Methos' Journal: May 1993
by Lisa Hughes

 

following events in the episode "Hunters"


Darius is dead. How can that be? I can't seem to get my mind around it. Darius is dead. Never again to sit up all night with him debating minor philosophical points. Never again to wheedle a flask of mead from his private stock. Never again to choke down a cup of that horrid moss tea. And never again to feel so totally accepted. How can he be gone?

When I heard he was dead it was like a physical blow. My knees gave out and I sank to the floor, holding the telephone in a hand suddenly gone nerveless. It was Don who told me, of course. I sat on the floor for hours after he rang off. I don't remember weeping, but I must have. The front of my shirt was soaked when I finally came back to myself.

It wasn't an Immortal who killed him, it couldn't have been. They killed him in his church... on holy ground. His church which had served as sanctuary for so many, served him not at all in the end. He should have been safe.

It must have been mortals who killed him. And the only mortals that know how to kill us... are the Watchers. A thoroughly chilling thought.

I can't even find out who it was. My ambiguous position in the Watchers has just become doubly dangerous if it's true. I can't even ask any questions for fear they'd find me out. The one ray of hope is that Duncan MacLeod found Darius' body. He must be looking for the killers even now.

Darius. You were the best of us. Not with a sword, you put your sword up long ago. But goodness? Ah, that you had in full measure. And you understood, because you had not always been a priest. And yet they blotted that out as if it had no meaning. You would be disappointed in me, old friend. The rage is very close to the surface just now. It takes me back, and makes me want nothing more than to hunt those animals down and rend and tear and make them pay.

I hope you were right about what awaits us beyond. I do not much like the idea that your gentle wisdom is lost to the universe forever. And I hope that MacLeod gave you a fitting send off. I only wish I could have been there.

No, my friend, I will not go to him. I will await the time you saw in your dreams, as you asked. The time of great danger, for both the Highlander and myself, when he will come to me. I've never known your dreams to be wrong. And if nothing else, I have learned to bide my time over the long years. But it is a hard thing, old friend. He might know enough for me to find them, the ones who did this to you. And then I would be able to show them the true nature of pain... and fear.

I can almost see you shaking your head at me. After all the hard work we did conjuring up the ever-harmless Adam Pierson and making him breathe, that I should revert to this. I think I will visit the monks again in Tibet, the rage is beginning to seep through the mask. And I still need that mask. I will need all the enlightenment they have to offer this time.

I think I can safely leave it in MacLeod's hands at any rate. He loved you. I hope I will get the chance to tell him how much you loved him one day, though I suspect he knows already.

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven."

Ahh, Darius... you were one of the few people left who knew my true identity. And one of the only ones I told of my past. I shall miss your acceptance. Now is my time to mourn. Good-bye, old friend. Sleep in peace.


End  

notes:
Quote from Ecclesiastes 3:1