hands
God's hands
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This page was last updated: 2.22.5 ~jlg~