Disclaimer – I own nothing, save for Alennia and any other characters of my invention I choose to insert into future chapters
Alennia trudged slowly up the mountainside. The wind blew stinging drop of water into her face, and she was not only soaked but also freezing. Squinting up at the scarcely visible sky, she reckoned she must have been walking for almost ten hours. It was beginning to get dark, the weather showed no signs of easing off, and Alennia began to worry about the night. It was not the first time she had been up in the mountains: her brother used to take her a lot. But that was before the Saxon raid. Before she had seen her family cut down in front of her eyes from her hiding place in the trees. Now she was alone, it was growing dark, and she began to wonder whether it would not be easier to simply lat down and let death come to her.
"Lovely day isn't it?" Alennia heard what she felt to be a disgustingly cheerful voice from behind her. She turned to see a man of about twenty sitting easily on a docile seeming horse, watching her.
He had dark hair that hung in matted braids around his face, with feathers and threads plaited in. On his cheeks were the tattoos of arrowheads, and his rakish dark eyes were turned on her, directing a charming, easy manner upon her.
Alennia scowled at the intruder upon her morbid thoughts and turned away, continuing down the slope.
"Oh come now!" the man said. "That's no way to treat a stranger."
Alennia said nothing, childishly hoping he would go away and leave her to die.
"What's a pretty young thing like you doing up in this Godforsaken place all alone then?" the man continued in his now familiar dashingly charming manner.
This finally stung Alennia into replying. "Trying to escape from irritating things such as you!" she flung back at him.
"Ah so you do have a voice!" the man said in the most aggravating way possible. "I do not see why you keep silent for so long, since your voice brings me to my knees!"
"Well perhaps I will have the chance to get away from you since you are unable to walk!" Alennia replied, unable to resist the temptation of throwing the insult back at him.
The man laughed, exasperating Alennia even more.
"Will you not leave me alone?" she asked.
"Would I be do discourteous as to leave a young lady on a mountainside with night drawing in?" he replied in his easy drawl.
"No, but you'd be so discourteous as to insult me!"
"And for that I humbly beg your pardon," he replied with another of those reckless, charming smiles that both irritated and intrigued Alennia.
"Are you heading for the pass?" he asked, the tone in his voice changing. The persuasive charm had been dropped, and Alennia was hearing the closest thing he had to sincerity.
"What if I am?" she asked, albeit slightly tartly.
"You'll never make it through."
"And who are you to judge whether I'll make it through or not?"
A deep chuckle was emitted from the man's throat, and when he next spoke it was in an apologetic, if amused, voice. "Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to insult you. I simply meant that no one would make the pass in this weather. The winds would blow a grown man off his feet, and if you manage to crawl, the cold would freeze you."
"And what am I supposed to do?" Alennia asked sharply. "Freeze here instead?"
Again came the amused laugh. "I would show you somewhere where you would not freeze," he commented.
Alennia stopped and turned to face him. The wind whipped her hair in front of her face and blew on her wet dress, sending shivers down her spine.
"You know of such a place?" she asked hesitantly.
The man on the horse nodded. "A cave. Not far from here. Warm and dry, with provisions enough for months."
"And you would take me there?"
"Lady, it would be a pleasure," he bowed in his saddle, the gallant exterior returning.
Alennia eyed him critically for a moment. He was offering her life where she saw nothing but death, but at what price would the life come?
"Who are you?" she asked suddenly.
"My Lady?" he asked, thrown slightly by the question.
"You speak my language, and yet there is something about you that is not of my kind. You are not a Woad, although you speak and act like one. You cannot be a Roman for your looks are not of Rome. It is possible you are a Briton, but what reason would a Briton have for wandering the mountains of Woad country in the midst of a gale? Who are you?"
"Lady, I am neither Briton nor Woad nor, and I thank the Gods, Roman."
"Why should I trust you?" she asked.
"You have no reason to trust me," he answered simply. "Just as I have no reason to trust you. I think perhaps, we shall have to learn to trust each other."
Alennia surveyed him for a moment, and then a strong gust of wind blew, almost knocking her backwards by the force of it, and leaving her trembling in the cold. She sighed deeply and shrugged her shoulders.
"Perhaps we shall," she agreed.
"You'll come?"
"Yes."
"What is your name?"
"Alennia… And you, my saviour?" she mocked him gently.
He smiled, acknowledging her teasing. "My name is Tristan."
A/N – What do you think? Should I continue? Please R&R!