The silent history is splashed with blood again and again. Long wind and roar, waves and perseverance. Long bones of singing enveloped the city, and grand poems were never born between endless death.
The ancient heroic spirits have never grown old. They are constantly resurrected in the eyes of warriors, repeating cruel songs about fire and blood; the spirits of thousands of years have never died, they are buried in the hero's blood, ready for a heroic gushing at any time .
war. glory. love. die. Everything is like a violent wind whizzing by, only the brave's pupils are permanently settled in the depths of the years, shining brightly in the eternal silence.
He was born in the wild England. He lost his father before he was born, and his mother died because of him. When she died, she said to him that you killed people when you were born. You must be a warrior in the future. In order to make him remember his identity, she proudly named him
Tristan.
Before meeting Arthur, he was free, traveling with eagles and horses around the world. However, after meeting Arthur, the trajectory of destiny began to move toward a trajectory that he could not predict. Since then, he has no lover, no relatives, he only has Arthur, and his whole life is for Arthur.
"As long as you have a word, I am willing to become your chess piece and your sword at any time." The
strong enemy is present, fearless and fearless; protect the weak, uphold the principles of nature; speak upright, rather than punish death; be bold and loyal, and be worthy of God.
When he became a knight and swore an oath to his lord, Arthur became his faith, and he eventually lost his life for his faith.
They stayed with each other day and night for fifteen years, guarding the borders of the empire. From then on, greet the first ray of morning light, watch the last sunset, and watch this vast land with no end in sight, with the back of the distant mountains standing as an immortal statue in the evening.
Tristan has always been quiet. When everyone, including Lancelot, opposed Arthur, he was the only one who was silent, still performing his duties as a scout and archer.
After the victorious war, when he was with the knights, when everyone else was laughing and cursing triumphantly, talking rudely about women and sex, he called his eagle, let it stand on his arm, and asked it just now Where did you go.
When Lancelot and Gawain quarreled with Arthur for freedom and profit, he just stood aside and ate the apple with a knife casually, and occasionally looked up to see where everyone had quarreled.
Even when the bishop came to the round table meeting with the knights, the first thing he thought of was just eating, and he was indifferent to others. Because his goal has always been clear, there is no need to think about disputes.
But when he was proud, when the knight Gallahed showed off in front of him that his dart was hitting the bullseye, he didn't say anything, just picked up the knife and threw it, just inserting it in Gallahed and threw the one. On the handle of the dart.
Gallahed was silly and asked, Tristan, how did you do it? However, he squatted back to his original position to gnaw the apple, and for a long time he said muffledly, I only aimed at the center.
Yes, he always only aimed at the center.
And that center is all those who stand in front of Arthur.
Lancelot has a beloved woman, Joey has a warm home, his wife and children, and when it gets dark there is always a not very bright but gentle light waiting for them, but he has only Arthur.
In these fifteen years, one journey through the mountains, one journey through the water, and the journey far away, but also lost in the hometown, from now on, only each other is left. In this way, he grew from a green youth to a man who stood by the wind, and he has never forgotten his life's mission. The strong sea breeze gave him deep facial features like carved rocks, and the long night gave him sharp eyes like a falcon. Anyone who fell into these deep chestnut eyes would be called to death.
The final battle. The Saxon invasion. The world is confused like the beginning of chaos, and the enemy is like a ghost from hell. Under the dense smoke, the withered tree scorched by the flames of war resembled the hand of a dying man reaching out to the sky. Everything is like a scene of the end of the world.
At that time, he had resigned, it was when he returned to his hometown.
Hometown...hometown.
What a remote word that is, it is so far away that he, a person who has never lost his memory, is also blurred. He had long been accustomed to surrendering everything he had to Arthur, but when he finally waited for freedom after fifteen years, he suddenly found that he had forgotten where he belonged.
He said to his eagle, you are free. Then watched it disappear into the haze that never dissipates in England. The hometown is still far away, and he walks towards the figure of Arthur, who is alone and resolutely throws himself into the final battle that does not belong to him.
This is destined to be a battle with no return, and he has never been blessed by any gods.
Looking down from the tall buildings, the darkness enters the lonely city.
The country broke up for a while, and the navy-blue mountains undulated and stretched, which could not conceal the turmoil of thousands of miles. In the wild land of ancient England, long winds are rolling in from the top of the highlands, and sand waves are rolling towards the sky on the plains.
He got off the horse, and his eagle-eyed gaze swept across the chaotic battlefield and swept directly to the leader of Saxon.
He said that he only aimed at the center.
In this way, two people who hated each other deeply met in the devastated land of Great Britain. There is no energy to worry about, no time to think, only the body and limbs still contract and stretch freely with the memory buried in the blood. However, he died on the final journey for the faith he wanted to protect.
The land that gave birth to him summoned him home in the deepest part of his heart. In the end, he took the sword through his chest for Arthur, resolutely greeted the grand death, put his life's blood to the torch, and fell on the vast land of his homeland. Non-gazing eyes looked up at the changing sky of floating clouds in the mud. There, suddenly his eagle flew by.
Who said that only if you have the preparation to be killed, you are qualified to pick up the sword.
With a promise made, it will be fulfilled in a lifetime.
He did not get the favor of the gods. This is the tragedy of the warrior and the heroic hero. It turns out that what I have longed for in my life is but an end.
Floating, melancholy, drunk thousands of people, changing a lifetime and sloppy.
The banner was still hunting and rolling under the gloomy sky, and the faint Van Gogh was floating high above the Yaxia Plain.
In the final victory, Arthur buried you with tears; the dawn came as scheduled, but the dead will never see the sun of tomorrow.
The city smoke is broken, the northern star falls, the melancholy sacrifices to the sky and the wine is sprinkled alone; the
dream returns, the tears are condensed, and the prosperous youth affairs are not remembered.
No words are full of dust, where is it like the front of the bottle.
Nothing in this life will be rewarded. In the next life, I will bring a blood and serve the sword for our lord; watch him turn his hand and overwhelm the world.
If he has to renew his heroic soul in young years, he will surely ride his horse across the mountains and plains, and then watch the mountain eagle fly slowly in the sky behind you.
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