Author's Notes: Set during the torture (and eventual death) scene of William Wallace in the film.
Rating: K+ for suggested themes.

Disclaimer: Braveheart belongs to its rightful owners. No copyright intended.

The pain had now disparaged and left nothing but a dull ache, yet a surreal feeling still lingered. He swallowed deeply, throat dry and strained from the coarse rope which had encircled his flesh only moments before.

His eyes wandered across the crowd slowly, taking in the English he had fought against, though not by his original plan...not his original plan. He had wanted to return to Scotland and settle down, start a family, and live off the land. When the war had been called he had wanted to spare the woman and children from pain; even the men who had never wanted to do anything but defend their country - not matter how corrupt that country was. His eyes finally came to settle on Hamish and Stephen, the two men who had risked it all to fight for Scotland. Not just for Scotland...but for freedom - freedom for all.

"It can all end, right now. Peace. Bliss. Just say it. Cry out mercy."

His eyes traveled to the man saying these words. He had a strong temptation to spit on him, yell at him, curse him out - let every piece of anger in his soul out on this one man, yet he didn't, because he would not back down. And it would all be over soon. Very soon.

"Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!"

The chants filled his ears, and he knew the voice's not only came from the Scotsmen, but also from the English. It was a common thread amongst man; the want to do what one wants when the need emerges: the need to speak, listen and be heard - the need and want for freedom.

"Cry out. Just say it. Mercy."

Mercy? No, never! Never would the word of mercy pass his lips! Maybe he had not won the freedom for his country; Maybe he had not won the freedom for himself; Maybe he had never truly avenged his wife. But, despite all of this, he would still fight to death for it all, for he had no more regrets. His hand squeezed the soft material of a cloth in his palm as his eyes looked out over the crowd, but this time there was only one face in mind.

"The prisoner wishes to say a word."

His eyes met with hers, smiles on both of their faces, and he finally knew that he was ready. He swallowed, eyes now back on the person who wanted him dead. He forced his eyes fully open and stared straight into those of the executioner's, a half smile playing on his face. William was ready.

"FREEEEE-DOMMMM"

My first attempt at some more flowery language - tell me what you think!