An Adult Highlander Zine
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A Highlander: The Series adult fanzine, containing both slash and straight stories. Two issues are now available and we're taking submissions for a third! Both issues are heavily weighted toward Methos stories, a fact that probably pleases a good many of you out there! The second issue is about 90% Methos/Duncan stories as well as some Methos/Kronos, Amanda/Joe and a few other pairings.
Here are some descriptions of the contents, along with a few excerpts from some of the stories to tantalize you:
135 pages of reduced print, 100,682 words. Beautiful color cover of Methos by Karen River. US buyers may pay below. Please email for international rates.
Temptations by Methosia (Duncan/Methos/Kronos): The immediate aftermath of the double Quickening Methos and Duncan share in Bordeaux finds Duncan confused by memories of Kronos' past with Methos... Reprinted from Walking Distance.
The sobs echoed through the remains of the sub pens and Duncan MacLeod found himself concerned for his friend. Concerned and thrilled.
"I killed Silas. I liked Silas." Methos' voice echoed off the walls and seemed to vibrate against MacLeod's body...begging for a response.
And MacLeod found he had too many.
A part of him warmed as the sobs continued. He lifted his head to see Cassandra standing over Methos' prone form, weapon ready to take his head. "And now I'm supposed to forgive you?"
"Cassandra!" He spoke without realizing it. Didn't she deserve her revenge?
"He's saved her life more often than the bitch deserved," a voice spoke from within MacLeod. "He's paid his debt if one ever existed."
MacLeod started at the voice in his head. Feared as he recognized the tone, understood the significance of the strange Quickening he and Methos had just shared.
"You want him to live?" Cassandra glared at MacLeod through the darkness and he prayed Methos would find the strength to stand, to run. To flee-.
"Yes, I want him to live." Someone else spoke with his voice, although the voice expressed his sentiments.
His eyes lowered to Methos-still on all fours, his thin body shaken with sobs....
...seemingly unaware of what Cassandra intended. Unaware or unconcerned?
Her punishment...the ultimate one...to take his head.
He shall be punished...but by us.
MacLeod fought the arousal building within him. He could feel the heat of it, nearly taste its substance....
Take him. He deserves to be punished.
He looked up with a start and saw Cassandra again raising the poleax. "Cassandra! I WANT HIM TO LIVE!"
Two voices spoke one desire. Cassandra looked to him with a hatred that part of him now recognized...that part of him which had seen her hatred in another life...another body. She stormed out and MacLeod lowered his head into his hands, relief flooding him.
Strength & Cruelty by Quale (Methos/OFC; Methos/Kronos): Kronos likes to keep Methos happy...but not for too long. The two of them play a longstanding game of cat and mouse with each other in the Bronze Age...
"Her name is Takharu."
Methos didn't turn at the words, nor did he jump when a solid hand landed on his shoulder with a thump against the leather breast armor he wore. He simply nodded. "I know."
"Ignoring my approach was a good way to get yourself killed, you know. I could have been anybody." The edge of a dagger nipped at Methos' ear, and still he didn't react. "I might have taken your head."
"I knew it was you," Methos said, a bit annoyed at the intrusion and the mock threat of the blade, but also amused, in spite of himself. The likelihood of any other Immortals being nearby was remote. Besides, he knew the sound and scent and feel of Kronos' approach as well as he knew the back of his own hand. They'd spent so many centuries together now, he doubted there was anyone he'd ever known so well.
Kronos clucked his tongue. "So you say. Now." Methos heard the other Immortal sigh loudly and then settle on the ground next to him, the dagger no longer touching his flesh.
Methos finally turned to face the other man. He was struck by how ordinary Kronos looked in the full light of day without the benefit of the symbolic war paint he usually wore, although the long scar which ran down one side of his face, both above and below his eye lent a fierce cast to his gaze, whether he wore the war paint or not. With his long black hair and tanned complexion, Kronos could, at first glance, easily be mistaken for a native of the region, as could Methos himself. Methos even sported the rather prominent nose and facial features of the local Egyptians. Unfortunately for Kronos, his regular features and blue eyes always branded him as a foreigner upon closer examination, so it was usually left to Methos to do any spying which required contact with the natives.
The very fact that they were in Egypt rankled. Methos had been against leaving their usual raiding grounds along the Palestinian and Mesopotamian trade routes, but Kronos was growing bored after centuries spent in the same area and had insisted they ride further afield. The Arabian desert had provided a diversion for awhile, but soon raiding the nomadic tribes of that area was too easy, so the Horsemen rode on through the Sinai and into Egypt.
"What do you want, Kronos?" Methos didn't hide his irritation. He didn't mind playing spy at Kronos' request, but he hated the feeling that he was being checked up on. He was hardly in need of direction like their other companions, Silas and Caspian, often were.
Kronos arched an eyebrow, the simple gesture eloquent of so many meanings. "Want? What do I want?" He gestured through the red and white flowers of the Acanthus they crouched behind, pointing down the hill to the greenery surrounding the Nile below them. The ribbon of sparkling water was surrounded by date and palm trees and a young Egyptian woman was walking toward the water, a tall jug balanced on her head, the sun reflecting off the large gold hoops she wore in each ear. She was graceful in movement, her long brown legs flashing out from under her white linen dress as she made her way down the hillside.
"The question is what do you want? You've been out here watching that woman for days now."
The Space Between Us by Olympia (Methos/Duncan): Duncan walks away from his friends and the Game following "Not to Be," but when Methos literally shows up on his doorstep, Duncan soon learns that it's not that easy to leave all those he loves behind.
He saw the car drive up to the end of the small path that led to the cabin and stop there. Someone got out and Duncan waited. He spotted the lean figure walking up the path to his cabin. As the person approached, he was able to decipher its gender.
A man carrying a duffel, from what he could see. The figure was very familiar. Damn.
"Is that for me?" The man spoke in a silky baritone, full of humor and a hint of curiosity.
The tone was just as he remembered it. Duncan smiled. Some things never changed. "Methos," he acknowledged quietly and lowered his katana. "What are you doing here?"
Methos took a step backwards and Duncan realized that he had sounded rather harsh. He bit his lower lip and waited for the other Immortal to speak.
"I'm sorry to have disturbed you," Methos said and made to turn away.
The other man's words came as a surprise to Duncan. He hadn't been disturbed, just puzzled. And he had to admit that he was a little annoyed. The last thing he needed were any of Methos' sarcastic comments. He didn't feel up to listening to them. Yet, he didn't want Methos to leave, either. It had been so long since he'd talked to anyone. If only Methos could keep quiet. "Wait, it's getting dark," he said. "Where will you stay?"
Methos stopped and turned in his direction. "I'll drive back to the town. Perhaps there's a room available somewhere."
"You sure you don't mind?"
Duncan wished there were more light so that he could see Methos' expression. The other man had sounded shy. It made him feel a little awkward. "Will you come inside? It's getting rather chilly out here." He made a gesture toward the door.
Methos hesitated for a second, then nodded and walked to the house.
Duncan watched the easy stride and thought that the Immortal wasn't walking, but sauntering. He stayed in place as Methos passed in front of him to get into the house. Methos turned and looked at him at that precise moment. Duncan was startled and for a moment he couldn't see anything but the bright, hazel eyes, twinkling in amusement.
"Thank you," Methos whispered, breathing the words into Duncan's face.
Duncan could smell fresh mint and a hint of beer on the older man's breath. Following an instinct, he inhaled deeply and saw Methos smile, a small, cat-like smile that was gone instantly, as he turned to step inside. What the hell had just happened?
Duncan followed his friend and closed the door behind him. Methos put down his duffel, removed his coat and took an estimating look around the room.
"Well?" Duncan asked with a grin. "Does it meet with your approval?"
"Of course. I didn't expect to see you here." Methos sauntered to the couch and sprawled on it with practiced ease and elegance.
"Beer?" Duncan asked.
"Always," Methos grinned.
Duncan smiled. "Unfortunately, I don't have any."
Methos rolled his eyes upward and stood up. "Is that your way of saying I'm not welcome?" He was very serious.
Duncan shook his head. "I don't drink alcohol anymore."
Methos sighed and fumbled in his pockets. "I can go now," he said. "Leave you alone. Is that what you want?"
Duncan observed Methos carefully. Despite his apparent ease, the other man was tense and ready to leave. He wondered if it was because of his own behavior. Did he act so reluctant or even annoyed to see the older Immortal again?
Upstairs, Downstairs by Amand-r (Methos/Duncan): Methos has moved into Duncan's loft and made a career out of annoying the Highlander. Well, two can play at that game!
PRESENT, IN THE DOJO:
I am worried. I will always worry, I suppose. When the plaster is falling from the ceiling in little flakes, how bad of a sign is that?
Stop baby, what's that sound, everybody look what's going down...
Adam is playing rock and roll again. It doesn't matter that I am downstairs, where I fled an hour ago when the world's oldest Immortal scurried into the loft with three packages and proceeded to unwrap them in a show of delight that excited even me.
Of course, that had ended with the dropping of the wrapping paper.
THREE HOURS AGO:
"And here, yes, the best of the BeeGees!" Methos' eyes lit up with amusement, and I blanched. Hell, I choked on my coffee.
"BeeGees?" I stuttered. Methos was smooth and purring.
"Of course. And here, a bottle Boone's Strawberry Hill..." I choked again. Funny thing that gag reflex. I never know when he's joking. He would have bought those things and shown them to me, just for a thrill. That means the last one is for real. I hope.
"Ta daaaah!" Methos sang, and waved the video cassette tape in front of my face.
"And that would be...?" I asked cautiously. It better be something good, like Braveheart, or Hamlet. The Branaugh version, not the Gibson. Methos grinned that smirk, and I knew I'd be fleeing to the dojo for a portion of this afternoon, and probably the evening as well.
I dropped the coffee cup. Coffee spilled all over my pants, my shoes, and the carpet. I even snorted what little I had out my nose. Methos laughed, bent over, and I wondered for a split second if it really was Oklahoma. I sneaked a peek at the cassette case as I was coughing and sniffing coffee to the back of my throat.
Oh lord, it was Oklahoma.
A Foreign Country by arachne (Methos/Duncan): Methos and Duncan are estranged following their double Quickening in Bordeaux, but both are still drawn together and Amanda decides to interfere...
They parted in a churchyard. Where better to lay the corpse of desire and the ghost of love lost? A few brief words then Methos returned to Paris and MacLeod to Seacouver. Alone.
SEACOUVER, March 1997
Late afternoon sun tilted through the window of the dojo, casting golden shadows on the only two people in the practice room. The shadows flickered, grew strong, faded and danced across the walls and floor, echoing the movements of their owners.
"Give...give...for Chrissake, Mac! Yield!"
A sharp edge of panic inflected Richie's voice as Duncan clashed swords with him. Or rather, Duncan's blade was clashing, while his student was reduced to making a series of rather desperate parries as he was forced inexorably backwards. MacLeod said nothing and Richie, concentration and effort fully engaged in keeping his head on his shoulders and his sneakered feet from slipping on the polished floor, had no breath to spare to speak again.
Finally, with Richie's back against the wall and his sword lying some two feet away, Duncan seemed to come to. He twisted his lips in a poor approximation of a smile, dipped his blade point down, and tried to turn away the lapse.
"Just so you know, Richie. It's not usually a good idea to make jokes with a man holding a sword."
"Thanks, Mac. I'll be sure and add that to my list of Important Things to Remember." Richie's return smile was forced at best. He wiped his hands down the back of his sweats, brushing away moisture that was more than the result of the exercise and bent to retrieve his fallen weapon. "Just excuse me for existing," he muttered as he grasped still-damp fingers around the warm metal of the hilt. The sword needed to be put away, but he lingered over the task, reluctant to release it again even though Duncan had already slid the katana back into its sheath and was walking off toward the showers.
Just an ordinary afternoon spar. At least Richie had thought so. Mac had been so serious lately that he'd been moved to make a joke. "For God's sake, lighten up, Mac, you look like death warmed up."
Bad move. A seriously bad move. For a while there, Richie was considering whether it might not prove to be his last move ever.
Whatever had happened in the bust-up between Mac and his ancient pain in the ass of an ex-lover, it had certainly given Duncan a sense of humor bypass. In fact, Richie admitted grudgingly, as much as the sarcastic old-timer wound him up, his absence in Duncan's life was proving more of a stumbling block then his presence had ever been. He'd tried once or twice to get Mac to open up on the subject to no avail. Joe too, had proved uncharacteristically tight-mouthed. Whatever caused the break-up, it must have been some fight. Richie had seen Duncan have plenty of disagreements with Tessa during the years he'd lived with them, but these had been of the fiery blow-up and spectacular make-up variety. The air of barely-masked desolation that Duncan had worn since his return from France was something unexpected. Unwillingly, Richie was thrown back to the months following Tessa's death, when he'd first discovered his own immortality. Duncan had been beside himself with grief then, railing at himself and fate for allowing the two of them to survive when all the laughter, talent and beauty that was Tessa was gone. Major shit, he concluded, and it had certainly hit the fan in a big way.
Round 3 to Methos by Jan B. (Methos/Duncan): Methos kills Kristin when Duncan can't bring himself to do it...but there are consequences that the two lovers must then deal with. Kristin isn't going to give up so easily!
A Midsummer Night's Muse by 'tilla and Hopper (Methos/Duncan; Methos/Kronos): An alternate universe romp in the days of knights and chivalry.
Out of Bounds by A. C. Langlinais (Methos/Duncan): Duncan reveals that he is feeling rather "possessed" by Kronos after Bordeaux and Methos eventually comes up with a rather unique solution to the Highlander's problem...
Unexpected by Alice Hill (Amanda/Joe): When Amanda suddenly shows up at Joe's bar, he wonders what she might want...and she's more than willing to show him!
Impiety by Red Wolf (Methos/OFC): Duncan is out of town but that doesn't stop two old friends from making themselves at home in his dojo!
"For it is Better..." By Alex Vinci (Methos/Duncan): A crossover with Star Trek finds Methos in the future, gone to ground on the planet of Vulcan. But Duncan is drawn to him there...
Full color cover by Karen River and cartoons by Leah Rosenthal. Poetry by Shomeret.
116 pages of reduced print, 97,158 words. Beautiful color cover of Methos and Kronos. US buyers may pay below. Please email for international rates.
Voyeur by Methosia (Duncan/ Methos/ Original Character): Michaelus has a long-standing interest in and friendship with both Duncan MacLeod and with Methos. In the wake of Methos' past with the Horsemen being revealed, MacLeod finds himself unable to deal with his developing desire for Methos. Michaelus endeavors to assist both of his friends in the only way he knows how...and to satisfy a few of his own desires along the way...
"It's about time, MacLeod," Michaelus spoke without bothering to turn around as the roar in his back brain began to build. "Nice to know, in this changing world, that after two hundred years you still don't know the meaning of the word punctual."
Above the noise of Joe's bar, Michaelus could barely tell that the answering voice carried an accent, but not MacLeod's rather odd mix of Scottish and the rest of the world. "Then it will be even more comforting to know, that after twenty-five hundred years, I am still likely to show up were I am least expected."
A stupid grin spread across Michaelus' face...the better to hide his leer. "Unexpected, perhaps, but never unwelcome." He motioned toward the chair next to him, and angled his own chair closer to it.
"Not if you're expecting MacLeod." Methos ran a hand through his short dark hair and sighed. "We're not on the best of terms right now."
"He's only ten minutes late...I figure you've got at least ten minutes before he gets here. And, unless you've lost some of your skill, you can lose yourself in a crowd much smaller than this one."
A carefully calculated smirk crossed Methos' features. Methos had always understood the effect he had on Michaelus. "I have not lost any of my skills." With a cautious look around, he casually swung one of those impossibly graceful long legs over the chair and smoothly dropped into the seat.
A Momentary Lapse of Reason by Quale (Methos/MacLeod): In the aftermath of Byron's death at MacLeod's hand, Methos and Duncan have a lot of unresolved issues. This story originally appeared in the out of print zine, "Walking Distance."
Methos was drunk. Not just a little tipsy. Completely, totally inebriated. In the back of his mind, in a place where he was always sober and always in control, he screamed at himself, calling himself a bloody fool.
It wasn't safe for him to get drunk. Not here. Not now. Not with MacLeod watching him from across the table with those dark, brooding eyes. His sword wasn't even within reach. He'd been alone with Joe Dawson in the club when the afternoon started, so he hadn't felt uncomfortable leaving his coat-and arsenal-hanging up in a back room. Somehow, he hadn't thought Mac would really show up at the club so soon after beheading one of Methos' old friends. But MacLeod had come to the club the previous night, fresh from his fight with Byron. And now he'd come there again, ostensibly to watch Joe play the blues. He sat across from Methos, sharing his bottle of liquor, and watching him.
The man was either incredibly insensitive or amazingly dense. It amazed Methos that even after the last few months-the horrible nightmare in Bordeaux with Kronos and the others and then the debacle with Stephen Keane-MacLeod seemed to have learned absolutely nothing regarding the folly of judging others. One day soon, he was afraid Mac was going to go down and go down hard.
Well, he'd tried to warn MacLeod. He'd tried to teach him a few survival values, but the lessons just never seemed to penetrate that stubborn Scottish head...or maybe the truth was simply that Mac didn't want to learn.
Inside, Methos let himself be frightened, just a little. A few short weeks ago, he would have considered MacLeod's solid presence the ultimate security. He'd counted on MacLeod keeping him safe, in fact. The Highlander was a veritable magnet for other immortals, it was true, but he was also very adept at killing them if they promised to be any sort of a threat to himself or his friends. Methos rather liked the sense of safety being MacLeod's friend gave him.
That was before everything changed. Before Kronos found him. Before he killed Silas. Before he'd realized exactly how much MacLeod's protection would end up costing him. What was the body count up to now? Kronos, Silas, Caspian. Now Byron. The last in a long line...or just the next in line, with more to follow? He didn't have so many friends that he could afford to spare anymore. And now, he wondered.
He wondered exactly how long it would be before MacLeod judged him a menace to society and decided to challenge him. What would happen then? Methos knew MacLeod was a fine swordsman, but he was good enough in his own right and he didn't always fight exactly within the rules. He fought to win. Nothing was going to change that. If it ever truly came to blows between them, only one of them would walk away. He hated the thought of killing MacLeod.
He shook his head and drank another shot of scotch. He'd long ago lost track of how many he'd already downed. MacLeod had been giving him worried little looks for at least an hour or two, but he'd ignored them. At least the other man had had the decency to keep his mouth shut about it. Methos didn't know if he could restrain himself from smacking the Scot if he tried to preach temperance at this particular moment.
He was desperately afraid he was about to become maudlin and he hated it. He hated people who felt sorry for themselves because it accomplished exactly nothing. Zero. Zilch.
The Apocalypse by Lady Rowena (Methos/Kronos): A story about how Methos finally leaves the Horseman, told entirely from Kronos' point of view!
Silas' great booming laughter awoke Kronos with a jerk. "Methos?" he queried, but he could already sense that his brother was not there. But he had not been gone long; their wild night of sex had coated his body in fluids, and some were still wet. He yelled for a slave, and waited patiently while she scrubbed him clean. When she was done, he kissed her and swatted her ass before he left his tent.
Silas and two of the slaves were sitting around the fire, and it looked as if Silas was telling a story. At Kronos' laughter, Silas looked up.
"Brother! Join me. You tell this story better than me."
"Not just now, Silas. I have some things to attend to." Kronos smiled at the largest of the Horsemen. "And of us all, you tell the story best."
"Thank you, Brother," Silas replied softly, his eyes wide. It was nice that Silas could still be surprised, even after a thousand years together.
"Do not leave out the part about me taking on six soldiers at once," Kronos reminded Silas with a smile, then bid his leave. He wandered around camp, just checking that things were as they were supposed to be.
He paused at the stables and coaxed his horse to him. His thoughts drifted back to the day before. As Methos had predicted, the caravan had indeed been carrying something of worth: a strongbox of jewels. They had little use for them, though they would bring good trade at the cities. He frowned as he rubbed his mare's nose. He didn't like trading. What he wanted, he took. But Methos had convinced him that when certain things were scarce, it was best to travel to the cities and make trade. It had worked so far. And, he admitted to no one but himself, he enjoyed going to the cities. Lots of noise, entertainment, wine and song. Some were the same things he could get in camp, only offered for a price. Rarely had it been worth the price... but sometimes a willing partner was better than forced. Sometimes. Most of the time, he relished the struggle. After all, he had been a warrior for over twenty-five hundred years. Old habits die hard.
And of his twenty-five hundred years, the Horsemen had been his life for over one thousand. A swell of pride filled his chest as he remembered the destruction and devastation they had wreaked across the world. He knew no other life, could remember no other. They were his brothers in every sense of the word. They knew each other's thoughts; they knew each other's habits. They fought with each other, and at each other's sides. They were closer than any tribe; closer than any mortal family. They were closer than blood.
Alone and Palely Loitering by Riley Cannon (MacLeod/Methos): Methos and Duncan try to repair their friendship after "Comes a Horseman" and Duncan learns about how Methos previously knew Darius.
There was no such thing as perfectly safe, Methos knew, but at the same time he supposed this came as near as anything might. After another moment's hesitation, he nodded, and followed as Darius led him to a chamber that, if it was sparsely furnished, was at least free of drafts, a fire burning in the fireplace, a pot of water heating there.
"Please," Darius gestured him to a chair, busying himself with the making of the tea. Have you journeyed far?"
Recently or cumulatively?" Methos eyed the stacks of books covetously, his fingers itching to examine them.
"Either. Both." Darius brought him a steaming cup.
"Far enough to appreciate this," Methos said, choosing to evade the issue of his age. Accepting the cup, he held it between his palms, letting the heat seep into him, easing the cold stiffness in his fingers. Tasting the tea, he found it slightly bitter, but not so much he couldn't appreciate the way it spread warmth through him, letting him relax a little. Eyes narrowed with suspicion, he said, "Is this poisoned?"
Darius grinned at that. "Certainly not! It calms the nerves, nothing more."
"And you're out of the game." It was less a question, more a musing.
"For a very long time now."
Methos hoped the priest wasn't duping him, but trust was such a fragile commodity, in any time....
"Sometimes I think he's still here," Duncan was saying. "That I can sense him. Do you think that's possible?"
Methos looked at him and shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe because he died on holy ground...? I don't know. Anything's possible." He knew what Duncan meant, though-could feel it himself.
A tiny smile touched MacLeod's mouth; Methos wished it could linger. "I guess we're proof of that."
"I guess." Methos sighed, his breath misting in the chilly air.
Judas Kiss by Cori Lannam (Kronos/Methos): Methos remembers how he left the Horsemen and considers the nature of betrayal during the time leading up to a final showdown between himself and Cassandra...
"I'm getting predictable again, aren't I?"
Joe Dawson smiled and sat down on the bench beside him. "I wouldn't say that. Usually you're impossible to find."
Methos avoided his eyes, looking around the park he had chosen as refuge and meditation retreat. The small copse of trees was as private and secure as any nature spot in the middle of Paris could be. The other benches surrounding the modest stone fountain in the middle were invariably unoccupied, giving him the peace he needed to sort through his thoughts. "Sometimes it's good to be alone."
"Yeah, I can take a hint." Joe rested his hands on his cane, following Methos' gaze around the area. "This is a nice place you've got here. Good place to think."
"Normally it is," Methos told him, allowing a hint of irritation to creep into his voice. As much as he enjoyed Joe's company, he was not in a social mood at the moment. He had not been for quite some time, in fact. "Did you come here just to check out the view, or was there a point to this little visit?"
His friend turned to him with a solemn face and Methos' heart sank. What now? Who else did he know that could die? Something in his expression must have revealed his sudden dismay, and Joe hastened to reassure him. "Don't panic, nothing's happened. I just came to warn you. Cassandra's back in town. And her Watcher says it looks like she's hunting."
"For me," Methos stated bluntly.
Joe shrugged. "You certainly seem like the most likely target. From what little Mac told me, it didn't sound like she was too happy with either one of you when she took off the last time." Methos kept his eyes on the fountain, and after a moment of uncomfortable silence, Joe stood up. "Well, I just thought you should have fair warning. If you see Mac...."
Methos reopened the French history book he had been reading and turned his gaze downward. "I'm sure you'll see him before I will."
He thought his tone was suitably dismissive, but Joe chose to ignore it and plowed on. "Methos, I really think...."
Snapping his book shut again, Methos cut him off before he could finish the thought. "Joe, there's nothing you can do about this. There are some fences that can't be mended, and it's not your job to play carpenter."
"If you would just talk to him!" Joe burst out.
Methos cut him off again. "I have talked to him, Joe. He's not ready to listen. There are things about me that Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod just can't deal with, and I'm not going to risk getting my head cut off by shoving that fact in his face once too often."
"It's just that he doesn't understand...." Joe's voice trailed off hesitantly and Methos jumped into the pause.
"Doesn't understand what? That I killed as many people, destroyed as much of the world as I could, for thousands of years? How I could do it? How I could let it happen? What?"
"He doesn't understand how you could go back to Kronos again," Joe said quietly, avoiding his friend's eyes, stunning Methos into silence for a moment.
"I should have known that would be the thing he couldn't handle," he murmured at last, his voice little more than a sigh. "Why I went back to Kronos.... It was simple, really. It was why I always went back to Kronos."
Survivors by K. Ann Yost (Methos/Avon): A crossover story (with Blakes 7) set in the future. Methos and Avon are thrown together while trying to escape from the Federation.
Swords at Sunset by Attilla the HunEE (Duncan/Methos...sort of). A late entry into the "Swords at Sunset" contest hosted by Eng and Maygra on their website. It's a Highlander romance, a la Harlequin! Definitely an Alternate Universe for our heroes, set during the mid-seventeenth century.
Visions of Methos: A Sweet Winter's Tale by Elizabeth (Dragonfly) Kowols (Methos/Cassandra): Cassandra finally has her "revenge" on Methos after taking a little advice from Amanda!
And more! As you can see, we have a heavy Methos slant and all but one story is slash.
Full color cover by C. P. Foster and cartoons by Leah Rosenthal.
For any questions regarding Leah Rosenthal's artwork, please e-mail her at email@example.com. Leah takes commissions and also will make hand colored prints of her artwork.
Also now available:
Then the Night Comes by Ann Wortham & Leah Rosenthal. A new Highlander novel offering an alternative resolution to the fifth season cliffhanger Archangel and the aired sixth season episodes. Richie Ryan is dead at the hands of his best friend and mentor, Duncan MacLeod. Horrified at what he has done and believing he is pursued by an ancient demon known as Ahriman, MacLeod flees Paris to seek help from old friends in Cornwall. Joe Dawson, Cassandra, and Methos soon follow and the pursuit of who-or what-Ahriman truly is soon involves many of MacLeod's friends in a desperate race from Cornwall to Scotland to Wales. Along the way, Methos must confront more specters from his past, MacLeod learns a few lessons, Joe has a new friendship which is deepening, and Cassandra must learn to deal with a Methos who is, in many ways, different from the man she once knew. Flashbacks take our heroes from ancient Egypt to ancient Babylonia and to Barcelona, Spain along the way. Then the Night Comes is rated PG with no overt sex, either straight or slash.
The Lightning's Hand by Ann Wortham & Leah Rosenthal: A sequel to Then the Night Comes. Ahriman, a.k.a. Kummaya, has been defeated, our heroes have returned home for a well-deserved rest, and the ancient Sword of Nuada has been retrieved. All is well in Duncan MacLeod's world. Even his friends, some of them deadly enemies of each other, have managed to come to a truce of sorts. Several months have passed in relative normalcy. Of course, nothing in MacLeod's world ever stays normal for long! Whilst being moved from David Shaws' estate to the British Museum, the deadly sword is stolen...and it is feared that it has fallen back into the hands of an Immortal. MacLeod fears that Amanda has succumbed to a desire to own the object, while Cassandra suspects Methos...and, of course, Methos suspects Cassandra, who considered the sword a sacred relic. Suspects abound and the chase is on to find the culprit!
Touched by Magic by Ann Wortham & Leah Rosenthal: A sequel to The Lightning's Hand. The aftermath of MacLeod's battle with Ahriman and the subsequent problems with the fabled Sword of Nuada, along with a little prodding from Amanda, have convinced Duncan MacLeod that what he and his clan of friends really need is a good, long vacation-preferably someplace warm and exotic and fun, far away from ancient enemies, curses, Immortal challenges, and the like. His first mistake was in assuming that anything in his life could ever be so simple. His second mistake was deciding to take his friends along with him... Join MacLeod and the rest of the "clan" for a little humor, a little angst, and a whole lot of adventure in the magical town of Las Vegas, Nevada!
Reflections by Lynn Montgomery, a novel focusing on Methos and his days with the Horsemen. Joe and Duncan play major roles in the present-day segments. Rated adult for slash between Methos/Kronos and Methos/original character.
So Speaks the Hero #1, a Highlander genzine, is now available. Our first issue has a wonderful selection of stories and poetry. Tons of Methos fictions, Duncan, Amanda, Joe, Richie, Kronos...they're all here! Color cover by Leah Rosenthal; color back cover by Karen River. Illustrations by Dani Lane, Smap, Jorgensen and Rosenthal. Check out the link for more details and ordering information. Submissions are now open for the next issue.
Coming someday (when I get around to finally finishing it!): Cry Wolf, a sequel to Touched by Magic! Click here to read an excerpt!
If you are interested in submitting to any of our upcoming publications, please click here to view our submission guidelines.
We accept money orders, cash (at senderís risk!) or credit cards and echecks (via Paypal) in payment. For further ordering and pricing information regarding any Ashton Press fanzine, please contact Ann Wortham at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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