Death and freedom. That is what Toril saw as she chanted in the early morning hours, face to the rising sun. How many times had she stood like that, waiting, watching, learning...she didn't know. All she knew now was the battlefield. She stopped looking ahead, stopping looking behind, stopped looking anywhere but the here and now. The twang of her bowstring as she shot with Guinevere's archers, the surge of her muscles as she ran, screaming, into the fray. And now, to the end of all things, to the deadly dance she had lived her entire life to perform.

She had perfected it, over the years. Not perfected it by necessity, like Tristan had, through constant war and fighting, but perfected it nonetheless. She had sought out the best warriors Cerdic's army had to offer, and learned from them until she was as deadly or more deadly. Some had to be cajoled, some had to be threatened, but all of them had eventually given her the tools she needed to dance this one final time.

Toril knew it would be the last time. What she saw that morning guaranteed her that - a Britain united under one ruler, one great king. Woads, Romans, and Sarmatians would live as brothers, and there would be no need to fight. Because they would be free.

Her pulse quickened and she grinned, savagely, as she fought. She would be free! No more servitude to a bloodthirsty man. No more predicting and planning his battles and telling him who was weakest, who was easiest to destroy. No more loathing for the man she would have been forced to marry. She and Tristan could live together in peace, going wherever the wind took them.

Tristan...out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the man as he prowled towards another group of Saxons, his sword bloody and dripping gore, held comfortably in his strong hands. His dance was deadly and feral and utterly captivating to watch, and her heart fluttered within her. Such a man, this one...such a mystery, such an opponent, such an ally. She would be proud to stand beside him for the rest of her days, proud to bear his children, proud to teach them the ways of their warrior parents.

As dark and wild and silent as the clearing he was conceived in, Tristan's son would be as deadly as his father. Toril had seen that in the morning light, as well.

Then...

Toril faltered.

Then Cerdic was there, searching for Arthur, killing Woads as he stalked through the masses.

Then Tristan was there, with his eyes on the Saxon leader.

Then Toril could only watch.

Their fight took eons and seconds, both at the same time. Toril felt frozen to her spot for a year, but in reality it was only a few heartbeats until she was running across the field towards her former master and the man she loved.

Not your fight, not your fight... her heart beat out a warning to Tristan as she ran, but by the time she reached him, Cerdic had already disarmed him, already crippled his sword arm, and already sent him to crawl in the dirt like an animal. With a scream and a flying leap, she intercepted the stroke that would have sent Tristan's head flying, and her blade crashed into Cerdic's with a sound that rang over the entire field. Anger, then shock and recognition ran over the Saxon king's face as he realized who had stopped the kill.

"You!"

Then Toril was fighting for her life like she never had before, her anger and fear making her movements choppy, not fluid. A feral grin crossed Cerdic's face.

"You hate me? You want to kill me because you think you're better than me? Better than your people?"

Toril bared her teeth at him. "That would make me like you, lord, and I am nothing like you." Cerdic barked a short, rough laugh, and his sword swung dangerously close to Toril's legs, making her jump back. "Then that means you fight for love, girl. Love for that dark knight? Not a wise choice."

Cerdic pressed his attack, his huge broadsword cutting through the air and whistling as it missed Toril's shoulder by a hair's breadth. Toril spun away, but the action threw her off-balance and she stumbled, only to be caught by Cerdic's hand as he raised the other and delivered a tremendous backhanded slap that sent Toril spinning to the ground, stunned. As she fell, she saw Cerdic stalking towards Tristan again, and heard her own voice scream in denial.

The earth whirled around her as she tried to rise, tried to fight, tried to get to Tristan, tried to do something... she unsteadily gained her feet and turned, clutching her sword with both hands and numbly lifting it to fight, stumbling towards Tristan at the same time. But he was just beyond her reach, and her former lord pulled Tristan to his feet in view of both Arthur and herself.

For one eternal moment, her eyes locked with Tristan's. In that moment she poured her heart and her soul out to him, telling him things she never even knew she needed to. And she saw Tristan respond, with eyes dulled by pain and half-covered by his shaggy hair. They spoke volumes in the micro-seconds it took for Cerdic to whirl in a deadly circle, slashing his sword across Tristan's chest in a death-stroke. Toril was close enough that the backlash caught her as well, slicing across her stomach in a deep gash.

Toril kept her feet through sheer force of will, stumbling forward with her eyes on Arthur. The Roman commander watched helplessly as in her final moments of strength, Toril raised her sword to her face in a warrior's salute to her king. At her periphery, she could see Cerdic stalking in front of her, obstructing her view of the noble leader of knights.

Then...everything went silent. Toril looked down in shock to see...Tristan's...sword, buried almost to the hilt in her belly. Her blue eyes rose sluggishly to meet Cerdic's fierce face as he laughed, then her knees buckled and she fell for miles, finally hitting the ground half on top of Tristan. Blood bubbled lazily at the corner of her beloved's mouth, but his gaze was on something above them.

"Look..." Toril turned her eyes away from his face and looked up to see Theron and Karina far above them. She smiled, convulsively, and found Tristan's hand with her own.

"Free..."

And far above them, the birds wheeled and dove, free to go wherever the wind took them.