SEACOUVER, DECEMBER 21ST, 2002

Awaiting Amanda to begin their vacation together, Duncan saw Methos, loft-sitting in hopes of a week away from merriment he had some choice words about. The Oldest was painting, and doing a pretty good job, so far as the Highlander could tell. Macleod's protege' Walter was away with the Pierces and Hunnicuts in Maine, so Methos would have all the time he wanted for his artistic endeavor.

"Is that light the Star Of Bethlehem?"

Methos didn't look up. He no longer painted very often, and looking away could easily break his rhythm.

"Yes. It was not as intense, as localized, nor as long-lasting as some say. But it did occur."

Since one of the Oldest's known lives had been spent taking on the identity of the fallen Joseph Of Nazareth, Macleod didn't question that.

"Strange to see you painting such a thing. Are those three riders who I think they are?"

"Depends on who you think they are, Macleod."

Duncan shrugged.

"The Three Wise Men?"

Methos smiled, and briefly did look away.

"Nope. These three came from the opposite direction, in more ways than one."

Duncan looked it over more carefully. The riders were not atop camels.

"Its them, isn't it? When they came searching for you."

Methos picked up a very fine brush, yet still resisted adding the scar to the eye of the lead rider, at least just yet.

"I have often wondered what their lives were like, at that point. I had my adoptive father, and then after him Miryam and Yeshua. But what did they have, except their quest for me? Did they know that the light they saw was to signal their own apocalypse?"

Macleod grabbed his overcoat, to be ready for Amanda when she arrived.

"That's a tough one. You could never have told me that my father and my village were about to banish me. Or about Tessa, Richie--you name it. I know Kronos wasn't stupid by any standard, Methos. But I would also hesitate to call him for being too self-aware, especially then. Caspian? He was more animal than man, as far as I'm concerned."

Methos nodded.

"Yes. But I think Silas might have seen it for what it was. Thick, to be sure. But once he had a basic concept in there, he had a lock on it. Yet he would have had no idea how to express this concept without badly upsetting Kronos. That was not in him."

In a few quick brush-strokes, Silas was given an upraised arm, indicating he knew something of the light they saw. Kronos was still shown as unyielding. Caspian's face was made to crease a bit, as though the sight were painful to him. Macleod nodded.

"Looks like you've got it."

Outside, a horn beeped, and Duncan made a hasty retreat out the door. Alone, Methos looked at pencil sketches of his next subject. His former brothers were conducting Herod's slaughter. That would be tougher, and Methos vowed to use few reds in this, wanting the horror to be evocative rather than explicit. His trilogy would end with their dispersal as the wicked little king again betrayed the Horsemen, ending their ride forever.

For then and there, though, he further cleaned up the first painting, looking for the little touches that would leave the identity of the riders unmistakable, even to those who knew them not at all. The last detail was tiny silhouettes on a distant dune, representing the three Macleod had first thought of.

"Three apiece. Good symmetry."

For a moment, he stared a little sadly at the three dark riders, seeing it the way that some saw pre-murder footage of President Kennedy rounding the corner in Dealey Plaza. Putting it aside to dry entirely, the Oldest went to snack on some egg nog and cookies. He raised a glass.

"To you three. Worlds fall, but memory endures."