Work Text:
It was time.
Methos finished the letter, leaving it on the raw wooden bench in the middle of the kitchen. Through the window he could see his student - his first student in many years - standing outside in the dying afternoon light.
It was early Autumn, and the nights were growing colder and darker and change was slowly creeping into the air. They were miles from civilisation, and Methos liked it that way. He suspected that Sarah shared his feelings.
When he'd found her, she'd been living outside a lonely town, stealing food from the homes to eat and sheltering amongst the trees. She was and adept thief and a dirty fighter, and he had been alive long enough to suspect the cause for such skills in a woman in this day and age.
But she'd had no idea who or what she was, or the danger she would be in if another immortal found her.
And despite not being known for his sympathies towards others of his kind, he couldn't not help her.
She'd been a match for him in many ways, not well-educated but eager to learn and possessed of a quick wit. And, despite being malnourished she had an inner strength that belied her small size. She'd taken to training with a keen eagerness that had surprised Methos and her precision with a sword was beginning to rival his own.
Thus leading to the conclusion he found himself staring down.
He had taught her all he knew.
She moved with grace, following through on her sword strokes. She always trained in the afternoon, at the same time, for the same length of time. She wouldn't retire to the cottage they'd made their home for another hour at least.
By then he would be gone.
Still, he took his time before departing. He'd done much that he regretted in his life, things he could never begin to repent for, but he felt a measure of satisfaction in what he'd achieved here.
If he'd done his job correctly, Sarah would be one less victim in this strange Game they found themselves embroiled in.
Saving one life was one less burden on his soul.
By sunset, all that was left of Methos was a note.