Alennia looked around the ravaged battleground. Her face wore a sunken expression, that of one who had lost much, and yet knew that more was to be lost. Another battle with the Saxons. Another slaughter of her people.
In one season, her clan had been ripped apart. For two years they had fought the Saxons, for two years they had never experienced he bitterness of defeat, and now, slowly, Alennia was coming to know that it was inevitable.
The Saxon raiding parties were getting bigger, fiercer, and slowly but surely, Alennia now knew that a time would come when they could no longer beat the invaders off. This time the butcher's bill had come to thirty-four. A horrendous number of losses for such a small clan, and yet as men and women were killed, more arrived each day to step into the gap.
There was Manat, Alennia saw, tending to a small cut on Bari's cheek. Despite the horror and grief that surrounded them, Alennia could not help but smile at the two of them. Bari was only thirteen when Alennia had first met her: in the time she had known the girl, she had watched her begin to lose her childish figure, and she was now blossoming into a beautiful woman, and Alennia perfectly aware that Manat, only a couple of years older than Bari, was not immune to her charm.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" came a familiar voice from behind Alennia's shoulder. "Children falling in love for the first time."
Alennia turned to see Armelle watching, a smile playing on her lips.
"Yes," she replied simply.
Manat, as if conscious of the eyes on him, looked quickly up to Alennia. He raised one eyebrow questioningly, asking her if she needed him. Alennia shook her head gently, and with a satisfied smile, Manat returned to Bari.
Alennia sighed.
"I know how you feel," Armelle said wearily.
"What am I going to do?" Alennia asked despairingly.
"The only thing we can do," Armelle shrugged. "Keep fighting."
"But each new battle is murder. A seven year old boy joined our ranks yesterday, Armelle, seven! Today he is dead. And that is my fault."
"No, it is the fault of the Saxons."
Alennia turned pained eyes to Armelle. "I'm leading them to death."
"It's all they ever wanted. They joined this clan so that, when they died, they could take as many Saxons as they could with them."
"It doesn't make it any easier," Alennia said.
"Nothing in this life is easy," Armelle said simply, and with that she left Alennia watch as Bari brought her fingers up to touch Manat's cheek. She watched his eyes grow wide at her touch, and she smiled as she realised that at that point, he was oblivious to everything except Bari.
And watching them, Alennia felt a pang of jealousy. They had each other. They would always have each other, and though they did not yet know it, they loved each other, and would never have to doubt that the other loved them.
Alennia closed her eyes tightly for a moment, and a familiar face swum before her. In two years the image had not faded nor changed. It was Tristan at the very first moment when she had met him. His teasing grin, the rain running down his face, the wicked gleam in his eyes. It had been four years since they had met, and Alennia had never once forgotten him for a moment. She scarcely knew him, and yet he had a hold over her that no other person in the world had.
She and Armelle had not spoken of him since the night when Alennia had broken down, but Alennia knew the old woman had not forgotten. It was in the way she looked at her sometimes, the way she phrased things, the way she was always watching, waiting for some sign that Alennia was still suffering.
And although she didn't show it, no, she wouldn't show it, she was suffering. She was suffering far more than she thought it possible. Love was draining the power within her: the power to make rational decisions, to govern her own fate. He was a weakness, a weakness that if any enemy of hers found out about would be her undoing. And yet she knew that she could not live without the memory of him, without him she was nothing.
But she would not let anyone see. She still had her pride, and that dictated that she was strong, even when she wanted nothing more than to scream, and claw at the broken earth, while her heart bled for all to see.
Tristan rode alone. Not an unusual circumstance, but for some reason he felt more alone than ever. It was being in unfamiliar territory, he decided, not knowing what was around the next bend, or behind the next tree.
There was a time, he thought moodily, when the prospect of new country to explore would have set his heart racing. When he would have jumped at every twig snapping, and reached for his sword every time he saw the shadow of an animal. But time had made him more relaxed to scouting.
It was not that he was not alert: compared to most people he would have looked jumpy and tense, but by Tristan's standards, he was relaxed. He still would have drawn his sword before his brain had registered danger, and his eyes were constantly flicking from side to side, but the thought of an enemy lying in ambush did not instill the same fear in his heart that it had once done.
Tristan felt old. In truth he was only in his mid-twenties, but he felt so much older. He had been living a warriors life since he was old enough to wield a sword, and he knew every trick that there was.
He had fought the Woads countless times, and he knew their technique as well as he did his own. That, when you got down to it, was the root of the problem. He had always lived for the thrill of fighting: to match his skill against someone else's in a battle with stakes so high that the adrenaline running through your veins took you over.
But there was no one left among the Woads who was worthy. He head fought them all, and it was no longer a contest. Not that he always won easily, there were still some struggles, but Tristan wanted a new enemy, a fresh enemy, one that would test him once more and give him that reason to follow Arthur.
Nothing was really making any sense any more. There was a time, he thought wearily, when life was simple. There were Romans and there were Woads. Both were enemies, but only the Woads could be killed. And so he killed them. But that had changed one day on a mountainside in the pouring rain.
Those enchanting eyes had stolen his soul, and suddenly everything was complicated. And without a soul, Tristan was only living a half-life. He had retreated to the darkness, to nurse his wounds, and was slowly coming to realise that time would not heal them. The only cure he knew was miles away, and he doubted whether she even remembered him. A knight who had showed her kindness once. Was that all he was? Fate was cruel, if the woman who had stolen his soul, no, his heart, did not even remember his face. Yes, fate was cruel.
A/N – OK, sorry there isn't much talking in this chapter. I've been trying to get the characters to think over their feelings, and it's pretty hard for them to do that, (seeing as neither has anyone they particularly trust) without having them talking out loud and making them look like nutcases!
Thank you for all your suggestions as to where it should be going – as I've got a mixed response I'll go for something in between – 2 or 3 chapters of brooding, and then, wham, dramatic reunion. Or will it be? I don't know, it's a mystery! (Please tell me you've seen Shakespeare in Love, or else I just sound like a nutcase. On second thoughts, is that so much of a lie?)
Please read and review, actually, that's a kind of stupid comment to put at the end of the chapter. I assume that you've read the chapter before you hit this point, unless, of course, you just scroll down to read my ramblings! I doubt it somehow. The Author's note is an addition to be endured, well, my author's notes are!
I'm getting hyper now, so I'm going to go and try to behave. Another chapter will follow, though how soon I don't know, seeing as I have 16 GSCE mocks in the next 9 days! (No, I am not doing 16 GCSEs: we have 2 exams for all the sciences, English etc). This is soon going to be longer than the chapter, so I'm gonna go and bask in my glory…well, revise maths.
Love from the slightly (very) crazy Rachy (aka LadyOfThieves)