Disclaimer : I don't own anything except Kele

Rating : T

Summary : A girl sentenced to death by Cerdic flees to safety, and is rescued by a knight who finds something he never thought he could – someone who understands him.

Author's Note : Well, here it is, the last chapter! Sorry it took so long, I've been working on my new fic and was away at the weekend! Hope you like the conclusion to this, I know the story was short but I knew it would be, and I think it works.

Thanks for all the reviews (sorry if you didn't get reply reviews for the last chapter, I had a minor disaster with deletion in my inbox!) they really do keep me writing, and I appreciate every one!

Also, if you did like this and haven't checked it out already, my new fic Hidden in the Mists is up, and is very Tristan-centric !

Kele stood looking out at the flickering campfires of the Saxon army, camped outside the Great Wall. Tristan was with the knights, discussing their plans, although no doubt he was just sitting listening to the others, as he was so wont to do, with only a small contribution that would no doubt be the best suggestion of the whole conference.

She loved that about him, loved the fact that with a few well-chosen words he could get he opinion across, an opinion so valued by his fellow knights. He was so awkward sometimes, yet fit seamlessly within the company. He was a part of them, as much as Lancelot was with his clever words and charming flattery, or Bors with his outspoken nature and humour, but he didn't have to make a spectacle of himself with ale or women or wit to do so.

She loved that about him, and she loved more than that – she loved him.

She became aware of his presence even before he stepped up on the wall behind her, something intuitive sensing his light, silent footsteps upon the stone.

"I'm sorry." He spoke first, words filling the expectant silence that lay in the still night.

Turning to face him she gave a soft smile. "There is nothing to apologise for. I should have understood."

"You do," he replied. "More so than anyone I've ever met."

Silence fell again – there was no response to that, and they stood companionably side by side, staring thoughtfully at the sparks that flew from the flames spread across the plain.

"You are leaving for Sarmatia tomorrow, aren't you."

"Another statement," Tristan replied with a smirk.

"But you know by now to answer them," she returned.

"Yes, I do. And the answer is yes." She nodded, unsurprised and inwardly relieved. He looked at her, a battle between his head and his conscience raging in his eyes. "I feel like I'm running away. I always thought I'd die on a battlefield, not as an old man in Sarmatia."

"Then stay."

"Perhaps I want to survive, and die as an old man," he teased with a slight smile.

"I thought you didn't care if you lived," she responded, almost petulantly.

"What makes you think that?"

"You said you didn't care if you ever returned here, if you didn't return safely from a mission."

"Well, maybe I have something to live for now." She gaped up at him. "I – I'm no good with words," Tristan said gruffly. "Just know that no matter what happens tomorrow, I'm looking out for you. And I never thought I'd find someone like you, especially not in the half-frozen waif I picked up in the forest."

Kele giggled and wrapped her arms around him, giving him a hug. He froze for a moment, then his body relaxed and he awkwardly hugged her back. "Seems to me like you're pretty good with words," she mumbled into his chest.

Grasping her shoulders, Tristan pushed her back slightly and looked down at her. In an action so quick Kele wondered if she had dreamed it he lowered his head, brushed his lips roughly against hers, and then strode away into the shadows.

XXX

Tristan went back to fight. She had known he would, knew deep down that he would not leave his commander and friend to certain death. But she also knew, deep down, that when he looked at her before mounting and riding away he was accepting his own fate, his own likely death, and that she had to expect the worst.

The minute Ganis galloped up to the caravan slowly leaving the Wall, Kele knew something bad had happened. She could see it in his face, in the eyes shadowed by grief and horror at what he had seen. And there was a fear in her heart and a feeling in her stomach that something had happened to Tristan.

As Ganis dismounted to assure Vanora that Bors lived, Kele snatched the reins of his mount and swung herself into the saddle, turning to ride back to the battlefield. Ignoring Ganis' angry shouts she kicked the horse into a canter, fear for Tristan driving all other thought from her mind.

As she rode around the base of Badon Hill she gagged at the smell and the sight of all the broken and lifeless bodies that littered the ground, swimming in crimson rivers. Trying to ignore it she focused on a small group gathered at the base of the wall.

It was the knights, she could see that much. Four knights. Too few…

The sense of dread in her stomach was building as she skirted the edge of the field of destruction, making her way towards the knights. She could make out Bors' stout figure, Gawain's mane of hair – but no quiet man standing to the side, invisible despite being present, tiresome hair falling into stormy grey eyes.

Galahad turned and saw her as she dismounted a few feet away, and quickly alerted the other knights, who turned and hurriedly formed a protective barrier. But it was too late.

Tears swelled in her eyes as she caught a glimpse of Tristan lying on one of the only patches of green grass left untainted, still and silent and undoubtedly dead. Shoving Arthur to the side she rushed through the wall of grieving knights and fell to her knees at Tristan's side, taking his dirtied, bloodstained hand and holding it to her heart.

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked towards the sky, a sky whose smoky leaden greyness leant sympathy to the tragedy that had occurred. Circling amongst the pillars of smoke rising from the burning ground was Tristan's hawk. The bird gave a screech and circled again, calling for her lost master, before swooping down and brushing Tristan's chest with her talons. Screeching again, the bird powered upwards and soared away, soon a black speck against the opaque sky.

Smiling through her tears, Kele squeezed the hand of her lost love, his spirit finally free to soar with the bird he so loved, across the endless skies.

THE END