"Spoken like a true hero," Methos said softly, without the scorn he usually felt for those who'd be called heros, or the mocking amusement he had for MacLeod. "It won't be you who pays the price, if it comes to your life or that of the universe. It's never the ones who die who really pay the price of a battle or a war. It's the ones who live."
And he had a good deal of experience in living to pay the price. In regrets and sorrow and emotional scars that took decades to fade into the background of the rest.
He watched Romana for a moment more, unaware that he was showing more of his age than would make sense for the age he appeared. "Would you like to get a beer? Or some tea, maybe?"