Lost In Time: A Patriot Fanfiction **Revised!**

Prologue: The End is a New Beginning

Sadly, I do not own the Patriot, or Colonel Tavington. I used to have this story up on this website but after a few issues I took it down. I wanted to revise it anyway because it is my first fanfiction. If you, the readers, have any suggestions or (constructive!) crititism, I am more than happy to to hear from you!

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Today has been a bad day for Colonel William Tavington.

He charged his horse into battle as fierce as ever, killing as many of those pesky rebels as he possibly could. In the heat and midst of the violence, he engaged in a fight with that damned farmer, Benjamin Martin, the object of his misery and rage. Martin ran to him, holding his hideous American flag like a spear, and killed his horse, sending him flying to the ground.

Everything that happened after was really a blur at this point. The end result, however, was clear as day. Tavington lay defeated and in agony on the ground, a gunshot wound on his arm, two critical bayonet wounds on his chest and throat. It was obvious that his life will end soon. Death seemed to creep ever closer to him, a stranger, a nemesis, and a familiar friend all at once. Really it wouldn't be too bad, if not for the memories haunting his being!

"Kill me before the war is over, will you? It appears, that you are not the better man."

"My sons were better men than you."

Martin's words, spoken in hatred and disgust, were  correct of course. Tavington had committed truly cruel atrocities for the sake of his glory.

"The ends will justify the means, this will be forgotten." His own words mocked him. He believed the atrocities he had committed would be rewarded in the end, as long as he did whatever he must to remain victorious. Now that he lay defeated, now that everything that he's worked and killed for has become all for naught, who would ever remember him as anything more than 'The Butcher?'

He thought back to his past life, to his drunk, gambling father and the shame that was brought to their family as a result. He thought of all of the lives that he took and ruined. He felt some shame in that too, in his own actions. Lastly, he thought of his poor late mother, and the reality that if she could see who he became, she'd be disgusted. For once, in the last moments of his life, he actually felt remorse. Even his own men hated him. Major Bordon, Captain Wilkins. The only friend he had in his life was Banastre Tarleton, but he knew William before he became so cold. These unfamiliar emotions and thoughts were even worse to Tavington than the physical pain he was experiencing. He blinked his eyes tightly to make bitter tears disappear and he succumbed to darkness.

Slowly Tavington regained consciousness, confused. He didn't feel... anything, particularly the pain of his injuries from earlier!  He briefly ran his hand over his throat, only to find that it was perfectly intact. He did the same with his chest and arm, and discovered that the wounds were gone.

He felt a hard, flat surface under his prone figure. The air around him was warm, not the sweltering heat of hell he expected, with a constant breeze that cooled his skin. He clearly was not burning in agony, so this mustn't be hell. Could this possibly be heaven? He opened his eyes. No, no, Heaven couldn't possibly be this dark, and God would truly be merciful if he was to ever be admitted in. But if he wasn't in Heaven or Hell, than what on earth--

He sat up and took in his surroundings. He could see that it was Twilight, as the stars and moon were shining and giving him just enough light to gain his bearings. His pale blue eyes focused their attention to the surface he was sitting upon. It was black,  made of a strange material, and it stretched along the ground in a line, formed in two directions like a river.... but with yellow and white lines along the length. Odd. Tavington noticed the trees that grow on both sides next to this solid 'river'. At least nature still thrives in this purgatory of sorts.

Suddenly, he was interrupted from his thoughts by a  hideously bright light that illuminated the space next to him. He quickly found the source of the light, and it terrified him. It was a large rectangular beast with two yellow eyes that burned like fire. They seemed to hover above the ground as the monster glided through the dark, closer and closer towards him!

Surely this must be the face of Satan himself, come to take him to hell. Tavington wanted to scream, wanted to run from the frightening punishment of his crimes, but he stood fast, suppressing his fright. Any attempt to escape death would be futile. And Colonel William Tavington was a prideful man who shows no fear, even in the end. He brandished his sword and charged toward the monster with a bellow.

The last thing he remembered after that was him colliding with the surprisingly cold and hard monster, and the sound of a woman screaming.