Alennia felt very calm, almost detached from her body, throughout the farewells. Dagonet had hugged her, saying, "Take care of yourself lass." Lancelot had slapped her back and cracked a joke. Arthur had kissed her hand: always a perfect gentleman. The others were kind and sweet to her, and a remote part of Alennia's mind noted that it was well that she did not feel fully conscious, or she would have no doubt been fighting to keep tears at bay. It was not that she did not care for the knights: she did, but some protective mechanism in her heart had taken over, to stop her from being hurt more than she already was.
Her eyes hardly left Tristran, and his never left her face. It was if both were trying to memorise the other, for all the lonely nights to come. Alennia knew, however, that Tristran's image was scorched into her heart, so that she would carry him with her forever. The thought both comforted and frightened her. Tristran had offered to ride with her from the fort to the wall, so that they would have at least a bit of privacy for their goodbyes, and so they set off, leaving the other knights behind at the fort.
Alennia could feel Dagonet's eyes watching her and Tristran as they walked out together. She hardly knew the man, so why did it feel as if she was loosing a father alll over again? She and Tristran rode in silence along the drive, both wanting to say what they felt, but neither able to put their thoughts into words. The long path to the wall seemed far too short to Alennia, who wanted it to go on forever, and if she had one wish, it would be to stretch the road out into eternity, so that she would never have to leave her lover's side. The dry, detached part of her mind told her that she was being silly – she was the one who had wanted to leave, and so she had no business getting all misty-eyed and romantic over their parting.
But the road did end, far too soon, and they both dismounted in front of the gate, that was slowly creaking open. They stood, several feet away from each other, Alennia looking at her feet, and Tristran looking nervously at Alennia's face, both unsure of what to say, of how to act.
Suddenly Tristran swore, and, covering the distance between them in two great strides, kissed Alennia fiercely. She saw fireworks explode before her eyes and felt the ground shake under her feet, just as it had when he had first kissed her. She returned the kiss hungrily, sliding her arms around the back of his neck and twining her hands into his hair, longing for the kiss to last forever.
But nothing lasts forever, and when they parted, both breathing raggedly, Tristran could see tears standing out in Alennia's eyes. There was nothing to be said that had not been said the night before, and besides, Alennia was not sure that she could keep herself from crying if she spoke, so she swung onto her horse: a gift from Arthur, fighting to keep her emotions from boiling up.
Alennia moved her horse forwards into a walk, unable to even look at Tristran. The soldiers above the gate were silent as they watched the parting, wondering in their hearts how so much pain and so much grief could come from two humans.
"Alennia!" Tristran called in a hoarse voice, as Alennia passed under the arch of the gate. She pulled her horse to a halt and turned back, her face wracked with pain. "I love you," Tristran managed to say.
Alennia held his gaze for a moment, and yet, like when they first met, that moment seemed to stretch into eternity, as they read a world of hopes and fears in the other's eyes. Finally Alennia tore her gaze from his, wheeling her horse around, and moving off at a canter across the open plains before the wall.
Tristran stood, immobile for a moment, until she disappeared: blocked from his sight by the wall, and then, spurred into action, he ran up the rough stone steps, two at a time, to the walkway along the top of the wall, where he stood, his hands clenched into fists as they rested on the top of the stone, watching the diminishing form of Alennia until she was out of sight.
But still he stood there, long after Alennia had gone, staring out across the grassland, his heart heavy, and his mind oblivious to all around him.
Alennia rode briskly all day. She had a good, fit horse, who did not tire at the pace, and Alennia was glad of that, for she felt a pressing need to put as much distance between her and Tristran as possible, not because she wanted to be away from him: in fact it was the opposite. She knew that if she did not get as far away from him quickly, he resolve would burn out, and she would find herself returning to the warmth and safety of his arms.
She rode at a steady canter for most of the day. To begin with, she scarcely saw what was around her, simply following the well-known route instinctively, but soon she began to surface from her brooding thoughts, and she began to look about her as she rode. It was early winter, and a thin layer of snow coated the landscape. The sun warmed her back, and the cool, fresh air was such a change from the stuffiness of the Roman fort, that Alennia could not help but notice it.
This was her home, she thought fiercely. This was where she belonged: in the untamed lands of the north, not in the submissive southern country, where animals fled from humans, and the Romans ruled. And as she rode, Alennia began to dare to believe, for the first time, that she had made the right decision.
And yet she was horribly aware of how alone she was. The lack of Tristran's reassuring presence weighed heavily on her mind. She knew that she wasn't supposed to care: that she wasn't supposed to live her life wishing he was there beside her. She was not supposed to wonder where he was, or what he was doing, but she found that she could not help herself. She loved him; although she would not dare to admit it to anyone save herself. She loved him, no matter how ridiculous it was, and the knowledge both burdened her heart, and at the same time, gave her soul wings to rise and fly.
By the time Alennia settled down for the night, in a small clearing in the vast forests of the north, she was feeling a lot happier than she had been in a long time. She sat in front of the fire, gazing into it, unseeing, simply revelling in its warmth on her face, in the feeling of the cool night air, and the sounds of the forest.
She was back where she belonged. Tomorrow she would see Merlin, and soon she would be fighting the Saxons again. The thought of that made Alennia smile: she had not tasted the fierce passion of battle for what seemed like an age, although in reality it was but a few months.
And Tristran loved her. Well, with that in her mind, how could anything ever go wrong? Yes, it hurt to be away from him, but she knew that he would be there when it mattered. She was not built for life in a Roman garrison; he was not able to live among the Woads. And, Alennia admitted to herself, neither were suited to married life. But for some strange reason, that did not trouble her. She loved him, and he loved her. And the knowledge of that was far greater than any distance or obstacle between them.
When she slept that night, she dreamt of Armelle. The old woman was smiling, laughing at her, for some reason that Alennia did not know. Usually when Alennia dreamed of the dead, she woke screaming, or in a cold sweat, but this night the dream soothed and calmed her. It was reassuring to know that Armelle was with her, and Alennia slept deeply.
Tristran did not sleep well on the night after Alennia left. He tossed and turned, waiting impatiently for sleep to come; haunted by images of the woman he loved. He had been restless all day: stalking about in a dark mood, and snapping to anyone who tried to talk to him. He knew that he was being ridiculous, but the bad mood persisted, and he could not bring himself to draw himself out of it.
He wanted her, so badly. He wanted to feel the soft touch of her skin on his, to breath in the deep scent that was hers and hers alone, to hear the sound of her voice in his ears. He had let her go. Why? His troubled mind asked over and over again. Why had he let go of the only thing that he cared about, the only thing that mattered?
He swore angrily at himself, giving up the pretence of sleep, and sitting up, pulling his boots on. He didn't know where he was going, but anything had to be better than trying to sleep, and being constantly reminded of the absence of her warm body beside his.
As he sat there, pulling a shirt over his head, an awful thought came to him. He had let Alennia go, on her own, into a country full of Roman and Sarmatian-hating people. Tristran knew, only too well, that Alennia had enemies. Enemies that would do anything to get rid of her, so that they would not be forced to yield their positions of power to her. Tristran knew how powerful she had been before the final battle with the Saxons, though he was not sure if she herself knew it. And now he had just let her walk into enemy territory, alone, unguarded. Icy fear gripped his heart, as he thought of her, sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the danger that she was in.
A/N – Well, I'm coming up to the end, and I hope you won't be disappointed. I don't really know what to say about this chapter, except that Alennia wasn't meant to come over as being so happy to be away from Tristran, so don't think that she wants to be away from him. Well, I hope you liked the chapter – comments appreciated, as ever!