Write a song, short story or scene that involves a scent that brings back a distant memory to an Immortal character from HL. More than one scent or character can be involved. A flashback is fine, if you prefer.

Adam’s Peak

MacLeod’s eyes swept the room casually, noting a tile floor, little wrought iron tables, comfortable armchairs and sofas and finally the pleasantly crackling fireplace. Cargo and James had all the marks of a modern trendy coffee shop—except the coffee. The shelves behind the counter were completely filled with jar after jar of loose tea. Depending on who was asked, Cargo and James had anywhere between seventy-five and a hundred different teas, and not a filter bag in sight.

Fitzcairn would have loved this place Duncan thought to himself, hiding a smile behind the rim of his cup. He savoured the taste of a variety Deb had simply insisted he try; in spite of the name (Samurai… the woman was incurable) it was an excellent brew. Thinking of Deb, he sighed into his cup, provoking a wisp of steam. MacLeod hadn’t heard a word from the author since she left for a vacation down in New Orleans. She’s not a child.  If Debra couldn’t take care of herself by now there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Forcing worry from his mind, he hitched his chair closer to the fire and leaned back to enjoy his tea. Such was the relaxed mood of the place that he sat with his back to the door.

Duncan was jolted out of his reverie by the sudden presence of another Immortal nearby. Scalding hot tea splashed from a hastily dropped cup; the armchair was fortunately too heavy to overturn as he leapt to his feet. An amused voice spoke almost at his ear, "Relax Mac; you wouldn’t want to make a scene." MacLeod knew that voice; he turned around slowly, confirming his suspicions. "Sheila? How—"

The redheaded Immortal laughed gently, taking a seat on the other side of the fire. "Q stealthing," she answered quietly. "I’m sure you’ve always suspected it. Matthew says that once you learn a skill, it’s good to practice it."

"Matthew?" It was beginning to seem as if everything was to be a question today.

Sheila shrugged, slouching into the chair in a manner that clearly announced to whom they were referring. "Well, I can’t exactly call him ‘Methos’ in public, and learning mortal combat from ‘Adam’ is just too weird; so we compromised."

It was Duncan’s turn to laugh. "And how has, um, Matthew, been treating you?"

"Working me to the bone, sometimes literally. He’s on his way here. I told him, after everything he’s put me through lately, I deserve a Cargo and James moment." She paused for a moment, frowning as she searched for a familiar face. "Speaking of the C&J Experience, where is Debra? I was sure she’d retreat here after losing half a novel just before deadline."

MacLeod shook his head once, a smile softening the firmness of the gesture. "That particular crisis went far beyond curable-by-tea proportions. The Northlander has gone south." He cringed slightly as he added, "With Amanda." Any further discussion was curtailed by the interruption of yet another Immortal presence. A man with dark hair and a taste for heavy-knit sweaters slipped in so casually that even the servers didn’t look up. Sheila noticed him though, and the way she quickly crossed the room to greet him suggested a relationship that had gone beyond mentor and student. You sly old devil Duncan thought to himself, belatedly attempting to dab a wet tea stain off a silk shirt.

Methos was at that awkward middle stage and he hated being awkward at anything; no longer a complete C&J novice, he wasn’t completely comfortable with the whole concept either. This much tea in one place reminded him of rich caravans crossing the desert. Half the time, he wasn’t sure if he should buy something or just pillage the place. Idly, because it was expected here, he picked up one of the small tester jars and sniffed the contents. Finding nothing to pique his interest, he put that one down and picked up another. Always attracted to the best, he gravitated toward the rare section. He hesitated at a jar containing pale leaves, dusted with a silvery fur almost like peach fuzz. His fingers closed over the jar; without even a glance at the label, he held it close and inhaled deeply—

Blessed solitude, a landscape that was harsh but beautiful. The constant half-floating sensation that comes from living over seven thousand feet above sea level. Air so clear and pure that the wind could pick up a delicate scent miles away and make it seem as if you stood in the middle of its source. The subtle scent of the lightly furred plants as they sprouted their first leaves announced the coming of another spring. There was a time when he had survived for years, sometimes decades, on nothing but a tea brewed from those white tips.

A hand touched his shoulder gently; "Is everything okay? For a moment you looked like you were a million miles away… or a thousand years." He shook himself back to reality, mentally cursing his lapse in vigilance. He gave his student his most reassuring smile, "No trouble, just…remembering." He caught the attention of one of the servers. "I’ll have a large—" he finally looked down at the label, an ironic smile curling his lip—"Adam’s Peak." Openly curious, Sheila took an amazingly short time to choose her blend, student and mentor returned to the table, waiting for the tea to steep.

"Adam’s Peak," Sheila remarked with a suspicious frown. "Is there something you neglected to mention, oh Mentor mine?"

"A mountain, in Sri Lanka. And before you ask, no, it certainly wasn’t named after me. Although in a strange way, it may have influenced how I named myself." Duncan and Sheila shared a sidelong glance, neither one of them had ever seen him quite so philosophical nor were they quite sure what to do about it. "It’s one of the few places on Earth that is considered a Holy Site to no less than four major religions. There’s a mark near the peak—Sri Pada they call it, the Holy Footprint. The Hindus say it was a step from Shiva’s dance of creation; Islam maintains it’s Adam’s own footprint, from standing a thousand years of penance on one foot after losing Eden. Buddhists say the Buddha himself left his true mark beneath the obvious one, on a giant sapphire. Even the Christians got in on the act, claiming it was a print left by St. Thomas when he first ‘converted’ the local people." A bit of the old self-mocking humour returned as he added a flippant "I’m sure you can guess which belief I favoured."

MacLeod chuckled softly; "I always pictured you as being a closet Shiva supporter. Creation through destruction is just your style." With a sly look in her eye, Sheila asked, mock casually, "So, what really *did* leave that mark on the mountain?"

Methos paused noticeably, hiding his obvious discomfort behind a front of righteous indignation. "Now look here, Young Lady, show a little respect for your elders. I may have been around for a while, but that doesn’t mean I’m older than a bloody mountain." Any further commentary was delayed by the delivery of their drinks: two cups and two gently steaming teapots.

Everyone stopped to pour, with Duncan refilling his cup just to be sociable. Methos had his nose practically in the cup even as he poured, taking in great deep breaths of aromatic steam. Looking at him, Sheila couldn’t help but laugh. "Are you going to drink that, or just inhale it?" MacLeod winked slyly at her across the table, "Well, he does have the nose for it." The Old Man didn’t seem to notice the needling; it was as if he were in another world. Could it really be that there had been *some* pleasant memories in his long history? No, there was more to it than that. Duncan had seen the look in his eyes, swiftly masked; it was an expression rarely seen, but unmistakable… guilt.

While MacLeod was still frowning his suspicions into his cup, Sheila took the direct approach, as blunt as ever. "Debra may not be here today, but even I can smell a story in this one. You’ve got a pleasant fire, a warm soothing drink and two sets of sympathetic ears. I wouldn’t kill you to share *some* part of your life with the people close to you."

Methos stayed silent for the time it took to drink his first cup of Adam’s Peak. He poured his second cup, staring into the steam as if seeking visions. He started his tale in an unusually subdued voice; the others leaned forward instinctively. "I was in a bad way when I first got to Sri Lanka. I had just left the Horsemen, but in rejecting my past, I rejected the only identity I had ever known. An irresistible need for solitude drove me onward; I needed somewhere where I could think. If you’ll forgive the phrase, I went off to find myself." It was sheer luck that avoided twin spit-takes at that one. Methos paused for another sip and continued.

"Landing on this small island off the coast of India, I felt as if I were the ultimate outsider and I was sure that I was the first human being to touch the top of that mountain. I was half right. The mountain was… I can’t explain it. It had its own kind of savage beauty, a peaceful solitude. This was a place that I wanted; no, needed for my own. But I wasn’t alone."

"You spent a thousand years or so travelling with three other Immortals and you couldn’t share a mountain with one Immie you had never even met?"

"Don’t interrupt woman; you weren’t there, you can’t understand. I wanted this place and, despite my desire to change, the only way I knew to get something I wanted was to take it." He closed his eyes, bowing his head; it took a visible effort for him to continue. "I found a flimsy excuse for a fight; he wasn’t much of a challenge…"

It was Duncan’s turn to speak up, barely managing to keep from being overheard. "You took a head on a site that was Holy to four different religions!?!"

Methos held up his hands, speaking quickly as he tried to explain. "I said it’s a Holy Site now. At that time, none of those cultures had even heard of the place. How was I to know that the Veddas already thought it was the home of one of their guardian spirits? I waited for the power to come, but I could never be ready for what hit me. The body burned to ashes right before my eyes. The stone itself vaporized, as if the mountain wanted to erase all evidence of the death. There was nothing left but a man-sized impression in solid rock—"

Sheila’s voice was an awed whisper; "Sri Pada, the Holy Footprint."

"—Exactly. That’s what the mountain did to the body of my rival; *I* was blasted from the peak like a dog shaking off fleas. I was barely alive, even as our type counts it. The local people seeing the lightshow, must have thought there was a war in heaven. Then they found me, a fallen angel. They took me in, sheltered me. My care became a sacred trust, passed down from generation to generation. There is a period of time where all I remember is gentle hands, and tea. It took centuries, but I recovered. After my miraculous revival I could have gone; I should have disappeared--I didn't. These people respected me, but they didn’t worship me. And I still felt that amazing sense of calm and serenity. I had found myself, but I had found something else I hadn’t even known I was looking for… a home. It didn’t last long. Rumours of the Mark flourished, spread by bored sailors, and soon the pilgrims started coming. When they built a shrine around the spot, I knew my solitude was lost forever. I had forgotten the place. Until now."

A story like that could only elicit dead silence. Not an accusatory silence, nor a pitiful one. This was a shared silence, a silence to honour a very personal revelation. Methos leaned back in his chair, cup in hand, sprawling casually. "Maybe I could go back there." Sheila and Duncan exchanged glances, wondering if he was serious. "I could harvest tea for a few decades, kind of an extended holiday." The same mental image wandered through their minds. Laughter burst from three throats as one. "Come on Methos, I’ll buy you a real drink."


I may be a Dunkie Junkie, but Highlander isn't my only obsession. After walking into a shop that wasn't even officially open for business yet, I became an instant Tea fanatic; I practically "adopted" Cargo and James as my second home. I recruited my friends; soon there was a whole gang of us. I even invented a name for it; Teaks--tea geeks. One day, in search of something new and different, I was introduced to a tea so rare that it only grew on a single mountain "Adam's Peak". The tea itself is extremely subtle, almost invisible to all senses, but the idea of a Holy Mountain intrigued me. I asked the store-owner for more information about the tea itself, then went online to research the history of the mountain. This was the result.
 
 
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