Another Day in Paradise

[camimac]

Author(s): camimac
Title: Another Day In Paradise
Feedback address: camimac@hotmail.com
Rating:NC-17 (Adult/Slash) Keywords/Comments: X-Over Star Trek
Character listing: D/M
Summary: This is a Duncan and Methos in paradise story crossed over
with "The Paradise Syndrome" episode of ST-TOS with just a dash of
Andromeda thrown in for flavor. This is only the second fanfic that
I've written. All feed back and constructive criticism welcome, no
flames appreciated

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"Another Day In Paradise"
By
camimac
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" I have been many things MacLeod, but a navigator was not one of
them." In an exasperated and mildly accusatory tone the British
accented eldest immortal continued, "you're the one with tracking and
directional skills. Weren't you bending twigs or notching trees or
doing anything to mark our way?" It was official. The two immortals
were truly lost in the jungle interior of the tropical island they had
been marooned on since their plane crashed in the surrounding ocean.
They were the sole survivors. They had spent the last few days
acclimating to island life. There were a few supplies from the plane
since some of the luggage from the cargo bays had mercifully washed up
on shore with them. There were passenger suitcases containing an
assortment of clothes in different styles and sizes. There was a large
box with rope and sports equipment. They also had the case containing
their swords, but there was little else, no shelter, no food and no
means of communication with the outside world.

Ever the resourceful boy scout, Duncan soon took care of the shelter
problem. In less than a day and with little help from the older
immortal, he crafted a hut using mainly palm leaves and bamboo. The
Scot had begun to weave a hammock from the rope in their supplies when
Methos grabbed a duffel from the luggage and a fishing rod from the
sports equipment. Leaving Mac to care for hearth and home he went in
search of food to hunt and gather. This pattern continued as their time
on the island went by. Everyday Methos went out dressed in shorts and
sometimes wearing a white beach cap, brim down. Everyday he returned
with a selection that included, mangoes, breadfruit, papayas, bananas,
coconuts and sometimes fish from a fresh water stream that he found.
Meanwhile the Highlander kept himself busy producing some new addition
to, or for the hut.

On one of these routine days, the bare-chested younger immortal was
busy preparing the evening meal: fish cooked on wooden skewers over a
low fire outside the hut when he noticed Methos pensively gazing at the
sky. The two had been talking but had lapsed into a comfortable silence
as Duncan became more absorbed in his cooking and Methos more enrapt in
his contemplation of the setting sun. "It's too bad we don't have any
strawberry jam but I think this will do," Mac said in an effort to
resume their conversation as he slathered a fruit concoction over the
roasting fish. When he heard no response he rose from his position and
crossed the short distance of beach to stand next to his companion. Not
looking but feeling Duncan approach, the older man wrapped an arm
around his trim waist. He turned his head and kissed him briefly but
thoroughly as he drew him to his side. Their physical relationship was
new but did not feel that way. Baiting the Highlander was still one of
the old man's favorite pastimes but spending quiet time, like they were
then, had also become important to him with the deepening of their
relationship. The two watched the descent of the sun below the horizon
in silence, in quiet awe of the pacific sky painted in slowly changing
hues of gold, blush and violet. Duncan was in equal awe of the man
beside him. "That was beautiful, Duncan said in a hushed tone, but I can
tell that there's something more on your mind."

Hazel eyes with a mischievous gleam met doe-eyes of brown. "There's
always something on my mind when I'm standing this close to you."
Schooling his angular features to a more serious expression he
continued. "When I was out earlier today I saw a path that I hadn't
noticed before. I couldn't tell whether it was man-made or a natural
trail through the thicket, but I think we should explore it."

"Even if it's man-made there's no way of telling by who, or when it
was last used, or what we might find."

"That's true," Methos said in a voice becoming increasingly hopeful
and excited, "but, we could find a scientific team doing a study, or it
could turn out that this island is a nature reserve." He paced with the
energy of his thoughts and gestured with his hands for emphasis. "We
could find a warden, a radio, rescue, a return to civilization, dare I
say. . .(eyes widening, British accent coming to the fore). . . beer?"
It was with that same enthusiasm the two left the hut the next morning
before the heat of day.

*** *** ***

The trail that Methos found, cut through a copse of trees and soon
began to meander into labyrinthine curves as the two immortals walked.
Determined to see where it led they continued their trek. The jungle
was lush with tall palms and shorter trees with heavy low hanging
branches. There were native plants of all descriptions. Some Mac
recognized. Some he did not. There were exotic African lilies,
bougainvillea, leguminous vines, clover everywhere and plants with
brilliant colorful flowering bracts in the shape of birds beaks and fan
shaped designs in colors of red, pink, gold and orange. The warming air
was redolent with their scents. And, the sound of island birds and
slithering things could be heard in the distance. The walk soon became
something of a nature hike with Methos pointing out and naming some of
the exotic plants and birds they saw. Casual touches passed back and
forth -- the ancient's hand rested on the small of Duncan's back as he
used the other to point out a pair of scarlet macaws high up in a tree
or, finches flying overhead. Mac returned the contact as he touched his
lover's arm and asked the name of the different orchids they passed.
The ancient identified one of the blooms as a solstice sunrise as he
plucked the purply pink starburst and stuck it behind one of the
younger man's ears. As the two walked, sometimes a hand seemed to
instinctively gravitate towards another, palms connected, fingers
interlaced. Lost in the wonder of touch. Neither noticed how dense the
jungle was becoming. Both were a bit surprised when they realized that
the trail they were on had run out. There was no clear sign of which
direction to take next.

"I was marking some of the trees when we started out," the Scot said
as he scratched his head and looked around to no avail, "but I lost
track of the last tree I marked. I guess I got distracted by the
company." With full lips quirking into a smile he eyed his exasperated
partner amorously.

"It's hot MacLeod, we've been walking for hours and I'm tired."
Ambling over to a cluster of tall banana plants the older immortal
plopped down beneath their shade. Two hundred pounds of Highlander
immediately joined him on the clover covered ground, and sat down at
his side the sword case that he'd been carrying. As the two sat, Methos
eased a duffel strap from his shoulder . Rooting through the duffel's
clothes and fruit filled contents, he pulled out a sealed coconut and a
piece of breadfruit and began to eat.

"You know we were lost when we started and we're lost now, what
difference does it make. We have coconut wine, breadfruit -- and thou.
Beside me sulking in the wilderness -- O, wilderness were paradise
enow!" The irritation that Methos was feeling over their current
predicament dissolved into gags and gales of laughter as the coconut
mixture he was drinking went down the wrong way. Throat cleared and an
amused smirk in place he responded, "and, we have a Highland brat
butchering Omar Khayyam.

"Yeah, but you still love me anyway."

"You're pretty sure of yourself aren't you," said the fair skinned
immortal as he let go the coconut and fruit he was holding and leaned
down to kiss the man whose head laid across his lap. Mac levered
himself up with his right elbow as he rose to meet the lips descending
towards his. He wrapped his left arm around Methos' back as the kiss
began, and caressed him where nape met shoulder. The contact was
returned as Methos tightened his arms around him and brought their
bodies closer together as the kiss deepened. Breathing became fast and
shallow as tongues thrusts and intertwined and explored the hot wet
caverns where they met. Methos slowly massaged his skillful hands
across his lover's back. He reveled in the feel of the satiny skin
beneath them as he continued to ravish the talented mouth pressed to
his, plunging, sucking, allowing his teeth to gently scrape across the
tender tongue within and feeling the same sweet torture in return. The
joining of lips and mouth was exquisite but not enough. Needing more
the older man adjusted their positions. He pushed the nearby duffel
under Duncan's head and took a position at his side with his body half
covering the one beneath it. The kissing resumed as groins ground
together through the fabric of shorts, as hips moved in slow rhythmic
patterns. Kiss swollen lips parted. Methos looked down at the Scot's
sweat sheened face and into his heavy lidded lust darkened eyes.

With panted breaths and whimpers blending together Methos spoke, "do
you have any idea how beautiful you are when you're like this?" Without
waiting for a response he slightly shifted position and pushed Mac's
wavy shoulder length hair away from the side of his face and began to
lick and nip at the ear he uncovered. He continued to kiss and tongue
his lover's ear and neck as he felt a hand unsnap his shorts and grip
his swollen manhood as the zipper released. Duncan's thumb caressed and
teased the crown of the weeping shaft he held. He rubbed leaking pre-
cum over it and moved his fingers along it's length as he began to pump
in a rhythm in sync with the lingual attention he was receiving. The
nips and kisses stopped as the pumping continued. Methos sucked on the
earlobe in his mouth while his center of existence revolved around the
sensations emanating from his cock. He soon found that all he could do
was helplessly move his hips back and forth in an attempt to deepen and
lengthen contact with the hand stimulating him. Gulping air and
breathing harshly he tried to bring himself under control.

"Mac, please slow down, I want to be inside you when I come." Duncan
released his erection. He pulled him closer and tasted and kissed his
lips. Smoky orbs looked into eyes of gold, "Anything you want, anything
you need." Methos stood and fully removed his shorts giving his dark-
haired, golden skinned mate an opportunity to let his eyes travel over
the lean sleekly muscled form standing before him. They had weathered
days of blazing sun while on the island but the ancient's alabaster
skin was left untouched. Methos knelt and after unbuttoning and
unzipping Mac's shorts he had him lift his hips as he pulled both
shorts and briefs down long legs and off. Mac turned, and rolled to his
knees. He laid his head on his folded arms resting on the duffel bag he
used as a pillow. Methos positioned himself behind his bent and spread
knees. Rubbing his hands along Duncan's back and flanks he could feel
the body under him tremble and his own arousal ratchet up a notch. He
moved to the base of his spine and planted a kiss. Bracing himself on
his hands and arms Methos moved his face inward as he laved a trail
down his lover's cleft. His senses were filled by the smell of his
love's intimate spiciness, intermingled with the scent of earth and
clover and the perfume of exotic flowers and plants wafting in the hot
moist tropic air. Methos moaned with the intensity of the experience.
He trailed his tongue over and around his mate's puckered opening and
when he felt the tight sphincter open he spiked his tongue in and out,
trying to go deeper with each entry. He used a hand to steady Duncan's
bucking hips as he continued to rim and loosen him. Feeling that he
couldn't wait any longer he coated his cock with the pre-cum leaking
from it and entered his beloved. Burning pain turned almost immediately
into a pleasurable feeling of fullness. Duncan backed into the
sensation and panted, "more" as the turgid staff continued to move
inward. Wanting a deeper entry into the tight channel surrounding him
Methos wrapped his arms around Duncan's torso and gathered him to his
chest as he sat back on his knees. Duncan groaned as he felt his
lover's tumescence come all the way in. He enclosed a hand around his
own shaft and began to pump as he leaned forward bracing his body on
his other hand while his lover bent forward with him while extending a
hand to give them further support as he continued to move within him in
slow deep strokes. They came together. The cries of their release
blended with the island sounds around them. Mac collapsed to the ground
as Methos slipped out of him. He felt sated, well loved, and Methos
spooning in behind him.

He woke to the sound of Methos snapping and zipping his shorts into
place. >From the look of the sun in the sky it was late afternoon.
Seeing that Mac was awake Methos tossed his shorts and underwear to
him.

"This was a great place for a little interlude but I really don't want
to spend the night here". "The land over there," Methos said while
pointing at an area that could barely be seen through the dense
foliage, "appears to slope upward. I thought we could walk over there
and see if we could get some bearing on which way to go to get back to
our hut." Quickly pulling on his clothes he joined the older immortal
as they walked in the direction indicated, making their way through the
trees. At the top of the incline they could see a structure some
distance away breaking through the jungle's growth.

"Oh shit, that's the village of Gavriel Larca," Mac said recognizing
the structure as a temple. I didn't recognize where I was because I've
never been on this side of the island before."

"Neither have I, " softly added the other immortal.

"I barely escaped when I was captured and taken to that village in
1830." Sable colored doe eyes filled with tears of anger and sadness as
he continued. "Paco, my guide, didn't get away. The people of the
village were head hunting cannibal bastards who worshipped Larca as a
god. The only good thing that came of it was that they turned against
him and entombed him when they got sick and some of them died after
eating Paco's flesh. . . they realized that there was nothing Larca
could do to help them. Larca couldn't accept his own responsibility for
what happened and chose to blame me. When he finally escaped the island
and came looking for me for revenge, I took his head."

"You know he tried to justify letting those people think he was a god
by telling me that there was another immortal who lived among them at
least 1400 years before who also let the people think he was a god." He
shook his head in the negative, " we're none of us gods Methos. He was
wrong to let those people think he was a god."

"Larca, ever the liar. We were the first immortals that the people of
this village worshipped as gods."

_______________________________________________________________________
1528

"You did rise from the dead," the brawny brown skinned youth insisted.
Understanding the dialect he spoke the ancient responded in the same
language. " Clearly you are mistaken." Gingerly rubbing the side of his
head, and in his most convincing tone, the pale complexioned man
continued, "the rock from your sling knocked me out but it did not kill
me." Thanks to immortal healing he felt the bump on his head recede as
he carded long fingers through collar length dark hair. "There's hardly
even a bump. I wasn't dead I tell you."

The young man's heavy mane of finely braided hair moved from side to
side as he emphatically shook his head no and looked to his companions
for support. The small group of young men were all dressed the same
except for their obvious spokesman. Each was bare-chested wearing a
breechcloth transformed into battle wear by the addition of metal
plating strategically attached to the back and front of their garments.
The tall one who spoke to Methos also wore a sleeveless metallic shirt
over his powerfully well-developed chest. "Our group was on patrol when
I saw you. I hit you with a rock from my slingshot from some distance
away. You were still lying on the ground when we reached you. I heard
no sound when I placed my ear to your chest, nor was there any movement
of life. You were dead, but now you are alive." As the other youths
spoke in agreement their leader went on to say, "we must take you to
the temple elder and tell him of this wondrous thing that we have
witnessed." The battle clad warriors formed a cordon around Methos and
proceeded to lead him from the tropical thicket. Grateful no move was
made to relieve him of the sword in his scabbard the man dressed in
muslin shirt, knee breeches, hose and soft cordwain leather shoes,
followed. The tribesmen effortlessly navigated through the jungle and
soon came to a clearing from which a village surrounded by trees could
be seen in the distance with a temple rising from it's midst.

*** *** ***

Methos was left to stand at the top of the temple stairs with the
warriors who guided him to the village, while their leader entered the
temple chamber. The braided haired warrior soon returned and personally
escorted the young looking immortal inside. It was late afternoon and
the temple chamber was in shadow and lit by candles placed around the
room and by torches affixed to the temple's stone walls. The glow from
the torches illuminated the richly hued tapestries covering the temple
walls. There was a raised cross-shaped dais in the middle of the large
room. Immediately upon entering the room Methos sensed that the man
seated on the dais was an immortal. As he walked closer he noticed the
man shake his head as if to clear it. He then held his head with both
hands as if in pain. The youth who led the ancient into the chamber
spoke out to give assistance. "Salish are you all right? Is there
anything I can do." The man on the dais rose ignoring the offer of
help. He was a solidly built man, simply dressed in a belted tunic and
leggings. His long dark hair was neatly plaited and fell down his back
in a single braid. His hair was further held in place by a headband
that he wore bearing a tribal insignia. The man was just slightly
shorter than the village newcomer that he descended the dais to greet.
As the man approached, Methos could see that his plain features were
lit by an inner joy.

"It's true. I was told that you were slain yet arisen but I did not
believe it." He placed a hand on each of Methos' shoulders and gazed
into his eyes. "I feel your presence in me and around me at the same
time. I have never before felt a sensation such as this. You are the
god our legends have foretold." When Salish began to kneel in homage to
the man before him the old immortal stopped him. Applying a hand to his
arm he urged him to stand. Eyeing the warrior still in their midst the
ancient asked if they could speak privately. The young man was
immediately dismissed.

"Salish, were you attacked or recently injured in an accident?" Just
as the tribal elder was about to respond a flurry of sound could be
heard from outside the entrance of the chamber. The sound of voices
grew louder and a small group of people led by a tall graceful raven
haired woman burst into the room.

"Miramanee, what is it?"

Responding to the elder and pointing to a young girl one of the others
carried in, and over whom another woman hovered, the graceful woman
explained. "Coyantu was wading in the stream while her mother was
washing clothes. Her mother only looked away for a moment but in that
time Coyantu waded in too deep and went under the water. No one could
get to her in time.

Salish went to the girl. He knelt on the temple floor next to her. He
placed an ear to her chest and listened for a heartbeat. He then
checked her eyes and looked her over for any signs of life. "There is
no sound in the body. There is no light in the eyes. She will move no
more." With Salish's pronouncement the mother wailed in anguish. Not
willing to accept what she was told she pleaded while looking directly
at Methos, "she is my only child. Can't anyone help her." Remembering a
resuscitation technique that he had learned at the University of
Heidelberg's medical academy the ancient immortal went to the girl. He
vigorously but carefully bent her knees towards her torso in a couple
of quick repetitions in an effort to expel any water from her lungs. He
delicately probed a finger into her mouth to make sure her airway was
clear. He then tilted her head back, placed his mouth over her mouth
and nose and gently blew. His efforts were soon rewarded when the child
began to cough and sputter back to consciousness. Methos released the
child to the grateful arms of her mother while Miramanee spoke out.

"You are a god. Only a god can breathe life into the dead. You must
speak for us at the tribal council." Feeling any effort to convince her
that he was not a god would be futile, the immortal kept his attention
focused on the child and suggested that they take her home and put her
to bed to rest. Once the villagers left Salish and Methos were alone
again. The chiseled faced man with eyes of hazel rimmed in green gazed
at the village chief standing before him. Pressing his thin lips
together thoughtfully he spoke, "Now tell me were you attacked or did
you have an accident recently? And what's this tribal council that
Mira. . . what did you call her, mention?"

"Her name is Miramanee. The tribal council she spoke of is one that
will hopefully restore peace to our people. As Salish spoke he applied
a hand to Methos' arm and gently guided him to join him as he stepped
onto the dais. Once both men were comfortably seated on cushions he
continued. "Our tribe is an ancient people, and our ways and customs
are simple. There is another tribe on this land but we have held our
territory for generation on generation, not through combat but by
banding together and practicing the ways of peace. The major rites of
our people revolve around fertility and rebirth and we knew one day our
god would appear to us as a man reborn to help us in our time of
trouble."

"What trouble have your people been going through?"

"About a year and a half ago a man came from the outside and began
influencing the other tribe. Our tribe is small. Theirs is much bigger.
The man from the outside, Gavriel Larca has somehow risen to a place of
importance in that tribe. He has counseled them to make war on us and
to drive us out so they can claim our land which he has convinced them
is more fertile and verdant than their own. Our young people have had
to turn to the ways of war and patrol our village to protect us from
the raiding parties that Larca sends. It was one of our patrols that
you encountered earlier today. Unfortunately, for our own protection we
have reached a point where we have to look upon any stranger as an
enemy. That is why the leader of the patrol attacked you on sight. Up
until yesterday the raiding parties were becoming more and more
frequent. We have lost many of our youth to them, especially some of
our young women who have been taken away and enslaved." Salish stood,
stepped down from, and slowly paced around the dais as he continued to
speak. "Our true temple elder was slain in one of the raids. I am
actually the medicine chief. I have only been acting as tribal leader
until another can be named or until you came. I, myself was injured in
a skirmish that took place at the edge of the village yesterday. I was
divided from the other men when I suffered a blow to the head that I
was certain was fatal but my senses returned to me as one of my people
found me in the ravine where I had fallen. After yesterday's skirmish a
runner from the other tribe came with word from Larca. He announced
that he would be arriving in a short passage of days. He will meet with
us in council to discuss the terms of peace. There will be a truce
until that time." Coming to a stop beside Methos, Salish concluded,
"that is the council that you must attend and speak for us, your
people."

As the ancient debated how he should respond, Salish spoke again.
"Night has fallen you should eat and rest. Now that you are here there
is plenty of time for us to talk of what we must do." The ersatz tribal
leader struck a small gong sitting on the dais. When the braided haired
youth appeared who had originally escorted Methos into the chamber,
Salish briefly directed him to lead Methos to the temple elder's
quarters and to see that he was brought a meal with the best the island
had to offer. He further explained that he would be returning to the
rooms he lived in as medicine chief.

*** *** ***

Methos ate well and rose well after sunrise the next morning. Choosing
from a selection of mangoes, papayas and breadfruit the tall lean
immortal ate a simple breakfast washed down by coconut milk and left
the impressive quarters that he had been led to the evening before. He
walked out into the warm clear day and surveyed the village. Tall full
trees circled its outside perimeter. Small thatched huts like the large
one he stood before lined its inner boundary. He could see women out in
front of a couple of the dwellings. They tended to small fires as they
prepared the morning meal for their families. He could see men and
other women of the village engaged in what appeared to be their daily
routines. Curiosity rose when he noticed several maidens climbing the
stairs of the temple. Each carried a basket. As he watched he saw each
basket-contained ropes of pink, white and fuchsia colored blossoms. As
the women began to affix the blooms to the stairs and newels of the
temple Methos also noticed as young men lining the exterior temple
walls began to beat a tattoo with their hands on small headed drums.
Methos approached a young woman who appeared to be directing the
activity.

"Miramanee, what's going on?" Hearing the well-modulated baritone
behind her, the graceful maiden with long straight shiny black hair
turned around. Recognizing who addressed her the coppery tones of her
skin deepened with the blush that infused her face as she genuflected
before the man standing in front of her. "My Lord we are decorating the
temple to prepare for the ritual to honor you and to officially install
you as our temple elder and god. The ceremony will also be our joining
day. Eyebrows arched and amber and green flecked eyes widened as the
sharply angled face took on a look of surprised confusion. "Joining
day? what joining day ?"

Miramanee spoke hesitantly afraid that she had made some mistake. "Our
joining day my Lord. It is tradition for the tribal priestess to join
with the leader of our tribe and temple. The wife of our slain tribal
leader died many years ago. It was expected that I would wed Salish
once he was officially named our new temple elder, but you are here.
You are a god. Salish knows he has no claim on me."

Methos stood and listened with wonder as the young woman continued.
"We will say our vows of commitment at sunrise tomorrow." She walked
over to, and fingered the flowers adorning the temple as she spoke.
"These blossoms are only used for joining days. Their blending together
and strength symbolize a married couple's commitment to each other.
I've dreamed of my joining day since I was a child." She turned towards
Methos but had a faraway look in her eyes. "Before the break of day you
will be led to the temple. My handmaiden who will walk with me will
tell me when she sees you pass. We will follow and meet you there. The
medicine chief will say the words of joining and give us his blessing.
There will be great rejoicing and feasting in the village. While the
celebration is still going on the marriage party will escort us to the
lagoon where a boat will be waiting. After a brief ceremonial cruise we
will officially start our married lives together."

As Miramanee spoke the immortal realized how much the idea of
marrying, settling down and enjoying a feeling of belonging appealed to
him, especially considering the recent events that brought him to the
island. He had paddled there in a row boat after being cast adrift from
the schooner he was sailing on. The voyage had been plagued by scurvy
and violent storms, the last of which almost caused the ship to
founder. The superstitious crew claimed their woes only started after
Benjamin Adams boarded the ship. They labeled him a Jonah, and made him
leave. Methos couldn't remember the last time he felt peace and
happiness. He'd spent the last hundred years or so living off and on in
Germany. He'd stayed there after attending the medical academy. He
managed to get caught up in some of the court intrigues of Frederick
III and Maximillian I. He also took his share of challenges during that
time. Maybe too many. There were still those who knew who he was
despite the aliases he used. He felt so old. . .so very weary. It was
that and the constant fear scratching at the back of his brain that one
day Kronos would find him that caused him to leave Germany and board
that ill-fated ship. He had been in search of something new and far
away. It dawned on him that maybe Miramanee and her people were the
something new he needed, the spiritual renewal he craved. A wistful
look touched his eyes and the small smile he gave the woman looking up
at him.
Seeing the smile, the priestess reached out a hand, which Methos
immediately took. She beamed radiantly with large luminous eyes
shining. "The flower decorations are almost complete. The temple
attendants will finish the preparations. Let us go and walk among your
people."
*** *** ***

The ancient spent the day meeting the people of the village and
getting to know his soon-to-be-bride better. He had noticed the shy
glances that many of the people had cast his way when he passed by
earlier, walking to the temple. The report of the miracles attending
his arrival had spread through the village. Everyone was eager to meet
him. A few seemed a bit skeptical of his divinity, but most proclaimed
him a god and, not knowing what else to call him, addressed him as
lord. An old woman, whom Miramanee stopped to greet, and help with the
chores of putting out the morning cooking fire, and drawing water from
the lagoon to wash the dishes, asked Methos for his blessing.

"It is you and the people of this village who bless me through your
kind welcome." As he spoke he felt a tugging on his pants leg. He
looked down to see the little girl who had been brought to the temple
the day before. He lifted her in his arms and graced her with a smile
and twinkling hazel eyes. She gave him a hug in return, and thanked him
for giving her back her life.

Her mother who came and retrieved her insisted that their Lord come to
their home for the mid-day meal, which turned into a communal event
since none of the villagers wanted to miss out on spending time with a
god. It was a veritable feast with; salads made from native greens
flavored with a honey pineapple dressing. There were short ribs coated
in a peppery sauce, large round loaves of freshly baked bread, chicken
cooked with pineapple and various herbs and spices, guava cakes, and
fruit salad in great abundance made with passion fruit, mangoes,
bananas, and chunks of coconut. There was also a selection of juices
and fruit based wines to drink. The meal was leisurely and lasted well
into the afternoon with villagers coming and going as they ate, mingled
and returned to their chores.

When Miramanee wasn't helping with the serving, or dispensing advice
to someone asking a question, or holding a baby, while a young mother
took a break to eat and join in the festivities, she was right at
Methos' side, offering bits of information where appropriate. She
sometimes joined in the conversations he was having and made everyone
laugh with harmless amusing stories about the villager speaking or
goings on in the village. Methos was warmed by her presence and
impressed by the way she interacted with all they met and the concern
that she showed for them.

While out among the people, Methos also came across the warriors who
escorted him to the village the day before. Not knowing how the
upcoming peace council would go, they were wisely practicing their
combat skills. Methos joined in showing them some fighting holds and
stances they did not know, and more effective ways to hurl the spears
they were practicing with. When night fell Methos escorted Miramanee to
her hut. The last night she would spend there before marrying him and
moving into the temple elder's quarters.

After sharing an evening meal of fruit and fish the old immortal left
for his quarters. The sky was still dark when Methos felt the approach
of another immortal and heard a knock on the door. He was surprised
that it was Salish who came to him. The man entering the room spoke
words of greeting as he held out a long brightly feathered garment.
"This is the ritual cloak." Methos let go the hilt of the blade that he
had instinctively grabbed. He left it hidden under the thick pallet he
laid on. He combed his fingers through sleep tousled hair. He rose to
get a closer look at the cloak as he wrapped himself in the blanket he
used for bedding. He felt the garment's texture and could see the care
that had gone into its making. He felt humbled by the man's generous
offer and a feeling that he refused to acknowledge as guilt.

"No, Salish. I can't wear this. Surely, you had this ritual cloak made
for your own joining day. Besides, his eyes glanced over at his own
well used clothes laying neatly folded on a nearby chest, I have
nothing fit to wear with it. Salish laid down the cloak on a table and
crossed to the chest. After carefully removing its lid he pulled out a
long white tunic shot through with gold.

"You are our god and must wear raiment more befitting your station. I
did have the cloak made when I thought I would be marrying Miramanee
but that can not be now that you are here. You would honor me by
wearing it. This tunic and the clothes you find in this chest are all
yours to wear. You would honor us further if you told us how you would
like to be called."

He squared his shoulders and let a calm dignity
fall over him. "You can call me Methos."

*** *** ***

After washing himself in the lagoon Methos dressed in the clothes
Salish provided and went with him to the temple. The villagers trailed
in behind them and took seats on the floor to watch the proceedings
which began once Miramanee and her handmaiden arrived. Miramanee, like
her groom, was a vision in white. Gold trimmed the hem of the garment
she wore.

Salish solemnly spoke the words that officially acknowledged Methos as
their god and temple elder. He told the people the name their god
should be called as he handed Methos the feathered staff emblem of
office, and crowned him with the tribal headdress. As the installation
ceremony ended, the braided haired warrior approached and covered
Methos' shoulders with the ritual cloak that he had held during the
ceremony. Both Methos and Miramanee stepped onto the temple dais and
stood before Salish. Methos extended an arm to wrap his bride within
the folds of his cloak. Once they vowed their commitment to each other,
Salish proclaimed them joined and spoke the blessing.

"Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter for the
other, now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the
other, now there is no more loneliness; now you are two, but there is
only one life before you."

The wedding ceremony ended in a celebration that lasted all day long.
The married couple left in the midst of the rejoicing. After the
traditional boat ride around the lagoon they retired to the temple
elder's quarters, their official home. Methos' new wife was nervous but
willing. He took her gently like the virgin she was.

The days following the joining passed in wedded bliss as Methos
continued to get to know his wife and comfortably settled in to village
life. He spent his days and evenings helping in the village and
spending time with Miramanee. He spent his mornings at the temple with
Salish available to villagers needing advice or help settling disputes,
or in council with the warriors discussing what should be done should
the peace talks with the other tribe fail. It was on one of these
mornings that a runner from the other tribe arrived heralding that
Larca was on his way and would be arriving by sunset with his war lord
and a small band of guards.

As the time for Larca's arrival approached Methos went home and
changed into a fresh tunic and leggings. He mentally debated over
whether he should bring his sword to the peace council that night. He
also debated over whether he had been doing the right thing since
arriving at the village. And, if he should continue. He knew that he
would do what he could to help the tribe achieve a lasting peace, but
he also knew that he could not continue to deceive them. He hadn't felt
guilt since the eleventh century. He'd be damned if he started feeling
it now. With that resolve he asked Salish to come in and talk when the
man stopped by his home and told him that a warrior had notified him of
Larca's arrival.

"Salish, why do you think I am a god?"

The tribesman responded with a puzzled expression on his face. "You
know why, my Lord. I knew from the first moment I saw you that you were
a god. I felt your presence. It was like nothing I ever felt before. I
can always sense when you are around even if you are not where I can
see or hear you."

"Have you wondered why no one else senses me the way you do?" Salish
had not given voice to it, but he had wondered. When he mentioned the
effect Methos had on him no one else admitted to experiencing the same
phenomenon. He assumed that maybe his connection with Methos was
different because he was the medicine chief and more open to the
spiritual experience of communing with a god. And, besides all agreed
that he had risen from the dead. He was indeed a god.

"Salish, I love Miramanee. I have come to care for you and the people
of this tribe. I will do everything I can to help you all. You are my
people." He steeled himself for what he had to say next. "But, I am not
a god. I am an immortal and so are you." He briefly told Salish of the
existence of immortals, their rules, how one immortal knows another,
and that everything he told him must be held in the strictest of
secrecy.

*** *** ***

Salish was still mentally reeling from what Methos told him when they
left the hut enroute to the temple. Miramanee had returned home just as
they were going. Methos kissed her tenderly and promised to give her a
full account when he returned. Somehow she sensed that he meant more
than a recap of the peace talks. The braided warrior whose name, Methos
had come to learn, was Tyr took Salish and the ancient aside to give
them a briefing just before they reached the temple. He confirmed that
Larca, his war lord, three guards and the runner who had arrived
earlier, were all inside. He further informed them that his group had
patrolled the area upon Larca's arrival and there were no signs that
any other members of their tribe was around. That news heartened them
all and gave them hope that Larca's willingness to talk peace was
sincere.

Salish and Methos felt another immortal's presence the instant they
reached the temple prior to even going inside. The sensation convinced
Salish that all that Methos told him was true. Upon entering the temple
chamber the look Larca gave them both let them know the aura they
sensed came from him.

The man who had risen to a position of influence and leadership within
the island's other tribe was tall with long flowing dark hair dressed,
in a somewhat loose fitting metal covered tunic. His war lord was
similarly attired. The guards and runners were all dressed in
breechcloths similar to the ones worn by the villages own warriors.
Where the warriors faces were unmarked however, except for Tyr who
sported a mustache, all of these men except for Larca had faces
intricately marked with tribal paint. Reasonably assuming that someone
had already told Larca his name and hoping against hope that it was not
of any significance to him, Methos introduced himself and took the lead
in opening communication. He acknowledged that Larca and his people had
come a long way and were doubtlessly tired and hungry. He asked if they
would like to be shown quarters where they could rest and have a meal
before getting under way with the peace council. Larca gave no outward
sign that Methos name meant anything to him. He declined the
opportunity to rest, citing his desire to get on with the talks. He did
allow that he and his men were hungry and suggested that perhaps
something could be brought in to them while they talked. Hearing what
was said Salish had Tyr arrange for the temple attendant to bring in
food while the peace council got underway.

Salish, Methos and Larca all seated themselves on cushions on the dais
with Larca's men standing back against the wall spread out behind him.
A group of the village warriors, who Tyr joined upon his return took
positions against the wall behind Methos and Salish. The temple
attendants soon entered bearing platters of roast pork, bread, various
varieties of fruit and wine. As the men on the dais served themselves
from the platters Methos spoke. "How can these two tribes live
peaceably together?"

Laying down the meat he was eating and the knife he used to cut it,
Larca looked into Methos eyes and responded. "The people of this
village are few and weak. The only way our two tribes will ever know
lasting peace is for them to merge and become one. This tribe must
follow the ways of the Moche people. We are a strong people. We take
our enemies strength as our own and I am the god of the Moche people.
It is our destiny to have dominion over this whole land. Upon hearing
Larca's words all the hurt, confusion, and betrayal that Salish had
felt since Methos told him the truth coalesced within him and turned to
violent unrestrained anger. He couldn't bear the thought that his
people could end up believing in another false god or that they would
be forced to live under this man's rule.

"You are not a god, Salish stormed. I will not rest until I prove it.
Salish picked up the knife that Larca had lain down between them and
lunged at the supposed god, grazing his neck and drawing blood. He
immediately stood down from the dais and made sure the village warriors
saw what he had done. "Behold, a god who bleeds!!!! He is no god!!!!.
He is no more god than. . .Before he could say another word, or Methos
could intervene Larca sprung into action. Showing no signs of conscious
thought he drew a sword from the folds of his tunic and swung to behead
Salish, effortlessly cutting through flesh and bone. Clutching the hair
of Salish's head as his body fell, Larca stood holding a sword in one
hand and a severed head in the other as the quickening took him.

Not having his sword with him and not being able to get to Larca
anyway as his men circled and guarded him as the quickening raged,
Methos left the temple. The village that had been quiet when he entered
the temple, was under attack. Painted face warriors could be seen
infiltrating the tribal community. The Moche warriors had hung back
while Larca entered the village with his false offer of peace. Tyr and
the warriors who followed Methos out of the temple immediately engaged
the enemy attacking their village. Methos could see Tyr fighting so
very fiercely as he made his way back to his quarters. He fought those
he encountered. His only thought was to get back home, get his sword
and make sure that Miramanee was all right. Upon reaching his hut he
could see that the door was open. Running inside he saw Miramanee lying
in a pool of blood. She died in his arms as he cradled her battered
body. Knowing there was nothing he could do for her but hoping there
were still villagers he could save he retrieved his sword from where it
laid under his pallet. He returned to the area where the most intense
fighting was going on. It wasn't long before Methos knew that he was
truly fighting a losing battle. For every Moche he killed two more
cropped up ready to do battle. Realizing that his only hope was to save
himself Methos made his way down to the lagoon which only a short time
before had been the scene of one of the happiest days of his recent
life. He took the same boat that he and Miramanee had used to sail
around the lagoon. He paddled away from the island, feeling that a
serpent had taken over paradise and he had been cast out. He hoped some
day, some way the people would return to the ways of peace and there
would be another day in paradise.

_______________________________________________________________________

The sound of drums snapped Methos back to the present. He, however,
was transfixed by velvet brown eyes staring at him and unable to look
away to see what was happening, and unable to tell what the eyes' owner
was thinking. Methos stood like a
condemned man waiting to see what judgment he would receive, to find
out whether he had lost that which he held most dear.

He let go the breath he hadn't realized he was holding when he saw
full lips quirk up into a sympathetic smile and those self-same lips
open and draw close to his. He took over and thoroughly kissed the man
whom he held tightly in his arms. When they separated both immortals
turned in the direction of the beating drums. They could see graceful
young women affixing ropes of pink, white and fuchsia colored blossoms
to the stairs and newels of the distant temple.

Turning to the man next to him Methos said, "I think I know where we
can find a boat." Grabbing sword case and duffel bag the two headed in
the direction of the village before them.

*** *** ***

(Author's note: The Indian blessing used in the joining scene is not
mine. Its author is anonymous.)