Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur or any of its characters – it and they belong to Touchstone Pictures and the wonderful Jerry Bruckheimer. Please do not sue me as I am poor enough already; but if you do, be warned, all you will gain is a rust bucket car and a load of rescued pets with attitude problems that would make Tristan look like a cake-walk!

Just a little one shot…..hope you like it. :O)

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

KING ARTHUR:

Tristan's Dream

He was in pain and staring at the sky – watching his hawk fly high above him. He knew he was going to die……. He woke in a cold sweat; he'd had the dream again.

He rose and, throwing on some clothes, made his way to the tavern. Van wasn't there, but she was. A fellow Sarmatian, she was the little sister of the fallen Percival. She had come seeking her brother and had decided to stay.

"Hello Tristan, you are up and about early?" He looked at her, pale faced and haunted. Her smile faded and, bringing him some bread and wine, she sat down next to him "what is it?"

"I had the dream again."

She sighed; he had spoken of it to her before. She was one of the few the scout spoke to in more than one syllable answers. "You know what I think it means."

He nodded "I am a warrior, what else am I to do?"

"Then we must ensure that your dream does not come true."

He flashed a smile at that "I cannot see you preventing it."

She covered his hand that was resting on the table with her own "how can I help you?"

"Just be here….." he appeared to want to say more, but dropped into silence for a while. She was used to it, and did not mention the fact that he did not let loose her hand. Finally he mumbled "You still miss him?"

She knew of whom he spoke "Aye, but I rejoice that he is finally free."

"Do you not believe we will gain our freedom?"

She shrugged "I know not Tristan, all I know is I do not trust Rome."

"You are more distrustful than even I."

"Nay, no one is that mistrustful." She smirked.

"You have a smart mouth wench."

"My brother taught me all he knew, and he said he learnt it all from you."

"As I rarely speak I cannot believe that."

"Mayhap he read your mind, assuming that is not as silent as your mouth."

"Mayhap I will give you a slap for your cheek?"

"Mayhap you can try, and die failing?" She arched an eyebrow and he chuckled. She was the only one now who could make him do so since her brother had died, and only then when they were alone like this.

"You will be safe?" he asked quietly.

"I will always be safe so long as you are near me." She squeezed his hand.

"I would never stray far you know that."

"If aught harm befell you I would know."

"What would you do?"

There was a long pause "follow you….remember that Tristan. Where 'ere you go I would follow you; I will not lose you as I lost my brother."

Brown eyes locked with hers and she gently reached out and fingered his hair "your braids need attention."

"Do them for me."

He loved the feel of her thin and gentle fingers moving through his hair……….he loved her. But had never yet spoken of it, for she was promised to another.

They never spoke as she moved around him, rebraiding his hair as she went and raking tender fingers through his tangled mane.

She had done this for him many times – but this time was different. Eventually his arms snuck round her waist and held her tightly to him; she rested her head against the top of his own, embracing him.

He stood and took her hand, locking his eyes with her own and they made their way in silence to his room. He murmured his love to her and she hers to him over the coming days and months. The wedding did not go ahead; instead she remained with him.

Outwardly he did not differ; to all he was still the formidable scout, the cold blooded killer. But the nights he was with her - when he did not have to scout - he was gentle, loving and passionate.

Finally his freedom came – but at a heavy price. He mourned the loss of his comrade, his brother and friend; the one called Dagonet. But with her alone, no one else saw his grief; she had grieved along with him, for she too had loved the gentle giant and his quiet observations.

Then they'd seen the Saxons camping outside the wall; and he had regarded the enemy with cool eyes, even as he had squeezed her hand in reassurance. He had said he was leaving the next day and she was going with him, but deep down they both knew he would fight.

So he went into battle; and, at the moment of his death, as his dream came true and he saw his hawk soaring above him – his last thought in this world was of her.

For her part she felt her heart break in two and knew he was dead –she took her brother's sword and fell on it; her cry of "TRISTAN!" catching the attention of her best friend.

Vanora's crying her name mingled with the cry of the hawk as both those the bird had loved perished……"ISOLDE!"

As she died, Isolde looked beyond her grieving friend – Tristan held out his hand, Lancelot was already walking forward.

She took it and rose; as they walked towards the light he smiled "we are free...for eternity."

She smiled and kissed him as the light swallowed them.