A/N – Look at me being a rebel and putting an author's note at the beginning! This is just to say that I've just realised that I've been spelling his name Tristan instead of Tristran (thank you to Scout Earane for pointing that out to me!). I'll spell it properly from here on in (I know how irritating it is to read a name spelt wrong!), and I will get around to changing it in previous chapters eventually, but I'm a lazy old git most of the time, so don't hold you breath! Anyway, on with the story!

Chapter Seventeen: To the End of All Things

It was mid-summer. Saxons raids had been scarce that season, and Alennia knew her Clan was benefiting from the rest. They had had a few idle skirmishes already that year, but few had been injured, and, remarkably when compared to the carnage the previous two years, no one had been killed.

A cool evening breeze blew through the camp. It was quiet: not a deathly hush, but a relaxed atmosphere of calm. The evening was warm, and though the campfires had been built, they were more communal areas than for any particular warmth.

Alennia sat by her fire with Armelle, sharpening her sword. Her cloak lay discarded by her side: it was too mild to merit wearing it, and Alennia felt, for the first time in a long while, calm.

She was dressed as she always was: in a loose shirt and tight cotton trousers, and thick but supple leather boots that she had stolen from a Saxon corpse. Her hair was coiled in a neat bun, though by the end of the day, wisps of it were beginning to escape and curl down around her ears.

Armelle was stirring a stew over the fire, and Alennia watched absently as she cooked. Armelle had always loved cooking, and though the two women shared a fire most nights, Armelle always refused to let Alennia cook. Not that Alennia minded, particularly. Armelle was a good cook, and Alennia knew how much she loved the simple pleasure of preparing the evening meal, but they argued good-naturedly about it every day.

Suddenly Alennia heard someone crashing through the bushes by the camp, and a second later Manat burst into the clearing, tearing the tranquil atmosphere apart at the seams. Several members of the clan rose, worriedly, but Manat ignored them and went straight to Alennia.

She was on her feet with her sword slotted back into its scabbard at her hips before he had even reached her, and she didn't need to hear his hurried words to know that something was wrong.

"You better come and see this," he managed to say in between breaths, and a moment later Alennia and Armelle were following him out of the camp.

They made for the sea, and a few minutes later, they arrived at a high cliff overlooking the beaches, and beyond that, the grey sea.

Alennia's heart sank at what she saw.

In the bay before her were tens of Saxons warships. And on the beach were hundreds of campfires, each surrounded by tens of Saxons.

An entire army.

Suddenly the breeze no longer seemed cool and refreshing, but cold and chilling, and she wished she had her cloak with her.

Slowly she turned to Manat and Armelle. Manat looked worried, but Armelle showed no more apprehension than the thought of her stew burning.

She raised her eyebrows questioningly at Armelle and the old woman shrugged.

"It has to end sometime," she said practically.

Alennia nodded, and turned to Manat.

"I need to speak to the clan," she told him. "Have them ready when I arrive. Do not tell them what you have seen – I do not want panic to spread before I arrive."

Manat nodded, and rushed off at once in the direction of the camp. When he was gone, Alennia turned back to Armelle once more, and their eyes met. They looked at each other at that moment, not as a leader and her second, not as a wise old woman and a frightened child, not even as two friends. But as two equals.

They did not speak, for no words were needed. For once Alennia did not conceal her emotions, but let them reflect in her eyes. The two women studied each other in silence for a long time, until their deepest thoughts and fears were no longer hidden from each other.

Finally Alennia turned away, and she looked back to the beach.

"So this is where it ends," she whispered softly to herself.

"Come," Armelle said reassuringly. "You must speak to them."

Alennia looked across the assembled clan. She remembered a time, all those years ago, when she had stood before them for the first time, and implored them to follow her. She knew these people now: they were not just familiar faces any more, but people, with names, characters, traits, and histories. And they knew her. Not well, she admitted, but they did know her, and she owed them too much to lie to them.

Alennia took a deep breath to calm her nerves.

"You have followed me for over two years," she began. "And we have killed so many Saxons together. Now an entire army of Saxons is on the beach, and I cannot ask you to follow me. I respect you too much to lie to you, and so I tell you the simple truth. There is no chance of survival against them, and so I will not ask you to fight them. But at dawn tomorrow, I shall ride into their camp. I would make such an end that the final battle of the Clan of the Wolf is spoken of for hundreds of years to come!"

Alennia was mildly surprised to see the fierce looks of approval from the people in front of her, but then she immediately felt guilty for doubting them.

"And so it is your choice. I leave before dawn tomorrow. If you would take as many Saxons as you can with you when you leave this world, then fight beside me, and I would welcome you."

There was a bloodthirsty cry of support from the Clan. A cry that swelled and rose, until Alennia was beginning to worry that the Saxons would hear them.

As the Clan began to disperse to their separate fires, Alennia sought Manat out. He was sharpening his knives, but he stood as Alennia approached.

"Manat," she said, sitting down beside him. "We have known each other a long time, you and I, and so it is to you that I ask this final favour."

"Anything!" Manat agreed hastily.

"I will not have any child who has not seen his fifteenth summer fighting tomorrow. You must lead them away from this place, for it will not be safe for them here once we are defeated."

Manat shook his head stubbornly. "I'm fighting," he insisted.

"Manat, you agreed to do anything I asked of you. If needs be, I can demand that you do it."

He looked at her with wilful eyes, but Alennia met his gaze with an equally stubborn one.

"Make sure they are ready as soon as possible," she said, giving him no choice. "You will leave when the moon has fully risen."

And she left him, giving him no chance to argue.

"That was well done," Armelle commented, melting out of the shadows to join Alennia's side as she left the disgruntled form of Manat.

"Do you have to do that? You always make me jump!" Alennia complained.

"You have plans for that boy?" Armelle asked.

Alennia shrugged. "Only so far as to stop him getting himself killed. He's got something to live for."

"Bari?"

"Among other things."

Alennia sat back down by her fire, and proceeded to oil her sword. Armelle sat down beside her, and poked at the fire thoughtfully.

"He might disobey you," she said doubtfully.

"He wont," Alennia said knowingly. "He knows that he has too much to live for to throw it all away on a battle he won't survive. And when Bari is told he's to be taking them to safety, she won't let him leave her."

Armelle laughed. "You seem to have it all planned!"

"I won't have children dying because of me," Alennia said forcefully. She sighed slightly. "I better go and make sure they're packing."

"You stay here," Armelle said, putting a hand out to stop her rising. "I'll go."

Alennia looked enquiringly at her, and Armelle shrugged.

"You get some sleep. I'll wake you before they go, and then I can get a bit of rest before dawn tomorrow."

Alennia saw the sense in this, and so she submitted, pulling her cloak tightly around her shoulders, and leaning back wearily against a tree. She closed her eyes, and the memory of a face came to her mind unbidden.

She hadn't thought about him. Not that she had forgotten him, but she had simply put him to the back of her mind: she had enough to worry about without her emotions all over the place, but as she was falling asleep, she wondered absently whether he would even remember her once she was gone.

A/N – well, that was one of the hardest chapters I have ever had to write! Oh yeah, and the title of the chapter – the end of all things – is the title of a piece of music (and a scene, I think) in Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. I know, I know, I'm a thief, but then what do you expect from LadyOfThieves?

lucillaq – thank you for your comments! I know that there wasn't enough speech getting in there, that will soon be remedied! And thank you for your idea about Alennia and Arthur: ideas are swirling around my rather too clouded brain even as we speak!

I actually haven't really got much else to say about this chapter – it's pretty self-explanatory I hope – impending death and destruction with a little bit about Tristran at the end to remind you that I haven't totally forgotten about him! I'm beginning to ramble on now (I've really got into a habit of doing that haven't I?) and so I'm off to do some physics revision actually. Isn't my life one long continuous thrill!