Disclaimer: Belonging to Bruckheimer and tales of glory, not me.
A/N: Very short drabble that came to me while on the train and listening to Queen, 'We Are The Champions'. Seemed fitting. Am hoping to get to all the Knights and Arthur eventually. Oh yeah – this is AU since, well, Tristran lives through the battle with the Saxons.
Tristran allowed himself a moment of relaxation. The battle was done. More dead Saxons than Woads littered the field. His eyes scanned the length and width of the field, quickly picking out and noting the six heavily armoured figures among the living.
He was breathing heavy, for him at least. The battle had been long, hard and though he would walk away, he was not unscathed.
His face turned upward at the cry. Golden eyes found and tracked the dark form circling above. Letting his mind relax further, he simply enjoyed her freedom.
You survived.
Tristran started at the soft words. His gaze snapped to the field. Reflexively his hand went to the pommel of his sword and he tensed, scanning for who might have ventured near enough to break his reverie.
Survivor…
Warrior…
Brother…
The words brushed past his ears, softly, tickling on the breeze. The last caught the breath in his throat. Familiar; comfortable; it brought a small smile to the scout.
"Bedwyr," he whispered back to the breeze.
A laugh Tristran had not heard in some time filled his ears as he allowed the smile to spread, again turning his face upward into the sunlight.
