Novenas: Revelation 6:8 - On A Pale Horse

by Erika

Pairing: David/Methos Earth Angels / Highlander

Disclaimer: The series Earth Angel's belongs to Anne Rice. I am temporarily borrowing the characters. These stories will differ from the actual NBC pilot; it actually draws heavily on the version that came out toward the end of the comic: Tales of the Body Thief.

Beta: Jose.

Summary: Death remembers.

Warning: Some readers may be sensitive to the religious discussion that may take place in this series. If you are easily offended please read something else.

Author's Notes: This is also an AU of the series. I found out after I started writing this 'Cry to Heaven,' that Nicholas Lea was instead going to be playing Maximilian, not David. Baldev means 'godlike in power'.

Series: Preceeded Cry to Heaven: Temptation of the Flesh. Following are Rising of the Sun, the Setting of the Moon, Heaven's Gate and A Rumour of Angels.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.
(Revelation 6:8, KJV Bible)

David found Methos on the docks of Bordeaux, kneeling on the ground, blood splattered on his clothes, two headless bodies lying next to him. Methos's pale features did little to conceal the pain and shock the Immortal kneeling in front of David was experiencing.

"Methos." No answer. David walked toward the man who cried silent tears, whose hands held two swords and an axe. He knelt before him, one hand reached out to cup Methos's face.

"David?" Methos asked, slightly bewildered by the presence of the angel before him.

"Yes, my friend."

"Are they ... is he?" Methos glanced down to the two bodies on the ground next to him.

"No. They are neither in heaven or in hell, instead they are here," David said as he touched Methos just above the heart. "Within you."

Methos closed his eyes, his lips trembled. Swallowing hard, the Immortal shook his head, clenched his jaw and opened his eyes, revealing the pain hidden within. "This wasn't supposed to happen. They weren't supposed to die, ever." Standing up, dropping the swords and axe to the ground, running a hand through his short hair, Methos looked around him and then glanced toward the heavens.

"You promised me," he shouted in anger. "You promised me I'd never be alone," he whispered, disillusioned. David had been practically a child when he had first met Methos. Death riding on a pale horse. Nobody had warned him then that Death was a force to be reckoned with in the battle between Good and Evil.

Long ago, Methos had been Lucifer's most prized possession. The farmer who had been turned into a killer. The young man who had died in battle, only to be reborn an Immortal. Who awakened in Lucifer's arms and set out to terrorize half of the known world.

But that was before Azrael had intercepted, separating the Immortal from his brothers, protecting the would-be-champion from the influences of hell.

Immortals. Humans who could not die, who battled each other for supremacy. The ultimate victor destined to rule the world, to be the bridge between angels and mortals. Peace and war.

After the Fall, the blood spilled during the many skirmishes and battles between the Angels and the Fallen Ones fell from the heavens and touched the ground below. It simmered from the heat of the sun. And, just like man was created from the soil of the earth, immortals were born out of the mix of angels' blood with that of the earth's crust.

David's thoughts were interrupted by Methos's painful cry. "No more."

"Methos."

"I can't keep doing this, David. Can't keep losing everyone I love."

"Methos." David again patiently repeated the Immortal's name.

"No. Tell your god no more." Methos picked up the swords and axe, wiping the blood found on their tips along the side of his pants.

"Death."

Methos looked back at David.

"For a thousand years, the Horseman ruled the Earth. And for a thousand years, Angels fought and died to save your soul, the champion, the bridge between us and the mortals. Did you truly believe you were the only one who was forced to lose a love one?" The Immortal flinched at the truth behind those words.

David approached Methos. "Close your eyes." His fingertips gently touched the Immortal's temple. "Remember."

A light engulfed them both and they disappeared into the unknown.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Fingertips traced Methos's cheek, the tip of his nose, his lips. He opened his mouth, greedily sucking the fingered offered to him. Hearing his lover moan, Methos opened his eyes.

Kronos.

Smiling brown eyes regarded him. Kronos lowered his head, kissing along Methos's collarbone. One of Methos's hands stroked along Kronos's back, the other rested on his lover's hip, gently tapping.

Every morning they awoke this way, bodies still entangled from the night before. Constantly touching, seeking each other. Over time, their immortal buzz had become a reassuring sound as sweet as a lullaby. Its constant presence at the back of their mind was like a tiny caress, a whisper that raged only when they mated.

Methos gasped as Kronos grazed his teeth along Methos's nipple, biting it, leaving marks that would disappear far too soon.

So much skin, smooth and all his to behold, Kronos thought as he trailed kisses down Methos's chest, licking that sensitive area around Methos's hipbone, hearing his lover's chuckling response. A thousand years they had spend together, and Kronos still could not get enough of that laugh. He tickled the area again and soon Methos was squirming in his arms: Kronos reached for those lips, to taste the joy, the sunshine offered so freely by the Immortal beneath him who had long ago captured his heart.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Methos laid on top of the cushions, too drained to move. The heat of the desert sun dictated life at the camp. Only when the sun settled did the Horseman ventured out of their tent, to eat, to fight, to fuck, to ravage the tribes nearby.

Methos sat up on the bed and rubbed his eyes. Kronos was still asleep. Methos got up and changed his garment, putting on the long white robes that were a necessity in this region. The robes helped one stay cool and protected from the warm wind that tanned even Immortal skin.

Outside the tent, the slaves were busy maintaining the camp, seeing to the horses, the livestock. Their gaze would drop whenever he or his brothers would venture past them out of respect, fear. Methos walked up to his mount, a white stallion. His arms came around the horse's neck: he petted the animal affectionately, murmuring softly to it. As the animal caught his scent, he licked Methos's hand, swiping a wet pink tongue across Methos's palm. The Immortal chuckled, backed away, wiped his palm against the robe and beckoned for the horse to follow him. It nipped him on the back, pulling at the robes, excited, as though knowing Methos was about to take it for a long ride.

Methos slipped a rope bridle, over the horse's head, putting a blanket over its back and then securing the saddle. He tied his sword to the saddle and whistled for one of the slaves to help him mount the stallion.

Sitting on top of the horse, he pulled at the leads, made a few cackling sounds and then the horse went off on a gallop, leaving the compound behind. Soon Methos felt the harsh desert wind against his cheek.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Several hours later.

The oasis was not that difficult to find, Methos thought to himself. He had visited it often with Kronos. Methos dipped his hand into the water, cupping it and bringing it to his lips. The sun was going down and Methos knew Kronos would be worried he had been gone for so long. After all, it wasn't like Methos to venture out in this kind of heat and it hadn't been that long since the Cassandra incident. From the moment Cassandra had fled the camp, it had taken Methos time to regain Kronos's trust, to venture out of the tent unescorted. To participate in raids and in their bounty.

Methos splashed some water to his face, a part of him wondering if he were mad, testing Kronos this way. More than anything, Methos wanted to be on equal footing with his brother, thus this test. If Kronos sent out a search party, then things were still not back to normal. If, when he returned to the compound, Kronos acted as though nothing untoward had happened, he'd take Kronos right then to bed, to fuck him, to ride him. To mark him in a hundred ways. To wipe out all thoughts in Kronos's mind but one: Death was back!

Methos got up and looked at the horizon. He whistled for the stallion to come to him and then, hearing a loud sound coming from above, Methos looked up. A ball of fire crashed onto the earth. The ground shook from the impact and the object that had landed a short distance from Methos uncurled to reveal a man. A winged man. Fiery black wings, sword in hand, body scarred with tattoos. A body that was muscled and bronzed, glistening with sweat, hardly clothed, wearing something that resemble a leather tunic.

Methos backed away as the figure approached him. He was unarmed, his sword still tied up to the saddle. As he continued to stare at the winged creature, Methos quickly glanced about. He had seen many things in his long life, been reborn, become a god, but never this.

As the winged man closed the gap between them, someone shouted, "Lucas!" A black skinned man with white wings descended from the heavens.

Methos knelt to the ground and covered his head. Maybe he had gotten brain fever, he thought desperately, for there was no other reason to explain these hallucinations.

"Get out of my way, Gregory!" the man with the black fiery wings proclaimed, brandishing his sword.

The men circled each other, preparing for battle. Methos noted that the winged humans were evenly matched. The creature named Lucas lunged, his sword aimed at his opponent's heart. The sword was deflected. Lucas attacked again, this time bringing his sword low but Gregory parried, drawing Lucas away from where Methos still knelt, protecting the Immortal.

Methos scrambled backwards, wanting nothing to do with this. As he located his horse, and make his way toward it, the sound of clashing swords rang out in the valley. Before Methos reached his horse, a figure swept in, carrying Methos with him. The Immortal struggled in the creature's grip, but it was to no avail as the grip just tightened.

They flew high above and Methos looked down in horror at the figures still fighting below them. Figures that diminished in size as they flew higher in altitude.

Unexpectantly, something hit them and Methos was dropped. He screamed as he fell, his arms and legs jerked against the wind. Methos closed his eyes, for the first time not knowing if he would survive this kind of death. Before his body hit the desert floor, his descent slowed. Arms came around his waist and a young voice spoke to him.

"Don't be afraid. We're here to help." They landed on their feet and Methos was quickly released. He fell to his knees, shaken. Methos took a deep breath and staggered to his feet.

"Are you all right?"

Methos made himself turn toward the creature who had saved him. It was but a boy. A child really. Probably no more than twelve. Methos glanced at the child, noticing the friendly smile, pert nose with just a dash of freckles, small pouty lips, and a lithe body. The boy was tall for his age, giving hints that he would grow taller, muscles just beginning to form, white wings flapping gently against the wind. Blackish hair and eyes that were the greenest orbs Methos had ever seen, completed the picture.

Unlike his adult counterpart, instead of carrying a sword, this child had a dagger on a belt

around his waist, holding his tunic in place.

"I'm David." The boy introduced himself.

"Methos." The oldest living Immortal responded.

"I know," was the answer, spoken with reverence. "I've heard so much about you. The Chosen One who will unite the two tribes. The Hope that fell into Lucifer's hand."

"What's this that you speak of, boy?" Methos asked, confused.

David blushed. "It's not my story to tell. The others will explain. It's dangerous for us to linger here. Come." The child's hand reached for Methos's, a trusting smile sent his way, but before they were able to leave this place, seek flight, another figure appeared before them. Another child, identical to David expect his wings were gray, with black stripes, instead of white.

The twin boys stared at each other in shock. The other child, who had yet to introduce himself, circled around David. It seemed as though he were measuring him. Trembling hands reached to caress white wings, gentle fingertips traced the feathers from tip right to the hump.

David's lips quivered at the first touch, and then he moaned. Embarrassed, he moved away from the intrusive touch.

"You're so much like me," the other boy whispered in awe. "Father did not tell me I had a brother."

David, who was now standing next to Methos, flinched at these words. "I don't know who you are," he said as his young voice grew in anger, "and what you imply ... it is impossible."

"Think about it. How else can you explain this?" the child touched his face. "You are me."

"No!" There was fear in David's voice.

"Maxmillian?" an adult voice cried out, interrupting them. It was another winged man. His fiery wings glowed even brighter against the evening sky. As he descended, the man glanced at Methos and then at the boy, David. He frowned slightly.

"Baldev, I was just doing what you asked, retrieving Methos." Maxmillian said as the other man approached the small gathering.

The blond man tousled Maxmillian's black hair. "You have done well, imp."

David, who had desperately upon the arrival of the black winged creature been tugging

Methos away from the scene, sighed in relief when he caught sight of an archangel descending toward them.

Methos noted the hard look both adult winged creatures exchanged.

He shuddered, his instincts screaming that he should run. He watched as the two men did the "Baldev, Azrael" round of courtesies under the watchful scrutiny of their young charges. The tension between the two winged creatures grew as Azrael blocked any attempts by Baldev to reach Methos or David. These two were warriors, Methos thought, noting the measuring looks each man gave, sizing his opponent, looking for an opening of attack, all the while trying to keep the Immortal close.

"You should have kept Maxmillian out of this," Azrael scolded as he unsheathed his sword, sending Baldev a warning look. Azrael would fight to the death. His mission as given to him by God was to free Methos from Lucifer's influence. To bring the Chosen One back to the safety of Heaven. He could not fail.

"And what of David?" Baldev said as he extended his hands, a small ball of fire appeared on each palm.

"You cannot have Methos, demon. He is coming with us." Azrael argued as his wings spread out, ready to fight.

"I beg to differ."

"You will lose, fiend."

"Not this time, brother."

For Methos, this scene being played out before him was too familiar, too reminiscent of the many battles he had had with Kronos over the centuries. Just as Azrael had appeared before them, other winged creatures descended from the heavens, forming a tight circle around them. The white winged men were armed and forming a protective barrier around Methos and David.

"Go home, Baldev. Tell your master he has lost this round." Azrael said, dismissing the other man, no longer seeing him as a threat and turning his attention instead on the boy, Maxmillian. "Child, you are welcomed to come with us." A small gasp could be heard coming from both children.

"Don't get cocky, Azrael. Maxmillian is not going anywhere," Baldev stated as his arms came around the boy, now the focus of their attention, in a somewhat possessive and protective manner.

"It is not for you to decide," Azrael warned. "We outnumber you," he said indicating his companions. His winged warriors.

"This would mean war, Azrael. Are you and your kind certain you're ready for this?" Baldev asked, jaw clenching, eyes becoming brittle hard. "Take the Immortal, for now. Mark my words, he will be ours one day, but make a move toward Max and the heavens will spill forth blood."

The other winged creatures tittered at the threat but Azrael held them in check. He lowered his eyes, conceding to the truth. As much as he wanted to free the boy, neither side could afford the ensuing war. For now, he had to let the boy go.

"You may leave in peace, Baldev, but, child, know this: shall you ever have need of us, we will be there."

And with these words, a blinding light appeared before them, engulfing all who stood there and Methos, who had up to this point been a silent witness to these events unfolding before him, felt his fear dissipate as a peaceful glow grew within him.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

David and Methos were back at the docks of Bordeaux. David, now grown, held Methos in his arms, offering him as much comfort as he could.

"I was saved that day," Methos admitted in a voice made hoarse by the earlier cry.

"Yes," David confirmed, adjusting his wings.

"Did you ever see him again, your twin?" Methos asked, curious. He had been saved but the other child, David's twin, had not been.

"After you left us and rejoined the mortal world, he did seek me out but ... it was probably not meant to be. For us to be friends, let along brothers."

Sacrifices. They had all made sacrifices.

Methos stared down at Kronos's sword. "He never forgave me for leaving him." He laughed bitterly. "I don't think he would have ever believed me if I had told him that I had only set out to go for a ride that morning. That I had never planned to leave. I was heading back to him." Methos said, quietly.

"And instead you ended up in the middle of a long-going feud between the Angels and the Fallen Ones." David finished for him. "Were all those years spent teaching me so bad, Methos?

Methos patted David on the cheek with real affection. No, he did not regret the time he had spent with this boy, learning, teaching, being prepared by the Angels for his destiny as the Chosen One. Meeting the souls of immortals yet to be born. Becoming a mentor to Emry, the holy man, the Immortal who had transformed Darius through his light quickening.

He sighed. As long as Methos knew his brothers lived, he believed he was not alone but now ...

The Immortal felt David gently brush his fingertips along Methos's cheek. It was done with love and concern. "You will never be alone, old man," David said, correctly interrupting Methos's feelings.

Methos found himself chuckling half-heartedly. "I'm weary, David. Afraid I may not have it in to last, to be the Chosen One."

"I know, my friend." David said as he hugged Methos to him.

Methos stepped away from the comforting arms, incredulously asking, "That's it? No encouraging words? Not even a 'Win one for the Gipper'?"

"Excuse me?" David asked, confused, not understanding this line of questioning.

"I said I was a failure and you agreed," an indignant Methos proclaimed.

David thought back to the last words exchanged, replaying them in his mind. "Methos, it is because you of all the Immortals do not seek the Prize that makes you the most worthy." David smiled, reassuringly. "The Immortal who must guide humanity, shepherded them into the next stage of their existence, must not only be a leader but a follower. He must both respect and fear the Prize. Only you know what it is like to be tempted by power, seduced into its web, fall into insanity and, other than Darius, know the light, the joy and rebirth of souls. Don't ever doubt yourself, Methos. We don't."

David's hand rested on Methos's shoulder. It was time to leave the past behind. To start afresh.

"Shall we?"

They walked down the docks side by side, an Immortal and an Angel, finding solace in their friendship.

Later, as Methos slept, resting from his encounter with MacLeod in the cemetery, David watched over the Immortal, keeping vigil, vowing to stay by Methos's side as long at the other man needed him.

Methos rolled on the bed, to his side, stirring, eyes opening. He raised his hand and gave David a welcoming smile, raising his eyebrow as though to say, 'Come'. David joined him on the bed, smiling back, pinning Methos who writhed deliciously beneath him. The angel kissed Methos's eyelids, his nose, his mouth ... David's hand moved smoothly down Methos's chest, down his flat stomach. Strolling lightly, tracing delicately the body before him.

Methos caught his hand. They kissed again, each giving and seeking comfort. For a long timeless moment, nothing else existed but this room, this bed, them.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

Continue onto Rising of the Sun, the Setting of the Moon

Feedback to Erika

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