When the setting sun illuminates only a weary soul in these wanderings, I am thinking of you. When all is dark around me, I remember what you have taught me.

And I am comforted. It is not as though you dwell in some far-off land, it is not as though you were taken by another, only to be found when the Game is over. You are mine.

Mine in death as you were in life, and you died with the same beauty that you lived with, the same small smile on your face you would give me as we lay together at night all those years ago.

Immortals speak the same language, no matter where they hail from orginally -- there is an undercurrent of sadness, loss, and the sweet weight of the ever-heavier years in our voices. But you always spoke to my heart, direct to a man confused when you first found me, direct again to a man heart-broken when I found that I must lose you.

Visions of blood warned me of your danger. In my dreams I thought it was myself bleeding, my own hands running with red. My meditations were disturbed by the sharp snick of a blade snapping through veins and the sudden spurt of life fading, last gasp.

Thank goodness, it wasn't you, and I was in time.

And I know your heart never meant evil. Oh, we have our reasons, and quoting Methos, the times were different when you killed Jacob Kell. But I have your memories, and the only thing in your heart that night was sorrow. Grief. A grief-crazed man is dangerous; Jacob should have known.

The only thing more terrifying is a man bent on hate. And that was what he was. For I also have *his* memories. A legacy of fear and terror -- it chills me to the core. And if I had known what he was responsible for in my own life, the man would have been slowly tortured before I cut his head off.

Tessa didn't deserve the death that the hirelings of Kell, at the request of my former wife, gave her. And had I known Faith's soul, bent on her own hate and revenge, I would have killed her myself, chivalry or no.

Those I love, I love with a fierce devotion. And I loved Tessa, with all I am. But did I ever truly love Kate? Perhaps. Yes. But that faded with time, and left me with chilly memories. Could she ever feel again? Was the last thing she really felt -- could it have been only a sword striking through her body?

She was twisted. Kell was perverted. Connor, however, was beloved.

And still with me, in your own way -- your hands and eyes are what I see when I look into the mirror. I remember your embraces, in that long winter we spent together in Sweden, waiting for the light to spread over the landscape fully so that we could go back to England. Hiding in our tiny cabin, cuddling together for warmth and pleasure -- those were some of the most wonderful days of my existence.

I smile as I remember your hands on my skin, your lips against mine. All that was Connor MacLeod can be summed up in your smile, I think. Your strength, your patience, and your wisdom belong to me now, and I vow to honor you in my thoughts and in my memories.

END