Culloden
He'd fought hard and, in the end, fell himself; though he managed to take one last Redcoat with him. They lay sprawled together, thick dark blood soaking the field. Jamie could no longer tell whose blood was whose and the lighter he got, the less cared.
Instead, there was something else, something that seemed important. It played at the edge of his memory like a flash of silver, or the sound of a flute just beyond his hearing, but he was tired and it seemed so far away. For now he'd just rest; it would come to him, in time.