Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur. The idea of this story is based upon the concept of Lady Hawke... I own neither movie, and do not intend to hold claim to either.

Author's Note: If you are not interested in supernatural-ly(XD) stuff, I do not suggest this fanfiction. I wouldn't exactly say this is a TristanOC.. Its more of A TristyOCLancy..

Chapter Rating:

Love of a Hawk

Prologue- Year 5, They meet.

The only creatures capable of being inhumane,
are humans.

She was running through the forest, the hot breath of her enemy rushing down her neck. Their arrows nipped at her heals driving her onward, their war cries resounding throughout the forestry sent a chill down her spine. The blue demons bellowed, screaming, lusting for the hunt. Seven days of freedom, seven days of safety was all she would receive before they went after her. It was the way of their gods. A shaft dug deeply into her right arm, penetrating bone and piercing skin. Nerves jumped frantically in her arm and Maeve let loose a scream of pain. Her pain jeered them and caused them to add a renewed vigor to their hunt.

'Run. Run through the forest. Drawing closer to the edge. The plains shall offer solace, from the hunters in the hedge." Malicious whispers, soft mumurs of malice, ethereal claws digging into red stained skin. 'Run. Run through the forest. Seven days of solace... Hunt drawing nigh.' Crimson optics shining brightly from within the dense foliage, tenuous tongues of darkness twisting about her crimson limbs.

The crowd behind her suddenly disappeared, Maeve slowing in curiousity and caution. As she turned around, her eyes drifted towards the ominous figure that stood in the middle of the path that she had just run down. The woads that had given up their hunt now stood along the edges of the path, glancing back and forth between their lord and her. As Merlin moved slowly down the path, his eyes never wavered from Maeve. He had a sorrowful look upon his face, his eyes serious and his lips set in a thin line. "Never do I like exiling one of my own.. Never do I like the consequences which follow." His voice boomed, their pict dialect reverberating throughout the forestry about the many woads, searing into their souls and dancing within their minds. "Maeve, Daughter of Feron, you have been painted with red die, a symbol of your sentence to exile for treason, and adultery." The woads' faces all hardened yet not a word escaped their lips. "Seven days of solace in the plains... The gods will choose your fate, and the hunt will begin." He slammed the butt end of his staff upon the ground and a low growl arose from the throats of Maeve's kin. "Run Maeve. Run for seven days and pray to the gods they do not place upon you: a curse..."

The many woads grabbed their weapons and glared at Maeve. Slowly, she turned and fled.

- - -

Eight Days Later

Liquid brown eyes scanned plains before him, a rather stoic expression burned upon hidden features. Tristan's horse moved forth with the ease and confidence that her own master presented. He swivelled slightly in his saddle to glance back towards the small camp fire of the two other knights. Gawain and Dagonet sat huddled around the small fire, tending to what needed to be done for the night. Dagonet skinned a rather lean pair of hares whilst Gawain sharpened his sword.

The scout turned back around and observed the vast expanse of landscape with wandering eyes. He took note of every small hill, a tree here or there, a large gathering of boulders and mountain feet.. His eyes even took notice of the quivering mass that lay against a small boulder several hundered feet from him. A brow shot up, but not a word was ushered forth from thinning lips. He quickly directed his mare towards the mass, and signalled her into a rather slow trot. She glided effortlessly across the ground, silent aswell and Tristan couldn't gelp but admire his steed for her stealth. The other knights' horses were loud, obnoxious creatures that snorted, pranced.. Everything.

As he neared the mass, he quickly pulled her to a halt. His eyes wandered over the form with narrowing eyes. A soft whimper escaped the mass and Tristan dismounted quickly. The pregnant moon's unwavering gaze gave Tristan a rather clear view of a woman huddling beneath a small blanket that a mother might have used for a babe. He took note of her long earthern brown locks, wide fearful blue eyes and her lithe, sinewy body. His gaze eventually dropped upon her blue lips and the scout quickly kneeled down.

He tentively lifted his right hand, brushing aside several strands of the luscious brown revealing her pale skin. An icy hand lashed out, grabbing his wrist and holding it tightly within her nimble grasp.

Tristan felt a sudden sorrow, and it only grew when he heard the tiny woman mutter the soft words, "Help me."

Then she fainted.

Tristan's eyes widened and he scooped her small body into his arms. Her turned quickly and ran to his steed, frightening her slightly with the foreign scent and driving the mare back a couple feet. Tristan thought nothing of it and hauled the woman onto his steed's back before he too, swung up.

- - -

"What are we to do?" A voice, soft but strong. "She is a woad, Arthur will not like this."

She tried to open her eyes, but sleep was heavy, and she felt great weakness in her joints and muscles.

"She is malnourished, she has an arrow through her arm; it is already festering and putrid. Tristan, we should just leave her." Another voice, louder, but not as strong as the first. Who was this Tristan? Was he the one who she had seen before she had lost conciousness?

Silence answered the two other men, she felt a pressence draw closer and a hand was brushed across her brow. "She was a woad."

Again silence, Maeve could only suspect that the other two men were now staring inquisitively towards this Tristan.

"What?" The loud voice again. "Was? What do you mean?"

"She has been painted red," Tristan replied, "It means she has been exiled -- tossed away from the society of the Woads and banished."

"How do you --"

"Observations."

"Oooh, that explains it."

- - -

Her body was coddled to his chest -- brown tresses spilled across his right leg and down the side of his mare's girth. The three knights walked their horses slowly back to the wall, taking great care in keeping the unconciouss woad comfortable. They road across the plains abreast, Tristan in the middle so the woman remained safe from any hidden danger. Dagonet and Gawain joked with one another, but kept their eyes and ears open just in case.

Tristan took time to study her features. Her pale skin had been scrubbed free of most of the red dye, but some areas of her skin she had patches of pink and even deep red in the harder to reach places. Her lips were robust, ample and pouty at the corners, her nose small and dainty. Thick lashes outlined her eyes and arching brows were furrowed in an unpleasant sneer. Her hair was a deep brown, a cascading wave that curled and looped down to her tailbone. He could only imagine what her eyes looked like.

Her lids fluttered slightly and Tristan stared intently.

Her eyes opened and she let loose a horrorfying scream.

- - -

A/N It ended so quickly! Anyways, I'm actually pumped about writing this and cannot wait to write the next chapter.