Work Text:
The night before had been a night of moonlight and caresses. The day was a day of pain and blood and drifting smoke. In that nightmare Tristan died.
As he fell, in a haze of pain, the smoke cleared around him and out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a winged shape soaring high above.
His lady was free, and Lancelot would survive to taste the freedom Tristan only remembered in dreams.
The pain had bled away into stillness, leaving the taste of blood mingled with that of Lancelot from the night before more vivid. Only one night, yes, but sometimes one night was enough.
Shadows came swirling from the edges of his vision , flooding his senses, drowning out the memory of hot kisses, and bittersweet partings.
The cry of his lady filled his ears one last time, and then sweet oblivion.