Notes: My attempt at something short. Probably the shortest thing I’ve ever written.

A line of Methos’ in Shattered inspired this and I love writing Methos and LaCroix together (it’s a snark fest!), so there you go!

Road to Marseille
by Ithildin
c. 2006


1345, France, somewhere in the Côtes du Rhône

"Stop your incessant whining, Lucien! We will be in Marseille soon enough."

"We would be there now if not for your ridiculous pursuit of that wench in Avignon," LaCroix snarled.

Methos smiled serenely. "Perhaps you would have thought it less ridiculous if such a comely young thing preferred you to me." His tone indicated that such a thing was plainly not possible.

The vampire tugged at the sleeve of his black velvet cotehardie in irritation. "You are quite the most insufferably smug creature, Methos."

"Now, now. Envy is a sin you know." He glanced over at his traveling companion with a smirk. "You always were such an impatient youngster."

LaCroix controlled himself with visible effort. Methos had known him since he was twelve years old, and the ancient Immortal had never let him forget that irritating fact. "It is not impatience, as well you know. Nicholas is young, and I have been from his side long enough."

"Nonsense! Nicholas and Janette are happily ensconced in their love nest, and I am quite sure they neither require nor desire your presence." Methos brushed aside his 'nephew's' explanation. "We shall be here but one night and a day and will be on our way at sunset tomorrow. I’m told that the Countess du Montagne is a woman of many 'appetites' and no doubt even you shall find enough to keep you distracted for the short time we will be here."

"You had best hope so, Methos," he replied with ill temper as they entered the drawing room.

"Hush, Lucien," he remonstrated as a servant greeted them, leading them to where his mistress held court.

She turned at their approach, her eyes instantly lighting on LaCroix. "My lords, the Countess du Montagne," the servant intoned.

They exchanged greetings, Methos noting that LaCroix's lips lingered overlong as he kissed the Countess's hand. It was more than obvious that they were quite taken with one another. Indeed, the Countess had an almost predatory gleam in her eye that was matched only by her guest’s own expression.

"I hope we shall have the pleasure of your company for some days," she said, her voice soft and musical.

"I regret that is not to be, Countess," Methos answered. "We must make haste for Marseille."

The Countess's expression of regret swiftly turned to one of delight at LaCroix's next words. "What lunacy! There is no pressing need for us to reach Marseille."

“Are you quite sure, Lucien?” Methos asked trenchantly. “Did you not just tell me you had urgent business to attend to?”

Glancing at the other man, he said, “You are mistaken,” before turning his attention once more to the lovely Countess du Montagne. Methos merely rolled his eyes, stepping away from the couple. LaCroix held the Countess's gaze, practically purring, "It will be my very great pleasure to tarry here for as long as you desire."

“Indeed, my lord? I am sure we will both find our time together… rewarding.” She gave him a knowing look.

Leaning in, he whispered, “Time will be something we have in abundance, this I promise you.”

End




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