Comforting

When he thought about it, Methos found it a comfort.

No matter how many times you died, there was always that lingering fear that next time it would be permanent, that there was some magic number of temporary deaths to be reached and then, poof! You were dead for good. So really, it was a comfort for him to know that there was somebody around who was so much older than he was, that had died so many more deaths than he had.

It was the same role he played for the younger Immortals: somebody who was always older than them, older than they could hope to survive even with the best of luck. Old enough to make them feel young, even when the mortals around them had the lifespans of mayflies.