Highlander Methos the Ancient, Freya the Viking

Tale of Methos the Ancient

And Freya the Viking

"Duncan, my old friend. How's life after death?" Methos chimed brightly as he entered unannounced into Mcleod's house.

The highlander groaned, turning his back to the five thousand year immortal. Of course, it would've been a lot easier to do so had he been in his bed. There's little room for rolling over on a couch. Ignoring the large hint that Duncan wanted to be alone, Methos opened Duncan's fridge, picked out two beers, then plopped down into the lazy boy near where McLeod lay.

"When I say old friend I don't really mean _old_. More like, 'Hey friend who got his rear kicked by a pretty immortal, especially after I told him to be careful and he didn't listen to me and now he's hurt. And now I come to tell him "I told you so" and that's getting pretty old.'"

Duncan turned around again and gave Methos a hard stare.

"That kind of old." The immortal smiled.

"I think I'll take your head." The highlander played with the idea.

Opening a beer, Methos shrugged. "Alright. But to be fair, in your condition, I'll have to cut off one of my legs. Then I'll have a slim chance of losing."

"Go away."

"Oh, no. I told you not to do it. I warned you that she had many a trick up her sleeve. 'Bad idea,' I said 'She might be blond but she's brilliant' I said some more. I know that the wall was sensible enough not to go. At least **it** listened to me."

Duncan was determined to make a defense. "I had her where I wanted her."

"You mean _her_ sword in **your** belly? Well I agree with you there. She was right where you wanted her. Lucky she kicked you off that tower and into the river or we wouldn't be talking right know."

"Methos. I just wanted to talk with her, explain things to her. I owed her that much."

The British accented immortal began his second beer. "Don't tell me. Another escapade in that black book of yours? How many does that make now? A hundred? I tell you, good thing we can't have children. There would be little McLeods running all over the place."

Duncan cast his eyes downward. "I wouldn't mind that."

Methos went silent. For once, he had to admit he went too far. But not willing to admit a mistake, he continued. "Duncan. Freya as been around for much longer than you. She was with the vikings when they went out on raids for thrills. And when that got boring, you know what she did?"

"Went to Rome and-"

"And fought as a gladiator. I know that because I watched her. Whenever I was in the stadium she felt me and then went like an animal on whatever poor soul she was dueling with, hoping he was me. Sometimes, after several hours, she would get so mad she tried to climb into the crowd to find me."

"And like the coward you are you always ran."

Methos grinned. "Nope. The guards would always get her under control after a while. Believe me, I wanted to fight her. She had strength and skill, but not a drop of technique. It was like seeing a very angry bull thrash out at whatever moved."

"So what happened?"

Putting down his second beer, Metohs went back for more. "Can I interest you in any of your own beer?"

Duncan rolled his. Methos always drank his house dry. "Sure."

Another four beers later, Methos was telling his tale. "She had wild red hair back then, and lived like it too. When we did finally meet, it was in the foothills of what would become France, around sixty years later. I wanted to introduce myself, build up a little anticipation, get her flustered."

"But it didn't work, did it?"

The immortal shook his head. "As deaf as you are. She preferred an axe to a sword, and hit like a sledgehammer. We fought for a bleeding five hours before I got the upper hand. Spinning in a tight circle, I cut her forearm right above the wrist and after she dropped her weapon I rammed by blade into her gut -whoosh- all the way to the hilt."

Duncan raised his brow. "You didn't take her head? I thought you didn't believe in chivalry."

"I don't. But come on. A firecracker like that doesn't come very often. I hadn't met another immortal with such passion until then. I wanted to get to know her."

"Was it mutual?"

Methos stared. "For heaven's sake, McLeod, we didn't have a relationship! I haven't had one of those in centuries, and wasn't going to start with a blood thirsty viking woman. What I did was make a fire and waited her her to revive. When she finally did she pulled the sword out, then bled to death again, then revived once more."

"A little overkill, isn't it?"

"Ha ha. Funny. For all her grit, she wasn't stupid. I still remember her first words to me."

"_You are skinny. How could I lose to you?"_

"I laughed, harder than I had in a long time. I mean a long time. She came over and sat opposite me, interested in the rabbits I was roasting. She never looked up at me at first, which was understandable. I couldn't look up in the eye of someone who would've killed me and then let me live. I offered her some food, we ate, then fought again."

"What?" Said Duncan. "Again?"

"It's true." Methos was back with more beer. "She grabbed a rock the size of a melon and hit me over the head with it. Her aim was slightly off, but it hurt like what the catholics would later call hell."

"Who won?"

Methos pretended to be hurt. "You mean you can't guess? I did! Used the same rock to bash her in the face. Didn't do much though. Had to use the bottomless resource of experience and wit to out think her. Managed to pull her axe from her hands and hit her in the back. She was out in a second. Of course I died afterwards from lost of blood from all the wounds I got."

"Ah, so you didn't really win. It was a draw." Duncan smiled in a coy manner.

"If I had wanted her head it would've been mine. But like a said before…"

"You didn't want to. Yes, yes."

"Anyway, afterwards we agreed to play a little game. We would meet every so often and duel, to see just how well we were doing. Each time got harder and harder, not to mention more fun."

"Did you keep score?" McLeod asked.

"Oh, not really. It must be about 457 to 296, for me of course."

"You two have fought 753 times!" Duncan gaped. "And you accuse me of letting the dangerous ones go!"

"Like I said, it's an estimate. Oh dear! Look at the time on that clock, an invention that has only been in existance for a few centuries. I must be getting home, McLeod. Thanks for the drinks."

Methos grabbed his coat and headed for the door. Duncan was looking at the strewn bottles of beer everywhere, thinking about the story.

"Wait a minute, Methos!" He called out.

"Yes?"

"I've fought you before and won every time. How come I couldn't beat Freya last night?"

The ancient immortal grinned knowingly. "My friend, I want you to think you can beat me."

And with that he was out the door.

Epilogue.

Methos parked his car in front of his house, still thinking about all his fights with Freya. They had tried all sorts of styles and techniques at each other over the centuries, and it always would be close. But at the same time he knew it wouldn't last. In the end, there can be only one.

He walked up the stairs to his front door and put the key in, when he felt the sudden presence of another immortal. Quickly opening the door, he walked in, sword in hand. What he saw was standing in the middle of his living room.

"Maximus." Freya said. She only knew him by his roman name. If she knew his true identity, it would no longer be a game.

"Freya. I say this is a surprise. How long has it been? 100, 150 years?"

"Two days!" She yelled.

"Right. I forgot I asked you to challenge McLeod so that when he lost I could give him a lecture. Thanks for not actually killing him."

"I like him. We were close once."

"You're telling me."

Freya waved her hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter. I came to fight. I heard that this Duncan defeated you, and I defeated him. Maybe I have finally surpassed you."

Methos smiled, sheathing his sword in to coat and walked into the kitchen, getting a kettle of water and putting it on the stove. "Would you like some tea? I would offer something stronger, but I barely got the car home as it is after all that beer."

"Fight me!" She cried a challenge.

Methos sighed. "This is my house, Freya. If we do this we will tear this place apart, and I happen to like it."

"Bah! Material possessions are useless to us. Come Maximus, or I will cut you down with your back to me."

With those words she pulled out a large, double headed axe from her trench coat, battle ready.

"If you insist."

Methos reached into his coat, spun around and fired his gun. The sound was muffled by the silencer, and the bullet hit her between the eyes. Freya crumpled to the floor, motionless.

Methos put the gun away. "That's 458 to 296."

There came a sudden, strange whistling sound.

"Ah! Tea's ready."

The End

I hoped you enjoyed it. Methos is my favorite character and I tried to do him justice. Note, I haven't seen the complete series, so pardon any errors I might have made.

Even though it is a oneshot, please review.


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Highlander, Humor