Disclaimer: I'm posting this on a site called "fanfiction", I think it would be obvious by now.
Summary: Death isn't all that bad – drabble with Tristan's epic death scene in mind and heart weeping.
Tristan could not breathe.
Having the blade of your own sword impaled through your side at an upward arc so that its curved tip pierced your lung would do that.
Above he could see the clouded outline of his hawk. He had not gotten around to naming her with the whole fighting for survival, a land that was not yours, and training her, he did not have either the time or drive to do so. Regardless she would always come to him. Not by a beckoning call of her sentimentally given name, but rather a simple shrill whistle that would reach her in the skies above where she belonged. Right where she was now.
Watching. Always watching.
He would not call up to her now. She was free. It was not the proper atmosphere. And he could not speak if he wanted to. Pained gasps broke through his cracked and bloodied lips.
For the briefest of instances he regretted not naming his hawk.
He was regretting a lot of things as he felt life slipping away. But one thing he did not regret was walking away from his freedom, or rather what he had thought to be his passage to freedom. It was only an illusion.
Even if he had walked, had abandoned Arthur and all that they had fought for since being taken away, it would only be plagued by regrets more serious than not naming his faithful hawk.
It did not matter. He would get it now. Death by the hands of the enemy in the middle of a blood-soaked battlefield with his friends fighting alongside him would be the threshold of freedom.
Passing into the afterlife would be his escape from his ancestor's contract.
A/N: This was not edited, any errors are mine. Heck, I don't even know if this is coherent. It was writing at 2:00 AM randomly months after the last time I watched the film.