The Children's Hour
Julie L. Jekel


Spoilers: This story replaces the Forever Knight episode, "Ashes to
Ashes," and takes place not long before the Highlander episode,
"Something Wicked," only in a slightly different universe for reasons
that will be revealed later in the story. 
Characters: RR, DM, M, J, Kenny; from Forever Knight--LaCroix,
Janette, Urs (briefly) and Divia 

Dedication: To my fellow conspirators of the Brat Pack. 

Summary: An alternative to the FK episode "Ashes to Ashes." 
  

"The Children's Hour" 
a Forever Knight/Highlander crossover 
by Julie L. Jekel 

Between the dark and the daylight, 
When the light is beginning to lower, 
Comes a pause in the day's occupations 
That is known as the Children's Hour. 
--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "The Children's Hour" 

**Prologue** 

"Mister! Help me, please! My brother's hurt!" 

The man looked down at the hand tugging on his sleeve, which belonged
to a thin-faced twelve-year-old girl. 

"Please," she begged again, her eyes wide with panic. "He got hit by a
car that just kept going--he's not moving and I think he's dying!" 

With those words, her panic spread to him and he nodded. "All right,
where is he?" 

Still pulling on his hand like a child much younger than her years,
the girl led him to a dark corner, where the street split off into a
narrow alley. "I...I pulled him out of the street as much as I could,"
she explained tearfully. "But he was so heavy--" 

Her adult companion nodded, his heart sinking. The faint but growing
sensation in his mind gave away her brother's condition--he was not
dying, he had already died and was just beginning to wake up. When
they reached the body in the alley, the Immortal looked at it with
even greater dismay. Her brother was not much older than she was. And
now, he would be trapped in childhood forever. 

The older Immortal sighed. Well, the least he could do would be to
teach the boy the Game anyway, even though there was no way he would
ever survive it. He turned back to the girl. 

"He'll be all right, kid--" 

A low growl stopped him and he looked at her in surprise. Shock faded
into horror as he saw that her brown eyes had shifted to a sinister
golden color. Then, she smiled, revealing two sharp white fangs. 

Before he had time to do more than gasp, she grabbed him with inhuman
strength and sank her teeth into his throat. When she let the corpse
fall to the ground a few moments later, the boy stood and crossed to
stand beside her, drawing out a sword much to heavy for his size. 

She smiled that same evil smile at him, blood still staining her lips.
"Your turn," she hissed. 

Returning the smile with equal malice, the boy raised his sword and
swung it down, severing the dead Samaritan's head from his neck. 

The sound of sinister, childish laughter could be heard even as the
Quickening ripped apart the sky. 


**Part I** 

>>>Watcher Headquarters 

There was a soft rap on the door and Adam Pierson looked up with a
frown. Joe Dawson waved at him from the doorway. 

"Surprised to find you here," he commented casually. 

The other Watcher nodded, his eyes wandering back to the computer
screen as his hands flew over the keyboard. This computer was one of
the only ones left in the world linked to the Watcher mainframe ever
since the incident with the CD ROM. 

"I'm trying to find information on this latest rash of beheadings.
Obviously we've got a new headhunter on our hands, but there's
something about it...something that bothers me." 

"You mean aside from the fact that in every single case the Watchers
somehow managed to miss the fight?" Joe asked, crossing to his
friend's side. 

"No, including that, actually. What could make Watcher after Watcher
desert his post right at the critical moment in their subject's life?
It just doesn't make sense. Nor does the fact that so many skilled
Immortals would die with barely a fight." 

"You're worried, aren't you?" the grey-haired man deduced. "About
MacLeod, and Richie--" 

"Well, mostly about myself," the other admitted. "But yes, I don't
particularly want to see this individual go after MacLeod either. Or
either MacLeod, for that matter. The Highlanders are the best chance
we have of seeing the Game won by someone who won't abuse the Prize,
and I'll be damned if I'll sit back and watch them get taken out by
some cheat." 

Joe chuckled and the other man gave him a sharp look. 

"Oh, I was just thinking what a crock your 'looking out for number
one' persona really is. What about Richie, though? Don't you care
about him?" 

Adam sighed. "To be blunt, Joe, he's young, he's inexperienced, and
from what MacLeod tells me, he's far too trusting. Someone's going to
take him out, it's just a matter of when." 

The other Watcher bristled. "So it doesn't matter if he dies, is that
what you're saying?" 

"That is not what I'm saying, and you know it," Pierson replied
calmly. "From what I can see, he's a good kid and he doesn't deserve
to die. But the fact remains; there can be only One. I just don't feel
that Richie Ryan has the best chance of being that One. I don't feel
that I do, either. It's nothing personal." 

Joe sighed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Well, we'll see. I
just hope I don't live to see it--I don't think I could handle losing
any one of you." 

"Don't go getting sentimental on me, Dawson," Adam warned. 

Dawson chuckled. "Face it, Methos, you're a decent guy in spite of
yourself." 

Methos grumbled under his breath. "Fine. Just don't let it get around-
-I've got a reputation to maintain, after all." 
  

>>>The Raven 
>>>Toronto, Ontario 

For a moment as he came downstairs to open the club, LaCroix thought
he felt a familiar presence. It made him pause for a moment, looking
around with wary eyes, but the momentary sensation faded before he
could pin down the source. A further search through the establishment
had only revealed Urs and her master, Vachon, who was comforting her
from a nightmare. 

Continuing through the establishment, LaCroix couldn't shake the
uneasy sense of familiarity. Although whoever it was had gone, if
there had ever been anyone in the first place, a certain sinister aura
lingered that he could neither dismiss nor place. 

The elder vampire continued across the room to the bar. Slipping
behind it, he bent down to open the small refrigerator under the
counter. There, on the bottom shelf, was a large cardboard box, and
the entire unit was filled with an overpowering odor of blood, even
stronger than that which usually emanated from the bottles stored
within it for the bar's less conventional customers. 

Curious but not yet alarmed, LaCroix drew the box out of the
refrigerator and set it carefully on the counter. He then opened the
flaps, pulling back with a sharp hiss as the contents were revealed. 

Staring up at him from within the box was the face of a decapitated
head. 

//By all the gods!// 

LaCroix approached the box again, trembling with rage and a touch of
fear. His fingers found a smaller package wrapped in brown paper and
fallen down into the long hair of the head. Drawing it gingerly from
the box, he let the paper fall open and stared in mute horror at the
object revealed within. 

In his hands was a black amulet on a heavy gold chain, the pendant
inlayed with the ivory cameo of a thin-faced twelve-year-old girl.
LaCroix swore again, his fingers curling around the necklace. 

//Divia...// 

>>> 

"LaCroix?" 

Urs stepped into the basement room, staring in surprise at the older
vampire. He was standing before the incinerator, dangerously close to
the harmful flames, watching an indistinguishable shape slowly
withered into black ash. 

"LaCroix, is something wrong?" she asked. 

He turned to smile serenely at her with the same deceptive calm he was
always able to summon onto his face, regardless of the circumstances.
"No. I was just...disposing of an inconvenience." 

Leaving her to wonder at his words, LaCroix turned and left the room.
Urs followed him back into the club, still puzzling at his behavior. 

"If you would, please prepare the bar for tonight's guests. I shall be
in my office." 

"Yes, of course," she agreed. "But what--" 

"I need to make a phone call," he told her cryptically and left. 

>>> 

Once safely ensconced in his office, LaCroix let out a deep sigh and
withdrew the pendant again from his pocket, staring unhappily at the
familiar face of the cameo. He watched it for several moments before
finally reaching for the phone. 

"Good evening. I need to speak with a Mr. Adam Pierson. Immediately,
please." 

There was a brief silence and the vampire scowled at the unseen party
at the other end of the line. "I don't care where he is, I want him
found at once," he demanded sharply. "I must speak with him on an
urgent matter." 

After another silence, this one much longer, another voice picked up
the phone, accented with the same English flair that LaCroix had
acquired over many centuries spent in that country. 

"Methos," the vampire greeted the other man. "It's Lucius. I have
information about your headhunter." 
  

>>>Methos' hotel room 
>>>Paris, France 

"Damn! Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, DAMN!!!" 

Methos paced the room angrily, trying to absorb what Lucius had told
him. If his old friend was right, not only did they have a headhunter
on their hands, but a headhunter joined in some sort of unholy
alliance with an ancient, evil child-vampire. A vampire who had almost
certainly been drinking the blood of the many old and powerful
Immortals she had helped to kill. 

A vampire who would be almost invincible. 

A few quick strides brought him back across the room to the telephone,
which he lifted to his ear in a single swift motion. "I'd like to
place an international call...yes, damn it, I know how much it costs,
just bill it to my room. Thank you." 

After several rings, the other end of the line was picked up by a
familiar voice with just the slightest remaining trace of a Scottish
brogue. 

"MacLeod, I hope you're in the mood for company," Methos told the
younger man. "Because I'll be arriving in Seacouver tomorrow with an
old friend. There's something we need to talk about." 


**Part II** 

>>>the streets of Seacouver, Washington 

Someday he was going to have to find a job somewhere other than at the
Dojo, Richie Ryan mused as he steered his motorcycle home from work
through the dark streets of Seacouver. As much as he admired Duncan
MacLeod, a part of him wanted very much to venture out on his own, to
do something that was wholly his. Getting his own place had been a
start, but he looked forward to the day when he could say that Mac was
not helping him with anything. 

As he turned a corner, the sight of a young girl caught his attention.
She was standing in the middle of a bustling sidewalk, looking
desperately lost. Alarmed, Richie slowed his bike and swung towards
the side of the road, hoping to catch a glimpse of some adult who
might be responsible for her. When she spotted him, the girl began to
wave frantically. Her eyes shone with unshed tears in a face pale with
fear. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" Richie asked as he pulled up to the curb and let
the bike idle. 

The girl hiccuped with the effort not to cry. "It's my brother," she
sniffed miserably. "He got hit by a car--and the dumb jerk kept going.
Help me, please!" 

Ire rising in him, Richie revved his engine. "Hold on a second." He
found an empty space in a 'No Parking' zone and climbed off the bike.
"Where is he?" 

The girl scampered ahead of him towards a shadowy alley about a block
away. "I moved him out of the way as far as I could," she told him
pitifully. "But he was so heavy!" 

They hit the mouth of the alley and Richie was suddenly assaulted by
the alerting "buzz" that signaled another Immortal's presence.
Instantly wary, he slowed his steps, one hand going into his coat to
touch the pommel of his sword. 

They reached the body and the girl pointed at it. "Will he be all
right?" she asked in a plaintive tone. 

Looking down, Richie let out a startled sound and drew back. His
features tightened in anger. "Okay, what the hell is going on?" 

Instantly, the boy on the ground opened his eyes and smiled wickedly.
"Richie! Nice to see you again." 

Richie took another step back, brandishing his sword. "All right. You
want to fight me, fine. But this time you're gonna fight fair!" 

Kenny laughed. He sat up and cast a significant glance towards his
accomplice. "I don't think so." 

The next moment, the young Immortal let out a cry of pain as the girl
wrenched his arm behind his back with inhuman strength. The rapier
fell helplessly from his fingers as his arm screamed in protest of the
abuse. 

With her other hand, the inhuman child pulled him against her and
hissed in his ear, "Surprise!" 

Still in agony, Richie nevertheless managed to force out, "Gonna let a
girl do all your dirty work for you, Kenny?" 

The child Immortal's smile never faded. "Very observant, Mr. Ryan.
Divia's going to kill you, and then I'm going to take your head." 

"Shouldn't you just wait until I turn my back? Isn't that more your
style?" the young man taunted. 

Divia hissed and pulled Richie's head back sharply, causing him to let
out another cry of pain. "I really wish you wouldn't talk that way
about my lover." 

"Your--?" The young Immortal couldn't even finish. His stomach
rebelled at the thought. 

Raising her eyes to meet Kenny's, she smiled a sinister smile and
plunged her teeth into Richie's neck. The young man groaned one last
time as consciousness slipped away from him. 
  

>>>MacLeod's loft 
>>>Seacouver, Washington 

Duncan MacLeod stood warily, reaching for his katana as the Immortal
buzz hit him. A moment later he relaxed when the gate of the elevator
slid upwards to reveal a familiar face. Another man, a stranger, stood
behind him. 

"Adam," he stated simply. "Come in." 

Methos stepped into the apartment, followed by the other man. "Duncan
MacLeod, I'd like you to meet Lucien LaCroix. We need to talk." 

Mac turned to shake hands with LaCroix. Whoever he was, he definitely
wasn't Immortal, causing the Scot to shake his head in surprise. This
was Methos' old friend? He'd been expecting someone much older. 

"All three of us?" he asked the older Immortal. 

"Unfortunately, yes." Methos turned towards the kitchen. "Excuse me a
moment--I need a beer." 

Mac nodded. "Do you want something?" he asked LaCroix. 

The other man just smiled. "No thank you." Like the ancient Immortal,
he spoke with an English accent. 

Methos returned with the beer, took a long swig of it and proceeded to
plant himself on MacLeod's couch with a deep sigh. The other two men
followed. 

"So, what's this all about?" Duncan asked. 

"I suppose you're aware of the new headhunter we've been getting
reports about," the older man began. 

Mac nodded, throwing a questioning glance in LaCroix's direction. 

"Yes, MacLeod, Lucius knows. He's known about Immortals and about me
longer than you have." 

Duncan shot his ancient friend another peculiar look at that, but
decided the older Immortal must have misspoken. 

"Yeah, I've heard about him," the Highlander acknowledged. 

"Well, we've got a bigger problem. Whoever this bastard is, he isn't
hunting alone." 

"Who's he working with?" 

"A two-thousand-year-old vampire." 

For a moment Mac just stared at Methos, then he laughed. "You know,
that's almost funny." 

"I wasn't kidding." 

Duncan's smile faded. "A vampire? Methos, you can't be serious!" 

"I certainly can be, and I damned well *am* serious. Deadly serious." 

"But...a vampire?!" 

"Is that any more unlikely than the existence of Immortals?" Methos
retorted. 

Finally the Scot relented. "All right. But what does that have to do
with him?" He gestured to LaCroix. 

"Quite simply," LaCroix replied, "Divia is my daughter." 

"Your...daughter." 

The visitor nodded calmly. "She is also, unfortunately, my master. And
she is very much alive, even though I myself killed her over nineteen
hundred years ago." 

"Wait a second--you're--?" 

"Also a vampire, yes." 

Mac turned to glare at his older friend, who was rapidly draining his
beer. "Methos, tell me this is some kind of sick practical joke." 

"I wish it was," the ancient Immortal responded wryly. "Unfortunately,
it's quite true. Lucius and I met for the first time in Egypt, around
95 AD. At the time, he had just been forced to kill his own child and
was in a state of depression the likes of which I've never seen since.
I helped him find more of his own kind who would teach him what Divia
had been too perverse to, and we've kept in touch ever since." 

Duncan just shook his head in disbelief. 

"Here, let me get you a beer," Methos suggested, rising from the
couch. 

"Better make it scotch," the Highlander corrected him. "Somehow, I
don't think just a beer is going to get me through this story." 


**Part III** 

>>>location unknown 
>>>somewhere in Seacouver 

Richie groaned as awareness flooded back to him. The unpleasant fact
that he was handcuffed standing up to a thick metal pipe in the middle
of an empty room quickly dismissed his initial relief that he was
still alive. 

//Great. The little demons decided to keep me alive. Just perfect.// 

He forced his eyes open and immediately wished he hadn't. Divia was
sitting directly across from his line of vision, watching him with
sinister intensity. 

"Let me guess--I taste so good you couldn't bear to part with me?" he
asked sarcastically. 

The child vampire laughed softly, the sound making him feel cold all
over. (It was fairly obvious from what had happened that she was a
vampire.) 

"No, I'm afraid keeping you alive was my Khnum's idea." 

"Hate to break it to you, Divia, but his name's Kenny." 

"He is my Khnum, my reborn sun," she insisted with unnerving calm.
"The name he was born with is of no importance." 

"So, why does the little rat want me alive, anyway?" Richie demanded. 

"For our amusement," she replied with another creepy smile. "This game
we've played is getting dull, so we've decided to try our hands at
another one. To bait the trap with a new cheese." 

A chill spread over the young Immortal. "And I'm the cheese." 

"As my Khnum has said, you are most observant," she sneered. 

Richie sighed. "Great. Just for once, I wish someone would use Mac as
bait to catch *me*, instead of the other way around." 

His child-like captor laughed. "You, a boy barely more than a
fledgling? Why would anyone spare a man with such power as this
MacLeod to capture *you*?" 

"At least I hit puberty," he retorted. 

Divia hissed angrily and flew at him. Jerking his head back as she had
in the alley, she raked her sharp fingernails painfully down the side
of his face. "I have lived more days than you will ever see, you
insolent child! Be grateful that we still need you or I swear you
would never wake from my kiss!" 

With that, she sank her fangs again into his throat and Richie felt
the world once more slip mercifully away. 


>>>MacLeod's loft 

Duncan turned over the necklace in his hands, studying the features of
the girl in the cameo. "So you don't know how she survived?" 

"MacLeod, she lived through a *beheading,* the one thing that can make
us stay dead! Of course he doesn't know!" 

"Actually, I do have an idea," LaCroix corrected his older friend.
"It's a poor one, I suppose, but it's the best we have at the moment."


"Really?" Methos asked. "Do tell." 

"In spite of everything, Divia was still my daughter. I may have had
to kill her, but I was determined at least to give her a decent
resting place. So, I chose the very tomb we were in, the tomb of her
slain master--it was both noble in architecture and fittingly vile in
company. The seal of Amen-Ra upon the sarcophagus kept her imprisoned,
but her master's power, even in death, may have restored her body." 

"So, if the seal kept her entombed, why is she out and running around
hunting Immortals?" Duncan asked next. 

"The seal must have been broken." 

MacLeod was still pondering this idea with a dubious expression on his
face when the phone rang. "I'll be right back," he told the two
ancients and rose to answer it. 

He returned a moment later with his face unusually pale. "The police
found Richie's bike abandoned on the street." 

Methos swore. "Damn. They're already here then." 

"Yeah, they're already here, and they may have killed a very good
friend of mine," Duncan retorted, rising to pace the room. 

"I'm sorry to hear that." 

"You don't sound very unhappy about it." 

"Do you expect me to? I barely knew the kid." 

"I expect you to have a little respect for the lives of others,"
MacLeod snapped. 

The ancient Immortal opened his mouth to shoot back another retort but
just then the phone rang again. The three men looked at each other and
Duncan hurried into the bedroom to answer it. 

"Hello?" 

"Long time no see, MacLeod." 

The Highlander's blood turned cold at the sound of the familiar voice.
"Kenny?" 

"Got it in one!" the eight-hundred-year-old child exclaimed with
deceptive juvenile glee. "I'm so glad you remember me, because I have
something that belongs to you." 

Cold turned to ice even as relief swept over him that the young man
was still alive. "Richie doesn't belong to me." 

"Oh. You don't want him back then? Ok. I guess I'll just have to take
his head after all." 

"What do you want, Kenny?" Duncan demanded. 

"Just a trade. Sort of like baseball cards, or something else 'kids'
like me are supposed to like to collect. I guess I just like to
collect heads. And I'd much rather have yours than our young friend's
here. It's much more valuable." 

Mac closed his eyes. "All right. Tell me when and where." 

"Not so fast, Duncan. I just wanted you to know where we stand. I'll
call you in a couple of days--we can talk again then." 

The line clicked and went dead. 

Methos and LaCroix both stood as MacLeod stormed back into the room.
"Where are they holding him?" the ancient Immortal asked. 

Mac shot him a surprised look. 

"Vampires have very good hearing," the older man explained. 

"So then you know your daughter has really bad taste in company,"
Duncan spat, turning to LaCroix. 

"It's appropriate in a twisted sort of way," the vampire acknowledged.
"Someone her own 'age.'" 

The Scot grunted and turned towards the elevator, pausing to grab his
coat and sword. 

"Where are you going?" Methos demanded. 

"I'm going to face him!" 

"MacLeod, think with your brain for once and not your God-damned hero
complex!" The older man grabbed the Highlander by his arm. "If you go
up against them alone, you will have *no* chance of surviving. None,
do you understand?" 

"Methos, they're just kids--" 

"Eight hundred and two thousand-year-old kids, one of whom also
happens to be a vampire," the ancient Immortal corrected, his voice
still sharp. "If you go waltzing in there like they want you to, you
will be dead. And it won't even be an *honorable* death--how does that
strike you?" 

That gave the younger man pause. "So what am I supposed to do, then?"
he demanded. "Let them kill Richie for their own amusement?" 

"We even the odds," Methos replied grimly. "We take a couple of
vampires of our own." 


**Part IV** 

>>>Location Unknown 
>>>somewhere in Seacouver 

It had been a very long night. Richie groaned again softly, rolling
his head from side to side since his neck was still sore from the last
time Divia had killed him. Which she'd done more times than he could
count over the course of the night. Every time he'd woken up she had
been there, waiting. 

//Okay, in the future, remember not to piss off baby vampires,// he
chided himself. //They're as childish as real kids and a hell of a lot
more painful!// 

He had a feeling he was safe for the moment, though, since sunlight
was doing its best to stream in through the dusty windows in the room
where he was being held. From what he knew about vampires--which
admittedly wasn't much--sunlight was not something she would hang
around in. 

Which meant that while the sun was still shining he might have a
chance to escape. If he could only figure out how to get out of these
handcuffs! 

In another place and time, he could imagine himself enjoying very much
being handcuffed, but this wasn't that place or that time and these
definitely weren't the people! So instead he began squirming his hands
around, trying to slip out, but the cuffs were too tight. 

An idea did finally come to him but it turned his stomach only
slightly less than his creepy captors. Nevertheless, it might be his
only way out. So, twining his hands together, Richie pulled with all
his strength and dislocated both his thumbs with a loud pop. 

Reeling in pain, he bit back the scream that his mind wanted to let
out. Slowly, agonizingly, he eased the cuffs over his mangled hands so
that they fell empty to the floor on the other side of the pipe. 

Doubling over with the pain, he crawled into a corner of the room
behind the door. He prayed that no one would come in and find him
before his hands could heal. 

Having never tested his Immortal healing powers in quite this way
before, it came as a bit of a surprise that the healing was almost as
painful as the injury. Joints snapped back into place, sending stabs
of agony through his arms before the tendons and muscles could even
begin to repair themselves. Five long minutes later, Richie was
finally able to move his fingers. Getting unsteadily to his feet, he
stumbled to the window and hurled himself through it, rolling off the
roof and dropping to the ground. 

He had barely hit the dirt when Kenny came racing out to look for him.
Richie lunged at the boy, startling him with the sheer lunacy of the
unarmed attack. The child Immortal fell to the ground and his sword
spun out of his hands. The young man who had been his captive pounced
on it. He brought the point to rest just under Kenny's chin. 

"I owe you one or two underhanded tricks, you little bastard," he
hissed darkly. 

The boy screamed. 

Richie bolted. It didn't matter whether or not there was anyone around
to hear the scream, he was not taking any chance that he'd be found
holding a sword on what looked like a twelve-year-old kid! 


>>>MacLeod's loft 

Duncan and Methos felt the buzz at the same time and both sprang to
their feet, drawing their swords. Their concern was quickly levied,
however, when the elevator opened to reveal a young man with dark
strawberry-blond curls. His throat was dark with dried blood and his
hands were red and swollen as if they'd just healed from a major
injury. More blood was streaked across his face and stained his
clothes. 

"Richie!" Mac exclaimed. 

The young Immortal looked up with a weak smile. He collapsed almost
the minute he stepped out of the elevator. "Just call me Houdini," he
slurred. 

The two older men raced to his side. "I have to hand it to you, Kid,"
Methos remarked admiringly as they hefted him up and helped him walk
to the couch. "I underestimated you." 

Richie smiled at the compliment, then turned to stare at the older
man, puzzled. "Pierson? What are you doing here?" 

"I'll tell you in a while, after you've had a chance to recover," Adam
promised. 

"First, you tell us how you got away from them," Duncan agreed. 

"Simple," the younger man replied with a tired but sly smile. "I
waited until the vampire went to bed." 

"What happened to your hands?" 

"I had to get out of the cuffs somehow. Remind me, Mac, to never again
let someone handcuff me--it hurt like hell getting them off." 

The Highlander studied his protege's healed hands with a somber
expression, realizing just how seriously the young Immortal had taken
his escape. 

"I couldn't let them use me to get to you, Mac," Richie explained
earnestly. His voice was still blurring. "Especially since you didn't
know about *her*." 

"Actually, I did know," Mac admitted. "Get some rest, Richie." 

Nodding gratefully, the younger man allowed his body to fall on the
cushions and within seconds he was asleep. 

"He lost a lot of blood," Methos stated grimly. "Judging by just the
amount he was wearing and his exhaustion, I'd be willing to bet Divia
kept him up all night killing him." 

The Scot nodded, his nostrils flaring in fury. "Damn them," he swore
softly. 

His older friend nodded. "I'll tell you, Highlander, for once it's a
good thing you're so damned predictable." 

Duncan looked up sharply. 

"Kenny and Divia will expecting you to come looking for them to avenge
Richie," Methos explained. "And since it was you they wanted anyway,
they'll probably stay in the same place." 
  

>>>Location unknown 
>>>somewhere in Seacouver 

"Can you do nothing without me?" Divia fumed, dark eyes flashing gold
as she glared at her accomplice. 

"I was with you," her companion snapped. "Entertaining you here in the
basement, if you recall. Who'd have guessed you'd get so turned on by
drinking from such a young one--why didn't you just seduce him while
you were at it, instead of distracting me?" 

"Distracting you???" The child vampire was furious now. "Do you
forget, Khnum, who *taught* you the pleasures that mortals call
perversion? Who set you free from the bondage of your perpetual
childhood? Without me, you would still be playing the helpless
fledgling, depending on cowardice rather than cunning to catch your
prey. I have made you feared among your kind, a legend to be held at
bay with feeble prayers." 

"And without me, you'd still be caught up in your petty revenge, with
no purpose grander than to destroy your father," Kenny retorted. "You
would never have even known about Immortals, let alone ever had the
chance to taste one--" 

Divia hissed. "My vengeance is anything but petty, and I'm glad we can
finally be done with yours and go, since you have allowed our best
lure to escape. I have neglected my father far too long," she sneered.
"And it is not good to deprive a parent of his child's *affection*." 

"I'm not done yet. Duncan MacLeod will still come." 

"Without his fledgling to entice him? What makes you think he would be
such a fool?" 

"Because I know him. And I know that revenge means just as much to him
as it does to me, to any Immortal. He'll come to avenge Richie. And
we'll take him." 

"He will come even though he now knows our secret?" 

"For the sake of his pride, even if it means his death, he'll come." 

The vampire-child hissed again, this time with pleasure. "In that
case, come here, my Khnum. I am thirsty, and if I cannot drink from
the youngling--" 

Smiling with a look in his eyes that was disturbingly adult for his
young face, Kenny tugged on the collar of his shirt, baring his throat
to the other ancient child. 


**Part V** 

>>>MacLeod's loft 
>>>that night 

"Have a beer, Richie?" Adam asked as the younger Immortal wandered in
from Duncan's bedroom several hours later. Richie apparently kept an
emergency change of clothes at the loft, because the bloody shirt he'd
been wearing earlier had been replaced. 

"Don't mind if I do. Where's Mac?" 

"Meeting a friend at the airport." He tossed a beer can to the other
man. "Have a seat--we need to talk." 

Curious, Richie obeyed and seated himself on the couch at the opposite
end from the other Immortal. "What's up?" 

There was a long pause as the older man sipped his beer with a
thoughtful look on his face. "Richie...how much do you know of the
lore of Immortals? Of our own myths and legends?" 

"Only what Mac told me. I don't know how much that is." 

"Are you familiar with the legend of the oldest Immortal?" 

"Methos? Sure, I've heard of him. Why?" He took a drink from his own
can. 

"Well, because I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you.
Adam Pierson isn't my real name--Methos is." 

Richie spat his beer out all over the couch. 

Methos winced. //Damn, I hope MacLeod doesn't expect *me* to clean
that up!// 

"*YOU* are Methos??? The oldest living Immortal???" 

"Yes to the first question, and so far as I know there's not an older
one around, so yes to the second as well." 

"But--but--!" 

"No, Methos isn't just a myth, yes, I know I certainly don't look or
act my age, and no, I am not pulling your leg." He regarded the
younger man frankly. "Does that answer your questions?" 

"All but one--why are you telling me this?" 

"Because..." Methos sighed. "If you're going to help us take care of
this little unholy alliance, you need to know." 

Richie nodded, a grim expression coming into his eyes. "All right. So
what's the plan?" 

"Mac is right now at the airport, picking up the friend of a friend.
This friend of mine, as well as his friend, are both also vampires." 

The young man visibly paled. 

"They are, as I said before, friends," the ancient Immortal reassured
him. "So, I can promise you they will not behave anything like Divia."


"Good." 

"When MacLeod returns with Janette, she and LaCroix are both going to
take turns killing me." 

Once again, the younger man paled. "Why?" he choked out. 

"Because they need the power in my blood, my age and experience. Divia
is older and more powerful than both of them and she has probably been
drinking from many Immortals besides you. Many older Immortals.
Without my blood in their veins, they would have little hope of
defeating her and we would all be lost." 

Richie nodded. "Got it." 

"We need you to help us find where they are hiding." 

"Hey, whatever I can do to help," the young Immortal promised. 

"You just have to promise me one thing--once we get there, you will
stay out of the way and not come inside. It's going to take both
LaCroix and Janette to keep Divia from draining me, and I can't risk
getting distracted." 

Although he was not always known for following orders, the young man
nodded. His own memory reinforced the gravity of Methos' words. Richie
shuddered again. "What about Mac?" 

The ancient Immortal sighed. "MacLeod isn't going." 

"He agreed to stay behind?" Richie sounded astonished. 

"He doesn't know yet. But if I have to shoot the stubborn fool to keep
him here, he's staying." 

The younger man snorted. "Boy, is he gonna be thrilled to hear you say
that." 

"I'm not here to thrill Duncan MacLeod," was the dry retort. 
  

>>>MacLeod's loft 
>>>later that night 

"All right, now that everyone's here, I'll make introductions." Methos
pointed to each of them in turn. "Duncan MacLeod, Richie Ryan, Lucien
LaCroix, Janette DuCharme. Now, let's get down to business, shall we?"


Richie had to shake his head to clear the cobwebs. He'd known from her
name that Methos' friend's friend was a woman, still he hadn't been
expecting her to be so... breathtaking. Janette turned to look at him
knowingly, then smiled and slipped an arm through LaCroix's. 

The young Immortal turned scarlet. 

"Janette, how much of our plan did Lucius and MacLeod explain to you?"
the ancient Immortal asked. 

"Lucien and I will drink from you to gain the power of your age and
Immortality, then we are responsible for disposing of ma vilaine
petite soeur, while you will take care of the Immortal child." 

Methos nodded. "And Richie is going to make sure we show up at the
right place." 

"What about me?" Mac demanded. 

"You, Highlander, are holding down the fort and getting your ass out
of Seacouver if for any reason we don't come back." 

MacLeod's jaw dropped. "What??" 

"I'd like to keep the number of Immortals involved in this venture as
small as possible," the older man explained. "Fewer distractions, so
to speak." 

"But you're going to risk Richie's life again by taking him along??" 

Richie turned away from his mentor, hiding a smirk. 

"Richie has strict orders to stay out of things once we get there,"
Methos stated with a glance at the young man. 

"Oh, he's really good at following orders," was Duncan's sarcastic
response. 

"This time I will be, Mac," the youngest Immortal promised. He
shivered. "Trust me, I have no interest in running into those two
again!" 

"I still don't like it," the Highlander declared. 

"Of course not. You don't like any adventure where you don't get to
play the hero," Methos stated calmly. "But the fact remains, there is
such a thing as too many cooks spoiling the Haggis--to use a metaphor
I'm sure you'll understand--and since you're the only one we don't
absolutely need, you get to stay home." 

Mac just scowled and fell silent. 


**Part VI** 

>>>Duncan's loft 
>>>two hours later 

Methos sat up gasping for the eighth or ninth time that night,
bringing his hands to his face. "God, I hate that part! Even after
five thousand years, it's still a pain in the ass." 

Janette pressed one pale hand to his forehead, frowning. "Bien, it is
enough." 

"No," Methos contradicted her sharply. "Once more, each." 

"Methos, mon ami, you will need all your strength. If we drink from
you again, you will be weak, even if you heal." 

"She's right, old friend," LaCroix contributed. 

"Besides, Old Timer, we're running out of time," Richie added. He
hadn't yet been able to bring himself to actually call the ancient
Immortal by his name. "If we don't go soon, we might not be able to
get back before dawn." 

"All right, all right," Methos grumped. He swung his legs over the
edge of the bed and started to stand wobbily. "Just let me get my
sword." 

"Non, you get your strength back," Janette scolded. 

"Where's MacLeod?" the older man asked, worried. 

"Downstairs in the dojo," Richie nodded towards the elevator with a
smirk. "He's actively sulking." 

"*Actively* sulking?" 

"He's doing a kata." 

"Ah." The oldest member of the group studied the youngest with a wry
smirk. "You're enjoying this immensely, aren't you?" 

The other Immortal looked up innocently. "What?" 

"The fact that you're included in our little party and MacLeod isn't."


Richie shrugged, his face turning a mild shade of pink. "A little,
yeah. You gotta admit, Old Man, I don't get many opportunities like
this." 

"I wouldn't know--you and I haven't exactly spent much time together."


The younger man laughed. "True." His face sobered then. "I think I'm
going to go downstairs and talk to Mac. I'll meet you guys outside,
okay?" 

Methos gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and a sympathetic
smile. "Sure." 

The ancient Immortal watched him go, feeling a twinge of regret for
his callous words to Joe only days ago. He'd always avoided getting to
know Richie very well--after all, their first meeting hadn't exactly
given him the most favorable impression of the kid--but just the
events since the young man's escape that morning had made him
reevaluate his unconcern. The young Immortal deserved to live a damned
long life, whether he was still standing at the end of the Game or
not. And he deserved to have someone other than just Duncan the Self-
Righteous watching over him to make sure he got it. 

The older man turned to the two vampires. "LaCroix?" he said simply. 

LaCroix nodded in answer to the unasked question. "You have my word,
Methos." 


>>>Duncan's dojo 

"Hey, Mac." 

The older man looked up from his routine to where his student was
standing in the doorway, wearing a sheepish smile. He returned the
smile with a lopsided one of his own. "Hey, Rich." 

"Look...about this whole thing...I'm sorry--" 

"For what?" his mentor interrupted him. 

"For rubbing it in." 

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me your memory's failing that badly already."


His protege blinked, puzzled. "Mac?" 

"It isn't as if I've never had a laugh at your expense," the older man
elaborated with a deliberately nonchalant shrug. 

Richie laughed. "True." 

"You can't control what Methos does, Richie. I don't think anybody
could tell him what to do and expect to be listened to. And as much as
I hate to admit it, they do need you." 

The younger man nodded. "Thanks." 

"Just promise me you'll come back in one piece." 

"I'll do my best." After a brief, awkward silence, the young Immortal
flashed his teacher a half-hearted smile and turned to leave. 

"Richie--" 

The younger man turned back, a curious expression on his face. 

"I don't want you going in there without a sword." 

"Mac, it's okay--I promised to stay out of trouble." 

The Highlander nodded. "Yeah, I know. But just in case trouble comes
looking for you..." He pulled out a sword case something like the one
that had once held the rapier, only wider and flatter. Opening it, he
drew out a silvery Gothic Bastard sword with a hilt wrapped in black
leather. 

"Here. It belonged to a friend of mine, named Graham Ashe." 

"Mac, I can't," Richie protested, overwhelmed. 

"Look, if it makes you feel any better, you can return it if you find
yours. But if not...well, it's not doing me any good lying around
here." 

His young friend nodded, still awed. "Thanks." After an awkward
moment, he turned again to leave. 

When he was gone, Duncan moved to the window and stared out of it down
at the parking lot. After a few moments, the group emerged--all
dressed casually--and headed for Methos' Jimmy. 

Watching them climb in, the Highlander let out a low sigh. As if he'd
heard, the young Immortal glanced back up at the building and waved
briefly at the mentor he didn't know was watching. Duncan nodded
unseen in response, one corner of his mouth turning up in a rueful
smile. "Be careful," he murmured. 


**Part VII** 

>>>An abandoned house on the edge of town 
>>>Seacouver 

"This is it," Richie informed them grimly, pointing to the empty
building on their left. It was a large Victorian manor and run down
enough to bear a striking resemblance to the stereotypical Hollywood
haunted house. His conviction was almost immediately confirmed by the
warning buzz. There was definitely an Immortal somewhere in that
house--somewhere close. 

Methos nodded and pulled the car up before the house, his lips
twisting in irony. "How appropriate." 

"For a house of horrors, you mean?" the younger Immortal quipped. "No
kidding." He shivered. 

"Remember, you keep out of this," the ancient one warned him as he
turned off the engine and opened the car door, followed by LaCroix and
Janette. 

Richie raised his hands in willing surrender. "No problem. Like I
said, I have no interest in ever seeing the inside of this place
again." 

"If for any reason we don't come out," the older Immortal continued,
"you get your ass out of here. Out of the country, preferably. And
take MacLeod with you." 

"Yeah, well you'll forgive me if I pray it doesn't come to that." 

"Please do--I'll take all the gods I can get on our side right now,"
was the sardonic reply. 

Janette smiled, squeezing Methos' arm. Then, as planned, she hung back
a moment while her former master and the ancient Immortal crossed the
yard to the house. 

Both of the men still remembered a time when twelve or thirteen was a
perfectly reasonable time for a young girl to get married and a boy
would almost certainly have taken his first lover. Both knew the
statistics for teenage and pre-teenage sexuality in the twentieth
century as well. But even so, the image presented before them when
they opened the door had an aura of the unnatural about it. 

This was not the fumbling of two children trying to grow up too fast.
Nor was it the frightened eagerness of a child bride to please her
older, more experienced bedmate. It was a dark, perverse satire of an
adult relationship, passionate but not with love, violent, hungry, and
shameless to the point of exhibitionism. 

"Divia!" LaCroix exclaimed in horror. 

The two eternal children broke apart, turning to look at the
newcomers. 

"What's wrong, Father?" Divia taunted. "Don't you want to meet your
new son-in-law?" She nipped savagely at Kenny's ear, drawing blood and
sucking hungrily on it. Eyes gleaming with delight at her father's
revulsion drifted to rest on Methos and her face twisted with scorn. 

"Well, my Khnum, it seems you were wrong," she taunted. "Duncan
MacLeod has apparently refused our little invitation." 

Kenny had already made this observation and he pulled away from her,
eyeing the other Immortal with open hostility. "Where's MacLeod?" he
demanded. 

"We didn't have room for him in the car." 

"You think I went to all this trouble for some nobody?" the boy
retorted. 

"Oh, I'd hardly call myself a nobody," the older Immortal smirked. 

"I want MacLeod," Kenny insisted childishly. 

Methos shrugged and turned as if to leave. "Very well. If you'd rather
have MacLeod than Methos, I suppose I can go fetch him for you." 

That casual statement riveted the eyes of both Divia and her companion
to him. 

"Methos?" Kenny asked almost breathlessly. 

"You, of all people, ought to know that appearances can be deceiving,"
the ancient Immortal replied softly. 

"Divia!" the boy exclaimed. 

She flew at him, only to find her way blocked by her father. "Get out
of my way," she spat. "You can't hold me!" 

"Perhaps not," Janette's voice came out of nowhere and Divia spun to
face her. "But you cannot fight us both, ma petite souer." 

The child vampire shrieked, her eyes gleaming gold. With a strength
that surprised even the other two of her kind, she grabbed Janette by
the throat. 

"I am no one's *little* sister!" she spat, and hurled the other woman
across the room. 

Suddenly furious, LaCroix seized his child-master by one arm and
pulled her roughly towards him. He pinched her face tightly in one
hand. "Don't *ever* do that again!" he growled. 

Divia struggled, her eyes almost blood red with rage. "Careful,
father," she hissed. "You wouldn't want to be accused of child abuse."


"As you've been so careful to demonstrate, Divia," he replied coldly.
"You are no longer a child." With that, he threw her against the door,
which splintered under the impact. Outside, Richie fell back with a
loud curse as the battle exploded into view. Instinct made him clutch
the sword Mac had given him. Thankfully, Divia was too absorbed with
her father and Janette to notice. 

While the three vampires struggled, Kenny faced the older Immortal,
his sword held unsteadily before him and his face white. 

"Surprise," Methos taunted. "Guess you should have listened to all
those people who tried to teach you to fight fair." 

Knowing he was outmatched but driven by anger, the child Immortal
lunged. "Why you?" he demanded. "Why you and not MacLeod?" 

The ancient Immortal easily parried his weak blow. "I don't have
MacLeod's moral aversion to killing demons in the guise of children." 

Now even angrier, Kenny attacked again, his futile rage fueled even
more by every blow the older man blocked. "Damn you!" he swore. "Damn
you to hell, Methos!" 

Driving his sword through the boy Immortal's defenses and into his
stomach, Methos grimaced. "Not tonight," he vowed. 

Across the room, LaCroix and Janette were both weakening. Divia struck
at them with every weapon she had, from her claw-like nails to her
fangs. There seemed to be a poison in her touch that even Methos'
blood couldn't counteract. 

Kenny fell to his knees and Richie drifted towards the spectacle, his
heart pounding with fear. If the two vampires failed, Divia could
easily tear Methos' head from his body while he was still weak from
the Quickening. The younger Immortal knew if that happened, his own
demise wouldn't be far behind. Neither of which he wanted to see. 

Then Methos struck and the deceptively youthful blond head fell to the
floor. 

Divia spun away from her two opponents. 
"NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!" she wailed. 

Janette took advantage of the elder vampire's distraction to seize up
a splintered piece of wood from the door and drive it into her back. 

It was a gruesome spectacle--the scarlet-eyed child staring
incredulously into nothing, blood gurgling over her lips and a wooden
stake protruding from the center of her chest as the Quickening
exploded behind her. 

The storm wrapped itself around the ancient Immortal, tearing his
voice out of his body in a strangled but triumphant cry. It ripped
through the house, shattering windows, setting the electrical wires
alive and igniting the silent fireplace in the center of the barren
room. Then it ended and Methos doubled over in exhaustion, burying his
head in his hands. 

Divia looked up at her father, her eyes still wide with shock.
"Father," she gasped weakly. "Help...me..." 

Incredibly, he started towards her but was stopped by Janette's firm
hand on his arm. "LaCroix, no," she insisted with more strength than
she felt. 

Unnerved, Richie stepped forward, just as Divia stumbled backwards
toward the door. He raised his sword and swung. 

LaCroix turned away, unable to watch as his daughter's head rolled
from her shoulders and across the room, coming to rest against that of
her lover. The woman who had called him master for a thousand years
wrapped her arms around him, murmuring words of comfort. 

Methos struggled to his feet, crossed the room, and leaned against the
doorframe to glare at Richie. "I thought I told you to stay out of
this." 

The younger Immortal smiled meekly and shrugged. "Yeah, well. Like Mac
said, I've never been very good at taking orders." 

With a curt laugh, Methos reached out a fatherly hand to scramble the
younger man's hair. "Thank god for that!" 


**Part VIII** 

It didn't take long to take stock of the battle. The house had been
largely destroyed by the three vampires and the Quickening, but the
two bodies still needed to be disposed of--headless children would
draw much too much unneeded attention. On top of that, LaCroix and
Janette were both still weak, their bodies for some reason refusing to
heal the wounds that Divia had inflicted on them. 

The ancient Immortal studied those injuries gravely, his mouth drawn
into a tight, grim line. Finally he drew his sword in a sudden
slashing line across his wrist and held it to his ancient friend. 

LaCroix turned his head away from the tantalizing flow of blood.
"Methos, no--" 

"Lucius, in the nineteen centuries we've known each other, I've always
treated you as an equal. Don't make me break my perfect record by
*forcing* you to drink from me, damn it!" 

The vampire glared at his friend but was too weak to fight the thirst.
Pulling the Immortal's wrist to his mouth, he began to drink savagely.


Richie offered his own wrist to Janette. She didn't argue, only sank
her teeth in gratefully as he resisted the impulse to pull away.
Janette wasn't Divia, he reminded himself. She wouldn't drain him over
and over again just for her own amusement. 

With almost miraculous self-control, the vampire did indeed manage to
pull away from the young Immortal before he began to grow faint.
"Merci," she whispered with a feeble smile. 

Apparently they had judged correctly that the fresh Immortal blood
might counteract the poison even if it hadn't blocked it. When
LaCroix's strength finally began to return, Methos offered himself in
turn to Janette. When they were both mostly healed, conversation
turned instead to disposing of the unpleasant evidence of their
activities. 

"The easiest way would be to just burn the house," the older Immortal
pointed out. 

"No." LaCroix's voice was firm and cold. 

Methos turned to look at him, his face painted with exasperation.
"Lucius--" 

"Do what you like with the boy, Methos. But in spite of
everything...Divia is still my daughter." 

"And look what happened last time you decided to give her a decent
burial," the older man retorted. 

"Then I will give her a decent pyre instead. But I will not allow her
to be burned in this way, like so much rubbish. As evil as she
was...she was my child. I cannot just disregard that bond." 

After a long, drawn moment between the two men, the older one finally
nodded. "All right." 

Richie gaped at them and Methos turned to glare at him. "What? Even
five thousand year old men can be wrong once in a while." 

The younger Immortal's mouth snapped shut and he grinned broadly. "Can
I use that on Mac next time he gets all high-and-mighty?" 

"No, you can't," Methos retorted. "All that would accomplish is he
would use it against me." 

Richie laughed and LaCroix chuckled ruefully. 

Standing, the ancient vampire crossed the room to where Divia's
headless body lay. He sighed deeply, eyes dark with sorrow, then bent
down to pick up the corpse which he cradled in his arms like a sick
child. By silent consent, Janette collected Divia's head while the two
Immortals picked up Kenny's body and head and the four carried their
burdens out of the house. 


>>>Some time later... 

The flames stood out bright and golden against the black sky as they
spread over the pyre. Several feet away stood the four, LaCroix' eyes
never leaving the shrouded form of his daughter. Janette was behind
him, her hand on his arm a constant but unobtrusive presence. 

Richie's face was no less pensive. As much as he'd hated Kenny by the
time the child Immortal had finally been defeated, watching his body
slowly wither into ash brought back different emotions. Emotions he'd
felt when he thought the boy was exactly what he seemed--a frightened
child just beginning to face a grim destiny. He'd identified with that
child even as he thanked whatever power controlled his destiny that
he'd been given a few more years before crossing the threshold.
Because he'd come just far enough to have a chance of surviving. For
the short time before the kid's true nature showed, he'd considered
him a spiritual brother. 

Both the ancient vampire and the young Immortal couldn't help but
wonder who the childlike pair could have been if not deprived of the
chance to grow up. 

The fire was still high and the bodies still unconsumed when Methos
suggested quietly that they should be returning. "As it is, we'll be
cutting it rather close with the sunrise," he pointed out. 

"You go on. I will follow shortly," LaCroix stated calmly. 

Methos nodded, knowing the vampire could cover the distance much more
quickly in flight. "How are you doing, old friend?" he asked. 

"As well as one can expect of a father who has lost his child," he
replied honestly. "I will never cease to wonder if I somehow failed
her, if there was something I could have done besides end her life.
But for the moment...I want only a few minutes alone with her...to say
goodbye." 

Conceding to his wishes, the other three turned away towards the
Jimmy. LaCroix watched them disappear before looking back to Divia's
pyre. 

A sad smile twisted his lips as he murmured, "I may even say a prayer
for her soul." 
  

>>>Behind the dojo 
>>>the next night 

"Will you be coming back to Toronto, cherie?" LaCroix asked as the
other vampire prepared to leave. 

Janette shook her head with a sad smile. "Non, mon pere. I have
already said goodbye to that city and all its entanglements." She
leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. "But perhaps, one day, you
will give up on Nicolas and come to visit me." 

"Perhaps I shall," he agreed with a calm smile of his own. "In the
meantime, you must keep me in your correspondence. Your letters often
provide a much needed diversion." 

"You will always be in my correspondence, just as you will always be
in ma coeur." 

LaCroix lifted her hand to his lips to place a kiss on it, then
released it with surprising reluctance. Turning to the two Immortals,
she gave them each a peck on the cheek--laughing when Richie turned
crimson--then disappeared into the night sky. 

The ancient vampire then turned to the two as well. 

"Methos." He grasped his old friend's hand firmly. 

"Take care of yourself, Lucius." 

Richie smiled as LaCroix held out a hand to him. "Maybe we'll meet
again, someday," the young Immortal suggested. "In another life, so to
speak." 

"I shall plan on it," the older man responded politely. "Someday I may
even be able to give back to you a part of what Methos gave me when I
was young." 

Richie nodded. "I'd like that," he agreed. 

With one last careful look around to make sure no one but the two was
watching the alley where they stood, the vampire stepped into the sky
and vanished within moments. 

"Now," Methos suggested, turning to the younger Immortal. "What say we
go break in that new sword of yours?" They had failed to locate the
rapier. 

"*You* want to spar with me?" the young man feigned disbelief. 

The ancient one tried to look affronted. "Look, I may not be as good
as MacLeod, but five thousand years of experience ought to count for
*something* against a whelp such as yourself." 

Richie glared at the older man as he followed him into the building.
"Hey, who're you calling a whelp!" 

"Of course, if you'd prefer 'brat'--" 

The younger Immortal shook his head vigorously. "On second thought,
'whelp' is fine." 
  

END 

I have you fast in my fortress, 
And I will not let you depart, 
But put you down into the dungeon 
In the round-tower of my heart. 

And there will I keep you forever, 
Yes, forever and a day, 
Till the wall shall crumble to ruin, 
And moulder in dust away. 
--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "The Children's Hour"