A/N: This fic is for Ro’s 1,000 Word Challenge: Thinking Outside the Box, posted in The Fireplace.

Background for those unfamiliar with the fandom: Methos is the oldest living Immortal in the world. For a thousand years he and three other Immortals raided and pillaged across Europe, North Africa and the Middle East. Because they returned to the same regions generation after generation and were witnessed to come back from the dead, their existence took on mythic proportions. They are referred to in ancient texts and the Bible as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. 3,000 years later, Methos is an unspectacular, inconspicuous graduate student. Other immortals think he’s a newbie and not worth their time, but he still has a bit of the old killer instinct in him.

This poem is my idea of what Methos would think when watching Lord of the Rings: Return of the King, specifically, the scene where the Witch King threatens Gandalf.

Death, Unseen

“Do you not know Death when you see it, old man?”

--

Death on a winged beast,

sword drawn,

swathed in Reaper’s robes.

--

I laugh.

The creature on the screen is not Death.

--

I’ve seen Death

in the mirror.

My reflection

for a thousand years.

--

He is still there,

beneath the surface,

hidden

behind gray eyes,

a handsome face,

a charming smile.

--

If you saw Death,

you’d offer him a chair –

or a beer.

--

You would not run and hide.

You would not cower in fear.

--

You’d take a seat,

laugh with him,

lay down your guard.

--

And when Death grew tired –

or bored -

he would cut out your heart.

--

And you would never see death coming.