Merlin 1. Chapter 1 An Evening Walk

***UPDATE FOR 2016 – This was my first EVER fanfiction and was written back in 2014-early 2015. It was written in third-person omniscient, and to be honest, it was my first stab at fiction writing and could use a great deal of re-writing. Unfortunately, I do not have the time nor energy to re-write it, but it DID provide me with the inspiration to write several originals, so that's a good thing.

Of course, I do appreciate any reviews I might receive, but just so you are aware, I will not be making any changes nor corrections to this story. I have decided to move on to other projects.

However, I have decided to leave it here as a reminder of how I need to improve. Also, oddly, some people have told me they really enjoyed it, so, who knows? Maybe you will, too. :) When you're reading it, just remember that this was an old gal's first time exploring and writing fanfiction, so be gentle.***

A/N - Thank you for reading this and joining me on my journey. This is my first ever fanfiction work. Can you believe it? Welcome!

Now, let me tell you a little bit about this story...

First and foremost, this is a romance/love story. It chronicles how four different knights fall in love, and all of the joy, angst, passion (LOTS of passion), and challenges that come with it. The knights are the "stars" of the story, with Sir Percival being the main character. He was fairly quiet in the "Merlin" series, which made my imagination run wild with ideas about him. Thus, this story was born! I just HAD to know what happened to the knights of Camelot (and their children in later chapters) after Camlann.

The other primary characters are Gwaine, Ulrich (a knight of my own creation), and Leon. There's also plenty of Arthur, too. And since this is my story, Arthur and Gwaine live. Hooray!

I know this will disappoint some, but Merlin is really more of a background character in this tale (sorry!). Also, this story contains many OCs, which I realize is not for everyone.

Further, I have taken some liberties with age. Specifically, I made Percival a few years younger than he probably is in the series, but only a few.

And a warning - this piece is absolutely, most certainly rated "M." Beginning in chapter three/four, there's lots of highly-descriptive sex. If you don't want to read about sex, or are offended by rated "M" stories, please, please do not read this. I don't want to upset anyone. However, most of the sex is within the confines of loving relationships, so I hope that helps.

One FINAL warning - the story has occasional violence/blood/childbirth, and I will provide warnings at the beginnings of those chapters. There are also a couple of sexual assaults, and I realize that may be very difficult or painful for some people to read. I will absolutely warn you in the beginning of a chapter when those come up so you can skip them, if you wish to do so.

Lastly, this story begins a few months before Camlann, but the majority of it is post-battle.

Thanks for joining me, readers. This story is going to be over 150,000 words (40+ chapters) so we may be together for a while. I love you already!

PS - If you find any errors or something isn't clear, please let me know! As my fingers fly over the keyboard, I know I may miss things. I spend a good amount of time editing and revising, but I'm human!

PPS - I am not affiliated with the BBC, Shine, and do not own Merlin in any way, other than in my heart.

Chapter 1 – An Evening Walk

Sir Percival Martel, age twenty, and a loyal knight in the service of the great King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, sat comfortably in the clean but well-worn Rising Sun tavern. He was enjoying a flagon of ale with his friends, Sir Gwaine (his best mate), Sir Leon, and Merlin, King Arthur's manservant and close friend.

As the tallest knight in Camelot's history, Percival stood out in a group of men. He was so large and well-muscled that the arms of his chainmail had been removed to avoid confining his movements. After all, a knight with restricted movement can easily become an injured knight, or worse.

Percival was a handsome man who had short dark-blond hair, steel-grey eyes, a strong jaw, and a kind yet slightly-crooked smile. He was the most quiet and level-headed of all Arthur's knights. He wasn't one to raise his voice unnecessarily, show-off, or make displays of bad temper.

Despite all this, Percival still found himself filled with fear and trepidation over the simple act of talking to a woman; he'd faced ruthless Saxon warlords in battle, so why was approaching the tavern owner's daughter so daunting?

Christiane Port was eighteen years old and quite attractive. Being above-average height (taller than her own father) and sturdily built, she mostly didn't realize it. However, many of Camelot's men admired her. Christiane had long, straight, raven-colored hair which fell to her waist, bright blue eyes, pale skin, and a full and curvy build. It was not her appearance, however, that drew Percival's interest. Rather, it was the kindness she displayed, along with graciousness, intelligence, and an ambitious nature.

Christiane and her father, Will, had moved to Camelot just a few months prior. Having been old friends with Evoric, the previous tavern owner, Will had begun helping his friend in the well-loved establishment. Evoric finally admitted to Will that he was looking to sell his business and enjoy some travel with his wife. Will was all too happy to purchase the tavern. Therefore, Christiane still felt like a bit of a stranger in Camelot, even though her closest friend had relocated there right around the same time.

"Percival, what on earth is wrong with you?" Gwaine's voice cut through the sound of lively tavern-chatter. "You look like an agitated stoat! Actually, no, don't answer that; I know exactly what's troubling you." Gwaine tilted his head briefly in Christiane's direction as she stood behind the bar, nose buried in a book.

"Gwaine, don't!" Percival growled in a low voice, not wanting to attract attention.

Gwaine stood. "Well, if you're not going to make a move my friend, I think I will," he pronounced with slightly-drunken bravado.

Percival grabbed his friend's arm with a vice-like grip. "If you would just give me a moment, I'll talk to her!"

Gwaine gave a hearty laugh, his brown eyes bright with humor. "A moment?" he scoffed. "You've been eyeing her for the last two months! All right, I'll give you a moment."

Percival shot Merlin a pleading look, hoping the young servant would somehow come to his rescue.

"Don't look at me," Merlin offered, smiling and shaking his head of messy, short, black hair. "I'm the last person to give advice about women. Or managing Gwaine, for that matter."

"I suggest you get a move-on before Sir Aled wears her down," Leon advised. "I've seen him nosing around the bar, trying to strike up conversation."

Percival realized he needed to act and stood, palms sweaty and gut roiling. He walked toward the bar, feeling as if approaching the gallows, hoping his recently-consumed ale would remain in his stomach. As he approached, Christiane looked up and smiled cheerfully.

"Hello, Sir Percival. Can I get something for you?"

Percival was startled. This was the first time Christiane had ever addressed him directly, and the sound of her voice speaking his name caught him off-guard.

"What? Oh, no, no," he answered. "I was just um, I um, ahem...was wondering what you're reading," he stammered nervously.

Christiane looked a little puzzled, but replied anyway. "Well, this is a book about herbs. I have a few others here on anatomy and healing, and another on the Frankish language." She smiled and continued. "Believe me, learning Frankish is more difficult than you might think."

"I can imagine," Percival replied. He then froze as fear overwhelmed him; he had absolutely no idea what to say next and his mind was hopelessly blank. Finally, after a painful few moments of shifting his weight from foot to foot, he mumbled, "I, um, I'd better get back to the others." He all but ran back to his seat.

"What the hell happened?" Gwaine quizzed as Percival arrived.

"It was terrible," Percival answered miserably, ashen-faced. "I asked her what she was reading and then I ran away like a frightened little girl." He dropped his head with a heavy thunk onto the scarred wooden table and groaned. At his core Percival was a gentleman, a bit shy, and had limited experience approaching women.

Gwaine put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Calm down. You haven't made a total mess of things just yet. Why don't you come back after the tavern's closed and offer to walk her home?"

Percival lifted his head slowly and peered at Gwaine. "For someone who drinks and carouses so much, you've got a good head on your shoulders. I like that idea. I'll do it! But I have to leave now. See you men later." Percival tossed his coins down onto the table and fled from the building.

For the next two hours, he sat under a tree in the dark, waiting for the tavern to close. Percival wanted to be alone with his thoughts for a while, without having Gwaine taunt him. Though the man was his best friend, he could sometimes be rough on the nerves.

Percival used the time he spent waiting in thought: What would he say to Christiane? What would he do? What if she laughed in his face when he asked to walk her home? Maybe he should just live in a cave as a hermit. After mentally mapping out the route to the nearest isolated cave, he instead decided to get up and face Christiane, telling himself, What's the worst that could happen, other than her laughing in my face?

He walked slowly back to the tavern. Drawing closer, he saw Christiane standing outside of the tavern door, adjusting her light wrap and fumbling with her keys.

As a knight, Percival was used to moving cautiously and quietly. He emerged from the shadows. "Hello, Christiane," he said. "I was wondering…"

She jumped, screamed with surprise, and dropped her keys to the ground.

"I'm so sorry!" Percival said, completely embarrassed. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

Percival bent to retrieve her keys at the same time Christiane did, and both skulls connected with a firm thwack.

Standing and rubbing the sore spot on his head, the large knight moaned. "This is not going well at all. I apologize. I just came by to ask if I could walk you home. But instead, I've terrified you and practically knocked you unconscious."

Christiane laughed heartily. "It's all right. You just startled me coming out of the shadows like that. I wasn't expecting to see anyone at this hour." She continued on with a teasing grin. "You do know I live right at that corner, don't you?" she said, as she gestured to a home only several yards away.

His heart pounding, Percival stammered, "I, um, I do. But I wondered if we might take a longer route..."

Christiane narrowed her eyes with suspicion. Though a newer resident Camelot, she'd already heard numerous stories about the knights and their antics with women. She'd heard nothing specific about Percival, but was still cautious.

"You're a knight of Camelot. Don't you have women throwing themselves at your feet daily?"

"No, that would be Gwaine," Percival answered seriously, missing her sarcasm.

"May I speak to you plainly, Percival?" asked Christiane, still sounding unconvinced.

"I wish you would," he responded honestly.

She locked eyes with him. "I want to make it clear that I'm not easy prey, nor am I a fool," Christiane said forcefully, emphasizing she was not a woman to be trifled with.

Percival was flustered and somewhat taken aback. "No, of course not! I've seen the way you manage the drunkards in the tavern. You're a force to be reckoned with! And you're smart, with all of that reading…" he chattered on nervously before taking a breath. "Forgive me. I'm shy, and have little experience talking with women. I'm feeling very big and clumsy right about now. I apologize if I gave offense." He bowed his head.

Christiane relaxed. "You didn't offend me," she assured him. "I just wanted to make sure things were clear. And you are a bit of a physically intimidating fellow, I'll give you that. "But you do have kind eyes," she observed, and decided, "All right, you can walk me home the long way. We can go through the Lower Town and back."

"That sounds perfect." Percival exhaled with relief, heartbeat finally slowing somewhat. "Would you care to take my arm?"

"I'm not sure my hand can fit around it, but I'll certainly try," Christiane joked with a wink. She took his arm and they walked toward the large pond in center of Camelot.

"Do you mind if I ask you about your books?" Percival inquired as they walked along.

"Are you going to ask me what a woman wants with such books?" Christiane asked, narrowing her eyes once again. It was uncommon that a woman would choose to study serious subjects. Or, that a woman should read at all.

"No, no! I was curious, why those particular books?"

Christiane nodded. "My brother, Evann, is doing a healing apprenticeship across the Narrow Sea. When he comes home next year, I thought it would be fun to surprise him by speaking Frankish. And I adore the sound of the language.

"As for the healing books, I haven't told many people but I dream of doing a healing apprenticeship, like my brother. But that's hard to do." She shook her head solemnly. "If you're a woman, and don't have a family member skilled in healing who is willing to teach you, it's almost impossible. I mean, I do enjoy the tavern work, but I want something different one day."

"I can understand that," said Percival.

As they wandered on, Christiane changed the subject. "How long have you lived in Camelot?" she asked.

"A little over ten years. I lived on a small farm in a village on the edge of Camelot until I was nine years old, with my parents, Yale and Madlen, and my younger sister, Deryn. That is, until Cenred's men raided us, and killed them. All of them," he stated, his voice catching ever so slightly before continuing. "Owen, the farmer, was a widower, and he took me in. He's been a father to me ever since."

"I'm all too familiar with Cenred's ways," Christiane remarked, sounding a little choked-up. "I lived in his kingdom until a few months ago, when my father and I moved here.

"He was a barbarian and most of us were grateful when he died."

She turned toward Percival, reached out, and touched his jaw with care. "Your family had such beautiful names. All three of them. I'm so sorry, Percival. You've had a terrible loss, but you're not bitter. In fact, you seem like a good soul."

Christiane's touch comforted him, and he covered her hand with his for a moment. "I try to lead a good life. For them." He dropped his hand and cleared his throat. "But it was a long time ago. I've done a good deal of traveling since then, and learning to use the sword. I wasn't the best farmer," he said with a touch of humor in his voice. "Life has been fairly kind to me since."

They wandered on; however, a short time later, Percival realized their stroll was almost finished.

"We're nearly at your house. I was wondering if I might walk you home again tomorrow night. After that, I'm on late patrol for a few evenings, but I would like to see you tomorrow, if you agree."

Christiane looked at the hulking knight thoughtfully. Percival feared she was about to say no, and his heart sank.

"I would enjoy that a great deal," she said, and stood on her toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Tomorrow night it is, then," Percival replied, pressing a soft kiss to her hand. He thought he might have seen a faint blush on her cheeks.

Once Christiane was safely inside her home and out of earshot, he pumped his fist in the air, and whispered, "Yes!" before returning to his quarters in the castle.

XXXX

The next day passed painfully slowly for Christiane, despite her usual full schedule.

On a typical day, her household chores, working in the tavern, spending time with her best friend Carina, and studying kept her mind well occupied. Today, however, her concentration and focus wavered.

Pausing briefly in her duties, Christiane reflected she was grateful that Carina had moved to Camelot at the same time as she. The two girls had grown up together and were close in age. Christiane simply couldn't imagine a life without her good friend and confidante.

While engaged in her work, she kept recalling her time with Percival the previous night, and looked forward to their walk that evening. She smiled, shaking her head in embarrassment as her thoughts dwelled on the way his smile lit up his face.

The hours dragged on slowly, no matter how hard she willed them to pass. Finally, closing time arrived. And as promised, Percival waited outside for Christiane.

"See?" he said. "No sneaking up on you or knocking heads today." Percival bowed and asked formally, "Are you ready, my lady?" and offered his arm for her to take.

"I was impressed by your kindness toward that beggar who came into the tavern the week after you and your father took over," Percival commented, as they sauntered through the quiet back streets in the crisp evening air. "When he entered, people yelled at him to leave, but you didn't. You ignored them all and took him outside gently. And I saw you slip him a coin as well. Weren't you worried he'd keep coming back?"

Christiane shook her head. "I came from Engerd, where poverty and begging was common. If I can help anybody, just a little, I will always do so. That could easily be one of us; we never know when our fortunes or health will change. My mother, Joan, dying of the sweating sickness when I was three taught me that. Though I remember little about her."

Percival nodded and expressed his condolences, understanding the pain of losing a parent. He also felt his heart swell with admiration for Christiane. Admiration and something else he couldn't exactly identify…

XXXX

A couple of days later, Percival and Gwaine stopped by the tavern for a quick bite following their early-evening training session. Percival hoped to see Christiane, but she either wasn't there or was busy in the kitchen. As they devoured their onion-stuffed beef rolls, Gwaine proclaimed that the savory treat was the best thing he'd ever eaten.

"You'd say dirt was the best thing you'd ever eaten following a hard training session," Percival pointed out, as he crammed another substantial bite of the delicious treat into his mouth.

The two friends had just finished their meals when Lady Elora, a young courtier from the castle, approached Percival from behind and massaged his shoulders. Elora was nineteen, light-blonde, slightly built with a tiny waist, yet very buxom. Of course, at that very moment, Christiane emerged from the kitchen and took her place behind the bar.

Oh, no, Percival thought. He was not at all a fan of the overly-friendly Elora, and he couldn't imagine how this familiarity must appear to Christiane.

"Um, Elora…" Percival started, "…would you mind removing ––"

Gwaine, ever the perceptive and loyal friend, vaulted out of his seat and flung himself into Percival's lap, sending the chair skidding back a good three feet and nearly knocking over the young woman in the process.

Gwaine threw his arms around Percival's neck. "Oh, Percival!" Gwaine said, in a very high-pitched, girlish voice. "You're so big and strong, I've decided I like men now. Give us a kiss, will you?" Gwaine made loud and exaggerated kissing sounds and the entire tavern roared with laughter.

For a moment, Percival thought Gwaine had gone mad. He took a few seconds to realize Gwaine was trying to save him from Elora's attentions, and prevent Christiane from becoming upset. Percival played along.

"Oh, Gwaine!" he said in high-pitched falsetto. "Finally, after all this time!"

Elora stood still, a few feet away from the chair, watching the display dumbly without budging. Finally, in desperation, Gwaine mimed kissing Percival, having covered his mouth with his hand first, and knocked their chair over onto the floor with a loud crash. As the tavern patrons howled with laughter at the knights' antics, Elora decided she'd had enough and stormed from the tavern with her nose in the air.

"Dear God, please tell me she's gone," Gwaine muttered into Percival's ear.

"I think so," he replied.

Aware that all eyes were on him, Gwaine stood, pushed his shoulder-length brown locks out of his face with a flourish, and theatrically straightened his tunic.

"Actually, I've changed my mind!" announced Gwaine, helping Percival to his feet. "I really don't like men it seems. And certainly not YOU!" Gwaine reached for his tankard to drain his ale in one long gulp.

Percival swatted Gwaine's arm and turned to walk up to Christiane at the bar, only to find Sir Aled had beaten him to the punch. He stood nearby and listened to their exchange.

"Christiane! Have you considered my marriage proposal yet?" Aled teased, as he leaned against the wooden divider.

Aled was a friendly young man, nice in his own way, but Christiane simply wasn't interested.

"I can't say that I have," the young woman said, grinning.

"But why not? We'd have the finest sons in all of Camelot!" he offered. "Your looks and brains, my strength and skills…" He flexed his arm, showing what he felt was his obvious prowess.

Percival's hands balled into fists as he took his seat once again, his ears peeled.

"As appealing as that might sound to some, I actually have my eye on someone else."

"Who?" demanded Aled, before whining, "Please don't say Gwaine. Every woman loves Gwaine!"

Christiane shook her head.

"Michael? Erec? Leon? Percival?"

"All right, quiz time is over," Christiane declared, returning to her studies. "Back to your seat, now."

Aled sighed with a good-natured smile. "FINE, then. But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me."

Percival waited a couple of minutes for the patrons to return to their own conversations, and then approached the bar.

Christiane looked up and winked at him. "Quite the evening, eh?"

"Quite," he agreed. "Care for another stroll tonight?"

Christiane smiled cheerfully. "I would like nothing more."

XXXX

Over the next two weeks, Percival and Christiane continued their evening walks whenever he did not have night duty. Both of them looked forward to this time together a great deal, and used the hours to discuss their childhoods, nature, friends, family, and their interests.

One night, instead of offering his arm to Christiane, Percival extended his hand, and she took it. The knight threaded his strong fingers between her more delicate ones, and felt a slight rush of contentment, but he did his best to conceal it from his companion.

Christiane, unaware of his feelings, chattered on and told Percival about the one and only time she had been fishing with her brother.

"I tell you, it was a terrifying experience for a seven-year-old. I caught an eel, and it scared me to death! It was huge, covered with slime, writhing disgustingly," Christiane explained, with her nose wrinkled. "I screamed and cried, and begged my brother to unhook it. But he just laughed and waved the horrid creature in my face. I never went fishing again after that."

"We shall remedy that!" exclaimed Percival, laughing. "I'm going to take you fishing on Sunday, if you're available. I can come by your home with my horse just before sunrise. He can carry us both."

"Before sunrise?" Christiane questioned.

"Yes. That's the best time to fish."

"Well, I suppose I can."

"Good. Oh, and one more thing," he said. "What's your favorite color?"

"That's an odd question. Does it relate to fishing?"

"In a way. I'm going to bring something to make your morning easier."

Christiane paused before answering. "Blue. Like the sky."

"Like your eyes," Percival blurted out without thinking, then shook his head. "No, your eyes are a darker blue. More like a deep-ocean blue."

"You've been looking."

Percival forced himself to hold her gaze. "I have."

Christiane studied Percival for a long moment, before saying, "Well, I should go inside."

"Of course. I'll see you Sunday at sunrise, then?"

"Sunday, at sunrise," Christiane confirmed.

"Good. Though I have patrol duties for the next few nights, so I won't see you 'till that morning. I'll miss you," said Percival, blushing.

He took her hand, kissed it, and bid her a good night.

Turning swiftly, he strode off into the dark evening.


	2. Chapter 2 Gone Fishing

_A/N – Hello, my fearless readers! Thank you for reading chapter one and sticking with me for chapter two. Only twenty-eight or so chapters to go, plus an epilogue. Are you up for it? I hope so._

_And just a note, this story is inspired by BBC/Shine's Merlin, but I take many liberties and have made changes. After all, it's going to be a different tale with Gwaine and King Arthur surviving, and that's what we want, isn't it? _

_And again, if you have any questions, concerns, comments, or just want to say hello, feel free to leave a comment or PM me._

_Without further ado, welcome to chapter two. Christiane and Percival go fishing. And perhaps have some fantasies later on. Enjoy!_

Chapter 2 – Gone Fishing

The next several days passed in a blur of activity. Both Christiane and Percival were extremely busy with their respective jobs.

Percival had patrol duties in the forest which proved to be a bit unpredictable and resulted in a confrontation with some heavily-armed and aggressive smugglers.

In addition to coping with the typical daily stress related to his job, Percival continued to have trouble with Lady Elora. It seemed that the moment he returned to the castle, the young courtier was waiting around every corner in ambush for him; she leaned in too closely when asking questions, and allowed her touch on his arm to linger a moment too long. The woman had become a real nuisance, and Percival wished she'd simply leave him be.

Meanwhile, Christiane worked diligently at the tavern, dealing with the trivial tasks which were a part of being a barkeep; one evening she chased out three squealing pigs that had wandered in behind a patron. The young woman also had to fend off the overly-amorous attentions of a traveling merchant who dined in the establishment. This particular interaction resulted in Christiane dumping a large tankard of ale over the man's head.

XXXX

By the time Sunday morning dawned, clear and cool, Percival and Christiane both looked forward to a leisurely morning of fishing, and an opportunity to relax away from the stresses of their everyday lives.

Percival arrived at Christiane's cottage on his massive chestnut destrier. Christiane met him outside, and as she advanced, Percival dismounted and laughed.

"What, exactly, is so funny?" she inquired, a touch of both humor and irritation in her tone.

"I don't think you've slept well. You look like a newborn babe!"

Christiane narrowed her eyes. "And what, precisely, does that mean?"

Immediately, Percival knew his joke had not gone over well. "Just that you look a little tired." With a slight wince, he added, "And a touch cranky."

"As you know," she huffed, "I keep later hours because of the tavern." Yet at the very end of her statement, she gave a small smile.

Percival slapped his palm against his forehead. "I never even thought of that! I'm so sorry. But I have something for you. Maybe this will help make amends." From his saddlebag he removed a small cloth bag and presented it to Christiane. "For you."

She examined the bag.

"You're to open it and see what's inside," Percival prompted.

Christiane smiled and removed the cloth in order to unveil her gift. It was a small sea-shell, a scallop, dyed blue, with a lovely ribbon threaded through the top. She stared at the present, her eyes welling up.

Percival was unsure of what to make of her reaction. "It's a necklace," he explained. "Somewhat sky-blue. Or the closest I could get, anyway. It's to make up for me forcing you up so early to fish."

Of course, this wasn't at all the reason Percival had purchased the necklace. But it was a convenient excuse to provide her with a token of his affection.

"Percival, it's beautiful," she whispered, touched by his thoughtfulness. "Thank you so much."

Christiane rushed forward and hugged him. Percival was rather surprised by her enthusiastic reaction, and it took him a moment to hug her back.

"Where on earth did you get this?"

"One of Gwaine's many lady friends. She's really a lovely woman; Marsilia. She makes all types of jewelry. When she showed me this piece, I thought of you," he admitted shyly.

_Everything makes me think of you_, Percival thought to himself. _But you have no idea. _

"That's very kind and generous. Will you tie it on for me?"

"Of course," Percival answered, and she turned her back to him, lifting the long, dark hair from off her neck. His lips itched to kiss that neck; the soft, creamy-white skin was so temptingly close. As he knotted the ribbon in place, Percival could imagine pressing his lips against that curve just by her collar bone. But he wouldn't dare be so bold. Yet.

Shaking off this powerful mental image, Percival offered to help Christiane up onto his horse. However, she wanted to pet the animal's muzzle and coo over him. His horse was a wonderful and loyal beast, but didn't always take to being petted by people with whom he was unfamiliar. Yet there Christiane was, rubbing his muzzle contentedly while the beast nuzzled her.

"He is such a fine horse. Beautiful. What's his name?" she asked

"It's Aethon. Greek for 'blaze,'" Percival explained.

"That name suits him well," Christiane commented, giving the horse a final pat.

Christiane and Percival mounted Aethon, secured her bag packed with fruit, cheese, and bread, and set off towards the fishing hole as the sun rose higher in the sky.

A short time later they'd arrived and unpacked. Christiane set up a comfortable blanket where they planned to have breakfast in a little while.

The pair walked through the damp grass to the water's edge as Percival explained some of the finer points of fishing, and told her how he thought they'd use a nettle-hemp line and hook instead of a spear.

"We'll save the spear fishing for next time," Christiane joked.

Percival cut up some old sausage for bait, as he thought that might be preferable to having Christiane place a worm on the hook.

For a time, they sat in companionable silence, until Percival felt compelled to ask a question that had been on his mind.

"Christiane, can I ask you a personal question? Why you're not married yet? I'd think a beautiful, smart woman like you would have suitors at your door constantly."

Christiane chuckled and shook her head. "No, not really. Most men are put off by the incessant book-reading. The men I've met, like Sir Aled, desire marriage simply because they want a woman to take care of them and bear their children, nothing else. I want to do those things, but I also want to be able to read, learn, and work as a healer. I don't feel as if my sole purpose in life is to produce sons."

Percival made a mental note to hit Sir Aled particularly hard with the quarterstaff the next time they sparred. "And men don't approve? Of your reading and wanting to be a healer?"

"Not everyone's quite as progressive as you, Percival," she said, and winked. "And what about you? Do you want marriage? Children?"

"I do," he answered. "I don't know if I'll be that lucky, but I hope so. When the Dorocha[1] overtook our lands a while back, three small children were nearly attacked. I grabbed them up and ran with all three little ones in my arms until we reached their family. I hadn't thought much about children until that moment, but when I saw the relief and love in their parents' eyes, I knew I wanted that for myself, too. One day." His words tapered off, and he spent a few moments fussing with his fishing line.

"That's very touching. I'm not used to men being so open about their feelings. My father and brother certainly aren't.

"Anyway," said Christiane, "you may not believe this, but women talk about you all the time in the tavern. I hear them."

"None have caught my eye," he replied.

After a long pause, the conversation took a more serious turn.

"Let me ask you something else. What if you had children and you had only daughters?" Christiane inquired.

"If I did," Percival replied, "I'm sure they'd be the loveliest, smartest girls in all of Camelot."

"And what about sons to carry on your name? If you didn't have them?"

"I know some men are desperate for sons. But I'll tell you that to be blessed with healthy children is enough for me.

"I think most of the men I know feel the same, like Gwaine and Leon. Why all of these questions?" he asked with a slight smile.

Christiane responded quickly. "Oh, just wondering!"

"Can I ask you a question?" Percival asked, switching the focus of the conversation back toward her.

"Certainly."

"Let's say you were married, and your husband was gravely injured. Say, he lost a limb or was crippled...something like that. Would you leave him?"

Christiane looked at him with shock. "Of course not! I know that my husband will be the love of my life, and I wouldn't leave no matter what. How could I abandon someone I love?"

Christiane pressed on with a new line of inquiry. "What if you were to get married and your wife couldn't bear children? Would you...set her aside and remarry?" She asked this while looking away from him.

"No, of course not. I'd only marry for love, and I can't imagine dismissing someone because she can't carry children. There are plenty of little ones out there who need homes, as I did. One can always raise them as their own."

Christiane felt immense relief at this comment. Of course, she had no idea if she could bear children or not, but for some odd reason, it was important to her to know how Percival felt about this topic. She suddenly felt embarrassed and foolish. Why had she asked such serious questions?

After a brief break for breakfast, they resumed fishing. Though there hadn't been so much as a small nibble all morning, suddenly, Christiane's line bobbed violently in the water; a fish was hooked, and a large one at that.

Percival placed down his line and went to help bring her catch to the shore. It was a huge trout, wriggling and fighting. Percival grabbed the fish and placed it on the ground, holding it still with his boot. "Now, you're going to take out the hook," he told Christiane.

"No!" she shrieked. "I'll hurt it!"

Percival chuckled. "Just grab the hook firmly and wiggle it out. Then toss him in the bucket. Go on…you can do it."

Christiane bent down to work the hook free. Once the metal popped out of its mouth, she then grabbed the fish solidly with both hands, screaming with excitement, tossing it into the bucket with a satisfying plunk.

"I did it!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms open, pulling Percival into a firm hug, which he returned.

She was elated and breathless. As she pulled back slightly from the hug, Percival decided that this was his moment. He took Christiane's face in his hands gently, tilted his head, and pressed his lips to hers for a moment. He stepped back for a beat, his hands still holding her face.

Christiane, her eyes closed, felt the searing brand of his kiss linger on her lips; she'd never felt anything like that before. She melted into his arms feeling almost weightless. She thought it might seem silly, or trite to others, but in that one moment, she knew she loved Percival, and that notion terrified her. She hardly knew him!

Deep within his heart, Percival experienced a similar revelation, though he would never admit it. Certainly not yet. He could picture Gwaine laughing him out of the armory the next time he saw him if he told his friend he was in love.

Although the kiss had been brief, it was special and powerful. It was a kiss that changed everything.

Percival covered Christiane's mouth with his once again, then deepened the kiss. He brushed his tongue against her lower lip, and she parted her lips to encourage more. It felt incredible and she never wanted it to end.

After several minutes of exploring each other's mouths, bodies pressed close together, Percival stopped and planted a gentle peck on Christiane's brow, and leaned his forehead against hers.

"Was this okay?" he asked, ever the gentleman.

A quiet chuckle escaped Christiane. "Yes, Percival, this is okay. Thank you for asking."

"I just want to be sure," he said. Then he paused and realized that he needed an excuse to move off into the woods to calm himself before the hard ridge in his trousers became obvious.

"Nature calls. I'll be back in a moment."

The knight turned and strode away, thinking of ugly things: Gwaine falling down drunk. Olga, the baker's hairy wart. That helped cool his lust, and he was soon ready to return. As he did so, Percival noted the position of the sun in the sky and saw that it was later than he realized, and time to return to Camelot.

The two mounted Aethon and left for home.

As they neared Christiane's cottage, Percival explained that he had to leave on a mission with Arthur, their much-loved young king, and would return in a week.

"There have been reports of Morgana sighted with a large number of soldiers near Essetir," he said, "and we're going to scout the area. Word has it that she's more determined than ever to see Camelot destroyed."

Morgana was King Arthur's half-sister, a sorceress, user of dark magic, and evil High Priestess, who had reigned with terror over the people of Camelot in the past. It was well-known she coveted the kingdom and throne for herself.

Finally reaching Christiane's home, she and Percival dismounted. The knight then inquired if she would be willing to accompany him on a picnic the following week, once he'd returned to Camelot.

"I would love to," she replied, smiling with enthusiasm. "I'll bring the mead."

"I'll bring the food," Percival concluded.

Christiane collected her belongings and Percival placed a feather-light kiss on her lips. Aware that her father might be lurking behind the windows of the modest cottage, he restrained himself, picturing an enraged older man storming outside with a shovel in hand, ready and willing to smack the knight over the head.

"Next week, then," Christiane said. "And Percival? Please take care. I mean it."

XXXX

Percival, Gwaine, Leon, and two dozen other knights made camp for the evening on the way to Essetir. As usual, after the necessary sword-sharpening and weapon-checking, the talk turned to women. As was also typical, Gwaine shared a variety of off-color stories about his numerous dalliances.

"The only thing I've yet to achieve is two women in my bed at once." Gwaine leaned back against a tree, his hands behind his head, resting against his thick, shoulder-length, brown hair.

"Before I die, or get married, whichever comes first, I definitely want to experience that, my friends. I already know what I'd do," he continued. "I'd set one on my face and the other on my cock. And when they'd had their fill, I'd switch them around."

Nearly all the men shouted their approval, then discussed what they would do with two women at once. The stories were quite detailed and colorful.

However, as usual, Leon didn't participate in the discussion. As knight commander, he felt it was his duty to set a positive example, one that did not include meticulous descriptions of sexual activity. But, observing him carefully, Gwaine thought he saw the corner of the man's mouth turn upward in a crooked smile, half-smile. After all, Leon knew the men needed to have a little fun now and then.

Percival thought to himself it was probably enough of a challenge to keep one woman satisfied in bed, let alone two. How could one manage two women at once? Such a notion was overwhelming.

As he pondered, he could vividly imagine Christiane in various positions, her luscious body on top of him, and the thought made him ache with need. He didn't need or want two women. Just one. The one who had filled his dreams for the past several weeks. He was drawn back to reality by Gwaine's bawdy comments, which were now directed toward him.

"So, Percival. How are things with Christiane? Did you convince her to share your bed yet?" Gwaine challenged, loudly enough for everyone to hear. The other knights hooted and hollered, eagerly awaiting the answer.

"If I did, you certainly wouldn't be the first to know, Gwaine," Percival countered, sounding more stern and angry than usual

Gwaine stared at him for a moment, thoughtful. "I say no. Because if you had got your hands on that beauty, and I mean really got your hands on her, you wouldn't be able to keep it to yourself. I'll bet she'd be a real little fox in bed!"

With all of his fellow knights staring at him, awaiting a response, Percival sighed. He didn't want there to be the slightest doubt in anyone's mind about Christiane's proper behavior.

"You're right Gwaine," he conceded. "I haven't. I hope that makes you happy."

Gales of laughter erupted, along with jibes of "Poor Percival, the virgin," and, "I hope she goes easy on you when the time comes," followed by, "If you're not man enough, I'll have a go with that sexy thing!"

Though the comments were meant as harmless chaff, Gwaine noted the way Percival's jaw clenched as the large knight glared at the dirt floor of the forest, scraping it absently with his belt-knife. Gwaine moved a little closer to ensure privacy for his next words; he didn't want anyone else to hear what he was about to ask.

"Damn, you're in love with her?"

Gwaine was genuinely concerned about Percival's feelings. While he enjoyed a good joke as well as the next man, he had no interest in truly upsetting his best friend.

Percival gave a brief noncommittal shrug; that was the best Gwaine was going to get out of him. For now.

XXXX

The knights' first full day in Essetir was uneventful. This was surprising, given that the entire kingdom was plagued by mercenaries and bandits, even under the rule of the new king. During the last twenty-four hours, there hadn't been so much as a small skirmish, let alone a full-out ambush, which was a relief, but still, the men felt edgy.

Night crept in, cloudy and brisk. They chose a camping spot that was more hospitable than most in the area, with heavy tree cover and some rocky outcroppings for shelter. It was late, and after the usual routine of imbibing and storytelling, with the exception of the men standing guard, most were fast asleep. Except Percival.

He lay, wide awake, thinking of Christiane. She was on his mind and in his heart every moment. He cautioned himself to be careful, knowing that such a persistent distraction could get him killed, and he needed to remain alert and present at all times.

_How do they do it?_ Percival wondered. He knew a good number of his fellow knights were married. Did they think about their wives all the time? Did the aching and wanting grow less over the months and years? He didn't think so. Not for him, at least. He chastised himself for thinking about the word "wife." After all, he and Christiane had shared only one kiss. Two, he supposed, if one were to count the brief peck he gave her when he saw her home after their fishing trip.

Maybe she wasn't all that impressed with him. She could be bored, just passing the time until someone better came along, someone less-huge with a far safer occupation. _No,_ he thought. _It's just my shyness and insecurity talking._

He wished he could wake Gwaine to discuss this, but he had the feeling unless he wanted it announced all over Camelot that he was an "emotional girl," he should probably keep these thoughts to himself.

Percival continued to toss and turn on his thin bedroll. He wondered if it was always this uncomfortable sleeping on the hard ground, or if he just happened to notice it more tonight because he was already mildly distressed.

Gwaine slept nearby, and Percival thought he heard his friend mumble, "Oh, yes, beautiful…."

He smiled to himself. Good old Gwaine, he'd probably never change. Maybe it was easier just going from woman to woman without any complicated emotional entanglements. Then Percival recalled the many nights when he'd heard women screaming and throwing things at Gwaine in his chambers once they'd discovered he wasn't a one-woman kind of man. In his heart, Percival knew that wasn't the type of life he wanted for himself.

The large knight allowed his mind to drift as he tried to will himself to sleep. Instead of sleep he had a persistent vision of Christiane running through his head: her sweet, full lips and that lush, desirable body. Normally, when he touched himself, he envisioned somewhat faceless, nameless women. But now, one particular woman invaded his every thought. A part of him felt guilty touching himself while thinking of Christiane, worried that she would somehow be able to see his thoughts when they next met. But he knew that was just absurd.

He found that he just couldn't stop thinking of her. Percival could easily imagine what she looked like underneath her dress. She didn't dress very provocatively, like some women he knew, but the suggestive hints sometimes drove him mad with want. When she leaned over in the tavern, he could see just a trace of her cleavage, promising firm, full breasts. The morning they'd been fishing, she'd bent to retrieve some extra bait and Percival couldn't help but admire that round, broad arse of hers. And Lord help him, he couldn't stop himself fantasizing about tearing that dress off her beautiful frame and having his way with her.

These thoughts were too much to bear. He couldn't shake the idea of carrying her to his bed, stripping her naked, and finding pleasure in every inch of her enticing body. In vivid detail, he envisioned the overwhelming sensations as he buried himself inside her, drowning in her alluring scent. Allowing his imagination to take over, the knight could almost hear her crying out with pleasure, calling his name and begging for more. Knowing it was a terrible idea, he still couldn't resist unlacing the front of his trousers to grasp his erection, stroking it, even with so many men close by. After a surprisingly brief interval, he bit his lip sharply as he came, stifling a moan as he did so.

As he recuperated from his clandestine activity, Percival couldn't help wondering if Christiane ever touched herself. And if she did, did she think of him? Did women even do that sort of thing? Naturally, asking Gwaine about such matters was completely out of the question.

Of course, right then, Gwaine emerged from his bedroll, mumbling, "I have to take a piss."

He looked over before staggering off into the darkness and saw Percival was still awake. "What are you doing up?"

"What?" Percival asked, pretending as if he'd just woken. "Oh, I had a dream."

"Yeah, I'll bet you did," Gwaine taunted. "One with dark brown hair and a sweet arse, I'm sure."

Percival growled and tossed a handful of grass at his friend.

XXXX

On the second night of Percival's absence, late in the evening, Christiane lay in her bed in the cottage's comfortable loft, thinking of him. Her father had left the city on an overnight trip to obtain a large quantity of pickled mussels and oysters. These were always popular fare at the tavern and the nearest source was a half-day's travel away, so she had use of the home herself. She loved her father, but sometimes it was nice to be alone with her own thoughts.

First and foremost, she thought of Percival's safety. This was a new sensation, being terribly concerned for someone else's well-being. None of her family members or friends had particularly dangerous occupations, although life in Camelot could be unpredictable for anyone.

She fumbled with her pillow and sighed, trying to reassure herself. He was well-trained, a knight of Camelot, and was much better able to defend himself than others. Then again, it also meant that he was more likely to find trouble. Or, trouble could easily find him. However, Percival was exceptionally large and strong. She imagined he could crush most men in hand-to-hand combat. That idea seemed so at odds with her memory of his gentle but eager kiss and touches just a few days ago. How could a man be such a fierce warrior on one hand, yet so kind and tender with her? She fingered the necklace he'd given her, and no answer came.

Suddenly, feeling nervous and insecure, a part of her wondered if he really wanted to be with her, a tavern owner's daughter. She was very inexperienced in these matters and knew she needed some sound counsel. Carina had much more experience with men; perhaps she'd approach her friend for advice. She'd be able to help!

After all, Christiane was a maiden. Maintaining her virginity until marriage was important to her. She knew many women her age didn't care so much, but she did. It was something special that she wanted to save as a gift for her future husband. Few people understood her conviction, but that's how she felt, although Christiane had no problem with other women making different choices for themselves. She strongly believed that women should be permitted to make their own decisions and have a say in their futures, an idea that was somewhat radical, and not widely accepted.

And she wasn't a nun, after all. She'd kissed a couple of boys, and had even let one reach into her dress and touch her breast. But when they discovered she wasn't willing to have sex with them, they tended to lose interest and move on to the next willing girl. She wondered if Percival would do the same. He seemed different, though, and she hoped he wouldn't follow the pattern of the usual men she knew.

She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to purge thoughts of Percival from her mind, but to no avail. Her imagination proceeded to provide a very full and detailed scene. Christiane pictured the man completely undressed. She had, after all, seen his muscular arms and could imagine how the rest of his body might look; he was probably rock-hard, covered with thick muscle all over, and Christiane sucked in her gut a bit.

She knew it was shameless, but she decided to indulge, and conjured up a mental vision of Percival making love to her in the forest, passionately and unrestrained. In this image, he lay her reverently on their picnic blanket and touched her everywhere, running his hands up and down her entire body. She shivered, and imagined how it might feel as his substantial weight settled over her, pushing her hips into the forest floor as he filled her with gentle determination. Christiane imagined him moving in and out of her, faster and faster, the strokes increasing with speed along with their enthusiasm. Of course in this scenario, he'd also proclaim his undying love for her, and she felt a little foolish.

Even so, she allowed her hands to drift down between her legs and rub her sensitive spot over and over, all the while imagining it was his touch instead. Christiane finally tensed, breath held for a moment, before panting out Percival's name as she reached her climax.

After taking several long deep breaths, she felt embarrassed. What would Percival think of her engaging in such activity?

She didn't know how she'd ever look him in the eye again.

[1] The dorocha are shadow people, or, spirits of the dead. To mortals, their touch is fatal.


	3. Chapter 3 Return from Mission

Chapter 3 – Return from Mission

The following week, as Christiane mixed dough at the tavern, Carina burst in excitedly, her brown eyes shining and curly blonde hair wild. "The knights are back from their mission!" Carina yelled out frantically to her friend.

It seemed as if Carina always had information about the knights, probably because she had her eye on Sir Michael, one of the younger men.

Christiane looked up at her father, eagerly, hoping to be dismissed. He rolled his eyes. "Oh, just go," he groaned. "I'll pop the bread into the oven. Go on, now!" Will's demeanor was often gruff, but Christiane knew it was an act; the man adored his children with all of his heart.

Christiane and Carina raced along the dusty path toward the castle on the bright early-summer afternoon. As they jogged at a brisk pace, Christiane realized she'd never been inside of the castle, and wasn't sure she'd be able to gain entry.

"Carina, how are we supposed to get in?" she asked, sounding breathless.

"Oh, just tell the guards you're here to see Sir Percival. They'll check you for weapons and that's about it. They'll let us in, trust me."

The duo approached the guard at the castle's main entryway. "Names?" he asked, and they provided them. "Do you have any weapons on your person?" They shook their heads vigorously. "And whom are you here to see?" They answered. The guard stepped aside and granted them entry.

Carina showed Christiane to the area of the castle that housed the knights' quarters and pointed out Percival's door. The more senior knights had private quarters, but the newer, younger men had to share chambers. Percival had his own quarters, but Michael was preparing to receive a new roommate at some time during the next several weeks.

Carina pounded on Sir Michael's door. The man opened it and stepped forward quickly to embrace her.

Meanwhile, Christiane had gently tapped on Percival's chamber door.

"Enter," he said.

Christiane opened the door and poked her head inside. "Hello. May I come in?" she asked, taking in Percival's sizable, shirtless body propped up in the bed, resting against several pillows. The man had a fresh bandage wrapped around his shoulder; she saw a small trace of blood showing on the clean, white gauze.

She noticed in passing that his quarters were quite nice. The walls were decorated with scarlet banners bearing the golden Pendragon crest. Fine curtains hung in front of the large window by the bed. There was a sizable fireplace and an impressive bear rug was spread out in front of it. The dining table was neat and tidy, with a small stack of books on its edge.

Stepping further into the room, Christiane tried not to admire the grand bed too much. It was massive and adorned with scarlet hangings. It looked very comfortable; laden with thick bedding and plush pillows. Christiane swallowed, attempting to erase the image in her mind of joining Percival in that sumptuous bed.

"Please!" Percival exclaimed, beckoning as he sat more upright. "It's wonderful to see you. This bed is comfortable, but boring."

"Are you all right?" Christiane inquired, moving closer to the injured man. "What happened?"

"This shoulder injury is from a crossbow bolt; my first one!" explained Percival, sounding almost proud. "And the rib problem is from Gwaine's fat elbow. In the midst of fighting off some bandits he backed into me. I'm not sure what hurts more," he said with a chuckle. "Can you believe it? All from an altercation that lasted for about two minutes."

"Are you in terrible pain?" asked Christiane, concern apparent, her voice shaking. She couldn't imagine how awful it must have been to get shot.

"No, it looks a lot worse than it is," the knight assured her. "A few days' rest, a bit of arnica, and I'll be fine, really. I'm just pretty tired right now. From the journey home."

Christiane straightened, preparing to leave. "I don't want to keep you from your rest."

"No, please stay. I'd enjoy your company for a while, even while I relax. If you have the time, that is."

"I have plenty of time and I'd love to stay."

"Pull up a chair, then," Percival suggested.

And she did. She pulled a dining-table chair close to his bed and held his warm, strong hand in hers, settling in for a visit.

He told her a brief story about Gwaine's drunken escapade one night, where the inebriated knight threatened to fight a neighing horse which he'd mistaken for a person laughing at him. Christiane giggled at Percival's lively description of his friend's antics.

It seemed as if the storytelling took quite a bit out of him, and Percival's eyes soon drooped. Christiane remained with him as he softly fell into slumber. She sat at his side in silence for an hour, caressing his hand with her thumb. She also drank in the hardness of his broad chest dusted with light-colored hair, the flat plane of his stomach, and his massive, muscular arms. The reality displayed before her was even better than the images she'd conjured in her head.

Although Christiane knew it was rude and inappropriate, when Percival stirred and his bed sheets slipped slightly lower, she glanced at the thin strip of hair that ran from beneath his belly button downward, and thought about the temptation that lay just below. In her eyes, he was a beautiful creature, and she felt a sharp sting of insecurity, wondering if she measured up.

Once he'd fallen into a deeper slumber, Christiane rose and carefully readjusted Percival's bed clothes. She located some parchment, a quill, and an inkwell, and left a short note telling him to sleep well, and that she would return for a visit tomorrow. She exited the room without making a sound.

Christiane walked home in the late afternoon sun, her mind occupied with thoughts of Percival, which was becoming more typical these days. Even the early-summer breezes, filled with the scent of grass and warm hay, failed to distract her.

The young woman drew closer to home and noted that Carina sat in her favorite chair, in the front garden, which faced across the street towards Christiane and Will's home. Carina largely lived alone. Her mother had died when she was an infant, and her father, Reese, traded for a living. He was typically gone for many months at a time, and his current trade mission would keep him away from home for a year. Reese left her with plenty of gold, and Carina did well for herself by selling candles. Her best sellers were ones infused with the exotic oils her father brought back from distant lands. "Another year of selling scented candles, and I'll never have to work again!" the young woman often joked.

Carina stood and flounced up to her friend. "Well? How'd everything go?"

"Fine. He's hurt, but he says he'll recover after a few days of rest. Mostly, he slept and I held his hand."

Carina looked perplexed. "That's all? You talked and he slept?"

"What else were we going to do? The man took a bolt to the shoulder and he's recovering!" Christiane told her friend in an incredulous tone.

Carina gave an exasperated sigh. "Oh, Christiane, we need to have a LONG talk!"

"Why? What did you and Michael do?"

"Do you really want to know?" Carina asked, a slightly devious edge to her voice. "I don't want to hurt your virgin ears!"

Christiane considered the offer carefully; did she want to know? In the past, she probably would have thought not. But now she was curious. She knew why she felt this need to know about her friend's romp, but she certainly wouldn't admit it aloud. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do want to know. Every detail!"

Carina's eyes widened in surprise. "In that case, take a seat next to me and buckle your breeches!" she joked.

Carina was a good friend and a kind, fun person, full of life and enthusiasm. Her blonde, curly hair was always whipping about and her animated hands punctuated colorful stories. She rubbed her palms together to prepare for a good tale.

"As soon as I walked into Sir Michael's chambers, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him, and I mean, kissed him! Fiercely with lots of tongue. Then I inquired about his well-being."

"Perhaps the inquiring should have come first," Christiane suggested.

Carina waved off her sarcasm. "Then, I grabbed him again and nudged him toward the bed. I pushed him down firmly, unlaced his breeches and –."

"You did WHAT?" Christiane interrupted, her eyes huge with disbelief. She could hardly believe any woman would be so forward, even her bold friend, but at the same time was eager to hear more.

"We've done it before!" Carina insisted. "I don't want to bore you with the details, but I performed the most amazing fellatio on him. He was done in about a minute.

"Then he pulled me down, flipped me on my back on the bed, lifted my dress, and tore off my underclothes –"

"Wait, wait, just...wait. I don't know if I can hear any more of this. Where did you learn to do all of these things?" Christiane asked.

Carina shrugged. "I like to eavesdrop on anyone who's talking about sex. Don't you ever listen to talk at the tavern? You'd get an earful! But rather than harm your sensibilities, I will simply say that the man knows how to use his tongue. He's quite the expert."

Christiane's mouth dropped open. Of course she knew about sex, including oral sex, but the idea of someone putting their tongue…there...wasn't it embarrassing? When she paused and thought about Percival's tongue on her and what it might do, she considered that the experience might be worth the embarrassment.

Cheeks flushing a bit pink, she asked, "So, you, um, liked it, then?"

"'Like' would be a significant understatement!" offered Carina with a genuine laugh. "It's just incredible. You should get that Percival of yours to do it to you."

Now Christiane's face turned beet-red, because she could picture his head between her legs in vivid detail, his tongue working deftly against her soft flesh. But rather than try to explain once again her determination to save herself for marriage, and that oral sex could certainly lead to her losing her virginity, she gave a halfhearted answer. "Maybe one day."

Carina squealed and hugged her. "Oh, my little kitten, you're missing out. Come out to the garden. I'm going to give you a lesson."

Christiane didn't exactly like the sound of that, but she followed her friend. Carina moved towards the vegetable garden and picked two cucumbers, and Christiane figured out where this lesson was headed.

"Really, Carina? You're going to 'give me a lesson' right here in the garden, facing the road?" she protested.

"Of course not, silly!" Carina replied. "We're bringing them back inside. After all, if you want to receive, you need to know how to give!"

She winked and Christiane huffed an exaggerated sigh. She knew that when Carina was this determined, there was no stopping her. Christiane decided she would try to be a good pupil, as long as things didn't get out of hand. And honestly, she was quite curious.

Carina brandished a thick, vividly-green cucumber and instructed Christiane to hold it out toward her, horizontally. "Now let's say this was Percival's cock..."

"Carina!"

"All right, let's pretend it's just a cock, then, attached to no man in particular. There, is that better?"

Christiane rolled her eyes and nodded, knowing that the blunt-talking Carina thought she was just being a prude.

"Moving right along: watch what I'm doing with my hand." Carina grabbed the cucumber firmly and moved her hand up and down the length of it a few times. "Easy, right?" she asked, not really waiting for an answer.

After ensuring that her friend was paying close attention, Carina continued. "Now here's how you use your mouth."

Christiane was too stunned and fascinated to move. Carina licked the top of the cucumber before she ran her tongue expertly up and down each side, and then took it into her mouth and began rhythmically moving her mouth up and down the length. After she did this a few times, Carina opened her mouth wide and took a hefty bite out of the vegetable, which made them both laugh.

"But don't do that. Your turn now!" she exclaimed excitedly as she munched.

"This is a terrible idea," Christiane moaned. "I have no idea what I'm doing and I'm going to look like a fool."

"Better to look like a fool with me than with Percival. I mean, whoever your future husband may be," Carina commented with wry grin. "Just go ahead and grasp it," the blonde-haired woman said as she held out the cucumber.

Summoning her courage, Christiane reached out.

"Move your hand up and down firmly."

She listened to Carina's instruction and did her best to imitate the actions from the earlier demonstration.

"Perfect, you're a natural!" Carina praised.

Christiane groaned at the statement.

"Now, time to use your mouth."

"I really think that's enough cucumber-wrangling for one day," Christiane insisted. "Plus, if he were this huge, I might die," she said, gesturing toward the vegetable.

"He might not be quite this large," Carina conceded, "but he's a big man and I'm sure he'll have the equipment to match."

Christiane sighed once more. "This is the first and last time I am ever doing this with you!" She carefully took the cucumber into her mouth. It was far too long to take in the whole thing, so she wrapped her hand around the rest.

"That is EXACTLY what you should do!" Carina cheered. "If he's too big to fit all the way into your mouth, use your hand!"

"Okay, we're done," Christiane declared emphatically, twisting the cucumber from her friend's grip.

"Percival's going to be a lucky man one of these days," Carina teased, as Christiane tossed the green vegetable at her dear friend.

They both collapsed in hysterical laughter.

XXXX

The next afternoon Christiane returned to Percival's chambers, careful not to arrive too early in case he was still resting.

Of course, no matter how hard she willed away the thoughts, she couldn't stop thinking of Percival's head buried between her legs, or her mouth working his erection. Her heart was pounding rapidly just imagining it.

"This is ridiculous," she admonished herself under her breath as she neared the castle. "Pull yourself together, Christiane."

She went through the same process as yesterday: announcing herself to the guard, proclaiming she had no weapons, and was then permitted entry.

As she ascended the castle stairs, she had a wild thought. What would Percival do if I pushed him into the bed and unlaced his trousers like Carina did to Sir Michael, and then...

She shook off the images as she knocked on the chamber door, and tried hard not to think of cucumbers.

"Come," Percival answered her knock.

Terrible word choice! Christiane thought to herself.

She pushed open the heavy wooden door and entered. This time, Percival wore his tunic, which was both good and bad, and sat at his dining table with a book.

"You look better rested. How are you feeling?" Christiane greeted as she took a seat at the table.

"I was feeling pretty good until Michael stopped by and regaled me with a long, colorful story of his afternoon tryst with Carina yesterday." Percival chuckled lightly. "He was quite descriptive, to say the least. I'm not sure I needed all of those details."

Christiane cringed. The thought he'd heard the same story she had made her cheeks flame red.

"Oh, that, well, yes," she stammered. "I heard something similar from Carina."

She then wondered how many women with whom Percival had shared such intimate activity, and began to feel quite irritable for some reason. Even angry. It was surely jealousy, but Christiane wasn't ready to admit that to herself yet.

Unaware of his guest's inner-turmoil the knight continued. "You should hear how the men carry on. I think a lot of it's fabricated to make them look good." He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm no expert, myself. But if I were, I wouldn't boast about it every day like they do."

Christiane was relieved to hear he wasn't an expert in these matters. Yet she had an inkling the man had at least a little experience.

She tried to change the subject to help dismiss the burning flame of jealousy in her gut. She looked around the room and saw a chess board. "Do you play?" she asked, motioning toward the board.

"Not incredibly well, but I do."

"Are you up for a game?"

"Most definitely."

The two spent a pleasant couple of hours joking and laughing while playing chess, each winning once.

Eventually, Christiane had to leave for work at the tavern. As she gathered herself, Percival suddenly offered an invitation.

"Would you like to accompany me to the swimming hole this weekend?" he asked. "This week's been warm and I thought you might enjoy a respite from the heat."

"I would love to," she replied, "but will you be recovered enough to swim by then?"

"I'd better be, because Gaius, the court physician, has released me to light patrol tomorrow," was the man's wry comment.

"Then I'll join you this weekend," Christiane confirmed as she reached for the door.

Percival stepped in front of her. "Wait just one moment," he said. "I know you need to leave, but…" Words failed him. Instead, he took her by the waist and drew her close to him, pressing his lips against hers. He kissed each corner of her mouth and then locked his lips with hers more forcefully.

Christiane moaned softly.

Just like their first kiss, it was wondrous and passionate. His lips were soft and the gentle scratch of his unshaven jaw was delightful. He moved his hands slowly from her hips up along her ribs and down again. She hoped he'd touch her breasts, just for a moment, as they ached to feel his hands, but he didn't.

Somewhat discombobulated from his touch, Christiane collected her thoughts enough to recall that she would be late for work and had to excuse herself. She drew back.

"I hate to go," she admitted, "but I must."

Percival held onto her tenderly for one more moment, delighting in her closeness and beauty, as well as the tantalizing scent of lavender on her pale skin.

Disengaging herself, Christiane leaned upward and pecked him on the cheek before departing.

Percival stood silently in the middle of the room for a moment and touched his face, the delicate feel of her lips still etched upon his skin.

XXXX

A few days later, Percival and Christiane had a few hours free during the afternoon, and decided to relax under a massive tree by the pond in the center of the Lower Town. The day was dreary and grey, but the two felt perfectly content in each other's company, despite the unfavorable weather.

While there was little foot traffic at the time, it was still a public place and anyone walking by could see them sitting together. Percival held Christiane's hand deliberately, wanting a somewhat-public proclamation that Christiane was his woman. He hoped that Sir Aled would saunter by so he could smile and wave at him. Or, punch him square in the jaw. That was immature, he realized, but the thought made him feel better, nonetheless. Which was strange, because he'd never considered himself a jealous man before.

"Percival?" Christiane asked, forcing his mind back to the present. "Would you tell me about your family?"

This inquiry took him by surprise. He hardly ever spoke of his family. If people asked, Percival told them simply they'd been killed, and then changed the subject. Even over a decade later, thinking of them could sometimes trigger feelings so strong, it physically pained him.

"What do you want to know?" he asked.

"Tell me your memories of them – the good ones," Christiane said with care and concern.

Percival hoped he could relay those memories without becoming too choked up and emotional. He didn't want to appear foolish, or worse, weak. He began his story.

"My parents married when my mother was sixteen and Father was twenty. I came along nine months later, right before Mum's seventeenth birthday.

"My mother was an expert gardener, but Father used to say that she just enjoyed kicking around in the mud, which was also true. I remember her always seeming to be covered in dirt from the garden of our small farm. Father always said it was 'adorable.' I recall being very young, sitting in her lap and munching on radishes in the garden while she pulled weeds."

Christiane was charmed by Percival's description of his parents, so in love and full of life. She remained silent and hoped he'd tell her more. After a short pause, he took a breath and continued.

"I was close to both of my parents. Father was a skilled carpenter, but he was also handy with the sword and taught me the basics.

"Mother was a great storyteller. She used to regale my sister Deryn and me with the most elaborate tales of lords and ladies, kings and queens, knights and sorcerers. We would run around the house making a huge racket acting out Mum's stories.

"We were a happy family; all very close, and I remember my parents were so incredibly in love."

"It sounds it," whispered Christiane.

"I haven't spoken of the day they died, ever," Percival solemnly admitted.

"You don't have to," Christiane said. "But if you want to, you can trust me, Percival. I won't ever tell anyone."

He kissed her hand. "I know you wouldn't." Percival continued, but he looked across the pond as he spoke, recalling images from long ago.

"On the day they died, Mum had sent me on an errand into the village. She'd decided that she was going to make an apple pie, and asked me to get more flour. I'd paid the miller, and had begun dragging the heavy sacks back home.

"I was only a few minutes from home when I heard the hoof beats of the raiding party. I remember people crying and screaming in terror as Cenred's men used their horses to trample our friends and neighbors. The soldiers just cut them down with their swords, and set random houses on fire. Women, children, it didn't matter; no one was immune. We'd been victims of Cenred's displays of force before, but nothing like this."

Percival took a deep breath before going on. "I could see the raiders were headed toward our house; I dropped the bags and ran as fast as I could. I had no idea how I would stop them, but I thought, in my nine-year-old mind, that I'd find a way."

As she listened, Christiane could imagine the determination of the too-young child, as he raced desperately to save his family, and it pained her heart.

"As I approached the house, Owen grabbed me around the waist and lifted me up. He was trying to cover my eyes as he told me, 'They're dead, son. You'll come and live with me now.' I peeked through his fingers and saw our front door had been smashed open. Someone had taken the time to cover my family's bodies with a sheet, but I saw my sister's little hand poking out from beneath, and it was covered in blood."

Christiane wept. Percival gathered her into his arms and finished his story.

"For months afterwards, I had terrible nightmares of my family being killed. I'm surprised Owen didn't toss me out, the way I sobbed and screamed all night long. Thank God he was so patient and kind. The only way I survived that time was by imagining my mother there with me, hugging me close. Some nights, it felt as if she really was."

Silence fell, until Percival sighed deeply, trying to keep his emotions in check. "That's all, I suppose," he concluded with a slight shrug.

Unsure of what to do or say, Christiane simply tipped her head upward and kissed Percival gently. "You're so brave," she said, holding his face in her hands. "Then and now."

Percival desperately needed to change the subject. He was grateful that he'd finally unburdened himself of those horrible memories, but he couldn't continue discussing it without breaking down. "Can we talk about something else?" he asked. "Like, your freckles?"

Christiane understood his need to change the subject. "My freckles?" she asked. "I don't think anyone's ever commented on my freckles." She reached for her nose. "There aren't too many of them, are there?"

"No. Just a few on your nose and cheeks. I find them charming," he said as he kissed the bridge of her nose and each pale cheek. He looked into her blue eyes. "You're so beautiful."

Christiane felt embarrassed. She wasn't used to being complimented by men unless they were at the tavern and somewhat drunk. She dismissed his flattery. "Please, I'm too chubby."

"What?" Percival shouted. "I prefer a woman with some substance. I find skinny women very unappealing. You're shapely and gorgeous. Ridiculously sexy."

Christiane's eyes widened.

"I'm sorry, I've gone too far," he apologized.

"That's very nice of you, it's just that I don't see it."

"I wish you could see yourself as I see you," Percival told her.

He leaned in and gave her a slow, tender kiss, and he hoped the whole world saw it.

"Damn, I have to head back to the tavern," Christiane told him, as a light drizzle started. "I'll see you this weekend, then?"

"Yes. This weekend."

XXXX

Percival found himself unable to wait for the weekend. The day before their planned swimming excursion, he had a longer evening break than expected. Not taking the time to change from his chainmail and cape, the knight walked down to the tavern to see if Christiane might be there and to say a quick hello. In truth, he just couldn't seem to get enough of her.

He entered the Rising Sun to find that Christiane didn't appear to be working. When he inquired with the cook, Terric, if she might be in the kitchen, the cook told Percival she'd left the tavern about an hour prior. The knight briefly wondered if it was appropriate to stop by her home unannounced, but he decided to take a chance anyway.

He knocked on the cottage door and Christiane opened it. She looked surprised, but smiled. She was a little sweaty with several locks of hair escaping from her hair pins, yet Percival thought she looked more pleasing than ever. He loved the fact she was a natural beauty and wore no makeup. Many of the ladies at court overdid the rouge and powder, which he thought made them look fake and fragile, much like painted dolls.

"A word of advice from a knight – always ask who it is before opening the door," Percival said with a grin.

"You know, I should!" Christiane agreed. "Come in, come in," she offered. "I'm just chopping and preparing some herbs. Forgive the smell; some of them are quite pungent."

"Are you sure it's all right to come in?" Percival asked, taking a quick look around the tidy cottage from his position in the doorway.

"If you can't allow a knight of Camelot safely into your home, that's a problem," she teased, gesturing for him to enter.

Christiane offered Percival a seat while she finished chopping and cleaned up her herb table a bit. Percival explained he couldn't stay long, and that she shouldn't stop what she was doing on his account. She told him the work would keep, and asked in jest if he'd like to try a tincture of mountain balm, as she leaned over to scrub the table.

Percival's wayward thought: No, but I'd like to try you, popped into his mind before he was even conscious of it.

Christiane turned around to rinse her cloth to find Percival was directly behind her. He had a difficult time being forward with women, but she made it far too easy for him. The man simply couldn't resist that tempting body of hers tonight. He grabbed her by the hips and claimed her mouth. She accepted his advances eagerly, the sexual tension between them crackling.

They shared a long, glorious, passionate kiss. Christiane's hands locked behind Percival's neck while his own rested on her waist. Percival was dangerously aroused, "You taste and smell so sweet" he muttered into her ear. "It's killing me."

Christiane answered by pressing her body against his and kissing him back fervently; he hoped his thick chainmail would cover any hint of his aching erection.

He didn't know what came over him, but Percival suddenly lifted her, cupping her fine arse, and placed her on the edge of the table. He pulled her body against his and moved his lips down to her delicate jaw line, then neck, heading toward her breasts. Christiane sighed softly and encouraged his movement by resting her hands lightly on the back of his head as his lips moved slowly downward.

Panting a little, Christiane reflected that she loved being near Percival, and having him touch her. The knight radiated strength and power, yet shyness and kindness, too. He was irresistible.

Yet at this precise moment, the door burst open with a crash, slamming back against the wall and bouncing slightly. Before the couple could so much as think, Will had stormed over to the table, grabbed Percival by the ear, and dragged him from the cottage amidst Christiane's explanations and vehement protests. Percival, knowing the enraged father was justified in his actions, didn't resist. He just hoped Will wouldn't twist his ear right off.

Christiane's father lugged the massive knight into the middle of the street. "You ask permission to see my daughter, understand? Permission!" bellowed Will, red-faced and sweaty.

At this time of the evening, right before supper, there were a good ten or more onlookers in the road, whispering and pointing at the loud altercation.

Percival's ear was still in Will's tight grip, and Will twisted it even further. The pain nearly brought the young knight to his knees.

"I'm very sorry, sir," uttered Percival, "I'll –"

"You'll go home is what you'll do, you horny little bastard, and come back when you can behave like a proper gentleman! And when you can keep your damn hands to yourself!" Will exclaimed at top-volume. He finally released Percival's ear and gave him a solid shove toward the castle.

Percival stumbled forward, then straightened himself, feeling thoroughly humiliated. Adjusting his chainmail and cape and mustering the last bit of pride he had, he turned toward an equally-embarrassed Christiane (who stood several feet away), and executed a polite bow.

"Good night, Christiane," he said.

"Good night, Percival," she called back to him as he departed.


	4. Chapter 4 The Swimming Hole

**A/N - Thank you so much for sticking with me! I hope you enjoyed chapter three. Carina's really something else, isn't she? I just love her spirit.**

**During chapter three, we learned a bit about Percival's past the young knight finally makes a move...only to be tossed out into the street by Will!**

**Fair warning, during this chapter, things heat up quite a bit and there's partial nudity. As always, please feel free to comment or PM me with any questions. Onward!**

Chapter 4 – The Swimming Hole

The following day, on an unseasonably hot weekend afternoon, Percival arrived at Christiane's home with Aethon and a picnic basket. Christiane's father leaned against the short fence in his front yard and eyed Percival wish suspicion.

Percival dismounted and approached Will carefully. The knight knew this was a risk after yesterday's display, but it was one he was willing to take. Most men wouldn't have dared to return so soon after having been assaulted and told-off by a woman's father.

"Good afternoon, sir," began Percival. "I was wondering if I might have your permission to bring Christiane to the swimming hole today," he said formally. "As you can see, I've brought lunch and will make sure she's returned safely by evening time."

Will continued to eye Percival up-and-down suspiciously. After the previous day's incident, where the towering knight had his hands all over his Christiane, the tavern owner wasn't thrilled with the idea that the man would see his daughter soaked to the skin in a flimsy shift at the swimming hole.

"Persistent fellow, aren't you?" Will grumbled, continuing to lean against the fence casually. "And you assure me your intentions are completely honorable?" he asked, sounding perturbed.

Will stared at the young knight for a moment, attempting to look as intimidating as possible. But it was difficult, considering Percival was over a head taller than he. "Fine, then," Will barked. "But make sure she's back, happy, and in one piece, well before nightfall."

Will then motioned for Percival to come closer, and the wary knight complied. The gruff older man grabbed the younger one by the back of his skull, forced his head downward, and growled through clenched teeth, "Untouched! Do you understand me? _Untouched_."

In other words, still a virgin.

"Of course," answered Percival, his head still firmly in Will's grasp. "You have my word."

Will released the knight's head reluctantly. The two men then clasped forearms in agreement, and Percival massaged the back of his scalp where Will had grabbed him.

"Good," replied Will. "Time for me to go sharpen my sword. It's quite the fine weapon," the man bellowed, walking back toward his home. "Able to slice through chainmail like warm butter."

Christiane, who had been observing the interaction from her small herb garden, was embarrassed by this exchange, but felt Percival handled her father's needling quite well.

"Father," Christiane called after Will, "is it necessary to threaten and manhandle Percival every time you see him?"

"For the time being!" the man called out, as he marched into the cottage and slammed the door behind him.

XXXX

As Percival and Christiane rode to their destination, the young woman apologized for her father's acerbic behavior. Percival assured her he understood completely, and was not scared-off by Will. After all, the man was simply trying to protect his daughter, as a good father should. The knight wished he could tell Will he loved Christiane and would never hurt or dishonor her, but at this point, he figured that such a declaration would earn him a sword in the gut.

The two arrived at the swimming hole a short time later. It wasn't actually a small swimming hole, but a section of the substantial Glas Lake, [1] where people swam because the area was surrounded by short, soft grass and was dotted with large yew trees offering shade. It was the perfect location for relaxing and drying off after a refreshing dip in the deep, brisk water. People had referred to the spot as "the swimming hole" for as long as anyone could remember, and the name stuck.

The day was beautiful and cloudless, yet sultry. The couple set up their blanket beneath a tall yew, sat down and sipped some mead, and munched on slices of herbed cold chicken, cheese, and parsnip fritters.

However, the temperature continued to rise and the bugs became more aggressive; both Percival and his companion were perspiring and swatting at annoying insects. Christiane mentioned if they didn't get into the water soon, the bugs would have _them _for lunch.

"I brought an old shift to wear swimming. Would you mind turning your back while I change over there?" Christiane gestured toward a copse of trees.

Percival jumped up, feeling awkward, and turned his back. "Of course! I didn't think that far ahead myself. I'll just take off my tunic so I have something dry when we're done."

He removed his shirt with his back toward Christiane. She was already secluded behind the trees, but she just couldn't help stealing a look at his broad, magnificently well-muscled back. She shook her head at her boldness and decided she'd better change fast before the knight caught her stealing glances at his half-dressed body.

All the while, Percival wanted to do nothing more than take a quick peek while Christiane changed, but he promised himself he wouldn't do so. After all, he wasn't interested in being slapped across the face and having the object of his affection ride off on his horse in a fit of fury. And since Aethon seemed to like the woman, the animal would probably allow it, the darn fickle beast.

Christiane emerged from behind the trees suddenly. "I'll race you!" she shouted, and took off for the water at top-speed. She was about ten feet closer to the lake's edge, so it wasn't a fair race, but it was all in good fun. She leapt into the blissfully-cool lake water first, but Percival was right on her heels. Christiane slipped under the water for a moment and surfaced quickly, now soaked from head to toe.

Percival noticed she still wore her undergarments beneath her shift. He couldn't see _everything_ now that she was wet, but he saw enough: the swell of her hips, the outline of her breasts, the curve of her arse. The thin gown clung to every contour of her body seductively, suggestively. Her eyes were bright with happiness, and her hair was drenched and wild. To him, she looked like a goddess. Or a temptress. Perhaps both.

"What is it?" Christiane asked, sounding alarmed. "Is there something on my face?" The way her swimming partner stared at her with wide eyes, she assumed a fat leech had attached itself to her cheek.

Percival willed himself to look away; he didn't realize he'd been staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed until that moment.

"No, I just had no idea you were so quick on your feet!" he fibbed. "Let's see if you're as fast in the water as you are on land. I'll race you to that rock!" He gestured to the large sunning-rock a few dozen yards away. "Go!"

Christiane was a good swimmer, but Percival had a significant height advantage and made it to the rock first, but gallantly helped Christiane onto the sun-warmed surface. Though the day was blazing hot, the breeze out on the lake was cool, and she shivered. They lay on their backs allowing the bright sun to dry them.

"If you're cold, you can lean against me," Percival offered. "To warm up a bit," he added with haste. He lifted up his arm to allow Christiane room to lean against him.

She took Percival up on his offer and rested her head on his shoulder. She then truly realized how solid and well-sculpted his body was. His arms, chest, and abdomen were pure, rock-like muscle, his skin warm and smooth. He smelled of an intoxicating blend of wood smoke and grass.

Christiane resting against Percival was pure heaven in his mind. Her soft, smooth skin felt like cool silk against his body, which had grown inexplicably hot the moment she'd drawn closer. The young woman's damp hair smelled of sweet sunshine and her skin like lavender. Percival was unable stop himself from tipping her chin upward and kissing her, first the top lip, then the bottom. He gently probed her lips open with his tongue and found her eager and willing to return his kiss with equal fervor and passion.

Somehow, in the midst of kissing, Percival found himself on top of his beautiful companion, his fingers tangled in her wet hair with his arousal straining against the cloth of his trousers. He knew she was seconds away from feeling his erection and was unsure what to do, so, he elected to escape.

"I'll race you to shore!" he jumped up and yelled, as he dove suddenly off the rock and into the water.

Christiane was perplexed why her companion leapt up so rapidly and had begun swimming, but she followed. She reached the grassy shore quickly, but realized he wasn't there. After a few moments, she panicked that he had sunk in the lake. "Percival!" she screamed, frantic, diving underwater to search for him.

As soon as he realized Christiane was genuinely upset, he stood up from his hiding place behind the water reeds. "Hey, I'm fine!" he called out when Christiane surfaced.

"Damn it! You scared me to death!" she cursed, as she tried to storm out of the water.

But Percival was too fast for her. He reached her side in an instant and took her wrist firmly in his hand to halt her departure. "I really didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry; I was just playing around. Please don't be angry," he apologized sincerely.

She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes and admonished the man. "You did scare me and it wasn't funny! Pretending to drown isn't a joke!"

He knew she was right and recognized that he'd behaved like a bit of a fool. Percival lowered his head with remorse, but still held Christiane's wrist gently. "I know. I don't know what came over me. Let me make amends," Percival said, as he pulled her toward him, lifting Christiane up out of the water. Her legs wrapped around his waist and he kissed her as he had never kissed another. As they continued to embrace and kiss with abandon, Percival eventually let his lips fall to Christiane's neck and she sighed. Her body shifted a little lower. There was no hiding it or mistaking it this time; he knew she felt his hardness touch her.

Christiane paused for a moment and took stock of her current situation. After all, she was a maiden, and planned to remain that way for the time being. However, she felt a powerful desire for Percival, a ridiculously strong physical attraction. That, and when they'd first kissed during their fishing trip, if she was being truthful, she realized she loved him then, but had no idea if he felt the same. Regardless, she knew she wanted to see him, touch him, no matter how wrong it was according to common belief and social custom. For once, she decided to be a little reckless.

"Do you think I could take a quick look?" asked Christiane, blushing fiercely, boldly motioning toward the crotch of his pants.

"What?!" Percival barked out. He knew they were now approaching dangerous territory. Such activity could cause things to spiral irrevocably out of control.

Totally conflicted, he hadn't the slightest idea how to proceed. Recently, something in their relationship had changed, or, at least he thought it had. In all honesty, Percival loved Christiane from the first time they took "the long way home." He felt an aching, burning desire to be with this woman, but also knew he _had_ to behave honorably if he was to have her in his bed. As his wife. Preferably sooner than later. That's what he wanted; he was absolutely certain.

Christiane's cheeks blazed crimson at his response. She released herself from Percival's embrace and stood upright in the water. The young woman assumed she was being rejected and was painfully mortified.

"I-I'm sorry," Christiane stammered. "That was so bold. And rude. Ridiculous, really. I've just... I haven't seen one before." She babbled on. "Well, my father, accidentally when he was changing, but that was just scary, and nothing I would want to see again!"

When she received no response, Christiane explained herself further. "I'm a maiden, so you know, and I want to remain one for my husband. Though I imagine you think terribly of me right now."

Percival simply stood there with his mouth agape, though he was secretly thrilled and relieved to hear she was still a maiden.

Christiane had no idea what to do with Percival standing there in stunned silence, so she carried on and blurted out the following: "I'll show _you_ something first, then you can show me in return...and we'll be even!"

Before Percival could close his mouth, Christiane pulled the ribbons at the top of her wet shift and lowered the garment to her shoulders, exposing her breasts. The knight tried not to sway. Her breasts weren't huge, but they were beautiful, round and firm, and they belonged to her. He yearned to hold them in his hands, to touch them and kiss them. But he could do nothing more than pant a strangled, "Ah…"

Still having no idea what Percival was thinking, Christiane drew near him again slowly, as they were still in nearly waist-deep water. She took his hands and placed them on her breasts, her own hands trembling terribly with nervousness.

Percival couldn't stifle his groan. And he couldn't help kissing her deeply as he caressed her half-naked body. Though he _knew_ this had to stop. He loved this woman and he would not tarnish her reputation.

Christiane had never felt anything like this before. She experienced an intense yearning for this large knight, something white-hot and foreign; every bit of her prickled with need.

Although Percival burned with arousal, a tiny part of him recognized he must protect Christiane's honor. Respect her father's demands. But he couldn't help himself, and the two continued to kiss with fervor until Percival took a chance and touched his lips to Christiane's neck, her collarbone, then lower. His lips paused at the necklace he had given her; he was pleased she wore it every day.

Some faraway part of him hoped she'd slap him and force him come to his senses, but she didn't. Percival moved his lips down to the tops of Christiane's breasts and kissed them gently. He moved on kissed the sides of each, and then went ahead and kissed her hard, tight nipple. She gasped, and he wasn't sure if he should stop. Instead, he drew the aroused nipple into his mouth, running his tongue over the firm skin. My God, her body felt amazing! He then moved to the other breast to do the same, Christiane gasping and sighing the entire time, her fingers running through his short hair. He desperately wanted to touch her between her legs, to feel the most intimate part of her, but Percival stepped back, knowing he had to stop before he'd gone too far.

Christiane took a moment to breathe out, clear her head, and hastily lace up the top of her shift. Though she knew this was a risky move, she stepped toward Percival again and unlaced his breeches. She'd held up her part of the bargain and she wanted him to hold up his!

He said nothing but closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. The knight thought to himself, _Fine, she can look for a moment, and then I put an end to this! _He kept repeating in his mind, _I will protect her honor, I will protect her honor..._

Percival opened his eyes, and his breeches were unlaced, but his drawers were stuck to his body like glue. He knew he would have to lower them, and he did so.

Christiane tried not to react. As she'd admitted, she'd seen only one man naked in her life, and hoped never to see that man undressed again. But just as Carina had warned, the knight's length (and girth) would likely match Percival's substantial build, and they did. There was no way to be polite about it, but he was huge. The mere thought of something that large inside of her made her mouth go dry.

Although she knew she was being shameless and wanton, Christiane _had_ to touch his erection, just for a moment. She recalled her cucumber-lesson with Carina, and she reached out and grasped the base of his cock firmly. It was warm and smooth, yet incredibly rigid, like nothing she'd ever felt before. Christiane moved her hand from the base to the tip, once, twice, and then again, relishing in the feel and weight of Percival's erection in her hand. On the third stroke, she rubbed her thumb gently over the tip, mesmerized by his body. And she kept going.

Of course, Carina had explained the ins-and-outs of the male orgasm in striking detail, and Christiane wondered what it would be like and if she could give Percival one right then. But she doubted it, as she didn't feel very confident in her abilities. Plus, this was the first time she'd ever touched a man in this way.

Percival's knees nearly buckled from the touch and he had to steady himself by holding onto the woman's shoulders. He realized he had to put an end to this madness, but felt frozen. The knight almost burst with need and knew with one more stroke of her hand, another brush of her thumb, he was done for; he would certainly find his release right then and there. Then what would she think of him? But he wanted her more than anything. Christiane did something to him; she aroused and tempted him in a way he'd never felt before. It took every bit of his resolve to stop himself from carrying her from the water, depositing her on the blanket, forcing her legs open, and entering her madly and passionately. Desire like he'd never known coursed through his veins.

However, at that instant, the couple heard a loud crash in the woods and separated abruptly. It was just a deer, but it was enough to bring them back to reality. Christiane dropped her hand. Percival wrestled up his drawers and trousers and laced them with clumsy hands as they both trod out the water.

Once they'd reached their blanket and dry clothing, Percival noticed Christiane was tearful.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm really ashamed of my behavior," Christiane told Percival, as she stood on the blanket. "I've never acted like that and hope you don't think less of me," she said. "I'm...this is not how I usually behave. I've _never, ever_ done such a thing. I've had only a few brief kisses, if you can believe that. I'm sorry."

Percival shook his head. "Of course I don't think less of you. I think you're a smart and wonderful woman. Please don't be ashamed; I can't bear the thought of it."

As they dried off on their blanket beneath the yew, Christiane tried to get a hold of herself.

"Percival? Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Of course. Anything."

"How many women... Have you enjoyed the company of many women?" she asked, nervous about his answer.

Percival exhaled. He had never told anyone else this story, as it was quite embarrassing, but he knew it was time to share the tale. "Let's have a seat on the blanket and dry off. I'll tell you the short version."

Now Christiane was worried. _How bad could this be?_ she thought. _Ten women? Dozens!?_ Of course, she'd heard stories about the many sexual conquests of knights and felt concerned. Upset. Hotly jealous, really. Yet Percival began to tell his story.

"Three years ago, I trained in a small village in Mercia. There was a woman there, older, twenty five, as I came to find out. She paid me a lot of attention and was very complimentary. That's something I rarely experienced and I was flattered.

"One night, she invited me to a barn and said she wanted to show me her much-loved horse, so I agreed to meet her. When I arrived, she cried that her betrothed had left her, and said she'd never had the comfort of a good man and wanted to lose her maidenhood to someone like me."

Percival paused, concerned about how Christiane might feel hearing the sordid details of his experience. "Tell me if this is too much and I'll stop."

"No, please, I want to hear," said Christiane, nervous and waiting for more.

The knight continued his embarrassing tale. "Being seventeen and not very worldly, I fell for it." Percival winced slightly before continuing. "I knew little, but after a moment or two of, um, activity, I realized she wasn't a virgin.

"A few seconds later, her betrothed burst into the barn with a wicked-looking pitchfork." Percival shook his head with shame at the memory before continuing. "I stood there, half-dressed, fighting off the man, trying to explain the situation, but my attacker wasn't interesting in hearing me. And the woman laughed hysterically the whole time I tried to defend myself.

"Eventually, I managed to sidestep the man and get away, running through the village without trousers, for all to see. Apparently, this was a bit of a game the woman played to make her fiancé jealous."

A regretful Percival ended the story. "I was humiliated and lost my virginity stupidly, and the event lasted about ten seconds until I was almost skewered by a pitchfork. I've been with no one else since.

"And obviously, I've never been with a woman to, uh, completion," he offered, reddening. "I'm sorry," the knight apologized, "this is very embarrassing for me to talk about.

"Anyway, that's why I have some difficulty trusting women."

Christiane leaned across the blanket and hugged Percival. "That sounds absolutely awful, and I am so sorry," she stated with genuine empathy. The young woman thought about how terrible it must have been to be deceived in such a way.

"You must think me to be a terrible fool after that story," Percival insisted, worried what Christiane must think of him. "I've never told another soul."

"Not at all," she responded. "I think you're honest and kind and got yourself into a bad position is all.

"And she was really the only one?"

"Other than a couple of kisses after that, there's really nothing else to tell."

Percival didn't want Christiane to get the wrong idea about him; he was typically painfully shy and awkward around women and had far less experience that most of his comrades. But last year, when he and Gwaine had been sent off to locate two young courtiers who'd gone missing in the woods, they'd found the ladies, and the women had been too exhausted to return to the castle right then. The group made camp in the woods for the night. Judging by the sounds coming from Gwaine's bedroll, Gwaine and one of the young women had quite the time.

The other girl had lain close to Percival and asked him questions about what life was like as a knight. She kissed him, out of nowhere, and he kissed her back. But in the morning, she pretended as if she'd never known him, and that was the end of it.

The last kiss Percival had shared with a woman was about six months prior. While he was tending to his horse at the castle stables, the plump and pretty traveling merchant's daughter, Beth, leaned on the stable fence and spoke with the knight, inquiring about Aethon and life in Camelot. The merchant's daughter visited the stables each afternoon for a couple of days and finally asked Percival if he'd take her for a ride and he complied. When the ride concluded, the pretty young woman with wavy brown hair asked if the knight would kiss her, which he also did. The kiss wasn't intense; it was brief and sweet, not at all passionate or arousing.

Before she left Camelot the following day, Beth told Percival she hoped to see him again the next time she passed through. He hadn't seen her since.

But Percival felt nothing for those women like he felt for Christiane. He was completely and utterly in love with the tavern owner's daughter.

Suddenly remembering the time, the distressed knight smiled weakly at Christiane. "We should head back, before your _father_ skewers me with a pitchfork."

They packed up their belongings, mounted the horse, and started for home.

The couple rode back to Camelot in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Percival knew what he wanted, without a shred of doubt. He loved Christiane and planned to propose marriage. First, though, he had to face Will and ask for his blessing. And if the man approved, Percival would invite Christiane to the annual Knight's Banquet, being held in two days, where he would propose.

Though the young knight knew he would ask for Christiane's hand even if her father _didn't_ give his blessing.

He needed the betrothal ring. And the nerve.

There was precious little time.

* * *

2 The word "glas" means "blue" in Welsh. This is a lake of my own creation.


	5. Chapter 5 An Unusually Quiet Evening

_A/N - I hope you enjoyed chapter four! It's certainly racier than the previous chapters. From this point onward, there will be a great deal of said raciness._

_In chapter four, we witnessed Christiane totally throwing caution to the wind, and we discovered that our beloved Percival is NOT a virgin. Although the man is still relatively shy when it comes to women (except Christiane, apparently). And the poor knight's really trying to preserve Christiane's honor._

_In chapter five, things continue to become more serious for our couple. However, I would like to warn you - there is an attempted sexual assault in this chapter. Please skip one if this will be upsetting to you._

_Onward! And thank you for your kudos and comments thus far. I appreciate them so, so much._

Chapter 5 – An Unusually Quiet Evening

If Percival thought approaching Christiane for the first time was nerve-wracking, the mere notion of going to Will to ask (or beg) for his daughter's hand in marriage made the knight feel ill. In his mind's eye, he could envision Will sharpening his sword with glee, laughing at him raucously, or attacking him, and he wasn't exactly sure which one was scariest. As it was, the protective father had yelled at Percival, twisted his ear, embarrassed him publicly, and threatened him with a sword. Those encounters didn't help put the knight's mind at ease.

That morning during training, he was so distracted by anxiety and the accompanying nausea that one of the prospective knights was able to land a solid mace blow to Percival's gut, which only made matters worse. Percival clutched his stomach, acknowledging if Gwaine and the others had any idea that he was so nervous and shy in his heart, they would blast him off the training field with laughter. He knew his comrades loved him like a brother, but brothers can be merciless with their taunting.

Once the training exercises had concluded, and before he lost his nerve, Percival changed out of his sweaty clothing, bathed, shaved, and held a cold cloth against the angry red welt on his abdomen. He knew Christiane was working at the tavern and was fairly certain Will was home; this was the right time to approach the man.

The anxious knight strode out of the castle into the warm afternoon, feigning confidence, and started straight for Will's front door. Percival knocked the moment he arrived; he didn't want to stand there endlessly, becoming more nervous and tongue-tied with each passing second. He knew he needed to get in there and say his piece. Right now.

After a heartbeat or two, Will opened the cottage door. He took one look at Percival's sweaty brow and pasty complexion, rolled his eyes, and boomed, "Oh, dear God, I know what you're doing here. Come in, come in."

"You do?" asked the nervous knight, surprised.

"Christ, man, I wasn't born yesterday. You want to ask for my daughter's hand in marriage; I see how you two goggle at each other. Would you just get inside the damn house?"

Percival ducked his head and entered.

"You're right, sir. I love Christiane more than anything." Percival dropped to his knees and bowed his head. "I humbly ask you for your daughter's hand in marriage. I promise you, I will love her, care for her, and treasure her all the days of my life."

Will shook with laughter. "Get up will you? For God's sake, I'm not the king!"

The young knight rose reluctantly. He'd rather have remained on his knees than to look Will in the eye.

"You're a good man, Percival," Will said, as he clapped the anxious knight on the shoulder. "I'd be proud to call you a son. Just remember you are lucky to have my daughter."

Percival nodded his head in agreement and relief.

"And when do you plan on asking for her hand?" Will inquired.

"I'm going to ask her at the Knight's Banquet," Percival responded. "It's being held the day after tomorrow."

"Good. Fine. You have my blessing, God's blessing and all of that. I like you," Will admitted cautiously, yet took a step closer. "But be warned, I don't care if you're the size of a mountain; if you hurt my little girl in any way, I'll find you and cut your bollocks off. That's a promise."

Percival nodded and grinned. "As you should. I'd expect nothing less. But I will never give you reason to do so."

The relieved young man left straight from Will's home for the tavern. He entered the establishment and saw Christiane carefully wiping down some tables. It was late afternoon, and a slow time for business. He walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder.

"Hello, you," she turned around and said with a smile. "Here for a visit?"

"Actually, I have some very important business here. With you."

"And what might that be?" Christiane inquired.

Percival withdrew a small bunch of fragrant blue wildflowers he'd hidden behind his back. He offered them to Christiane. "I was wondering if you would do me the honor of attending the Knight's Banquet with me in two days," he asked formally.

"Truly?" she asked with excitement. "I've never been to such an event. I would love to go with you."

The Knight's Banquet, held annually, was a major, lavish event. It was the time of year when the greatest number of men were bestowed knighthood. It was also an occasion when the existing knights received commendations for exceptional bravery, service anniversaries were recognized, and so forth.

He kissed her cheek. "I'm glad. The banquet starts just after sunset, so I'll send a guard down to accompany you up to the castle. Unfortunately, I can't come myself, because I have to be involved in some preparations."

"Please, that's not necessary at all," said Christiane. "I would really rather just walk up to the castle on my own."

"I'd feel much better sending a guard down for you," the knight said hesitantly, "but if you insist, I suppose I will have to accept it."

"Good! I'll see you then, right at sundown." She brushed her lips lightly against his.

Percival turned and left the tavern with a wide grin on his face. He just knew it was going to be an amazing night and she'd say yes to his marriage proposal. She simply had to.

Next on Percival's agenda was locating Marsilia, the talented jeweler and Gwaine's sometimes-woman, to obtain a betrothal ring.

XXXX

Christiane was excited about attending the banquet with Percival; she had never attended a formal event at the castle. She owned one elegant gown, for which her father had traded a year prior and thankfully, it still fit. The dress was a royal blue gown with some silver thread accenting the sleeves, skirt, and bodice.

Carina had arrived at Christiane's cottage to help her dress and use the hot tongs[2] to give her friend's normally pin-straight hair some curl. Using the tongs was often a long, drawn-out, and occasionally painful event, but Carina was happy to help.

Carina wrestled with the tongs for quite some time, until she finally stepped back and admired her handiwork. "Oh, look at you, my friend. You're a beauty. Have a wonderful night, will you?"

Christiane turned and gave her dear Carina a solid hug. "I will, I promise. And thank you for being my friend."

"Don't forget the cucumber!" Carina called out, as Christiane grabbed her cloak and headed for the door.

Christiane couldn't help but laugh.

Once outside, Christiane observed it was an unusually quiet night in Camelot, as it was dark, raining, and windy. She didn't want to arrive to the event soaked and disheveled, so she hurried along as fast as she could, traveling cloak pulled securely around her, heedless of her surroundings.

As she closed in on the stone-paved walkway at the edge of the castle paths, which was a few hundred yards away from the castle itself, a fat, filthy, drunken man stumbled up to her. She assumed he was very drunk, as it was raining and chilly, but he wore no cloak and didn't seem to care. That, and he looked and smelled as if he hadn't washed in months, his greying, unkempt hair lank and greasy.

"Hey there, you sweet young thing," he slurred. "Ready for some fun tonight?" He moved his hips back-and-forth obscenely. And he was close enough that Christiane could smell the sour stench of rotten teeth and alcohol on his breath.

"I'm on my way to meet my betrothed," she responded harshly. "Good night. Leave me be." The woman was used to dealing with the occasional belligerent drunk at the tavern, and wasn't all that worried about him.

"Not so fast," replied the thug, grabbing her arm forcefully, digging his fingers into her flesh.

Christiane tried to pull away, but the man was too strong. She started to feel quite nervous, as her gut told her this wasn't an ordinary sot who'd listen to a sharp scolding and simply wander away.

"My betrothed will be along any time now," she countered.

"Ha! I doubt it," the drunkard replied, while maintaining a solid grip on her arm. "No one seems to be out and about in this weather besides me and you."

The man's other arm shot out; he grabbed Christiane's hair and tried to kiss her, tongue and all. She kicked at him and then landed a solid punch square in his nose. He proceeded to grab her by the throat, throw her to the ground, give her a sharp kick in the ribs, and successfully dragged her into the nearby alleyway.

It all happened so fast and Christiane was so dazed, she forgot to scream. On a normal night, many of Camelot's citizens would have been at her side immediately to assist. But the foul weather ensured everyone was settled around their hearths.

Once in the alley, the reeking drunkard heaved her upright by the neck and punched her. He pummeled her face: her jaw, nose, eye, then the other eye. Christiane was barely conscious when he ripped her bodice open and sank his teeth into her chest. She finally screamed and raked her nails across the thug's face. He punched her again, splitting her lip, and she was knocked unconscious.

When she fell backward onto the muddy earth, he rolled her over onto her stomach and cut off her undergarments with a knife. The man sliced her upper thigh carelessly as he did so.

Next, he fumbled with his belt and breeches and lowered them to his ankles. At that moment, the man was violently lifted off his feet by none other than a rain-soaked Percival, who'd heard a scream from the alley. The knight had become worried when Christiane was late, because she was never tardy without good reason. When he realized it was his beloved Christiane on the ground, Percival lifted the man by his neck and smashed him into the alley wall full-force, twice. The attacker was dead within seconds.

The towering knight allowed the dead man to crumple to the ground and immediately removed his scarlet cape to cover the still-unconscious and exposed Christiane. She was drenched, caked in mud, and her face was scarcely recognizable from the beating. He noticed blood running down her leg, and assumed the worst. God help him, she had been raped. The knight, trembling with nerves, carefully lifted her into his arms set out for the castle at full-speed to find Gaius, the elderly court physician. At the sound of the commotion, people had started to come out of their homes to offer aid, but Percival was already out of sight.

He arrived at the castle minutes later, and kicked at Gaius's door. "Gaius!" he shouted. "Open up, please!"

Gaius appeared at the doorway, looking disheveled. He took one brief glance at Christiane's beaten and dirty body and immediately flung the door wide open, ready and in physician-mode. His quarters doubled as his residence and the castle infirmary.

Percival entered the spacious but cluttered chamber and placed Christiane down on the wooden examination table with care. She roused.

"What happened?" she asked, still quite dazed.

He held her cold hand firmly. "You were attacked, love," Percival explained.

Christiane closed her eyes and a tear slipped out. "I remember now."

"I found you unconscious in the alley," he noted. "I was just coming to check on you and I...took care of the man who did this to you."

Christiane's hands flew up to her neck, which felt bare. "My necklace," she sobbed.

Percival shook his head, acknowledging her precious gift had been lost.

Gaius gently touched the concerned knight on the shoulder. "Percival, I need to examine Christiane with the midwife, due to the nature of the attack. Would you mind fetching Mary and then waiting outside for a few moments?"

"Of course," responded Percival, and he rushed from the room. Gwaine stood outside of Gaius's chambers and started jogging alongside friend.

"What in the devil's name happened?" Gwaine asked, looking concerned.

Percival explained breathlessly as they ran for the midwife's home. Mary was in her late-forties, very experienced, and well-trusted by all.

A few minutes later, Percival and Gwaine returned with the woman, and the men remained outside in the corridor while the midwife conducted the examination. Gwaine grasped his friend's large shoulder in support as they waited. Percival cracked his knuckles and began to pace with worry.

Mary emerged from Gaius's chamber and stepped into the hallway. "She's pretty well bruised and battered," the midwife informed the two concerned men, "but you got there in time, Percival. She wasn't raped," she assured him. "The blood on her leg is from a laceration. It seems as if the man tried to remove her undergarments with a knife and cut her. And it appears as if she put up a good fight. You can go on in now."

"Thank you so much, Mary," said Percival with a great sigh of relief.

Mary patted his shoulder, compassion apparent in her eyes, and left. Gwaine departed also.

Percival entered Gaius's quarters and approached Christiane, who was still on the examination table. But she appeared more comfortable with a soft pillow behind her head and a light blanket covering her.

"Due to the fact she suffered a blow to the head, well, several blows, I'd like her to remain here overnight so I can observe her," Gaius informed Percival. "Then, a week off of work until the head pain is gone."

"I'll stay the night with her, Gaius," the knight insisted, as he pulled up a chair close to Christiane's side and took her hand. "If she has any trouble, I'll wake you immediately."

Gaius looked to the injured woman for approval and she nodded. The physician then retired to his bed in the corner behind a privacy screen.

Now alone with his injured love, Percival spoke. "Christiane, no matter what happened, or happens, I have to tell you something." Gently squeezing her still-cold hand, he insisted, "I need you to know that I love you."

Christiane began to weep. "I thought that if he'd, you know, raped me, you wouldn't want me because I was damaged," she whispered.

Percival drew her into a gentle hug. "Never. I love you too much. Nothing could change the way I feel about you."

"I love you, too, Percival," Christiane told him.

"All right, enough talking!" commanded Gaius from behind the screen. "Time for the poor young woman to REST."

Percival wanted to tell Christiane he'd intended to ask her to marry him that evening, that he desired nothing more in this world than to make her his wife. Instead, he sat at her side for the entire night while she slept, fingering the betrothal ring he carried with him everywhere now. Her ring. He hoped.

XXXX

The next morning, Gaius performed a through examination on Christiane and informed her she could return home, with strict instructions to take it easy for the next week.

"Fresh air is fine," instructed Gaius, "but no working, straining, or running about!

"And Christiane," the physician added suddenly, "Percival tells me that you're interested in the healing profession. Next month, I will be in the position to take on an apprentice, and I would be happy to have you."

"Truly?" Christiane asked with surprise.

"Truly," Gaius replied. "Merlin's nearly done with his training and is quite occupied attending to the king, given Morgana's recent attacks close to Camelot." With a slight scowl, he added, "And quite frankly, I could really use the help."

Christiane flung her arms around the elderly physician. "I'll be here, I can promise you that! You won't be sorry."

Gaius, not having been embraced by an enthusiastic woman in quite some time, awkwardly patted Christiane's back before she departed.

XXXX

Christiane spent the next several days resting, reading, and going for short strolls with Percival when he wasn't working. She felt much better overall; the swelling from her injuries had gone down significantly and her bruises faded to a yellowish hue. And Will was so grateful Percival had rescued his daughter in time, he actually hugged the young man.

Each morning during her recovery, Christiane found wildflowers on her doorstep which lifted her spirits. When she asked Percival who might have placed them there, he shrugged and gave a small, crooked smile.

Just short of a week after the attack, Percival suggested he and Christiane take a leisurely ride to the swimming hole to relax and cool off. The summer heat had arrived early that year, thick and humid.

The recovering young woman smiled. "You just want to see me wet in my white shift, don't you?"

Percival chuckled. "I hadn't thought of that, but that's certainly a nice benefit." In a more serious tone, he urged, "But I want you taking it easy still."

"Fine," Christiane replied with feigned annoyance. "I promise to just splash around and not exert myself. I could use the distraction anyway."

After the short ride to the lake in mid-morning warmth, Percival watered Aethon and spread a blanket under the shade of a large oak tree. Meanwhile, Christiane stripped off everything except her shift, and her companion observed she wore nothing underneath it. Not a single stitch.

"Oh dear God!" Percival muttered under his breath. Not to be outdone, he then stripped down to his drawers. They both splashed into the water at the same time.

After several minutes of floating around and paddling, Christiane glided over to Percival. "I'm tired," she said. "Hold onto me, will you?"

Percival wasn't sure how he'd control himself with Christiane's practically-naked body so close to his. "Sure," he replied, and took her into his arms, observing he could see right through her wet, white garment as she floated on her back with his arms supporting her.

With every single enticing bit of her on display, he simply couldn't resist. He leaned down and kissed her with everything he had, damn the consequences, and was instantly aroused. Christiane positioned herself against his hardness and it was just about more than he could tolerate.

Finally, after a long while of tasting her beautiful lips and neck, Percival knew he had put an end to this before it went too far. How had they arrived at this place again? He wanted this woman more than anything, but he promised himself he'd make sure she was still a maiden on their wedding night. However, this proved to be increasingly more challenging with each passing day.

"Christiane, we can't do this," Percival gasped, making every effort to be the voice of reason.

She looked a bit deflated. "I know...I know. You're right," she admitted. "This is somewhat embarrassing, but I find you hard to resist."

"You're more beautiful and passionate than I can take. Trust me, this is killing me. But I have plans for us, and I know it's important for you to stay a maiden."

"What types of plans are these?" Christiane inquired dubiously.

"Never you mind," he teased. "You'll see soon."

"Do you think we can…do something else?" inquired Christiane suddenly and boldly.

It took Percival a moment to catch on. "You are testing my self-control, love," he replied slowly. "You have no idea how much I want to do _everything_ with you. I'm just concerned about where it'll all lead."

"I can see that," she said with a wink as she nodded toward his crotch, her arms wrapped around the back of his neck. "Why don't we think on it for a day?"

"That's a good idea," responded Percival, thinking that was the reasonable and rational choice.

"Nah, to hell with that," Christiane announced, and took him by the hand and led him out of the water to their blanket beneath the tree.

"I promise," she whispered in his ear, trailing her finger down his bare chest, "that I will still be a maiden by day's end. But I have to touch you."

In seconds, Percival found himself flat on his back on the wool blanket. His alluring companion pulled down his drawers and took his impressive length into her hand, stroking it vigorously.

Christiane loved how Percival's erection felt against her palm and the way he responded to her touch. While she stroked him, Christiane peppered his neck and chest with light kisses.

Percival could no longer resist. "Oh, God help me! This is so wrong." With a great sigh he conceded, "Take everything off."

Christiane complied, stripping out of her soaked shift. They were both completely naked, so Percival reached for his bag positioned a foot or so away, and fumbled for another light blanket for cover, just in case someone were to come upon them.

Now slightly covered, Christiane, straddling Percival, stroked him harder and faster. The aroused knight reached between her legs and found that she was incredibly wet and warm. It was the first time he'd touched her in such a way and he was completely thrilled to be doing so, as evidenced by his loud sigh.

He took his finger and caressed her center gently and rhythmically, while touching her breasts with his other hand, squeezing, then licking her firm nipples. She was so responsive to his touch, so passionate, it excited him more than anything. He'd certainly never brought a woman to orgasm before, but within minutes, it appeared as if hers was imminent, and he was dying to see it and feel it.

Christiane had touched herself before, but it never felt like this. Percival's hand moving against her felt so exquisite, it was almost painful, but not quite. She pressed herself against his fingers harder, wanting more, needing it.

As Percival moved his mouth against Christiane's breast, she was on the verge of begging him to be inside of her, but before long, both of them were moaning and gasping. As soon as Christiane called out: "Oh, God...God," and he felt the contractions of her orgasm, Percival lost control and climaxed with a long groan.

Christiane collapsed against Percival's chest, and they both lay there, completely spent.

"Wow," Christiane whispered, though she'd turned a bit red and felt slightly disconcerted. The young woman was somewhat pleased with herself for having given Percival some pleasure, but felt a little embarrassed by her own enthusiastic cries. "That was something!"

Percival tried to catch his breath. "It sure was. You're making things very, very hard on me," he panted.

Exhausted from the easy swimming, followed by more vigorous activity, Christiane fell asleep against Percival's chest for a time. He lay there on the blanket and simply stroked her hair, enamored with the feel of her soft, naked body against his. Now blissfully content, the man couldn't recall a moment when he'd ever been happier.

Percival eventually woke his companion with a soft and gentle kiss on the top of her head. The sun was nearing its zenith, and it was time for the couple to leave. The knight had to return to the castle and ready himself for afternoon and evening patrol, so they departed.

"Will you come to my chambers the night after tomorrow?" asked Percival, once they had reached Christiane's home. "There's something we need to talk about."

Christiane gave him a concerned look. "Should I be worried?"

"Not at all," Percival answered kindly, before he gave her a long, slow kiss.

Christiane dismounted and entered her home, wondering what the future held. Good things, she hoped.

* * *

[2] Hot tongs were the curling irons of medieval times. The metal was placed in the fire, heated, and then the hair was curled around it. Over and over again. It was a long, tedious, and often painful process.


	6. Chapter 5B - That Place in the Woods

**A/N - I have a secret! Here's an extra back-chapter just for my fanfiction. net and AO3 readers! I started writing this one a while ago, but for some reason, I scrapped it. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I wanted to add it. If you are reading this story as chapters are posted, this is a little more about Percival and Christiane's relationship after her attack and before their "big" event. If you've just found this story and are reading it now, well, feel free to read on. Of course, things are racy/sexy, and a little emotional. **

Chapter 5B – That Place in the Woods

Christiane had worked a brief shift at the Rising Sun that evening. Overall, she was feeling better, recovering from her attack nicely, and figured a few hours of light tavern work wouldn't hurt. Will had left Camelot that evening to meet with a spice trader, and wouldn't return until the following day. That left Terric short-handed in the kitchen, and to be honest, Christiane was happy to be busy for a short time. But she didn't strain herself. The young woman did some easy food preparation, helped serve a few meals, and scrubbed-down several tables. Once the work had tired her out, she told Terric she was going to return home for some rest.

"You should have just remained at home," the cook scolded, while he plucked a fresh chicken. "I appreciate the help, but your father will be in a lather over the fact you were working this evening. And I, for one, am not interested in having him shout at me. Again."

"I'll talk the old man down, not to worry," said Christiane, with a playful chuckle. "I'll make sure he knows it was all my idea. He knows I can be hard-headed and there's no stopping me when I mean to do something."

Christiane hung up her apron on the wooden peg behind the kitchen door, and walked out of the back exit into the warm summer evening. She was tired and her feet were sore, but she was in a good mood. Christiane was to start her healing apprenticeship soon, and that had long been her dream. And Percival wanted to discuss something important with her: an official courtship, perhaps? She didn't dare think of marriage. Because if it turned out that Percival didn't want that after all, or didn't want marriage with _her_, she'd be disappointed. All right, she'd be broken-hearted and devastated. Inconsolable, likely. Christiane had told no one, but recently, she'd fantasized about a small wedding with Percival, and a fiery, passionate wedding night. That, and a few adorable babies.

There. She'd said it. To herself, if no one else. She wanted to marry Percival.

Christiane knew Percival loved her. It was an intense love; she could feel it radiating from him at times, similar to the extreme heat one feels when she's standing too close to a fire. Still, even though she was certain how he felt about her, Christiane worried she wasn't good enough, perhaps not cultured about to be a knight's wife.

_Silliness_, she admonished herself. _He loves you, and he's made that abundantly clear. And that's enough for now. Worry about marriage and children later. _

The young woman had been so engrossed in her thoughts, she scarcely realized she was now steps away from her front door.

"Good evening, sweetheart."

Christiane didn't jump at those words spoken in the dark evening, as she had done in the past. Unlike the first time he had approached her at night, this time, Christiane knew it was her light-footed Percival. For a man so large, it was amazing how quietly he trod. She turned to him and smiled.

"Good evening to you," she said. "What are you doing down here tonight? I thought I wouldn't be seeing you until the night after tomorrow."

"Oh, well… I couldn't seem to get you out of my thoughts, as usual," said Percival, shrugging his broad shoulders. "But anyway, what are you doing out and around this evening? You're still supposed to be resting and taking it easy."

"Not you, too," groaned Christiane. "I'm feeling fine. Gaius said after a week I could return to work and it's been nearly a week."

"Yes, _nearly_ a week. Not _yet _a week."

Percival could see Christiane looked frustrated. "Come here, my prickly lady," he teased, and drew her into a firm hug. Resting his chin on top of her head, breathing in her scent, he said, "I simply needed to see you for a little while. I know you're tired and need your rest. Though I do wish I could force you up to the castle for a little bit."

Tipping her head upward, Christiane looked at Percival. "I could come up for a short time. My father's out of the city overnight, so he won't burst into your chambers wielding a sword and threatening you. At least, not tonight."

Percival chuckled at the thought of the older man on such a (believable) tirade. "Only if you're certain about that. You can come up and rest, but I don't want you to stay too long and wear yourself out even further."

"Were you planning on wearing me out?" Christiane quipped, extracting herself from Percival's embrace and taking his hand.

"No," said Percival slowly, his cheeks pinkening.

Still holding Percival's hand, she pulled him toward the castle. "Come on, you. If we can manage to find me a snack and I can put up my feet for a little while, I'll be just fine."

"This is a lucky night for you, because I have a strawberry tart hiding in my chambers. I had to stick it in the back of my wardrobe so Gwaine wouldn't find it and devour the whole thing."

"That sounds delic –" Christiane began to say, until Percival reached over and tossed his companion over his shoulder almost effortlessly, and continued to saunter uphill toward the castle.

"No!" shrieked Christiane. "Put me down, now!" But the tone of her voice gave away her amusement.

"I don't think I will," said Percival with mirth. "But if you don't keep it down, Arthur's guards will toss me into the dungeons, and then no strawberry tart for you."

Laughing uproariously, Christiane convinced Percival to place her back on the ground.

Shortly afterward, they entered the castle; this was the first time Christiane had been there at night. Massive braziers were lit at the entryway, while glowing wall sconces and candelabras illuminated the interior with a soft glow. In that moment, she recognized the castle was truly a magnificent and awe-inspiring place. It was the heart of Camelot, her city, and she loved it. Christiane also wondered when she'd begun viewing Camelot as her own city and beloved home. It must have been something that had come upon her gradually, because she couldn't recall a specific day when she considered Camelot "home."

Nonetheless, part of Christiane was concerned about being seen with Percival entering his chambers, at night, just the two of them. It wasn't really the most appropriate activity, going into a man's private quarters during the evening hours. But she knew Carina would do it (and who knows what else), so Christiane chose to be bold, damn the gossip. She didn't need to answer to any authority besides herself. If Christiane was content with her actions, then so be it.

Percival led Christiane into his quarters and encouraged her to take a seat, either on a chair or before the hearth on the bear rug, wherever she felt most comfortable. She opted for the plush bear rug, rubbing her hands against the silky fur as she sat down.

While she made herself comfortable, Percival quickly peeled off his gloves, mail, and padded gambeson, and removed his belt. He really needed to change out of his sweaty tunic, but felt a little strange about removing his shirt in front of Christiane so casually. Then he recalled they'd been naked together earlier that day, so it was unlikely to be an issue. Still, he went to his wardrobe, and changed fast, while partially obscured by the wardrobe's tall open door. Next, he rummaged around the interior and withdrew one large strawberry tart, and presented it to his visitor with a flourish.

"That thing is absolutely huge," said Christiane, with a short burst of laughter, admiring the substantial treat. "Were you planning on eating that whole tart by yourself?"

"Yes! I have the appetite of a horse."

"Strawberry tarts gave you those muscles, then?"

"Luck, training, and tarts."

Christiane found that statement hilarious, and flopped backward onto the rug with laughter.

"All right, lets dig into this tart now, shall we?" said Percival, chuckling at her exuberance, cutting the tart into pieces with his belt-knife.

Percival and Christiane polished off the delectable pastry within a few minutes, savoring each sweet and flaky bite, then washed down their substantial snack with some mead.

"Oh that was so good," commented Christiane, now lying back on the rug while Percival sat at her feet. "Where did you get it?"

"The kitchens," explained Percival. "I offer to heave heavy sacks of flour, grain, or what have you, and the kitchen maids pay me in food. I have the better part of the deal, I think."

Christiane smiled and closed her eyes for a moment, imagining Percival hefting those bags with ease, then being paid in sweet treats, roast chickens, and thick stews. The notion made her smile.

"You said your feet were sore," offered Percival suddenly. "I could rub them for you, if you want." He felt a little silly offering, but knew how much his own feet throbbed after training or marching, sometimes.

"How can I turn down an offer of having my feet rubbed by a knight of Camelot? Is this a service that you offer regularly?"

"I can't say I've ever rubbed a foot other than my own," said Percival, with a small smile.

Christiane giggled quietly. "Let's get on with the experiment then."

Percival rose and first, he added a little kindling to the fire. It was summer time, but evenings could still get cool in the castle. Next, he strode over to his bed and collected a pillow, then tossed it jokingly at Christiane. She caught the soft cushion and placed it beneath her head. Percival settled near her feet once again and began his work.

He stroked the arches of Christiane's feet too gently, and the light touches made her giggle. When he realized he was doing nothing more than tickling the woman's feet, he applied more pressure with his thumbs. Christiane appeared to be enjoying this stronger touch, and Percival worked his way up to her ankles, spending a good deal of time on that area. Eventually, he moved on, and kneaded her lower calves.

Christiane closed her eyes and she sighed with satisfaction. "That feels wonderful," she complimented. "If your career as a knight doesn't work out…"

The man chuckled and kept caressing the smooth skin of her lower legs. But after his steamy activity with Christiane by the waterside earlier in the day, the young man couldn't help but envision working his hands up the woman's legs, slowly, until he reached the tantalizing warm, soft skin between her legs. The thought of caressing her there, again, made him breathe a little faster. He'd touched her there once, and he absolutely couldn't wait to do it again. Percival considered simply giving it a go, but he stopped himself; what would the woman think if every time they got together, he did nothing but try to grope under her skirt? He wanted the woman to be his bride, not just his bed partner. Though the notion of her nestled in his bed, each and every night, with his arms wrapped around her, was fabulous.

Christiane opened her eyes a crack and noticed Percival looked a little distracted. She assumed he was fatigued from rubbing her feet for so long. "Are you tired?" she asked. "You can stop, you know."

Percival shook off the vision of Christiane crying out in pleasure while he touched her. "No," he said quickly. "Not at all. I love doing this. I find it relaxing."

"So do I," she said, closing her eyes once more.

Percival returned to kneading Christiane's calves, but it didn't take long for his mind to wander back to the many ways in which he could ravage his beautiful companion. He moved his hands upward, so they now caressed Christiane's mid-calf. And that's when his own eyes drifted close, and he pictured using his mouth on Christiane's most intimate parts. He loved the idea of trying it, but knew at that moment, such an act would cross the line of propriety. Yet he was so eager to try it. He wanted to bury his head beneath her skirt and taste the very center of her. However, imagining engaging in such acts, which was making him rock-hard, didn't help matters one bit. Yet while he kneaded, he recalled one of Gwaine's many lengthy speeches about performing oral sex on women.

"It's completely addictive," Gwaine had bellowed to his fellow knights, while they'd been on their mission in Essetir. "Knowing that you can do that to a woman and make her feel like that? It gives you a sense of power and accomplishment like nothing else. That, and it's damn sexy. Gets me going every time. You haven't heard a woman scream until you've used your tongue on her, I'm telling you. She'll shiver at your touch and beg you to keep going…"

Gwaine of course had commented further: "So, my friends, if you don't like it, you'd better learn to like it. Because if you want your cock sucked in return –"

Percival didn't realize he'd stopped rubbing Christiane's legs until he heard a light chuckle coming from her direction.

"You seem distracted again," observed Christiane.

"Oh, I was," he said. "I was…thinking about our new crossbows."

Christiane had a feeling he was fibbing, but didn't press him.

"You look pretty worn out," noted Percival, rapidly changing the subject. "I think you need some rest. Would you like to lie down on the bed for a little while before I take you home?"

Christiane glanced over at Percival's massive bed. "If I may be honest with you, I've admired that bed since the first day I visited you, after your injury. I would love to try it out." She rose from the rug and walked over to the bed, running her hands along the thick blanket that covered the mattress. "This is by far the largest bed I've ever seen."

"This has been my one extravagant expense, and it was worth every coin. I had it built specially," said Percival. "When I'm not out on patrol, the one thing I appreciate more than just about anything is a good, comfortable night's sleep. Though a decent meal is a close second."

_But you in my arms each and every night would be best of all_, he thought.

Christiane eased into the bed. Adjusting the covers around her, she sighed contentedly. "I have never felt anything more comfortable in my life. Would you care to join me?" she asked, her tone casual.

_More than I care to breathe._

He moved closer to the bedside, but still remained a few feet away, standing. "You look so beautiful there. So perfect," said Percival. "But I can't. The temptation to make love to you would be far too great."

Quite unexpectedly, Christiane felt tears burning in her eyes, and before she could stop them, they ran down her cheeks. She turned onto her side, still mostly burrowed under to covers, and faced Percival.

"I don't know how to say this, but it needs to be said, because it's been on my mind quite a lot these days." Christiane blew out a long breath. "I am so jealous of that woman in Mercia," she blurted out. "I think of what happened between you two all the time, and I don't know why. I realize it was in the past, years ago, and you didn't even know me then… But the thought of you intimate with someone else makes me ill sometimes." She then faced away from him, embarrassed by her confession. "It's foolish, I know, but I can't seem to help myself."

"I'm sorry," said Percival, moving right next to the bed, taking a knee. "I didn't want to tell you about that woman… I don't even know her real name. It was all so embarrassing. But I knew I couldn't keep it from you, either. That wouldn't be fair or honest." The knight took Christiane's hand. "I wish you'd been my first," he said. "Truly, I do."

"I so wanted to be your first…and have you as mine," she said, tears shining in her eyes. "When I think of you touching her, I feel so angry and jealous."

Percival nodded in understanding. "I know it's not the same thing, but when I think of those men, or boys, kissing you, I feel like tearing them limb from limb. And that's not the same thing as…as what I did."

Christiane was silent for a long moment. "I hate you went to bed with her first."

"It was in a barn, actually. No bed," he said, trying to be funny.

But Christiane cried even harder, and Percival didn't know what to do other than continue to hold her hand. She took a deep breath.

"Will you tell me more about why you did it?" asked Christiane. "Perhaps that'll make things better. Or worse. I don't know. But I need to hear."

"You want me to tell you more, even if it might upset you?"

"I do."

"All right," said Percival, now sitting upon the floor next to the bed. "I was a very insecure seventeen-year-old, especially when it came to women. I'd heard women muttering behind my back that I was 'scary.' Another woman whispered, 'He's too huge. Who'd want something like _that_ lying on top of them?' Like I was some untamed beast. I know they were just words, and I should have ignored them, but I was young and it was difficult. I took those words to heart.

"Another embarrassing truth is that I felt pressured by the men. They always made jokes about my lack of experience with women. I think maybe one other new knight and I were the only virgins of the bunch, and the rest of the men never let us forget it.

"These are all poor excuses, I know," he said. "But I felt I need to prove that I was desirable. That woman came along and it was my only opportunity…so I took it." Percival lowered his gaze, feeling shame, upset that his words probably caused Christiane more pain. Yet Percival continued on.

"But after that…that incident, I realized that I didn't need to prove myself to the other men. I'd feel better about myself waiting for a woman whom I love. That wasn't a popular idea among the knights, of course, but even so, it was something I knew I needed to do."

Christiane's tears had slowed. "I want to know one more, thing, if that's okay," she said, trying to sound compsed.

"Anything you need, sweetheart."

"Do you think of her often?" Christiane asked, fresh tears flowing. "The woman?"

Percival scooted even closer to the bed and squeezed Christiane's hand, which he still held. "No," he said. "The only times I've thought of her recently are when I told you the story of what happened with her and just now, since you brought it up. No other time, I swear. It's something I'd prefer to put from my mind.

"I love _you_, Christiane. You're the only woman I want, now and always."

For a moment, Percival wondered if he should propose to Christiane, right then. After all, he had the ring. Why not now? Surely, she'd then see how much he loved her. But he decided against it. He didn't want to propose to a sad and tearful woman. Percival had planned to propose the night after tomorrow, during a late supper in his chambers. His idea was that he would bite down on a piece of bread, and then tell Christiane there was something hard and awful baked into his loaf, and ask her to take a look and see what it was. That's when he'd stick the ring into the baked good and she'd find it.

"I believe you," said Christiane, garnering Percival's attention once more. "I understand why now. But sometimes, I think I may still be upset about it."

"That's fair enough. But when it's bothering you, you'll tell me?"

"I will."

Christiane sat up, wiped a stray tear from her cheek, and stretched. "I think I should head home now."

Percival was a little worried. Did she really need to go home, or was she just so upset and disappointed with him she felt she needed to leave straight away?

"Do you want to go home because you're tired, or because you're angry with me?" asked Percival, dreading the answer.

"I'm not mad," she said, rising from the bed and depositing herself next to Percival on the floor. She kissed his cheek. "I love you. I'm just tired and need a good night's sleep."

"Of course. I'll take you straight home."

The two left the castle and meandered down to Christiane's cottage. Halfway there, she grabbed Percival's hand and held it as they walked. It had been an emotional evening, and she wanted to ensure he knew all was still well between them.

They reached Christiane's door and Percival gave her a brief and tender kiss. He took a small step back but still held Christiane's waist. "I'll see you the night after tomorrow, right?" he asked. "We'll have late supper."

"Of course. I'll see you then. And supper sounds lovely."

After one last brief peck on Christiane's cheek, Percival turned toward home.

"I have something to tell you," blurted out Christiane; Percival had made it only a few paces away from her door. He turned to face her, waiting. "One boy who kissed me? I, ah, I let him reach down the front of my dress," she offered haltingly. "Just once. But I thought you should know. After you were so honest with me tonight, I thought it was only right that that I should tell you."

The knight pressed his lips together into a grim, straight line. He wasn't happy about this news, and he willed himself not to get angry, not to overreact. After all, he'd done more than that. Percival knew he had no right to be upset. Yet he was.

"I see. All right," he said as calmly as possible, unsure of what else to say.

Christiane winced. "Are you angry with me?"

"No. But if I ever see this man, I'll break his fingers," grumbled Percival.

"I don't think you'll ever have the opportunity," said Christiane with a half-smile. "This happened back when I lived in Cenred's kingdom, and he's long gone."

Percival paused in thought for a moment. "Time to leave the past in the past then, it seems."

"All right," Christiane agreed. She wanted that more than anything. "We'll try."

Christiane blew Percival a kiss. He pretended to catch it in his hand, and smiled.

XXXX

Percival knew he should wait to see Christiane the following night as planned. If he kept calling on her, he worried she might grow tired of him. Then again, if she accepted his marriage proposal, she'd be seeing an awful lot more of him in the future.

It had been a long, difficult day and evening for the knight: training during the humid afternoon, then patrol for the rest of the warm evening. Toward the end of patrol, he and his comrades had found a young boy, no older than ten, slumped against a tree in the woods, seemingly hurt. When they came upon the child and tried to assist, the young stranger slashed at them with a small knife. The boy was subdued and brought to the castle, but on the way there, he spoke of nothing but his "allegiance to the true ruler of Camelot, the Lady Morgana Pendragon." It frightened Percival to think that one so young could be brainwashed so thoroughly. Where were the boy's parents? And what could King Arthur do with a boy so young? Imprison him? Or, dread the thought, execute the child?

The entire event weighed heavily on Percival's mind and he knew only one person could help him feel better: his Christiane. If he could look upon her, even briefly, his mind would be less troubled. Her mere presence always soothed him. Yet the man felt a little selfish for thinking that way. After all, the woman needed her rest and it was late already. But still, he needed just a moment of her time. She'd understand.

Percival took a few moments to return to his quarters after patrol to change out of his mail and grab a lantern. He then wandered out into the hallway, wearing his light cloak, hoping to slip from the castle without running into anyone. But luck was not on his side this evening, because Gwaine was sauntering right by his quarters at that very moment.

"Oh good," said Gwaine with relief at the sight of his friend. "I am so bored tonight. Do you want to go down to the tavern for a spot of ale? Pie? I could really do with a hot slice of pie."

"I, erm, I have some business to which I must attend," said Percival awkwardly, unable to face Gwaine.

Gwaine narrowed his eyes at his friend. "Of course you do. The business of getting into Christiane's skirts, no doubt." He cackled loudly, amused by his own humor.

"Sure, Gwaine, right," said Percival, irritated, as he tried to sidestep his good friend.

Gwaine moved in front of Percival, blocking the man's departure. "Oh, calm down, will you? It was a joke. Come on, you know that, right?"

Percival chuckled and smiled. He could never stay angry at his friend for long. "Yes, I do. Now, will you let me pass?"

With an exaggerated bow and a flourish of his hand, Gwaine stepped aside, allowing Percival to pass.

Percival walked away, yet Gwaine still called out after him. "I expect a full report from you later," hollered the man.

Percival rushed off, but with a small smile on his face. After all, he knew Gwaine meant well; he always did.

Moving swiftly in the dark of the summer evening, the young knight arrived at his destination. He'd all but ignored the grassy perfume of the summer night air, which he normally loved. But that happened sometimes when his mind was occupied.

Percival stood a few yards away from Christiane's cottage, holding his lantern. He knew her father was home this evening, having returned from his spice trading trip. How could Percival get Christiane's attention without waking her father? Clearly, he hadn't thought his plan through well enough, and considered returning home. But instead, he searched around for some pebbles he could toss at Christiane's bedroom window, which he knew was situated up in the loft.

The man lobbed one small pebble up at the window. The shutters were open, and Percival didn't want to inadvertently throw a small stone through the opening and perhaps hit Christiane on the head. That first pebble made virtually no sound as it came in contact with the wood. Percival tried once more, and the next stone smacked against the wood frame with a louder sound, but hopefully, not so loud that it would wake Will, who was likely asleep in the main area of the cottage. If the father woke and saw Percival standing outside of his daughter's window, the young knight recognized he'd be minus a head.

No sooner than Percival had drawn his arm back to toss one last pebble did Christiane appear at the window, hair mussed, rubbing her sleepy eyes, but smiling. She held a finger to her lips. "Wait," she whispered, before disappearing from view again.

So Percival waited. He wandered back a few feet and rested against a tree, wondering what Christiane had planned. In a few moments, she appeared at the window again, this time, wearing her light cloak. Shockingly, and before Percival could move, Christiane hoisted herself out of the window, held onto the lower sill, and dropped to the ground, landing solidly on her feet.

He rushed forward. "Damn, what the…?" he whispered loudly, concerned that Christiane might have injured herself in the drop to the ground.

"What?" she said, dusting off her cloak. "I'm fine."

"Have you had some secret training of which I'm not aware?" asked Percival, shocked that Christiane had dropped from the window with such ease. "That was quite the bold move. Well executed, I must say."

"Shush," commanded Christiane. "Don't be silly. Carina and I have sneaked out plenty of times." The young woman grabbed Percival's hand and nearly dragged him toward the woods behind her home. "Come, I want to show you something."

They jogged a few feet, together, until they reached the dense woods, then slowed down.

"How are you planning on getting back inside without waking you father?" asked Percival in a hushed tone, worried that this was all an awful idea, and he would somehow get Christiane into trouble. But he wouldn't allow that. He'd go to her father and accept the blame, even though the man scared him.

Christiane still held Percival's hand and urged him on further into the forest. "I'll just walk right through the front door," she told him. "If Father wakes, I'll tell him I'm having a 'woman problem,' and I needed to see Carina. He'll grunt, feel embarrassed, and go right back to sleep."

It took Percival a moment to catch on, but he quickly understood. And supposed he'd better get used to the idea of monthly "women's problems," if he was lucky enough to be a married man soon.

"We're close," said Christiane, as they entered a clearing. Even though it was night and the forest was dense, she didn't want to garner any attention with loud voices.

Percival held out his lantern in front of them so they could see the way ahead. The lantern flame illuminated the small clearing, one with two stone-encircled fire pits, a stack of wood, and a tiny, rustic, but well-built lean-to.

They approached the lean-to, and Percival tested the structure by giving it a light shake. "Nicely built," he said with admiration. "Who made it?"

"Carina and I," Christiane explained. "When we lived in Cenred's kingdom, we had a little hideout in the woods, and we made a new one here in Camelot, too. It's a nice escape from the day-to-day."

Percival loved the idea of a small sanctuary in the forest. "This is a great place. You and Carina did an excellent job." He looked at the stack of wood. "I'll start a fire," he said, and plucked a small, dry stick from the forest floor, igniting it with the flame in his lamp. Within a few minutes, a small fire burned.

He then crawled into the lean-to. He couldn't sit fully upright, due to his height. Percival was bent nearly in half, and Christiane laughed at him.

"When Carina and I built this, we never took into consideration we'd have anyone so tall visiting," she said with a slight giggle.

"Other than a bear, perhaps," the large knight teased.

Instead of remaining half folded-over, Percival moved to lie down on his back. "Now this is perfect!" he said, placing his hands behind his head, looking comfortable. "Plenty of space for me to rest, no wind, no rain. When I become tired of the castle, I may rent this place from you."

Percival lifted his head to look at Christiane; his expression turned serious. "You know, tonight, I just wanted to see your face. That's all. I had a rough day, and I needed to look upon you, just for a moment. I didn't mean to have you break out of your home and run off into the woods with me. You need your rest." He frowned. "It wasn't very considerate of me to turn up like that."

"I'm happy to have a little excitement this evening," she assured. "You were right…recovery is boring."

Percival placed his head back on his hands and Christiane hastily pounced on him, her warm lips on his, her tongue exploring his mouth, tangling with his. She lay on top of him, her eager hands roving his body as she kissed him, and Percival was captivated by the young woman's passion. He found everything about Christiane exquisitely sexy, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching beneath the hem of her cloak and thin nightdress (that's all she'd worn when escaping her window) to squeeze her smooth but firm backside.

It didn't take long for things to progress from kissing and touching to more. Christiane had freed Percival's erection as she lay on top of him, her cloak and nightdress now bunched above her waist. Both she and Percival were filled with raging desire that no amount of frenzied kissing or touching seemed to extinguish. Percival feared what might come next, but he also wanted it more than anything. If Christiane decided she wanted to take things a step further, he knew, tonight, he'd be powerless to stop her.

And things progressed. Still atop Percival, Christiane spread her legs further apart and brushed her slick heat against his throbbing cock. She didn't allow him inside of her, but she continued to rub her wetness against him, up and down his length, faster and harder.

Percival's hands were tangled in Christiane's long locks now, and he groaned as his tongue tangled with hers, while her heated core slid along his erection rapidly; the pressure, the motion, the intense sensations brought him close to the edge of madness.

_To hell with her maidenhood,_ Percival decided at that moment. It didn't matter if they had sex right then. Even if she conceived, it wouldn't be a problem. After all, he was going to propose tomorrow night, she'd say yes, and they'd be having sex right after the wedding, which would be soon. And women were pregnant for what, nine, ten months? No one would know they'd done it beforehand. It was really just a matter of semantics at this point.

Percival had been on the brink of begging: "Can I be inside of you now? Please?" when he realized he was about to climax and there was no way to stop it. Instead of begging to relieve Christiane of her maidenhood, he grabbed his cock and pointed it down and away from her as he came. Even in that moment, he knew it would have been ridiculously unfair to claim her virginity, out there in the forest, with no enjoyment for her, since the actual act would have lasted all of about three seconds at that point.

It took a few moments for Christiane to realize what had happened, but once she did, she climbed off Percival, and sat up, lowering her nightdress and cloak. She looked a little caught off balance, and Percival knew she was wholly unsatisfied, but he planned to fix that.

The young knight rose to his knees (his head bent low so it wouldn't touch the top of the lean-to), and lifted Christiane up from her seated position. She was now also on her knees, and he turned her around so her back rested against his front.

"Your turn now," he whispered in her ear, followed by a gentle nip to her lobe, saying nothing else.

While pressing gentle kisses to the back of her neck, Percival eased one hand beneath Christiane's nightdress and reached up between her legs, sliding his finger into her folds, massaging her core. His own trousers and drawers were still down, and with his other hand, he pulled up the back of her cloak and nightwear, and rested his cock (which was hard once more) against the small of her back. Percival then took that hand and brought it forward, caressing Christiane's body from her hip to her breasts while he continued to work her center with the fingers of his other hand.

Christiane moved her back toward him, pressing her exposed skin against his erection as her breath came faster. She was just about to ask him to ease his fingers inside of her, or any other body part that he'd prefer, when he squeezed her nipple tightly and an orgasm like she'd never known – wet, thrilling, and overwhelming – set her aflame. It was so all-consuming she couldn't even scream; nothing more than a raspy gasp escaped her lips.

But Percival knew she'd liked it. He'd felt her tremble and tighten, and he'd never felt anything so slick and heated before. And the moment he dropped his hands, Christiane, on her knees still, turned around and grasped Percival's erection. Her lips found his, and with a few easy strokes of her hand, he'd come once again.

Percival leaned forward and rested his damp forehead against hers. "Whatever are we going to do with you?" he asked, breathless.

"More of that, I hope," said Christiane, and the two chuckled.

Christiane adjusted her clothing, as did Percival. It was late at night now, and both of them knew it was time to head back to their respective homes. Percival stomped-out the dim fire and tossed dirt upon it; he and Christiane then left the woods, hand-in-hand. The flame in Percival's lantern was low, so he led his love back to her cottage carefully. But Christiane encouraged him to stop a little ways away from her home.

"You should sneak off now," she said, with a teasing smile. "If anyone sees you walking me to my door in the middle of the night…"

Percival nodded his head in understanding. "Ah. Good point. I'll hide out the shadows for a moment. I want to make sure you're back in your house, safe."

"All right. I love you," she said, standing on tip-toe to kiss Percival once more.

"I love you, too," said Percival. But before he allowed Christiane to wander off, he grasped her hand, drawing her closer to him once more. He had something he needed to say first.

"Back there? That was a little…close."

"It was," agreed Christiane, with a nod.

Percival squeezed her hand. "But everything's still okay between us?" He didn't know why he was feeling so nervous about everything. Uncertain.

"Of course it is," she said. "Why wouldn't it be?"

That was just the reassurance Percival needed. Being in a relationship, being madly in love, was all very new to him. Her words soothed his feelings of uneasiness.

He sighed with relief. "Good, good." Percival pressed a soft kiss to Christiane's knuckles before releasing her hand. "And don't forget supper tomorrow night."

"How could I ever forget to spend time with you?" she said quietly, walking toward her door.

Christiane turned at her threshold and smiled at Percival before she walked inside. "I love you," she mouthed, then entered her home.


	7. Chapter 6 A Sudden Change

**A/N - Quite a bit happened during chapter five! I enjoyed writing the scene between Percival and Will when Percival asks for Christiane's hand. ****"****Get up will you? For God's sake, I'm not the king!" Sigh...sometimes I make myself laugh.**

**Our poor Christiane! But she's such a strong woman. However, it's a good thing Percival arrived just in time. **

**And clearly, Percival and Christiane are in love (and lust, as we saw). Also, isn't that great that Christiane's going to have the opportunity to train as a healer?**

**We're on to chapter six now. Something VERY significant happens in this chapter that changes the course of the story. Actually, a few game-changers occur!**

**Be ready for an extra hot-and-heavy scene in this chapter. **

Chapter 6 – A Sudden Change

So much changed during the course of a mere day.

The frightening rumors circulating Camelot regarding Morgana amassing a huge army were true. During that afternoon, King Arthur's scouts and fifty of his knights, led by Sir Leon, reported they were forced to retreat from their northern garrison at Stawell because Morgana's men were too numerous and she had used sorcery against Camelot's soldiers.

During the dangerous and terrifying retreat home, where several more of King Arthur's knights had been brutally slaughtered, the scouts counted that the High Priestess's soldiers outnumbered their own by five-to-one, and that was a conservative estimate.

Acknowledging the grave news, that evening, Arthur called his most trusted knights and confidantes to his private chambers, which included Percival, Gwaine, Leon, Merlin, and Gaius.

The king revealed they must ride out the next morning at first light to face the wicked Morgana at Camlann in the mountains of the north; Arthur refused to allow her massive and ruthless army to march on Camelot and put all of its citizens at risk.

"This will be a dangerous battle," Arthur declare with open honesty. "Many will lose their lives, as we're incredibly outnumbered. But I do believe with our strength, strategy, and determination, we can defeat Morgana once and for all and bring lasting peace to the realm."

He raised his sword. "For the love of Camelot!" he declared, and his knights saluted the kingdom with him.

XXXX

After finishing her work at the tavern and washing up, Christiane donned her traveling cloak and walked to the castle at a comfortable pace. She was permitted entry and met Percival in his quarters shortly thereafter. Right away, she could see he was distressed.

Pacing, Percival explained the dire situation to Christiane the moment she entered his room. "At first light, we're to leave for Camlann to battle Morgana and her army. We're grossly outnumbered. There's a very real chance few of us will return," he explained matter-of-factly.

Christiane felt as if the earth had shifted violently beneath her feet. Worried she might vomit and pass out, she steadied herself by placing a hand on Percival's dining table. The young woman understood that the life of a knight was dangerous, yet the reality of losing Percival made her sick. But Christiane knew she had to be strong. The last thing she wanted to do was send her love off to battle with an aching heart.

She gazed up into his grey eyes and took his face into her hands. "I love you Percival. So much. More than anything in this world. And I know you will come back to me."

Percival gathered her into his arms. "You're my heart and soul, Christiane," he declared. "I promise, I will love you with everything I have, for all of my days. However many or few they may be."

He then reached into his pocket, withdrew the betrothal ring, and dropped to one knee. "I had planned on doing this at the banquet, just so you know," Percival explained with a small smile. The knight cleared his throat and continued. "Christiane, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? You are the most precious thing in the world, and I promise to treasure you now and always. My heart is yours and will remain so forever."

Christiane clasped her hands over her mouth. She had dreamed of this moment and it was finally coming true. "Yes!" she replied immediately. "I would love to be your wife, Percival."

He stood and placed the betrothal ring upon her finger, a delicate silver band, inlaid with small, sky-blue crystals.

With tears in her eyes, Christiane admired the ring for a brief moment, then met her new fiancé's gaze. "If you're to leave at first light, and there's even a small possibility you won't return, I want you to make love to me. Now. I don't care about propriety and bedding customs. I love you and _will_ marry you, and that's all that counts. In my heart, you're already my husband."

Percival disagreed. "What if you were to conceive my child tonight, I didn't return, and we hadn't married? You'd live in shame and I couldn't bear that." He paused in thought for a moment. "But wait...would you marry me tonight? If I could make it happen?"

"Of course!" exclaimed Christiane. "I would marry you this instant. But how?"

"Just a minute!" Percival called over his shoulder, as he dashed from his chambers.

Christiane stood leaning against the table, confused and waiting.

A good ten minutes later, Percival returned with Geoffrey of Monmouth, the royal librarian who also performed weddings, coronations, and all official court ceremonies, and Gwaine. The eager knight explained his plan.

"Geoffrey can perform a binding wedding ceremony and Gwaine can act as witness. Will you do this?"

Christiane flung her arms around Percival and kissed him. "I will," she said breathlessly. "You have no idea how much I want this!"

"Perhaps you should save that for the end of the wedding ceremony," Geoffrey suggested mildly.

Gwaine hurried the couple along. "We don't have a lot of time. Arthur issued an order that all knights retire to their chambers beginning at midnight so they're prepared and rested for travel tomorrow. And you need enough time for the ceremony and to, um, consummate the marriage."

Christiane and Percival laughed.

"Somehow, I knew you'd mention that," said Percival.

"Listen," Gwaine said, "I know how much this means to you and you're both my friends; like a brother and sister to me. I'll stand outside with the other castle guard and I'll handle the marriage bed sheets when you're...when you're done."

Gwaine was referring to the custom where two people stood outside of the marriage bed chamber and ensured the union was consummated based on the sounds they heard within. It was also customary to hang the bloodied sheets outside of the castle to prove the marriage was valid. Gwaine planned to personally hang the sheets far away on the other side of the castle.

"Shall we begin?" Geoffrey asked, recognizing time was of the essence.

Christiane and Percival nodded.

"Please clasp hands," the officiant instructed. "And please repeat after me, Percival:

"I, Percival, take thee, Christiane, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward."

Percival repeated the words.

"For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, for fairer or fouler, in sickness and in health."

Once again, he recited the vows.

"To love and to cherish, 'till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereunto I grant thee my love and fidelity."

Christiane then repeated the same promises to Percival, her voice thick with emotion. Percival wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms and kiss her, but he knew he had to wait until the ceremony had concluded.

"Now, it is time to bless the rings," Geoffrey proclaimed. "Do, you, er, have rings?"

"Just the betrothal ring," confessed Percival with slight chagrin.

Gwaine twisted his ring off his finger and handed it to Christiane. "Here. Use this for now. Percival can give it back to me when we return from Camlann."

Christiane was touched by Gwaine's thoughtful and sincere gesture. "Thank you, Gwaine. Of course."

Geoffrey went on to say, "Percival, once again, repeat after me:

"With this ring I thee wed, and with my body, I thee honor, and with all my worldly goods, I thee endow."

Percival repeated the prayer, removed the betrothal ring from Christiane's finger and placed it back on her hand. Christiane then placed Gwaine's borrowed ring on Percival's finger.

Geoffrey concluded the ceremony with: "Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. For as much as Percival and Christiane have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their love and fidelity to each other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of rings, and by joining of hands; I pronounce them man and wife, in the name of God and the King. You may now kiss your bride."

The couple stood in disbelief for a moment. At last, Percival took Christiane into his arms and for the first time as a husband, tenderly touched his lips to his wife's, while the whole world melted away. This kiss wasn't filled with passion and need, but gentle love. After several moments of them standing together with their lips locked, Gwaine cleared his throat.

"I have a preliminary marriage contract for you and your witness to sign. It is binding," Geoffrey told the newlyweds. "I'll have the final one completed by the time you return from battle."

At Percival's table, each signed the contract.

"All the best to you, truly," said Geoffrey. "I will pray for your safe return." He left Percival's chambers.

"That's my cue to leave," Gwaine said. "I'll be outside the door. With my fingers in my ears," he joked. "I'll let you know when it's close to midnight." He clasped arms with Percival and hugged Christiane. "I love you both. Congratulations."

Percival and Christiane stood in the chamber, alone, as husband and wife.

"I've waited for this moment for so long. But now that it's here, I find myself pretty nervous," Christiane acknowledged.

"Don't be," Percival reassured his new wife, as he cupped her face. "It's just me, after all. And we'll go through this together."

"I'm worried about the pain and blood," Christiane explained, still apprehensive. "Or that I'll be one of the women who doesn't bleed and no one will believe..."

"Hopefully, it won't be all pain and blood," Percival cut in with a smile. "I want nothing more than to please you. I know this first time will be difficult, but we'll take it slowly, one step at a time. Together. Agreed?" Christiane nodded her head, feeling a bit more relaxed. "Now, if I may, I'd like to kiss you, Wife."

"I would like that, Husband."

Percival kissed Christiane slowly. He brushed her lower lip with his tongue, and she responded in kind. He held her face and caressed it with his thumb as he kissed her. Next, running his hands lightly over her hips and waist, he moved his palms against her breasts.

Then, Percival took his new wife's hand and led her to the bed. Christiane realized she was no longer afraid. A little nervous, and a bit excited. After all, she was with the love of her life and she knew he'd treat her with care and kindness the first time they made love. How much could it hurt? If it was that bad people would never do it again.

"May I undress you?" asked Percival, somewhat shyly. "Or would you rather undress me first?"

"It's going to take you a while to unlace the back of this dress, so you should probably take care of that first."

Christiane turned her back toward Percival and he sat on the bed. He carefully lifted her hair and placed it over her shoulder, then clumsily, with trembling hands, began to unlace the dress. After a minute or so, the dress fell to the floor in a puddle, followed be her corset. Christiane, left in her sheer linen shift, turned to face Percival and he carefully pulled her down onto the bed, kissing her lightly as he rolled on top of her. He then peeled off his shirt and tossed it behind him carelessly.

"May I?" asked Christiane, motioning toward his trousers. He nodded in consent, and she gingerly unlaced his breeches. The new husband pulled them down and kicked them away, left with nothing but his drawers, obviously aroused.

Without permission, Percival reached for the hem of Christiane's shift and pulled it up over her head, tossing it over his shoulder. She decided to be bold and removed her undergarments while she lay on the bed. Percival responded by pulling off his drawers as well. They were finally both completely bare.

Good Lord, she tempted him.

During their last frenzied encounter in the woods, Percival been too desperate to touch Christiane and worried someone might come upon them, so he'd barely glanced at her naked body then. But now that her soft, beautiful, bare-skinned form rested beneath him, bathed in gentle candlelight, he felt a little lightheaded with desire.

"Wait," he said, before he completely forgot himself. Percival and rose and crossed the room to retrieve a small, folded sheet from his wardrobe to place underneath Christiane so he could remove it with ease to give Gwaine the evidence of their consummation.

As he approached his wife with the fresh, crisp sheet, the new husband experienced a moment of intense anxiety. If he was being honest with himself, Percival really didn't know what he was doing in the marriage bed. His one brief and fairly disastrous encounter with that woman in Mercia hadn't prepared him at all. If the newlywed had known he was going to bed Christiane on this night, he would have asked Gwaine a dozen very specific questions, no matter how embarrassing it would have been or how raucously his friend might have laughed at him. Percival had heard stories from some of the maids about them taking on lovers because their husbands couldn't perform adequately, and the notion made him ill.

The nervous husband took a steadying breath and reminded himself that Christiane had seemed to enjoy their previous activities. She'd even had an orgasm with him; he was certain of that. Or as certain as a man could be.

Percival shook off his jitters, crawled into bed, positioned the folded sheet beneath his wife's hips, and covered them both with a blanket. His gaze swept over Christiane again as he admired her beauty once more: her soft, fair skin, deep blue eyes, and her intoxicating smell. The knight loved the way her dark hair fanned out on the pillow in his bed. Their bed, now. He cherished his new wife more than he could express.

Christiane reached out and stroked Percival with her hand, feeling how hot and rigid he was. He explored her intimate folds with his fingers as they kissed and touched, finding her slick and aroused.

"I'm ready," she whispered into his ear.

Percival prayed that he would last more than thirty seconds, not cause his wife too much pain, and give her some pleasure. He'd dreamed of this moment for so many nights, hoping that one day, Christiane would be in their marriage bed, calling out his name in the throes of passion. And here she was, a beautiful, willing, ready vision. The man could scarcely believe it was happening.

He placed himself between Christiane's legs and took her chin in his hand. "I love you," he said.

"And I, you."

Percival positioned himself at her entrance, and eased inside very slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, exercising as much control as possible.

_This isn't so bad_, Christiane thought at first. _It just burns and stings a bit._

Percival reached her barrier, and knew he'd have to move with more force. He pushed harder, feeling it give way, and was then fully sheathed within her unbelievably tight, wet walls. It felt amazing, and his hunger for her only grew. He was unable to stifle a loud groan of passion. Being inside of Christiane, touching her without restriction, was completely exhilarating.

However, it didn't feel as amazing for Christiane. She'd promised herself she wouldn't cry when the time came, but it was difficult. She suppressed a whimper, yet tears sprang to her eyes and trickled down toward her ear. The pain was sharp and the burning feeling was intense. Percival knew immediately she was totally uncomfortable and he felt guilty.

"Should we stop?" he whispered in her ear, concerned. A part of him was terrified that she'd want him to stop, and he didn't know if he could. Such loss of control frightened him a little.

"No, no," she said. "Just lie very still for a minute."

He complied and kissed away the tears, waiting as patiently as he could, gritting his teeth and willing his body to remain still.

Christiane took a few deep breaths. "Okay. I'm ready."

Percival began moving within her again, slowly and gently. With each careful thrust, Christiane's pain grew less and less, until it was just a dull ache. She gradually began to enjoy the feeling of her new husband inside of her, and her breath came more rapidly.

Once Percival recognized her discomfort was largely gone, he panted, "You feel incredible. So good."

As he continued moving above her and inside of her, Christiane made sure this memory was forever locked in her mind. The way Percival felt inside of her, the feel of his muscled back and arms under her hands, his body pressed firmly against hers, the joy she felt.

She also realized he felt good inside of her now. Exceptional, actually. The young bride noticed her husband's breathing matched her own, rapid, with a few moans and sighs mixed in. Christiane could feel herself dissolve into pleasure. She hadn't expected this the first time, and it was surprising. She hooked her legs around Percival's waist and clasped her hands on his arse, using her touch to guide his movements faster and deeper. Each delicious and powerful thrust felt better than the last.

Percival did everything in his power to breathe smoothly and evenly; he was determined that his wife would have her pleasure first. The effort of holding off made him sweat, and a bead of perspiration dropped from his nose onto his wife's neck.

"Oh, please!" Christiane pleaded, as she writhed underneath her husband, toes curling, hips arching up toward him, dragging her nails sharply down his back, finding her exquisite release.

Percival was only seconds behind her. Having his wife cry out with such passion, feeling her nails bite into his skin while the waves of her orgasm gripped him was more than he could stand. He thrust into her a few more times with all he could, and spilled his seed inside of her with a mighty groan.

It was done. They had made love as husband and wife. And Percival realized for the first time in a very long time, he finally felt at home. Safe and loved. He collapsed onto Christiane's chest for a minute while both of them waited for their heart beats and breathing to slow.

After resting in each other's arms, Christiane suddenly clasped her hand over her mouth and groaned. "Oh, no! My father!"

"What about him?" Percival asked, perplexed.

"How will I explain to him we've married?"

Percival brushed a damp tendril of hair away from his wife's face, then absently twirled it around his finger. "I wouldn't be too concerned. I asked him for your hand in marriage well over a week ago and he accepted."

"That's a relief," she sighed, and then made a face of mild dismay. "I'm worried about the sheet," Christiane confessed. "I think there's going to be a bit of blood. On you, too."

"Nothing a cloth and a little water won't handle," Percival assured his wife. "Remember, I've seen battle wounds; this is nothing," he teased. "Why don't I just grab the sheet and bring it out to Gwaine so we don't have to think about it anymore?"

He sat up and noticed a modest amount of blood on the sheet, about the size of a fist, and a little bit on himself and Christiane's legs. There'd be no question about her virginity or their consummation.

Percival gently removed the sheet and folded it up, then retrieved two washcloths and dampened them with clean water from his washbasin. With the first, he wiped himself off quickly. He brought the fresh washcloth to his wife. "Here you are. I'm going to put on my breeches for a moment and see Gwaine." He wanted to give Christiane a little privacy to clean herself. She nodded and accepted the damp cloth gratefully. Percival slipped into his breeches, kissed his wife's cheek, and left the chamber.

Gwaine sat on the ground outside of his friends' door. He'd obviously dismissed the other guard, which relieved Percival; the new husband felt more at ease knowing he had only to face his good friend. This was a time where Gwaine could have made lewd jokes, but he didn't.

"Everything go well?" Gwaine asked.

Percival handed over the folded sheet. "As if you couldn't hear!"

"Then I'd say it went well and you have one happy new bride on your hands! I'll take care of this," said Gwaine, rising to accept the sheet. "You don't have long," he added. "I'll come back and knock when it's time." They clasped forearms.

"Oh, and Percival? You'll want to get some balm on that back before we ride out tomorrow," Gwaine called over his shoulder, as he strode off with the sheet.

Percival was puzzled for a moment, then remembered how his wife's nails had dragged down his back. He smiled. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, as he returned to his bride.

Percival entered the bedchamber one again, and Christiane was sitting upright in bed, smiling. "Do we have time to do that again?" she asked, sounding eager.

The new husband couldn't help but chuckle. "We do. We don't have a lot of time, but I promise, when I return, we'll go slowly; we can take all day if you want."

"Might need a few breaks," she joked, and drew her husband closer, pulling him back into bed. "But I want to do it again. Now."

It took nothing more than those words to make Percival instantly hard again. He shucked off his breeches and kissed Christiane's mouth, her neck, her breasts. He went lower and kissed her abdomen, then the top of each thigh. Boldly, he kissed the dark hair between Christiane's legs. He'd never performed oral sex before, but he'd listened to both Gwaine and Michael carry on for seemingly endless hours about how good they were, exactly what they did at each encounter, and so forth. They drew diagrams in the dirt with their swords! Percival used to try to block them out, but recently, he'd begun to listen surreptitiously.

He nudged her legs open and parted her folds gently with his fingers. Before Christiane could protest, Percival caressed her center with his fingers, and then, his tongue.

_Oh my God_, Christiane thought. _This is what Carina carries on about. It's a bit embarrassing, but it feels amazing. Fast and light as butterfly wings. Completely indescribable._

Percival continued to work his tongue against her, switching from using an up and down motion to a circular one. Within a minute or two, Christiane gasped and moaned, gripping the sheets, then raked her fingers through his short hair; her orgasm was imminent. Percival slipped a finger inside of her, and she was done. She cried out loudly, and the young groom felt extremely satisfied with himself.

He discreetly wiped his mouth off on the bed sheets, got up on his knees, hooked Christiane's legs over his shoulders, and entered her in a swift movement. There was no pain this time, as far as Percival could tell.

Christiane was still experiencing waves of pleasure from her magnificent orgasm when Percival pushed himself inside of her. He was harder than ever, relishing in her pleasure. The newlywed knew he wouldn't last long this time, but that was okay; the young man knew that he'd made his beautiful wife cry out with need and passion twice already that evening.

He moved inside of her harder and faster than before, with Christiane pressing her knees against his shoulders. Percival massaged her breasts and squeezed her nipples as he thrust, drowning in the amazing sensation of being inside of his gorgeous and enthusiastic wife. He didn't think it was possible, but Christiane moaned and quivered on the bed again, and he knew she was close. They both found their release at almost the same moment.

Percival disengaged from his wife carefully, as he knew they were out of time and Gwaine would knock on their door at any moment.

"It's time, isn't it?" Christiane asked, tears collecting in her eyes.

The knight simply nodded his head, overwhelmed with emotion as he was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried; probably when his family was killed. He didn't want to weep tonight, but wasn't sure if he could contain himself.

Percival helped Christiane dress, lacing her gown carefully with gentle hands. "Wait for me to return home before you move your things into these chambers;" he said. "I want to help you do it."

He had just pulled the tunic over his head as he heard a light rap on the door.

"I'm afraid it's time," Gwaine called out from the hallway. "I have the guard with me to escort Christiane home."

Christiane and Percival reached for each other and shared one final long, slow, emotional kiss. She moved toward the door and opened it, endeavoring to be as brave as possible.

"I'll see you in about a week, Christiane. I love you and I will come back to you," Percival whispered into her ear.

Christiane willed herself to not collapse into a river of tears. "I love you, too, Husband. I'll see you in a week and will pray for your safe return every night."

_Every second_, she amended in her mind.

They hugged one last time in the dim corridor before Christiane departed with the guard. She did not turn around to look at her husband, because she knew if she did so, she'd have to be dragged from the castle in hysterics. And that was certainly not the vision Christiane wanted her husband to carry into battle.

Percival watched his new bride walk away, longing for her, his heart heavy.

Gwaine approached his best friend. "We're going to slaughter that bitch Morgana and her whole damned army. We're going to save Camelot and get you back to your wife," he promised, as he forced Percival into a brotherly hug.

"God, I hope so," said Percival, patting his friend on the back.

The newlywed walked into his room and bolted the door to his still and silent chamber, facing what he knew would be a lonely and sleepless night.

Percival stared at his bed. It would never look the same to him again, now that he'd shared a passionate night in it with his wife. Sadness swept over him when he considered this might have been their one night together.

The young knight slipped beneath his blanket. His bed had never felt so cold.


	8. Chapter 7 Return Road

**A/N - That was quite the abrupt wedding during chapter six! It's too bad it wasn't under happier circumstances. Also, I adopted the medieval wedding vows from a variety of sources, and they're as authentic as possible for the time. As you can see, wedding vows haven't really changed all that much. **

**And yes, Christiane and Percival have FINALLY done the deed. I love reading about wedding night sex; I find it so full of love and passion. I hope this chapter did it justice. And Gwaine's such a good friend to Percival and now Christiane.**

**On to chapter seven! What will happen during the battle of Camlann? Will Percival return home to his new wife? Will Arthur survive? Read on and find out (this chapter contains some blood and violence). **

Chapter 7 – Return Road

King Arthur entrusted Percival to lead a group of one hundred men to head-off Morgana's ambush at a hidden ridge-pass at Camlann. Percival led his men fearlessly; he slashed, parried, and beat with force that he never knew he had. He cut down every man who challenged him, savagely and swiftly. Mercifully, his group thwarted the surprise attack on their camp. But Camelot's soldiers still had to face Morgana's full army at midnight, back at the main battlefield. Luckily, Percival was still without as much as a scratch.

The midnight battle of Camlann arrived; it was shockingly ferocious and exceedingly brutal, with many casualties on both sides. Thousands of men fought shoulder to shoulder in the long, but narrow rocky mountain pass.

The screams of the wounded and dying were near deafening, something Percival never experienced before. In his past battle encounters, he observed that men often met death quietly, sometimes, with soft moans of pain, other times, they called out for their wives or mothers. But these shrieks of agony were like nothing he'd ever heard, and Percival desperately wanted to clap his hands over his ears like when he was a young child and violent crashes of thunder had frightened him. The screams felt as if they tore through him and made his soul ache. This was a war like he'd never known; there was an extreme darkness and evil to it. Yet Percival knew this was no time to let his emotions get the best of him, so he fought on.

As the clanging of swords rang out, an inexplicable shift in the battle occurred. Morgana's men stormed forth as if bolstered by some unseen force, and King Arthur's army began to lose ground. Morgana's soldiers charged Arthur's army with astounding power; swords carved, battle axes fell, war hammers smashed, burning arrows flew, and spears sliced through the night. And the casualties mounted.

As the cruel assault continued, men perished all around him, and Percival thought he would die where he stood, never to return home to his wife. The warrior felt an instant of paralyzing grief at the idea of never seeing his bride again. But he rallied. He would not die a coward. The knight wanted word to go back to Christiane that he had perished with courage and honor. Covered in others' slick blood and drenched in his own sweat, Percival fought on, yielding to no one, wielding his sword with the force of ten men, the putrid stench of torn guts, spilled blood, and fear all around him.

As quickly as the tide of the battle changed against King Arthur's army, it suddenly switched. Arthur's men advanced once again, strengthened by Leon's cry of: "For the love of Camelot!" and Morgana's men began to fall swiftly and in great numbers.

As he fought, Percival heard otherworldly, thunderous sounds from above. He glanced skyward and saw and that mouthy old sorcerer, Dragoon, the man with whom he'd had a run-in some time back. Perched atop a cliff, the ancient-looking warlock appeared to be glowing with from within. The old sorcerer shot brilliant lightning bolts from his fists, directed squarely at Morgana's army.

"I'll be damned," Percival said to no one. He never would have imagined that strange old sorcerer was on Camelot's side. Or, that he was so incredibly powerful.

The battle raged on for a short time. Arthur's soldiers fought like warrior poets, cutting down their enemies with force and fury rarely seen, until Morgana's forces were in an obvious full retreat.

A final, blinding lightning bolt flew from Dragoon's hands and struck Morgana dead. The battle was won.

The field grew quiet, save the moans of the less-injured. Percival took stock of his surroundings and saw Gwaine a good distance away, nursing a bloody nose, but he appeared to be otherwise unhurt. Percival then realized he'd likely have a black eye, possibly two, where an opponent's stray shield had smacked him on the bridge of his nose during combat. But there was no sign of their king. And that was incredibly bad.

Leon rushed up to Percival, his blue eyes wide with anxiety – beard and curly blonde hair flecked with blood – followed by Gwaine, who was equally blood-splattered.

"We must search for Arthur, as long as it takes," the knight commander told them breathlessly.

"No," Gwaine countered. "You need to bring the queen and our army home safely. Percival and I will find Arthur. Two men will attract far less attention than an entire army."

Leon nodded slowly in agreement. "You're right. Godspeed to both of you, my friends." He turned his back and strode away, immediately taking charge of orchestrating a safe return to Camelot.

"Ready?" asked Gwaine, facing Percival.

"I am. Let's find our king."

XXXX

Back in Camelot, Christiane spent her days in a fog and a state of perpetual worry. All day long, she prayed for Percival's safe return and that she had conceived his child during their one night together. If he didn't come back to her, she wanted his baby. And if he returned, a babe would be a special blessing. Though it would take several more weeks before she could confirm a possible pregnancy.

Carina was thrilled to learn that her friend and Percival had married in secret, declaring it the most romantic thing ever. The young woman tried to occupy Christiane every spare moment.

When Christiane told her father about her marriage, Carina was right by her side in the tavern. Will was happy for his daughter and bowed in jest. "My lady, Christiane!" he said. But no one at the Rising Sun laughed. It had become a somber place as the patrons worried about their king's life and the future of Camelot.

Carina insisted Christiane stay with her while Percival was gone. For the first four nights, Christiane declined. On the fifth night, when the soldiers trickled back into Camelot, but there was no sign nor word of Percival, Christiane relented and stayed at her dear friend's home. "He's going to come home soon," assured Carina. "I just know it."

XXXX

Normally, people entered the kingdom of Camelot via Return Road, the main entryway into the city. When knights returned from battle, this was the route they always took. Townspeople would come out in droves to cheer their safe return, waving banners and flags bearing the golden Pendragon crest and scarlet colors.

On the sixth day of Percival's absence, word reached the people of Camelot that several hundred warriors were only miles away from Return Road. Christiane and Carina's young neighbor, David, pounded on the door.

"They're coming home!" he shouted. "The knights and warriors!"

The two women raced to the road and stood among the throngs of well-wishers lining the sides of the wide street. Returning warriors galloped past for five minutes, then ten. There was no sign of Percival. Sir Leon, looking in-charge and proper as always, spotted Christiane and dismounted to speak with her briefly.

"Christiane, King Arthur is missing. I had to send Gwaine and Percival to find him. I'm sorry, but I'm not sure exactly when they'll return." He tried to comfort her. "Just so you know, I never would have sent your husband if I didn't have complete confidence in his abilities."

"Thank you, Sir Leon. It's better to have some news than none at all."

Leon lightly grasped her shoulder in support, mounted his horse, and rode toward the castle.

Christiane nearly collapsed into Carina's arms with misery.

"Give him a little time, love," said Carina. "Come on now, let's go back to my house."

XXXX

Three more days passed, and the newlywed was certain she would go mad with worry. She wondered if her husband was dead, and that she would never see him again or know of his fate. Percival had been gone for a total of ten days now: ten, long, excruciating days. Christiane's courses were several days late, but she had forgotten all about pregnancies and children.

Late that overcast afternoon, in Christiane's loft, she sat on her bed with Carina next to her. Quite out of nowhere, the young women heard a manic pounding at her front door. Christiane peered out of her window and saw David standing there, covered in perspiration, panting. "The scouts have a spotted a group of four returning to Camelot," the boy shouted up at her. "They're certain it's King Arthur, Merlin, Gwaine, and Percival."

Christiane raced down the steps from the loft, took a moment to slip on her shoes, and Carina followed. They ran as fast as their feet would carry them, and when the two arrived at the roadside, a few dozen people were already there, anxiously waiting to learn the fate of their king. Dozens more people arrived, and before long, well over one hundred people stood at the edge of the road. Then hundreds more.

David raced down the middle of the dirt road, kicking up dust. "They're almost here!" he bellowed.

"Long live the king! Long live the king!" the excited crowd chanted loudly.

And while Christiane was thrilled that the king had returned, she held her breath waiting for a glimpse of her husband. Moments later, there he was. Merlin rode out front, and Arthur was flanked by Gwaine and Percival. It hardly registered with Christiane that the king looked as if he were sick and in pain. The young sovereign's blonde hair was slick with sweat, his strapping body hunched over his horse. But Christiane had eyes only for her husband. And speaking of eyes, she noticed Percival had two black eyes and a rather angry-looking burn on his left arm. Other than that, he appeared to be in excellent health.

People cheered, yelled, leapt up and down, and threw flowers at their sovereign. Shouts of, "Bless you, King Arthur!" and, "We love you, sire!" rang out.

Percival remained aware of any danger to the king, but scanned the crowd for his beloved wife. Gwaine actually spotted her first.

"There she is, man. Say a quick hello and then we have to get Arthur up to the castle. Guinevere will be worried. We'll slow down, but just for a minute."

Percival handed the reins to Gwaine, leapt off of his horse, took five large strides to Christiane, and gathered her in his arms. He covered her mouth with his, and the crowd cheered.

"I know you have to get the king to safety. Just tell me you're all right," Christiane said.

"My face looks like hell," Percival joked. "But truly, I'm fine. Just tired and filthy." He added, "Come up to our quarters when you can. I have to spend some time briefing the queen and Leon, but as soon as I'm done, and have taken a bath, I'll come to you straight away."

She nodded, and Percival kissed her hand before he mounted Aethon once again.

Christiane wept with relief. Few people knew that she and the hulking young knight had married in secret, so Carina explained the situation to the crowd. Christiane's friends, neighbors, tavern patrons, and people she scarcely knew congratulated her, and a large, lively group escorted her home so she could change and grab a few belongings before going to the castle.

Christiane entered her home, her old home now, alone, and was grateful for the peace and quiet. She felt quite nauseous, but dismissed it as nerves and excitement. As she packed a few items into her sack, she realized that her menstrual padding sat tucked away, unused. Christiane should have needed it about four or five days prior. She decided to keep this fact to herself, since her cycle could be late due to all the recent stress. The young woman took a deep breath, and set off toward her new home, the castle.

When she arrived at the castle's main entrance, Christiane announced herself to the guard. "I'm Christiane Port. I mean, Martel! Christiane Martel, Percival's wife."

The guard asked no questions and stepped aside to allow her entry. Christiane ascended the stairs to her new, shared quarters, and sat on the bed, unsure of what to do. She withdrew a thick book on herbology from her sack, planning to read it to pass the time, but she was so exhausted, she dozed off within minutes.

A few hours later, after many briefings, meetings, and at last, a glorious bath, an exhausted Percival returned to his quarters to find a few candles sputtering out, and his wife fast asleep on the bed with a book propped open against her chest. It was the most beautiful sight in the world, and relief washed over him. He was home safely, King Arthur would recover, and the love of his life was resting in his bed, looking peaceful. A man could ask for nothing more.


	9. Chapter 8 Settling In

**A/N - I hope you enjoyed chapter seven. Our men and King Arthur made it home from Camlann. Hoorah! I will confess, writing battle scenes isn't my forte, so it was a bit of a struggle for me. I hope it was clear enough. **

**During chapter eight, there's more sex (of course) and Percival tries to relay his battle experiences and all that transpired afterward to Christiane. There are also some light-hearted scenes, and we meet a young newcomer named Ulrich, who has arrived at Camelot to begin his training as a knight. **

**Thank you all for your continued support!**

Chapter 8 – Settling In

Drained from his journey, Percival stripped down to his underclothes and silently crawled into bed next to his wife. Christiane had told him she was a light sleeper, but she didn't stir; he knew she must be exhausted, too. He, on the other hand, always slept like the dead. He was asleep mere moments after his head touched the pillow.

The two rested soundly for several hours. When Christiane woke in the middle of the night, she felt disoriented for a moment, then recalled that she was in her new home, the castle. Realizing she needed to relieve herself, she slipped out of bed and left the chamber for the privy, which was located a few steps down the hallway.

When she returned to the room, she saw Percival was awake and had lit a candle at their bedside. "I thought you slept like the dead!" said Christiane.

"I do. Usually. But I want you more than I want sleep right now. Please."

Christiane began to undress, as she'd fallen asleep clothed.

"No," said Percival. "I want you right this moment, if you'll have me."

"Of course. I want you, too. I've missed you."

Percival felt desperate to touch Christiane's body. He rose from the bed and deliberately bent his wife over the edge of it. He dropped his drawers and hastily lifted Christiane's skirts. Percival pulled her undergarments down as fast as he could, and teased the soft flesh between her legs, rubbing her sensitive spot with increasing pressure. She gasped, and was ready to receive him almost instantly. Percival spread her legs open wider with his knees, and thrust into her in one motion, his rigid cock filling her. Christiane moaned and tossed her head backward with delight.

"Is this okay, love?" he asked, pausing to make sure she was all right before carrying on.

"Yes," she said groaned. "Please!"

She felt a little embarrassed to speak so boldly, but Percival loved it. He pumped inside of her as fast as he could, over and over, entering her as deeply as possible. He reached his hand forward to massage between Christiane's legs as he thrust hard. Within seconds, she called out his name in the heat of passion, with Percival close behind.

When they were done, Percival withdrew from her. "Do you feel okay? Did that hurt at all? I'm sorry that was so...abrupt."

Christiane chuckled. "No, I loved it."

"We have so much to talk about. Are you still sleepy?" asked Percival.

"Not at all. I want to hear about everything that happened!" Christiane exclaimed, eager to hear all the details.

"Gather up a comfortable spot on the bed, then, because this may take a while."

After the two had climbed into bed and settled beneath the covers, Percival proceeded to tell the story of the battle of Camlann (omitting the gorier details), as well as the deaths of Morgana and her henchman Mordred. Percival also explained that someone's stray shield had smacked him between the eyes, hence, the two dark circles beneath them; he was unsure how the burn on his arm came to be.

The knight went on to describe the events that occurred post-battle, conjuring up the details in his mind as best he could:

_As Percival and Gwaine prepared to ride out to search for King Arthur, Gaius stopped the two knights and explained that Arthur had been seriously wounded by his enemy, Mordred. During battle, young Mordred had viciously stabbed the king with a sword impregnated with dark magic, and a fragment of the weapon remained inside of Arthur, allowing the evil magic to course through the young ruler. _

_Gaius elaborated that Merlin had found the seriously-injured king on the battlefield and was in the process of taking Arthur to the island of Avalon, a place where ancient magic was most powerful. The Sidhe_[4]_ live on Avalon, and Gaius believed that their powers could heal the king, who was close to death. _

_The court physician then informed the two knights that Merlin was a powerful warlock. And that Merlin had, in fact, transformed into the old sorcerer, Dragoon, who had assisted King Arthur's men during the battle, cutting down the opposition with magically-summoned lightning. _

_Both Percival and Gwaine sat upon their horses in disbelief as Gaius relayed the information. Yet the knights agreed that they trusted Merlin wholeheartedly, and it didn't matter to them that Merlin had magic. As long as the young warlock could save their sovereign's life, that's all that mattered._

"But no one must know about Merlin's powers," Percival impressed upon Christiane. "Arthur will announce it at some point, but not just yet, as this will take more restructuring of our laws and customs regarding the ban on magic and sorcery."

Christiane nodded, eager to hear the rest of the story.

Percival did his best to describe the following events:

_It took the two knights more than a hard day's ride to get to Avalon. Percival and Gwaine stopped only for one brief rest so they didn't fall from their horses with exhaustion. _

_The friends closed in on the island by the next nightfall, and they scoured the woods nearby until they finally located Merlin and Arthur; the sorcerer and the king had made camp in the dense forest. Gwaine and Percival could see the king was ill; the man was dangerously pale, hunched over and moaning in obvious pain. Sensing his friends' worry, Merlin assured the men Arthur would recover after a good deal of rest._

"We told Merlin we knew about his powers, and we didn't care," said Percival, "as long as the king was safe.

"Merlin looked quite relieved at that point, and that's when he told us it was his destiny is to serve and protect Arthur, and he used magic only for good; that is how it would always be."

"You'll never believe this," Percival continued, "but Merlin then told us the most amazing story about how he, the Sidhe, and the Great Dragon harnessed their powers together to save the king's life. Apparently, their combined magic dissolved the cursed sword-fragment that had been stuck inside of the king."

"And one last thing," said Percival with some measure of relief. "It appears that Mordred died at Arthur's hand just before the king collapsed."

Christiane looked hopeful. "That's wonderful news! Morgana and Mordred are defeated and the king will recover!"

"Not entirely good news," Percival admitted. "Merlin told us he, the Side, and the Great Dragon were able to dissolve the shard of metal within Arthur's body, but they weren't able to rid the king entirely of the dark magic coursing through his blood. Merlin explained this curse could kill Arthur within five years…perhaps ten; the timeframe isn't certain.

"However, Merlin revealed that as his powers grow, he should be able to rid the king of this dark curse, or at least slow down the progression."

"Oh, the king," Christiane commented, sounding sad. "I hope Merlin can help him. Will Arthur deteriorate slowly?"

"It seems not," explained Percival. "Our warlock-friend thinks Arthur should remain in otherwise fairly good health until...until the very end."

Christiane shook her head in disbelief. "Still, Merlin, a great sorcerer! It's hard to believe."

"That's what I thought, too," Percival chuckled. "I scarcely believed it until he demonstrated his powers."

"What did he do?" asked Christiane, her eyes wide.

Percival smiled at the memory. "Merlin sent Gwaine floating up to the treetops, and then eased him back down to the ground, like a feather. I have to say, it was the first time I'd ever seen Gwaine look really scared," he commented, chuckling. "Once he'd landed safely, we all found it quite funny, even King Arthur."

"This is all amazing," Christiane interjected.

"I know. Unbelievable, really." Percival paused in thought for a moment. "And Merlin said something that really stuck with me: 'Magic is imperfect, fluid, and ever-changing.' I think we'd all do well to remember that."

Christiane fully agreed.

Percival ended his long story. "I'm sorry we took such a long time to get home. But Arthur was so ill, travel back to Camelot was very slow."

Eager to hear how his wife had fared during his absence, Percival quickly changed topics. "But how are you, my love?" he asked. "How did you do while I was gone?"

"I just missed you so much. And worried about you. Carina was so kind to me."

"I knew she would treat you well," Percival said. "She's a wonderful friend."

The husband and wife elected to get more rest and remained comfortably wrapped in each other's arms until morning.

XXXX

As the summer sun rose higher in the blue sky, the couple realized they were starving.

"I have the whole day off today; no duties until tomorrow, thank heaven," Percival said to his wife. "Would you care to get some breakfast at the market?"

"I would, but there's something I'd like to do first," said Christiane, a small smile upon her lips.

The young wife lowered the bedclothes and crawled on top of her husband and kissed him. First his lips, then neck, trailing kisses down his rock-hard chest and stomach. She kept inching further down and finally tugged down Percival's drawers; his erection sprang forth. Before he could utter an inquiry, Christiane lowered herself to take as much of Percival's length into her mouth as she could. She placed her hand at the base of his cock, gripping firmly as she went to work.

"Lord have mercy!" Percival groaned as his hips bucked. He panted and grasped the bed sheets as if to anchor himself to the earth. Never having been pleased orally, the young husband found the new sensation amazing.

Christiane moved her mouth and hand swiftly up and down his erection, keeping the pressure even and firm with her mouth and gripping more tightly with her hand. She moved her tongue against him as she sucked, and within a minute or two, Percival knew he was on the verge of coming in her mouth, and he didn't want to subject Christiane to that if she wasn't ready for it. But when she locked eyes with him for a moment as she continued to please him, that's what really sent him over the edge. It was totally erotic; there was no other way to say it.

Percival tried to warn her of his impending climax. "Wait, wait, I'm..."

She stopped her ministrations for a second. "No, it's okay," she said, and resumed her attention to her husband's thick length. Christiane felt his sudden tightening, followed by a loud groan, and her mouth accepted Percival's seed. She didn't think it was a big ordeal, and did not understand why so many women complained about it. There wasn't much of it, and it had a slightly salty taste. It wasn't unpleasant at all.

Percival finally came to his senses. "I don't mean for this to sound skeptical," he said with slight suspicion, "but where on earth did you learn to do that?"

"Carina gave me a training session," Christiane confessed. "On a cucumber."

Percival dissolved into laughter. "Remind me to thank her some time.

"Are you ready to go to the market?" he asked, ravenous after their activity. "It'll be open soon."

"Yes! I could eat a whole sheep's head!" declared Christiane.

XXXX

It was a perfect summer morning to go to the market. The day was sunny, yet breezy and a little cool. Christiane stopped at one of her favorite merchants, a woman who sold delicious, dense breads filled with nuts and fruits. The merchant also offered mouthwatering spreads of berries, in addition to rich butters mixed with honey. Christiane knew Percival would love all of it, so she purchased a good selection.

The happy couple sat under the shade of a tree off to the side of the market as they ate, savoring the thick, luscious bread and spreads.

"I could eat this every day," Percival commented with a groan of satisfaction, as he polished off a huge slice of the delectable loaf. "We must get more for tomorrow."

They purchased more loaves and spreads together, then strolled at a leisurely pace around the market to view the wares: dried meat, fruits and vegetables, cheese, candles, herbal medicines, cloth, weaponry, jewelry, horse saddles, hairbrushes, wraps, and shoes; Camelot had quite the marketplace. People traveled from all over the kingdom to purchase the merchants' offerings.

Christiane paused at a stall for a moment to admire a piece of jewelry that caught her eye. It was a necklace with a blue scallop shell in the center, similar to the one Percival had given her on their first outing. Except this piece also contained other tiny and delicate shells and beads dotted along the ribbon.

"That's very nice," Percival commented. "It reminds me of that necklace I gave you."

"I was thinking the exact same thing," Christiane said. "I loved that necklace; it meant so much to me. I was devastated when I realized it was missing."

"I think this one will do," said Percival with a wink.

"No! It costs too much!"

"No it doesn't. I'm buying it either way. If you don't wear it, then I will," he offered with a smile.

"That wouldn't fit around your neck in a hundred years!"

"Then I guess you'd better wear it."

Percival completed the transaction with the merchant and tied the piece around his wife's neck.

"How does it look?" asked Christiane.

"It's not bad, but you're far more beautiful than the necklace," Percival teased, then stopped to kiss Christiane right in the middle of the marketplace. His kiss was punctuated by a few whistles and cheers from passers-by.

"Call me a love-crazed fool, but I need to have you again," whispered Percival into his wife's ear.

She smiled. "Then let's return to the castle."

"No. I know a private place, much closer." He took her by the hand and led her behind an abandoned grain storehouse, away from the market crowd. The overgrowth was so dense, no one would venture through the thick vegetation and brush to discover them there.

Christiane dropped her cloth satchel and Percival lifted her off the ground with ease and held her up against the stone wall of the old, dilapidated building. Christiane wrapped her legs around Percival's waist as he covered her mouth with warm and eager kisses. As Christiane caressed his muscular back, Percival undid his belt and unlaced his trousers with one hand, letting them fall to his ankles.

Continuing to hold her up against the wall, Percival panted, "I need to be inside of you. Right now." He didn't remove his wife's undergarment; he simply pulled it aside and pushed his way in impatiently.

Percival felt so hard and strong against Christiane, and even more amazing inside of her. She couldn't help but gasp and cry out with each strong and delicious thrust. Having forbidden sex like this, outside, made it feel even more arousing.

Percival could feel his own excitement building, thrusting in-and-out of his wife with glorious abandon, and knew this encounter wouldn't last very long. But neither he nor his wife cared, as they were both just about ready to climax, lost in the exquisite sensations and completely enthralled with one another.

However, without warning, a man leapt from the bushes with his sword drawn and caught them in the act.

Christiane screamed with fear, and Percival, still inside of her, turned his head to see none other than Gwaine standing there, clutching his side and laughing so hard, tears came to his eyes.

"Good God, man!" Percival bellowed to his friend. "Turn around, will you?" he commanded, as he carefully set down his wife, made sure she was covered, and pulled up his trousers.

"Sorry," Gwaine choked out, wiping away his tears as he tried to stifle his hysterical laughter. "With all the noise, I thought someone was being killed back here! Newlyweds," he said with a shake of his head, still laughing as he walked off.

"A private place, huh?" Christiane grumbled to her husband with an eyebrow raised.

"I'm really sorry," Percival apologized, but they both broke into laughter. He took his wife's hand and said, "Let's head back to the castle before we get into more trouble."

They emerged from the overgrown bushes.

"Can you wait a moment?" Christiane asked her husband. "Nature calls, and I can't wait to get back to the castle, I'm afraid."

"Of course. Take your time. I'll be at the weapons stall."

Christiane walked away swiftly.

As Percival perused the fine weapons for sale, a teenager approached him.

"I'm sorry to bother you," the young man said, "but I noticed you're wearing the Pendragon crest. Are you a knight?"

Percival eyed him a bit warily. The newcomer appeared to be young, maybe seventeen years. Like most people, he was shorter than Percival, but still on the taller side. He had wavy, jet-black hair, a solid build, and the look of someone who'd been traveling - slightly disheveled and unshaven.

"I am," Percival replied.

"My letter here says I'm to go to the castle to begin my knight's training, but it doesn't say whom I should see," explained the young man. "I don't want to be a nuisance when I get there, asking around. Would you be able to tell me who's in charge of the new recruits?"

Percival softened. "That's Sir Leon. He's a good man. I'll be helping with training as well."

The young knight-to-be smiled broadly. "That's great to hear! I'm sure I can learn much from you. I'm Ulrich," he offered, extending his hand with enthusiasm.

"Percival," the older knight said, and they clasped forearms.

At that moment, Christiane returned. Ulrich stared at her, his mouth open. He was immediately struck by her smile, captivating blue eyes, pale skin, and voluptuous curves.

Percival noticed Ulrich's appraisal. "Ulrich, this is my wife, Christiane," said Percival in a warning tone. "Christiane, Ulrich is reporting for training."

Ulrich quickly composed himself. "My lady, it's a pleasure to meet you," he insisted politely, and took her hand and kissed it.

"Welcome to Camelot!" exclaimed Christiane. "You're going to love the castle and the people. You'll receive great training. Arthur's knights are the best of the best.

"And I hope once you've settled in, you'll dine with us one evening," she added.

Percival already wanted to punch this young interloper for admiring his wife so, and felt she made matters even worse by being so friendly. And inviting him for a meal? What was she thinking? And how had being in love changed him into a jealous arse? He'd always been so even-tempered and reasonable.

"That would be an honor," Ulrich replied. He then bowed his head. "It was wonderful meeting you both and I'll see you again soon, I'm sure."

The young man turned his back and continued toward the castle.

Christiane glanced at Percival and noticed frustration or anger in his eyes, and she wasn't sure why.

"What's the matter? He seemed like a nice young man."

Percival huffed. "A nice young man staring at you as if he wants to tear off your dress and have his way with you!"

"What? That's nonsense!" Christiane assured her frustrated husband. "Come on, let's go home. We have some unfinished business," she teased, grasping Percival's hand.

For the moment, he forgot all about Ulrich.

XXXX

Following a scandalously-good afternoon in bed, Christiane told Percival she had a little surprise for him. She reached into her cloth satchel and held something in her closed hand.

"What's that?" Percival asked.

"Something for you," she teased. "But before you can have it, you must answer my question first."

He leaned back in the bed, shirtless, resting his hands behind his head. "Sure. Anything you want to know."

"It's a difficult one," said Christiane in a teasing voice. "How long have you loved me?"

"Ha!" Percival scoffed. "Please, that's an easy one. The night we went on our first walk together."

"Really? You knew then?"

"Yes. I knew you were beautiful beforehand. That part was obvious. But once your kindness and good heart became more apparent, I was finished." Percival then asked, "When did you realize you loved me?"

"The day you first kissed me. The afternoon we went fishing. That's when I knew for certain."

"It took you long enough!" Percival joked.

Christiane tossed a handkerchief at him in jest. She then opened her hand, revealing a wedding band. It was made of thick silver and looked like a roughly-hammered piece of pipe. She knew that since Percival was a knight, a smooth, shiny ring would never do, as it would be scratched and dented within a day. Christiane slipped the ring onto his finger. Her husband had returned Gwaine's borrowed ring before the battle of Camlann and she'd wanted to give Percival a new one as soon as possible.

"That is perfect," the knight told her, as inspecting the unique piece. "How on earth did you know my ring size? And when did you have time to get this?"

"I got it from the silversmith while I pretended to excuse myself at the market," Christiane explained. "And the sizing was easy. Since nothing seems to wake you, last night, I wrapped a piece of string around your finger to measure it."

"Thanks, love. I'll wear it always and treasure it." Percival placed a soft kiss on his wife's forehead, pleased he now had a token that showed he was a married man. The ring felt so right on his finger.

Meanwhile, in a different wing of the castle, a young courtier made plans to disrupt Percival and Christiane's happy union.

* * *

[4] The Sidhe are powerful, magical creatures who can live to be thousands of years old. They can be cruel, but they possess powerful healing magic. Their origins are in Irish and Scottish folklore.


	10. Chapter 9 Love Put to the Test

**A/N - Chapter eight was a dense one! Full disclosure - I really struggled with the scene where Percival explains to Christiane how Arthur was healed. I hope it's fairly clear. **

**And, of course, there was sex, sex, and more sex. When Gwaine "found" Christiane and Percival, writing that scene actually made me laugh out loud. **

**And now, you have officially met Ulrich, and you'll get to know him better in the upcoming chapters. Should Percival be worried about this newcomer?**

**During chapter nine, some big news is revealed, and the devious Lady Elora is back. Enjoy, and as always, thank you for reading.**

Chapter 9 – Love Put to the Test

Time passed quickly, as it does when one is happy and in love. Weeks flew by and warm summer breezes gave way to a hint of upcoming cooler autumn nights. Percival kept a close eye on Ulrich, who had recently been knighted in a small ceremony. While he wasn't thrilled with the young knight's presence, there was little he could do about it, other than make his days of training as long, difficult, and arduous as possible. And Ulrich accepted the older knight's tough training with as much grace as he could.

Christiane no longer worked at the tavern; she spent most of her hours training with Gaius as a healer, and she adored the job. Between being Percival's wife and Gaius's apprentice, she'd never been happier.

The novice-healer had just missed her second month of courses, and was quite sure she was pregnant. It was time to visit the midwife, and to inform her husband.

One morning, the newlyweds had a lie-in, which was a rare occurrence. Christiane was to train with Gaius later that night and Percival had afternoon patrol duties.

As she and Percival lounged in bed, relaxing, Christiane noticed a serious look on her husband's face. "Percival? Is something wrong?"

"Not wrong exactly," Percival answered carefully, as he sat up. "I just wanted to ask you about something."

"What is it?"

"Keep in mind, I'm no expert in women's health matters," said Percival, "but I've noticed you haven't had your courses since I returned from battle."

Christiane grinned. "Very observant! I wasn't entirely sure that I'm pregnant," she said, "but now that I've missed my cycle again, I'm ready to see the midwife. I promise, I was going to talk to you right after my visit with her."

"Will she be able to tell for certain?" Percival asked.

"I'm very sure she will."

"I want to go with you," the eager husband insisted.

Christiane chuckled. "Love, the midwife is no place for a man! I'll go see her this morning, and as soon as I return, I'll find you. Okay?"

Percival leaned over in bed and kissed his wife fiercely on the lips. "You're carrying my child, I just know it. I couldn't be happier."

"Let's just wait for the midwife to confirm it before we get too excited."

"Of course," said Percival. "Why don't you go see her now?" he suggested with impatience.

"Pushy this morning, aren't we? Fine, fine. Give me a few minutes to get dressed and then I'll go." Christiane rose to dress for the day.

Percival watched her walk over to the wardrobe, unsure of how to ask the question on his mind. After a few moments of sitting on the bed in nervous silence, he spoke.

"I don't want to sound indelicate, but will we still be, um, intimate if you're with child?"

"Of course we will!" she replied. "As long as there's no problem with the pregnancy, it won't be an issue. Just keep in mind, the last month or so, it can be quite uncomfortable for women physically, so it might not happen all that much towards the very end."

"Your health and comfort comes first," said Percival with genuine care.

Christiane pinned her hair up in front of the mirror. "After delivery, it normally takes about a month or more before couples can resume intimate activities. Are you going to be okay with that?" she asked nervously, eyes cast downward.

"Of course," her husband insisted. "You're giving me a great gift. Why wouldn't I be all right with that? You know I'm patient."

"It's just that some men choose to be with other women during that period of time. To fulfill their needs." Christiane got choked up just thinking about it. Her husband, with another woman? She felt upset and nauseous at the very notion.

Percival rose from the bed and took Christiane's hand. "I would never do that to you, Wife. You're the love of my life and I wouldn't hurt you in that way. Remember the part of our wedding vows that spoke of love and fidelity? I take those to heart. Please, tell me you understand that." He kissed her palm.

"I do," she replied, relief evident in her voice. "You're such a good husband, Percival."

"Nah. You make it easy."

Christiane finished dressing, hugged Percival, and left for the midwife's home. It was a short walk, only a few minutes away. Mary, the midwife, posted her hours of availability on her door each week. Many women often arrived at the same time, so the practitioner had several comfortable chairs situated outside, and a few more indoors. She conducted examinations behind a screen in her small cottage.

Mary had placed a clay jar by the door where her patients could leave payment; there was no fixed fee for her services. Some women could afford more (courtiers also saw her, because she was so skilled), and others could not afford to pay anything. Often, her patients paid in goods and services, such as candles, breads, shawls, laundry services, and so forth.

Christiane arrived at Mary's cottage, took a quick glance through the window, and saw the midwife was attending to another woman. Feeling nervous, she sat on a chair in front of the cottage and enjoyed the light breezes outside.

No more than ten minutes later, Mary ushered Christiane inside. "Pregnancy check, right?"

The young woman nodded.

"Let's have a little look-see, shall we?" the midwife said mildly. "If you'll lie down on that bed behind the screen and take off your undergarment, I'll be right with you," she instructed. "I just want to scrub my hands first. Others might not think so, but it's important to keep things clean when you're a midwife, I say!"

Christiane removed her underclothes and lay on the bed. She was a little apprehensive and unsure of what to expect.

"Now, my dear, when did you last have your courses?" the midwife asked.

"Early July."

Mary appeared calculate in her head. "That would make you about nine or ten weeks along, then. We should be able to tell something today. Any pain, spotting, or nausea?"

"No pain or spotting," Christiane mentioned, "but the last few days, I've been really queasy."

"Ah, that happens. Let me do a quick exam and then we'll talk about ways to cope with the nausea." The midwife turned toward her work table and retrieved a small bottle. "I'm just going to put a little almond oil on my finger and insert it into your vagina. Then, with my other hand, I'll press on your lower abdomen to feel your uterus. I'll be able to determine how far along you are, roughly, by the size of your womb. Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," sighed Christiane.

As Mary performed the exam, she distracted Christiane with a couple of questions. "So, are you enjoying life in the castle?"

"It's quite different than what I'm used to, but it's fun getting to know so many new people and working with Gaius."

"Mmm…good." The midwife removed her hands from her patient and turned to her wash basin to clean up.

"And how do you think Percival will react when he gets the news that he's about to become a father?" said Mary.

"Definitely?" Christiane asked.

"Absolutely!" Mary replied. "Just as I thought, you're about eight or nine weeks along. That means we're looking at a spring baby. Sometime in April, most likely. Congratulations!"

"He'll be so thrilled. _I'm _thrilled!" Christiane exclaimed, with a tear in her eye.

"Unless you have any problems, you can come see me once a month for the first six months." Mary continued on with some advice. "You're free to go and share the good news with your husband. Though you may want to wait until you've reached twelve weeks before you share the information with others. Most pregnancies that end in miscarriage occur before twelve weeks. There's no reason to think that'll happen to you, but it's just something to keep in mind."

The midwife leaned over and hugged Christiane, then tidied up.

"About the nausea, some ginger tea in the morning and a bit of stale bread can help with that," suggested the wise Mary. "Really, any time you feel stomach upset coming on, a spot of ginger tea can help."

Christiane thanked the midwife, collected her belongings, and dropped two gold coins into the woman's jar, which was very generous payment.

By the time Christiane returned to the castle, Percival was already in training. She did _not_ want to be one of those wives who interrupted her husband's work, so she watched from a safe distance and might speak to her husband during his break time.

Christiane stood well off to the side, behind a short stone wall near the woods at the edge of the training field. Percival's physique was unmistakable, as he was close to a foot taller than some of the knights. Plus, those massive arms and a broad chest were hard to miss. She recognized him immediately, shirtless, fighting Ulrich quite aggressively with the quarterstaff. Possibly with unnecessary aggression. Well, she wasn't a knight and judging their training methods was outside of her purview.

Ulrich took a forceful, direct hit to the ribs from her husband's staff, and the young knight promptly collapsed into the dirt with a loud thud, knocking the wind out of him. As the prostrate man wheezed on the ground, another young knight gave him a hand-up. Percival turned his back without an offer of help, proclaiming loudly that Ulrich needed to "toughen up."

Gwaine called for a break, and Percival noticed his wife was there at the edge of the field. He jogged over to Christiane's side.

"Do you have good news?" Percival asked his wife.

"I do. I'm about eight or nine weeks along. The baby will arrive in April."

Percival swept her off her feet and let out a whoop before he planted a solid kiss on her lips.

"Percival! We need to keep things quiet for another few weeks," Christiane instructed. "Just to be safe."

"Damn. How am I supposed to do that? I want to shout it from the ramparts!" he bellowed theatrically, placing his wife back on terra firma with care.

"Shhhh! No, no. In three weeks we can tell people."

"Fine. At least let me tell Gwaine."

"All right," Christiane agreed. "I'll need to tell Gaius, too, just in case I need to take extra breaks or if I get a little queasy."

She could see Percival already looking concerned.

"That's perfectly normal, and should subside in a few weeks," she explained, holding up her hand.

"Since I have to train with Gaius late tonight, I'm going to rest for a little bit now. I won't be in until much later, and you'll be dead asleep, so I'll see you in the morning." Christiane leaned up and kissed Percival's cheek.

"I love you, Wife," he called out, as she walked toward the castle.

Christiane blew him a kiss. "And I, you," she said with a wink.

Still, she wondered why her husband had been so incredibly harsh with Ulrich. He was normally so patient with the new recruits, and she felt a little unsettled by his behavior.

Percival strode back toward training, looking pleased. Gwaine stepped in front of him. "What was that display all about?" asked Gwaine.

"You can't say anything to anyone yet," Percival whispered conspiratorially. "Christiane's with child."

"Ha! Congratulations, man. I won't say a word. Just think, a couple of months ago, you barely knew how to use that thing," Gwaine joked, gesturing toward Percival's crotch.

"Oh?" the large knight responded. "I_ do_ know how to use my fist!" he called out, chasing Gwaine across the field.

XXXX

Unfortunately, it didn't take long for Christiane and Percival to experience their first major conflict as a married couple.

Lady Elora still approached Percival frequently, always too eager and overly-familiar during their interactions, which the man endeavored to keep as brief as possible. Percival found her rather shallow, unpleasant, and far too forward.

The final straw had been when Elora pretended to trip in front of Percival. Being a knight, he felt duty-bound to assist her. But as he helped her upright, Elora tried to slide her hand down the front of his trousers. When she saw that Percival was becoming angry, she said it was an "accident," and she was merely trying to right herself. Percival finally told her firmly that he was married and wasn't interested in her attention. The insulted young courtier seemed quite put-out, and stormed off in a huff.

But rather than move on, she determined that Percival was to be her conquest. She didn't care that he was married; Elora wanted the strapping knight in her bed. In the meantime, she'd slept with a variety of men, but she'd become bored and restless. Manipulating men into her bed was a game and she didn't care who got hurt in the process.

In her chambers, Elora discussed her dilemma with Bessie, her fairly simple-minded friend. The two young women sat on Elora's lavishly-appointed bed.

"I'm trying to figure out how to get Percival naked," Elora commented in a bored tone, examining her neatly-trimmed finger nails.

"Why him?" Bessie questioned, uncomprehending. "He's married and there are plenty of other single and willing knights."

"True. But have you ever seen him during sword training, shirtless? The man is like a piece of art. And since he's big, I'll bet other parts of him are pretty damn big, too. I want to get my hands on that cock!" the courtier declared, with a callous gleam in her eye.

Bessie gasped. "Elora! Really?"

"Yes. And I have a plan. Hear me out..."

Bessie listened to her friend's scheme with rapt attention. "If this doesn't work out, there's going to be lots of trouble," Bessie warned.

"I'm not worried about it. After all I don't think he'll be able to resist these," said Elora, as she gestured toward her ample breasts. "I just need to figure out when Christiane is next working with Gaius at night. Then, I'll act," she noted with a devious smirk.

Elora quickly determined Christiane was working late that very evening. It took sweet-talking one guard for information, making promises to him she had no intention of keeping.

At midnight, Elora left her chambers clad in her blue traveling cloak, with nothing on underneath. She gingerly opened the door to Percival and Christiane's chambers. The young courtier peered inside, just to confirm the man was there alone, and asleep. She'd heard from the many knights and guards with whom she'd had sex that Percival slept like the dead; she was counting on that.

She entered the room carefully and crept to the bed. Elora observed that Percival slept shirtless and she wondered if he was totally naked underneath the bed sheets. But tonight would not be the night for sex (unless he was willing, but that was doubtful). Elora removed her shoes and her traveling cloak, depositing them delicately on a chair. Ever so quietly, she slipped into the bed. The man didn't stir, not even a twitch.

As luck would have it, Percival slept near the window, allowing Elora to be closer to the door, and in full-view once Christiane arrived home. The naked woman pulled the covers down to her hips, exposing her large breasts, so Christiane would get an eyeful as the moment she entered the chamber.

Elora's grand scheme was for Christiane to see the courtier in bed with Percival, assume the man was having an adulterous affair, and leave him. Sure, Percival would be angry initially, but eventually, the knight would want Elora for himself; she was certain of it.

An hour later, Christiane entered her chamber following her late-evening training with Gaius. It had certainly been a long and challenging night. The healer-in-training had completed her first stitches after half-a-dozen men had engaged in a drunken brawl outside of the tavern. Learning to stitch well on human skin was an exhausting and stressful process, and she was looking forward to collapsing into bed. Instead, she was immediately assaulted by the sight of stark-naked Lady Elora in bed next to Percival.

At first, Christiane was stunned into a horrified silence and simply stared at the scene before her in complete shock. Then, she covered her mouth with her hands and screamed; this was her worst nightmare come true, finding her husband in bed with another woman.

That shriek was enough to wake Percival. He was disoriented for a moment, then realized a woman was in his bed, and that woman wasn't his wife.

He sat bolt-upright. "What the fuck is this?" he roared at Elora. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Elora feigned surprise. "Percival, why are you acting like this? After we were…intimate," she said demurely.

Percival had never struck a woman in his life and it took every shred of self-control for him to not belt her. He could only imagine how absolutely horrible this scene must look to his wife.

Christiane began to cry, then scream. "How could you do this? _Now_?" She held onto the doorframe to steady herself. The sight of another woman in her bed next to her husband made her feel faint.

Oblivious to the fact he was clad only in his drawers, Percival jumped up. "I swear to you, I had no idea she was here!" he said to his wife.

"Oh, God!" Christiane screamed, fleeing from the room.

She flew right past Gwaine in the corridor, who had woken with all the shouting and commotion. Gwaine wasn't sure if he should go after Christiane or see what happened in her chambers; he opted to go to the chambers.

Gwaine couldn't believe the sight that met his eyes when he entered his friends' dimly-lit room. Percival ran around frantically, trying to collect his clothing, all the while screaming at Lady Elora. The courtier stood there naked, arms crossed over her bosom, pouting.

"What's all this?" Gwaine demanded.

Nearly apoplectic with rage, Percival yanked up his trousers and jammed his boots onto his feet. "This fucking bitch showed up in my bed, naked!" shouted Percival. "You know nothing wakes me, so I never heard a thing. Christiane walked in, and now she thinks I'm fucking this whore! I have to go find my wife."

Gwaine was in utter shock. He had never heard Percival use coarse language in front of a woman, or speak of a woman in such a way. But the man was right: Elora was a well-known bitch, always causing trouble and sleeping around.

Gwaine stepped toward Elora. "Cover yourself, woman," the man said with disgust. "No one wants to look at you."

She complied reluctantly, wrapping herself in her cloak.

Gwaine then turned to Percival. "I'll keep her here until you retrieve your wife and this little witch explains the truth, which she _will_ do." Gwaine cast Elora a threatening glance.

Percival didn't want to waste extra time finding a clean shirt, so he ran from the castle clad in trousers and partially-buckled boots, hoping to catch up with his wife. Percival was sure Christiane was headed for Carina's home, and he moved for the cottage at top-speed. The desperate husband reached the road and could see Christiane was almost at her friend's doorstep, and knew once his wife reached the cottage, she'd lock herself inside and never allow him entry.

"Please, Christiane, wait!" he bellowed, determined to reach her.

She ignored him completely, ran right into Carina's home, slammed the door behind her and bolted it fast. Percival jogged toward the house, only to come vis-à-vis with Will, who was holding his freshly-sharpened sword.

"I hear my daughter running down the street, crying, shutting herself inside Carina's home. And here you are, running after her wearing no shirt. Boy, didn't I tell you I'd cut off your damn bollocks if you hurt her?" The angry father took a step toward Percival and rested the deadly point of his sword against the crotch of his son-in-law's trousers. Clearly, he wasn't joking.

Percival knew he could disarm Will in a second, but his life was already miserable enough at the moment. The last thing the knight needed to do was injure his new father-in-law.

"I promise you, I did nothing wrong. Will you give me a moment to explain?" the younger man pleaded.

Will continued to glare at Percival, itching to make good on his promise to remove a precious part of the man's anatomy. Instead, Will lowered his weapon slowly. "I suppose I'll give you a moment. Just come on inside of my house and tell me what in the devil is going on."

Percival wanted to insist that he had to get to Christiane and explain everything, immediately, but he realized talking to her father first might be helpful. He followed Will inside and took a seat at the dining table. The knight explained about Elora's devious and shameful behavior, all the while becoming very choked up and looking extremely upset. At the end of Percival's story, a single tear slipped from his eye, and he brushed it away quickly, hoping his father-in-law hadn't noticed. He didn't want the older man to think he was both a crybaby and a philanderer.

Will scratched his beard, thoughtful for a moment. "I never liked that little tart," he admitted. "I believe you, son.

"Why don't we walk over to Carina's and see if we can sort this out?" Will added, rising from his seat.

Will led a still-shirtless Percival across the road to Carina's cottage and knocked on the front door. Without waiting for an answer, Will announced that he was there with Percival. The two men heard some mumbling from inside of the cottage, then Carina stated, from behind the closed door, "Master Will, you can come in, but not Percival. He'll have to wait outside. I'll come out and talk to him."

She unlatched the door and traded places with Will. Tiny Carina glared at Percival furiously. "I just promised my best friend that this was a huge misunderstanding, and you have some reasonable explanation for it. You had better tell me that's the case, because I honestly cannot _believe_ that you would do such a thing to her." She looked even more threatening than Will, though she held no weapon, with her angry eyes narrowed and her small fists balled at her sides.

Percival responded immediately. "Of course, you know that I would never do such a thing to my wife. I love her more than anything. Just give me a minute or two to explain." A chagrined Percival then launched into the ugly and embarrassing story once again.

Carina shook her head. "That girl really is a strumpet. I believe you; I can see in your eyes that you're telling the truth. Let me go inside for a few minutes and see if I can convince Christiane to go back up to the castle with you. Hopefully, that horrid tramp Elora will confess."

Since it was so late at night, the streets were mercifully quiet. Percival was relieved by this fact, because he couldn't imagine having to explain to passers-by why he was leaning against Carina's cottage in the middle of the night, half-dressed as he was.

Five minutes passed. Percival heard voices behind the door, but could not make out what they were saying. The only thing he focused on was Christiane's voice, thick with pain and sadness, which broke his heart. Finally, Christiane, Will, and Carina came outside. Christiane was unable to look her husband in the eye.

"Time for me to head home," Will stated gruffly. "I think all of you can sort it out from here," he said, slapping Percival on the back with what seemed to be extra force.

"Christiane, I beg you..." Percival started, looking at his wife's red-rimmed eyes, wanting to cry himself.

Carina interrupted. "Let's just all walk up to the castle quietly, and discuss everything once we get there."

Christiane and Carina walked ahead of Percival, Carina, with her arm around her friend, bolstering the woman. Percival felt ashamed, though he'd done nothing wrong.

Once the group had arrived at Percival and Christiane's quarters, they saw Elora sitting in a chair, looking thoroughly miserable, while Gwaine rested his head upon the table. It was, after all, very late at this point.

Gwaine sat upright immediately. "The Lady Elora has something she'd like to say," the knight barked, glaring at the young woman with anger.

Eyes cast downward, the courtier explained her plan, how Percival had no idea she was in the room, and that she was sorry. It appeared as if the woman was making a genuine apology.

"I was jealous, Christiane. I'm sorry. You have a handsome, good knight for a husband and I...I really have no one."

Percival was still seething, and wanted to tell the woman off. But instead of flying into another rage, he watched as his wife moved close to Elora. Christiane placed a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder.

"I forgive you," said Christiane. "It must be awful to feel so desperate and alone."

Elora turned and leaned into Christiane's arms. "I'm so sorry!" She wept, as Christiane stroked her hair in sympathy. "I promise, I will never do such a shameful thing again."

"I think it's best we all part for the night and get some sleep," suggested Christiane.

Percival took Gwaine aside for a moment. "I know you had something to do with her confession and apology," he whispered.

"I told her I'd spread the truth that she gave three knights rashes on their cocks," Gwaine whispered back. "I suggested if people found out, no one would have anything to do with her, and she might as well leave the kingdom now. That made her see reason."

Everyone returned to their own quarters, and finally, Christiane and her husband were alone, standing awkwardly in the middle of their chambers. They both spoke at the same time.

"You go first," said Percival softly.

"Please understand why I was upset. I believe you, but the shock of seeing a naked woman in our bed was just horrible. Imagine if you had come home and saw me in bed with a naked man? I'm sure you would have thought the worst, too," Christiane explained.

"Of course," said Percival. He took three broad strides and pulled Christiane into his arms. "I would cut off my own hand before I dishonored you in such a way. You mean everything to me. Everything." He held her tightly, praying she believed him.

"I love you, Percival," said Christiane, with extreme relief. "Just lie here with me tonight, and we'll put this behind us."

The exhausted couple undressed and crawled into bed. They spent the remainder of the short night wrapped safely in each other's arms, worn out, but hopeful.


	11. Chapter 10 Sir Ulrich

A/N - Oh, that little witch Elora in chapter nine! What a devious one. I'm so glad Christiane and Percival sorted things out. And Christiane's expecting! Pretty exciting, isn't it? And our wonderful Percival is thrilled.

During chapter ten, Percival has to go away on a mission for a couple of weeks, and Ulrich's spending a good deal of time with Christiane. Uh oh! Should we worry?

Chapter 10 – Sir Ulrich

The following evening, in their quarters, Percival and Christiane shared a simple, late supper of poached eggs in trenchers[4] with buttered greens. All was forgiven, but the two were still a bit tentative around one another.

"I have some frustrating news," Percival announced, as he finished chewing. "Bandits on the Northern Plains have become quite aggressive and Arthur needs to dispatch some of us there for two weeks, just as a show of force. But I have to leave tomorrow evening. I'm sorry," he stated with a trace of regret in his voice. "I know this is a bad time."

Christiane waved off his concerns. "This is your job; I understand."

"Before I leave, do you think we can...?" asked Percival, with some hesitation.

"Yes," his wife answered decisively.

The couple abandoned their meal and fell into bed. Percival removed Christiane's light wrap and nightgown with ease. On this night, he wanted to be slow and gentle with his wife. He shucked off his own clothing and spent a great deal of time caressing and kissing her body, her sweet lips, soft neck, and ever-so-slightly rounded lower abdomen.

"Percival, please," Christiane moaned, and he eased inside of her as she gasped. He slowly withdrew, then ever-so-slowly inched back in, over and over. Christiane loved the easy, drawn-out way her husband moved within her, and she writhed beneath him with pleasure.

Once she'd found her release, Percival was determined she would do so again. He slid in-and-out of his wife easily for quite a long time, until he felt she had recovered. Then he quickened the pace of his thrusting, gripping her hair within his fists, locking his lips with hers as they both moaned in absolute satisfaction.

"Sometimes, I can still hardly believe I'm lucky enough to have you in my bed," Percival said to his wife, as they recuperated from their lovemaking.

They fell fast asleep until dawn. When they woke, the two spent what little time they had left taking Aethon to Glas Lake so they might enjoy a quiet, early-morning breakfast of their favorite bread and fruit spreads.

"This place will always hold so many memories for me," Christiane told Percival, as she munched on her food at the lakeside.

"Like the first time you saw my –"

"Percival!" She laughed. "Well, that, too."

Percival turned the conversation to more serious matters. "I'll be worried about you while I'm gone," he admitted. "Now that you're with child, please take it easy, and make sure you get plenty of rest and drink ginger tea if you need it."

"I will, don't worry. Wait a minute!" Christiane exclaimed. "I never said anything about ginger tea. How could you possibly know?"

"I'm a good guesser?" Percival answered with a slight wince. Christiane glared at her husband. "All right, all right. I went to go see the midwife myself. I only wanted to know how I can best support you. And she told me to help out as much as possible, don't give you any extra stress, and make sure our chambers are well stocked with ginger tea. Which they are now. I hid a large jar in the wardrobe for you."

"You are the kindest, gentlest, most wonderful husband," she said, as she leaned across the blanket to kiss him.

"Try to remember that the next time I act a fool," he said with a small smile.

XXXX

Percival had departed for the Northern Plains the previous day. Meanwhile, Christiane busied herself in Gaius's sizable quarters at his workbench, arranging and cataloging tinctures. The physician was brilliant, but he often let organization fall by the wayside, since his skilled services were always in demand and left him with little down time. As it was, he was in the Lower Town, coping with the spread of some digestive illness.

Disrupted from her work by a knock on the door, Christiane went to answer it. She found Sir Ulrich standing in the doorway, shifting from foot-to-foot, looking uncomfortable, scratching his red, blotchy, and blistered neck and face furiously. Though he had an obvious and ugly case of wild parsnip rash, it didn't hide his good looks. Christiane finally noticed he was solidly built, with black, wavy hair, dark stubble on his jaw, and vividly blue eyes.

"Sorry to bother you," said Sir Ulrich. "Sir Leon mentioned I could find Gaius here and he might help me with this." He gestured toward his rash-covered body. "I know you train with him, but I didn't expect to see you here. This is embarrassing. I feel like I'm on fire today! Itchy fire!"

Christiane giggled. "Nonsense; it's no bother. It's good to see you again." She took stock of his appearance once more, this time, focusing on the irritations. "Let me guess - a day or two ago, you did tracking exercises in the Forest of Ascetir."

"Exactly!" Ulrich exclaimed with a broad smile. "Though it appears as if I missed the wild parsnip all together. Clearly it didn't miss me."

"Please come in," Christiane said, as she gestured toward the interior of the infirmary. "Gaius is making rounds today, but if you trust me, I'd be happy to treat you."

Though he wished he looked better, Ulrich agreed. The young man was grateful to be treated by this happy, smiling, beautiful woman whom he noticed upon his arrival to Camelot a few weeks prior. And if truth be told, he had thought of often since.

"Have a seat," offered Christiane. "I'll need you to take off your chainmail and gambeson. And your shirt, if you would."

Before taking a seat, Ulrich carefully removed his chainmail, padding, and tunic as to not further irritate his prickling skin.

Christiane glanced at him as she prepared the salve for his rashes and observed that his broad chest was dusted with dark hair and his arms were muscular and well-defined. He wasn't quite as handsome as Percival, she noted, but he was a fine looking young man and she was certain plenty of the ladies of Camelot would be eager to make the acquaintance of this new knight.

While Christiane poured and measured remedies, Ulrich once again admired her luscious curves, her beautiful, fresh skin, and a smile that could bring a man to his knees.

"Oh, this damn itching!" Ulrich cursed as he waited, but then turned to Christiane with an apologetic look on his rash-covered face. "I'm sorry. It's not gentlemanly to swear in front of a lady."

Christiane chuckled. "Please, I'd be cursing far worse," she said, as she shook a clay bottle vigorously.

"Apply the contents of this larger bottle at least four times daily. It's tallow, buttermilk, vinegar, peppermint, and a touch of salt. I know it sounds strange, but it works well. Though it stings for a moment when you first use it."

She held up a second, smaller bottle. "This is valerian, very potent, only to be taken at bedtime; just four drops. I know how difficult it can be to sleep with a rash this widespread. Do you mind if I apply the salve now?" she offered. "I just want to make sure it's effective for you."

To have this pretty creature touch him was like a dream. "Sure, of course. It's rather difficult to get the mess on my back, anyway."

"I'm sorry, it's going to be quite cold," the young healer cautioned.

First, Christiane applied the treatment to Ulrich's face, which stung for a second, then almost immediately helped cease the maddening itching.

"That is _so_ much better," he said with relief. "You're a miracle worker."

She laughed and applied the salve to his back and stomach. Unfortunately, her soft, gentle hands rubbing his skin lightly caused a bit of a tightening of his loins. To hide this, he shifted and tried to cross his legs.

"Are you uncomfortable? Was I too rough?" Christiane asked.

"No, no, it's fine," Ulrich answered quickly. "I just, er, I need to use the privy. I'll be right back."

He rushed off into the corridor. The young man didn't need to use the privy, so he marched down the hallway, taking deep breaths, conjuring images of sweaty, smelling, farting knights converging in the armory after a vigorous workout. That helped to calm his lust. He finally returned to the infirmary.

"Do you think you could lie down here on the examination table so I can finish applying the salve? It'll be easier." Christiane said.

_Oh, dear God_, Ulrich thought. _Then again, she's a healer, and I'm sure she's seen arousal before. No big deal. But her husband would want me dead._

"Of course."

He positioned himself on the table and Christiane applied the salve lower-down on his flat stomach.

"Do you have any rash below your waistline? If so, I'll leave that up to you!" she said with a slight grin.

"No!" said Ulrich a little too loudly. "No, I don't. Thank goodness for small miracles."

"It could still spread to that area," Christiane noted, "and if it does, you can use the salve on it. It's a very safe concoction."

She finished the application and turned to wipe her hands on a clean cloth. "Can you stop by tomorrow so I can take a look and see if you've begun to heal?"

Sir Ulrich tried to shake off the fantasy of Christiane of applying the ointment to his nether regions.

"Definitely. After training," replied Ulrich, dressing with haste. "Thank you so much."

As he took his leave with his medicines in hand, Ulrich knew he'd spend the night in bed awake, not because of his rash, but because he'd be thinking about a beautiful, kind, and married healer. And that was not a good thing.

XXXX

The following evening, after a brutal training session, Ulrich returned to Gaius's chambers to see Christiane, as requested. Once again, she asked him to remove his chainmail, gambeson, and tunic.

"Ah, that looks much better already," she noted, inspecting his skin up close. "The salve must be drying it up; excellent. The blisters are gone and the rash is less angry-looking. Did you sleep well last night?" she inquired. "With the valerian?"

_After I grabbed my cock and stroked it vigorously, all the while thinking of you._

"Yes, it worked quite well, thank you. I'm so grateful," Ulrich said, giving no hint of his internal commentary.

"I didn't forget the invitation I extended to you for a meal," said Christiane, returning Ulrich's tunic. "Percival's on a mission for the next couple of weeks, but I'm having supper this evening in the garden with some ladies, knights, and Carina, my friend. Would you care to join us?"

_Oh, please, no. Why is she so kind? Why is she doing this to me? I know she's only trying to be friendly, but I must decline!_

"That sounds great," Ulrich responded. "It'll be a good break from dining in my shared chambers with Sir Michael, who is a bit of a slob."

Christiane laughed robustly. "I can imagine. I'll see you in a few hours, then."

XXXX

Preparing for supper, Ulrich washed, applied fresh salve, and dressed. And he cursed himself for being a dolt. He was grateful Michael was out that evening so he was free to talk to himself. The young man peered at his reflection in the mirror.

"You're an idiot," he whispered to himself. "You will end up heartbroken, miserable, and alone if you keep up this foolishness. Never mind that, you'll be dead, because Percival will kill you. Just go find someone else, damn it!"

Ulrich sighed at himself in disgust, and left for the gardens.

XXXX

The castle gardens were beautiful, with vibrant green grass, intricate stone paths, large benches, and shade provided by many mature fruit trees, not to mention the dazzling array of lavish plants and flowers. Numerous colorful wool blankets dotted the grounds of the gardens; it appeared as if everyone would eat supper picnic-style.

Upon his arrival, Ulrich noticed Christiane helping some servants set up. She looked so fresh and pure, wearing a pink dress to match the faint blush on her cheeks. She wore her hair pinned up, but a few dark tendrils had worked loose, blowing freely in the evening breeze. The young healer stopped her activity for a moment to pick up a crying toddler to soothe him. Christiane touched the little one's nose and made a silly face; he giggled in return before she placed him down on the ground, and the young boy subsequently scrambled back to his mother. Christiane's kindness and joy were palpable.

Ulrich worried he was going to be sick; he thought he might be in love with her. He hardly knew the woman, but was certain he felt the keen sting of love. What the hell was he going to do?

The young knight approached Christiane, and she broke into a wide smile and hugged him.

"I'm so glad you're here. Carina's at the yellow blanket and we've saved a place for you. It looks like the food's ready now and I'm absolutely starving!"

All in attendance loaded up their plates with roast capon, rabbit poached in ginger sauce, spiced cabbage, bread, cheese, and various fritters; ale, cider, and mead flowed freely. Christiane, Carina, and Ulrich returned to their blanket, plates full. After the three had adjusted into comfortable positions on the picnic blanket, Christiane made introductions.

"Carina, meet Sir Ulrich, the new knight of whom I spoke."

"A pleasure to meet you, miss," Ulrich said, taking Carina's hand and kissing it.

Carina sighed with admiration. "Such manners! Can I take you home with me?"

They all laughed.

"What kind of knight are you?" asked Carina boldly. "A carouser? A fighter? Seducer? Book-reader?"

"I'm definitely not a carouser, fighter, or seducer," Ulrich answered with a chuckle. "I spend most of my free time reading, studying, and doing archery. Shooting is a great passion of mine."

"Oh, Christiane and I have always wanted to learn archery! Do you think you could teach us?" Carina asked with excitement.

_Just what I don't need, _Ulrich thought._ Being close to Christiane, close enough to smell her hair, touch her waist..._

"I'd be honored. Any time."

"Do you have time tomorrow?" Carina asked, with an enthusiastic gleam in her eye.

With a faint smile on his lips, Ulrich said, "I do happen to have a day off from training tomorrow."

Carina bristled with excitement. "I know Christiane's free," she said to the young, new knight. "Can you teach us, then?"

Christiane broke in. "Maybe poor Ulrich would like a day to relax for once! You know how hard the king and Sir Leon work the new recruits."

"No, no," Ulrich responded quickly. "I love teaching archery. If you can meet me on the shooting range right after breakfast, that would be great."

Carina rolled her eyes, now less motivated. "That's a bit early," she whined, "but I'll try to make it."

"I'll be there," Christiane promised. "I can't wait to show Percival that I can shoot!"

That's not exactly what Ulrich had hoped to hear, but for now, just knowing he'd have a chance to spend a little time with Christiane was enough.

Supper continued, filled with conversation and laughs, followed by a dessert of strawberry tarts and spice cake. During the meal, the ladies learned that Ulrich had been tutored in literature and Greek, and had an older brother who traded for a living, much like Carina's father.

The evening wore on, and it became cooler around sunset.

"I'm fat with food, a little drunk, and tired," declared Carina suddenly. "I'm heading home. See you all in the morning!" She rose to her feet and teetered.

"I'll escort you home," Ulrich insisted, standing. He recognized the tiny woman was in no condition to wander home alone.

"Oh, that's nice of you, Ulrich. Christiane, will you come, too?" Carina asked a little drunkenly.

Christiane laughed and said she'd come along as well. The trio began the short walk toward Carina's cottage, with the intoxicated woman carrying on loudly about how she was "done" with Sir Michael, as he spent "too much time with too many different ladies." And with finality, Carina bellowed, "Anyway, it doesn't matter, because the man's a PIG!"

Christiane realized her friend was a drunker than she'd originally thought, so Christiane and Ulrich escorted Carina inside and tucked her into bed.

"She's normally not quite this bad," Christiane explained, while adjusting a warm blanket around Carina. "Oh, who am I kidding? She's often this bad! But in a very lovable way."

Ulrich laughed quietly. "I like her. She seems quite spirited."

"She is, and a good friend," said Christiane with fondness.

Ulrich and Christiane walked back to the castle, talking about their evening, the food, and Sir Michael. They finally bid each other good night, and went to their separate chambers.

XXXX

The next morning arrived, sunny and warm, and Ulrich visited the armory early to select appropriate bows and arrows, then walked to the shooting range to set up. Christiane arrived promptly after breakfast, looking fresh-faced and well-rested, unlike Ulrich, who had slept very little, tossing and turning the entire night due to his confusion and frustration over his feelings for this woman.

"Ulrich, you look a little tired," Christiane observed as she approached. "Did the valerian not work last night?"

"Oh, no it was fine. I just had some bad dreams."

"Ah. I have to tell you, there's no way Carina will show up at this hour, with a hangover no less. We might as well begin."

Ulrich laughed. "Of course. Let's start out with the basics."

Ulrich patiently taught Christiane the proper archery stance: sideways, with feet shoulder-width apart, and weight distributed evenly on each foot. He positioned her head so her chin was rotated correctly over her bow arm, which meant touching the smooth, pale skin of her cheek. The worst part was when he needed to touch her hips to make sure they were tucked and her back was flat. The young man wanted to leave his hands there a moment longer, but resisted.

In that instant, out of nowhere, Ulrich hated Percival for being lucky enough to have such a lovely woman in his life and in his bed; jealousy consumed him. Still, he carried on teaching as if nothing was wrong. He showed his pupil how to nock the arrow, pause, focus, and shoot.

"Whenever you're ready, go ahead and loose," Ulrich instructed her.

Christiane took her first shot. The arrow hit the target toward the top, but it pierced the mark with a solid and satisfying thud.

"That's excellent," Ulrich praised her. "The first time, actually, the first many times, most people drop the arrow, it hits the ground, or misses the target by a wide margin. You did really well. I'm impressed."

"This is so much fun! Let's practice more!" Christiane exclaimed, obviously enjoying her newly-discovered hobby.

The two spent the better part of the morning shooting until they were both famished.

"I need a break; I am so hungry," Christiane informed her young instructor. "Do you want to wander down to the market with me to get something to eat?"

Ulrich started to say, "Sure," when Christiane stepped backward while returning her bow to the rack. She caught her heel in a ditch and lost her balance. Ulrich could see his pupil was going to hit the ground and reached for her, stepping in the same hole, losing his own balance. Christiane ended up on her back, while Ulrich fell on top of her awkwardly, his face planted right in her bosom.

He leapt up, completely embarrassed, worried that Christiane might think he'd purposely landed on her in such a way. Once he composed himself, he extended his hand to help his pupil up. "I...

I have no idea what to say," Ulrich stammered.

Christiane giggled, finding the whole scenario rather amusing. "Please, don't worry; I'm not a graceful woman. It was actually rather funny." She rose with her instructor's assistance and dusted off her dress. "Come on, let's go eat," she said. "I'll buy you something nice since you were so good to teach me this morning."

"No, I couldn't allow that. Please let _me _pay for inadvertently assaulting you!"

While the situation had been a little awkward, they both laughed.

"If you insist," said Christine.

The two wandered along through the busy streets of Camelot to the market, discussing archery. Ulrich explained the merits of different types of bows and arrows and Christiane listened attentively. But after a slight lull in conversation, Christiane asked her friend and instructor about his personal life.

"Ulrich, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Of course."

"Why don't you have a woman? A nice-looking man like you, smart, polite, educated, destined to be a great knight..."

"I'm not sure about all that," he said with a shrug, while looking straight ahead, feeling a bit embarrassed but his companion's flattery. "I suppose I just haven't been lucky in that regard."

"We shall have to fix that!" Christiane told him, reaching over to squeeze his arm. "I'm certain I can find you a special young lady."

_I wish you wouldn't!_

"That sounds good. When the time is right, I'll let you know. Thank you."

"At least tell me what you look for in a woman so I can keep my eyes open."

Ulrich considered his words carefully. "Appearance-wise, I don't have a particular type. I find different women beautiful for different reasons. Though I want a woman who is kind, smart, and loving. Those qualities are most important to me."

"Oh, Ulrich, I don't think you could possibly be any sweeter," Christiane told him, as they continued on to the market. "But don't want to wait too long, otherwise all the good ones will be gone," she joked.

She then changed the topic to their upcoming meal. "I think I want a cheesecake for lunch. Does that sound ridiculous?"

Ulrich was preparing to tell her he thought that was a fantastic idea when Christiane stopped short, wiped her brow, grabbed onto Ulrich's shoulder, and then fainted. He yelled her name, noticing how devastatingly pale she'd become, terrified and unsure why she'd collapsed. Immediately, people came to their aid, but Ulrich had swiftly lifted Christiane into his arms and took off for Gaius's chambers. As he jogged, she came-to.

"I felt so dizzy. Did I faint? I must have. Put me down, I can walk now."

"Ha, not likely. I'm taking you straight to Gaius."

"No, I... I need to see the midwife."

"I'm taking you straight to the Court Physician!" insisted Ulrich. "Unless, wait, do you need the midwife because you're..."

"I didn't mean to keep it from you. But it's still fairly early on, so Percival and I decided we wouldn't tell anyone for a few more weeks. Until it became more obvious."

Ulrich's steps did not falter, though the news made his knees weak. Why should he be at all surprised? She was married and happily. But for some reason, this declaration of pregnancy felt so final; as if now, he could never have her. Which was ridiculous, because he realized he had no chance to win her heart before this news, either. Even so, it didn't hurt any less.

He attempted to keep his emotions in check. "That's wonderful news. I'm sure you and Percival are very happy." He slowed his pace. "If you can tell me which way to the midwife's home, I'll take you there straight away."

Christiane gave him directions; fortunately, the woman's home was nearby. Ulrich arrived and tapped on the cottage door lightly with his foot, as his arms were occupied. Mary appeared at the doorway.

"Now, what's all this?" the midwife inquired with concern, stepping backward to allow her visitors entry.

Ulrich carried Christiane over to the bed he assumed was set aside for patients, and placed her down with care.

"We'd just finished up doing some archery and were headed down to the market for a bite of food," he explained. "On the way there, Christiane fainted."

"I see," said Mary, sizing-up the young man. "And who are you, may I ask?"

"Oh I'm very sorry; please forgive my lack of manners. I'm Ulrich, one of the new knights. And Christiane's friend."

Mary studied Christiane's appearance and took the pregnant woman's pulse. "Let me take a guess. You were out in the sun all morning, you didn't pause to drink, and you had an insubstantial breakfast. Tell me if I'm close."

Christiane cast her gaze downward. As someone who worked in medicine, she should have realized drinking and eating proper meals was very important when one is with child.

"You're right, Mary, I should know better. Dehydration must have made me faint."

"That it did!" Mary scolded. "You are to drink extra water every day. Even more if you're outside in the sun or exerting yourself. Don't go more than an hour without taking at least a sip. And certainly do not skip meals!" the woman admonished. "Now, if this friendly, young knight would be so good as to fetch that pitcher of water and a cup," she motioned toward the dining table, "once you have finished its contents, you may go home."

As Christiane drank, the trio discussed the general news about Camelot, such as the new knights' training progress, some merchants due to arrive the following week, and the continued anxiety over Morgana's old supporters' whereabouts and plans.

After Christiane finished her beverage, Mary presented her visitors with two thick slices of bread and ordered them to eat the food on the way home.

Christiane dropped a coin into Mary's jar as she and Ulrich departed.

Ulrich was unsure what to say while they ambled home, because he was still reeling from the pregnancy news. He settled on: "So, do you feel scared, excited, or both?"

"A little of both," Christiane commented, as she chewed on the bread slice and strolled slowly. "Delivery always seems scary."

"People always carry on about knights' bravery and strength, but I've always thought women are the strong ones. To carry and bring forth children, that takes real courage," the young man commented.

"That is so sweet, Ulrich," said Christiane, charmed. "You'll make a fine husband one day."

They arrived at the castle entryway.

"If you're available, I'd love to do more archery," Christiane told her friend. "And this time, I promise to drink water, take more breaks in the shade, and not faint."

"I'm on night patrol for the next week, so mornings are good for me," said Ulrich, appreciating her attempt at humor.

"I have evening training this week, too. Tomorrow morning, then?" Christiane asked.

"Tomorrow, it is."

XXXX

In the middle of the night, Christiane tossed and turned in bed, restless. She rose and felt compelled to see Ulrich; she didn't know why. In a low-cut silken nightgown and her light wrap, she felt as if she were floating down the corridor and downstairs to his rapped gently on his door.

He answered the knock. "I so hoped you would come," he whispered, and then drew her inside his room.

Ulrich backed Christiane up against the now-closed door and carefully removed his visitor's wrap. The man slid his hands up and down the front of her gown, stopping to caress her breasts and press his mouth against hers. It felt quite foreign to Christiane, nothing like Percival's kiss, but she didn't stop Ulrich as he eased his tongue into her mouth.

"I must take you to my bed," Ulrich declared, as he lifted the woman, carried her to his soft and inviting mattress, and placed her down tenderly. He kicked off his breeches, lowered himself on top of Christiane, and parted her legs with his knees.

"Will you have me?" he asked.

She nodded as Ulrich pushed into her gently with a sigh of contentment.

Christiane woke with a start in her own bed, flushed and abashed by her dream. Sex with Ulrich…ridiculous. She didn't even think of him in that way! She closed her eyes, attempting to force herself back to sleep, dismissing the dream and picturing her own husband back in their bed, safe.

Christiane eventually fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Yet guilt hovered at the very edge of her conscience.

* * *

[4] Trenchers are somewhat-stale loaves of bread that are hollowed out and soak up the juices/gravies of the meal.


	12. Chapter 11 Percival's Struggle

**A/N - Was anyone freaking out at the end of chapter ten? "No, Christiane! What are you DOING?" Do you think something might happen between Christiane and Ulrich? He seems to be pretty smitten.**

**During chapter eleven, we'll finally see Queen Guinevere, and you will read about a significant confrontation (one with quite a bit of bad language), an upsetting loss, and SOMEONE will spend a little time in the dungeons.**

**As always, I adore you, my faithful readers. Also, I received a few reviews...my fist ones! They made me cry happy tears.**

Chapter 11 – Percival's Struggle

Christiane became quite adept at archery with Ulrich's guidance. She enjoyed the sport and the two became fast friends. At least, in Christiane's eyes, they were simply friends and nothing more. The newlywed enjoyed her new friend's company and understood it could be hard adjusting to life in a new castle, especially when one knew few people.

Unfortunately for Ulrich, with each passing moment, his feelings for Christiane grew stronger. Every time she mentioned her husband's name, it was like a dagger in his heart. Being friends with her hurt.

"I can't wait until Percival arrives home tomorrow. I've missed him so much," Christiane gushed, after she and Ulrich had completed a morning of archery and snacked on apples while relaxing on a stone bench in the castle gardens.

"I'd imagine so," Ulrich responded with a bitter edge to his voice.

"Why do you say that so harshly?" asked Christiane, sounding hurt.

"You're right. I'm sorry. It's just that I've enjoyed our time together I know our meetings will be much more infrequent once your husband returns home."

Christiane nodded. "It's true, we won't have quite as much time to spend together, but we're friends and we'll make time."

She leaned forward to hug Ulrich. He could feel her breasts touching him; she smelled of sunshine and flowers. The young man wanted to beg her to come to his bed, tell her he would do anything he could to please her as many times as possible. In Ulrich's fantasies, Christiane's lush body would warm _his_ bed and she'd call out _his_ name in the throes of passion, not that damned husband of hers. Instead, he said, "Of course. Friends. Good friends."

They finished their snacks and retired to their separate chambers, one floor away from each other: Christiane on the fifth level and Ulrich on the fourth. If both had their windows open and it was a quiet day, they could yell to each other and hear with relative ease.

Half an hour after Christiane lay down to take a brief nap, the chamber door burst open, and there stood Percival, freshly bathed and smiling, home a day early.

"Surprise!" he called out, and vaulted into their bed.

"I can't believe you're here!" said Christiane, leaning over in bed to kiss her husband. "And a day early. It's so wonderful to have you home; I missed you terribly."

He returned the kiss, claiming her mouth with passion. No more words were needed. Clothing was discarded haphazardly and before long, Christiane climbed atop Percival and guided him inside of her; he was erect and ready. She moved on top of her husband with enthusiasm, clenching her muscles around him and driving the man mad. He held her hips to help move her up and down his length. With each movement she moaned, sighed, and finally screamed out Percival's name in ecstasy. Her passion finished him off.

At first, while reclining in his bed, Ulrich thought he heard someone groaning, possibly hurt. He took a few minutes to realize that the knights returned home from their mission early, his window was open, as was Christiane's, and what he heard was the object of his affection taking pleasure in her husband's body.

Still in bed, he clapped his hands over his ears, hoping that action would block out any and all sound. Once he thought it was safe, he removed his hands, only to hear the loud and impassioned cry of: "Oh, Percival!"

Ulrich punched the stone wall beside his bed. As he did this, Michael entered their shared chambers and stared at his roommate, eyebrows raised.

"Just fuck off, will you?" Ulrich yelled, turning his back in anger, which was very unlike him.

Michael strode over to his table, retrieved his chainmail, and left the room, mumbling "Damn lunatic" under his breath.

Ulrich groaned. What was so great about Percival? What made him such a phenomenal lover? The massive knight had probably stuck his cock in a hundred whores before he had Christiane! He probably _still _slept with whores. Ulrich bet that the man visited bawdy houses regularly, having sex with a dozen women in one night, not caring that he was married.

The young knight realized he was getting carried away with such wild thoughts, and they were only making him angrier and more frustrated.

He turned his focus back to Christiane. If only she would give him a chance, he could be a good lover, too. Not that he'd ever had the opportunity to take a woman to bed before. Ulrich was a virgin; what did he know? But he could learn! Perhaps he would ask Gwaine how to please women. After all, Gwaine loved to talk about his expertise in that area. Ulrich then wondered how he could convince Christiane to go to bed with him…

Flipping onto his stomach and burying his face into his pillow, the young knight felt as if he were going mad. If this kept up, he'd have to leave Camelot.

XXXX

Percival and Christiane were sprawled-out in bed, relaxed in their post-sex bliss. Percival spoke first.

"I missed you so. It was a horribly boring mission. The only excitement was eating overly-salted pottage every night." He turned onto his side to face his wife, propping himself upright on his elbow. "How are you doing? Feeling well?"

"Other than some nausea in the middle of the night, I'm feeling quite well. But when that happens, I usually get up and step outside for some fresh air; then I feel much better."

"I hate to think of you feeling awful while you're carrying my child," Percival said, as he reached out and played with his wife's hair. He then inquired, "Anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

"Ulrich taught me some archery skills," Christiane replied. "I practiced with him while you were gone. I can't wait to show you soon; I've become quite good at it!"

At the mention of Ulrich spending time with his beloved Christiane, the hairs on the back of Percival's neck stood up. Rather than become irate, he determined he would take out his frustration on Ulrich the next day in training.

"I look forward to seeing that," Percival said with care, not mentioning his concerns about Ulrich. "You know I'm not much of an archer; you're probably better than I!"

Christiane laughed at the thought.

Percival then rested his head on her lower abdomen. "I think your belly has gotten a little bigger."

Christiane swatted at his head playfully. "Never say that to a woman! Even if she's with child."

"Why not?" Percival asked, as he caressed the slight swell. "I can't wait to see you get big with my child. I love it, and I'll show you off to everyone!"

"Men!" Christiane sighed.

XXXX

Christiane and Percival shared a lovely supper of ham and onion cake, took a refreshing walk through the Lower Town, and ended their day with a lively game of chess. They retired early and were both asleep within minutes.

Yet sometime in the middle of the night, Christiane woke up with nausea again. Once she realized it wasn't about to pass quickly, she rose, donned her traveling cloak, and stepped outside for some cool night air. She went her usual place by the battlements, which allowed her a view of the whole city.

Unfortunately, on this particular night, she felt more nauseous than usual. As a matter of fact, she worried she might vomit. This wasn't the typical stomach upset she experienced – the burning pain gnawed at her insides and wouldn't let up. The queasy young woman sat down on a nearby bench and clutched her stomach, waiting for the wave to pass.

Ulrich could not sleep and wandered by the battlements as well. He was quite surprised when he the rounded corner and saw Christiane sitting on a bench, hands pressed against her abdomen, looking awfully pasty. He rushed over to her.

"Are you all right?" he asked with concern.

She took some slow, deep breaths to settle her stomach. "Yes," she answered. "I'm fine. Just a bit of nausea. Truthfully, quite a bit of nausea. Usually it hits me in the middle of the night, and I come out here to get a bit of air, then it goes away."

"I see," replied Ulrich. "Do you need Gaius? Or the midwife?"

"No, thank you. If I sit here for a little while, I'll probably feel better soon."

Ulrich took a seat next to Christiane on the bench. "Do you mind if I keep you company for a while?"

"I'd enjoy that."

She turned her face toward the night breeze, hoping it would help cool her and ease her discomfort.

"But I must ask, why are you awake at this hour? You're unarmed," she observed, "so I know that you're not on patrol."

"This is true. I just have a lot on my mind lately and sleep just doesn't seem to come easily."

Christiane looked somewhat concerned. "I'm your friend, Ulrich. You can trust me. Tell me what's bothering you."

Ulrich chuckled quietly, without humor. "I wish I could."

"Women trouble?"

"Something along those lines."

"I'm good at helping with these sorts of things. Why don't you just tell me?"

Ulrich studied her face. He knew what he was about to do was wrong and would likely change their friendship forever, and potentially get him killed. The young knight took her hand and gazed into her eyes. "I'm sorry, but I love you," he said. "And I swear, I will never do this again. Unless you ask me to."

He then leaned toward Christiane, but she was shocked and confused by the way he moved toward her, unsure what he meant to do. She assumed he might be leaning in for a hug, but instead, Ulrich tenderly pressed his lips against hers. His mouth felt warm and soft, but in that moment, Christiane felt sad. She knew she had given him the wrong idea. Christiane immediately placed her hands against Ulrich's chest, and pushed him away carefully.

"No, Ulrich. No. This cannot be. I love you as a friend, but nothing more. I'm very sorry if I led you to believe otherwise."

He shook his head. "You never misled me, not for a moment. It was selfish of me, but I simply had to let you to know how I feel."

As these events transpired, Percival had woken and found his bed empty. Concerned, he left the chamber and searched for his Christiane. A good ten minutes later he wandered toward the castle battlements and saw Ulrich seated on a bench, kissing a woman.

And that woman was Percival's wife.

The furious husband thought he'd seen Christiane shove Ulrich away, but he was so blinded by rage that he couldn't be certain.

Percival stormed over to the two of them. "What the fuck is all this?" he hollered, fury punctuating every syllable.

Ulrich rose from the bench, waiting for Percival to kill him that instant. Unarmed, he knew he was no match for the massive, skilled knight. Christiane stood up quickly and positioned herself in front of Ulrich.

"Percival, please. This is just a misunderstanding. Ulrich misinterpreted my friendship. He knows that nothing can ever happen between us. Right?"

Ulrich nodded his head sadly in agreement.

"Why the fuck are you standing in front of him, defending him?" Percival roared at Christiane. He was no longer in his right mind; he was completely rattled by his unbearable fury.

"I just don't want you to do anything rash in a moment of anger that you'll regret later," Christiane responded calmly. For the first time ever, she saw fury in her husband's eyes and knew the best course of action was to remain as calm as possible, for all their sakes. She'd heard stories of men killing others while in blind rages, and Percival had that look about him.

Ulrich began to explain to Percival that he had come across Christiane on the bench, looking ill, and wanted to offer his help. He then said that he was worried, because the young woman had fainted a couple of weeks prior.

Percival could barely comprehend what Ulrich was saying, as the blood was rushing through his ears.

"What the hell did you just say?" Percival shouted. "Wait, she fainted when she was with you? When?"

"One afternoon," explained Ulrich, "after her archery lesson, she fainted, and I took her to the midwife."

Percival rounded on his wife. "Exactly how much time have you been spending with this son of a bitch?" he demanded, voice shaking with anger.

Christiane was shocked. Percival had never addressed her in such a way. She found herself unable to answer, and Ulrich spoke up to defend Christiane, but Percival interrupted.

"Ulrich, shut the fuck up!" shouted Percival, sounding murderous. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you where you stand. With my bare fucking hands! Christiane," he commanded, "step aside."

"I will not!" she responded to her husband hotly. "You're behaving like a madman. Let's just go back to our chambers and talk this through, calmly."

For a split second, Percival considered forcing her aside. It would be so easy to do, and he could break Ulrich's neck in a second. Fortunately, he saw reason, if only for a moment. For the next words out of his mouth changed everything.

"How is it that this little bastard knows that you're pregnant, and no one else in the entire kingdom does?" Percival stepped forward and leaned in, nearly nose to nose with his wife. "Is this baby even mine?"

The moment the words fell from Percival's mouth, he regretted them. Terribly.

Ulrich tried to step around Christiane. "That's way out of order, man," the young knight said in Christiane's defense.

Christiane put her arm in front of Ulrich and held him back. She drew her hand back as if to slap her husband, but instantly realized if she struck him, it was an act she could never undo. Instead, she jabbed her finger into his chest. "If you ever, ever speak to me in such a way again, I promise you, I will leave you and never return. I don't care how much I love you; you will _not_ treat me like this!"

She stormed off, outraged. "How dare you say such a horrid thing!" shouted Christiane over her shoulder.

Percival and Ulrich were left alone, simply standing at the battlements, face to face.

"If I were you," Ulrich said, "I'd go after my pregnant and upset wife. You can kill me anytime."

"Touch my wife again, and you are a dead man," Percival growled, and spat at Ulrich's feet. He then chased after his wife, filled with shame and heartache.

Christiane was well ahead of Percival. She ran into their chambers, bolted the door, and collected a day's worth of clothing and her pillow. When Percival arrived, he tried to gain entry, but to no avail.

"Please let me in," he whined.

"No!" his angry wife answered firmly from behind the door. "I'm collecting some things and I am going to stay with Lady Lindara, the widow, tonight. She'll welcome my company."

"Please don't do this," Percival lamented. "I love you. Seeing Ulrich kiss you made me lose my mind for a moment. I'm sorry. Don't go," he begged. "Or, I'll go. I don't want you to have to sleep on a cot tonight."

His pleading was met with complete silence, so he continued. "I know the baby's mine," said Percival from the other side of the door, leaning his head against the solid wood as he spoke. "Of course it is. It was mad of me to say otherwise. Inexcusable."

After another minute of quiet, Christiane swung the chamber door open fiercely and faced her husband. "I'll return tomorrow night after you've had some time to think things over. But for now, I am leaving!" she announced. "Do not try to stop me!"

Of course, he could have stopped her, quite easily. But Percival had made enough of a mess of things and quietly stepped aside.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked in a pleading tone.

"Yes," she said, without a backward glance, carrying her possessions down the hallway.

Percival entered their chamber, head hanging with remorse. He crawled into bed, knowing he, Christiane, and Ulrich wouldn't get a moment's rest that night.

XXXX

Percival arrived at the training field the next morning, ill-rested and in a bad temper.

A well-recovered King Arthur took the field. "Today, we'll practice hand-to-hand combat, no weapons," the king informed his men. "Senior knights, pair up with a newer man. I'll walk around making suggestions and helping. Remember, you're teaching these men, not trying to injure them!"

Percival marched over to Ulrich and banged him on the shoulder with his fist. Ulrich didn't even need to turn around to know who was there.

All the pairs took their places on the field. Percival removed his shirt; it was one less thing for his opponent to grab and his strapping build usually intimidated others. Ulrich did the same. While the younger knight wasn't as huge as Percival, he was still solidly-built and broad-chested, and had proven himself to be quite adept in hand-to-hand combat. But his opponent didn't care.

"Going to kill me right here on the field, in front of the king?" Ulrich questioned in a snarky tone.

Percival said nothing and lunged for the younger man. After a good few minutes of circling each other and avoiding punches, elbows, and grabs, finally, Percival swept Ulrich's feet out from underneath him, landing him flat on his back. As Percival bent down to grapple with the younger man, Ulrich kicked him away with both feet, knocking Percival on his side.

They both stood again; Ulrich took a swing, Percival blocked it, then dragged the younger knight down to the ground in a headlock. Percival violently flipped Ulrich onto his back and pinned him down by the neck. He drew his fist back, aiming for Ulrich's face, but before he could strike, he felt himself being pulled upright by three men, including King Arthur.

"What on _earth_ is going on here?" asked the king, frustration boiling in his blue eyes.

Ulrich had been helped to his feet by some of his comrades, but he and Percival simply stood there, eyes cast downward, unwilling or unable to provide an answer.

"As your king, I demand an answer. Now!"

"Sire, I kissed Percival's wife and professed my love to her," Ulrich said rapidly, embarrassed by his confession.

"Why would you do such a thing?" the king asked with disbelief.

"It was very wrong of me, disrespectful, and I should have kept my feelings to myself." He turned to face Percival directly. "I'm deeply sorry to both Percival and Christiane."

"Percival, do you accept his apology?" the king inquired.

"No, my lord, I do not," the older knight answered with irritation. "He has humiliated me and caused great discord between my wife and me. I don't believe him for one second!" he yelled, as he lunged for Ulrich again, but was restrained once again, this time by Gwaine and Sir Erec.

"Just get it over with then and kill me, since you can't seem to control yourself!" bellowed Ulrich. "She's your wife, you have her, not I. You've won no matter what! Can't you see that? She's not leaving you for me!"

Ulrich's roommate, Michael, stepped forward and held onto the young knight's shoulder firmly, in both support and to ensure the man didn't charge forward in anger.

"This? Is utter madness!" King Arthur shouted. "You're acting like love-struck girls and I will not let such behavior affect our work. We have a kingdom to protect! Go see the queen, now," he ordered. "I don't have the time to handle this foolishness. Whatever she decides, you will abide by, and I mean that.

"Gwaine, Erec, please escort them."

Gwaine tossed the two sullen knights their tunics; it wasn't appropriate for the men to see the queen while they were half-dressed.

Several minutes later, without incident, the group arrived at the council chamber to find Queen Guinevere waiting for them, her olive-toned skin complemented by the fabric of her rich, purple-colored gown. She looked at the men with her calm brown eyes and a sympathetic smile on her face.

Guinevere studied the group before her. "Welcome, gentlemen. I can see from the dour looks on your faces that this is not a social visit. Please have a seat and tell me what's troubling you."

As the knights took their seats before the queen, Gwaine briefly explained how Ulrich had kissed Percival's wife and professed his love for her, and how Percival felt unable to accept an apology.

"And Percival may have attempted to beat the stuffing out of Ulrich during training," added Gwaine.

The queen sighed. She'd been close to Gwaine and Percival for a long time and couldn't imagine Percival behaving like this. In her interactions with the knight, he'd been so calm and reasonable.

"Let me start out with Ulrich, if I may," Guinevere said. "Ulrich, can you control your feelings for Christiane?" she asked.

"No, Your Highness, I cannot," Ulrich replied.

Guinevere observed that Percival had clenched his fists and was grinding his teeth.

"I do understand that you cannot control your feelings. However, you can control your _behavior_. Arthur can't allow your deeds to cause discord among the knights. I know that you are a kind and reasonable man," the queen said with sympathy. "I hope from this point forward, you will agree that you will not touch Christiane inappropriately or pursue her romantically. Can you agree to this?"

"I can," replied Ulrich.

The queen turned to face Percival. "And is this agreeable to you?"

"If he remains true to his word, I am agreeable. However," added Percival, "I strongly feel he should receive some punishment for his behavior."

The queen paused in thought for a moment. "I agree. Actively pursuing a woman you know to be married is unacceptable for a knight." Addressing the younger knight directly, Guinevere said, "Ulrich, you will spend two nights in the dungeons, starting now. If you violate this agreement again, you will spend a month in the dungeons. Should you choose to violate it a third time, you will be banished from Camelot. Is that understood?"

Ulrich sat up straight. "It is, Your Highness."

Guinevere carried on calmly. "And Percival, if you lay your hands on Sir Ulrich again without a very good cause, you will spend a few nights in the dungeons yourself. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Your Highness," responded Percival.

"Very well, then. We've finished our business here," the queen concluded.

Just as Guinevere was about to dismiss the two men, the group heard a frenzied rapping on the council chamber doors. Lady Lindara charged in.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt without being granted a proper audience, Your Highness," she said, panting, "but I need Percival to come to my chambers immediately; it's a matter of great urgency." She needed a moment to catch her breath before she continued. "Christiane is very ill; she began bleeding a short while ago. I fetched the midwife and she's tending to her now."

Percival did not ask for permission to be dismissed; he took off at a frantic run for Lindara's chambers.

Ulrich sat at the table, his head bowed.

"Gwaine, please escort Ulrich to the dungeons in a moment," said the queen. "I need a brief word with him first." Guinevere motioned for the young knight to approach her. She leaned forward and said to him softly, "Once I know anything, I will send you word of Christiane's health."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Ulrich whispered, just before Gwaine led him out.

Meanwhile, Percival's heart battered in his chest at an alarming speed. He found himself outside of Lindara's chamber door and saw Mary, fresh blood apparent on her apron and upon the sheets she carried from the room.

The woman dropped her load to the floor, reached forward and grasped Percival by the elbows, easing him to the ground. As a midwife, Mary had seen numerous men faint at the sound of their wives screaming during labor, and Percival appeared as if he was ready to drop.

"Let's have you put your head between your knees for a moment and breathe evenly and slowly. That's it," said Mary, taking a seat on the corridor floor next to Percival.

He glanced up. "Is she...?" He couldn't say it.

Mary wrinkled her brow in confusion, then realized what he was asking. "No! No," she reassured the man. "Christiane will be fine in a few days. Physically. She had a miscarriage. I'm very sorry." Mary patted his hand. "But as far as I can tell, she'll be able to bear more children."

Percival sighed, relieved his wife was alive and relatively well, but saddened over the loss of their child. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course," Mary said kindly.

"Is there any possibility that I caused this?"

"Why would you think you caused this? Unless you struck your wife, which I know you didn't, you couldn't have made this happen. Nor did she," the midwife offered comfortingly.

"But we had a fight, an awful one," explained the miserable and guilt-ridden knight. "I said something terrible and she was so upset..."

"Percival, if every woman who had an argument with her husband miscarried, no children would ever be born. Do not blame yourself. You did nothing to cause this." Mary gave him a sympathetic smile. "Would you like to come in and see your wife now?"

"I would. If she'll see me."

"Of course she will. She's been asking for you. But I want to tell you a few things first. She's very pale and tired and will likely be that way for a few days. She shouldn't be up-and-about too much until the bleeding's stopped completely, which should be within a day or so. In the meantime, see that she drinks plenty, eats as well as she can, and gets rest."

Percival listened to her instructions intently.

"Also no sex for a couple of weeks. Then you can try again," said the midwife, with a small smile.

"And Percival, I miscarried my first and went on to have two robust and healthy children. If my Gareth hadn't died, I'm sure we'd have had more," Mary assured him.

He nodded, thanked Mary for everything, and stepped quietly into Lindara's dimly-lit chambers. His wife sat on the bed propped-up by pillows. Mary was right; the poor woman looked quite colorless with dark circles under her eyes. Christiane appeared tired and sad, and Percival felt heartbroken.

The saddened husband still wasn't sure how his wife would receive him, so he walked to the bed tentatively. Christiane turned toward him, and held out her hand as an invitation for him to take it. Percival took her hand and kissed it as he knelt beside the bed.

"I should have been here with you," said Percival, choking up. "I'm so sorry this happened."

"No, it was all so sudden. I felt a little pain, and then...and then that was it. I knew it was too late and nothing could be done. But Mary and Lindara were very good to me."

The recovering young woman leaned back and closed her eyes for a moment. "Can we go back to our chambers?"

"Of course. You're not supposed to walk around right now. I'll carry you." Percival lifted his wife from the bed and left the room with her securely in his arms.

Lindara stood outside of her chambers; she'd wanted to give the couple some privacy. Lindara was in her early forties and had lost her husband just about a year prior. She and her husband never had children, but the widow could imagine how painful it must be to lose a pregnancy. After all, Lindara recalled her own pain of never having conceived a child.

"Thank you, my lady, for all you have done," Percival said to the kind widow.

Lindara nodded. "I'm sorry for your suffering. Both of you. Now take good care, and Christiane, I'll visit you when you're ready."

XXXX

Meanwhile, in the dungeons, Ulrich received word that Christiane had lost her baby, but was recovering and would be fine in a few days. He felt immense relief she was well, but sad for her loss.

As he sat on the floor of his dank cell, trying to ignore the pungent stench of the drunk prisoner with whom he shared the cramped space, he knew he needed to do everything in his power to move on. Starting that very moment. He realized in time, his heart might heal, but until then, he required distractions. Every time Christiane came to mind, he forced himself to think of something or someone else. Ulrich established that Carina was a good choice as she was fun, attractive, bold, and witty. Yes, she would do quite nicely.

He also vowed the moment he was released, he was going to the tavern to get drunk. Extraordinarily drunk, indeed. Something he'd never done before.


	13. Chapter 12 Life Carries On

**A/N - Well, Ulrich confessed his feelings for Christiane during chapter eleven, and his admission and actions caused quite the sensation. Clearly, Percival didn't take the whole situation well. And our poor Christiane, losing her pregnancy. Will she be able to conceive again? What will happen to Christiane's close friendship with Ulrich?**

**During chapter twelve, Percival and Christiane cope with the aftermath of the events discussed above, Ulrich gets stinking drunk, and the young knight finds himself with a new dinner companion.**

**Again, thank you for reading, you wonderful people! And a special shout out to the people who have "favorited," "followed," and/or reviewed my story: SarahELupin, didnotattend, FrostedSunshine, Tomatensauce, sharzybear, Penevere, QueenArthur, and Guests. I appreciate it so much.**

Chapter 12 - Life Carries On

Percival tended to Christiane with kindness and love for the first day of her convalescence. He brought her ginger tea and toast, ensured she was comfortable, and helped her to the privy whenever she needed.

In their shared grief, the couple discussed that night at the battlements. Percival explained he knew Christiane had done nothing wrong, but seeing another man touch her drove him to the edge of madness. He professed that she meant the world to him, and nothing could ever change that. The repentant husband begged for forgiveness about a dozen times, which Christiane granted. At his wife's request, Percival even agreed to forgive Ulrich.

Christiane impressed upon her husband that he should never doubt her love, loyalty, or fidelity again. "I love you, and you alone," she assured the man.

Unfortunately, Percival had to return to his duties, but Carina came to attend to her friend the following day. Carina was not at all upset that Christiane had kept the pregnancy from her; Carina understood her close friend had wanted to share the good news with everyone when the time was right. It wasn't in Carina's nature to stay angry or hold grudges.

After they shared some tears and hugs together, Carina suggested they see a fortune teller.

"I know I'll be an auntie one day soon; I just want to know when!"

"Great idea, Carina. Shall we pack our bags for banishment, or prepare for our necks for execution?" asked Christiane jokingly. Though the king was in the process of legalizing the use of magic in the kingdom, calling on fortune tellers was not a widely-accepted practice.

And for the first time in several days, Christiane laughed.

The women spoke of Ulrich, and Christiane expressed she felt sorry for him, and hoped he wasn't suffering too greatly in the dungeons.

"He's due to be released soon," said Carina. "Would you mind if I paid him a visit? He's such a nice young man and I feel bad for him."

"No, I wouldn't mind at all," Christiane replied with enthusiasm. "That would be wonderful! He needs a friend right now. I don't know when I'll be able to spend time with him again. Please give him my regards and tell him I'm thinking of him."

The two friends passed the morning and afternoon reading, chatting, and playing a little chess. By the time Percival returned that evening, he noticed Christiane looked much better. A little color had returned to her cheeks and she seemed to be in higher spirits. Carina bid them a good evening and returned to her cottage.

"Do you think we could go down to the tavern for supper? I'm not bleeding any longer and I'd like to get out of the castle for a little while," Christiane said to her husband.

"Are you sure you're well enough?" asked Percival. "It's only been two days."

"If we walk slowly, yes. I just want to get out for a time."

"All right, then," Percival agreed. "But if you get tired, please just tell me, and I'll carry you."

They walked down to the Rising Sun at a leisurely pace. Once inside, Christiane's father hugged his daughter closely, as he'd heard the news of her loss, and told the couple he'd have Terric make them anything they'd like. They settled on fish in sweet sauce along with some fresh bread and harvest soup. Will joined his daughter and son-in-law, and it was a calm, relaxing supper.

As the three finished the final morsels of their meal, Ulrich entered the tavern and took a dimly-lit corner table, alone; he had not seen the couple.

Percival had seen Ulrich enter, and Christiane gave her husband a stern look.

"What?" asked Percival. "I've forgiven him, remember?"

"Have you really?" she questioned.

"Yes," said Percival. He rose and walked toward Ulrich's table.

Ulrich was already drinking deeply from a tankard of spiced wine, as the tippler with whom he'd shared his dungeon cell told him it would get him intoxicated the fastest. When Ulrich glanced up and saw Percival looming over him, the young man stood, but the large knight took a seat.

Percival extended his hand. "I'd like us both to forgive and forget. Can you do that yet?"

Ulrich eyed him with deep suspicion. "Is this a trick of some type?"

"No. My wife wants this and she cares for you as a friend. Therefore, I want this." His hand remained outstretched.

The younger knight, appearing somewhat relieved, grasped Percival's forearm in agreement. "I'm sorry for everything," he said. "I made a real mess of things. I ask only as a friend, is Christiane all right?"

"She will be. Would you like me to send her over to say hello?"

"In all honesty, I'd like to sit here, alone, and just get drunk."

"Understood," Percival said, and clasped him on the shoulder. "In time, this will sort itself out."

"That looked very friendly," Christiane commented, as Percival returned to the table.

"It was," her husband replied. "All's well. He'd prefer to sit alone and get properly pissed tonight."

Christiane smiled weakly at Ulrich. She felt horrible he'd been held in the dungeons. Young Ulrich lifted his tankard, tipped it toward Christiane in acknowledgment, and resumed drinking.

"This meal took a lot more out of me than I thought it would," Christiane said suddenly. "Can we go home?"

"Do you need me to carry you?" asked Percival.

"Although you'd love that, no."

Will argued that Percival should carry his daughter back to the castle, but she insisted vehemently that she would walk on her own.

Ulrich willed himself to not look at the married couple as they left the tavern. He simply stared into his cup, which was almost empty.

No supper and three large tankards of spiced wine later, Ulrich realized he was terribly drunk. He threw a handful of coins down onto the table, overpaying, and staggered from the tavern into the dusky evening as fast as his unsteady legs would carry him. He made it a little ways down the road to some bushes behind a modest and well-kept cottage and vomited ferociously. The young knight had never been drunk before and quickly realized it hadn't done him any good. He was sick, emotional as a wailing baby, and miserable. It seemed like a good idea to just lie there in the thorn bushes and possibly vomit again, which he did.

As Carina tested combinations of different exotic oil scents, she thought she heard someone throwing up and moaning behind her home. "Great!" she said with a sigh. "Just what I need tonight. Another drunk to run off. Where are the knights of Camelot when you need them?" She collected her broom and went outside to drive off the interloper.

She saw a man lying down face first in the bushes, and poked his side roughly with her broom's solid wooden handle. "Hey! Move along now. This is no place to kip!"

Ulrich rolled over onto his back, still balanced precariously in the bushes and looking sick as a dog. "It's you," he slurred. "Such a beauty. I thought so from the first time I saw you, but I was too busy being a fool about Percivinal...Pertsible's wife," Ulrich fumbled. "Maybe you should just run me through," he said with a moan, clutching his roiling stomach.

"I didn't know it was you!" Carina announced with shock, dropping her broom-weapon. "Sir Ulrich, you poor thing. Let me help you inside for a bit and get you fixed up."

He rolled over again, face back in the bushes. "No. Leave me here to die. I think I'm already dead," Ulrich mumbled. "Why do people drink like this? Never again."

Carina laughed and heaved him upright by the back of his tunic. "That's what they all say. I have a suspicion you're not usually a drinker."

He swayed. "This is a first," confessed young Ulrich.

The drunken knight paused and turned to face the small woman, studying her with glassy eyes. "You know, you're beautiful. And you smell pretty." He paused once again, this time, turning a nasty shade of green. "Wait, I'm going to be sick again." He spun around and heaved into the bushes once more.

When Ulrich was done, Carina draped his arm over her shoulders and helped him inside of her cozy cottage. "Let me get a bucket ready for you," she told the intoxicated young man, assuming there was more vomit to come. "And have you eaten at all? It seems like you were just vomiting up drink."

"Not since I've been in the dungeons."

"You haven't eaten in two days, and you went straight for drink? That's not smart," she said with concern. "Let's get a spot of peppermint tea and a little bread into you." Carina busied herself searching the cupboard for tea and food.

"Your house smells pretty, too," Ulrich muttered as he fell backwards into her father's old bed. The now-supine and inebriated young knight slurred out another question. "May I say one last thing?"

"You may," said Carina, waiting to hear what she imagined would be an entertaining comment or observation.

"You have amazing breasts. Perfect."

She chuckled. "Really? I find them too small."

"No. Perfect," Ulrich mumbled into the pillow, having rolled over. "As is your backside."

Within moments, he snored loudly.

Carina sighed, covered him with a light blanket, abandoned the search for herbal tea and bread, and resumed working with her oils. After a couple of hours, she realized the drunk Ulrich was probably out for the night, and there was no point in waking the young knight. She blew out the candles and settled into her own bed.

At sunrise, Ulrich sat bolt-upright, trying to piece together where he was and why. Suddenly, through the blinding headache, nausea, and bone-dry mouth, it all came back to him. "No, no, no!" he moaned, his head in his hands.

Carina stirred from her bed. "Ah, I see you're awake and alive. That's good. Let me get you some toast with jam and tea now."

She rose in nothing but her thin nightwear and stoked the fire and prepare some simple food.

"Oh, and here. This is Gaius's famous hangover remedy. Best to drink it all down in one shot, with your nose pinched. It tastes like hell." She tried to hand Ulrich a small bottle of dark-brown liquid.

Despite his many pains, Ulrich leapt up, ignoring her extended hand. "I've already inconvenienced you enough! And said horribly inappropriate things! And what will people say when they find I've spent the night here?" he ranted. "Your reputation will be ruined! Don't worry, I'll explain the truth."

Carina burst out in a fit of laughter. "First of all, I found your comments very complimentary. I don't think I've heard anyone say anything positive about my breasts before. Or backside, come to think of it."

She returned to the hearth and tended to the toasting bread. "And second, I already have a reputation, so I'm not worried about that. I'm still a maiden by strictest definition, but most people assume I'm quite the harlot."

Ulrich wasn't sure how to respond. "That's not fair that they should say such things about you." He found himself becoming unreasonably angry on Carina's behalf.

"I honestly don't care," Carina remarked. "I had my fun. But now that I see the type of love Christiane and Percival have, I know that's what I want. And I'll wait for it." She cringed. "Oh, I'm sorry, that wasn't very considerate of me to bring up!"

"No, please, it's all right. I have to get over it," the young knight assured her.

Carina presented Ulrich with the peppermint tea and toast, which he accepted as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I think you could use a friend right now. As could I," Carina said. "You should stop by for supper whenever you can. Sometimes, I eat at the tavern, or with Christiane, but I'm usually home for my evening meal."

Something stirred inside of Ulrich. For the last few days, he'd felt nothing but loneliness and angst. However, Carina's offer of friendship peeled away the first layer of the young knight's melancholy. "I could use a friend, too. I'm afraid I'm a terrible cook, but I can always bring dessert or some mead. Just no more spiced wine," he offered with a shudder, as he took a small bite of his toast.

"That sounds delightful," Carina beamed. "Feel free to come by tomorrow evening, if you can."

Ulrich chewed thoughtfully, happy that the now-meager contents of his stomach seemed to be staying put. "I will," he said, sounding cheerful.

"And thank you for all your help and kindness," Ulrich said to his caretaker and new friend, finally accepting the hangover remedy from her. "I'll just down this concoction and then head back to the castle; I'm expected at training this afternoon. I hope I survive."

He drank the vial of brown liquid, sputtered, made a face, and groaned. "You're right; that was horrible!

"May I hug you in thanks?" he asked Carina, rising from his seat on the bed.

"Quite the proper fellow today!" she teased. "Of course."

They embraced briefly, and Ulrich left, his spirits far lighter than they'd been.

XXXX

Summertime waned and cooler autumn winds took their place. Christiane loved this time of year with the milder temperatures, the autumn harvest, and fall celebrations. It was also the month of her birthday, and she would be nineteen. She could scarcely believe how much her life had changed during the past half-year.

Christiane had recuperated from her miscarriage, and though she often felt sad about the loss, talking to other women who had endured similar losses yet went on to have healthy children gave her some hope.

A couple of weeks after her pregnancy loss, Percival and Christiane took a ride to a small creek in the forest, a private and peaceful place where they could spend some time together. They hadn't made love since Christiane's miscarriage, as she was still healing and Percival was hesitant.

They spread a blanket down in front of the creek, and even though the water was crisp, they dipped-in their toes, then sat on the blanket, holding hands. Christiane turned to her husband.

"Percival," she said, "I want to have your baby. And I want to make love again. Now."

He turned toward her, still holding her hand. He'd been afraid to touch her until that moment, not wanting to pressure her and to give her enough time to heal.

Percival rolled on top of her carefully, peppering her face and neck with kisses. He pulled down the top of her dress in order to lavish her breasts with attention as well. Christiane fumbled for his trouser laces as Percival hiked-up her skirt. He entered her with urgency and within a few driving thrusts, Christiane found her release, trembling slightly beneath him. Percival pulled out of her, taking a moment to dry off his erection on the blanket before he got up on his knees, wrapped his hands in Christiane's hair, and urged her to take his length into her mouth, which she was happy to do.

Percival relished the feel of his wife's mouth on him, but rather than find is own release yet, he moved onto his back and lifted Christiane onto his face, shoving her skirt aside to give him good access. He knew this was a bold move and not something he'd tried before. Initially, Christiane was hesitant, but as Percival paid close attention to her intimate parts with his tongue, she moved her hips against him, clearly enjoying his touch.

As another orgasm tore through Christiane, but rather than let her rest, Percival turned her on her back and thrust into her again, finally allowing himself to climax. The two then rested quietly on the blanket, exhausted, both feeling a new level of intimacy and connection.

"We'll have you with child again soon," Percival promised, as he held his wife's hand and caressed her knuckles with his thumb.

XXXX

As the seasons changed, Ulrich committed himself to his training, but he spent a great deal of his free time with Carina. They shared supper together several nights per week.

Ulrich had seen Christiane in passing since the incident at the battlements. His heart had stopped aching when she waved or smiled at him from a distance, and he wondered if what he felt for her was ever really love, or just infatuation fueled by loneliness. Meanwhile, he found himself looking forward to his time with Carina a great deal, and came to appreciate her beauty and spirit more with each passing day.

After supper one evening, while seated at the dinner table, Ulrich presented Carina with a small bag filled with her favorite dessert, raspberry tarts. She groaned and rolled her eyes at the treat.

"What? You love these!" Ulrich insisted.

"Yes, but my dresses don't like them. Your desserts are making me fat," said Carina, and she patted her belly.

Ulrich shook his head dismissively. "Oh that is nonsense. You're quite fit."

"You think so?" she questioned. "Look at this!"

Much to Ulrich's astonishment, Carina stood and lifted her skirts to expose her belly. While the young man was rather shocked, he recognized immediately that he liked everything he saw; nothing was fat. In fact, every part of Carina's body on display looked amazing, including a gorgeous little belly button, creamy white skin, and the tantalizing outline of what lay beneath her undergarments. His cock throbbed at the mere thought.

"You…you can't just do that!" Ulrich stammered, as Carina continued to hold up the hems of her skirts.

He formulated a plan quickly. "Hmmm," he said, "actually, I can't tell how you look; you'll need to step closer so I can see more clearly." She approached Ulrich's seat, and he pretended to examine Carina carefully, then grabbed her by the waist and drew her into his lap.

"Your body is amazing, as are you," Ulrich whispered into her ear, and claimed her mouth with his own.

Carina was quite surprised; Ulrich had never been so forward. Though mesmerized for a moment by the sizzle of his kiss, the slight scrape of his unshaven jaw, and comfort of his lap, she tried to pull away.

"No. This isn't right. I won't be second best, I'm sorry."

Carina attempted to stand, but Ulrich held onto her firmly. He turned her face toward his with a gentle nudge of his hand and looked into her brown eyes, which appeared forlorn.

"You could never be second best," Ulrich promised. "You're stunningly beautiful, kind, smart, mischievous, and a little wild. You're incredible."

Carina's eyes reddened, and she couldn't stop a tear from escaping. "But you love my friend."

He shook his head, wiping away the tear. "I was lonely and infatuated. I know that now. I think of you each night and every morning. You, and only you."

"Please don't play with my feelings," Carina told him, still deeply uncertain.

"I would never do that. You mean far too much to me. "

"Let me think about things tonight," Carina told Ulrich, rising from his lap. "Can we see each other tomorrow?"

"I can come after evening patrol, if you'd like."

"Yes. That would be good."

Carina kissed his cheek and Ulrich departed, nervous, but hopeful.

He made it ten steps away from the cottage when he heard Carina call out from the doorway of her home. "I've thought about things!" she said. "I'd like you to come back."

Ulrich turned around and walked up to her slowly. She took his hand and led him back inside.

"Tonight, just kiss me," she said once they were indoors.

And he did, but nothing more.


	14. Chapter 13 Autumn Arrives

**A/N - During chapter twelve, Christiane recuperated and Ulrich and Carina began a close friendship. **

**Coming up in chapter thirteen, Carina gives young Ulrich quite the lesson, there's more big news, and we all get to attend the Harvest Festival. I wish I could really be there :)**

**Again, thank you for reading, you wonderful people!**

Chapter 13 - Autumn Arrives

King Arthur announced this year, the Harvest Festival would be held on the vast castle training field, open to all, with the king and queen both in attendance. This was a special occurrence, because while Arthur often opened the grounds for various festivals, he and Guinevere rarely attended larger events for any length of time, because he knew it put a great strain on the knights to provide security for an entire evening. But he felt this was a special occasion; Morgana and Mordred were dead and Camelot had begun to flourish. The king hoped this marked the beginning of peaceful and prosperous times.

The Harvest Festival coincided with Christiane's birthday. She felt incredibly lucky and excited that she would have the opportunity spend that day enjoying the festivities. Although she knew Percival would be busy with security detail, she'd have him to herself later that night. However, during the day and early evening, she and Carina would play games, drink, and feast.

Percival was in a bit of a quandary about what to give his wife as a birthday gift. He wanted to present her with something meaningful and thoughtful. The knight knew she was ecstatic about the festival falling on her birth anniversary, and he wanted to make sure her day was extra special. Percival decided to call on Carina for some ideas and help. He thought since Christiane was training with Gaius until later in the evening, he'd take a stroll down to Carina's cottage to see if he could have a word with her before supper time.

It was a gorgeous and cool autumn evening, and Percival was lost in thought as he ambled toward the cottage. As he drew closer, he took a quick glance into the window and saw that Carina clearly had a guest, and a male guest, at that. Percival didn't want to snoop, but upon closer inspection, he realized her companion was none other than Ulrich, and the two seemed to be sharing a rather cozy, intimate evening meal.

The large knight smiled to himself. "I'll be damned," he muttered under his breath. He then understood why Ulrich had been so pleasant and personable during the last few weeks.

Percival tried to depart silently, but as a knight himself, Ulrich was sensitive to furtive movements, and noticed someone skulking outside of Carina's window. Ulrich didn't have his sword with him, but he put his hand on his belt-dagger.

"I saw something outside," he told his dinner companion. "I'll be right back."

Percival saw Ulrich rise from the table, and knew he'd been caught. Ulrich walked outside and moved toward the older knight warily.

"Percival, are you here to see Carina?" asked Ulrich. "I'm sorry, I thought it might be an intruder."

Percival felt a bit embarrassed. "I just came down to talk to her about gift ideas for Christiane. But I can see you're busy; I'll come back a different time."

The corner of Ulrich's mouth turned up. It made him feel a little glad that the older knight was uncomfortable. "Really, it's just supper," Ulrich said casually. "We've been spending time together." He sighed. "That's a lie. I'm honestly quite mad for her."

Relief washed over Percival. For the past month or so, he'd still worried about the whole Ulrich-loves-Christiane idea. But if the young man was developing feelings for Carina, Percival could rest much easier now.

"Ha! That's great," the older knight declared. "But I wouldn't want to spoil your evening and intrude."

"Not at all. You know how Carina loves Christiane. She'd be happy to help."

Percival entered the cottage with Ulrich and Carina looked on with surprise. "Oh, are we to have a duel, right here in my home?" she joked, with a jovial clap of her hands. Ulrich explained why Percival had come to pay a visit.

"I have an idea!" Carina said with enthusiasm. "It'll be perfect."

Percival visited for a short while longer, discussing the proposed gift with Carina and how to obtain it. He even had a few sips of ale before he departed.

"Now that was interesting!" said Carina, the moment Percival had left. "No dirty looks or hostility. I'm glad to see you boys getting on!"

"You'll be even happier when you see what I brought for dessert," Ulrich told her. The young man opened his satchel, and removed a small assortment of crispels[5], the scent of rich pastry and sweet honey filling the room.

"I love these! But this is so unfair," Carina moaned from her seat at the table. "You know I'm going to eat them and get even fatter!"

From his chair, Ulrich pretended to study her midsection. "You may be right," he said with feigned seriousness. "Turn around and let me see your backside so I can judge more appropriately."

Carina knew he was joking but she stood and shook her rear at him; he laughed at her silliness. She then turned to face him again, and lifted her skirts as she had done once previously. Before she said a word, Ulrich grabbed the lovely Carina's waist, drew her close, and planted a solid kiss on her belly. He then slipped a finger under the edge of her undergarment, pulled it down just a fraction, and kissed one hip, then the other. Carina gasped, appearing to enjoy his touch. Ulrich slid his hands up along her ribs, and briefly brushed his hands against her breasts. He desperately wanted to keep touching her, but wasn't looking to get hit about the head with a cooking kettle.

"Would you like to do more than just kiss my hip?" Carina asked, as if she'd read his thoughts.

"More?" Ulrich asked, his voice shaking due to nerves.

"Can I ask, what have you done with a woman? Or, girl?" Carina remained inches from Ulrich face, skirts still lifted.

Ulrich felt embarrassed at that moment. After all, he was almost eighteen, and had virtually no experience with women.

"I've had a kiss or two with girls. I accidentally brushed against a breast once, but that's it," he told her, face flaming with awkwardness.

Carina dropped her skirts, sat in Ulrich's lap, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "If you'd like to do more, I'm a good teacher," she whispered in his ear. "Quite patient."

Ulrich was worried. As much as he wanted her to claim Carina's virginity that very second (and lose his own), he cared for her too much to dishonor her.

"Teach me what?" he asked

"Oral sex, silly. I'm not giving up my maidenhood to you just yet! And if you're a good pupil, I shall return the favor," she affirmed with a slight grin.

Ulrich's mouth went dry at the thought of getting up close and personal with Carina's most private parts. He had a working knowledge of what to do, thanks to Gwaine's endless stories of his mastery with women in bed (and elsewhere). The young knight felt both excited and scared to death. And the thought of having the favor returned was just about enough to make him dizzy.

"What if I'm bad at it?" he asked, feeling more inexperienced and foolish by the second.

"I know you won't be. Just listen to what I tell you and you'll be amazing. A man who kisses like you will be excellent." Carina paused for a moment, clearly considering something. "Unless you don't want to. I know some men don't like it."

"No, _no_, I want to. I really want to. Men who don't like it must be mad, I think." He gulped, nerves overtaking him. "I just want you to enjoy it and I'm worried you won't," he admitted.

"Why don't we remove some extra clothing, and then you can decide?" Carina suggested.

She stripped off her dress quickly, as it was a simple one without laces. Then, without taking off her sheer shift, she removed her undergarments and tossed them across the room. The fabric of the shift was so thin, Ulrich saw everything, noting the soft hair between Carina's legs was a shade darker than the hair on her head. And he was about to get closer to it.

"I'd suggest removing your shirt, at a minimum," she said.

Ulrich complied and tugged off his shirt. He stood there mutely for a moment, and decided to rid himself of his boots and trousers as well, and did so somewhat clumsily.

"Might as well get rid of the drawers, too," Carina said lightly.

Ulrich had never stood naked in front of a woman before, and the thought of tossing aside his drawers was quite anxiety-provoking. But he did it anyway.

"I must say, your body's rather exquisite. Very sexy," Carina observed as she circled him, tracing her finger lightly around his body as she moved. She positioned herself in front of him and placed her hands on his solid chest. "And that is the most gorgeous cock I've ever seen," she claimed.

Carina pressed her hips against his and tasted his lips hungrily. She then turned, wandered slowly over to her bed, and patted her mattress. "Now, come to my bed," she instructed, and Ulrich complied without hesitation.

"First," Carina told Ulrich as she reclined, "you want to spend some time kissing and touching before you dive between a woman's legs. So you'll want to kiss me," she offered, gesturing toward her lips. "Next, you could touch me here." Carina motioned toward her breasts. "And finally, here," she said, pointing toward her most sensitive area.

"Should I do this now?" Ulrich asked.

The scantily-clad woman grinned. "Yes. Now."

Ulrich climbed onto the bed and covered Carina's mouth with his own, gently prodding her lips open with his tongue. Then, in what he considered to be a daring move, he slipped his hand under the hem of her shift and caressed her breasts and lightly rolled her taut nipples between his fingers.

"Ah, that's nice," she complimented him. "Now, try your hand lower. Gently as first. If a woman feels wet, she's enjoying it." Carina looked him in the eye. "And I promise, I am enjoying it."

Ulrich took a deep breath and reached between her legs. It felt good, he noted, warm and silky. It reminded him of the underside of a lily pad. He gently explored her slick folds as he kissed her intently. Carina moaned and squirmed. Ulrich stopped suddenly.

"That means you're doing a good job," Carina told him. "Keep going."

After a few minutes of this activity, Ulrich was quite excited himself. Carina panted and gasped and she finally took his wrist to stop him. "Okay. Are you ready to try your tongue?"

Ulrich nodded nervously and kissed his way down her body to the dark-blonde hair between her legs.

"A few quick pointers before you begin," Carina said. "Focus most of your work here," she noted, pointing at the swollen center of her desire. "Use your tongue on it in circles, up and down, side to side, just don't stop."

He simply stared at her, awaiting further instructions.

"Well, have at it!" she ordered.

Ulrich was incredibly grateful for her detailed instructions. Still, he was nervous. "One last thing!" the young knight blurted out. "Will you let me know when you're ready to have an, um, you know..."

"An orgasm, Ulrich?"

From between Carina's thighs, he said, "Er, yes, that."

"Yes, I'll let you know," she responded with a smile.

Ulrich exhaled and touched his tongue gently to the apex of her folds. It was warm, salty, intoxicating, and he loved it. He thought she, and her entire body, were sweeter than straight honey.

Carina moaned, but he recalled this was a good sign, so Ulrich moved his tongue rhythmically against her. Within moments, she groaned louder, shifting and squirming, burying her hands in his hair and moving her hips against him. He somehow recalled her advice and slipped a hand up to her breast, kneading it and squeezing her nipple. She cried out, and Ulrich ceased his activity for a moment, assuming he had hurt her or done something wrong.

"Are you mad? Don't stop!" she instructed breathlessly.

Ulrich chuckled, relieved, and continued his attention to Carina's intimate parts.

Once again, she moved against him, breathing rapidly and whimpering. He slipped a finger inside of her, and moved it in and out as he continued to use his tongue against her. Carina was so tight and wet, the feeling so utterly incredible, Ulrich thought he might find his release himself, right then. She was so responsive it made him burn with need.

"Oh God, Ulrich!" she cried out a moment later.

He felt everything tense against his tongue and fingers; her orgasm then pulsed against him.

"God have mercy, you're incredible," she declared, once she'd caught her breath. "And you are certain you've never done this before?"

Ulrich shook his head.

"I'm surprised. You are absolutely very handy with that tongue of yours. I've never felt anything quite like that. Give me a minute to recuperate, and I'll be happy to return the favor."

"Only if you're sure," said Ulrich.

"Oh," she proclaimed with an excited gleam in her eye, "I am."

After taking a minute to compose herself and offering Ulrich something to drink, Carina told him to lie back against the pillows. "Unless you'd prefer to stand," she said.

"No," Ulrich told her. "I'd be likely to fall over."

Ulrich positioned himself on the bed. He had an idea about how it might feel, but didn't actually know what to expect.

"Wait, before you start, I should warn you, this, uh, this probably won't very long. At all. Should I tell you when, um, when…"

"Just lie there and let me do the work, will you?" Carina joked.

She settled herself between Ulrich's legs and took his cock in her hand. "Very, very nice," she complimented, before she took his length into her mouth and moved quickly up and down it.

Ulrich assumed, erroneously, this event would take a few minutes. Instead, he realized he'd be lucky to last a minute, at best. Just as he thought he was about to climax, hips bucking against Carina as he groaned loudly, she slowed down the pace and used her mouth more gently. Once he'd settled, she resumed the ministrations. After a few rounds of this, several minutes later, Ulrich could no longer hold off. The touch of her eager tongue and her warm, wet mouth was more than he could endure. The feel of her soft hair in his hands, her scent, like wildflowers, it all drove him mad. He tried to warn her that his release was imminent, but he was completely tongue tied, and came with a loud sigh.

Carina didn't seemed the least bit offended by this, and took a sip of mead from the small table next to the bed when they were through.

"Was it all you'd hoped it would be?" she asked jokingly, resting against his muscled and inviting chest.

"It was a thousand times more than I thought it would be! Can we do it all again?" said Ulrich, stroking her hair as she lay nestled against his body.

"Yes, but I need a spot of rest first."

They fell asleep on Carina's bed, wrapped in each other's arms.

And they did it again that night. Two more times, as a matter of fact.

XXXX

Harvest Festival preparations were in full-swing, and the castle bustled with activity. It seemed as if everyone in the kingdom was baking, cooking, decorating, or planning. While King Arthur and Queen Guinevere made it clear they would provide food (including the traditional roast goose), drink, and entertainment, it was customary for people to bring their own special dishes, or other contributions, such as musical instruments, horseshoes, marbles, lengths of rope for tug-of-war, and nine pins. Those with more resources brought extra for the poor; it was truly a community event.

Even Gaius, who often felt there was "precious little time for such frivolity," allowed Christiane to decorate the infirmary with some harvest vegetables.

Though Gaius had the tendency to be dour and serious at times, Christiane loved training with the old physician. While Merlin was very occupied these days trying to help Arthur establish new and reasonable rules legalizing the use of magic in Camelot, Gaius had begun to rely on Christiane more and more. Not only was he a true fountain of information and knowledge, he was a kind, compassionate, patient man.

"Gaius, you'll go to the Harvest Festival tomorrow, won't you?" asked Christiane, as she decorated the chamber.

He sighed heavily. "I suppose I shall. Inevitably, someone gets hurt at these types of gatherings."

"Oh, good, you'll save a dance for me then," Christiane teased.

"Would you have me break a hip?" Gaius asked testily. "I think not!" But Christiane swore she saw a faint smile on his lips.

XXXX

The excitement of the Harvest Festival, scheduled to begin in only a few hours, was palpable throughout the kingdom. By early afternoon, tables would be set, games in full swing, delectable and plentiful food available, and the drinks would flow freely. It was as if all of Camelot had woken exceptionally early in anticipation.

However for most of the knights, it was a day like many others, as they were needed to maintain order and security. Yet the food was certain to be better than the somewhat bland, regular fare they consumed during meal breaks. Gwaine declared he loved roast goose so much, he'd eat ten plates full. Percival countered he'd eat twenty. Gwaine shot back that he'd eat thirty. The final number ended up somewhere around fifty.

Percival dressed for the day in his usual chainmail, gambeson, and scarlet cape bearing the Pendragon crest while his wife looked on from their bed. She thought he seemed so powerful, so beautiful, that her heart ached with love. How she felt about him, whether he was twenty or eighty, it would never change. He would always remain her strong, capable, loving husband, no matter the circumstances; of this, she was certain.

"You look quite pensive," Percival commented.

Christiane blushed slightly. "I was just thinking about how much I love you."

"And I, you. I'll see you down on the grounds for the celebration in a couple of hours," he said, leaning over the bed to kiss her goodbye. "And before I miss the chance, happy birthday, love. I have a gift for you, but I'll give it to you this evening," he noted before departing.

XXXX

A few hours later, the festivities began in earnest. It was late morning and the castle grounds were already swarming with Camelot's people. Dozens upon dozens of tables draped with harvest cloths and decorations could be found, in addition to tents which provided some respite from the bright sun. Various game and contest stations were scattered about, offering activities for the young and old. The musicians played upbeat tunes, and later, after a good deal of mead was drunk, people would dance. It was a fine autumn day.

By chance, Ulrich and Percival were assigned to the same section of the castle grounds for security patrol. They stood off at a distance, watching the children play a game of tag, while remaining alert for any trouble. Two young girls, no older than four or five, sat on the ground, crying, obviously unhappy with the rough turn the game had taken. Right then, Christiane and Carina swept in, each picking up a little girl and carrying her around piggyback. The women ran and ducked as they carried the little ones, striving to avoid the hands of eager young boys. The tiny girls laughed, squealed and everyone appeared to be having a grand time once again.

Ulrich looked wistful. "She's such a beauty," he said under his breath, but Percival heard the comment, and immediately stiffened. Ulrich glanced over at him, confused. "What? No, oh, _no_, I meant Carina." He added quickly, "But of course, your wife is lovely, too."

Percival relaxed and clapped the younger knight on the shoulder, chuckling. "And what are you planning on doing with such a beauty?"

"Can you keep a secret?" Ulrich asked. Percival nodded in agreement. "I bought a ring from Marsilia yesterday. Tonight, I'm going to ask for Carina's hand. I have the ring in my belt pouch and I can't stop thinking about it!" The young knight explained himself further. "Carina's father just sent word that he won't be returning from his expedition for _another_ year now, and I can't wait that long to ask for permission. I sent him a letter, though."

"That's really something!" exclaimed Percival.

"It is," Ulrich agreed. "I hope she'll say yes. I'm a little worried, because we've talked about traveling abroad and going on trading missions, like her father. She's a shrewd saleswoman and I know about weaponry, but we wouldn't be able to travel together for some time." He paused to take a breath. "She may want excitement and adventure now when she's young. So, I'm not sure what she'll say."

"I have a feeling you give her the excitement she wants," teased Percival. The older knight then became more serious. "Truly, put in a few more years as a knight, then travel, and raise some children; I know Carina would be happy with that. And with you."

"You know, you wanted to see me dead not so long ago," Ulrich observed.

"Nah, I'm too busy trying to get my wife pregnant these days. That'll be you soon, too." Percival shoved the younger knight playfully, and they resumed their patrol.

The day of fun and festivities carried on. Christiane performed well in the archery contest and both she and Carina had an excellent time playing horseshoes. As the sun began to set, musicians started to play songs designed for dancing, and the two friends frolicked happily. They knew soon, the castle staff would begin to bring out dishes of roast goose, batter-fried vegetables, goat cheese cakes, and spiced nettle soup, as well as a variety of pies and tarts. Afterward, they'd be too stuffed to move, so they enjoyed their dancing while they could.

Once thoroughly exhausted, Carina and Christiane left the dancing area for a spot of cider to quench their thirst. Percival and Ulrich came up behind each woman, grasping her by the waist. The young ladies shrieked in surprise, but promptly realized who'd taken hold of them.

"We just wanted to say a quick hello before returning to our duties," Percival said to his wife. "Are you having a good birthday?"

"It's been wonderful," she told him. "Though it will be even better once you're off duty later." She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Ulrich spun Carina around. "My patrol ends directly after the feast. Do you think you can make some time for me then?"

She sighed. "If I must..." she said teasingly. "Of course I will! I've missed you today."

Ulrich and Percival bid their ladies farewell and returned to their stations.

Carina and Christiane made their way to a nearby table and took their seats, ready to indulge in a delicious meal. However, King Arthur had a few words to share with the sizable crowd first.

"Citizens of Camelot, I welcome you to the annual Harvest Festival," announced Arthur from the head table, rising to his feet. "This year is special, as we have gained so much and are growing and prospering as a kingdom. I am honored to call myself king of such a strong, loyal, kind community. You humble me with your good deeds and valuable contributions to Camelot.

"Before we begin, let us bow our heads in remembrance of those we have lost this past year." A moment of complete silence ensued. King Arthur raised his head once again. "Queen Guinevere and I thank you for attending. Let's enjoy this delicious feast!"

"Long live the king! Long live the queen!" the attendees cheered, then tucked into their scrumptious meals.

All was well. For the moment.

* * *

[5] A crispel is a fried, round pastry basted in honey, popular during medieval times. honey, popular during medieval times.


	15. Chapter 14 A Knight's Loss and Gain

**A/N - Well, Carina and Ulrich had quite the time together! Do you think their relationship will last? And I would love to be at Camelot's Harvest Festival. I can just imagine being there.**

**I want to warn you, during chapter fourteen, there's an significant injury and a fairly graphic description of a medical procedure. Someone we know and love is going to be hurt...badly. You're definitely going to see some very significant changes, both upsetting and happy. Also, this chapter is definitely one of the longer ones. **

**I appreciate your continued support! Those reviews mean everything to me.**

Chapter 14 – A Knight's Loss and Gain

The feast carried on splendidly as the autumn sky darkened and the full moon appeared. The castle staff lit several pit fires near the feast tables to provide some light and help dispel the chill that crept in slowly. And the citizens of Camelot raved about the delectable food, plentiful drink, and lively entertainment.

Along with many other knights, Ulrich spent most of his time roaming by the head tables, assuring everything was in order, while Percival was further afield.

As Ulrich patrolled behind the king and queen, he sensed something unusual about the way one of the helmeted knights carried himself, as well as the man next to him. Since their faces were obscured by the metal of their helms, he was unsure of their identities.

In a flash, both men in question ran toward the king and queen, swords drawn. Ulrich unsheathed his weapon, raced forward, and slit the first man's throat from ear to ear; the trespasser fell to the ground. The young knight then spun around, and with the strength of both hands, Ulrich drove his sword's blade into the other intruder's gut, up to the hilt, twisting the weapon violently after it had punctured the soft flesh.

However, in a final burst of energy, the dying interloper brought his sword down full-strength against Ulrich's left arm, severing it clean off, just above the elbow where the knight's chainmail had bunched. The trespasser then fell, Ulrich's sword still protruding from his midsection.

That is when the screams began, shattering the calm of the crisp and previously-festive autumn night.

At first, Ulrich wasn't certain why the screaming continued. After all, both would-be assassins lay dead and the threat likely over. It took him a long moment to realize the blood he saw splattered everywhere was mostly his own. As was the severed arm lying in the grass by his feet.

Arthur ran over and caught Ulrich before he fell. As the king did so, Christiane entered healer-mode, tore the hem of her skirt and immediately fashioned a tourniquet for Ulrich's hemorrhaging arm.

Leon and Gwaine approached the royal couple and insisted Arthur and Guinevere return to the castle with them forthwith, since they were unsure if more attackers were present and the area needed to be secured.

Other knights tried their best to quell the crowd's rising panic and escorted everyone away from the field toward their homes, promising to provide updates later.

It all happened quickly, and Percival was so far down the field when the screams began, he wasn't sure what occurred. When he finally came upon the scene, he saw Ulrich in his wife's arms, both covered in blood, Carina sobbing, and the young knight's severed arm on the ground. Gaius was still making his way over.

Percival stepped in, and lifted the shocked and bloodied Ulrich from his wife's hold. "Gaius, Christiane, Carina, let's get him to the infirmary straight away!" he ordered, trying to remain calm. "We haven't much time."

Percival ran toward the castle at top-speed with a limp Ulrich in his arms. The young knight looked up at him with confused eyes.

"I beg you, take off the tourniquet," said Ulrich. "I don't want to live like this. Please let me die."

"Nonsense," Percival panted, huffing with exertion as he raced for the infirmary. "Let's just get to Gaius's chambers. You have a proposal to make later anyway."

Ulrich was too weak to argue.

Percival arrived at Gaius's quarters before anyone else, kicked open the thick wooden door, and placed Ulrich down on the examination table carefully. The younger knight's face was so white and bloodless, Percival was certain his comrade never make it, and felt it was his duty to make the dying man's last moments as comfortable as possible.

"When Carina accepts your marriage proposal later, do you plan on telling her you'd like a small army of little knights from her?"

Ulrich smiled feebly at his large friend, but didn't have the strength respond.

Percival was nervous, so he continued talking. "Just remember, if you have any questions about how to perform in the marriage bed, Gwaine will be happy to provide tips. For many, many hours."

Ulrich's eyes had begun to flicker closed.

"No!" Percival commanded. "You must stay awake for another moment. Gaius and Christiane will be here to help any time."

"Percival," said Ulrich in a barely audible whisper, his speech thick and slow. "Tell Carina I love her."

Still standing over the young knight, Percival shook his head. "You can tell her yourself."

Ulrich began to speak again, but his voice was so weak Percival had to lean down to hear the man.

"Tell her I love her and I'll always love her. Please…"

Seconds later, Carina, Gaius, and Christiane burst into the room.

Gaius issued authoritative orders. "We have but once choice; we must cauterize the wound. Christiane, place the flat iron into the fire immediately!"

As Christiane grabbed the iron and thrust it into the blazing hearth, Carina sobbed, "We must find Merlin! His magic..."

"Merlin's visiting with his mother in Ealdor," Gaius said softly. "It's up to us now."

The physician then turned to Percival. "As quickly as you can, fetch a knight, or any strong man to help hold Ulrich down," he ordered. "I'm going to give him a large dose of valerian and belladonna, but it won't be enough."

Moments after Gaius forced the tincture into Ulrich's mouth, Percival returned to the infirmary with Gwaine, who looked upon his ashen-faced, bloodied, half-conscious comrade with wide eyes.

Gaius continued with his orders. "Gwaine, Percival, please hold Ulrich down as best you can. It will take two rounds with the iron to cauterize the entire wound, each application lasting three to four seconds. And he'll fight you," cautioned Gaius, "so be prepared."

The physician then jammed a wooden dowel between Ulrich's teeth so the young knight would have something to bite down on during this horrible ordeal. As he did so, Gaius turned to the women. "Carina, stand by his head and reassure him. Christiane, I'll need you to apply the iron. Now, please."

Christiane gulped hard, feeling completely overwhelmed and woefully unprepared, but knew this was part of a healer's work and had to be done.

The knights held Ulrich down. Carina tenderly placed her hands on the sides of the injured man's head, whispering gentle reassurances to him. Christiane removed the tourniquet and immediately pulled the iron from the fire, then pressed the scorching-hot metal to the bloody stump of Ulrich's arm, sizzling his flesh. She counted to four as the man thrashed violently, spit out the biting stick, and screamed in agony. The young knight began to gag uncontrollably as Christiane removed the iron.

"He's going to vomit; roll him on his side, now!" Gaius commanded with authority.

Percival and Gwaine rolled Ulrich over as the desperately-injured knight threw up onto the floor.

Except Gaius, every person in the room shook with apprehension and fear. They were all well aware that knights rarely survived limb amputation. And if they somehow lived through the initial devastating injury and blood loss, fever and infection claimed often the men shortly thereafter. Ulrich's prognosis was grim.

"That iron needs to go back in the fire immediately," the experienced physician ordered.

Incredibly nervous, Christiane put the iron back in the flame.

"One last time," said Gaius softly. "Then, the worst will be over."

Christiane shook with nerves as she applied the iron to the wound once again.

"Please, I beg you!" Ulrich shrieked frantically.

One, two, three, four, it was done, and Ulrich passed out from excruciating pain.

Gaius examined the cauterized flesh up close. "The wound is sealed now," he noted. "He's less likely to get an infection with the cauterization, but I'll keep him here with me for several days to observe him and help control the pain. He's lost a good deal of blood and his health is still at risk."

Gaius turned toward his tall medicine cabinet and rummaged around. After combing the shelves, he presented his helpers with small vials filled with golden liquid. "I insist everyone drink this tonic for the nerves," said the physician, dispensing the medicine. "I truly hope you never see anything worse than this in your lives. You were all very brave."

The friends stood there, silent, feeling overwhelmed and helpless, completely unsure of what to say or do. But they obeyed Gaius and drank the liquid.

"Our friend will likely rouse soon," Gaius went on to say, "but he will need some peace and quiet tonight. You may all come back tomorrow."

Ulrich's eyes fluttered open and his gaze settled on Percival. "Why?" the young knight asked simply.

Every head in the room turned to face the massive knight. Percival knew what Ulrich was asking. Why had he allowed him to live?

"What's he asking?" Carina wanted to know.

Percival waited a few moments before answering. "I'm not sure," he replied, though he knew exactly what the young knight was asking.

Ulrich rolled onto his side, his back turned toward everyone. "Leave me now," he muttered.

Gaius nodded, and the friends filed out of room, even the sobbing Carina. Christiane put her arm around her dear friend.

"You know, I think this is the perfect time to get rightly pissed," suggested Gwaine. "I happen to be in possession of a large quantity of mead in my chambers. Anyone with me?"

No one said a word; they simply followed Gwaine.

"I don't want my birthday gift today," Christiane told Percival on the way to get drunk. "I want it on a different day. A happier one."

He squeezed her hand lightly in understanding.

The blood-splattered friends entered the room without a word, and sat on the floor in a circle in front of the fireplace while Gwaine poured tankards of mead, distributed them, and then sat down with his own. "To Ulrich!" Gwaine said, tankard held high.

Everyone repeated after him and drank.

A couple of hours passed filled with imbibing. The event started out very somber, but eventually, the mead loosened tongues, as it is wont to do. Gwaine told the story of how he'd bet Ulrich ten gold coins that the man couldn't hit a fleeing rabbit with his arrow from five hundred paces, but the talented young archer struck the animal. Percival told the group about how they'd convinced Ulrich as a new knight, he had to wear his breeches backwards for the first week of training. Poor Ulrich had done so for two days until Leon informed him it was a joke.

Carina, quite intoxicated by this time, looked around at her friends. "I taught him how to use his tongue on a woman," she boasted to the group, "and he's excellent at it!"

Everyone stopped and stared for a moment, unsure how to react.

Finally, Gwaine burst out cackling. "Can you teach me? That would be a great lesson," he roared, quite drunk himself.

"Word has it you need no help in that area." Carina countered. "Your prowess is almost legendary."

They all collapsed with laughter. Until Carina began to cry. Christiane drew her best friend into a close hug, and Gwaine leaned over to squeeze the sobbing young woman's arm gently in support.

"I'm sorry, but I love Ulrich. I really do," Carina confessed, voice cracking with emotion. "And I'm going to tell him tomorrow. Arm or no, I love him."

"You should tell him," Christiane said, holding her friend close. "That's something he needs to hear right now."

Percival desperately wanted to comfort Carina and tell her about the conversation he'd had earlier with Ulrich, how the young knight had planned to propose marriage. But Percival didn't know if it was the right thing to do, so he remained silent.

Carina stood, teetering. "I'd like to go home now," the intoxicated young woman announced.

Everyone else stood, too, all somewhat wobbly-legged. Christiane, Percival, and Gwaine agreed they'd walk Carina home. In reality, they half-staggered Carina home. The friends sat with a weepy Carina in her cottage until she fell into a fitful sleep, then departed quietly.

On the short walk back to the castle, Christiane and Percival sauntered arm-in-arm. Gwaine studied the couple.

"I need to find what you two have," he admitted with his drink-loosened tongue. "Spending time with different women...it's just not fun anymore."

Christiane smiled, albeit a tad drunkenly. "Gwaine, when you're ready to settle down with one woman, you'll have your pick of the lot, I assure you. You just need to find the right woman to tame your heart!"

As they entered the castle, Gwaine sighed. "I suppose you're right. Be grateful that tonight, you get to share a bed with someone you love."

A morose Gwaine was very unusual, and Percival and Christiane felt for him as he wandered toward his chambers.

Christiane and Percival were quite intoxicated, and should have been exhausted, given the type of evening they had, but instead, energy, probably adrenaline, coursed through their veins.

Christiane grabbed the fabric at the front of Percival's shirt as they entered their chambers. "I want you. Badly," she told her husband.

Percival excused himself to use the privy, assuring his wife he'd be back momentarily. When he entered the room again, he found Christiane up on all fours on the bed, stark naked, arse facing him. He knew she must be quite drunk. While she was enthusiastic in bed, this was more so than usual.

She turned her head around slightly and faced him. "Come here you big, sexy knight. I want your huge cock in me. From behind."

_Yes_, Percival thought, _very drunk._

"I think you're quite drunk. Maybe we should wait..."

Christiane waved off her husband's comment. "No. You're going to do it hard and fast. But first, I want you to do something for me."

He was slightly scared, and a bit intrigued. "What exactly would you have me do?"

"First," Christiane slurred, "take off those silly clothes. Then, I want to see how you touch yourself."

Percival had started to undress, but when he heard the last part of her demand, he felt a bit ill at ease. "I don't know if that's such a great idea," he said.

"Why not?" Christiane asked. "I'll go first."

She turned her arse toward him again and reached between her legs, touching herself, rubbing the center of her sex over and over. It was the most provocative and stimulating thing Percival had ever seen. He approached her, now naked himself. Still on hands and knees, she turned to face him again. "Now you."

Percival concluded it was only fair and grabbed his erection and stroked it, gasping a little, biting his lower lip, hoping his wife would take over.

Christiane watched for a moment, noting he handled himself with more force than she normally did. She then turned away from him, still on all fours, smacking her own arse, inviting him inside of her.

Fairly intoxicated, Percival climbed onto the bed and rose to his knees behind Christiane. He fumbled for a moment, then steadied himself by grabbing her hips roughly and plunged into his wife, thrusting hard and fast. Christiane touched herself as he did so, moaning and calling out to Percival with excitement.

"Oh, that is so good. Harder!"

He complied, but was also worried he was hurting her. But the half-drunk knight figured it couldn't be so bad, as he felt her orgasm grip him and she screamed out his name as she'd never done before. A few more thrusts and he'd found his release as well.

Christiane turned over onto her back, spent. Percival looked down and noticed bruises darkening on her hips where he'd grabbed her, and instantly felt shame. He ran his fingers over the marks.

"I've hurt you," he murmured.

"Where?" she asked, and glanced at her hips. "Oh, that's nothing. I've done worse to your back with my nails." Her eyes drooped closed. "Just hold me while we sleep. I'm quite drunk."

"I noticed," said Percival, grinning.

He then pulled up the bed sheets around them. "I know you said you didn't want your gift today, but would you reconsider? It might be useful."

Christiane's light snores answered the question. He'd wait until tomorrow.

XXXX

Morning arrived, clear and much cooler. While the previous evening had been filled with anxiety and sadness, like an excited child, Percival couldn't want to give Christiane her present. He woke her gently, and she groaned in response.

"I feel as if a thousand rats are gnawing at my brain," she said, with her eyes shut tightly.

Percival laughed. Fortunately, he felt fine. Not that he was a big drinker, but he had more experience imbibing than his wife.

He searched through the wardrobe for Gaius's hangover concoction and handed it to Christiane, who, as Gaius always suggested, drank it down in one fast gulp. As she finished the liquid and made a face as if she'd drunk something heinous and sour, Percival placed a large item draped with a sheet on the bed.

"Here's your present," he announced. "Happy birthday, love."

Christiane couldn't imagine what lay underneath. Feeling slightly better and excited now, she removed the covering and saw a large, rounded bag: a medicine bag, made of fine leather. She inhaled sharply; she never thought she'd have her own, and nothing so fine.

"This is Gaius-approved," Percival explained. "Take a look inside."

Christiane opened the latch with great care, and found the bag well-stocked with all the necessities for healing work: scissors, droppers, pliers, linen, and a suture kit. It also contained many common herbs and tinctures, such as sticklewort, comfrey, valerian, arnica, willow bark, marshmallow, mint, belladonna, agrimony, and yarrow.

Christiane was absolutely shocked. "Percival, this means more than I can say. It's a beautiful gift, thoughtful, and shows you support my work. I can never thank you enough for this." She threw her arms around him in thanks.

Percival was slightly surprised; certainly he supported his wife. Her happiness and joy meant everything to him.

"Of course I support you," he said.

Percival kissed Christiane, pleased that his wife liked her gift. The man then changed the subject, as he was somewhat flustered by her emotional response.

"I was talking to Leon a few days ago," he offered, "before all this chaos, and he mentioned his family owns a small cottage by the sea, rarely used. Once we've had this attack all sorted out, I was wondering if you'd like to take a night or so and visit. Leon said he would love it if someone made some use of the place; no one in his family has been there in more than a year. I thought it might be nice to take a short journey together," said Percival with a casual shrug. "It's only about a half-day's ride. And it's quite a peaceful place, I take it."

Christiane's eyes grew wide. "I've never been to the sea," she admitted. "How ridiculous since it's only a few hours away. I would love to go! I want to eat fresh crab," she declared with excitement.

Percival chuckled. "All right, then. Fresh crab, it is. And clams and mussels." He mentioned, "If you can ask Gaius about time off, I'm certain I can be granted a few days leave, as I've never taken any."

"You have no idea how excited I am! This will be a wonderful trip." Christiane's face fell as she remembered Ulrich's suffering. "But we need to wait until Ulrich is...better. It wouldn't be fair to leave him in such a state."

"I agree," said Percival. "I have to dress for a council meeting shortly, but I want to visit him beforehand. Shall we go?"

"Yes."

Christiane and Percival arrived at the infirmary and found Carina already outside the door, leaning against the stone wall and sobbing.

"What's going on?" Christiane asked, approaching her friend, grasping the young woman's hands in support, worried Ulrich had taken a turn for the worse.

"Ulrich dismissed me," Carina wept. "I tried to visit him, and he told me to go away, he didn't want to see anyone. Gaius is talking to him right now, but I don't think it's going to help."

"Let me try talking to him," Percival offered.

He entered the chamber and saw a miserable-looking Ulrich in bed, pale as a ghost with dark black circles underneath his eyes. Percival had seen dead men look better.

"You!" Ulrich bellowed at Percival, as the injured man sat up, jabbing an angry finger in the large knight's direction. "Just get away from me! Why didn't you let me die last night when I asked? Begged? Now, I have to live like this." Ulrich brandished the stump of his arm. "I don't want to see you or anyone!"

Ulrich struggled to his feet. "Tomorrow, once I can walk about, I'm going straight to the king to ask him to relieve me of my duties, and I'm leaving Camelot. For good! I'll not burden anyone with my damaged body."

He paused to take a breath; it appeared as if his speech had sapped most of his energy. "Did you hear me? OUT!" he roared.

Gaius broke in. "Why don't the two of us step outside for a moment, Percival?"

The physician and Percival then exited the room while a teary-eyed Carina sat in the corridor with Christiane. Clearly, Carina had heard every word of Ulrich's declaration.

"Ulrich's had a terrible loss and is still in a great deal of pain," Gaius explained to the three friends. "He's going to need time, but he'll come 'round. He'll realize he loves Camelot and we want him here."

Carina was inconsolable. "Do you think King Arthur can convince Ulrich to stay?"

"Arthur visited the infirmary earlier this morning," said Gaius. "The king thanked Ulrich over and over again for his bravery and sacrifice. And Arthur all but insisted that Ulrich return to his duties as a knight as soon as he's sufficiently healed. The king said, 'Ulrich, even with one arm, you're still more skilled than most.'" Gaius patted Carina's arm gently. "I'm sure Ulrich will take that into consideration before making any rash decisions.

"Best to let him rest for now and try visiting again tomorrow."

Carina, Christiane, and Percival walked away silently, with aching hearts.

XXXX

The following morning, Carina woke feeling frustrated. Angry, even. She dressed and set out for the castle with haste, ready to give Ulrich what-for. Carina didn't care if the man had one arm. She wouldn't care if he was poor as a beggar. She loved him, and that was all that mattered. Carina was determined to make the man see reason.

The miffed young woman barged right into the infirmary without an invitation, but she found the room empty and silent. The physician strolled in moments later.

"Ah, looking for Ulrich," said Gaius. "He had an audience with the king earlier and I believe he's in his quarters now."

Carina muttered a brief thanks and descended the stairs to Ulrich's chambers. She simply threw open the heavy wooden door to find Ulrich's large traveling bag open on his bed, and the man packing all his worldly possessions.

"What the hell is going on?" she demanded, as she stormed inside of the chamber.

"I'm leaving, Carina. I can't stay here like this," Ulrich asserted, continuing to pack, motioning to his partially-missing limb with his in-tact arm.

Carina appeared to swell with fury. "Oh. Is that how it is? Were you going to be man enough to stop and say goodbye?" she raged, now inches away from him.

He couldn't look at her. "Yes. I was. On the way out of town. Arthur generously gave me a horse to take on my travels."

"And on your way out of town, had you thought at all to ask me to go with you? After all those late-night talks of travel and adventure," she stepped even closer, practically pressed against Ulrich as she spat out, "in my BED?"

"No," said Ulrich, attempting to sound as detached as possible, when he actually felt as if his heart was bleeding.

Hearing this simple declaration, Carina felt defeated and her shoulders slumped. "Did you ever care for me at all? I love you, Ulrich. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I do. How can you do this to me?"

Ulrich thought about the betrothal ring still in his belt pouch. "Do what, exactly?" he shouted. "Leave you with the burden of dealing with a one-armed former knight?"

He was perspiring and wan; Carina was concerned.

Her tone softened. "Can't you stay a little longer? Until you're better healed?" she asked, lightly.

Ulrich drew away from her sharply. "Woman, can't you see this is killing me? I love you," he admitted, tearful. "More than anything or anyone I have ever known. That's why I cannot stay here. You need to live a full life with someone whole."

"Why don't I get to decide what I want? I don't give a damn that you have one arm. I'm terribly sorry that happened, that you're suffering, but it doesn't change my feelings for you. If anything, it demonstrates your heroism and bravery, and that's to be commended and respected."

Ulrich knew he needed to leave that instant before he lost his nerve. In his mind, he could now never be the husband Carina deserved, and no amount of rational discourse could change his mind.

"Goodbye, Carina," he concluded, as he tried to brush past her with his bag.

Carina was enraged that he could just leave her without a thought. Arm or no arm, she grabbed his shirt, pulled him toward her and backhanded him across the face. "Damn you, bastard!"

Clearly, she was furious with him. _Good__,_ Ulrich thought. _Maybe she'll forget me more easily__._

He extracted himself from her grip, said nothing more, and left.

Carina followed him out into the corridor. "I'm going to wait for you, you son-of-a-bitch!" she called out.

Ulrich never glanced back.

Severed arm burning and cramping, he walked away to the stables, mounted his horse, and set off to leave Camelot. He hoped to never set eyes on the damn kingdom again.

XXXX

Ulrich rode east for hours through the dense forest, blinded by his tears and ashamed of them. The previous night, through a haze of pain and misery, he'd resolved to travel to the coast and take a ship across the Narrow Sea, leaving Camelot for good. Perhaps he'd go to the Frankish Kingdom or Vasconia, maybe even as far as Persia. He had plenty of coin for such a voyage, as he'd saved most of his wages and Arthur had insisted he take a substantial gift for his services and dedication. Once he arrived at the coastline, he'd sell the horse or give her away; the pained young man simply didn't care.

As night fell, Ulrich knew his horse required rest, and the knight made camp in a small, isolated clearing in the woods. Frustrated by how difficult and slow the fire-making process was with only one arm, he flung his flint into the cold fire pit.

"Fucking hell! Fucking bastard! I fucking hate you!" he screamed into the empty night. "Why me, damn it?"

Suddenly, Ulrich thought he heard a whisper from the foliage that sounded like: "Forbearnan[6]," and a bright fire blazed forth in the circle of stones he'd arranged on the ground.

He withdrew his sword from his belt, feeling an undercurrent of fear, as he realized he'd never fought one-armed before.

"It's okay," a kind voice called out from the trees. "It's just me, Merlin." The young warlock stepped forth and revealed himself, and Ulrich sighed with relief.

"Mind if I have seat?" Merlin requested politely.

Ulrich relaxed and sheathed his sword. "Not at all. Feel free," he offered, gesturing toward the now-blazing fire.

Merlin sat close to the flames and warmed his hands. "I'm on my way back to Camelot from Ealdor," he explained. "I heard about your arm and I'm sorry. What you did was very brave."

Ulrich was slightly taken aback. "How could you possibly know?"

Merlin shrugged. "Word travels fast in wizarding circles." He paused. "Can I ask what you're doing all the way out here?"

Ulrich stared at his visitor. "It seems as if you already know the answer."

"I have some sense of what's going on with you, but I hardly know everything. It's just that... I lost a great love once," Merlin admitted. "But I had no choice in the matter. I'd hate to see you throw away something special."

Ulrich was intrigued. "Will you tell me about her?"

Merlin went on to tell Ulrich the story of his love for Freya, a beautiful druid girl whom he'd saved from the savage bounty hunter, Halig. However, Freya was cursed to turn into a Bastet each night: a massive, black, cat-like creature with wings and a thirst for killing. Several of Camelot's inhabitants died at her hand while she was in this form, and Arthur dealt her a mortal blow when she was in her altered state.

Merlin choked up. "Freya and I had plans to leave Camelot, find a little cottage near a peaceful lake, and grow old together. Instead, I was forced to give her a funeral.

"I miss her terribly and have never fallen in love again. I don't know if I can," he admitted with great sorrow.

"That's terrible, Merlin," said Ulrich sincerely.

"It was. But I have a question for you… How can you willingly leave someone you love so much?" asked Merlin. "Or, do you not really love Carina?"

Ulrich felt intensely angered by the man's inquiry. "I love her! More than anything!" He once again fumbled for the betrothal ring in his pouch. "I was planning to ask for her hand a few days ago," he said, brandishing the piece of jewelry. "I'm leaving _because_ I love her. Because I don't want her to live a life feeling ashamed and obligated to me."

Merlin studied the young knight before he spoke. "Did she tell you she was ashamed? Or that she didn't want to be with you any longer?"

Ulrich sighed and poked at the forest floor with a stick before. "No," he mumbled. "Nothing like that. Quite the opposite, in fact."

"You love her, and she loves you. I fail to see the problem here," said Merlin, sounding somewhat perplexed.

"You don't understand, Merlin…"

"Then help me understand."

"It doesn't matter if I love Carina or she loves me," argued Ulrich. "She shouldn't have to be burdened with someone so damaged. What would people think of her for marrying someone who isn't whole? She could have her pick of the kingdom when it comes to men. She's young and beautiful… Carina has her entire life ahead of her. It would be best if she found someone else."

"I see," Merlin stated. "So, the man who lost his arm in saving the king AND queen's life, a hero in the eyes of the citizens of Camelot, that man's somehow not good enough for Carina? How silly of me not to see that."

"It's not like that, Merlin!"

"Ah, then forgive me for being so foolish."

"You've no idea what you're talking about!" Ulrich snapped. "No one sees me in that way…as a hero. Least of all myself."

"Yes, they do."

Merlin was wearing-down Ulrich. The young knight rested his head in his hand and sighed. "Merlin… What do you want from me?"

"Just to talk is all."

The two talked for many hours, well into the night. Merlin had a talent for listening and gently swaying people to his way of thinking. After a great deal of discussion, serious debate, and some tears, Ulrich realized his thoughts had been clouded by pain and trauma, and he'd been a selfish fool.

"I just want my arm back," the young knight said sadly. "And to shoot again. I want my old life back," he fretted, "and I know I can't have it. That's what's killing me. That, and the pain."

Merlin nodded his head slowly in understanding. "Have you decided to return to Camelot, then?"

"Yes," Ulrich capitulated. "In the morning, after a touch of sleep."

"That's what I wanted to hear."

After a moment of quiet passed before Merlin spoke again. "You know, magic has its benefits. I can perform a spell that'll help reduce your pain greatly. And when we get back to Camelot, I can create a false arm for you. You'd have to strap it on each morning, but you'd be able to hold a bow at least. You may not be quite the skilled shooter you were before, but it's something."

"You'd do that?" Ulrich asked brightly, feeling hopeful for the first time in days. Merlin nodded. "Thank you, so much. I don't know what I did to deserve your kindness, but I appreciate your help more than you'll ever know."

"You saved Arthur and the queen and that makes you a worthy hero," said Merlin. "They're very dear to me and this is the least I can do in thanks."

Ulrich began to set up his bed roll, but Merlin stopped him. "Before we get some rest, let's do the healing spell."

The warlock moved toward a seated Ulrich and held his hands just above the missing arm, as if feeling for something. "The pain is deep within you," Merlin observed. "I'll do my best to relieve as much of it as I can." Merlin paused and took a deep breath before incanting. "Astyrung þisses ádl![7]" he said, as his eyes flashed gold for the briefest of moments.

All at once, Ulrich felt a tingling sensation on the skin of his injured arm, not unlike the soothing touch of a warm summer rain. This feeling then spread throughout the rest of the young knight's body. It was certainly an odd sensation, but pleasant, and somehow calming and healing. About a half-minute later, the spell had ended, and Ulrich's arm hurt no more than a bad bruise.

"That is absolutely amazing. I can never thank you enough," Ulrich said with both shock and gratitude, as he rotated his limb in a circle, noting how much better it felt.

The two men then settled onto their bedrolls. Just before Ulrich drifted off to sleep, he muttered, "I just hope Carina will have me back."

XXXX

After a mere couple of hours of rest, Ulrich was anxious to be on the move. It was barely sunrise and still misty in the forest when he shook a sleepy and cranky Merlin awake and told him they'd better get going. If they rode hard, Ulrich would make it in time to the Camelot market before it closed, and he knew Carina would be selling her candles that day. Where, precisely in the market, he didn't know, since the merchants changed the locations of their stalls each day. Hopefully, in public, she'd be less likely to escape from him. And perhaps she wouldn't slap him across the face again. Although Ulrich knew he deserved more than a slap, and a part of him wondered if he deserved Carina at all.

Ulrich pushed the horses as hard as he could, stopping only for brief breaks. He promised himself he'd give his horse and Merlin's a bushel of apples once in Camelot.

Finally, after hours of hard riding, the men arrived at the city border. Merlin told Ulrich he'd be happy to take his horse to the stables while the knight searched the marketplace for Carina. Ulrich shouted a thanks at Merlin as he ran off to find his love.

The market seemed particularly vast and crowded on this autumn day. It was as if every merchant in the Five Kingdoms had showed up, as well as every inhabitant, all desperate to sell or to make purchases. After about ten minutes of searching, Ulrich finally found Carina at her stand. Even exhausted-looking and extra-pale, she was still a captivating beauty. He knew what he had to do.

Ulrich muscled his way to her stall. Once he'd caught her eye, she lifted her chin.

"And what brings _you_ back to Camelot?" she asked tartly, but he saw her bottom lip quiver.

Ulrich wasn't one to make a show of things, nor did he enjoy attracting a lot of attention to himself, which made what he was about to do all the more challenging. But Carina was worth it.

In the middle of the bustling crowd, Ulrich dropped to one knee and cleared his throat. "Carina, I've been a selfish arse," he yelled out.

Some shoppers gasped and covered their children's ears, but didn't walk away from the spectacle.

"I love you with everything I have and I can't stand the thought of spending one more moment away from you. You are brilliant and kind and wonderful, and I ask that you grant me the privilege of becoming my wife."

The young knight then pulled the betrothal ring from his belt pouch and held it out toward her, head lowered, waiting.

The market-goers fell dead silent and gaped at Carina, eagerly awaiting her answer.

Carina stepped out from behind the counter and loomed over Ulrich, hands on her hips. "I'll think on it," she snapped, the crowd looking on with a touch of disbelief.

As Ulrich thought that answer was better than a direct "no," he stood, and she grasped his face with both hands.

"I've thought about it," she said. "Yes."

"Yes?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes!"

Ulrich drew Carina toward him with his good arm and kissed her fiercely, with the happy crowd cheering in approval. He stepped back and slid the ring onto her finger; it fit.

"I want you to be my bride as soon as possible," Ulrich told his new fiancée.

"Then it looks like we'd better start planning a wedding," Carina said cheerfully, then kissed her betrothed. Again.

* * *

[6] The literal translation of "Forbearnan" is "burn up" in Old English. In this case, it is a spell Merlin uses to start a fire.

[7] Astyrung þisses ádl means "Remove this pain" in Old English. I used an Old English online translator.


	16. Chapter 15 A Seaside Trip

**A/N - Our poor Ulrich in chapter fourteen! Can you believe the man lost his arm? I'm glad he came to his senses and returned to Carina. And there will be another wedding. Hooray! I know the scene where Ulrich lost his arm and the subsequent medical treatment he received was fairly graphic, but I wanted to drive-home the fact the poor guy had really suffered. **

**During chapter fifteen, Christiane and Percival take a belated honeymoon. However, there is a big...BIG warning for this chapter - there's violence and a sexual assault. Please be warned, it may be upsetting to some. It's a very significant event, but please do skip it if this is something that will upset/trigger you. There's also a good bit of profanity. I don't want to make anyone unhappy!**

**Again, your support and kindness mean more to mean than you know.**

Chapter 15 – A Seaside Trip

Later that very evening, Percival and Christiane hosted a small dinner party to celebrate Carina and Ulrich's engagement. The hosts, Ulrich, Carina, Leon, Gwaine, Gaius, and Merlin all savored a fine meal and good wine. The friends made many kind, then several ribald toasts to the newly-engaged couple. It was all in good fun, and the attendees enjoyed themselves.

Over a meal of pork and fruit pie, Ulrich told the story of how he met Merlin in the woods and the man helped him see the error of his ways. He further explained about the healing spell Merlin used, and about the prosthetic arm he would try out soon.

"Just as long as he doesn't bring that hard thing into bed," Carina teased, as she leaned toward Ulrich and put her arm around his shoulders.

"You _want_ him to bring that 'hard thing' into bed, Carina," Gwaine countered.

"_That_ thing is plenty hard and big, I assure you," Carina retorted.

While everyone chortled, Gaius stood. "This is somewhat bawdy for an old man," he said, "and I'm quite tired. Have a pleasant evening, all. I must excuse myself now." But as he departed with his back turned, he had a slight smile on his face.

After Gaius took his leave, the discussion turned to the recent attack on Arthur and Guinevere. The knights had determined it was two Picts of the North[8] who had coordinated the assault, based on the some of the adornments they found on their dead bodies. The would-be assassins had killed several armory guards, stealing their helmets and capes, allowing the intruders to masquerade as knights of Camelot. The Picts still held a grudge against Arthur for a crushing defeat they'd suffered at his hands a few years prior. Many of them were still disgruntled and took revenge where they could. The king and council were still determining how to respond to this attack.

"Let's not turn to sad-talk!" Gwaine insisted. "To the happy couple!" he toasted. The party raised their cups in agreement.

For a time, the partygoers discussed Christiane and Percival's upcoming seaside trip, and Leon told the couple where they could find some interesting ancient caves on the beach near the cottage. "It's a very beautiful and private place," Leon explained, while Gwaine made suggestions about how the husband and wife might best use their "private" time.

But the hour grew late and everyone elected to retire. Since Ulrich had been graciously welcomed back into King Arthur's fold, not only did Arthur offer him the job of archery instructor besides his duties as a knight (which would be slightly modified), he also offered the young knight private living quarters. Ulrich rather liked his present bedchamber, and his roommate, Michael, happily agreed to move into a different, larger bedchamber.

Ulrich invited Carina to his room, and she accepted the invitation with enthusiasm. However, he insisted they remain virgins (by the strictest definition of the word) until their wedding night three weeks hence. As a knight, Ulrich took his code of chivalry seriously. Yet when he looked upon his fiancée's tantalizing body as they entered his now-private chambers, he sighed, knowing it would be a very long three weeks.

XXXX

The night before their trip, Christiane was so excited that she slept for no more than a few hours. Just before dawn, she shook Percival awake.

"Can we please leave now?" she asked with excitement, her eyes gleaming.

Percival could hardly see straight at such an early hour. He peered out of their window, and observed the sun hadn't fully risen. "It's not even dawn!" he insisted with a slight whine. Christiane slumped, disappointed. Obviously, she couldn't contain herself and was eager to leave. That instant.

"On second thought, better to get an early start," he said.

Christiane raced around the room, dressing and gathering their bags. "You know, my courses haven't come yet," she remarked. "They were due a few days ago."

Percival rolled his eyes with good humor. "It's because you're pregnant, love."

"Don't say that! I feel like they will come soon. And I don't want to get our hopes up."

"I'll bet you a gold coin you don't get your courses and you're with child."

Christiane giggled. "Wager accepted! Can we go now?"

It was an overcast and cool day, perfect for riding. The couple had agreed to take the trip at a slow, leisurely pace. For the first time since their abrupt wedding, they had no obligations and time together alone.

As they rode side-by-side, Percival pondered how lucky he was. He knew many men who married for convenience, titles, status, lands, or riches. He'd married for love, and felt that was a true gift.

Christiane turned to her husband. "What are you thinking about?"

"Just that I'm a lucky man to have you," he answered.

His wife rewarded him with a broad smile, radiant, as always.

"Let's stop for a spell," Percival said. "I have something to give you."

"But we've just set out!" Christiane protested, although they'd been riding for a couple of hours already.

"Oh, nonsense. We'll still arrive before the sun reaches its zenith." He dismounted and rummaged in his saddlebag.

"What are you doing?" Christiane asked with impatience. "You're not looking for food, are you? I'm not hungry, so let's carry on!"

Percival held something in the palm of his hand. "Please, Wife," he said, "so antsy!"

He helped Christiane down from her horse and held out his closed fist. "We've been married for over four months, and you have only your betrothal ring." He took her hand and slipped a thick, intricately-carved silver band on her finger.

Christiane gasped. "Percival! That is too fine a ring!"

"It's not nearly as fine as you," he said. "It took the silversmith longer than I'd hoped. And since we never had a proper wedding, this is the least you deserve." He motioned toward her hand.

"Wait, take it off for a moment and look inside."

She did so and saw an inscription of _Amor Vincit Omnia. _"Latin," Christiane whispered. "What does it mean?"

Percival took Christiane's face in his hands and gazed into her eyes. "Love conquers all," he said, and kissed her.

"It's stunning and I adore it," she announced after their kiss. "But can we carry on now?"

Percival laughed at her enthusiasm. "Yes, yes, let's go."

They traveled onward. Although a soft rain had begun to fall during the last hour of their trip, Christiane insisted they continue without a break. She was mesmerized by the changing and beautiful landscape. It transformed rather gradually from dense forest to sand and tall, scruffy seagrass. The scent of the air changed, too, from the sweet smell of pine and moist dirt to the sharp, clean smell of salt and sea.

The rain came down in earnest, but Christiane didn't care. She felt intoxicated by the smell of the sea and the sight of it in the distance. As they rode, she stretched her arms out, tipped her face skyward and allowed the rain water soak her.

By the time the couple reached the beachside cottage, the driving rain had ceased, but they were still drenched. They tied up the horses in the small stable, fed and watered them, and raced inside to dry off.

Although they were eager to remove their wet clothing, Percival and Christiane took a few minutes to explore the quaint stone home. It was really one large, airy, open room with a steep roof and a loft for sleeping. As they discovered, the cottage was quite well-appointed with several chairs, a substantial oak-wood dining table, a massive fireplace with a hearthrug in front of it, a comfortable sitting bench, and what appeared to be a soft feather bed in the loft.

Christiane was charmed by the beautiful and rare shells that dotted the interior walls of the cottage. The shells had been pressed carefully into the lime mortar and there were hundreds and hundreds of them adorning the space. She'd never seen anything like it before and ran her hands over the sea shells in admiration and awe.

And the views from the cottage were breathtaking; from the many large windows, they could see straight to the vast ocean.

After their brief exploration of the premises, Percival began to strip off his wet attire. "Even though I've sat in soaking-wet clothing for days on patrols, I'll never like it!" he declared.

"You'd probably like it even less in a soaked dress," Christiane teased, as she began to unlace her traveling gown.

The intent had been to get changed quickly and find the nearby caves on the beach. But with his wife standing there naked, Percival knew the only thing he wanted to explore at this moment was her body. He rushed up to Christiane and tossed her over his shoulder. She shrieked playfully as he ran up the stairs with her to the loft, then plopped her on the bed, pinning her arms over her head.

"I'm going to make you call out my name four times today. And that's a conservative estimate," he boasted.

"Four?" she asked incredulously.

"Twice now, twice later," said Percival, as he let go of her arms and kissed his way down her body to the apex of her thighs. He began his work with his tongue, moving it against the center of her sex with exquisite pressure and speed. Just as he could sense she was going to come apart, he slowed down, then brought her to the edge again.

He did this over and over, until she ran her fingers through his short hair, arching her back, begging, "Please, please..."

Christiane cried out her husband's name during her toe-curling orgasm.

"That's one," said Percival with a satisfied grin.

"I don't think I'll survive two through four!" joked Christiane. "And the more important question is, how will we find time to eat crab?"

They both shook with laughter.

After luxuriating in bed for a while longer, and inching one step close to Percival's goal of "four," they chose search for lunch by the sea. Mussels and clams were plentiful and easy to find. Spider crabs were a little more challenging, but with some searching, they located a few. Christiane was delighted that their bucket overflowed with this seafood bounty.

Percival couldn't remember a time where his wife seemed happier or more relaxed, the sea air blowing through her dark locks and a wide smile on her face the whole time. Her happiness made him long for children even more: a family with whom they could share their joy. In his mind's eye, he saw a little boy with light curls running up and down the sand, while Christiane carried a plump baby on her hip. In this vision, her belly was slightly rounded, indicating another one was on the way.

"My, you're looking very thoughtful again," Christiane observed, as she collected a few final mussels.

"Just daydreaming," he offered. Percival didn't think Christiane would respond very favorably if he admitted he dreamed of a passel of children.

"If you want to go inside and fetch a large pot, I can start a fire right here and we can cook our lunch on the beach," the knight suggested. "Leon told me it doesn't take long to boil these."

Christiane returned with the pot, filled it with water, and set it on the flames. Percival washed and cleaned the shells, then dumped them inside of the vessel. The happy couple sat together in the sand, holding hands, enjoying the cool breeze on the overcast day, waiting for their meal to cook.

"After we eat, I think I'm going to take a quick splash in the water. Just to feel the sea on my skin and clean up a bit," Christiane said.

"You must be mad!" Percival barked. "That water's freezing and it's cloudy. You'll catch a death of a chill."

"Oh, no I won't. Don't be so overprotective," Christiane admonished. "We'll can stoke the fire in the cottage first, then run right out of the water into the warmth."

"'We?'" Percival asked with mock surprise. "I have to be part of this little adventure, too?"

Christiane stuck out her bottom lip in jest. "If you love me, you will."

One side of Percival's mouth curled up in a grin. "No question, then. I'll be freezing my bollocks off in the water with you."

As soon as lunch was done cooking, the husband and wife sat and ate their meal until they were nearly stuffed. At home, shellfish was a rare treat. Most of the seafood they consumed was caught in the lake, dried, or salted. It certainly wasn't the same as the delicious, briny, fresh clams, mussels, and crab they were enjoying.

Christiane fell back onto the sand. "I am so unbelievably full that I need a nap before taking a dip." Percival wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Not that kind of nap!" his wife insisted with chuckle. "I'm talking about one where a person actually gets some rest."

The couple cleaned up the remnants of their meal and headed back to the cottage to take a short, restorative nap.

An hour or so later, the two felt better rested, and elected to explore the ancient stone caves situated toward the edge of the beach on the grey and windy afternoon. As Leon had promised, the caves, composed of jagged and porous rock, were quite a sight. Some were smaller, but many had ceilings over twenty feet high. A few caves were so close in proximity to the surf that the sea flowed in gently, covering the sand floor by only an inch or so. Overall, they kept out the chill and were quite comfortable.

Inside one of the dry caves, Christiane stripped out of her clothing. Percival wondered what she was thinking when she sprinted out of the cave suddenly, splashing into the water naked. She laughed and screamed in the frigid surf. Percival disrobed and joined her a few moments later. The instant he entered the waves, she leapt into his arms, wrapped her legs around him, and firmly placed her salty lips against his.

"Maybe we should try for number three right now," Christiane suggested, with a playful nip to Percival's ear.

Immediately he grabbed her hips and slid her down onto his rigid cock. While the first few moments of this activity were very enjoyable, with Christiane moving vigorously up-and-down his length and Percival gripping her hips and guiding her movements, they both began to notice the chill. Followed by unbearable cold. Percival paused a moment, and saw his wife's lips were tinted blue.

"I think it's time we took this inside, eh?" Percival said.

"Good idea," Christiane responded, shivering, her teeth chattering.

The freezing and soaked couple raced back to the cave, dressed carelessly, and ran to the cottage, all in less than a few minutes. Fortunately, the fire still burned dimly in the hearth, and Percival tended to it until the flames roared to life once again. He and Christiane sat in front of the warmth, covered in whatever blankets they could find, waiting for their teeth to stop chattering and their bones to cease aching with cold.

"Perhaps that wasn't the best idea," Christiane admitted.

Percival remained silent for a moment. "Perhaps not."

Again, laughter overtook them.

For the rest of the late afternoon and evening, the now-warm couple chose to stay inside of the cottage to escape the chill, as the winds outside had picked up. The fire blazed cheerfully, and the husband and wife made a thick stew with some of the supplies they'd brought, besides a generous handful of shellfish they'd collected a few hours prior. Once more, Christiane and Percival found themselves full, and dozed off in front of the hearth.

They both woke sometime later to harsh, guttural voices conversing in a foreign language directly outside of the cottage windows. That was unexpected, since the area was so isolated.

Percival held his fingers to his lips, urging his wife to be silent, and crossed the room stealthily to retrieve his sword. As he moved, the door swung open with a fierce crash. Two men with long, tangled hair barged in, faces and arms painted with intricate designs. They brought Percival down with fists and hammers before he could reach his weapon.

Christiane willed herself to stay calm as she rushed to her fallen husband's side. Her voice trembling, she addressed the intruders. "There must be a misunderstanding."

A third man entered the room; he looked similar to the other others, but he alone spoke Percival and Christiane's language.

"No misunderstanding, lass," he boomed. "This house has been deserted for years and we've used it as a resting point. Now we find the two of you here, using _our_ place."

His accent and appearance gave away the fact Christiane and Percival were dealing with three hostile Picts of the North, Camelot's sworn enemy.

Percival, still on the ground, leg-swept one of the men, only to be smacked over the head by the other man's sword hilt, rendering the large knight unconscious.

"Stop, please!" Christiane begged, as she covered her husband's body with her own. "We'll leave at once. We mean you no harm."

The man-in-charge leered at her. "Nay, lass, I think we shall stay and have some fun together before you take your leave."

As he spoke, the two other men kicked Christiane to the side and heaved an unconscious Percival to his feet. They tied his wrists to the rafters above with rope secured from their belts, allowing the knight's head to loll.

In a moment of absolute clarity, ice-cold dread coursed through Christiane's veins. She knew exactly where this was run-in was headed, and understood it would likely end in her and her husband's deaths, but with plenty of pain and humiliation beforehand.

One of the Picts muttered, "Gurid," garnering his leader's attention, and motioned toward a nearby chair where Percival's clothing lay neatly folded.

"Ah, I see the Pendragon crest on your fine man's cape. Pendragon, our sworn enemy," Gurid said with a flourish. He knelt down and moved his face close to Christiane's; she was still on the floor. "Why don't we play a fun little game? What do you say?"

Gurid spoke to the other two men in his own guttural language, and one man uncorked his wineskin tossed what smelled like alcohol in Percival's face, waking the knight. Percival was disoriented for a moment and sputtered before addressing the Picts. "When I free myself from these ropes, you bastards are dead," Percival insisted. "All three of you, I swear."

Gurid cackled mercilessly as he approached Percival. "Is that so? You're tied up pretty securely there, my friend. I doubt you'll be able to free yourself. You can try." He strode back over to Christiane and stroked her hair, then grabbed a fistful of it, jerking her to her feet with ferocity. She struggled, and Gurid caught a flash of her wedding band. "In the meantime, we'll be fucking your wife!" the Pict roared.

The other men chortled, clearly understanding the sentiment, while Percival strained against his bonds as fiercely as possible. One of the men walked up to Percival and poked him in the chest, jeering, and the knight spat in his face.

"No matter," said Gurid with a dismissive wave. "Once he's got his cock buried deep in your woman here, we'll see who's won, Camelot soldier."

The Pict resumed stroking Christiane's hair with one hand as he kept a tight grip on her long locks with the other.

Percival realized this was an incredibly desperate situation. He and his wife were on their own against these three men, and no one was going to come to their aid. It was a terrifying and sobering notion.

"Please," Percival begged, "please don't. I'll do anything! Cut my throat, beat me to death, whatever you want; just let her go."

Gurid stopped stroking Christiane's hair, but still held the strands within his fist. "You'd do _anything_?" he asked Percival, his eyes narrowed.

The knight nodded his head solemnly.

"Suck my cock would you? Take it up the backside?" he bellowed. "Would you do it if we promised to let your pretty little wife go?"

Percival shuddered with fear, unable to verbalize an answer.

"Answer, me, you big bastard!" the Pict demanded.

Percival nodded his head in the affirmative.

"Say it!" Gurid demanded. "Out loud! Say you would do it!"

"I would do it," whispered Percival, unable to look at Gurid or his own wife.

And Percival knew he _would_ do it. If his wife could get away unharmed and untouched, he'd submit himself to whatever horrifying and humiliating torture these men cared to dole out. He only hoped they'd execute him afterward.

"Louder. I can't hear you," the man urged, yanking Christiane's head back further, nearly pulling her hair out by the roots.

"I'll do it!" Percival yelled, disgrace flooding him.

Gurid roared with laughter in response. "You're not exactly my type, lad," the head-Pict said with amusement. "I prefer the womenfolk."

The man released his grip on Christiane's hair and she boldly walked up to her husband, put her hands on his face and kissed him. "It's okay," she whispered. "I'll get this over with and we can have our leave."

"No, no!" Percival screamed hysterically, helpless, watching her walk back to the Pict. "Christiane, don't! Don't do this. Please…"

Christiane turned and faced Gurid. "What will you have me do?" she asked, her back straight, chin lifted in defiance, trying to muster as much pride as she could.

"Ah, willing then, are you? Let's have you pull down your top, lift up your skirts, and lie on the table right here."

Christiane undid the laces at the front of her dress and let the fabric fall open, exposing her breasts as the men whistled their approval. Percival thought he was going to be sick, and struggled against the ropes with everything he had, until a man kicked him in the gut, knocking the wind out of the restrained.

"I won't be willing if you hurt him," Christiane told them.

"Fine, fine," the head man said. "Get on the table!"

She leaned her body over the table, thinking it might not be as bad if she didn't have to look at their faces when they took her.

"Nay, not good enough. Get on your back and spread your legs," Gurid commanded. "Now!"

She complied, pressing her back against the solid wood, allowing her legs to dangle off the edge.

Gurid moved in on her and squeezed her breasts hard with his calloused hands. He smelled of alcohol and unwashed-man.

"Your tits could be bigger I suppose, but they'll do," he announced, as he drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking it and biting it, then pinching both between his thumb and forefinger. His rough beard scratched her chest. Christiane willed herself not to scream or cry.

"Please, please stop. I'll do anything if you just let her go," Percival pleaded.

"Will you gag that bastard before I lose my cockstand?!" Gurid demanded in Pictish.

His accomplices did as requested, and Percival found himself silenced with a filthy rag stuffed into his mouth and tied around his head.

"Now then, where were we?" Gurid asked.

Christiane made sure her face was turned away from Percival. She didn't want her beloved to see her tears. If they lived, she would tell him it wasn't so bad, as she knew the guilt would tear him apart.

The head man kept licking, sucking, and pinching Christiane's breasts, making disgusting and exaggerated moaning sounds the whole time. He then moved his hands between her legs and fondled her roughly, then dropped his trousers and drawers. Percival gagged at the sight, afraid he might vomit.

"Dry as a bone, I see," Gurid observed. "Not enjoying this, are you? Maybe I'll lick you until you scream. I'll bet you taste sweet."

The Pict ran his tongue down her body, and Christiane was horrified. No man besides Percival had ever touched her like this. She started to feel nauseous and panicked, but knew if she didn't allow it, the men would likely slit her husband's throat, and then hers.

Gurid stopped his licking inches away from her delicate parts. He didn't use his mouth as he threatened, but kept pawing at her folds, pinching at them roughly. She gasped in pain.

"I'll have you suck my cock to moisten things up, woman," said Gurid, as he grabbed her by the hair and forced her off the table onto the floor. Christiane landed solidly on her hands and knees, but was so distressed she felt no pain. The young woman rose to her knees in front of the head man, whose trousers and drawers remained around his ankles.

Meanwhile, Percival thrashed wildly, noticing the rope that bound him to the rafters loosened. The two men at his side were too busy watching the assault at hand to pay attention, waiting their turn. If Percival tried to free himself with all the strength he had, he might be able to snap the rope.

Christiane caught Percival's eye briefly and raised her brow a fraction. She had something planned and wanted him to wait. She turned back to her rapist and grabbed the base of his cock, hard.

"Ah, like it rough, I see," he insisted.

Christiane bent forward as if to take Gurid into her mouth, but instead, she bit down with incredible force, sending him staggering back a few steps. As he stumbled, she punched him in the bollocks as hard as she could, grabbed his belt-dagger, and drove it into his lower gut over and over: she lost count of how many times. He fell to the floor with a resounding crash.

Simultaneously, Percival was able to snap his rope, and in an instant, he smashed the two remaining men with the force of both tightly-bound fists. The men dropped. Percival removed the rest of the rope from his wrists and without hesitation, broke both of the surviving Picts' necks in two quick movements.

He scrambled over to Christiane while removing his gag. She was still on her knees near Gurid's dead form.

"How badly did he hurt you?" Percival asked, tearful. He already felt humiliated beyond belief for being unable to protect his wife; a few tears no longer mattered.

"I'm fine, really," she insisted, voice shaking. "More embarrassed than anything else. To be exposed like that."

Percival cupped her face. "You were so brave. So damn fierce." He then glanced at the three dead bodies. "I'll put them in the sea," he said, and dragged them outside into the cold and windy night.

It took a while to accomplish this task, and in the meantime, Christiane heated water over the fire to pour into the small wooden tub they'd discovered earlier, grateful that she and Percival had taken the time to bring in a few buckets of fresh water during the afternoon. She wanted to wash the feel of Gurid off of her skin. Unfortunately, there was no easy way to scrub her attacker's memory from her mind. By the time Percival was done tending to the bodies and had returned to the warmth of the cottage, Christiane had eased herself into the warm water, pinning her hair up and out of the way.

Percival had no idea what to do or say to his wife. He finally settled on: "Can I help wash you?"

Christiane nodded as she leaned back against the tub's edge, her eyes drifting closed, while Percival took a cloth and washed her arms and neck tenderly.

"Shall we leave straight away?" asked Percival, tending to his wife with gentle hands.

Christiane opened her eyes. "No. I'd like to stay and get some sleep. We can set out in the morning."

"Okay. But I really want you to see Gaius when we're back in Camelot. So he can check you to make sure you're all right."

"Short of some bruised skin and pride, there's nothing to be done. I'll be fine, trust me," Christiane assured her husband. "I'm just glad it's over and you did away with those other men before they touched me."

As he continued to bathe his wife, Percival hadn't any idea how he would ever recover from failing to protect her. That was a husband's first and most important duty – keeping his wife safe – and Percival had failed to do so. He felt weak, inept, and inadequate. Guilt and humiliation consumed the miserable knight, and he wondered if the feeling would ever end.

He worried this event would change things. Forever.

* * *

[8] The Picts of the North were one-time enemies of King Arthur. They resided mostly in what we now call Scotland. They left no written records, but were commonly regarded as fierce warriors.


	17. Chapter 16 Good Counsel

**A/N - ****Both Christiane and Percival suffered terribly during chapter fifteen. How do you think they'll cope with the aftermath? Percival is really devastated. What will this do to their marriage long-term? But I have to say, Christiane is one strong and amazing woman. I adore her. It's funny, when you write, it's as if these characters are actually alive in your head, and I truly love them all.**

**In chapter sixteen, Percival's still having a tough time, King Arthur makes a confession, and Ulrich has his bachelor party. And of course, Gwaine gets a bit wild during and after the party. And there will be another wedding very, very soon.**

**I appreciate your continued support. Onward!**

Chapter 16 – Good Counsel

The next morning, Percival and Christiane rode back to Camelot in near silence. Christiane tried to engage her husband in conversation, but mostly, it fell on deaf ears. When they stopped to eat, Percival said he wasn't hungry, and insisted they move on as quickly as possible.

Needless to say, it wasn't a very pleasant trip home.

Once they'd arrived back at Camelot, Percival left the horses and bags with the stable boy with no acknowledgement, which was not like him. He hadn't been raised as a noble and always took extra care to express thanks to service people. Christiane knew something was very wrong.

Percival grasped his wife's elbow. "I'm taking you to see Gaius straight away," he insisted.

She carefully withdrew her elbow from his grip. In that instant, she noticed how terrible he looked - white as a ghost with black circles under his eyes, an angry and jagged cut on his scalp, his jaw tight.

"I'm fine," Christiane said mildly. "I have a few small bruises that just need to fade. But if you absolutely insist I see someone, it would need to be the midwife. I'm not having Gaius look at my breasts and other bits of my anatomy."

Percival winced at the thought. "You're right; I'm sorry. Let's go to Mary right now."

"Wait a moment," said Christiane with care. "I believe _you_ could do with a visit to Gaius. You were beaten and knocked unconscious. And to be frank, you look awful."

"I've suffered far worse than that in the past. Come, we're going to see Mary," Percival said as he marched her out of the castle grounds.

"But Percival –"

"But nothing," said Percival impatiently, walking along to Mary's at a brisk clip. "I've been shot, stabbed, beaten, held captive… A little cut on my head is the least of anyone's concerns."

Christiane was taken aback, but she continued walking. Percival had shared some of his battle stories with her, but he'd never mentioned being held captive. She felt ashamed she didn't know this important part of Percival's history.

"I didn't know you'd been captured…"

"It's not worth discussing," Percival snapped. The man was in no mood to discuss the fact he and Gwaine had been Morgana's slaves for a period of time, forced to do her bidding deep in the caves of the Fortress of Ismere.

They reached the midwife's home. Half an hour later, Mary concluded her examination of Christiane. She confirmed that Christiane suffered nothing more than a few bruises and scrapes. Mary talked to her patient at length about how she might have some nightmares about her attack and feel unsettled for a time, but it was better to talk about those feelings than to hold them in.

"If you need someone to talk to, child, my door is open, day or night," Mary offered with a kind smile. "Would you mind waiting outside for a moment, Christiane? I'd like to speak with young Percival here for a moment."

Christiane agreed and stepped outside.

Mary rose to her full height in front of Percival, which was a foot-and-a-half shorter than he. "Well, what's gotten into you? What's going on here? Are you sick? Hurt?" she demanded.

"Yes," he answered simply. "My mind is sick. My soul is hurt. I can't get the thought out of my head of that pig touching my wife and how I failed to protect her." With finality he said, "I can't forgive myself."

"I see," replied Mary. "Christiane's not upset with you at all, but she will be if you continue to carry on like this."

Percival stared at the floor, shoulder slumped, eyes blank.

Mary obviously felt for the poor man and tried to reassure him. "You killed two men with your bare hands, and I promise, if it wasn't for you, they'd have had a turn with her and the outcome would have been far worse." She paused. "Why don't you have a chat with King Arthur about this?"

"The king?" asked Percival, surprised. "I couldn't possibly bother the king with this."

Mary put a supportive hand on his shoulder. "He might be able to help more than you think. Will you consider it?"

Percival met Mary's eyes for a moment. "I will."

"And Percival?" said Mary, as the knight turned to leave. "Please do make sure you eat some supper tonight."

Supper in Percival and Christiane's chambers was more of the same. Percival was silent and melancholy as he picked at his food. Normally, he loved nice, flavorful onion-stuffed beef rolls, but on this day, they tasted like ash in his mouth.

"Percival, please see Gaius. I'll take you to him now, if you'd like," said Christiane with compassion.

"Here you are, comforting me, when I should be the one taking care of you." Percival stopped picking at his meal. "Gaius can't fix what ails me, unless he can fix my mind and heart." He gave her a haunted look. "I failed you and can't forgive myself."

Christiane set down her utensils. "Percival, if you hadn't been there, I would have been thrice raped and killed. There's nothing to forgive; it was simply a terrible chance event."

He looked so forlorn Christiane couldn't bear it. She stood, walked around to his side of the table and put her arms around him. "Forget about this meal," she whispered. "Take me to bed."

Percival was shocked. "After all that, you still want to go to bed with me?"

"Of course," she said. "Your touch always helps me feel better."

For the first time since he had lain eyes on Christiane all those months ago, Percival felt no desire, but if it made his wife feel better, he'd try.

Christiane undressed slowly, then took her time removing Percival's clothing, kissing his neck and chest as she went along. Normally, he had an erection instantly, but this time, nothing happened. She drew him into the bed, and took his length into her hand. Still nothing. This was as surprising to Percival as it was to Christiane.

"I'm sorry," he said, chagrined and embarrassed. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Shhh," Christiane whispered, as she moved her head between his legs and took him into her mouth, moving slowly. His erection sprang to life, but as soon as she stopped and tried to climb on top of him, it went flaccid. She tried once again, with the same results.

"Why don't you let me give you some pleasure?" he asked, as he kissed his way down her body, but she could sense his heart wasn't in it.

"You know, I'm quite tired," said Christiane. "Maybe tomorrow morning?"

A wounded Percival disengaged from his wife and sat up. "All right. We can try again in the morning, I promise you."

Christiane fell into a deep slumber shortly thereafter. Percival knew he'd never be able to sleep, so he brought their dinner plates down to the kitchen and washed them, just to keep his hands busy and mind occupied.

The kitchen maids stared at Percival; they'd never seen a knight in their domain, much less one cleaning. But he ignored their curious glances and spent a good ten minutes meticulously washing plates, yet had no idea what to do with himself once his task was done. He didn't feel as if he could face Gwaine at that moment, so he chose to sit in the gardens, as Christiane often did when she needed some peace.

The night was cold and clear. Percival found a stone bench and sat, hoping he'd think of a way to forgive himself and return to normal. Out of nowhere, a man wearing a blue traveling cloak strode up to the bench and lowered his hood; it was King Arthur.

"Sire, what are you doing out here?" Percival asked.

Arthur heaved great sigh of distress and sat down heavily on the cold stone. "It's Guinevere." He looked forlorn. "If we discuss this, do you promise you keep it in the strictest confidence?"

"Of course." Percival had secrets of his own and would never test the loyalty of his sovereign and friend.

"As you well know, Guinevere and I have been married over three years now. And everyone can plainly see we have no children." Arthur started, staring out into the gardens as he spoke. "For the first several months of our marriage, she didn't seem to mind much; we both knew it could take some time for her to conceive. As we neared our first anniversary, every month that passed that she discovered she wasn't pregnant, she became more upset. During the second year, it was even worse. For a few days each month, she'd go to her private chamber, sit up all night, and cry."

Arthur paused for a moment, thoughtful. "Now, every month, it's terrible. She refuses to eat and won't see people for days. I know she doesn't sleep and she sobs and berates herself. Then, she demands I set her aside and find a 'proper' wife who can give me heirs." The king scoffed. "As if I ever would."

Percival had noticed that of late, Guinevere seemed withdrawn and sullen, and appeared much thinner. She was already a petite woman, and Percival had secretly wondered to himself if the queen was ill.

"I even went to consult the midwife myself, with no one knowing," the king admitted. "Most people think it's all the woman's fault when she can't conceive, but Mary told me it can also be the man. Who's to say it isn't my fault?" asked Arthur.

"That's the big secret," the king confessed. "And I have no idea how to make my wife, whom I love more than anything, understand that I love her and would never set her aside."

"I think the best you can do is remind her of that as often as you can," Percival suggested.

"Good point," Arthur conceded. "Now, what about you? I hope you'll excuse my blunt observation, but you look like absolute shite."

"It's a pretty long and humiliating story, to tell the truth," said Percival.

"I just shared something with you that was embarrassing and private. You can trust me, Percival. You may be my knight, but you're also a loyal friend."

"I fear you'll think less of me," the knight admitted.

The king shook his head. "It would take a lot for me to think less of you."

Percival took a deep breath, then told Arthur all the details about his seaside trip with Christiane and the subsequent assault. He stared down at his hands the whole time, pain and shame clear on his face. The knight even admitted he'd offered himself to the Pict to save his wife, and was terrified of what the king might think of him. Percival was surprised when Arthur told him he'd have done the same thing to save his beloved Guinevere.

"Feeling that helpless and weak," Percival continued, "watching my wife be assaulted by that man, I just don't think I can get over it." His ears turned red. "And now, I can't even...perform as a husband should."

Arthur understood his friend's meaning. "Percival," said the king, "I'm going to tell you something. Something I've never told another living soul. And on pain of death, you are never to repeat it. Is that understood?" Percival nodded in solemn agreement, and Arthur continued.

"While Guinevere was under my order of banishment for kissing my...my most trusted and honorable knight, she spent time as Helios's captive. And during that time, Lord help me, Helios touched her. In the same way that filthy Pict touched your wife. The only reason he wasn't able to finish the job was because Guinevere escaped. I live with the guilt that if she were home safe in Camelot, not wrongly banished by my command, she never would have suffered at her captor's hand."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, distressed. "I should have known she was bewitched and not acting of her own accord when she kissed…" he faltered slightly, "…him."

Percival knew the king was referring to the time when he had caught Guinevere kissing Sir Lancelot, the king's most trusted knight. Upon the discovery, Arthur imprisoned Lancelot and banished Guinevere from the kingdom. However, Lancelot was found dead by suicide in his cell the next day. It had taken months to determine that both Guinevere and Lancelot had been bewitched when they kissed and were not acting of their own free will.

Percival's eyes widened after hearing the king's heartfelt confession. "My lord, if I may be so bold, how did you learn to forgive yourself?"

"I spent too much time punishing myself for what I'd done and not enough time caring for my wife, and I saw the damage I caused. Neither of us was happy," Arthur admitted.

"So, once per year, I ride off into the Darkling Woods, privately. I scream, yell, curse myself, chop things with my sword, throw axes. When I'm exhausted, I come home. I allow myself to wallow in my misery for that one day, and then I set it aside. It seems partially effective," the king noted with a half-shrug.

Percival squeezed Arthur's shoulder and stood. "Thank you, sire. I must take my leave at once."

"Where are you going?"

"To the Darkling Woods. To end this until next year."

Percival went to the armory first to grab a sword (since he'd been unarmed in the gardens), an axe, and few throwing knives. He left for the forest on foot.

A good half-hour later, the guilt-ridden knight felt he was sufficiently cloaked in dense foliage and darkness. He hacked at plants and bushes with his axe, then his sword. He threw knives at massive, old trees over and over again, pretending the targets were the Picts' faces. Percival screamed out loud, proclaiming the men to be "evil bastards" and "sons of bitches," railing on about how he wished he could raise them from the dead and beat them to bits before he killed them again.

He wasn't certain how much time elapsed, an hour, perhaps two. But eventually, Percival sat on the forest floor, bathed in sweat and exhausted. The cold night air soothed the heat he felt in his body and calmed his mind. Arthur was right; he felt better. He wasn't sure this feeling would last an entire year, but it was a start.

XXXX

Percival's night in the woods seemed to help some. The following morning, with a little extra coaxing and patience on Christiane's behalf, he could perform "as a husband should."

Afterward, Christiane told Percival that she'd need to spend some time during the next week helping Carina prepare for her wedding.

"Carina's asked me to be her matron of honor! I'm so excited," Christiane said. "And Merlin will stand up for Ulrich. A good choice, since he helped bring them back together."

"Both excellent selections," Percival told his wife.

Christiane glanced at her husband inquisitively. "You seem in better spirits this morning."

"I am, a little. I had a long talk with Arthur last night and it helped." He purposely left out the details about his visit to the woods.

"I'm glad. The king is a good and wise man." She put her arms around her husband. "As are you. And I love you." She rose from the bed and dressed.

"I have to spend some time with Gaius this morning, then tend to Carina's nerves," she joked. "I'll see you later."

XXXX

Wedding preparations caused the weeks to fly by in a relative busy haze of dressmaking, decorating, and planning. Before they knew it, the eve of Carina and Ulrich's wedding was upon them. The two were to be married in a modest chapel in Camelot. The king had offered his Great Hall for the ceremony and celebration, but the couple declined. They wanted small, intimate nuptials.

Carina and Christiane sat in Carina's cottage, braiding hair wreaths of wildflower and ivy before getting ready for an evening of dinner and dancing with some of the ladies of court and friends. Carina knew many of the knights were dragging her future husband out that evening for a night of drunken debauchery. She wasn't at all worried about his loyalty, she just hoped he'd be upright and presentable for their vows in the morning.

As they braided, Carina asked Christiane for advice. "Once more, tell me how to prepare for my wedding night."

"We've gone over this a dozen times! You know what to expect. You just want to hear all about it again." Carina stuck out her lower lip, pretending to be offended. "All right, all right. Well, you have two options. You can go slowly and get used to it, or you can just let it happen all at once. Either way, it's definitely going to hurt a bit. I recall that the first minute or so was quite painful. Lots of burning and stinging, truth be told."

"But after you got used to it, you enjoyed it, right? I mean, you said you had an –"

"Yes, yes, I did!" Christiane cut in with mock frustration. "How many times do you want me to say it?"

Carina looked genuinely nervous for a moment. "Can I tell you the truth? I'm really scared. I know I've done a great deal with Ulrich, but this final act, where he's actually inside of me...I'm afraid it'll hurt so much I won't be able to do it."

Christiane was surprised by Carina's candid admission. She dropped her work and took her friend's hand. "I was worried about the same thing. Terrified. Percival's not a small man."

"Believe me, neither is Ulrich."

"I'm sure," Christiane responded. "He loves you. Just tell him how you feel. I know he'll be gentle with you. And I promise, if you breathe deeply and count to twenty, the pain will be gone by then. Trust me, will you?

"Then, I'm certain you'll want to share all the sordid details of your encounter as soon as possible afterward," Christiane teased the bride-to-be.

XXXX

Meanwhile, Ulrich relaxed in his quarters, alone. He'd made sure the chamber was clean and organized for when Carina moved in her belongings after the wedding. He dozed off for a short time, only to be roused by Percival, Gwaine, Leon, several other knights, and Merlin bursting into his chambers.

"Up, up, up, time to get pissed and grope at some women for the last time!" Gwaine declared.

Ulrich groaned. "Gwaine, we've discussed this again and again. What is it going to take to make you understand? I'll drink, even gamble, but I'm not touching other women."

Gwaine dismissed Ulrich's comment with a wild wave of his hand. "Ridiculous! Come on man, let's get some food in our bellies before we drink."

Ulrich looked to Percival for help. "Can't you do something about this?" he asked his large friend in a pleading tone.

Percival simply shrugged his shoulders. He knew better than to talk Gwaine down when his was in such a rowdy mood.

In the castle dining hall, the men consumed a hearty meal: succulent pork sausages, flaky capon pie, finely-smoked boar, and a robust pottage of turnips. Everyone in attendance ate like ravenous wolves and then set off for the tavern to celebrate Ulrich's final evening as an unmarried man.

Ulrich had chosen not to wear his prosthesis. While it certainly helped him continue with archery reasonably well, it wasn't always the most comfortable adornment, and on this night, he figured comfort and ease-of-movement was crucial. Just in case Gwaine got out-of-hand.

The Rising Sun seemed particularly loud and boisterous that evening. The party of men sat down for a first round of ale, and it wasn't until the second round (third for Gwaine) that Ulrich finally noticed most of the women wore very revealing, low-cut bodices. He took a moment before he realized he'd been set up.

"Gwaine, I know you had something to do with this!" Ulrich said over the volume of the lively crowd, gesturing toward the scantily-clad women.

"What? I invited a few friends is all," Gwaine insisted, as he gulped a strong-smelling drink from a small cup, feigning innocence. "If you're not going to touch, at least have a look before that becomes a mortal sin, too. Right, Kiena?" he asked of a very attractive redhead as she passed by, patting her bottom in the process.

The full-lipped beauty with a firm, rounded backside turned. "If it isn't the mighty Gwaine!" She sat in his lap and turned to press her bosom against his chest. "My friend Helena's here with me. Would you and the groom care for some private entertainment from the two of us later?" she offered.

Simultaneously, Gwaine answered in the affirmative while Ulrich stated, "No!" emphatically.

The alluring redhead left Gwaine's arms and unceremoniously plopped herself down in Ulrich's lap. She stroked his cheek with her thumb.

"So young, handsome, and unspoiled. My friend and I could teach you many ways to please your new wife," she declared suggestively. "Are you sure?"

Ulrich was rattled and uncertain how to extract himself from this situation. "Quite sure, but thank you." Still, she sat. "You're lovely, but I love my fiancée and wouldn't want to hurt her feelings." The woman still didn't rise. "She's very dear to me."

"You are so sweet!" Kiena then stood, purposely grazing the tops her breasts against Ulrich's face as she rose. "Pity!"

She turned toward Gwaine. "Party of three tonight, then – you, Helena and I. Unless," she said, gesturing toward Percival, "this sexy big fellow would care to join us."

"Uh, no," Percival answered, pointing to his wedding band.

"Why not have your wife join us too?" the redhead suggested.

Percival shook his head back-and-forth vigorously.

Kiena then looked Leon up-and-down, admiring the man. "What about you, my handsome Sir Leon?" she inquired with a seductive smile. "Would you enjoy a little fun with us tonight?"

Everyone seated at the table awaited Leon's answer. They'd never seen him with a woman before, and Leon never discussed his private life with his men. Even Merlin sat at attention, wondering how the knight commander would answer the question.

Leon appeared as if he was considering the invitation carefully. He gave Kiena a slight smile. "While that's a very tempting offer, I'm afraid I'll have to pass this evening."

"Anything I could do to get you to change your mind?" asked Kiena, clearly not willing to give in that easily.

"Not tonight, my lady," answered Leon politely.

Kiena gave a good-natured sigh of exasperation. "Fine, then. See you later Gwaine." The redhead blew Gwaine a kiss and sashayed off.

"You are all mad to turn her down," Gwaine informed the men. "She and her friend? This is going to be a night to remember!" He then turned to Leon. "Why would _you_ turn her down? Are you hiding a woman in your wardrobe that we don't know about?"

Leon looked thoroughly unhappy about being put on the spot. "I have my reasons. Just leave it be," the knight commander told his rambunctious comrade.

Obviously drunk, Gwaine pressed on. "Do you prefer men, Leon? It's all right with me if you do. I just want to see you happy, man."

The normally proper and even-tempered Leon banged his flagon of ale down onto the table, liquid splashing over the side. "Damn it, no Gwaine," he growled. "I don't prefer men! Why is it that you can never leave me be?"

He then stormed from the tavern in anger. Leon had been feeling down and lonely recently, and the last thing he needed was rumors circulating that he preferred the company of men in his bed. The knight commander wanted something real, a relationship that lasted for more than one evening, a partnership where (heaven forbid) the woman might love him back. But he wasn't about to explain that to his men.

"Hell, I was just kidding around," said Gwaine, once the tavern door had slammed behind his superior.

Ulrich felt bad for Leon, but he decided to ignore Gwaine's disorderly behavior and nursed his ale. The young knight wasn't about to get drunk and feel sick at his own wedding tomorrow. Ulrich wanted to make sure he was well enough to remember every detail of the day. He was, however, forced to endure a couple of hours of increasingly indecent proposals from immodestly-dressed women, and had no fewer than a dozen pairs of breasts shoved against various parts of his body.

The groom-to-be was extremely relieved when Percival suggested they play dice. Once the gambling commenced, the overt female attention died down somewhat, but not entirely. Ulrich felt his bottom squeezed a few times, and each time, when he went to turn around, the offender was nowhere to be found.

The dice-rolling and betting went on for an hour or two. The knights made Merlin promise he wouldn't use his magic to win every roll, and he agreed, though it seemed as if he won more coin than anyone else. But that might have been because the sorcerer had drunk only one flagon of ale, whereas most of the other men had finished at least three or more.

When the men tired of the game, they turned over all the winnings to Ulrich as a wedding gift, and the young man was sincerely touched.

While most of the knights were well in their cups by this hour, Ulrich remained completely sober, much to Gwaine's dismay. Gwaine declared, "Ladies, if he won't get drunk, and he refuses to touch, then at least give him a sight to remember!"

Half a dozen young women sauntered over to Ulrich, making a tight circle around his chair so he couldn't escape. Every last woman pulled down her bodice, exposing her bare breasts to him. Most of the men cheered their approval. As they did, Will stormed out of the kitchen, livid.

"Gwaine!" he shouted, red-faced and clearly very angry. "This is a reputable establishment and I won't have this. If you're going to keep this up, take it elsewhere!"

Gwaine respected Will and felt bad instantly. "I'm sorry, man," he apologized to Will. "I got carried away. It won't happen again."

True to his word, instead of instigating more nudity, Gwaine sat down with a group of younger knights and gave lessons in how to pleasure women.

"Winning battles is great, but pleasing a woman's the best feeling in the world. It'll make you feel like a god, gentlemen," he declared drunkenly, gesturing with his flagon and sloshing ale all over his tunic.

"Oh, here we go," Percival muttered to Ulrich. Percival then waved his hand to get Gwaine's attention. "Maybe it's time to call it a night, hmm?" he shouted across the room to his drunk friend.

Hearing this, Kiena and her pretty friend, Helena wandered over to Gwaine's seat. Helena was a tiny brunette with a small waist and delicate features, unlike her more voluptuous friend. The two women leaned against a seated Gwaine.

"So, bold knight, do you think you can satisfy us both tonight?" asked Helena.

Gwaine put his arms around both ladies. "I will, or I'll die trying!"

He rose to leave the tavern, and the others followed suit.

Once at the castle, the men all bid each other good night. Gwaine walked into his room with the two beauties, one in each arm. Before he shut his door, he called out to his friends.

"Last chance, Ulrich!" he bellowed over his shoulder.

Once again, Ulrich politely declined, but wished them a good evening. As Ulrich and Percival walked down the corridor, the two men heard giggles and squeals from Gwaine's bedchamber, and possibly some growling and barking noises.

Percival held up his hand. "I don't even want to know."

Ulrich smiled in agreement.

"Do you feel like having some company?" Percival asked his young friend.

"I wouldn't mind some," Ulrich answered with relief. "My mind's racing thinking about tomorrow."

"I missed out on the whole wedding jitters part, since it was all determined and done within an hour," Percival admitted, as they approached Ulrich's quarters. "I didn't have much time to worry about bedchamber activates, either, and I think that was a blessing."

The men entered the room and Percival took a seat in front of the fireplace; the logs glowed dimly at this hour. Ulrich added a few pieces of wood.

"I'm not worried about marrying Carina," said Ulrich. "I love her fiercely. I'm worried I won't be good in bed, or hurt her, and she'll never want me to touch her again. Or that having one arm will be a huge hindrance." The nervous groom left the fireplace and slumped into his seat. "Forgive me, I'm sure you don't want to hear about this."

"No, it's fine," Percival assured his friend. "I figured you might want to talk about this, and not with Gwaine, who'd make unreasonable and elaborate suggestions," he said with a half-grin.

Ulrich chuckled. "It almost frightens me to think of what he might suggest."

The young man returned to his wedding-night worries. "My biggest concern is her pain. Is there any way to avoid it or lessen it?"

"Not that I know of," the older, married knight replied frankly. "And they say we knights are the strong ones? Can you imagine having to deal with this pain, deliver children, and endure monthly cycles? No thank you! I'd rather go to battle."

Ulrich laughed in agreement.

"I think the best thing to do is start out slowly and wait for her to say something," suggested Percival. "If she says stop, slow down, just listen to that. And reassure her that you love her and you'll take as long as she needs."

"Reasonable. All reasonable advice. I think I can do that," Ulrich said.

"One more thing, and then I promise, we can change the subject," stated the nervous groom-to-be. "What if... Let's just say the whole thing doesn't last very long."

Percival remembered his wedding night with Christiane, and of course, that had been one of his primary concerns. "I was worried about the same thing," he admitted. "It could happen, and if it does, as a married man, you'll have the next forty years to get it right," the older knight said with a playful smirk.

Ulrich let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks, man. I feel much better."

Searching for something distract him from his worries, the young knight asked if Percival wanted to play some chess, and the two men played for about an hour. Percival then took his leave and returned to his chambers to find Christiane reclining in bed, reading.

"I didn't expect you up at such a late hour," Percival said to his wife as he undressed.

Looking up from her book, Christiane studied her husband skeptically. "Are you, by any chance, drunk? The ladies and I heard stories about Gwaine returning to his chambers with two women. I'm assuming you weren't involved."

Percival held up his hands in protest. "No, I was not. I spent some time with Ulrich trying to help calm his nerves. Then we played some chess; that's all."

"I know, silly. I'm just taunting you." Christiane drew back the blankets and patted the mattress. "Come to bed now and get some rest. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."


	18. Chapter 17 A Wedding and Beyond

**A/N - Chapter sixteen was a mixed-bag! Percival and Christiane seem to be healing, and Percival's developing a closer relationship with Arthur. And did Gwaine finally achieve his "lifelong dream" of having two women in his bed at once? And what's going on with Leon? He definitely wasn't happy during the men's night out. **

**During chapter seventeen, we'll be guests at Ulrich and Carina's wedding and post-wedding feast. Will their first time together go well? Will Ulrich be able to cope with his nerves? Or maybe Carina's the one who gets nervous!**

**And a HUGE welcome to greydaysandbooks and AthenaOwl10. Thank you for "following" and "favoriting" my story.**

**Thanks for sticking with me, everyone. **

Chapter 17 – A Wedding and Beyond

Christiane arrived at Carina's cottage quite early in the morning on the big day, thinking her friend would be a frantic jumble of nerves. She'd even brought some soothing chamomile tea, just in case. What she found when she arrived was a well-rested Carina, who rose from her bed appearing as if she had not a care in the world.

"This is unexpected!" Christiane said. "I assumed you'd be running around agitated right now."

"No need," Carina replied. "I've spent the last three weeks in a state of anxiety over the wedding, and I've decided to be nothing but cheerful and happy today. Even if it is cold and overcast," she observed, motioning to the grey, cloudy sky outside of her window.

"That's very sanguine of you. I'm duly impressed," Christiane commented, as she busied herself in the kitchen area.

Christiane chatted on. "The chapel and the hall are all decorated. Everything is done, except for feeding you breakfast and getting you dressed and ready."

Carina and Ulrich had planned on a small post-wedding meal at the Rising Sun, but Arthur insisted that if the couple was to have their ceremony at the chapel, they must have their wedding feast in his council room and allow his kitchen staff to prepare and serve the food. The king emphasized he was forever indebted to Ulrich, and this small favor was the least he could do. Who were they to question the king's generosity?

After finishing a simple breakfast of bread, cheese, and sliced apples, Christiane suggested they take a short walk in the cool morning air before beginning the long and tedious process of taming Carina's unruly curls with the hot tongs.

The hour was early and it was quiet and chilly outdoors, but many residents of Camelot were awake and tending to their daily farming duties. It seemed as if the whole city knew of the wedding, and Carina was deeply touched by the many well-wishes and blessings she received as they walked. It made her feel rather emotional that all of these people, some of whom she scarcely knew, cared about her and Ulrich's happiness.

Christiane noticed her friend's emotional state and put her arm around her as they walked.

"You deserve this," said Christiane. "More than anyone I know." The matron-of-honor tried to lighten her friend's mood. "Who'd have thought we'd be two old, married ladies! Maybe we'll have our babies close in age, and they can be the best of friends, like us."

Carina narrowed her eyes at her friend. "What are you saying? Are you hiding something from me?" She focused on Christiane's abdomen.

"I don't know anything for certain yet. Soon, though. You'll be the first to know. Okay, not the first, but you'll be among the first!"

"I'd better be!" exclaimed Carina. "And I want to be there when the babe is born, too."

"Of course. You'll be right at my side. And I'll be there for you, too, when it's your time."

The friends sauntered back toward Carina's cottage, arm-in-arm.

"Now, let's get working on your wild curls with the tongs," said Christiane, as they neared the home. "That's going to take a while."

XXXX

While Christiane spent time helping Carina prepare for the wedding ceremony, Ulrich strapped on his prosthesis and elected to engage in a little archery down on the shooting range to keep his mind occupied. He was already shaved and washed, and didn't feel like simply pacing around the castle for the next few hours.

Though he often lamented that he wasn't the near-flawless marksman he once was, he was grateful he could still shoot with some degree of accuracy. After having taken several shots, Gwaine stumbled toward him, looking unwell and ill-rested. Ulrich couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him: disheveled, long hair rumpled, brown eyes bloodshot, with a distinctly grey pallor.

"Looks like you had quite the evening," Ulrich comment with mirth, lowering his bow.

Gwaine swayed before him on the grassy range. "Never again, I tell you. Never. Again."

"What happened?" Ulrich pestered his friend. "I thought this was your life-long dream, having two women in your bed at once."

"Apparently, it's one of those things that sounds good in theory, but in practice, doesn't work quite as well. They were so demanding," the hung-over man groaned. "I couldn't keep up with them! Eventually, I just became exhausted, and they left." Gwaine frowned. "I'll admit, it started out fun. But I'm getting too old for this. Time to settle down, I think."

Ulrich nocked his bow and took another shot. "I'll believe that when I see it," he commented.

Gwaine gave an exaggerated yawn. "Did you have any breakfast yet?"

"No, I don't want any. Nerves have killed my appetite."

"That's a terrible idea, man. You need to fortify yourself for the wedding. Come on, we'll scrounge up a late breakfast. I don't want you fainting on the chapel steps like a little girl." Gwaine appeared to consider this notion carefully. "Then again, we could taunt you about that forever, and that does hold some appeal."

Ulrich protested. "But I need time to get into my chainmail and armor!"

"It won't take you three hours to get dressed, for God's sake! Don't be such a girl. Percival and I will help you. Let's go," Gwaine ordered. "Time for some food. Anyway, right now, a stack of spiced griddle cakes and thick slices of ham sound better than a naked woman," the knight announced, shaking off his hangover fog.

XXXX

A few hours later, Percival and Gwaine made sure Ulrich's chainmail, armor, ceremonial sword, and cape looked presentable, while Christiane put the finishing touches on Carina's hair. The bride wore her blonde locks loose and flowing, with a wreath of ivy and wildflowers on top of her curls. Her long dress was a stunning and rich royal blue.

"I wish father could be here to see us get married. But he probably hasn't even received my letter informing him yet," Carina said, knowing it would be several months before Reece received word of her nuptials. Letters and messages carried across the Narrow Sea and all the way to the Western Roman Empire took a very long time before they ended up in the hands of their intended recipients, if they ever made it at all.

"He'll be happy once he hears you married such a wonderful man," Christiane said, taking a step back to admire her friend. "You look absolutely stunning. I doubt Ulrich's eyes will be dry. Shall we go?" Carina gave a slight nod, but Christiane halted their departure. "Oh, wait! We almost forgot your flowers. I hid them under the bed."

Christiane presented her friend with a large bouquet of red- and cream-colored roses tied with ribbons of the same shades.

Carina gasped at the beautiful bouquet. "It's magnificent," she said. "Thank you so much. For everything."

"No tears!" Christiane teased, worried her friend was about to become emotional again. "You'll smudge your rouge."

With that, the bride and matron-of-honor departed for the chapel. The late morning sun peeked from behind the clouds, dispelling some of the chill and casting a comforting glow around the building. Percival met the women outside.

"Has my groom run off?" Carina asked in jest.

"Of course not. He's been here for over an hour, shifting about nervously," said Percival. "I wanted to come out to tell you all is ready."

"As am I," Carina replied.

Percival opened the chapel door to allow Carina and his wife entry, then strode back to his seat near King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, who were also in attendance. At that moment, a vocalist began to sing a hauntingly beautiful love song in Latin. Few guests understood the lyrics, but as the woman's voice filled the chapel, it was impossible to not feel the emotion in her words.

As the woman sang, Christiane proceeded down the aisle in her simple but pretty light-blue dress. Carina followed, resplendent in her royal blue gown with a cream-colored sash around her waist and long, flowing sleeves. Small cream-colored beads adorned the bodice and hem of the dress, which gently swept the floor as she walked. The young bride appeared to almost float down the aisle, radiant with joy.

In moments, Carina stood next to her groom at the altar, her stunning beauty and obvious happiness bringing a tear to Ulrich's eye, but he didn't care. Somehow, he didn't think Gwaine would harass him for being terribly in love with his bride.

Ulrich leaned in toward Carina. "You look beautiful," the groom whispered.

Merlin, the best man, stood off to the side and nodded in agreement with a wide smile on his face.

Geoffrey of Monmouth smiled at the couple also. "Let us begin," he proclaimed.

The ceremony was much like the one Geoffrey had performed for Christiane and Percival, except with many more people in attendance. While most of the ceremony brimmed with emotion and love, there were some lighthearted moments.

During the exchange of the rings, Ulrich raised his prosthesis and said, "I don't think it'll fit on this," and Carina slipped the ring onto his right hand.

And when it came time to take the chalice, Carina's hands shook slightly as she raised the cup to Ulrich's lips. She spilled few drops of wine down the front of his chainmail, and looked flustered.

"Not to worry, chainmail cleans easily," said Ulrich, and everyone chuckled.

As the couple drank from the chalice, Geoffrey said, "As Ulrich and Carina share their first wine as a married couple, let us all say, 'Bless our friends and bless Camelot!'"

The guests repeated after him cheerfully.

Geoffrey finally announced that Ulrich could kiss is new bride, which the young groom did heartily, to shouts and cheers.

Geoffrey concluded the ceremony. "Bless Camelot and all present here. Now, greet our happy couple and let the celebrations commence!"

Ulrich kissed his new wife one more time, just for good measure, then the couple and their guests proceeded to the castle for the wedding feast. The wedding entourage gasped as they walked into the council room. The castle staff had transformed the space, and it was stunning. The normally cold and sterile feel of the room was gone. Thick cream- and scarlet-colored tablecloths adorned each table. Hundreds of candles cast a romantic glow about the chamber. Dozens of garlands of ivy and rose adorned the walls, and twenty or thirty huge and lavish baskets of roses hung down from the rafters.

A massive table laden with mouth-watering fingers foods was displayed, including nuts, sweet and savory breads and spreads, various fresh fruits and berries, assorted cheeses, steamed oysters, bite-sized meat pies, and a large variety of custards and tarts. Even more surprising was the presence of dates and pistachios, as they were very rare and expensive treats. While the ravenous guests descended on the buffet table, Ulrich sought out Arthur.

"Sire, this is too much!" Ulrich told the king, shocked by the extravagant decorations and food.

"What?" King Arthur asked. "I'm hungry," he said with a wry grin, clapped the young husband's shoulder, and took a seat.

As the bride, groom, and guests enjoyed their food, musicians played softly in the background. Though most guests were stuffed from the sumptuous buffet selection, still more food arrived for the main course, the tantalizing scents filling the air. From onion-ale soup to roast pheasant, to goose, venison, and herbed fish, it seemed as if the parade of food might never stop.

The rest of the feast passed in a relative blur. Many guests made toasts to the newlyweds, and the two stole kisses whenever they could. Fortunately, Gwaine made a very tame and kind toast, for which both Ulrich and Carina were grateful.

After sharing one last kiss across the top of a massive cake[9], the bride and groom's friends whisked them off to prepare them for the bedding ceremony. Christiane, Lindara, and their young friend, Alis, swept Carina away to her chambers to help the young bride prepare, while Percival, Gwaine, and Merlin took Ulrich to Gwaine's quarters.

In Carina and Ulrich's room, the ladies brushed out the bride's hair and helped her into a lovely white (albeit quite gauzy) nightdress, and a plush white wrap. As Lindara was the oldest in attendance, she reiterated what to expect on this night while Carina listened.

"Some women don't bleed their first time. I didn't, though I was a maiden," Lindara said, recalling her own wedding night two decades earlier. "But as you know, people expect to see it. My husband, rest his good soul, was kind enough to jab his finger with a knife and smeared some of his blood onto the sheet."

"Very good idea," Carina said absently, now too anxious to focus on Lindara's words.

"I have no idea why I'm so nervous," moaned Carina, now flushed with worriment. "If he feels half as jittery as I, we'll never get anywhere. _And_ I have to deal with people listening outside the door! It's barbaric, if you ask me!"

"I agree," said Christiane, thinking back to her own wedding night and how nerve-wracking it was to know people were present just outside of the chamber. "But remember, it's just Percival and a guard and they'll leave swiftly and quietly afterward."

Alis chimed in with enthusiasm. "It all sounds terribly scary and exciting. When it's my turn, I'll have a thousand questions!" A petite, pretty, brown-haired seventeen-year-old, Alis hoped to find love herself.

The women helped anoint Carina's skin and hair with rosewater. The newlywed looked in the mirror. "What can possibly be taking them so long?" the bride whined, referring to her husband's preparations in Gwaine's chamber. "What does he need to do other than remove his shirt? I don't think I can do this," she lamented. "What if I panic?"

Christiane stifled a giggle. "And do what, exactly? Run amok?" The two friends laughed hysterically at the idea.

"I suppose not," Carina admitted, recognizing it was highly unlikely that she'd actually run amok.

Carina and Christiane's friend, Drea (short for Alexandrea), a young and attractive widow, popped her head into the chamber for a moment.

"I have to get back to my son before he ransacks the council chamber, but I wanted to wish you all the best tonight!" Drea said, and blew Carina a kiss from the doorway before departing.

Seconds later, there was a light rapping on the door, and Carina almost jumped out of her seat in front of the mirror. "Enter," she announced, endeavoring to keep her voice as steady as possible.

Ulrich entered, sans shirt, with Gwaine, Percival, and Merlin. Merlin was fidgety and tense, so Gwaine dismissed him before he made everyone else edgy. Merlin wished the couple well, and nearly flew from the room; he was known to become quite embarrassed with such matters.

"We've given him all the advice we can," said Gwaine with a sly grin. "The rest is up to him. I'll bless the bed for you."

Gwaine stepped over to the bed and gave the following blessing: "May your marriage bed bring you joy, comfort, and happiness. May it solidify your love and caring for one another, and bring you _many_ happy, healthy, beautiful children. Bless this bed and the couple readying to enter it."

All in attendance stared at Gwaine, slightly shocked by his heartfelt words. Carina spoke first.

"Gwaine, I'm quite impressed. Thank you for that kind blessing."

Seemingly unable to remain serious for more than a minute, Gwaine joked around. "Are you sure you don't want us to stay and give young Ulrich here pointers? We don't mind!"

Percival took charge and began to usher people from the chamber. "All right everyone, out!" he ordered.

The large knight turned to Ulrich for a moment, and took him aside. "Just bring me the sheets when you're done," whispered Percival. "Gwaine was kind enough to handle them for me on my wedding night and made sure they were hung well on the other side of the castle. I'll do the same for you."

Everyone took their leave, save the newly-married couple. Outside of the bedchamber door, Percival stood with a castle guard. Gwaine stood right next to him.

"Aren't you going back to your quarters?" asked Percival.

Gwaine gave a devious wink. "Nah, I want to stick around for the excitement."

Percival exhaled with frustration. "Gwaine..."

"I promise I'm not here to make fun of Ulrich. The poor man lost his arm, nearly went mad, and ran away. I only want to be here to clap him on the back and tell him 'Job well done' when it's over. You have my word."

"Fine, then. I know your word's good."

Back in the bedchamber, Ulrich and Carina stood a few feet apart, gazing at one another. Ulrich noticed the slight blush on his new bride's cheeks and a few beads of perspiration on her upper lip. He moved toward her. "You're either very nervous, or very hot," Ulrich joked. "Here, let's take off your wrap." He slipped the clothing from her shoulders and dropped it on the nearby chair. "Is that better?"

"Some."

"What's worrying you, love?" Ulrich asked his bride tenderly.

"I don't really know. I'm just so nervous!"

Ulrich blew out a few candles to make the atmosphere more conducive to romance, and gathered Carina close to his chest. "We can take as much time as we want. I know how you love to be in charge, but this time, let me. You can take charge for the next round," he said with a hint of humor in his voice.

"Before we do anything, may I just look at you?" the young groom asked, and Carina nodded in consent. Ulrich took a small step back and admired his bride as he held her shoulders lightly. "Dear God, you're a beauty. So incredibly desirable."

Tentatively, Carina took a slight step forward, tipped her face upward, and kissed Ulrich's lower lip, nipping at it lightly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he rested his hand on her hip as they kissed, slowly, savoring every delicious stroke of the tongue.

Ulrich was aroused immediately. He unlaced the top of Carina's nightdress, giving her plenty of time to decline if she wished, but she didn't. The new husband reached his hand under the thin material of his wife's gown and cupped her full breast as they continued to kiss. Carina rubbed up against his arousal, and Ulrich eased the clothing off her shoulders, allowing the light garment to fall onto the floor.

In the dim candlelight, Carina stood before her husband, naked and heart-stoppingly beautiful, with her curly blond hair mostly obscuring her breasts. She unlaced his trousers, but the faint shaking of her hands made it difficult, so Ulrich helped her.

Ulrich took Carina's hand and moved toward the bed, drawing back to covers and motioning for her to get in. She did so, and Ulrich reached for the white sheet folded neatly on the bedside table. Carina raised her hips and allowed him to position it under her body.

Ulrich then lowered himself down onto his wife, bearing his weight on his knees and his good arm, and laved her breasts with his tongue. She responded to his touch immediately and her nipples stiffened. Carina then arched her back toward him, pressing her head into the pillow and sighing with approval. Ulrich reached between her legs and caressed her center gently, feeling she was ready. He let his erection rest against her wetness.

"You tell me when the time is right," he whispered. "Whenever you're ready."

"Now. Now is right," Carina muttered. "Just do it all at once, before I lose my nerve."

Ulrich stroked her cheek. "I'm sorry for any pain this causes you. I love you."

He positioned her legs over his hips, and as requested, Ulrich pressed his way in all at once, and was immediately sheathed by her tight wetness. It was almost more than he could bear, and in that instant, he worried this event might end forthwith, so the young husband bit his lip, hard, hoping the discomfort would help distract him. Ulrich had almost forgotten about Carina's needs, so overwhelmed by the feeling of being inside of her, but he was drawn back to his senses by her whimper of pain, and the few beads of sweat now apparent on the bridge of her nose.

For those first few seconds of sexual activity, Carina thought it felt somewhat like being impaled on a sword; the discomfort was incredibly sharp and immediate. But she counted in her mind, as Christiane suggested, breathed deeply, and realized the pain had receded. She noticed that Ulrich had stopped moving entirely. "You can go on," she said.

He moved gently and easily at first, sensing Carina was still adjusting to his abrupt intrusion. As Ulrich moved within her, he kissed her deeply, breaking off every so often to tell her how amazing she felt, or simply groan: "Oh, God."

Ulrich moved up onto his knees, thinking Carina could do with a break from bearing so much of his weight. It also gave him the chance to look down and admire her gorgeous body, and he could see that she no longer seemed uncomfortable, and was, in fact, breathing heavily and rapidly with desire.

The act of Ulrich becoming more upright helped immensely. Carina could feel every inch of him now sliding in and out if her, caressing her, and she felt the flame of pleasure beginning to burn in her lower belly. "Please, Ulrich, faster!" she moaned, scarcely in control of herself.

He complied immediately, moving within her as fast as he could, moaning with each thrust and biting his lip, praying that he could last just a little longer with this beauty's tightness caressing his cock over and over.

Just as Ulrich didn't think he could last another second, his wife positioned her legs up over his shoulders and locked her ankles behind his neck. With her body shaking slightly, her release tore through her like wildfire, and she let out a scream of passion like he'd never heard before. He instantly found his release as well, finishing with a loud groan.

After takings a few cleansing breaths, Ulrich disengaged from his wife, and went to fetch two clean cloths. He returned to the bedside, and saw Carina holding up the sheet she'd removed from beneath her.

"There's no blood," she pointed out.

"That was always a possibility," he replied, swiping the sheet from her hands. Before she could protest, Ulrich strode over to his belt, removed his dagger, and nicked his upper thigh, allowing a thin line of blood to appear. Once the cut had welled up sufficiently, he took the sheet and touched it to his leg, smearing it slightly. He studied the fabric. "That'll do," he said casually.

Carina frowned. "I wish you hadn't."

"If you think for a moment I'm going to let _you_ mark up that delicious body on purpose, you're mistaken," said Ulrich, yanking on his trousers.

He walked over to the bed once again and pulled the covers up to his wife's chin, tucking her into the bed with a soft kiss on the forehead. "I'll just be a moment. Let me handle the sheets and I'll be right back."

Ulrich stepped outside into the corridor and was met with Gwaine's boisterous cheers. Ulrich turned to Percival.

"Really?" said Ulrich, irritated by Gwaine's presence and exuberance. "He just _had_ to be here?"

Gwaine interrupted. "Good man, good man!" he exclaimed, as he thumped Ulrich heartily on the back. "After hearing you make a woman scream like that, I will never taunt you again. I might even ask you for pointers. And believe me, there'll be no question about the marriage being consummated. I think the whole wing heard. Good job, man! Congratulations." Gwaine continued to thump Ulrich's back until the newlywed smiled broadly.

Percival took charge again. "Okay, Gwaine, that's enough," he said. Percival then took the sheets from the young groom. "Have a good rest of your night," he told Ulrich. "We'll see you tomorrow. Late in the day, I'd imagine."

Gwaine, Percival, and the guard departed.

Ulrich entered the chamber once again and found his wife breathing gently with her eyes closed. He couldn't blame her; after all, it had been a busy and exciting day. He moved toward the bed quietly, hoping he could slip under the bedcovers without waking her. To Ulrich's surprise, his wife grabbed his wrist and pulled him against her. Clearly, the woman had been feigning sleep.

"Now, I'm going to be on top," Carina announced, "and I plan to ride you like a wild stallion!"

She made good on her promise.

* * *

[9] Kissing across the top of a cake was customary during medieval wedding feasts and symbolized a lifetime of happiness and prosperity.


	19. Chapter 18 An Unexpected Request

**A/N - That was a lovely wedding and feast during chapter seventeen, wasn't it? And how can you not laugh at the hungover Gwaine's rantings? And Carina was the one to get nervous on her wedding night! Who would have thought. We also saw a little bit more of Alis, the young midwife-in-training, and we met Drea, the pretty young mother/widow. They will both play much larger roles as the story continues. **

**During chapter eighteen, the story takes a bit of a turn. We're going to be focusing on Arthur and Guinevere for a while. Of course, the other characters will be there, too. Gwaine in particular will play a very large role in the upcoming events. There are also more pregnancies to be discussed, and one very funny scene between husbands and wives (at least I thought it was funny).**

**And a BIG welcome to silverfox1611 who "followed" and "favorited" my story. Thank you!**

**Again, I adore you, my fabulous readers. **

Chapter 18 – An Unexpected Request

Percival, Christiane, Ulrich, and Carina all hoped simpler, less-stressful times lay ahead. They'd all endured such turmoil for the last several months that some degree of boredom and monotony would be regarded as a welcome respite.

And at first, that is exactly what happened. The weeks passed and the couples happily celebrated Percival and Ulrich's birthdays just after Yule time.

Following the season of celebration, Christiane and Carina settled into their roles as wives. Christiane no longer worked at the tavern, and spent her time apprenticing with Gaius. Carina continued with her booming candle business. She'd also chosen to rent out her cottage to a newly-married young couple she'd met in the market, he a carpenter and she a seamstress. Two months after her wedding, Carina had finally received word from her father that he would not return from his trading mission for yet _another_ eighteen months, so she decided it would be reasonable to rent out her home to the young couple for a year.

The letter from her father read as follows:

_My Dearest Carina,_

_ As you know, it's very challenging to find someone to carry a letter across the Narrow Sea in an expedient fashion. _

_ Thank you for sending me word of your wedding. Your young man Ulrich wrote to me previously, asking for your hand, fine fellow that he is. I am certain you made a captivating bride and I am confident he is treating you well. _

_ I will be home in eighteen months' time. This trading mission far exceeded my expectations, and after it is done and I have returned home to Camelot, I will have enough resources to retire and live comfortably, and hopefully spend a good deal of time with any new grandchildren I may have (no pressure, of course). I may even write a book about my travels!_

_ I have wedding gifts for both you and Ulrich, but I'd rather deliver them in person when I see you next. _

_ In the meantime, know that I love you and miss you._

_Love,_

_Father_

Carina shared the letter with Christiane while they warmed themselves in front of the fire in Christiane's chambers. Winter had settled upon the kingdom of Camelot, and a cold, fierce one, at that. The chill winds howled and the temperature scarcely rose above freezing, even during the daytime.

"Another eighteen months!" Christiane said. "But it's wonderful that he'll be home for good after that.

"We were such little devils when were children, I'm surprised he has anything to do with me."

"Please," said Carina with an eye roll. "You know he loves you dearly."

Carina peered at her friend closely and changed the subject. "When do we go see the midwife?"

"Do you think you're pregnant already?" asked Christiane, clasping her hands together, eyes bright.

"I may be. I haven't had my courses since before the wedding, so I'm fairly sure. And please, you know you're with child, too," said Carina, pointing toward the very slight swell of Christiane's lower belly. "Your bodices are straining around your bosom, and either you're eating too much bread with jam, or you're carrying baby."

Christiane covered her lower abdomen with her hands. "I've been putting off the midwife visit because of what happened last time. Once I hear someone else confirm a pregnancy, I feel like I have to worry again. I don't think I can stand another miscarriage," she confessed.

"No, no," Carina insisted, walking to her friend's seat and then kneeling to hug her. "You had such heartache, I just know it won't happen again. Besides, I think you may be even further along than last time. What do you think?"

"It's hard to tell exactly because I never bled again after the last pregnancy, so I think I'm about about twelve weeks gone, but I can't be sure."

"Twelve weeks?" Carina nearly shrieked, standing upright. "We must go to Mary at once. I think I'm about eight weeks along, so I need to visit, too."

"All right, we'll go, calm down," Christiane insisted with a grin.

The friends dressed for the cold weather with extra-thick traveling cloaks, and set off for the midwife's home. The clouds were grey and heavy, and the crisp, cold scent in the air hinted that snow might fall. On the way to their destination, they caught up with their friend Alis, who told them she had just started an apprenticeship with the midwife a few days earlier and was very excited about her training. The three arrived at Mary's cottage, shivering.

"Come inside this instant!" Mary commanded. "'Tis freezing out. No wonder I've had no visits but you two today." She ushered the friends and her new apprentice indoors. "Let me guess. The two of you are here for pregnancy checks, right?"

The two friends removed their cloaks, and Mary studied Christiane. "I scarcely need to examine you to tell you're with child, dear. Let's do it and see how far along you are. And Carina, while you wait, help yourself to some chamomile tea."

Christiane settled on the examination table. Though she'd been through this before, lying on the table without undergarments always felt a little unnerving.

Mary washed her hands in the basin and poured a slight amount of almond oil onto her fingers, then conducted the exam, patiently explaining the steps to Alis as she went along. The experienced midwife had a way of distracting patients during their examinations so they felt less awkward. She inquired about Christiane's healing apprenticeship, Percival, Will, and how she was enjoying married life. Once she finished, Mary washed her hands again, and inquired, "When were your courses last, Christiane?"

"I never had them again after I lost the last pregnancy."

"Ah," Mary acknowledged. "I'd estimate by that date and the feel of your womb that you're twelve, thirteen weeks along. Which is further than last time. It's safe to share the news, if you wish," she assured her patient, and drew the young woman into a warm hug of congratulations.

"Would it be all right if Alis gave a quick feel?" Mary asked Christiane. "So she can learn the feel of a womb?"

"Certainly," said Christiane. "After all, I'm an apprentice and we all have to start somewhere."

Alis smiled a little awkwardly at her pregnant friend, cleaned her hands, rubbed some almond oil on them, and listened to Mary's instructions. The midwife-in-training inserted her fingers into Christiane gently and palpated her friend's lower abdomen just as Mary had explained. Alis took note of the size, position, and mobility of the womb.

"I hope that wasn't too bad," Alis said, as she finished her examination.

"Not at all. You were quite gentle."

It was Carina's turn next, and the young woman shook like a leaf on the examination table.

"My dear little thing, what's wrong?" Mary asked.

"I'm scared," Carina admitted. "I'm afraid I'm too weak-willed to deliver a baby without falling apart, and I've no idea how to be a mother." She began to sob uncontrollably.

Before conducting any type of exam, Mary held the young woman's hand, and explained to her that it's normal to be nervous, pregnancy makes one feel very emotional, and that the midwife and any of Carina's women-friends would be available for help or advice, day or night. That settled Carina's nerves, and at the end of the examination, the midwife proclaimed the young mother was nine weeks along.

Christiane and Carina dropped several gold coins into Mary's jar, thanking her and Alis profusely. Armed with ginger tea, the two friends set out to return home and share the good news with their husbands.

It had begun to snow lightly, and the friends were giddy with excitement, much like little children. They stuck out their tongues to catch flakes as they walked together toward the castle, arm-in-arm. A little bit of snow, some good news to share with their beloved husbands… What could possibly make the day any better?

Despite the cold weather, they knew it was archery training day, so their husbands would be on the training grounds presently. It reminded Christiane of the last time she'd informed her husband of her pregnancy, but she tried to put that from her mind, as she wanted to focus on sharing this new joy with Percival and her dearest friends.

Archery day always drew a large number of Camelot's residents. The citizens loved watching the action and making quiet wagers on the knights. The pregnant duo obscured themselves in the crowd and looked on from a distance.

"Damn, that man's got one arm and he still shoots better than the rest. I put my coin on him!" said a stranger standing in front of Carina. She smiled at this, happy that people recognized her husband's talents as opposed to his limitations.

Half an hour later, the men left the field, some happy, others disgruntled. Christiane and Carina caught their husbands' eyes.

"And what have you ladies been up to on this chilly day?" Ulrich asked the women, while he and Percival waded through the crowd toward their wives.

"Oh, not much," said Carina, sounding coy. "Just a quick trip to the midwife is all."

"Both of you?" asked Percival.

Carina could no longer contain herself. "Yes!" she blurted out. "I'm nine weeks along and Christiane is twelve! She's due in mid-summer, and I'm due in late-summer."

Ulrich stood there, speechless. He finally recovered. "You're well?" he asked Carina. "And all is well with the babe?"

"As far as anyone can tell," Carina answered.

"Heaven have mercy!" Ulrich yelled, pulling his wife into a solid embrace.

There was a great deal of hugging, kissing, hand-shaking, back-slapping, and congratulations going around. After all the fuss, the men explained they needed to wash up and change and would meet their wives in the hall for lunch.

Carina and Christiane were already well into their leek and parsnip pottage when the men arrived. Ulrich couldn't seem to contain his joy, and as his wife lifted a spoonful of food to her mouth, he made an announcement to the entire room.

"My wife's with child! I'm to be a father!"

Carina almost dropped her bowl in her lap as Ulrich pulled her up and kissed her fiercely on the mouth for all to see. Knights and courtiers raised their goblets and cheered with happiness for the couple.

Percival leaned over to Christiane. "I have to think you'd prefer I didn't announce your pregnancy like that," he murmured.

"I'd really prefer you didn't."

Once Carina had broken free from her husband's enthusiastic and public kiss, she made her own announcement. "And my best friend in the whole world, Christiane, is with child, too! Our babes will be just a month apart," the young woman gushed.

Percival laughed at the enthusiasm, and patted his wife's hand as she acknowledged the cheerful group with a slightly uncomfortable smile and wave.

Leon had smiled and toasted his friends' good fortune, but returned to his pottage. He was pleased for them, truly, but more convinced than ever that he'd never have such good news to share with people. Leon wondered how much longer he could hide his feelings of loneliness from others.

He wanted a family of his own. Was that too much to ask?

Perhaps it was.

XXXX

It was a peaceful time, and life was joyful, except for occasional minor frustrations.

One of those minor frustrations occurred on an evening deep in the bitter winter, when both Christiane and Carina's pregnant bellies had become much more prominent.

Dining with their husbands one night in Carina and Ulrich's chamber, the two women tore into their meal of roast duck, spiced carrots, and stewed cabbage with near wild abandon. Their appetites for food (and bedchamber activities) seemed to outpace their husbands' of late.

While everyone ate, Percival recalled a humorous conversation he'd had with Ulrich earlier that afternoon when the two had patrolled the Lower Town. Ulrich looked exhausted, completely dead on his feet. When Percival inquired why, Ulrich admitted, "My wife woke me twice in the middle of the night to, um, let's just say 'engage in marital relations.' As she's done every night for the past week." The young knight gave an exhausted sigh. "If I don't get a full-night's sleep soon, I'm going to die! I can't keep up with her."

Percival chuckled to himself at the memory of the discussion while the ladies finished their meals and then dug into cheesecake tarts with ravenous attention. Right then, Christiane sniffled. Percival thought perhaps she had a bit of a cold, or more likely, had inhaled a small piece of dessert into her nose during her eating frenzy. A few moments later, she snuffled some more, and then began to cry in earnest.

A worried Percival left his seat to be at her side. "Love, what's wrong? Are you ill?"

Christiane shook her head vigorously.

"What is it, then?"

Tears swam in her blue eyes and her lip quivered. "You think I'm fat!"

Percival was sure he'd misheard. "I think you're fat?" he repeated slowly, but as a question.

"See!"

"See what?"

"You DO think I'm fat!"

Percival was completely perplexed at this point, and a little frightened.

"No," he said carefully, "I don't think you're fat. I was merely repeating what you said, because I thought I'd misheard. Why on earth would I think you're fat? You're carrying my child; you're not fat."

Christiane sobbed more. "You don't want to touch me anymore because you think I'm disgusting!"

Percival's eyes grew wide and he glanced at Ulrich for a second, hoping the man would somehow come to his aid, but Ulrich looked just as chagrined, since Carina had also begun to tear-up.

"Christiane, I just 'touched' you last night," Percival reminded her.

"But not this morning!" she wailed.

"You were dead asleep! I didn't want to wake you… I know how you have trouble sleeping these days."

"I don't know if you love me anymore!" the pregnant woman bawled out of nowhere.

Percival was horrified. How could she say such things? "Wife, this is madness..."

Christiane pounded her fist on the table with such force, her plate bounced. "You think I'm mad?"

Percival realized he couldn't win this argument, and didn't understand how this had turned into an argument at all. "I don't think you're mad, but the whole idea is mad. Please calm down."

"I am calm!" Christiane screeched, but she certainly didn't sound or look calm.

A now-crying Carina turned to Ulrich. "I know you think I'm fat as well!" she said. "I think you'd rather have a pretty courtier with a tiny waist!"

Somehow, Ulrich seemed to understand what was happening better than Percival did. "You're beautiful, my wife," replied Ulrich calmly. "I could never think you're fat, and I have eyes for you, and you alone."

Ulrich professing adoration for his wife seemed to make Christiane boil with anger. That, and the fact her own husband had called her "mad" and told her to "calm down."

Christiane stood abruptly, jostling the dining table as she rose. "Carina! We're leaving!"

"Yes! Let's go."

The two women promptly swept from the room, arm-in-arm. Percival tried to stop them, but Ulrich grabbed his sleeve to halt the man.

"What the hell just happened here?" Percival asked, bewildered.

"Christiane hasn't done that before?"

Percival shook his head. "She's been a little cranky because she's had some trouble sleeping, but nothing like that!"

Ulrich laughed. "Then you're a lucky man. A week or so ago, Carina began to fly into rages, accusing me of thinking she's fat, disgusting, that I hate her, or I secretly harbor desires for other women. These episodes scared me so much, I went to see the midwife, because I worried she might _actually_ be going a little mad. Mary laughed at me." Ulrich then amended his statement. "Truthfully, the woman squealed with laughter; that would be a more accurate description. She explained that pregnancy can cause women to get very emotional and say things they don't mean. She told me to just assure Carina I love her and find her beautiful, and the storm should pass."

"You mean, this could happen, again?" asked Percival, with a touch of panic in his voice.

At that very moment, Carina and Christiane traipsed back into the room, still arm-in-arm, but neither was crying. They both appeared much more subdued and slightly sheepish. Christiane spoke first.

"I'm very sorry," she said, eyes to the ground. "I don't know what comes over me sometimes. This pregnancy has me very emotional and I don't always feel attractive."

"The same goes for me," explained Carina.

Ulrich dismissed their worries. "It's nothing. We're not the ones who have to carry babes in our bellies for almost a year. I'm sure we'd do far worse, right Percival?" he prompted, giving a subtle nod to his friend.

"Of course!" Percival agreed heartily, afraid of what might happen if he did otherwise.

Percival made note he owed Ulrich a great deal for helping to avert this crisis, and was grateful he had someone close to him with whom he could share future worries about pregnancy and child-rearing.

XXXX

After King Arthur and Percival had their first impromptu meeting in the castle gardens during late autumn, they continued meeting there each week to discuss private matters, even in the freezing temperatures. They both felt better unburdening themselves and sharing their struggles. The two men had developed a bond of friendship they felt couldn't be broken.

Percival talked about the lingering feelings of shame and guilt he experienced regarding Christiane's assault. Arthur discussed how the queen was suffering terribly about her lack of fertility, and the king admitted he was gravely worried about his wife's emotional state.

On this particular dark and frigid evening, Arthur looked decidedly stressed and haggard. He wasn't even clean-shaven, which was very unlike him. Without preamble, Arthur plopped down on the stone bench and spoke.

"We need to leave on an overnight hunting trip at first light. I've informed Leon and Merlin. Ulrich and Gwaine are to stay behind."

"Of course, sire. We'll be ready," Percival replied. "If I may, this is an unusual time of year for an overnight hunting trip. With such bitter cold and all."

"We'll have use of a cabin," the king responded, ignoring the latter part of his knight's statement. "I'm sorry, I can't say any more about it right now. I'll see you in the morning."

The king left Percival on the bench, and went to have a conversation with one of his other knights that he'd never wanted to have.

XXXX

Arthur approached Gwaine's door, took a deep breath, and knocked. He heard Gwaine approve entry, and strode inside. Gwaine sat with his feet propped on his table, reading a book, with a cheerful fire blazing in the background.

"Good evening, my lord. What brings you here?" he asked.

Arthur took a seat across from him. "I have a request. A very personal and unusual request. You may think this is just a trick where I'm trying to test your loyalty, but I promise you, on the queen's life, that's not what I'm doing. This is a true and honest entreaty, though it's horribly humiliating and embarrassing."

"You know I'd do anything for you, sire."

"Perhaps you should wait to say that until you hear my request." The king paused, gathering his nerve. "Gwaine, I need you to bed the queen."

Gwaine stared at Arthur as if the man were speaking a foreign language. _No, _he thought. _I misheard. Or, I'm misunderstanding_.

"Sire, surely I didn't hear that correctly."

"You heard correctly. Allow me to explain."

Arthur launched into the story of how Guinevere was shattered over the fact after three years of marriage, she still had not produced an heir. He further explained they had no idea if the problem lay with the queen or with Arthur. And the only way to determine this once and for all was to have her lie with another man.

"Surely, Arthur, there must be another way!" Gwaine fretted, overwhelmed by the request.

"The other alternative is to have me lie with a willing woman, send Guinevere away for close to a year, and have her return with that woman's babe, claiming it's ours. But she swears she could not bear the separation, and that the speculation and rumors would likely cast a great deal of doubt. Guinevere wants to reserve that option as an absolute last resort."

"Let's be clear… You're asking me to make love to the queen; is that correct?" Gwaine asked, still flabbergasted.

The great King Arthur slumped in his seat. Gwaine had never, ever seen him look so defeated and small.

"Yes, Gwaine, that is precisely what I'm asking," confirmed the king. "I'm terrified I'll lose her otherwise."

"Let me just bring up this point," Gwaine said, rubbing his temples as if fending off a headache, "if I agree to this, and she doesn't fall pregnant, isn't that worse? Then she'll know for a fact she's barren."

"I'd thought of that," Arthur admitted. "If that turns out to be the case, she'd consider the option of having me lie with another woman and have the lady carry our child. But not before we know for sure."

Gwaine ran his hands through his hair with nervousness and paced. "Arthur, this could cause serious problems in your marriage, your wife being with another man. If I agree, I fear you'll hate me afterward. Why not choose one of the younger knights or a nice nobleman?"

"Because I trust you completely. I trust your discretion and count on your silence. As it is, I had to ask young Ulrich to guard the queen's private quarters while I'm...away on a hunt. But he's aware of the circumstances. I saw no other alternative than to inform him as well."

Arthur stood, walked around the dining table, and moved toward the window, gazing out at the city of Camelot. "And Guinevere insisted she feels most comfortable with you, as the two of you have a longstanding friendship. And she feels...you'd respect her."

Gwaine still felt very uncertain and kept pacing. "If I were to agree, and Guinevere conceived, would I have any role in this child's life?"

"You would be responsible to help with training if it is a boy. A girl, you could still assist with basic sword techniques. Of course, you'd see him or her grow up at court. That's all I can offer," Arthur explained. "That, and the knowledge that your kindness and devotion to your king and queen produced Camelot's heir and soothed Guinevere's soul."

Arthur took a long pause before making his next statement. "And I must add this last caveat, though it pains me to say it – if you ever breathe even a word of this arrangement to anyone, I would execute you immediately and without hesitation."

Gwaine stopped pacing and leaned against the dining table, a few drops of perspiration apparent at the base of his throat. "Are you going to allow me to decline if I wish?"

"I would never force you. But I do beg you for your help."

"How long do I have to make my decision?"

"I'll need to know within the hour so Leon, Merlin, and Percival can begin to make their preparations for an overnight hunt with me. I can't remain in the castle while this happens," the king said grimly. "We would leave at first light tomorrow and return the following afternoon."

Gwaine pinched the bridge of his nose and then met the king's eyes for a long moment. "Arthur, out of loyalty to you and my friendship with the queen, I'll do this. And know that I will treat her with the respect, kindness, and friendship that she deserves. That both of you do."

Arthur stepped forth and clasped his trusted knight's forearm. "It is settled, then. You can meet Guinevere in her private chambers any time after dawn tomorrow." The king dropped Gwaine's arm and looked away. "And after this moment, we shall never speak of this again."

"Agreed, my lord. May I ask one favor?"

"Anything. Lands, gold, titles, whatever you want," Arthur offered.

"None of that. You know me well enough to realize those things don't interest me. Would you just have someone inform me if the queen does, in fact, conceive?"

The king gave a slight nod and strode from the room before Gwaine could see the tears of sadness and frustration burning in his eyes.


	20. Chapter 19 The Hunt and the Queen

**A/N - Just...wow! It appears as if Guinevere and Gwaine are going to get busy! Didn't see that one coming. This is obviously going to be a real challenge in Arthur and Guinevere's marriage.**

**Chapter nineteen will focus on how the king copes (or doesn't cope) and the interaction between Gwaine and Guinevere. Does she go through with it? Find out! However, please be advised this chapter contains a good deal of highly-descriptive sex. **

**Again, I adore you, my fabulous readers. **

Chapter 19 – The Hunt and the Queen

At dawn, armed with crossbows, knives, and provisions, the king, Percival, Leon, and Merlin set off for their overnight stag and deer hunt. The men were a little startled by the fact that the king wanted to go hunting so abruptly and in such cold weather, but like the loyal knights and friends they were, they asked no questions.

The group rode for a small hunting cabin located about three hours north of the castle. They made excellent time, and as soon as the men arrived at the rustic shelter, Arthur announced he wanted to go for a walk alone, and disappeared for over an hour. During that time, Merlin and the knights unpacked and discussed the king's sullen mood and demeanor.

"Something is not right," Merlin told the small group. "I can sense it. Even if I couldn't, Arthur looks miserable and hasn't shaven, and he always wants a shave. And he would never go on a hunt without Gwaine," he noted. "I tried to ask him what was troubling him, but he told me to mind my own affairs."

"Whatever it is, we should just do our best to help the king keep his mind off his worries," said Leon with authority. "I know you mean well, Merlin, but perhaps there's a good reason he doesn't want to discuss his problems, and we need to respect that."

Once the king returned, the men attempted to draw Arthur into their conversation and jokes, but were met with stony-faced silence. As they made strategic plans for the hunt, the king said nothing. Normally, Arthur led the discussions, or at a minimum, provided spirited suggestions. But this time, he glumly went along with whatever Leon and Percival suggested. The men began to worry if the dark magic from their leader's wound at Camlann was taking its toll.

As Merlin continued to cast concerned glances in Arthur's direction, the king erupted.

"Damn it, Merlin! I feel fine! Can we please just go hunt?"

The hunt went better than expected. After many hours of tracking, Arthur felled a large stag, which appeared to lift his spirits slightly. Leon and Percival dressed, skinned, and butchered the beast, as hunting and handling dead animals were not Merlin's favorite jobs.

Meanwhile, Arthur sat on the ground by the hearth inside of the cottage, drinking deeply from his wineskin. Before the others returned inside to cook a supper of venison, Arthur appeared to be asleep in a corner, his empty wineskin in hand, and did not rouse for his meal when Merlin tried to wake him with a gentle tap on the shoulder.

The king was awake, but feigned sleep so the men would leave him in peace. He couldn't stand Merlin's continued sorrowful glances and his knights pretending as if everything was normal. The other men sat around the warm hearth, eating, drinking, and laughing, which was fine by him; the king wanted to be left alone.

In the middle of the night, when he thought everyone else was dead asleep on their bedrolls, Arthur wept. The thought of his beloved Guinevere sharing a bed with another man, even one he trusted without question, was more than he could stand. He rose and gathered his things.

Surprisingly, Percival woke, when no one else did. "Arthur, are you unwell?" he whispered, hoping no one else would wake.

"I have to leave straight away," the king informed Percival, sounding emotional, his voice faltering.

"Sire, it's the middle of the night, and you've drunk quite a bit. That might be unwise. At least let me accompany you."

Arthur's shoulders shook with grief. "I can't stand this, Percival. I have to go back to the castle right now."

Percival had no idea what Arthur couldn't stand. "My lord, can you give me just a few minutes of your time before we leave?" asked the knight. "Just so I can understand what's happening? You know I would never betray your confidence. And it's clear something is troubling you terribly."

"Fine," Arthur agreed with reluctance. "Let's step outside."

Outside in the brutal cold, the two sat on the ground, backs resting against the cabin exterior. It took far longer than a few minutes for the king to explain the situation and his subsequent misery to Percival. The knight tried to keep his expression neutral, but he felt terrible for the king and understood why he was so devastated.

"Sire, please forgive me for saying this, but given the hour, I'm sure the deed is already done. Returning now won't help. I would stick to the original plan of returning tomorrow afternoon. I'm sure it would make you feel far worse if you walked in on them." He paused, waiting for Arthur to argue, but he did not.

"Your love for Guinevere is like none I've ever seen," the trusted knight continued. "I understand and agree with what you've done, but I know that doesn't make the pain any less. However, I do know this: one night with Gwaine won't change your wife's unyielding love for you. That much I can promise."

Without acknowledging his statement, Arthur then told Percival about the other options the royal couple had considered, such as having the king impregnate a willing woman, then sending Guinevere away for close to a year and having her return with that baby, claiming it was their own.

The king continued on. "I can't dismiss the image in my mind of Gwaine touching Guinevere. I can't believe I agreed to this and am regretting it already. And I realize this makes me sound very unmanly, but I don't want to touch another woman, Percival. Any more than Gwen wants to lie with Gwaine. But we don't know what else to do." He looked skyward with a heavy heart. "I know many kings have mistresses. It's often expected, really. But that's just not me."

"I don't think that's unmanly," Percival told Arthur. "It makes you a good husband. I feel the same way about my wife. And I must say, I admire you for being so selfless in providing her with this gift, though it pains you terribly. If there's any couple who can make it through this, it's you and Guinevere."

The king looked solemn. "I hope so, Percival. Dear God, I do."

Arthur stood. "Thank you for your counsel and understanding. We'll stay the night."

The king returned to the cabin with Percival close behind.

XXXX

Earlier the previous morning in the castle, Guinevere paced the floor nervously in her private quarters. She kept walking back and forth, eyeing the stock of food and drink, and knew it was plenty to last until the following morning. Not that she'd feel like eating, but Gwaine probably would. A private privy was attached to the room by short corridor; neither would have any reason to leave.

Pacing wasn't helping, so the queen sat and brushed out her long, dark, wavy hair once again. She wore a light-pink, half-sleeved nightdress that laced up the front, with a matching lace wrap. Guinevere dabbed some more rosewater on her throat and studied her reflection. She worried the clothing and rosewater was too forward, but she reminded herself that Gwaine was, after all, a man, and it might help if she looked acceptable and smelled decent.

Gwaine approached the queen's chamber door and spoke with Ulrich, who was already standing guard. "I can't believe I agreed to this," Gwaine said with a shake of his head.

"Nor can I," said Ulrich, unsure of what else to say. "I'll be right outside of the door until tomorrow. Should you need anything. And…good luck."

Gwaine tapped on the heavy door and waited for Guinevere to bid him entry. It was granted, and he walked in looking the same as always with his ever-present dark facial stubble, clad in his tan trousers and a light tunic. But the sight of his friend Guinevere, with her large brown eyes, hair unbound, clothed in a pink lace nightdress, was certainly something to behold.

"I always thought you were beautiful, my friend," Gwaine said, approaching the queen at her seat in front of the vanity, trying to put her at ease. "But right now, you look truly gorgeous."

Guinevere was one of the first people he'd met in Camelot, and he was struck by her grace and beauty from that very first day, long before she was queen. But once he discovered she loved Arthur, Gwaine put thoughts of her out of his mind, though he had indulged in the occasional fantasy or two over the years.

"That's kind of you, Gwaine. But as you can imagine, I'm very nervous and upset," she noted, her eyes shining with tears.

"I know this is much more of a hardship for you than it is for me," said Gwaine. "After all, I get to spend time with my good friend, who happens to be a beautiful queen."

"Oh, please," responded Guinevere, "I do think you're a very handsome man! I always did."

"Now the truth comes out," he joked. "What would you like to do first? Perhaps some wine to settle the nerves? Perhaps a lot of wine?"

Guinevere couldn't help but laugh at the suggestion. "Wine at this early hour? Well, why not, just this once? If ever an occasion called for it..."

She rose from her seat in front of the mirror and poured two healthy goblets of wine. They sat at the small dining table and drained their cups in a few gulps, followed by a second goblet right after. The infusion of wine made Guinevere feel slightly more relaxed, albeit a bit fuzzy-headed, for which she was grateful.

Gwaine sensed it was probably a bad idea to waste too much time. "How do you think you'd like to start things off?" the knight asked gently. He didn't want to pressure the queen, but he also didn't think it would be helpful to wait too long and risk one of them backing out of the arrangement.

"I'd like to leave on my nightdress," she said demurely, "if that's acceptable."

"That's fine. But for this to work, I think you'll have to remove _something_," Gwaine said, referring to her undergarments, assuming she was wearing them.

Guinevere reddened. "Of course, yes."

"I hate to make too many requests," said Gwaine, "but it might also help if you'd allow me to unlace your nightdress in the front. When you're ready, of course. That might help, uh, help hasten our progress."

"I see. Okay." The queen's skin flushed a deep red. "Also, I don't think I should kiss you and…and I don't think we should engage in any oral activity, if you understand my meaning," she rambled. "And I don't plan to get any pleasure from this, so don't spend your time worrying about that. Just make sure you take yours. Obviously."

Gwaine rose from his chair and knelt in front of the seated Guinevere, taking her hands in his. "Gwen, those are a lot of rules, and in the heat of the moment, they might be difficult to remember. Why don't we just see what happens and treat this as a lovely day and night between friends? And if you become uncomfortable with anything, you just tell me and I'll stop that instant. But it'll be difficult for me to have any pleasure if you're unhappy through the entire time."

"All right, agreed," the queen said, relief evident in her voice. "Shall we have more wine?" she asked, lifting her goblet.

The knight plucked the vessel from her hand and set it down on the table. "You've had two healthy goblets, so while I could handle more, maybe you should hold off for a little bit. Or you'll be snoring before we begin."

Gwaine then studied the chamber interior. "Would you like to sit on the bed?"

"I know this sounds odd, but I'd like to sit on the edge of the table. I don't know why. That's the image I've had in my head about how we would start things out." Hotly embarrassed by her bold statement, Gwen said, "Forgive me; that was a very brazen suggestion."

"That works for me," Gwaine commented, lifting the queen from her chair and setting her down on the edge of the thick oak dining table.

Gwaine removed the queen's lace wrap, leaving her in her form-fitting nightdress. He tossed his own shirt onto the floor. Holding her hands, Gwaine admired the queen. "You really are a true beauty," his brown eyes taking in her enticing body. "Even better than I'd imagined. And I must admit, I _have_ imagined from time to time." The knight pulled the laces at the front of her nightdress, feeling Gwen tremble as he did so. He stopped immediately.

"No, it's okay," Gwen said. "Go on."

And he did, exposing the large, full, gorgeous breasts he'd always discreetly admired from a distance. Gwaine was aroused instantly. "May I touch you?" he whispered.

The queen nodded.

Gwaine cupped Guinevere's breasts and caressed them. He moaned with pleasure at the weight and feel of them in his hands. The knight then rubbed his thumbs gently over each nipple, and as they hardened, he took one into his mouth and licked it with care. Gwaine slid his tongue back and forth between both breasts, paying close attention to each one before moving to the other. Guinevere sighed in approval, and he continued his attention to each breast, mumbling, "So sweet," under his breath.

The queen was intrigued by the new sensation of scratchy stubble against her chest, and it was very pleasant, yet quite unlike her husband's touch. Guinevere leaned back and Gwaine slid his hands to her waist.

"Can I undress you now?" she asked, and he encouraged her to do so. After his trousers fell, he figured it was a good moment to lose his drawers as well.

The queen had seen only one man naked before in her life, her husband. Gwaine looked quite different, she observed. His waist was narrower, body hair much darker, and his erection, while not quite as long as Arthur's, was thick and pointed upward with more of a curve. Without asking permission, Guinevere first ran her hands along his chest, then down to his lower abdomen, and finally took his length into her hand and stroked it tentatively.

Gwaine groaned. "My lady, you shouldn't do too much of that."

"I'm sorry," she said, flustered, unsure of what she'd done wrong.

"Oh, don't be sorry. That felt amazing. I just want to make sure I save myself for the main event," he teased.

Gwaine moved forward and boldly hiked up the queen's lace nightdress. It was immediately apparent she wore no undergarment. He pressed his erection between the apex of her thighs, not entering her, but gently sliding against her. The aroused knight found her warm and ready to receive him. He replaced his length with his finger, paying close attention to the swollen bundle of nerves between her legs, and worked it carefully. Lost in the delicious feelings of passion, Gwen groaned and moved her hips forward, inviting more contact.

Gwaine leaned his forehead against hers as he continued to lavish attention on her. "I'm sorry," he said, just as he pressed his lips against hers. He simply couldn't help but kiss the queen, and she didn't protest.

After several minutes of touching, caressing, and deep, passionate kisses, Gwaine felt as if he might burst, and had the feeling Gwen was close to that point, too. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes, please," she purred, sounding as if she were aching with need.

Gwen held onto the back of Gwaine's muscled shoulders as he entered her in one swift motion. She took a moment to adjust to this thickness, but she found he felt wonderful inside of her, which was not what she'd expected. Not better than her husband, but certainly different.

Gwaine grit his teeth as he thrust inside of the captivating Guinevere. He'd never been with a woman so tight or intoxicating before. But he told himself he didn't care if he had to last for an hour, or two hours, he would make the queen come apart in his arms. He would do this.

After many minutes of the two groaning and sighing, with Gwaine intermittently commenting: "So beautiful," and "God, please," he lowered Guinevere's back onto the table, and moved her legs over his shoulders. He continued to pump inside of her, harder and faster than ever, and moved on hand downward to work her swollen center as he moved. Gwaine felt her begin to tremble and tighten herself against his cock; he knew she was close. The queen of Camelot was about to come for him, and the notion made him feel drunk with lust.

As much as she didn't want to, Guinevere couldn't seem to help herself as she came hard and with a loud scream.

Gwaine had planned to keep going until she'd come again, but he couldn't hold off, not after the way her heat squeezed his cock. After her scream of passion, he spilled his seed with a loud gasp.

There was no going back now; the deed was done, never to be undone.

Gwaine carefully withdrew himself. "I usually avoid trying to get women with child," he said to Guinevere, "but I think you should probably lie there for a minute before you move. I'll get you a wet cloth so you can freshen up."

He brought Gwen a cloth and excused himself to use the privy and walked down the short corridor to the privy closet. He leaned his head against the cold stone wall for a moment after he closed the door. Gwaine hadn't expected to have enjoyed himself as much as he did, and didn't think the queen would be so responsive and eager. Her exquisitely tight sex, gorgeous, full breasts, and obvious enjoyment of his touch were nearly enough to bring the man to his knees. He prayed she would lie to her husband about their time together. He then prayed she'd say nothing at all.

Gwaine returned to the chamber with a somewhat forced smile on his face, only to find Gwen in bed, dozing. He thought a bit of rest might do him good, too. He wasn't sure if it was appropriate to enter the bed without an invitation, but Guinevere woke briefly and pulled the covers back, indicating Gwaine should join her. He slid into bed and held her gently as they both slept.

A few hours later, it was early afternoon, and the two found themselves famished. Gwaine also found himself with an aching erection touching the queen's bottom. He tried to get up, thinking they could both do with some food, but Guinevere's hand stopped him. He was still spooning her, and as she faced away from him.

"Take me from behind, will you?" she asked.

Not one to dismiss such a request from a beautiful woman, he did. Gwaine eased into her wet folds, kneading her breast with one hand while kissing the back of her rosewater-scented neck, thrusting with urgency. This time, they both found their releases quickly.

"Don't get up," Gwaine insisted, pulling on his drawers and walking over to the dining table. "I'll make us a plate and we can eat in bed."

They feasted on bread, cheese, and fruits, laughing and joking like the old friends they were. Once they'd devoured their food and cleared the plates, Gwaine joked, "I'd rather feast on you."

"And I, you," said Gwen. She rose from the bed and before Gwaine knew what was happening, she fell to her knees, lowered his drawers, and had her mouth sealed around his cock.

Though the sensation was heavenly, Gwaine backed away from Guinevere's touch. "No, no, we need to save my precious fluid!"

The queen stood, and Gwaine cupped her face. "Would you let me please you like that?" he asked. "Of course, you don't have to let me, but it would arouse me more than you can imagine."

She took Gwaine's hand and led him back to the bed, then settled back on the pillows. Before she changed her mind, Gwaine dove between her legs, and worked her core with his tongue. From that first second, she writhed in ecstasy, grabbing the sheets with her fists, burying her hands in his long hair, and moaning with delight. He licked her rapidly, moving two fingers within her as he coaxed the most forceful orgasm from her that he'd ever felt from a woman. Once again, she called out in pleasure.

Gwaine realized he'd been rubbing himself against the sheets as he pleasured her, and was near release himself. Not wanting anything to go to waste, he pushed into her, and three thrusts later, he was spent.

"Sorry. Those precious fluids..." with a somewhat goofy smile upon his face.

Gwen was breathless. "You know, you're excellent at this."

He smoothed a damp lock away from her cheek. "You make it all too easy."

Exhausted and sore from their vigorous lovemaking, Guinevere and Gwaine agreed to take a break from said activities until evening time. They ate, read, and the queen jokingly tried to teach Gwaine how to embroider, but to no avail. The two had a pleasant time talking about the old days, before Guinevere had become queen and before Camlann. For a while, she forgot her troubles.

The sun had set a few hours prior, and Gwaine started a blazing fire in the hearth. "So, do you think we should do it one more time tonight?" he asked the queen. "Then once more in the morning? Just to be certain?"

Guinevere pressed her lips together and nodded. "That's probably best." A look of deep sorrow then overtook her features. "Gwaine, you know I love Arthur more than anything, don't you?"

"I do. And I love both of you as friends, and as your subject." He rose from his seat and stared into the fire, his back to the queen. "That's why tomorrow, when Arthur returns home, I need you to tell him we were together only twice, and while I treated you kindly, you thought only of him the whole time. And that you didn't enjoy it. Tell Arthur I was a lousy lover and could never compare to a king. I know that's not true, but I feel sick with worry that the king will hate me." Gwaine returned to his seat next to Guinevere.

"He could never hate you, nor could I. But I agree, to say that is best. I'll also take a hot bath to wash away any trace of you." The queen looked a little forlorn with that last comment.

Gwaine wanted to lighten the mood. "In the meantime, let's have fun together. Oh, and I intend to get you out of that lace nightdress!" he proclaimed, hopping out of his chair, chasing her around the chamber while she screamed and laughed.

They made love again that evening before bed. He did, in fact, talk her out of her lace. They spent the night sleeping in the large, comfortable bed, and enjoyed each other's bodies one last time at dawn. They both felt emotional that last time, as they knew they'd never be joined in such a way again. During the final moments, Gwaine uttered, "My beautiful queen."

They had shared a special time, not to be forgotten, but never to be repeated. Yet they were still friends, and always would be.

The two dressed. Just before Gwaine took his leave, he asked the queen a question.

"Gwen, I know we will never speak of this again. But if you do fall pregnant, in your heart, will you sometimes remember this child is also mine?"

She with warmth at her good friend. "I could never forget."

Gwaine closed the door quietly behind him. Ulrich looked tired, with bloodshot eyes, as he'd remained awake all night on guard. And the man had heard everything.

"I truly hope this doesn't turn into a complete disaster," Ulrich said to his comrade.

"That makes two of us, my friend."

XXXX

Guinevere soaked in a hot bath in her shared chambers while one of her maids used a scrub-brush on the queen's skin. Guinevere wanted to look radiant and well-rested for Arthur's return, to help him understand she'd been anxiously waiting for him, which was the truth. She desperately wanted her husband to hold her, yet she was also frightened of how he might react when he returned.

Another maid entered the king and queen's shared quarters, and the two women worked diligently on drying Gwen's long locks, styling it loosely (as Arthur preferred), and laced her into a rich red gown. Guinevere asked her maids to stay a while and sit with her, as she had no desire to be alone with her thoughts as she waited for her king.

A couple of hours later it was late afternoon, and word reached the castle that the king, his knights, and Merlin had returned. Arthur took the stairs two-at-a-time to reach his queen as swiftly as possible. He felt the need to touch her immediately, to claim her once again as his own.

As Percival and Leon ascended the stairs, Ulrich seemed to materialize out of nowhere, and the young knight grabbed the back of Percival's shirt, ushering him into a corner.

"I know," said Percival, before Ulrich could utter a word.

"You do?" Ulrich asked with surprise. "Well, it's probably worse than you thought. I stood guard yesterday and last night, and if the king senses the kind of night Gwaine and his wife shared, he's going to erupt. They, ah, seemed to enjoy each other's company. Quite frequently and vigorously, if you understand what I mean. And I think that was rather unexpected."

Percival ran his hands over his unshaven face, worried. "This isn't good. We need to remain close by and keep an eye on Arthur and Gwaine." Almost as an afterthought, Percival asked, "And where is Gwaine?"

"In his quarters, probably getting some sleep."

"Go tell him to bolt his door. And for God's sake, warn him about Arthur."

While Ulrich ran to do as the older knight had instructed, Arthur entered his shared chambers. He found Guinevere chatting with her maids, looking worn and tired. The queen dismissed her help, and ran into Arthur's welcoming embrace. She wept from guilt, fear, and relief. Her sobs set-off Arthur as well, and he began to cry.

"Please tell me you'll have me now," whispered Arthur to Gwen, once they'd both calmed down sufficiently. "I need you."

She'd hoped he would ask this. "Yes."

Arthur became a bit frustrated by all the lacing and small fastenings he had to manipulate in order to remove his wife's dress, but he knew it would be worth the wait. Once the garment was removed, he noted she had very little on underneath it, and dropped his own trousers at once, in too much of a hurry to remove his tunic. He fell onto the bed with his queen, mouth locked onto hers, tongue exploring her mouth eagerly. He thrust into her with great urgency, desperate for her comfort and love.

It took nothing more than the faintest of grimaces from his wife for him to realize she was sore. Then, Arthur didn't know how he could have missed it, but he noticed a slight irritation on her neck, likely, a whisker burn. And not his. He disengaged from her immediately and saw another offending mark on the inside of her upper left thigh. In that instant, he knew. The king knew she'd been with Gwaine over and over again, and she'd enjoyed it.

Arthur sprang up from the bed, horrified and disoriented. He scrambled around wildly for his clothing, desperate to leave before he hurt someone.

It took a few moments for Guinevere to understand what was happening, but when she caught a glimpse of her inner thigh, she understood. "Please, Arthur, it was nothing!" she started to lie, praying and hoping he'd believe her. "It was only a couple of times, just to be sure. I didn't get any pleasure from it!" Her next statement was completely true: "I love you and want _only_ you. Your touch, your body's the only one I crave."

Her words fell on deaf ears. Arthur couldn't even look at Guinevere as he bolted from the chamber, grabbing his traveling cloak as he fled. He had to get out of the castle before he was sick. Fortunately, the king made it to a secluded area of the gardens before he bent forward and vomited. He stood and wiped his mouth, carefully considering if he should go upstairs to kill Gwaine first, or get blind-drunk at the tavern. He opted to get blind-drunk, and would think about killing his loyal friend later.

When the king arrived at the tavern minutes later, his cloak wrapped around him, mostly concealing his face. Camelot residents knew this was a sign that he should be granted privacy. The tavern owner tended to the king personally.

"My lord, what can I get you?" Will asked in a low voice.

"A large pitcher of mead, if you would. Only one tankard is necessary," Arthur requested. "Thank you."

"Right away," Will responded, returning a few moments later with a pitcher and tankard. He set them down on the table and with a slight bow, left the king to his thoughts.

Arthur did nothing but guzzle mead. Once the first pitcher was empty, he ordered a second, which Will promptly served. After the first few gulps of the fresh mead, Arthur knew he needed to stop drinking, or he'd never make it back to the castle. The king left his money on the table and stumbled from the tavern into the winter-evening cold, dreaming up vicious and horrible ways in which he could slaughter Gwaine, each mental image more stunningly brutal and grotesque than the last.

"That son of a bitch was just supposed to do it once or twice," the king muttered to himself, as he staggered his way back home. "He wasn't supposed to pleasure her over and over, the bastard!"

As Arthur reached the castle entryway with some difficulty, Ulrich and Percival were there to greet him. The two knights walked alongside him, making small talk, acting as if everything was fine and normal. But even in his inebriated state, the king was onto them; he knew the knights wanted to keep him as far away from Gwaine as possible.

Pretending to be interested in their conversation about some new crossbows, Arthur shocked the two men when he took off for Gwaine's quarters at a dead run. Drunk or not, the king was fast on his feet. The two knights raced after Arthur, and Percival was just able to grab the back of the king's cloak as he reached Gwaine's chamber. With a white-hot rage building inside of him, Arthur somehow wrestled himself out of the huge knight's grip and kicked Gwaine's chamber door wide open, sword drawn.

"That really wasn't necessary, Arthur," said Gwaine, seated in his dining-table chair, looking unperturbed. "I've been expecting you and the door was unlocked."

Percival and Ulrich rushed into the room and stood close behind Arthur, ready to tackle the man in an instant if necessary. Although such an act would be considered treasonous, they couldn't allow the drunk king to execute their friend, a man who'd done nothing wrong.

"Leave us," Gwaine told his friends.

The knights protested, but Gwaine insisted they depart and ushered them out. The door was broken, but it still closed partially. Ulrich and Percival stood directly outside, silently, just in case.

The king, vibrating with fury, stood with his sword pointed at Gwaine's chest. "Get on your knees," commanded Arthur, seemingly stone-cold sober now. "I can't stand it, Gwaine. What have you done to me?" the king ranted.

As instructed by his king, Gwaine went to his knees, eyes cast to the floor and arms outstretched behind him, as was the typical execution position. He chose his next words very carefully, in case they were his last.

"Sire, I did nothing but treat your queen with the kindness and tenderness she deserves. Would you rather I mistreated her? Brought her to tears? Cared nothing for her feelings or comfort?"

"A long continuum exists between mistreating her and what you did," Arthur argued, weapon shaking violently in his hand.

"Then I humbly ask for your forgiveness. I care for you and the queen." Gwaine still looked at the floor. "You may not believe this right now, but my love and respect for you is great, Arthur. I wish I could take away your pain, but I can't. I only hope that the end result of all of this is a child, your child, whom you can hold close to your heart." The knight bowed his head lower. "I've nothing more to say, my lord. I place myself at your mercy."

Arthur thought of how easy it would be to slice Gwaine's head off; the man wouldn't even have time to resist! But Arthur knew his loyal knight was correct. Gwaine had done only what had been asked of him. The king wished his wife had enjoyed her time with Gwaine less, far less, but it was done. Was it worth killing his friend over this? Disrupting the peace of the kingdom? He was the leader of Camelot; he had to behave rationally and honorably. But the king needed to know one thing.

"Does she still love me?" Arthur inquired, sword still pointed at Gwaine, instantly feeling like a foolish child for asking such a thing.

Still on his knees, Gwaine dared to look up. "Arthur, she cried when I entered the room and nearly backed out of the whole arrangement. The last words she said to me before I left were that she loves you more than anything."

The king seemed somewhat satisfied with that answer and sheathed his sword. He asked Gwaine to stand, and then punched the man in the face with every ounce of strength he could muster. Even Percival and Ulrich standing outside of the door could hear the sickening crunch of their good friend's nose breaking. Gwaine pressed his hands against his face to stem the bleeding.

"Now, we're even," Arthur stated matter-of-factly. "Go see Gaius and Christiane about that. And don't think that means you can skip training tomorrow."

The king turned on his heel and left, while Ulrich and Percival entered and tended to their bloodied friend.

Ulrich examined his friend's injury and grimaced. "That looks horrible."

Gwaine reached for his napkin on the dining table and stuffed the cloth into his nostrils. "Coming from a one-armed knight, I must look pretty damn bad."


	21. Chapter 20 A Note

**A/N - Yes, Gwaine and the queen did the deed! And no, Arthur's not dealing with it well. At all. I don't blame him; I know I'd freak out if I were in his position.**

**Another very interesting turn of events will happen during chapter twenty, which is a shorter one. Christiane and Carina are asked to help the king. I don't want to say too much about it, but it's something else that will put another strain on the royal marriage. And, did Guinevere conceive? We'll find out during this chapter. **

**Thank you so much for continuing to read my story. It means more than I can say.**

Chapter 20 – A Note

Gaius and Christiane fixed Gwaine's nose well enough, but it appeared as if it would never sit perfectly straight again.

"How many people can brag that they were punched in the face by a king and lived to talk about it?" Christiane joked.

Life in the castle seemed to return to some semblance of normalcy. The king and queen appeared to be getting along well enough as they waited eagerly to see if Gwen was with child. Arthur even seemed to forgive Gwaine's perceived transgressions. All was calm for the moment.

However, three weeks later, Gwaine received a note from the king bearing the royal wax seal. It was written in Arthur's own hand, and contained one word – "No."

Gwaine's time with Gwen hadn't produced a child. She was certainly barren, and the knight imagined the queen was devastated.

A few days after writing the note, Arthur summoned Christiane and Carina to his council chamber. They were nervous, as the two women had never had a semi-private audience with the king before. The friends entered the council room and executed deep curtsies.

"Welcome, Carina and Christiane. Thank you for coming to see me. Please have a seat," Arthur politely offered.

The women sat at the council table as Arthur explained why he'd summoned them. "I trust your husbands, therefore I trust you both equally. I need your help. Once again, I find myself in a somewhat embarrassing position and need assistance. I hope that you can help me."

"Your Highness, it would be an honor to help you," said Christiane.

The king looked grim. "I hope you still think that once you've heard what I need."

Arthur was tired of telling the story of his wife's troubles conceiving a child. But he pressed on and told the ladies that Guinevere was barren, yet he didn't specify how he knew, and the ladies knew better than to ask. In light of Guinevere's problems conceiving, the king explained that he and the queen wanted to proceed with Arthur impregnating another woman, but this woman would have to be willing to give up the child to the royal couple. He explained he and his wife needed a lady who could be trusted to never say a word.

"She would have to live away from Camelot while pregnant, but could return afterward." Arthur explained. "The woman would be provided for fully during her time away, attended to with the best medical and midwifery care, and would be compensated richly afterward. In other words, she would never have to worry about a home or gold for the rest of her life.

"One of my concerns about this situation is that I wouldn't want the woman to feel like...like a prostitute. I want to emphasize that her compensation would be for her kindness and generosity in carrying our child, not for having sex with the king," he explained.

Arthur appeared even more flustered and uncomfortable at the end of his request, and Carina and Christiane felt for him. They loved the king and queen and felt very sorry that the royal couple found themselves in such a position and needed to resort to these measures. They'd been nothing but fair, just, and kind rulers and did not deserve this heartache. Christiane spoke first.

"Sire, we understand and are very sorry for the troubles you and the queen have had. We know how desperately she wants a baby; I can see it in her eyes." Christiane paused for a moment. "Would you mind if Carina and I dismissed ourselves for a few minutes? I have a few suggestions in mind, but I'd prefer to discuss them with my friend in private, if that's acceptable to you."

"By all means."

The friends took their leave and elected to converse in a private section of the gardens. They each had several ideas about which woman would be most appropriate, but in the end, narrowed it down to the one woman they both felt would be willing, kind enough, discreet, and highly loyal to the king and queen. And it didn't hurt that this woman had once joked about the fact that Arthur was "the sexiest king Camelot has seen in centuries."

The ladies returned to the council chamber. Arthur looked up from some documents he was reviewing. "Do you have someone in mind for me?" he asked.

"We do, sire," Christiane said, as she and Carina took seats once again. "The woman we have in mind is very loyal and thinks highly of you. She has a child, a four-year-old son. We thought it would be important to know that she has the ability to bear healthy children. She is a kind, smart woman. The lady we have in mind was widowed when the Doracha attacked; she discovered she was with child shortly thereafter."

Arthur's face fell. When he heard the word "widow," in his mind's eye, he saw an older woman, probably unattractive. He felt ashamed for having these thoughts, as the woman's appearance should be the last worry on his mind.

"This, um, this woman is older?" he asked while looking down at his papers again, shuffling them, attempting to hide his concern.

"What, my lord?" Christiane asked, understanding his question at the very last moment. "Oh, no, no!" she said with a slight laugh. "She married at seventeen and had her son when she was eighteen. That makes her twenty-two now, a few years younger than you. The woman in question, Drea, is quite pretty. She has dark auburn hair, blue eyes, and a fair complexion. She's on the taller side, close to my height, and has a voluptuous build, but not too voluptuous. And, if I may be so bold to add, she's indicated in the past she finds you quite handsome."

Arthur looked up suddenly. "She said that?" He never thought about his subjects finding him attractive or not.

"She did, sire," Carina confirmed.

The king's brow wrinkled with concern. "Should I come with you to talk to her?"

"No, sire," said Christiane quickly. "That would probably be too great a shock for her. I think it would be best if we saw her first, assessed the situation, and then reported back to you.

"And if she agrees to this arrangement, I think we can best obscure her identity by bringing her to the castle under the cover of night, giving an excuse that she's your mistress, should anyone begin to ask questions."

The king stared dolefully out the window. "I never wanted a mistress; only my wife." Arthur frowned and turned to face the women again. "All of the deceit and hiding pains me. But at this point, I see no other alternative. Can you go today, and report back to me as soon as you're able?"

"Consider it done," Christiane confirmed.

With respectful curtsies, the women departed the council chamber for their friend's home.

XXXX

Christiane and Carina called on Drea straight away. They found her son, Wallace, running around the cottage's small garden with a child-sized wooden sword, stabbing at pretend foes, his shaggy, dark hair bouncing around his face. Wallace told anyone who would listen that he would be a knight of Camelot one day, and made it a point to behave "chivalrously" to the ladies, though he had difficulty even pronouncing that word. As the two young women approached, Wallace bowed, and said, "My ladies!"

The friends laughed and responded with curtsies and smiles. They thought Wallace was adorable.

"My lord," they said in unison to the young boy, then went inside to visit with Drea.

Drea was a talented weaver and many of her fine tapestries hung in the castle. She turned from her current project to the door when she heard a knock and told her friends to come inside.

"Something's going on, I can tell," said Drea from her weaving stool the moment the women entered her tidy cottage. "Something significant. Let's just have out with it."

"Fine, we'll get straight to the point," said Christiane, she and Carina drawing chairs close to Drea. "Would you go to bed with the king and carry his child for him?"

Drea dissolved into laughter. "Please, really, why are you here?" No one spoke, but the two friends gave her a half-smile. Drea's hands flew up to her mouth. "My God, you're serious? This is true? King Arthur? Is he commanding me to do so?"

Christiane took the young widow's hand. "You know Arthur. He would never command something like this. We suggested you because of your loyalty to the king and queen. You're a kind and discreet woman, and we trust you, as he would."

Drea shook her head in disbelief. "This just seems so impossible." She looked from Carina to Christiane, hoping they were about to inform her this was just a big joke. But it became clear they weren't about to do so. "All right, tell me more," said Drea, "I'm listening."

It took about half an hour for Christiane and Carina to explain the royal couple's difficult situation. After hearing the long tale, Drea sighed.

"I feel for them. I want to help, and the idea of being able to provide for my son better is appealing, but it does make me feel a bit...whorish. And I've never been with a man besides my departed husband!" she exclaimed. "And that was five years ago."

The three talked about the decision for another hour. In the end, Drea concluded that the honor of carrying the king and queen's baby, being able to provide a gift so precious outweighed any reservations she might have.

"You should probably meet with him two separate times, just to be...sure," Carina said gently. "We'll bring you at night, and no one will know. Well, only a few of us will know. Either Christiane or I will sit with Wallace while you're with the king."

"Fine, it's decided, then," said Drea with a degree of finality. "When do you think he'll want to see me?"

"In two evenings' time," Carina offered.

The women parted ways and Christiane and Carina returned to the castle to give the king the news immediately. He remained in his council chambers all this time later, nervously shuffling papers when they entered.

"Well?" Arthur asked the duo the moment they stepped into the room.

"She's agreed to it, sire," Christiane explained, "and will see you the evening after tomorrow. Then another visit at your convenience."

The king looked disappointed, concern etched on his features. "I appreciate all of your help, I do, and I'll go through with this. It's just that a part of me hoped she'd decline so I wouldn't have to. Or, that I could put this off longer. How ridiculous of me, right?" he huffed. "Most kings would love this. I'm sure every other leader of the Five Kingdoms would be dying to have other women besides his queen in his bed. I'm probably foolish."

Christiane asked for permission to approach the king, and he consented. She put her hand on his shoulder very lightly before she spoke.

"It means only that you love your queen desperately, and most women could only dream of such love," she said.

"Can I ask you a very personal question, Christiane? You don't have to answer it if you don't want to," Arthur qualified. When she responded in the affirmative, he inquired, "If your husband were to do this, how would you feel? And please be honest with me."

"The truth is, my lord, the idea of my husband with another woman would hurt me. However, if such an arrangement was the only reasonable option to have a child, I would come to accept it. And for you, it appears to be the only option. I would only suggest that you pay extra attention and care to your wife during this time, and if you can, perhaps take a short trip when it's done so she may have your undivided attention and love."

"That's sound counsel, Christiane, and I thank you. No wonder Percival often compliments your wisdom."

The room fell silent.

"Thank you ladies, that is all."

And they were dismissed.


	22. Chapter 21 The King and His Subject

**A/N - It looks as if Christiane and Carina have found a suitable woman to carry the royal baby! In chapter twenty, we got to know Drea a little bit better and met her adorable son, Wallace. Drea's a bit spunky, that's for certain. **

**During chapter twenty one, Arthur spends an evening with Drea. I don't want to give anything away, so please read it and see what you think. Though I will tell you, Arthur's terribly nervous. Very, very nervous. And yes, there's sex again. Of course.**

**And welcome, CalaisForever! I am so glad you're following my story.**

**Thank you everyone, for being such loyal readers. It means so much to me.**

Chapter 21 – The King and His Subject

As is typical, when one is terribly nervous about an event, time seems to move with stunning speed. Two evenings passed, and Arthur felt as if he'd scarcely had enough time to take a full breath.

Guinevere spent that evening in her private quarters with one of her maids, Christiane, and Lindara. The queen hoped her trusted maid and close friends could take her mind off the activities scheduled to happen shortly in the guest quarters a few levels below them. Carina was at Drea's home, minding Wallace.

In the meantime, Arthur sat on the edge of the bed in one of the castle's spacious and well-appointed guest chambers. He'd never spent much time in this particular room, but thought it was comfortable enough. He bounced on the plush mattress, testing it, and suddenly had the wild thought that he could summon a younger knight to come in and have sex with this woman, but claim he had done it himself. The king sighed with frustration, acknowledging that would do nothing but complicate things more and upset all involved parties even further.

The king had busied himself with tending to the fire when he heard a slight rap on the chamber door and went to open it. Ulrich had escorted Drea to the castle, and she entered the dimly-lit room swiftly and quietly, shutting the door behind her. The woman's green traveling cloak was still wrapped around her with the hood raised, obscuring her face.

The visitor removed her outerwear and draped it over her arm. Arthur exhaled with relief as she revealed her face. Drea was certainly a beauty. Unlike Guinevere, she was still an alluring sight. Whereas his queen had an olive complexion, Drea was fair-skinned, with a light dusting of freckles across the tops of her cheekbones. Her long auburn hair was thick and glossy; she had a full backside and hips, and an ample bosom. In her deep green dress, Drea appeared far younger than in her twenties; she looked to be eighteen, at most.

The young woman curtsied. "It's an honor to meet you in person, Your Highness."

Arthur, staring at the woman before him and ignoring her introduction, prattled nervously. "You look so young. Are you really twenty-two? Never mind that, let me take your cloak," he offered, extending his hand to take the garment. "Would you like some wine? That's a nice dress. And you are very pretty."

Drea waited for the king to cease his litany of questions and comments before she responded. She also noticed the man was flushed and sweating quite a lot, as if he'd just returned from a run around the city.

"I'm fairly certain I'm twenty-two, sire," she teased. "Thank you for taking my cloak and yes, I would like some wine. I'm very nervous."

"You're not the only one. I've, ah, never done anything like this before," he explained. "I mean, I've been only with my wife and no one else."

"I've certainly never been with a king."

Arthur chuckled. "No, I suppose not."

The king approached the small dining table and poured two cups of wine, filling them to the brim. He and Drea then drank, standing in complete quiet. Seconds passed as they sipped, then it was almost a full minute of uncomfortable silence. It was so quiet, the king could hear his own ragged, nervous breathing.

Drea smiled at Arthur and she began to speak, but without meeting her eyes, the king cut her off. "Please don't think I'm rude," he said, "but I'd like to get this over with. Immediately." He sensed his nerve failing, and felt if he didn't act forthwith, he'd never be able to go through with this plan.

"Of course, my lord. What would you like me to do?" she asked, placing her wine goblet down on the bedside table.

The king's voice shook. "Can you just, um, lean over the bed?"

"Would you like me to remove anything first?" Drea asked with some confusion.

"No, no just... If you could lift your skirts, that'll be sufficient."

She obeyed. Drea took a few nervous steps toward the bed and then leaned over it, chest pressed into the soft mattress, and her feet planted firmly onto the floor. Still clothed in her emerald-colored dress, she waited for the king.

Sweating even more profusely with unease, the front of his tunic soaked at this point, Arthur placed his cup of wine on the floor, positioned himself behind Drea, and dropped his trousers. Realizing he could do nothing with a flaccid cock, he spat on his hand and grasped himself roughly, producing the most mediocre erection he'd ever had. He pulled Drea's undergarments down slightly and tried to press into her with a wince. With no preparation, not so much as a touch, her body wasn't ready to receive him, yet Arthur had jammed his way partially in.

"Ouch," Drea whispered, hoping the king wouldn't hear.

But Arthur heard, and knowing he'd caused her discomfort, he lost his erection immediately. The king took a step back and groaned. "I'm so sorry," he apologized. "Let me try again."

Arthur did the same thing once more: the spit, the abrupt entry, one failed thrust, and then nothing. He stood back, light hair now wet with perspiration, his skin hot to the touch.

"I don't think I can do this," he admitted, sounding defeated, yanking up his drawers and trousers.

"My lord," Drea said kindly, adjusting her skirts and turning to face the king, "can I speak plainly and make a suggestion or two?"

"I beg you to do so. And please, call me Arthur."

"All right, Arthur. May I touch you for a moment?"

He nodded and Drea moved toward him and pushed the blonde, damp hair back from his forehead.

"I don't want to be indelicate, but you've already been inside me, however briefly, so we've _had_ sex. In order for things to proceed more smoothly, perhaps we should remove a little more clothing, and maybe touch one another before we try again," the beautiful redhead suggested.

"I know, I'm sorry, I was selfish and foolish." Arthur glanced away from her. "You might think I'm a weak idiot, but can we talk first? That might help settle my nerves."

"I think nothing of the sort," Drea told him. "I've always admired your kindness and good heart from afar. It would calm me to talk for a while, too. This is nerve-wracking for the both of us."

"I'm very embarrassed that I haven't considered your needs or feelings at all. My apologies. I can't imagine any of this is easy for you, either," offered Arthur. "Let's have a seat, shall we?"

They sat on the edge of the bed and talked. Arthur inquired about her deceased husband and learned he'd been a farrier. Drea explained she'd met her spouse because she had been a frequent visitor of the local stables, as she adored horses. And over time, she had come to adore her husband's kind, loving nature as well. Arthur also inquired about her work as a weaver, and discovered that she had woven one of his favorite tapestries that hung in his council chamber.

"Do you have horses now?" Arthur asked.

"No, my beautiful dappled mare died a few months back; she was getting on in age. And they're very expensive to keep anyway. I borrow my neighbor's when I need to. They're very good about it."

Arthur made a mental note he'd provide Drea with a new horse.

Drea then picked up the wine goblet that Arthur had set down on the floor earlier and handed it to him. She sipped from her own goblet as she asked the king a few questions. She inquired about Arthur's favorite subjects he'd been tutored in as a boy, and the king admitted he preferred sword- and combat-training to his other lessons. And he also confessed that he hated his Latin tutoring more than anything. Drea laughed at this proclamation.

"Do you remember any Latin at all?" she inquired.

Arthur smiled, thinking back to the days of his youth. "You think I'd recall a lot after being stuck in a room with my tutor for hours and hours on end." After reflecting for a moment, the king said, "I remember one phrase very well – _vox nihili_. It means, 'the voice of nothing.' Whenever I didn't know an answer, which was much of the time, that's what I'd tell my tutor. And then he'd swat my head. I don't blame him; I was a terrible pest."

The two laughed at this, feeling much more at ease with one another. Casual conversation and a few extra sips of wine had helped calm their nerves somewhat. Arthur summoned the nerve to meet Drea's eyes.

"Can I ask you one more thing, Drea?"

"Certainly; anything."

"I heard a rumor that you find me handsome. Is this true?" the king asked somewhat shyly.

Drea's cheeks flushed pink. "It is. I and nearly every other woman of Camelot think so. Only I didn't say you were handsome." She turned away, flustered. "I said you were...sexy."

Arthur tried to suppress a smile. "Well, I'm very flattered. I find you sexy also. Your shape is just gorgeous," he observed, his eyes roaming her lovely body.

"Perhaps you could help me out of my dress," she suggested, sensing he might now be agreeable. "I have a modest shift on underneath, if you'd prefer I leave it on."

Arthur paused, considering the offer. "No. I'd like to see all you. If that's all right."

"It is. May I see all of you as well?"

"Yes," he answered, finding himself nervous once again.

"Let's make sure we kick off our shoes of first," Drea teased as they both stood. "No point in wearing boots to bed."

After the shoes were discarded, it didn't take long for Arthur to remove Drea's dress, as it had only a few simple laces in the back.

Arthur ran his hands up and down the sides of Drea's shift, which clung to her delicious curves. Before he could object, Drea pulled the shift up over her head and deposited it on the nearby table. She wore no corset, as her dress had sewn-in boning, and she stepped out of her undergarments hurriedly. Drea was nervous about being undressed in front of the king, and wondered what he might think of her body.

She needn't have worried, because Arthur nearly drooled at the sight. He was mesmerized by the woman's porcelain skin and her full, large breasts. The thatch of auburn hair between her legs was so different than what he was used to, and he ached to feel it.

Suspecting this might be a good time to approach Arthur, she walked toward him and tugged his tunic over his head, tracing the lines of his now-bare chest and abdomen lightly with her finger. Drea brushed her full, pink lips against the king's chest.

Arthur immediately felt the crotch of his trousers becoming snug. He unlaced them and kicked them off, then stripped off his drawers.

Drea's eyes widened as she admired the king's broad, muscled body and impressive erection. "It felt rather large inside of me, but now seeing it, I know why it hurt that much."

"I didn't mean to hurt you," the king said, his voice husky with desire,

She positioned her body against his, allowing Arthur's erection to rest against her lower belly. "I should very much like to feel that hurt again," she whispered seductively. "But slower and more gently this time."

Arthur noted the woman smelled floral, whereas the queen had a spicy, exotic scent. Thinking of the queen made his passion less, and Drea, sensing his preoccupation, took his cock in her hand. He exhaled sharply in surprise, and she pulled back.

"I'm sorry, I should have asked," Drea apologized. "Do you want me to stop?"

Arthur took her hand and placed it back on his hardness. "No."

She stroked him gently and he moaned with approval. But once again, his mind wandered, and Drea could tell.

"Arthur, I have an idea. Maybe tell yourself, 'I'm a powerful king, and I will claim my mistress!' As if you're in a play of sorts. It can't hurt," she said with a small shrug.

He couldn't help but laugh. "I like that idea." Testing the notion, he repeated, "I am a powerful king!"

Drea played along. "You are, Your Highness. And your loyal subject and mistress would very much like it if you took her to the bed and ravished her."

Thinking this whole concept might just work, Arthur lifted Drea into his arms while she screamed playfully, and deposited her on the bed. He hovered above her for a moment, considering his next move. Arthur realized he hadn't so much at touched her breast, so he started there. He cupped them and caressed them, which made his own excitement grow.

"Oh, that is so good, my king," Drea said, still playing along. "What would you have me do?"

"Just let me thank you for being my loyal subject and mistress."

Arthur spent a good deal of time licking and sucking Drea's now-hard nipples. He then ran his hands up and down her body, and kissed his way from her breasts downward, wanting very suddenly and desperately to part her folds and taste her. The king urged her legs open, moved her knees up high, and first touched her center with his fingers as she moaned beneath his touch. Then, Arthur used his tongue, licking the swollen and wet core. She tasted sweet and intoxicating, and Arthur nearly forgot that he was king as she gripped his hair and called out his name with a wild scream, her orgasm pulsing against his tongue.

"Dear God, your queen is a lucky woman," Drea panted.

It took that one mention of Guinevere to deflate Arthur's desire completely. Realizing what she had done, before he slipped any further into doubt or distraction, Drea urged Arthur onto his back, placed herself between his knees and took his cock into her mouth, sucking and licking his thick erection.

The king, unable to resist these heavenly sensations, grew rigid again. After a few minutes of this activity, Arthur knew his release would come soon. "Wait, wait," Arthur warned, as he gently nudged Drea off of him.

"Would you come inside of me then, Your Highness?"

Arthur thought that was one of the most erotic things he'd ever heard. "I will," he said, as he pushed Drea onto her back and entered her, finding her slick and ready. "But after you come again."

Arthur tried to focus on the new and exciting feelings he was experiencing at that very moment, and tried not to think of his wife. Drea was so sweet and willing, a kind, responsive, arousing woman. Once again, Arthur feared he'd lose his erection due to his wandering thoughts, until he felt Drea's finger nails bite into his shoulders. She squirmed beneath him, gripped with desire.

With each and every thrust, Drea groaned with passion. "My king, dear God!" she finally cried out, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling his body even closer to hers, allowing her orgasm to claim her.

That's all it took to send Arthur over the edge, nearly at the same moment as the woman in his bed.

He was relieved, in more ways than one. Once he'd caught his breath and disentangled himself from Drea's limbs, he held her face and kissed her cheek. "Thank you. For your kindness, your patience. Everything," said the king.

"It was my pleasure, Arthur, truly."

"I also wanted to tell you, I hope you're not offended I didn't kiss you on the mouth. I thought maybe it was best to leave that act for my wife alone. I hope you can understand."

"I do understand and I assumed as much. It's all right."

They both lay under the covers quietly for a time. Arthur absently twirled a lock of Drea's long auburn hair around his finger. "I do remember one other word in Latin," he said, while they rested together beneath the covers.

"Oh?" commented Drea. "And what's that?"

Arthur's eyes roamed her body with admiration once again. "_Decorus_," he said. "It means 'beautiful.'"

Drea was truly touched by the king's sincere compliment. But she was a little surprised when he made the following request, sounding somewhat shy: "Can I have you again? Now?"

"Yes," she whispered.

They made love again, and Arthur was both eager and attentive. Yet thoughts of his queen were never far from his mind.

Drea didn't know how much time has passed, but she knew she wanted to get home to her son soon. That, and she was feeling more emotional than she'd expected, and didn't want to cry in front of the king, which was silly, after they'd shared such an intimate experience.

"I have to take my leave now. Shall we schedule our next and final meeting?"

Strangely, Arthur felt disappointed at the thought of being close to her only one more time, but tried to sound cheerful. "Yes, that's a good idea," he said, forcing a smile. "Can you meet me again the night after tomorrow?"

"I can."

He kissed her cheek as they both rose from the bed and dressed.

"I'll see you then, Drea."

"And one last thing," she said. "If the queen would like to meet with me in private, so I can put her mind at ease, I would be happy to do so."

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Arthur questioned.

"I don't know, but I wanted to extend the offer. Goodnight, Arthur."

"Goodnight, Drea."

Arthur had wanted to say more, to come up with an eloquent speech thanking her, but he was at a loss for words.

XXXX

Guinevere sat in her private chambers, and Arthur tried to call on her after his time with Drea. However, given the recent events, his wife felt unable to see him right away. Christiane met Arthur at the door.

"Forgive me, my lord," said the very pregnant Christiane, "but Guinevere has expressed she'd like to spend the rest of the night in her room. Alone."

"I don't understand! She wanted this! And now she won't receive me? This is unacceptable," hollered Arthur.

Christiane cringed at his volume, and Arthur immediately felt sorry for upsetting a woman who was so obviously pregnant and was simply trying to comfort his queen.

"I'm sorry for yelling," he apologized.

"I understand, sire. Though I'd hope you don't force her to receive you tonight. This has been more difficult on her than she expected," said Christiane.

Arthur recalled how he felt after Gwen's time with Gwaine. "All right. Will you please tell her I love her, and I would very much like to see her tomorrow?"

Christiane nodded, and Arthur returned to his chambers and spent the rest of the night in bed alone, thoughts and dreams of both his wife and Drea haunting him until dawn.

The next morning, the queen still had not returned to their shared chambers, and Arthur was becoming increasingly nervous, so he went to call on his wife again. He knocked on her private chamber door and tried to open it, but it was bolted fast.

"Gwen, will you please talk to me?" the king asked through the door.

Guinevere unbolted the door and opened it a crack. Arthur noted she looked exhausted, as if she hadn't slept for a moment the previous night.

"Please, Arthur," said the queen, "I just need another day before I see you. Try to understand."

He muscled his way into the chamber and forced a rough kiss onto his wife's mouth. "Fine. Tomorrow, then.

"I love you, Guinevere," the man vowed before turning to leave, "and I'll not lose you over this. If at any point you change your mind about this whole thing, you need only say the word."

"Arthur, wait," Guinevere said. "When are you to see her again?"

Facing away from his wife, Arthur stared at his boots. "Tomorrow night."

"Then I can see you in two days' time. Please respect my wishes, will you?"

"Fine, Guinevere." The king sighed heavily. "But I also want you to know that she, Drea, said she's willing to meet you at any time to put your mind at ease. If that would help you, please go see her."

With that, Arthur departed.

XXXX

The king spent the next day-and-a-half tending to his duties as usual – council meetings, training sessions, hearing complaints and requests from his subjects, and so forth. Typically a master at hiding his disquiet, nearly everyone could tell Arthur was exhausted and unhappy, but no one said a word. He missed Guinevere, yet looked forward to his final time with Drea that evening, which made him feel a combination of lonely, sad, conflicted, and upset. The king admonished himself for believing he could bed another woman and simply put the experience from his mind and not be affected by it. Later, Gwaine and Percival stopped by the king's chambers for a chat, but in his somber mood, Arthur refused to see anyone.

Arthur frittered away the time until Drea arrived, poking at the fire in the guest chamber, staring at books and not reading them, and thinking about how this current situation could not possibly end well.

Lost in his thoughts, Arthur heard the light tap on the door, and Drea entered, having been escorted by Ulrich once again.

The king had a flash of inspiration. "Wait one moment; don't move!" said Arthur to Drea, before she had the opportunity to remove her cloak. The king scrambled around the room, grabbing blankets, his wineskin, a small, glowing lantern, and his bag. Taking Drea's hand, Arthur led the woman out into the corridor.

As the king and Drea exited the chamber, Ulrich inquired where they were going, as he was charged with providing security for the king. Arthur responded that they were going for a ride, and Ulrich pleaded with the king to wait for him.

"Sire, I'm to provide your security tonight. Leon will have my head if I don't follow you," the young knight begged the king.

"Ulrich, I don't need your help," argued Arthur, "but I thank you. I'm the king, and I can handle my own security for a few hours. That's an order."

As Arthur rushed from the castle with Drea, Ulrich sought out Percival, not knowing whom else to ask for help. He knew the knight was probably sleeping, but he knocked on his door anyway. A sleepy-looking and shirtless Percival answered, took one look at Ulrich and sighed. "It's never a good thing when you show up at my chambers at this hour."

Ulrich quickly explained about the king riding off into the night with Drea, unescorted.

"Is he mad?" Percival commented, stepping back into his room for a moment to collect a tunic and his boots. "This is just great. Do you have any idea where he might be going?"

"I do not," Ulrich confessed.

"I hate to do this," Percival said, carefully closing his chamber door, taking care not to rouse his sleeping wife, and joining Ulrich in the corridor, "but we're going to have to ask Merlin for help. He told me once after Camlann that he can scry[10], not very well, but we may be able to get some idea of where Arthur's gone and if he's safe."

The men left for Merlin's chambers, hoping the young warlock was able, and willing, to assist them.

XXXX

While Percival and Ulrich worried about their king, Arthur and Drea took a single horse to Arthur's favorite place in the woods, one where he went on the rare occasions he could get away by himself. The peaceful clearing near a small waterfall was close to the swimming hole, not far from the castle. He always found the sound of the water soothing, and the overall feel of the place was refreshing and comforting, the smell of water and greens prominent. One had to ride a little ways through overgrown paths and around an old stone wall to access the place, making it a very secluded and rarely-used location.

"It's simply enchanting, Arthur. I've never been here before," Drea observed of the secluded spot once they'd arrived at their destination.

Arthur helped her down from the horse and placed some blankets upon the forest floor next to the lantern. Thankfully, spring had appeared early this year, and while the temperature was cool, it wasn't freezing. Drea and Arthur sat on the wool blanket in amiable quiet for a time, admiring the slow-moving waterfall in the bright silver moonlight. The king broke the silence.

"Drea, I wanted to thank you for all you've done. I've truly enjoyed our time together, and if I may be honest, I'll miss it. You'll make a fine wife again one day, hopefully soon." Arthur paused a moment. "Why did you not remarry?"

"The first year I was a widow, I was pregnant and heartbroken," Drea explained. "During the next years, I focused on raising Wallace and providing for him. I didn't really think I had a place in my heart for another man, but now, I may."

"Any man would be lucky to have you," said Arthur, with a slight hint of jealousy in his tone.

"First, let me focus on carrying your healthy child!" she responded, elbowing Arthur in the ribs playfully.

"About that. Will you send me word when, or if, it happens? And by when do you think you'll know? I realize it's not an exact science…" His words trailed off. The king imagined Drea growing large with his child, and felt a sense of pride, knowing she'd be more beautiful than ever carrying his baby. And he instantly felt shame, reminding himself he should have those feelings about his queen, and not Drea.

"I should know it about three weeks' time," Drea noted, taking Arthur's hand and sensing his uneasiness.

The two spoke longer about how they would miss one another, and Arthur expressed he regretted he would not be able to visit Drea or spend significant time with her again. But they both knew the king needed to work on repairing his marriage to Guinevere, as she held his heart like no other.

"We should get to work, then," Drea said with humor, flopping back onto the blanket, encouraging the king to join her.

Arthur undid his trousers and lowered them, then hiked-up Drea's skirt and lowered her undergarments with care. He pulled an extra blanket over them so she wouldn't get chilled, and made love to his companion tenderly, drawing it out as much as possible. Though he promised himself he wouldn't kiss her on the lips, in their last moments of passion together, he pressed his lips against hers, and she threw her arms around his neck enthusiastically.

XXXX

While Drea and Arthur joined their bodies one last time, Ulrich and Percival frantically explained to Merlin how Arthur had ridden off into the forest without an escort, and they were very worried.

Offering the anxious knights seats in his chamber while yawning and rubbing his sleepy eyes, Merlin told the men he'd help. "I can scry; it's not a problem" said the warlock. "Let me just grab my mirror."

The two knights didn't know what he was talking about regarding a mirror, so they simply sat and waited, trusting Merlin knew what he was doing. The sorcerer returned with a round, black piece of glass the size of a dinner plate. It was framed in silver with what appeared to be ancient symbols etched into the precious metal. Merlin took a seat and held the glass at arm's length, concentrating on it intently for a minute or two while Percival and Ulrich looked on, fascinated. Merlin's eyes then flashed gold for a second, and he looked up, ears burning red.

"What did you see?" asked Percival, perched on the edge of his seat.

"Um, Arthur's fine. Drea's fine. All's fine," Merlin said while shifting uncomfortably and avoiding Ulrich and Percival's eyes.

"Where are they? What are they doing?" Ulrich asked.

"They're, uh, in the woods in a safe place," said Merlin vaguely.

Percival and Ulrich demanded more information. Merlin finally relented.

"I saw Arthur having sex by the water, all right? And I'd like to scrub that image from my brain!"

Ulrich shrugged. "At least he's not hurt."

The two knights had to beg Merlin to scry once again about half an hour later, as they wanted to make sure their king was on his way home safely. After much complaining and arguing, Merlin confirmed that Arthur had brought Drea back to her cottage and was on the way back to the castle.

Now, they all waited for the inevitable drama.

* * *

[10] Scrying is a form of divination. It refers to the practice of looking into a reflective surface such as a mirror, crystal ball, or bowl/body of water in order to see visions and/or tell the future.


	23. Chapter 22 News and the Drama

**A/N - It was a challenge to write chapter twenty one. I absolutely love Arthur, and it was tough for me to write about his affection for another woman, even though the situation was somewhat thrust upon him. I wanted to make it clear he still loves his precious Guinevere, but developed a strong connection to Drea. Also, I know I tend to write about many of the male characters feeling nervous and unsure around women, especially when it comes to intimacy. I often read that men stride into rooms, totally confident, and just take over. I want to show another side!**

**During chapter twenty two, Guinevere shares some important news with the king. As does Drea. Arthur and Drea have a bit of a spat. Gwaine meets Drea for the first time. Relationships take an interesting turn here. And don't worry, we'll see more Christiane and Percival in the next chapter. **

**And welcome to tinku01 and Dolphinray! I am so grateful that you have "favorited" and/or "followed" my story. **

**Lastly, thank you so much for being such loyal readers. Onward!**

Chapter 22 – News and the Drama

During the next week, the relationship between the king and queen was obviously strained.

Arthur was irritated that Guinevere could scarcely meet his eyes, let alone talk to him, and Gwen was upset that Arthur couldn't seem to understand how jealous she felt, when Arthur had experienced the same feelings of overwhelming jealousy himself. The king was terrified his marriage was unraveling, and worried that Drea's potential pregnancy would only make matters worse.

Guinevere spent each evening in her private chambers, avoiding the king. Seven nights after the last time Arthur had seen Drea, he concluded he'd had enough of this nonsense. Hadn't he and his wife selected this course of action together? Wasn't she the one who'd demanded a baby? Why was she punishing him now? Did she understand his heart still burned with an all-consuming jealousy over the time she'd spent with Gwaine?

The frustrated king marched to Gwen's chambers and demanded entry. He loved his queen and he was not leaving until things between them were resolved. He didn't care if they had to lock themselves in the room for a month!

Arthur knocked on the chamber door and asked politely to be let in, but Guinevere refused. The king finally blew up.

"Damn it, woman, open this door or I promise you I will kick the fucking thing in! Do not test me!"

Guinevere was frightened for a moment. The king never, ever called her "woman," never said "fuck," and certainly never threatened to break down a door in her presence. But Guinevere feeling stubborn and angry, refused, only to be met by the sounds of splintering wood and her husband standing in her presence, purple-faced with frustration.

Three castle guards rushed in at the commotion, yet the king ordered them to depart. "Leave us!" shouted Arthur.

Normally, the guards listened to Arthur's every command without hesitation, but in this case, they were worried for the queen's safety and looked to her for approval.

"You may go," she confirmed.

Arthur jammed the door back in place as best he could and bolted it. He stormed up to Guinevere and grabbed her roughly by the upper arms, unknowingly digging his fingers into his queen's delicate skin. "We're not going to leave this room until we've sorted things out," he yelled, eyes darkening with anger. "You will not continue to shut me out…I can't stand it any longer. I don't care if we sit here for a month; so be it!"

Guinevere began to cry. "This was all just a terrible, horrible mistake, and I don't know how to fix it!"

Arthur suddenly felt bad for being so furious. After all, he wasn't one to fly into a rage, but during the last many weeks, he realized this was the second door he'd kicked open in a fit of fury. He released Gwen's arms and instead hugged her gently.

"I know," Arthur said, as he held his precious wife close. "We've made quite a mess of things. But we always turned toward each other instead of away during times of trouble. Why change that now? It doesn't seem to be working."

The queen nodded in agreement. "I have to ask you a question," she said with hesitation, "and I need to know the honest answer. But I warn you, your truthful answer may make me vomit, so be prepared."

"Okay, I'll answer honestly and I'm listening."

"Do you love her?" asked Gwen, trembling in the king's arms, sobbing.

Arthur was perplexed for a moment. "Do I love whom?"

"Don't make me say it!"

"Oh, God, no!" Arthur insisted, understanding his queen's question. "If you want to know the truth, I could barely, uh, perform at first. All I could think of was you. Drea is a lovely woman, but no one could ever hold my heart but you."

Guinevere continued to sob as she held onto Arthur. "I've been afraid you enjoyed it so much you'd never want me again. Or, you'd insist upon keeping her on as your mistress."

Arthur stroked Gwen's hair as she rested her head against his chest. "You're the only woman I've ever loved, Gwen. And that will never change.

"And I don't care what the circumstances are, we are never doing anything like this again," he emphasized.

The king wiped the tears from his queen's face. "Please, let me have you now. I beg you. I have missed you so much, it hurts."

Guinevere kissed her husband with all of the warmth and tenderness she knew how. Clothing disappeared and the couple found themselves in bed, a jumble of arms and legs. Arthur was relieved to be in his beautiful wife's warm embrace once again.

"I plan to have you as my own tonight," Arthur warned. "To be touched by no other man ever again. Only me," he said fiercely, as he entered her without warning, and pounded into her almost savagely, over and over.

And Guinevere loved it. She could feel his passion in every aggressive thrust, and as she came with an ear-splitting scream, raking her nails down Arthur's chest, drawing blood.

He didn't care in the slightest and immediately thereafter, found his own sweet release.

XXXX

During the next month, the castle residents and staff felt spring fever. It had been a long and harsh winter, and the slightly-warmer temperatures and first fragrant and colorful blossoms of the season put everyone in a more positive mood, including the king and queen. They'd worked hard during the last several weeks to find their way back to one another, spending time alone, rekindling their passion for one another, and talking honestly about the time they'd spent with Gwaine and Drea. Though there were moments of extreme resentment, some arguments, and many tears, they were committed to making their marriage and partnership work.

On a bright spring morning, Guinevere asked Arthur to meet her for lunch later that day in their chambers. The king's schedule happened to be a light one for a change and he agreed, thinking this was a pleasant surprise, and hoped lunch would lead to something more afterward. The king arrived on time, hungry for both lunch and his wife. He devoured his stuffed trout over roast vegetables, eager to coax Guinevere into bed. The king was just about to declare this was the perfect afternoon to engage in some "marital activity," but Guinevere interrupted him.

"I have some news for you," she said, her tone serious. "Some very significant news, in fact."

Arthur had been so wrapped-up in his meal and plans to seduce his queen that he hadn't noticed she was trembling with edginess. His face fell, and he thought for a moment she was about to announce that she was leaving him.

"I went to see the midwife this morning," Guinevere continued.

"Oh? Are you having some…women problems?" asked Arthur, concerned.

Gwen wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt. "Not a problem, exactly."

Arthur's heart pounded in his chest. Guinevere couldn't meet his eye, and he worried she was about to relay some horrible news, but was simply trying to soften the blow. He swallow hard and waited for her to speak.

"I don't know how else to say this, so I'll just come right out with it. Arthur, I'm pregnant."

It took an instant for the news to sink in. Arthur did some rapid calculations in his head. She'd been with Gwaine, and then had her courses a couple of weeks later. That meant this child couldn't be Gwaine's; it had to be the king's.

When Arthur finally felt steady enough to rise, he stood so fast and moved to the queen so quickly that he knocked over the wine jug, sending it clattering to the floor, along with several dishes and cups. But he didn't care. He also didn't care that he was crying like a little girl. Arthur grabbed his wife and hugged her fiercely, then held her at arm's length to examine her abdomen, which to him, still looked the same as always.

"My God, I can't believe it. After all this time? This is a miracle!" the king shouted. "I'm so happy, Gwen. Are you feeling all right? And you're certain?"

"Yes, I feel fine and I'm certain. It's rather early on though, so we shouldn't announce anything for several more weeks."

"Of course, yes, whatever you think is best. Ha. Ha! This is incredible!"

They stood locked in a tight embrace, the happiest they'd been in such a long time. Yet once again, that joy was to be put to the test.

XXXX

Arthur spent the next two days looking as if he were floating on a cloud. The knights, especially the ones to whom he was close, knew something odd was happening with their king when he allowed them to break from their training session early. Often, Arthur forced his men to keep working until they were panting and ready to collapse. But since he didn't seem to want to share any news, they simply enjoyed the extra time to themselves.

As Arthur knew Guinevere was having an audience with some of the townspeople in the council chamber, he returned to his quarters for a good, long, soak in the tub, sore as he was. Sometimes, he felt a deep ache in his bones, and he knew it was from the dark magic that still coursed through him, though he told no one. The moment he'd lowered his body into the water and had relaxed, sinking into the soothing warmth, Ulrich knocked on the door, claiming he had an urgent letter in his possession.

Arthur told Ulrich to enter, and accepted the wax-sealed note. He opened it and read the few words on the page. As he read, all color drained from the king's face, and he leapt from the tub in a panic.

"My lord, what is it?" Ulrich asked, surprised by the king's reaction to the letter.

Unable to speak, Arthur simply handed the letter to Ulrich.

_My King,_

_ Yes, it has happened, and I have had it confirmed._

_ Your Loyal Subject, D_

"Sire, this is good news, is it not?" Ulrich questioned. "Drea's with child."

Arthur dried himself off haphazardly and began to struggle into his clothing.

"Actually, this isn't good news right now. I have to share something with you that Guinevere and I weren't ready to announce yet. The queen is pregnant. With my child," he explained.

"Oh. _Oh_." Ulrich said, understanding the potential negative ramifications of such news. "What are you going to do?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Arthur admitted. "But first, I'm going to see the queen. No more secrets, hiding, or obscuring the truth. I have no idea how she'll react, but imagine it'll be less than favorable, to put it mildly."

Arthur dressed and arrived in the council chamber just as Guinevere finished up her meeting. He instructed the guard that they were not to be disturbed. Once the last subject had departed, Arthur sat down next to the queen with a half-smile on his face.

"Oh, what is it, Arthur? I can see something's really troubling you," said Guinevere.

He glanced up at her nervously, and found himself unable to choose the right words, so he simply handed her the letter. Other than the tears collecting in her eyes, which eventually spilled, she seemed quite calm.

"Ah. I expected as much," she said.

"After you told me about your pregnancy, I'd all but forgotten about our arrangement, which was foolish of me."

"You'll need to go see her, Arthur," Guinevere insisted. "And you must tell her what's happened and let her decide what she wants to do. Though I don't know what _we're_ going to do, because obviously, there's no way we can make people believe this child is ours also. If I went away and returned with two children, that would just be too incredible."

"I know," the king agreed. "Are you sure you're comfortable with me seeing her, alone?"

The queen reached out and took her husband's hand. "I trust you, Arthur. And if you could ask her if she'll see me separately, I would like to do so, if she's willing."

"She'd already said she would receive you at any time, so I'm certain that won't be a problem. Do you mind if I leave now?"

"I think the sooner, the better," Guinevere offered solemnly.

Arthur left for Drea's cottage right then. She saw Arthur approaching and met him at the door with a huge smile on her face. His heart sank. He knew she would be unhappy with the news.

"My lord, you received my letter, I take it?" she asked, as she ushered him inside, still smiling.

"I did," he said, as steadily as possible.

Right away, her smile fell and she knew something was amiss. This had been the goal, after all, a pregnancy, and the king looked utterly wounded.

"I see you're unhappy," she commented carefully.

"Drea, the queen just informed me few days ago that she, too, is with child."

Drea shook her head in disbelief as she stood in the middle of the room. "No. No, she must be mistaken. Women can miss their courses for a variety of different reasons, and…" She paused, worried she might cry. "This is true, Arthur? Honestly?" asked Drea, her voice full of pain.

"It is. I came here because I'd like it if you told me what you want. Whatever it is, I'll support it. We can still send you to our cottage in the North during the pregnancy, and then the queen and I can raise the child as my…ward." Arthur didn't want to say "bastard," as he would never view their child in that way. "Or, you can raise the child yourself, with my support, of course. Though you needn't ever reveal me as the father. Unless you want to."

Drea stood there stony-faced, impassive, but she rapidly turned to anger. "You know what I think? I think I've been deceived! Perhaps this was just a plot to lure another woman into your bed." She didn't really believe her declaration, but she was too stunned and hurt to recant those words.

"What? No, please don't say that," Arthur said, stepping closer to Drea. "You mentioned yourself it's almost unthinkable that the queen finally got pregnant, now, after three years. I would never deceive you. This is totally unexpected. Please, Drea, I care about you and this child."

Arthur tried to touch her arm, but Drea snatched it away in anger. She wasn't a violent woman, but a part of her felt like punching the king straight in the face. And if the man touched her again, she was worried she might lash out, hurt and angry as she was.

"I know you're the king, but at this moment, I don't care. Please, just get away from me. I need a few days to think."

"Drea –"

"Get out. Right now, damn it!" the woman shouted, as she dashed for the front door and flung it wide open, gesturing for the king to leave.

Arthur complied with her wishes and returned to the castle immediately. He informed his wife that Drea was hurt, angry, dismissed him from her home, and told him she needed a few days to think.

"I feel terrible for her, Arthur. She must feel so unhappy and alone. I'll visit her in a few days myself."

Arthur thought it was a horrible idea, as he wondered how Drea would react to seeing Guinevere, but he said nothing.

XXXX

Needless to say, the events caused some extra tension around the castle for the next few days. Arthur was snappish and Guinevere subdued. Gwen resolved to visit Drea that day, hoping that somehow, she could help make things right again.

Guinevere went to Drea's home unescorted. She knocked on the door several times, yet there was no answer. Finally, Wallace appeared in the doorway and gasped in surprise.

"Your Highness!" he said, executing a deep bow. The boy had only seen the queen at a distance, but having her appear at his home, even while she was dressed casually, was quite shocking.

Guinevere thought he was adorable. "Why, hello young man. Is your mother home?"

"She is, my lady. But she's unwell," the little boy answered.

"Unwell?" Guinevere asked, concerned. "May I come in and see her?"

"I think so, my lady. Can you wait one moment while I ask?"

"Of course."

A minute later, Drea came to the door, pale-looking and exhausted, gripping the door frame to steady herself. Guinevere reached out to help her.

"Your Highness, this is very embarrassing. I'm, uh, not feeling well..." Drea sat suddenly and clumsily on the wooden floor and wept.

Entering the cottage, Guinevere help Drea into a chair. "Oh, please, call me Gwen," the queen insisted.

Wallace stood off to the side and looked from his mother to the queen, a perplexed and concerned look on his face. "Mum, I'll be in the garden if you need me," he announced, then ambled back outside.

"Drea, what's happened?" asked Guinevere with care one Wallace was outdoors, taking a seat right next to the ailing woman. "Do you need Mary?"

"No," wept Drea. "There's no need any longer. I miscarried early this morning."

Drea sobbed in earnest and Gwen's heart broke for her. As a pregnant woman, the queen felt terrible for Drea. Guinevere leaned forward in her chair and embraced a weeping Drea.

"I'm sorry," Drea said, sniffling and wiping at her eyes with her sleeve while the queen continued to hold her. "I didn't think I'd be this upset. And I imagine you must hate me anyway."

"No, no," said Gwen in a soothing voice, offering the woman a handkerchief. "Terribly jealous, but I never hated you."

"The king loves you so much," Drea continued. "I hope I can find a husband one day that loves me the way he loves you. He treated me very kindly while we were together," she confessed, "but he made it clear you owned his heart. I want to make sure you know that."

"You're a good woman. You were only trying to help and I'm sorry you were caught up in all this," said Guinevere.

The queen gently let go of Drea and stood. "It would make me feel better to have Mary give you a quick check. I'll return with her shortly."

Guinevere returned to Drea's cottage a short time later with both Mary and Alis. The midwife and acolyte examined Drea while the queen waited outside and played a game of "damsel in distress" in the garden with young Wallace.

"You know, Your Highness, I'm going to be one of King Arthur's knights in thirteen years, once I've turned seventeen," the boy declared. "I'll be honorable and noble and fair and strong!"

"I think you'll make a fine knight, Wallace," the queen said with a light chuckle. "Do you mind waiting out here while I check on your mother?"

"Not at all, my lady. But may I say one more thing?" Guinevere nodded. "My mother's the best mother in the whole kingdom."

The queen ruffled his already-messy hair and went indoors. She chatted with Mary and Alis briefly before they took their leave, then made Drea a cup of herbal tea.

"I'd like to see you again, Drea, if that's all right," said Guinevere, while she finished preparing the hot beverage.

"But, why?" Drea inquired.

"I just... I feel a connection to you. I can't explain it. Would you be willing to see me again?"

"I would."

"Good. That's settled, then."

The queen handed Drea the mug of tea and gathered herself to leave. But before reaching the exit, she looked up and noticed a small hole in the roof thatch just above the doorway.

"I see your roof needs of repair," Guinevere observed. "I'll send one of our knights down to give it a quick fix. Gwaine's very handy and I'm sure he wouldn't mind. And I'll have him bring down your horse, too."

Drea looked confused. "My horse? I don't have a horse."

"You will soon," the queen offered with a slight smile.

XXXX

When Guinevere returned to the castle, she found Arthur pacing in the council room.

"Well?" he asked nervously. He'd concocted a variety of unpleasant scenarios in his mind of what might have transpired between his wife and Drea, most of which included shouting, hair-pulling, and slapping.

"Have a seat, Arthur," Guinevere requested. "You're making me tense."

She sat down and went on to describe their meeting in detail. The king was sad to hear that Drea had miscarried, but kept his emotions in check, as he didn't want to upset his wife with an overt display of unhappiness. He wondered if the baby would have favored his own light coloring, or his mother's auburn hair. It made his heart sore to think of it.

The queen noticed Arthur was distracted. "Arthur, are you listening?" questioned Guinevere.

"Yes, of course I am. I think it's a good idea to send Gwaine down to help. And choose whatever horse you think best. Also," Arthur started delicately, "she needs to be…provided for, as promised. It's not her fault this happened. Though I'm certain she'll resist."

"I agree," said Guinevere, much to Arthur's relief. "I'm to see her again soon, and I'll see what I can do to convince her."

Arthur straightened in his seat. "See her again? What do you mean?"

"I like her, Arthur. And she's going through a difficult time and can use all the support and friends she can get." The queen stood. "I have a meeting with the gardeners shortly. They want to discuss some new planting ideas with me. I'll see you for supper."

Arthur chuckled. His wife never ceased to amaze him.

XXXX

While Gwaine had planned on making a quick stop at the tavern that mild and sunny afternoon, instead, he found himself instructed by the queen to go to Drea's house to deliver a horse and fix the woman's roof. He knew of Drea; it was hard not to with all the goings-on of late, but he'd only seen the back of her cloak as she was ushered into the castle at night. Now, he was expected to give up his afternoon and attend to this woman. Gwaine wasn't happy about it, but the queen was insistent. He figured he'd get the work done fast and _then_ stop at the tavern for a flagon of ale. Perhaps two.

Gwaine arrived at Drea's cottage on the dappled-grey gelding that was to be this woman's new horse. He found Drea outside in the garden with her son. She had her back to the knight and appeared to be wrestling with some persistent weeds as her boy zipped around her energetically, wielding a wooden sword. Gwaine chuckled at the sight of the little boy. It reminded him of how he acted at the same age. The child even looked a little like Gwaine had with the same dark, shaggy hair and mischievous air about him.

Wallace saw Gwaine and approached the man. "Sir Gwaine, a legend!" He bowed. "It's an honor to meet you! I'm Wallace, future knight of Camelot."

Gwaine couldn't help but laugh at the young boy; he was so spirited. "Is that so?" the knight said with chuckle, as he dismounted. "Do you mind if I put this horse in your stable? It's for you and your mother."

"It is?" the little boy asked excitedly. "Then I'm going to ride it as soon as I can. I say I'm old enough, but Mother says no."

"I have a little work to do on your roof, but if your mother approves, I'll take you out for a ride when I'm done." Suddenly, Gwaine forgot all about the tavern thanks to this little boy's infectious enthusiasm.

Drea looked up from her position in the vegetable garden and disentangled herself from the weeds. She rounded the corner, and stood in front of Gwaine. The woman was dirty and sweaty, her auburn hair sticking to her face, and looked as if she could use some rest, owing to the slight dark shadows beneath her eyes. But Gwaine had never seen anyone or anything more beautiful and enchanting. For the first time he could recall, he was speechless.

Drea looked at the knight questioningly. "Yes?" she asked with impatience, wiping her dirt-caked hands on her apron. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry," said Gwaine, snapped out of his silence. "I just met your son and explained this horse is for you, and I'm here to do some repair on your roof. As per the queen's instruction."

Drea wanted to tell him to take the damn horse and leave. But the creature was so beautiful. The man standing before her wasn't too bad, either, but that was of no consequence to her at the moment. She thought, _I've suffered enough. Why not accept this fine horse and let this knight fix my roof? What can it hurt? Hell, I've earned it!_

"All right, then. Suit yourself," she said stiffly. "I'll bring the horse to the stable myself. I have some feed and hay." She took the horse's reins.

"I'm Gwaine," the knight stated, handing off the horse.

"Yes, I know," said Drea with some suspicion. "Everyone knows who you are."

"Whatever you've heard, they're lies. All lies. Most things, anyway," he offered with a playful wink.

He extended his hand, and Drea took it reluctantly. Their eyes met for a moment, and Gwaine saw some pain and sadness in hers. And out of nowhere, the man was smitten; this never happened to him. Gwaine liked women, surely, and had spent time with a good number of them. But this beauty made his heart ache with wanting something more, and this sensation was completely foreign to him.

Gwaine released Drea's hand. "After my work's done, I told your boy I'd take him out for a quick ride, if that's okay with you."

Drea narrowed her eyes at the knight. "Can I trust you to be very careful with him?"

"If you can't trust a knight of Camelot, who can you trust?"

"Good point," she acquiesced. "Fine, Sir Gwaine. If you need anything, I'll be in the garden." Drea stalked off with the horse.

"Just Gwaine!" he called after her, but she didn't turn.

The work on the roof went rather easily; only a small section of thatch needed to be replaced, as the rest of the roof was sound and water-tight. As soon as the work was complete, Gwaine checked on the horse briefly, took a drink of water from the nearby well, and approached Drea in her garden, confirming it was all right to take Wallace out for a ride.

The knight and the little boy had a great time, Wallace peppering Gwaine with dozens of questions about life as a knight as they rode on a well-traveled trail in the woods. The two returned from their ride about an hour later, and they came to a halt in front of the house.

"Can I come back soon to teach you some more techniques with that fine wooden sword of yours?" Gwaine asked Wallace.

"Would you?" Wallace asked excitedly. "Yes! Tomorrow?"

Gwaine laughed once again at his zeal. "Sure. Tomorrow evening, if your mother approves."

Wallace's little shoulders slumped. "Mum's been sad the last few days. I heard her crying late last night." Then he brightened suddenly. "Maybe you could take her for a ride on the horse! That would make her feel better."

"Good idea, young man. I'll ask," Gwaine said, as he helped the boy dismount and tied up the horse.

Wallace dashed into the cottage and hugged his mother the moment he entered, chattering about his ride with a "real knight." Gwaine waited patiently at the doorway until Wallace swiped a small apple fritter from the dining table and raced back outside into the garden.

"Would you like to take a ride with me?" Gwaine asked Drea while still standing at the threshold. "Just a quick one."

"No," she asserted brusquely, taking a seat at her weaving stool. "I have a lot to do around here," said Drea, waving her hand toward the interior of her home vaguely. When she noticed that Gwaine seemed discouraged, she frowned a little. "I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I haven't been myself lately. I realize you're only trying to be nice."

"I've had a very nice afternoon here," said Gwaine. "No apologies needed. But I do have a question: Would it be all right if I stopped by tomorrow evening after supper to visit your son? Just to teach him a little sword fighting…a few blocks and such. We talked about it during our ride. Nothing dangerous, I promise."

"I suppose it would be all right," Drea answered, fiddling absently with her tapestry. "And I'll have some dessert here for you. To thank you for your time."

The knight smiled, bowed, and turned to leave. As he walked away, Drea called out after him.

"Gwaine? Thank you."

He turned to look at her and wave goodbye, and Drea gave him a radiant smile.

_Mother of mercy,_ Gwaine thought silently, heading for the castle with a spring in his step, bypassing the tavern completely.


	24. Chapter 23 The Joust

**A/N - In chapter twenty two, we learned that the queen is pregnant. Hooray! But I feel sad for Drea's loss. And ****is something going to happen between Drea and Gwaine? He's certainly smitten.**

**A very significant event occurs involving a main character during chapter twenty three, one which may change the course of the story. Or not :) You'll have to read to find out. There will be a tournament with a joust. That's all I have to say!**

**And I can't believe you're still reading. Thank you, so, so much. ****AND hello to fantasyluver714, who "favorited" my story. :)**

Chapter 23 – The Joust

Percival felt his wife stir on a cloudless and warm summer morning. It was hard for him to believe they'd been married close to a year! Yet every day, he found himself as desperately in love with his wife as the day before. Due to deliver their baby soon, Christiane's belly had swollen to the size of a large pumpkin, and looked as heavy and awkward to carry around. Percival had taken to asking, "How's the pumpkin today?" The thought of that made him smile as he wrapped his arms around his beautiful wife.

"Good morning, handsome," Christiane said to her husband, her voice raspy from sleep. "Are you ready for the tournament today?"

"Sure, why not?"

Percival had opted out of the sword contest and melee; he wanted to make sure he was in decent shape just in case Christiane had their baby a little early. Normally, he performed quite well in the joust, so he wasn't overly-concerned with injury.

"And would you care to use your big lance on me this morning, Sir Knight?" Christiane inquired suggestively.

Percival couldn't stop himself from grinning at this. His wife's appetite for sex was insatiable lately! But he reminded himself it was important to enjoy these moments, as after their child was born, Christiane would need time to heal, and would probably be exhausted from caring for a newborn.

Both lying on their sides, Percival pressed his erection against Christiane's backside. He kicked off his drawers and reached under her thin, sleeveless nightdress, caressing the soft, silky flesh between her legs gently at first, then with more force and greater speed; he squeezed her breast with his other hand. Christiane heaved herself up, shoved her husband flat onto his back, and lowered herself onto his hard cock. She moved up and down rapidly as Percival held her sides to steady her. Yet he took a moment to unlace the front of her garment so he could see and touch those gorgeous, full breasts of hers. Though Christiane's eyes were closed and she groaned with pleasure, Percival kept his eyes open. He found his pregnant wife more beautiful than ever. She reminded him of a ripened peach: plump, sweet, and utterly irresistible.

"I want to hear you scream my name when you come," he whispered, holding her hands tightly as she moved above him.

And Christiane obliged. He'd wanted to hold on longer, but her enthusiastic cries sent him over the edge faster than he'd hoped.

Although Percival needed to get dressed and ready to meet his fellow knights on the training grounds before the tournament, he took a few extra minutes to hold Christiane in his arms. He looked forward to the arrival of their first child, and secretly hoped it was the first of many, but he also wanted to treasure these last days or weeks when it was just the two of them.

"I'm glad you're only doing the joust, but still, it makes me so nervous," Christiane told her husband, as he rose to dress for the tournament. "Couldn't Arthur think of some better way to celebrate the anniversary of the Camlann victory? Like a day-long feast? That sounds like a better idea to me. Safer, and there would be platters piled high with mouth-watering tarts. Especially cheese tarts!" Christiane rubbed her large, pregnant belly, and sighed, obviously fantasizing about the taste of scrumptious, flaky pastries.

"Well, there'll be the feast after the tournament, so that should be some consolation," said Percival with a chuckle. "Although I can't promise you a mountain of cheese tarts, as much as I would like to."

He tied up the front of his gambeson, but stopped for a moment. "Are you sure you should be working in the healing tent with Gaius?" asked Percival with some uncertainty. "You're so...ready to have the baby."

"Big, you were going to say. Huge. Massive," taunted Christiane.

"I wasn't going to say that!" Percival had learned the hard way to avoid using words such as "big," "heavy," or "large," but instead used the terms "breathtaking," "beautiful," and "gorgeous" freely.

"Yes you were. I'll rest, drink plenty, take breaks, and so forth. I know what I'm doing, you know."

Percival leaned across the bed and kissed his wife on the lips before he left. "Yes. Yes, you do. I'll see you on the field in a few hours. And see? I'm wearing your favor," he pointed out, gesturing toward the delicate white lace kerchief tucked into the arm of his chainmail. "I'm sure it'll bring me luck."

XXXX

The tournament went off splendidly, with spectators and participants enjoying themselves tremendously (all but the injured participants). Christiane was busy in the healing tent with Gaius. Fortunately, they hadn't seen any serious injuries yet, just a few lacerations and contusions, and hoped it would remain that way. And Percival was doing well at the joust. Christiane took breaks whenever it was his turn with the lance, watching him compete, marveling at his precision and skill.

Percival had unhorsed two opponents in a row and was having a very lucky day thus far. His next opponent was Gwaine. It was always good fun when two knights who were close friends competed in the joust against one another. Their comrades normally made friendly wagers, and the winner got bragging rights for a week, at least. Also, the loser had to buy the winner a flagon of ale, which was always a plus.

Christiane heard Gwaine and Percival being announced, and told Gaius she was taking a break to watch. She stood at the edge of the stands, waiting. Seeing her husband in full armor, she wondered how other men stopped themselves from weeping with fear at the sight of him in battle. He looked huge, terrifying, and utterly unbeatable. If they only knew how gentle and tender he was in bed, or how he referred to their baby as "pumpkin," the men might change their minds. She often forgot that Percival was a skilled warrior who could kill her, or nearly anyone else, in an instant. It seemed so improbable that her husband was capable of such deeds.

When the flag lowered, signaling the start of the joust, Christiane was nervous. Certainly, Percival was highly proficient, but anything could happen, especially when massive galloping horses and long, heavy lances were involved.

And then, something awful happened, indeed.

It was all so sudden; the whole disaster probably took less than twenty seconds total, yet it seemed much longer, as if drawn-out in frightening slow motion. Both horses charged, but almost instantly, something must have caught Gwaine's horse's eye, because the beast faltered and reared up as Percival's steed thundered forward. Gwaine dropped his lance so he could get a good grasp on the reins as he shouted, "Yield, yield!" over the thunderous sound of charging hooves.

Percival realized there was a problem a second too late. Aethon reared up, front hooves flailing in the air, bucking wildly. The destrier threw Percival with great force. The man's body crashed against the hard-packed earth and his helmet flew off, rolling under the spectator stands.

As the knight smacked into the ground, his boot had become entangled in the saddle's flank strap. Immediately, the horse fled, dragging Percival behind him, the man's head cracking against the earth with the animal's every frantic gallop. His final thought before he lost consciousness was, _The baby_...

The flank strap finally snapped loose as the beast smashed through the nearby fence, freeing Percival's leg. The massive knight lay under the shattered pile of fencing, unmoving. His wife's favor was nowhere to be found.

Christiane stood still, completely and utterly frozen with shock. Immediately, the king leapt from his seat in the stands and vaulted onto the field to help. He, Gwaine, Leon, Ulrich, and Gaius all descended on the knight's prone, immobile body. The men turned Percival over swiftly and Gaius studied the injured knight for a moment.

"Carry him to the tent at once!" commanded Gaius, recognizing that time was of the essence.

"This is a damn nightmare!" Gwaine lamented, as the men ran toward the medical tent as fast as they could with Percival's lifeless body. "I'm sorry, so sorry. I don't know what happened to my horse..." Gwaine croaked.

"It was an accident, Gwaine. This is not the time to blame yourself," Gaius called after him, the old physician trailing the men.

Carina, who had been watching from the stands, shoved her way through the crowd to Christiane, who was deathly pale, hands clutching her substantial belly.

"Are you all right?" Carina asked urgently.

Christiane gave a slight nod with a bewildered look on her face.

Carina put her arm around her friend, guiding her toward the tent where Percival now lay. "Come, let's see what's what before we panic," she said.

The scene they came upon was as terrible as Christiane had feared. Percival lay motionless on the examination table. The men had been able to strip off some of his armor and there were no obvious injuries: no clearly broken bones, no major lacerations. Just fine trickles of blood from her husband's mouth, nose, and ear, which indicated the likelihood of a head injury. It was the stillness that terrified Christiane. The quiet. She'd rather Percival had been writhing and screaming. The silence and lack of movement did not bode well.

Gwaine was inconsolable, hands on his unconscious friend's arm, begging for forgiveness and demanding that Gaius fix Percival. Finally, Gaius insisted that Gwaine be removed from the tent by Arthur, Ulrich, and Leon, since the knight could not calm down.

Coming out of her initial shock, Christiane approached Percival. She shook violently, her teeth chattering. "Is he breathing Gaius?" she asked, trembling. "Does he have a pulse?"

"Yes to both," he said as he lifted Percival's eyelids, studying each pupil. He let the lids close, then put a hand on the man's chest, as if trying to comfort him.

"His pupils are unequal sizes," Gaius disclosed. He walked over to Christiane and held her shoulder. "You know that's a poor sign."

Christiane shook her head frantically. "No. No, it cannot be! Someone fetch Merlin, please! He can help!"

"I'm right here," Merlin answered, entering the tent purposefully. "Let me have a look."

Gaius gave Merlin an almost imperceptible shake of his head, but Merlin placed his hands on the large knight's chest anyway.

The wizard maintained that position for a full minute. "I don't know how to say this," said Merlin, with a tear in his eye, "but he's too far gone. When someone is this close to death, I cannot bring them back. But when you're ready, I can ease his passing."

Christiane, hysterical, charged Merlin like a wild woman and pummeled at his chest with her fists. Ulrich, Leon, and Arthur, having forced Gwaine to sit outside of the tent so he could pull himself together, heard the commotion and came rushing in to restrain her.

"No. No!" the pregnant woman wailed, kicking at the knights and king. "You could fix him if you really wanted to, you liar!" she accused, as the men struggled to hold her back. She'd become particularly strong in her anger and desperation.

"I promise you, I would if I could," said Merlin with compassion. "If I use my magic on him right now, it would only hasten his death. And I want to give you time to say goodbye to him first."

Christiane went limp in her friends' arms, sobbing. "I'm sorry Merlin, forgive me. I'm not right in the head at the moment. I know you would save him if you could." Christiane turned to Gaius. "Is there any hope? Any at all?"

"As you know, from your experience as a healer, there is always hope until he draws his last breath. However, the longer he remains unconscious, the more hope fades." Gaius rested his hand on her shoulder. "You should remain with him and talk to him. I'm certain that he can hear you. And if at any point you want Merlin, just ask."

Christiane dismissed everyone from the tent, including Carina, and they respected her wishes. She spent the next hour holding Percival's hand, reminding him of all of the wonderful times they had together, and telling him she loved him. She reminded him of the first night that they had walked around Camelot together, and how they'd accidentally butted heads. She told him once again she'd known she loved him as far back as their first kiss when they had gone fishing. Christiane said if their baby was a boy, his name would be Percival, a girl, Madlen, after his mother. Before she went silent, she admitted to her husband she didn't think she could go on without him.

The hours ticked by. Two, then three. It grew dark and chilly in the tent, but no one disturbed the mourning wife. Periodically, she checked to see if her husband had a heartbeat and if he was still breathing, which he was. She held his hand the entire time, occasionally kissing his cheek or stroking it, running her fingers along his short, dark-blonde whiskers. He hadn't shaved that morning. Was this the last time she'd feel that light, scratchy stubble? She didn't know how she could bear it.

"I love you," she whispered, kissing his cheek once again.

As the fourth hour neared, Gaius, Merlin, and Gwaine checked on Christiane. Gwaine embraced her, and they fell apart, both sobbing hysterically. Gwaine told her he wanted to sit with her, and they sat down together on a patch of grass in the corner of the tent.

Gaius decided to check Percival over one last time. The old physician thought he saw the man's eyelids flutter, but quickly assumed it was a trick of the dim light. Just to be sure, he called Merlin over.

Merlin moved to Percival's side and placed his palms on the knight's chest once again. Unbelievably, the warlock felt Percival's life force returning. He was just about to announce that fact when Percival's eyes flew open and he grabbed the front of Merlin's jacket in his fist, drawing the man toward him.

"Where's my son?" demanded Percival.

Gwaine and Christiane stood. When Christiane realized her husband had spoken, she promptly fainted, but Gwaine was there to catch her.

"Where is he?" Percival asked again, without releasing his solid grip on poor Merlin. "I saw him. He was fat and bald, with his mother's eyes. I held him. I know it was him."

"You were in an accident, Percival. You were thrown from your horse and dragged, and were unconscious for many hours," explained Gaius calmly.

"That's right; I was," Percival said, as he released Merlin's jacket from his fist. "It must have been a dream. But it felt so real!"

He tried to sit up. "Where's Christiane?" he asked; however, he fell back against the examination table and put his hands to his head. "I feel as if I have a hot spike jammed through my brain."

Christiane, recovering from her collapse, rushed to Percival's side and took his hand. "My God, I can't believe you're awake and alive! It's a miracle. There's no other explanation for it." She turned to Merlin. "Are you sure you didn't do something?"

He smiled and shook his head. "While I'd love to take credit, I'm not responsible."

Percival gazed at his wife; he was still somewhat bleary-eyed and a little slow. "I heard you. I heard everything you said to me." He squeezed her hand. "I wanted to answer you, to dry your tears, but I couldn't."

He reached out to touch his wife's hair. "I wasn't sure I was dying, but if I was, I thought of the two things I'd miss the most: never meeting our child and never making love to you again."

"Oh, Percival," Christiane wept.

"Everyone, Percival will need a great deal of help during the next week or so," Gaius interjected firmly. "He's to remain in bed, only rising to use the chamber pot or privy. His head needs time to heal."

At that moment, Leon and Ulrich strode into the tent, and all of Percival's friends chimed in that they would be glad to help. Leon began to put together a schedule of who would be available to help and when, what they could do to assist, and so forth.

"Christiane's only job should be to sit by her husband's side and provide company, pregnant as she is," Leon declared. "We'll do the rest."

Everyone was relived and filled with joy about Percival's awakening. The king had received word that his loyal knight had woken, and he visited the tent to offer help and support, too. Once a stretcher had been brought in, Arthur, Gwaine, Leon, Ulrich, and Merlin carried the recovering knight back up to the castle and deposited him in his bed. Percival tried to resist at first, stating he could walk, but Gaius commanded that if the man really wanted to see his child born, he'd recline on the stretcher and subsequently remain in bed for the week. That was enough to get Percival to comply.

Gaius told Christiane he would come by a few times that night to check on her husband, and instructed Christiane to fetch him straight away should Percival develop a worse headache, vomiting, symptoms of confusion, or, if she had trouble waking her spouse.

"While you're a highly-competent healer, sometimes, it's better to leave a loved one's medical care to another person," said Gaius.

The crowd left the room, leaving only Percival, Christiane, and Gwaine. Gwaine asked Christiane if he could speak with his friend in private for a minute, and she graciously agreed. Later, she would make sure Gwaine understood no one was upset with him; he'd tried to control his horse and it was just a terrible accident.

Gwaine stood by the bed. "Do you hate me, Percival?"

"Hate you?" Percival asked. "Why would I hate you?"

"It was my fault," Gwaine spat out. "I should have controlled the damn horse better. You could have died! You're my best friend, and if you hadn't made it… I don't know what I would have done.

"And I want you to know that I would have taken care of Christiane and the baby if anything had happened to you. I promise."

Percival motioned for his friend to come closer. "I hope you wouldn't have taken care of my wife _too_ well," he teased. "I'm not upset with you in the least. You've always been there for me; you've saved my hide more times than I can count. I consider you a brother. Now that beast on the other hand… As soon as I can eat, we're having horse meat for supper. A nice horse meat pie."

Christiane returned to the chamber to find Gwaine and Percival laughing. Gwaine excused himself, and on his way out, Christiane emphasized that no one thought he was at fault, and that she regarded Gwaine as one of her closest friends.

"But I must ask," Christiane said, standing next to Gwaine in the hallway, "do you have a special lady you're hiding from us?"

Gwaine looked shocked. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

"I'm a woman, Gwaine. We sometimes sense these things. You've been subdued lately and that's not like you."

"You cannot tell another living soul, Christiane, please," he begged. "It's Drea."

"Drea?" said Christiane with slight surprise.

"Yes, yes, don't look so shocked! The queen had me do some work on her home. I went back and spent some time with her son the next day, who's a smart and fun little guy. She does something to me. I can't explain it. Even though she acts as if I'm an unwanted nuisance."

"Oh, Gwaine, I'm sure she doesn't think that!" Christiane insisted. "Give her some time; she's been through quite an ordeal."

"I suppose so," he said glumly.

"I was wary of Percival at first, too," Christiane admitted. "Give her reasons to trust you, and she'll come 'round."

"The wise Christiane strikes again." Gwaine hugged his friend. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Christiane returned to her chambers, and from his position in bed, Percival spoke rapidly.

"You're going to think I'm mad, but I swear, when I was unconscious, I saw the future. I saw our son, and I know that it's him. You'll see. And then, I had a vision where he was older, on my shoulders, blonde hair, about six years old. A little girl held my hand. She looked like a tiny version of you, except with long, copper-colored hair. I think she was about four. You were on the other side of me, carrying a little boy with brown hair; he was maybe two years old. And you were pregnant."

"Four children!" Christiane grimaced. "That seems like a lot," she teased, climbing onto the bed.

"You don't think I'm mad?" Percival questioned. "Or maybe, something was knocked loose in my head, and now I have magic like Merlin?"

"I don't think so," Christiane said comfortingly, slipping under the covers beside her husband. "I think it might have been a dream, things you want."

Percival sank deeper into his pillows and his eyes drifted closed. "You're probably right. And I do want to see you grow big with my children over and over again. You've never been more beautiful."

He finally fell into a comfortable sleep.

Christiane sighed with relief, grateful her treasured husband had come back to her. She felt that a life without her beloved Percival would have been no life at all.


	25. Chapter 24 A Long-Overdue Visit

**A/N - Phew! Percival survived! It looked a little dicey there for a bit, didn't it? Full disclosure - when I wrote that chapter, I was going through a really hard time, and I thought, "I'll just start killing people off and end the whole damn story!" But I came to my senses. :) I really like happy endings; my daily life is enough of a challenge, you know? **

**In chapter twenty four, Percival is going to be visited by someone from his past. This is a very special visit, and writing about it made me cry a little but, to be totally honest. It's a pretty emotional chapter overall. Percival and Christiane also share some very tender words. Poor Percival's still recovering, though. **

**Thanks for continuing to read. I received a couple of WONDERFULLY kind reviews via PM this week, and I appreciated them SO much. **

**Lastly, a BIG welcome to my new followers - Tala-Lady-Of-Wolves, Lady Dalia, duchess123, Milady D' Hiver, and vivianfangirl! I am so excited to have you here.**

Chapter 24 – A Long-Overdue Visit

It had been three days since his near-death jousting accident, and Percival found himself in a strange place, entirely unsure how he'd arrived at the location. He was standing on a beach, one with light pink sand and very unusual trees dotting the landscape. The tree trunks were rough and the green leaves were long and flat. The calm water was a sparkling, vivid light blue; the knight had never seen water so crystal clear in his life. Occasionally, he saw a fish lazily swim by in the shallow water near the shore: odd-looking, brightly colored fish, glowing with blues, reds, and yellows. And it was hot…damn hot. The sun was beating down on him with an intensity like he'd ever felt before.

Even though he was all alone and clearly further from home than he'd ever been, strangely, Percival wasn't afraid. He had an unusual sense that something significant, yet positive was about to happen. But before he near roasted to death, he sought out shade beneath one of the unusual-looking trees. He took refuge beneath it and picked up what looked like a large sphere of wood covered in brown bark, and tossed it lightly from hand to hand. It was heavier than he'd expected, and he heard a sloshing noise from within the unfamiliar object.

Percival examined the strange item for a short time until he heard soft footsteps crunching in the sand. He looked up and saw a little girl a good distance away, walking up the beach toward him. She wore a flowing pink dress and had long, light-brown hair. There was something familiar about the little girl, but she was still such a distance away, he couldn't see her very clearly. But then he heard her speak his name, and instantly, he knew who she was.

"Percival!" the small girl shouted happily in the distance.

Oh my God. It was Deryn. His little sister. But she looked older now than when she had died. The girl had passed away when she was seven, but the child before him appeared to be about ten years old.

Initially, Percival had been certain this entire experience was a dream, but it all felt and sounded so incredibly real. The heat, the sound of the ocean, the feel of the sand beneath his boots, his sister's voice – Was this actually happening? And if so, how? Regardless, Percival had missed his younger sister terribly since she had died.

He stood. Deryn ran toward him and he raced toward her. He didn't know how long this dream or whatever it was might last, and if nothing else, he wanted to embrace the little girl and tell her he loved her and missed her. He'd never dreamt of Deryn before; this was a first.

"Big brother!" Deryn shouted as she ran, arms spread wide, ready to embrace her sibling.

These simple words made tears come to Percival's eyes. He couldn't stop himself from crying. And when Deryn reached his arms, Percival nearly crushed her in a brotherly hug.

"It's you; it's really you," he wept. "I can't believe it. You're really here." Percival released his sister from his bone-crushing embrace and looked her in the eye. "Is this real?" he asked. "How is this even possible? And where are we?"

"Slow down, Percival," Deryn answered with a happy giggle. "One thing at a time."

Percival spoke rapidly, hoping to he had enough time to apologize. "I'm so sorry for everything. I tried to make it home that day, the day you were all killed by Cenred's and his men. If only I could have stopped them…"

Deryn silenced her brother's tearful apology by placing her hand over his mouth. "Percival, Mum, Father, and I, we remember nothing about that day. The only memories we hold of our lives are the good ones. All right, a few unpleasant ones, but nothing concerning the way we died. We're very happy."

Deryn lowered her hand and Percival sighed with relief. "That's good. I'm so relieved to hear that; you have no idea. I just have so many questions."

"I can't answer all of them for you, but I'll tell you whatever I can."

Percival gave a quick nod of his head. "You look like you're about ten. Why is that?"

"I usually look nineteen; I hope you remember that's how old I am now," Deryn teased. "But I wanted to show myself to you looking closer to the age you remember. So that you would know me."

Returning to the usual brother-and-sister good-natured taunting in which they used to engage during their younger years, Deryn teased Percival. "How is it that you became a knight? It must be your size, which I see is considerable. I mean, _I_ was better with a sword and all. I might have been fiercer, too."

Percival cracked up at her comment. "And there was that time you tied me to the chair because I refused to be the princess in our play when you wanted to be king. I don't know how you managed that!"

Both of them laughed at the detailed memories of Percival tied to the chair by Deryn, unable to free himself.

"Remember how I went and sat up in the loft, just leaving you there, and you had to wait until Mum came home to untie you?" Deryn spit out through her hysterical laughter.

Recalling the story, Percival was overcome with laughter once again. "I felt like I'd been left in that chair for a week!"

"Oh, come now, it wasn't even half a day."

"Yes, but was it necessary for you to gag me with your sock? That was excessive."

Once Percival and Deryn were done laughing at the shared memory, the girl adopted a more serious tone. "We're so proud of the man you've become, Percival. We know you're a loyal and talented knight and a good husband. Mum, Father, and I, we've been watching you all these years. The three of us have been with you, even if you didn't know it."

"You know about everything?" he asked with surprise. "That I'm married and have a child on the way?"

"Oh, yes. We were there for the wedding! It was abrupt, but lovely. Although I told Mum and Father that you had taken far too long to approach Christiane in the first place. I was really worried that other knight would capture her fancy. I'm so glad he didn't."

It meant the world to Percival to learn that his family knew of his accomplishments and good fortune. But he then wondered if they'd somehow been present when he'd had that brief, intimate encounter with the engaged woman in Mercia. Or, if they'd been there _after_ his wedding, and his face turned bright pink with the thought.

"If you're worried about how much of your wedding night we saw, don't be concerned with that. We left right after your kiss," Deryn told Percival, as if reading his thoughts. "None of us wanted to see anything after that, trust me, dear brother."

"That's pretty relieving to hear."

"Shall we walk for a little while?" Deryn asked, smiling.

Percival rolled up his trousers to the knees and kicked off his boots. He and his sister walked along the edge of the cool, gentle surf. They were quiet for a short time, just walking, but Percival simply had too many questions on his mind to remain silent for long.

"Deryn, I hate to think you missing out on falling in love. Where you are now, is that possible?"

"Oh, it most certainly is! I have found love. He's also nineteen," Deryn said with excitement.

"He died of a sudden illness around the same time I passed. He's kind and brilliant…everything a girl could possibly want. I'm very happy with him and he treats me like a princess."

"To hear that you're so happy makes me happy, little sister. It puts my mind at such ease."

There was a slight lull in conversation, but it felt natural and comfortable. After a minute of sauntering on, Deryn had more questions.

"Would you tell me more about your wife? Christiane?" she asked. "From what I see, you're incredibly in love with her. And there's a baby on the way, too! I can't believe that my brother's to be a father. It seems almost impossible."

"Sometimes, I think the same," said Percival. "I really love Christiane and I have from just about the moment I saw her. Approaching women isn't my strong point, as you've seen, but I'm so glad that I took the chance with her. Although it took me months to summon the courage."

Looking out across the water, conjuring up a mental image of his wife, Percival explained further. "Of course, my wife's a beauty, but it's not that. She has a kindness and goodness about her…and a wisdom…it's hard to explain. She's different, in a good way, and I can't believe she loves me so much. I didn't know if that was something I'd be lucky enough to experience."

"You deserve her love. The two of you deserve one another, that's obvious. I think you're well matched, and Mum thinks the same. She adores Christiane. Mum said she finds your wife quite spirited and loves how she challenges you, yet clearly adores you."

With a smile, Percival thought of the many ways his wife challenged him. But even when she became frustrated with him, or short-tempered, he never once questioned her love. Well, except that one time Ulrich had tried to kiss her, but he didn't feel that awful misunderstanding counted.

Deryn studied her brother closely as they ambled down the beach, feet still in the cool water. "There is something I need to talk to you about, though," she said suddenly. "Sometimes we've seen flashes of your bad temper. And I don't ever recall seeing that before you fell in love. From time to time, you've been quite volatile, and even a little scary.

"No one's perfect, Percival, but you're a wonderful man, and I mean that." Looking him squarely in the eye, she carried on. "Just don't ever let your anger or temper be your undoing."

"I won't allow it, I swear," Percival promised. He then pressed his lips together, thoughtful. "You know I'd always been good at controlling my anger. I love Christiane so much, when I feel as if I could lose her, I don't know how to deal with that. I know it's wrong, but sometimes I couldn't help myself from turning to outrage and anger. It's my insecurities and jealousy that fuels it, I think."

"Brother, you're a good man, and you've always shown that in your words and deeds. Be sure to focus on the good and kind part of yourself, and I know everything will be all right."

"I'm glad you think so."

Quite suddenly, Percival wondered how much time he had remaining with his sister. The thought of leaving her presence filled him with a deep sadness. The mere notion of letting her go once again was heartbreaking.

But a light, refreshing breeze blew in off the clear water, soothing him, and Percival focused on his sister while he had the time. "What made you choose this amazing place?" asked Percival, still walking slowly. "And where are we, anyway?"

"I got to pick any place in the word that I wanted. Isn't that wonderful?" she gushed. "So I chose this incredible beach, which is far, far away from Camelot, on the other side of a wide ocean. I don't know what it's called, but isn't it beautiful?"

"It is. I've never seen anything like this. It feels quite magical. As if it might not even be real. But it is real."

"It's a real place," Deryn told her brother. "But if you describe it to others, I'm sure no one will believe it."

"Certainly not. They might treat me for being mad! Drop strange tinctures down my throat. Or stick leeches on me."

"I've always found you to be a touch mad…perhaps they'd be right."

Percival tugged Deryn's hair playfully, and she laughed. But after the lighthearted moment, Deryn brought up a difficult topic.

"I want to talk about your accident, if that's all right. If we run out of time suddenly, I want to make sure you know that Mum, Father, and I were there with you when you were in that tent struggling to live."

"I felt that I was very close to death," Percival confessed. "I didn't tell Christiane about that afterward because I didn't want to put her through anymore heartache and worry. The woman's about to deliver our babe soon, and I couldn't burden her with that knowledge. She's already been stuck caring for me while I've been in bed.

"And I'll tell you honestly, Deryn, when I was lying there in the tent, after the accident, I hoped that you three would come for me. That is, if I had to go. But no one came and I couldn't speak. I was really scared because I didn't know what would happen next. Then a vision filled my mind, one where I was holding my son, my newborn. He felt real and warm in my arms. And the next thing I knew, I was waking up. But it felt like my head had been crushed under the weight of a hundred stones!"

"This will sound strange," said Deryn, "but Mum sent you the vision of your son. To help wake you. To make you realize you had to fight to live. She was terrified you were going to die.

"And you're having a son, you know," Deryn offered with a smile. "You'll see for yourself soon."

Percival was shocked. "Mum sent me that vision, or dream…whatever it was? I'm truly going to have a son? I knew it!" The knight clapped his hands together with happiness.

"And sadly, the poor boy will end up looking just like you," the sister teased. "Except his eyes will be bluer, like his mum's."

Stopping Deryn with a light touch on her arm, Percival faced her directly. "Wait," he said. "You can see the future?"

"A little. Glimpses and what have you. But I'm not sharing anything else, no matter how you much beg or plead. That was the only thing I'll tell you."

"That's fair; thank you. I don't think it would be a good idea to know about the future anyway. It could probably drive a man mad."

"You've always been smarter than you look, brother!"

Percival chased Deryn down the beach for a short time after that declaration, and pretended as if he was about to tackle her. But instead, he just raced right by his sister and stopped abruptly in front of her. "Seeing you again, like this, with a smile on your face, knowing you're happy and in love…knowing you're with Mum and Father…it's been an incredible gift," he said. "One I'll never forget."

"It's been a gift for me, too, Percival. I do mean that. It's very important to all of us that you know how proud we are and that we'll be by your side for all of your days. Except when you're naked. Then, we leave," Deryn said to Percival with a devious wink.

The man shook with laughter. "Please, I certainly hope so."

The brother and sister walked on.

"Can we talk a little bit more about how much you love your wife, Percival?" Deryn asked out of the blue after a brief pause. "I would really love to learn about her. From what I've seen, she's very special and dear to you."

"She is. Christiane's been the greatest blessing of my life. I don't think I've ever said those exact words to her, and I probably should.

"The woman's wonderful, Deryn," Percival said, with a smile and obvious adoration. "She's so wise and loves so deeply. I don't know what she saw in me or why she chose me, but I'm really grateful to have her in my life. I felt close to her from the very beginning. Losing you and Mum and Father broke my spirit for a time, but my wife's love has helped me heal.

"Listen to me, carrying on like a love-struck princess! Anyway, that's the truth of how I feel. And the fact she's giving me a child… I feel more blessed than any man has the right to be."

"That makes me happier than you'll ever know," said Deryn. "We worried about you for such a long time after we died. But once you met Christiane, it seemed is if a spark ignited within you and you came back to life. It was wonderful to see. It still is."

The brother and sister stopped walking, and stood still at the water's edge for a moment.

"There's something I want to do in case we run out of time, little sister," said Percival. "Remember that story that Mum told us? The one about how the young woman masqueraded as a knight, and became the first woman to be knighted by the king?"

"Of course!" Deryn said, excitement in her eyes. "I loved that one. You know it was my absolute favorite."

"Well, I remember we never had a chance to perform that one. We'd planned to, but we…ran out of time," said Percival solemnly.

Days before Deryn had died, Percival had promised his little sister that they'd play-act that story together, as they often did with their mother's tales. But Deryn had been killed, and the opportunity had been missed. That fact had weighed heavily on Percival's conscience for years. And he was hoping he could make it up to his sister right then. "I think we should act it out now," he said.

Deryn, looking younger than ever, leapt up-and-down with glee. "Yes!" she squeaked. "I would love it! Let's find a nice, big stick so you can knight me!"

"It's a shame I don't have my sword with me. It's a pretty impressive looking thing."

"That's all right. I like the idea of a pretend sword anyway."

Percival and Deryn combed the beach for the largest stick Percival could reasonably wield. They found a smaller one for Deryn, too, and the brother and sister spent the next portion of their visit play-acting sword fights, saving princesses and queens, and concluded with the girl being knighted by her brother. It was a truly marvelous time and Percival hated to see it end, but something in the back of his mind altered him to the fact his time with his sister might conclude soon. They ended their game and walked along the beach once again, sticks in hand.

"Little sister, I think I'm going back soon. I feel something," said Percival, choked-up and emotional, now confronted with the reality this might be the last time he ever saw his sister.

She nodded in agreement. "Your pain will wake you shortly," she said, sounding sad. "So let me say a few last words to you – I love you, Percival. Mum and Father do, too. We're so very proud of you. Enjoy the rest of your life, and we will see you again one day. That, I promise."

And that's when Percival felt it: the roaring head pain waking him. Since his accident, he'd had bouts of blinding, agonizing pain in his skull. Typically, they lasted for a few seconds, but occasionally, they'd last for a minute or more. The timing was always unpredictable, and nothing in specific seemed to precede these incidents. The pain could be so intense at times it turned the knight's stomach.

As the scene before him faded out, Percival reached for Deryn's arm and whispered weakly, "Come with me."

While Percival slipped back into consciousness, his sister's words rang in his ears: "I love you, Percival."

Christiane stood next to the bed, shaking Percival's shoulder gently as he lay there, worry clear in her eyes.

"Love? You were sleeping so soundly, but then you began to moan and thrash around a bit. I thought the pain might be returning, so I wanted to give you some willow bark and chamomile before it became too bad," Christiane said to her pained husband.

"I think it's too late for that," groaned Percival, screwing his eyes shut once again to help block out the light in the room and hopefully reduce the horrific head pain. "I'm going to be sick," he speculated.

Christiane was back at his side moments later, after having retrieved a clean chamber pot. Percival leaned sideways over the edge of the bed and heaved into the vessel.

"I'm sorry you have to see me like this," Percival said when he was done retching. "It makes me feel a touch unmanly – being in bed and vomiting in front of you."

"Oh, come now! Your injury's from a jousting accident. That's very manly," said Christiane, with a teasing smile.

Percival's pain began to fade a little bit. "Come, lie down in bed with me," he requested. "I want you to get some rest, too. You're carrying our child and I don't want you to wear yourself out more than you already have. You've been up and about constantly taking care of me."

Adjusting the pillows beneath Percival's head so he was slightly more propped up, Christiane placed a gentle hand on her husband's arm. "I feel perfectly fine, so please don't worry. I'll join you soon. Just let me gather up the herbs and then I promise to relax with you for a little while."

After a few minutes of listening to Christiane fuss with herbs and liquids, Percival found his wife shoving a tincture down his throat, but at least she crawled into bed with him once she was done force-feeding him the liquid.

"You realize I would have taken it if you'd simply asked," Percival told his wife with a cough and a slight grimace.

"Perhaps after you'd asked a dozen question and tried to get out of it."

Christiane studied her husband's face. "I know that look. Something's on your mind, and I'm going to bet it was that dream of yours."

"Have you been hiding fortune telling abilities from me all this time? Maybe you can tell me where to find a small pile of gold! Or better yet, a large stash of stuffed breads."

"I know what you're doing Percival. Don't try to change the subject on me. Out with it."

"Can't get anything past you," Percival grumbled. "All right, you may think I'm somewhat mad. But I had a dream about my sister, Deryn. And I've never dreamed of her in all these years. It didn't feel like a dream, though. It felt entirely real. We met at the ocean, and I could feel the sand beneath my feet and the heat of the sun on my skin. And I saw strange things…unusual trees and fish and whatnot. She told me so many things I'd longed to hear.

"Do you think I'm mad, love? Because I feel like I actually saw Deryn…that it might have really happened."

Christiane placed a comforting hand on her husband's arm. "I don't think you're mad at all," she assured Percival. "I think many things happen in this world that we simply can't explain. I sometimes wonder if perhaps everyone has a bit of magic within them."

"I've often thought the same thing," he confessed. "But I never told anyone because magic wasn't as accepted as it is now."

Christiane encouraged her husband to go on. "Tell me more about your sister. As much as you can remember. I really want to hear."

Percival shared everything that he could recall about his time with Deryn. Christiane loved his description of the beautiful and exotic beach, and wondered if such a place truly existed.

"Christiane, I cried when I saw her," admitted Percival. "I cried because I'd missed her so much, and because I worried that she, Mum, and Father carried the memories of their brutal murders. But they don't. She assured me they remember nothing of that day and they're very happy now. And she told me she's in love!"

Now it was Christiane's turn to become tearful. "That sounds so wonderful. To know that there's a life after this one, and it can be full of joy, too." After a short pause, Christiane asked, "What else did she say?

Percival relayed that his family had seen him agonize over approaching Christiane, and worried that he might lose the chance to win her heart. And he told her they were present at the wedding.

Christiane's face fell and she looked concerned all of a sudden. Percival chuckled quietly. "I know exactly what you're thinking – I was worried they'd remained in our room for our post-wedding activities. Deryn promised me any time my clothing comes off, they leave."

"You mean, they're around you…around us? Often?" Christiane asked.

"Yes. My little sister told me that they've been with me all this time. Every step of the way. And that they love you. Mum loves your spirit and how you challenge me."

Christiane's eyes welled up. She'd always wished for the opportunity to meet Percival's beloved family. And she would have loved a sister, someone close to her age. But hearing his family knew of her and loved her…it made her heart swell with joy, but ache with sadness and longing at the same time.

Percival told Christiane the rest of what transpired during his visit. That Deryn had warned Percival to be cognizant of his flashes of temper, and about the game he and his sister had played that they'd never had a chance to do before Deryn had had been killed. Percival also told his wife that Deryn was able to see some of the future, but was willing to share little of it.

"That's wise of her," said Christiane. "I think it's a poor idea to know too much about one's future, as tempting as it might be to hear all the details."

Percival nodded his head in agreement. "I said something similar."

The knight had initially been willing to share the fact Deryn had confirmed he and Christiane would have a son, but he kept that to himself. After all, within a week or so, they'd know for certain.

From his position in bed, Percival reached over and rested his large hands on Christiane's pregnant belly. "I told Deryn that you've been the greatest blessing of my life. And you are. I don't think I've ever said those words to you before, but they're entirely true."

Christiane leaned sideways and kissed her husband tenderly but briefly. "I know you feel that way…you often show me. But to hear you say those things aloud means a great deal. And I hope you know I feel the same about you, Percival. You've changed my life in wonderful ways and I love you for it."

"I realized today, after seeing Deryn, it's important that you know how I feel. I should tell you…often."

Percival suddenly felt a bit woozy and lightheaded, as if he'd drunk a couple of large tankards of mead quickly, or had consumed some valerian. He sank back into the pillows, realizing Christiane had, in fact, sneaked some valerian into the potent liquid concoction she'd forced into him a short time ago.

"You're sneaky," Percival told his wife, as he closed his eyes for a moment. "I know what you did."

Christiane rose from the bed with a sly smile. "You were only asleep for an hour before. You need to get much more rest if you're going to heal properly and there's any chance of you getting rid of those awful headaches.

"But before you fall asleep, which will probably be any second now, I want to make sure you know your sister's visit was a real gift. I don't think there was anything dark or sinister about it at all. I realize some people believe dreams or visions like that can be riddled with black magic, but I know that's not the case. It was a visit made out of love. And I wish I could have met her, too."

"Perhaps Deryn will visit you one day," mumbled Percival, half asleep at this point. "And if she does, you must let me know."

The instant after he'd spoken, Percival snored lightly, clearly asleep. Christiane was relieved. She felt Percival had been far too active and talkative during his recovery. Rest was what he needed now. That, and love, which she was happily willing to provide in large quantities.

XXXX

Percival slept soundly and dreamlessly for several hours. However, he woke in the middle of the night with a screaming, blinding headache that nearly brought him to tears. He didn't want to wake his pregnant wife; she needed her rest, too. But unfortunately, he could not silence his groan of pain. That, and he thought he might be sick again, so he reached for the clean chamber pot positioned just underneath the bed. He tried to do so quietly, but in his haze of fatigue and pain, he dropped the pot as he tried to lift it. The loud bang in the otherwise silent room woke Christiane abruptly.

Immediately, Christiane sensed Percival was suffering and hadn't wanted to ask for help. She climbed out from beneath the covers. "Here, let me get that for you," said Christiane. "And I have some more medicine already prepared. It'll help."

"No, I'll be fine, just go back to sleep."

But Percival felt the nausea rising and scrambled out of bed for the dropped chamber pot. The sudden movement sharpened his head pain all the more, which, in turn, increased his nausea. Now on his hands and knees on the floor, Percival vomited into the pot once again.

_Not the great, strong knight now, am I?_ Percival thought to himself. _Here I am, on my knees on the floor, throwing up again. In front of my wife. If Camelot's enemies could see me now, they'd have a good laugh._

Christiane gave her husband some privacy to finish emptying the contents of his stomach, then whisked away the pot, wet a cloth in the wash basin, and helped him back into bed. Embarrassment and shame was clear all over her love's face.

"Please don't be ashamed," said Christiane, tenderly wiping her husband's brow. "You had a terrible injury that would have killed most men. This is just temporary. You'll be back to your old self soon enough.

"And just wait until I give birth," Christiane said with a light chuckle. "I'm sure you'll be exposed to all sorts of terrible sights before and after."

"What do you mean before and after?" asked Percival, while his wife went to the wardrobe to retrieve his medicine. "I want to be there with you during the birth, too. Isn't that allowed? I've heard some men do it. I've actually heard stories of some men delivering their own children. But I'm not brave enough for that."

"It's not common for men to be present," explained Christiane, dropping fresh tincture into Percival's mouth. "And watching a birth is not pleasant, I assure you. It'll make your vomiting seem like nothing!"

"I really want to be there. I'm sure I can convince Mary."

"I'm not sure you'll want to," Christiane offered.

After straightening up, Christiane told Percival she needed to use the privy, which was partially true. But she also wanted to empty the now-full chamber pot, in case Percival needed it again, which was likely.

When she returned to the room, Percival looked a little more comfortable. He wasn't as pale, and pain was less apparent on his features.

"I can't sleep right now," Percival shared. "But NO MORE valerian. I'm beginning to feel like a drugged goat."

"All right," Christiane responded with a chuckle, getting back into bed with her husband once more. "I'm wide awake, too."

"Since we're up anyway, do you think we can talk about our children?"

"I'd love to."

"I want you to know that no matter what, all of our children are going to learn to read and write. And their numbers. The girls, too. I know you think that's important, and so do I. I respect the fact your father made sure you're well educated. I think we can teach our children most things ourselves, but I feel we should have tutors as well," Percival insisted. "We can't teach them everything, and I want all of our children to have every advantage possible."

"You have no idea how much that means to me, Percival. The fact that you want the same things as I." She frowned slightly. "But tutoring can be very expensive."

Percival was worried about how Christiane would take his next statement.

"Love, I've been keeping something from you. And I only did so because I wanted it to be a surprise, not because I'm engaged in any clandestine activity or that I want to hide things from you." Percival took a deep breath before continuing. "We have plenty of money. Well more than enough to hire tutors for any and all children we may be lucky enough to have, and provide for most anything they need."

Christiane gasped with shock. "How?"

"I've saved most of my earnings. And when I've done extra missions, I've saved that coin as well. Arthur's very generous with bonuses for his knights, and I put all of that aside. I never had a reason to purchase any property so…I have most of my money."

It looked as if Christiane wanted to speak, but couldn't find words.

Hoping his wife wasn't angry, Percival took her hands in his. "This was only meant as a surprise. I was going to tell you right after the baby was born.

"And to clarify, we're not rich. But we and our children will live comfortably."

Christiane smiled and the knot of worry in Percival's chest loosened. He never wanted his wife to think he was capable of keeping secrets from her, and in hindsight, he realized perhaps he should have disclosed this information to her earlier.

"Money or no, rich or poor, I don't care," said Christiane, her hands still in Percival's. "A part of me wishes you'd told me sooner, but I understand why you kept it to yourself. You're softhearted, and I know you meant it only as a surprise. It's all right."

Percival exhaled. "I'm glad you feel that way. And that you understand my motives. It seems as if you always do."

The recovering knight studied his wife's expression intently, but couldn't quite determine how she was feeling. But since it had turned into a night of revealing secrets and feelings, he told Christiane one last thing before they both attempted to go back to sleep.

"I know it's not so common for husbands and wives to be as close as we are," said Percival, tenderly brushing a long, dark lock of Christiane's hair from her cheek. "Many spouses don't even live together and some see each other maybe once every few years to produce more children. And others have love interests on the side." The very thought of Christiane with a love interest made Percival feel nauseated once more. But he pushed aside those worries and continued. "But I know we'll never be like that."

Reaching out to hold his wife's face, Percival looked deep into Christiane's eyes. "Promise me I'll never lose you," he said. "That's the one thing in this world I couldn't bear."

Christiane removed Percival's hands from her face and placed them against her heart. "You won't get rid of me that easily," she said with a small smile.

Her expression became more solemn. "I know what we have is incredibly special. Unusually so. But never doubt my love for you. The way you feel for me? I feel the same for you."

"That's good. I feel closer to you than ever before," Percival responded.

With those words of love and devotion expressed aloud, the husband and wife felt as if they might finally fall asleep. And sleep arrived.

XXXX

It was now the fourth morning following Percival's accident, and for the first time since Aethon had thrown him, he woke relatively pain-free – he did _not _have a horrible headache that made him want to heave up his guts. He did, however, have a nagging erection for the first time in many days.

"At least that still works," the knight mumbled to himself under his breath. For the first few days after the tournament calamity, the pain had been so stunning and he'd been so thoroughly drugged by his wife that sex was the last thing on his mind. He simply hoped he'd live.

Percival wondered how he might talk Christiane into making love this morning. He knew regardless of any assurances he might give about his fitness, Christiane would never agree. Percival had a vague recollection of Gaius mentioning something about not having sex for a minimum of a week after the accident, preferably two, but Percival had been in so much damn pain at the time he couldn't really remember the details of the conversation.

The knight rolled over onto his side to face his wife, whose back faced him. Her light, even breathing indicated she was sleeping soundly, and there was no way he was about to wake her, especially with a request that he knew was unlikely to be fulfilled. So he rolled onto his back once more and tried his old trick of conjuring up images of ugly things to lessen his arousal. But this time, mental images of Gwaine pissing in the woods while drunk and Gaius cleaning a festering wound didn't help. No, he still wanted his wife. He thought perhaps if he got up to use the chamber pot, that might do…something. But even after slipping out of bed quietly to relieve himself, he was still as hard as ever. Percival tried to slide back into bed quietly, but Christiane, even more of a light sleeper now that she was so pregnant, stirred, then opened her eyes halfway, clearly taking in Percival's erection, which was obvious, straining against his drawers.

Diving under the covers to obscure his crotch as quickly as possible, Percival mumbled a quiet "Good morning" to his wife.

"Is it?" Christiane asked with humor.

"I'll decide that after you answer my very serious question." Percival turned onto his side and slipped his hand beneath the hem of Christiane's light nightdress. "When can I bed you again?

"Not yet. Not for a few more days, at least," she panted, while Percival's hands roamed her breasts, and then settled between her legs.

Percival traced lazy circles against her warmth. Christiane squirmed and made a halfhearted attempt to move, but Percival held her still with his other arm.

"Any chance I could get you to change your mind?" he asked with a crooked grin, pleading in his mind that Christiane would give in.

For a moment, he thought she might. Christiane sighed at her husband's touch and her eyes drifted closed briefly. Percival assumed he was moments away from climbing on top of his wife and enjoying her body. Just as he pulled away his hands and was preparing to turn and settle himself above her, Christiane rolled out of the way and sat right up.

"Nice try, Percival," she all but giggled. "But no. You can't be moving all about, getting all excited with your heart beating too fast and all of that. Gaius said no, and he's right."

"But… I can just lie here!" Percival whined. "I won't even move and you can do whatever you want with me. Anything at all. And I'll breathe slowly. And not get too excited."

"You and I both know that's not possible. Just try to think of something else for the time being. I'm sure I can accommodate your wishes in a few more days."

"DAYS?" Percival barked.

"Yes. Days."

Percival gave an exaggerated frown. "You're so flip about the entire thing," he said. "I'm the one who's suffering here, you realize. I mean, I nearly _died_ a few days ago. Shouldn't you offer relief to such a pathetically injured man?"

Christiane rose from the bed, then walked over to Percival's side. She leaned forward and gave him a long, deep, sensual kiss, then left his side to dress for the day.

"Not fair, love."

"I know."


	26. Chapter 25 New Babes

**A/N - I wanted to delve into Percival's past once again, hence, his visit from his sister, Deryn. Was it a dream? Did it really happen? That's for you to decide. But either way, the visit was certainly a gift, and I think it soothed Percival's soul and brought him even closer to Christiane.**

**And I believe the chapter title for chapter twenty five says it all - new babes are on the way! And FYI, we focus on Gwaine for a bit after this chapter.**

**I know I say this at the beginning of every chapter, but I truly thank you for sharing this journey with me. I received a PM this week saying this should be made into the movie, and that was the most wonderful thing I have ever read. I also had my first negative review, but I am trying hard to take the good with the bad.**

Chapter 25 – New Babes

Everyone was amazed by Percival's speedy recovery. A little more than a week after the accident, he was back on his feet. That's not to say his recovery was entirely smooth. There were times when his wife threatened to tie him to the bed, since he insisted on getting up to fetch his own water, books, and food. He still had headaches daily, but the pain was slightly less stunning and immobilizing than it had been the first few days after his injury. Gaius warned that after such a serious accident, Percival might have to cope with the headaches for the rest of his life, but nothing was certain.

While Gaius had not yet permitted Percival to return to work, the court physician cleared the man to take part in non-vigorous activities, such as easy waking, attending meals, bathing, and so forth. Vigorous love making _still_ wasn't on the list of Gaius-approved activities. However, one night, Percival told Christiane that he didn't care if his head rolled off his shoulders and he went blind; he needed to touch her. After a great deal of coaxing and cajoling, she relented, but only after he agreed to lie perfectly still. He was all too happy to comply.

Since Percival had been bedridden on the day of their wedding anniversary and Christiane was due to deliver the baby any day, the expectant father thought it might be nice to take this last opportunity for a brief outing. Percival asked Ulrich to help him plan it, as he knew Carina was getting antsy while she approached her delivery date, too. The two men agreed to take their wives on a picnic by the swimming hole.

Christiane and Carina were elated at the idea of relaxing away from the castle for the afternoon, but everyone was worried that it might be too much of a strain for Percival. Percival tried to reason with them.

"Sitting on a horse for a short time, sitting and eating, then sitting on a horse again for a short time will not kill me," he calmly explained.

Everyone conceded it was fine to go, but only after Percival promised his wife repeatedly that he'd tell her if the excursion was too taxing so they could return home. He was tired of being mollycoddled, but agreed, fearing Christiane might truly strap him to the bed if he didn't comply.

The group was quite a sight: one-armed Ulrich insisting he would help the expectant mothers up onto their horses, two very pregnant women, and one massive and recovering Percival.

Percival insisted they pack plenty of food and drink, because the wives' appetites were larger than ever, and he suggested unless he and Ulrich wanted to go hungry, they needed to bring a substantial amount of nourishment.

The leisurely ride to the swimming hole was peaceful and soothing, with aromatic, colorful summer flowers in full bloom and grasses high. The group arrived in good spirits, with Christiane and Carina exclaiming they were starving, and the famished ladies tucked into a selection of cold chicken and ham, cheese, strawberries, and their much-loved dense bread with honey butter.

While seated upon a blanket near the water's edge, the friends joked, told stories, and debated the merits of certain baby names. The pregnant ladies threatened to go for a swim, insisting they were very buoyant at this stage of their pregnancies, but their husbands vehemently opposed the idea.

During all the banter and lighthearted fun, Christiane felt a sharp cramp in her lower belly but dismissed the discomfort as gas or a touch of indigestion from eating too much too fast. The discomfort passed in moments, and she didn't think about it again until about fifteen minutes later, when she felt the same sensation. When the feeling returned a third time, she placed her hands against her belly, and Percival glanced at her.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked with some concern.

"I'm not sure," she replied slowly. "I think I might be in the beginning stages of labor."

Percival and Ulrich jumped up as if the blanket had caught fire and collected their things as they jabbered incoherently. Christiane and Carina traded a look, and couldn't help but laugh at their husbands' overreaction.

The two men hurried about, frantic, and Christiane tried to calm them.

"Flying into a panic is unlikely to help," she told the anxious men. "It could be another full _day_ before the baby arrives. We can stay a little longer and enjoy the sun."

Percival looked at his wife as if she'd spoken in tongues. "Are you mad?" he asked agitatedly. "We're leaving straight away, and Ulrich is going to fetch Mary!"

"Men!" Carina declared with a deep sigh.

Christiane, Percival, and Carina found themselves back at the castle shortly thereafter, while Ulrich had run off to fetch the midwife. Percival whined that Christiane should get into bed, but she and her friend explained that it was better to walk around at this time, as it could help labor progress. Christiane expressed she wanted to walk in the gardens for a while, but Percival became almost panicked, insisting she must remain near their quarters.

"If you don't calm down and listen to me," Christiane said with growing impatience, "I'm going to have Gwaine bring you down to the tavern and force you to stay there until tomorrow, and you can meet the baby then!"

Percival felt sheepish and Carina patted his arm. The three of them walked up and down the corridor for a short time until Ulrich returned with Alis.

"Where's Mary?" demanded Percival.

"Mary sent me; she said it's so early on in labor that her services won't be needed for at least a few hours, if not more," explained Alis. "I'm still training, but she told me that I could do the initial examination and report back to her. If that's all right. I've done many of them."

Percival appeared as if he might become unhinged. "No, no, it's not all right, Alis," he barked, pacing. "My wife is to give birth to our first child and I want to make sure that she and the babe are –"

"It's fine, Alis," interrupted Christiane. "I trust you. Come, let's go to my chambers."

Percival gave the women an exasperated look, threw his hands into the air, and mumbled something unintelligible as his wife entered their chamber for her exam. His head ached, but he assumed it might be more from stress than from his recent injury.

Ulrich approached Percival with an offer to go shooting on the archery field. The expectant father grudgingly agreed, hoping the activity might provide a distraction.

After shooting for a while, Percival paused and looked at Ulrich. "Is it so wrong that I want to see my wife and newborn babe cared for properly?" he asked.

Ulrich nocked his bow. "No," he said, then took his shot. "But I think the women know best in this case. You just have to trust them, difficult as that may be at the moment. I know, it's easy for me to say when it's not my wife giving birth. I'm sure you'll be giving me the same speech soon enough."

Percival lined up his own shot. "I just don't want anything terrible to happen."

"None of us do," Ulrich told his friend casually. "But right now, I think your wife needs support more than anything."

"When did you become so wise?" Percival questioned Ulrich, lowering his bow. "And when exactly did we become such good friends?"

"Right around the time my arm was lopped off."

For some strange reason, both men laughed hysterically at this observation, packed up their equipment, and returned to the castle.

After leaving the field, the knights checked both Christiane and Percival's chambers and Ulrich and Carina's room, but the women were nowhere to be found. Before Percival flew into another panic, Ulrich suggested they look in the garden. And that's where they found their pregnant wives, walking slowly; Alis had left.

Christiane held up her hand in an effort to halt her husband's inevitable nervous inquiry. "Before you ask me a hundred questions, Husband, Alis checked me, said it's early labor, and she and Mary will both come back tonight after supper. But if anything changes, one of you can go get her immediately.

"Meanwhile, I'm going to take a nap before the pains get too bad. I'm sure it'll be a long night."

The expectant mother rested comfortably for a couple of hours, though it was a miracle she slept at all with Percival hovering nervously at the bedside. When she woke, it was early evening, and the pains had increased in intensity and frequency. She was able to breathe deeply until they passed, but by the time Mary and Alis arrived at the chamber while later (followed by Carina), Christiane was extremely uncomfortable, moaning and clenching her jaw. Each contraction started out as a dull burn, then grew to a painful ache, and ended with the sensation of sharp, stabbing pains.

Percival appeared as if he might cry or pass out, so Mary told the knight it was time for him to wish his wife well, and she'd summon him once the baby arrived; the birthing room was no place for a man.

"I'd rather stay," he insisted firmly, crossing his huge arms over his broad chest, drawing himself up to his full, impressive height, making an effort to look as intimidating as possible.

Perhaps such an imposing stance worked with others, but clearly, Mary wasn't impressed. "Men don't remain in the birthing room! It simply isn't done. Go see Ulrich or Gwaine or someone. Anyone," insisted the midwife. "I'll send Alis for you once the babe is here."

With a deep sigh of frustration, Percival relented. The knight hugged and kissed his wife, and announced to the midwife, "I'll be right outside of this door, and that's where I'll remain!" He shot Mary an angry glance and left in a huff, planting himself firmly in the corridor. Shortly thereafter, Gwaine and Ulrich joined him.

"Wouldn't you rather join us down at the tavern and get your mind off this?" Gwaine asked. "I'll even pay!"

"No, I wouldn't," said Percival sharply. "I'm staying right here. The entire time."

"Of course you will," said Gwaine with an eye roll. "I'll be back with some mead. You don't have to drink any, but I need to fortify myself for all of the screaming."

"What do you mean?" asked Percival.

"You don't really think we're going to leave you out here by yourself all night, do you?" said Gwaine. "Come on, man. You know us better than that."

Gwaine returned with the mead, but was the only one who partook.

At first, it wasn't so bad. The three men sat out in the hallway, mostly quiet, but occasionally engaged in some lighthearted conversation. Christiane emerged from the room periodically so she could pace the corridor; Mary and Alis informed her walking around at this point would help hasten delivery. Each time she appeared for her walk, Percival shooed the women away and insisted upon escorting his wife up and down the hallway himself. As the night progressed, Christiane had to take frequent breaks and lean against Percival as they walked. She groaned with discomfort as the pains became sharper and more frequent.

At one point, young Alis came out into the corridor. She was on her way to get a fresh bucket of water, but first, she updated Percival and explained all was well and Christiane was progressing well. She patted the massive knight on the shoulder before leaving to retrieve the water.

On her way to fill the bucket, she saw Sir Leon wandering down the hallway, probably on the way to pay Percival and the men a quick visit. Alis politely nodded at the tall knight, then looked downward; her face felt hot and she was flustered. Alis thought Leon was a very handsome man, but she was certain the knight commander had no idea who she was. And even if he did, he wouldn't be interested in her. He probably already had a woman anyway.

XXXX

Many hours later, well into the night, Ulrich and Gwaine slept on the cold hallway floor, but Percival remained wide awake, worried. Christiane hadn't come out for a walk recently and her moans of pain had turned into curses; he thought he heard her crying occasionally. Finally she emerged, nightgown drenched in sweat. Percival jumped to his feet and held onto her.

"I was just coming out to tell you I won't be out here again…" Christiane gripped her nervous husband's shoulders hard and screamed. Moments later, her water broke, further soaking her garment.

He escorted her back into their chamber, helped her change into a fresh, dry chemise and deposited her into their bed.

"I'm staying," Percival announced to Mary matter-of-factly. "You can't force me to leave!"

"You'll just be in the way!" the midwife insisted. "You'll faint, and I'll have to shove your body to the side, which won't be an easy task, considering your size. I don't need this aggravation, Percival."

"That's too bad," he asserted, dragging a chair up to the head of the bed, positioning it near his wife, and taking a seat. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

"Might as well let him stay," Carina told Mary and Alis. "He'll probably leave on his own soon enough with all of the blood and screaming." She winked at Percival surreptitiously, and he knew she was on his side.

"Make yourself useful then. Go get a clean, wet cloth, wipe your wife's head, and hold her hand," insisted Mary.

Percival complied iwith Mary's orders, and when he sat and tried to apply the cool cloth to his wife's brow, she protested.

"Don't touch me!" the woman shouted. Groaning with pain, Christiane leaned over the side of the bed and vomited on Percival's boots.

"Is this, um, normal?" Percival asked.

Mary rushed around the room; the woman was fed-up, and simply wanted the man to leave. His presence and inquiries were only making an already-difficult job even more challenging.

"I swear to you, Percival, if you bother me again or ask another question, I'll have the king's guard come in and drag you from the room. I'll do it!" she barked.

Carina approached the expectant father. "No, she won't," she whispered in his ear. "And yes, it happens all the time.

"And prepare yourself for her to say horrible things to you when the pain gets really bad. But don't worry, she doesn't mean them."

During the next two hours of hard labor, Christiane breathed, screamed, and howled her way through the contractions, occasionally gripping her husband's hand with such force, he wondered if it might break. When she announced: "I don't think I can do this, Percival," he assured her she was doing it, and quite a good job, at that.

"We're having only one child," the laboring young woman further stated. "Do you hear me? Just one!" And during a particularly painful contraction, Christiane announced this was "all" Percival's "fault," and she never wanted him to touch her again. When he tried to apologize, she shrieked, "GET OUT!"

Percival gave Mary a pleading look.

"I warned you, did I not? Yes, I did!" the midwife admonished.

"Do you really want me to go?" Percival asked his wife gently, agonizing over her obvious pain, wishing he could take it away.

She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. Just imagine how you'd act if someone stabbed you in the bollocks with a sword every five minutes for twelve hours. Because I think that's what this feels like."

Percival thought if that was true, it was a true miracle any woman survived childbirth, but he didn't doubt his wife for a moment.

Finally, after a very quick check, Mary announced it was time for Christiane to start pushing.

"Percival, if I die…" Christiane fretted.

"No one is dying, dear," Mary assured. "Now, let's have you lie on your left side. Since your husband insists on being here, we're going to put him to work and have him help draw up your right knee." Mary secretly hoped he would pass out sooner than later and just get out of the way. "Now, on the count of three, I want you to push as hard as you can."

With every ounce of energy, Christiane pushed and pushed until her face was bright purple.

"Excellent!" Mary exclaimed. "You've moved the babe down quite a bit with one push. This'll be over before you know it."

But it wasn't. Christiane pushed as hard as she could for over two hours. She was clearly becoming exhausted and Percival was growing paler with each passing moment. He could feel the tension in the room, but didn't want to ask what was wrong in front of his wife.

"Let's take a short break, love," Mary advised, and then conferred with Alis and Carina in a corner.

Percival wiped his wife's brow with the cloth. "You're being so brave. Any time, now."

She smiled back at him weakly, and Percival wondered for an instant if he was about to lose both his wife and child. The thought made it difficult for him to breathe.

"All right, I think the baby's shoulder is stuck," Mary told the couple, as she approached the bed once more. "So here's what we're going to do: Alis, you take one foot, Percival, the other. You're both going to help Christiane draw her knees up as much as possible. Then one last great, big push should do it."

It was a few hours before dawn, and everyone was exhausted, especially Christiane. As instructed, Alis and Percival drew the laboring-woman's knees back, Christiane gave a great push, and Mary could finally help ease out the baby's head and shoulders.

In those final moments, a substantial spurt of blood shot well across the room, and Percival, who had done so well up until that point, finally fainted. Mary announced they'd had a boy as the baby gave a lusty cry.

"Don't worry about your husband," said Mary casually, "he'll come 'round soon."

She left Percival on the floor, stepping around his large form as she cut the infant's umbilical cord and handed the baby off to Alis to be cleaned and tended to. The young acolyte, with a slight look of longing on her face, attended to the infant with great care.

Mary then focused on helping Christiane deliver the afterbirth. After that was done, the newborn was checked over again and swaddled. Carina helped change the bedding and assisted Christiane into another light, clean chemise.

Percival finally came-to and sat immediately upright. "What happened?" he asked from his position on the floor.

"You had a son is what happened!" Mary informed the man. "Are you steady enough to sit and hold him?" she asked before handing over the infant.

The new father nodded and climbed into the bedside chair. Wide-eyed, he took the blanketed bundle into his arms. It was the baby from his vision! Bald and chubby. Percival wept with joy, openly, not caring who saw.

"This is the baby from your vision, isn't it?" Christiane asked, and Percival nodded. "Maybe you are a warlock after all," she joked.

The new mother turned to more serious matters. "Thank you for being here, Percival. I couldn't have done it without you."

Still mesmerized by the tiny being who was now theirs, he could do nothing but kiss his wife and nod. "I love you," he whispered to mom and baby.

Mary gently eased the newborn from Percival's arms. "All right, let's get the baby to the breast now," the midwife ordered. "You'll all have plenty of time to admire your new arrival later. And what's the fellow's name?" she asked.

"Percival," Christiane informed her.

"Good name for such a strapping boy," Mary affirmed. "He's about the largest I've helped deliver!"

Percival popped his head outside of the door to announce to Gwaine and Ulrich that he had a healthy son, but the two men were somehow still fast asleep on the stone floor, and he chose not to wake them. They'd hear the news soon enough.

After some more clean up and additional checks of mother and newborn's health, Percival and Christiane were left alone with their infant; the little one had fallen fast asleep after nursing contentedly. They sat together quietly in bed, admiring the baby's fresh, soft skin, his round little head, and impossibly tiny fingers. They knew an onslaught of visitors would arrive in a mere few hours, so they rested while they could.

XXXX

As predicted, the next several days passed in a whirlwind of activity. Percival and Christiane received so many visitors, they lost count. Even Arthur and Guinevere were among the visitors who stopped in to admire the new babe, the queen holding the infant with a wistful look in her eyes. The men seemed more nervous about holding Percival II, and most declined, except Gwaine, which surprised Percival. Since Christiane knew of Gwaine's secret affection for Drea, she alone understood the tender look the man gave the newborn.

"Gone soft on us, have you?" Percival teased his friend.

"What?" Gwaine asked, snapped out of his reverie. "No, he's just a cute little bugger. Good thing he looks like his mother."

Percival gave his friend a playful swat on the head.

"Mind the babe, you brute!" Gwaine admonished, holding the newborn close to his chest.

Several days later, both Will and Owen (Percival's foster father) called on Percival and Christiane. Will held little Percival and rocked the baby gently, clearly adoring the fact he had a new grandson. After a time, he handed the little one over to Owen. Owen hadn't seen Percival in well over a year, and this was the first time he'd met Christiane. Yet he knew a great deal about the woman, thanks to the letters his foster-son had sent. And obviously, the man was taken with both the new baby and Percival's lovely wife.

Eventually, Will and Owen left the castle, chatting like old friends. They felt bonded in their new roles as grandfathers, and planned to meet for a spot of ale the next time Owen visited.

After the constant stream of visitors waned, Percival and Christiane settled into their roles as new parents with relative ease, yet the first two weeks were still a challenge. Percival II was a good baby, but he still woke up several times a night to nurse, and his cloth needed to be changed and washed frequently. Though many of the knights taunted Percival about being "a damn wet nurse" because he helped with the baby so much, he didn't care; the man was desperately in love with his little family. And Leon promptly told his men to leave Percival alone, unless they wanted to run through the Lower Town and back in full armor.

Once little Percival had reached his third week, the family had eased into a routine. They'd taken to calling the baby Percy, as it became too confusing having two Percivals in the room at once. Percival had returned to his duties, and Carina was often present to help.

Gaius had paid Christiane and Percy a visit, and the physician and his student determined that in another month, Christiane would return to her apprenticeship along with the baby, sticking mostly to making tinctures, herb-gathering, and easier visits with patients. Christiane knew as her baby became more mobile she'd need to make other arrangements for his care while she made rounds, but for now, they would take each day as it came.

XXXX

On one sultry late-summer morning, Christiane and Carina took a stroll through the market with Percy, who was wrapped in a light nursing shawl. Carina was hugely pregnant and due to deliver in about a week. Or so she thought.

The friends stopped to admire some herbs and oils at a merchant's stall, when Carina clutched her belly. "Oooo. That hurt," the pregnant young woman said loudly.

"Uh oh," said Christiane. "Is this it?"

"I think so," Carina acknowledged, only to have her water break seconds later. "Actually, I know so."

Rather than send Ulrich into an immediate frenzy, the two women stopped by Mary's home, as it was closer than the castle. Mary confirmed that since Carina's water had broken so early on, it was probably best for all of them to head back to the castle straight away. Also, Carina's contractions seemed fairly strong and were about ten minutes apart, which made the midwife think this delivery might move along rapidly, even though it was a first child.

Percival was on patrol, but Ulrich was finished with his duties, as he'd been on overnight watch. Carina and Christiane found him soundly asleep in the bedchamber.

"I hate to wake him now," Carina admitted, as she quietly closed the door to her quarters. "We're probably in for a long day and night." She turned toward Christiane. "Can we stay in your chambers, just for a little while, so Ulrich can get some rest?"

"Of course! Let me fetch Alis. Go right ahead in and make yourselves comfortable," Christiane told Mary and Carina.

Christiane returned with Alis, and the four women (plus Percy) sat and talked for a while, went for a brief walk in the gardens, then returned to the bedchamber.

Eventually, Percival entered, since his work for the king was done for the day. He glanced around the room quizzically, but quickly understood what was happening as Carina rocked back-and-forth in her chair, moaning.

"Ohhhhh..." he said in a long, drawn-out fashion, realizing Carina was in labor. "Should I fetch Ulrich? Or take you to him?"

"I think it's time for me to go to my own chambers now; that's a good idea," Carina answered. "And Percival? Keep poor Ulrich company tonight. I'm sure he'll be just as agitated as you were a few weeks ago."

As the women escorted Carina to her chambers, Percival overheard Mary make comments about, "No more men in the birthing room!" and something like, "I forbid it!"

Yet a couple of hours later, despite Mary's adamant protestations, Ulrich found himself in the birthing room, as he could no longer endure his wife's cries without at least being by her side.

Ulrich made it through the delivery without fainting, which he naturally pointed out to Percival as often as possible during the following weeks and months.

After eight hours of labor, Ulrich and Carina welcomed a healthy little girl into the world. The proud parents named the baby Anna, and she had her mother's blonde hair and her father's bright blue eyes.


	27. Chapter 26 Anger Burns, Loyalty Remains

**A/N - Welcome Anna and Percy! We now have two new, healthy babies in the Camelot family. Babies always make me happy. And of course, I had to add the lighthearted moments of Christiane yelling at Percival during the delivery. And the fact that he passed out was kind of funny, I thought. As a mother, I can relate to much of it :)**

**We're at chapter twenty six. Unless I have a sudden crazy inspiration, this story will end at chapter thirty seven (maybe?), along with a LONG epilogue. BUT, that's seven more chapters than I had originally planned. **

**This chapter focuses on more conflict with the Picts, a temporary stay in a safe house, as well as unresolved anger and jealousy that Arthur feels toward Gwaine. The two men finally have a chat. And it's about time. Yes, even great kings can be insecure.**

**As always, your continued support is wonderful.**

Chapter 26 – Anger Burns, Loyalty Remains

Arthur had enjoyed visiting the new babes, Anna and Percy. Spending time with the little ones made his own excitement about becoming a new father grow. After all these years of waiting and hoping, in a mere few months, Guinevere would give birth to their child. Son, daughter, it didn't matter to Arthur. A healthy child was blessing enough.

The royal couple had not yet publicly stated that the queen was expecting, but many residents of the castle had already guessed. The queen had a small build, and her slight weight gain was obvious on her petite frame. Guinevere's chambermaids knew of the pregnancy, since they helped the queen dress and undress each day, and noticed her bodices were becoming snugger, and the laces on the back of her dresses couldn't be pulled as tightly any longer. But these women were forever loyal to their queen, and kept silent. When questioned about the queen's condition, they feigned ignorance.

On a cool, drizzly afternoon, the king had joined several of his men on their patrol in the woods. He was lost in thought about his pregnant wife and their unborn child, until Gwaine shouted, "Sire!" in a distinct warning tone. The words rang out and forced Arthur to abandon his thoughts and focus on whatever danger lay ahead.

Arthur had been riding toward the back of the group, and was largely exposed on the wide trail. While Gwaine, Percival, and the other knights charged to Arthur's side on horseback, the king saw a young woman, a teenager, emerge from the thick underbrush. She looked wild; the woman's wide eyes shone with rage, her clothing in tatters, and sharp brambles were stuck to her dark hair and dress. And the woman had small, familiar designs painted on her skin. Arthur knew right away that she was a Pict, but didn't feel very threatened, as he was ahorse, armed, and men would be at his side any moment.

Yet as she ran forth, from her fitted bodice, she withdrew what appeared to be a long, wooden tube. The king had never seen such an object before in person, but as the young woman put the wood to her lips, he knew: it was a blow dart, most certainly poisoned, and was now aimed straight at his head. The woman blew sharply into the tube, and the dart went sailing through the air toward the king.

At this point, the knights hadn't yet reached Arthur's side. Arthur quickly leaned forward in his saddle to avoid the dart's impact and was successful, although he felt the object brush through his hair. Aware she'd missed her intended target, the girl fumbled down the front of her dress for a second poison-impregnated projectile. The dart was wrapped in a wide green leaf, obviously laced with a poison too deadly to come into direct contact with her skin. She recovered after her fumble and loaded up once more.

But she didn't have the opportunity to make another attempt on Arthur's life. Percival and four other knights surrounded the king, effectively blocking him from the young woman's view. And Gwaine was off his horse, sword drawn, and directly at the girl's side. He tried to subdue the young teenager without getting stuck by the dart, which she jabbed at him. Gwaine finally knocked the sharp object out of her hand, but somehow, she'd been able to retrieve a small knife from her ankle strap, and she stabbed at Gwaine frenziedly. But her blade wouldn't penetrate the man's mail. The knight tried his best to wrestle her to the ground without hurting her. Yes, she'd made an attempt on the king's life, but Gwaine wasn't interested in killing a young girl if it wasn't essential. He'd rather she stand trail and get whatever justice was to be meted out. But she was slashing frantically and wildly… out-of-control with rage. The blade missed Gwaine's eye by a hair.

Somehow, the girl tripped Gwaine; he dropped his sword and she was on top of him, her knife nearly at his throat. The knight had no choice – he drew his belt-dagger and stabbed her in the gut. Still, she fought against him, and he then plunged the blade into her chest. The girl said something in Pictish, enraged, and spat in Gwaine's face. Moments later, her eyes went blank and she collapsed heavily against him. Dead.

Gwaine simply lay there with the girl on top of him. He knew his friends would be along soon enough to remove her and help him upright. He'd never knowingly killed a woman before, and the finality of this act made him second-guess himself. Had he done all he could without resorting to killing her? Gwaine thought he had, but some doubt lingered in his troubled mind.

Percival lifted the dead girl's pale body from his friend and carefully placed her upon the thick green grass a few feet away. The other knights and Arthur all rushed to Gwaine, kneeling by his side.

"Gwaine, are you all right?" Arthur inquired, sounding desperate. The men weren't sure if Gwaine had been wounded in the altercation, or worse.

Gwaine hadn't realized his eyes were closed. He let out a long breath before opening them. "Fine. I'm fine."

Percival grabbed Gwaine's hand and helped him sit upright. Gwaine looked over to his right and glanced at the dead girl.

"This is unbelievable. These Picts send young girls to do their bidding, and here this one lies, dead by my hand," said Gwaine, pain clear in his voice. He turned his head to look away from the body.

"I'm sorry you had to do this. For me," said Arthur quietly.

"No, it had to be done," Gwaine responded, standing upright. "Better she than you."

Gwaine glanced over at the dead girl's pale form once more. "I'll bury her. Alone," he insisted. "I don't want to discuss this any further. The rest of you can return home."

"Not a chance," Percival told Gwaine. "I'll stay with you. But the king needs to get back to the castle right away. We don't know if the area's safe."

"I'm staying, Percival," Arthur argued.

"Please, sire, don't let Gwaine's actions have been in vain," said Percival. "We'll bury the girl and check the area."

"I'm not leaving you and Gwaine to do this alone. Anyway, it'll be faster if we all help," insisted the king.

It didn't take very long for the men to dig a shallow grave and collect enough rocks to cover the girl's body. Arthur offered words of sympathy and sorrow over the girl's final resting place, and eventually agreed to return to the castle with his other knights, while Gwaine and Percival remained behind to search the area for any additional threats; they found none.

"Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?" asked Percival, as he and Gwaine rode for home.

"I think a nice, crisp apple would do," answered Gwaine. He couldn't discuss what he really needed or wanted. Or, whom he needed.

Percival smiled slightly. "You and your apples," he joked. "I think I can manage that for you."

Gwaine tried to smile, but his eyes gave away his distress. He felt very, very low.

XXXX

The next morning, while Arthur and Guinevere finished their early-morning breakfast of stuffed eggs, hot apple soup, and bread (two helpings of each for the pregnant queen), Guinevere told her husband she was off to meet with some of the villagers in the Town Center to discuss educational opportunities for the young girls of Camelot.

Before she excused herself from the table, Arthur swept over to his queen and stood behind her seat, wrapping his arms around her. He planted a solid kiss on her cheek. "You're quite the progressive queen," he said, "as I always knew you would be. You make me proud."

As an aside, he noted, "Remember you'll have three guards with you for the time being when you leave the castle."

Arthur had been somewhat vague about explaining why Guinevere needed extra security. He hadn't told her about the attempt on his life; he'd merely indicated there had been some "threats" to Camelot that needed to be taken seriously. Guinevere accepted his explanation, sensing there was far more to it, but that the king would share the details at a later time when he was ready.

Guinevere left her chambers in high spirits, eager to meet with her subjects to discuss the important topic of education. Approaching the castle exit, the queen gave a courteous nod to one of the kitchen staff, a woman who was carrying a platter with a covered dish upon it. The woman nodded back, unsmiling, then dropped her platter to the floor with a clatter. She bent as if to retrieve her dropped items, but instead, uncovered a long dagger from the tray and lurched toward the queen, swinging her knife toward Gwen's abdomen. Somehow, Guinevere took a substantial leap backward without falling, yet the intruder's knife had still sliced open the front of the queen's dress.

Straight away, Sir Michael was beside the queen. He'd been standing guard at the castle entryway, and the sound of the platter hitting the floor had garnered his attention. The knight had taken a moment to alert his fellow guard that he was leaving his post, because he did not want to leave the entry to the castle unmanned. Michael knew that often, the goal of intruders was to lure guards away from their posts at entryways and exits so they could gain access to the castle.

Michael assessed the scene before him for an instant and did not hesitate; he unsheathed his sword and ran-though the intruder who wielded a knife before his queen. He withdrew his blade from the woman's body and let her drop, sheathed his bloody weapon, then stepped toward the queen. Michael was somewhat panicked that Guinevere had been severely injured, so much that he forgot himself and further tore open the already-sliced cloth of her gown to examine the potential wound. Fortunately, it was a mere scratch. A few small drops of blood appeared, but Michael had seen worse injuries resulting from rose thorns.

Composing himself and withdrawing his hands from the queen, he bowed apologetically. "I'm so sorry, Your Highness," he said. "I didn't mean to grab at you like that. I was worried you'd been severely injured."

"Please, no apologies are needed, Sir Michael," said Guinevere, doing her best to calm herself after such a surprising attack. "You saved me. Without your help, I'd surely be dead."

The commotion had caught the attention of other knights and guards who'd been close by, including Sir Aled. Many of the men gave orders about removing the dead body from the entry way and escorting the queen to the infirmary. Sir Aled went to inform the king of the attack, and Michael insisted upon escorting Guinevere to the infirmary.

It didn't take long for order to be established once again. The attacker's body (another young Pict) had been removed from the castle, and Guinevere lay on Gaius's examination table, with Christiane examining her minor wound.

"I know it's nothing," Guinevere assured Christiane, "but if I didn't have it looked at, Arthur would have a fit."

"You're right," said Christiane, "the wound is very minor. Now, you weren't struck, and you didn't fall?" Guinevere shook her head. "No cramping or pain of any kind?" Christiane asked, quietly. The healer didn't want Sir Michael to hear, because few people knew (officially) of the queen's pregnancy.

"No," the queen whispered. "I feel fine. Unsettled, but otherwise fine."

The king then burst into the infirmary in a near frenzy. He rushed to his queen's side, relieved to see she appeared well. He grabbed Guinevere's hand and kissed it, then turned to Christiane. "Is the queen hurt?" he demanded. "Is she going to be all right?"

"Sire, I assure you, she's fine. She's suffered nothing more than a slight abrasion. I'm going to apply some ointment, just to be safe."

"Arthur, I've had worse cuts when I've been cooking," the queen assured her husband. "This is nothing to worry about."

Once Guinevere had been checked over again (at Arthur's insistence) and changed into a new dress, the king escorted her to the council chamber where Leon, Percival, Gwaine, Ulrich, and Merlin were waiting.

"What's all this about?" Guinevere questioned, as she took a seat at the table.

Arthur looked at Guinevere, ashamed he hadn't told her the truth about the attempt on his life the previous day. He now realized he should have told her so she could have been more aware and alert. This was his fault. Could he do nothing right as king, or as a husband?

"Guinevere," Arthur said, "yesterday, while on patrol, I was attacked. I didn't want to burden you with the information, but now, in retrospect, I see I should have told you what happened."

Gwaine, Percival, and Arthur shared the details of the attack with the queen.

"I wish you'd told me, Arthur," she said at the end of the story, looking perturbed.

The king met her eyes for an instant, then looked down at the table. "I wish I had, too."

Leon broke in. "Sire, I strongly feel you and the queen should go into hiding, at least for a few days while we investigate these attacks further and tighten our security. Being ambushed in the Darkling Woods is one thing. But to have someone gain access to the castle and attack the queen is another matter entirely."

"Guinevere should go," the king said.

"I am not going without you, Arthur."

"Please, give us just two days. That's all I ask of you," Leon requested. "You know we have access to a few safe houses right at the border of the kingdom. I'm asking as your loyal servant: please give us this chance to do our work. It will make things much easier for the knights to investigate if you and the queen are safely ensconced elsewhere."

"My lord, I hope you'll give Leon's request consideration," Merlin offered. "When I met with Gaius and Christiane to examine the blow dart that Gwaine brought back to the castle, we determined it was laced with wolfsbane. The Picts are clearly determined to see you and the queen dead."

"Wolfsbane?" Percival asked with shock. "I sniffed the dart when we were out in the woods... It smelled very earthy and grassy, and just the scent made me dizzy. I'm not an expert on poisons by any means, but I'd never smelled that before."

"It's a very serious and deadly poison," Merlin explained.

"Fine," barked Arthur. "Two days, but no more."

The king didn't want to make his knights' lives any more difficult, and he wanted to keep his wife and their unborn child safe. And if he didn't agree to go, he knew Guinevere would never leave without him. "I don't want the people to think we've run off and abandoned them," Arthur added.

"I agree," said the queen, taking Arthur's hand. "Two days, but no more."

The group discussed the situation at length, and determined Gwaine and Ulrich would accompany the king and queen to a safe house, while the rest would remain behind and do their best to hunt down the Picts in the area.

"Merlin should remain with you and Percival, Leon. His abilities will be helpful," the king said.

"I can be of some help to them, my lord," assured Merlin. "If nothing else, I'll be able to sense the Picts' energy when they're nearby. I'm sorry I didn't detect their presence this time. But for some reason, it's easier for me to feel energy when I'm outside as opposed to within the castle walls."

"Any help you can provide will be most appreciated, Merlin," said Leon earnestly. "It'll be far more than we could do on our own."

"I think we've said all that needs to be said for the time being," declared Arthur. Turning to Gwaine and Ulrich, the king said, "Guinevere and I will be ready to ride out within the hour."

"As shall we, my lord," said Ulrich.

XXXX

Just as night fell, Arthur, Guinevere, Ulrich, and Gwaine arrived at the safe house. Gwaine and Ulrich hadn't let on during the ride eastward, but they were worried and remained on high-alert for another attack on their king and queen. But thankfully, the ride had been easy and uneventful, quiet overall.

The group of four dismounted, and was met by a lovely older, silver-haired couple who owned the tiny, one-room stone cottage that was to act as the safe house.

The husband bowed deeply before the king and queen, welcoming the royal couple. "It is an honor and pleasure to have Your Highnesses and these loyal knights staying in our home."

Arthur clapped the man on the shoulder. "We thank you for your help and generosity. I hope this isn't too much of an inconvenience for you."

"Not at all, Your Highness," the wife said, while executing a low courtesy. "This gives us the opportunity to visit with our daughter, and we're grateful. Please treat this home as your own, my lord," the older woman offered sincerely. "We have one bed, which you're welcome to use, and plenty of blankets for your men."

"I appreciate that, but we've brought our own bedrolls, though I may insist the queen rest on your bed," Arthur said, with a smile and nod in his wife's direction.

"I am perfectly comfortable on a bedroll, Arthur," Guinevere insisted. The queen turned to the wife and hugged her warmly. "Thank you so much for offering your home to us. I promise, your kindness will be rewarded."

The wife appeared flustered at being embraced by a queen, but hugged Guinevere back anyway. "Your safety is payment enough, my lady," the woman said.

After a few more pleasantries were exchanged, the husband and wife left on horseback in the dark, while the king, queen, and knights settled themselves in the cottage. A large, well-scrubbed dining table took up most of the interior space. The hosts had left some food on the table for their guests: fresh berries, carrots, a jar of pickled eggs, and a few herb fritters. The home was spotless, but fitting four people into the space comfortably for two nights was going to be a challenge. Arthur would have rather slept outside, but he knew that wasn't reasonable at present.

"I'm going to survey the area surrounding the cottage, sire," said Ulrich, striding out the door into the night.

That left the king with Gwaine and Guinevere. The three of them hadn't been alone together since before Gwaine had bedded the queen. And Arthur hadn't been alone with Gwaine since he'd drunkenly broken the man's nose with a violent punch. The king found himself feeling suddenly awkward. Jealous. And exceedingly angry.

Gwaine, sensing something was off, offered to set up the bedrolls.

Guinevere also noticed the tension building, and busied herself locating cutlery so she could slice up some eggs and carrots for everyone.

Just when it seemed as if the king or Gwaine might burst out with a comment they would regret, Ulrich returned to the cottage. He stepped inside of the cramped space, closing and bolting the front door.

"All's clear," he noted. "The area appears to be safe." Ulrich glanced around, now aware of the unease in the room. "Is, um, everything all right here?" he asked no one in particular.

"Yes!" barked Arthur and Gwaine in unison.

Ulrich raised his eyebrows. "Brilliant, then," he mumbled.

The rest of the short evening was uncomfortable for all. Ulrich didn't understand why everyone was so tense, but he had a suspicion. He tried to ignore his companions by pretending to pay close attention to sharpening his sword, and Gwaine tended to the fire. Guinevere read, while Arthur reviewed some documents.

Needing to escape the near-hostility in the room, Gwaine stated he was going out to check on the horses and feed them. He didn't return for quite a long time, not until everyone settled into their bedrolls and the fire was burning low. Gwaine had to step over Ulrich to get to his own sleeping spot.

Gwaine normally fell into sleep with ease. He could hear that Ulrich and the queen had fallen asleep, as evidenced by their deep, slow breathing. But he knew the king was wide awake, tossing with frustration beneath his blankets. And he knew why. Should he ask his king to step outside and talk? Would that solve anything between them? Probably not.

A sleepless Gwaine tried not to think of the angry king, lying there only a few feet away. Instead, he turned his thoughts to Drea. Since he'd fixed her roof, he'd seen her several times. The knight then thought of Wallace and how much he enjoyed training the enthusiastic youngster. Drea had invited Gwaine to stay for lunch on one occasion after he'd done some sword training with her son. Gwaine had been nervous during the meal, wanting to make a good impression, behaving as properly as possible. That was, until Drea left the dining table for a moment, and Wallace had opened his mouth and displayed a mouthful of chewed food. Gwaine couldn't help laughing hysterically, but he covered for the young boy once Drea returned to the table.

That Drea. He wanted her something fiercely. When Gwaine had helped her clean up after their lunch, Drea had asked Gwaine to turn around and she studied his face. Gwaine thought she might be leaning in for a kiss, and he was thrilled. Instead, the woman reached up and plucked a breadcrumb from his beard. Gwaine was humiliated, and turned bright red. Drea laughed at his reaction: a beautiful, hearty laugh. He'd wanted to kiss her so badly, but knew the time wasn't right.

Gwaine sighed quietly at the thought of the beauty. Arthur had made love to Drea, the lucky man. Gwaine wondered if the woman preferred slow, tender lovemaking, or something faster and more vigorous. Perhaps a little of both? Drea, with those beautiful blue eyes and rare but stunning smile, was so seductively irresistible. How could he make her want him? He had no idea. Little in his life seemed to go smoothly or easily these days, and that was unusual. Gwaine had always felt as if he'd made his own luck and opportunities, but that no longer seemed to be the case, for some odd reason.

Gwaine screwed his eyes closed tightly and pictured making wild love to Drea, with the woman loving his each and every touch. Good, then. Just the image he needed.

He felt himself getting ready to drift off when he heard some whispering close to his feet, followed by Arthur groaning and more whispering. Then Guinevere softly moaned, "That's perfect…"

Arthur had been stewing with anger for a good hour. He'd begun ruminating about the fact that Gwaine had slept with his wife. And that she'd loved it. The king often wondered if Guinevere thought Gwaine was better in bed, a better lover, and if she craved the man, but wouldn't admit it. The fact that Gwaine was sleeping a few feet away was making Arthur feel a little mad. Although it had been months since Gwaine had bedded the queen, Arthur was still frustrated and jealous, yet he no longer mentioned those thoughts to his wife. Guinevere seemed to cope with Arthur's time with Drea far better than Arthur dealt with the notion of Gwaine and his precious queen having sex with wild abandon.

Thus, the king decided he'd prove how much of a man he was, and demonstrate his skill in bed by making love to his queen, right then in the cottage, allowing Gwaine to hear her every sigh. And if Arthur could make Guinevere cry out, even better. At least twice, he hoped. Arthur would make love to his queen for a good hour non-stop. That would show Gwaine. It was a shame Ulrich would be a casualty of this situation, but that couldn't be helped.

A part of Arthur couldn't believe that his wife actually went along with his request to have sex so close to other people. But he took advantage of the situation and tried harder than ever before to please her. Yanking down his drawers and pulling up her skirt, he kissed that sensitive spot on her neck, the one he knew she loved, over and over. The king positioned himself above Guinevere in such a way that he could enter her deeply, just as she liked it. He eased in and out of her, and the woman felt more exquisite than he could recall. And sure enough, she groaned loudly with pleasure, and the king did nothing to stifle the sounds of her passion. The king hoped Guinevere would beg for more, and that Gwaine would hear every word. Arthur positioned his wife's legs over his shoulders and kept going.

Gwaine tried to ignore the noise. He knew what the king was doing; the man was trying to bait him for some reason. Gwaine wanted to stand up and shout he didn't care if Arthur was bedding Guinevere, which he didn't. The knight wanted Drea, and his heart was aching over that, and absolutely nothing else, no one else. Gwaine's time with the queen had been very enjoyable, but he'd moved past it. Guinevere was beautiful, certainly, and he recalled their wonderful and passionate encounter fondly. But Drea was the one he desired, the one who did something to his heart that he couldn't fully explain or even understand. It was probably love, and some part of Gwaine knew that, but it was too difficult to think about. Especially when he had the sense that his love was unrequited.

Caught up in his thoughts of Drea, Gwaine was brought back his current reality when he heard Arthur whisper to his queen: "Is this good? Do you want more?"

"Yes," pleaded Guinevere.

"Good. I want to give you more..."

Gwaine had had enough. He wasn't jealous, but he knew what Arthur was trying to do, that the man was attempting to goad him. So he stepped over a still-sleeping Ulrich and stormed outside. At least he could take a piss and get away from this mess for a short time. But no sooner than he'd made it to the woods and unlaced his trousers did Arthur appear right next to him, apparently deciding this was a good time and place for him to take a piss, also.

"Did you like what you heard, Gwaine? Wanting some of it, I assume? I'll bet you'd like to get your mouth on those sweet breasts again." Arthur said angrily, as he relieved himself right next to Gwaine.

Finishing up his personal business and lacing his trousers, Gwaine faced the king. "I don't know what you want from me, Arthur. What do you want, a duel? Or, do you want to ask your wife whom she loves better? Whom she wants more? Because I can answer those questions very easily for you. She loves and wants _you_. Why you continue to punish me over this, for something that you nearly demanded, I'll never understand."

Arthur also laced his trousers and stood facing his friend. The king's face fell. He was suddenly less angry and more ashamed of himself. "I don't know either. I felt as is if I'd been handling things well lately. Better. But then being here with you? It brought back those feelings of jealousy and insecurity. I burn with jealousy sometimes, Gwaine. I feel as if I might die from the agony of it."

"I have my own deep insecurities as well, Arthur," admitted Gwaine quietly. "One day I'll tell you about them, but now is not the time."

The king and Gwaine stood facing each other, silent for several moments.

"Do you want me to go, my lord?" the knight asked. "Would it be easier for you if I left the kingdom?"

Gwaine's words shocked Arthur. The king had been envious of his trusted knight, and frequently, all too angry, but he couldn't imagine ruling Camelot without his friend close by.

"Damn you, Gwaine. I hate you sometimes. But even with that, I still love you. As a brother."

"You may hate me, Arthur, but I love you and will be loyal to you until the end. I'd sacrifice anything for you out of loyalty and love; you must know that by now."

The king let out a long, slow breath. "I know. Brothers until the end it is, then."

Gwaine nodded his head slowly. "Until the very end.

"And know this, my lord: your anger may burn, but my loyalty remains."

The king knew his knight was being sincere. "I believe you. You've been honest and trustworthy, always. In my heart, I know this.

"Let's head back shall we?"

"One more thing, sire," said Gwaine, on the brief walk back to the cottage. "You should know I want love for myself one day. I may have found it, but I'm not ready to talk about it openly yet. Does that help ease your mind at all?"

"More than you know. And I'm sorry about…about before. In the cottage. That…display was uncalled for."

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

Standing at the cottage threshold, Arthur patted Gwaine on the back, feeling immeasurably better, feeling as if he could let go of some of the poisonous jealousy that had been consuming him all these months. The men entered the safe house, and returned to their own sleeping spots. Arthur was settled next to Guinevere once more.

"Is everything all right?" Guinevere whispered to her husband, placing her hand on his chest.

"Much better, love. Thank you."

The king and Gwaine rested easier for the remainder of the night. The two men didn't know if matters were settled for good, but it was the first time they'd spoken plainly with one another in a long time. Perhaps their friendship would weather this storm after all.

XXXX

The next day and night passed without incident, and the group of four left the safe house and returned to Camelot. Immediately upon their return, Merlin, Leon, and Percival met the group at the castle entryway.

"We believe the threat was isolated and those women had gone rogue, sire," Leon explained to Guinevere, Ulrich, Arthur, and Gwaine, as they walked down the corridor, headed for the interior stairway. "We searched the entire area and spoke with townspeople, and there's been no further sighting of Picts."

"I used my powers as best I could," Merlin said. "At the moment, I don't sense any Picts nearby. Keep in mind my magic is imperfect, and I'm still learning, but I'm fairly confident the threat is over. For the moment, that is."

Pausing at the staircase, Arthur glanced at each of his men. "That's good news. I thank you for all of your help. We'll remain vigilant, of course."

"Of course, sire," Leon confirmed.

Leon Merlin, and Percival strode off, while Arthur, Gwaine, Ulrich, and the queen ascended the stairs, eager to reach their quarters and get some rest in their own beds. Ulrich bid everyone good day, leaving the king, queen, and Gwaine alone on the landing.

"Gwaine, would you join Arthur and me in our quarters for a moment?" the queen asked. "I'd like to discuss something with the both of you."

The king and Gwaine traded a look of confusion, but the men followed her, nonetheless. The trio entered the chamber and Guinevere motioned for the men to take seats while she stood.

"I cannot stand the friction between you two," snapped Guinevere, glaring at the men. "If nothing else, then for the sake of the baby –"

"Gwen?" Arthur interrupted gently. "It's settled now. Gwaine and I talked."

"You did?"

"Yes. The two of us understand one another now. As best we can."

"I, for one, think the three of us should hug!" Gwaine offered in a lighthearted tone.

Arthur narrowed his eyes and frowned. "Do not push it, Gwaine."

"Just the two of us, then." Gwaine vaulted from his seat and dragged Arthur up from his chair, crushing the man in a firm embrace.

Guinevere chuckled at Gwaine's antics.

Arthur laughed also, giving in and pounding Gwaine on the back. "You're lucky I'm not armed, my friend," the king teased.

"You're always armed with brains, my lord, by far your most dangerous asset."

Arthur and Gwaine broke apart.

"Anyway, I'm in love, and no, not with you Arthur. But I'll say no more about it for the time being," Gwaine told the king and queen.

"A man with secrets," said Arthur. "I can respect that."

"But when the time is right, you'll tell us?" asked Guinevere.

"You'll be among the first to know. Second only to the lady in question."

Gwaine left the royal couple's presence. He was in love, and his king and queen were safe.

One could only hope things would continue to look up.


	28. Chapter 27 The Taming of Gwaine

**A/N - In the previous chapter, I thought it was important that Arthur and Gwaine finally address the tension between them. And poor Gwaine and Ulrich...having to listen to Guinevere and Arthur have sex a few feet away! **

**Chapter twenty seven focuses primarily on Gwaine. The man is changing! Perhaps his heart has truly been captured. Does he really want to get serious and settle down? And will the woman in question return his affection? We shall see. **

**There is some self-pleasure in this chapter, FYI. **

**Thank you for everything, my loyal readers, and welcome to my new followers, meggsiy1998 and OctaviaMaylover. It's great to have you.**

Chapter 27 – The Taming of Gwaine

As the weeks passed, Percy and Anna grew and thrived, bringing much joy to their parents. To add to the already high-spirits around the castle and the kingdom of Camelot, Arthur publicly announced the queen was with child during her fifth month of pregnancy, and everyone was elated (yet most had already guessed). The atmosphere in the streets and the market was of goodwill and happiness. However, Gwaine didn't share their joy. His relationship with Arthur was healing, but the knight had other problems.

For the past month, Gwaine had been visiting Wallace: training him in swordsmanship, taking him out on horseback, and teaching him the Knight's Code (as much as a four-year-old could absorb). He adored the little boy, but he didn't want Drea to think he was spending time with her son for the sole purpose of getting closer to her. Even so, Gwaine found himself in love for the first time ever. And he'd never felt so empty and hollow.

Gwaine behaved like a perfect gentleman in Drea's presence. Often, she invited Gwaine to stay for supper as a way to repay his kindness for being so good to her only child. But as soon as the knight suggested they take a walk together, share a cup of mead, or so much as sit outside and have a conversation alone, she rebuffed him. Rather harshly. He hadn't a clue what he was doing wrong, but he knew that every evening when he left after supper, the hole in his heart grew larger. Gwaine loved his evenings with Drea and Wallace, and wanted them to be part of his family; he adored them both.

One evening, Gwaine took his usual seat at the Rising Sun with Ulrich and Percival; the new fathers desperately needed a break from parenthood for a couple of hours. The two very friendly ladies, Helena and Kiena, sashayed by the men's table, and the women promptly positioned themselves near Gwaine; Helena plopped her rump firmly on his lap and Kiena pressed her breasts against his back, her arms draped over his shoulders.

"Remember that night a little ways back with the three of us?" inquired Helena, nodding her head slightly in Kiena's direction. She traced a long fingernail down the front of Gwaine's tunic. "I was wondering if we could give it another go. It was fun enough, but things never got heated-up."

"What do you say? We'd love to give it another chance," said Kiena, rubbing her chest against Gwaine's back.

Little did Gwaine know that a woman wrapped in a green traveling cloak, seated at a corner table by herself, was listening intently, but she couldn't quite hear the details of the conversation.

Gwaine shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He gently helped Helena off his lap and moved his seat forward so Kiena no longer pressed her breasts against his back.

"Ladies, that's a lovely offer, but I'm afraid I've changed my ways. Thank you for thinking of me, though."

Ulrich, Percival, Kiena, and Helena all looked agog at Gwaine. Sure, he'd mentioned changing his old ways with women from time to time, but no one really believed him. Until now.

Helena clapped her hands together with enthusiasm. "Then you must have a woman!" she announced loudly, for all to hear. Several other patrons turned to look at their table. "Tell us all about her! Can we meet her? We'll say only the nicest things!"

Percival and Ulrich couldn't tear their eyes away from the scene, wondering what might happen next. Gwaine with one woman? Impossible.

"No, I don't have a woman," he explained. "There's a woman I'd _like_ to have, but it appears as if she doesn't want me."

Helena knelt down next to Gwaine's chair, covering her mouth in surprise. "Sir Gwaine! You're in love. I can see it in your eyes! Who is this woman who finally stole your heart?"

"Am I wearing a sign on my back?" he asked with some confusion. "How is it that you women all seem to know this?"

"What a minute," Percival interjected, sounding perplexed. "You're in love? With whom?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Gwaine saw a figure cloaked in green rush by their table and exit the tavern. I took him a moment, but he realized who it was: Drea. Gwaine rose, offered apologies to all, threw his money down on the table, and left the building. The four people remaining behind were somewhat bewildered.

Ulrich and Percival traded looks of confusion.

"Did you know anything about this?" Ulrich asked.

"No," said Percival. "Because if I had, I would have taunted Gwaine mercilessly, just as he's done to me so many times in the past!"

"You wouldn't have," responded Ulrich.

Percival shrugged. "You're right."

"It's so romantic, Sir Gwaine, finally falling under a woman's spell," Kiena declared. "I couldn't tell who that was rushing by, but we'll find out soon enough." She turned to Helena and sighed. "Oh, well. So much for our evening plans. Perhaps we should give Sir Daniel a try."

They walked off arm-in-arm to proposition a young and startled Sir Daniel, while Ulrich and Percival both shrugged. The two men dug into a peaceful supper of freshly-made venison stew. It was the first evening meal they'd enjoyed in quite a while without their babies fussing in the background.

"I think I'm enjoying a quiet meal more than I'd like an evening with those two," Ulrich joked.

"Same," agreed Percival, with his mouth full, savoring the food and the relative quiet.

Although they relished the peace and good food, the two men couldn't help themselves from swapping stories about their babies. The knights marveled at the fact their wives seemed to know precisely what to do, while they often felt lost and worried about their skills as fathers. Ulrich admitted that the previous day, he'd rushed Anna to the infirmary because the tiny infant wouldn't stop screaming, and the panicked young father had been terrified. The moment Ulrich thrust the wailing baby into Gaius's arms, she belched, and promptly fell asleep. Apparently, it had just been gas. Percival laughed, but admitted he would have done the exact same thing.

In the meantime, down the road from the tavern, Gwaine chased after Drea in the dark. He called out to her, and she slowed, knowing he'd be able to catch her soon enough, and they might as well have it out now.

She turned and lowered her hood. "Yes, Gwaine, what is it?" Drea asked somewhat sharply.

"Why did you run from the tavern like that? And where's Wallace?"

"I was done with my meal and Wallace is spending the evening with my neighbor," Drea explained with impatience. "I'm entitled to have a break now and again."

"When one is done with a meal, they normally don't tear out of the building as if their cloak's on fire."

"Why do you care what I do?" Drea countered. "I saw you with those two…women. Lavishing attention on you, as the ladies are wont to do."

"Oh? And did you happen to hear the conversation?"

"I didn't need to hear the conversation with one woman settled on your lap and the other pressing her breasts against you," said Drea, rolling her eyes in frustration. "After all, we're nothing more than friends. It's your right to do whatever you'd like. And my right to do what I'd like."

As Drea turned and started toward her home, Gwaine grasped the edge of her cloak. "Not so fast," he insisted, waiting for her to turn and face him. "If you'd been listening, you'd have heard me tell those women I'm not interested, and that I'm interested in someone else." He stepped forward until he was a few inches away from her face and looked her right in the eye. "And that someone is you."

"Interested in bedding me, I'm sure," Drea argued, moving backward several steps, unable to hold his gaze.

"I don't understand how you could say that," said an utterly wounded Gwaine, shaking his head with disbelief. "What have I done to lead you to believe such a thing?"

Drea felt ashamed of her comment, but did not apologize, nor did she answer Gwaine's question.

Gwaine took her hands in his; they were ice cold, and he rubbed his thumb gently over her chilled skin as he summoned the courage to tell her how he felt.

"Drea, I'm just going to come out with it, because holding it in is making me sick. I love you. You may dismiss me and reject me, but I love you still." He moved closer to her again. "And I think a part of you cares for me, too. But if you feel nothing for me, I won't continue to bother you. Just look me in the eye and say you don't care, and I'll leave you be."

She started to answer, yet Gwaine cut across her. "But know that regardless of how you answer, I will still train Wallace. I insist upon that," he vowed, then took a pause. "It's up to you now."

Drea withdrew her hands from his and glanced at him. "I don't care for you in that way, Gwaine," she claimed, but her voice sounded hollow and strange.

Gwaine nodded slowly, and sighed, feeling heartsick. "Fine, then. I'll leave you alone."

He walked away. Gwaine willed himself not to look back and silently prayed that he wouldn't cry. He couldn't imagine the embarrassment of being caught weeping as he walked down the street, sobbing like a jilted princess. But he felt tears threatening to spill, therefore; he quickened his pace so he could duck into the nearby alleyway before anyone could see the utter mess he'd become.

The miserable knight made it there just in time and slid to the ground with his back against the stone wall, hands covering his face. He took a few calming breaths and composed himself. But he didn't feel like returning to the tavern to face his friends, nor did he want to go back to the castle. A part of him felt like grabbing his horse by the reins and riding away from Camelot, forever, but he dismissed that thought. Running away would solve nothing.

Gwaine rose after a few minutes and decided to walk back to the castle and hide out in his chambers for the night. As he emerged from the alleyway, head down, he walked smack into Drea. She grabbed onto Gwaine's tunic to steady herself. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot, as if she'd been crying.

"I lied," she admitted suddenly. "I do care for you, Gwaine. Very much. I'm just hurt and scared and it's difficult for me to trust people. I've lost almost everyone close to me, and I don't want to lose you, too. And I've had a good many…challenges lately. I'm just not ready to be with anyone yet and I hope you understand."

"I do understand," said Gwaine, feeling immensely relieved. "But it sounds as if at _some_ point, you will be ready. And I'll wait until then."

"It might be quite a while," Drea cautioned.

"So be it. You're worth the wait. I've no choice in the matter," Gwaine affirmed. "My heart demands it."

"I don't expect you to wait. That's unfair to you."

"But I will. I'll wait as long as I have to. In the meantime, I'll hold onto this memory," Gwaine said, as he drew the beautiful redhead toward him and pressed his lips against hers, softly at first, and then with more zeal.

Drea didn't resist, and after a moment passed, she gripped his hair, returning the kiss in kind. It was just as Gwaine knew it would be: warm, sweet, and passionate. The feel of Drea's delicious mouth and her hands buried in his hair made his heart ache with wanting her. As she drew back, he could still feel the hot brand of her kiss upon his mouth. Gwaine wanted to fall to his knees and beg her to let him kiss her just once more, but he resisted.

"I'll see you tomorrow night for supper, then?" asked Drea.

Still slightly dazed from the impassioned kiss, Gwaine finally answered. "Yes. Tomorrow."

XXXX

Percival and Ulrich returned to the castle after their meal at the tavern, choosing to give Gwaine some time and space to deal with whatever women-problems the man was experiencing.

Percival sauntered into his quarters and flopped back onto the bed, full and content. While he'd enjoyed his peaceful meal, he'd begun to sorely miss his wife and son during supper, and looked forward to seeing them again. However, the chamber was silent; Christiane and Percy were nowhere to be found.

Quite unexpectedly, Percival thought of Christiane's round, sweet backside. He then imagined her naked, writhing beneath him with pleasure. God, he loved having that woman in his bed! He recognized this thought came to him because he and his wife hadn't had sex in eight weeks to the day. Of course, she needed time to heal after the delivery; he wasn't a rutting boar who would command his woman to perform for him while she was healing and exhausted from caring for the baby. But oh, how he missed caressing her curves and taking comfort in her body. Yet he didn't want to pressure her into resuming sex before she was ready and willing.

He glanced around the chamber and listened carefully; there was no sound in the corridor. Percival decided he'd take matters into his own hands and relieve the growing tension and lust he felt. Flat on his back once again, he unlaced his trousers and pulled his drawers down slightly, conjuring up the image of his wife in bed on their wedding night; that was always a good one. He stroked himself vigorously, not paying attention to the footsteps in the hallway, nor hearing the door click open. It took Percival a moment to realize Christiane was entering with the baby, who was sleeping soundly in his wrap. The knight sat up, quickly grabbed a plush bed pillow, and covered his crotch.

"Hello!" Percival exclaimed too cheerfully. "I missed you two this evening."

Christiane's brows were knitted together, so he blathered on. "I came home and I was alone, and then I laid down for a moment, then I started to undress, but I didn't finish and...never mind. You can see what I was doing," Percival confessed.

"If you can give me a moment to settle our sleepy baby in his bassinet, I'd be happy to join you," she said suggestively, as she unwrapped Percy and set him down gently.

She hopped into bed with a smile on her face, and drew the bed hangings, which they'd started using only after their son was born.

"I saw Mary and Alis earlier today," Christiane explained. "And we can resume our normal activities! It took me a touch longer to heal than usual, just because the delivery was a difficult one. But now, I'm ready. I know it must have been hard for you, waiting so patiently. Thank you." She leaned forward and kissed him.

"Are you sure?" Percival asked carefully. "Because even if you're healed, I want to make sure you're ready. That you're not totally exhausted and might actually enjoy it."

"I'll be exhausted for the next twenty years, but trust me, I want this. And it seems as if you do, too," she teased.

"Oh, I do. And I'll be very careful with you."

Christiane told Percival she wanted to get changed first, and preferred to wear a chemise to bed, since she was still nursing. Percival didn't care what she wore to bed, as long as she was willing to lie with him again.

And Percival was very careful with his wife. He touched her gently, reveling in the soft sweetness of her body. He'd been so hungry for her that he sighed and groaned constantly as he moved within her, yet he was careful to remain aware of any sign of her discomfort.

Though after eight weeks of waiting, their joining was a brief affair, but it was a relief for the couple to take pleasure in one another's bodies again. Christiane seemed more shy and modest than usual, due to what she perceived were the flaws of her post-baby body. But Percival didn't see them and assured her she was as lush and gorgeous as ever, and he told her so. "God, you are so beautiful…" he whispered at the end.

"Perhaps we'll be blessed with another baby soon enough," said Percival, afterward, as they lay recuperating.

Christiane playfully swatted at his head in disagreement. "One baby is perfectly fine for the time being. Talk to me again about babies in a few years."

"Months."

"Years!"


	29. Chapter 28 Is That a Proposal?

**A/N - Clearly, Gwaine has it BAD for Drea! How will things turn out? Do you think she'll give Gwaine a chance after all she's endured? It's been interesting writing Gwaine as love-struck, since we normally see him as simply a pretty free-spirited and fun man. And that scene with Percival...I couldn't resist. The poor guy, caught in the act. :)**

**During chapter twenty eight, a great deal transpires between Gwaine and Drea. There may be a marriage proposal (as evidenced by the chapter title)!**

**And for those inquiring, the next few chapters after this one will focus on Leon (whom I just fell in love with writing this story) and...someone!**

**You're still with me? Thank you! I am amazed and honored. **

**Lastly, welcome to my new followers, bleachlover202 and lyndaflpn.**

Chapter 28 – Is That a Proposal?

The following evening, as promised, Gwaine called on Drea and Wallace around supper time. Gwaine started out by quizzing the young boy on the Knight's Code, then taught him blocking techniques out in the garden.

"A well-aimed strike is important," the knight explained, "but blocking is just as important. It can be the difference between life and death. Understand?"

Wallace nodded his head in solemn understanding. The boy took his training very seriously.

"All right, then, to block an overhead strike, you must move your –"

"Sir Gwaine, do you love my mother?" Wallace interrupted out of nowhere. Clearly, this question had been on the young boy's mind all evening, and he could no longer contain himself.

Gwaine's mouth popped open with surprise, but he clamped it shut promptly. He wasn't sure what to say, but after some consideration, he settled on the truth.

"Yes. I do love your mother."

"Will you marry her?" the boy inquired eagerly.

Gwaine felt very warm, despite the early evening chill. "If she'll have me, I would love to marry your mother."

Wallace stepped forth and clapped his small hand on Gwaine's elbow. "Don't worry, I'll convince her."

Gwaine couldn't help but chuckle at the young boy's statement. "Leave the convincing up to me, will you?" he said, ruffling Wallace's hair.

Supper was a lighthearted affair, more so than usual, since it appeared that confessing their true feelings had relieved most of the tension between Drea and Gwaine. He wasn't sure if it was his good mood, but Gwaine was certain that was the best rabbit stew he'd ever eaten.

Wallace was completely exhausted after his "rough training session" with Gwaine. The tired young boy put his head down on the dining table the second after he'd finished his last bite of stew and fell fast asleep. Gwaine picked up Wallace, carried him up to the loft, and tucked him in, running his thumb along the boy's cheek as he did so.

_I wouldn't mind having one of these,_ thought Gwaine as he stroked the boy's soft cheek with affection_. A child with Drea…a brother or sister for Wallace…_

When Gwaine tried to exit the loft quietly, but Wallace roused. "Would you tell me a story, Gwaine?" the boy asked.

Gwaine cringed; storytelling wasn't the man's forte. About what could he possibly tell a tale? He tried to think of something, anything interesting he'd seen during his day that he could somehow spin into a quick story. He recalled seeing a pony and a pig curled up closely in a barnyard, sleeping, and thought that image was a little unusual. That might work.

"All right," said Gwaine, returning to Wallace's bed and taking a seat on the edge. "In the glorious kingdom of Camelot, a pig and a pony were best friends."

"Were they boys or girls? The pig and the pony," asked Wallace, his dark brown eyes bright with excitement.

_Lord, I have no idea_. "Boys. And they lived on a beautiful, but small farm where they had plenty of food, drink, and many other animal friends." _What else?_ "The pig and the pony were always near one another, and if one of the mean barnyard animals nipped at his friend, he would come to his aid." _How do women come up with stories each night?_

"The two animal-friends also loved their masters: a husband, wife, and a little boy, age four. And that's why when two mean and awful intruders tried to break into the farmhouse to steal everything, the pig and the pony leapt over the barnyard fence and chased off the terrible men. The masters were just coming home and had seen the whole thing.

"'Thank you for saving our home! We'll give you anything you want! What would you like?' the father said to the pig and pony.

"The pony answered, 'The pig and I would like to spend a day inside of the house. It seems like it would be very fun!'"

"And did they spend the day in the house?" asked Wallace with disbelief, invested in the story.

"They did! But the pig and the pony decided it wasn't that much fun after all. It felt cramped inside and they thought it was too hot. So after a time, they went back to the barnyard. But their masters gave them special, delicious feed for a week and provided them each a sword to use if they ever needed it. And they all lived together happily. The end."

_That was the most horrible story ever told. _

"That was the best story ever," Wallace declared, eyes drooping. He promptly fell asleep.

Gwaine chuckled and tucked the covers around Wallace once again. He loved this little boy. Who else could appreciate such an uncreative and nonsensical tale?

When Gwaine returned to the main living area, Drea had pulled two seats close to the fire and had set out tankards, a pitcher of mead, and a few bilberry tarts. Normally, this was the time of night when she all but forced Gwaine out the door. But not tonight.

Gwaine approached the hearth, and Drea chuckled. "The pig and the pony, eh?" She gestured for Gwaine to sit down.

"Better than the sot and the fool, I suppose," joked the slightly-embarrassed knight.

"Definitely. Would you care for some mead?" Drea inquired, sounding awkward, already pouring the beverages as she spoke.

"Yes, I would." Gwaine moved his chair closer to her, and pulled Drea's feet onto his lap.

They drank in quiet for a time, and Drea was the first to break the silence.

"Before you decide you want to wait for me, there's something I have to tell you," Drea said solemnly. "It was I who slept with the king and agreed to carry his baby."

"I already knew that," Gwaine noted with a shrug. "Arthur has only a few knights he trusts completely, and I'm one of them. That doesn't matter to me. Does it matter to you? Do you still care for him?" he asked with a measure of worry.

"No, though I'm still hurt over losing the baby. It bothered me more than I thought I would."

Gwaine stroked her calves absently. "It's too late now, Drea. You could tell me you'd been with a hundred men, and it wouldn't matter to me. I love you too much."

The corner of her mouth turned up. "It's only been two men, my late husband and Arthur. I hope that puts your mind at ease."

After another lull in conversation, Gwaine asked, "May I kiss you?"

"Yes," Drea whispered.

The two rose from their seats at the same moment and kissed passionately in front of the hearth, hands tangled in each other's hair, their mouths locked together. Drea caressed Gwaine's solid chest and her hands inadvertently drifted toward his belt and rested there. The man was more aroused than he could tolerate and he broke their kiss.

"The wanting you is just too great and I need to do this properly this time," Gwaine admitted breathlessly, holding Drea at arm's length. "We need to be married before we're joined. If you'll have me. Will you?"

"Is that a proposal?" Drea questioned.

"It is."

She looked thoughtful. "I need a little more time, Gwaine."

"I can give you that."

"But you'll not touch me until we're married?"

"That's right," said Gwaine, his resolve lessening as she kissed her way across his jaw and down neck.

"I want you, Gwaine," Drea admitted, as she untucked his shirt and rested her palms against the warm skin of his lower abdomen.

The knight thought that maybe they could take their pleasure in other ways, and suddenly had a vivid image of dragging Drea to the bed and licking between her legs, working his tongue against her warmth until she screamed with release. Instead of acting upon that striking fantasy, Gwaine extracted her hands from beneath his tunic.

"Then you'll have to want me as your husband, too."

"You mean to do this?"

"I do. I'm serious about this, Drea."

Gwaine struggled to remain true to his promise that he and Drea would not share a bed until they were married, and those nightly passionate kisses and touches nearly drove him mad. For two weeks straight, each night when he left Drea's company, the moment Gwaine entered his bedchamber, he'd drop his trousers and stroke himself, fantasizing about his gorgeous woman the entire time.

One cool evening at Drea's cottage, Gwaine didn't know how it happened, but he and Drea found themselves on their knees in front of the fireplace, she relieving him of his shirt, and Gwaine unlacing her dress and corset, his hands and mouth on her breasts before he even realized it. It was like heaven for him, touching those full breasts and tasting his woman's sweet, soft skin.

Gwaine lowered Drea to the hearthrug. She unlaced his trousers while he fumbled with her skirts. He then slipped his hand underneath the fabric and lightly brushed his fingers against her most intimate part, and feeling her readiness, he moaned. He wanted her as he'd never wanted anything in his life. It was as if he was dying of thirst and she alone could quench his need.

"Gwaine, please," whispered Drea. "I want this."

Her words brought him back to his senses. What was he doing? He promised himself he wouldn't have her until they'd married. He lowered her skirt and smoothed it, then adjusted the front of her gown.

"No, not like this," said Gwaine. "The first time I have you, it'll be in a big, soft bed where I can take my time with you, not here on the floor. _And_ we'll be married."

Drea sighed. "And you're absolutely serious about this?"

"Absolutely."

"Then you've forced my decision," Drea told Gwaine.

Panic gripped him. What was she saying? Was she about to send him away? He was still on top of her, for goodness sake!

"What do you mean, precisely?" he inquired, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I mean that I'd like to be your wife. I'm saying yes."

One thought came to Gwaine's mind: _Act immediately!_

"It's decided, then. We'll marry tomorrow," he declared.

"Tomorrow!" Drea squeaked with surprise.

"Yes," said Gwaine, as he stood, yanking up his trousers. "Tomorrow. Arthur will be happy to marry us, I'm sure. I'm sorry I don't have a betrothal ring for you, but I thought if I presented you with one, you might throw it at me and tell me to leave," he teased. "I'll speak to Arthur in the morning and I'll buy wedding rings."

"But…but…" Drea stammered, pink-cheeked and flustered. "We have so much to consider! Where will we live and, well, I suppose that's the main consideration."

"Wherever you want," said Gwaine, as he took her hands in his. "My quarters are nice, but they're not large enough for a family, so I assumed we'd live here. Though I'm sure I'd still have to spend a night or two per week at the castle." He paused, making an effort to read Drea's expression. "What are you thinking?"

"I think… I think tomorrow is good."

Gwaine cupped his fiancée's face and kissed her with love and tenderness, his heart finally full.

"I never thought I'd find love again," Drea confessed.

Her soon-to-be husband smiled warmly. "I never thought I'd find it at all."

XXXX

Gwaine returned to the castle late, and feeling light as a feather, he requested an audience with Arthur. Fortunately, the king frequently kept later hours, and was happy to see his friend.

"You seem strange, Gwaine," the king said, as they sat in Arthur's private quarters, since Guinevere was sleeping in their shared chamber. "More strange than usual, that is. Almost nervous, which is very unlike you."

"Do you have time to perform simple and quick marriage ceremony tomorrow evening?" asked Gwaine.

"That all depends on whom it's for."

"Me. And Drea."

Arthur raised a brow. "Ah. Guinevere mentioned something about you two."

"If it's too uncomfortable for you, I can find someone else," Gwaine qualified.

"Not at all. In fact, I think your union will help mend many hearts. Yours included. I'll be happy to do it at sundown tomorrow."

"Thank you, my lord and friend," the knight said with a bow, and dismissed himself from the chamber to go find his good friends and share the news.

A short time later, Gwaine had summoned the half-asleep Percival and Ulrich, as well as Leon and Merlin. As the men sat at the dining table in Gwaine's chambers, they wondered what wild scheme Gwaine had concocted, and were all equally shocked when the man announced he was to be married. To Drea. Tomorrow. With the king presiding over the ceremony. Percival was the first to break the stunned silence that had fallen over the room.

"This calls for a celebration!" he announced, fumbling around looking for cups and mead, offering a toast to his best mate's good fortune.

"It's going to be a very brief and small ceremony," Gwaine told the men after Percival's toast. "Just me, Drea, Wallace, and you men and your wives, of course, if you can make it. We'll have it in the gardens if the weather holds. And Percival will stand up for me." Realizing Gwaine hadn't actually asked his friend to act as best man, he inquired, "Will you?"

Percival smiled broadly. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, brother."

XXXX

The next morning, Christiane, Carina, and Guinevere descended upon Drea at her cottage bright and early. Drea was surprised to see the women at such an hour, as the bride-to-be planned on donning a pretty but simple gown for her nuptials that evening, since she'd had little time to prepare.

Christiane was tasked with keeping Wallace and the babies content and entertained, while Guinevere and Carina worked on Drea's hair and clothing. Since Christiane and Drea were relatively close in size, Guinevere had begun making minor adjustments to one of Christiane's light-blue gowns for their friend to wear that evening.

Gwaine remained busy trying to locate a silversmith who could produce two wedding bands by evening, and that was no small task. It felt as if he and his friends had raced all over the kingdom on horseback trying to find a craftsperson who could help, but to no avail. After several hours, they returned to the castle to regroup and decide on the next best course of action. As they rode home, Marsilia, Gwaine's previous sometimes-woman, waved them down.

"I heard about your little problem, Gwaine. Your ring problem? Why didn't you come to me straight away?" she asked, hands on her hips, glaring up at Gwaine while he fiddled with his horse's reins.

Gwaine felt rather uncomfortable, as he hadn't spoken to Marsilia in many months. "I didn't think it was appropriate. I know I didn't handle things between us well…"

"Oh, please, get over yourself. I've been betrothed to a wonderful man for a month now. And every woman deserves a pretty ring on her wedding day. But I'll be sure to charge you extra for the rush job," Marsilia said with a wink. "Why don't you gentlemen ride over to my cottage? I should be able to put something nice together; it won't take all that long."

As promised, Marsilia produced two thick silver wedding bands within a short time, beautiful in their simplicity. And she charged Gwaine quite a bit for the fast turnaround, though she might have also charged extra just to needle the man a little. Yet he paid the fee happily. He also purchased braided leather necklace with a silver charm of the Pendragon crest in the middle, which he planned to give Wallace during the wedding ceremony.

That evening, during a breathtaking pink-and-purple autumn sunset, before a small group of friends – friends who felt like family – Gwaine and Drea took their vows in the beautiful castle gardens in front of the bountiful foxglove and rockrose. And not a single eye remained dry. No one ever imagined that a woman could capture the free-spirited man's heart, yet one had.

Gwaine, a fearless knight of Camelot, shook with anticipation and emotion as he repeated the wedding vows, and choked up when he said: "I do." Drea reached over to wipe a tear away from his eye, and he did the same for her. When Arthur finally announced that his trusted knight could kiss the bride, Gwaine kissed the lovely Drea, and the couple stood still and simply held one another afterward while their friends clapped and cheered.

With pride, Wallace wore the new necklace Gwaine had presented to him – a necklace that signified their unity as a family – and the young boy hugged his mother and her new husband.

"Sir Gwaine? Would it be all right if I call you just 'Gwaine' now?"

"Can I have two fathers, then? And can I call you Father?"

Gwaine had anticipated such a question. "I think you can have two fathers; the one who helped create you, and the one who helped raise you. But we must never forget your father and honor him whenever we can."

The newly-married knight lifted Wallace onto his shoulders, and everyone left for the tavern to enjoy a post-wedding repast. Walking arm-in-arm, the new husband and wife admired their wedding bands and stole kisses along the way.

"Have I accidentally swallowed a tincture of valerian?" Ulrich asked Percival quietly, as the group approached the Rising Sun. "I simply can't believe Gwaine's married."

"Who'd have thought?" said Percival. "I always imagined Leon would be the first among us."

"He looks a little morose today," Ulrich observed of Leon.

"Our knight commander's probably just concocting new and exciting ways to torture us in training tomorrow," commented Percival.

XXXX

Percival and Christiane had insisted on minding Wallace for the evening at the castle so the newlyweds could spend their wedding night alone. The young boy was so excited at the prospect of sleeping at the castle that he ran off without so much as a glance backward at his mother and step-father.

Drea and Gwaine entered their now-shared cottage and Gwaine found himself as nervous as a virgin. As a matter of fact, he was decidedly more nervous than when he'd lost his virginity at age sixteen. He recalled that event being over and done with so fast, there was little time to be anxious.

Fortunately, since Drea was a widow, they were not subject to the custom of having people stand outside of their door to confirm their consummation, and for that, Gwaine was tremendously relieved. Though as his nerves took hold, Gwaine wondered if he was the great lover he'd always considered himself to be, and worried his new wife might not like whatever he had to offer. What if he couldn't give her pleasure? It had certainly happened with other women in the past. Perhaps they should have had sex before marriage so Drea could have had a chance to back out if she found him lacking.

Drea walked up behind her husband and massaged his tight shoulders as he stared into the fireplace.

"You seem a little tense."

"Honestly, I'm worried I won't please you," admitted Gwaine.

Drea couldn't help but laugh. "Your touch sets me on fire. Your kisses alone almost 'pleased' me. It won't take much, I promise you.

"I'm going to get changed behind the screen," Drea informed him. "Why don't you pour a cup of mead and relax on the bed for a little while?"

Gwaine listened to her instructions. He sat on the bed and gulped down mead without tasting it. The alcohol helped him loosen-up, but not enough. He started to feel hot, and he tore off his shirt, hoping he'd somehow pull himself together.

"Relax," he mumbled under his breath. "You've done this before. You've been beaten and stabbed. _That_ was scary._ This_ is not."

A few minutes later, Drea emerged from behind the screen, and Gwaine's heart felt as if it might stop. His new bride wore a white nightdress, low-necked with a single tie in the front. The garment flowed down to her ankles, but it was completely sheer; Gwaine could see everything. Everything. His wife was stunning, and Gwaine was speechless. And the man was concerned he'd climax just by looking at her, as he was already completely erect and ready. How was he going to last more than five seconds?

"Are you well?" Drea asked, as she drew close to the bed, concerned by Gwaine's lack of color.

"I've never seen anything so beautiful in my whole life," he told her. "And I'm terrified I won't last but a few seconds."

"I can think of a good solution for that," his wife said, as she crawled under the covers. "If you're worried," she traced her finger up his thigh, "you can pleasure me first."

That was all Gwaine needed to send him into action. He rolled on top of Drea and kissed her, pressing his body against hers. After several minutes of kissing and groping one another, Gwaine pulled the single front-tie of her nightdress, allowing it to fall open. He touched and kissed her breasts immediately, thrilled by the feeling of them under his hands, losing himself in the taste of her clean but slightly salty skin. Gwaine kissed his way lower and lower to the auburn hair at the apex of her thighs. He urged her legs open, spending a good deal of time kissing around the general area.

"Gwaine, please…" Drea begged.

He parted her folds and within nine or ten easy caresses of his tongue, she came with a wild scream; Gwaine needn't have worried about his skills in bed.

"You're quite…easily aroused," he observed, feeling rather happy with himself.

"Only with you."

"I think I can live with that for the next thirty or so years!"

"You're still wearing your trousers," Drea noted, peeling her husband's remaining clothing off his body.

Gwaine settled himself between his wife's legs. "Look at me," he whispered gently. "I need to feel you and see you. To know that you're truly mine." He kissed her once more. "I love you Drea, and I always will."

"I am yours," Drea said, looking him in the eye. "And I do love you, Gwaine."

He couldn't help his eyes drifting closed once he was inside of her, almost as if the weight of the delicious sensations forced his eyes shut. Never having been in love before, he hadn't expected to feel such powerful emotion and passion.

And Drea took such pleasure in her husband's arms. His touch was strong, yet tender, and he seemed completely attuned to her needs and desires.

As Gwaine thrust with enthusiasm and uninhibitedness, Drea bit her lower lip in ecstasy, gripped her husband's shoulders, and screamed his name during her climax. He followed soon thereafter.

The newlyweds were so exhausted from the events of the day and their glorious coupling, they fell asleep promptly and didn't make love again that night.

But the next morning was an entirely different matter. In fact, it was a different matter over and over again.

And for the first time in quite some time, Gwaine and Drea looked to the future with optimism. With a loving partner, anything seemed possible.


	30. Chapter 29 And Leon

**A/N - Gwaine is a married man. Hoorah! After he was killed off in Merlin, it was very important to me that Gwaine receive a happy ending. Though there's still much drama ahead for our knights. **

**Now, we switch focus for a bit, and learn more about our knight commander, Sir Leon. Again, I fell in love with Leon all over again while writing the next few chapters. He has secrets from his past that he's going to share, including some heartbreak. He always struck me as a bit of a wounded soul. Yet during this chapter, he will enjoy supper with a lovely new...friend. :)**

**However, please be warned, in this chapter, a man relays a story about a sexual assault he endured.**

**And welcome to my new followers, Capuchon and ****tiddarifka****. Great to have you!**

Chapter 29 – And Leon

Ulrich was right; Leon was somewhat melancholy after Drea and Gwaine's wedding. Of course, Leon was happy for his newly-married friend, but felt sorry for himself, even though wallowing in self-pity was unbecoming for a knight of Camelot and he knew it. Still, he was closing in on thirty, unmarried, with no prospects in sight. Leon had never planned on that; he'd always envisioned a warm and inviting home, filled with a wife and children whom he loved. Being knight commander didn't leave him with a great deal of free time for courting women, but that was no excuse in his mind.

Wandering back to the castle alone after Gwaine and Drea's post-wedding meal, Leon was contemplative and thought back to his youth. If Deirdre had kept her word, the two of them would have been married for close to twelve years now, probably with a few children. He chastised himself for being such a foolish and inexperienced eighteen-year-old.

Thinking back, Leon recalled soon after his arrival at the castle to begin his training as a knight, he fell in love with Deirdre, gorgeous chambermaid; she was also eighteen. He spent as much free time with her as possible; the man could still remember those delicious stolen kisses, even all these years later. They'd planned a future together, and Leon was certain that she loved him.

One night, Deirdre and Leon had her small, typically-shared maid's quarters all to themselves. They'd fallen into bed together, and Deirdre asked Leon to make love to her, almost demanded it, but he told her he was an honorable man and wanted her as his bride first, and that they should get married without delay. Deirdre agreed and said she'd see him the following day and they could begin to make plans. Leon was thrilled with the idea of marrying the beautiful young woman.

But that never happened. Deirdre didn't call on him the next day, nor the following. Leon had panicked and thought she was perhaps missing or kidnapped, so he informed the head maid of his concerns, tearing his hair out with worry as he spoke.

"Leon, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Deirdre left Camelot yesterday," the older woman said kindly.

He scoffed at the ridiculous idea, shaking his head at the maid. "That's not possible."

"I'm afraid it is. Deirdre was betrothed to a wealthy older merchant and they left the city yesterday morning. On the way to cross the Narrow Sea, I take it. She was excited about her adventure. Talked about it all the time."

Leon had turned frighteningly pale, and the head maid must have noticed this, as she offered him a seat. He refused with a light shake of his head, since he was too stunned to speak.

"I'm sorry she didn't tell you. Was she a good friend of yours?" asked the maid.

Leon tried not to vomit where he stood. He'd been deceived; Deirdre had never loved him. How could he have been so blind? The shocked young knight answered.

"Something like that," he croaked, praying the rising tide of nausea would cease.

Months later, he received a parcel which contained a locket he'd given his erstwhile love. There was no note, just the delicate silver necklace. Leon rode out to Glas Lake, flung the piece into the murky depths, and tried desperately to never think of Deirdre again. But the ache in his heart made it difficult to forget.

Leon had bedded two women since Deirdre had left him. When he was nineteen, he'd managed a one-night intimate encounter at a time when he'd felt particularly alone; the woman had approached him.

Then there had been a long stretch of no one, until close to his twenty-fifth birthday when he'd met Ida, a widow slightly older than he. They'd been standing next to one another at the baker's stall in the market one morning, placing their orders. Leon took no notice of her. That is, until he turned abruptly and knocked Ida's basket out of her hands, scattering her new purchases into the dirt. He'd apologized profusely and had bought new, fresh loaves of bread to replace her now-ruined ones. Leon then offered to walk her home, insisting he carry her purchases.

The two chatted a little bit on the way to Ida's place, and that's when Leon learned the woman had been widowed a couple of years prior, and had no children. Once they arrived at the threshold of the small residence, Leon finally noticed the brunette was a soft, sweet-looking woman, with kind, hazel-colored eyes. Ida had found Leon charming and invited him back to her home for a late lunch that day, and he accepted the offer.

Later that afternoon, following a lunch of fresh bread and a delicious meat pottage, somehow, Leon couldn't recall exactly how it happened, but he and Ida had begun kissing, and they ended up on her bed. Leon remembered trying to stop the encounter; he didn't want Ida to think he was taking advantage of a widow. But Ida insisted this was what she wanted, and further offered to meet with Leon at her home periodically, so they would have opportunities to be intimate from time to time.

"I'm lonely, and I can tell you are, too. Why not?" she'd said, her voice gentle and kind.

And so began the casual sexual relationship. The woman was kind, but clear about the fact she wasn't interested in marrying again, or, she wasn't interested in marrying _him_. Leon wasn't all that concerned, as the relationship worked well for both of them. They met at Ida's home every few months, and the purely physical relationship was pleasant enough, but not incredibly special. In truth, Ida rarely seemed very engaged in their activities, but they were comfortable enough with one another. Leon never stayed the night, and there was never any talk of love.

During one meeting, Leon tried something new and kissed his way down Ida's body until he'd reached the woman's intimate parts. But Ida had stopped Leon, and told him she wasn't "interested in all that," and also made it clear that she wasn't about to perform oral sex on him. Ever.

At their final encounter, which had occurred about nine months earlier, Ida admitted she felt it was time for them both to move on. He supposed it was.

And last month, he'd seen Ida in the market once again. She had reached upward to touch a piece of fabric hanging at a merchant's stall, and that's when Leon had noticed the thick wedding band upon her finger. He wasn't upset with Ida in the slightest. She had always been honest about their arrangement, and had never led him to believe that she loved him. Leon hoped she was happy, but seeing that ring made him feel as if he was destined to be alone for the rest of his life, and he'd better start adjusting to the idea.

Absorbed in his thoughts of the past, as he neared his chambers, Leon scarcely saw Alis fly around the corner, clutching a pile of blood-soaked sheets. With her head down, oblivious of her surroundings, she'd plowed straight into him.

Leon had previously admired her discreetly from a distance; quite the fresh-faced little beauty she was. What man could resist looking?

Leon recalled the day around mid-summer when he'd seen Alis walking down the corridor with a bucket in hand. Leon had been going to check on Percival when he'd passed Alis in the hallway. He remembered the young midwife had given him a shy smile, and then she'd averted her eyes. Often, Leon noticed that women seemed intimidated by his height (even though he wasn't as formidable-looking as Percival) and possibly by his position as knight commander. But if these women only knew how he craved a wife and family, and how he'd love to have the opportunity to treat a woman like a princess, perhaps they'd look at him differently.

That day, Alis had walked away briskly, but Leon looked over his shoulder and watched her go. He found it difficult to tear his eyes away from her. Of course she was quite lovely, but it was the warmth and gentleness she radiated that kept him looking.

Leon had previously noticed young Sir Daniel admiring her as well. One afternoon, before the knights had begun sword practice, Alis walked along the outskirts of the training field, and the young man had been openly staring at the woman. Well, Leon couldn't blame Daniel. The pretty young midwife-in-training was quite the sight to behold. Yet something about Daniel's overt, longing gaze in Alis's direction had made Leon feel frustrated.

However, Alis was there, right now, standing before Leon. But her lip trembled and she'd begun to shake and cry.

"Alis? What is it?" asked Leon, concerned for the young woman.

"Sir Leon, I'm sorry for running into you so carelessly," Alis wailed. Overwrought, she dropped the sheets, grabbed onto Leon's arms, and fell against his solid chest as she wept hysterically.

"I was attending Seren, the maid's birth," Alis explained through her sobs and hiccups. "Mary was with me. We couldn't stop the bleeding. And the poor woman knew she was dying. Before she slipped away, she looked at her husband and told him she loved him, and to take good care of their son." She wiped her eyes and took a breath. "The babe lived, but the father's so aggrieved, I don't know what he'll do." The young woman began her hysterical sobs again, clutching Leon's upper arms more tightly.

Leon, unsure of what to say, simply held the young midwife and stroked her long, glossy, chestnut-brown hair, murmuring assurances that it would be all right. He hardly knew the poor girl, but her sadness pained his heart. He shared a story with her, hoping it might help her feel slightly better.

"The first time I saw a man die in battle, I threw up right then and there, and couldn't sleep for a week. I don't know if it's good or bad, but it gets a little easier over time," Leon offered, absently continuing to stroke Alis's hair. "Just try to focus on all the good you're doing by helping to bring new lives into this world. You're doing a wonderful thing, especially for someone so young."

She seemed to calm somewhat. "I'm not that young," she replied, still pressed against his chest. "I'll be eighteen soon enough. Old enough to be married and start a family. How old are you?"

"How old do you think I am?" asked Leon, attempting to lighten the mood.

Alis stepped back from his embrace, noticing for the first time just how very tall Leon was; her head barely came up to his chest. She narrowed her eyes, thinking.

"I know you're knight commander, so you've been serving for a while. I'd guess…twenty-six?"

"Close. Twenty-nine. Almost thirty. An old man to you, no doubt."

"Oh, please!" Alis said, almost cheerfully, nearly forgetting her current plight. "One of my dear friends is nineteen and she just married a man who's forty. They're in love and happy."

Leon quickly changed the subject. "Is this delivery why you weren't at Gwaine's wedding?"

She was surprised that Leon noticed she hadn't been in attendance. Alis wasn't entirely sure the tall knight even knew who she was.

"It is. I was so sorry to have missed the ceremony. How was it?"

"Nice. Emotional. To see Gwaine choked-up was something."

"I can't imagine," Alis said, collecting the sheets she'd dropped, feeling nervous and a little out-of-sorts. After all, she'd spent a good several minutes in Leon's arms and he hardly knew her!

"I'm afraid I've taken up enough of your time already," Alis apologized. "Thank you, Sir Leon. You really helped me."

"Please, just Leon."

Something inside of him told him not to let her go just yet. He'd been so damn lonely.

"Would you care to join me for supper tomorrow night?" he blurted out before he could take it back. He then qualified his invitation. "To help you get your mind off your current troubles. I often find that a good meal is a welcome distraction."

"Really? Are you sure? That would be amazing!" Alis beamed, brightening, now appearing less nervous. "I've been living off dried meat and bread for days; it's just been so busy. I'm off duty tomorrow night, so that's perfect. What time should I arrive? And where?"

Leon was stumped. It wasn't appropriate to entertain Alis in his private quarters alone, but he also didn't feel like dining in the hall with her, and being forced to answer inevitable invasive and off-color questions from his comrades afterward. He supposed they could dine in his quarters, but leave the door ajar.

"Would sunset work for you?" Leon inquired. "You can just ask the castle guard to direct you to my chambers."

"Yes, thank you so much!" said Alis with a grateful smile. "It'll be wonderful to get my mind off work. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Leon couldn't stop himself from watching Alis walk away. She was so very attractive: that little waist, rounded backside, lithe body, and the infectious laugh he'd heard in passing while out on the training field. The graceful way her body moved made Leon picture her delicious form lying comfortably beneath his bedcovers, with him settled on top of her, kissing each and every inch of the young woman's gorgeous, creamy skin. Sex with Alis would be spectacular, but waking up to her warming his bed, her cheeks flushed pink from sleep, hair mussed, that would be thrilling in its own way.

_Dear God_, Leon thought. _Where the hell had that notion come from?_

And his admiration made him feel like an old pervert. After all, she was a pure, petite beauty, and so, so young. What was he thinking? One meal and that would be the end of it! Even so, once inside of his quarters, he spent time nervously tidying his large and well-appointed chamber, thinking about their upcoming supper together.

XXXX

The next evening, promptly at sunset, Alis arrived at Leon's chambers, looking much happier and dressed in a casual, flowing, light-grey dress that offered just the slightest hint of cleavage. Clearly, it didn't matter if she was clad in rags or adorned like a princess, Alis was a bewitching young woman. She carried a small basket containing some fresh bread. Leon stared at her while she stood in his entryway.

"Erm, may I come in?" Alis finally asked.

"What? Oh, yes, I apologize. I was deep in thought," he said rapidly.

"You seemed to be!" Alis drifted into the chamber. "I brought some bread," she offered, holding up her basket. "We don't have to eat it tonight, but Christiane introduced me to it and it's so good. Filled with nuts and fruit. You can try it a different time. It makes a lovely breakfast."

Leon offered his guest a seat at the dining table. She sat, placed her basket down upon the table and took a casual glance around the room.

"It's very spacious and tidy in here," she noted. "Your quarters are quite nice. That's one good benefit of being knight commander."

"Thank you; I suppose it is," Leon responded abstractedly, feeling ridiculously nervous for no good reason. He finally composed himself and attempted to have a normal conversation. "You didn't have to bring anything, but that was thoughtful. The kitchen staff should be up here soon with our meal. I should have asked you what you like, but I didn't think of that, so I had them prepare a few different dishes."

"You needn't have gone to all that trouble," said Alis to her host. "I'll eat just about anything. I have a big appetite and I love to eat!"

"But you're so small," Leon commented.

"And young?" asked Alis in jest.

Leon, knight commander of Camelot's army, actually blushed. "Forgive me, I haven't entertained in quite a while."

"I haven't _been_ entertained in, well, ever, so I think it's going quite nicely," Alis insisted with a bright, joy-filled smile.

That smile: Leon knew he was done for. Fortunately, two members of the kitchen staff arrived at that very moment, bearing dishes of roasted root vegetables, herbed fish, venison pie, and a small stuffed capon. For dessert, the staff presented small gingerbread cakes and honeyed fritters. Alis couldn't stop herself from laughing.

"I have a good appetite, but I don't think we could possibly eat all this! Where to even start?" Alis asked, as she took in the enormous spread.

The two thanked the service staff. The servants exited the room, closing the door to the chamber behind them, just what Leon didn't want. But rather than make a production of getting up to open it, he left the door shut.

Supper with Alis proved to be an animated and cheerful affair. Leon couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself so much. Alis was a wonderful conversationalist: she was lively, fun, smart, and ambitious. She explained that on a whim, her parents determined they wanted to travel and see the world, and had left Camelot a few months prior. Alis was already well into her midwifery apprenticeship and elected to stay behind. Mary lived alone and nearly demanded Alis move in with her, as they worked together anyway and got along so well.

"I adore Mary, I truly do," said the young woman. "She's like another mother to me, and a friend. But the woman snores like a raging boar!"

Leon laughed at such an image of the older midwife.

Alis and Leon had made a substantial dent in the large supper. As they finished the final bites of their meal, two servants entered to whisk away the dishes and provide the dinner companions with a pitcher of mead and tankards. The servants left once again, and with quick bows, they closed the heavy oaken chamber door firmly behind them.

"I don't want to be presumptuous, but would you care to stay for some mead?" asked Leon, silently hoping Alis would say yes.

"That would be nice, thank you. But I warn you, if I drink more than the width of two pinkies, I'm likely to fall asleep."

"Just one pinky, then," Leon teased, pouring their drinks, and the two moved to seats in front of the large fireplace.

As Leon drank and Alis sipped in front of the warm fire, she asked him about a confrontation he'd had with Morgana several years ago, when the High Priestess had briefly taken over Camelot.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she added hastily. "I was only eleven at the time, and didn't understand the true horrors that transpired." Alis leaned forward in her seat and said, "I heard you were exceedingly brave."

"Oh? From whom?" Leon inquired.

"People. Well, everyone. Your actions that day are still talked about. Would you be willing to share them with me?"

Leon had never spoken of that day since, but felt he could trust Alis.

"I don't know if I was brave," Leon confessed. "I was actually terrified. I just put on a brave face." Recalling that day and all of its ugliness, the knight chose to share the story.

"All right," said Leon, "I'll give you the short version of what happened.

"Morgana had taken over Camelot's throne and demanded the knights' allegiance, even though we'd all sworn fealty to our king. Even so, within days, most men pledged their allegiance to her. After being locked in the dungeons and starved, threatened, beaten, tortured, only a few were able to hold out."

Leon hated to think about what happened next, but he continued anyway. "About a dozen other knights and I refused to pledge loyalty to Morgana. Perhaps we were foolish or idealistic. So one morning, she marched us out in front of a crowd and demanded we swear fealty immediately, or her minions stationed before us with crossbows would execute us. When she asked for our pledge one final time, we refused, and instead of shooting us, Morgana had her soldiers shoot innocent bystanders; women and children. We did our best to shield them, but still, many died."

"I heard something else," remarked Alis. "I heard when she asked if you would pledge to her, you smirked and shouted: 'Long live the king!' Then your men repeated after you. Is that true?"

Embarrassed by the overt admiration in her tone, Leon answered her question reluctantly. "It is."

"I don't know how you could have been so brave in facing almost certain death!"

"Like I said, I was terrified. The one thing I could control was going to my death with my dignity intact. Or, try to, at least," Leon offered.

What he didn't tell Alis was that as he stood in front of the crossbows, one of his final thoughts was that he was saddened no wife or children would miss him.

And then, quite out of nowhere, Leon ended up blurting out more. "I have scars. On my back…bad ones," he explained. "Morgana flogged me while I was chained in the dungeons. Afterward."

Aware that his hands had begun to shake ever so slightly, Leon folded them in his lap to hide the fact from Alis. Retelling this story was difficult. Leon could all but hear the sharp crack of the whip and feel the searing, burning pain of the lashes against his skin. And certainly, the current nausea he felt was all too real. This happened every time he recalled the confrontation, and he prayed he could pull himself together before he did or said something stupid.

And the one thing Leon would never, ever share with another soul was what Morgana had done to him in the dungeons following the whipping. After he'd endured a dozen or so agonizing lashes, Morgana had pressed her body against his exposed back as he bled. He was chained to the wall tightly by his hands, feet, and neck, so he couldn't move away from her. She'd reached forward and grabbed his crotch, hard, then unlaced his trousers with swift movements.

"I think I'll make you come for me," she snarled under her breath, so none of the guards positioned nearby could hear. "How would you like that, King Arthur's soldier?" She jammed her ice-cold hand down the front of his drawers and grabbed his cock. Leon was chained to the wall so securely he couldn't budge and was completely at the High Priestess's mercy. He wanted to beg her to stop; he couldn't imagine the horrifying humiliation of being roused by Morgana. He'd much rather be flogged. But Leon remained silent, his heart thundering, willing his body to cooperate and not rise to her touch.

The evil Morgana licked his neck as she held onto him and cackled softly in his ear. "I'll make you come," she whispered, "and then I'll tell everyone. I'll tell the whole kingdom you loved it. That the great Sir Leon was helpless at the hands of Morgana, that he loved her touch. The poor man simply couldn't help it.

"And you're a nice size, too," she continued in a whisper. "I wouldn't mind forcing you to satisfy me. I could do that, you know. You'd be powerless to resist my magic and you'd have to submit to my demands. How would that feel? I think a part of you would love it. Part of you wants it. Do you want it, Leon?"

"No," he growled, biting back his fear.

Morgana ignored him and started to stroke his cock. "You feel nice and hot. Thick," she crooned. "The women you bed must love being filled by you. I think I want a turn, too."

Leon bit his lip, his breath ragged, praying to anyone and anything that he would _not_ begin to cry and he would _not_ grow hard. How he despised Morgana, now more than ever. But even with such deep hatred, he knew what within moments, his body would betray him, and he'd respond to her touch, physically.

But before that happened, for some unknown reason, she'd stopped abruptly, and withdrew from him. Yet Morgana had given him one parting lash before she left the dungeon. Leon took a moment to shake off the nauseating image of Morgana touching him before he carried on.

"The marks on my back make me remember the fear I felt," Leon continued. "Even though I didn't give in and swear allegiance to Morgana, I worry that if people can see the scars, somehow, they'll know the terror that was in my heart."

He couldn't believe he was sharing something so intimate with Alis, and during their first meal together! She was probably preparing to flee from his chambers in horror.

"Ludicrous, I know. But that's why I never take off my shirt in front of people," Leon said, exhaling sharply with a measure of relief, glad the story was over and he'd finally spoken the truth to someone.

"If I saw your scars, I'd think of nothing but your bravery," Alis offered gently.

Sensing Leon had shared all he could, Alis switched the focus of the conversation. "I didn't mean to compel you to talk about something so painful. I'm just in awe of your strength and fortitude! Let me tell you about the time Mary ran off a scoundrel while she was still in her nightdress…"

She deftly changed the subject, and the two talked long into the night. Leon found Alis enthralling and charming. He'd never expected to feel so strongly about her and it took him completely by surprise. Leon felt a true connection to this young woman and wondered if she felt it, too. Yet before either of them realized, it was well past the middle of the night.

Alis stood suddenly. "Oh no!" she groaned. "I've completely lost track of time! I'm afraid I have to leave right now. I need to be up very early to get some supplies for Mary."

Leon stood up, too. "I'll escort you home," he insisted. "It's far too late, or, far too early to be walking home alone."

"Please, I walk home at odd hours all the time. Babes don't tend to arrive on convenient schedules," she offered with a grin.

"I'll accompany you tonight. And any time you find yourself about to walk home in the dark, I'd be happy to escort you. If I'm on patrol, one of the other knights will. It's not a good idea for a beautiful young woman to walk home unescorted."

Leon wanted to smack his hand against his head. He'd called her beautiful! Well, she was, but still, he should have kept those thoughts to himself during their first evening together. He felt as if the night had consisted of him making one ridiculous blunder after another.

Alis gave a small smile. "That seems a touch excessive, but I'll keep that in mind. Shall we?" she said, motioning toward the door.

In the crisp autumn air, Leon and Alis made the short walk to the young woman's home. On a particularly rough stretch of the dirt road, Leon offered his arm to Alis. She accepted it, and didn't let go until they'd reached the front of the cottage.

"Leon, I can't begin to tell you how much I enjoyed this evening. Even though I'll be exhausted tomorrow, it was worth it. Thank you so much for having me to dinner." Alis stood on her toes and pressed a gentle kiss to Leon's bearded cheek, allowing her lips to linger a moment longer than necessary.

As she walked up the few steps into her cottage, Leon burst out with another invitation.

"Would you join me again on Friday evening? For supper? I have evening patrol for the next few nights, but not Friday."

Alis smiled to herself before turning to face him. "I'm Mary's back-up that evening, so if there's a delivery, I won't be able to make it. If not, I'm free."

"That's fine!" Leon affirmed quickly. "I understand. My job's unpredictable as well. I hope to see you Friday, then."

"I hope so, too. But I'll send word if I'm detained. Good night, Leon."

As Leon left for the castle, he wondered how Alis would have reacted if he'd tried to kiss her. He then dismissed the thought, but recalled the sweet sensation of her lips against his cheek.

XXXX

Friday night arrived and Alis showed for supper, although a bit late, because as luck would have it, she'd needed to attend a birth. As Leon and Alis devoured their stuffed capon (she'd really loved it last time), Alis explained that this was the woman's fourth baby, and the delivery was quick and relatively easy.

"I don't know how you do it," Leon expressed with awe. "I'd faint watching that for certain."

Alis chuckled. "I tend to think being in battle and witnessing the resulting wounds is a far worse."

"Perhaps a close second," Leon teased, and the two of them laughed.

Once again, they both had a wonderful time, and the evening ended much the same as the last one: far too late, with Leon inviting Alis to supper again. This pattern carried on for just over two weeks. Alis and Leon felt as if they could have open and honest talks with one another, which was a comfort and a relief. Alis even shared that she wanted to save her maidenhood for her future husband, something she'd never told another person. She thought Leon might think her naïve or silly, but he told her that was admirable and wise.

Leon finally shared the story of Deirdre, but chose not to talk about his previous relationship with Ida; he didn't want Alis to think poorly of him. The knight reluctantly admitted he was not a virgin (as Alis had surmised), but he didn't provide details. But he made sure to add that he was no womanizer, had been with only a couple of ladies, and that the time in between women could be measured in years.

The two also talked about their insecurities. Leon admitted that once, a year or so ago, he'd returned to his chambers early to find that two maids were deep-cleaning, scrubbing the stone floor on their hands and knees, facing away from him. He hadn't wanted to interrupt their work, so he turned to leave before they knew he was there, but he overheard one gossiping about him.

"That Leon's uptight and unapproachable," the maid had said. "Stodgy. Probably boring in bed, too!"

Alis was incensed and bristled with anger. "How dare that woman!" she said. "She's a fool. She doesn't know you like I do. You can be serious, but you care for those under your command. I see strength and compassion when I look at you. Loyalty, too.

"And you _are_ fun!" insisted Alis. "That maid doesn't know what she's talking about." Alis's face turned bright red, but she continued on. "And I'm sure you're perfectly exciting in bed as well."

Leon nearly fell out of his chair with laughter, but told Alis he appreciated her support. He also had the fleeting fantasy of showing Alis just how much fun he could be in bed, if given the chance. But just with her…no one else.

As their evening wound down, Alis offered an invitation for Leon to come to her home for supper, but sheepishly admitted she wasn't the world's greatest cook. Leon confessed the same, and they both joked that perhaps they should leave the cooking to the talented castle kitchen staff for the time being.

In truth, Leon didn't care if he had to eat sheep's wool for supper – as long as he had the opportunity to spend time with Alis, that was all he needed or wanted. And that thought scared him.


	31. Chapter 30 The Knight Commander Falls

**A/N - Now, we know quite a bit more about Leon's past. He's certainly had his share of heartbreak and suffering. And the poor man endured horrible treatment at Morgana's hand. I always felt an undercurrent that perhaps Morgana had used sex as a weapon of sorts, and I wanted to explore that a little more.**

**But this relationship with Alis...will it move forward? Do you think Leon's going to be too caught up in the age difference? This chapter focuses on their developing relationship, whatever that may be. **

**Also, please know, this chapter contains quite a bit of sexual content. Just throwing that out there for the easily-offended. Then again, if you're easily offended by erotica, I highly doubt you're reading this. :)**

**Lastly I truly can not believe I still have readers. And welcome to Photogirl89! So glad to have you reading.**

Chapter 30 – The Knight Commander Falls

One evening after supper, there was a shift in Leon and Alis's relationship.

The two sat in front of the fireplace in comfortable chairs, which had become the typical routine after their meal. Leon was surprised to find Alis had drained her entire tankard of mead, poured a second one, and had begun to drink that as well. Little did he know she was trying to fortify herself for the upcoming conversation, one that she had rehearsed in her mind over and over.

All of a sudden, Alis stood, her hands on her hips, face flushed and serious. She turned to look right at Leon. "Why won't you try to kiss me?" she demanded. "You want to know me as a friend only, is that it? Or you simply don't find me attractive?"

He was flabbergasted and unable to speak. Unattractive? Who could find her anything less than stunning? Radiant, even. A blind man would find her beautiful. Leon stopped and took a breath. He'd faced certain death before; answering this simple question shouldn't have been so difficult. Remaining seated, he explained himself.

"You're so young, and I'm much older. I didn't want you feel pressured or assume I had ulterior motives by inviting you to supper."

Alis still stared at him, so he felt compelled to continue. "I think you're beautiful. Truly. Inside and out. Just looking at you makes my heart race. A dead man would find you gorgeous...Oh, damn it!"

Leon rushed from his seat and took Alis's face in his hands. He moved his lips against hers, firmly. She grabbed the front of his tunic and kissed him back, then tangled her hands in his blonde curls. He eased his tongue inside of her mouth, and she responded in kind, matching the movements stroke for stroke.

Alis savored Leon's kiss – it was so passionate and insistent. She noticed the man smelled of rich leather and his mouth tasted like the warm, honeyed mead he'd just drunk. Alis felt as if the world had stopped for an instant; she thought Leon's touch was like paradise. The knight felt so solid and strong against her body. Everything about him was simply glorious: his hard chest, muscled arms, and soft beard. It was as if the kiss branded her heart – she knew she was in love. The notion struck her forcefully and all at once. The strength and depth of her emotion made her step backward. "I've never kissed a man with a beard," she teased, rather than tell Leon how she truly felt.

"Oh? And how may men have you kissed?" asked Leon, Alis still in his arms. He felt jealous at the thought of her kissing another.

"One."

"Whom?"

"You."

Leon was surprised that was her first kiss. And a part of him felt like a lecherous old man, leading this poor, innocent girl into temptation. He pictured himself burning in a lake of fire and brimstone.

"And it was much better than I'd ever imagined," Alis told him. "Can we do it again?"

Leon attempted to will his erection into submission, but wasn't having much luck. He hoped covered the obvious state of his arousal. Before he could make a move, Alis was upon him again for another scorching round of kissing, running her hands all over his body, her fingers tracing the thick muscles of his arms.

Alis was so charming, enticing, and innocent, which made Leon's passion for her flame up even more. That, and the light, sweet smell of violet on her skin was making him mad with lust. It was just a trace of the scent, but somehow, that made it even more sensual.

Before long, Leon found himself backing her against the dining table and lifting her slightly onto the edge. Alis's legs wrapped around him, and he knew she had to feel how hard he was, she had to, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The knight was completely lost in her soft, glorious touches. Like an amorous teenager, Leon couldn't seem to help himself, and he kissed his way down Alis's smooth neck, then proceeded downward to the very top of her cleavage. While he did this, his bed, only a few feet away from them, practically called out to him, and Leon wanted nothing more in this world than to carry Alis to his mattress and pleasure the beautiful young woman over and over again.

However, Alis's sigh, followed by a whisper of: "Oh, Leon," brought him back to reality. He drew himself upright and straightened his tunic.

"I'm sorry," he apologized with formality. "That was too much. Please forgive me."

Alis slid off the edge of the table, confusion in her eyes. "I rather liked it. Did I do something wrong?"

Leon was surprised. "You?" he said. "You did nothing wrong. I was too forward and behaved inappropriately. You're only seventeen, Alis…"

"Oh that again!" she grumbled in frustration. "I'm going to be eighteen in three days. Does that help?"

"Your birthday is in three days!" Leon cried. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "It didn't come up in conversation."

Leon gave a small smile. "I think you were just hiding it from me."

"I'm meeting a few friends at the tavern for supper that night: Christiane, Carina, and Drea. I know you're on patrol," Alis commented.

Leon was ashamed that he felt relief over this. As much as he cared for Alis, their relationship, friendship, or whatever it had become, wasn't public. They'd kept it very quiet thus far, which was a miracle, considering gossip typically spread like wildfire in the castle. Sometimes, the knights and guards spread rumors with more energy and zeal than the ladies of court. It was not that he was ashamed of Alis; he was more concerned about what people would think of him for spending time with someone eleven years his junior. But why did that matter so much to him?

"Can you get the day off tomorrow?" Leon blurted out without thinking. "I have the day off from my duties and I'd like to take you out on a ride."

Alis grinned brightly. "I think I can manage that. Where will we go?"

"It's a surprise. Just wear something comfortable."

XXXX

Leon spent the next morning racing around like a wild man trying to prepare for their excursion and locating a suitable birthday gift for Alis. He knew with her training as a midwife, bracelets, rings, and necklaces wouldn't work, as they'd get in the way, and mirrors and hairbrushes seemed impersonal. Leon went to Marsilia's cottage to take a look at her wares. That's when he found the perfect gift: a silver hair comb encrusted with bright red gemstones. Alis often had to wear her beautiful, long hair up for work, and this was a gorgeous piece. It cost a small fortune, but Leon didn't care. And fortunately, Marsilia asked no questions regarding for whom the gift was intended.

By midmorning, Leon had retrieved Alis, and they headed east on his horse, laden with blankets and lunch. A good hour later, they arrived at the location Leon had chosen, and it was breathtaking. It was a cliff above a small, lazy river, with an unobstructed view of the far-off mountains, rocky and magnificent. Gentle breezes rustled the brilliantly-colored autumn leaves on the trees. It felt truly magical.

"This is the most stunning place I've ever seen!" Alis exclaimed. "The view is amazing. Thank you so much for bringing me here," she said, throwing her arms around Leon's neck and kissing him square on the lips.

He chuckled. "Wait just a moment and let me lay out the blanket and food."

The two set up a fine lunch of rastons[11], cheese, and cold meats, as they were easy traveling fare. Once they'd finished the last bite, Leon found Alis planted in his lap, their lips locked. The enthusiastic kissing continued for quite some time, until Leon found himself flat on his back and Alis was on top of him, and her lips were upon his neck this time.

"How is it you've never done this before?" asked Leon, enjoying the feel of Alis's soft lips on his sensitive skin. "You're, uh, quite good at it."

Pausing, Alis giggled. "I don't know. It just feels sort of natural with you."

"I feel the same," Leon replied softly, eyes locked with hers.

Disregarding the brilliant fall scenery, they kissed and touched for the better part of an hour. Leon's bollocks throbbed with need. He tried to control himself; he really did. But when Alis's fingers hooked into the front of his trousers and inadvertently touched the tip of his erection, it was simply more than he could take. Leon turned Alis onto her back and began to unlace the front of her dress. He said a silent _Thank you!_ in his mind when he discovered she wore no corset, just a bodice with light boning, and her top could be lowered with relative ease.

Before he lost his mind entirely, Leon stopped to ask permission first. "May I?"

Alis nodded in consent, too nervous and excited to speak.

Leon carefully pulled down the front of her dress and admired her high, round breasts, with small rose-colored nipples that were hard either from chill or want; he wasn't sure which.

"My God, you're more beautiful than I imagined," he said with admiration, as he moved his hands over her breasts, cupped them gently, and then ran his thumbs across each nipple.

Alis gasped and groaned. Leon took this as a good sign and lowered his mouth onto her breast, kissed it carefully, then moved to the next one as his companion squirmed with enthusiasm beneath him. The taste of Alis's clean but salty skin and the way she sighed with pleasure exhilarated Leon. He couldn't recall ever feeling this aroused before.

Alis had only ever had an orgasm at her own hand, and not very many, at that. But she wondered if she might have one right then and there: his tongue on her nipple, his erection pressing between her legs, it was enough to take her breath away.

Leon felt desperate to run his hands underneath Alis's skirts; he wanted pleasure her so badly. Leon _really_ wanted to beg the beautiful young woman to let him have her, right there on the blanket in the woods, but he somehow controlled himself.

In Alis's delight, she worked her hands beneath Leon's shirt and traced the muscles of his back with her fingers. She felt the thick scars that laced his warm, heated flesh, but her touch upon them didn't seem to bother the man. And that made her feel special, as if he trusted her enough to share those scars with her.

Once he moved upward and began to fervently kiss Alis's mouth again, she slipped her hand down the front of his trousers and felt his erection. She thought she might have accidentally brushed a finger against it before, but now she was certain. It was both thrilling and frightening; she'd never touched one before. It throbbed, and was much harder and larger than she'd imagined. Alis recalled one of the many incessant questioning sessions to which she'd subjected Carina about how to handle a man's cock, but the young woman couldn't seem to remember much other than the following: "Grasp it solidly and move your hand up and down the length."

And that's exactly what Alis did, for about ten seconds, until Leon grabbed her wrist.

"No, wait, please," he panted, removing her hand from his trousers and sitting upright.

"Was that bad?" she asked softly. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't really know what I'm doing."

He smoothed her hair back from her forehead. "No," he said. "Quite the contrary. It, was, ah, too good. And I was, um, getting too excited, I'm afraid. And I didn't want to…alarm you."

"I don't think I would have been alarmed. Impressed with myself, probably."

Leon chuckled and kissed her lightly. "You're just too gorgeous and sweet for your own good. But I think we should stop for now."

"What if I don't want to?"

Leon gulped, his mouth now dry. "You want to remain a maiden for the time being, and I support that, I do. But if we continue on like this, it might be a challenge for us to ensure you remain so."

Alis ran her finger along the side of Leon's jaw. "I would love to please you," she said, looking straight into Leon's eyes.

Those provocative words coupled with that innocent touch made Leon shiver with temptation.

"And I, you," he insisted. "But why don't we wait until you turn eighteen the day after tomorrow, and then reconsider? Not your maidenhood, but...other activities."

"I'd reconsider my maidenhood for you, too."

Leon groaned. "Oh, please don't say that. It makes me feel as if I'm taking terrible advantage of you."

"Not at all. That's how I feel," confessed Alis.

Leon sighed and let out a long breath. "Alis…"

The young woman was worried about what he might say next; however, an idea popped into her mind. An idea of how to distract Leon from his current thoughts.

"Leon, can I talk to you about something? Something private?" she asked.

"Of course," he said, relaxing. "You know you can talk to me about anything."

"You've been with a few women…" she started.

Leon cut in. "Two. Two women. And not all that frequently to be quite honest." Again, he felt compelled to make sure Alis understood he wasn't incredibly sexually experienced, given his age.

"I know, I know," she reassured.

Then, she moved from her seated position on the blanket onto Leon's lap once again, and urged him down onto his back.

"I understand that when you bed a woman in the usual position, she's on her back, right?"

Leon attempted to spit out a coherent answer, but found he was unable.

"Never mind," said Alis, lightly brushing her lips against Leon's. "I know about that. The women to whom I attend have told me all about how that's done. But they've also shared other things with me," she said, sounding flirtatious. "What I want to know is, can you really do it with a woman on top? Like this? The way I'm on top of you right now?"

Leon had grown painfully hard. Alis was painting a very clear picture. Part of him wanted her to stop what she was doing, while the other part hoped she'd carry on with this line of inquiry all day long.

"I've, ah, only done it one way, with a woman on her back, but yes, I suppose one could do it this way. I mean, with a woman on top."

"I thought so," said Alis, climbing off of Leon. The moment the man sat up, Alis went to her hands and knees on the blanket, her backside facing him.

"And what about this?" she asked, facing away from Leon. "Would it really work like this, with a woman on all fours?"

Leon's heart beat faster and he felt a little short of breath. He fingered the hem of her skirt while he answered. "It…it seems like it would be possible. If um, the man were on his knees, behind her."

Leon imagined yanking up her skirt and burying his face between her legs while she was in that position, teasing Alis's intimate parts with is tongue until she screamed. He then pictured himself dropping his drawers and hammering into her, over and over again, wrapping her long, silky hair around his hands as he pumped within her. The idea made him moan, but he covered up the sound with a fake cough.

Alis went back into a seated position, and Leon was relieved, hoping this little session was over. Because if it wasn't, he felt Alis's maidenhood was definitely at risk. If she was willing, and she'd said she was, Leon wondered how he'd stop himself from taking her. But no. Alis was now in his lap, facing him, her legs wrapped around his hips, her arms locked behind his neck.

"And like this? Would this work?" she asked, her crotch in direct contact with his, taking a moment to kiss his neck before he could answer.

"It seems so," Leon panted, sounding a little desperate.

Alis quickly turned in Leon's lap and faced away from him, her back toward him now, her rear pressed against his erection.

"Now _this_ is a position I do not understand," said Alis, trying to keep a straight face. "Could you explain it to me?"

Leon's trousers had become so tight around his hardness that he thought for a moment he might need to loosen the laces, just a little, so the blood flow to his cock wasn't cut off entirely. Instead he shifted his position, and did his best to formulate a coherent answer.

"I believe the man might need to hold a woman's hips and um, guide her along," Leon muttered, feeling a small amount of sweat dampen the back of his tunic.

"Now, that makes sense," Alis responded brightly.

She removed herself from Leon's lap and sat next to him. Leon finally let out a sigh of relief, believing this steamy discussion was over, but he was wrong.

"One last question," Alis said.

_Lord, give me strength,_ Leon thought. _Lots of strength._

"I've heard about something else," said Alis, sounding shy now. "That there's something a man and woman can do if they want to please each other orally, at the same time. Do you know anything about that?"

Leon knew he couldn't take any more. If Alis hopped upon him and put her face in his lap while positioning her own crotch in his face, he would, unequivocally, engage in oral sex with her, right then, and he wouldn't care if King Arthur himself came upon them.

"I don't know anything about that from personal experience, no," said Leon. "And I beg you not to demonstrate how you think it might work," he added, trying to sound playful, but realizing his tone made him sound desperate.

Alis let out a laugh. "I won't, then, I promise. But these things… Would you like to try them one day?"

"Every last one of them."

"With whom?" asked Alis, a teasing smile upon her lips.

"I'm sure you know the answer to that."

Leon immediately switched the subject, hoping a change in topic would help cool his raging desire and extinguish some of the guilt he felt. "Before I forget," he said, "I have a small gift for you."

Leon rose, and from his saddlebag he retrieved a small, wooden box secured with a piece of red ribbon, and presented the gift to Alis. She opened the delicate package and examined the silver hair comb, running her fingers lightly over the jewels. Tears sprang to her eyes.

"This is excessive, Leon. I can't imagine how much it cost. I've never seen such a beautiful piece, let alone hold one in my hand."

Leon shrugged off her comment. "It's merely a token for you," he fibbed. "I thought it would be more useful to you than other things, due to your line of work."

Alis twisted her hair up and secured the comb. "Ah, that feels great," she declared. Alis appreciated having her long locks off of her neck. "Thank you so much, Leon. I'll treasure it always."

A short time later, the two began the trip back to Camelot. The temperature had dropped significantly and it had begun to drizzle. Even with her cloak, Alis shivered. Leon gave her his scarlet knight's cape to help keep her warm during their hour-long ride. When they arrived at Alis's cottage, the young woman tried to return the garment, but Leon said she could hold onto it for a few days, and return it when she felt like it. He enjoyed the idea of his cape being close to her for a time.

Alis did nothing more than give Leon a brief peck on the cheek before she dismounted and walked inside. Leon felt totally conflicted; a part of him wanted to kiss Alis with passion and vigor in the middle of the road, claiming her as _his_ woman, ensuring everyone in the entire kingdom knew it. But the other part of him agonized about propriety and public opinion. The moment Alis sealed the door to her home, Leon cursed himself for not having kissed her right then.

As Leon rode toward the castle, he realized he missed his young and beautiful companion already. The idea struck him like a stunning mace-blow; he was in love with her. Precious and pure Alice. His heart was now completely lost to the young woman.

And, that night, Alis slept holding onto Leon's cape, inhaling his wonderfully masculine scent that permeated the fabric. She wanted to enjoy it for a couple of evenings, since she planned on returning it soon.

XXXX

Leon had spent the previous night dreaming about Alis and all the lust-filled activities he wanted to engage in with her. Their little tryst in the woods kindled his passion for the beautiful young woman even more. He felt a combination of exhilarated and guilty. And love. Definitely love, though he tried to tamp-down those feelings.

For most of the day, Leon spent time in the armory with Percival, Gwaine, and Ulrich, taking inventory of weapons, checking them, and making repairs as needed. The other men chatted happily about their wives and children. Of course, Gwaine made comments about all the sex he was getting.

"I'll tell you, I'm getting far more action in bed now than when I was single. This marriage thing is much better than I'd imagined," Gwaine told his friends. "I mean, what's better than having a willing woman in your bed every damn night?"

Leon envied his friends; he wanted what they had. In his heart, he knew he wanted those things with Alis. But the thought of being viewed as a man who would take advantage of a young girl upset him. People would think that, wouldn't they?

Following the long day in the armory, Leon aimlessly wandered the castle for a while after having gobbled down some cold pork pie he'd grabbed from the kitchens for supper. He was edgy and distracted for a variety of reasons, so he elected go for a walk outside, hoping that would settle his mind. But before he reached the courtyard, he saw Alis walking down the corridor, her large bag in tow, a broad grin on her face.

The corridor was empty, save the two of them. Before Leon could overthink, he walked up to Alis, grabbed her hand, and tugged her into the nearby broom cupboard. It was dim and cramped inside of the space, especially for someone as tall as Leon.

"Not quite as well appointed as your chambers, but this is cozy," Alis teased.

Leon couldn't find the right words, so he simply grasped Alis by the shoulders and kissed her. Before long, the two had their hands and mouths all over one another. Unfortunately, Alis wore a corset that day, and it was quite the time-consuming struggle to unlace the back and lower it. The moment her top came down, Leon's hands and tongue worked her breasts. Once again, Alis slid her hand into Leon's drawers and touched him. The feel of her hand on his erection made Leon gasp and step back. He bumped into a shelf and a variety of cleaning implements came crashing down loudly. The two laughed quietly over the disorder.

They returned to the work of ravishing one another, both breathing hard. Alis broke off for a moment.

"Leon, I want you more than anything," she whispered. "I do."

Leon wasn't about to take Alis's maidenhood in a cluttered broom cupboard, but he had another idea. He lifted her onto a shelf that was about the height of a dining table, then dropped to his knees before her. _Perfect height_, he thought to himself. He pushed up her skirts and slipped her undergarments down.

Alis understood what he intended to do. Nearly every young woman knew about oral sex and had likely heard stories about the act from a friend who had received it. Alis was nervous, terribly nervous, and felt quite shy about the entire situation. But curiosity and arousal won out, and she readied herself for Leon's touch, desperately wondering how it would feel.

"I have to make a confession," offered Leon. He was grateful for the dim light the tiny window provided, as he was flushed with awkwardness, still on his knees. "I've never done this before."

"I've never had this done before, so we're even."

Leon took a steadying breath. "All right. We'll give it a try."

He gently kissed his way up Alis's thighs until he found his face between them. Leon was completely turned-on; the softness of her skin, her hands in his hair, her enticing scent were all captivating and he felt excitement like he'd never known before. He urged her legs open a little wider and made a few tentative strokes with his tongue against her warm, soft, inviting flesh. She shook slightly at his touch and moaned with each stroke. It didn't take long for him to find a good rhythm and pace.

Alis tried to remain quiet, as she knew screams from a broom cupboard would certainly draw attention, but she completely lost herself. She almost couldn't stand how good Leon was making her feel; it was like a slow, glorious, sublime heat that kept building and building. Alis squirmed and trembled slightly, and Leon held the young woman's hips to steady her.

Yet as she moaned louder, he placed just the tip of his finger at her opening, and dear God, she was tighter than anything he'd ever felt. He couldn't imagine how heavenly it would be to have his cock buried inside of her. Lost in his own thoughts of lust, Alis cried out, very loudly as she came, and Leon felt each amazing contraction of her impressive orgasm. And he'd never felt like more of a man in his life. He couldn't imagine how amazing it would be to share his life with a woman so willing, so eager. One who enjoyed his touch. Enjoyed _him_. It was what he'd always wanted.

But damn, that scream! Someone would surely be along soon to investigate. Leon stood up and covered Alis's mouth lightly with his hand. He put a finger to his own lips, encouraging silence. They waited a minute, expecting to be discovered, but no one came.

"I don't know if I should be relieved or upset," Leon joked. "A scream that loud should have attracted the castle guard."

Leon lowered Alis's skirts and helped her off the shelf. Before Leon could utter a word, Alis went to her knees and pulled the leather tie of his trousers, which had become uncomfortably tight around his erection.

"You don't have to," said Leon, voice raspy with excitement. "I didn't expect you to reciprocate."

"I want to," assured Alis. "But keep in mind, I've never done this before, either."

"I've never, um, received this before."

"No?"

As he shook his head, Alis lowered his drawers and began her work. Alis's movements were a little halting and hesitant at first, but Leon didn't care at all. Immediately, he realized he'd clearly been missing out, and now understood why the other knights talked about craving such activity. Alis's soft mouth and tongue on his hardness and her hands on his arse, gently setting the pace, actually made him feel a little lightheaded, as the sensations were so new and intense. He tangled his hands in Alis's hair as his excitement grew, and groaned so continuously and loudly, a small part of him thought he sounded like a fool, but he didn't care.

Sooner than he thought possible, that familiar aching and tightening of an impending climax altered Leon to the fact he was ready to come. In a brief moment of clarity, he realized he'd never discussed with Alis what to do at the moment of completion. He was pretty certain that for the girl's first time, he should pull away and find his release somewhere other than her mouth.

"Alis," Leon gasped, "I'm about to…you may want to…" He really couldn't articulate and hoped Alis understood what he meant.

"No," she whispered. "I want you to."

Powerless to resist at that point, he came, and thought his knees might give way from how incredible it felt.

And Alis felt strangely powerful and somewhat victorious. She couldn't wait to do it again, both give and receive. She also felt closer to Leon than ever.

The two composed themselves and dressed in the tight space. Leon laced Alis's corset, and noted it was a nice feeling to care for someone else, even in small ways. Once they were fully-clothed, Leon drew Alis into a solid embrace.

"Come see me again soon. Very soon," said Leon, when he desperately wanted to say, "I love you." It was on the tip of his tongue, but at the last moment, he lost his nerve.

"I will, Leon."

Alis wanted to tell the knight that she loved him, but she wasn't certain that he was ready to hear those words. Yet she loved him more than she ever thought possible.

Soon. She'd confess her true feelings soon.

And perhaps Leon would tell her he loved her back.

* * *

[11] Rastons are breads fortified with eggs and stuffed with a variety of fillings, such as onions, fruits, and so forth.


	32. Chapter 31 Leon's Grave Mistake

_A/N - Whoa, Leon and Alis! What do you think about the age difference? Leon's always been fairly straight-laced, so, even though he feels deeply for Alis, I wonder if their relationship will work out. He might be too caught up worrying about what others think._

_During this chapter, Leon acts like a bit of an _ass,_ and pays a BIG price. We will also read a little more about the young Sir Daniel, mentioned briefly earlier in the story._

_As always, I appreciate you, my readers, who have stuck with me. Thank you!_

_Quick warning, there is a very brief mention of suicidal ideation in this chapter._

Chapter 31 – Leon's Grave Mistake

The knights were behaving ridiculously on the training field and Leon was frustrated and fed-up. No one paid attention; there was far too much jesting and talk of the upcoming Harvest Festival. Leon considered himself to be a fair and reasonable man, but the men had gone too far on this sunny and mild morning. He admonished the knights for their immaturity, then led everyone on a grueling uphill run. He might have been angry, but he wasn't one to order those under his command to do something he wouldn't do himself. Once everyone appeared sweaty and exhausted, he instructed the men to take a water break.

A few women came to visit their husbands or fiancés, a frequent occurrence during break time. Often, the ladies brought food or drink for their men. It was one of the times when the single knights looked sullen and jealous, and those men tended to boast about their various conquests with a little extra bravado.

Leon took a deep and satisfying drink from his cup and wiped his face and neck with a rag, as he was sweaty and exhausted, when he felt a light tap on his back. He turned around and saw Alis with a broad smile on her face, long hair pinned up with her comb, holding his neatly-folded cape. His first instinct was happiness; he was so glad to see her. But Leon thought he noticed some of the knights staring at him with amusement, probably getting ready to gossip with one another. Preparing to spread exaggerated rumors, no doubt.

"Hi, Leon," Alis announced, sounding cheerful. "I didn't want to hold onto this for too long." She handed him the cape.

Leon might have seen a few eyebrows raise at the way she addressed him with such familiarity, but he couldn't be certain.

"Thank you, Alis. I appreciate you returning it so expediently," Leon said with stiff formality, accepting his cape. He felt as if he was caught inside of a rabbit's snare from which he couldn't escape. "Is that all?" he asked, sounding annoyed and put-out, even to his own ears.

Alis stood there for a moment, confused. Why was Leon addressing her like she was a chambermaid whom he hardly knew? And why had he spoken to her so harshly and said nothing about her birthday? He knew it was today.

"Yes, it is, I suppose," she said, feeling disconcerted and shaken. "Good day, then." She turned and walked away swiftly.

Little did Leon know everyone was staring at him because they thought he was acting like a pompous fool, not because he was speaking to a younger woman. He wasn't aware that many people knew of his secretive relationship with Alis, and most were quite happy for him; they were simply waiting for the man to share the news before saying anything.

Sir Erec broke the uncomfortable and awkward quiet. "It appears you have an admirer!" the knight joked.

"She's just a girl," countered Leon, now panicked. "No more than a casual acquaintance, really. I-I don't know her all that well."

As the small crowd stared at the knight commander with disbelief, Leon prayed Alis was far enough away so she wouldn't hear, but no such luck. As soon as the words tumbled from his mouth, she stopped, paused for a beat, and removed her comb from her hair. She then shook her locks free and stuffed the comb hastily into her bag.

Alis didn't want to run away. She'd wanted to stand firm and confront Leon, but the mortified young woman couldn't help herself; she raced straight for home as fast as her legs would carry her.

If Leon had wanted to deflect attention, he'd done a poor job of it. Several of the knights and wives were angry about his rude behavior toward Alis. Gwaine was the first to speak.

"Your casual acquaintance has just run off in tears. That was a pretty foul thing to say. Sir," Gwaine concluded, with obvious derision.

"Oh, hell," Leon muttered under his breath. What was he to do now? He knew he should go after her and apologize. Beg for her forgiveness, down on his knees if necessary, even though begging was unacceptable for a knight of Camelot. What was wrong with him? He loved Alis. So what if he was subject to some chaff from the men for a few days? They'd get over it as soon as the next bit of juicy gossip came along. And it was her birthday. How could he behave so terribly? But he did nothing. Frozen in place by guilt and shame, he watched her run away.

And he'd never felt smaller or more pathetic in his entire life.

"All right, the show is over!" Leon bellowed to his men. "Unless you want to run to the White Mountains and back, shut up and clean this damn mess!"

He stormed off, promising himself he'd visit Alis tomorrow morning, as there was no way he could see her that evening due to his patrol duties. He'd set everything right. He simply had to.

Christiane, Carina, and Drea had watched the whole event unfold. They'd never known Leon to behave in such a way. Then again, they'd never seen Leon with a woman.

"What a prick," Carina whispered to her friends.

No one seemed to notice Sir Daniel looked a little pleased at that moment; the young man slipped away quietly. Clearly, training was over for the time being.

Meanwhile, Alis raced for home, crying the whole way. She'd wanted to storm off with some dignity, head held high, but apparently, that wasn't to be. She was ashamed by her blinding tears.

What a ridiculous idiot I was! she admonished herself as she ran. If only I hadn't fallen in love with the great, big bastard! Stupid, stupid!

Alis couldn't believe Leon's behavior. That he was ashamed of her. And after all they'd shared, emotionally and physically. Alis wondered if he'd ever felt anything for her at all. She felt like a total idiot, a young and inexperienced simpleton. How could she have not seen this coming? Had Leon given her signs she'd missed? Alis felt that this was somehow all her fault, yet she had no idea what she should have done differently.

The sobbing young woman knew she was in no condition to celebrate her birthday at the tavern later, and concluded she'd send word to her friends that she was too sick to attend. Heartsick, but that didn't matter.

Alis had slowed to a jog by this point, but weeping, angry, and distracted as she was, she missed the tree stump in front of her. She tripped over the obstacle, turning her ankle in the process, and fell right on her face into the mud. Other than a few scrapes and possible bruises, and maybe a sore ankle, she knew she wasn't seriously hurt, but she'd torn her dress and her face was caked with muck. Plus, she was embarrassed, as she knew several people had seen her take a tumble.

Before she could stand, Alis felt strong hands under her arms helping her to her feet. It was Sir Daniel, looking concerned.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Fine," Alis said, while she tried to brush some of the dirt from her ruined dress. "I look an absolute mess, but I'm okay. Just a bit of a sore ankle."

"Let me help you home," Daniel insisted.

He removed his tunic, revealing a gorgeously-chiseled physique, and cleaned the mud from Alis's face. Once she looked more presentable, he pulled the tunic back over his head, obviously not caring that his clothing was now filthy. He then took her bag and offered his well-muscled arm for her to lean on. She accepted it.

"How is it that you came upon me?" Alis asked.

"Honestly? I saw you were quite upset and I was worried about you. I realize you don't know me well, but I know who you are. You often walk by the field when we're training. I've watched you from a distance," admitted Daniel.

"Oh?" she responded, limping slightly as they walked. "Why haven't you approached me?"

"I thought perhaps you had a relationship with Sir Leon," the young knight offered. "But I see I was wrong."

"Yes. Quite wrong," said Alis, a bitter edge to her words. "I apologize; it's not your fault. I'm in a terrible mood. It's my birthday today and it's proven to be horrid. I'd hoped eighteen would be a good year."

"It may be yet," Daniel replied, escorting her up the few steps to her home. He leaned over and plucked a tiny, white chamomile flower from the ground and tucked it behind her ear. "There. A pretty flower for a pretty woman."

Alis blushed. Daniel was a nice looking young man. Close to her age, tall, with short dark hair and brown eyes. He had a well-muscled build (that Alis had briefly noticed when he'd removed his tunic before) and tan skin. And he seemed pleasant enough.

"Do you need help inside?" he asked.

"No, I'll be fine. Thank you very much for your help."

"Would it be all right for me to call on you in a few days?" asked Daniel politely.

Alis considered the offer. Hurt and brokenhearted as she was, she knew this wasn't the time to spend with another man. But then again, maybe it would help her forget about treacherous Leon. If nothing else, she could use another friend.

"That would be fine. In a few days."

Daniel bowed and left Alis's presence with a huge smile on his face.

XXXX

Later that evening, Drea, Christiane, and Carina arrived at Alis and Mary's home, even though Alis had sent word she wasn't able to attend her celebratory birthday dinner at the Rising Sun. The ladies knew about Alis's supposed illness and weren't about to let her cry alone at home that night. The women knocked on the cottage door and Mary allowed them in. The group gathered in the living area.

"Poor little Alis is a right mess," Mary shared in a whisper. "Crying all day up in her loft. She won't come down to eat. And she showed up filthy with a twisted ankle. She said she fell on the way home and Sir Daniel helped her out."

Christiane raised her eyebrows and glanced at the other women. "Interesting," she murmured.

"Indeed," agreed Drea.

"Enough of this foolishness!" Carina announced. "I'm going up to see her."

Carina climbed the ladder to the loft, followed by the rest of the entourage. It was a tight fit with all of them in the small, dormered space, but they refused to leave until they'd lifted their friend's spirits, even just a little. The ladies found Alis burrowed in bed with the covers drawn tightly over her head.

Carina took charge, leaned over the bed, and threw open the heavy window curtains to let in a little bit of the fading evening light. She then yanked down the bedcovers, exposing a curled-up Alis.

"We're not leaving until you tell us exactly what happened!" Carina insisted. She then produced a small cake, knife, and dinner plate from her satchel. "And we have raspberry cheesecake. Your favorite. So you talk, eat, and we'll try to sort this all out."

"Please, no," Alis groaned. "You're all very kind, but I'm tired of crying and feeling miserable..."

"Talk!" Carina barked, cutting the dessert into slices.

With a frown, Alis relented, sensing her friends would never leave until she told them everything. In between bites of cheesecake, Alis described her chance meeting with Leon in the corridor after that terrible delivery, their day trip east, and finally, she provided a highly-censored version of the goings-on in the broom cupboard. Alis unburdened herself and felt a bit better for it. Her friends were so supportive. The women listened carefully, often interjecting comments such as "That bastard!" and "How could he?"

"Tell us the truth, Alis," Carina coaxed. "Did you go to bed with Leon? Because if you did, and he's treated you like this, I'll cut off his bollocks myself!"

"No," Alis sniffled. "I didn't go to bed with him. But I wanted to."

Carina sat on the bed and hugged Alis fiercely. She'd experienced her own heartaches, especially when Ulrich had left her that time, and she felt for her young friend.

Eventually, the cheesecake was nothing but crumbs and the hour grew late. The women were so incensed with Leon's behavior toward Alis, they vowed they wouldn't speak to him until he came to his senses and apologized. Carina suggested Alis enjoy her time with Sir Daniel.

"Why not?" Carina questioned. "You're both young, attractive, and unattached. Plus, it would serve Leon right for acting like such a boorish buffoon!"

The group of friends finally left the loft, and with some food settled in her stomach, Alis felt as if she could sleep. She supposed spending a little time with Daniel might not be such a terrible idea, given the circumstances.

Feeling all cried-out, Alis tried to block thoughts of Leon out of her mind as she drifted off to sleep.

XXXX

It was a good thing he had overnight patrol, because Leon knew he never would have slept. The knight was especially grateful that his patrol partner that evening, Sir Michael, had a headache and was far less communicative than normal. Because if Michael had behaved as he usually did, talking incessantly about one thing or another, Leon knew he would have completely lost his composure.

Once his duties ended at dawn, Leon determined he'd try to get a little bit of rest so he'd be clear-headed when he threw himself at Alis's mercy. Leon had been caught off-guard and had panicked; he would explain that to Alis. And he'd tell the young woman he was ready to declare his love for publicly, damn the consequences. Surely, Alis would accept his explanation, his true and heartfelt apology, and declaration of love.

Leon returned to his chambers, dropped into his bed, drew the hangings, and slept for several hours. When he woke, it was near lunch time, but food was the last thing on his mind. He needed to clean up, get dressed, and see Alis. Right then.

He finished his ablutions in record time, dressed swiftly, and wandered out into the corridor. Carina walked by with a load of blankets. Leon greeted her, but she simply huffed, back straight, and strode away without saying a word. When Christiane also wandered by with nothing but a curt nod, Leon understood what was happening; he was being shunned for acting like a terrible fool. He leaned out of the corridor window for a moment to breathe a little fresh air. What had he done?

During his brief pause, Leon peered into the distance and saw two figures sitting on the low stone wall near the edge of the castle path. It was Alis; he was certain. But who the hell was that practically sitting on her lap? Was that Sir Daniel? And why was he leaning over and whispering in her ear? That little bastard took her hand and kissed it. And he hadn't let it go!

Alis hadn't given Leon a single day to apologize before accepting another man's advances. Leon then saw the young knight lean in and give Alis a brief peck on the lips. Leon was gutted. He immediately weighed the merits of running Daniel through forthwith, and being hanged the next day. At least that would end Leon's own misery.

No. He couldn't go to Alis now. He'd look like an utter fool. Or, more of a fool, if that was at all possible.

Leon wandered out of the castle and into the Darkling Woods. He didn't return home until nightfall.

XXXX

The following day during training, most of the men were very cold and aloof toward Leon. They insisted upon calling him "knight commander" and not "Leon." After training concluded, the women of the castle, even his own chambermaid, scarcely acknowledged him. Angered by all this, Leon shouted at his maid to not bother attending to him for the rest of the day, or the rest of the week, for that matter. The only person who treated him normally was Merlin. Though many people tried to convince Merlin to ignore Leon, the warlock refused, indicating he wasn't comfortable doing that.

Unsure of what to do with himself and feeling as if he had no one to whom he could turn, Leon went to the market in the Lower Town where he could blend in with the bustling crowd. For a time, poking through the wares distracted him. That was until he saw Alis and Daniel sitting under the shade of a tree, talking and snacking on berries. My God, was there no escaping these two?

Still, Leon hid behind an abandoned merchant's stall and watched the two surreptitiously. Leon saw Daniel feed Alis a berry, then tenderly wipe away the juice that had stained her lower lip. And that's when Leon noticed it – the look of adoration and love in Daniel's eyes. He was all too familiar witch such a gaze, because he'd often looked at Alis in the same way. Immediately, Leon wanted to rush from his hiding place, smash the berries into Daniel's face, and beat the young man to pieces.

Leon then wondered if he was going mad. He carried a burning obsession within him to do Daniel harm, and he knew this couldn't be normal thinking. Perhaps Leon needed to go see Gaius and Christiane for some type of herb used to treat mad people. He knew such herbs existed, and maybe an entire bushel would help.

Instead, Leon left the market, feeling angry, heartbroken, and somewhat crazed. He returned to the castle and didn't emerge from his quarters until the following day when he had to work.

Things carried on much the same for the next two weeks. It seemed as if Alis and her new friend were to be found around every corner of the castle, with Daniel pawing at the young woman, kissing her while she giggled. Did she like this? Like him? Every giggle was a blade through Leon's heart. And she still hadn't so much as acknowledged Leon. Then again, he'd not acknowledged her, either.

One afternoon, Leon was completely fed up. He hauled heavy weapons across the field on the way back to the armory. The man was exhausted from training and his constant lack of sleep. And once again, he heard that infuriating giggling ringing out on that cool autumn day. Next, he was assaulted by the vision of Daniel pressing Alis against the outer wall of the castle, kissing her. He thought he might have seen the boy's hand brush against her breast just for a second, but he couldn't be certain.

"Daniel!" Leon barked, as he dropped three crossbows and several bolts onto the grassy field. "Why are you not helping put away the weaponry?"

Daniel jumped back from Alis, startled. "Sir Leon, you granted me today off."

Leon shook with fury. "I don't care if it's your day off!" he growled through clenched teeth. "If you see one of your fellow knights struggling with heavy weapons, and you're available to help, you do so! Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Daniel replied nervously, collecting several of the dropped weapons as he left for the armory at a near run.

This was the first time Alis and Leon had been alone together in weeks. Alis looked Leon right in the eye, and gave a ridiculously low curtsey as she held eye contact. "Sir Leon," she said, with a tone of extreme bitterness. She then swept away before he could reply.

Leon stood there, motionless, like a speechless ass, mouth hanging open with shock, watching her go.

XXXX

Each night, Leon went to bed, tossing and turning, miserable, barely sleeping, engulfed by black thoughts. The man was hopelessly lonely, angry, jealous, and longing for Alis. He thought about the way her soft skin felt against his hands, the way she moved, and her infectious laugh. Leon recalled all of their late-night talks, and the way she'd screamed with pleasure in the broom cupboard; that had been one of the best days of his life.

And over and over again, Leon played scenes in his mind of how Daniel touched Alis, and how she seemed so receptive to his advances. He tried to convince himself it was better for her; let her have babies with some nice younger man. But the mere notion made the heartbroken knight want to snap someone's neck, preferably Daniel's. And Leon constantly reminded himself that this situation, losing Alis, was his own damn fault.

Rather than lie in bed torturing himself all night, Leon rose and wandered about the dimly-lit castle. Hardly anyone spoke to him these days, unless they had to, so he wasn't worried about needing to exchange pleasantries with people. He walked outside to the castle garden and saw Ulrich sitting alone on a stone bench. Overall, Ulrich hadn't been unpleasant to him of late, so he approached him.

"What brings you out here this time of night?" Leon inquired.

"Anna's been crying for hours, and Carina's nerves are frayed, so she sent me away for a time. I'm a little grateful, as I'm about ready to cry myself," he joked.

"As am I," said Leon, dropping onto the bench beside Ulrich.

"I've heard many different and colorful versions of your troubles," said Ulrich. "Would you care to share the real story?"

Leon poured out his heart to Ulrich, sharing every detail of his misery. This behavior was unlike Leon. He'd been raised and trained to hide his feelings, but the man felt ready to burst with sadness and longing, having held in such pain for over two weeks.

"You love her, then?" asked Ulrich, once Leon had finished his story.

"I do. So damn much. I am completely lost and heartbroken without her."

"I have some experience acting a fool myself when it comes to women," offered Ulrich. "If you'd like my advice, and you certainly don't have to accept it, go to her as soon as possible and apologize. You've already allowed so much time to pass. Ask for forgiveness. It's unlikely to make things worse. What have you got to lose at this point?"

"Thank you, Ulrich. I suppose you're right. I'll see her in the morning, first thing."

But Leon didn't feel as if he could wait for morning. He held out until an hour before sunrise, then found himself beating on Mary and Alis's door. Mary answered the door, looking flustered and put-out.

"Sir Leon, might I ask what you're doing disrupting us at such an hour?" she asked in an affronted tone.

"I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, but I need to speak with Alis. Right away. It's quite urgent."

Alis came to the door in her long, white nightdress, hair tousled from sleep, still impossibly beautiful. It made Leon sick to think that if he'd been less of a coward, he might have been lucky enough to wake up to such a vision every morning.

"Surely this can wait until a more appropriate hour," stated Alis impudently.

"I'm afraid it can't."

"Fine! Allow me to put on by boots and cloak," she barked, slamming the door as she went to dress.

Leon waited in the dark, early-morning autumn chill. When Alis stomped outside with an angry look on her face, tapping her foot impatiently, hands on her hips, Leon suddenly became tongue-tied. He blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

"Is it serious? With Daniel?"

Alis narrowed her eyes and looked dangerously angry. "You don't speak to me for weeks, then you show up before dawn and ask me that? It couldn't have waited until morning?"

"I just want to make sure you're safe," said Leon, growing more humiliated by the second.

"Oh, I'm safe," Alis told the man, then tilted her chin upward in a show of defiance. "And I'm giving Daniel my ."

Leon couldn't believe his ears. A scalding jealousy tore through him. "D-Don't be stupid," he stammered. "You can't give yourself to him!" His wholesome, kind, and innocent Alis? She couldn't. She was just trying to goad him. That had to be it.

"I can go to bed with whoever I choose!" she raged. "You didn't want me. Now, someone else does."

"You're being ridiculous, irrational!" Leon shouted wildly, aware that he was the one who sounded ridiculous and irrational. "You said you would save yourself until your wedding night! For your husband! That's what you told me!" And I am to be that husband! he thought ferociously, trembling with anger and fear, fear of losing Alis for good. How had his life spun out of control so quickly?

"What husband, Leon?" she shouted back, her typically warm brown eyes wild. "There's no husband! Am I to wait forever? No, I think I'll let Daniel have me. He's a nice enough boy."

The knight couldn't stand it any longer. He'd never manhandled a woman before in his life, but she enraged him! He marched forward a few steps, grabbed her wrists roughly, and forced his mouth onto hers. Leon thought he felt her soften against him for a moment, but he was wrong. Alis broke the kiss, freed one wrist, and punched Leon right in the eye, hard. He knew it would leave an obvious mark. Shocked, he dropped her other wrist.

"How dare you do this now!" Alis raved, as she marched back to the cottage. "You broke my heart! Made me feel as if I wasn't good enough for you. As if I were just a stupid girl!"

"You're too good, and that's the problem. I don't deserve you. Please, I beg you to forgive me. I love you, Alis…"

Of course, those were the words she'd longed to hear. But she was too hurt and angry to accept them.

"Leave me be, Leon. Please don't call on me again."

"I'm begging you, don't do this," he pleaded, his voice trembling slightly, tears threatening.

The instant she'd reached her doorstep, Alis turned and glared at Leon. "This is all your fault, not mine," she announced. "You're too damn late. You can't just turn your back on a woman, deny her, and think a few words of regret will set things right. Because they can't. And I hope you can live with that."

Just before she slammed the door for the second time, Alis took her hair comb, the one he'd given her as a gift, and threw it at him; it landed at his feet. Leon picked it up and jammed it in his sword belt. Leon touched his eye where she'd struck him, and felt it swelling. This had turned into a disaster, far worse than he'd imagined. He'd lost, Daniel had won, and he was going to have to move on. He simply couldn't believe it; the great Leon, knight commander, defeated by a tiny young woman. His heart was defeated, anyway.

As he made the long, slow, miserable walk back to the castle, Leon wondered how he'd endure the night, knowing his love was potentially giving her virginity to someone else. While he and Alis had been together, he'd silently wished he could be the one to claim it. And claim her as his wife. But apparently, that was not to be.

XXXX

Leon despised the fact he had the day off and there was no training and nothing to occupy his time. Rather than sit alone in his chambers with his own bleak thoughts, he did some pell[12] work by himself, and trained aggressively as possible, even though he could barely see out of his swollen and blackened left eye. He sliced, jabbed, and struck the pell with ferocity, all the while imagining the wooden figure was Daniel.

"The little fuck," Leon muttered under his breath, still beating the pell with his sword.

An idea suddenly came to Leon that he should throw down his gauntlet at Daniel's feet and challenge the younger knight to single combat, to the death. That way, at least one of them would be dead by nightfall and he would no longer have to worry about Alis, one way or another.

While holding Anna and Percy, Ulrich and Percival watched Leon from a castle window above the field.

"This is a real mess," Ulrich commented, bouncing a cooing Anna on his hip. "I know Leon was a prick about Alis, but maybe it's time we helped him out. Let's hand the babes over to the wives and see what we can do."

The men located their wives, handed off the babies, and strode down to the field, finding Leon sitting on the grass with his back resting against the pell, sword positioned right beside him, hand still firmly gripping the hilt. Percival and Ulrich noticed straight away that Leon had a massive black eye.

"How are you doing, Leon?" Percival asked, trying to sound casual, as he and Ulrich walked closer, ignoring the man's obvious injury.

"Terrible," Leon responded, still somewhat out of breath from his assault on the pell. "I'm thinking about challenging Daniel to single combat to the death."

At once, Ulrich and Percival sat on the ground next to their friend and commander and rattled off a dozen reasons why that was a horrible idea.

"Leon, we're sorry we've been so hard on you," Percival confessed. "We've all done our share or stupid things with women, and we should have supported you. We're truly sorry. All of us."

"Alis is going to bed with Daniel tonight. How am I to get through this?" Leon asked, feeling pathetic instantly.

"You can spend the evening with us," Ulrich offered. "As long as you don't mind the periodic wailing. My wailing, of course. Not the babes'," he joked.

"That's very good of you," said Leon, "but I think spending time with happy families this evening will make me feel far worse." He brightened for a moment, but his eyes looked a little wild. "I know what to do! I'll patrol the corridor by Daniel's chambers tonight. And I'll stay there until the castle guard clap me in irons."

Once again, Ulrich and Percival protested such an idea, but clearly, Leon's mind was made up. The two men walked their knight commander back to his chambers, emphasizing once again they'd be available all evening and would welcome their commander's company.

"I think this is something he just needs to go through by himself tonight," Percival told Ulrich, upon leaving Leon's quarters.

"I suppose so," responded Ulrich. "But we need to keep our eyes and ears open later. Just in case."

"Agreed, my friend. We'll remain alert."

XXXX

Alis prepared at home for her evening with Daniel. She'd asked him the previous day if he was interested in bedding her, and he agreed enthusiastically, promising he'd be gentle and take care of her. The young man was nice, but he was no Leon. But Alis convinced herself this was what she needed to get over the man who captured her heart so unexpectedly and fully.

Earlier that day, Alis had a private discussion with Carina in the castle courtyard regarding the upcoming evening with Daniel. Carina was very opposed to the idea of Alis going to bed with the young knight. She didn't think it was wrong of Alis to lose her virginity before marriage (as she had been close herself), but Carina cautioned her young friend that it would be much better if she was in love.

"Your maidenhood is something that you can give only once," Carina told Alis. "When it's gone, there's no reclaiming it. I just don't want you to regret doing this."

Once Carina recognized there was no way Alis could be talked out of this plan, she gave Alis some practical advice once again, chief among them to use almond oil right before the act, as it would likely help reduce the pain and discomfort.

As Alis left the courtyard, Carina begged the young woman to reconsider, but Alis just gave a sad smile.

Trying to focus on the evening before her, Alis examined her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was sufficiently wavy, she smelled like rosewater, and her lavender-colored dress was simple and comfortable. She supposed it would have to do.

She arrived at Daniel's chambers early and found he hadn't returned yet, so she leaned her elbows on the corridor windowsill, placing her chin on her hands as she watched the sky darken. Of course, who should wander down the hallway a few minutes later? None other than Leon, dressed in his chainmail and cape, looking as dashing and handsome as always, even with the black eye she'd given him (she hadn't meant to strike him that hard and was sorry). He walked right over to Alis and leaned into the window next to her.

"Please reconsider," Leon said quietly, looking out at the horizon with Alis.

"I can't. I promised."

Leon turned to look at her, hoping with every fiber of his being that she'd change her mind. "Un-promise."

"I can't do that."

Leon nodded. "Then I'll wait out here and see you home when you're done."

At that instant, Daniel turned up, looking confused and awkward. "Is, ah, everything okay here?" the young man asked.

Alis feigned excitement. "Yes, it is. Just fine."

"All right then," Daniel said, looking nervously from Alis to Leon. "Have a good evening, Sir Leon. Alis?" Daniel offered his arm. Alis took it, and they entered his quarters, Daniel bolting the door shut behind him.

It will be all right, Leon kept repeating in his mind over and over as he paced the long hallway. He was tearful, but that no longer mattered; he no longer cared who saw him cry.

As the minutes passed, Leon wasn't sure what was worse: the giggling ringing from the chamber or the stretches of silence. He determined it was definitely the silence, because his imagination ran wild during the quiet.

In Daniel's room, Alis couldn't seem to muster up the courage to go to the bed, but the young knight was patient with her. He really was a fine fellow. It seemed every time he touched or kissed her, he asked permission. He was very attentive and decent, pouring her cider, telling her she was beautiful.

"Would you care to sit on the bed?" Daniel asked gently. When Alis gave a slight nod, he took her hand and led her there.

Out in the hallway, Leon was convinced he heard the bedframe squeak, and that's when he realized he could no longer stand it. He fled from the corridor and raced up the stairs to his chambers. He paced. Screamed. Held Alis's comb. Crushed it under his boot. Picked it up. Upended his bedside table. Smashed a clay pot on the floor. Leon pictured Daniel jamming his cock into Alis over and over, and he felt as if he would lose his mind entirely.

And my God, what if Alis conceived? If that happened, Leon knew he'd toss himself from the top of the citadel.

He suddenly recalled he had a full jug of spiced wine tucked away in the back of his wardrobe. It had been an old gift, but he hated the taste of spiced wine and the jug had remained sealed. Still, he knew it would do the job. He'd get terribly drunk, then check on Alis much later to escort her home. He probably wouldn't be in any condition to see to her home safely, but that no longer seemed to matter. She'd probably punch him again rather than allow him to escort her home anyway. Another well-deserved punch.

Leon opened the bottle and it smelled terrible, overly fruity and pungent. Yet he guzzled the liquid like it was water, with some spilling down the front of his chainmail that he hadn't bothered to remove. Within the half-hour, the knight was completely intoxicated, passed-out on his bed, clutching the mostly-empty jug of wine and Alis's broken comb.

In the meantime, things still hadn't progressed beyond kissing in Daniel's chamber. The young man elected to remove his tunic, hoping that might encourage some more physical contact. It didn't. He finally worked up the fortitude to ask Alis if he could undo the front of her dress, and she allowed it. Though he had no idea how to manage the corset, so she loosened it for him. Daniel slipped his hand inside, and feeling her bare breast, he moaned loudly. He'd had a lady friend or two in the past, but he'd never bedded one, so much of this activity was quite new and exciting to him.

He eased Alis onto her back and asked if she could loosen the tie on his trousers for him, and she did so. Young Daniel didn't know if it was appropriate to remove her clothing just yet, so instead, he hiked up her dress and pushed his erection against her as they kissed, even though he still wore his trousers and she her undergarments. He ground his hips against Alis, groaning, continuing to kiss her.

After doing this for a time, Daniel stopped and sat upright. "You're really not enjoying this, are you?" he asked kindly.

Alis burst into tears. "I'm sorry. So sorry. I'm still in love with Leon," she cried. "You were so kind to me and helped me. You've been a great friend, but I can't do this while I love him. I'd hoped this would help me forget, but it hasn't. Can you forgive me?"

Daniel gave a defeated sigh, straightened Alis's dress, rose, and retrieved his tunic.

"I thought as much," he admitted while dressing. "I always knew it was a risk, taking up with you. I'd hoped I could sway you to be with me, but it hasn't worked." He walked back to the bedside and took his young friend's hand. "You're special, Alis, and you deserve the best. Please don't forget that. You deserve to be treated with love and respect no matter what. Don't ever settle for less."

Alis and Daniel sat at the foot of his bed and talked for a little while longer. She was impressed that Daniel took it all so well. Alis thanked him for his kindness and understanding, kissed the young knight's cheek, and then ran for Leon's chamber.

* * *

[12] A pell is a heavy wooden post or target against which medieval knights and swordspeople practiced strikes.


	33. Chapter 32 Redemption

**A/N - ****Moving on, Leon really, really acted like a total jerk, didn't he? Poor Alis! Do you think Leon got what he deserved? He sure suffered a great deal in the aftermath of losing Alis's attention.**

**In this chapter, Leon will make every effort to redeem himself and prove his love for Alis. Can he win her back, or is it too late?**

**Just so you're aware, future chapters will focus on the knights and their relationships with one another, their wives, and we will see stronger bonds of friendship develop among the women. And of course, there shall be more sex. **

**Obviously at this point, we're over a year-and-a-half out from Camlann, so this is all AU "stuff" now, and has been for a while. But like I said in the beginning, the purpose of this story was so we could learn about the knights' and king's lives after Camlann...the lives I wanted them to have! Later on, we'll explore a few of their children's lives.**

**Thanks for reading...still, and welcome to ****giraffelol!**

Chapter 32 – Redemption

When Alis arrived at Leon's chamber door, she'd planned to simply force her way in, but she paused_. He could be in there with a woman_, _taking comfort in her body_, she thought. _And it would be no less than I deserve_.

Still, she pressed her hand against the oaken door, and it swung open without resistance. Alis entered and surveyed the chamber; the room was a complete disaster. Clothing and parchment lay strewn all about and shards of a broken pot littered the floor. Leon, supine in bed, still wore his chainmail. A thick and unpleasant odor of stale spiced wine permeated the air. The young woman then noticed her bent hair comb gripped tightly in Leon's one hand and an open wine jug, dribbling its remaining contents, in the other. Alis realized she should grab a bucket or an empty chamber pot, as she assumed Leon was going to be very sick from drink.

Alis found a small wooden bucket tucked away in a far corner and moved toward the bed with it, smoothing back Leon's hair once she had reached his side. He didn't stir; he was fast asleep, or possibly passed-out. She wasn't sure which, but she could see he was breathing, which was a relief. The young woman tried to help him out of his chainmail, and that's when the inebriated knight woke.

Glassy-eyed and confused, Leon gazed at Alis. "Am I having a drunken delusion," he slurred, "or is it really you?"

"It is I," she answered, carefully removing the wine jug and bent comb from his grip. She then tugged the chainmail over Leon's head while he lay there limp and unresisting, almost like a little boy. "There; that's much better, isn't it?"

Although he found it difficult to keep his eyes open, Leon somehow summoned the energy to speak, although not very clearly.

"Did you…did you…with Daniel…?"

Alis shook her head. "I couldn't, Leon. I love you, and I couldn't go through with it."

Leon sank back into his pillow, a sense of relief flooding him. "Oh, thank God. On both counts.

"Will you lie here with me? Please?" he murmured.

He inched backward to give Alis space on the bed. Though he smelled of sweat and stale wine, Alis nestled her back against him, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her.

"When I wake, please, please still be here," he whispered, before falling fast asleep again.

Even with the complete disorder in the bedchamber and the sour smell of sweat and spilled wine, the two slept soundly until sunrise, at which point Leon vaulted out of bed and ran for the privy. Somehow, Alis had slept through the commotion. When Leon returned to his room – after having vomited up a good deal – the knight sank into a chair, and watched his love's slow and even breathing.

_God, it's true_, he thought with a degree of disbelief. _She came to me! I thought it was a dream_. A part of him wanted to approach the bed and touch Alis's warm skin, just to make sure she was real and not a figment of his imagination.

But Leon was ashamed of the condition of his chambers. Normally very tidy and well-organized, the room now looked as if a vicious whirlwind had blown through it. That, and it smelled – he took a quick sniff of his armpit – _he_ smelled. And he was mortified Alis had found him in such a drunken and half-conscious state. Leon straightened up quickly and quietly, hoping to establish some order once again, but Alis stirred.

The young woman stretched out in bed, looked at Leon, and smiled. "You must feel dreadful this morning."

"I've felt better," he confessed, continuing to clean up, unable to look at Alis.

Leon thought he remembered her saying that she hadn't slept with Daniel, and that she loved _him_, and not the younger knight. But he'd been so incredibly piss-drunk last night that he couldn't be sure, and he was afraid to ask. Because if his drink-addled brain had concocted a wild scenario of Alis professing her love, Leon didn't know how he'd cope.

It seemed as if Alis had read his mind. "Leon, please sit," she said, patting the bed, urging him to take a seat beside her. "Do you remember what I told you last night?" she questioned.

"I think so." He gulped, his throat suddenly dry and his stomach twisted in knots again.

"Just so we're clear, I told you that I did _not_ sleep with Daniel and that I love you."

With sheer relief, Leon reached for her and drew her close. "I love you Alis, more than anything," he mumbled into her hair. He then leaned back and held her chin gently. "But I look like a mess, as does my chambers. I smell terrible and feel as if I might throw up again. But I want to spend some time with you after I've at least bathed and cleaned up."

Alis chuckled. "That's fine Leon, really. I have a few new mothers and babies to visit today."

He still held her face. "Promise me you'll come back at sunset."

"I will."

She departed, and Leon worked on a plan which would require a great deal of help from Carina, Ulrich, Christiane, Percival, and Gwaine. He hoped his friends would forgive him and be willing to help.

XXXX

Later, Leon called on his friends, and they were all more than willing to provide assistance. The knight then sought out his chambermaid and apologized to her profusely for his rude behavior during the past weeks. She forgave him, though she was somewhat aghast at the condition of his quarters. Yet within an hour, it was organized and spotless once more.

And again, Leon found himself at Marsilia's cottage, making an even more expensive purchase than the previous one.

"I wonder if King Arthur would let me open up a shop in the castle. I could make a fortune off you knights alone!" the jeweler said with a laugh.

By early afternoon, Leon was completely exhausted and still fighting off a wicked hangover. However, his stomach finally seemed settled after his excess drinking the previous night, so he lay down for a short time, until he had to join his friends to assist in setting-up for the evening to come.

After a couple hours of solid and restful sleep, Leon felt much more refreshed and clearheaded. Following a late lunch of scrambled eggs (which blessedly remained in his stomach), he met up with his friends on the steps of the main entryway to the castle.

"You have everything I need?" Leon asked Carina eagerly.

"That, I do. Did you ever doubt me?" said Carina with a smile. "All two _thousand_ of them are out on the training field in crates. It was no easy task, and it's costing you a fortune."

"Cost is no matter," he said. "But setting them up will take some time. Carina and Christiane, will you shout at us from the upper window and let us know if we're putting them in the right places?"

The women smiled broadly.

"Of course!" said with a sigh. "This is so romantic."

"You're making us look bad, Leon," mumbled Percival under his breath.

"Where's Merlin?" Gwaine grumbled. "He could wave his hand and have this all finished in a minute!"

"Gaius told me Merlin's been traveling and seeking out the Druids," Christiane informed Gwaine. "Most still don't trust that Arthur's legalized the use of magic in the kingdom. Besides," she added tartly, "we can't harass Merlin for help with every mundane task."

"Two thousand candles isn't mundane," muttered Gwaine.

"Please, let's get a move-on!" Leon ordered. "It'll be sundown soon enough."

XXXX

Leon's project took far longer than he'd hoped and wasn't completed until the very last second. Alis arrived at his chambers only a few moments after everything was finished, and the knight's heart beat faster than a war drum.

"Alis…" he said, drawing her into his chamber and embracing her in a tight, protective hug. Now that she'd returned to him, he never wanted to let her go.

"Leon, I have to ask you something," Alis mumbled, her face buried in his chest.

"I need to ask you something, too. It's rather important and somewhat time-sensitive."

Alis drew back. "Okay, then, you go first."

"Would you look outside of the window?" Leon asked.

"That's the question?"

"Sort of. Just…have a look."

Alis glanced out of the window at the view of the training field. She heard what she thought were Gwaine, Ulrich, and Percival's voices in the dark, cursing, as they ran around with torches in hand, re-igniting candles. Thousands of candles glowed brightly out on the field and read:

**_ALIS, WILL YOU MARRY ME?_**

The young woman speechless. It took her a moment to compose herself, and when she turned around to face Leon, he was down on one knee, holding a delicate ring, one adorned with clear and red jewels.

"Alis, will you have me as your husband, great fool that I am?" said Leon. "I love you, and I can't bear the thought of losing you again. I don't care if I'm a thousand years older than you; I want you as my wife. Please say yes."

Still unable to speak, Alis's eyes were wide and her mouth hung open with surprise. Leon was worried she was about to say no, that she was done with his foolishness. Remaining positioned on his knee, he continued to talk, hoping to delay a possible rejection of his proposal.

"Nothing in this world matters to me more than your happiness," the knight promised. "I want to spend the rest of my days ensuring you're happy and well-loved. By me, of course."

With tears in her eyes, Alis nodded and whispered a barely-audible answer. "Yes."

Leon stood with difficulty, as his long legs shook from nerves. He slid the betrothal ring onto Alis's finger, and the newly-engaged couple stood locked in each other's arms for several minutes, Alis crying tears of joy, and Leon, happier and more relieved than he'd ever been in his entire life.

"What'd she say?!" Gwaine bellowed from the training field below.

Leon released Alis from his embrace and leaned out of the window. "She said yes!" he yelled back.

Gwaine, Ulrich, and Percival shouted their congratulations and left the field.

Leon turned back to face his new fiancée. "I'd almost forgotten! You wanted to ask me something, too."

"First, thank you for proclaiming your love for me for the entire kingdom to see. That was really quite something." Alis chuckled quietly. "And second, would you make love to me? If I asked?"

"I'm not stupid enough to do anything to risk losing you again," he said without hesitation. "Of course I would. But it would make me feel less salacious if you agreed to marry me tomorrow. I'm friendly with a priest who lives on the city border and I know he'd marry us then." The knight reached out and stroked her cheek. "Just the two of us."

"That sounds perfect," Alis agreed, yet she was slightly shocked that she was engaged to be married the very next day. And though Alis loved Leon, she was quite nervous about their upcoming activities. "But do you think can we talk for a little while first? Before we, um, go to bed?" she asked.

"Of course we can. There's no rush," said Leon, squeezing her hands. "Why don't we sit and you tell me what's on your mind."

They sat down together on the edge of the bed.

"You'll teach me what to do? In bed?" asked Alis, nerves taking hold.

"We'll learn together," Leon said reassuringly. "I'll touch you. If you don't like it, tell me. Or tell me if there's something you want me to do."

"What if I touch you wrong?" asked Alis, anxiety building. "Or I'm just bad at it?"

He couldn't help but smile a little at her concern. "Alis, just looking at you is enough to excite me. Believe me when I tell you this, but you can't possibly be bad at it."

"And if I cry the first time?"

"Then I'll dry your tears," Leon said tenderly.

"One last thing," said Alis. "I'm worried you might not find my body as pleasing as the other women you've had. Right now, I feel terribly jealous of them."

"Please don't be jealous," Leon offered. "First of all, I've seen various parts of your body and they're all beautiful. And this is the first time I'll make love to a woman with whom I'm desperately in love. And that means everything; it makes you special."

"Do you really mean that?"

Leon thought about the other women with whom he'd shared a bed. That one-time encounter was over so abruptly, he knew he hadn't pleased her. And with Ida, he'd seen her a few times per year, at best. Mostly, the woman just lay on her back, but occasionally gave a sigh of what he thought might be satisfaction. Of course he'd enjoyed the encounters well enough, what man wouldn't? But he knew it would be so much more with Alis. So much better.

"I mean it with all my heart," said Leon. "And believe me, we have plenty to learn together. All of those different positions you demonstrated for me," he mentioned with a teasing shrug.

"That sounds terribly risqué and exciting," Alis said with a smile. "I can't wait to try them all!"

They both laughed, trying to diffuse the nervousness and tension in the air.

Leon retrieved a fresh sheet from his wardrobe. "We'll save this and I'll have it hung outside after tomorrow," he said. "No one needs to know the exact timing of our bedchamber activities."

"Do you have almond oil?" Alis blurted out, struck with the reality of what was about to happen,

"Almond oil?" Leon asked with confusion. "I can't say that I have any knocking about my chambers, no."

"Oh, it's just some ladies mentioned it might, um, make things easier the first time, but we don't need it," Alis said with embarrassment.

"No, that's a good suggestion. I'll go find some," Leon told her, and planting a brief kiss on her forehead, he left the room.

But where on earth was he going to find almond oil at this precise moment? It would look ridiculous if he lifted a jug from the kitchens. How on earth would he explain himself to the kitchen staff? And there was certainly no way he was going to Gaius and ask him for some; he could imagine the raised eyebrow and looks of deep disapproval. "Gaius, can I have some almond oil to spread on my cock so I can bed my fiancée more easily before we're married?" He was very sure that wouldn't go over well.

Leon had the vague recollection of his chambermaid once mentioning women mix scents into almond oil. Surely, _one_ of the ladies in the castle had some on hand. But whom could he trust? Leon thought Carina might be the least disapproving, so he went to her and Ulrich's quarters and tapped quietly on the door. Ulrich was on patrol that evening, so Carina answered the door with a sleeping baby Anna in her arms.

Leon, face red as a strawberry, inquired in a whisper if Carina had any oil. The woman ushered him inside, placed Anna down in the bassinet and clapped her hands together with excitement.

"You're going to take Alis to bed, aren't you?" she squeaked. "Finally!"

"Please, Carina, my God, this is embarrassing enough!"

She laughed. "I won't say a word to anyone, don't worry." Carina reached into her wardrobe and produced a small bottle. "Here you go." She thrust the bottle into Leon's hands. "Hurry back to her now, go on!"

Leon thanked her and returned to his room as fast as possible, mercifully avoiding people on the way back. He entered his quarters and found the room lit dimly with candles. Alis was in bed, naked beneath the bed covers.

"I see you'd like to get right to it," Leon teased, placing the small jar down on the bedside table and tugging off his boots.

Alis tossed back the covers, rose from the bed, and approached her betrothed. Of course, Leon had seen individual parts of her unclothed before, and they were all beautiful. But he'd never seen his young fiancée fully naked, and he thought she was spectacular. Her body was so graceful, tiny, but gorgeous, with those high breasts and pink, full lips begging to be kissed. Even the small, tan birthmark on Alis's left hip enthralled Leon; he hadn't seen it before. And the dark hair between her legs made his mouth water.

Without a word, Alis removed Leon's tunic and unlaced his trousers. She then peeled the garment off his legs and he kicked them away. Next, he was dispossessed of his drawers.

Taking a small step backward, Alis admired Leon's tall, lean, but muscled body. Even the short, rough hair on his chest, darker than the hair on his head, was enticing, and she longed to run her fingers through it.

"I know we aren't supposed to call men beautiful," she said, "but you are, Leon."

A smile tugged at the corner of Leon's mouth. He moved even closer to Alis and kissed her neck, then worked his way downward.

"We generally prefer handsome," he teased, moving a little lower with each kiss, until he was on his knees, pressing gentle kisses against her hip and lower belly. "Perhaps strong, rugged, powerful," he said, kissing the hair at the apex of her thighs.

Alis gave a slight gasp. "You're all those things, too," she told him, sounding breathless.

"And you are far more beautiful than any princess," said Leon, playfully lifting Alis into his arms. "I'll be forever grateful that you chose me."

Leon placed Alis down on the bed and lay on top of her. The two kissed and touched for quite some time – full-on, wildly-passionate kissing and touching. Excited as the new fiancé was, he could no longer resist, and he reached between Alis's legs and touched her; he found her slick and ready. Leon worked Alis's intimate parts gently with his fingers, and the young woman squirmed with pleasure at his touch, her breath coming faster. Leon knew (or had heard) it could be difficult for women to orgasm the first time they had intercourse, so he thought now was a good to try and please her.

Leon kissed his way from his beautiful fiancée's lips downward, slowly, reverently, until he was positioned between her knees. He urged her legs open wider and Alis didn't stop him. Leon used his finger against her delicious flesh at first, then switched to his tongue. Alis gripped the sheets and groaned loudly. Just like the last time he'd pleasured her in this way, it was exhilarating, watching her delight at his touch as she sighed, moved her hips against him, and occasionally muttered: "Oh, God!"

Alis could barely stand it as Leon worked his warm and insistent tongue against her. She couldn't imagine anything in the world better than this. The young woman could feel her release building as a hot flush spread from between her legs upward. Alis was barely aware that she moaned with every divine stroke of Leon's tongue, until finally, with a toe-curling scream, she came.

Her enthusiasm aroused Leon more than ever. Alis was so receptive and eager, so alive. Leon could feel that she enjoyed his touch, very much, in fact, and it made all the difference in the world; the woman sincerely desired him. He wanted nothing more than to be buried inside of her at that very moment.

Sensing his need, Alis grabbed the almond oil from the bedside table, poured some of the liquid into her hand, and massaged it onto Leon with deliberate strokes. He couldn't help but close his eyes at her touch, enjoying the feel of those gentle, smooth hands of hers against his heated skin. He opened his eyes again in time to watch Alis apply some of the oil to herself, and Leon made a mental note that he'd have to ask her to do that again sometime while he watched.

Leon hesitated for one moment before claiming his fiancée's maidenhood. "Thank you," he whispered in her ear, easing into her warmth with a gentle push.

Leon was grateful he'd retrieved the oil. While it eased his entry, Alis was so tight, she gripped him like nothing he'd ever felt before. Of course, the sensation was unbelievable for Leon, but he couldn't imagine what it must be like for his tiny fiancée to accommodate his size. He waited a moment for her to scream or cry, as he'd heard some horror stories from many of his men about their wives on their wedding nights. One of his comrades had even told him that his wife refused to allow him to touch her again for weeks, since the pain had been so bad during their first encounter. Leon was anxious because he'd never been with a maiden before and he was worried about Alis's comfort. But there was no screaming or crying, only a slight whimper of discomfort.

"Is it okay?" Leon asked with concern.

"It is," said Alis, pink blooming on her cheeks. "It's so good."

Alis thought it wasn't all that bad; maybe it had something to do with the oil. There was a sharp pain for a moment as he broke her barrier and it ached for a short time, but it wasn't nearly as painful as some women had mentioned. For that, she was relieved and grateful.

In his mind, Leon kept repeating the mantra: "Calm, easy, slow." Alis felt absolutely exquisite, the way her body caressed his cock, and every fiber of him burned with wanting to let go. Of course, her moans and sighs, the way she threaded her fingers through his hair and kissed him wildly didn't help matters any.

Just as Leon thought he couldn't hold on for another moment, Alis's cries grew frantic and louder. She wrapped her legs around him tightly, trembling, right on the brink. Finally she cried out as she climaxed. "Oh, God, Leon!" she screamed.

Her obvious pleasure did Leon in, and he spilled his seed into her seconds later.

Before they assessed the condition of the bed sheet, Leon lay back and gathered Alis into his arms. The woman glowed with contentment. She had hoped that one day, she and Leon would share a bed, yet she never imagined that they'd actually be married. Alis felt fortunate, and was confident Leon felt the same way.

After several minutes, the two pulled apart. Leon rose to handle the sheet, but Alis stopped him for a moment.

"Wait!" she said with a slight giggle. "You're my lover now." She planted a playful kiss on his cheek.

Leon jokingly waved away the comment as he grabbed the sheet from underneath her hips. "Lover today, but husband tomorrow," he quipped, folding the bed sheet and tucking it away in a bottom drawer of the wardrobe.

"How bad is it? The sheet?" asked Alis, cringing at the thought of Leon handling the bloodied fabric.

"Bad about that no one will ask questions," Leon answered with a wink. He was slightly surprised at the quantity of blood. He hadn't expected much, since she seemed to have little pain. "Let me fetch some washcloths so we can clean up a bit."

Leon handed his fiancée the cloth, dressed, and left the chamber to allow Alis some privacy to wash up, and besides, he needed to use the privy. Although he'd been lucky earlier on his oil-quest when the hallway had been deserted, this time, he ran into none other than Gwaine.

"Having a lovely evening, are we?" asked Gwaine with a smirk.

Leon blanched. "Oh no, Gwaine. Please tell me everyone didn't hear."

"Didn't hear? You'd have to be deaf or dead not to hear!" Gwaine said with mirth.

"Gwaine, please…"

"Calm down, man. The floor's empty tonight," Gwaine assured. "I was just walking by on the way home after a quick patrol. I have no intention of spreading rumors about what goes on in your bedchamber. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

Gwaine winked, made a comically-lewd gesture, and walked off.

Leon laughed, took care of his personal business, and returned to his chambers. He found Alis draped in a sheet, looking bright-eyed and happy, sitting upright in bed.

"Can we get married tomorrow, first thing?" she asked.

"Of course. We'll ride out at first light," Leon promised, sealing it with a kiss. "We'd best get some rest now so we're refreshed for tomorrow."

"Ha!" she scoffed. "I'm feeling rather indecent this evening and would like to take advantage of my lover. All night long."

Who was Leon to refuse?

"And Leon?" said Alis. "You're amazing in bed. I mean it."

Leon had often wondered if he had any skill in bed at all, considering his previous partners had been less than enthusiastic. Alis's compliment was the best he'd ever received.

"Let's see if I get better with practice," the knight said with a playful smile, as he blew out some candles and reached for his fiancée once more.


	34. Chapter 33 The Wives' Questionable

**A/N - I know I say this about all of the knights and their relationships, but I really fell in love with Leon and Alis. These characters mean so much to me. It thrills me to see Leon happily joined to someone who loves him so deeply.**

**We're moving onto something a little different with this chapter. Leon and Alis are officially married. Christiane and Carina worry about keeping their husbands' attention. Kiena and Helena are back. ****Percival runs into an old flame. ****This chapter will contain some brief girl-on-girl action, a little bit of rough sex, a touch of excess drinking, and one unhappy Percival. **

**After this chapter, the story takes a darker turn for a few chapters. **

**Thanks for sticking with me, readers. **

Chapter 33 – The Wives' Questionable Choice

As Leon promised, the following crisp November morning, he and Alis rode out at sunrise. By mid-afternoon, they had returned to the castle as husband and wife, blissfully happy. Leon's priest-friend had married the couple in a brief and quiet ceremony beneath an oak tree on his small farm's property, and a stable boy had acted as witness. A lone sheep wandered by and baaed when the couple shared their first kiss, and everyone present had laughed.

With his new marriage contract in hand, Leon requested an audience with King Arthur so he could formally introduce Alis as his wife. Alis knew Guinevere quite well, since she assisted with the queen's midwifery care, but she had seen the king only in passing.

A short time later, Alis and Leon presented themselves to the royal couple. The newlyweds entered the council chamber; Leon bowed and Alis curtseyed before the seated king and queen.

"Your Highnesses, may I introduce my wife, Alis," said Leon.

Alis smiled nervously and curtseyed again, once to Guinevere and once to Arthur. "Your Highnesses," she said with respect.

"It's a pleasure to meet you officially, Alis," Arthur said. "My wife tells me you've provided her with excellent care and I appreciate it."

"Thank you very much, sire," she replied. "It's an honor and a privilege to do so."

Arthur turned toward Leon. "I now understand why you've been a little distracted of late," the king said with a smile. "And I must say, you look particularly exhausted this afternoon. Rough traveling conditions?"

"No. Yes!" Leon said at once.

"And I assume you'll need the evening off?" asked Arthur, certain he knew why Leon looked so fatigued. Perhaps his typically-proper knight commander had been busy consummating his marriage before returning to the castle. Or, maybe he'd spent the previous evening practicing the act with his then-fiancée. Either way, Arthur didn't care. He was simply glad to see his loyal and long-serving knight happy. Yet he wondered about the man's black eye.

"If I could, sire," Leon requested.

"Certainly," said the king with a wry grin. "We'll see you on the training field tomorrow, then. And Alis, a pleasure to meet you."

The new couple walked to Leon's chambers arm-in-arm, but Alis stopped short. "Oh, no! I just thought of it; does that mean we'll have to 'perform' with an audience outside of the bedchamber tonight?"

"Nah," said Leon. "I'll just have the sheets hung outside and tell everyone I couldn't wait until we got home before I had you."

"You dirty man!" Alis teased, poking her husband in the ribs.

Leon bent down and whispered in his new wife's ear. "Oh, I will be happy to show you 'dirty,' my lovely bride. Right now."

Within moments, the married couple was locked inside of their bedchamber, not to be seen until the following morning.

XXXX

It was a time of relative calm and happiness for residents of the castle and Camelot as a whole. All of Arthur's closest and most trusted knights were happily married and content. The season of Yule was upon them, and the castle was decorated from top-to-bottom with garlands of evergreen, ivy, and holly. Of course, this was also a time of year for festive banquets and celebrations, so the tantalizing scent of mouthwatering holiday foods filled the castle corridors all day long. And as Guinevere's due date drew closer, the castle was abuzz with speculation about the baby's gender, if the babe would favor the king or queen's appearance, and so forth.

Meanwhile, little Anna and Percy continued to grow and thrive, as did their parents' relationships. Gwaine was eager for Drea to have another child (though he considered Wallace his own), and often badgered his wife about whether or not she thought she could be pregnant.

"Gwaine, if I wasn't yesterday, I doubt I am today!" she'd reply with impatience. But secretly, she was thrilled her that her husband was so eager to add to their family, and she knew in time, they would.

Leon, on the other hand, was terrified of the idea of Alis carrying his child. While he wanted children with his wife desperately, the new husband was worried about how Alis would fare during pregnancy and delivery. She was so small; how would she ever survive childbirth? Alis repeatedly explained to her husband that smaller women gave birth to healthy babies all the time, and they survived, but mother and child. Leon assumed that with the glorious, copious amounts of sex they were having, it was only a matter of time before his wife fell pregnant.

As always, Percival and Christiane and Ulrich and Carina were madly in love. Percival thought back to that night in Essetir, during that mission well over a year ago, when he'd wondered if the yearning for and wanting his wife ever lessened, and it hadn't. His heart still skipped a beat whenever he saw his Christiane, and she felt the same for him. Ever since his near-death accident, Percival accepted every day as a blessing and tried to make the most out of life.

On a brisk, frosty morning, Christiane wore Percy in his nursing wrap; the little one was full of smiles and happy baby-giggles. She visited Percival at the stables, as he'd woken early to tend to Aethon. Percival knew the stable boys took good care of his animal, but he often preferred to tend to the horse's needs and care on his own.

But when Christiane and Percy moved closer to the castle stable, she saw Percival talking to a woman she'd never seen before: a plump-faced, rosy-cheeked, pretty young woman with dark, wavy hair. This young stranger was bright-eyed and happy, and she touched Percival's arm with familiarity as she spoke. Christiane had given birth only a few months before, and it didn't take much to make her feel flabby and unattractive. This cute woman's presence wasn't helping matters. But Christiane noticed Percival appeared nervous and uncomfortable with the visitor, and that made her feel marginally better. Yet she suddenly wondered if his display of nervousness should make her feel more concerned rather than less. Did her husband have something to hide? Was he feeling guilty? Christiane's thoughts raced in a complete jumble of fear and worry.

Percival nearly sighed aloud with relief when he noticed his wife had arrived. When Beth had walked up to the stable out of nowhere a few minutes earlier and called out, "Surprise!" Percival was shocked. He hadn't seen the woman in almost two years, and had never expected to see her again. Percival was afraid that word would get back to his wife that he'd been chatting with an overly-friendly woman, and he didn't think that would go over well with Christiane. His wife was extra-sensitive these days about her shape and appearance, which Percival thought was ridiculous, because she looked the same as she did before, if not better. Regardless, he wasn't sure how to dismiss Beth without coming across as rude and unfriendly.

Percival grabbed his wife by the waist when she entered the stable area. "Beth, this is my wife, Christiane," he announced. "Christiane, Beth. Beth's father's a merchant, and she visited Camelot a ways back. I'd given her a tour of the stables."

"And quick ride around town," added Beth.

_Oh, please shut up_, Percival thought. Was she about to tell his wife about their kiss as well? What if she did? What the hell was he going to do?

"It's a pleasure to meet you," said Christiane with as much confidence as she could muster.

"What a little treasure!" Beth insisted, stepping closer to Christiane, stroking Percy's rosy cheek with her finger. The young visitor drew back her traveling cloak and rested her hands on the swell of her abdomen, clearly pregnant. Neither Percival nor Christiane had noticed before, as the thick winter wear had obscured her belly.

"Another three months to go!" exclaimed Beth. "I feel like a whale already, but I'm very excited."

"Nonsense; you're glowing!" said Christiane, with pure relief.

The women chatted about pregnancies and babies for a short time, but Percival was grateful when Beth told them she had to take her leave.

"My husband's at the inn setting up for our overnight stay. I need to go meet up with him now. I'm starving, as usual, and he promised me a good breakfast. I'm hoping for a nice leek and chicken pie. Or an onion and egg pie. As long as it's big, I don't care!

"Take care, both of you," the woman called out as she left.

Once Beth was out of earshot, Christiane turned to glare at her husband. "Why so nervous, Percival?" she asked with mock concern.

"Nervous? Ha! I wasn't nervous," he protested. Even so, a slight pink tint crept up his neck while he brushed Aethon's already-gleaming coat.

"I suspect that Beth was one of your 'couple of kisses,'" Christiane observed, her voice tight, bouncing a giggling Percy on her hip.

Percival spluttered and fumbled. "It was just a peck, it didn't mean anything, and it was well before I met you," he explained.

"Right," Christiane said, with a touch of sarcasm.

"Just wait until I meet one of _your_ 'kisses,'" Percival insisted. "Maybe I'll give him a quick punch in the mouth!"

Christiane laughed at him, but still felt quite unsettled. "Beth's very pretty," she noted.

Percival had thought Beth was cute once, but she wasn't anywhere near as gorgeous and desirable as his wife.

"I suppose she's okay," he acknowledged. "But you're much more beautiful." Sensing Christiane's disquiet, the knight turned to face his wife. "No one compares to you, love," he stated firmly. "They never could."

Christiane gave a small and uncertain smile, hoping with all her heart that her husband was being sincere.

XXXX

Later, during the cold and cloudy afternoon, Carina and an edgy Christiane left the castle for the market to take a short break from the babes. Christiane was feeling particularly down that day, and hoped a little fresh air and companionship from her friend might help ease her blue thoughts. Christiane wanted to talk to her Carina about how she felt, but worried that such a conversation might make her sound as if she wasn't happy being a wife and mother. Which she was; she loved her husband and son with every bit of her heart. Christiane loved _them_, she just didn't always love herself these days. But she didn't want to burden Carina with such information, as her friend almost always appeared happy and carefree; Christiane decided to keep her thoughts quiet.

While the two women admired some fine, plush winter wraps in the marketplace, Kiena and Helena approached them. Regardless of the women's reputations, Christiane and Carina found the two ladies very funny and full-of-life. Kiena and Helena were always friendly toward them, and while they flirted with the married knights, the two made it very clear they weren't interested in sleeping with married men.

Kiena and Helena inquired about Percy and Anna, sincerely pleased to hear the babies were happy and thriving. They also asked about married life, and Carina and Christiane expressed that even over a year later, they were both very much in love with their husbands.

"Oh...a year!" Kiena said. "I don't mean to upset you, but a year seems to be the turning point for lots of men. After a year and a baby, so many married knights proposition us for 'extramarital' fun, if you know what I mean."

Carina and Christiane's jaws dropped.

"But you know we don't do that!" Helena added quickly.

"No, of course not," Kiena confirmed. "Just keep things fresh and interesting in the bedchamber, and your fine men will be perfectly happy."

"What exactly do you mean by, 'fresh and interesting'?" Carina asked. While Carina was an open-minded young woman when it came to matters of sex, she was still a relative newlywed and wondered if she was missing something.

Kiena and Helena traded a look. "Do you have a little time for a chat at our cottage?" Helena inquired.

Christiane and Carina followed them home. Kiena and Helena ushered the friends inside, and immediately made suggestions about how to keep things "fresh" as they all took seats.

"Men _love_ watching two women touch one another," Kiena proclaimed. "You could do that together in front of them. Have you ever tried it?"

Though it was chilly outside and quite cool in the cottage, Christiane's cheeks burned and the back of her neck prickled with sweat. "No, um, that's not something I think I could do," she admitted.

Carina feigned shock and jokingly placed her hand over her heart. "I'm offended, Christiane! After all of these years as your best friend, you don't think you could stick your tongue in my mouth or touch my tits?"

Christiane thought about it for a moment. "I might be able to do _that_, but nothing else."

"I could do that, but you're right, I'm not sure if I could stick my head between a woman's legs. I don't know…maybe," Carina confessed.

A month earlier, during late evening time, Carina had accidentally walked in on two young maids in a dark corner of the castle kitchens. One woman was seated on a stool with her skirts hiked up while the other sat on the floor, her face buried in between the girl's widely-spread legs, enthusiastically working the woman's intimate parts with her tongue. The recipient sighed and shivered with absolute delight; it was obvious both ladies were enjoying themselves.

After watching for a few moments, Carina backed away quickly, before the two saw her. But Carina was ridiculously aroused by the sight of the women touching one another and felt a little ashamed for being so filled with desire, and for imagining herself being pleased by a woman. After all, she found her husband incredibly attractive and loved having sex with him. She wrote off the notion as a passing fantasy and didn't think about it much afterward.

Carina was drawn back to the current conversation by Helena's giggle and proclamation of: "Have some extra drink and you might be able to have a little fun with a woman!"

"Have _you_ touched a woman like that?" asked Carina.

"A few times," Helena answered with a casual shrug. "Kiena and I'd had quite a lot to drink, and we ended up in bed with one man and the two of us. It was actually quite fun!"

Carina leaned forward, fascinated. "Did you do that with Gwaine? Before Drea?" she asked in a low, conspiratorial voice.

"We tried," Kiena chimed in. "But he was far too drunk to be of any use."

"If you don't want to do that, you could try swapping husbands," Helena offered. "Sexually, I mean."

Carina and Christiane's eyes grew wide, and they both babbled about how that wasn't a good idea.

"All right," said Kiena. "I have another idea! Convince both of your husbands come into one of your bedchambers together and have them sit on the bed. You two should then strip each other straight away; the men will be so surprised they won't have time to protest. If you kiss and touch a little, they'll definitely fall silent and watch. Then, each of you removes your own husband's trousers. Men rarely like to be naked in front of other men, so leave their tunics on.

"_Then_, you each mount your own husband and ride him hard. Once they're ready to come, you ask them if they care to swap. Just so neither of them feel guilty about putting his cock in another woman, you hop on the other husband in a congress of the crow position…"

Christiane was confused and overwhelmed. "Congress of the crow?" she asked.

"You know," Kiena prompted. "When you get on top and suck his cock while your crotch is in his face?"

Christiane's face turned an unnatural shade of red. "Oh. I didn't realize that's what it was called."

The entire discussion was highly overwhelming for Christiane and Carina. They asked more pointed questions, and expressed concern about whether or not their husbands would really want to engage in such activity.

"That's the beauty of it!" said Helena. "If they want to stop, they can just say so. And you'll know you tried."

Carina and Christiane agreed they didn't want to lose their husbands' interest and have them seek out other women, even though both of the men had been clear they didn't want any such thing. But still, all of this talk of men getting bored and seeking pleasure elsewhere made them nervous. Plus, Christiane really wasn't feeling very pretty or sexy these days, and had started to wonder what Percival saw in her.

So, the women agreed to give Kiena and Helena's suggestions a try. Tonight. With lots of mead. Probably best to get the men a little drunk, too.

XXXX

Christiane and Carina located a couple of nice, young maids to mind their babies for a few hours that evening. The women suggested to their husbands that they get together in Christiane and Percival's chambers for some mead and company, without the babes, as a nice break. Individually, Percival and Ulrich hoped they could end the evening early so they could bed their wives without worrying about waking the little ones.

Night arrived, and the babies were handed over to their capable sitters. Carina and Christiane nervously set out mead and some small gingerbread cakes. Everyone took seats by the fire, ate, drank heartily, and swapped funny stories. Ulrich and Percival noticed their wives drank quite a bit, far more than usual, but assumed they were enjoying a little freedom from motherhood. They joined them in the overindulgence, and before long, the four were thoroughly intoxicated.

Carina looked over at Christiane. "Why don't we have our husbands sit on the bed so we can show them…something?" she said drunkenly.

Suddenly nervous about the plan, Christiane wanted to back out, but her drunken state silenced those nerves quickly. The men looked perplexed, but they took their wives' offered hands and allowed the ladies to deposit them on the bed. They couldn't imagine what the ladies were about to do.

The women took Kiena's suggestion and stripped one another. They'd had the foresight to wear simple clothing that evening. Before the men could so much as utter a word, the two ladies stepped out of their undergarments and kissed, rubbing up against one another. Carina was the first to squeeze Christiane's breast, drunk as she was, and Christiane answered by sticking her tongue into Carina's mouth. They both giggled. Carina then drew Christiane's nipple into her mouth, then her friend did the same in return.

The men were virtually paralyzed as they stared at their naked wives.

"Do you have any idea what's going on here?" Ulrich slurred, drunk, unable to tear his eyes away from the ladies.

Percival shook his head back-and-forth as he continued to gape at the scene before him, mesmerized. Rather intoxicated himself, he couldn't seem to find the ability to speak.

The men watched their wives kiss and touch, Carina teasing Christiane's hard nipple with her tongue, as she boldly reached between her friend's legs to caress her sensitive parts. As Carina worked her fingers against her friend's soft flesh, Christiane didn't protest. In fact, she moaned and quivered at the touch. The husbands thought it was pretty spectacular, as neither had ever witnessed such a thing between two women.

For a moment, Carina thought she might convince Christiane to lie on her back while she tried to pleasure her friend with her tongue, like that maid had done to the other woman in the kitchens. The men would probably love to see that. But at the last second, Carina thought better of it. The women then separated abruptly.

The men erroneously assumed that was the end of the show. Instead, the women approached their respective husbands, shoved them onto their backs on the bed, and relieved them of their trousers and drawers. Percival wanted to protest, he did. He didn't like the idea of his bare, erect cock out on display a couple of feet away from his friend and comrade. Apparently, Ulrich was too drunk to care. But as soon as Christiane climbed on top of Percival, his concerns melted away. She rode him hard and fast as Carina did to Ulrich.

It didn't take long for the two husbands to become by their passion. Both Percival and Ulrich all but forgot that there was another couple in the very same bed. But then, Percival thought he might have heard Carina say something like: "Do you care to swap?" but he was too engrossed with Christiane's body to be certain.

Ulrich mumbled an unintelligible response, and before Percival knew what was happening, his wife had climbed off of him, and unbelievably, Carina's crotch was in his face, and he felt her warm breath on his cock.

"Carina, stop!" Percival panted, but she either didn't hear, or didn't care, so he lifted the little woman off of his body and deposited her firmly on the bed next to him.

Meanwhile, Christiane had completely lost her nerve. A part of her knew this encounter would do nothing other than upset everyone involved. She simply sat there, never having touched Ulrich's hand, let alone any other part of his body. Which seemed fine by Ulrich, because he was passed-out drunk on his back.

Percival felt hotly angry and instantly sober. "That was a terrible idea, terrible!" he shouted as he stood. "What were you two thinking?" he asked, gathering up his drawers and trousers, yanking them on.

"I'm sorry," Carina said thickly, clearly upset. "It was meant to be fun and exciting."

Percival felt sorry for upsetting his wife's friend. "I meant no disrespect, Carina," he stated gently, though he glared angrily at his wife.

"I don't understand why you're so angry at _me_," Christiane said in tears, while she and Carina struggled into their clothing.

"You're my wife!" Percival protested. "I don't want you to enjoy another man!"

Ulrich sat up drunkenly tried to dress. "Thank you for a lovely time, all, but never again. Please, Carina, no more of this. Ever."

After having clothed himself with some difficulty, Ulrich gathered up his wife and threw her over his shoulder. Carina let out a loud and playful screech.

"And now, I will have my way with you in our chambers!" Ulrich slurred as he stumbled out of the room into the hallway with his wife draped over his shoulder. "I just have to find my way there first. Good night, you two!" he called out as he half-staggered down the hallway.

"_They_ seem all right," Christiane noted the moment she was alone with her husband again.

Percival felt a flash of rage, and for an instant, he understood how men became so angered they beat their wives. He tried to recall Deryn's words about controlling his angry outbursts, but still, he couldn't stop himself from yelling.

"_I'm_ not all right!" he shouted. "How could you think I would want to see you pleasuring another man? Or, _receiving_ pleasure from one?"

It was one thing for Christiane to be touched by her best friend a little; Percival was fine with that. Intrigued, even. But if Ulrich had touched her in such a way, Percival never would have gotten over it.

The distressed knight shook with frustration and continued. "You are everything to me, damn it! Everything! Do you not understand that?" Percival's voice cracked but he went on. "You're my wife and the mother of my child. I love you…" His words trailed off. Percival tried to calm his racing heart before he spoke these next words: "I wonder if our wedding vows meant the same to you as they did to me. That you would risk our marriage is unthinkable."

Christiane wept in earnest. "I thought I was _saving_ it! Please don't think that. Kiena and Helena terrified me into thinking that I'd lose you."

"I didn't realize our marriage needed saving," Percival observed, shocked, his heart feeling as if it was about to pound right out of his chest. What the hell was happening here? Was his wife unhappy with him and he never realized it? Was he that blind to her feelings?

"I thought we were happy," he said. "Aren't we?"

Percival was suddenly overwhelmed with one emotion: fear. Fear of losing his wife. He didn't know if his heart would beat right out of his chest, or if it would simply stop working all together. He waited for Christiane's answer, a wave of panic rising within him.

"We are happy! At least, I hope so. I was just so afraid of losing you. After Percy, sometimes, I feel down and unsure of myself and wonder how you can love me," Christiane admitted through her tears.

Percival exhaled slowly, with relief, and gathered his crying wife into his arms. He recalled hearing something about this from one of the other knights. After his comrade's wife had given birth, a few months later, the woman became very sad for a period of time and cried a lot, seemingly without reason. Though eventually, the sadness passed.

"Have I ever given you reason to believe I was bored, unhappy, or unsatisfied?" asked Percival, feeling terrible that he hadn't been more alert to his wife's recent struggle.

"No," Christiane admitted. "Never."

He held her and stroked her hair as she continued to cry.

"Never doubt how much I care for you." Percival emphasized, "I don't want any other women, just you. Today and always."

She nodded as she clung to him, feeling spectacularly foolish for what she'd done.

Percival had an idea. He laced his fingers into Christiane's hair, pulled her head back and gave her a rough kiss, which was very unlike him.

"You are mine," he growled, then pressed another hard kiss to her mouth. "Mine, alone. No other man can have you. Now, as your punishment, I'll have you in any and every way I choose," he demanded, eyes darkening with lust. "Is that clear?"

Christiane played along. She knew he would never force her to do anything or really hurt her.

"I'll submit to your every wish," she whispered.

"You may come to regret that," he said with a slight twinkle in his eye.

Surprisingly, Percival forced her onto her back on the bed, tore her dress open, and ripped her undergarments right off her. He flung off his trousers, held her down and rammed into her over and over again. He was a little too rough, but despite that, Christiane gripped those massive, powerful, rock-solid arms she loved so much. Before long, she reached her climax.

Percival delayed his own pleasure and flipped her over onto her stomach. He shoved a pillow under her hips and reached over and rooted around in the bed stand drawer for some almond oil. He kissed his wife's gorgeously plump backside for a while and then pressed his finger between the cleft of her arse cheeks. Christiane knew what he meant to do. They'd never engaged in this act before, and she was nervous.

Percival paused. "I'm not going to do this without your permission."

Christiane looked over her shoulder and nodded in consent.

A good ten minutes later, Christiane lay in bed with a very, very sore bottom. Percival apologized repeatedly. It was so erotic and carnal, having his wife like that, but he could tell he went too fast and was too exuberant; she was in a lot of discomfort.

"It's all right. Just next time, go much more slowly and use an entire bucket of oil," Christiane said to her husband in a teasing tone.

"There'll be a next time?" asked Percival with surprise.

"Perhaps."

God, Percival loved his wife. Yet he suddenly realized that rough sex might not have been the best way to prove to Christiane how much he adored her. The more he thought about it, the more selfish he felt. He turned over in bed to face her, propped up on his elbow.

"I love you. I love every bit of you, and I probably went about showing you in the wrong way just now. But you're so gorgeous and desirable that I got carried away. I'll start doing a better job of showing you how much I care." Percival then took Christiane's chin in his hand. "And if anything's bothering you, or you feel sad or upset, I want you to tell me. All right? Please don't keep things from me."

"All right, love."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Christiane, now knowing she had her husband's love and support, felt slightly better. Perhaps she no longer had to hide her worries, and could begin to share her darker feelings with him.

For the first time in many weeks, she felt somewhat less alone.

XXXX

The next day, Christiane, Percival, Ulrich, and Carina met and discuss their somewhat-disastrous evening. Of course, they had to keep their emotions in check, as Percy and Anna would be with them. Percival was particularly upset, but none of the group was comfortable or happy with what transpired the previous evening, and felt a good, honest talk had the potential to help sort things out. They met in Ulrich and Carina's chambers.

"Let's just speak plainly," Carina suggested, as she and Christiane placed the sleepy babies together in Anna's crib. "Will anything like that ever happen again?"

"No!" everyone chorused in unison.

"Then we should focus on being friends again and eventually, I think the awkward feelings will pass," said Carina.

The four friends agreed they'd try their best to return to normal and put this awkward incident behind them.

Their meeting ended, but Ulrich made one final point. "Next time you want to make things 'fresh and exciting,' just dress up like a princess or a prostitute or something!"

Percival couldn't have agreed more, and earnestly hoped they could put this little disaster in the past, where it belonged.


	35. Chapter 34 The Picts' Revenge

**A/N - And here is where the story takes a darker turn. In this chapter, the residents of Camelot eagerly await some winter entertainment. However, a terrible and frightening event takes places instead. As the title of this chapter indicates, the Picts are back and angrier than ever. Our knights are terrified, and Merlin steps in to help. **

**Please be advised, there is some violence in this chapter. And I would like to warn you in advance, for the next chapter, the author's note will be fairly long and come with warnings about triggers that may upset people. **

**And welcome to my new followers, scgirl-317 and Aamarylis! And to the rest of you? I'm so glad you're still here. **

**PS - I never expected this, but as it turns out, I am still adding chapters. I thought I was done! I'm up to chapter 44 with the possibility of a couple more after that. **

Chapter 34 – The Picts' Revenge

Late December drifted in along with light snowfall, colder temperatures, and a perpetually winter-grey sky mottled with thick clouds. Initially, Percival gave Carina a wide berth as Ulrich did with Christiane. Every time Percival so much as walked by Carina, he burned with embarrassment at the thought of Carina having seen him half-naked and aroused.

On one occasion, Carina called Percival's name, and he began to sweat and considered running away. However, she only wanted to know if he had an extra clean cloth kicking around for the baby. But as the weeks passed, their relationships and friendships became less strained and eventually returned to relative normal; they were all committed to their marriages and friendships.

During this time, Arthur received word that the much-acclaimed strolling players were going to pass through Camelot, and Guinevere begged Arthur to invite them to perform at the castle.

"Please, Arthur. It'll be a wonderful time for everyone," she insisted.

The king took one look at that broad smile and immense belly carrying his child. "As if I'd ever deny you anything!" he told his radiant queen.

Guinevere hugged her husband and he felt the baby kick, which prompted Arthur to make a request.

"Just promise me you won't wear yourself out with planning and preparations." The king then gently placed his hands on his pregnant queen's ample belly. "Please, Gwen, you're only a few weeks away from giving birth."

"I know, I know," said Guinevere with a good-natured eye roll. "I promise I won't overdo it."

"Good. Then I'll offer an invitation to the players," confirmed Arthur, leaning in to kiss his wife.

When word spread that the strolling players were to perform at the castle, everyone in the city was in an excited uproar. This talented ensemble hadn't been to Camelot in many, many years. There was much speculation about the plays they'd perform. Rumor had it the last time this troupe had passed through the area, during their play, the performers had worn lavish costumes, did incredible acrobatics, and some of them had even breathed fire. There was much speculation about the type of play they'd perform this time. The women hoped for gushing romance and proclamations of unwavering love, while the men wanted lots of action and sword fighting. Christiane offered that it would be wise if the performance contained both.

Drea suggested the women get dressed-up beforehand at her cottage. "We can leave the little ones with sitters for a few hours," she said. "We'll break out the hot tongs, mead, and cakes, and have a wonderful time!"

Christiane, Carina, and Alis thought that was a fantastic idea. They planned to meet in the early afternoon, well before the play, and would head back up to the castle before sunset so they could enjoy the performance. The women agreed it would be a fun opportunity to look pretty for their husbands, since motherhood and their professions didn't provide them with many chances to get dolled-up.

Drea also invited Guinevere to join in the fun, but the queen reluctantly declined. Gwen told the ladies Arthur was "forcing" her to take it easy, even though the queen really wanted to spend some time away from the castle, enjoying a little companionship with her women friends.

XXXX

The big day arrived and Alis, Christiane, and Carina raced down to Drea's cottage in the cold, giggling with excitement, the frosty grass crunching beneath their shoes. Wallace begged his mother to allow him to stay home, promising he'd be good. He proclaimed he didn't want to "play with the babies at the castle." The ladies loved having him around and they convinced Drea he should stay.

Wallace kept himself well occupied drawing pictures of knights and horses while the ladies ate, drank, and wrestled with their hair and the hot tongs. They were all in fine moods and enjoyed themselves immensely. The women agreed they couldn't wait to see the play that evening; it was going to be a very special treat.

However, without warning, a sudden, wickedly-loud crash blew the front door to the cottage right off its hinges, and bits of sharp wood splinter flew through the air.

Before Drea could register what was happening, she hauled Wallace up by his shirt and tried to shove him out of the side door which led to the garden. "Run!" she cried. "Run, Wallace! Don't stop until you reach Father"

But the five men who forced their way into the residence were far too fast and strong. The first man grabbed Wallace and flung him to the ground where he hit his head; the little boy was knocked unconscious immediately.

The elaborate body paint, long hair, foreign voices, and unusual dress made it obvious that the women were dealing with Picts, and they were utterly terrified. The fact these men faced unarmed women would mean nothing to them, ruthless and violent as they were. Christiane had personally suffered at the Picts' hands before, and understood the horrifying danger they presented.

The women tried to fight back with every ounce of strength and determination they possessed, but to no avail.

Drea grabbed the tongs from the floor and tried to beat one man over the head, but he wrenched the metal from her hands and struck her across the jaw with the instrument, knocking her down. He was able to chain and shackle her easily and quickly.

Carina snatched a knife from the dining table, but another man twisted it from her grasp, sliced her hair off to the nape of her neck, and smashed her face with his fist. She went limp instantly and was carried outside and tossed into a large, wheeled cage hitched to the back of the Picts' cart.

Christiane gripped a broom and fended-off her attacker for a moment, until he overpowered her and cracked her across the face with the handle. She was shackled easily as well.

Lastly, Alis kicked at one intruder with all of her strength. He barked out a high-pitched, cruel laugh, and the ruthless Pict caught her leg, twisted it until she fell, and easily dragged her outside by her foot.

In less than a handful of minutes, all four women had been beaten, clapped in irons and chains, and thrown into the Picts' rolling cage. Wallace lay on the floor of the cottage bleeding and unconscious. The street was empty, as most of its residents were at the castle enjoying the pre-performance festivities and food.

No one was there to help, and the women's husbands had no idea they'd been captured.

XXXX

In Leon's chambers a few hours later, and roughly one hour before the performance was scheduled to begin, Gwaine wondered why the women hadn't yet arrived at the castle.

"Good God, man, how long does it take with the hot tongs?" Gwaine asked his friends. He thought sticking burning hot pieces of metal into one's hair sounded more like a method of torture than any type of beauty regimen.

"Hours," Percival and Ulrich answered simultaneously.

"Not this long, though," Leon observed, sounding doubtful. "They should be here by now."

The men agreed, and just as they'd planned to go collect their wives, Sir Erec raced into the room carrying a dirty and bloodied Wallace. The young boy lay in the knight's arms, pale and limp.

All the men stood at once and Gwaine ran over to the knight and collected his son.

"What happened?" Gwaine asked, pale as a ghost himself, his voice faltering.

"I was patrolling the wooded path to the castle, and I found the boy, passed-out," Erec explained.

Gwaine shivered with dread as he held Wallace. "And where's his mother?"

"She wasn't with him, Gwaine," said Erec. "I sent Aled and Daniel down to your cottage straightaway."

Daniel and Aled then flew into the chamber moments later, both breathless from running.

"The cottage was empty," Aled panted. "There was obviously a struggle." He paused to take a breath. "The door was off its hinges and the place was in a shambles. And there…there was some blood on the floor. And the walls."

"Oh my God!" Ulrich exclaimed. "They could have been taken hours ago!"

Wallace roused. "Father," he said to Gwaine.

Gwaine hugged him tightly. "Are you all right?"

"I think so," said the young boy. "But my head hurts. And my leg."

"Just rest," Gwaine insisted. "I'll take you to Gaius and then I'll find your mother."

"I tried to be brave," Wallace told him. "But the men with the painted faces threw me down, and when I woke up, Mother and everyone else were gone. I couldn't walk well, so I tried to crawl up here to get to you."

Gwaine squeezed the little boy to his chest again. It horrified him to think of young Wallace having been injured, then forced to crawl on his hands-and-knees up the steep, wooded incline to the castle.

"You were so brave," Gwaine assured the little boy. "Brave as any knight."

Gwaine ran Wallace to Gaius's chambers and explained the situation as best he could. He felt terrible abandoning the boy at such a time, but if the knight wanted Wallace to grow up with his mother's care, the somewhat-frantic man needed to leave immediately. Gaius assured Gwaine he'd take good care of the child for as long as necessary.

The knights all gathered in the armory and suited-up in chainmail, and collected their armor and as many weapons as they could reasonably carry.

Once word spread throughout the castle about the abduction, several maids offered their childcare services to Ulrich, Percival, and Gwaine, which the men accepted with gratitude and relief.

The instant he had finished suiting up, Leon sought out the king and explained the seriousness of the situation regarding the kidnapping. The knight commander's friends arrived at his side shortly thereafter, all looking lost and terrified. The king had fought beside these men many times, and he'd never seen them look so awash with fear.

Arthur reassured his men as best he could. "We will find your wives, together," he declared. "I'm going with you.

"And I promise, this grievous and cowardly act will not go unchecked. Once the women are safely returned home, there will be a reckoning for the Picts. They can't be allowed to capture our wives and citizens and they will be made to pay dearly; you have my word.

"Now let's go round-up Merlin. We'll have him scry, and that should prove helpful."

It was a good thing Arthur took charge, because the other men were a total mess of fear and dread. Arthur informed Guinevere about the capture, and her hands went to her heart. The queen had seriously considered going to Drea's cottage, and she could have been captured just as easily right along with her friends.

"Bring the ladies home, please," the queen said with a tear in her eye. The thought of facing new motherhood and the rest of her reign as queen without her friends at her side filled her with despair.

She kissed Arthur and wished the men a safe and successful journey.

Arthur located Merlin and asked him to retrieve his scrying mirror, which the young sorcerer grabbed immediately. The king then ushered the knights and Merlin to his private chambers. On the way there, Ulrich thought he would be sick.

"What if they're already dead?" Ulrich whispered to Percival, desperation in his tone. Ulrich, the youngest of the group, felt weak-kneed and wondered if he might fall right over in the corridor. How would he go on without his precious Carina? He hadn't yet reached his nineteenth birthday; was is possible he could lose his beloved wife now?

Percival walked on, stoic, but in his mind, he thought about how he'd much rather die in battle than lose Christiane. After all, death by the sword was largely swift. Losing the person you loved desperately meant eternal pain; he'd rather face death a hundred times over.

Gwaine refused to believe that Drea could die, and he'd crush anything in his path that kept him from finding her. He'd bring her home, no matter the cost or sacrifice.

And Leon felt as if he'd taken a sword to the heart. It made him cold with terror imagining losing his wife so soon after finding her. But as knight commander, he tried to hide his fear. Falling apart now in front of his men wouldn't help Alis. He had to remain strong for all their sakes.

If anything happened to their beloved wives, none of the men knew how they'd survive it.

They settled into Arthur's private chambers, and the air in the room crackled with fear and anxiety. But Arthur trusted Merlin, his manservant and close friend, and assured the others the warlock would do everything in his power to help.

"I'll need dim light and silence, please," said Merlin, as he produced his scrying mirror. "And I may not see everything right away, just so you're aware of that. It can take some time. I might see brief flashes of images at first, and without landmarks, so it could be difficult to tell exactly where your wives are. But with time, the images should become clearer to me. I'll need your patience for now, though."

The men nodded and Percival blew out most of the candles in the room. The king and his knights sat down at the dining table. Whatever help Merlin could provide, the husbands would accept. After all, without the warlock's help, they'd be riding around blindly in the night. Because at this point, hours later, the women could be nearly anywhere, including on a ship pointed toward far-off lands, and the men knew it. A dark flood of despair washed over the room.

Nevertheless, Merlin took a seat, breathed deeply, closed his eyes for a moment, and incanted. He opened his eyes and peered into the mirror for several minutes as the men waited with bated breath. When the warlock looked up, he was tearful.

"I'm sorry, I can't tell where they are just yet," he admitted, blinking away his tears. "But I saw the women, all four." Merlin looked very uncomfortable. "Do you want me to tell you everything I saw? Much of it is…unpleasant."

"Yes!" the knights shouted in unison.

The men all barked questions at Merlin, such as "Are they hurt badly?" and, "Who has them?" followed by, "Is anyone dead?"

"The Picts of the North have them; of that much, I'm certain. Their speech and appearances make that obvious.

"Your wives are all chained by their hands and feet and locked in a cage on the back of a cart." Merlin was a sensitive and kind man, and having to tell these knights about the dreadful images he'd seen was very painful. Yet he told each man what he saw.

"Everyone's alive," Merlin said, as the men sighed in relief, and gripped each other's shoulders in support. "But they're all badly beaten. Carina's hair's cut off, and it looks as if she might have a broken nose. Christiane was favoring her side, and she has a black eye and a split lip. She may have a broken rib. Drea and Alis have bloody noses and badly-bruised faces. And it's freezing out; they're shivering. All of their dresses are torn in various places."

The knights' moment of relief about the news of their wives' survival was short lived. Their women were all injured, freezing half to death, and in the hands of the revenge-minded Picts. Dear God, what else had those barbarians done to them? Or, what were they planning to do?

Gwaine totally lost his composure and jumped up. "Merlin, where the fuck are they?" he roared. "They're probably moments away from death, and you've told us nothing of value. Nothing!" Gwaine slammed his fists against the wooden table so hard, the sound made Merlin jump. "We're no closer to finding them now than we were an hour ago. Is your magic that useless? You can help defeat an army and a High Priestess, but you can't find four women?"

Gwaine and Merlin had been close friends for years, and for Gwaine to have an outburst like this was upsetting to the warlock. The other knights shoved their distraught comrade back into his seat and pinned him there by his shoulders, afraid he was about to get up and strike poor Merlin, who was only doing his best.

"I know, I know," Merlin offered tearfully. "Scrying isn't an exact form of magic. Please, I need more time. Alone. That will help."

"Merlin, forgive Gwaine, he's not in a good state," said Arthur. "We'll leave you. You can find us in Ulrich's chamber when you have more information."

"I'm sorry," Gwaine apologized to Merlin. "I just can't think clearly right now. None of this is your fault."

Arthur, Percival, Ulrich, Leon, and Gwaine left the room.

Every half-hour or so, Arthur checked on Merlin to see if he had any new details. Little by little, the warlock was able to provide bits and pieces of useful information. Two hours had passed, and Merlin had sensed that the captives were headed north. Also, one of the Picts spoke the women's language, and Merlin had heard him threaten to rape the ladies if they didn't stop crying and talking. Certainly, Arthur would not divulge that piece of information to the knights; that would likely cause them to become completely unhinged. When the king relayed the information to his men (most of it), Gwaine proclaimed he was leaving right then to go north.

"I know this is unbearable," Percival said to Gwaine, "but we need to give Merlin some more time. If he can provide us with even a bit more helpful information, that might make all the difference in finding our wives alive. But if we know nothing else within the hour, we'll ride out then. Agreed?"

Reluctantly, the men all agreed.

Half an hour later, as the men sat in stony-faced silence, Arthur and Merlin charged into the chamber.

"I know where they are," proclaimed Merlin. "I saw the Picts lead the women into a cave well south of Hadrian's Wall. I know that area very well, so I'll go with you. Just let me collect some medical supplies first and we'll be on our way."

"Hadrian's Wall! How far south of the wall?" Ulrich shouted. "I any event, that's hours and hours away! How did they get there so fast? We have to leave _now_."

_Carina, please hang on_, he thought silently.

As Merlin turned to leave the room, Leon stopped him. "Did you see anything else?" the knight asked bluntly.

"No, just them traveling. Though the Picts were…rough with your wives when they led them into the cave," Merlin admitted, leaving out the part where he'd seen the Picts tie ropes around the women's necks, and drag the ladies into their cavernous prison.

Arthur and company gathered the few supplies they'd set aside, as well as their weapons and equipment, and raced for the castle stables. The men set out, urging their horses on as fast as the animals could reasonably gallop.

XXXX

As the knights, the king, and Merlin rode, Drea, Alis, Carina and Christiane suffered greatly. Once they'd arrived at their destination, a forest hours away from Camelot, the Picts yanked the women from the cart and secured ropes around the ladies' necks. The four women were dragged by these ropes into a dungeon settled within a dark, damp cave deep in the forest. Since each woman was shackled by the feet, they tripped and fell every few steps, but their captors didn't care; they simply heaved them upright by the restraints around their throats, choking the ladies in the process.

The women's frightened inquiries of "Where are you taking us?" and "Why have you taken us?" were met with silence. Only one of the men spoke the same language as them, and he was all too happy to ignore his captives, unless he was threatening to rape and beat them.

They arrived at the dark interior dungeon and the instant the cell door swung open, the Picts threw the women onto the reeking and filthy hay-covered floor. Once the men had locked-in their captives securely, the friends huddled in a corner, freezing, and in absolute fear for their lives.

"We have to make some type of plan!" Christiane whispered, the moment the men were out of earshot.

"Like what?" said Carina, in a nasal tone through her broken nose. "We're unarmed, shackled, and beaten." A tear slipped from her eye as she reached up and touched her shorn locks. "Best to make peace with your god, ladies. I don't think we're going to make it through this."

"We can't give up yet," whispered Drea, and Alis nodded her head in agreement.

"All right," Carina said. "Let's sit a while and gather ourselves, and hopefully we'll be able to think of something."

A few minutes later, a guard entered the cell and removed the ropes and shackles that bound the women. Once free of the restraints, Drea tried to hustle her way past the guard to the door, grabbing Alis's hand in the process, hoping that somehow, they could run to freedom and summon help. That was a terrible mistake. The other four men entered the cramped space wielding hammers, and they beat the women mercilessly, smashing and punching them until they all lay on the floor bleeding; Alis was knocked unconscious.

Shortly thereafter, another guard opened the door and shoved a bucket of water inside with a ladle so the ladies could drink. The women roused Alis to get her to drink first, as she was the most injured.

"I'm so sorry," cried Drea. "I thought I could get us out of here. I did."

Christiane shushed Drea and held the woman. All four ladies started crying once again.

The women recognized this was a dire situation. By now, their husbands surely knew they were missing, but how would the men ever find them? Drea felt a small measure of relief knowing her son had not been captured, but Carina and Christiane longed for their babies. The thought of never again holding their precious children, and not being present to watch them grow was shattering their hearts.

The injured captives sipped some water and remained quiet, each woman desperately trying to come up with a plan of escape. But it seemed completely impossible. In their cell, there was a small hole, roughly the size of a fist, drilled into the rocky wall about ten feet above their heads. It provided some air and certainly bitter winter cold, but offered no help in terms of escape. The only way out of the prison was blocked by thick metal bars, a lock, and five cruel men.

Hope was fading fast and the odds of survival appeared slim.


	36. Chapter 35 - Terror and a Rescue

**A/N - Here it is, my long author's note. **

**In this chapter, there will be a brutal sexual assault. I struggled with posting this chapter, because the thought of triggering someone who has endured a sexual assault upsets me. I write not to upset people, but because I want to get lost in a world of fantasy and romance, and I like to take others along for the ride. However, the story "came" to me in this way, and I felt it had to be told. I didn't write this because I enjoy writing about a horrible assault and suffering - I wrote about this because despite the horrors we may encounter in life, the human spirit endures. For those of you who have experienced such an ordeal, please know I admire your strength and ability to survive, and you have my respect now and always.**

**That said, if you are triggered or upset by sexual assaults, I implore you, skip this chapter. Also, there will be a brief mention of some graphic violence. **

**As you know, the women are now in the hands of the Picts. Their husbands, Arthur, and Merlin will attempt a rescue. **

**Also (in case you're reading this story as chapters are posted), as you may or may not know from my profile, I suffer from a chronic illness and am starting some new treatment. There is the possibility that the treatment may be very challenging, and if so, there may be a delay before the next couple of chapters are posted. I hope not, but I wanted to warn you, just in case. I'm not abandoning my story!**

**Thank you for sticking with me during this long, crazy journey. **

**PS - Thank you for the couple of very nice reviews this week - I appreciate them so much. **

Chapter 35 – Terror and a Rescue

The women sat in fearful silence for quite some time until the five men argued outside of their cell. Since none of the ladies understood Pictish, they had no idea what was transpiring. Then the one man who spoke the women's language approached.

"You're here to pay for the sins of your king and his knights," he shouted at his captives, holding the cell bars in his fists, his knuckles white. "You will pay for every drop of our blood those filthy demons have spilt.

"Have you any idea how many good men and women we've lost thanks to King Arthur's hunger for power and dominance? His quest to claim lands that are not rightfully his? I am sure you have no idea how some of his knights choose to quash perceived rebellion. I assure you, it's far uglier than you might imagine."

The man paused for a moment, glaring at the women with hatred in his eyes. "Never mind. I'm sure you believe all those speeches your great king gives about honor, nobility, and justice, the hypocrite.

"But that doesn't matter any longer. We're going to make an example of you to ensure Pendragon and his men never cross us again."

The friends shook with terror. To them, it sounded as if their executions were imminent, and they wondered how brutal and agonizing their deaths would be.

The Pict accepted a key from another guard and swung the cell door open, a cruel smirk on his face. "Oh, don't worry. We have no plans to kill you…yet." He stepped inside. "Little one! Come with me."

Both Carina and Alis, small as they were, stood, uncertain which of them the men wanted.

"No, you, the lass with the brown hair," he barked, stepping further into the cell and grabbing Alis's arm.

Terror swept through Christiane. If the guards weren't planning on killing the women just yet, Christiane had a fairly good idea of what the men meant to do with Alis. Something horrible to silence the rest into submission. The other women must have sensed the same thing, and they rushed forward to surround Alis and held onto her with every ounce of strength they had. But again, it was no use. The other men stomped in with hammers and whips this time and beat them down ferociously. One man yanked up Christiane's skirt and whipped the back of her legs and backside until she bled. If these beatings kept up, Christiane knew they probably wouldn't survive the next one, broken, freezing, and injured as they all were.

Four men carried a flailing, keening Alis to a table positioned just outside of the cell bars and they slammed her down onto the cold wood. The terror-stricken young woman kicked, screamed, bit, punched, and spat at the men, but there was no way she could overpower five armed guards. Four Picts pinned Alis to the table while one sliced open the front her dress and undergarments with a long knife, cutting her flesh in the process.

In the cell, Alis's friends moaned and cried as they held one another's bleeding bodies. They felt entirely weak, powerless, and ashamed. Ashamed that they hadn't been able to save their young friend.

"We're here with you," Christiane called out to Alis through the cell bars, knowing there was nothing else they could do for her now.

"We love you, Alis!" added Drea, while Carina repeated the same.

Still, Alis fought against her attackers madly. The man intending to rape her first uttered an order to the other men, and they forced her legs wide open and held them.

"No, no, no, no…." the women lamented from their prison.

The man dropped his trousers and forced himself into Alis with a rough push. She let out an ear-piercing scream like nothing the women had ever heard before. Her cries of pain and terror infuriated the rapists, and the man positioned by her head tried to silence the young victim by shoving his cock in her mouth. Alis clamped her lips shut, which enraged him. He continued to try to stick his erection in her mouth, but Alis vomited on him, so he knocked her unconscious with his fist. He proceeded to lick, suck, and bite her neck and breasts until he drew blood. The ladies in the cell prayed their dear friend would remain unconscious.

The first man had apparently finished with Alice, and the second took his place, ramming into her brutally while the other men held her in place. When the second was done, the third man dumped a bucket of freezing cold water on Alis to waken her, and the screaming began again. The fourth man dragged Alis upright; her tattered dress had fallen away at this point and she was completely naked. The brutal Pict shoved her face-first across the table, and had the other men hold her down as he beat Alis with his sword belt while he took her from behind. The vicious man grabbed a knife from the guard to his right and sliced her hair off in the process.

Alis screamed and cried for her husband. "Leon, please!" she kept crying hysterically, over and over.

Christiane, Carina, and Drea sobbed uncontrollably; this was the most terrifying, traumatic thing any of the women had ever seen, and they all had the sinking feeling they were next. And if Alis survived this horrific assault, what would be left of her? What kind of person would she be afterward?

"He can never know," muttered Christiane. "Leon. He'd cut his own throat if he knew how she called out for him and he wasn't here to save her."

"I don't think she's going to make it," sobbed Carina.

The fifth Pict, much younger than the rest, declined a turn with Alis. He held up his hands as he spoke and shook his head; it was clear he wanted no further part in this assault. Drea saw something in the young man's eyes, perhaps fear or shame.

One guard lifted Alis from the table and tossed her naked, unconscious body back into the cell.

"Is she breathing?" Carina asked Christiane, her teeth chattering with horror.

Christiane leaned forward and pressed her ear close to Alis's mouth. "She is!"

But Alis's body was a broken mess. The unconscious and beaten young woman was covered in vomit, bite marks, bleeding welts, and other bodily fluids. With a torn corner of her own skirt and some of the remaining water, Christiane tried to wash her small young friend's skin with great care. That's when Christiane noticed exactly how the man had taken Alis from behind, but she said nothing to other ladies.

Since Alis was naked, Carina gave up her skirt (as she wore a shift beneath it) and Drea covered her beaten young friend's torso with a small wrap. Christiane positioned Alis across her lap and made sure she was still breathing and her heart beat. There was little else she could do.

Alis roused a short time later, cradled in Christiane's arms. "I'll be okay," whispered Alis. "I just hurt so much."

The women marveled at her bravery.

"When we get out of here, we'll be able to help you more," Christiane assured her.

"I don't want a baby," said Alis. As a midwife-in-training, she knew of herbs used to help rid women of unwanted pregnancies, and had even procured them for a patient or two.

Christiane knew what Alis meant. "Don't worry, Alis," she assured her young friend. "I have medicine to give you for that back at the castle. You won't have a baby."

"I want Leon," Alis muttered as she fell asleep. "His baby."

Christiane wondered if Alis could ever conceive after such a brutal assault. But for the time being, she worried more about the young woman simply surviving. Alis had started bleeding, not much, but Christiane knew the blood flow could increase at any time. The healer tore off more of her skirt and tucked the material between the young woman's legs. She checked the fabric periodically, just to make sure there was no change for the worse, and there wasn't.

Many hours passed until a frigid winter dawn crept in, pale, grey, and dreary. Through the small air hole above them, the women could hear several of their guards departing on horseback, leaving only the young one behind.

"I have an idea," whispered Drea, moving close to her friends. "Hear me out." She then explained her escape plan in detail.

After listening, Christiane shook her head slowly. "Drea, that's so risky. You're going to get yourself killed."

"So what?" Drea declared. "We're nearly dead here already. What does it hurt to try?"

"Do you think you can really do it?" asked Carina.

"I think I can," confirmed an anxious Drea. "Just…just don't tell Gwaine. If we live."

Drea walked up to the cell bars and motioned toward the young Pict and he approached. Though they spoke different languages, Drea used a language understood by most men: an offer of sex. She pulled down the top of her dress and exposed herself to him. While she knew he couldn't understand her, she still asked, "Do you want me?"

The young man spoke. It seemed as if he wanted to reject the offer, shaking his helmet-clad head in refusal, but in the end, he could not resist the temptation. He opened the cell door and let Drea out, making certain the door locked fast behind her.

Drea immediately touched the guard. She lowered the young man's breeches, but stopped halfway to remove his head armor. He tried to stop her, but she was insistent, so he placed the helmet on the floor near his feet. Drea took his hands and placed them on her breasts as she lowered his breeches to his ankles. She went to her knees and took his cock into her mouth and worked it very slowly, giving no hint that she was horrified to be performing such an act and willed herself not to get sick.

Meanwhile, Carina and Christiane felt sick that Drea had to do this. And the plan might not even work!

Drea continued to use her mouth on the young guard and the captor was clearly enjoying it, gripping her shoulders to steady himself, eyes closed. Drea moved her hands to the Pict's backside as she carried on, and inched her fingers upward ever so slightly to his sword belt. She freed the belt-dagger tucked back there without him noticing, as distracted with lust as he was.

In an instant, Drea stabbed the young guard in the lower back once, then twice. He stumbled backward, looking confused.

"I'm sorry," Drea croaked, and slit his throat in one long swipe, blood spurting onto her clothing and face.

He clutched at his hemorrhaging neck and collapsed onto the floor.

Drea had never killed a man before, and although this was the only way she could see any possibility of escape, a part of her felt horribly guilty. Killing a man wasn't easy, and this Pict had spared Alis and was hardly older than a boy. But their very lives were on the line, and now was not the time to struggle with guilt, not when every moment mattered.

Drea didn't want to fumble with the body, so she cut off the dead boy's belt and removed the large set of keys; there were so many. She prayed they'd find the one to open the cell before the other men returned. If they couldn't, the four women had agreed that Drea should flee and try to find help.

Every second felt interminable as Drea tried each key and it didn't work. Her hands shook more violently with each passing moment.

"Oh please, please," said Drea, her voice wobbling with dread.

"Don't fret, Drea. No matter the outcome, we thank you. You've done everything you could and more," said Christiane.

Miraculously, the tenth key was the one; the cell door mercifully sprung open.

As planned, Christiane grabbed the desperately-hurt Alis under her arms and Drea took her legs. Carina was very injured, and it was going to take every ounce of strength she had just to follow. They fled from the cave as fast as they could. Their plan had been to get as far away from their prison as possible and then hide in the woods and try to come up with a reasonable plan from there.

With the freezing temperatures, their injuries, and trying to carry Alis, the exhausted women didn't make it very far; perhaps a few minutes away from the cave, at best. The four friends knew they were in serious trouble as they took cover in the forest. The women quickly came to the sobering realization they could not go on. Their faces and extremities were frozen, their bodies and bones ached with cold, injury, and fatigue. No doubt, frostbite would set in soon.

"Better to die here in the forest, free," Carina observed.

"I wish we had parchment and quills so we could write our husbands and children letters," said Christiane. "I hope they know how much we love them."

That set everyone off, and they all huddled into a close hug and wept. The friends broke apart and looked at Alis. She looked dangerously pale and Christiane thought her poor young friend might be bleeding internally.

"Maybe we should lie down and sleep here for a while," suggested Drea.

They all knew "sleep" in this harsh, biting winter cold meant they'd never wake again, but they agreed that there were worse ways to die. The four friends huddled close and told each other that they loved one another as they sank down onto the hoar-frost-covered, hard forest floor.

Yet close by, Merlin halted his horse. "I sense something. Stop, stop!" he shouted suddenly.

The men halted their beasts immediately.

Merlin put his hands to his head as if he was in pain, closing his eyes and pressing his palms against the sides of his skull. After a moment of maintaining that awkward position, he called out to the king and the knights.

"Follow me! I can feel the women's energy; they're less than a minute's ride into the woods!"

They raced on horseback, but Merlin cautioned the men as they rode. "They're alive, but they're all seriously hurt, I sense it."

Less than a minute later, but what felt like ages, the men came upon the freezing and trembling women huddled on the ground.

Carina heard hoof beats and looked up. She shook the other ladies out of their cold-induced stupor.

"See? Dying wasn't so hard," Carina told them. "We're still together and our husbands are even here!"

Even the semi-conscious Alis woke for this. The women all figured they were hallucinating, assuming hypothermia had scrambled their thoughts.

The men's horses had barely slowed to a trot, but the husbands dismounted anyway and ran to their women, each man thinking he'd collapse with relief and joy. But as the men approached, they saw how beaten and hurt the ladies were. The women's clothing was in tatters, and Alis wore hardly anything. Carina was nearly unrecognizable with shorn hair, a crushed nose, and face covered with bruises. Christiane's left eye was swollen shut, her lips were split and bleeding, and she had whip marks all over her skin. Drea looked much the same as Christiane, except with more rope burn on her neck, and she was splattered with blood.

The women all looked so beaten and bedraggled, it appeared as if they'd been engaged in a terrific battle and had lost.

Then there was Alis, clearly the most awfully injured of the lot. Most of her hair had been hacked off and her face was swollen and bruised. As the men drew even closer, they saw she had bite marks all over her body and an angry gash on her exposed abdomen, along with oozing welts. Blood and other bodily fluids had dried on her lower legs and ankles; it was immediately apparent what she'd endured.

Merlin and Arthur had remained on their mounts initially, but then jumped down and jogged over to see how they could help. For the moment, there was nothing they could do, as the husbands and wives sat on the ground embracing each other, sobbing with relief.

Merlin approached cautiously. "Please let me tend to your wives," he told the men gently. "I can heal some of their external wounds, but the internal injuries will have to wait until we return to Camelot so I can research the correct spells."

But Percival, Leon, Ulrich, and Gwaine didn't want to release the wives from their loving embraces, although each man had taken a moment to wrap his wife securely in his knight's cape to protect her from the cold.

Leon spoke first, his voice quavering with emotion. "My God, Alis, what have they done to you?"

Far too exhausted and weak to speak, Alis simply clung her husband.

Leon stroked his wife's short hair and begged the others for answers. "Please. Please tell me what happened."

"She's in a very, very bad way, Leon," Christiane told him.

"I can see that," he observed, still stroking his wife's shorn hair and holding her gently. "And the rest of you? Did they do this to you, too?"

"Not that," Carina admitted. "She was the only one. We tried to stop it..." Carina broke down crying.

"I know you did. I'm not angry at any of you. I can see how you've suffered." He paused. "How many times? How many men?"

"Please, Leon, you don't want to know," moaned Drea.

That succinct statement told him everything he needed to know.

Merlin drew close slowly and crouched by Alis. "I can help you some, if you let me," he offered, his voice calm and gentle.

Alis nodded and allowed Merlin to take over. The young warlock encouraged Alis to sit in a comfortable position, and was incredibly gentle as he placed his hands upon her ravaged body and began to incant a healing spell.

Leon rose and addressed Drea. "Where do I find the cave and how many men will I face? I'll go alone."

Ulrich, Percival, and Gwaine looked at their knight commander as if he were mad. The men had no intention of allowing Leon to conduct this side-mission on his own. After all, their wives had suffered greatly, too.

"Please," Ulrich said with disbelief. "You're insane if you think we're not coming with you."

"There are four men left. One is dead," Drea informed the knights. She turned to her husband, tears flowing. "I killed him. I...I had to do things, awful things, to ensure we escaped. I'm sorry, Gwaine."

Gwaine didn't flinch, nor did he express the barest hint of disappointment, even though he had a fairly good idea about what Drea'd had to do to secure an escape. He simply held her closer. "You're a hero, Drea." He gave her a small smile. "We'll have King Arthur fit you with chainmail when we return home."

Drea sniffed and nodded. "And Wallace, Gwaine? He's all right, isn't he?"

"He is, save a few bumps and scratches."

The husbands and wives exchanged a few more hugs and kisses before Leon asked, "Sire, would you remain behind and guard the women while Merlin tends to them?"

The king agreed. He knew seeking out the Picts was something his men needed to do, and as a husband, he would have done the same. Normally, Arthur didn't abide with torture and revenge killings, but he knew if he didn't allow his men to handle these Picts in their own way, his loyal knights might never be the same people again. Just this once, the king would turn a blind eye. And he would ask for no details from them, ever.

The wives had made it only a short distance away from the cave, so Leon, Percival, Ulrich, and Gwaine were able to find the rocky den with relative ease. Several horses were tied outside, so the knights were certain the Picts were within.

Armed with only their swords and seething with wild fury, the knights entered the cave and found the Picts quickly; the Picts of the North were taken by surprise. The husbands were filled with such uncompromising rage that they did unspeakable, savage, barbaric, sadistic things to the women's captors. The knights had been forced to kill people in the kingdom's defense, sometimes brutally, but nothing like this; these acts were of pure personal revenge.

As much as they wanted to drag out the Picts' torture, the husbands' fury was so intense, they killed the men faster than they would have liked. The other knights allowed Leon to do most of the slaughtering, as his wife had suffered the most, and at that point, they weren't even certain she'd live.

Leon realized the last surviving Pict spoke their language when the cornered man begged for mercy. "Please…" the man sobbed.

The knight commander crouched down, practically nose-to-nose with the man. "My name is Sir Leon," he spit out. "Alis's husband. And I will show you no mercy. Remember me in hell."

The man was dead shortly thereafter, butchered in a way that defies description.

After the last Pict had died, the four knights simply stared at one another, all looking as if they'd bathed in blood, both horrified and satisfied with their actions. The men had never done anything like this before and would never do it again. And the knights made a solemn pact to tell no one, ever; they'd take this secret to their graves.

Percival examined Leon. "Are you all right?" he asked his commander and friend.

"Never better," replied Leon, wiping the blood from his face.

A long moment of silence ensued, after which, Ulrich asked his friends, "Do you think we'll be punished for this in the hereafter?"

Leon turned to look at his young comrade. "No."

"If we're to rot in a fiery pit for all eternity," Gwaine chimed in, "at least there'll be the four of us. And I can't think of anyone else I'd rather suffer with until the end of time."

A small but sad smile curled Ulrich's lips. "We can't go back to the women looking like this." The last thing he wanted the women to see was more blood and gore.

The men exited the cave and found a small, partially-frozen stream nearby, one where they were able to cleanse themselves at least a little. They were eager to get back to their wives as quickly as possible and head home.

Once the husbands were reunited with their women, the men noticed the ladies all looked significantly better, even Alis. Now wrapped in thick blankets that Arthur had produced from the stash of supplies, the women sipped water and nibbled on a little bread. The bruising was reduced and their injuries looked as if they'd begun to heal. Alis was still pale and shaky, but she was clean and the bite marks had faded. The husbands practically threw themselves at Merlin's feet, filled with gratitude as they were.

"I wish I could do more…help more," Merlin admitted. "But these treatments need to be spread out to be effective."

While the men prepared their horses for the ride home, Drea looked at Gwaine, tears in her eyes. "Do you hate me?" she asked.

"My God, no Drea, never. You're the bravest and most wonderful woman I've ever known. I'm just grateful to have you back in my arms."

Ulrich nearly crushed Carina in another embrace. "I thought I was going to die when you'd gone missing. I never want to let you go again!"

"My beautiful wife," Percival said to Christiane, holding her, his face buried in her shoulder. "I love you so much. Thank you for coming back to me."

Alis was worried how Leon might react to her horrible assault. She opened her mouth to speak, but Leon silenced her with a tender kiss.

"You hold my heart and always will," he assured his young bride. "Nothing could ever change that. Nothing."

With that, group saddled up and rode for home. For Camelot.


	37. Chapter 36 - A Time to Heal

**A/N - Yay! I managed to get this chapter posted before my treatment started. :)**

**It is done; the women have been rescued! During this chapter, we will see the women begin to recover from their horrible, horrible ordeal with Merlin and their husband's support. It may not be an easy road, but the families will endure.**

**Further, King Arthur calls for a celebration, and at the end of the chapter, we shall meet a new character.**

**After this chapter, the next three chapters will mostly take place away from Camelot. Something different. And AFTER that, we'll spend some time getting to know the knights' and King Arthur's children! How does that sound? **

**If you're STILL reading this, I am amazed. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I can't believe many of you are so invested in this story and take the time to comment. You're really paying attention. :)**

Chapter 36 – A Time to Heal

It was a difficult and arduous journey home for all, especially Alis. The group had to stop several times to have Merlin help manage her pain. She tried not to complain, but Alis could not stifle her moans and tears as they rode, and Leon was devastated by her obvious distress. Bumping along in a saddle for hours on end certainly wasn't helping matters. It took them twice as long to get home as it had to travel to the caves, and the women slept in the saddles, leaning backward against their husbands' chests. Overcome with exhaustion, the ladies wanted to do nothing more than crawl straight into their beds the moment they reached home, yet what they saw as they arrived at the city's border many hours later shocked them.

Word had spread rapidly throughout the kingdom about the women's capture and the subsequent rescue mission. If Christiane, Drea, Carina, and Alis hadn't known they were so well-loved before, they knew now. As they neared Return Road, well over a thousand residents of Camelot were there to greet them. "We love you, ladies!" the large crowed called out, blowing kisses, largely ignoring the presence of the king. "Welcome home!" they cried.

The crowds knew the poor women were exhausted, so they didn't keep them long. Though Christiane's father kissed her hand as she rode by, telling her he'd visit after she'd rested.

"Don't ever forget how adored you are," Percival whispered into his wife's ear.

Although they were spent, the women knew they desperately wanted hot baths. Maids tended to them and washed the ladies gently but thoroughly. Soon afterward, all four were settled into bed, demanding their children be tucked in with them.

For the time being, Gwaine's family remained at the castle in comfortable guest accommodations. Drea insisted on staying in the castle for a time, since she didn't want to return to her cottage right away; it brought back frightening memories of the capture.

With the assistance of a wet nurse, Anna and Percy had remained fed. Since Carina and Christiane had been gone for less than two days, they were still able to nurse their babies, and for that, they were grateful. And though Wallace normally wouldn't have accepted the idea of sleeping next to his mother, he'd missed her so much, he crawled under the covers happily. The families all rested peacefully for the next many hours, relieved and spent as they were.

The following morning, Alis had a covert meeting with Christiane; the healer provided her young friend with a dose of pennyroyal tea. Alis drank the concoction with without Leon knowing, as consuming abortifacient herbs always carried significant risks, up to and including death. But Alis refused the possibility of carrying her rapist's baby, and there was not a chance that anyone could talk her out of this decision, regardless of the potential consequences. Fortunately, Alis was fine after having consumed the tea, save some extra digestive upset, and her courses began the following day.

With Merlin's healing powers and support from their families and friends, Carina, Christiane, and Drea improved rapidly. Within a week, their marks had faded to almost nothing and any pain they experienced was fleeting. Alis's recovery took longer, several weeks, as she had some internal injuries to contend with. And during her healing sessions with Merlin, Alis slowly shared the story of her assault and torment. The kind warlock listened, and always hugged her at the end of their time together.

"Do you think it's better I tell Leon what happened in the cave, or no?" Alis inquired of Merlin after their final session.

Merlin considered the idea for a moment. "I think you may want to ask him if he wants to know, replied the warlock. "The knowing will be very painful for a while, but it may also ease his wild thoughts."

Alis took Merlin's advice, and Leon concluded he wanted to hear as much as his wife was willing to share. Although the story was horrible, Leon listened to the entire brutal tale, and was brought to tears several times. The whole event was just as horrendous as he'd feared, but the worst part was when Alis admitted she cried for him. His felt gutted, and a part of him _did_ feel like slitting his own throat for not being there to save his precious wife. But any lingering guilt Leon felt over the way he'd slaughtered the Picts vanished; the beasts had gotten what they deserved.

Yet even with such staunch support from friends, family, and even strangers, sometimes Alis, Drea, Christiane, and Carina struggled emotionally. Often, they suffered from nightmares that strong sleeping draughts could not keep at bay. Many times, the women woke in the middle of the night, terrified, bathed in sweat, and disoriented, convinced they were back in the cave with the Picts. With hugs and reassurances, their husbands could usually settle them down quickly, but on some occasions, the men were unsuccessful.

On one particular night, Alis was inconsolable, weeping hysterically and trembling, certain the Picts were coming for her again. Leon didn't know what to do, so he lifted Alis from bed and carried her down to Christiane's room, begging for help.

Christiane summoned Carina and Drea, and the four women slipped into Christiane's bed and spent the night there, talking, crying, and resting. Alis felt better, knowing she was with the women who understood her pain and suffering. Percival spent the night in Leon's room on a cot.

While there were setbacks at times, the ladies' mental states improved slowly but surely. Christiane admitted to her friends that there were times when she found herself in the infirmary or the library, and she couldn't recall how she got there. Drea and Carina both confessed certain sounds made them jump and feel as if they were being captured again, especially the sounds of jangling keys or doors slamming. Alis admitted on one occasion, she heard a man laugh in the castle courtyard, and it sounded so much like one of the Picts that she became sick to her stomach and had to run off to vomit.

Christiane told Gaius about what she and her friends were experiencing, and he suggested when they were struggling, they should come find him and talk. Gaius was quite the good listener, and having a person who listened without judgment proved to be a real help to the women.

Eventually, the women's nightmares became less frequent, and the disorientation didn't happen as often. None of the ladies knew if these feelings would ever go away entirely, but as the days and weeks passed, they began to feel better, more like themselves.

Although recovery for the women was painful and challenging, both emotionally and physically, there were lighthearted moments. An ongoing joke among Merlin, Carina, and Alis was that the wizard could not fix the women's hair, shorn as it was. He tried over and over again, but the results became progressively more disastrous with each attempt. After the first try, the ladies sported long, pink hair, and Merlin had to reverse the spell, though Carina declared her pink curls to be "fetching." During his last effort, Alis and Carina's hair wouldn't stop growing. After it extended thirty feet out from their heads, Merlin reversed the spell once again. They all agreed perhaps it was best if the women called on the barber-surgeon for a nice, short, even cut. But they mourned the loss of their long locks, and felt they'd be a little out-of-place as the only women they knew with short hair.

Ulrich and Leon wanted to support their wives and had their own heads shaved. Though Ulrich's hair was fairly short, it was thick and "pretty" as Carina often called it. And Leon was well-known for his curly locks. Gwaine felt sorry for his friends, as he wore his hair longer, but Percival couldn't understand why the two men lamented, since he always kept his own hair short.

"Stop acting like a princess's petticoat, will you two? Short hair's going to make your life much easier," Percival declared, as he shaved the men's heads.

"Yes, once it's short again and not bald!" Ulrich countered.

When Percival finished his work, the two freshly-shaved men sought out their wives to show them their new look. The women were touched that their husbands were kind enough to show such support, but demanded they begin to grow their hair back immediately.

Soon after their return to Camelot, Drea, Carina, and Christiane found comfort in their husbands' arms and beds. The men were patient and gentle with their wives, simply grateful to have them home and alive.

It took a while longer for Alis to recover, due to the nature and extent of her injuries. Leon wouldn't even consider asking her for sex until his wife said she was ready. He was even very careful with his hugs and kisses. Leon didn't care if he had to wait months or more. It was a small price to pay for Alis's well-being and full recovery.

One night, several weeks after their return, Leon returned home from evening patrol to find his wife in bed on top of the covers, wrapped in his scarlet cape, but nothing else. Even with her short hair, she was still as alluring and beautiful as ever. And he wanted to be close to her again so badly.

"Are you cold?" Leon asked somewhat foolishly, busying himself putting away his weapons and changing out of his clothing.

Still in bed, Alis tossed open the cape. "No," she said. "I'm actually quite hot."

Leon understood her meaning. "Only if you're very sure."

"Don't I look sure?" Alis offered with one brow raised, disrobed as she was.

Leon stripped down and climbed into bed with his wife, gently climbing on top of her. He was terrified of frightening or hurting Alis, so he moved slowly and tentatively. After several minutes of Leon moving within Alis cautiously, she pressed her hand against his chest.

"Leon? Can you stop for a moment?"

"Yes! Of course! Do you feel all right? We don't have to do this. It can wait."

"It's not that. I want to do this. But if you're that slow and cautious, this'll take all week."

"I'm sorry," he apologized, but then continued on just as hesitantly.

"Can I make a suggestion?" Alis offered.

Leon stopped his movements again. "Please do."

"Why don't you let me get on top and I'll set the pace. You just lie there and relax. Don't move an inch."

Alis climbed on top of Leon. He couldn't stand being motionless for long with Alis moving above him, clearly enjoying herself. Leon was relieved. He'd worried her brutal attack might have drained her passion and inner-strength, but it hadn't. Their encounter was over a little sooner than Leon would have liked, but he was pleased to have his Alis back. And he swore to himself he would treasure her each and every day.

XXXX

Days later, Arthur sent word to the four couples and Merlin that he and Gwen wanted to dine with them in celebration of the women's safe return and recovery. They all accepted the invitation and attended a delicious and entertaining feast in the Great Hall the next evening. The king and queen had arranged for a magnificent banquet. They served an assortment of delectable breads and cheeses, hot mulled cider, rich chestnut soup, pork and cheese pies, grilled fish with yellow sauce, wine-baked apples, and a variety of mouth-watering sweets and desserts too numerous to recount.

After everyone finished feasting, Arthur stood with his cup held high. "The real reason I've invited you here is to provide you with official commendations for your service to Camelot, your loyalty as subjects, and because you're the most wonderful and dear friends the queen and I could hope for."

To each of the attendees, Arthur and Guinevere presented a large silver pin bearing the Pendragon crest. He thanked them all for their extreme bravery and courage during the last two years, and especially, during the last month. Drea received an ornate jewel-crusted, gold Pendragon pin. Arthur noted she had gone "above and beyond the call of duty" to save her friends from the hands of the Picts.

The women all cried with joy and hugged her. After all, if it hadn't been for Drea's extreme daring and bravery, they would all be dead, their husbands widowers, and the children motherless. Christiane, Carina, and Alis felt as if they could never thank Drea enough. And all the women knew after having lived through such a horrific ordeal together, they'd be close friends for life: bonded until the very end.

While the meal carried on, Alis, an observant midwife-in-training, noted Guinevere picked at her food and shifted uncomfortably in her seat several times. The queen was due to deliver any day now, and Alis wagered the time was upon them.

Once Gwaine started to get boisterous (probably from the cider), Drea told everyone they were going to take their leave, and the remainder of the group followed suit shortly thereafter.

While departing the hall, Alis approached the queen. "Is it time, my lady?" the young midwife asked in a low voice.

"How did you know?" Guinevere whispered back.

The corner of Alis's mouth curved up. "Just a suspicion. The way you moved in your seat and didn't seem too keen on your meal. Would you like me to fetch Mary?"

"No," Guinevere told her. "I don't think that's needed just yet."

But after walking a few more feet, Gwen stopped suddenly, and a small puddle appeared on the stone floor at Guinevere's feet. The queen locked eyes with Alis.

"Perhaps it is time," Guinevere concluded with a slight smile. She then sighed. "Arthur's going to go into an absolute frenzy, Alis. Just you watch."

The king was deep in conversation with Percival, Leon, Gwaine, and Ulrich, and hadn't noticed the queen's water had broken. When Gwen tapped on her husband's shoulder and muttered in his ear, all the color drained from Arthur's face and the man barked orders about fetching midwives, helping the queen to their chambers, and so forth.

Percival placed a supportive hand on the king's shoulder. "Calm down, sire. It'll be all right," the knight insisted.

"Okay. Yes. You're right. Of course. Nothing to be worried about," prattled a nervous Arthur.

"Why don't we sit with you while you wait?" Ulrich asked the king. "It might be some time before your heir makes an appearance. We can stay in the small meeting chamber right down the hallway from your quarters."

"And I'm a good distraction at times like these!" Gwaine shouted.

Drea rolled her eyes at his exuberance, but inside, she adored her husband's spirit. And she knew when their time came to have a child together, he'd be just as much of an anxious mess as Arthur.

The women and their children camped-out in Christiane and Percival's chambers (except Alis, who had important work to do with the queen and Mary) while the men passed the time in the meeting room. The knights and Merlin played dice while Arthur paced.

"What if Gwen needs me?" the king nearly whined at his friends.

"What are you going to do for her? You're not a midwife," Gwaine pointed out. "Let Mary and Alis handle things."

"But you two were with your wives in the birthing room!" insisted Arthur, gesturing toward Percival and Ulrich a little wildly. "If I could just visit her for a moment…"

"It'll never be just a moment, I promise you that," said Ulrich. "And Mary will probably toss you out anyway. Better to remain here with us."

Arthur reddened with frustration. "I am the king of Camelot, and I do not need permission from Mary to see my wife!"

With that firm declaration, Arthur stormed from the room.

"That's the last we'll see of him tonight," Percival informed his friends.

"Why would any man want to be in the birthing room? No thank you," Gwaine said with his nose wrinkled and a small shudder, and Leon agreed.

Percival and Ulrich made wagers that when it was Alis and Drea's time to have babies, Leon and Gwaine would be right there with them.

As predicted, Arthur never returned to the meeting room that evening. He remained in the birthing room with Guinevere, despite Mary's protests of: "The king cannot possibly be present while the queen gives birth! It's unheard of!"

Arthur remained firmly rooted in his seat next to Gwen. "I'm the king; allow me to decide what's proper!" he challenged.

And that was the end of the argument. However, Mary put the king to work, demanding he fetch fresh water, wet cloths, new linens, and so forth. Each time he leapt up to do as she commanded, Mary smiled and winked at Guinevere; clearly, the midwife and the queen enjoyed seeing Arthur carry out his tasks with such unquestioning obedience.

Arthur held up incredibly well, and the queen was extremely brave during the delivery. The king didn't even flinch when his wife was in the hardest part of labor; Guinevere was shouting profanity and almost breaking Arthur's shoulder as she gripped it.

When it was time for Gwen to push, Mary gave Arthur one last chance to leave, as that was often the time when men tended to fall apart (the select few who dared to remain), but he stayed. The king encouraged his wife to push, but Guinevere rounded on him.

"Shut _UP_, Arthur!" she screamed.

The room went silent for a moment, then Mary and Alis couldn't help but laugh, nor could Arthur. This was the first time anyone had ever told the king to "shut up." Arthur didn't care in the slightest. He just wanted his wife and child to make it through labor without incident. A minor verbal lashing was the least of Arthur's concerns.

After a good forty-five minutes of pushing, the king and queen's child emerged into the world, healthy and screaming. A boy.

After Alis cleaned and examined the newborn and pronounced him in fine health, she carefully bundled the wrinkled infant in a soft blanket and placed him in Arthur's arms. The king's eyes brimmed with tears of joy.

"At least I didn't pass out, eh?" he said.

Mary continued to tend to the queen. "And what's this fine young prince's name?" asked the midwife.

"Llacheu," Guinevere and Arthur offered together.

Llacheu, less than an hour old and heir apparent, was a beautiful and chubby baby, with his father's blue eyes and light-blonde hair. But the newborn's skin tone was a rich olive, like his mother's.

Everyone in the room felt it; it was the herald of a new age.

Once Arthur kissed Guinevere and was assured she was recovering well, he stole from the room with Llacheu for just a minute, after asking Mary for permission first, of course. He didn't want to do anything to jeopardize his brand-new son's health. The midwife told the king a brief visit to his friends would be acceptable.

Although it was very early morning, not yet sunrise, the knights, their wives and children, and Merlin were now all gathered in the meeting room. Arthur entered with his son in his arms as his friends carefully hugged the king, clapped his back in congratulations, and peeked at the baby.

"How did all of you know of his arrival?" the king asked.

"It doesn't take any magical ability to assume after hearing screaming, then crying, that a baby's been born!" Gwaine told him.

"That loud, huh?" asked Arthur.

"Spectacularly loud," Gwaine confirmed.

"And did you pass out?" Percival asked eagerly, hoping he wasn't the only man who'd fainted in the birthing room.

"I did not pass out," Arthur told him, "but I did cry."

"Damn," said Percival. "I did both."

The ladies sighed over the adorable newborn and stroked his soft, rosy little cheek. Drea felt a slight sting of envy, but reminded herself she was being foolish. She and Gwaine had been married only two months, and she was certain their time would come soon.

Arthur glanced over at Merlin, and saw that he had tears in his eyes. He and his manservant/friend/sorcerer had been through so much together. If it weren't for Merlin, Arthur wouldn't have survived his wound at Camlann and Llacheu never would have been born. Merlin was the only person whom Arthur permitted to hold his precious newborn right then.

"I know," Arthur said, handing over his baby, understanding the raw emotion Merlin felt. "And thank you."

Merlin held the baby prince tenderly, then went on to make a joke.

"My magical powers tell me Llacheu will not be a royal prat," the man said with a chuckle.

Arthur laughed, collected his son, thanked everyone for their good wishes, and departed to spend time with his new family. Just the three of them.

XXXX

It was mid-February and bitter cold, but Camelot had never been a happier place. Llacheu was a little over a month old and robustly healthy. Anna and Percy were six- and seven-months-old respectively.

Young Wallace often commented that Anna was a "pretty baby," and frequently left little trinkets for her, small stones and such, which Carina had to remove from the babe's grasp, lest the little one pop the item into her mouth.

On occasions when Percy and Anna were particularly fussy, the only thing that would calm them was being with one another. During these times, they napped in the same crib, back-to-back. One time, Percy rolled over and draped his arm across Anna. Carina declared it was "precious," and they were "the best of friends already."

And Gwen adored motherhood, shooing away the wet nurses. She didn't care about propriety, nor did Arthur. The king was an attentive and loving father and wouldn't have it any other way. The royal couple made up their own rules as they went along and were happy with their choices. Arthur assumed Llacheu was to be his only child, and he relished every moment of fatherhood.

That's why it pained the king to make the decision to leave for battle in Pictavia in the north within the week. Arthur knew his choice was a little selfish; he'd delayed this military campaign until the queen had given birth. But the king had waited long enough to battle the Picts of the North in their own territories, and knew a winter-attack would surprise his enemy.

When Arthur informed his inner-circle of this campaign, the knights were thrilled to have the opportunity to end the Picts' reign of terror, but the men were also concerned about leaving their wives and children for several months. The king assured his loyal knights they would all personally select the men who would remain in Camelot and provide security. A large contingent of knights were to stay behind, including Daniel, Erec, Aled, and a newer but very trustworthy knight named Kay. Those four men were charged with providing extra security to Percival, Gwaine, Ulrich, and Leon's families. Merlin was also to remain behind – Arthur felt better knowing his most trusted friend and ally would be present in Camelot to watch over his wife and newborn son.

As the king and his knights made preparations to leave for their multi-month-long campaign, Leon went to see Daniel, and expressed how sorry he was for the way he'd treated the young knight in the past, and hoped there were no hard feelings.

"I trust you'll keep Alis safe," Leon said to Daniel.

Daniel clasped arms with his knight commander. "You know I will, Leon.

"And by the way," added Daniel, "just so you know, I'm seeing Elora these days."

"Elora!" Leon announced with surprise. "Daniel, you might want to know –"

Daniel held up his hand to stop the older knight from continuing. "I know, I know what you're going to say. I've heard it a hundred times from other people. She's changed, Leon. Truly, she has. We've talked about it a lot. She wants more out of life now. And I think I can give that to her."

"I'm sure you can," Leon said with a smile.

"Take care, Leon, and come back safely."

XXXX

The knights' wives and the queen helped the men prepare for their departure to Pictavia. The women assisted with packing, food preparation, and securing adequate provisions. The men focused on weaponry, armor, and readying the horses. The fact everyone remained so busy was a blessing, since it gave them less time and energy to focus on feeling emotional about the imminent military campaign. Yet before long, the eve of the departure arrived.

Christiane, Carina, Drea, and Alis made a solemn pact they would be strong and not cry when it came time for their husbands to leave. They knew this campaign was a necessary one to ensure the future safety of the kingdom. After all, they'd been victims of the Picts' brutality themselves and would never wish that on another. But when reality settled in that their husbands would be gone for just over four months, they found it harder to put on brave faces.

The unmarried knights had made an agreement amongst themselves that the night before they were to leave for Pictavia, they'd handle the final travel arrangements. They wanted the married men to have a final evening with their families before leaving Camelot. Since the single knights were mostly younger, it was also a way for them to thank their older, devoted instructors. Being a knight was an honor and a privilege, and the younger ones knew they never would have survived training without the support and guidance of more experienced men.

Even so, Gwaine, Percival, Leon, and Ulrich stayed on to help until they were physically forced out by the younger knights and the king. The husbands didn't want to be viewed as shirking their duties, but they were also incredibly grateful to have the opportunity to spend a final few hours with their wives and children.

Christiane and Percival spent their time in bed, playing with an exuberant Percy. Little Percy's new favorite activity was to laugh hysterically when people blew raspberries. The baby wore himself out quickly with all the playing and babbling, and with a content sigh, he was soon fast asleep in his father's arms. Percival didn't want to put his son to bed, realizing the next time he saw his only child, the little one might even be walking a bit on his own, but the man needed to spend some time with his wife.

"Christiane –" Percival began, but she stopped him by putting a finger to his lips.

"Will you just hold me for a while?" she asked.

"Of course."

Christiane wept. She couldn't help herself. Once she was all cried-out and felt somewhat like a dehydrated husk, she quieted for a time. She and Percival then made love, slowly, tenderly. It was very unlike the old days when their kisses and touches were more frantic, often outside, and they tried desperately not to get caught.

Afterward, while they held hands in bed and relaxed together, the couple agreed that Percival would not wake his wife in the morning, since he was to leave before dawn. They'd say anything they needed to tell each other right before sleep.

"I have no words adequate to describe how I love you. Just come back to me," Christiane told her husband.

"This isn't goodbye," Percival assured her. "It's just a temporary parting. I'll have you back in my arms in a few months. I'll think of you all the time and miss you terribly. I love you and always will."

Percival and Christiane eventually drifted off into sleep.

The scenes in the other couples' bedchambers were very similar: tears, lovemaking, private promises, and declarations of unwavering love. And despite their husbands' protestations, the wives all woke and saw their men to Return Road as the large army left the kingdom. The ladies, along with many hundreds of Camelot's residents, wished the soldiers safe travels, a successful campaign, and a speedy return.

As the women watched their loves depart over the ridge on that cold morning, Alis reached out to grab Drea's hand.

"This is going to be a long, grueling four months," the young woman offered, a tear slipping from her eye.

Her friends couldn't have agreed more. As the men left, the ladies felt as if pieces of their hearts had gone missing. The women knew it would be a challenge to remain strong.

XXXX

Drea, Christiane, Alis, Carina, and Guinevere all banded together and became closer than ever. They spent a great deal of time shoring-up one another during their husbands' absences. When one woman had a bad day, the others were there to offer support. Sometimes, they all had a bad day at the same time and simply cried together. The queen recognized she had to display strength publicly, but with her friends, she had many tearful moments. Days, even.

The first week was by far the most difficult. At the end of the seven days, Guinevere chose to spend an evening to herself writing Arthur a letter and snuggling with Llacheu. But the four other women met at Drea's cottage for companionship and support. Percy and Anna napped in their nursing wraps while Wallace ran about in the garden.

"I have something I need to say," Drea told the group while they were seated on blankets spread out on the floor close to the toasty fire. "I was fairly certain before the men left, but now, I'm positive."

Her friends sat up at attention, waiting.

"I'm with child," Drea declared.

The three other women looked around at one another, disbelief clear on their faces.

"What is it?" Drea demanded.

"It's just that I am, too," Carina admitted.

"As am I!" Christiane said with surprise.

"Me, too!" Alis added joyfully.

"Are you all serious?" asked Drea.

They were serious. And after many hugs, kisses, and screeches of joy and congratulations, the friends determined they would all be due within a few weeks of one another. By the time their husbands returned home, they'd each be about six months along. The friends further admitted to one another they had each known they were expecting before the men left for the north, but kept it secret, as they didn't want to add to their spouses' worries and distractions. The wives knew how important it was for their men to be as focused on the mission as possible.

XXXX

Spring flowers bloomed and so did the women; the expectant mothers grew larger each day. Guinevere was pleased for her friends, and they often joked about how the men might react when they returned to see their wives' round bellies.

The knights had been gone for two months and were roughly halfway through their campaign. It was now early spring, and a young rider arrived at Camelot bearing letters from the knights. The ladies nearly tackled the rider as he dismounted near the castle entryway, eager to hear from their husbands as they were. As the women grabbed the letters from the young man, they thrust new ones into his hands for him to bring back to the knights.

The wives sat on the entryway stairs and read through the letters rapidly at first, just to make sure no one was seriously injured, and they weren't, other than a few cuts, sprains, bruises, and some black eyes. When Drea's hand flew to her mouth, her friends were instantly worried, but when she laughed, they were relieved.

"It seems as if my husband managed to contract head louse," Drea told her friends, "and Arthur demanded that Gwaine immediately shave his head, so the pest wouldn't spread through the entire army. When Gwaine refused, Arthur, Percival, and Leon held him down and shaved off his hair!" She chuckled lightly. "Poor husband. I did love those long, thick locks of his."

Guinevere waited to read Arthur's letters once she was back in her chambers. The king mentioned the army had made excellent progress and had caught the Picts unawares. Arthur also added though he hated to be away from his queen and their baby for so long, he wanted to be absolutely certain the Picts were conquered for good. Arthur had written the following: _I'm hoping this is our last extensive campaign for a very, very long time, so I can spend the next many years enjoying my life as a husband and father. Oh, and king, too._

Relieved and bolstered by the good news, the women felt it would be easier to bear the next two months until their husbands returned. They continued on, as wives of warriors do.

In their letters, the men hadn't mentioned that many of their married and otherwise attached comrades had enjoyed the company of women; there was no shortage of willing ladies following the knights of Camelot. But Arthur, Percival, Ulrich, Gwaine, and Leon remained faithful to their wives.

"Thoughts of my wife and my right hand will sustain me for a few months," Gwaine insisted.

However, for the knights, many challenges lay ahead.


	38. Chapter 37 Spring in Pictavia

**A/N - I have not perished...yet! :) Here is chapter thirty-seven. As I mentioned before, this one takes place away from Camelot. We're in Pictavia, which is the home of the Picts; they resided in what we now call Scotland. We will see the troubles Percival, Gwaine, Leon and Ulrich face while away from home. They will have moments of conflict, camaraderie, and heated discussions. We will also see more of Sir Michael's Carina's old boyfriend. And a new woman comes along; she causes quite the stir. **

**And of course, thank you for continuing to read this and for your kind reviews! I try to respond to all reviews within each chapter. I apologize if I miss any.**

**Lastly, at this point, there are about ten-ish chapters left, and within a few more chapters, we'll be transitioning into stories about the knights' children once they become older and have their own love interests (starting with chapter 40). But of course, our knights and King Arthur will be around to play their parts. I'm not sure if those chapters will be of interest to everyone, but I LOVE the idea of learning more about the knights and the king as they grow older.**

Chapter 37 – Spring in Pictavia

As the knights had surmised, early spring Pictavia was absolutely freezing, icy, and as Gwaine had proclaimed it, wicked. It was one thing to imagine a cold so deep it penetrated one's bones, yet it was quite another matter to endure the elements day in, day out, all day, every day without respite. The vicious winds of mountainous Pictavia cut through the men's clothing and bit at their flesh.

While some days were filled with excitement – fighting off ambushes from ruthless Picts, tracking, scouting, and even hunting – there were long stretches of complete and absolute boredom. Certainly, the monotonous, but necessary work of wood-gathering, meal preparation, and washing clothing in the frigid water took up a good deal of time, but those activities weren't at all fun or exciting when freezing one's bollocks off.

And nights were the worst. The men slept in tents on their rickety cots, ten or more to an enclosure, and there was little warmth to be found. Even going to bed fully dressed, cots piled high with blankets and animal furs, it was still almost unbearably cold.

Also, the men had no privacy. Percival missed Christiane so much at one point, he felt tearful, and reminded himself he was a knight of Camelot and needed to stop acting like a little princess. That's what Gwaine would tell him; he knew that. Little did Percival know Gwaine had excused himself from the tent one night for a good hour, because he missed his wife and step-son so much he felt as if he was going to break-down.

Perhaps worse than the cold and loneliness on those nights was the fact Percival, Ulrich, Leon, and Gwaine were forced to listen to the grunts and moans of their comrades having sex only a few feet away, sex mostly with prostitutes. Not all the women were paid, but most were. Percival didn't want sex with a prostitute, but the sounds, especially the women's sighs and cries of pleasure, made him want his own wife even more. He felt miserable because he was angered by the sounds, certainly the sounds emanating from the men being unfaithful to their wives and lovers back home, but at the same time, hearing the women's sighs of satisfaction made him throb with desire. But Percival didn't want these women; he wanted his wife. He loved and treasured Christiane and was faithful to her. Then why were these sounds making him burn with lust? He shouldn't have been so aroused by the sound of another woman's pleasure, should he?

Still, Percival was ashamed of himself, and he stormed from the tent into the freezing, dark night with an armload of furs. He had to get away from these men. Perhaps it would be warmer in front of the fire anyway.

One of the larger community fires burned brightly, even so late, and as Percival approached, he saw a man seated on a log in front of the roaring flames. Exactly what he didn't want – Percival simply wanted to be alone with his thoughts for a while so he could chastise himself. But as he drew closer, the man turned, and he saw that it was young Ulrich.

"Thank God," Percival said with relief, pulling a couple of skins around his shoulders, taking a seat on the log a few feet away from Ulrich. "I'm such a miserable bastard tonight. You're one of the few people I think I can tolerate."

Ulrich scoffed. "Might change your mind once you hear about the state I'm in."

Percival was fairly certain he knew what was on Ulrich's mind. Nearly every young knight had experienced homesickness on his first long campaign away from home. Sometimes, Percival forgot that Ulrich had only just turned nineteen. Rather than focus on his own misery, Percival chose to help his good friend.

"I'll wager you're lonely and missing home," said the older man. "And you don't know if being a knight is right for you."

"Precisely," confessed Ulrich. "Sometimes, I wonder if I'm cut out for this life. I never felt this way before…about being a knight. Maybe for a short while after I lost my arm, but not since." The young man stared into the fire. "I always loved this life. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"We've all gone through this," Percival told his younger friend. "Gwaine, Leon, probably the king, too. The first time you're away from home for a long time, it's really difficult. I recall sniffling in my bedroll with unhappiness during my first long mission. Once we return home, you're going to feel much better about things. You'll see."

"I hope so," replied Ulrich, sounding morose. "But it feels good to know I'm not the only man who ever felt like this. Thanks for that."

Ulrich adjusted the animal furs he had wrapped around his body and then tossed a few small twigs into the flames before him. "It's probably not normal, but I don't do well without Carina. She's such a part of me. Being away from her for so long is making me somewhat sick. That, and I miss little Anna terribly." He blew out a long breath. "I can't imagine what you men think of me. Probably that I'm a needy fool who can't survive without my wife and daughter."

Percival chuckled. "And what would you say if I told you every day without Christiane and Percy, I feel like my heart's being torn out and stepped upon? Would you think I was a fool?"

"No. I wouldn't."

"Maybe we're just good men who love our wives and children," said the older knight with a shrug of his shoulders.

But Percival didn't tell Ulrich about why he'd fled from his tent in the first place. That was something he'd keep to himself. However, as the two men sat quietly in front of the fire for a time, warming themselves, Percival started to feel more rational about everything. He'd overreacted to his feelings back in the tent. Hearing those sounds, knowing that people were having sex close by, it just made him miss his wife. It made him want Christiane, no one else. That wasn't so bad, he supposed. It had been a long, difficult week, and he was being too hard on himself. Percival decided that tomorrow, he'd write his wife another letter, and that would help ease the pangs of loneliness and missing her. Ulrich drew him out of his contemplative state.

"I don't know about you, but I'm tired of these women hanging around all the time, making propositions and whatnot. It's getting old and tiresome."

At that moment, Gwaine marched out of his tent in an apparent huff, blanket and animal furs in his grip. He'd been sleeping in the same enclosure as Percival.

"Damn it to hell!" Gwaine grumbled, taking a seat at the fire, plopping down on the log right next to Ulrich. "These men are ridiculous! Do they need to bed women every single night? Please tell me I wasn't that bad before Drea."

"I don't think you were paying for it, so there's always that," joked Ulrich.

Gwaine wrapped himself in his blanket and turned to face Percival and Ulrich. "I'm not perfect, but these men anger me. Do they have no respect for their wives or marriages? Most of the men sticking their cocks in women tonight are married or betrothed. I'm sorry, but it's just wrong in my eyes. What would their women think?" Gwaine studied his two comrades. "I'm sure you never thought you'd hear those words coming out of my mouth, did you?"

"I always knew you had it in you, Gwaine," responded Percival.

A moment later, Leon, also carrying thick furs, emerged from his tent, looking fed up. He arranged his pile on the ground in front of Ulrich and sat abruptly.

"I just told the women to dress and get the hell out of the tent," said Leon. "I've had enough of all this, and it seems to be getting even worse lately. I'm tired of the men behaving like this every single night. I just want to get some damn sleep without being disrupted!"

Ulrich sighed with relief, as he'd been sharing the same enclosure as Leon. "Oh, bless you, knight commander," the young knight said. "I couldn't take any more of it tonight."

When no made a move to exit Leon's tent, he stood up and stormed back into the shelter and bellowed at everyone. "You have one minute to dress and leave, or I'm tossing everyone out into the cold, naked or no. Men and women! That's enough, or I swear to you, I'm waking the king, and believe me, you do not want to see that man roused from sleep to deal with something like this. Am I clear?"

Gwaine, Percival, and Ulrich heard some indistinct voices coming from the tent, presumably agreeing with Leon.

Almost instantly, several women emerged from the tent, arranging clothing about their bodies. Most looked sad, some desperate, and they walked off into the cold night. One particularly young woman was in tears.

Right away, Leon felt shame and pity for the women. After all, he wasn't really angry with them. He was more disgusted by his men's behavior. But still, what else was he to do? Then men were becoming distracted, lacking focus, and that was dangerous for all.

Ulrich felt compassion for the women as well. As Leon joined the men at the fire once again, Ulrich shared his thoughts. "Perhaps those women are desperate and have no place to go," said the young man. "No one to help them."

"I think you're right," said Leon with a grimace. "I don't know why, but I really hadn't considered that notion before this evening. They're probably doing this because they have no other way to support themselves. Anyway, I'm far angrier with the men than I am with the women."

"I am, too," said Gwaine. "Why don't they walk off into the woods and just handle themselves? I've gone weeks in between women sometimes and had to take care of things myself. Don't these men care about hurting the women they love? Or maybe they're not in love with their wives. I forget that not every man's as lucky as we are."

Percival gave an uncomprehending shake of his head. "Back up a moment, will you, Gwaine? Weeks? You know, some of the men sitting around this fire have gone years in between women. Show-off," he grumbled.

"Wait… What do you mean, 'in between women?' I thought you were a virgin before Christiane," Gwaine said to Percival with surprise.

"I never said that," said Percival flatly. "You just made an assumption and I didn't correct you."

"Who was it before Christiane?" Gwaine asked eagerly. "If you won't tell me, can I guess? Was it one of those pretty courtiers we'd found in the forest? The two who'd been lost? I have fond memories of that night."

Ulrich faced Gwaine and chimed in. "You're worse than a gossiping girl. Can't you see Percival doesn't want to talk about it?"

"Yes, but this is such news! I mean, Percival struggled to just walk up to Christiane and say 'hello.' How on earth did he end up in bed with a woman before that? I want to hear all about it. The man's my best friend, and I deserve to know every detail," Gwaine said to Ulrich with obvious humor in his tone.

"Ulrich's right," said Percival. "I'm not going to talk about my private life any more.

"Now, before we stray too far off-topic, what can we do about these women? I mean, if they're desperate, cold, and hungry, isn't it our duty as knights to help in some way? Isn't that what the Knight's Code instructs us to do?"

"It is," confirmed Leon, looking somewhat grim as he held out his hands to warm them near the flames. "But I truly don't know what to do. I suppose we'll have to think on it."

"If nothing else, we can take time to listen to the women's stories. Sometimes, people just need to be heard," Ulrich pointed out.

"Listen to the wise young one! He's a man now," asserted Gwaine, leaning over to ruffle Ulrich's hair. Ulrich slapped Gwaine's hand away with mock annoyance.

Growing tired of Gwaine's antics, Ulrich rose and gathered his furs. "I'm going to try to get some sleep now.

"Oh, and by the way, be careful when you retire for the night," Ulrich advised the men. "Last night, I woke to some woman in my cot, groping me. It was quite the challenging endeavor to extract her from my bed politely; however, she was insistent.

"But you all know I love Carina and would never have another woman behind her back," he was quick to add.

"Of course we do," Leon assured his young knight.

With that, Ulrich left the fire and retired to his tent.

The three remaining men sat quietly for a time, feeling warmer now, mesmerized by the tall flames dancing in front of them. It had been a long day and a frustrating evening, and some quiet time appeared to suit everyone just fine. Leon, Gwaine, and Percival had been friends for years, and they were comfortable with silence. But eventually, Gwaine started conversation.

"I love Drea more than anything," he said suddenly, garnering the men's attention. "I never thought my heart could ache with such longing for another person. She's all I ever wanted; I didn't know what I was missing until I found her."

"I should make fun of you, Gwaine, after all of those years you gave me a hard time for being shy around women," said Percival, "but I won't. Because I understand what you're saying. I feel the same about Christiane. Being away from her, and from Percy, has been much more difficult than I thought it would be."

Gwaine smirked. "Maybe we're just turning soft in our old age," he said. "But still, the sex with Drea is great. The best I've had."

"Or course it is, Gwaine," Leon broke in. "How could we ever forget with you reminding us so often?"

Percival chuckled at his knight commander's slightly-sarcastic comment.

Gwaine pretended to be insulted. "Leon, you've hurt me deeply. You don't like my endless tales about sex? My expertise when it comes to women? And all this time, I thought I was being a great help."

At the same time, Leon and Percival both chorused things like "Not really" and "Hardly!"

The three men seated around the fire had a good laugh about it before Gwaine turned the topic of conversation to something rarely-discussed – the topic of men coupling with other men.

"I'm starting to understand why some knights turn to their comrades to help them out during long campaigns. I mean, we're going to be away for a few months and it's difficult. Can you imagine what it would be like to be away from home and our wives for years? No wonder I've seen men handling each other's cocks!

"Come to think of it, I think Drea would be less angry if a man sucked my cock rather than a woman."

"Sorry, Gwaine, you're not my type," Percival stated jokingly. "Leon's much more subdued and less wild. I think he'd be my first choice."

"Why, thank you, Percival," jested Leon. "Should I decide to turn to men, I think you'd be my choice, too. At least you're tall enough."

"I am feeling very left out here!" Gwaine exclaimed with humor.

The three men howled with laughter; the entire conversation had created an air of levity that the men needed. But after collecting themselves, Percival had more to say about the topic at-hand.

"I've heard stories of knights together, sexually, but I've never seen it myself," said Percival. "They probably try to keep it quiet because people think it's so wrong. They could risk beheading, after all."

"Do you think it's wrong Percival?" Gwaine asked pointedly.

Percival was afraid to answer. He trusted Gwaine and Leon; they'd saved one another's lives more times than he could recall. But still, sharing one's opinions on homosexuality could create tension and feelings of anger and suspicion. Especially if all parties were not in agreement.

"No. I don't think it's wrong," disclosed Percival. "I can't control that I love Christiane. I doubt that men who love other men have any control over their feelings either. And besides, why would they want to risk persecution, which is likely to happen if it comes out that a man's had sex with another man?" Percival waited for Gwaine or Leon to disagree or show shock at his answer.

"I agree with you," Gwaine remarked. "Just let people alone, I say. If a man's happy and he's not hurting anyone else, what's the harm?"

Percival and Gwaine looked to Leon, both men very uncertain about their commander's take on the situation, wondering what he might say.

"What a man does in private is none of my concern," Leon revealed. "As long as he's a loyal and hardworking knight, I don't care. It's not my business to dictate how other men should lead their lives, just as I don't want anyone dictating how I should lead mine."

"Huh. I didn't know how you might feel," said Gwaine to Leon. "Anyway, it's very late. I'm off to rest. But I'm warning you now, Leon, if a man wakes me again tonight because he's bedding a prostitute, I _am_ going to punch him."

"I might do the same," said Leon with a chuckle.

Percival and Gwaine gathered up their furs and retired to their tent, while Leon went to his.

All the men fell into their cots, hoping for a quiet and uneventful remainder of their night.

XXXX

There had been no overnight ambushes in which the relentless Picts loved to engage. The knights had slept soundly and peacefully for several hours. And in their current living conditions, in cold and crowded tents, a few consecutive hours of uninterrupted sleep felt like a near miracle.

Percival was half-asleep when he felt someone crawl into his bed at what he assumed was a little before dawn. For a moment, feeling very relaxed and sleepy, he forgot where he was and thought he was back in his warm and comfortable bed in Camelot.

He felt Christiane slide her hands into his trousers, beneath his drawers, and she stroked his cock, which was rock-hard instantly. Her hands were a little cold, but they felt soothing and arousing, nonetheless. In his sleepy haze, Percival reached down to slip his hand down the front of his wife's dress to caress her breasts; he'd missed touching her so much. But he knew the feel of every inch of his wife's gorgeous body, and right away, after touching a breast that clearly wasn't his wife's, Percival scrambled upright. But somehow, this strange woman's hand was still positioned down the front of his trousers.

He yanked away her hand and tried to collect himself. Percival thought of Deryn, his deceased sister, and the way she had cautioned him to manage his temper. He took a deep breath before speaking in a whisper; he didn't want to other men to wake to this wholly-embarrassing scene.

"Please, what are you doing here?" Percival whispered to the woman, but with clear frustration in his tone.

"I'm sorry. I see you're upset," the young woman answered, her voice trembling. "That wasn't my intent. I'm here because…because I need to earn some coin. I thought if you liked what I had to offer, you might pay me."

A part of Percival was furious. After all, he was true to Christiane and a loyal husband. And now, some other woman had touched him, and he'd touched her in return. But he hadn't known it was a stranger at first! He felt confused and furstrated about the situation.

"I am married, you know," Percival explained in a harsh whisper. "And true to my wife. You've put me in horrible position now." Percival could feel the woman's body shake.

"I apologize," she offered with a sob. "I didn't know. And most of the men don't care…" She began to sniff and weep as she adjusted her dress.

Now he'd done it. Percival had made the young woman cry. It was so dark he couldn't see her well, and was unsure of her age, but he still felt bad about bringing the woman to tears.

"Let's step outside for a moment, shall we?" whispered Percival.

"Y-you're not going to beat me now, are you?" she stammered, shaking violently.

"Beat you?" asked Percival quietly, feeling shocked. "Of course I'm not going to beat you; I would never beat a woman. I just don't want to wake the other men. Come now, let's head toward the fire outside."

The two rose and exited the tent. And that's when Percival took a good look at the young stranger.

"Oh, damn…" he mumbled under his breath.

This woman was so young. A girl, really. Perhaps sixteen and or younger. Her dress was worn and thin; she must have been freezing in it. She had no outerwear as far as Percival could tell. The girl was very skinny, too; obviously, she wasn't eating well. And when she brushed her light-brown hair from her face, Percival saw that someone had clearly beaten her recently. The entire left side of her face was swollen and bruised. Otherwise, she was quite attractive.

Percival held her chin lightly and turned her face so he could inspect her bruises. It was obvious she'd been hit hard. "My God…who did this to, you?" he asked.

The girl averted her eyes and wouldn't answer.

"Okay, you don't have to tell me," he said gently. "But please stay here a moment. I just want to get you some furs so you don't freeze to death. And you need something to eat."

The young woman nodded and promised to remain where she was.

Percival returned to her side quickly, bearing a thick fur, which he wrapped around her shoulders. He then escorted her to the large community fire pit, which had been tended to recently, but no one was seated in front of it at the moment, thank goodness.

"All right, let's start out with some of the basics. What's your name?" asked Percival, as he and the woman took seats.

"Rona."

"I'm Percival." He offered his forearm and she took it. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The knight sighed. How could he remain angry at a young, starving, desperate girl? He couldn't. He felt more compassion than anything else now.

"Would you tell me a little about yourself?" he asked, offering her an apple and a good-sized hunk of dried meat.

At first, Rona eyed the offerings with suspicion. But hunger won out and she reached forth, accepting the food, and chomped on the apple ravenously, finishing the fruit in a few bites. She polished off several bites of the dried meat before she took a break to speak.

"It's a pathetic and embarrassing story," Rona offered after she'd finished swallowing. "I was married until my husband passed away three months ago. He was out hunting and was killed. Some of the villagers found his body and brought it back to me. I suppose it was an accident, but I don't know for sure. He'd been shot through the heart with an arrow. It seems unlikely that such a perfect shot was an accident, but I know these things can happen."

For the first time, Percival noticed her accent. It was the unusual accent of the area, pleasant-sounding to the ear and almost song-like. He encouraged her to go on.

"A week after my husband had died, men came to our home, demanding money, insisting he owed them a debt. But their story made no sense. I figured out those men were just trying to take advantage of a newly-widowed woman. And when I began to question them, they set fire to my home. I ran out with the clothing I was wearing and nothing else."

Percival had heard tales of wicked opportunists preying on innocent widows, and the thought infuriated him.

"And what of your family," asked Percival with concern. "Is there no one to whom you could turn for help?"

"No. There's no one. My parents told me I was of age to get married and they'd found a good man for me. They sent me off then moved away.

"After my home burned down, no one in my new village would take me in; they all feared their homes would be torched next. I'd made one friend, and she apologized after turning me away, but she was kind enough to send me off with a sack of bread and cheese. That kept me alive for the first week…" She went silent.

It was clear Rona wasn't about to elaborate and Percival understood her hesitation. After all, the woman had been through a horrible ordeal and had been forced to turn to prostitution. He didn't blame her for being wary of a man whom she didn't know.

"I wish you'd have come to us for food. We would have helped," Percival offered.

Once again, Rona said nothing.

"And what of your injuries?" asked Percival. "How did they happen?"

"A few days ago, I was having a bad run. No men wanted to pay and I'd hardly eaten in days. A few women and I had heard there was a camp of Picts relatively close by. Even if they had no money, I was desperate for food, and hoping I could, erm, trade my services for something to eat. But it turns out the Picts aren't pleased when you find their camp," Rona explained with a humorless chuckle. "And rather than offer any payment, they simply took what they wanted from us and beat us. And my injuries aren't even that bad compared to most."

Percival was horrified by Rona's depiction of her attack. He wanted her to know she wasn't the only woman who'd endured such a terrible ordeal.

"Something similar happened to my wife and her friends," he shared. "They were captured by the Picts…beaten. One woman was brutally raped by several men." He looked at her directly. "I'm very sorry this happened to you. We, King Arthur's army, are making excellent progress chasing them from their hiding places and defeating them. I hope that eases your mind a little."

Rona became tearful and looked at the ground, unable to meet Percival's eyes. "Little eases my mind these days. I mean, look at me." She vaguely gestured to herself while staring at the dirt floor. "I'm seventeen, a prostitute, and not a very good one, at that. I have no skills…no trade. I had just wanted to be a wife and mother, so I can cook, clean, and do laundry, I'm embarrassed to say. I suppose I'm a fair baker, but that's it. I can't do anything that earns real money."

_Lord, she's only seventeen_, Percival thought with chagrin. _Little more than a girl_. He felt terrible for her, and even more abashed at the notion that she'd touched him before. Still, he tried to put those thoughts from his mind.

"You shouldn't be embarrassed," he told her. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to be a good wife and mother. Keeping up a household and caring for children is hard work. That was your plan and you prepared for it. It's not your fault those things were stolen from you."

Rona sniffled. "That's one way of looking at it, I suppose.

"Believe me, I'd rather be working at a regular job than doing…this. But when I looked for work, men laughed in my face."

The young woman took a break from the conversation for a minute, focusing on finishing her other apple and the remaining dried meat. Once she's polished off the food, she apologized to Percival.

"I'm very sorry for what I did back there in the tent. I was a wife once. Obviously, I wouldn't have wanted another woman touching my husband."

"I won't lie to you, I'm upset over it," Percival told the girl. "I promised myself no other woman besides my wife would touch me, and you've put me in a rather difficult position. A part of me feels as if I should tell her what happened, but I know telling Christiane would only cause her pain and distress."

Rona nodded her head in understanding. "That's her name, Christiane? Very nice. I wish I could apologize to her also."

"Rona, you've suffered enough without me adding to your woes. I believe you're truly sorry."

The young woman shivered. "And children…do you have any children?" she asked.

Thinking of his son made Percival smile. "I do," the knight answered. "A son. Not yet a year old; Percival II. But we call him Percy. He's a good baby.

"I miss my family," he noted softly.

"I miss mine, too."

Spending too much time dwelling on the wife and child he missed wasn't helping Percival's mood at all, so he changed the topic of discussion to Rona's current plight. The young woman was without shelter, money, or food. Percival couldn't imagine tossing her out into the freezing, black night without some plan in place.

"Whatever are we going to do with you?" asked Percival.

Rona stood. "You've done quite enough, Sir Knight. You've been too kind to me – provided me with warmth, food, and most importantly, understanding. Thank you for all you've done; it was far more than I deserved. I bid you a good night. And I'll pray you return to your family safely."

She dropped her borrowed furs, striding away from the fire in her thin, insubstantial dress, and headed toward the dense woods.

Percival could have let her walk away and just been done with it all. Put the night behind him and forget it had all happened. But then he thought of baby Anna, Ulrich's daughter. Little Anna and Percy were so close. What if something similar had happened to her? Wouldn't he want someone to step in and help? Do the right thing? Perhaps if Percival didn't act and try to help in some way, this girl would be lost forever. He didn't think he could sleep well at night if he didn't make a real effort.

"Wait," said Percival, moving swiftly after Rona. He reached her side and touched her tattered sleeve. "I can help you. I want to help you."

"Why? I don't understand."

"Because I think you're a good person who's been caught in an unfortunate situation and you deserve some help."

Peering upward and noticing the sky had lost some of its extreme blackness, Percival realized dawn would be upon them within the hour. There was no way he could go back to sleep now, and he couldn't allow this girl to freeze out in the night.

"You can have my cot for the next hour or so," Percival blurted out. "That way, you can get some rest until we can figure something out."

"I wouldn't do that to you. The men waking to find me there would assume the worst. And you've been so kind; I'm not about to cause you more heartache."

Percival hadn't even considered that.

"Then sit with me by the fire for just a little longer," he said. "I have an idea I'd like to discuss with you. Leon, our knight commander, will be awake soon, and I have a plan I'd like to present to him; something that's mutually beneficial. I believe you can help us and we can help you."

Reluctantly, Rona followed Percival back to the fire where he explained his idea to her. She was intrigued. And what he suggested sounded quite reasonable. If the knight commander was open to it, Rona could have a safe way to earn some coin, all while being fed and sheltered. This concept might just work after all, and it gave Rona some measure of hope, which is something she hadn't felt in months or longer. She prayed that this Sir Leon was as reasonable and kind as Percival had described, and that he would hear-out Percival.

Shortly after Percival and Rona concluded their discussion, men roused from their tents, stretched, and gravitated toward the fire, eagerly awaiting their cook to finish preparing the morning meal. And as per usual, Leon was among the first men awake. Somehow, he always managed to look rested and well put-together, even if he'd been up all night.

"Good morning, Percival, and…miss," said Leon, arriving at Percival's side.

"Good morning, Leon. This is Rona, and she's looking for work," explained Percival. "It turns out she's an efficient and thorough laundress, and would like to have the opportunity to earn some coin by doing the men's wash. And as I'm sure you'll agree, most of the men could use a good deal of help in that area. Judging by the smell, I think few have washed anything at all over the course of two months. I believe we could really use Rona's skills."

Leon had seen this young woman around their camp, and knew her typical profession wasn't that of laundress. But she looked so hurt, pale, cold, and terribly young, he'd have agreed to almost anything to help the girl. And he assumed she was probably close to his own wife's age, and that made him want to help even more.

"Yes, absolutely," Leon answered quickly. He turned toward Rona. "If you could start work today, that would be incredibly helpful. We can set up a small tent that you can use for sleep and privacy use during our travels. It can be yours alone. We'll provide meals, and you can set your own price for your laundry services. I'll let the men know you're here and available. Just be aware you're probably going to be inundated with filthy clothing and bedding by afternoon, mine included."

_A far sight better than lying with filthy men_, Rona thought.

"I appreciate the opportunity, Sir Leon," said Rona, offering her forearm. "Thank you very much."

Leon smiled gently and took the girl's, thin, outstretched arm. "You're the one who's helping us, I assure you. And please, make sure you get yourself some breakfast. I believe it's some type of stewed apples and bread. Our cook should have it ready soon."

Leon turned to Percival, looking somewhat displeased. "Can I have a word with you in private, Percival?"

"Of course."

Percival pointed out the meal area to Rona, then walked off toward Leon's tent. The moment the two men entered the now-empty enclosure, Leon started in.

"Damn, Percival! You put me in an awkward spot out there. What if I'd wanted to say no? And who this girl anyway? We don't know that we can trust her. Are you sure she's safe to have around?"

Percival was honest and shared the events that had transpired the previous evening, from beginning to end.

"Would you like to rescind your offer to the girl, then?" asked Percival, feeling slightly perturbed that Leon would question his judgment after all these years.

"No," said Leon, sighing with aggravation. "I'm not the kind of man to turn my back on a starving and clearly desperate young girl. But if this all turns out poorly for some reason, you're going to be the one to handle things."

"Understood."

Leon sighed and gave Percival a playful shove. "Pushover."

"Ha! As if you're one to talk, soft-touch!"


	39. Chapter 38 The High Ground

**A/N - During the previous chapter, I wanted Percival to be really tempted to stray from Christiane and see how he would handle it. And as we saw, even with a very tempting offer, he remained true. Also, we learned that our knights are deeply in love with their wives and really don't care if men lie with other men, as long as they get their work done. **

**And we met young Rona, who is now the laundress for the on-the-move army. During this chapter, one of the knights will have his eye on Rona. There will also be a frightening confrontation with the Picts. Can Camelot's army stop them once and for all? There will be a few deaths and battle wounds in this chapter. You will get to know Sir Michael a little better...he's not a bad guy. **

**During the next chapter, we will see a possible new romance, recovery, and Arthur's army returns home. **

**Again, you've been wonderful, my loyal readers. I hope you're still enjoying this LONG story. I appreciate you more than you know. Thank you for taking the time to read.**

Chapter 38 – The High Ground

Arthur's army had packed up camp a few days prior, marched for a good ten miles, and had set up their temporary dwellings in a new location deep within Pictavia, right on the cusp of prime-ambush territory. Therefore, the men were on edge, tense, and rightly so.

Yet even with the added worries of facing a probable attack, they were all thrilled with the new washing services and were happy to pay whatever young Rona asked. Sometimes, the small things made life more bearable while on campaign. Something as simple as a clean pair of socks could lift a man's spirits and help him face the day with a better outlook.

"I don't know whose idea this was, but _not_ wallowing in my own filthy clothing day after day is wonderful," said Sir Michael, now twenty years old, Ulrich's former roommate and Carina's one-time paramour. "And that Rona's a real little doll. A very friendly and pleasant young thing, isn't she?"

"Oh, hell, Michael, keep your dirty hands off of the poor girl," said Ulrich during supper around one of the smaller fires right outside of their tent.

"My hands are not filthy," mumbled Michael, with his mouth half-full. He swallowed. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I have kept my hands entirely to myself the entire time we've been out here," he announced to the men around the fire. "Unless I'm beating a Pict! Then I'm quite happy to be hands-on."

"Do you want some kind of commendation for that? Shall we inform the king?" taunted Gwaine.

From his dinner plate, Michael flicked a piece of uneaten turnip at Gwaine. The soggy vegetable smacked the man right in the face, and the knights all laughed.

"I must excuse myself, gentlemen," said Michael with a flourish, dropping his plate into the wash-bucket. "I have some more laundry that needs to be done."

Michael entered his tent and looked around for something, anything that reasonably needed washing. He tore the enclosure apart trying to find an item sufficiently filthy so he could bring it to Rona for cleaning, just so he could spend a little time talking to the pretty young woman. There was something special about her he couldn't put his finger on, and he was drawn to her. And if he could convince Rona to tell him who'd hit her, he would find the man and tear off his head with his bare hands. What monster could hurt such a sweet and kind little thing?

Michael knew that Rona had earned food and money by selling her body, but he didn't care about that. It's not as if she did so to buy jewels or fancy dresses; the young woman had been starving and cold, and her options were limited. All she'd been trying to do was survive. Who could fault her for such a thing?

And besides, who was Michael to pass judgment? He'd certainly gone through a period when he enjoyed the intimate attention of a good handful of ladies during a short time span. But those days were behind him now. He hadn't realized how much he was hurting some of those women until he'd heard one sobbing in her friend's arms in the castle corridor about what a "heartless bastard" he was. That tore Michael apart, and he never wanted to knowingly cause a woman pain like that again.

After a great deal of searching, Michael found the perfect item to bring to Rona – his gambeson. He'd stuffed if beneath his cot along with his chainmail. He took a sniff of the fabric and it was absolutely horrid smelling and stiffened with dried sweat. Even in this cold weather, the young man still sweat like a beast in his mail, especially after the recent skirmish he and several of his comrades had with the Picts. It had taken some time and effort to subdue those relentless men.

Michael strode over to Rona's small tent, foul-smelling garment in hand. It was worth the embarrassment of dealing with the stinking clothing to have a few minutes to speak with her again. And if he could get her to smile, that would be a bonus.

Rona was kneeling outside of her shelter, sorting clothing and furs. Her back was to Michael.

"Hello, Princess!" he called out as he approached.

She turned and smiled at him, but tearfully.

Michael took the few final steps to reach her side and crouched down next to her, concerned.

"Hey, hey, my little friend. What's wrong here?" he asked, tossing his gambeson to the ground and, kneeling, taking Rona's chilled hand in his.

With her free hand, Rona wiped away a tear. "Oh, I don't know. I just feel overwhelmed by everything that's happened. I feel as if I don't deserve all this kindness from you knights. I don't deserve this opportunity at all."

Rather than interrupt, Michael simply listened, still holding Rona's hand firmly.

"I've behaved immorally. Done things of which I'm ashamed." Exhaling a shaky breath, she glanced at Michael's face. "You'd be disgusted with me if you knew about the things I've done."

"Did you want to do those things?" asked Michael.

"No," said Rona, "I felt I had to. If I wanted to live."

"Rona once, in an altercation, I killed a young boy. He was maybe two years old," Michael confessed. "It was an accident," he added, "but still, I panicked and shot wildly with my crossbow. I hit him…and he died. I live with that on my conscience every day and wonder what'll end up happening to my soul."

Michael couldn't believe he was telling Rona all this. A few of his close friends were aware of this terrible, heart wrenching incident, and Leon, but no one else.

"Surely, that's far worse than anything you could have done," he added.

"Maybe we should just ask for forgiveness," said Rona. "Do you think that'll help?

"I don't see how it can hurt," said Michael with a shrug. "It's worth a try, anyway." Still kneeling, he took both of Rona's hands in his, and looked her straight in the eye. "Rona, do you forgive me?"

"I do," she whispered. "Do you forgive me?"

"I do."

"Can the world forgive us?' Rona asked sadly.

"I think so," Michael answered. "Besides, you've been a very good friend to me. That has to count for something. Doesn't it?"

And then, he drew Rona into a firm hug, rubbing her back as he held her. In that moment, he felt the bond between the two of them solidify, a bond of true friendship and perhaps something more. He wondered if she felt it, too; he hoped she did.

XXXX

The next morning dawned bright, cold, and as always, windy. Arthur gathered his knights around the largest community campfire for an early morning discussion and strategy session. He explained to all that the army's scouts and trackers had searched the area thoroughly, and they found plenty of evidence indicating a large contingent of Picts was circling the area.

"They've covered their tracks well," said Arthur, "but not quite well enough. Based on what I've seen and heard, it appears as if they want to lure us into the frozen glen just north of here. So rather than await their inevitable ambush, we leave within the hour to meet them head-on. We'll break off into groups now, and your commander will explain our plans. Make sure you listen carefully and ask for clarification if there's anything you don't understand.

"But before we do that, I must emphasize the importance of us maintaining the high-ground. It is essential we remain out of that glen. We know the Picts excel in downhill charges. I need not remind you that we lost ten good men the last time they charged us in such a way. We must avoid becoming trapped in the low-ground at all costs. Keeping the high-ground is our first priority."

The men broke off into their smaller assigned teams and listened to their instructions. Gwaine, Percival, Ulrich, and Michael were part of Leon's group. Moments after Leon was satisfied his men understood their orders, they prepared to march out.

While Michael gathered his weaponry and armor, Rona poked her head into his tent.

"Michael? Please be careful out there. I'll be nervous while you're gone."

"Don't worry… I'm quite good at this," he said with a grin. "I've been a knight for what, a good three years now?"

Rona stepped into the enclosure, planted a brief kiss on Michael's cheek, and swept out.

Not long after, the men gathered and marched off to their destination. This was an opportunity to wipe out the largest group of Picts King Arthur's men had encountered thus far, and they wanted to seize the opportunity. While they certainly would outnumber the Picts, any confrontation with those ruthless men was always a risk, and Arthur's men knew it. The Picts rarely displayed any fear, never hesitated. They seemed almost frighteningly inhuman, in a way.

After arriving at the ridge of the frozen glen and quietly scouring the area, the knights came upon a wide clearing covered with a thick carpet of dead, frost-coated leaves. It was silent, eerie. The ever-present driving winds had ceased, and the air was far too still. That is, until without warning, dozens and dozens of Picts leapt up from the ground and stormed forth. The men had hidden in shallow ditches in the clearing and had been camouflaged by leaves, dirt, and sticks. Camelot's knights had never known they were there.

With frightening immediacy, the Picts loaded their crossbows, some with now-flaming bolts, took aim, and fired on Arthur's startled men.

Shockingly, only one of the king's men had been hit. That allowed the knights to orient themselves for a moment and charge ahead. As Arthur's knights closed in, the Picts snatched long, sharpened wood spears from the ground and held them outward; these weapons had been buried under the forest detritus and Camelot's warriors hadn't noticed them. Several knights ended up impaled on the spears because they'd not had time to halt their rapid forward charge.

Arthur knew their first priority was to disarm the Picts of their spears. And the best way to do that was to get as close as possible and engage in hand-to-hand combat to wrench away those deadly sharpened staffs. Risky, but it was either that, or retreat, and King Arthur had no intention of doing the latter.

The king ran forth and the knights followed his example. The men engaged in brutal and exhausting hand-to-hand fighting for the next several minutes. Yet Arthur's men had prepared well for such a confrontation. Using their massive wooden shields to snap the Picts' spears and disarm their opponents, the king's men suffered only a handful of casualties, and gained the upper-hand.

And Michael was furious. He was through with these wretched Picts getting their way with Camelot's citizens – the beating, attacking, and raping they seemed to enjoy all too much. And poor Rona. Perhaps one of _these_ men had beaten her. She'd never admitted it to him, but he bet she'd been raped also. The mere sight of these Picts made his blood boil with rage.

Michael had fought his way through several men single-handedly; he felt unstoppable. But he was unfocused and quite reckless with his movements. Once the Picts had been largely killed or captured, he didn't hear Leon's order to stand down.

Michael stood out in the open, catching his breath for a moment before he planned to rage on, when he was smacked in the right shoulder by a bolt. The sharp piece of weaponry pierced his chainmail and went right through him, poking out of his back. Michael had never been shot before, and his first instinct was to remove the offending item.

"No, Michael, don't!" shouted Leon from a good dozen yards away. "Leave it, damn it, leave it!"

But it was too late. Michael, filled with anger and adrenaline, ripped the bolt from his body. And this was the worst thing he could have done. Instead of leaving it be, or simply breaking off the wood protruding from his skin, he was now bleeding profusely. He didn't seem to care or notice until Leon ran toward him. The knight commander was struggling out of his chainmail and gambeson, then ripped off his own tunic and pressed the cloth against Michael's heavily-bleeding wound, forcing the man to the ground.

"Damn it, Michael! Did you not hear me?" Leon growled, sounding more worried than angry. The army had no skilled healer along with them, which in hindsight, had been a mistake. Several knights had been trained by Gaius and Christiane in basic battle wound care and dressing, and these select men had even sat in on a few lessons about amputation. But still, it wasn't the same as having an experienced person available to manage injuries and illnesses. The king had elected to leave both Christiane and Gaius behind, as he felt the needs of the many citizens of Camelot outweighed the needs of his army.

Arthur commanded his men to round up the few surviving Picts as prisoners, coordinate burial of their own dead, and help Leon with Michael, who was the only man who'd been seriously injured. Once all of this had been accomplished, they began the march back to camp.

Leon, standing out in the cold without his tunic, back-scars out in the open for all to see, didn't appear to notice the icy temperatures (the brightness of the morning had faded into grey once again), and did not seem to care that his heavily-scarred back was out on display for all to see. He was far more concerned with dragging, or carrying, his injured charge back to camp.

Leon was preparing to throw Michael over his shoulder for the long trudge back to camp when the shot knight stopped him.

"I can walk, Leon," barked Michael. The young knight stood up and set his jaw determinedly.

Percival, Gwaine, and Ulrich strode over. They knew Michael didn't actually have the ability to march back to camp unassisted, especially not with all the blood he'd lost. But they also knew he'd certainly try.

"Fine, Michael," said Gwaine, giving his other comrades knowing glances. "We'll just walk next to you."

While the men semi-marched or walked slowly back to their temporary home miles away, someone dropped a gambeson over Leon's shoulders, so the man wouldn't freeze on the way. But no one saw whom it was. It was clear Leon had scarcely been aware of the cold, or of his exposed back.

Michael marched along quite well for several minutes. But it wasn't very long before his steps faltered, and he looked particularly ill and pasty.

"This is ridiculous," Percival mumbled under his breath. He leaned down and tossed the wounded Michael over his shoulder, as if the younger knight weighed no more than a small child.

"Damn, Percival, put me down! I will not suffer the indignity of being carried like a babe!" Michael blustered, punching at Percival's back with his good arm, furious at having been lifted off his feet and carried like an infant, or a fainting woman. What if Rona saw him being carried like this? That was an emasculating thought.

"Stop your whining!" yelled Gwaine, who had positioned himself behind Percival so Michael could get a good look at him. "You think we should let you stagger back to camp so you can slow down the march and we can all freeze our cocks off just to make you happy? Think again, my bleeding friend."

In actuality, Gwaine would have been happy to crawl along like a slug with Michael, but he wanted to help the injured man save-face by making sure everyone knew it wasn't Michael's idea to be carried.

"And don't worry, we'll put you down before camp so your precious little laundress doesn't see you like this," quipped Gwaine. "You can stride right to your tent on your own two feet, hemorrhaging and all."

Michael felt quite surprised by Gwaine's statement, but said nothing. Were his feelings for Rona that obvious? Did _everyone_ know?

"What? You think we don't know?" taunted Gwaine. "The whole damn camp knows! Those precious looks of longing on your face when you gaze at Rona… I saw you sharpening your sword yesterday, staring at her the entire time. You looked shy, almost. It was quite adorable."

"Gwaine, I will beat you down once I'm better!"

"I look forward to it," said Gwaine, giving Michael a light pat on the back and the barest of winks.

Now Michael understood. Gwaine was really on his side after all.

Returning to the encampment took a little longer than the march out to the glen had. And it had become even more overcast, with a freezing rain now pelting down. The men were eager to get changed, clean up, eat, and rest.

A few minutes out from camp, Michael insisted that Percival put him down, and he'd walk.

"If you faint on the way, Princess Michael, you're going to be left face-first in the dirt," Gwaine threatened. "Just remember that."

"God, Gwaine, I am going to punch you straight in the mouth the second I'm able."

Percival carefully lowered Michael to the ground. The injured man stood up as straight as he could, and marched forth, clutching Leon's now blood-soaked shirt to his wound.

Leon leaned in toward Percival. "He's not going to make it back to his tent," whispered the knight commander. "He'll drop soon enough…just look at him. See if you can catch him when he falls."

But Leon was wrong. Michael made it back to camp without collapsing, right to the outside of his tent, where he finally passed out face-first into the damp earth. Michael had known he was going down, but was powerless to stop his fall. He'd become suddenly warm and queasy, then his knees buckled out of nowhere. And the man had been so woozy he hadn't noticed Percival and Gwaine had been only a foot or so behind him, following his every move closely.

"I told the little fool," Gwaine sighed, looking down at Michael. "Wouldn't listen, though, the stubborn brat." But Gwaine's comments were filled with affection for his young comrade.

Percival bent to retrieve his unconscious friend. "Let's bring him to the infirmary tent," Percival said to Gwaine, while tossing Michael over his shoulder once more. "We can try to get him sorted out in there.

"Wait, never mind, Gwaine, I'll take him myself. Can you go fetch Leon? He seems better with all this healing work than you or I. Even though my wife's a healer, I can't remember everything she's explained."

"I'll go get him," Gwaine responded. "But we're smart men. We have that book your wife and Gaius made for us about the right healing herbs and whatnot. We can figure this out."

"Oh, great," said Percival, walking toward the infirmary tent with a limp Michael. "This poor man has to rely on us to help. Probably won't last the day," he mumbled.

A breathless Rona caught up with Percival as he carried Michael toward the infirmary tent.

"I see that Michael's hurt," she said, following alongside. "I know a little about poultices and wound treatment. My father and brothers were hunters, as was my husband, so I learned how to help when they'd been injured."

"Bless you, Rona," said Percival with relief. "We need all the help we can get."

Rona, Percival, and Michael entered the tent together. A few men were already present, having their minor wounds and burns treated by the knights who'd received rudimentary healer-training. Gwaine and Leon were there also, and had a clean cot set aside for Michael. Percival settled his unconscious comrade into the cot. Leon hovered over Michael, flipping through the thick healing guidebook until he'd found a passage that seemed to catch his eye.

"All right, here it is," said Leon, studying the hand-written instructions and pictures. "We need some tallow heated over the fire until it's just soft. Not liquefied, though. And we need yarrow, clove, and mint, crushed up. Then we mix it into a paste and apply it to the wound, and hold it in place with a fresh bandage. That doesn't sound so difficult."

"But first, we have to clean the wound with water to make sure any dirt washed out," Rona offered.

Leon flipped back a few pages of parchment and read some more. "Ah, yes, it's true. We need to do that as well."

"And the dressing will need to be changed at least once per day," said the young woman, "depending on how much drainage there is from the wound. It may need to be changed several times. And Michael will need fresh ointment and plenty to drink, too."

Leon looked up from the text and peered at Rona. "It sounds as if you know what you're doing. Do you mind taking charge here? I know this means your laundry services will be limited, so we'll provide you with extra pay."

"That's not necessary. I want to help."

"Necessary or no, you'll be compensated," Leon told her. He then turned to Gwaine and Percival. "Let's go start our debriefing now."

The men walked toward the exit, but Leon stopped short and turned to face Rona.

"He was brave…fought well," Leon told Rona. "Please let us know when he wakes so we can say hello and see how he's doing."

Rona nodded and began her work.


	40. Chapter 39 A Season of Change

**A/N - Sir Michael is recovering during this chapter, Percival is struggling with guilt and goes to his good friend Gwaine for help, and... the knights of Camelot return home!**

**Full disclosure: In my first draft of this story, this was the final chapter, and the epilogue was to follow. BUT...I then carried on for about another 60k+ words because I felt I HAD to tell the tales of some of Percival, Gwaine, Leon, and Ulrich, and Arthur's children. I don't know about you, but I love the idea of these men growing older and seeing some of the challenges they face as their marriages grow and their children mature. I hope you'll like it, too.**

**As always, you readers have made this all worthwhile. I know I say this often, but I appreciate you more than you can imagine! Thanks for continuing to read. We have about fourteen chapters to go (for real...I mean it this time!). **

Chapter 39 – A Season of Change

Rona gathered the proper ingredients to treat Michael's wound. After having heated the tallow over a small pit-fire located close to the tent, she mixed the herbs into the softened fat, and prepared to cleanse the injury and apply the wound-ointment to Michael's shoulder. Then she realized he was still wearing his shirt. Not wanting to wrestle the man out of his garment, with a sharp dagger retrieved from the small work table, she cut away the sleeve, and poured clean water over the deep puncture. Michael groaned, but didn't fully wake. Rona realized she needed to wash the exit wound also, which forced her to roll Michael onto his side, and that's when he woke.

"Can I have some water?" he croaked, his throat feeling impossibly dry.

Rona rushed for the drinking water and returned with a full ladle. She helped Michael sit up and encouraged the man to take small sips. "This is good for you," she said. "After the blood loss, the water will help."

"_You're_ good for me," he said, after swallowing his last refreshing sip. However, the simple acts of sitting and drinking exhausted him, and he leaned back. "I think I need a little more rest."

"In a moment," Rona told him. Quickly and carefully, she applied the fresh ointment to his wounds, then covered them with linen bandages. "There. All done. Now you can rest again."

"Feels a little better already," he mumbled. "Aches less."

Michael shivered, and Rona covered him with some thick furs she'd found tucked beneath a bench. He settled into the cot, looking more comfortable, and the fine sheen of perspiration that had covered his face was no longer there. Still, Rona wiped his brow with a dampened cloth, hoping to keep any fevers at bay.

"Rona?" said Michael, his eyes now closed.

"Yes?"

"If I live until tomorrow, will you kiss me?"

The woman chortled lightly. "Of course."

"I love you, Rona," said Michael, the moment before he drifted into sleep.

Rona shook her head. She knew he didn't mean it. He was hurt. Perhaps a little delirious. Men often said those types of things when they were in such a state. Rona and he were good friends and nothing more. Yet she thought she might have seen him looking at her with longing the other day when he'd been sharpening his sword by the fire and she'd been beating out some particularly filthy blankets near her tent. Or maybe that's what's she'd wanted to see. After all, who would want her now? She doubted a seventeen-year-old former whore would be any man's first choice. Or last choice, even.

Rona would not allow herself to fall in love, not now, and probably not ever. She hadn't loved her deceased husband, and losing him had still hurt a great deal. They'd been all but forced together in marriage by their parents. They liked one another. Respected each other. But there was no love. Friendship, certainly, and sex a few times during the months they were married because they knew it was expected, but that was all. If losing a friend was so hard, how awful would it be to lose a true love? _Better to never know that pain_, she thought. _Better to live on one's own_.

The tent was now cleared out; the injured men had returned to their own shelters. Rona didn't feel comfortable leaving Michael unattended overnight, so she saw to her chores, and around dusk returned to him, spending the night on a nearby cot.

XXXX

It was a long evening for all of Arthur's men. Typically, following heated confrontations with enemies, it was difficult for the knights to settle down and get sleep. They wanted to talk about their experiences and share their perspectives. And whenever a fellow soldier died in battle, it made them consider their own mortality and examine their vulnerability even more. Arthur insisted that each knight write up a letter to his loved ones in the event he was killed in the kingdom's defense. And at times like these, the men wondered if they'd said all the right things in their letters, if they'd expressed their love well enough. And each man desperately hoped his mother, wife, his children would never have to read his final words.

Contemplating all this this while eating a dinner of thin, salty onion soup and dried sausages (which were nearly hard as rocks) in front of a smaller evening fire, Percival turned to Gwaine.

"I need your advice about something," said Percival.

"Sex?"

"Contrary to what you might think, I do not need your advice in that area. It's about what happened between Rona and me."

Gwaine almost flipped over his bowl of half-eaten soup as he swung around on his log-seat to face his friend. "What? You mean to tell me, you…with Rona… You slept with her? God, Percival, what's wrong with you? Have you no respect for your wife?" he ranted, sounding furious. "I never expected this from you, of all people –"

"Lower your voice, damn it," growled Percival. "Of course I didn't. You know me better than that. Just listen to me before you jump to wild conclusions, will you?"

Recovering from his outburst, Gwaine nodded. "I didn't think so. It was just the way you said it… You had me worried for a moment. Go on, I'm listening."

Percival told Gwaine all about the night Rona had entered his tent and crawled into his cot, touching him.

"I was half-asleep," Percival explained, "and I'd been dreaming of Christiane. For an instant, I forgot where I was and I thought it was my wife touching me. But after a few seconds, I realized it wasn't her, and I stopped the girl. The problem is, I don't know if I should tell Christiane or not. I didn't want the girl there, and I didn't ask her to do what she did. But I still feel guilty. I was, uh, aroused and all. But I didn't want to be." Percival slumped on his log somewhat and sighed. "If I tell Christiane about this, she will lose her mind over it."

Gwaine cut in. "Let's say I tied you to a tree, pulled down your trousers and stroked your cock."

Percival winced at the mere thought. "Where the hell is this going?"

"Hush. You hear me out now," instructed Gwaine. "So, you're tied up against the tree, and there I am, stroking that Percival-sized cock of yours. Even though it was me doing it, you'd still be hard, man."

"I'd like to think I wouldn't!"

"It could be Olga the old, ugly baker, or the king doing it, for that matter. You can't help your physical reaction. You didn't do anything wrong. I say keep the incident to yourself, mate. You're not at fault, and telling your wife's only going to hurt the woman."

"Gwaine, you really think I did nothing wrong?"

"I know you didn't," Gwaine assured. "And you know I'd tell you if I thought differently."

"Then why do I feel so guilty?" asked Percival,.

"Because you're Percival," said Gwaine, rising from his seat on the long, "and you think too much and hold yourself to ridiculously high standards."

With that, Gwaine rushed forth and nearly tackled Percival in jest, and all but forced him into a hug.

"Come on, you hulking daisy," insisted Gwaine. "Let's go grab a good look at the stars before bed. And talk about manly things, things that don't include theoretical discussions of me touching your cock."

Collecting their soup bowls, Percival laughed. "Sounds good to me."

XXXX

Percival and Gwaine had retreated to a small grassy clearing to stargaze. After a time, Percival announced he was exhausted and returned to his tent. Gwaine remained behind and lay on his back, his hands behind his head, thinking.

Gwaine thought back to a few nights before he'd left for Pictavia. Wallace had a nightmare, and was calling out from his bed in the loft. Drea had begun to rise from the bed, but Gwaine told her to go back to sleep, he'd handle it. Gwaine climbed up to the loft and found poor Wallace teary-eyed, but the little boy couldn't recall what about the dream had upset him so much. Gwaine took Wallace's hand and helped him out of bed.

"It's a clear night. Let's grab your blanket and have a good look at the stars. That helps me when my mind is troubled," said Gwaine.

Wallace nodded his head and followed along.

The two of them tiptoed through the cottage to the garden door, hoping they wouldn't wake Drea. Before they walked outside, Gwaine helped Wallace into his cloak; it was cold outside. Once in the garden, Gwaine spread out the blanket on the ground, and he and Wallace sat down and looked up at the clear spring sky.

"I think the stars are magical," Gwaine told Wallace. "They're magical beings watching over us."

Wallace's eyes widened. "Good magical beings?"

"Yes, always good magical beings."

"Do you think my other father is up there, watching over me?" asked Wallace, furrowing his little brow in concern.

Gwaine smiled at him. "Yes, definitely. And my father, too."

"And do you think my brother or sister is up there? Waiting to be born?"

Gwaine dropped a comforting arm around Wallace's shoulders and gave the young boy a squeeze. "I believe so."

Right then, Drea wandered outside, wearing her own cloak and carrying Gwaine's.

"It's chilly out here," she declared, wrapping Gwaine's garment around him. "What are you two doing?"

"Watching the magical stars," said Wallace.

Gwaine held back his tears of joy. Drea and Wallace would always be his stars.

XXXX

Hours later, Michael was still sleeping deeply in the infirmary tent, dreaming of Rona. And it was quite the dream. Quite possibly worth the pain and misery of having been shot through the shoulder.

In his dream, Michael was back at the castle in Camelot, and he stood in his quarters close to Rona. Except her face was no longer bruised, and she looked pink with health. Sure, she was still too thin, but with another month or so of living at the castle and consuming the hearty and delicious fare produced by the kitchen staff, she'd be stronger and healthier. Her over-thin frame didn't matter to Michael, though. Of course, he wanted her to be healthy and feel well, but he still found her beautiful, no matter what.

The dream had very little talking. Mostly, it included memorable visions of pretty Rona in various states of undress. In front of the hearth, stretched out luxuriously upon a pile of soft blankets. Beneath him. Above him. In his bed, tangled-up in his comfortable sheets, and tangled-up with him. Crying out his name in pleasure as he touched every inch of her soft and fragrant skin. The only words spoken were Michael asking for Rona's hand in marriage and the young woman's answer of "Yes."

It was the kind of soft, glowing dream from which one hates to be woken. Yet he was shaken gently into wakefulness by none other than the beautiful Rona, changing his wound dressing and encouraging a few sips of warm, salty broth into him.

He finished sipping the fatty broth, and glanced next to him. There was a cot pushed right up against his. Had Rona been sleeping next to him?

"Are you hungry at all?" asked Rona. "If you are, I can get you another mug full of broth."

"I am a little hungry now," Michael answered, his voice slightly scratchy from lack of use. "I would love more, thank you."

Rona took the mug from his hands and returned a few minutes later with more steaming broth, which Michael gulped down, despite the liquid's temperature.

"Your appetite's returning. That's a good sign," said Rona. "It means you're healing."

"It's only because you've been taking such good care of me," said Michael with gratitude. He then gestured to the bed next to him. "This cot…did you sleep beside me last night?"

"For a short time."

Despite the dim light, Michael thought he saw her blush.

"Come closer," he requested. Rona did as she was asked. Michael took her hand and looked straight into her warm eyes. "Marry me," he insisted.

Rona immediately pressed her hand to Michael's head. "You must be sickening with fever," she said, moving her hand around his head and face, trying to find a warm spot, but found none. When she finished handling his head, Michael spoke.

"I have no fever and my mind is fine. The only thing wrong with me is my shoulder hurts like a demon and I feel a little weak. That's all. I'm serious. I want you to marry me."

Rona exhaled sharply. "You don't know what you're asking. You hardly know me."

"Not true. I know everything I need to know about you. And I certainly know how I feel." Michael's face fell. "Unless, you don't feel the same for me. And I've read what's going on between us entirely wrong."

"No, you've read things correctly," Rona confessed. "I care for you. But much has happened in my life. Things we've never talked about. I feel the need to be on own for a little while."

"You're going to return to your family, then?" asked Michael, feeling defeated and miserable. "I understand…"

"No. There's no place for me there. I was hoping the king would have me in Camelot."

This was what Michael had wanted to hear. "Of course he'll have you!" he said with relief. "You've done a wonderful job here.

"But if you're to come to Camelot, you must let me court you. Get to know me better. You'll come to see that I love you and you can trust me."

Rona looked contemplative. "I'll consider that."

"But still, you do owe me something."

She shot him a questioning glance.

"The kiss?" he reminded her. "If I made it to the next day, you said you'd kiss me. And I mean a real kiss."

"It's not the next day yet. It's still dark," she offered, but she was smiling.

"It's past the middle of the night! Time for that kiss, I say." Michael patted the cot next to him.

Rona pretended to grudgingly comply, taking a seat next to him. Michael pulled her on top of him. "Your shoulder!" she cried.

"To hell with my shoulder."

He slid his fingers into her hair and pulled her down toward him. When their lips touched, lightly at first, Michael knew she had to be his. Just as he had dreamed, her soft lips felt like heaven, and her body, pressed against his, radiated kindness and love. He felt it, their connection, and he was damn sure she did, too. It was something special and unique, and she simply had to know.

When Michael brushed his tongue against her upper lip, then the lower one, Rona parted her lips slightly to allow a more passionate kiss. An unintentional, soft sigh escaped Rona, and that's when Michael rolled her onto her back on the neighboring cot, cradled her head gently, and then kissed her with love and passion, ignoring the burning pain in his shoulder.

Rona had wanted to stop him. The man was injured and this type of activity and movement was not going to help his recovery in any way.

Sensing her worry, Michael pulled back. "Just one more moment of this. Only one," he whispered.

Several minutes later, Rona broke the kiss, her lips pink and swollen from the attention. She gave Michael a serious look. "I think you can court me when we return to Camelot."

They both chuckled, happy and lost in the moment.

Then, Michael made promises to Rona. He told the young woman he didn't care what she did. She could remain home and be his wife, care for their children, make soap, pluck chickens, or work in the castle laundry.

"As long as you're mine," he said, "you can do anything you'd like. I'll take you any way I can get you."

"You can court me first and then we'll see," insisted Rona.

"All right. Courting first."

Michael felt a measure of uncertainty, but a good deal of hope, too.

Meanwhile, Rona and Michael were unaware that Percival and Gwaine had stopped by to visit their injured friend. Or the men had tried to, at least, until Gwaine and Percival had heard some movement within the tent, the rustling of furs, some muffled sighs, followed by whispering.

"Another man down, it seems," said Gwaine.

"It seems so," noted Percival. "I'm glad for them. But it makes me long for home even more."

"We'll be there soon enough."

"In two more months, right?"

"Just two more."

Gwaine and Percival strode back to their tents.

Two months to go.

XXXX

Roughly two months later, on a quiet, cloudy, mild summer afternoon, right after Percy took his first few tentative steps and promptly collapsed on Anna (much to her delight), a group of boys who had appointed themselves official spotters raced through the streets of Camelot. "They've returned!" the boys shouted. "The army's returned!"

Of course, every able-bodied resident of Camelot stopped what they were doing immediately and hurried toward Return Road. The army had most certainly returned. Men by the hundreds galloped past on their horses, declaring victory as they rode amidst the welcoming cheers.

Though losses had been minimal, fewer than fifty men, those men's families wept by the roadside, and everyone did their best to comfort the grieving citizens. Arthur would meet with each member of the families later that day. The king never took the loss of lives lightly. Losing men weighed upon his conscience and made his heart ache with grief.

King Arthur and his close friends knew they wouldn't be able to dismount and get to their wives through the throng of well-wishers. Plus, if every member of the army leapt from their horses to seek out family members on Return Road, they'd have quite the logjam on their hands. Though it pained the men, they knew they'd have to wait just a little bit longer before sweeping their wives into their arms. It had been four months, after all. Another hour wouldn't kill them. But the men spotted their wives' heads and waving hands through the crowd, and waved back, smiling with relief.

Less than two hours later, following a debriefing and good, hot baths, Percival, Ulrich, Gwaine, and Leon sought out their wives on the training field, where family and friends had gathered to welcome their warriors home. The atmosphere was festive with food being shared and mead flowing in celebration. However, the king met with Guinevere and Llacheu privately, but would make a public appearance later.

In the midst of the hubbub, Percival saw Michael introducing Rona to some friends and family members, and he smiled to himself.

The four knights continued on, swerving through the substantial crowd until they saw their wives and children sitting together on a blanket by the stone wall. The women stood, and it seemed as if their pregnant, rounded bellies were the first things that greeted their husbands. In their light summer dresses, their pregnancies were very obvious. And Alis was the largest.

"Ha! I can't believe it," Gwaine exclaimed. "All of you? What a wonderful surprise!" He kissed Drea as she ran her fingers through his newly-shorter hair.

"I can't believe you were able to keep this from me," Percival teased, holding his wife close. "But I'm thrilled."

"What an incredible surprise. I can't wait for another!" Ulrich told Carina, hugging her. "This is the best homecoming gift, my beautiful wife."

Leon was in total shock, nervous, but absolutely elated. After giving his wife a long, joyful kiss, he studied her midsection. "Are you, um, slightly further along than the others?" he asked.

"No, just about the same. But Mary and I think I'm going to have twins!" she revealed cheerfully.

The next thing Leon knew, he was on the ground with his head in Alis's lap, Christiane fanning his face, as his friends were doubled-over with laughter.

"What happened?" asked Leon, sitting up immediately.

Gwaine finally spoke after his fit of laughter.

"When Alis said the word 'twins,' you went white and passed out!" the knight roared. "Collapsed right onto the ground."

The men continued to shake with laughter as the women rolled their eyes at them.

"Knight commander my foot!" exclaimed Gwaine with a laugh. "God, that was great! We're going to tell this story over and over for the next twenty years."

Even Leon chuckled at this.

After visiting with friends and many kisses and embraces later, the four couples and children returned to their homes. The king and his four closest knights were home safe and the families were reunited. Once everyone was settled into their own beds, the wives drew their husbands into long, warm, loving embraces.

Before sleep later that night, Arthur, Guinevere, Percival, Christiane, Ulrich, Carina, Gwaine, Drea, Leon, and Alis each offered a silent "thank you" to the universe. They'd all been richly blessed and their hearts were full of joy and love.

They were grateful and had so much to look forward to.


	41. Chapter 40 The Children of Knights

**A/N - This is chapter forty...oh my! AND we have two new followers, Molly Rosie (sounds like a fellow Harry Potter fan to me) and L.A Dreaming. Welcome!**

**In the beginning of this chapter, we will see how our four women fared during their pregnancies, and we will hear about how our knights' families have grown. Sadly, over the years, some of the characters have passed away (none of the major characters). :(**

**Then, we will then shift to Percy and Anna's story. Remember, Percy is Percival's son and Anna is Ulrich's daughter. Also, Wallace (Gwaine's step-son) will place a significant role. Of course, our knights and their wives will be around, but for now, they will play smaller roles as their children take center-stage.**

**We shall read about first kisses, sexual experimentation and so forth. Remember, this story takes places in early medieval times. Life could be short and difficult, so marriages happened quickly and yes, people married and had sex much younger than today. I just want to be clear about that so no one is alarmed. :)**

**Thanks, faithful readers!**

Chapter 40 – The Children of Knights

Approximately three months later, Christiane, Carina, Drea, and Alis all went on to have healthy babies. Percival and Ulrich won their bet; Gwaine and Leon were most certainly with their wives in the birthing chamber during delivery. Much to Percival's delight, Gwaine fainted during his child's birth; the new father had smacked his head off the corner of the bed as he fell, and required several stitches to close the injury. Afterward, Gwaine and Percival had a good laugh over it, as both men had fainted during their son's deliveries. And yes, Alis delivered twins.

XXXX

On a bright, beautiful autumn day, five years after Llacheu was born, the king, the knights, and their families all attended the Harvest Festival; Percy was perched high on his father's shoulders. This was before the families had grown to their full sizes; Arthur had two children and the rest had three. The children ran or toddled around with happy innocence. And for once, the men remained spectators during the contests of strength and sword.

"Let the young men have their fun," Percival proclaimed, as he watched two young knights ferociously battling with swords in the contest ring.

"I agree," said Gwaine. "Though we could still beat them!"

"It feels like the dawning of a new time," noted Percival, his eyes focused intently on the action in the ring. "Our sons will be doing this sort of thing soon enough."

"And perhaps our daughters," Christiane shared with a wink.

On that day, it felt as if a new age had begun; times were changing.

XXXX

The families grew in size rapidly during the next several years. After Percy, Percival and Christiane had five more children: Grace, Yale, Eve, Madlen, and William. Will loved being a grandfather, but unfortunately, he passed away before meeting his namesake, William. They were a sizable, but happy family and the children knew how much their parents loved one another and them.

Evann, Christiane's brother, finally returned home from the Frankish Kingdom after having spent fifteen years abroad, as opposed to the originally-planned two. He and his Frankish wife, Clotild, built a lovely cottage close to Christiane and Percival's family. The two had no children of their own, but adored their roles as aunt and uncle. And Evann loved working with his sister as Co-Court Physician. Gaius had passed on at the age of eighty-four, and Christiane and Evann did their best to fill his shoes, which was no small task.

After Anna, Ulrich and Carina had three more children: Idris, Tomas, and Cadi, giving them two boys and two girls. Every day, Ulrich was grateful for his family and loved them with every bit of his heart.

Sadly, Reece, Carina's father, never had a chance to meet Ulrich or the grandchildren. He perished in a shipwreck while traveling home from the Western Roman Empire.

Gwaine and Drea had two more boys after Wallace: Arvan and Cai. Their household was boisterous and a little wild, yet full of love. Gwaine was the proudest father imaginable.

Leon and Alis had three children following the twins, Leon and Ilene: Bryn, Chloe, and Ariana. While the other families eventually moved out of the castle and into nearby cottages (Carina and Christiane's families moved back to their old cottages, but expanded them), Leon and his family remained in the castle, though Arthur granted them much larger quarters to accommodate the big group. Leon and Alis truly loved their lives.

Arthur and Guinevere, who thought Llacheu would be their only child, were joyfully surprised by the addition of two more children to their family: a boy, Amr and a girl, Wenda. The king and queen treated every day as a precious gift.

The above couples all had wonderful, supportive, loving marriages. Of course, no relationship is perfect, and there was bickering, the periodic argument, and challenges to face. On one occasion, Gwaine, after having returned home from the tavern far too drunk, was ordered out of the cottage and slept in the stables for a night. But love always won.

While Merlin never married and didn't appear to have any love interests, at least not public ones, he acted as a surrogate uncle to his good friends' children. Apparently, Merlin had never found room in his heart to love another woman after he'd lost Freya, or so his friends believed.

And as Carina and Christiane had predicted long ago, their two eldest children, Anna and Percy, had fallen in love. Though the truth was, they'd been in love since before they could crawl. During babyhood, the little ones frequently napped together, and as toddlers, they stumbled along, holding hands. When they turned four, Anna kissed Percy on the cheek and he gave her a hug in return. When she did the same at age six, he ran away from her. Yet throughout it all, they were the closest of friends.

Everyone knew Percy loved Anna; he made sure it wasn't a secret. At thirteen years of age, Percy (who took after his father in looks and build and was already as large as many of the knights) told Anna (who looked very much like her mother) in two years, he'd ask Ulrich for her hand in marriage. The young couple already shared a few tentative, chaste kisses, and that's when Percy recognized he needed help from an expert, so he consulted his good older friend, Wallace. Wallace was seventeen and had begun his knighthood training. Certainly, _he_ would be able to give advice about how to kiss a woman. Percy figured his friend had kissed ten women, at least.

One afternoon, Percy met Wallace at the castle stables and asked for help. Wallace chuckled as he fed his horse.

"I'll give you some pointers, my young friend, but God, don't let Ulrich catch you, or he'll tear off your head!" Wallace finished scooping feed into the horse's bucket and turned to face Percy. "What have you done with Anna so far?" asked Wallace.

Percy reddened with discomfort. "I've, you know, kissed her a few times."

"Sure, but how, exactly?" Wallace inquired.

"On the lips? For a moment or two?"

Wallace heaved a deep sigh. "Heaven help me. All right, I'll tell you what to do," the older boy offered. "You press your lips to hers. Count to five. In your head obviously, not out loud. If she hasn't pulled away, then you lightly brush your tongue against her lip. And if she doesn't scream or slap you, then you put your hands on her waist and very easily try to touch your tongue to hers. Now, if she's still receptive, just move your tongue around, but don't jam it down the poor girl's throat."

"I can't remember all that!" complained Percy. "It's too much."

"I don't know what to tell you," Wallace said with a hearty shrug. "Just try to remember as much as you can. Or, maybe you're just not ready yet."

"I'm ready," Percy argued, yet he didn't feel ready.

"Off you go, then!" said Wallace with a cheerful grin.

Percy left the stables feeling frustrated and uncertain. He marched over to Anna's cottage on that clear spring day before he forgot all of Wallace's sage advice, and before he lost his nerve. Percy found Anna outside in the herb garden, pruning and weeding. She loved growing, collecting, and preparing herbs. At age thirteen, the young woman was quite the budding herbalist.

He approached Anna's garden fence and leaned over the wooden barrier. "Come here," he beckoned. "I need to talk to you."

"Now? But I'm covered in dirt!"

"Yes, now. Don't worry about the dirt; that doesn't matter."

She brushed herself off, stepped around the fence, and took the hand he offered.

"Where are we going?" asked Anna.

"Behind the old grain storehouse. I need speak with you in private. It's something important."

"Oh. Sounds serious!" she chuckled with her typical good humor, eyes bright.

The young couple arrived at their destination a few minutes later, and Percy cut through the heavy brush with his belt-dagger. The dilapidated storehouse was more secluded by thick, overgrown vegetation than ever. After a great deal of vigorous chopping, the two finally reached a clearing behind the old building.

Hands on her hips, Anna faced Percy. "All right, what's this all about?" She wasn't entirely thrilled about having been dragged through the brush and poked by various brambles and thorns, many of which were now stuck to her dress.

"Close your eyes and stand very still," the young instructed.

"Okay," she said sounding reluctant, but did as he asked.

Percy's heart beat in a rapid staccato, and he forgot nearly everything Wallace had suggested. And what he actually remembered, he was sure he had recalled in the wrong order. Percy put his hands on Anna's shoulders and kissed her on the mouth. She squeaked with surprise, but didn't pull away. He held the kiss; that much he remembered. But before he could do anything else, Anna parted her lips, so Percy did the same, and he felt _her_ tongue brush against his. He was under the assumption that _he_ was supposed to be in charge of this endeavor, so he took her by the waist, drew her closer, and kissed her back with more vigor. Anna wrapped her arms around the back of Percy's neck and seemed to enjoy the kiss. At least she hadn't slapped him or kicked him in the bollocks.

Finally, Anna took a small step back. "Where did you learn to do that?" she asked, a little worried that Percy might have been practicing kissing other girls.

"I don't know!" the young man responded. "I just guessed." There was no way he would admit he'd asked Wallace for advice. "How did _you_ know what to do?"

"I just guessed, too," Anna told him. But the truth was that she'd asked her mother's friend, Kiena, what she should do if Percy kissed her. "Should we try it again?"

"I think so," said Percy, with a deliberate nod of his head. "Just to make sure we got it right."

They kissed again. Percy fell even harder in love, experiencing that moment of excitement and absolute clarity when one is certain he is in the arms of his lifelong partner.

And Anna felt the same for him.

XXXX

For the next two-plus years, from ages thirteen to nearly sixteen, Anna and Percy's love continued to flourish. They'd often steal away for short periods of time to hide their secretive kisses and touches.

After one clandestine meeting, where Anna found her fingers hooked into the front of Percy's trousers, and he had his hands under her skirts, cupping her backside while they kissed, Percy told her he was going to ask Ulrich for her hand. That day. She was thrilled, but knew her father would never give his blessing for them to marry at fifteen years of age. She warned Percy of this fact, but he told her he'd ask regardless.

"He might not give his blessing today, but your father can't hold us off forever," Percy insisted. "And I want him to know I'm serious.

"Besides, I love you, Anna. I'd face a dragon for you if I had to."

After supper that evening, Percy told his parents he was going to see Ulrich and ask for Anna's hand. His sister Grace's eyes widened. Christiane and Percival traded knowing glances.

"Go ahead," Percival offered tentatively. "But if I were you, I wouldn't expect a favorable outcome just yet."

Despite his father's warning, Percy walked to the cottage across the road, back straight, chin lifted, trying to appear confident and mature, all the while hoping he wouldn't vomit. Or, if he had to vomit, he hoped he wouldn't do it in front of Ulrich. He reached the front door and knocked; Carina appeared at the threshold. Pulling the young man into a firm hug, Carina welcomed him to her home. After all, he was practically family.

"Come in, Percy. What brings you by this evening?"

"I was wondering if I might have a word with Sir Ulrich."

"Of course you can! He's out back in the workshop sharpening some blades."

Percy gulped. If only Ulrich had been reading or writing a letter instead of sharpening weapons.

The nervous young man walked toward the rear exit of the cottage, smiling at Anna, who sat at the dining table, sketching pictures of some herbs.

"Great, then. Thank you," he said to Carina politely.

And with that, Percy wandered out to the workshop to find Ulrich seated on a stool, sharpening a lethal-looking sword.

Ulrich looked up from his work. "Hi, Percy. What brings you out here?"

Percy went down onto his knees before Ulrich, head bowed, and promptly forgot his well-rehearsed speech. How could he fumble this so badly? So he said the first words that came to his mind, and spoke from the heart, even if he sounded like a stammering fool.

"Sir," he began, "you know how much I love your daughter. She means the world to me and I ask that you grant your –"

Ulrich held up his hand and stopped the boy. "Hold on there. I know what you're going to ask. You're a good young man and like another son to me, but I can't grant you my blessing to marry Anna just yet. Percy, you're not even sixteen and haven't begun your official training as a knight. Right now, you've no way to support a family adequately. Come back and see me when you're seventeen. Unless you do something ridiculous between now and then, I'll give you my full blessing."

Percy looked up with chagrin. "But that's over a year from now!" he croaked.

Ulrich's tone turned serious. "Is she not worth the wait?" the father asked, brows furrowed.

Ulrich had him. Of course Anna was worth the wait.

"She is, sir. You're right. I'll be back here in precisely fifteen months with the same question."

"I'll look forward to it, Percy," Ulrich said. "You're a good man, just like your father. In a short while, you'll be ready to be a husband. Waiting a little longer until you're more settled and established is for the best. You'll see."

XXXX

It was quite the fifteen months.

Anna and Percy found it increasingly difficult to resist one another. One evening, approximately six months before Percy was to ask for Anna's hand again, the young couple found themselves alone in Carina and Ulrich's cottage. Percy sat in a chair with Anna planted on his lap, facing him. Groping one another, they kissed without restraint. Anna reached down and rubbed her hand against Percy's hardness, just over his trousers; he gasped and slipped a hand under her skirts in response. And that's when Ulrich walked in.

Percy's back was to the door, so he didn't see the angry father enter, but Anna leapt up, flushed, embarrassed, and stammering inarticulate excuses.

Before Percy knew what was going on, Ulrich grabbed the back of the chair and overturned it fiercely; Percy and the chair hit the floor with a spectacular crash. In a mere heartbeat, Ulrich heaved Percy upright by the front of his tunic, then grabbed him by the ear and dragged the highly-embarrassed young man out of the cottage and across the street to his father.

During the short trek across the road, Percy begged for forgiveness and apologized to Ulrich profusely. Anna followed them until Ulrich roared for his daughter to go back to the house. Ulrich rarely yelled, so Anna knew her father must be furious, and she complied. She went back to the cottage and waited, feeling nervous.

"Open the damn door!" Ulrich instructed with frustration, while keeping a rough grasp on the boy's now-reddened ear.

Percy awkwardly opened the door as Ulrich released the young man's ear and shoved him over the threshold. Percival sat at the dining table and seemed confused for a brief moment, but understanding flashed in the man's eyes quickly.

"Ah," said Percival, sounding stern. "And what do we have here?"

Ulrich shoved Percy forward. "I found this little miscreant with his hands all over my daughter in _my_ cottage!"

Percival rose from his seat and tried his best to look perturbed and angry. However, he and Ulrich had long ago discussed what they would do when they inevitably found two of their offspring in flagrante delicto, or, somewhat close to it. And Ulrich was following the script quite well. Percy was terrified, but Percival recognized the subtle shine of humor in Ulrich's eyes.

"Really, Percy?" Percival growled at his son. He then turned to Ulrich. "Shall I give him the strap, then? A nice solid beating?"

Now Percy was really worried. The only time his father had ever struck him was when he and his younger brother, Yale, had stolen off into the forest many years before and had been lost for hours on end. Percival had been in a panic and Christiane was hysterical. Once the boys were found and returned home safely, Percy's father used the strap on him, and it was a lesson the young man would never forget. Percy's backside stung at the mere memory.

"No, that's all right. But I ask that you allow _me_ to use the strap on him if I find the boy in such a position again with my daughter. Prior to marriage, that is," said Ulrich.

"Of course you can," Percival told his friend.

As Ulrich exited the cottage in an apparent huff, he called out to Percy over his shoulder. "Prove yourself worthy and show some self-control, young man!"

Percy's back was to Ulrich, so Ulrich winked at Percival before he stepped outside.

Percival sat again and motioned for his chagrined son to take a seat as well.

"Percy would it have killed you to show a little decorum? You know better, Son."

"I know, I know!" remarked Percy. "I'm sorry I can't be more perfect like _you_," he grumbled. "You and Mum probably never even held hands until you were married!"

Percival laughed uncontrollably. "I'm certainly not going to discuss those details with you, but I can assure you, your mother and I were as far from perfect as people could get."

"I don't believe it," Percy challenged.

"Believe it. I was dragged out of your grandfather's cottage in much the same way as you were removed from Ulrich's, and for similar reasons."

Percy simply sat there, open-mouthed. His father behaving in such a way? It was difficult to imagine.

"And you do know Ulrich and I had a fight over your mother, don't you? And that he spent a night or two in the dungeons over the entire ordeal?"

"What?" Percy exclaimed. "No! I never knew that! Why did no one ever tell me?" He leaned forward in his seat. "Would you tell me about it? The fight, I mean."

Percival told his eldest son the entire story. Percy couldn't help but interject periodically, especially when his father told him that Ulrich kissed Christiane.

"What?! Sir Ulrich kissed Mother? I don't believe it! And you two became friends after that? How did that happen?"

"We did," Percival explained. "Ulrich took up with Carina soon afterward, then lost his arm. That's when we both realized life's too brief and fleeting to stay angry. But believe me, it wasn't an easy or smooth path to friendship.

"So as you can see, I was far from perfect, and the same goes for your mother. Now, back to you," Percival said to his son. "Do you think you can behave like more of a gentleman for the next six months?"

Percy heaved a frustrated sigh. "Yes. I'll do my best."

XXXX

The following mild and sunny spring morning, Percy met Wallace at the castle training grounds for some quarterstaff exercises. Percy wanted to be as prepared as possible when he began his official training as a knight, and Wallace was always happy to help. Gwaine had trained Percy well in the sword, but Wallace was brutal with the quarterstaff, and Percy found Wallace's instruction extremely helpful. The two young men had been good friends since early childhood, despite their age difference, and Percy felt little could disrupt their strong bond of friendship.

While they practiced, the younger man lamented to his older friend that waiting until marriage to have sex was becoming more and more difficult, and he felt like he was going to burst.

"Then just go handle it yourself for the time being," Wallace suggested with nonchalance during their water break.

"Believe me, I do plenty of that," Percy admitted. "But it's not always easy when you have an abundance of younger siblings wandering about the house all the time. I'm not really interested in getting caught with my…caught engaging in personal business."

Wallace let out a short laugh. "I can understand that. My brothers were always scrambling around me when I lived at home. Then why don't you go visit one of the friendly girls from the tavern and get it out of your system?"

"What are you talking about?" Percy barked. "Are you suggesting I bed one of the tavern girls? That's ridiculous! I love Anna! I couldn't do that to her!"

"Then it looks like you'll be waiting."

Wallace took a long slug of water from. "Let me ask you, what exactly have the two of you done together?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, how have you touched her? Above the skirts? Underneath? Beneath her undergarments? Do you need me to be more direct?" asked Wallace.

"Wh-Why? Why do you ask?"

"Oh, good Lord, Percy, have you given the girl an orgasm, or no?" Wallace inquired with impatience.

Percy flushed with embarrassment and couldn't look at his friend. "Well, not exactly, but… No, I haven't," he answered, staring at his waterskin. "I touched her, a little, under her skirts, but I, ah, got too excited so I stopped."

"You need to give her one. Hell, give her as many as you can; keep her coming back for more. You don't want to lose a girl like that."

Percival thought he might have seen a hint of jealousy in Wallace's eyes, but he figured he was probably imagining that.

"Has Anna expressed any interest in you bedding her?" asked Wallace plainly.

Now, Percy was nearly purple-faced with awkwardness. "Well, she said she wants to. I mean, she's asked a few times. But that's not right! Chivalry and…and protecting her honor and...ensuring she's not with child before we're married!" he babbled.

"Fine, don't take her to bed yet, then. But you have to try to please her in some way. Let me spell it out for you —"

For the next five minutes, Percy got an earful from Wallace about how to please a woman, with very detailed and explicit instructions. In truth, it all sounded pretty confusing and overwhelming. Percy was worried that in his inexperience, he would do everything wrong and look like a fool.

"Understand everything?" Wallace asked when he finished his lengthy soliloquy.

"I think so," Percy fibbed. "When should I do this?"

"Today. Now. Take her out for a ride to the forest. Just make certain you pick a secluded spot. You do _not_ want to get caught, my friend."

The two finished their staff exercises and Percy went home to wash-up and to call on Anna. The young man sauntered across the road, and Carina ushered him into the cottage, where Anna had various herbs spread out on the dining table and was carefully sketching pictures of the plants in her book. His Anna looked freshly-scrubbed and pink-cheeked, wearing a simple blue dress with a loose braid down her back. Beautiful, in his eyes, as always.

"I can see you're hard at work," Percy commented, admiring Anna's drawings over her shoulder. "Would you care to take a break and go for a ride in the woods?"

Abandoning her work, Anna leapt up from her seat. "I would love to get out of here for a while! It's far too beautiful out to stay inside."

Anna grabbed her satchel, stuffed a loaf of bread into it and located her light traveling cloak. "Let's get a move-on!" she insisted, then turned to her mother and siblings. "Goodbye, everyone. See you in a couple of hours."

Percy had borrowed old Aethon from his father, and he rode out with Anna.

"Have you ever been to the waterfall?" asked the young man while the horse trotted along. "The one with the old rock wall near it?"

"No, I haven't!"

"Then we'll go. It's only a few miles away."

Percy knew few people visited the waterfall because the path to it was fairly overgrown. When they arrived, Percy chopped his way through the brush with his sword, right to the water's edge.

"See? I even thought to bring a blanket," Percy teased, once they'd found a comfortable spot.

"Oh, that's good! I could lie here all day. It's so peaceful and beautiful," Anna observed.

Percy spread out the blanket; the couple kicked off their shoes, flopped onto the cloth, closed their eyes and listened to the bubbling water on the lovely spring day.

Percy grabbed Anna's hand as they rested and he inched toward her slowly. He leaned over and kissed her, which was expected. He kept kissing her, and Anna expected that, too. When he unlaced her bodice, that was slightly less-expected, but she didn't complain. After all, Percy could be too much of a gentleman.

Anna felt Percy's calloused hands on her breasts, which she enjoyed. He'd done that before a few times, but had always stopped abruptly and made speeches about honor, chivalry, being a gentleman, and so forth. It could be quite annoying, trying to convince him to go on, and it rarely worked. That's why she was shocked when he replaced his hands with his mouth and kissed her breasts all over. She squeaked with surprise and Percy stopped.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You don't like it? You want me to stop?"

She simply gripped his head and urged it back down to her chest. He kissed her breasts for a long while, and finally summoned the nerve to tease her nipple with his tongue. Anna moaned and Percy ceased the activity once again.

"Percy, moaning is good," explained Anna. "As is sighing. And squirming. Unless I tell you to stop, don't."

Percy smiled. "Point taken."

He went back to work and drew her nipple into his mouth and she moaned even louder. Emboldened by her reactions, Percy slipped his hand under her skirt and rubbed between her legs over her undergarments. Anna moved her hips against his hand, and repositioned herself slightly so she could caress his hardness with her hand, just over his trousers.

This action made Percy quite aroused, and he eased his hand into her undergarments. He'd touched her there before, but only for a moment. As long as Anna didn't object, he planned to keep his hand there for a while. She felt so warm, slick, and inviting, it made him ache with lust. He recalled Wallace's lesson, and after some gentle exploration, he found his lovely companion's sensitive spot and worked it carefully and easily with his fingers. And based on the way she writhed, moaned, and kissed him, he assumed she liked it.

Percy was enthralled with the way gorgeous Anna moved against him and her obvious enjoyment. So enthralled, that he scarcely realized Anna had pulled loose the laces to his trousers and had reached inside of his drawers. But Percy realized what she was doing pretty quickly once the young woman grasped his erection and had begun stroking it. Her firm grip and easy strokes felt heavenly. Normally, he would have stopped her, but today, he felt powerless to resist. Anna worked her hand against Percy's throbbing erection and he continued to touch the soft flesh between her legs.

"You feel so good," she whispered.

Percy was even more aroused than ever by Anna's words, and he looked forward to the day he could _really_ satisfy his young love.

And Anna was thrilled by the way Percy's touch was bringing her closer to the brink of orgasm. Having such a heated sensation wash over her due to someone else's gentle but insistent caress was new and exhilarating for her.

It didn't take long for Percy to realize he was about to find his release at Anna's hand, and he hoped she was almost there, too. She began to groan his name over and over until she was screaming it. He felt her climax, and the way she tensed against his fingers was an incredible sensation.

Anna had never stopped working his erection, and a moment later, he found his release, too. "Oh, God, Anna," he panted through clenched teeth. He'd never felt anything so good in his entire life, and he wanted more of it.

Once they'd both returned to their senses, Anna was still breathless. "That was unexpected," she said with a chuckle. The young woman then discreetly wiped her hand in the grass while the couple recuperated on the blanket.

"In a good way, or a bad way?" Percy asked with a measure of concern. Anna had seemed to enjoy their activity, but it was the first time they'd tried such a thing and he felt uncertain.

"Definitely a good way," she clarified. "A very good way."

Percy then felt a little disconcerted. "Sorry about the mess here."

"Oh, no, I thought the whole thing was fascinating!" Anna told him.

"'Fascinating?' Not, amazing, or the best thing you've ever felt?" he teased.

"It was those things, too," Anna told him, as she leaned over to hug and kiss her beloved Percy. "I loved it, I promise."

After the kiss, Percy pulled back, cupped Anna's face, and let out a loud and impatient sigh. "We need to get married soon!"

Anna laughed in agreement. "Very, very soon."

XXXX

Four months passed and Percy was due to move into the castle with the other new knights to start training. It seemed as if he'd waited a near lifetime for this moment, and it was almost upon him. He was also mere weeks away from asking for Anna's hand again, and the couple had agreed once Ulrich gave his blessing, they'd marry forthwith.

As always, Percy loved his beautiful and alluring Anna more than anything, and the sexual tension between the two had reached an all-time high. Following that day by the waterfall, they continued such intimate activities as they could find privacy.

One evening, right as a blazing-orange summer sunset washed over the sky, the couple stole off into the woods with a blanket and a wineskin filled to near bursting with mead. After the two had drained every last drop of the delicious and potent beverage, Percy somehow found himself on top of Anna; he was naked from the waist down and Anna's skirts were hiked up around her hips, undergarments nowhere to be found. He ground his throbbing erection between her legs urgently, aware that if his companion moved even a fraction of an inch, Percy would end up inside of her.

"Please, Percy. Let's just do this now," Anna whispered desperately. "We'll be married soon enough." She wanted him so badly and hoped he would finally give in.

And he almost went for it on that late-summer evening. The young man was dying to be inside of his gorgeous and willing sweetheart. He didn't know how he managed, bursting with passion and slightly inebriated as he was, but Percy extracted himself from her embrace.

"No. We can't," he apologized. "I'm sorry, just a little bit longer, I promise."

Anna gave a loud sigh and slapped her palm against the blanket with frustration.

Percy knew precisely how she felt. The waiting was driving them both mad.


	42. Chapter 41 Percy's Uncertain Future

**A/N - During chapter forty, we learned a good deal more about our beloved characters, and the years have just flown by! Christiane's brother has returned with a wife and is co-physician, Merlin hasn't found love but is still there for his friends, and sadly, Carina's father never made it home. :(**

**And now, our king and knights' oldest children are teenagers and living their own lives. Isn't it nice that the men and their wives have all gone on to have large, loving families? Yes, I know, Gaius passed away, but he died happily in his old age. **

**This chapter will also focus on Anna and Percy's relationship. Another man shows interest in Anna, and some conflict ensues. Will Percy and Anna remain together, or no? Will their lifelong dream of marriage come to fruition? Wait and see! Of course, there shall be more romance. And sex. **

**After this chapter, we will conclude Anna and Percy's story, and the next several will focus on Wallace (Gwaine's eldest son) and his love interest. **

**And a big welcome to a new follower, Queenoflacour, who left an incredibly touching review****. As always, everyone, thank you for reading. **

Chapter 41 – Percy's Uncertain Future

One overcast and humid early morning, several days later, Percy couldn't find Anna anywhere. Carina informed Percy that Anna was up at the castle stables, visiting Guinevere's new horse. Arthur had acquired a beautiful, pure-white mare for his queen, so brilliantly white and glossy the animal nearly glowed. The horse was the talk of the kingdom, and Anna had set out early so she could admire the fine animal.

When Percy arrived at the stables, he saw Anna and Wallace standing shoulder to shoulder, admiring the gorgeous new mare. Their backs were to Percy, but he saw Wallace lean closer to Anna, whisper in her ear, and place a small object in her hand. Percy couldn't hear the exchange, as it was delivered in hushed tones, but Wallace turned his face toward Anna, gently brushed aside a stray lock of her hair and leaned forward to kiss her. Anna took a step back, avoiding contact. More words were exchanged, then Wallace shrugged and left the stables, head down, looking crushed.

Percy was so utterly shocked he didn't know what to do. How the hell had he missed the fact Wallace wanted Anna? How long had he wanted her? His mind spun out of control with questions. And with outrage. Percy decided to return home to give himself time to cool-off before approaching Anna, and reconsider the notion of attacking his supposed good friend, Wallace.

When Percy entered his cottage, he told his mother he had a headache and needed to lie down. Christiane offered him some willow bark tea, but he ignored her and his siblings as he climbed the steps to the loft and flung himself down on his bed.

With his face half-buried in his pillow, Percy imagined various sickening scenarios of Wallace and Anna carrying on a clandestine love affair. After half-an-hour of his imagination running wild, Percy could no longer stand it, and he stomped out of the house to find Anna crossing the road to look for him.

"Hello," she said with her typical warm smile. "What're you doing this morning?"

Standing in the middle of the road, arms folded over his broad chest, Percy could no longer contain his anger. "Is your father's workshop empty?" he snapped at Anna.

"Yes, it's empty," she said, sounding concerned. "Why? What's wrong? You don't look or sound well."

Percy grabbed her hand and nearly dragged her to the outbuilding. "I saw you with Wallace this morning!" he shouted the moment they entered the workshop. "What is going on?"

"You saw me with Wallace this morning? At the stables?" Anna asked with care.

Percy was completely exasperated. "Yes, yes, at the stables! He was whispering to you and then he gave you something. I saw him try to kiss you! Were you ever planning on telling me about this?"

"Yes, I was," insisted Anna, "but you haven't given me a chance. Wallace expressing interest in me this morning took me totally by surprise, I swear. He gave me a small carving of a horse and tried to kiss me, but since you were there, you must have seen how I turned down his advances and heard me tell him that I love _you_."

"No, I didn't _hear_ anything!" Percy yelled like a madman. A blotchy, angry-red tint climbed up his neck and face. He couldn't help himself from raging on.

"I think you were making eyes at him and that you liked the attention!" he blurted out, when he knew in his heart it wasn't true. Why had he said such a thing?

"That's false! A total lie!" Anna shouted back at him. "How could you say such a thing to me? This isn't like you, Percy. Why would you speak to me like this?"

However, Percy was beyond irrational at this point. Blinded by the fear of losing Anna and aflame with jealousy, he rushed toward her and continued his tirade.

"Is it because I haven't bedded you yet?" he asked, now inches away from her, making wild gestures, his features tqiested with anger. "And you're tired of waiting? Because if you want, we can do it right now! Or maybe you're not even a maiden anymore!" he shouted, trembling.

For the first time, ever, Anna was a little frightened of Percy, but she stood firm. "Oh, yes, let me just lie down right here and you can have my maidenhood while you shout at me and make horrid accusations.

"And not a maiden?" she shot back, her words laced with outrage. "Have you gone absolutely mad, Percy? You _know_ that I am, damn it! How dare you accuse me of being disloyal. I've waited _years_ to be with you, and you damn well know it!" Anna shook with fury. "Get away from me and don't call on me again!"

Those words were a harsh slap back into reality for Percy. "What? Please, you don't mean that..."

"I do mean it," said Anna, her tone cold as ice. "You don't trust me and I've been nothing but loyal to you for our entire lives. Always. Now get out of here before I call my father to remove you!"

"Anna, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. You must know that. I don't know what came over me..." He reached out to touch the young woman but she smacked away his hand.

"OUT! Get out, damn it! I never want to see you again!"

Percy started slowly toward home, but at the last minute he changed direction toward the castle. This was all Wallace's fault and he planned to give the man the beating of his life. Percy didn't care that Wallace was over twenty years old, a well-trained knight, and had years more experience with hand-to-hand combat; Percy was going to make him pay.

The enraged Percy cut through the busy marketplace, and who should he find at the flower-merchant's stand but Wallace. Seeing Wallace there, looking at flowers that he was probably planning to give Anna was what made Percy snap. Percy ran up to his former friend and banged him on the shoulder. He might have been furious, but Percy wasn't about to attack a man from behind; he wanted to preserve a shred of his honor and dignity.

Wallace turned and faced his friend. "Hey, Percy. What –"

But before Wallace could finish his inquiry, Percy drew back his fist and punched the young man right in the face. Wallace stumbled back a foot, holding his throbbing jaw.

"What the fuck, Percy?" he yelled, drawing himself upright.

"You fucking know what, you miserable, conniving bastard!" Percy roared so loudly he became somewhat hoarse.

Right away, a curious crowd formed a tight circle around the two young men as they watched the altercation.

Wallace straightened himself and brushed his shaggy dark hair out of his face. "You're not even betrothed yet. I love her, too, man. Let Anna decide whom she wants to be with."

"How could you do this to me, Wallace? Don't you have enough women chasing after you? I thought you were my friend," Percy hollered. "You know we're to be betrothed soon! That I was going to ask for her hand any day now."

"You _are_ my friend. I simply couldn't help it," Wallace admitted. "I'm in love with her. And I've _been_ in love with her for some time. I'm only sorry I didn't make my move sooner. It's unfortunate that you're hurt, but I can't help how I feel."

"You're a selfish prick!" hissed Percy, charging Wallace again, his grey eyes narrowed.

Percy tackled Wallace, and the two enraged young men rolled in the dirt, dust kicking up, fists flying, curses ringing out in the sultry summer air. Many of the spectators urged them on while others begged them to stop.

Percival and Gwaine came upon the scene promptly, as they'd been sent to the market by their wives for some provisions. When the men inquired of an onlooker who was fighting, the woman told them she believed it was their sons.

Gwaine looked at Percival and shook his head. "Unbelievable," he mumbled, and the fathers stepped into the fray to break up the action. They tore their respective sons off of one another. Sensing the spectacle was over, the crowd dispersed.

"Someone, explain," Percival demanded, holding his own son in a chest lock while Gwaine restrained Wallace.

Wallace and Percy both spoke at the same time, shouting their versions of the story. Finally, Gwaine and Percival were able to piece together that Wallace had professed his feelings to Anna, and that hadn't gone over well.

"Anna and I had a row over it, and now, she refuses to see me!" Percy told them.

"Good," Wallace mumbled under his breath after hearing this admission.

Percy lunged toward him again, but Percival had a solid grip on his son.

"Wallace, come on," said Gwaine. "Going after a friend's woman?"

"And what if Mother had been promised to another man? Would you have just let her go?" Wallace asked angrily.

"That wasn't the case, though," Gwaine responded with frustration, "and besides, we're talking about you."

At that moment, Wallace reached up for his necklace, the one Gwaine had given him sixteen years ago, the one thing he wore all the time: it was missing. His eyes frantically scoured the ground until he caught sight of the piece.

Percy saw the item at the same moment, and the young men both wrenched themselves from their fathers' grips and dove for the necklace. Percy knew how much the piece of jewelry meant to Wallace, and he wanted to crush it in his fist, hoping he could make Wallace understand the pain of losing something precious, just as he had.

But Percival was faster. He grabbed up the necklace, handed it to Wallace, then pulled his son toward him by the front of his tunic.

"Don't. You. Dare," Percival spat out, face to face with Percy, the cloth of his son's tunic still in his fist. "You're a better man than that."

Percy looked away from his father; he had never seen the man so enraged. Young Percy felt humiliation on so many levels. He'd lost Anna and now, his father thought he was a terrible person. Perhaps he was a terrible person. After all, Anna thought so.

"Why don't we all go see Anna and sort this out?" Gwaine suggested, before things spun even further out of control.

Everyone grumbled in agreement, and they proceeded down to Anna's cottage. However, the foursome was quite the spectacle as they walked. Percy and Wallace were partially restrained by their fathers, yet even so, the two young men shouted insults and periodically lunged at one another.

"You don't even know how to satisfy a woman, Percy!" Wallace bellowed at the top of his lungs, as their fathers dragged them along. "I hate to think of poor Anna in the marriage bed with you, who knows _nothing_."

"I think she'd rather be with me than someone who has bedded half the women in Camelot!" Percy retorted at top-volume. "Do you think Anna would be happy to know exactly how you became such an expert?"

Wallace scoffed. "That's not true anyway."

"It is!"

"Percy, you're a fool."

"I may be a fool, but at least I saved myself for the woman I love!"

"Damn it, boys, shut up before I gag the two of you!" Gwaine demanded. "I doubt the entire kingdom wants to hear about satisfying women and marriage beds."

Looking out of his window, Ulrich saw the group approach. Percy and Wallace had bloody noses, split lips, black eyes and torn, dirty clothing. Ulrich was pretty certain why they were paying a visit.

"Seriously, am I going to have to go through this with Cadi, too? Thank God she's only five!" Ulrich told them, meeting the bedraggled group at the door. "Come in, come in," he said, leading the four men inside.

Anna sat in a chair with Cadi in her lap, reading a story book to her younger sister when the group entered. The young woman's eyes widened with surprise.

"Cadi, maybe you should go up to the loft and take a look through the book on your own for a little while," Anna suggested. "I'll be back with you shortly."

Cadi nodded, but first, she ran up to Percy and hugged him; he'd been in her life since she was born, and the little one adored him. Percy patted her small head with affection, and Cadi finally released the young man and ambled up to the loft with her book.

"If I may be the one to speak," Percival said. "It seems as if my son and Wallace had a fight over your affection, Anna. Just to clarify things, so this type of poor behavior from them doesn't continue, do you think you could explain to us what's happening here?"

Anna recounted all that had happened, from her interaction with Wallace that morning to her argument with Percy later on.

"I'm sorry, but I don't love you as anything more than a friend, Wallace," she said, looking directly at the young man.

Unable to meet Percy's desperate stare, Anna directed her next statement at Percival. "And after Percy made those terrible accusations and was so cruel, I don't wish to see him. That's how I feel."

Percy protested, but Gwaine held up his hand to stop the boy. "It's decided, then. You two will leave her alone unless she tells you otherwise!"

As the fathers dragged their sons out of the cottage, Percy braced himself in the doorway, refusing to be led out.

"I'm sorry, Anna," he called over his shoulder. "I love you! I love you!"

Percival yanked his son out of the door frame and swatted the back of his head.

While being forced home, Percy couldn't believe this was actually happening. Anna had rejected him and refused to take him back. He felt as if he was trapped in a nightmare from which he couldn't wake.


	43. Chapter 42 Worth the Wait

**A/N - Oh, Percy! He really lost it with Anna. I don't necessarily blame her for not wanting to see him again. During this chapter, we will see the fallout of Percy's split from Anna. Can he convince her to reconcile before he starts his official knight's training? Or, will she move on to another?**

**As I mentioned before, this is the last chapter focusing on Percy and Anna, but we will see more of them. Next up will be Wallace and someone. Perhaps someone a little unexpected. **

**I can't believe you're still here, AND I can't believe I have cracked 200k words! In the beginning, I had thought this would be a short one-shot! Thanks so much for sticking around, for those of you who have been reading, and a BIG welcome to a new follower, hannahjoya!**

Chapter – 42 Worth the Wait

It was a bleak time for Percy. He was only a couple of weeks away from moving into the castle. This was supposed to have been a joyous time, one celebrating his upcoming knighthood and engagement to Anna, but it didn't seem as if the latter was going to happen.

He let Anna be for three days; that was all Percy could stand. Each night when he didn't see her, he cried in his bed, doing the best he could to muffle the sounds from his siblings and parents. But Christiane heard his choked sobs.

"This is so unlike him," Christiane whispered to Percival in bed one night, her fingers interlaced with his.

"I know. But I think he and Anna will work things out," Percival assured his wife.

The following evening, Percy had reached the end of his tether. He poked at his food while the rest of his family ate happily and chatted as if everything in the world was fine. And he simply couldn't stand it. _Nothing_ was fine. In fact, everything was a damn mess. Percy had always pictured being married to Anna; he'd dreamed of their wedding night and the plump, happy babies they'd raise afterward. His parents had a loving and happy marriage, and Percy had been certain he'd have the same with Anna. And the fact that it had all fallen apart was making him physically sick. A black snake of misery twisted in his guts all day long, every day.

Percy didn't ask to be excused and simply left the dinner table, grabbed his cloak, and rushed from the cottage. Percival and Christiane didn't stop him. They were doing their best to give their son some space to handle his feelings about Anna's rejection.

Percy found himself charging across the road and banging on Anna's cottage door. Carina appeared in the doorway.

"I'm really sorry, Percy, but she just doesn't want to see you yet," said Carina with kindness and warmth.

"Then I'll sleep out here until she agrees to," he insisted.

He removed his cloak, flung himself down on the ground in front of the entryway, bunched up the garment under his head to serve as a pillow, and didn't move.

Carina smiled at him sadly and closed the door. A few minutes later, she appeared once again and dropped a thick blanket over Percy.

Ulrich returned home from patrol duties before sunrise and stepped over Percy's sleeping form, entering his house.

"It's clear the madness isn't about to end any time soon," Ulrich said to his wife as he crawled into their bed. "Anna's crying every night, and most of the day for that matter, Percy's sleeping in front of the door, and I'm getting grey hair!"

Percy woke the next morning, stiff from sleeping on the ground all night long. Anna had never come out to see him. Still, he trained with his father and did some odd-jobs at the forge for extra coin. Percy asked Meldin, the blacksmith, if the man would be good enough to hammer out a small ring from some extra iron scraps he had on hand. Percy explained why he needed the piece, and told Meldin that he wanted to pay.

"No need," the blacksmith said. "I'm five hundred years old and I like a good love story," he joked. "It's the closest I get to love these days myself!"

Meldin had over thirty years of experience, so it took him a very short time to produce an attractive and unique ring that looked a bit like a thin piece of twisted rope. Percy was pleased with the result.

The young man brought the ring home and wrote Anna a letter. He folded the letter around the small piece of jewelry, sealed the parchment with wax, and walked across the road to her home. Before he could knock, Ulrich opened the door.

"Percy, you know she doesn't want to see you right now," Anna's father said matter-of-factly.

"I know," Percy commented sadly. "Would you give this to her?" He handed over the letter. "I'm moving into the castle soon and I wanted to make sure she had this. That's all."

Ulrich took the letter from him and nodded. "I'll see she gets it.

"And Percy? It'll all be all right. Best of luck with your training. I mean that."

"I know you do, Sir Ulrich. That means a great deal to me. Thank you."

Percy turned and left.

XXXX

Although he was miserable and heartbroken, Percy continued to train. In just over a week, he'd be moving into the castle and completing the last portion of his training in-residence. The young man wasn't about to ruin the one good thing left in his life – knighthood. He'd always wanted to be a knight, just like his father.

Of course, training with Wallace was absolutely out of the question. Percy hadn't the lightest idea how he and Wallace were going to tolerate residing in the same castle together, let alone work together, but he'd deal with that issue when the need arose. If he had to, he'd grit his teeth and stand by Wallace's side during training and on missions. And he'd try to do it with a damn smile on his face, because he wasn't about to let the man ruin his career, too.

Meanwhile, for the next few days, Percy would train with Prince Llacheu. They'd trained together from time to time and were close friends; the prince was happy to help. The two focused on quarterstaff work. Llacheu swung and jabbed at Percy and Percy worked on blocking. After an hour, Llacheu dropped his staff at his feet.

"You're killing me, Percy," said Llacheu with a laugh, his tunic soaked with sweat and his blonde hair plastered to his head. "You and the hot sun."

"What? You're a fit and strapping guy."

"Yes, but I think you have anger on your side keeping you going today. What do you say we take a break and I quiz you on some of the Knight's Code of Chivalry? I could use some work on it, too, even though my knighthood isn't coming up for months." Llacheu sat down in the middle of the training field. "I'm sort of jealous that yours is so soon."

Percy placed down his staff and dropped onto the grass. "No one should be jealous of me."

"I heard about what happened." Llacheu inched over to his sack and retrieved the Knight's Code book.

"You and the whole kingdom."

"What are you going to do?"

"No idea," said Percy with a defeated sigh. "Any advice?"

Llacheu chuckled. "Me? I have no any advice for you. I haven't been lucky enough to find love myself."

"At the moment, love feels more like a curse." Percy absently plucked a weed from the grass. "Do you have your eye on anyone?"

The prince looked down and suddenly became very interested in his book, flipping through the pages.

"Who is it? You can tell me, Llacheu."

Llacheu shook his head. "It's stupid, really. I have someone in mind, but I can't discuss it yet."

"Spare yourself the aggravation while you can," said Percy.

Llacheu laughed at his friend.

Just as the two young men settled in and began to quiz each other on the Knight's Code, Sir Leon and Alis's sixteen-year-old twins, Leon and Ilene, strolled by, bickering and laughing.

"Hey, save a seat for me!" called out young Leon to Percy and Llacheu. "I need to work on the Code, too!"

"Damn right he does," Ilene chimed in. "Mind like a sieve, this one."

Leon swatted at his sister's arm. "Shut UP, Ilene! Anyway, I'll be back out here soon, all right?"

"Sure. We could use another brain out here," said Llacheu. "See you in a bit."

Leon and Ilene strolled into the castle and Llacheu watched them closely.

"What do you think of Ilene?" Llacheu asked Percy.

"I don't know. She's pretty. Not my type, though."

"Who is your type?"

"Just Anna." Percy frowned. "Only Anna. I will never get over her."

Llacheu examined his friend closely. "Then don't."

XXXX

Anna left Percy's letter untouched for over a week. There was a slight bump inside of the parchment, and she wondered what it contained. Anna was still so angry at Percy she could scarcely think straight. Yet she was also sad and lonely without him. He'd always been a part of her life – a dear friend, trusted confidante, true love, and future husband. However, Percy's heartless words and lack of trust had cut her so deeply, she couldn't think about what he'd said without breaking down into tears. A part of her considered tossing the parchment into the woods, but she thought better of it. Instead, she stuffed the letter into the small bookshelf by her bedside.

One morning, Anna looked out her bedside window and saw Percy carrying a small crate of his belongings out of his cottage and up toward the castle, with his father close behind. That's when she retrieved the letter and opened it. It was just sunrise, so her parents and siblings were asleep, which was a blessing. Anna unsealed the letter and a small ring fell into her lap. The young woman admired the piece of jewelry for a moment, then read.

_My Dearest Anna,_

_Thank you for reading this letter. I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am for the grievously-wrong way I behaved. I know the situation with Wallace wasn't your fault at all. When I saw him close to you, I went a little mad. Apparently, my father could be hotly-jealous like that, too, so I must have inherited it from him. You've been nothing but loving, kind, and loyal to me all these years; you did nothing wrong. It was all me. _

_Losing your love and friendship has been the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I am completely crushed without your love. In truth, without you, I feel as if I'm dying a little each day. That may sound dramatic, but I am being honest. _

_Are you hurting at all? I hate to think of you hurting, especially without me there to comfort you. _

_Please, Anna, if there's any way I could win back your affection, please tell me what to do, and I'll do it. Anything. _

_I hope that one day, you'll change your mind and take me back. If (when?) you do, please wear this ring so I'll know. _

_I love you, Anna. More than anything. And I'll wait forever for you if I have to._

_Love,_

_Percy _

XXXX

The new knight-trainees had several days to get settled-in to their new home at the castle and train before they were presented to the public for the first time. The public demonstration was the occasion when the new recruits were introduced to the people of Camelot on the training grounds, and where the citizens would form their opinions of these fresh young men. Who was the fastest? Strongest? Best with the sword? Fiercest? It was an exciting time for all.

Exhibition day arrived, and all the men were nervous. Percy thought he was well prepared, but still, he felt as if he were performing in front of people, and that didn't sit well with him; much like his father, he could be fairly shy. And as luck would have it, hundreds and hundreds of people turned up to watch the demonstration, which did nothing to calm the young man's nerves.

The first part of the demonstration consisted of foot races, and since Percy was tall and fast, he excelled. They then moved on to the quarterstaff, and again, he did very well. Hand-to-hand combat and disarming came after that. Next up was the sword section, and as the new recruits changed into armor, Percy's mother caught his eye with a small smile and it eased his nerves.

The trainees were then paired up with older knights for the sword exhibition, as the king didn't want the younger men taking each other's heads off due to inexperience and over-exuberance.

On the field, in front of close to one thousand spectators, Percy was paired with Gwaine. Gwaine had trained Percy in sword fighting over the years, so the young knight-to-be was very familiar with his experienced instructor's style. But Gwaine was one of the best swordsmen Arthur had, so he knew his odds of disarming the man were slim. And Gwaine didn't hold back; his overhead strikes were swift and brutal and Percy could barely keep up. As Percy did his best to shield himself and remain on his feet, he caught a flash of a light pink dress and long, curly-blonde hair in the crowd behind Gwaine – it was Anna. There. Watching him.

Percy rallied. He knew it made no logical sense, but he desperately wanted to prove his worth to Anna, as a knight and a man as she watched.

Percy parried, blocking Gwaine's strike, disengaged, then lunged forward with every bit of strength and determination he had, trapping Gwaine's sword. Almost unbelievably, the young man disarmed his mentor. Gwaine flung off his helmet, and shock registered on the knight's face, followed by a broad smile.

"It seems I trained you too well," he told Percy, clapping his pupil on the shoulder.

The demonstration continued for a short time until Arthur concluded with a speech about how this might just be the best group of trainees he'd ever had. The king took the field and addressed the spectators.

"I don't think I've ever seen a group of more devoted, hard-working young men," said King Arthur with enthusiasm. "This bodes well for the future of Camelot."

The sizable crowd applauded, and the knight-trainees were immediately ushered back into the castle with no time for visits with their friends or family. Percy acknowledged Anna with a broad smile and wave, and she waved back. And on her thumb, he saw it – she wore the ring he had given her.

For the entire afternoon and evening, all Percy could think of was how he would get to Anna and ask for her hand, officially, and ask Ulrich for his blessing, too. But it felt like the longest evening ever, filled with a banquet, speeches, court introductions, and so forth. Percy scarcely paid attention and counted down the seconds until he could get to Anna's cottage.

Finally, Percy was able to excuse himself. He headed for the castle exit, but stopped short. _I need a betrothal ring!_ he thought. _Where can I possibly get one at this hour?_ He racked his brain and finally recalled his father and Gwaine mentioning a jeweler named Marsilia. But what would she think of him when he showed up at her doorstep at this hour? Percy decided it didn't matter. He ran to his quarters, grabbed the sack of gold that contained his savings, and took a chance.

A short time later, Percy arrived at the jeweler's home. Marsilia's husband answered the door, looking none too pleased.

"I'm sorry to disturb you and your family so late, sir," said Percy urgently. "But I desperately need a betrothal ring, and your wife's the only person of whom I could think to help me."

Marsilia muscled her way to the door. "Ah, the new generation coming to me for business! Do come inside," she offered, as her disgruntled husband sighed and stepped out of the doorway.

"This happens at least once every few weeks; you'd think the man would be used to it by now," she said, winking in her husband's direction.

Marsilia ushered Percy over to her selection of rings. "Browse for as long as you'd like," the jeweler offered.

Percy knew Anna preferred smaller, more delicate jewelry; nothing thick or ostentatious would do. He poked through the selection for a while until he found it: a delicate silver band with small stars etched around it, each carving with a tiny clear crystal set in the middle. It was the perfect ring. Marsilia, ever the romantic, especially when it came to young love, gave Percy a good deal.

Percy raced to Anna's home, ring in hand. He made it there in record time, but was out of breath. He leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees, allowing himself some time to slow his breathing and racing heart.

Ulrich opened the front door a crack and stuck his head outside. "Meet me in the workshop when you're ready."

Percy charged around back and met Ulrich in the workshop.

"Please do me a favor, would you? Make it quick," begged Ulrich, the instant Percy arrived before him. "Anna's been waiting for hours, pacing, and my nerves can't take any more. This ordeal is turning me into an old man."

Percy dropped to both knees before his future father-in-law. "Do I have your blessing to marry Anna?"

"Yes! Now go inside."

In his eagerness, Percy tripped over the threshold into the house and found Anna waiting for him. Carina and Anna's siblings tried to make themselves scarce in the loft, but the cottage was only so large.

It was dim inside the home, and Anna was bathed in soft candlelight as Percy dropped to his knee, taking his beloved Anna's hand.

"I've always loved you and I'll love you forever. Will you marry me?"

"Of course, I'll marry you. And love you forever as well."

Percy stood and slipped the thin silver betrothal band on Anna's finger and the newly-engaged couple kissed, long and hard. Carina and Anna's siblings all clapped and cheered from the loft. Ulrich came inside and hugged his daughter and son-in-law-to-be, congratulating them. Carina rushed out and returned with Percy's whole family, and everyone celebrated with a toast of cider.

Before long, Percy was required to return to the castle, as he had an early training session the following morning. But he and Anna met the next night to make wedding plans. The married knights, regardless of their age, received private quarters in the castle with their wives, instead of shared chambers with other knights. But Percy warned Anna that at first, their quarters would "likely be the size of a small broom cupboard," but this didn't bother his fiancée in the slightest. As long as she was married to Percy, that was all she needed.

A mere two weeks later, Percy and Anna were joined as husband and wife. Though feelings were still raw, Percy agreed that Wallace should be invited to the wedding. Wallace attended the ceremony and the post-wedding celebration, but looked a little glum at first. However, Grace, Percival's younger sister, now sixteen, kept Wallace company during the wedding feast and lifted the young man's mood. Grace was bookish and somewhat reserved, but very pretty, with thick copper-colored hair and blue eyes. Wallace wondered why he'd never really paid attention to her before. Grace kept him entertained by talking about the story of witches and wizards that she was writing, and he was charmed. _Very_ charmed.

Christiane and Carina wept tears of joy throughout most of the wedding and subsequent feast, thrilled that their two beloved oldest children were now bonded in marriage. It had been a beautiful ceremony and wonderfully fun feast; it was a day they'd never forget.

XXXX

Percy had purchased a massive, comfortable, and well-appointed bed that he set up just in time for his and Anna's wedding night. On their first evening together as husband and wife, Percy carried his new bride into their chamber and deposited her onto the bed. He admired her enticing form, clothed in a short lace night dress. Gazing at her body stretched out before him, for the first time, Percy felt like a real man instead of a fumbling teenager, a man charged with caring for his new bride. Wasting no time, Percy lowered himself onto his wife.

"I know in the past, you've mentioned I can be too timid. But tonight, I will prove you wrong: so, so wrong. Once I have you, there'll be no stopping me," he declared boldly, a teasing smile on his face.

Anna didn't have the chance to respond, because Percy was already trailing kisses down her midsection, and had rucked up her peignoir around her hips. The new husband moved his thumb against the soft flesh between her legs, studying her expressions, eager to learn more about what she liked. Before he took his own pleasure, he was determined to coax at least two shattering orgasms from his wife. And that's exactly what Percy did – he teased-out the first with his hands and the second with his mouth. He felt powerful and in-charge, and it was obvious Anna loved this new and unstoppable Percy.

While Percy now seemed irrepressible in bed, he was tender and loving when he took Anna's maidenhood, and did his best to focus on her care and comfort.

"You were worth the wait," whispered Percy, just before he entered Anna with a gentle push.

Anna and Percy's wedding night was just as they'd hoped it would be, full of passion and delicious new experiences. They'd waited so many years for that night, and both agreed it exceeded their expectations. Many years later, Percy would joke that his massive bed was the best investment he'd ever made, as he and Anna had made use of every inch.

The two were in love and blissfully happy.

Yet love was on the horizon for others as well.


	44. Chapter 43 When Least Expected

**A/N - Awww! After all those years of being good friends, Percy and Anna married! It looked pretty dicey there for a while, but I am so glad Anna took Percy back. I enjoyed writing about their relationship so much. They will make some appearances later on, too. **

**I don't know about you, but I just love the idea of this new generation of children going on to marry, start careers, and new lives. And don't be too upset with Wallace for going after Anna. Wallace (Gwaine's step-son, but Gwaine considers him his son) is a good guy. And he will possibly find love in this chapter.**

**In addition, we'll now see Percival and Christiane as experienced parents. We will also attend a Percy and Anna's post-wedding feast, but we'll see things from Wallace's perspective. **

**I know I say this every chapter, but thank you, readers, for being there, AND a warm welcome to new follower enchida!**

Chapter 43 – When Least Expected

Wallace attended Percy and Anna's wedding and post-wedding repast at the Rising Sun, even though he felt awkward doing so. He'd had a few weeks to get used to the fact his friend and former love interest were getting married, and his love for Anna had all but faded. The young man hadn't expected to let go of his affection for her with such ease, but the moment Anna had openly stated she viewed him as a friend and nothing more, the way he thought of her changed. He wasn't going to be the type of man who pined for a woman who didn't care for him. So instead, he threw himself into his duties as a knight, and tried to shake off any lingering feelings of embarrassment over being the man not-chosen.

As always, the food at the Rising Sun was excellent, so during the feast, Wallace started out by paying close attention to his meal. He and Percy hadn't spoken since that day they'd brawled in the marketplace, and Wallace hoped to avoid him this evening. He knew it would be a challenge, since he was seated a mere few feet away from the newly-married couple. Wallace was squeezed in between his father and Grace, Percy's next-youngest sibling, age sixteen. The young knight ignored everyone while he gobbled down roasted pheasant and sopped up the delicious juices with warm bread. That, and he guzzled ale like there was no tomorrow.

"You might want to slow down the ale-swilling, son," Gwaine said to Wallace with a good-natured grin. "Don't want you to leap up and start singing."

"No chance of that happening, Father," grumbled Wallace, his mouth full.

Gwaine clapped his son on the back. "This can't be easy for you."

"It's fine," answered Wallace. "I'm fine."

The young man was mid-gulp on his second tankard of ale when a kind, soft voice interrupted his imbibing.

"Excuse me," said the gentle voice. "Would you mind passing that basket of bread? And the butter, please?"

Wallace glanced to his right, the direction from which the voice originated. It was Grace. He'd known Grace since she was a baby. They never spoke all that much; they exchanged pleasantries whenever they saw one another at gatherings or in passing.

However, about a month or so prior, right before the whole debacle with Anna, Wallace had seen Grace sitting beneath a tree at the market, writing in a large, leather-bound book. He'd been intrigued, so he walked up to her and asked what she was doing. Grace had looked up, smiled, and said she was writing a story… a book, in fact.

Wallace had wanted to hear more about her story, but his younger brother, Arvan, a saddle maker, had called out to him, insisting he needed help carrying sacks of grain. Sixteen-year-old Arvan experienced breathing troubles that kept him from being a knight, and his health made it difficult for him to do heavy lifting. However, Wallace's younger brother was one of the wealthiest people he knew: saddle making had proven to be very lucrative, and Arvan was a shrewd businessman.

Wallace had been somewhat annoyed that he was forced to run off and help Arvan, but he knew the boy needed assistance. So that was that, and Wallace had been forced to leave Grace's side without learning more about her story.

Yet here she was, now, sitting right beside him. But wait a moment, when had she become so beautiful? She hadn't always looked like this, with that thick, straight, copper-colored hair, full lips, and kind, clear blue eyes…had she? Those eyes: they looked like the color of the sky before a winter storm, deep blue and mysterious. And her skin was pale, with just a hint of rosy sunburn on her cheeks and nose. He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before in his life.

Grace met Wallace's eyes, waiting, yet he continued to gape at her. "No bread for me, then?" she teased.

"Bread!" he barked out, sounding ridiculous and feeling embarrassed. "Of course!" He whipped around and reached for the breadbasket to his left and proceeded to knock over a full pitcher of mead, its contents splashing all over the tablecloth, into the basket of bread, and onto Gwaine's tunic.

A sudden hush fell over the table and everyone turned to look at the commotion. Wallace wasn't one to be embarrassed easily, but at that moment, he felt as if his face was on fire. He stood so he could help clean up the mess and as he did, Grace knocked over her own tankard of mead. It was obvious to Wallace she'd done so on purpose. But why?

"Oh, goodness, it seems as if we've drunk too much mead and ale down this end of the table," Grace announced cheerfully.

The guests roared with laughter, as many of them had already drunk quite a lot themselves, and everyone returned to their meals while Gwaine, Wallace, and Grace cleaned up with help from Terric, who now owned the tavern. Within a couple of minutes, everything was back in order. Fresh bread and more mead had made its way to the table. Wallace collected himself and turned toward Grace, trying to speak like a normal, reasonable person.

"I'm not always so clumsy," he explained to the young woman, smiling. "And I know you knocked over your tankard so the whole tavern wouldn't keep staring at me. Thank you for that."

Grace put her hand over Wallace's, which rested on the table. "Not at all! It was my pleasure. I know I don't like to be the center of attention. Anyway, you've given me good fodder for another story."

Wallace stared at his calloused hand, still covered by Grace's smooth one. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.

Grace noticed his appraisal of her hand still on his, and assuming he was unhappy with her touch, she withdrew. "I shouldn't have pawed at you like that," said Grace. "I think I was just caught up in the wedding spirit."

"No, that's fine," Wallace said, and before he could stop himself, he reached for Grace's hand and held it, giving her fingers a light squeeze. Then he realized he looked more and more like an idiot with each passing moment. He had no idea what to say or do with Grace's hand in his, so he shook it, as if he was greeting her. Grace burst out laughing.

"All right, this has become awkward," she noted with a quiet giggle.

But in that moment, Grace and Wallace's eyes met, and they both almost toppled from their seats with laughter. And he finally dropped her hand. They focused on their respective dinners for a short time until Wallace engaged Grace in conversation once again.

"Grace, I never had the chance to hear about your story that day in the market," Wallace pointed out after he'd finished a bite. "I'm very interested."

The young woman took a healthy gulp of mead. "Are you really? My ramblings may bore you senseless. Before you decide you want to hear, I'll give you one last chance to escape."

Wallace found himself charmed by her subtle self-deprecating humor. "No," he said, "I demand to hear about it."

With a wide grin, Grace stood and pointed her finger at Wallace. "You asked for it, remember that. I'll be happy to share the details with you when I return. I need to excuse myself for a moment."

Grace excused herself, and Wallace glanced up at the head of the table. Percy and Anna had each taken a sip from the same cup while gazing into one another's eyes with love, and then shared a brief kiss. It was such an obvious exchange of tenderness that it made Wallace smile. _As it should be_, he thought, then realized a month ago, he never would have felt this way, but he did now. He was happy for the newlyweds, and he hoped he could have them as friends again one day soon.

In that moment, Percy looked up and caught Wallace's eye. Percy held his tankard high, tipped it in Wallace's direction, and gave a brief nod of his head. Wallace did the same in return. Wallace then tapped his chest lightly with his fist, which was a semi-private knight's greeting, and Percy returned the gesture. Well, that wouldn't solve all their problems, but Wallace hoped it was a start. Perhaps their friendship wasn't a lost cause after all.

Moments later, Grace returned to the table, eyes bright, eager to tell Wallace about her work. They chatted as the dinner carried on. Her story ideas about witches and wizards were so captivating, he found he couldn't wait to learn more. Once she finished explaining about her work, she asked Wallace about his carving hobby, and about his recent mission to Essetir. The conversation between them light and easy, as if they were old, close friends. Wallace wondered why they'd never chatted much before.

It seemed as if dinner was about to conclude, and Grace excused herself once again. Wallace watched as she wandered up to the head of the table and hugged Percy, whispering something in her older brother's ear, making him laugh boisterously. Grace then hugged Anna and kissed her cheek. After that exchange, Grace retrieved her traveling cloak from the peg near the door.

Wallace jumped up from his seat, nearly upending his chair.

"What the…?" said a confused Gwaine, while Wallace rushed to Grace's side.

"Are you, um, leaving?" Wallace asked Grace the instant he reached her side, recognizing he sounded nothing short of desperate.

She slipped into her thick traveling cloak and fastened it before looking up to speak. Wallace was a good few inches taller, and he had those same warm, brown eyes that his father had. Although Gwaine wasn't Wallace's biological father, the two looked and behaved similarly.

"I never paid attention to how handsome you are," Grace said suddenly, a hint of a smile on her lips. She reached out and touched his dark, collar-length hair. "Nice hair for a man, too."

Wallace found himself without words, a rare occurrence for him. Instead of standing there like a mute, he found himself reaching out to touch Grace's long, coppery locks. "And your hair's nice, too. For a woman," he said. "Well, for anyone."

"We're standing here touching one another's hair. This is a little odd," offered Grace with a deep, rich laugh.

They both dropped their hands.

"And it is time for me to go," Grace told Wallace. "Everyone's getting ready to leave for the castle and the bedding ceremony, and I in no way want to be involved in that! I don't want to even think about what my brother will be doing tonight," she offered with a slight shudder.

"I'm not interested in that, either." _I am far more interested in you_, Wallace thought.

"No?" asked Grace. "And why not?"

"Because I think it would be much more entertaining escorting you home."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes," said Wallace decisively. "Give me one moment to tell my father I'm leaving."

Wallace ran to the dining table and spoke some quick words to his father. Gwaine clapped his son on the shoulder and wished him a good evening. Wallace and Grace then walked out of the tavern, together, into the clear, starry autumn night.

Once outside, Grace reminded Wallace that one could toss a stone from the tavern and it would hit her home, so their time together would be very brief. And Wallace hadn't liked the sound of that at all.

"I have an idea," said Wallace. "Why don't you find a nice, solid stone, and as far as I can toss it, that's how far we'll walk. How does that sound to you?" Wallace hoped Grace chose a sizable stone. He had a decent arm, owing to the fact he'd been practicing his spear-throwing lately, and knew he could toss the rock a good distance.

"I like the sound of that. Now, to find that stone…" Grace poked around the ground near her feet, but didn't find anything suitable. Finally, after a good deal of searching and wandering, she grabbed up a good-sized stone, one with some heft, about the size of her palm. She handed it over to Wallace.

_Perfect, perfect,_ he thought, knowing he could toss the stone further than the eye could see. He wound up and heaved the stone with everything he had, and it sailed off into the distance, landing somewhere deep in the woods, so far out that neither he nor Grace heard the stone hit the ground.

"Huh!" exclaimed Grace. "It seems as if you were withholding your talents. We'll be walking for quite some time."

"I'll confess, that was the plan.

"Shall we?" asked Wallace, offering his arm to Grace.

She accepted it. "I think we shall."

They walked on down past the pond in the Town Center and onto a wooded path. Grace felt she'd talked about her work enough, so she asked Wallace all about his interests; she wanted to know more about his love of horses, carving, and how he'd become so adept with the quarterstaff.

"The quarterstaff isn't the most romantic of weapons," Grace mentioned to Wallace. "Most men I know focus on the sword. What made you turn to the staff?"

"It's one of those things that's difficult to explain," he said, as they walked along the dim wooded path. He realized they'd have to turn soon. While the moon illuminated the Town Center well enough, the forest was dark. "I was practically born with a wooden sword in my hand, but when I picked up the staff, it just felt right. I love the sword, like any knight, but if you're adept with the quarterstaff, that means you can use any good-sized length of wood as a weapon: a broom, long stick, what have you." Wallace turned toward Grace, not meeting her eye. "Perhaps I could teach you to use the quarterstaff."

"And what makes you think I don't already know how to use the quarterstaff?" she asked, sounding affronted.

The heat of embarrassment crept up Wallace's face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed –"

Grace cut him off with laughter. "So serious, Wallace. I was only joking. I know the basics with the sword. Father insisted we all learn to defend ourselves. But I've never even touched a quarterstaff; I would like to learn."

"Good, then. Before I see you home, we'll set up a day and time. And you'll um, need to wear trousers. I don't know how you feel about that."

"I would love that!" said Grace brightly. "But I'll have to borrow my brother Yale's. Percy's would be far too huge.

"And I think it would be fun to parade around like a sort-of knight for a day," she added. "I'm very excited about this now. I think it'll help me write better about knights and their experiences."

"I'm very glad to be of service," said Wallace, taking a joking bow.

Wallace knew it was time to turn around before they went any deeper into the woods and the night became black as ink, so he turned them around, but meandered toward home. Grace's hand still rested on his arm, and he moved his elbow toward his body, just a little, which made her step closer to him: exactly what he wanted. Wandering on at a slow pace, Wallace decided he wanted to know more about how Grace's stories came to be.

"Grace, how did you start writing stories? Is it something that just came to you one day?"

Grace peered down at her feet; she appeared to be uncomfortable, almost upset. "I, ah… No one knows about it but my family."

"Oh, how bad can it be?" asked Wallace. "I can tell you about how I used to wet the bed when I was little, if that would help."

Grace barked out a short laugh. "No, that's all right. Okay, I'll tell you about it.

"I've always had a terrible time sleeping, as long as I can recall. I get very nervous at night. Anxious for no good reason. Oh, and I'd get the worst stomach aches along with it. I'd turn almost green and it would always scare Father."

Grace slowed down their walking pace even further.

"On my really bad nights, when I was little, Father used to let me sleep against his chest. He'd sit up in his chair and hold me until I fell asleep. That is one of the benefits of having such a huge father – there's plenty of room to rest against his chest. But I knew I couldn't do that forever, and sleeping teas and tinctures never worked.

"I was going through a bad phase when I was about nine. I'd had a few days when I'd hardly slept at all, and I was crying in the middle of the night. Mum came up to sit with me in the loft, and she suggested that maybe I try to think up stories in my head. That way, instead of being so scared and worried about not sleeping, I could focus on something else. That very night, I came up with my first story: _Grace's Green Rabbit._ I won't bore you with the tale, because it has to do with being rescued from a well, but that's when it all started. When I woke the next day, I started writing."

Wallace stopped and turned to look at her. Words that he'd never meant to say poured from him. "Grace, you are so smart. Enchanting. And beautiful."

He leaned in, meaning to kiss her, but a loud rustling from the trees above broke the magical moment. Wallace and Grace looked up, and they saw a massive, snowy owl above them. The bird of prey gave a great hoot, then flew off into the night.

"That was spectacular," whispered Grace, her eyes following the majestic owl's flight path. "I love owls. That must have some meaning," she told Wallace.

Wallace was determined to reclaim that near-perfect moment. "It does mean something," he said. "When a snowy owl appears overhead at night, you must allow the man closest to you to kiss you."

Somehow, Wallace and Grace ended up facing one another, holding hands. Wallace dropped her hands and instead, pulled her against him by the waist. They were almost lip to lip now.

"I've never heard of any such thing," Grace whispered, leaning in.

"You have now," Wallace breathed, and then pressed his lips to Grace's.

It was meant to have been a peck, but it turned out to be a long, divine, heated kiss: Grace's first one. Wallace was gentle, and all but guided her with his hands on her face, his tongue touching hers as he moved his lips against her mouth. But the snowy owl returned with an echoing hoot, and they broke apart.

"Grace, that –"

Grace cut across. "Wallace, are you using me to get back at my brother? If so, I'm not interested in being part of it, and you'll have to find someone else."

"What?" Wallace barked, eyes wide, sounding horrified. "No. My God, no. I was just going to say that was an extraordinary kiss. The best I've ever felt."

Grace nodded, appearing to accept his answer. "All right; I'm glad we cleared that up. But is it supposed to feel like that?" she asked shyly.

"Like what?"

"Like sparks flying from a fire?"

"I don't know if it's supposed to," he said, caressing her flushed cheek with his thumb. "But it did. Has it, um, ever felt like that for you before?"

"Well, no, but that's because I've never been kissed before."

Wallace drew Grace into his arms again. "Let's have your second one, then."

He pressed a more passionate kiss to her lips this time, hot and eager, and the two stood on the moonlit path, kissing, lost to the rest of the world.

After a long moment, Grace inched back and told Wallace she needed to get home, before her father rode out with a search party. Wallace reluctantly agreed it was time to go back, and offered his arm to her again. The young man knew if he wanted to see more of Grace – which he desperately did – he had to make sure she was returned home safe and happy at a reasonable hour, lest Percival break him in half.

Looking back at that night many years later, Wallace couldn't recall what he and Grace had discussed on the slow walk back to her cottage. He remembered something about her being excited that she'd earned her first coin for a story she'd written, and that Sir Leon had paid her a small sum to write up a bedtime story for his youngest daughter, Ariana, but he couldn't recall the details. Mostly, because he felt dumbstruck by their kiss. Wallace had kissed his share of women and had gone to bed with a couple (far, far fewer women than Percy assumed), but this, the way he felt with Grace, was something new.

The last woman he'd had was about nine or so months ago. That evening, Wallace had been caught up in his feelings for Anna and was distressed; therefore, he drank far too much wine with dinner in the dining hall. Apparently, so had another woman. She was older and the cousin of a visiting dignitary. She'd flirted with Wallace during supper and followed him back to his quarters. He had been ready to say goodnight when she nearly tore off his tunic right in the corridor. So he invited her into his room and went for it – he was desperate for some attention and kindness from a woman. However, she was gone the next day and Wallace scarcely recalled what had transpired between the two, since he'd been drunk and the event was over so quickly. Yet the woman had been nice enough to scratch out a brief note thanking Wallace for a "lovely evening" before she left.

Wallace felt disappointed in himself after reading the note. He enjoyed sex, but he'd never had a one-night encounter before and was distressed. Wallace believed sex with a woman would be best if he was in love. But what if no woman ever loved him back?

Grace's voice cut into his thoughts. "Well, here we are," she said, removing her hands from Wallace's arm, meeting his eye. "I had a wonderful evening. Far better than I could have imagined. Thank you for that."

"I… Thank _you_," fumbled Wallace. "But don't forget, quarterstaff training. Are you available the morning after tomorrow, following breakfast?"

Grace glanced upward, as if considering her schedule. "Yes, that time will do. See you then, Wallace." She smiled and turned to leave, but Wallace caught her hand and pressed a light kiss against it.

"Grace?" he said. "Tonight was the best night I've ever had. I mean it."

"Hopefully, there'll be more to come," said Grace, releasing Wallace's hand and walking into her home.

Wallace watched her walk inside, and noticed Percival glaring out of the window, looking displeased. Wallace gave a brief wave, and Percival tipped his head in acknowledgement, but the father's expression was grim.

"So it begins," the young knight muttered under his breath, starting the short walk home to the castle.


	45. Chapter 44 Do You Submit, Sir Knight?

**A/N - Well, well, well! Wallace (Gwaine's son) and Grace (Percival's oldest daughter)! I couldn't help it. :) We will see Wallace and Grace's relationship progress as they spend time together and Grace learns to use the quarterstaff. Grace MAY accidentally drink a touch too much mead. You'll see the humorous result of that!**

**After this chapter, we will see Percival enter protective-father-mode and things will really heat up between Wallace and Grace. **

**Once more, thank you, wonderful readers, for sticking with me. Writing this story has been an incredible experience, and having people who actually read it makes it even better. You've soothed my heart, readers!**

Chapter 44 – Do You Submit, Sir Knight?

"All right, that's good," Wallace announced to Grace at the edge of the castle training field. "Really good."

The two were bathed in sweat, red-faced, their quarterstaffs locked together fiercely in a crisscross. With a scowl on her face, feet braced in the dirt, Grace tried to shove Wallace away with her staff, but he was too strong. Nonetheless, she gave it her all.

They'd been at it for a good couple of hours already. Grace had quickly mastered the technique of flourishing the staff, so Wallace had moved on to teaching her the sequence of the dozen different moves involved in quarterstaff work, which was the key to effectively wielding the weapon. Wallace had focused a lot on teaching her good footwork, and did some drills to help with her eye-hand coordination.

"The staff is quicker than the eye," he'd told Grace. "You must stay alert."

Yet there they were, battling it out on the edge of the field. Wallace took several steps backward into the woods, but Grace kept her staff locked right against his. Once he'd made it into the denser foliage, Wallace leaned forward to kiss Grace, their staffs still engaged. She started to kiss him back, but much to the knight's surprise, Grace shoved her staff against his as hard as she could. When he stumbled back a step, she swung her weapon against Wallace's lower legs, knocking his feet out from underneath him, landing him on his back. Grace stood over his supine body, and pressed the end of her staff against his chest, smiling as if she'd just won a great prize.

"Do you submit, Sir Knight?" she asked with glee, eyes bright.

Wallace groaned and closed his eyes. "It's a shame you don't have a sword to run me through, because when the other knights get word of this, my life will be over."

He opened his eyes again to find Grace extending a hand to help him up. He smacked her hand away playfully and rose on his own.

"I can't believe it. Two hours of training, and you have me flat on my back," he said. "Perhaps King Arthur should knight _you_." He paused for a moment and studied her. "But there's just one problem..."

"What? That I'm a woman?"

"No, that's not it. It's that your trousers are about to fall down."

Grace looked down and saw the trousers she'd borrowed from Yale were close to halfway down her hips. "Oh!" she cried, dropping her staff to yank up her pants. "How embarrassing! I wore this because I didn't know what else to wear, and I cut off my old chemise to wear under the tunic… I can't imagine what you might have seen. I-I don't even want to think of it." Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

Wallace tried to keep a straight face, but found he couldn't. "Please, don't worry," he said with a deep, short laugh. "You caught it in time. I didn't see anything." _Other than that beautiful, creamy-white belly of yours. And I prayed your trousers would have slipped just a little lower,_ he thought.

"I think maybe we should stop for today," offered Wallace. "You've done such a good job that you deserve a reward. Would you like to join me up at the castle for a little while and have a cold drink? And I have an extra tunic kicking around if you want to change out of that one. I know I'm a sweaty mess and could use a change."

"Change clothes? In your quarters?" asked Grace.

"I don't mean anything improper by it," Wallace responded quickly. Now it was his turn to feel embarrassed. "That was too forward, wasn't it? It's just that I know I always want to change after training, and I figured you would, too." He kept jabbering. "I mean, sitting around in wet, smelly, filthy tunics, immersed in one's own sweat…it's not… I'll shut up now."

"Actually, I would love it. And I'm dying of thirst."

Wallace took both quarterstaffs and positioned them under his left arm while extending his right for Grace to take. They walked across the training field, arms joined. After today, everyone would know the two were spending time together. The couple drew closer to the castle, laughing about the events of the day, when Anna came into view, carrying two baskets, one filled with bread, and the other with fresh herbs.

"Hello, you two," she called out, quickening her pace, crossing the grassy field to reach her friends. Her eyes were bright and she looked happy. Anna had that pink, cheerful glow that often belonged to happily-married newlyweds – as if the world was fresh and new and everything was perfect.

"Hello, Anna," Grace called out. The two embraced for a moment. "My brother's treating you well, I hope? If not, I'll give him a kick in the arse!"

Anna stepped back and laughed. "Of course he is. Things are wonderful. He's busy, but then again, so am I. I've been supplying and preparing medicines for Christiane and Evann, and I love it."

She smacked her hand against her head. "I almost forgot! I'd like to invite you two to supper tomorrow night, if you can make it. Just know that our quarters are painfully small, and we'll end up sitting right on top of one another."

I would love that," Grace answered cheerfully. "You know I don't care about sitting on top of one another. Supper with you and Percy will be quieter than a normal meal at my house, that's for sure. It'll be a nice change to _not_ have little Will swiping food from my plate. How such a small person can tuck away so much, I'll never know."

Wallace hesitated to answer. He and Percy hadn't had a full conversation since their fight in the marketplace over a month ago, and that was hardly even a conversation; it was more of a festival of punching and insulting. But they'd shared that brief moment the night of Percy's wedding, a moment of understanding, and perhaps forgiveness. If Wallace didn't make a true effort now, when would he?

"I can come later," he offered. "I'm on patrol until after sunset. But I don't want you to have to adjust plans for me."

"No, later is fine," Anna assured him.

The group finalized their plans for supper the following evening. They entered the castle, with Anna going one way and Wallace and Grace another. Grace had been in the castle many times, and had even lived there with her family when she was a baby. However, she'd never been in Wallace's quarters, or any man's private quarters, for that matter. They closed in on Wallace's chambers when Leon came striding down the corridor.

"Oh, Grace!" Leon called out, moving closer. "Thank you so much for that story you wrote for my Ariana. When we read it to her at night, she falls right asleep now. I don't know what we'd do without it. That whole idea about the moon and the star turning into children during the day and having adventures is just brilliant. Do you think you can write up another one? I'll pay double!"

Grace laughed at Leon. "Of course I can. I'll just need a few days. And you needn't pay me at all. Just tell people who wrote the story if they ask."

Leon scoffed. "I'd pay you triple, but I know you'd never accept it. I _will_ pay. And thank you." Leon nodded at Wallace with a smile, and walked away.

"Here we are," said Wallace, sweating a little with nerves, opening his door. He couldn't recall if he'd straightened up this morning; he'd been in a rush to prepare for training with Grace. And he hoped it smelled all right. He normally didn't care about such things, but now, he prayed that the chambermaid had made it to his room and doused the quarters with that scented oil she was always so keen on using.

They stepped inside; Wallace gave a quiet sigh of relief. It smelled of flowers and spice in his room, which was better than the alternative of sweat and stale mead. He ushered Grace in, but made sure to leave the door ajar; he didn't want her to think this had been a ploy to get her alone in his private chamber. But, if she was willing to kiss a little… No. He put that from his mind. It was time to have some refreshment, get changed, and send Grace on her way.

Wallace stood the staffs up in a corner and went to retrieve his stash of mead. He poured two tankards, handed one to Grace, and offered a toast. "To an excellent first day of training. May there be many more."

"I'll drink to that," she said, downing the refreshing mead in a few long gulps. She then lifted the bottle of alcohol from the table and poured two fresh tankards for herself and Wallace, draining the second cup quickly as well.

"Oh," said Grace, wiping her mouth and shaking her head after she'd finished her gulp. "The castle mead's much stronger than what I'm used to at home. I was just so thirsty, though."

_Simply fabulous,_ Wallace thought. _Now, I'll escort a drunken-Grace back to her home, and her parents will kill me._ _Correction, her _father_ will kill me._

Wallace took Grace's cup from her grasp. "Let me fetch some water," he said. "And a bite of food. That'll straighten you up." He turned to leave, but stopped short. "Wait, first I'll round up a clean tunic for you so you can get changed."

The young man turned to his wardrobe and pulled out an older but clean tunic, one that was more fitted. He handed it to Grace, and she accepted it with a crooked smile, looking a touch bleary-eyed.

"You go right ahead and get changed," Wallace instructed. "I'll be back very soon."

Wallace charged from the room in search of fresh drinking water and a snack. He raced down to the kitchens and spoke with a younger kitchen maid with whom he was friendly, and managed to walk away with a water pitcher and a large chunk of cooled nut brittle. He'd had to promise to help peel and chop onions later, not his favorite job, but he agreed to it without hesitation.

Finally, he arrived back at his quarters, assuming Grace had enough time to dress. He walked inside, holding the pitcher and food, and was met with the sight of Grace sprawled out on the bed, asleep. And his tunic was bunched up around her neck. Her midriff was on display, and the swell of her gorgeous, rounded breasts were obvious beneath the tight half-chemise she wore. Wallace could see her nipples for goodness sake! While part of him wanted to dive on top of her, wake her, and beg her to remove her clothing, another part felt mildly-hysterical, convinced if he didn't get her home soon, her father would come looking for her and find her here, drunk and not properly clothed.

He was a dead man.

Wallace took an offhand glance at the bottle of mead, which was now more than half empty. Clearly, Grace had helped herself to another substantial serving.

"Damn, damn, damn," mumbled Wallace under his breath.

Within the span of a mere few moments, his life had become much more difficult.

The young knight placed down the pitcher and candy on his dining table and moved to the bedside, gently trying to rouse Grace while pulling down her tunic so she'd be covered. Though he hesitated for a moment so he could openly stare at her tempting body without reprisal.

"Grace…Grace?" he whispered, shaking her lightly, praying she'd wake and be somewhat coherent. "Up we go now…"

Grace sat up with a start. "Who's that?" she shouted, half-inebriated, wobbling, studying the bed and chamber, then settling her gaze on Wallace. "Oh, hi, Wallace. We were practicing with the…the… What's that called again?"

This was worse than Wallace had feared. "The quarterstaff, Grace. You drank a little too much mead…"

Grace reached out and tried to touch Wallace's cheek, but ended up slapping his face in her intoxicated and uncoordinated condition.

"Quiet, you. Come sit down next to me here." She yanked him down onto the bed by the front of his tunic, and he sat, wondering what he should do next.

A drunken Grace took Wallace's face into her hands and gave him a serious look. "Would you take off your shirt for me?" she asked.

"Would I… No, Grace, this is a bad time for that. You're not yourself right now."

"Ohhh….because I'm DRUNK," she bellowed, followed by a round of mad giggling.

Wallace tried to stand, but Grace had a firm grasp on the front of his tunic.

"Yes, that's part of it. Here let me get some water for you and a piece of candy. Food and drink will help sort you out."

But Grace didn't let him rise. Instead, she leaned forward, hands wrapped up in Wallace's tunic, and kissed him. She moved her tongue into his mouth, then slipped her hands beneath the hem of his shirt, caressing his chest. Next, her lips found his collarbone, and she trailed kisses up his neck and back to his mouth. A low groan escaped Wallace's lips, but he couldn't stop Grace, because her hands and mouth upon him felt all too pleasing. Yet he kept his own hands at his sides.

Emboldened in her drunken state, Grace eased back onto the bed again, pulling Wallace on top of her. Still, he went along with it, as if under a spell of some sort. He couldn't seem to gather his thoughts until Grace took his hands and slid them under her tunic and chemise, and positioned his callused palms right on her bare breasts. He knew he shouldn't have done it, but he took a quick moment to palm her breasts, feeling her nipples tighten beneath his touch. Letting out a ragged sigh, the young man drew himself upright and leapt from the bed. With unsteady hands, he poured a cup of water and broke off a piece of brittle. He pulled Grace upright and practically force-fed her water, then shoved a small chunk of candy into her mouth.

"Drink and eat Grace," said Wallace. "You have to sober up. Please. Otherwise, your father will kill me."

Grace chewed, then swallowed her snack. But she let out a shaky sigh and became teary-eyed.

"You didn't like it?" she said to Wallace.

Wallace took a seat right next to her on the bed and took her hand. "Of course, I liked it. I loved it," he admitted. "But you're drunk, and that would be unfair of me to take advantage of you in such a state."

Grace seemed calmer and a little more sober. She reached over and broke off another piece of brittle and ate it before trying to speak again.

"How did I manage to get drunk this afternoon?" she asked with a soft chuckle. "Was it really just that mead?"

"Yes," said Wallace, with a nod of his head. "You were thirsty and downed two or three large tankards. I forgot that a teenage girl should have some food and water before guzzling large quantities of potent castle-mead. You haven't eaten in hours, and that didn't help either."

The two sat and ate brittle, followed by more cups of water. Wallace insisted his companion needed more substantial food, and went to the kitchens once again, this time returning with slices of ham, after having made another promise to the kitchen maid to help pickle cabbage later.

And the entire time, the young man couldn't get the memory of Grace's full and lovely breasts out of his mind.

After an hour of sipping non-alcoholic drinks and snacking, Grace appeared to be slightly sobered-up, so Wallace suggested it was time for him to escort her home. She agreed, but looked embarrassed during the short walk home.

Right as they reached her cottage, Grace spoke, her eyes averted from her companion. "Wallace, I'm sorry about what happened. And I understand if you don't want to –"

"Grace," he interrupted, "I'd like to ask your father for permission to court you. Officially. Openly. Is that all right with you?"

She dared to look at him. "Even after today? When I behaved like a tramp?"

"Do you want to court _me_," he challenged, "after I foolishly foisted strong mead upon you without thinking?" His tone softened. "Really, do you want to, Grace? I won't ask your father unless it's something you want."

Meeting Wallace's eye now, she gave him a small smile, looking content and pleased. "I do want that. Very much."

"I would kiss you," Wallace told her, "but I don't want your father to come out and break my arm right now." The young man glanced at the cottage, and once again saw Percival glaring out of the window.

Instead of kissing, the young knight and Grace finalized their plans for supper the following evening and decided that afterward, Wallace would speak with Percival about courting the man's daughter.

Wallace pressed a brief kiss to Grace's hand and departed.


	46. Chapter 45 The Knight & the Storyteller

**A/N - I have to admit, Grace getting drunk and being forward with Wallace made me laugh. And I love how she's so adept at the quarterstaff. **

**During this chapter, Wallace and Grace will dine with Anna and Percy. Also, Wallace and Grace have a small accident, which results in true feelings confessed. We will also see an intimate moment between the two. Yes, there will be descriptive sex in this chapter. :)**

**I have to confess, I'm kind of sad this story's going to end on chapter 56. I know...that means eleven chapters to go, but this story has been with me for so long, it's going to be hard to say goodbye. BUT...I have other things in the works! Not nearly as long or as epic as this, lol!**

**Once more, I adore you, dear readers. Your kind words mean more to me than you'll ever know. **

Chapter 45 – The Knight and the Storyteller

"To Grace, my sister and trusted confidante, and to Wallace, my good friend," Percy toasted in a booming voice directly after supper, "whom I am glad to have back in my life.

"And of course, to my gorgeous, delightful, stunning new bride." Percy held his cup aloft.

"Here, here!" Anna, Wallace, and Grace answered, each taking a sip of wine.

Supper had been a fun affair. Although Percy and Anna's quarters were quite cramped and dimly-lit, and the two couples sat elbow-to-elbow, they had a splendid time, which Wallace had not expected. He'd feared Percy was still angry and harbored some resentment toward him, but that wasn't the case. After having finished their meal of capon in black sauce and parsnip pie, Percy drew Wallace aside – not far aside, due to the lack of space – and they talked.

The two young men spoke in hushed tones, while their women sat off to the side, engaged in their own animated conversation. The ladies wanted to make it clear they were giving their men privacy, as much as the small room allowed.

"I handled things badly between us," Wallace started out. "I hope you can forgive me."

"Of course I can," said Percy with a nod, grasping his friend's shoulder. "I did awful things as well. I ask for your forgiveness, too."

Percy and Wallace accepted one another's apologies, grateful their longstanding friendship was being repaired. Yet Percy had a serious question for his friend.

"You and my sister, eh?" questioned Percy. "As her older brother, you know I have to ask, are your intentions honorable?"

Right then, Wallace's true feeling poured out. "Please don't tell Grace yet, because I haven't mentioned this, but I'm in love with her. Since your wedding night, but I don't know how she'll take it."

Percy glanced at his younger sister. "Grace and I are very close. Always have been, since we're the elder siblings of the family and all," he said with a quick laugh. "And I can see by the color in her cheeks and the way she looks at you she feels the same. She's strong, but she can also be sensitive. I know she's worried about getting hurt, and I as her big brother don't want her to get hurt either."

"She needn't worry about that, nor should you," said Wallace. "I plan to ask your father tonight if I can court Grace. I'd ask for more, but I know he'll think it's too soon."

"More?" asked Percy with surprise. "As in, marriage?"

Wallace nodded. "I know how I feel. And I know what I want."

Percy squeezed Wallace's shoulder and smiled. "You're smart to wait, my friend, because Father would likely drag you out into the middle of the road and beat you bloody if you asked for her hand right now." Percy took a healthy swallow of wine. "This is the first time he'll have to deal with a gentleman caller, and I'm sure his overprotective streak will flare-up. I hope he'll be more normal by the time Madlen's ready to marry."

"I can handle it," Wallace assured Percy.

After a few sips more wine and one last slice of toothsome cherry torte, Wallace and Grace bid Anna and Percy a good evening. But that was because Anna had planted herself in Percy's lap and was kissing him madly; the newlyweds seemed to want a little alone time. Thus, Wallace and Grace left the castle and headed out into the breezy autumn night so Wallace could face the towering Percival, man to man.

Grace took Wallace's arm as they walked, and shot him a quick glance filled with skepticism. "Are you sure you want to do this? My father's never had to deal with anything like this before and I have a feeling he's going to be…difficult."

"It's fine," Wallace assured Grace, rubbing her chilled hand while it rested on his arm. "How bad can your father be compared to a band of marauding Saxons?"

"Bad," she offered with a smile. "When he's frustrated, watch out."

The wind picked up, so Wallace and Grace quickened their pace, arriving at the cottage. Before entering, Wallace stopped Grace with a light touch.

"I want you to know, no matter how poorly your father reacts, even if he ties me to a post, I'm standing firm. I want to be with you, Grace."

"You're positive?"

"Entirely."

"You feel no shame in being seen with me?"

Wallace was startled by Grace's statement and took a small step back. "Ashamed? I don't understand. How could I ever be ashamed of you?"

"I'm younger. Not as beautiful as many of the ladies of court. And I'm afraid I'm not very worldly."

"I don't know who's put those thoughts into your head," said Wallace, somewhat stunned, "but you're gorgeous and wise and I can't wait for the entire kingdom to know you're mine."

Wallace moved toward Grace again, planning on giving her a kiss, until Percival appeared at the doorway, looking irritable and more formidable than usual.

"And what do we have here, Grace?" asked Percival, voice tight. He glared at Wallace, then looked back to his daughter. "And it's a touch late, isn't it?"

"I don't think so," said Grace, her brow wrinkled in frustration. "We were having dinner with Percy and Anna up at the castle is all, then we came straight here."

"Sir Percival," Wallace cut in, sensing a disagreement might be brewing, "I'm here with your daughter because I wanted to see her home and because there's something I'd like to discuss with you. In private, if we could."

"And what might this topic of great import be?" boomed Percival, crossing his arms over his chest, looking as if he wanted to punch Wallace in the jaw, or perhaps string him up.

At that moment, Christiane worked her way to the door and rolled her eyes at her husband.

"Grace, come along inside for now, sweetheart. I have some hot broth if you need to warm up. And Husband," she said in a frustrated tone, "why don't you give Wallace a moment of your time?" She gave Wallace a comforting smile, then turned to Percival again and shot him a stern look. "A less-angry moment?"

"Fine," said Percival with feign calmness. "Wallace, let's have a walk, then."

After having made it a few feet away from the cottage, Wallace started right in. "Sir, I would like to ask your permission to –" The young man's speech ended abruptly the moment he stepped into a ditch in the middle of the road, tripped, and ended up flat on his face.

"Missed that ditch did you?" asked Percival, making an unsuccessful attempt at stifling his laughter. Still, he offered the young man a hand up.

A mortified Wallace accepted the proffered hand and stood, brushed off his tunic, finding himself unable to meet Percival's eye and explain himself. What kind of father would want a bumbling, over-nervous knight to court his daughter?

Percival caught Wallace's shoulders and let out a sigh. "I thought I could keep this up, but I can't."

"Keep up what?"

"I know why you want to see me."

Wallace was taken aback. "You do?"

"Yes. You want to court Grace. I've seen the way you eye one another, and she's always happy and flushed after her time with you."

"Sir Percival –"

"Wait," interrupted the older knight. "I'd like to say my piece, and then you can say yours. All right?"

Wallace nodded, glad he wasn't about to be beaten or laughed at. Yet. "Yes, sir."

"It's hard for me to accept my Grace is growing up," said Percival, gesturing for Wallace to walk along with him. "I can't believe she's old enough to be courting. Just yesterday I held her in my arms when she was minutes old. I love all six of my children, but she's my first daughter and there's something special about that.

"Grace is special. She's one of the smartest people I know…funny…kind. But she can also be nervous and sensitive. Did she tell you her problems sleeping? When she was younger?"

"She did, sir."

"She must care for you very much, then," said Percival, sounding sad. "It's not something she shares with many people."

They walked on toward the Lower Town. A full minute passed before Percival spoke again.

"Grace used to get terrible stomach aches at night when she was anxious," Percival disclosed. "It went on for years. She'd grow so pale and get these horrible circles under her eyes. My poor girl would try to be brave and not cry, but she was in too much discomfort to hold it in. She struggled a lot.

"I suppose what I'm saying, Wallace, is that she's had enough pain. I can't stand to see her hurt again. I may be large enough to crush most men, but I am powerless when it comes to my wife and daughters, and I would do _anything_ to keep them safe and happy. Do you understand?"

Wallace stopped and looked at Percival. "Very much so."

"You'll treasure my girl, treat her well, and keep her safe, as best you're able?"

"I promise I will treat her well. Sir Percival, I –"

Percival covered his ears in a joking manner. "Please don't tell me you love her. I don't think I can handle that tonight." He removed his hands. "A different time, perhaps."

A smile curled Wallace's lips. "Another time, then."

The two men returned to the cottage, with a nervous Grace peering down from the loft, an eager and hopeful expression on her face.

"What are you still doing up there?" asked Percival, his tone light. "Don't you want to wish your courter a good evening before he returns home?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Grace, rushing down the steps as her siblings giggled and her mother looked on with a smile. But Grace didn't run to Wallace first; she ran to her father.

"Thank you, Father," she said, giving him a tight hug.

Percival hugged her back. "Don't make me regret this," he responded, but the man was smiling.

Christiane suggested Grace bid her new paramour good night outside, where she could have a little privacy, lest her sibling gape openly. Taking her mother's suggestion, Grace and Wallace stepped outside.

"I want to keep things proper this evening," said Wallace, grinning, "as I'm sure your entire family is watching from the window."

Sure enough, nine-year-old Eve was nearly falling out of the side window, trying to get a good look at the action, and the new couple laughed.

Wallace leaned in for a quick kiss, but he was so thrilled to now be courting Grace, he held the kiss a little longer than he'd planned. He heard a loud cough from Percival inside of the cottage, stepped back, and smiled. He took Grace's hand, and kissed it formally.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Grace," he said.

With a bow and a wink, he departed, feeling more joy in heart than ever. He knew many wonderful possibilities lay ahead.

XXXX

Wallace and Grace had been courting for a month, and it had been the best month of Wallace's life. Since the weather had grown colder, he insisted they move Grace's training indoors. Indoor training space in the castle was at a premium, so they engaged in quarterstaff practice once or twice per week and at odd times. On occasion, Grace wanted to practice with the sword as well, and Wallace obliged.

Today was sword day, and Wallace was distracted. As a twenty-one-year-old virile young man, Wallace was mesmerized by the snug fit of Grace's trousers over her rounded arse and curvy hips. Christiane had insisted if Grace was to continue with weapon training, the young woman needed clothing that was practical and fit well, so Grace wore a new pair of snug trousers and a more-fitted tunic.

_This isn't going to help matters_, Wallace thought. Every night, he dreamed of bedding Grace, and having her firm, fit arse wiggle around in front of him right then would make his future dreams even more vivid.

Of late, Grace had been bolder with the touching. It was now commonplace for her to take Wallace's hands and slide them under her shirt, against her bare breasts, and they'd kiss and touch like that for a good hour.

And yesterday had been a first: she lifted her top and had allowed Wallace to use his mouth on her breasts while she sat in his lap, her legs wrapped around him. Wallace had alternated between lavishing attention on Grace's breasts with his mouth and tongue and caressing them with his hands while kissing her lips. On his bed, God help him.

In his excitement, he'd eased her onto her back, and kept working his tongue against the soft, velvety skin of her breasts. He'd then positioned his knee between her legs and pressed it against her, rotating it slightly as he pushed against her delicate parts. Grace had begun to moan and arch her hips toward him, and Wallace thought she might be ready to orgasm, so he kept it up, until she slid her hand between them and tugged at the laces of his trousers.

In that moment, Wallace was desperate to bed her. But as Grace's fingers eased beneath his waistband and reached into his drawers, he leapt up and babbled excuses about needing to use the privy. He then charged from the room and jogged toward the privy closet. The moment he entered, he dropped his trousers and grasped his aching erection. With a surprisingly few, rapid strokes of his hand, he'd come. He was not going to take Grace's maidenhood yet; it wouldn't be fair. Though she was mature, she was only sixteen. Wallace knew he needed to wait a few more months, and then he could ask for her hand. In the meantime, if it meant masturbating in a dank privy on occasion to control his intense lust for her, so be it.

"I can do this," he'd whispered to himself in the dark privy. "I can wait. I can hold out."

These memories of yesterday ran through Wallace's mind as he and Grace practiced, until he heard her cry, "Ouch!" Wallace then realized he'd been sloppy with his sword work, and a long scratch on Grace's neck welled up with blood – in his distraction, he'd nicked her.

"Fuck!" Wallace cried out with alarm. He dropped his sword to the ground and rushed to Grace's side, grasping her shoulders and examining her injury. "I think you may need a few stitches," he told the young woman, blanching, feeling as if he was the most irresponsible and selfish man in the world.

Grace reached up and touched her neck, then brought her hand down and studied the few small drops of blood on her fingers.

"I do not need stitches," she declared. "What I need is a cloth and a drink. You forget my mother's a healer; this is a scratch and doesn't even warrant a smear of ointment."

"Like hell it doesn't!" exclaimed Wallace. "I'm taking you straight to the infirmary."

Wallace wouldn't hear another word and marched Grace to the infirmary, feeling more guilt and shame than he could recall. He wondered if Grace's mother or uncle would be present, and if they'd shout at him. Then he wondered if Percival would demand Wallace stop seeing Grace after such an incident. By the time they arrived at the infirmary, Wallace was so pale, it appeared as if he might be the patient and not Grace. They entered the infirmary and found Christiane writing in the logs. She looked up from her work.

"Wallace, are you ill? You don't look well."

"No, I'm fine," he insisted. "Grace and I were sword fighting and I was careless and cut her."

Christiane leapt up. "Where? Let me see!"

Grace rolled her eyes and pointed to the scratch on her neck.

"That?" asked Christiane, sighing with relief. "You scared me for a moment." She motioned for her daughter to take a seat on the examination table and studied the girl's cut. "This is really nothing. I'll put a little salve on it now, and then once later at home. It'll be fine."

She bent to retrieve a small jar of salve from beneath the table and applied the thick ointment to the scratch.

"Are you sure?" asked Wallace.

Christiane turned to face him. "Wallace, I've been at this for almost twenty years now. I think I know a minor scratch when I see one." She reached out and patted his shoulder. "It was a small accident. No harm done."

"But I could have been so much worse," he said, the remaining color draining from his face.

"You need some barley water before you go," insisted Christiane. "I'm concerned about your lack of color; I'll fetch a mug for you."

Grace studied Wallace's expression, then reached out to hold his hand. "No need, Mum," she said, trying to sound cheerful and light. "We're off to grab an early lunch. That'll set us straight."

Christiane glanced from Wallace to Grace. "Yes," she said with some hesitation, studying their expressions. "Food might be a good idea."

Grace bid her mother goodbye and led the still-pale Wallace from the chamber.

"I know it's too early for lunch," explained Grace, holding Wallace's hand and guiding him toward his quarters.

Wallace gave an absent nod of his head and followed along. Lost in his feelings of guilt, he was shocked when he discovered they'd arrived at his chamber and Grace was leading him inside. He addressed Grace the instant she closed the door.

"Please just say it, Grace," said Wallace, still pale, voice shaking.

Grace furrowed her brow. "Say what? I don't understand."

"That you don't want to be with me anymore. Because I'm careless and selfish."

A slight giggle escaped her lips, even though she'd clearly tried to suppress it. "I'm sorry, but I had no intention of doing that and the idea is absurd. I want to know what's bothering you; I can see you're very upset." She walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, beckoning Wallace. "Come, have a seat and tell me what's going on in that head of yours."

"No, you sit, please," said Wallace, pacing from one end of the room to the other. "I need to stand while I talk.

"Grace, I could have killed you back there. Another inch, and your throat…" His voice cracked and he couldn't go on.

Grace shook her head. "Wallace, there's more to this than you're telling me. There's no reason to be this distraught over a scratch."

Wallace stopped pacing and met Grace's stare. "You're right. I have things I need to tell you, and it may take me a while."

"I'm listening," said Grace. "Take all the time you need. But if you would, please sit; your pacing is making me nervous."

Wallace nodded and took a seat next to her on the bed. He explained himself while looking at the floor.

"I dream of you every single night, Grace. Sexually. I dream of taking you to my bed and having my way with you. I dream of pleasuring you in any and every way possible in any location you can imagine. In my dreams, I strip you bare, run my hands all over you and caress and taste every bit if your gorgeous skin."

He dared to look at her. Grace's expression appeared neutral, so he carried on.

"Today, when I nearly took off your head, I was too busy paying attention to your body rather than focusing on keeping you safe. I was admiring your fine arse, if I'm being honest." Grace let out a genuine laugh, but Wallace pressed on.

"I could have killed you today, Grace," whispered Wallace. "I feel unworthy."

"Wallace…" said Grace with a sigh, taking her hands in his. "I'm relieved I'm not the only one."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I dream of you, too. Every night."

"The same types of dreams?" asked Wallace, the tone of surprise clear in his voice.

Grace glanced away from him, her face flushed with embarrassment. "Yes," she answered, still looking away, yet her hands remained in his. "The very same. I dream of what you'll look like and what you'll feel like inside of me." She paused and chewed on her lower lip. "Do you think I'm a strumpet?"

Wallace pulled his hands from hers and reached out to turn her face toward him. "No, I don't think you're a strumpet," he said, his words coming out in a rush, "and I love you. I've loved you since the night of your brother's wedding, but I waited to tell you because I didn't want you to feel pressured to say it in return."

Words continued to tumble from Wallace. "I want to marry you, Grace. The only reason I haven't asked is because I know your father would lose his mind. He'd never consent to you marrying just yet. My plan was to ask him in a few months, once you're closer to seventeen. But only if that's something that you want. Do you, Grace? Do you want to marry me?" Wallace tried to keep his voice calm and even-sounding, but felt his delivery rang with a clear pleading tone.

Grace flung herself into Wallace's arms. "I was afraid to dream of it," she breathed, her face buried in his neck. "I love you, too."

They held one another, and rocked gently for a time, savoring the moment of love confessed aloud for the first time.

Still wrapped up in Wallace's arms, Grace said, "I don't want to wait."

Wallace didn't break the embrace. "You want to marry now?" he asked, perplexed, his chin resting on her shoulder. "Defy your father?"

She shook her head, sat back, and held Wallace's hands in hers again. "No, we need to wait to marry."

"Yes. Six more months. It'll pass quickly…"

"But I want to make love before then. Today. I want it today," declared Grace.

Wallace dropped her hands and let out a long, slow, loud breath. "That's, ah, not what I was expecting."

"I don't want to spend the next half-year waiting and wondering, blazing with want." Grace waited for Wallace to say something, and when he didn't she carried on. "A part of me thinks we should wait. But that's the part that listens to the demands of others. I want you." Her eyes locked on his. "I love you and you love me. This is right; I know it is. I feel it in my heart."

Wallace stared back at her, uncertain and worried. He wanted to do the honorable thing, and sleeping with Grace right then probably wasn't the right thing to do. He _should_ wait. "I don't know… I want to be a gentleman. You're so important to me…"

Grace made one final reassurance. "Take me to bed, Wallace. This is what I want." She leaned forward and pressed a hard, insistent kiss to his mouth.

He could no longer resist.

Wallace broke the kiss, rose from the bed, and drew the curtains over his one floor-to-ceiling window, thinking a little less light pouring into the room might make Grace feel more comfortable. By the time he turned around, Grace was out of bed, had slipped out of her trousers and tunic, and was left in her tight, white half-chemise and a snug pair of cut-off drawers.

"Before we begin, I thought you might want to have a quick look," said Grace, making an effort to sound light and fun, but her eyes gave away her worry. "I'm not tiny and I may have some extra…" She put her hands on her exposed lower belly and patted it.

Wallace shook his head, uncomprehending. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said from his place near the window, eyes roaming her body with admiration. "You are perfect: curvy yet strong, as a woman should be. I couldn't dream up anything more desirable."

Striding across the room with long, purposeful steps, Wallace stripped off his tunic, tossing it onto the floor before he reached Grace. The young man took another instant to admire her, then claimed her mouth with an intense kiss and all but tore off her chemise. He traced the curves of her body as they stood, paying close attention to her breasts. Grace made soft sounds of pleasure that drove Wallace wild, and when she reached down to press her hand against his still-covered erection – the first time she'd touched him like this – he paused.

"Grace, I need to know you're sure, that you're absolutely sure you want to do this. We can stop now if you want to. But if we go on… it'll be hard to stop."

She answered by stepping out of her undergarments, kicking them away, then reaching into Wallace's drawers to touch him. Following a few easy strokes, she pulled him down onto the bed on top of her.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said.

After a good while of rolling around in the bed, kissing, bodies pressed close, Wallace's fingers found his way between Grace's thighs, and he worked the delicate flesh care, focusing on her sensitive spot. In return, she grabbed his erection again and moved her hand against it. Wallace felt her shake beneath him and drive her hips upward, pressing herself against his fingers even harder. However, right then, Grace stopped moving.

"I have to tell you something," said Grace.

Wallace never stopped touching her, but slowed down. "What is it?"

"I don't, um, have a barrier. I had a problem with pain for a few months and Mary had to examine me," she explained rapidly, "and she told me I don't have one. But I'm a maiden! And you're my first."

"I believe you Grace. And I wouldn't care either way."

With that, their mouths locked together in a frantic, unending kiss. He kicked off his drawers, and at last, Wallace found himself positioned at Grace's entrance. He paused.

"Are you ready, love?"

"I'm ready."

Wallace eased to Grace, the two pressed in a tight embrace. Grace let out a loud gasp of discomfort.

"Oh, hell it hurts," she moaned.

_Fuck_, thought Wallace. _I should have been more careful_; _after all,_ _I'm bedding a virgin. Damn, I'm truly bedding a virgin!_

He opened his mouth to speak, to ask Grace if they should stop, but she silenced him with a deep kiss, and rocked her hips against his.

He couldn't stop.

Moving within his beautiful Grace, her face buried in the crook of his neck while she sighed, Wallace knew once would never be enough. He'd never known a woman to be so passionate, so eager, and exhilarating. The way she tightened against him and moved her hips with enthusiasm was like nothing he'd felt. He smelled a delicious, spicy-scented oil on her neck, a mixture of cloves and something else, and he licked the skin near her collarbone as he thrust harder, tasting her salty flesh; he was coming undone. Sliding in-and-out with urgent and eager strokes, he looked her in the eye and saw nothing but heat and desire.

"God, Grace…"

"Don't stop Wallace. For God's sake, don't stop."

It was clear to Wallace what had previously been a painful ache for his bed partner had turned into one of pleasure.

"You're killing me, Grace," the young man murmured against her mouth, moving even faster now. "So fucking beautiful…"

"Oh!" Grace cried out, moving her knees up higher. "I think… I think…"

Wallace pushed harder and deeper, his hands gripping the wooden rails of his headboard, his enthusiasm nearly out of control.

"Come for me, Grace," he panted. "I need it."

A moment later, she clung to him, fingers digging into the heated, slick skin of his back as she screamed, her body arching off the bed. As she clenched around him, Wallace squeezed his eyes shut. His body tensed as he made a few final, powerful thrusts, and then he climaxed with a sudden gasp, his face buried in Grace's hair.

They lay together for a few moments, still joined, until Wallace withdrew from Grace and inquired about how she was feeling.

"I feel wonderful," she said with a content and dreamy smile. "A little sore, but wonderful."

Wallace still rested on top of her, but bore his weight on his elbows. "Was it better than 'sparks from a fire?'" he asked with a small smile, referring to their first kiss.

Grace's cheeks flushed a deeper pink. She turned her head away from him. "You'll laugh if I tell you."

"I will not!" he insisted, sounding amused, giving her copper hair a playful tug. "Tell me; I want to know."

She turned her face toward him again, but fixed her eyes on his chin. "It reminded me of magic. Not that I know what it's like to use magic," she clarified, "and I don't mean that it was like one of Merlin's spells. But it was something unique and special. All-consuming. I think magic and love are a lot alike."

"You do have a way with words, Grace," he said, then planted a tender kiss on her warm cheek. "You described it perfectly."

What he didn't tell her was that after such a joining, something so deep and intimate, he felt their bond was permanent. He felt foolish putting this into words, so instead, he pressed another kiss to Grace's mouth, then rolled onto his back. Yet something was on his mind.

"Grace, I wonder, when we marry, do you think you'll be disappointed you never shared another man's bed? Won't you be wondering what it's like?" he asked, as they both lay there.

"Not at all. I'm quite happy where I am. Elated, if you want to know the truth." She gave Wallace a sidelong glance. "Do you think you'll be bored if you can't bed other women?"

He rolled back on top of her and kissed her again. "No. You're really something. I mean, you've left me breathless! You're all I'll ever need."

"I feel the same for you."

Recognizing a good deal of time had passed, Grace frowned and told Wallace she needed to get home before her father came looking for her. While Wallace hated the idea of allowing her out of his bed, he knew they had to be careful. If anyone found out what they'd done and word got out, it would be problematic, to say the least, and at worst, Percival would remove Wallace's head.

Wallace rose and retrieved a clean cloth from his wardrobe, playfully tossing it at Grace with a smile. He then turned his back to dress so Grace could freshen up without him looking on.

The two finished dressing and embraced. Grace left for home and Wallace faced an evening of work.

And Wallace wondered how he ever could have cared for Anna when this gorgeous, loving creature named Grace had been here all along. He wondered if he'd ever stop smiling.


	47. Chapter 46 Winter and Yuletide

**A/N - Grace and Wallace have done the deed and are engaged, though not formally. After all, Wallace has to ask Percival for permission. Do you think that might be a little challenging for young Wallace?**

**During this chapter, we'll visit the Martel home (Grace's home) and spend a little time with her, Percival, Christiane, and Grace's siblings. Grace has a bit of a problem with her next youngest brother, Yale. We'll also be visiting this castle for their Yuletide feast, which I think is pretty neat. I enjoyed writing this chapter and including little details about Yuletide food, gifts, and celebrations. **

**Also, Wallace is away on a mission for a short time. **

**Again, thank you so much for reading. If you feel compelled to leave a review, that's great. But even if you don't, I still appreciate the fact you've taken the time (A LOT of time!) to read this story, which is so close to my heart. **

**Lastly, thanks, NearmyL, for "favoriting" my story!**

Chapter 46 – Winter and Yuletide

Grace walked home in the cold, grinning broadly. She tried to fix her face into an expression that looked less jubilant, but found she couldn't. She loved Wallace; they'd made passionate love and they would be married within the half-year. Grace felt as if she'd stepped over the threshold into womanhood, and found she loved it; it was far better than she'd imagined.

Still smiling, Grace entered her cottage to find her younger brother, Yale, squawking at little Madlen and Will to stop fighting while Christiane rushed about, collecting her basket and a few empty sacks.

"Oh, you're here," Christiane sighed to Grace with relief. "I need some help gathering a few things from the market." She turned to Yale. "Can you stay home with the little ones, just for a short time?"

Yale groaned with disdain. "If I _must_…"

"You must," ordered Christiane, slipping into her winter cloak. "Grace and I will be home shortly; you'll have plenty of time to get to your sword lesson with Sir Gwaine."

Christiane hustled Grace from the cottage and spoke to her daughter about the things they needed from the market.

"I'll get the sausages and cream if you get the squash and leeks for soup. Oh, and the radishes for your father." Christiane shoved a sack at Grace, pausing to look at her daughter, and her mouth fell open.

"What is it, Mum?" asked Grace. "You're looking at me like you've seen a ghost."

Christiane collected herself. "It's just… How serious are things with Wallace?" she asked quietly, as they walked on to the market. "Or, are uh, things going well with him?"

Grace felt her heart skip a beat. Was her joy that obvious on her face? Could her mother somehow know she'd gone to bed with him?

"Why would you ask that?" Grace asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"I don't know. You look…different this afternoon is all. I remember having that look once…"

"Mum, please, there's nothing to worry about," said Grace, her heart hammering away.

"Even so, there are some things you ought to know, Grace…" Christiane went on to explain the variety of ways in which one could try to prevent a pregnancy. Many of these things Christiane had explained in passing, but this time, she went into detail. When Christiane started explaining the uses of "moss soaked in vinegar" and "alternatives" to sexual intercourse, Grace interrupted.

"Mum, you have to stop," she groaned, her cheeks ablaze. When she was nervous or upset, she flushed as badly as her father. "This is so embarrassing and we've talked about it all before."

"All right." Christiane quickened her pace. "But I hope you'll come to me if you have questions. Or if you need help."

Grace glanced at her mother out of the corner of her eye. "If I need help, I'll come to you. But for now, there's no need to be concerned. Can we please just get what we need at the market?"

She tried to change the subject, hoping her mother would get the hint. "I can't wait for your squash soup tonight; it is so good. Can I help you make it?"

And that was the end of the sex talk. Mother and daughter gathered their provisions from the market and discussed Grace's writing on the way home. Grace told her mother stories were "pouring" out of her these days.

The young woman didn't mention the secret book she'd been writing during the last few weeks, one where love and sex burned-up the pages. Anyway, it was well-hidden under a loose floorboard beneath her bed in the loft. No one would get their hands on it.

XXXX

For a change, the entire Martel family was home for dinner; even Percy was there. Anna had a headache and had stayed home to rest. The family enjoyed their meal of grilled sausages, honey bread, and thick, savory squash soup. Percival and the boys cleared the table and the girls washed the dishes. While they washed, Yale (age fourteen) pulled a book out from beneath his chair.

"I'd like to read something," he announced to the room. He flipped the book open and read. "He pushed up my skirts and kissed his way from my knee upward, then urged my legs open with a gentle press of his hands. I could have resisted; he gave me plenty of time to object, but I didn't. And before I knew it, his tongue was exploring –"

Hearing those words, Grace spun around from her position at the wash bucket and charged at Yale, purple-faced with rage. He had her book. Her secret book!

"Give it here, you little fuck!" she shrieked, clamoring for the book. But Yale was too fast. He ran from her, avoiding her grabs, and kept on reading.

"– the hot, slick flesh between my legs. The easy yet insistent way his tongue moved was like nothing I'd ever felt –"

Percy surprised Yale from behind and snatched the book from his hands.

"Why are you being such an arse, Yale?" asked Percy, angry on Grace's behalf.

Percival looked around, a confused expression on his face. "I don't understand. What was all that?"

Grace fled from the cottage into the winter night without her cloak, embarrassed and horrified.

The younger children hadn't any idea what had just transpired, and it took a moment before understanding flashed in Percival's eyes.

"Wait… Is Grace writing that?"

"No, it's mine," declared Percy. "It's a dirty book of mine and I asked Grace to hide it is all."

"Liar!" shouted Yale. "We've all seen her writing in that book. You're just trying to cover for her."

"When did you become such a miserable little prick, Yale?" yelled Percy.

"Enough of this cursing!" insisted Christiane. "I'll go after her."

Percy grabbed his cloak and Grace's from their hooks by the front door. "Let me, Mum. You stay and…calm Father down." He raced out after Grace.

It didn't take long for him to find her, because she was sitting on a bench outside of the tavern, shivering and crying. He reached her side, sat next to her, and put his arm around her shoulders.

"Percy, I can't ever go home," she said, voice quavering.

"What? Don't say such nonsense. Just tell Father you were experimenting with your writing and he won't know the difference. Besides, I'm sure Mum's handling Father right now. You know she's good at this sort of thing." Percy positioned Grace's cloak around her shoulders. "Let's go home. If you think it's that bad after we've had a talk, you can come and stay in my quarters tonight. You can't sit out here all night."

"In a little while. Can we just sit here for a time?"

"Sure."

The brother and sister sat on the bench in quiet, watching patrons enter and exit the tavern. The two laughed aloud when a goat wandered by, paused, and started nibbling on a drunk man's cloak, and the man took no notice until the animal had chewed a large hole in the cloth.

Grace agreed to go home then, but Percy couldn't help but tease her a little as they neared the cottage.

"There was some hot stuff, sister. I'd pay to read it!"

Grace punched his arm, but repressed a smile as she did so. Percy was always there for her and she was grateful.

The instant Grace and Percy walked in the door of the cottage, Percival spoke.

"Your mother explained things to me," said Percival rapidly, while seated at the table, staring at his hands and looking flustered. "That, erm, writers do this sort of thing and it's normal and whatnot, and young people have these ideas, and that's normal too, and… That's all." He met Grace's stare for a moment and looked down again. "So, um, no one's angry."

"But Yale here has something to confess," said Christiane in a sharp tone, the back of the boy's collar in her grip. "He'd like to talk to you in private if that's all right, Grace."

Grace nodded and she and her brother went up to the loft. The siblings stood there, facing one another in the dim light.

"I'm sorry," whispered Yale, looking at his boots. "I shouldn't have taken your book. It's just you know I love your stories and I wanted to see what you were hiding. When I read it, I thought if I shared it with everyone, Mum and Father would get mad and" – Grace crossed her arms in front of her, scowling – "and then you wouldn't be able to see Wallace anymore and you wouldn't get married and leave."

Grace dropped her arms and her expression softened. "Yale! Why didn't you just say something to me? Besides, in a few years, you'll be living in the castle as a knight anyway…"

"I don't know," he mumbled. "You're always good to me, Grace, and the thought of being here, just me with the little ones… I mean, I love them, of course I do, but things wouldn't be the same here without you. First Percy goes, then you… It's too much." He breathed out a long, loud sigh.

"You're good to me, and I acted like a selfish arse." After a pause, he looked up at her. "Can you forgive me?"

"Come here, you dolt." Grace swept him into a hug. "No matter where we are, we'll always be brother and sister. Nothing will change that. And besides, I'm not planning on going anywhere for a while."

"You're right. I know."

"But never again, Yale. I could have gotten into serious trouble with Mum and Father. You must respect my privacy from now on."

"I will. I promise. I'm sorry I was an arse, Grace."

She reached up and ruffled his light-brown hair. "Yes, but you're my favorite arse."

Grace and Yale returned to the main living area, smiling. Everyone sat at the table for a dessert of spiced butter cake. After a bite or two of rich cake, Grace smiled at her mother in thanks, and Christiane winked in return.

XXXX

The next afternoon, Grace went to call on Wallace at the castle, as previously arranged. When she arrived at his door, she found a note nailed to the wood. She tore it down and read.

_Dear Grace:_

_I'm so sorry I didn't have time to say a proper goodbye. Just before sunrise this morning, I received orders to ride out to our northern garrison. I can't say much about it, other than please don't worry – it's a routine mission, but I had to leave right away._

_I'll be back in a week, right before the Yule feast. I hope you'll attend with me._

_I'll miss you, Grace, and think of you each night until I return. Stay safe and warm._

_Love,_

_Wallace_

Folding the note with care, Grace left the castle with tears in her eyes. It was only a week, but she missed Wallace already. Yet instead of moping, she stood up a little straighter as she walked, determined to focus on her writing for the next seven days. That would help ease her loneliness. She hoped.

XXXX

Grace had a productive week of writing, and Christiane kept her busy with household chores. With Yule upon them, there was no shortage of cooking, baking, cleaning, and decorating to be done. Percival's family always exchanged small, but eagerly-anticipated gifts for Yule: lavender- and rosemary-scented soaps, candies, cakes, small carvings, colorful beads, polished stones, pouches, charms, special shells, braided leather necklaces and bracelets dyed different colors, and coins. And everyone looked forward to eating plates piled high with hot battered apple rings and fried honey cakes (Percival always ate too many and Christiane had to make him a mint tea to help with his digestion).

The younger siblings were giddy with excitement, and they took on more chores so they could earn extra coin to purchase gifts for their parents. Christiane told them she wished they were so eager to do chores the rest of the year.

Percy had obtained some fine Frankish wine from a traveling wine salesman, and he and his siblings chipped in so they could provide their mother and father with this special gift. Frankish wine wasn't easy to come by, nor was it cheap, and the children hoped their parents would like it.

While Wallace was on mission in the North, Grace searched all over for the perfect gift for him. He was due back in two days, the night of the Yule Feast at the castle, and still, she'd yet to find anything suitable for him.

However, a bladesmith from the Isle of Wight appeared at the market that day. The man was overrun with requests and orders, but once Grace saw his beautiful craftsmanship, she knew she had to obtain one of his knives for Wallace. The bladesmith's pieces were costly, but Grace had saved up a good amount of coin from selling her stories, so she splurged. Besides, her love was worth it. She chose a sturdy belt-knife with a calfskin scabbard, dyed blood red, bearing a unique and gorgeous rendition of the Pendragon crest. When the merchant heard the gift was to be for one of Arthur's knights, he carved Wallace's initials into the blade at no additional cost. Grace knew the gift was excessive for Yule, but she didn't care.

Once home, Grace put the knife away and spent the afternoon and evening helping her siblings cook and put the final Yuletide touches on their home while her parents worked.

XXXX

Yule dinner at the Martel home had been wonderful the previous evening. As always, the children loved their gifts, sweets, and the food. And as usual, Percival had eaten too many fried foods and needed mint tea to help settle his gut. After their meal, he and his wife gasped when they opened their gift of wine. Percival and Christiane knew how difficult (and costly) it must have been to obtain such a present, and Christiane cried.

The family stayed up much later than usual, but finally, Christiane coaxed the children into bed, explaining they needed to get their rest so they could stay up even later for the feast at the castle the following night.

And sure enough feast night had arrived, and it was a fabulous, decadent celebration. It seemed as if every inch of the Great Hall was covered in thick, elaborately-woven ivy garlands and holly, and the scent of pinecone centerpieces and rich food filled the air. Among the hundreds of attendees, everyone Grace knew was at the celebration: Leon's family, Gwaine's, Ulrich's, Percy and Anna, and of course, the royal family.

Grace observed how Prince Llacheu stared at her good friend Ilene, Lionel's daughter (also sixteen). It appeared as if Llacheu either wanted to fall at Ilene's feet and ask for her hand in marriage, or possibly show off the new scar he'd received on his jaw during a recent mission while fighting off belligerent smugglers. Grace giggled at Llacheu's behavior, but King Arthur sidled up to his son with a faint smile on his face and whispered something in the prince's ear. Llacheu then tore his eyes away from Ilene, choosing instead to cast occasional covert glances in her direction; Ilene didn't seem to notice.

However, Grace recalled her own paramour wasn't present, and she felt a little low. His group was supposed to have returned earlier in the day, well in time for the feast, but they must have been delayed. Grace tried to make conversation with various guests, but her heart wasn't in it. Uncle Evann and Aunt Clotild made an effort to keep her occupied, but she found it difficult to pay attention to the conversation. She sipped mead – recalling the castle mead was strong – and nodded and smiled. That is, until she heard Llacheu announce, "Ah, the men are back! Good thing they got here before the ale ran out."

Grace whipped her head around toward the Great Hall entrance. And there was Wallace, striding in with Sir Kay, Sir Michael, Sir David, and several other younger knights. Except poor Wallace's left eye was bruised and swollen shut. Before Grace could move, Wallace rushed up to her and pulled her into a firm embrace, sweeping her off her feet, then kissed her in front of everyone. Percival looked perturbed, but Christiane glared at her husband. He cleared his throat and stopped frowning.

Grace reached up to touch Wallace's swollen and blackened eye. "What happened? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said with a laugh. "It turns out some Northmen and their families had been traveling south and got lost. They'd taken up temporary shelter in our old northern garrison because they were cold and hungry. That's what we went to go see; we had to make certain they weren't invaders.

"Since we don't speak the same language, at first, there was a misunderstanding that resulted in me getting punched. I was trying to hand over a blanket to a little one, but my movements were misinterpreted. Hence, the black eye."

"Oh, my love," said Grace, giving him another squeeze.

"I feel fine. After we sorted out everything, we guided the families south, and now we're home. But I could do with some ale and whatever food's left."

The knights went off to have a brief word with Arthur, and then devoured the leftover stewed ribs and stuffed pig, washing it all down with copious amounts of ale.

Wallace rushed through his meal and was back at Grace's side within a few minutes. It was the time of evening where the children and families headed home, while couples retreated off into dark corners, not yet willing to leave the party. Wallace grabbed Grace by the waist and pulled her close.

"Will you come with me?" he asked, his voice raspy, eyes dark with want.

After a surreptitious glance around to ensure her parents weren't looking, Grace allowed herself to be dragged out of the Hall by an eager Wallace.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

The young knight said nothing, but led her through the still-bustling kitchens, down a dim corridor, and straight into a storage room that held some cooking pots, flour sacks, and empty barrels. He pulled her into the room and slammed the door behind them.

"Wallace, are we –"

He silenced her with deep, lust-filled kiss, and subsequently lifted her onto an abandoned work bench. He wrestled up her skirts.

"I love you and I missed you." He pressed another passionate kiss to her mouth. "Can I have you?"

"Yes," she said, pausing for air. "I missed you, too. I thought about you all the time."

Grace's skirts were up and Wallace's trousers were down around his ankles. Standing, he thrust into her with ardent and vigorous strokes while tangling his hands in her hair, pulling her head back so he could kiss her throat. The two had wild, loud sex in the storage room. So loud, they never heard the kitchen maid enter.

"Ah, Grace, fuck, you feel so good," groaned Wallace, while she cried out each and every time he thrust into her.

A quiet "hello" from the direction of the door interrupted their hot tryst. They turned to face the speaker. Wallace wasn't sure if he should disengage from Grace, but he realized her skirts were covering their privates fully, so instead of moving and possibly exposing himself and her, he stood still.

"Can we um, help you?" asked Wallace, brow creased with concern.

"Oh don't worry, I won't say anything," said the young kitchen maid. She took a small step forward. "If you'll let me watch."

"No, that's not really acceptable," argued Wallace.

But Grace slid forward on the bench, grabbed Wallace's arse, and eased him into her again. When it seemed like he might protest, she covered his mouth with hers, and the two were lost to each other again.

Soon enough, Grace cried out Wallace's name in ecstasy while he climaxed with a loud gasp.

The maid slipped out quietly.

"Why did you do that, Grace?" asked Wallace, smoothing Grace's skirts and pulling up his own trousers.

"Because I didn't want her to go running back to my father and have him try to beat you to a pulp tonight."

"That girl may yet tell him."

Grace shook her head. "No, I think she was just curious and that's the end of it."

"Did, you, ah, like having someone watch?" asked Wallace, sounding worried and confused.

"There was something arousing about it," she confessed, "but I don't think I want to do that again."

"Same here," he said, giving her a quick peck. "Come on back to the feast; I have a gift for you."

"I have one for you too. Let's go!"

Back at the feast, Wallace and Grace exchanged gifts. Wallace was thrilled with his new knife, but told Grace she shouldn't have spent so much. He knew such a fine knife must have cost most of her savings. Still, he attached the new weapon to his belt immediately.

Once the gift was secured, he asked Grace to turn her back to him and close her eyes. She complied, and felt the cool metal of a necklace slip around her neck. When Wallace told her she could open her eyes, she did. And she covered her mouth and gasped when she saw her gift.

"Wallace…" she said, turning around to face him and blowing out a shaky breath. "I don't think that even a princess would have something so beautiful."

She fingered the thick chain, then moved her fingers toward the pendant, which was a brilliant red gemstone, heart-shaped, set in silver.

"Flip it over and look at the back," requested Wallace.

Tears came to Grace's eyes. "It says: _My smart, enchanting, and beautiful Grace. With my love, for now and for always. W._" She looked up at him. "That's what you said on our first night together. After my brother's wedding. You remembered…" Grace flung her arms around him and sobbed tears of happiness.

Right out in the open, Wallace took her face in his hands and gave her a long kiss. Percival bristled in his seat at the table and looked as if he might rush over and break them apart, but Christiane elbowed him in the ribs.

"Do they have to be so open about it?" grumbled the frustrated father.

"Oh, come," said Christiane. "We were once open with our affection, too."

Percival turned, gave his wife a half-grin, and hauled her up from her seat. "And so we shall again!" he announced, pulling her into his arms and tipping her back slightly, pressing a long kiss to her lips.

Then, it seemed as if everyone present wanted part of the action, and suddenly, couples kissed with abandon: Gwaine and Drea, Leon and Alis, Ulrich and Carina, even Arthur and Guinevere.

If was a feast that would live long in their memories.

XXXX

A month later, the cruel Camelot winter had taken hold once again. Grace lay in her bed, warm and cozy that early morning, even though it had begun to snow. She thought back to the previous night where she'd managed two delicious naked and sweaty hours in Wallace's bed.

Earlier that evening, she'd been minding Alis and Leon's little ones. When the parents had returned to the castle, Wallace had arrived at their chambers and said he'd escort Grace home. And he _had_ escorted her home. Two hours later.

"I love those soft sounds of pleasure you make," Wallace had said. "They drive me wild."

"That's only because you give me so much pleasure."

"I want to hear them once more. And I want to hear you scream my name when you come again; that sound drives me wild, too…"

He'd moved his way from her lips down her body, slowly, kissing and caressing while he trailed downward. Wallace kissed the top of her knee before he looked up at her.

"I want to try something," he'd said. "And if you don't like it, I'll stop. How does that sound?"

"All right, I suppose," Grace had told him, sounding hesitant and feeling shy.

Minutes later, while Wallace's head was buried between her legs, she'd nearly torn his hair out by the roots in an orgasmic frenzy, never having felt anything as divine as the way he'd pleased her.

"Are you going to write about this in your book?" he'd asked with a satisfied grin, once he was finished and had crawled up the bed to rest beside her.

"I think so," Grace had told him. "And perhaps this, too…"

She'd flung back the covers and returned the favor. Grace wasn't all that confident in her abilities, but after she was done, with his eyes closed, Wallace had said, "I feel as if I might pass out."

Having shared something new and exhilarating, they both disintegrated into laughter.

Grace smiled at the thought, but was distracted from her memories by the smell of breakfast cooking. Her mother must have woken before everyone else. It smelled like scrambled eggs simmering in fat with onion and buttered toast, something Grace loved for breakfast on a usual day. But this morning, the smell turned her stomach. The more she thought about it, she realized she'd been a little queasy first thing in the morning lately. Oh, well. Perhaps some nice eggs and toast would set her straight. She rose from bed and went to help her mother with breakfast. As she lumbered down from the loft, Christiane looked up.

"Morning, Grace." She pulled a face. "You look pale and tired. Are you all right?"

Grace stretched. "I don't know. I feel a little queasy and I'm not sure why. Maybe I ate something bad a few days ago. Can I help you here?"

As soon as Grace finished speaking, she pushed open the kitchen window as fast as she could and vomited out of it.

"Oh, sweetheart!" said Christiane. She joined her daughter at the window and felt Grace's forehead. "You don't feel warm, but you must be coming down with something. You should go back to bed and rest. I'll make up some chamomile mint tea for you."

"No, there's no need; I feel fine now," Grace insisted. "That was odd."

Christiane turned back to her food preparation. "Maybe your courses are coming and your stomach's just bothered."

That's when Grace blanched and leaned up against the wall; she felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. Her courses! When were they due? Suddenly, she remembered; they should have arrived two weeks ago.

She was pregnant.

Why else would she have missed her courses and gotten sick in the morning? Grace tried not let the dread and panic show on her face.

"Mum, I have to go up to the castle for a quick visit with Wallace after breakfast," said Grace, even though she had no idea how she'd survive a breakfast with her family without screaming, crying, and vomiting.

"Sure, that's fine. I'm not working, so I'll be with Eve, Madlen and Will today. You go enjoy yourself for a while."

Somehow, Grace made it through the typical boisterous family meal. She picked at her eggs and chased them around her plate with toast; five-year-old Will was happy to reach over and eat most of her meal in addition to his own – like his father, the boy had an insatiable appetite. Percival had been in a rush, so he hadn't noticed that anything was amiss. He'd grabbed some toast and stuffed egg in between the slices and wished his family a good day, which was a relief to Grace.

When she went upstairs to dress for the cold and plait her hair, she found she wasn't able to, since her hands were shaking with near terror. Eve noticed this and offered to do the braid.

"Are you all right, Sis?" asked nine-year-old Eve.

"Yes," said Grace, straightening herself and putting on a fake smile. "Just a little stomach ache is all."

After Eve had braided Grace's hair with gentle hands, Grace thanked her sister and ran from the cottage out into the light snow. When she was only a few steps away, her hot tears spilled, and she raced to the castle, sobbing, ignoring the wicked cold. Wallace had been on evening patrol for the most part lately, and she hoped that was the case today; she couldn't recall. Minutes later she arrived at Wallace's quarters, pale, shaken, and breathless. She pounded on his door.

"Who is it?" his voice called out.

Grace could barely speak. "It's me," she croaked.

Wallace opened the door while pulling his tunic over his head. He hadn't looked at Grace yet since he was yanking on his clothing. "This is a nice early-morning surprise –" Once he took in her appearance, he stopped. "My God, Grace, what's wrong?"

She flung herself into his arms and he kicked the door closed behind her.

"Grace are you hurt? Is someone dead?"

She shook her head, but sobbed hysterically in his arms, her whole body shaking.

"Please, you're scaring me," said Wallace, sounding alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"Wallace, I'm pregnant," she wailed, her face still buried in his chest, her arms gripping his body.

"Oh, thank you, dear God," he exhaled with relief, holding her close, rubbing her back.

After a few more hysterical gasps, Grace looked up, but remained in Wallace's embrace. "You mean, you're not angry?" she asked, sniffling.

Wallace thumbed away her hot tears. "Angry?" he asked, perplexed. "Why would I be angry? I'm thrilled! I thought something terrible happened, but this is fantastic news."

"No." Grace shook her head back-and-forth rapidly. "We're not married. This is a disaster, Wallace. How can you not see that?"

"Oh, so what? We wanted to get married anyway. Now we can wed sooner and your father will have to allow it." He squeezed her against his chest again. "We're going to have a child; this is wonderful news."

The notion that Grace was pregnant had been so shocking and overwhelming, all she'd been able to think about was her father going absolutely mad and the potential shame and ridicule she'd have to endure for conceiving out of wedlock. She hardly registered Wallace's words and joy over her announcement.

"No," she whispered, her voice quavering. "This is all wrong. I don't think I can have this baby…"

Stepping back from Grace and holding her at arm's length, Wallace looked at her with horror. "Grace! What are you saying? This is our baby! Surely you don't mean… You're not going to try to get rid of it, are you? You can't do that!"

"No, I wouldn't do that," she assured him. "This is our baby, created out of love. I'm just panicked and overwhelmed." She then gagged and covered her mouth with her hand. "But I'm going to be sick, Wallace. I have to go." Grace fled from his chambers.

Shoeless, Wallace rushed down the corridor after her. And at that moment, Percival, dressed for work in his chainmail and cape, wandered down the same hallway. Grace fled past him sobbing, without any acknowledgement. Wallace was right behind her.

"What's going on here?" shouted Percival, a look of deep concern etched on his face.

Wallace spun around for an instant. "Grace is upset; I'm going after her."

Before Percival could speak again, his daughter and Wallace were gone. The man was left standing there, filled with worry. He walked down the corridor and positioned himself in front of Wallace's door. The young man would return at some point, and when he did, Percival was going to give him a talking-to about upsetting his daughter.

Moments later, Wallace and Grace appeared. He half-carried her down the hallway as she sobbed. Grace looked frightfully pale and had that sick, green-tint about her face. In an instant Percival knew what was going on. He knew that look on his daughter's face, that pale, ill look. And she was hysterical and racing away from Wallace. That could mean only one thing.

"You son of a bitch!" boomed Percival, eyes wild. The father rushed forward and grabbed the front of Wallace's tunic in his fists, lifted him off his feet, and slammed his back against the stone wall.

"Father, stop!" shrieked a terrified Grace, pulling at her father's massive arm. "Put him down, please! Don't hurt him!"

Wallace didn't resist, but the look on the young man's face was clear: if Percival kept this up, he'd have no choice but to fight back. He tensed, ready to strike back, if needed.

Before things spiraled any more out of control, Percy happened upon the scene, also dressed for work. He ran forth.

"Father, what's happening here? You have to let Wallace go!"

Percival, now turning a frightening shade of red and sweating, trembling, lifted Wallace even higher.

"This bleeding little bastard got your sister pregnant!"

Percy started laughing. The reaction was so unexpected that everyone turned to face him, and Percival even released Wallace, allowing the young man to slide to the floor.

"Father, come on!" said Percy with a short chuckle. "No one waits until marriage anymore." Percy gave his friend a hand up and put his arm around his sister. "Instead of standing out in the hallway and bellowing about our family business like a bunch of ill-bred boors, why don't we step into Wallace's chambers and discuss this?"

Still in charge of the situation, Percy led the group into the chamber and instructed everyone to take seats at the table, and purposely situated himself between his father and Wallace.

"Grace, would you or Wallace like to start out?" asked Percy.

Percival drew himself up. "I would like to –"

"No Father," interrupted Grace, looking right at Percival. "It's my turn to speak now.

"You're right; I am pregnant. Wallace and I had wanted to wed sooner, but I was afraid to approach you, because you'd insist I was too young and you'd get angry. So instead, we chose to wait on marriage. But I want to marry Wallace."

"Sir Percival," said Wallace, "I take responsibility for this. I should have come to you sooner and asked for Grace's hand, but I feared how you might react. This is my fault."

Percival sank down in his seat. "Am I really that unreasonable?" he asked the group, his troubled gaze moving to each person. "People feel they can't talk to me?"

"Just about your girls," Percy explained with an amiable smile. "You do become a little unreasonable about them. And Mum."

"Well that's because…of things that happened in the past," said Percival, his expression serious. Percy, Grace and Wallace stared at him, waiting for his explanation.

"It's not really my place to tell you this, but a long time ago, your mum was attacked. And while she recovered, I never really did. It haunts me, and makes me protective of the women in my life."

With a nod, Grace reached out to her father and touched his hand. "Mum told us, Father. The girls. We know about it."

"She did?" he asked. "That's good. Maybe it's good that you know, and the knowing will keep you safer when I can't."

A long moment of silence hung in the air; no knew what to say next.

"The last thing I want to do is anger you any more than I already have today, Sir Percival," said Wallace, "but it's all our jobs to protect the women we love. And I love your daughter. Very much. And by extension, I'll love your other girls, too. In a brotherly way, of course. I'll do my best to see they're safe as well." He shot Grace a broad smile. "Even though I know they're a capable bunch of ladies."

Percival rose, his expression serious. "Perhaps I'll wait until tomorrow to beat you, Wallace."

Everyone seated around the table looked worried, until Percival broke into gales of laughter.

"I'm just kidding!" exclaimed the massive knight, and he took a few steps toward Wallace's seat and clapped the young man on the shoulder. He then turned toward his daughter. "I'll see you home, Grace. I'm sure your mum will be happy. Shocked, but happy."

The father shook his head. "I can't believe there's another wedding on the horizon!"

As Percival and Grace prepared to leave, Wallace mouthed "Thank you" to Percy.

Percy shrugged his shoulders. "What are brothers for, my new brother?"


	48. Chapter 47 In the Middle of the Night

**A/N - Oh, my! Grace is expecting! Well, it is early medieval times, and contraception wasn't the most reliable thing. And when passion takes over, well, there you have it!**

**I warn you, this chapter may be a bit upsetting. Grace and Wallace face a major crisis, and Percival and Christiane are devastated. Only one person can fix things, and that's Merlin. IF he can make it in time. **

**That you again, readers, for your support. I hope you are still enjoying this story. And OH IMAGENTIVE AND CREATIVE ONE (LOVE the name!), I'm so glad to have you following. It's wonderful to have you. **

Chapter 47 – In the Middle of the Night

Later that morning, Christiane took the news of Grace's pregnancy very well, and agreed that her daughter and Wallace should marry forthwith. Grace expressed she'd prefer to keep the pregnancy quiet until after the wedding, and her parents supported her decision.

The very next evening, Wallace appeared at the cottage, unannounced, and officially asked Percival for Grace's hand in marriage. Once he had the father's blessing, he turned to Grace, dropped to his knee, and proposed to her in front of her family. He presented her with a thick silver ring with a deep red, heart-shaped gem in the center (to match her necklace), surrounded by silver studs. The two shared a tender kiss right in the center of the room.

"I can't wait until it's my turn!" declared Eve, smiling, her eyes bright.

Percival groaned at the mere thought.

Wallace stayed for a supper of spinach tarts and chicken soup, and answered what seemed like a hundred rapid-fire questions from Yale, Eve, Madlen, and Will. Eventually, they let up (five-year-old Will simply fell asleep right at the dinner table), and Wallace left for home.

Yet in the middle of the night, disaster struck.

XXXX

Grace woke in the middle of the winter night, vomiting again. But this time, she was doubled-over in pain in bed, crying. Eve rushed down from the loft to get her parents. However, only Percival was home; Christiane must have been delayed at the infirmary.

"Father!" shouted Eve at her father's bedside, shaking him. "Grace is sick!"

The rattled father leapt up and raced upstairs to Grace. He found her bed was covered in vomit and girl was curled up, groaning. The commotion woke the other children, and everyone but Yale started sobbing.

"It's all right, everyone," said Percival, trying his best to remain and sound calm. "I'll bring Grace up to your mother and she'll sort her out."

"I'll watch the younger ones, Father," announced Yale, taking charge.

"Thank you, son."

Percival pulled back the covers so he could lift Grace from the bed, and found the lower half of the front of her nightdress was covered with blood. He swayed for a moment at the sight. Immediately, he covered her up again and grabbed the girl, blankets and all. He didn't want the other children to see the blood and become hysterical. But Yale had seen; Percival could tell from the look on his son's face. Yale nodded at his father in understanding.

"All right, let's shove the beds together while Father helps Grace," Yale announced, hoping to distract his younger siblings. "I think we need one big bed for tonight."

As the father raced from the loft with Grace in his arms, little Madlen called out, "Bye, Gracie! Come home soon! We all love you!"

Percival stepped into his boots and didn't bother with his cloak; he ran for the castle, his bloody daughter in his arms.

"Grace, can you speak?" he asked, voice shaking, tears threatening.

All she could manage was a groan.

A terrified Percival raced past the castle guard a few minutes later. When the men saw him carrying his blood-soaked daughter, they escorted him to the infirmary.

Sir Daniel was one of the guards that night, and he asked, "Who do you need, Percival?" as he rushed along beside the man.

"One of the midwives. Alis…get Alis. And Wallace," Percival called out, bursting into the infirmary.

He found Christiane leaping out of the spare infirmary bed, explaining it had been a long night and she'd fallen asleep there, until she realized it was her very own Grace in his arms.

"Oh, my God, Percival!" she shrieked, as he lay their daughter down on the examination table. "What's happened?"

"I don't know," sobbed Percival. "She can't speak. She was vomiting and she's bleeding. Eve woke me and I found her like this…"

Christiane asked Percival to turn his back as she yanked up her daughter's clothing to examine her. Alis entered at that moment, pausing to lead Percival out into the corridor. She'd brought Leon along with her to support Percival, in case that was necessary. Once the father was deposited outside in the hallway, Alis reached Grace's side.

"Hello, my lovely Grace," said Alis, putting a gentle hand on the girl's cheek. "I'm here to help."

Rapidly, Christiane explained the situation to Alis, and Alis took over the exam. The midwife gave Grace a thorough check, then turned back to Christiane.

"She's lost the pregnancy, but we need to make sure she's expelled everything," Alis explained, finishing her examination. "We need mugwort to make sure everything's gone, and a tincture of feverfew and parsley. And lots of fresh cloths."

Alis cleaned up Grace while Christiane retrieved new linen cloths and prepared the medicines. The midwife fed Grace sips of cool water as she explained everything.

"I'm sorry, Grace, there's no more baby. We need to give you some medicines and keep you here for a day, give or take, so we can watch the bleeding. You lost a good bit of blood. Can you talk now?"

"Yes," she whispered. "My stomach feels better now. But…no baby?"

Alis shook her head.

"I can't see Wallace right now," said Grace, trying to sit up. "I can't face him!"

"All right, you don't have to see anyone yet," Alis reassured.

Christiane wandered over with the tinctures, and Alis took them from her.

"Let's have your mum go out and talk to your father and explain everything. He must be worried sick."

"Okay," whispered Grace, swallowing the tinctures Alis handed her. "But can I get some sleep now?"

"Of course. That would be best. "I'll get you a fresh gown and a good, thick blanket and pillow," said Alis.

Out in the corridor, Percival almost fell to his knees with relief when Christiane gave him the news; Leon bolstered the man.

A moment later, Wallace came skidding down the hallway, minus a shirt or shoes, his scruffy hair a wild mess, looking frantic.

"Where is she?" he bellowed, closing in on the group. "Is she all right? I need to see her!"

Christiane stepped in front of the door, blocking his entry. "She's all right, Wallace. She had a miscarriage and lost a lot of blood, but Alis is caring for her now. She's had some medicines and will need rest. We're keeping a close watch on her for the next few days."

"Oh that is a relief," sighed Wallace, leaning against the wall. "Can I see her now?"

Christiane cringed slightly. "She, ah, she doesn't want to see you just yet. That's very common after a loss like this. Women can feel upset and need some alone time…"

Wallace gasped and looked as if he'd been stabbed in the gut with a sword. "I don't understand." He pushed off the wall and had begun to tremble. "I'm to be her husband…"

"Sometimes, women worry after a loss like this that their men will see them as damaged or undesirable," explained Christiane. "Grace may need some time."

"Well that's ridiculous! I don't think that. Let me tell her; let me see her and explain."

Percival stepped forward and positioned himself next to his wife. "Now's not the time, Wallace."

Leon sensed Wallace's panic and desperation brewing, and drew the young man into a one-armed hug. "Come on, let's go to my quarters for a while," said the knight commander to his young charge.

"No!" shouted Wallace, breaking out of the hug. He spun on his heel and faced Christiane. "I thought you liked me," he said, eyes shining with tears. "Why are you keeping me from her?"

Leon recognized the hysteria in Wallace's voice, and before Christiane could answer, Leon led Wallace down the hall firmly by the elbow, insisting he join him in his chambers.

"Later, Wallace," insisted Leon. "You can see her later."

And that's when everything fell apart.

Wallace wrenched himself from Leon's grip and ran back to the infirmary, shouting curses and informing anyone who stood in his way he'd beat the hell out of them. Percival started threatening Wallace while Daniel and Leon tried to hold the men back from one another. Gwaine and Ulrich, who had been on patrol, came upon the scene and tried to help calm everyone as best they could. Christiane stood aside and wept. Then Alis appeared in the corridor.

"Christiane, I need you," said the midwife urgently.

Christiane swept into the infirmary and bolted the door behind her.

And mayhem broke out in the corridor once again.

"What's going on? I have to see my little girl!" shouted Percival, trying to wrench himself from Gwaine, Ulrich, and Daniel's hold.

"Let me go, damn you!" shrieked Wallace, while being held back by Leon and now Sir Michael, who had heard the commotion from the stairwell.

Curses and accusations flew, followed by begging and pleading. Somehow, Percival and Wallace tore themselves from the men restraining them, and a flat-out brawl ensued.

"If you hadn't been fucking my daughter, this never would have happened!" accused Percival, taking wild swings at Wallace, but missing.

Wallace ducked and took a swing as well. "If you weren't such an unreasonable bastard, she wouldn't have to hide things!"

Amidst the swearing and fighting, Evann strode down the hallway, a severe look about him.

"What in hell is going on here?" he insisted, charging into the melee, avoiding fists and boots. "Sir Aled called me out of my home and said my niece is very sick. Why are you all behaving like ignorant asses? She needs quiet and you need to let me in so I can help! Do you want her to die?"

Those words stopped the men cold. Not only did they cease fighting and shouting, they stepped aside, allowing Evann access to the door. Evann announced himself and Alis ushered him into the infirmary. Before closing the door, Alis promised Percival she'd provide updates soon.

The men stood in the corridor, silent, waiting. Gwaine squeezed Wallace in a half-hug while Leon held onto Percival's shoulder in support. Wallace began sniffling, then all-out crying. Percival followed soon thereafter, and even though they'd come to blows a few minutes earlier, the two men ended up embracing, sobbing. No words were needed; each man understood the other's devastation.

So there the men stood, crying into one another's shoulders, until a harried Evann appeared and told the men to come into the room.

"We can't figure out exactly what's wrong," explained Evann, walking Percival and Wallace to Grace's bedside, where Christiane stood. "Grace developed a deep cough out of nowhere and her breathing is labored. I think it's unrelated to the miscarriage, or it caused it." He stepped away to pull up chairs for the parents and Wallace before continuing. "We're using a warm oil pack on her chest with mint and sage to help with her breathing."

Nodding, Percival took a seat and grasped his wife's hand. "What else can be done?"

Christiane burst into tears, and Alis came up behind her and put her hands on her dear friend's shoulders.

"I can't lie to you, Percival," explained Evann. "Things look…grim. I think this is beyond what Christiane and I are capable of handling. We need Merlin."

Both Percival and Wallace turned to look at Grace, taking in the girl's desperately-ill appearance. She had a warm blanket tucked around her and several pillows under her head, propping her, but her eyes were closed and her cheeks looked hollow. Her lips had the faintest hint of blue as she took slow and labored breaths, and her face was stark-white.

"Merlin's been traveling for months," said Percival. He stood abruptly, flipping his chair over as he scrambled to his feet. "I'll go find him."

Appearing at his side instantly, Evann gripped the man's arm. "That might not be the best idea. I don't know if Grace will make it more than a few days. If you leave, you might not see her again. If you can, send someone else.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this. I love my niece, too, and this pains me more than you know."

In an instant, Percival's legs went out from underneath him and he hit the floor with a crash, passed-out cold from shock. Evann and Wallace dragged him onto a cot while Christiane wept even harder. Wallace straightened himself.

"I'll go find Merlin," the young knight announced. "Arthur told us he's in the forests of Daobeth. I can get there in a hard day's ride, then I just have to find him."

Christiane shook her head. "No," she whispered. "Before she got this bad, Grace changed her mind and said she wanted to see you. You need to stay."

"But it's her only chance…"

Alis had slipped out unnoticed a few minutes prior, and returned with Gwaine, Ulrich, and Leon. The men informed everyone they were leaving to find Merlin in Daobeth, right then. Christiane and Wallace hugged each of the men and thanked them; the three knights were gone within moments.

Percival eventually roused, and Christiane explained what his friends had gone off to do, and that it was Grace's only chance now. Over the years, Merlin's healing powers had strengthened, and he was much more powerful and in-control of his magic now than he was back when Percival had his near-death jousting accident. Percival hated the idea of not going along, but he knew his daughter needed him by her side.

On her bed, Grace stirred. "Wallace," she uttered.

He flew to her side, knelt, and took her hand. "I'm right here Grace."

She turned her head and looked at him with unfocused eyes. "I'm sorry. I was afraid you'd be upset with me before. But that was foolish… I want you here…"

"And I want to be here," said Wallace, planting a light kiss on her knuckles, "with you, no matter what. And I think we should marry. Right now."

Percival, Christiane, Alis, and Evann turned their heads to face the couple, but it took Grace well over a minute before she could summon the strength to produce an answer. She encouraged Wallace to lean in.

"But… I'd always wanted to wear a pretty dress at my wedding, not a nightgown," she panted with a chuckle, which made Wallace laugh as well. But the talking and laughing set off such a violent spasm of coughing for Grace that her lips turned even bluer, and she groaned with discomfort.

"She needs some quiet time now, Wallace," Evann said kindly. "And I think a short break would do everyone some good. Perhaps some food and drink for all."

Evann turned to Alis and suggested she bring the group down to the kitchens for a short time. Grudgingly, Percival, Wallace, Alis, and Christiane agreed. Dawn was approaching, and the kitchen staff was working and cooking already; the group of four would be able to get something to eat.

When the exhausted group arrived, the kitchen maids treated them like royalty. Word had spread throughout the castle about Grace's condition, as news always did, and the maids shoved the four visitors into seats and forced mugs of hot broth on them, poached eggs, and fresh bread slathered in honey butter. Each of them nibbled, as they didn't want to appear rude, but no one had an appetite. Alis packaged up the leftovers and brought them back to the infirmary for Evann and Grace – the broth for the patient. Soon thereafter, Percival, Wallace, and Christiane left the kitchen. On the way up, the two men talked while Christiane sniffled and all but ignored them.

"We need John of Bangor," insisted Wallace, as they ascended the stairs. "He needs to marry us before time runs out."

Young John had taken over as court librarian and ceremony officiant when Geoffrey of Monmouth had passed away five years ago.

"I know," said Percival with a small nod of his head, his countenance grim. "But Grace must consent either verbally or in writing or John can't do the ceremony."

Christiane stopped and placed her head against the stairwell wall, sobbing. "Our baby," she cried, and Percival held here there on the stairs. "She was supposed to have a beautiful wedding. She was supposed to go on and have children. This wasn't supposed to happen!"

The aggrieved mother crumpled in her husband's arms; he carried her the rest of the way to the infirmary. When they entered, Percival placed her down on a spare cot, and moved it close to their daughter. Grace's breathing was slow and wheezy, but she appeared comfortable in her bed, holding an extra pillow to her chest, and her eyes were open.

A light tap on the partially-open door drew everyone's attention; King Arthur stuck his head into the room.

"Hello," said the king. "May I enter?"

"You're always welcome, sire," said Percival.

The king strode up to Grace's bedside and took her hand. "I can't have Camelot's favorite writer dying on me, now can I?" he asked with a gentle smile, and she smiled back.

"I need you to hold on Grace, for as long as you can. Can you do that for me? For your family?"

"Yes, Your Highness. I'll try. I'll try as hard as I can; I promise."

Arthur gave her hand a light squeeze. "Good. I've sent another fifty men to help Gwaine, Ulrich, and Leon find Merlin. I'm confident they'll find him and return within a day, and I know Merlin can help you.

"In the meantime, I've instructed John to be ready at a moment's notice should a wedding be necessary. And if you'd be so kind, Guinevere and I would like to attend your nuptials, whenever you decide to have them."

A tear slipped from Grace's eye and she squeezed the king's hand back. "Of course, my lord," she whispered. "Thank you for everything."

She started coughing again and was in obvious distress. Arthur stepped back and apologized to Percival and Christiane while Evann tended to the young patient.

"Nonsense, sire, you've given us hope," said Christiane, bursting into tears again.

Before taking his leave, Arthur paused to assure Wallace he was doing everything he could to ensure Grace received the help she needed. Wallace clasped his king's forearm in thanks, and Arthur left the family to rest.

Wallace, Percival, and Christiane took turns sitting by Grace's side, holding her hand. She was able to sleep comfortably for an hour after the king left, and they didn't want to wake her and cause her more distress. However, Percival knew it was time for him to gather up his other children and bring them to see their sister. As he stood, Grace woke and held up her hand, then motioned for her father to approach.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"I want to go home," Grace wheezed. "I don't want to die here." She took a long pause to catch her breath. "I want to be home. In my own bed."

Percival turned to his wife. "Can we do that? Is it all right?"

"I don't see the harm," said Christiane. "We'll bundle her up. I have all the medicines we need for her at home. Wherever she's happiest and most comfortable is where she should be."

"All right. But no more talking about dying, Grace," Percival insisted. "They'll find Merlin; I can feel it. Your job is to just hang on."

Wallace stood, a look of fear on his face. "I can come, too, right?" he asked no one in particular.

"Of course you can," said Christiane. "Grace needs you."

Alis helped the group pack up; Evann was going with them also. During the frenzy of preparation to move Grace home with as little discomfort to her as possible, she spoke in a quiet voice.

"Will someone tell John to come to the cottage tonight? Wallace, I want our wedding at sunset…"

He rushed to her side. "Yes. I'll tell him right now. Your father will carry you home, and I'll be there after I've spoken with John." Wallace planted a kiss to her brow and raced out.

Christiane and Percival wrapped up their daughter in thick blankets and Percival lifted her from the bed. Alis assured the family she would be at their home at sunset, but if there was anything she could do before then to help, they need only send word to the castle, and she'd come running in an instant.

Percival, Christiane, Evann, and Grace walked from the castle out into the bright winter morning.

Christiane and Percival prayed they were not walking their daughter to her deathbed.

While moving toward home, Percival silently pleaded to any god who would listen – one God or many gods – that Merlin would arrive in time. And he promised the deities he'd be the perfect father and husband until the day he died, if only his daughter could live. And if that wasn't enough, he'd gladly trade his life for his daughter's.

If only he could.


	49. Chapter 48 We Face the Future

**A/N - Well, this is very sad! No baby for Wallace and Grace right now, and Grace is very ill. If Grace doesn't make it, how will Wallace and Grace's family cope? **

**This is a pretty dense chapter, and I don't want to give anything away before you read it, so feel free to dive right in. However, this is the last chapter devoted to Grace and Wallace. After this one, the next eight chapters are devoted to a different young couple (you will see whom!), then we have our epilogue and the story is done. **

**If you're still reading, you've hung in there with me for a LONG time, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. **

**Also, a big welcome to my new follower, redhead1251! I am thrilled to have you reading this story. **

Chapter 48 – We Face the Future

The entire Martel family congregated in the cottage once Grace had been settled into her bed comfortably. Percy had just ended his overnight patrol, and rushed down to the cottage with Wallace and Anna. Clotild arrived shortly thereafter, followed by Gwaine, Ulrich, and Leon's families (minus the fathers, since they were still out looking for Merlin). The house was near bursting with people and there was scarcely room to move, but no one cared – they all wanted to be there for Grace, Wallace, and the Martels.

Speaking wore Grace out and set off fits of violent coughing, so the visitors and family members sat with her one by one, holding her hand and telling her quiet stories. She'd open her eyes from time to time and smile.

When Christiane came upstairs, Grace motioned for her book, quill, and inkwell, which the mother retrieved. It took Grace several minutes to write out a message, but it appeared as if writing took far less out of her than talking. Christiane read over the words and looked up at her daughter.

"Of course!" she said. "We'll get you into that blue gown you love and the ladies and I will braid a hair wreath. I want to get you dressed early, because you'll need to rest afterward." She closed the book and sat bedside Grace in bed, tears welling in her eyes. "I think a wedding in bed sounds rather romantic, don't you?"

Grace smiled at her mother, nodded, and closed her eyes once again.

While the younger girls raced outside to collect evergreens and winter berries for hair wreaths, Wallace wondered if he might unravel, and he recognized Percival looked the same. The young knight positioned himself close to the man so they could share their misery, even if it was in silence.

"I must say one thing," said Wallace, leaning in toward Percival. "I will never forget Grace and I will never love another."

Percival's lower lip quivered. "Don't say such things. Merlin will come, Wallace. He will."

More hours passed until it was time to get Grace prepared for her nuptials. Grace's mother, her sisters, and aunt changed her into her favorite pale blue gown, but it was slow-going. Eventually, they had to call Percival up to the loft so he could hold his daughter up while they laced her gown; the father held his limp, exhausted, wheezing daughter in his arms.

Down in the common area, Drea sat with her son and put her arm around her eldest child's shoulders.

"We'll get you through this, my love," said Drea to Wallace. "You won't go through this alone, I promise. We're all here for you."

In the loft, Grace, now dressed and wearing her hair wreath, rested until sunset when John of Bangor arrived. John looked around at the attendees and appeared as if he was trying not to cry.

"We'll squeeze as many of you up into the loft as we can, and I'll make it quick," he assured the family and friends with a watery smile.

Twelve people climbed the steps to the loft: the groom, his mother, Christiane and Percival, Grace's siblings, Carina, Alis, and John of Bangor. That's all the loft could hold. Everyone else remained downstairs, listening. Arthur and Guinevere arrived right then along with their three children, and stood downstairs with the crowd.

Grace gave a weak but bright smile as her family and friends entered. Though she was ill and wan, she was still a beauty. Christiane had propped her up into a semi-seated position and Wallace sat next to her on the bed, holding her hand. John stood at the foot of the bed.

"I'll conduct the ceremony you have to speak as little as possible, Grace," assured John. "Nods of the head will be sufficient.

"To begin, I must ask, you are to wed Wallace of your own free will and desires?"

She nodded and smiled.

"Good. Then let us begin. Who gives this woman to be married by this man?"

"I give this woman, my precious daughter, Grace," said Percival, tears running down his face.

John spoke beautiful words about the comforts and wonder of marriage and the two wonderful souls to be joined that day as the sun slipped beneath the horizon.

He then asked, "Wallace, do you take this woman to be your wife, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keeping only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

"I do," answered Wallace.

"Grace, do you take this man to be your husband, to love him, comfort him, honor, obey, and keep him, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keeping only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

"I do," whispered Grace.

Next came the vows, which Grace insisted she would repeat aloud, even though doing so took her quite a while, as she had to take long breaks in between each phrase.

Recognizing time was of the essence, as Grace appeared to fade, John moved along with the exchanging of rings, and went right into the final blessing:

"Before God, the king, and company, Wallace and Grace have pledged their lives to each other; I therefore pronounce them as Man and Wife, in the name of God, our king, and all of Camelot. May Wallace and Grace be blessed on this day and forever more.

"Wallace, you may now kiss your bride."

Wallace gave Grace a short but tender peck on the lips.

It was clear to all that Grace didn't have much time left. Her lips had turned bluer and her breathing was more labored and wheezy, which seemed impossible, since she'd sounded so horrible before. Each of Grace's siblings stopped to kiss her cheek before they left the loft, as did Christiane and Percival.

"It's time to leave Grace with her husband now," said Percival, looking as if he might collapse, pale as his sick daughter, his legs shaking.

He and his wife left Grace and Wallace alone.

"I've not much strength left in me," whispered Grace to her new husband, "but I want these words to be my last: I love you, Wallace."

"And I, you," he said, holding her hands as they lay in her bed. "For now and forever."

Right then, Grace slipped from consciousness. Wallace held her and sobbed, a large part of him wondering if it might be best for him to join her in death. He considered the idea carefully, and decided it would be best. The man had no interest in facing life without her.

Downstairs, Percival and Christiane had lost all hope, and felt a heavy, black cloud of misery enveloping them, until Madlen came over and sat in her father's lap.

"Mum, Father, Merlin's coming!" said Madlen. "I saw it in my mind!"

"I don't think so, sweetheart," said Percival.

However, the instant after the grieving father had spoken those words, the front door burst wide open, bringing in bitter cold air.

And Merlin.

"Out of my way!" commanded the warlock, shoving people aside as he rushed up to the loft. He was at Grace's bedside in seconds.

Upon seeing the wizard, Wallace leapt up and threw himself at Merlin's feet.

"Get up, there's no time for this, Wallace," said Merlin, shoving the man aside with his foot.

The warlock placed his hands on Grace's head. "This will be difficult; she's nearly gone."

Without words, Merlin did his work. His eyes turned gold and remained that way as his hands hovered right above Grace's body and moved from her head to her feet, over and over again for endless minutes. The man was sweating and breathing hard as he moved. He said, "Sundfulnes, hæling."

Merlin's eyes turned their regular shade of blue once more and he dropped his hands to his sides. Grace remained motionless, and every last person in the cottage held his or her breath, waiting. Time passed – seconds, minutes no one was sure. Just as it appeared that Grace had lost her battle, she took a great gasping breath, opened her eyes, focused on Merlin, and smiled.

"What took you so long?" she asked in a soft voice.

The cottage erupted with laughter, followed by everyone crying with joy and embracing. Christiane and Percival fell into each other's arms with relief, and Wallace gave Grace a brief peck, then flung himself at Merlin and held the man, refusing to let go, repeating "Thank you" over and over again, soaking the wizard's shoulder with his tears of gratitude and relief.

After the members of the Martel family had composed themselves, they flew up the stairs to the loft and tossed themselves at Merlin also, who was now being squeezed in a massive hug involving nine people.

"Good to see you, too, all," said the wizard.

Once everyone broke free and paid attention to Grace, sitting next to her or standing beside the bed, Percival took a moment to pull Merlin aside and thank him.

"I owe you everything, Merlin. How can I ever repay you for this? If there is anything I can ever do for you, now or later, please tell me and I'll do it, whatever it is. I don't think my heart could have survived Grace's death. You've saved me. You've saved all of us."

"Sometimes, I've felt magic was a great burden," confessed Merlin, reaching out to pat Percival on the shoulder. "But this isn't one of them. This is what magic is meant to do – to do good, to better one's life.

"I've never told you this, Percival, but I think you're a man of great character. You're a loyal and honest knight and a true husband and loving father. You, Gwaine, Leon, and Ulrich have been my close friends for many years now, and you've been a steadfast servant to Arthur. I admire you a great deal; this is the least I can do.

"And I am sorry it took me so long to get here. I had to leave the men behind, and I might have cast a spell on my horse so she could get us here faster."

"Thank you, Merlin," spoke Percival through his tears. "I shall never forget this and will treasure our friendship."

After every single person in the cottage hugged and kiss Grace – including the king and queen – the crowd finally departed, leaving Christiane, Percival, their children, Merlin, and Wallace.

"My dear young writer, how do you feel?" asked Merlin from his seat on Grace's bed.

"Somewhat like death," she teased, "but not quite."

Merlin laughed at her cheeky response. "That's to be expected; your body's been through an ordeal. It will take several months before you're up and about and feeling normal again. I'll have to meet with you once per week so I can perform some healing spells. But by mid-spring, I think you'll be back to your old self, or close to it."

"I want to do something special for you Merlin," she insisted.

"There's nothing I need," he said, but then appeared as if a thought came to him. "Wait, I have an idea. I'd like it if you could write all about Camelot – an epic, sweeping saga about our trials and adventures. That way, our stories will be remembered and cherished long after we're gone. Do you think you can do that?"

Grace sat up a little straighter. "Yes! It'll take years, but I can do it!"

"It's my hope you'll have all the time in the world."

Merlin gathered himself to leave, but not before Percival threw himself at the man once again, promising anything up to and including eternal servitude. Right as Merlin was about to step outside, Leon, Gwaine, and Ulrich smashed the door open and raced inside.

"Did he make it? Merlin?" shouted Gwaine, out of breath, his cloak billowing behind him as he rushed into the center of the room.

"Yes, I've made it," said Merlin, his voice sounding muffled, "but you've nearly crushed me behind the door!" He pushed the wood away from his face, slamming the front door shut.

Gwaine turned to Ulrich and Leon. "See? I _told _you he'd make it."

"Was that before or after you'd wept in the woods?" taunted Ulrich.

Ignoring his comrades, Leon faced Percival. "She's all right then?"

"See for yourself," answered the happy father.

The knights ascended the stairs and found Grace relaxing in bed, semi-reclined with Wallace seated beside her. They, too, hugged and kissed the girl; it was obvious the men thought of her as one of their own. Leon, Gwaine, Ulrich, and Percival had long considered the other men's children a part of their extended families.

The hubbub ended, and the men departed along with Merlin. Wallace went on a short walk down to the tavern to announce the happy news that Grace had made it, and to give the Martel family some time alone with their daughter. After having sat at the bar for a few minutes and sipping a flagon of ale (which Terric had forced upon Wallace at no charge), he returned to the cottage. And at last, he had some time alone with his precious Grace while the family busied themselves in the common area, cooking up a celebratory supper.

"Grace," whispered Wallace, holding her. "This was almost the worst day of my life. I came to realize I can't live without you."

"Please don't say that Wallace. I would have been devastated if you hadn't gone on to lead a good and happy life filled with love."

"No," he said. "There's room for only one woman in my heart, and that's you."

Grace rubbed her knuckles against Wallace's check, then tenderly rested her palm against his scruffy face. "And what if we have daughters?"

He rested his hand upon hers and his lips curled into a smile. "I'll have room for them, too."

"About that," she added quickly. "I'm so sorry about all of it. About saying I didn't know if I could have the baby, then losing the baby. I wonder if it was punishment for me saying I wasn't sure about it."

"Please don't think that, Grace. I know that's not true. It's just something that happened."

Grace's expression turned solemn. "And about making more babies…"

"No," said Wallace, shaking his head. "I don't want you to worry about any of that. Merlin said it'll be months before we can try again, and that's what it must be, so you can recover. That's the most important thing, your wellness and recovery. Besides," he said with a light chuckle, "if I'd survived your death, I'd resigned myself to a life of celibacy anyway, so a few months is no hardship.

"Also, I think for the time being, you should stay here in your parents' home. It's better for you to have people around who can help and look after you while you regain your strength. But I'll ask your father if I can sleep here with you. But just sleep."

Grace turned her head toward the steps of the loft, and listened to her father laughing and sounding happy in the living area below.

"At the moment, I think Father would grant you just about anything."

The newlyweds lay comfortably and rested until Grace fell asleep. Then, Wallace rose and took the steps to the common area to help the family with dinner.

During the meal preparation, Percival, Wallace, and Christiane had a long talk, and Christiane had encouraged Wallace to stay with them during his off-time until Grace had recovered. Wallace would have to ask Leon and the king for permission first, but he was confident that wouldn't be a problem.

The group brought their dinner upstairs – a meal of tripe stew and bread – and the group ate happily, sitting on the children's beds or on the floor, relieved beyond belief. Grace wasn't able to eat all that much, even with Wallace helping her balance her spoon and wiping her chin as he gazed at her with pure love in his eyes. But the little food and the happy company brought some color back to her cheeks.

Following the meal, Grace had needed to rest again, and Wallace returned to the castle for a short time so he could talk to Leon about his temporary change in residence; Percy walked back with him.

After such an arduous and emotional day, the rest of the Martel children flopped into their beds and fell asleep straight away. However, Percival and Christiane sat on the floor before their warm hearth, sobbing tears of joy and relief, whispering "I love you" over and over again until half the night was gone. Their family was still whole and nothing could ever mean more to them.

XXXX

The first flowers of spring bloomed; light and bright hazel and daffodils burst from the ground, and the season's first butterflies floated by, announcing to all that the long, harsh winter had ended. Sunshine was abundant and the weather mild. And Grace got well.

It had taken three months, but the young woman was on her way to a full recovery. The first month hadn't been easy – Percival and Wallace had moved her bed (now Wallace's, too) to the lower level of the home, because she could hardly walk more than a few steps without needing help, and the stairs from the loft were impossible. Following the exertion of walking, she would have to rest for hours before she could try again. And two weeks into her recovery, she'd had a setback where her cough had returned. That night she'd been so weak she couldn't rise fast enough to make it to the chamber pot, and her nightdress had ended up soaked. Grace cried from humiliation and embarrassment, but the moment Wallace had figured out what was going on, he quietly slipped up to the loft, retrieved a fresh gown, and helped his wife change out of her wet clothing. Once she was settled again, he went out in the freezing cold night and took the gown to a stream in the woods and washed it, wringing it out as best he could. He returned home and hung up the nightdress on the laundry line with the rest of the clothing so no one would ever know. Grace woke when he crawled back into bed.

"How could you want to be married to me, Wallace? When I'm like this?" she'd asked, tears flowing.

"This is nothing," he'd assured his bride. "You could be gone, and that would be far, far worse than a damp nightdress."

Fortunately, the worst days had passed, and on a marvelous, bright spring day that Wallace had off from his duties, he planned to take Grace on her first horseback ride into the woods since she'd become ill. Percival had the day off also, and mentioned he wanted to come along "in case something went wrong," but Christiane insisted that Wallace was capable and could handle any mishaps.

"Perhaps they'd like a little alone time?" Christiane whispered in her husband's ear.

The father sulked, but agreed.

Before Wallace and Grace left for Glas Lake, Grace paused to hug and reassure her father.

"I promise you, I'll be fine. I wouldn't go if I thought it would make me sicker. I need some nice fresh air and an hour or two away from home. When I return home, I'll rest a little, all right?"

"Oh, all right," Percival grumbled while trying not to smile. "Just be extra careful."

Wallace finished stuffing his sack with bread, herb butter, and hard-boiled eggs. Grace had lost a good deal of weight during her illness, and he'd told her the night before their excursion he planned on "fattening" her up. "I want you to feel good," he'd said.

It was early morning, the time of day when Grace had the most energy, so they left while it was still cool out, extra blankets on hand. During their ride on old Aethon, Wallace admired the way the sun hit his wife's face, and how she smiled and breathed in the tart, green scent of spring. Her enjoyment of the little things delighted him.

They reached a quiet spot with heavy tree cover at the lakeside, and Wallace insisted she take a seat and rest while he set up their blankets and food. He'd wrapped an extra-thick fur around Grace's shoulders as they took their seats close to the lake water, which was shining like a jewel in the morning sun.

"I am hot, Wallace," she insisted, stripping off the fur and fanning her face. "I do not need to be swaddled like a babe."

He looked irritated and Grace laughed at him, then situated herself in his lap, giving him a deep, hard kiss, running her fingers through his hair. Wallace rested his hands on her waist and pulled back.

"Wait, wait," he panted, while Grace continued to press soft kisses to the edge of his mouth. "I don't know if this is a good time. Perhaps we should wait a little longer…"

Grace moved her lips down toward his collarbone, then to the short, dark hair peeking out from beneath the top of his tunic.

"Oh, rubbish, Wallace. We haven't made love since we've been married. I'm feeling much better and I say we do this now."

"But…"

That was the end of the argument. Grace's face was in his lap, and she'd pulled free the leather ties on his breeches. Before he could protest, he was somehow on his back, and Grace had taken his length into her mouth. Not having been touched like this in months, Wallace knew if he didn't stop her, their little liaison would end in moments. Yet right then, she sat up, as if reading his thoughts.

"I know," she said with a seductive smile, then pulled him on top of her.

Some fumbling with clothing ensued, but when Wallace entered his wife's slick, tight warmth, he felt a mixture of relief and desire like never before. He was slow and gentle with his movements, savoring every stroke, as did Grace. Taking care to make sure his wife felt pleasure, his release came right after hers. While he was still inside of her, Grace took his face in her hands.

"I must tell you something."

"Yes?" said Wallace, hovering above her, now concerned about her well-being.

"I'm starving."

"I suppose this is one way to get your appetite back."

And the two burst with laughter, for the first time in many months.

After devouring their meal and cleaning up, the couple sat on their blanket, watching the bright lake water teem with lively fish that broke the surface of the calm water, then dove down. Grace sat between Wallace's knees and rested her back against his chest as they gazed out at the lake.

"This is wonderful," said Wallace, embracing the moment, his heart full. "The day, your health…everything. I'll make sure to cherish each moment with you." Wrapping his arms around her, he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. "Now, we face the future, together."

"Yes, love," said Grace. "For always."

Wallace was a lucky man, and he knew it.

XXXX

Times changed for Percy and Anna and Wallace and Grace. Thirteen months after Percy and Anna's wedding, they welcomed their first child, Percival III. And six months after that, Grace gave birth to Gwaine II. The newborn boys were hearty and healthy, and Gwaine loved to joke about how the new babes had "good sets of lungs on them, just like their grandfathers!"

The next generation of Camelot's children had arrived; times would change, as they tended to do.

And things were about to change for King Arthur's son, Prince Llacheu, too.


	50. Chapter 49 The Woes of a Future King

**A/N - What did you think of Wallace and Grace's story? Obviously, we never got this far in the show _Merlin_, and our beloved Gwaine didn't survive long enough to marry and have children. But in my mind, THIS is what really happened! **

**Once again, I had planned on ending the story here, but then a NEW couple popped into my head! I wanted to read more about Arthur, Guinevere, and their children, especially their first-born, Llacheu. So here is Llacheu's story and how he finds his special someone. **

**There are seven chapters after this and then a quick epilogue. This time, I swear, this is REALLY the last couple we'll read about. In the future, I may write some short spinoffs. I am also currently wrapping up a MUCH shorter multi-chapter Merlin fanfic, and I'm working on some original books right now. I'll keep you posted on those new books, if anyone is interested! They will be fantasy/historical romance. **

**As I do with every new update, I want to thank you for reading this story. I know your time is precious, and I am honored that you have followed me on this long, long journey. **

**One last thing! Welcome, manuelmarisa5. I am so glad to have you reading. **

Chapter 49 – The Woes of a Future King

It was early springtime, well before Percival III and Gwaine II's births. Grace was recovering nicely, and life in Camelot carried on as usual. Thus, Llacheu and his fourteen-year-old brother, Amr, stood out on the grassy training field in full armor, practicing their sword work under Gwaine's watchful eye. But Gwaine was positioned far enough away so he couldn't make out the details of the boys' conversation. Or, that's what the brothers thought.

"I'm ready to abdicate my rights to the throne, Amr," mumbled Llacheu from beneath his helmet. "I don't think I want it. Besides, you're smarter than I am."

Amr blocked his older brother's fierce blow. "Oh, just great! You're going to toss me on the throne when the time comes, are you? I may be better with languages and art, but I'm not half as good with the sword and fighting. You'll make a better king than I." Amr swung his weapon, but Llacheu deflected the strike with ease. "This is all because you want to bed Ilene and she has no interest in lying with the future king. Don't think you're fooling anyone."

"Quiet, Amr! Don't say that out in the open! Have you lost your damn mind?"

"Why? What's the problem with saying that? Ilene has a right-fine backside. I don't blame you for –"

"Boys!" shouted Gwaine. "Less chatting and more practice!"

"Yes, Sir Gwaine," responded Amr.

The boys returned to their practice and were quiet for a time, save their grunts of exertion. But Amr couldn't help but needle Llacheu a little as they completed their final exercises.

"It's not a secret, you know," panted Amr. "The way you stared at Ilene at the Yule feast, I think the entire kingdom knows you have the hots for her."

Llacheu made an extra-hard strike to Amr's midsection, and the deep, hollow sound of sword hitting armor rang out. "It's nothing. She just looked very pretty that night in her dress. All of the men were looking."

"I don't recall anything about her dress."

"Well, it was nice."

Amr stopped dead and bent over with laughter, removing his helmet, shaking the sweat from his short, black hair. "Now you're an expert in women's fashion? When did this happen?"

Gwaine stepped between the two and held up his hands. "The first half of practice was good, but the second half was pretty hopeless. I think we're done for today."

He walked behind Amr and helped him out of his armor while Llacheu stripped off his gloves and the protective coverings he could reach on his own.

"Amr, keep quiet during training unless you have a question about sword work," said Gwaine, "and Llacheu, you're seventeen years old, don't let your brother provoke you."

Llacheu, helmet now off, ran his hands through his sweat-dampened hair, pushing a few wayward blonde strands out of his eyes. "But did you hear all that, Sir Gwaine? That rubbish that Amr said? It's not true, anyway," he lied.

Gwaine removed the last pieces of armor from Amr and then moved to Llacheu. "It's your business which women you admire. It doesn't bother me; I was young once, a thousand or so years ago. I say have fun now while you're young and able. Trust me, you'll be old before you know it. And when you're king, you'll be lucky to have more than a moment or two of privacy or fun."

"Yes, but Ilene's Sir Leon's daughter, and my friend's sister. I don't want rumors spreading, thanks to my fat-mouthed brother here," said Llacheu. "I don't need Sir Leon murdering me in my bed, thank you." Llacheu shot Amr an angry glance, yet even when he was annoyed with his younger sibling for being a pest, he still loved him.

"What color was her Yuletide dress, dear brother?" asked Amr with a smirk.

"Why don't you run off and play with your tiny wooden sword, little boy?" countered Llacheu. "Emphasis on the word 'tiny.'"

"Come now, you don't want me to drop my drawers right here and display my impressive manhood, do you?" was Amr's comeback, delivered with a grin.

"You're fourteen years old. How impressive can your manhood be?"

Gwaine laughed at the two boys and collected some of the spare weapons. "All right, I think we're all set here. Let's head back inside before anyone drops his trousers right here on the field, which I have no interest in seeing. Certainly not before lunch."

On the way indoors, the brothers continued taunting one another.

"If you somehow managed the impossible and coaxed Ilene into your bed, you'd have no idea what to do," teased Amr.

"Please, says the young man who's never even kissed a girl!"

"Oh, and you have?"

"Yes, I have," insisted Llacheu.

Amr rolled his eyes at his brother. "Whom?"

"I will not name names, but it was one of the serving girls at the tavern a while back. I saw her home and we drank ale on the way." Llacheu didn't add that the kiss had been sloppy and awkward, and the girl hadn't seemed to like it in the least. And the next time he went to the Rising Sun, the girl avoided Llacheu's table and wouldn't even look at him. Talk about embarrassing.

Amr was about to argue with his brother when Leon walked out of the main castle entryway with his daughters: sixteen-year-old Ilene, ten-year-old Chloe, and four-year-old Ariana.

"Hello, men," said Leon, striding forth and clasping each man's arm in greeting. "My wife has instructed me to take the girls out for the morning, lest they drive her mad," he noted with a smile. "We're off for a bite at the tavern and then we're going to… What is it we're going to do, Ariana?"

The little girl hid behind her father's long cape and giggled. "We're going to pick flowers, Father."

"Ah, yes, that," said Leon with an affectionate smile, rubbing his youngest child's head. "Which means we're off to get our horses. Of course, if flower picking appeals to any of you, you're welcome to join us."

Llacheu was just about to offer to accompany them, but he couldn't think of a reasonable way to accept an invitation to go flower picking. Because if he went on such an excursion, he'd likely be the laughing stock of the kingdom. Lord knows Amr would never let him live it down. But didn't men do those types of things sometimes to make their women happy? After all, Leon, Camelot's knight commander, was going, and he didn't seem to be the least bit ashamed or worried about what people thought of him. The man would probably wear a crown of flowers if it made his girls happy.

"Sire, don't hurt yourself thinking too hard," said Ilene with a cheerful laugh, stepping toward Llacheu, pulling her long, curly-brown hair back into a leather tie. "Are you really thinking of coming with us?"

He stared at her for a moment, trying to keep his eyes level with hers, doing his best to not admire her full, firm breasts. Despite her lean and tall build, she had delicious curves. And that arse! Nice and round, perfect for squeezing, he'd imagined. Frequently. When she'd worn that snug, silky red dress to the Yule feast, one that hugged her gentle curves and was a touch too low in the front (not too low by Llacheu's standards), he'd forgotten how to breathe. And when his eyes were drawn downward by that silver girdle belt that rested low on her hips, he'd choked on his ale imagining what lay beneath.

"No, sorry, I wish I could," he answered abruptly. "But I'm to review geography this afternoon with Merlin. Believe me, flower picking sounds far more appealing at the moment."

Since Merlin had begun traveling around the kingdom and beyond in order to spread his knowledge of magic and to strengthen his magical skills, he'd learned several languages and had become adept at cartography and geography. During the longer stretches he remained in Camelot, he offered tutoring services, and Prince Llacheu and his siblings were one of his many students.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Ilene broke in. "The king will tell you later, but you might as well know now –– I'm to take over your Greek and Latin tutoring starting tomorrow, since Merlin's on the move again."

Out of all the women and girls Llacheu knew, Ilene was the definition of a free spirit. She'd been studying languages since she could speak, and had become adept at speaking, writing, and translating both Greek and Latin, which was an uncommon vocation for a lady. The vivacious young woman spoke her mind freely and was sexy without being overt about it. Yet when men approached her, as they often did, she was friendly, but Llacheu had never seen her accept a man's advances. He was grateful for that, yet he wondered why.

But tutoring? In close quarters for hours on end? This didn't sound good to the prince. As far as Ilene knew, she and the prince were just friends. And other than admire her from a safe distance, Llacheu had never made a move. She didn't seem interested in him as anything more than a friend, and he wasn't keen on embarrassing himself by asking for more than friendship only to be laughed at, or worse, pitied. As prince and heir to the throne, women were polite and nervous around him, or they expressed interest in becoming a princess –– but didn't seem particularly interested in _him_.

"Oh, um, I had no idea you're to be my tutor," responded Llacheu, catching a whiff of lavender oil from Ilene's skin. She stood close and smelled so tempting that his cock twitched. He shifted his load of armor to cover his crotch, angry that his brother was so right about him wanting to bed Ilene. "I look forward to it," he said, keeping his expression neutral, all while feeling his cheeks burn up. "I'll try to be less hopeless with my Greek. My Latin's passable, but the Greek is killing me."

"That's my area of expertise, so I shall try to help," she said with a curtsey and a slight wink. After a pregnant pause, Ilene said, "Good day, my lord," and returned to her father's side.

_Only Ilene could speak the words 'my lord' in such a way that makes me want to toss her over my shoulder carry her to my bedchamber. Right now, _he thought.

Once Leon and his girls had walked off toward the stables, Amr burst into hysterical laughter as the men closed in on the castle entryway.

"My God, that was fantastic," laughed the younger brother. "When Ilene spoke, your face went so red. You looked like you'd been roasted over a fire!"

"Watch yourself there, little man," said Gwaine, trailing a few feet behind. "When it's your turn, Amr, you won't want your brother pointing out every embarrassing blunder."

Amr readjusted his load of armor as he walked. "Well, Sir Gwaine, that doesn't seem to be happening any time soon, so meanwhile, I'd like to have my fun. And Llacheu here tortured me for years about my fear of the dark. Now it's my turn to get in a few digs."

Gwaine sighed. "Brothers!"

XXXX

Llacheu had dried off after a steaming-hot bath and sat up in bed wearing his long nightshirt, thinking. He should have been asleep a couple of hours prior, but the thought of being in such close proximity to Ilene for who knew how long made him edgy.

Should he say something to her about how he felt? Or keep it to himself? At the moment, he wasn't sure how he felt. Was it love? It could be. Oh, who the hell was he kidding; he'd known he was in love with her for months.

No, now was a bad time to tell Ilene. If he confessed his feelings for her and she rejected him, he might be forced to sit through painful weeks or months of her at his side, teaching him, watching him struggle with Greek like an incompetent arse. How could he ever hope to rule a massive kingdom if he was such a fool when it came to women? He wondered if his own father ever felt stupid or incapable: probably not.

The prince heard a soft rap on his door.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, Son."

"Come in, Father."

King Arthur often kept late hours, so it was no surprise that he called on his son at this time of night. Arthur entered the room, dressed casually and looking relaxed. He walked over to Llacheu and took a seat on the foot of the bed.

"Is there a special occasion?" asked Arthur.

"What do you mean?"

The king sniffed the air. "It smells good in here, like a spice or something."

Llacheu shrugged. "I took a bath before."

"Ah. Because you have tutoring tomorrow?" said Arthur with a half-smile.

"No, Father," said Llacheu, louder than he'd meant to. "I was due for a bath anyway."

Arthur let out a short laugh. "Touchy this evening, aren't we?"

"I'm sorry. It's just that Amr has been driving me mad about Ilene and it embarrasses me and makes me feel stupid and naïve."

The king studied his son. "Would you prefer I find another tutor for you, then? I know Ilene's the best, even better than Merlin with languages, some say. But if it's too uncomfortable, I can find someone else. I know what it is to be under constant scrutiny, and I don't want to make things more difficult for you."

"I appreciate it, Father, but no. It would draw more attention to pick someone else now. I'll be fine. But can I ask you something?"

"You know you can."

Llacheu fussed with the bedclothes and adjusted the pillows behind him. "Did you ever question your ability to rule? Wonder if you're not capable or up to the task?" He couldn't look at his father and feared the man's answer, but at the same time, was desperate to know.

"_Did_ I? The more accurate question would be _do_ I. And yes, on both counts. I've always questioned my ability and competence, as far back as I can recall. But I've learned that's what any good king does, Llacheu – any good man. You must question and challenge yourself always. The day you believe you have all the right answers and are infallible is the day you should step down.

"Remember, you can only do your best. Lead with both heart and logic. And be sure to surround yourself with people who are willing to tell you the truth, and knock you down a few pegs if necessary. The words of your most trusted advisors will be difficult to hear, but you need them. While they may drive you mad sometimes, they will be the ones loyal to the end."

"That's your advice?" questioned Llacheu, his eyes wide. He'd expected something more profound.

"That's my advice," the king said with a chuckle. "Though it's not quite as simple as it sounds. You'll make mistakes; I can promise you that. In the end, if you've done more good than harm, and have truly cared for and protected your people as best you can, I'd say that's a successful reign."

He leaned across the bed ruffled his son's hair. "Also, don't wait too long to tell Ilene how you feel. No man knows how much time hell be granted here on this earth. It's better to tell someone you care about them rather than hold it in. Trust me when I tell you, regret's a painful thing."

Llacheu wondered what his father regretted, but chose not to ask.

"I just like Ilene, Father," said the prince with a shrug, trying for nonchalance. "It's not like we're getting married. There's no need for everyone to whip themselves into a frenzy over it."

With a knowing smile and a hug, Arthur bid his eldest son a good night.

Now alone, Llacheu leaned over and blew out his bedside candles and lay back against his pillows. Yet sleep was elusive. He felt more nervous about his tutoring session tomorrow than he had about facing his first armed bandit a few months prior.

Perhaps managing bandits was easier than managing women.

XXXX

Llacheu sat up tall at the study table, waiting for Ilene to arrive for their early-morning tutoring session. The prince had always liked this room; it was airy and bright with several tall windows lining the east wall. Positioned in front of the windows were deep, cushioned benches where one could sit and relax while reading one of the hundreds of books available on the tall shelves. For the most part, Llacheu was content riding around the forest on his horse or swinging a sword, but when the mood struck and he fancied some alone time with a book, this was one of his favorite places in the castle. The spacious room was tucked away on a high floor in a little-used corridor, a good location when one needed private time to think and unwind.

Even so, he jiggled his leg with impatience. Yet he was grateful he and Ilene were scheduled to meet at such an early hour; that way, he didn't have the stressful event looming over him all day. At the long study table, he'd set up two quills, inkwells, a ponce pot, parchment, and a water pitcher with goblets. One of the servants had offered to him set up, but he'd shooed her away because he needed to remain occupied.

A sudden thought came to Llacheu as he squirmed in his seat: What if Ilene was hungry? After all, they had a long session ahead of them. Well, if she wasn't hungry, he'd be starving within the hour, so he rushed down to the kitchens and begged one of the maids for a plate of gingerbread cakes, which she handed over with a minor scowl, mumbling something about how Llacheu and Amr ate enough to feed ten men. This might have been true, but Llacheu knew the kitchen maids loved the princes anyway. The boys enjoyed sitting and chatting with women during quiet times, often asking for the maids' advice, which the ladies were all too happy to give.

Llacheu rushed upstairs, balancing the plate of treats in his hand. On his way up the many flights, he decided to indulge in a few cakes. He was starving, and the plate was piled high, so a few missing gingerbreads wouldn't make a difference. And they were warm and spicy, making the thick squares impossible to resist.

He made it back to the study, mouth full of cake, crumbs spilling down the front of his white tunic. With his cheeks puffed out with food and looking as if he'd rubbed the snack all over himself, he entered the room to find Ilene, sitting at the table in her rose-colored dress, looking amused. And clean, unlike him.

"Umph," mumbled Llacheu, doing his best to chew and swallow, chew and swallow as fast as he could without choking. What an embarrassing start to a long morning.

Ilene stood and took the plate from his hands. "Oh, gingerbread! I love them. The castle bakers are the best, aren't they?" She grabbed a cake and stuffed it into her mouth, chewing and sighing with delight. "So good," she mumbled with her mouth full.

Before she'd swallowed the first cake, she was on to her second, and the front of her simple tan dress was covered in crumbs. A few pieces had even worked their way into her hair, which she'd worn in a loose braid that rested over her shoulder.

The prince smiled; she was trying to help him save face. She was such a good woman.

Ilene finished chewing before she spoke again. "Why don't we have a seat and finish up some of these cakes while we talk about what we'll do today and for the next several weeks, my lord?"

"Yes, good idea," said Llacheu, pulling out Ilene's seat at the table and gesturing for her to sit down. "But I'd prefer we forget the formalities and you just call me Llacheu. After all, you're the one in charge here," he offered with a smile, taking his own seat.

"Fair enough my…Llacheu. Let's get down to work!"

"Good, but there's just one thing…"

"What's that?"

Llacheu pointed at her braid. "You've a, um, large crumb stuck in your hair."

Ilene's hands fumbled in her thick curls, but she couldn't find the stray morsel. Llacheu reached out and flicked it away.

"Thank you for that," said Ilene with a bright smile. "And the Greek word for crumb is pronounced _psícha_." After stumbling once, Llacheu got the pronunciation right. "Not a bad ear," said Ilene. "You may survive this yet!"

For the next while, Ilene explained how she planned to tutor the prince most effectively. During their discussion and her subsequent evaluation, she determined they'd focus most of their work on Greek, and do weekly brush-up sessions in Latin.

"Your Latin comprehension is good," she said. "But the Greek… What exactly has Merlin been teaching you?"

"Merlin's demanding and impossible!" whined Llacheu. "He tosses these huge tomes at me and tells me to memorize a thousand pages by the next day, and then gets angry when I can't! I think he's getting old and frustrated." The prince pulled a serious face. "'Llacheu,'" he said in an authoritative voice that was meant to sound like Merlin's, "'this is very important here, and if you want to learn, you'll have to try harder! You're to lead this kingdom one day, and those leadership skills begin by setting an example and taking your studies seriously.'"

Ilene stifled a laugh and reached out to touch the prince's arm. "That's perfect! You sounded just like him."

She removed her hand and turned to the quills and parchment. Meanwhile, Llacheu tried to figure out a way to get her to touch him again, but nothing came to mind. Nothing that wouldn't get him slapped.

"This is how we'll begin," explained Ilene, "you and I will meet every other day for two hours. I want to work on your understanding of the alphabet, then we'll focus on common words and phrases. In your case, it's more important that you can read the language well enough, since you'll mostly read documents and contracts, but we'll work on some spoken Greek, too." She met his eye. "Are you ready to start?"

He looked at her light brown eyes and felt himself becoming lost in their warmth. "Yes," he said with a slight shake of his head to clear his thoughts. "I'm ready. But I think we may need to meet more than every other day. I probably need five times per week."

Oh, why was he saying that! The idea of spending so much time suffering through his studies didn't sound appealing. However, spending time with Ilene _was_ appealing. He'd endure.

Ilene smiled and shrugged. "That's fine by me. I think your father can afford it."

The next two hours passed faster than Llacheu thought possible. While learning Greek was tedious and challenging, Ilene made it somewhat fun. She'd written up cards containing some common words and phrases Llacheu needed to study. When he got three definitions in a row correct, she joked and told him he could have a crumb of gingerbread. She broke off a piece of a cake and tried to toss it into his mouth, which was silly and broke up the monotony. The session ended with laughter and Llacheu feeling better about Greek. And more in love with Ilene than ever.

XXXX

And so went the lessons for the first week. Llacheu left the tutoring sessions smiling, and Ilene seemed pleased with his progress. Often, the prince found reasons to seek her out later in the day after their sessions. He'd start out with a question about Greek, but then they'd end up talking about anything and everything. They discussed everything from politics to nature, to friendships and silly castle gossip. Ilene was so easy to talk to. She was kind and a good listener, but not afraid to tell Llacheu what she thought.

One evening, after supper in the dining hall, Llacheu came up with what sounded like a pathetic question (to his ears) regarding their lesson from earlier in the day, and suggested he and Ilene take a dusk-time walk through the lush castle gardens, where the trees and flowers were now in full bloom. She agreed, and after situating her light wrap, she took his arm and joined him on the walk.

Llacheu decided this would be the night he gently pried information from her. He began by asking a question about how to place certain accent marks on certain Greek letters, and after he'd half-listened to her thorough answer, he tried to make a smooth transition into questioning her about personal matters.

"Have you had any interesting suitors lately? Any that meet your fancy?" he asked, as they walked toward the copse of whitebeam trees on the far side of the garden. He tried to sound casual, but wasn't sure how his question came across. And if her answer was that she _had_ found a likable suitor, Llacheu wasn't sure how he'd contain his dismay.

"Oh, no, I've told my father to send away any suitors."

Llacheu was confused. "And why's that?"

"Within the half-year, I plan to travel to the island of Anglesey. I've written to some scholars there, and they need help with teaching and translating Greek texts. I love to teach and I love to translate, so I'll probably spend a good three months there, give or take. Travel and being exposed to new people and customs sounds very exciting, don't you think?"

Llacheu felt as if she'd punched him in the gut. "Not really. _Some_ travel is fine, but I prefer Camelot. Besides, my mother and father have been hosting people from different lands constantly. I believe within a few days some Northmen will arrive for a visit."

"Oh? That sounds exciting. I love meeting new people." Ilene glanced over at Llacheu while they strolled. "Don't get me wrong, I love Camelot, just as you do, so even if I spend years traveling, I'll always visit home."

"But how will you ever get married if you're traveling all the time?" Llacheu blurted out, not thinking, unable to control himself. This was a joke. It had to be. Ilene, leave Camelot? No, that was a terrible idea, the worst he'd ever heard in his life.

"Married?" she said with a chuckle. "I'm not sure that's something I want. I don't like the idea of being forced to do a man's bidding. Leading a free and independent life sounds better to me."

_Calm yourself, Llacheu_. "But your mum's free and independent! Your father doesn't stop her from doing anything. He may be in charge of the knights, but we all see your mother's very much in charge of your family.

"And look at my parents," said Llacheu, speaking louder and faster, as if that would somehow prove his point better. "They rule the kingdom together. Father says they share the burden and it makes life easier. Mum's very progressive…" He felt panicked. He had to change Ilene's mind and force her to see leaving Camelot was a wretched idea.

"True," she agreed, "but I think marriages like that are less common than you think. You may not believe this, but right here in Camelot, there are plenty of men who raise their hands to their wives. Remember, my mum's a midwife. She's seen women beaten by their husbands, yet they make excuses about their injuries because they feel ashamed."

The two kept walking, but Llacheu felt somewhat stunned. He knew horrible and abusive husbands existed, but to hear this from a person who knew the details made him sick.

"If you ever hear of such a thing, I want you to tell me. I will take care of the man personally. He'll learn to never strike a woman again, I promise you that!" he exclaimed, marching faster toward the bench, Ilene struggling to keep up the pace.

"I know you care for your people, Llacheu. But you need to understand not all women are happy or treated well," said Ilene.

"What about your father? He worships your mum and everyone knows it. And there's Sir Gwaine, Sir Ulrich, and Sir Percival…their wives are happy and…spunky!"

Right before reaching the stone bench beneath the whitebeams, Ilene dropped Llacheu's arm and chuckled. "Sure, they are spunky, but I can also name off dozens and dozens of women who are unhappy in their marriages and are stuck doing nothing but caring for their home and children while their husbands do as they wish. With whoever they wish."

"Well…well…" stammered Llacheu, "…you just have to be careful and select a good husband! Then you won't have to worry."

"Why, are you offering to be my husband?" she asked with a wry grin.

He'd wanted to say "yes," and to ask her what would be so bad about having him as a husband, but he was so worked-up about everything he couldn't think clearly.

Ilene let out a genuine, hearty laugh. "I'm only teasing you. Come, let's have a seat."

They sat on the bench, but Llacheu's mind was elsewhere, reeling with this new information. Still, he couldn't help himself from asking one last thing.

"If you never get married, how do you plan to, you know, lie with a man?"

Laughing even harder now, Ilene said, "You don't have to marry to have sex. Men bed different women all the time. Just ask your knights about that."

"You plan to lie with different men?" he shouted, sounding bewildered and feeling more upset than he could recall.

"Not an endless stream of men, no, but if some were to –"

"_SOME_!" Llacheu broke in. "As in, more than one?"

"Goodness, calm down, Llacheu," said Ilene with a sudden frown. "You're turning bright red and you're making me feel like a harlot. And I may change my mind about things yet. Nothing is definite."

A rush of relief came over Llacheu. There was hope, then.

"My apologies, Ilene. I don't think you're a harlot and I'm sorry if I sounded rude or cross. It's just… I like you and I worry about your well-being."

Her features softened. "I appreciate your concern, Llacheu. I know we've grown closer during the last week and I like you, too."

"So you know, I don't think men or women should run around bedding people mindlessly, breaking other's hearts," explained Llacheu. "That's all I was trying to say. I'd hate to see your heart get broken."

Ilene reached out, squeezed his hand and smiled. "Ah, you're a romantic, then! Greek is the perfect language for you…"

She changed the subject to that of Greek literature, and part of Llacheu was grateful, because he worried he might burst with frustration and make demands of Ilene that she would ignore. And what right did he have to make demands of her? None, and he knew it.

Yet as Ilene spoke with a smile on her face, Llacheu saw pain in her eyes, pain that he had caused. What would it take to remedy this?


	51. Chapter 50 For Good or Bad

**A/N - Here we are, chapter 50! I wanted to write about ONE last couple. I wanted to spend a little more time exploring Arthur and Guinevere as parents, and "see" more of their children, especially Llacheu. And I also wanted to see more of Leon and Alis! I missed them. **

**During this chapter, Camelot's court will receive some interesting visitors, ****and Llacheu and Ilene have a pretty major conflict. There will be a feast, and someone will have his eye on Ilene. And perhaps another young lady will express her interest in Llacheu! But this may be when Llacheu finally confesses his feelings for Ilene. Also, Lionel moves into protective-father mode, which I enjoyed writing. **

**A mere SIX chapters to go and the epilogue after this. Thanks for everything, readers. You mean so much to me!**

Chapter 50 – For Good or Bad

Llacheu's tutoring sessions with Ilene were a little tense for the next two days. The teacher and pupil were proper and stiff with one another, and Ilene had reverted to calling him "my lord" or "sire." It irritated the prince, but he said nothing. But by day three, Llacheu was so shaken by the bad turn in his and Ilene's relationship he felt compelled to say something. He waited until the end of their session before he brought up his feelings. Ilene rose from the table with her books, but Llacheu put a hand on her arm.

"Ilene, wait, please. I want to apologize for being a pompous and judgmental arse the other evening in the garden. I don't like it when things are like this between us, cold and awkward. Can you forgive me?"

She straightened and glared at him. "I suppose. Your words hurt me a lot, though. The more I thought about them, the more upset I became. Why did you get so angry?"

This was the time for Llacheu to confess how he felt; he knew it. It was a risk, but he couldn't go on like this, pretending he thought of her only as a friend. And even if she rejected him, she needed to know his true feelings. Because if Ilene didn't feel the same for him, perhaps over time, he could change her mind. He wasn't about to give up without a fight.

"All right, here goes: The truth is that I –"

Llacheu's confession was interrupted by the study door swinging open with a crash and Amr storming in.

"Come on, come on, you have to get dressed for visitors!" commanded Amr, ignoring the fact that his brother was in deep conversation with Ilene. "The Northmen are arriving and we need to greet them." Amr stared at Llacheu. "What are you waiting for? Mum says you have to hurry up."

"Damn, you impatient brute, can you give me a moment?"

"No," said Amr, stepping forward and grabbing Llacheu's arm. "You have to come straight away or Mum'll be angry at me if I don't bring you, and I'm not in the mood. Sorry for interrupting, Ilene," he added, turning to face the girl, "but His Highness here, the Crown Prince of the Great Kingdom of Camelot and Future Revered Leader of Our Glorious and Prosperous Realm is wanted by his many admirers."

Llacheu snatched away his arm. "You are such a damn –"

"That's all right," interrupted Ilene. "Anyway, that means we'll have a feast to welcome the Northmen tonight. I like to dress up and escape from my dusty books now and then, so I look forward to it."

"We'll talk later then," said Llacheu, as Ilene stepped toward the door.

She gave him a warm smile. "We will. Come find me after the feast."

Once the sound of her footsteps had disappeared down the hallway, Llacheu rounded on his brother.

"Damn, can't you see we were talking? I was just about to tell her something important."

Amr groaned and rolled his eyes. "Stop driving yourself and everyone else mad and just take her to bed already, will you?" He grabbed a chair and thrust his hips against it. "Oh, Llacheu," he said in a falsetto, pretending to hump the chair, "give me more of that princely cock of yours…"

Llacheu picked up the chair and brought the leg down on his brother's foot, then stormed from the room in a huff.

"Serves you right!" Llacheu called out over his shoulder as he fled.

Amr hobbled after his brother. "Ow, you bastard!"

XXXX

Ilene stared at the selection of dresses hanging in her wardrobe, mulling over which would be best to wear to the feast. Just because she considered herself an academic didn't mean she had to dress like a frumpy hag. Besides, she wanted to look nice for Llacheu. She'd always thought he was attractive; there was something exotic and alluring about that combination of tan skin, messy blonde hair, and blue eyes. He was a mixture of all the best features of his parents, and the true definition of a strapping prince. Ilene also liked the fact he could be bold and forward, yet another side of him was shy and caring. Those thick muscles and bright smile didn't hurt matters, either.

When Ilene had peered out of her window last week and had seen a shirtless Llacheu grappling with another young knight out on the training field, she gasped. How could any woman resist that broad, muscled chest and sculpted torso? Other women admired the prince, too, no doubt. But he never seemed to notice or care much.

Before she'd begun tutoring Llacheu, she'd never thought of him as more than a friend. But now that they'd spent time together, and the way he looked at her with those eager, searching eyes… She shook her head. She'd likely leave Camelot by autumn, and Llacheu would move on to his future princess. But perhaps they could have fun first.

_You know you want more_, said a little voice in her head.

"Quiet," she mumbled under her breath.

"Oh? And what have I done?" asked her mother, entering the chamber with a smile.

Ilene jumped a little. "Mum, you scared me!"

"I just wanted to offer you help dressing. I see your hair's done. It looks very nice." She reached out and stroked her daughter's cheek. "I'm so glad you inherited your father's beautiful curls."

Ilene had spent a long time pinning up her curls into some semblance of order, and had then pulled loose a few tendrils around her face.

"What dress will you wear tonight to drive your father mad?" asked Alis.

"This one, I think," said Ilene, pointing out the sexiest dress she owned. It was bright red, tied around the back of her neck, and left her shoulders bare. The back was cut low, and a chain bearing a delicate dragon-shaped charm hung down her back and stopped just short of her rear.

Alis examined the dress. "Yes, Father may lock you up when he sees you in this."

"He'll live. Can you help me into my low-back corset, Mum?"

"Sure can."

It didn't take long to get Ilene situated in her undergarments and tied into her dress. She spun around to examine her appearance in the full-length mirror with her mother looking on.

"You may actually set the hall ablaze in this dress," said Alis with a laugh and a shake of her head. "The Northmen won't know what hit them."

"I don't know," said Ilene absently, running her hands along the sides of the silky gown.

"Or is there someone else for whom you're wearing the dress?"

Before she could answer, Leon knocked and Ilene told her father to enter.

"Hi, sweetheart, I didn't want to disturb you while you were getting ready…" Leon took in his daughter's appearance and immediately turned to his wife. "Alis, might I have a private word with you?"

Alis rolled her eyes at her daughter and stepped out into the corridor with her husband. Before the door had closed all the way, Ilene heard the beginnings of her father's rant.

"Can't you tell her to change?" demanded Leon from the other side of the door. "She's…she's… men will stare at her if she wears that! They'll do more than stare, they'll try to lure her into their bedchambers! Ply her with drinks and such. I can't allow this, Alis, for her own safety, she cannot dress like that."

"Leon, she won't run off to bed with some random Northman, for goodness sake!" argued Alis. "That's how the girls dress now. She'll look no different than most her age. And it's tasteful. She's not showing anything she shouldn't."

"I disagree. That dress is too tight and too low in the back…"

The argument went on for several more minutes until Ilene stormed from her chamber, head held high and stood before her father.

"You cannot make me change. I won't!" she said to the man, face flushed with frustration.

"Darling, you're my child, and I don't want to see you get hurt. We don't know anything about these Northmen. And don't get me started on our own knights. You know how the young men can be after a few drinks. Can't you at least wear a shawl or something? What about those shawls that Mary wears? Those are nice." Leon was referring to the elderly midwife's long, thick shawls that covered her entire body.

Ilene brandished a thin red wrap and held it out before her. "I will wear this later IF I get cold, Father. I mean no disrespect to you, and I love you, but you cannot bend me to your will." She stormed down the corridor toward the stairwell, heading for the feast.

"I'm not trying to bend you to my will, but wear the wrap!" Leon called out.

She ignored him. No one could make her change her clothing or anything else. Ilene was her own woman and always would be.

XXXX

Seated at the head table in the high-ceilinged Great Hall, Llacheu laughed with one of the Northmen who sat right next to him at the long head table. The visitor's name was Ismo, age nineteen, and even though they could barely understand one another, they managed some laughs together with pointing and gestures.

Llacheu liked these Northmen. Each one was massive, some nearly as huge as Percival, but they were a friendly and fun group of men. And oh, did they know how to drink. Llacheu was already a little tipsy himself trying to keep up.

While Ismo tried to recount a tale of a recent hunting adventure –— using gesticulations and hand movements –– Ilene had walked into the Hall. And Llacheu's mouth dropped open. Ilene looked like a princess: a sexy, heart-stopping princess clad in red. She was enough to make a man forget his own name.

"Whoa," Ismo muttered, admiring Ilene. He made a shape of a woman's figure with his hands.

Llacheu shook his head and tapped his own chest lightly with his finger, indicating Ilene was his.

"Ah!" the Northman bellowed in understanding, clapping Llacheu's back with such force the prince's chest almost hit the table.

The prince glanced back at Ilene. She sat a good distance away from him, further down at one of the side tables, but he noticed she looked glum. He'd have to wait until after the meal, but once it was done, he knew he could lift her spirits by asking her to dance. And while he wasn't a great dancer, he was certain he could tease Ilene and make her laugh as he spun her around awkwardly on the dance floor.

However, moments after she'd taken her seat, a massive Northman –– the largest in the room –– engaged her in conversation. He sat across from Ilene, offering mead and handing her bread and cheeses, all while smiling at her and trying to make her understand him. It was clear she understood, because a loud giggle escaped her lips.

Llacheu was stunned. Ilene never _giggled_. But now, she had. Who the hell did this Northman think he was, anyway? The giant looked to be in his early twenties, with dark blonde hair down to his waist and a long beard. The meal hadn't even been served yet, but Ilene looked happy as could be conversing with this handsomely rugged man.

Something dark and dangerous swelled inside of Llacheu. It was more than obvious this Northman wanted Ilene's attention and probably much more than that. And Llacheu would have none of it. But he couldn't leap up in front of a room full of people and act like a fool. He'd have to wait until the supper was over and then he'd stake his claim.

The meal was finally served, but Llacheu had no idea what he'd put in his mouth. Watching Ilene laugh and smile at that Northman was killing him. Yet he continued to chuckle and smile at Ismo's stories. However, the moment he was able, Llacheu raced from the table with only a brief nod to his father and Ismo. Arthur looked confused, but Llacheu didn't have time to explain. Unfortunately, it was too late. Ilene's seat was empty, as was that blasted Northman's. The prince set out to find them, marching from the Hall with purposeful strides. Until Fen, the courtier, stepped in front of him.

"My lord," she said with a low curtsey, her long, light-blonde hair sweeping forward. She wore a tight white dress and Llacheu wondered how she could bend at all. "Might I join you?"

Fen, Sir Erec's daughter, was tiny and pretty, and had told Llacheu more than once that she'd make a "fit princess." But he didn't have time for her distractions right now.

"Hi, sorry, Fen, I'm busy looking for someone."

Fen slipped out of her heeled shoes and held them in her hand. "I'll help you!" she exclaimed with a cheerful smile, not asking any further questions.

Llacheu couldn't figure out a way to dismiss her politely. "All right, but try to keep up."

First, he and Fen raced around the first floor of the castle, looking in the corners of the foyer and in open chambers. Then it occurred to him that on such a mild evening, Ilene and her new friend were probably walking outdoors. By now, they could be in the Lower Town, the forest, the gardens… the gardens, that had to be it! Ilene wouldn't go on a long night time walk far away from the castle with a stranger; she was smarter than that.

"Come on," Llacheu urged Fen, "let's go to the gardens. Keep up, please."

Panting, Fen ran alongside. "This is so exciting! I'll keep up, don't worry."

They made it out of the castle and into the gardens. But the gardens were so vast, it wasn't as if a person could be found easily. Llacheu jogged on and shoeless Fen kept up.

After more searching, in the distance, Llacheu saw two figures cloaked in shadow, standing beneath the tall whitebeams. It had to be Ilene and the Northman, because no one else (other than Sir Percival) was as huge as that man. But what was Llacheu to do? Fight the Northman? Challenge him to a duel? Insist Ilene return to the castle? March up to them… and do what? Instead of acting, Llacheu took Fen by the elbow and drew her behind a bilberry bush and looked on.

"Shhhh," said Llacheu, and the girl nodded her head in understanding. They turned at the same time to watch the couple situated a good distance away.

At first, nothing of import happened. Ilene and the Northmen were just trying to converse; she pointed out different plants and trees and named them for the man. But when Llacheu least expected it, the man reached forward, wrapped his massive arms around Ilene, and pressed his lips to hers. Llacheu couldn't watch, not even for an instant. Instinctively, he grabbed Fen's hand and ran toward the castle.

They made it indoors, Llacheu never releasing Fen's hand. The poor girl was out of breath, but still, he dragged her up the stairs to the second floor of the castle. He'd almost forgotten that she was there until Fen mentioned she needed a break from running. He turned to face her, still gripping her hand, which he realized was cold.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You must be freezing and you're wearing no shoes. I never should have brought you along, Fen." He breathed on her hand to warm her up.

"I thought it was fun and exciting!" She took her hand from his and slipped back into her shoes. "Come, I have something to show you."

Fen took Llacheu's arm and pulled him into a dark alcove. They could hear the faint, tinkling music and laughter from the feast below, but none of the attendees had made their way to the second floor. It was deserted and eerily quiet.

"Fen, what do you want to show me?"

"This," said the tiny woman, standing on tip-toe to kiss Llacheu.

He was shocked. Fen had been clear she was itching to be a princess, but she'd never been so forward. Llacheu put his hands on her shoulders and was just about to give her a gentle push away and explain he was in love with Ilene. But Ilene was out there, kissing that Northman and maybe doing more with him. Perhaps she was already in the bastard's bedchamber! To hell with it. He'd kiss Fen just this once. If Ilene could kiss someone else, he could, too.

Yet it became clear Fen was interested in more than kissing. The girl moved her hands to Llacheu's backside and squeezed it. And she kissed with more tongue than he thought possible. It wasn't bad, but it was a little…aggressive. Fen then pushed her hips against Llacheu's, slipped her hand between their bodies, and rubbed his crotch, which gave him a wicked erection. He broke their kiss.

"Hang on, Fen…"

"Before you decide anything," said Fen, now reaching up to unlace the front of her dress, "give this a look." She pulled down the front of her bodice and her pert breasts popped out. After Llacheu got an eyeful, she pressed her chest against him and hooked her leg around his body, all while rubbing up against him like a wild animal. Her tongue found its way into the prince's mouth once again.

Sure, her breasts felt nice against him, and the feel of those hard nipples pressing against his body wasn't so bad. But this isn't what he wanted. He wanted Ilene, even if she was busy in bed with a Northman right then.

"Fen," he breathed, pulling his head back from the kiss.

Unfortunately, at that moment, with Fen's naked breasts pressed against Llacheu, Ilene came upon them.

"Oh," said Ilene, coming to an abrupt stop. Her eyes were wide and her lower lip quivered. "I didn't mean to intrude. I'll be going now."

She spun on her heel and ran off down the corridor; Llacheu heard her sniffling. With no idea what to do next, Llacheu pushed Fen away gently and yanked up the front of her dress.

"Fen, I'm sorry, I can't do this with you, now or ever."

Now Fen was in tears. She took a step back, then brought her leg up and kneed Llacheu solidly in the bollocks. The young woman stormed off, leaving Llacheu doubled-over in pain.

"I fucking hate you, Llacheu!" she shrieked as she ran. "You won't even give me a chance!"

The prince took a moment to compose himself (and adjust is privates into a more comfortable position) before rushing after Ilene, again. How had this happened tonight? He'd never managed to get his hands on a woman, but on this night, his hands had been on the wrong one. He was ashamed and frustrated. And scared. What if Ilene wouldn't listen to him?

Llacheu had seen her run toward the stairs, and assumed she was on her way to her quarters. He jogged up several flights until he reached her floor, but stopped short. He heard sniffling and hiccupping, and turned toward the direction of the sound. Ilene was slumped against the door to her chamber with her face buried in her crossed arms.

"Ilene…"

She looked up. "Llacheu."

Ilene leapt up and smoothed her dress, lifting her chin. But her face was a blotchy pink and her cheeks were damp. Llacheu strode toward her and offered a handkerchief. She grabbed it from his hand, rolled it into a ball, and tossed it onto the floor.

"I don't need your sympathy. I am upset because I've locked myself out of my chambers," she offered, taking a shaky breath at the end.

"You don't have to wait out here. You can stay in my quarters until we can get your key."

"Why would I want to do that?" snapped Ilene. "I assumed Fen would be in your bed by now with her bosom still out on display," she added, her words bitter.

"Let me explain about that, please? But must we have this conversation out here in the open?"

Scowling, Ilene said, "I'll remain right here. You can speak if you wish. I won't stop you." She sat on the floor once again.

"All right," said Llacheu, taking a seat next to her. "I saw that Northman talking to you before supper and I blistered with jealousy. The moment supper was done, I went to talk to you, but you and he were already gone. When I went to go look for you, Fen just…came along. You know how she is."

Ilene scoffed and wouldn't look at Llacheu. "You couldn't stop someone so diminutive?"

"No, I didn't have time make long explanations so I just let her come along," he said with a shake of his head. "When we made it outside, I saw you with the Northman, and you two kissed. It made me feel sick, so I ran back into the castle. I was so upset I wasn't thinking well, and when Fen pulled me into a corner and kissed me," Ilene snorted with disbelief, "I only thought of it as a way to get back at you."

Ilene whipped her head around and glowered at the prince. "Perhaps if you'd hesitated in the garden, you'd have seen me slap the man right across the face!"

Llacheu was stunned. "What? You slapped him. Why?"

"Because I didn't want him to kiss me and he didn't ask permission. I was furious. But after I slapped him, I realized it was a misunderstanding. Their customs are different in the North. I forgave him, but made it clear he wasn't to do that again.

"I returned to the feast, but you were gone, so I went looking for you. Only to find Fen half naked and pressed against you." She sniffled again and looked away.

"I know you will never believe me, but she just pulled down her top…"

"Oh, please, how stupid do you think I am?"

"She did, I swear! The only reason I let her kiss me was because I was convinced you were off in that Northman's bed. And as you saw," said Llacheu, dropping his arm around Ilene's shoulders, "I came right after you.

"I don't want Fen and I never have. In my anger and jealousy I made a poor decision. I want _you_, and I should have told you sooner, but I was a shy fool."

He waited for Ilene's response. For good or bad, he'd spoken the words he had feared to say. However, silence hung in the air. After an interminable pause, Ilene spoke.

"I don't know about all this. Give me a day to think."

"That sounds fair. But please know I'm very sorry about tonight. I'd take it all back if I could."

Llacheu wasn't sure who moved first, probably him, but when he and Ilene turned and faced one another, their mouths somehow connected in a brief yet powerful kiss. When she pulled back, he wanted more, yearning for the touch of her sweet and delicious mouth again. He grasped her face and pressed another kiss to her lips. She opened her mouth and their tongues connected, his stroking hers lightly, and Llacheu heard her soft moan. Desire and love thrummed within him. His previous awkward kisses had never felt like this. If this was love and true passion, he wanted it all the days of his life.

"I have to go," whispered Ilene, breaking their connection. "I'm going to wait in my parents' quarters.

"I'll see you tomorrow. We'll talk after lessons."

Llacheu watched her go, and thanked heaven all was not lost.

"You looked stunning tonight, you know," he called out to her as she walked away.

Ilene kept moving. "I'm still mad at you," she answered, but the prince never saw the small smile on Ilene's face.


	52. Chapter 51 Gifts from Persia

**A/N - On to chapter 51! During this chapter, visitors from Persia arrive bearing gifts and...knowledge. :) I'll say no more about that. **

** Llacheu and Ilene are a couple, but they're going to keep things quiet for now. They share an intimate moment at the creekside after one of Llacheu's tutoring lessons. Ilene makes Llacheu an offer. This chapter contains a good amount of sex-talk, but since you've been reading this for some time now, I'm sure you're used to it!**

**A mere FIVE chapters to go and the epilogue after this. I can't believe in just a few weeks, this long journey will be complete. Thank you for joining me. **

Chapter 51 – Gifts from Persia

It had been a long and tiring night. Llacheu looked forward to stripping out of this clothing and dropping right into bed. He was already removing his tunic as he stepped into his chamber when he heard a scream from the direction of his bed.

"Damn!" he shouted with alarm, yanking his tunic back over his head. There in his bed was a half-dressed young Northwoman. And a groaning, shirtless Amr was on top of her.

"Amr, what the hell are you doing?" demanded Llacheu.

Amr rolled over onto his back and pulled the covers over his companion. "Well, your room was closer dear brother," he said with a shrug. "I thought you'd be out much later."

Llacheu couldn't believe his younger brother. And a part of him was jealous, because clearly, his sibling had gone further with a woman than Llacheu ever had.

"You're fourteen, Amr. Aren't you a little young for this type of thing?"

"Well, she's sixteen, I think. I'm not quite sure, since we don't speak the same language. But she was teaching me…things," Amr responded. "Besides, we weren't having sex, so calm down. Can you please turn your back so she can dress?"

Llacheu turned away. "If you weren't having sex, what were you doing?"

"If you must know, I was learning how to kiss and what a nice, big breast feels like in one's palm. But you've gone and ruined the whole experience for me."

Daring to turn back around and face the bed, Llacheu saw the woman was clothed. He gestured for her to rise, and gently led her out of the room by her elbow. When he returned, he chastised Amr.

"It is so inappropriate to hop into bed with a visitor!" said Llacheu. "You have no idea what trouble that can cause. Wars have begun over less! Or maybe you know and you don't care."

Amr pulled his shirt over his head. "I care, but believe me, there's not going to be any problem. I pieced together she's traveling with her uncle… whatever her name is. Nice girl."

The younger prince walked toward the door and paused. "You know, you'd be less angry with me if you asked Ilene to do these things with you. You're bold in combat, why not with her?"

"Out! Now!" demanded Llacheu, jabbing his finger toward the door.

"It's just a simple question," said Amr, as he stepped into the hallway, but Llacheu slammed the door in his face.

At last, Amr was gone and Llacheu stripped down and fell into bed. His sheets smelled like a woman, musky and floral. He breathed in the scent and wished is was Ilene's. Then he pictured Ilene in his bed, stark naked beneath him, smelling and tasting divine. He imagined what it would be like, burying himself in what he knew would be her tight sex, kissing and licking those luscious breasts as they made love. Would he be able to make her scream? He wondered what a woman's orgasm felt like. Not any woman's, but Ilene's. Llacheu imagined how it would feel moving in-and-out of Ilene with her breath coming faster and her heart beating rapidly. She didn't need to scream; if she whispered his name as he took her, that would be enough.

Recalling a recent overnight patrol with the men, Llacheu remembered how one of the knights his own age had described his most recent illicit liaison with a woman-friend.

"I was giving it to her good," the knight had boasted with a satisfied grin on his face. "Her legs were spread wide open and she begged for me to go harder and faster. I thought it would kill me, but I did as she asked and rammed in and out of her" –– he pumped his fist for emphasis –– "like my life depended on it. And I tell you, she screamed so damn loud the entire time I worried I might go deaf. And when she came, it felt like a vice had gripped my cock and she practically tore the skin from my back with her fingernails. I swear, she bit my neck so hard I bled! But that woman knows how to fuck. Damn, those gorgeous tits of hers…"

Llacheu went along with the discussion as if he knew what the knight meant, since he had no desire to look like an inexperienced fool in front of all. But shouldn't some things be kept private? And did the woman _really_ do those things? It all sounded a little far-fetched. Then again, he often felt as if he was the only seventeen-year-old male virgin in the whole of Camelot, and perhaps he was missing something.

He went on to wonder how difficult it would be to make a woman climax. Based on what his fellow knights had said, it sounded as if they were born knowing what to do with women. But when the time came, _if_ the time came, would he know what to do with Ilene? Hearing about what one should do and actually doing it were two different things. Similar to fighting with a sword, it's one thing to train on a pell, but when one first wields his weapon in actual combat, it can be awkward and even scary. With an undressed Ilene beneath him, would he have any hope of pleasing her?

Thoughts of women's orgasms and a naked Ilene made it impossible for him to sleep. He gripped his cock, which was harder than an iron shaft, and pumped it while thinking of bedding the woman he loved. He came hard with Ilene's name on his lips. It was as if she'd crawled inside of him and took over his every thought. He wondered if this was normal.

XXXX

After a week of visiting, the Northmen had moved on. While Llacheu was glad to see Ilene's friend go, knew he'd miss Ismo. He and the young Northman had palled around together, and Llacheu had learned some new and brutal combat methods from the man, especially how to use a shield as a deadly weapon. The Northmen moved with great speed and strength, and the prince respected them. _Most_ of them.

He and Ismo had learned a little bit of one another's languages during the visit, and Ismo promised he would visit Camelot again one day, hopefully, with a wife and children.

"Pretty wife; fat babies," Ismo had said, and Llacheu laughed with the man. The prince felt an odd kinship with the friendly Northman and was sorry to see him go. Yet Llacheu made it clear Ismo was welcome back at any time, either for a visit or permanently.

However, no sooner than the Northmen left, visitors from Persia arrived. The large, exotic group swept into court, wearing colorful, flowing garments, bearing gifts of spices, sugar, brightly-colored scarves, and chunky, gorgeous necklaces. The kitchen maids nearly swooned over the presence of sugar, and the women were enamored with the unique and beautiful jewelry. Of course, the men took time to compare weapons, and each side was impressed with the uniqueness and functionality of the other's.

Llacheu and Ilene's tutoring sessions had been shorter, as there was so much to do to prepare for the guests' arrival and subsequent entertainment. Also, Arthur and Guinevere spent a great deal of time with their children, ensuring they understood how to make guests from far-off lands feel welcome, and Llacheu, Amr, and Wenda were further schooled in conversing about diplomatic matters.

Yet even with the punishing schedule, Ilene and the prince found time to spend together outside of their sessions. Ilene told Llacheu all was forgiven in regards to Fen, if he could get past her brief kiss with the Northman. He said it was forgotten, and sealed the declaration with a long kiss. From that moment on, they were a couple.

However, neither of them had defined their relationship, and Llacheu got the sense that Ilene preferred to keep things quiet, and he respected that. Even though he wanted an official courtship, and to announce to the world that she was his, he didn't want to push her. And she hadn't yet articulated her feelings, but her smiles and kisses were enough for now.

On the second night of the Persians' visit, Llacheu and Ilene stole off to the study, telling their parents they were catching up on tutoring. They hadn't much time, but after a few rounds of kissing, Ilene explained that she, Grace, and a pregnant Anna were to have a private visit with some of the younger Persian women that evening.

"That sounds interesting," said Llacheu, holding Ilene in his arms. "Any idea what's on the agenda?"

She shook her head. "No, but I heard they have some candy with them and I can't wait to try it. It's made from a sweet tree sap found near their home and has pistachios in it."

"That sounds good." Llacheu kissed her cheek. "But what did you think of their dancing during supper tonight?"

Earlier, following the evening meal, the Persian women had gone and changed, and when they returned to the Hall –– with their midsections exposed –– they danced. A very sensual dance with lots of gyration that ended with many Persian women planting themselves in the king, Llacheu, Amr, and several of the knights' laps. Arthur had looked uncomfortable, as did Llacheu, but Amr had a huge grin on his face. Llacheu had thought it was a good thing his mother had retired early and had missed the spectacle. Still, people from other lands had different cultural norms, and it was something he needed to learn, even if the learning could be somewhat awkward.

"It was fascinating, watching that type of dancing," said Ilene. "I've never seen anything like that before. It was quite colorful and exotic. But I was a little jealous of the girl on your lap."

For some reason, Llacheu felt pleased Ilene spoke of jealousy. That must mean she cared for him, even if she hadn't said those precise words.

"You have nothing to worry about," he told her, planting one more kiss on her lips.

"Sorry, but I must go." She hugged Llacheu. "Oh, tomorrow, if the weather's as beautiful as it was today, I think you should have your tutoring session outside. We can sit by the creek. It'll give you the opportunity to work on nature vocabulary."

"Perfect idea," he said, not caring about nature vocabulary in the slightest, but happy about getting away from the castle with Ilene. "I'll bring a light breakfast. We can get started early."

She tipped her face upward and gave Llacheu one last peck. "Good. But I am late, late, late!"

Ilene swept from the room, and Llacheu spent the rest of the evening in his family's quarters.

XXXX

Early in the morning, before most of the castle residents had risen for the day, Llacheu met Ilene in the courtyard. When he woke that morning and saw it was bright and sunny out, he was grateful the weather had cooperated and he and Ilene would have the opportunity to escape the castle walls for a little while; he looked forward to a peaceful morning at the creekside.

Llacheu held a sack full of breakfast and Ilene carried a large blanket. As he moved closer to the young woman, he noticed Ilene was squinting at the sunlight and looked tired. He chuckled once he reached her side.

"Did you have a rough night with the Persian ladies?"

"Oh, you have no idea!" she said, wincing. "That Persian wine is so good and I drank too much." Ilene grimaced and rubbed her temples. "I think I need a hat to block out the sun. Or a helmet. You didn't happen to bring along a helmet, did you?"

Llacheu laughed at her. "No helmets, I'm afraid. Didn't you have willow bark when you woke?"

"No, I thought I could tough it out. Hopefully, some breakfast will set me right."

"Nothing a few pickled eggs and smoked fish won't cure," Llacheu assured her.

As they strolled to the creek, the two discussed their evenings. Llacheu mentioned he had spent a quiet evening with his parents and siblings. Wenda had sung, and she was getting quite good at it. Then Llacheu and Amr had played knucklebones, but their game devolved into a wrestling match, which Guinevere demanded they stop. The family spent the rest of the evening relaxing in front of the fire.

Ilene talked about her, Grace, and Anna's time with the Persian women. She raved about the fun they had together, and about how Anna had eaten so much candy, she'd given herself a stomach ache. The Persian women had made up a warm, spiced drink, and it had settled pregnant-Anna's gut.

"Grace looked so good last night," gushed Ilene. "I can't believe she nearly died a few months ago. You'd never know."

Llacheu agreed with her. "I know. That was so scary. I'm glad she's well now." The prince recalled how devastated Ilene had looked at Grace and Wallace's wedding, when Grace had been so close to death. He'd wanted to give Ilene a hug then, but he had refrained.

Several minutes later, Llacheu and Ilene arrived at the shady creekside, set up their blanket, and ate. Ilene admitted that the food helped her feel better, and they started right in on tutoring. Ilene had a rule: no "funny business" until their work was done. As promised, Llacheu spent the time reviewing Greek words for items found in nature. Yet every time he said _potamáki_ –– the Greek pronunciation for _creek_ –– he laughed because he thought it sounded funny. Once their long lesson had concluded, Ilene made an observation.

"Llacheu, you're staring at my breasts."

His eyes snapped upward. "Was not! I was, um, admiring your necklace."

Ilene shot him a dubious glance. "This necklace? The one I wear every day? You're just noticing it now?"

"I've noticed it before! It's…I…" he stammered, "…I never _really_ looked at it."

He reached out and fingered the small silver charm in the shape of a dragon breathing fire. "Where did you get it?"

"My brother Leon gave it to me. He wears the same charm, but his faces the opposite way. Even though we fight sometimes, we have a close connection as twins. I love him."

"Your brother's a good man and a loyal friend," said Llacheu with a nod, still holding the charm between his fingers. "He'll make a good knight come autumn time."

Ilene turned her head and stared absently at the rushing creek. "Yes, he will…" After a moment of staring off at the water, she faced Llacheu again and asked out of nowhere, "How many breasts have you seen anyway?"

"Well, um," muttered Llacheu, dropping his hand from the necklace, "I haven't exactly seen any unclothed up close. I've seen women bathing or swimming at the lake, but from a distance. And once, I saw Wenda race down the corridor naked when she was two, but that doesn't count."

"What about Fen?" asked Ilene curtly. "It was dark and I didn't see much," he fibbed, not wanting to hurt Ilene's feelings. "Besides, I didn't really want to see hers."

"Are you interested in seeing mine?"

Llacheu was certain he'd heard wrong. "Ah, see your breasts? Uncovered?"

"Yes. You can look and that'll take away all the mystique and drama."

Standing, Ilene unlaced the front of her dress and shrugged down the top of the garment. Before Llacheu could comment, there she stood, half-bare, with her firm, full breasts out on display. Her breasts had a gorgeous roundness to them, and were topped off with tempting peach-colored nipples. He was dying to know how they tasted. The prince couldn't imagine anything more spectacular or captivating.

"Those are, um, nice," he said, unable to stop staring, and unable to think clearly. "And ah, your underarms are smooth, I see. That's quite different. I haven't seen that before."

"Oh yes, that!" exclaimed Ilene, still half-clothed, taking a seat back on the blanket next to Llacheu. "The Persian women remove their hair with a paste of sugar, water, and lemon. They heat it, spread it on your skin, then they use cloth strips to rip off the paste and the hair. Isn't that something else?"

"It is something," he responded, eyes still fixed on Ilene's breasts, "but it sounds painful."

Ilene chuckled. "It hurts! But I feel so smooth," she said, raising her arm and running her hand along her bare underarm. "I like it. Do you want to give it a feel?"

Swallowing hard, Llacheu managed an answer. "Yes. Sure." He gave Ilene's underarm a light and tentative stroke with his finger and she laughed and pulled away. "Ah, you're ticklish!" said Llacheu.

At this revelation his eyes lit up, and he lurched forward and tried to tickle her more. Yet within a moment, instead of tickling, his hands and lips were all over her breasts, exploring the soft skin. Ilene felt and tasted better than he could have ever dreamed. Once Ilene was down on her back in the grass and Llacheu was on top of her, he paused, worried that he'd taken things too far too fast.

"Should I stop?"

"Never," she breathed.

The furious touching and kissing carried on until they nearly rolled themselves into the freezing creek. When Ilene's foot ended up in the water, the two laughed and laughed, unable to control themselves. Once they'd stopped cackling, they sat up, and Ilene pulled her dress back over her shoulders, covering herself.

"You've never seen a naked woman up close, then?" asked Ilene with sudden interest, as she and Llacheu inched their way back to the blanket.

"No," said Llacheu, shaking his head, unsure of what else to say about the matter. "What about you? Have you seen an unclothed man up close?"

"I have," she answered with a laugh.

Llacheu's face fell. _Fuck, all this time, I thought she was a maiden_. _Whom has she gone to bed with? One of the damn knights? Which one? They're always out on the prowl for women. I'm sure it was one of them! When I find out, I'll tear his heart out._

"Really? Whom?" he asked, trying not to sound as if he was prepared to commit murder forthwith.

"If I tell you, you cannot laugh at me!"

"I won't laugh, I swear."

"All right, I've seen two naked men," said Ilene.

To keep himself from screaming, Llacheu bit his tongue and took deep breaths.

"The first time was when I was twelve," explained Ilene. "I'd had a nightmare, and this was back when I was in the bedchamber connected to my parents'. When they retired for the night, they always bolted their door. If one of us needed something, we had only to knock and they'd open it. "Well, on that night, I was really panicked because of my bad dream, and I didn't even think to knock. Apparently, they'd forgotten to bolt the door, and I barged right in." She winced before going on, then covered her face with her hands for a moment and whined with embarrassment. "My father had my mother bent over the bed, and they were, well, doing it. Forcefully. They didn't realize I was there at first, but when they did, my father spun around and I got an eyeful before he covered himself. I still shudder when I think of it."

Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Llacheu laughed louder and harder than he had in quite some time. "That must have been very traumatic," he said once he'd stopped laughing. But then he recalled she'd seen another man, and he felt distressed once again.

"It was horrifying! The second man I saw undressed from the waist down was…" Ilene leaned in and whispered, "…Sir Gwaine."

_Let her tell her story before you lose control._ "Ah. And how did that happen?"

"Okay, Leon and I were out by the lake picking some berries for our birthday tarts this past autumn. We were separated, and while I was off on my own, I heard a man's voice several feet away. I crouched down and hid, because I didn't know who it was. When I peeked through the bushes, I saw Sir Gwaine leaning up against a tree with his eyes closed. And his trousers and drawers were down around his ankles!" she exclaimed. "Everything was just…out on display. Next, his wife's head pops up out of nowhere and she starts… I'm sure you can imagine what she started doing."

Oh, he could, in glorious detail, which led Llacheu to picture Ilene doing the same to him. He tried to discreetly shift his position so his erection was less painful, obstructed by his trousers as it was.

"What happened next?"

"This is terrible to confess, but I watched! Drea put her mouth on Sir Gwaine, and he moaned and groaned the whole time. It was all very fast. Once it was over, I ran out of there."

"You're a little voyeur!" said Llacheu. "But I probably would have done the same thing."

They both laughed until they were out of breath. The prince then changed the subject back to Ilene's time with the Persian women.

"Ilene, what's it called when the Persian women do that hair removal thing?"

"I think the translation is 'sugaring.' And you know what?" she said with a coy smile. "They remove hair from more than underarms."

"Like, legs, too?" asked Llacheu.

"Yes, they do legs. And more."

"Arms?"

Ilene chortled. "Perhaps arms, I don't know. But they also sugar private areas."

"No!" said Llacheu with disbelief. He covered his crotch with his hands, envisioning the awful pain that would accompany having such hair torn out by the roots. "That would hurt too much!" Then he narrowed his eyes and looked at Ilene. "Wait, _you_ didn't…did you?"

Ilene bit back her laugh. "I'm not telling."

"I know you didn't," said Llacheu with a shake of his head. "There's no way."

Ilene wagged her finger at Llacheu. "I know what you're trying to do! You think you can convince me to show you by insisting I didn't do it."

Damn, she was onto him. "Nope. I know you didn't do it, so there's nothing to see."

"Okay, then," said Ilene with a smile, shrugging her shoulders. "Should we leave for home?" She made a big show of collecting their things.

"Fine! You caught me," confessed Llacheu. "I want to see. But I'm sure you won't show me."

"Perhaps we could strike a bargain," Ilene said with mirth. "I'll give you a quick look if I can see yours in return."

Llacheu wondered if this was a good idea, but he decided to play along.

"What constitutes 'a quick look' according to you? You flip up your skirt for an instant? And it'll be back down before I know what I've seen?"

"No. Ten instants. Shall we shake on it?" Ilene offered her arm.

"Done," said Llacheu, grasping her forearm. "But first, I need to know something. These women who did the um, sugaring, they saw everything of yours?"

She smiled at him. "Every crack and crevice. They remove _everything_ but a very thin strip of hair."

The thought of women poking around at one another's privates made Llacheu wonder if the women had done anything else together and what that might have looked like. The knights often spoke about how they wanted to watch two women "go at it." It sounded pretty appealing to Llacheu, but he thought better than to ask directly.

"So the women have to touch you in that area?" he said, pointing vaguely toward Ilene's lap.

"What dirty minds you men have!" she responded with a laugh. "Yes, but there's nothing going on other than hair removal, shrieking, laughing, and drinking wine to dull the pain."

After her explanation, Ilene stood right up while Llacheu remained seated on the blanket. She lifted her skirts –– she wore no undergarment –– and Llacheu saw it all. He was entranced by the thin strip of hair pointing toward the part he desperately wanted to touch. It looked so smooth and inviting, but he kept his arms locked at his sides.

"Mmmmm…" he groaned, unable to comment or speak a single intelligent word.

Leaning forward and keeping her skirts lifted with one hand, Ilene reached out and took Llacheu's right hand in hers. "Do you want to touch it?"

Still unable to speak, he grunted, "Uh-huh."

"All right, I'll guide your hand."

She gently pressed his hand to the strip of hair between her legs, and Llacheu worried he might climax just by touching her smooth skin. He forced his eyes to remain open; he didn't want to miss a thing. She moved his hand around a little, and he bit the inside of his lip so hard he tasted blood. He would _not_ groan and he _would_ remain in control.

Llacheu suddenly recalled some of the men telling him that if a woman is aroused, she feels wet, and he wanted to know if she was. But he wasn't about to move his hand without Ilene's guidance or permission. As it was, her skin was warm and smooth. It was damn exciting, and if this was all he got, that would be enough.

Yet like a miracle, Ilene moved his hand lower, right in between her legs. And sure enough, the flesh was hot and slick. She pressed his hand against her body a little harder, and Llacheu thought he felt that tight knot of nerves men carried on about so much, the one that if you used your fingers or tongue on it, it would drive a woman wild.

Ilene moved his fingers against it several times, her hips rocking back-and-forth slightly. As she did this, Llacheu noticed she felt even slicker and her breathing was shallow. He took the opportunity to move his fingers around on his own a little, exploring that hard knot. This touching made his heart beat faster and he chewed on his lower lip.

Ilene responded by giving a ragged sigh, her eyes half closed. Pressing her hand against his, she urged his fingers toward her opening. His finger tip had just grazed the flesh when Ilene dropped Llacheu's hand and her skirts.

"I'm sorry," she said, her cheeks pink.

"Please, don't be sorry." He wasn't sure why Ilene was apologizing, but he kept quiet. She'd seemed to enjoy his brief touch, after all.

Obviously keen to change the focus of their activity, Ilene got down on her knees and began to untie the laces of Llacheu's trousers. Once they'd been pulled free, Llacheu rose to his knees. But before Ilene could tug down his drawers, he stopped her.

"You should know that, I'm, ah, aroused right now. Very. Because you let me touch you. I don't know what you were expecting, but I thought I should warn you."

"I appreciate the warning," she said, smiling, then yanked down his drawers freeing his erection. She gave it a good, long stare.

"Oh my," she whispered.

The prince wanted to cover his crotch. Was there a problem of which he wasn't aware? Did he look abnormal in some way? He glanced down.

"Um, is there something wrong with the way I look?"

Ilene recovered quickly. "No. Absolutely not. I'm not sure how to say this, but you are much larger than most men. Don't you know that?"

"No, I never really thought of it," he said, still on his knees, feeling a little uncomfortable having this conversation with his cock out. "I've seen a good number of men getting changed and bathing while I've been out on longer missions, but I've given no more than a passing glance, and none of them have been…erect. In any case, it's bad form to stare at a man when he's undressed. There's sort of an unspoken rule among the knights: When a man's unclothed, you keep your eyes level with his."

Finding this explanation funny, a quiet chuckle escaped Ilene's lips. "Men and their rules," she said, raising her gaze to meet Llacheu's. "Just so you're aware, women talk about men and their sizes all the time. Discussing bedchamber romps is a major activity among the women of the castle."

"It is?" asked Llacheu, still feeling awkward in his partially-exposed state. "I thought the knights were the only ones who went on and on about it."

"Not at all. Trust me, women talk. They like to show how large their lovers have been, usually comparing the men's sizes to various carrots, if you can believe that. It may well be their favorite pastime. And you, dear prince, are much larger than any of them have described.

"You're going to have to be careful you don't kill a woman with that thing!" she said, taking another downward glance. "If you chose to bed a maiden as your first, you'll need to be gentle and slow. As a maiden myself, I might be intimidated by you."

_Yes, confirmation she is a maiden! _thought Llacheu.

Ilene drew a little closer. "Do you think it would be all right if I touched you?" she asked in a whisper, meeting his eyes for just an instant.

Llacheu wasn't sure how to respond. He wanted Ilene to touch him, to never stop touching him. But if she did more than engage in one quick feel, he'd be through. How was he supposed to explain that without looking like a sex-crazed fool?

"Would you rather I didn't?" asked Ilene, studying his bemused expression.

"You can, but it'll have to be quick. Because if it isn't quick… I don't really know how to say this without embarrassing myself…"

"Okay," she said in a kind, quiet voice. "I understand."

Ilene scooted forward on the blanket and reached forward. She lightly traced her index finger along Llacheu's swollen length. The prince tried to focus on his breathing and nothing else.

"Can I do it one more time?"

Llacheu nodded.

Once more, Ilene ran her finger up and down Llacheu's erection. She circled her finger around the head this time, and that's when he pulled back.

"I'm sorry, but you have to stop," panted Llacheu, yanking up his drawers and trousers.

"Are you angry with me?" asked Ilene, looking disturbed.

"No. I'm not angry with you at all," said the prince, inching toward Ilene. Both on their knees, he put his hands on her waist and pulled her close. "I am so attracted to you, Ilene. And when you touch me, I get painfully aroused. And I don't want to end up embarrassing myself in front of you."

She reached out to stroke his jaw. "I wish you wouldn't feel embarrassed in front of me."

I know," he said with a sigh. "I don't have much experience, well, any experience, so this is new to me."

Leaning in, Ilene kissed Llacheu. The young couple kissed by the creekside for a good long while until Ilene paused and asked the prince a question.

"Do you want to bed me, Llacheu?" she asked, her lips just brushing his as she spoke.

Unsure of how to respond to the direct question, Llacheu decided on the truth. "Yes."

Keeping her lips against his, Ilene asked, "Do you know how to please a woman?"

"No," he answered, sticking with honesty. "But I'm a fast learner."

This statement made Ilene laugh. "I have an idea," she said. "I can teach you how to please a woman. But it'll be a demonstration only. You'll watch and learn."

"Right now?" asked Llacheu with surprise. Was she about to strip off her clothing and touch herself, here in the woods?

She shook her head and sat back on the blanket. "No, not now. When can you next get away for an hour at night time?"

He sat on his heels and gave this some consideration. "Not tonight. Father and I are supposed to spend the evening showing the Persians around Camelot, then we're taking them to the tavern. It'll be a late night. And tomorrow, I have to do late patrol. With your father, no less."

"Ah, the duties of a future king," said Ilene with a soft laugh.

"How about three nights from now?"

Ilene considered this. "Yes, I can do that. Let's make plans…"

The two spent a little while making arrangements. They'd sneak from their rooms after the middle of the night and meet in the study. When Ilene expressed they needed a bed, Llacheu told her not to worry, leave it to him, they'd have a bed.

Their plans now finalized, they packed up and walked back to the castle, not holding hands or giving any other signal that they were a couple. Llacheu knew that's what Ilene wanted, even if she'd never said so directly. But as they reached the interior castle stairwell where they were to part, he leaned over and whispered in her ear that he couldn't wait to see her three evenings hence.


	53. Chapter 52 Llacheu's Lessons

**A/N - Here we are, chapter 52! Some days, I can't believe my original intention was for this to be a short story. :)**

**During chapter 51, the Northmen came and went (I loved Ismo!), the Persians arrived, and things got frisky between Llacheu and Ilene! The whole hair removal concept made me laugh. But I wanted to do something a little more light and fun before diving into chapter 52, which is more serious. **

**In chapter 52, you will meet Taran, king of the Picts. This character "spoke" to me so much, I'm actually writing a separate book about him. Remember, the Picts were fierce enemies of Camelot. But has that changed?**

**A mere FOUR chapters to go and the epilogue. Then that's it. I do hope you'll join me for my next, much shorter story called _King Arthur's Bed Partners_. I'd love to have you stick around. **

Chapter 52 – Llacheu's Lessons

The following evening, Llacheu had accompanied Leon and Ulrich on late patrol of the city. For most of the patrol, Camelot was quiet. But Llacheu felt strangely nervous, worried Leon would somehow read his thoughts and know what the prince had planned with Ilene. To distract himself, Llacheu kept up conversation with Ulrich, who was all too happy to talk about how excited he was about the upcoming birth of his first grandchild due during autumn.

"When I was a young man, I never thought of having a big family," Ulrich told Llacheu as they rode. "But it's wonderful. I'm very lucky I found Carina. A good woman makes all the difference."

However, less than an hour before patrol was to end, a young horse trainer flagged down the knights. The men rode forth, eager to hear what the man had to say.

"There is a huge brawl at the tavern," said the trainer, throwing his arms open wide to emphasize the scope of the altercation. "I was having a late supper and managed to get out before things escalated. But you'd better get over there. It's out of control." He stepped back to allow the knights to ride on.

When Leon, Ulrich, and Llacheu arrived, the near-riot had spilled out into the street and involved about fifty men. Chairs were being tossed, jugs smashed over men's heads, and fists flew. Someone had been thrown through a window. Property was being destroyed left and right and several men were injured.

"Can't break this up on our own. We'll be overpowered in moments," observed Leon. "We need help." He turned toward the prince. "Llacheu, I need you to ride back to the castle and gather more men."

Llacheu didn't like the sound of that. He didn't want to be the one forced to ride back to the castle and look as if he was too weak or scared to help break up a fight. But he also didn't want to question Leon's authority. Just as he was prepared to ride off, Percival turned up with a dozen knights on horseback, including Wallace and Percy. The men were armed and ready for action.

"I heard the commotion from my home and went to gather men," said Percival. "We need to break this up now before it gets worse."

The men dismounted and stepped into the fracas.

It took quite a while to break up the fighting and subdue the worst brawlers. Eventually, the knights had tied up several of the primary instigators and prepared to take them to the castle dungeons. Llacheu worked on tying up one of the drunkest and angriest men. The brawler didn't seem to notice or care his nose was broken and bleeding.

"Oh, look, I'm being tied up by the fancy little Crown Prince of Camelot. How charming," the man slurred, glaring at Llacheu with unfocused eyes. Once the man's hands were secured behind his back with rope, he turned to Llacheu and spat in the prince's face. Everyone, knights and prisoners alike, looked on to see how the young prince would handle himself.

Llacheu wanted to beat the man senseless, but controlled himself. Being spat on in front of so many people had enraged him. But as his father had always said, "Think before you speak and think before you act. The consequences of your words and deeds affect an entire kingdom."

With his gloved hand, the prince wiped the bloody spittle from his face, then met the man's eye. The two stared at one another for a long moment. Llacheu stepped forward, and the injured man shrank back.

"Before you're taken to the dungeons, I shall make sure your injuries are tended to by one of our healers," said Llacheu, sounding dangerously calm. And still, he stared into the man's eyes. He was not about to back down.

After a few heartbeats, the man cast his eyes to the ground. "Yes, sire. Thank you," he mumbled, sounding defeated.

Llacheu strode back to Leon, and the knight commander clapped the young man on his back.

"Well done," said Leon. "That was impressive, indeed. I don't know that I'd have been as composed."

"It wasn't easy –"

Unsheathing his sword, Leon shouted a warning. "Llacheu, look out!"

The prince saw nothing but darkness.

XXXX

An hour later, Ilene woke. She heard loud voices in the hallway carrying on about a fight at the Rising Sun, and thought she'd heard something about the prince and her father being hurt. Jumping out of bed, she rushed for her cloak and shoes before stepping out of her room. In the corridor, she saw Sir Ulrich speaking to some younger men.

"Sir Ulrich, what's happened?" she asked, arriving at his side.

"A huge tavern-brawl," explained Ulrich. "Your poor father lost a tooth in the melee and Llacheu was knocked out. We'd broken up the fight, but one last straggler tore out of the tavern as if his trousers were on fire and smacked Llacheu over the head with a pot, then elbowed your father in the face. The man was so drunk, I don't think he knew what he was doing, but he's in a heap of trouble now."

"They're in the infirmary, then? My father and the prince?" she asked, endeavoring to stay calm.

"Yes, and they're both fine, but your father's in a bad mood about his tooth and I'm sure Llacheu has one sore head."

With a quick nod of thanks, Ilene sped to the infirmary. When she arrived at the bustling room, Christiane and Evann were stitching up and tending to several men. She saw her father standing in a corner and glowering, holding a bloody cloth to his mouth. And much to Ilene's relief, Llacheu sat propped in a cot, conversing with Sir Percival. Other than a bandage wrapped around his head, the prince looked quite well.

Ilene felt conflicted. What was she to do? If she ran to Llacheu and demonstrated the level of concern she wanted to show, everyone would know about their relationship. She wasn't quite ready for that, so she stepped toward her father.

"What are you doing up here, Ilene?" asked Leon. "You should go back to bed. I don't want you around these unsavory men."

She wrapped her arms around her father. "I wanted to make sure you were all right."

Leon hugged his daughter back. "I'm fine. Just furious that I had all my teeth until forty-seven years of age, and now I don't. Though I am grateful it's not a front tooth."

"Let me see," said Ilene. She examined her father's smile. "You can't really see the gap.

"And the prince is all right?" she asked casually.

"He's fine. He'll be off duty for a few days, but he seems good. The boy definitely did his father proud tonight."

Ilene wondered how, but asked no further questions. If she pried too much about Llacheu, her father would grow suspicious.

She bid her father a good evening, and walked toward the infirmary exit. But she couldn't help turning around to look at Llacheu before she left, and he was staring right at her. She gave him a small smile and a wink before leaving.

With a broad smile and a nod of his head, Llacheu acknowledged her. However, the hurt he felt over the fact she hadn't come to his side was clear in his eyes.

XXXX

Llacheu pretended as if Ilene's cool treatment after his injury didn't bother him. He carried on as normal, and told her he was looking forward to their time together the following evening.

"Are you sure about it?" asked Ilene after their tutoring session. "Perhaps we could wait until your head feels better."

"I think our clandestine meeting will be therapeutic for me," he said with a grin, and she jokingly slapped his arm. "Besides, it'll give me something to look forward to after the inevitable difficult events scheduled to take place tomorrow morning," Llacheu told her. "I'm sure you know the new ruler of the Picts is arriving then."

"Yes," said Ilene with a small frown. "Father's been ranting about it since early this morning."

Right after dawn, King Arthur summoned Guinevere, his sons, his most trusted knights, and Merlin (who has just returned home) to his private quarters and informed them the new king of the Picts was due to arrive the following morning. Arthur explained Taran had become the Picts' new ruler about half-a-year prior, when the man's father had passed away. From the first day of his reign, Taran had sent letters to Camelot, requesting an audience with King Arthur so they could negotiate a peace treaty. Arthur read the most recent letter to his men.

_King Arthur Pendragon,_

_I write you again, and will continue to do so. _

_Once more, I must emphasize I want nothing but peace between our people_. _It is my hope to lead the Picts into a time of peace and prosperity, with Camelot as a strong and trusted ally. I am not interested in continuing on with unnecessary feuds fueled by ignorance, a thirst for revenge, and a refusal to change. My forbears were inflexible, but you will find I am a different kind of leader. I am ready for change and want to lead my people into a new age. _

_Will you join me and put an end to these old hostilities? If so, please send word and I shall ride to Camelot forthwith, alone. _

_Yours,_

_King Taran of the Picts_

For the first time in thirty years of service to Camelot, once the king had finished reading, Leon lost his composure in front of his men and spoke out against the king. Trembling with outrage, he stormed forward, plainly determined to speak his mind.

"Sire, this is unacceptable! I have been a loyal servant to you for decades and would lay down my life for you without a thought, but I cannot support you in this."

Rising, Arthur gestured toward the seat next to him. "Come, sit beside me, Leon."

"No," the knight said quietly. "I cannot sit at your side right now and I cannot be a part of this. You know why. You know what we," he gestured toward Percival, Gwaine, and Ulrich, "endured at the hands of the Picts of the North."

"I understand why this is more difficult for you than anyone else," said Arthur with empathy. "I ask only that you stand with me and hear out this young ruler, nothing more."

Arthur remained on his feet and looked to each man. "For near to twenty years, after we defeated the Picts in their own lands, we've had not so much as scuffle with them. But to have lasting peace, peace that stands the test of time and ensures the long-term safety of our people, we should hear what this new king has to say."

Leon's hands shook. "If you force me to attend this meeting with that king, I shall ask you to relieve me of my duties as a knight and as commander."

"That's unacceptable," said Arthur calmly. "I will not accept your resignation. You're my knight and friend until death."

A quiet ripple of voices spread throughout the room. The tension and indecision was obvious. The men were loyal to their king, but they also loved and respected their knight commander. The younger knights shifted uncomfortably, as if waiting for the older men to make a decision for them.

Llacheu didn't realize he'd been holding his breath. He couldn't believe his ears. Was this going to turn the knights against one another? Force them to choose a side? Perhaps his father was wrong. Maybe they should ignore the Picts and carry on as they had for the past two decades. Was meeting with this young king worth the risk? Camelot's army was stronger and larger than the Picts' anyway. If the Picts of the North became hostile again, the knights could subdue them with more ease this time. Then again, lives might be lost in another confrontation…

Percival stepped forward and stood next to Leon, placing his hand on his dear friend's shoulder. "Leon, we must remain loyal to our king. We took an oath and it is our duty. We don't have to like this new king. As a matter of fact, we can hate him, but we must be reasonable and hear what the man has to say.

"What our wives endured at the hands of the Picts occurred when this man was a baby." Percival faced the rest of the men. "We can't lay blame at his feet for the actions of the men who came before him." Turning back to face Leon, Percival added, "But I will stand beside you the entire time, as your friend."

More mumbling ensued and continued until Gwaine moved forward. "I understand Leon's anger, and I'm not happy about this new king coming to Camelot, but I'll listen to what the man has to say," said Gwaine, standing on the other side of Leon. "However, I want all here to know I support my friend Leon, always."

"I will hear this new king, too," said Ulrich, moving forward. "But I agree with Gwaine; I stand by Leon as well. He has every right to be angry. As do many of us."

The rest of the men stepped toward Arthur and agreed they would listen to what this Pictish ruler had to say. Then, all eyes were on Leon, who looked as if he was deliberating whether he should storm from the room or start shouting. Leon closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

"All right," he said with a sigh of surrender. "For you, my lord, and for the sake of our men, I will be there. But I ask that you allow me to say my piece to this…king. But I warn you, I will not use restraint when I speak."

King Arthur held out his arm for Leon to shake. "That's fair and reasonable. As long as you don't strike the man or threaten war, you can say what you will."

With a glum look on his face, Leon took the proffered forearm. "For king and Camelot, I will do as you've asked." After the brief shake, Leon rushed from the room without asking to be dismissed.

Llacheu looked to Percival with a new level of respect and admiration. For the first time, the prince understood how a ruler's loyal men and women shape the future of a kingdom. He hoped one day, he was would be worthy of such loyalty and devotion from his people.

XXXX

The knights, the royal family, courtiers, and the people of Camelot spent the spent the next day feeling uncertain and curious. What would King Taran's arrival bring? Discord? Something new? Could this be a trick of some type? People wondered if perhaps they should prepare for a raid or an all-out attack. Rumors swirled and one could feel the anxiety brewing in the castle halls and out in the Lower Town.

While Llacheu's tutoring sessions had been suspended for several days, he still carved out a small amount of time during the late afternoon to meet with Ilene at their place in the gardens beneath the tall whitebeams. But the day was windy and wet, so they kept their visit brief.

"Would you like to have Merlin back as your tutor now since he's returned?" taunted Ilene.

Llacheu put his hands around his throat and made coughing sounds, then slumped over. "No," he said with a laugh, sitting back up. "Anything but that!"

"All right, I won't subject you to such misery. I'll stick with you," Ilene promised.

The rain picked up and Llacheu suggested they go inside, but Ilene didn't budge. Her expression turned serious and she pulled up the hood of her dark cloak.

"I'm sorry about last night," Ilene said, glancing at Llacheu. "I was so worried for you. You're the real reason I woke and went to the infirmary. I knew my father was all right, but I needed to see you with my own eyes." She fidgeted on the bench and fussed with the wooden clasp on her cloak. "I didn't go to your side because once people know about us, I fear it'll change things somehow. I like our privacy. It makes things feel, I don't know…special. But I want you to understand that I was sick with worry over you and that I care about you. Very much."

To Llacheu, that was almost as good as a declaration of love. Not quite, but close.

"That's all right. I understand," he told her. "We can keep things as they are. There's no rush and I'm not going anywhere."

As they chatted and the rain drops hit Ilene's face, Llacheu wanted to kiss her and tell her he loved her. Even if she didn't say it in return, that was all right; he was tired of holding it in. But something inside told him not to. He should do it tomorrow after their planned late-evening together. After Ilene showed him how a woman liked to be pleased.

They parted, because Llacheu had to meet with his father and the knights to review the plans for King Taran's visit come morning. But he knew Ilene would find the note he'd shoved under her door, the one that said he couldn't wait for tomorrow night. And he couldn't.

XXXX

The following stormy morning, King Taran strode into the Great Hall, alone. It was the first time a royal had ever visited Camelot without an escort or a single guard.

Though the man was of average height, he had a strong presence about him, and he carried himself with undeniable confidence and dignity. As he walked the length of the Hall, the deep sound of his heavy boots echoing throughout the vast room, the women courtiers who lined the walls gasped and tittered. Taran was a handsome man. The residents of Camelot who were old enough to remember the Picts described them as "filthy barbarians," with long, tangled hair, wild beards, and designs painted on their arms and faces. But King Taran looked nothing like those descriptions. He was clean-shaven with blue-black, and short, but shaggy dark hair that curled at the nape of his neck. The man had clear, light blue eyes and a chiseled jawline. And while he wore a fur cape around his shoulders, his linen tunic was fitted, drawing attention to his broad, muscled chest and arms. Yet he had one small, intricate design painted on the back of his neck. And he wore no crown, which was unusual for a king. Other than the way he carried himself, he looked like an ordinary visitor.

"I didn't expect such a fine-looking man," whispered one woman, as Taran drew closer to the royal family.

After the long walk down the Hall, with hundreds of eyes taking in his every powerful stride, Taran reached the dais on which King Arthur and Queen Guinevere sat upon their thrones. Llacheu, Amr, and Wenda sat beside their parents, and the knights were crowded behind the royal family. In an uncustomary move, Taran took a knee and bowed his head. Kings never bowed to one another; this was something new.

"Your Highnesses, I thank you for receiving me," said Taran in his heavy and unusual accent of the northern people, his head still down.

Just as Arthur was about to welcome his visitor and ask him to rise, the sound of boots scuffling and capes swishing filled the otherwise-silent Hall. Over one hundred knights had spun around and turned their backs to Taran in a show of deep disrespect. The only knights who faced forward were Percival, Ulrich, and Gwaine.

"Please rise, King Taran," said Arthur. "I welcome you to my court. You'll have to forgive the actions of my men. I hope you can understand this is a difficult day for many, and not all agree with the fact I've invited you here."

King Taran raised his head and stood upright. "I can understand and sympathize with their anger."

All was quiet for a moment, until Leon spun around and pushed his way through his men, charging forward, stopping only a foot away from Taran.

"You understand nothing," spat Leon at the visiting king. "You're no more than a boy, damn you! How old are you, sixteen? You can't possibly understand what Camelot's citizens have endured at the hands of your people!"

King Arthur began to rise from his seat. "Leon, please give the man a chance…"

Taran held up his hand. "It is all right, my lord. I would like to speak with this knight." He looked up at Leon with a calm and patient expression on his face. "I am in my twentieth year, Sir Knight. And I do not claim to know personally how you and your people have suffered, but I would like to hear."

Llacheu looked on, convinced Leon was about to snap. The older knight trembled with anger and his hairline was damp with sweat. Despite his appearance, the long-serving knight commander began his loud rant.

"Oh, would you like to hear?" shouted Leon. "I'll be happy to tell you the story then…"

"Would it be possible for us to have this conversation in private, Sir…?"

"Sir Leon. And no, it would not be possible. Anything to be said can be spoken here in front of the people of Camelot. I have nothing to hide."

"Then I would like to hear you, Sir Leon."

Leon started right in. "Seventeen years ago, on top of the many other atrocities in which the Picts engaged, my new bride and the wives of my three closest friends and comrades were kidnapped by five Picts. Our wives were dragged from home and beaten, chained, and held captive in a cave in the North."

The prince was grateful Alis was not present at court today, because at this point, Leon was trembling and sweating so profusely, Llacheu wondered if the knight was about to collapse. Yet for the time being, the knight commander remained on his feet.

"During their captivity, after the women had been beaten half to death," Leon continued, voice louder than ever, "one after another, four men raped my wife. They beat her and bit her and cut her during the rape, and she nearly died as a result or her injuries.

"Yes, she recovered, but at first, she lived in constant terror. But even now, almost twenty years later, at least once per month, she has nightmares. Horrible nightmares where she screams and cries and begs for help. I can do nothing but hold her until the terror passes."

Leon stomped forward and was in Taran's face now. "Have you any idea the shame I feel as a man and a husband that I wasn't there to protect her and that she still suffers to this day? Her suffering kills me. Do you have any idea? Do you?" he roared, rivulets of sweat now running down his forehead.

A hush fell over the hall. Llacheu could tell by the way his father shifted around on his throne and looked on at the scene before him that he was itching to intervene, but the king remained in his seat and allowed the confrontation to continue.

King Taran never winced, never took a step back during Leon's tirade. If anything, he appeared somber. "I know how it feels," said Taran softly.

Leon scoffed. "You insult me, King of the Picts. You could never know."

"If only that were true." Taran took a deep breath and looked around. "I had not planned to tell this story in front of your court, but I will. It is something I must do."

By this point, all the knights had turned around to watch the scene. The knights, courtiers, and the royal family looked on, waiting with bated breath, eager to hear what the young king had to say.

"Might I request a drink before I begin?" asked Taran. His brow was wrinkled and he looked paler. And his Pictish accent was more pronounced than ever. Llacheu could see the man was nervous and distressed, and wondered if everyone else sensed it, too.

"I'll get it for him," declared Leon, walking behind the screen that obscured the beverage table. He strode back to Taran with a full goblet and handed it over. "I took the liberty of filling it with wine instead of water. It looks as if you could use the wine."

"You are right, sir." Taran gulped down the entire goblet in a few healthy swallows. "Perhaps I should have had someone taste it for poison first," he joked.

A few soft giggles echoed within the Hall, and Leon took the empty vessel from the man's hands.

"I was betrothed," King Taran began. "It was to be an arranged marriage, as is the custom of my people. I did not feel prepared to wed, and a part of me resented having a woman of my father's choosing forced upon me. My father and I never got on well, and I assumed he had picked someone horrible as a way to punish me."

People in the Hall chuckled at this declaration, and some nodded in understanding. Even Leon looked less furious.

"But for once in his life, my father had done me a kindness. He chose a woman who was gorgeous and smart. Feisty, too. The day we first met, she gave me a very hard time, but still, I fell in love with her instantly.

"We were to be married within the month, and as our wedding approached, I knew she loved me, too. Those were happy days.

"A week before the wedding, my father died suddenly, and I was elevated to king. Our lines of succession differ from yours. Normally, the crown is passed to a brother or nephew when the king dies. But my father, being the unyielding tyrant he was, re-wrote our laws so I would be next in line to inherent the crown. My father's supporters assumed I would rule as he had; they were wrong.

"On the first day of my reign, I called a meeting and told everyone in attendance that women would be given proper respect and would have positions on my council. You see, my father had made sure I was well-educated, and I had read about how societies work better when women are respected and treated as equals. I know my father would have preferred I never learned that." He paused and looked around the room.

"Then, I told my people anyone accused of a crime would receive a fair trial; there would be no more immediate executions. We would be governed by the rule of law, not the whims of an arrogant tyrant. And I insisted that the crime of rape would be punishable by death or… removal of a certain part of a man's anatomy."

Most in attendance murmured their approval, including Leon.

People of court –– including Llacheu –– looked on, fascinated and intrigued, waiting for more. This Taran was so different from the Picts of whom everyone had heard tales. None of Camelot's people had expected a man like this or to hear such a heart-wrenching story. After a brief pause, Taran continued, but now paced the Hall as he spoke, his hands clasped behind his back.

"One evening, three of my father's most ardent supporters approached me, and said if I did not embrace my father's ways, I would 'pay a heavy price.' I told the men if they threatened me again, they would suffer banishment, and I gave them no more thought. That is, until the night before my wedding.

"My betrothed had been staying in a separate guest house with her mother. That night, her mother ran to my home and told me her daughter had been kidnapped… by three men. I gathered as many loyal warriors as I could, and we scoured the forest for hours and hours, yet we could not find her.

"At sunrise, we returned home to come up with a different plan of attack. And that is when I found her, my woman, in front of my door."

Taran coughed several times and stopped pacing. It appeared as if he was struggling for control. "Might I step outside for some air before I finish my story, King Arthur?"

Arthur rose. "Of course. I shall escort you outside for a break."

"Sire, may I escort our visitor instead?" asked Leon. "That is, if it's all right with him." Leon looked calmer now. He had a curious look on his face, something that bordered on understanding.

"That is fine by me, Your Highness," said Taran.

King Taran and Leon exited the Great Hall with all eyes on them. And the room erupted with conversation. Arthur made no effort to silence his people. Instead, he engaged in conversation with his family.

"What do you think of all this?" asked the king.

With wide eyes, Wenda said, "I thought he'd be much scarier. And that he might look like a bear, but he doesn't."

"He doesn't look or act like the Picts I've heard of," said Amr with a shrug. "I don't really know what to make of him."

Guinevere looked at her eldest son. "And what do you think?"

Llacheu met his mother's eye. "I rarely get a sense about people, but I think he may be all right. But we should reserve judgment until we hear his whole story."

"I agree," the queen said with an affectionate smile.

Right then, Taran and Leon returned, walking the length of the Hall side-by-side. Neither looked angry and it was clear they hadn't come to blows, as some people had worried they might. In fact, Leon looked at Taran with a measure of compassion.

"Before I finish my story, I warn you, this might be the time to remove children from the Hall. The rest of the story is…not good," said Taran, taking his place at the front of the Hall once again. He waited several moments to allow people time to exit, but no one did. "Very well.

"As I said, I found my betrothed in front of my door. She had been dumped there and was lying on the hard ground. And she was," he blew out a sharp breath, "unclothed. And beaten."

People in the Hall gasped. Many could guess what he was about to say.

"I ordered my men to look away and wrapped her in my cloak. I wasn't sure if she was alive or dead, because she was stiff and cold, but I leaned forward and heard her breathing. One of my warriors had already left for our medicine woman for help.

"I carried my lifeless betrothed into my home and held her close, waiting for help. As I held her ravaged and cold body, I felt something sharp poking out from her back. I pulled down the cloak a little to see what it was, and it was…" Suddenly, he reverted to Pictish, and everyone looked confused. He realized what he had done and paused.

"I am sorry. I struggle with your language and when I am upset, I forget myself." He gathered himself and stood up tall.

"What I found was a note nailed deep into the bone of her shoulder. I pulled out the nail but she did not stir. The note said that this was a mere warning and the next time, it would be worse. The note contained the details of the things her kidnappers had done to her, and I will not repeat them here, but I am sure you can imagine. Not only had she been…raped, these three men had carved their initials into her lower back. I cannot say any more about the others things they had done. And the things they had forced her to do."

Women sobbed and men growled with anger hearing this.

"To have such a violent and treacherous deed done by one's own people… It is horrible.

"My woman recovered, somewhat. She remained in the guest house with her mother caring for her. We delayed the wedding and I told her I would wait as long as she needed, until the end of my days, if that is what it took. I would have done anything for her… But she could not even look at me. Looking at any man reminded her too much of the torture she had experienced in the woods. Each day I would visit, but I had to stand in the doorway, because if I stood too close, she screamed and cried with fear. She had loved me, but now, I was a monster to be feared."

At this point, several women excused themselves from the Hall; they were overcome with emotion. And Llacheu had a sinking feeling he knew what was coming next.

Now, Taran's eyes were bright with unshed tears, and he didn't seem to care. "After a month had passed, she let me near her. She allowed me to hold her and told me things would be all right. I was so relieved. I left the home feeling good. But those feelings were short-lived."

"The next morning at dawn, her mother burst into my house screaming, blood all over her clothing and hands."

Taran hiccuped and sounded as if he was short of breath. He swayed and it looked as if his knees might give way. The crowd gasped when Leon stepped forward and put a steadying arm around the man's shoulders. Taran gave Leon a brief nod of thanks.

"She was dead. By her own hand," Taran continued, his voice cracking. "She left no note, but I know why she did it. She could not live with what happened to her.

"My men and I found the three men responsible for her assault and I gave them a trial. They confessed and I found them guilty. I executed them myself, in front of all."

Shouts of "Yes!" and "Good!" and "I would have done the same!" rang out.

"I beheaded them. Yet for some reason, my aim was poor that day," said Taran with sarcasm while Leon bolstered him. "It might have taken ten or more strokes with the axe before each man lost his head." He took a long pause. "No, that is a lie. It was twenty strokes per man, and I wanted it to be a thousand. Perhaps I am a barbarian…"

"No!" the people called out, and Llacheu found himself joining them. If someone had done that to Ilene, he'd have done the same. No, probably worse. He'd have torn the men limb from limb without the benefit of a trial.

King Taran finally lost his composure and wept. Llacheu knew this was no trick. No man could be such an excellent performer. Before the people of Camelot, Taran had shown he was vulnerable, and that was a risky move. Few men would have taken such a chance, exposing themselves like that.

Once Taran had composed himself, he said one last thing after assuring Leon he could stand without help.

"Some time after my woman's funeral, I made her a promise that her death would not be in vain. I swore I would see to it that my people were safe, all women would be treated with respect and fairness, and that justice would be served throughout the land. It was my promise, and I intend to keep it."

After a moment of complete silence, thunderous applause rang out in the chamber. Taran had won over the people. Arthur waited several minutes for the applause to die down. The king and queen of Camelot stood, as did their children. Arthur stepped down from the dais and extended his arm to Taran.

"It appears as if we have a peace treaty to negotiate, then," said Arthur.

The two kings shook on it.

For the next half hour, knights and courtiers approached King Taran and expressed their condolences for his loss, as well as their admiration for him. As people filed out of the Hall, Llacheu took a moment to introduce himself and speak with Taran.

"I have learned much from you today," said the prince. "I've learned the value of openness and humility. You are strong…"

Taran shook his head. "Not as strong as you might think, Prince Llacheu." Studying the price, he asked, "You are close to my age, yes?"

"Seventeen, sire."

"Will you sit next to be during the negotiations? It would ease my… I can't think of the word…"

"Anxiety? Worries? Nerves?"

"I think all of them," said Taran with a chuckle.

Arthur approached his son and Taran. "Shall we go to the solar and begin our talks?"

"I am ready," Taran told Arthur. "And I hope Sir Leon will be a part of the discussions also."

"He will. Thank you for your patience with him."

"It is nothing," said Taran. "We who have endured something so tragic have much in common."

King Arthur dropped his arm around young King Taran's shoulders and led him out of the Great Hall, while promoting the fact that Camelot produced "the best crispels in the known lands," and Taran chuckled.

Llacheu followed a good distance behind. This had been quite a day. He couldn't imagine anything making it more exciting.


	54. Chapter 53 A Night to Remember

**A/N - I simply cannot believe this story is drawing to a close in just a few more chapters. I have an idea about writing a non-fanfiction version of this, just because I can't seem to let go! **

**As I mentioned, I love King Taran (he's an entirely fictional character I made up). In some Arthurian legends, Camelot and the Picts were bitter rivals, but eventually put their differences aside and worked together. That was the inspiration for Taran. **

**During this chapter, there is some mention of suicide, so please read with care if you are sensitive. Also, Llacheu and Ilene finally have their long-awaited evening together. Merlin makes an appearance during this chapter, as do Grace and Anna. **

**A mere THREE chapters to go and the epilogue. I do hope you'll read my next, much shorter story called _King Arthur's Bed Partners_. That one will be about 15-18k-ish words, not like this saga!**

**And again, thank you for everything, readers. It's an honor to have you reading my work. Also, a warm welcome to new followers Tinili and RoxyMoxy7625. I'm thrilled to have you along for the ride. **

Chapter 53 – A Night to Remember

The actual peace treaty negotiations hadn't taken long at all. Taran agreed with most of King Arthur's suggestions and offered several of his own. There was some discussion and debate about borders and the exact types of punishments to be meted out for certain offenses, but overall, discussions were smooth.

Afterward, Arthur insisted they dine on a lunch of chicken roasted in wine broth, herb fritters, with crispels and mead for dessert. Taran had declared it was one of the best meals he had ever eaten, but jokingly begged those in attendance to never repeat those words to his people.

Further, Arthur had insisted that Taran remain at the castle for at least one evening so the young king could rest and be refreshed before his long journey home. Taran said he wanted to leave later that evening, but relented, admitting he could do with a proper night's sleep.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like," Arthur had said, "but I get the sense you're keen on returning home as soon as you can."

Following a tour of the castle and the gardens, Taran had retired to his guest quarters.

XXXX

Later that night, Llacheu wandered into the solar where the treaty negotiations had taken place. He was searching for his misplaced gloves and found them on his chair, right where he'd left them. He also found Taran's heavy, thick-bladed sword resting on the table. It was customary for men negotiating a peace treaty to remove all their weapons from their belts and persons and place them on the table, indicating they had nothing to hide and were willing to talk peace. Taran must have forgotten his sword, which Llacheu thought was unusual. It was rare that men ever lost track of their swords. Still, he picked up the weapon and decided he'd return it to the man. He'd have to be quick, though, because he was due to meet with Ilene in an hour or so.

Carrying the sword carefully, Llacheu approached the guest quarters and knocked. There was no answer, and he rapped again. Since there wasn't enough room beneath the door to slide the sword, the prince tested the door and see if it was unlocked. Perhaps Taran had gone for a late-night walk, or maybe he'd left for home after all. Llacheu pushed open the door slowly and stepped into the room. He turned to his left and saw Taran standing in front of the open window on the unseasonably warm evening, looking out at Camelot. Upon closer inspection, the man held a dagger to his throat.

In that instant, Llacheu wanted to flee. He didn't want the responsibility of dealing with a man in such an obvious bad state, ready to take his own life. In truth, he didn't feel as if he could deal with it. What if he said the wrong thing and the man killed himself? He thought about backing out of the room and pretending he'd never seen a thing. But no. That's not acceptable behavior for a future king. Llacheu stepped further into the room, and Taran turned from the window, the dagger firmly pressed against this throat.

"Ah, you," said Taran. "Would you leave, please? I… need to be alone."

"That doesn't sound like such a great idea, King Taran. Perhaps you could put the knife down and talk to me?" Llacheu closed the door behind him and leaned the sword up against the wall. He took another step toward the king. "Why are you doing this? Because of what happened to your betrothed?"

Taran remained silent, still holding the blade to his neck. But he was shaky. Panicked-looking.

"You know, if you do this here, people may think you were murdered," the prince said to the king. "And the peace you longed for and strived to achieve will be no more. Is that what you want? Is that what your wife-to-be would have wanted?"

"There will be no talk of murder. I have written a letter in my own hand, with my own seal," Taran told Llacheu, "explaining what I have done and why. None of your men will be blamed."

"Anyone could say it's a forgery," said Llacheu with a shake of his head. "Your death could easily be seen as murder and might even start another war between our people. After all your hard work to ensure peace between Camelot and the Picts, is that what you want?"

"You don't understand," Taran moaned. "Do you have a woman?" He sat on the window sill now with the knife still pressed against his skin.

Llacheu was worried, because the man trembled and looked unsteady. Taran could fall out the window just as easily as he could slit his own throat.

"Yes, I have a woman. But we're keeping things quiet for now."

"I see. And you love her?"

"I do love her."

After a long stare, Taran asked, "And what would you do if you were me?"

Llacheu moved even closer. "I wouldn't cut my throat or toss myself out of a window." He didn't know if that was true, because he'd be worthless if Ilene died, but it sounded like the right thing to say. "I'd spend my life honoring my betrothed's memory. Besides, you can find love again…"

That was the wrong thing to say. Taran pushed the knife harder against his throat until a thin trickle of blood ran down his neck. The man turned his head and leaned out the window, peering at the cobblestones far down below. "I don't want anyone else," he croaked.

"I know," said Llacheu, sounding as desperate as he felt, holding up his hands, willing Taran to stay put. "I don't know why I said that. I wouldn't either." He waited, but the king said nothing. "May I sit down?"

Taran turned back to face him. "Yes, but not too close."

A sudden thought came to Llacheu as he took a seat on the floor; he hoped it was a good one. "If you kill yourself, they've won."

"Who has won?"

"Those three men. If you kill yourself, it means they broke you and they won. Your kingdom will be thrown into turmoil and panic. Prove to your people the men did not break you. Prove to your woman you are strong."

Llacheu didn't know where these words were coming from, but they seemed to work. Taran had relaxed his grip on his knife somewhat.

"But I am not strong," whispered Taran.

"Live, and it means you are strong. Live up to the promises you made and see your kingdom become a better place for all."

His heart pounding faster and harder than ever, Llacheu watched as Taran turned and looked down at the ground beneath the window again. If Taran flung himself from the window, the man would never survive. Llacheu wondered if he should charge forward and try to force the man back into the room, but he recognized that with one wrong move, both of them could end up dead.

Taran turned around and looked at Llacheu once again. "My brother can rule. Pictavia does not need me. He will be a good leader."

"How old is your brother?" asked Llacheu.

"Seventeen."

"That's a poor idea. I'm seventeen, and if I had to lead Camelot right now, the kingdom would be doomed," said Llacheu, hoping the small joke might ease some of the tension. When he realized it hadn't, he carried on. "Besides, you are the man your people need. Everyone saw that at court today. You're a man of strength, whether you believe it or not, and a person of conviction and compassion. Don't throw your kingdom into turmoil. As you promised in your letter to my father, lead your people into a new age. That's what your woman would have wanted, isn't it?"

Taran closed his eyes for a moment and muttered something in Pictish, a short phrase that sounded like an apology or a prayer. Much to the prince's surprise, Taran then dropped his knife with a clatter and slid from the window sill onto the floor.

"She would have been a wonderful queen," lamented Taran. "But you are right. She would have wanted me to stay strong for our people. She would expect nothing less."

The two men sat on the floor in silence for a good long time. Llacheu figured it was for the best, and Taran would speak again when he was ready. After picking at his dagger's blade for a while, the young king looked up.

"What poisons my soul the most is the thought of her suffering and I could not help her. And the guilt. The guilt is like a poison tearing up my insides each and every day."

Llacheu couldn't imagine how Taran felt. "If you could say one thing to her right now, what would it be?"

Taran sniffled. "That I am so sorry and I love her still. And that I miss her."

Llacheu took a risk and scooted closer to the man, ending up right in front of him. Their boots nearly touched. "And what would she say in return?"

"Probably that she loves me, too, and that it was not my fault." Taran looked up at the ceiling as tears ran down his face. "She would want to ease my pain because that is the kind of person she was."

Llacheu moved right next to Taran and put a hand on the man's shoulder. "She sounds like a wonderful woman. I know it'll be very, very hard. To live. Without her."

Taran nodded. "It will. I am not sure how I will do it, but I will try."

"That's all anyone can ask of a man."

The two sat on the floor for a time in complete silence, until Taran looked at Llacheu's face. "I cannot be alone with my thoughts tonight," the king confessed.

Llacheu rose to his feet and offered Taran a hand-up, which the man accepted. "Of course not. There are a couple of cots stuffed away in here somewhere. Come along with me to find Merlin. I'm sure you've heard of him. He and I will stay here for the night."

"He is the man of magic?"

"That he is. He lost a woman he loved long ago. He'll understand how you feel better than anyone."

Suddenly, Llacheu recalled that he was due to meet with Ilene any time now. "But we need to make a quick stop first. I have to… pass along a message to someone." Llacheu knew there was no way he could leave Taran alone right now, not even for a moment.

Taran gave Llacheu a small smile. "Your woman?"

"Yes, but she's quite understanding, don't worry."

"I do not want to take away from your time with her. Every moment with a loved one is precious."

"If she knew I'd left you in such a state, she'd punch me in the bollocks," Llacheu said with a chuckle. "You're doing me a favor."

The men left the room and arrived at the study shortly thereafter. Ilene was there, waiting, wearing a light and delicate white dress, looking happy and gorgeous, her soft brown curls hanging loose. Seeing her, Llacheu hated the idea of putting off their evening, but he had no choice. The prince introduced Ilene to Taran, providing a vague explanation about why they he and Ilene had to delay their meeting, but she caught on quickly.

"That's all right," Ilene said, facing Taran, a gentle and understanding smile on her face. She reached out to touch Taran's hand. "You've had a difficult evening, sire?"

"I have," Taran answered, nodding. "But Llacheu has been a great help."

"He's a good man," said Ilene. "The best I know."

Llacheu gave Ilene a brief hug of thanks, grateful she understood, and set off to find Merlin with Taran.

XXXX

A bright and warm morning arrived in Camelot. Taran, Llacheu, and Merlin had slept very little the previous evening. The three men had remained awake talking until right before down. Mostly, Llacheu listened to Merlin and Taran talk about their deceased loves. Taran had wanted to know when he would wake up not wanting to die.

"It takes about a year," Merlin had told the man. "The bereft feeling never leaves you entirely, but I found after the first year, you start to have thoughts that aren't always focused on misery and grief. But keep in mind, every man is different. Some take longer, some recover faster."

"I wish it had been me," Taran confessed to the men. "I wish they had taken me instead."

"Yes, I felt that way for a long time, too. I wished I had been the one to die instead of Freya," admitted Merlin.

Taran's eyes widened. "That was her name?" he asked Merlin. "I…I never say my woman's name aloud. Only to myself." He sank back into his seat. "But her name was Leese," whispered Taran.

Merlin gave a solemn nod. "Freya and Leese. Two beautiful departed souls."

As Llacheu had listened to the men talk about how they had loved their women, he knew he felt a love as deep and strong for Ilene. He couldn't imagine the men's pain over losing their treasured partners. Yet he was glad Taran had a man with whom he could commiserate.

"I am very sorry for your loss, Merlin," the king had said. "But to know I am not the only one with these thoughts makes me feel less alone. Both you and Llacheu have given me a great gift. Your friendship will not be forgotten. You will always be welcome in my home. I hope you will take the time to visit one day." Taran had turned to look at Llacheu. "And you, hold onto the love you have for your woman and never let it go. Make sure she knows how you feel each and every day."

With those words spoken, the men had then fallen asleep in the guest quarters.

Well after sunrise, King Arthur knocked on the guest chamber door and Llacheu appeared at the threshold. Arthur gave his son a questioning look.

"Before you ask, it's a very long and complicated story, Father," Llacheu whispered, stepping out into the corridor, his clothing rumpled and hair a total mess. "Merlin's here, too. It's sort of a private matter. I'm not sure Taran wants people knowing what happened."

"Taran?" asked the king with surprise, also speaking in a quiet voice. "You're on a first-name basis with the king, are you?"

An exhausted-looking Llacheu shrugged his shoulders.

"You took care of things, then?" asked Arthur.

"I did, Father. As best I could."

"Then unless it's something that will affect the safety of our people, I'll leave things in your capable hands. And Merlin's. Just make sure you escort Taran to breakfast soon so everything looks somewhat normal to the knights and courtiers." Arthur smiled. "After you've fixed that mop on your head, of course."

Not long after Llacheu and Arthur's discussion, Taran, Llacheu, and Merlin turned up in the dining hall for breakfast. The three men looked haggard, and Arthur made jokes about the fact they'd probably indulged in too much ale the previous night. King Arthur never asked his son what had transpired. That simple act made it clear Arthur trusted his son.

Following a quick breakfast of bread, cheese, and poached eggs, Taran admitted he was in no condition to start his ride home. So instead, he and Llacheu spent a low-key day touring the city, doing some easy sword training, and making a brief stop at the tavern for a light, early supper. Taran and Llacheu returned to the castle after their meal and chatted in Llacheu's quarters for a time. Merlin stopped by for a chat also. Eventually, the men collapsed into their own beds, exhausted.

The next morning, Taran set off for home. But not before the knights, the royal family, and Merlin bid him farewell and safe travels. Taran took extra time saying goodbye to Leon, then he pulled Llacheu into a fierce hug before mounting his horse.

"Thank you for all you have done," Taran said quietly to his new friend as they embraced. "I hope you will have a wedding and you will invite me."

The prince patted Taran's back. "You'd be my most honored guest."

King Taran stepped back. "I will miss you, Llacheu. Know that you are always welcome at my home."

"And you will always be welcome here in Camelot, either for a visit or permanently."

"I love Pictavia," said Taran with a smile, "but should I ever need another place to live, this would be my choice. Thank you, my friend."

With a final wave, Taran saddled up and rode for Pictavia.

XXXX

"FINALLY, it's happening tonight," Ilene hollered with a laugh, flopping onto her bed with Anna and Grace. "The longer we've had to put this off, the more nervous I've become."

Anna took a small sip of mead from her goblet, then reached over to the bedside table and popped another custard tart into her mouth. "That's right, your clandestine meeting with a secret man. Whoever could he be?"

Ilene tossed a pillow at her friend. "Quiet, you!"

"Hey, I'm with child," said Anna with a look of mock horror on her face. "You cannot assault me!"

"The way you're assaulting those tarts?" quipped Grace.

"I can't help it," mumbled Anna, downing another pastry. "I'm starving all the time. I eat more than Percy now."

"Is Percy still hovering constantly?" asked Ilene.

Anna finished swallowing and eyed another tart, but didn't grab it. "He's ridiculous about the pregnancy. He'd keep me in bed the entire time if he could. The man tried to pick me up and carry me back from supper last night when I told him I had a sore toe. A sore toe!"

The women laughed at this description of Percy being so overprotective and concerned.

"Now, back to you and your secret man," said Anna, before coughing, "Llacheu."

"Stop it!" whined Ilene. "I don't want people to know."

Grace reached over to squeeze her friend's hand. "We won't say anything. You know us better than that.

"At any rate, what do you plan to wear tonight?"

Rising from the bed and crossing the room to her wardrobe, Grace withdrew her light, white dress. "I'm going to wear this with a red sash around the waist. It's comfortable, nice and sheer. When I wore it the other night, he seemed to like the look of it."

"That's a gorgeous dress. Now I want one!" declared Anna. "But anyway, you know you might end up having sex. You should prepare for that. Even with all the best intentions, Percy and I nearly did it about ten times before we were married."

With a nod of understanding, Grace said, "You know I did it…"

"Not tonight. We're not going to do it tonight," insisted Ilene. "But will you girls help me oil my hair? It's a dry and fuzzy mess."

The young ladies helped smooth almond oil through Ilene's hair and combed it carefully. Anna insisted Ilene should dab lavender oil between her knees (for "extra sexiness"), and while Ilene resisted initially, she gave in.

"You look so pretty," Anna said, stepping back from Ilene's seat. "But you need one more thing." She leaned in and pinched Ilene's cheeks.

"Ouch! What was that for?"

"To give you a little extra color," explained Anna. "You'll tell us everything tomorrow, won't you?"

"I'll tell you some things, not all." Ilene blew out a loud sigh. "All right, I have to go." She left the room amidst her friends' well wishes and giggles.

On the way to the study, she pondered what she was about to do in front of Llacheu was very intimate, and was overwhelmed by the notion that perhaps this was all a bad idea. But she quickly dismissed the thought. No, it would be all right. And if she became uncomfortable, she'd stop. Nonetheless, she felt a little shy and unsure. Ilene wondered how Llacheu was feeling.

XXXX

Meandering through the Lower Town that warm evening, Llacheu wasn't feeling all that great. His stomach churned due to nerves and his palms were clammy. He'd left the castle because he didn't want to risk running into anyone and have them inquire why he looked so agitated. This was one of those times when he could have used the advice of a friend or one of the older knights, but he couldn't go to them, because they'd badger the prince until he told them the name of the woman he was seeing. Then again, he trusted Wallace and Percy with his life. But if word somehow made it back to Leon… no thank you.

On his way back to the castle, Llacheu decided he'd better hurry. He should probably wash up a little before he met up with Ilene in case… in case what? Better to be clean, anyway.

Then he thought about how he should perhaps give Ilene something as a token of his affection. Like what? Flowers? No, that would look like he was trying too hard. He needed to behave normally. Casually.

But what would he say when Ilene lay there, touching herself? 'Hey, Ilene, nice…crotch?' How the hell did men go to bed with women without falling apart with nerves? And he wasn't even going to bed with Ilene; he was merely a spectator. Approaching home, the prince felt like a complete nervous wreck.

Then again, Ilene might be nervous too. In the end, she probably had more of a right to be nervous, considering what she was about to do. And shouldn't Llacheu offer touch himself in front of her in return? That was only fair. Possibly embarrassing, but fair. But maybe it's not something she'd want to see…

As hundreds of thoughts and possible scenarios whirled through his mind, Llacheu reached his quarters and bolted the door behind him. He stripped down and washed up with some cold water from his basin, and finger-combed his unruly blonde hair into submission. Stepping into a fresh pair of drawers, he poked through his wardrobe. In the end, he settled on his favorite pair of black trousers and a newer dark-blue tunic. Llacheu turned and examined his appearance in his mirror.

"I look the same as always," he mumbled to himself. But perhaps that was just as well. After all, this wasn't a court event. Better to appear relaxed and somewhat normal.

Before departing his chamber for the study, he did a few stretches, which was his normal routine before sword fighting. What the hell was he doing? This wasn't a duel; he didn't need to stretch. What he needed to do was calm down and meet with Ilene.

On the walk to the study, Llacheu reminded himself men did these sorts of things all the time, and he'd never heard of one backing out or losing his nerve. Then again, if a man really was too nervous, it's unlikely he would share such a thing.

Being a man was no easy task.

However, once Llacheu entered the study and saw a blushing and gorgeous Ilene, he reflected that being a man wasn't always so bad. In fact, at times, it could be pretty damn good.

He'd long thought Ilene was beautiful, but tonight, she looked breathtaking. Llacheu couldn't put his finger on why, exactly. She looked soft and free, if that made any sense. Her long white dress was light and skimmed her body in a way that was even sexier than the garment she'd worn at the recent feast. Perhaps it was because the dress reminded him of a nightdress, and that idea made him imagine lying in bed with her on a sunny summer morning. Preferably in their own quarters, where he could peel off her clothing and touch her body without worrying about what people thought. He could almost picture being able to see right through the light fabric as the sunlight shone through their open bedchamber window on a lazy, breezy morning…

Ilene waved her hand jokingly at Llacheu as he stood in the doorway. "Hello? Are you with me?"

"Yes, I am," he said, taking a few long strides to reach her. He took her face in his hands and gave her a tender kiss. Llacheu pulled back and said, "I was so mesmerized by your beauty. You're more gorgeous than ever tonight. How is that possible?"

"Perhaps it's the hair oil?" she said, reaching up to touch her brown curls, making them both laugh. "I don't know. It's probably nerves making me blush."

Llacheu held her tight. "If that's the case, nerves look good on you. And you're not the only one who's nervous."

"No?" asked Ilene, genuinely curious. "Why are you nervous?"

"I supposed because this feels important to me."

"For me, too," agreed Ilene. "It's a big step. But where's the bed you promised me?" She gave his chest a playful poke. "If you, future king, think I'm about to lie on the cold floor half-dressed…"

Llacheu laughed and took her chin in his hand. "I wouldn't dream of that. I have a nice bed. Follow me."

First, he grabbed a wall torch, then he led Ilene by the hand to the far corner of the study. He drew back a large tapestry that hung from the ceiling to the floor, revealing a small door. With a firm shove, the door opened, and Llacheu drew Ilene into the room.

"I never knew this chamber was here!" exclaimed Ilene, as Llacheu lit the candles in the low-hanging candelabra, then secured his torch in the wall holder. The room was comfortably dim, not so dark as to make moving hazardous, but dark enough to make the atmosphere romantic. At least Llacheu hoped it was.

After taking a moment to admire the small but comfortable bedchamber and running her hands along the fine maroon-colored bedclothes on the sizable bed, Ilene turned to Llacheu and smiled. "This'll do. I love this room."

"It's an extra chamber for when we're short on space when we have visitors," explained Llacheu, never taking his eyes off Ilene as she wandered around the room, examining the space. "I can't remember the last time anyone used it. Most people have forgotten it's here, probably. I think once per week, one of the maids comes in and cleans it up, though. It's not too dusty, is it?"

"No," said Ilene with a smile. "It's perfect."

Llacheu bolted the small door connected to the study, and checked the lock on the main door that led to the side corridor. "All secure," he assured Ilene, crossing the room to sit beside her on the bed. He glanced at her. "And you're sure you want to do this? You know you don't have to."

Turning to face Llacheu, Ilene planted a light kiss on his lips. "I want to do this. But before we begin, I want to explain a few things."

"You have my absolute and complete attention."

"Good!" Ilene started right in. "First, when you touch a woman, you have to be slow and gentle. But as you go on, you can be more…vigorous. And one very important point is that you never place anything inside of a woman without asking for permission."

"I wouldn't dream of doing that!" Llacheu interrupted.

"I'm talking about fingers, too," explained Ilene, and Llacheu flushed red. "I mean, after you've had sex with a woman on a regular basis, that can become part of your typical activity, but the first time you touch a woman, you must ask. Because if she's a maiden…"

Still red and feeling awkward, Llacheu still dared to look at Ilene's face. "I understand the whole maidenhood thing. One must be very careful."

"Yes," said Ilene, sounding relieved. "Good, then. I'll…lie back now." Scooting up the bed toward the headboard, she readjusted the pillows behind her and fluffed them up before leaning back. Ilene took a deep breath and blew it out before reaching up for the front laces of her dress.

"Wait," said Llacheu abruptly before she'd had the chance to untie anything. "Can I just look at you for a moment? Like that? You're beautiful and I want to remember you as you are, right now. Breathtaking. And mine."

Obviously touched by his kind statement, Ilene smiled at the prince. "All right. And move a little closer to me so you're at my side."

Taking in her beauty, Llacheu positioned himself at Ilene's side and sat cross-legged, admiring her. The prince had no idea where this all might lead, so he took the opportunity to pause for a moment and gaze at the beautiful young woman before him.

"All right. Whenever you're ready," he offered.

With a swift tug, Ilene pulled loose the front tie of her light dress, and pulled the fabric down, revealing her breasts. She then rucked up her skirts to her lower hips and parted her legs so Llacheu could see just a little bit. Ilene then ran her hands over her breasts a few times, giving each nipple a soft squeeze until it formed a tight peak.

"Oh, dear Lord," said Llacheu under his breath, harder than he'd ever been in his entire life.

Ilene left one hand on her breast and continued to caress it, while the other hand drifted between her legs. She made a few strokes with her hand, then brought her knees up and moved the hand a little faster.

"I should explain myself," said Ilene, sounding a little breathless. "When you touch a woman between her legs, you want to find her clitoris. That's where you want to focus your touching. It's a little hard, somewhat like a pearl…"

Llacheu hoped he wouldn't have to wipe the drool from his chin. He nodded up-and-down, his lips parted. "I think I felt it the other day when we were at the creek," he told her, never taking his eyes off the hand positioned at the V between her legs.

"You did," she muttered, moving the hand between her legs faster now, moaning, and taking a moment to squeeze her nipple again. "It felt good."

She kept moving her fingers between her legs with increasing pressure and speed every few moments. When she began to groan and sigh with more frequency and bucked her hips with each swirl of her fingers, Llacheu worried he might have to run from the room and stroke his cock, because he felt as if he might burst with want. Then again, why couldn't he do it right here? After all, Ilene was doing the same thing.

Breathless now, Ilene told Llacheu, "And you just keep moving. Don't stop until a woman's done. Just keep going…" She made a few more movements with her fingers and stopped abruptly.

Llacheu looked on with confusion. "That's, um, it?" he asked. "I thought at the end… Never mind what I thought. Did you, ah, finish?"

Ilene removed her hand from between her legs and turned onto her side to face Llacheu. Llacheu had a difficult time keeping his hands to himself as he watched her breasts bounce lightly as she turned.

"I didn't finish," she confessed. "I felt a little embarrassed."

Wanting nothing more in this world than to watch Ilene come, Llacheu made a suggestion. "Well, if you do it, then I'll do it once you're done. That way no one has to be embarrassed. If you think that's a good idea," he added. He didn't want her to think he was pressuring her.

She appeared to consider this offer. "Okay." But she didn't move. "Do you think you'd like to…help me?"

For an instant, Llacheu was uncertain what Ilene meant. When he realized she was asking him to participate in touching her, he nodded and inched closer. "Yes. I would love that. Are you sure?"

"Yes," she whispered, grabbing the front of his tunic and pulling him down on top of her.

He started out by kissing her and figured she'd tell him when she wanted more. After the two spent time kissing and grinding against one another, Ilene took Llacheu's hand and placed it on her breast. He caressed and squeezed it until he couldn't take it any longer, then he used his mouth on her breasts, tonguing her nipples while his hands were tangled in her curly hair.

"I want you to touch me," Ilene told him. He inched his hand down her soft dress, but Ilene halted him with a gentle touch to his back. "And I want you to unlace your trousers so I can touch you at the same time."

This was going much further than Llacheu had ever hoped. Worried she might change her mind, he wrestled down his trousers and drawers to his knees while still on top of Ilene. She reached for his hardness, but Llacheu stopped her hand.

"Let me touch you a little first. Because once you put your hand on me, I'll be done in an instant," he whispered in her ear.

He made his move and placed his fingers against the warm wetness between her legs. He pressed his mouth against hers again and kissed her with everything he had while he worked his fingers against her tight knot of nerves.

"Llacheu, keep doing that," she whispered, grinding her hips against his hand, whimpering with desire.

He kept it up, only to break off for a moment to tell her how amazing she felt. She writhed beneath him, moaning his name periodically. While in the throes of passion, she gripped his cock and worked her hand up and down the shaft. Unfortunately, as Llacheu had predicted, he orgasmed after three solid strokes, and Ilene hadn't yet found her release. Llacheu grabbed up the now-wrinkled bed sheets and made a haphazard effort to clean off Ilene.

"I am so sorry," he said, feeling and sounding humiliated. "You just felt so good. God, I feel like an utter arse."

She took his chin in her hand and kissed him. "Don't be sorry. Just carry on now," Ilene told him with a smile.

"Yes. Good idea," he told her, relaxing a little. Rolling back on top of her, he went to work again. While he circled his fingers against her warmth, he kissed his way from her breasts to her lower belly, but stopped his mouth there.

"You can go on," panted Ilene.

Llacheu stopped all movement. "Go on? You mean, you'll let me try to please you, um, orally? I want to make sure that's what you're saying."

"That's what I want. Do you want to try it?"

"Hell yes, Ilene. You have no idea how much."

While taking a quick moment to thank the heavens for this opportunity, Llacheu scooted down the bed and positioned his head between Ilene's legs. He spread her open with his thumbs, just as he'd recalled one of the knights had mentioned during one of his long and explicit stories. And with that first long lick against her hot and salty flesh, Llacheu understood how and why so many men loved doing this. Everything about performing this act was sensual and provocative. The heat of Ilene's skin, the way she trembled with each stroke of his tongue, and her moans of pleasure were exhilarating.

He figured out what he was supposed to do pretty quickly, swirling his tongue around Ilene's sensitive spot, then worshipping it with long, hard licks. Within a minute or two, Ilene clutched his shoulders, digging her fingers into his skin. Her breathing was rapid and she gasped over and over. Trembling, she yielded to her orgasm and climaxed with a near-scream. There was no question: that was definitely an orgasm, and he wanted to give her a hundred more. That day.

After taking a few deep breaths, Ilene gave Llacheu a questioning look as he moved up the bed and eased onto the pillow next to her.

"I think you're lying," she said in a playful tone, running her thumb against his lower lip.

"About what?"

"I think you've done that before."

"Please," he said, kissing her thumb. "My total inexperience wasn't obvious?"

"No. You were wonderful."

Llacheu took her hand and placed it against his chest. "I would be happy to do that again any time, whenever you want, as often as you want."

Ilene placed his hands against her breasts again, and Llacheu was rock-hard the second he touched her skin. "Can I try to do it to you?"

He sat right up. "Try what?"

"Try oral on _you_."

It took Llacheu a moment to shake off his surprise. "Sure. I mean, yes, if you want to try it. But don't feel as if you have to. I can take care of things myself, if need be."

"Hmmm," said Ilene, sounding intrigued. "Can you show me a little of that first?"

Dear Lord, Llacheu was nervous about this. "Um, I can."

Ilene was still semi-reclined, but she turned onto her side to watch more closely. Llacheu went up to his knees and wrapped his hand around his erection. He moved his hand slowly without gripping too hard, which wasn't how he normally handled himself, but he didn't want a repeat of what had happened earlier when he'd climaxed in an instant. Llacheu willed himself to remain silent, but masturbating in front of Ilene while her breasts were out, knowing what she was about to do to him made him moan. When Ilene moved forward and unexpectedly wrapped her mouth around the head of his cock, he gave a loud gasp. She drew back for a moment.

"Can you hold onto yourself while I move my mouth?" she asked, her eyes dark with desire.

"Yeah. That sounds good."

When Ilene's warm mouth wrapped around his throbbing erection again, Llacheu worried he might fall over. The way she teased with her tongue and sucked with abandon made him see stars. He couldn't imagine that intercourse was better than this. If it was, he might not survive.

Llacheu worked the base of his cock a little as Ilene tightened her mouth around him; she lavished attention on his erection with more enthusiasm than ever. Seized with pleasure, Llacheu issued a warning.

"Ilene, fuck, I'm 'bout to come…"

"Good, do it right here," she said, breaking off for an instant, then accepting his seed into her mouth. She withdrew and Llacheu fell onto his back with a grunt.

"I love you Ilene," he uttered in his sated condition. "I'm telling you right now, I love you." He pulled up his drawers and sat upright again. "And it's not because of what you just did. I've loved you for a long time."

With a sharp exhalation, Ilene sat up and laced up the front of her dress. "I… It's not the time for me to tell you how I feel. But my feelings for you are very strong. I'm just not ready to say the words yet."

Llacheu took her hand. "I don't care how long it takes. I'm here and I love you, and now you know."

"Yes," she said with a nod of her head. "And I wouldn't have wanted to do this with anyone else."

"Same here, Ilene."

Ilene rose from the bed and adjusted her clothing. "We'd better get back to our quarters before someone finds we're missing."

"Yes, I suppose we should."

Llacheu stood and reached for Ilene one more time, kissing her deeply. "See you for tutoring tomorrow."

They exited the chamber, Llacheu returning to his room and Ilene going to hers.

The prince hated the thought of being away from her for the rest of the night. He wanted to hold Ilene in his arms so badly, his heart ached.


	55. Chapter 54 How Can You do This?

**A/N - Llacheu is quite the young man, isn't he? He really stepped-up and was there for a struggling Taran. As I mentioned, I'm working on a separate, non-fanfiction book about Taran. If anyone is interested in it (it won't be done for a while), let me know!**

**And yes, that was quite the sexy scene between Llacheu and Ilene. When will they "seal the deal," so to speak?**

**During chapter 54, Ilene drops a bit of a bombshell on Llacheu, and he is none too pleased. Their relationship is going to change significantly after this. We will also see more of Amr and Gawain. We will also see a darker, angrier side of Llacheu. After this chapter, we're going to a new place for a short time. I hope you like it. **

**I can't believe I'm writing this: TWO (gasp!) chapters to go now and the epilogue! I am so honored to have had the opportunity to bring King Arthur's children and the knights' children to "life." My heart feels less sore knowing their lives and love continued on after Camlann. **

**Once again, thank you for reading, commenting, reviewing, or PM-ing me. You've been wonderful, my readers. Thank you for taking this journey with me and these much-loved characters. **

Chapter 54 – How Can You do This?

Focusing on Greek tutoring from that point forward was difficult for Llacheu. Any time he saw Ilene or even thought of her, he wanted nothing more than to strip her bare and pleasure her again. And _be_ pleasured by her, too.

For the next several weeks, after each lesson, Llacheu pulled a willing Ilene into the chamber attached to the study, and every session ended with them engaging in some serious kissing, touching and more. When Ilene had her courses, she still pleasured Llacheu.

"You don't mind doing it?" he asked.

She shook her head and smiled. "No, I love doing it."

"You're good at it, that's for sure," said Llacheu, pinching Ilene's rear in jest. "And I will make it up to you."

A little more than a month after their first night together, the two met up late in the evening in the chamber next to the study. Ilene had told Llacheu she wanted to talk. She asked him to sit on the bed and held his hand.

"I think we should do it," she said. "Have sex."

He studied her. "I'd hate to turn down the offer, but I wonder why the sudden declaration." Llacheu sensed something was off. Ilene wouldn't look at him and he was growing nervous.

Finally, she glanced up at him. "I'm leaving for Anglesey."

"I know. Months from now."

"No. The day after tomorrow."

Feeling as if the floor had dropped out from beneath him, Llacheu's mouth popped open. He tried to focus on Ilene's words. She said something about how she'd received word from the scholars in Anglesey yesterday, and they needed to get started on their teaching and translating sooner than later. Their project was time-sensitive and they needed to begin right away.

_It's all right_, Llacheu thought to himself. _It's three months. We can handle this._

But in the middle of Ilene's explanation, when Llacheu heard the words "six months," he pulled himself together and asked for clarification.

"I'm sorry, wait, did I mishear?" he asked. "Did you say you'll be gone for half a year?"

"Yes," Ilene confirmed. "I wanted to tell you as soon as I knew –"

"No," barked Llacheu. "No, you cannot do this. You can't take off and leave me like this."

Ilene scowled. "I made a commitment, Llacheu, and I intend to keep it."

"Yes, you made a commitment of three months, not six."

Now Ilene was growing angry. Her face was flushed and she narrowed her eyes. "I understand that the timeframe has changed, but what of you? You have missions and you could be gone for half a year easily, and possibly years."

Llacheu shook his head back and forth so fast he realized he probably looked like an enraged lunatic. "No, that is not the same. That's for the safety of the kingdom –"

"Just because this isn't 'for the safety of the kingdom' doesn't mean it's unimportant. This is serious work and it needs to be done. I mean to go and I will go. We can still maintain our relationship from a distance –"

That was it. Llacheu lost his resolve to remain calm and collected. He dropped Ilene's hand and jumped to his feet, ranting like he never had before.

"This is fucking unbelievable," he bellowed. "How can you just leave me like this? I don't want a relationship from a distance! I want you here, by my side, in Camelot."

Ilene appeared stunned. "I care for you, but I will not give up my dreams because you demand it. I've seen too many women give up too much for their men."

"You are so obsessed with other women and what they've given up. No one is asking you to give up anything! Just shorten the time is all, back to your original plan of three months." He felt a hot wave of anger swelling in his chest. "Is it so bad that I love you and want you here? Does that make me a bad person?"

She peered down at the floor and said nothing.

"You've no answer to that?" shouted Llacheu, now seething, keeping his hands at his sides so he didn't lash out and strike something. Before Ilene could open her mouth to answer, Llacheu said, "I forbid it! I forbid you to go!"

Now on her feet, Ilene looked horrified and furious. "You cannot forbid me! Who do you think you are?"

"You're right, Ilene, I have no voice in this relationship. I can't take it anymore," growled Llacheu, pacing next to the bed, gesturing wildly. "All this time we've done what you wanted and at your pace. Hardly anyone knows we're a couple because what we have between us isn't important to you, but it's everything to me." He stopped his pacing and glared at Ilene. "I am done waiting for you to feel the same. _Done_."

By the look on her face, Ilene had never expected this. "Fine then," she said, her voice wobbling, obviously trying to hold back tears. "It's over between us. I can focus on –"

"Fucking some man in Anglesey!" roared Llacheu so loud that spit flew from his mouth and hit Ilene's cheek. "That's what you want, isn't it? To fuck as many men as possible?"

She wiped away the spittle and ran from the room.

Llacheu stood stock-still for several moments. "Fucking fuck!" he bellowed, then chased after Ilene.

She must have moved fast, because by the time he'd caught up with her, she was most of the way down the stairs. "Please wait!" Llacheu called after her, but she didn't turn. She kept running. And sobbing.

All of this commotion caught the attention of many castle residents. They looked on, and some even followed the two outside.

Once outdoors, Llacheu caught Ilene's arm. "Please, Ilene, wait. What I said back there wasn't true…"

In her anger, she wrenched away her arm. "We are through!" she shouted, as more people stepped outside to watch the spectacle. If people hadn't known Llacheu and Ilene were a couple before, they did now. "I'll see you around Camelot when I next visit. Have a good life, _sire_." She stormed off toward the tavern, and Llacheu followed.

"Ilene, this isn't fair. Please talk to me."

She spun around on her heel, her light brown eyes burning with ire. "I don't want to hear anything more from you. You've proven yourself to be just like other men and I'll not have it. The time for words is done. Do not follow, me, I warn you!" She walked away, never turning to look back.

Llacheu wanted to rush after her, to force her to hear him and believe him. Instead, he turned and walked back toward the castle, but he looked over his shoulder one last time.

"You're breaking my heart," he whispered, but Ilene never heard. Llacheu fell against the stone wall surrounding the castle and slid to the ground.

"All right you damn petty gossips!" a voice shouted out. "Back to whatever it is you were doing before you decided to be a bunch of rumormongers. Away with you."

That voice was Amr's, who arrived right at Llacheu's side after he'd run off the curious onlookers. Amr dropped down and put his arm around his brother.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" asked Amr. "Or back inside?"

With a wounded look in his eyes, Llacheu turned to face his younger brother. "I'm going back to my quarters. And I'm going to drink. Future kings don't cry in public, Amr. They get fucking drunk. Alone."

"Fair enough. I'll walk with you. But I'll check on you in an hour to see how you're holding up, because I'm your brother, and while I may be a right pain in your royal arse, I do love and respect you. But you'll never hear me say that again," said Amr with a grin.

Amr walked with his brother back into the castle, glowering at anyone who dared to stare at Llacheu. When two young courtiers giggled at a miserable-looking Llacheu, Amr shouted at them to stop being "little witches," and they blanched and ran off.

Once the brothers had settled into Llacheu's room, Amr told his older sibling he shouldn't drink too much. Llacheu thanked Amr for his help, yet the second Amr left, Llacheu popped open a jug of mead he kept stashed in his wardrobe. Llacheu had hoped to share it with Ilene.

"The absolute irony," he mumbled to himself before taking such a long swig of alcohol his stomach turned.

XXXX

While Llacheu sucked down mead, Amr went to his family's quarters and waited. Sure, Llacheu deserved to drink away his sorrows for a little while. But Amr had seen a look of deep despair in his brother's eyes, and knew it was unwise to leave him alone for too long. Within the hour, he'd check on him again, probably with Sir Gwaine; the older knight would know how to handle the situation. Good thing Gwaine was patrolling the castle this evening.

A short while later, Amr felt he could no longer wait to check on Llacheu. He had to locate Sir Gwaine, explain the situation, then bring the man along to his brother's quarters. That would take some time, so he set out. After inquiring with a few guards about Sir Gwaine's whereabouts, Amr found the knight in the armory, hanging up his armor.

"What brings you here, Amr?" asked Gwaine. "You have a serious look on your face. Something must be pretty damn wrong."

"Something is wrong. It's Llacheu…" Amr explained what happened between Llacheu and Ilene, and how miserable and desperate Llacheu had looked.

After having listened closely to Amr's story, Gwaine pulled his fresh tunic over his head. "I'm glad you came to get me. When you have a hunch something's about to go wrong, it usually does." He slipped into his jacket. "Let's go. And for now, we'll keep your father out of this."

They left the armory for Llacheu's chambers.

"How long's he been alone?" asked Gwaine.

"I don't know. Less than an hour. You don't think he'd do something stupid, do you, Sir Gwaine?"

Now, Amr regretted leaving his brother alone at all.

Gwaine quickened his pace a little. "If stupid means drink himself sick, then yes, but I don't think he'd do anything to hurt himself on purpose. However, he's not much of a drinker, so we'd get moving."

Amr and Gwaine jogged along and arrived at Llacheu's quarters. As luck would have it, Llacheu had never bolted his door, so the men pushed their way inside. Llacheu had his head down on his small dining table, groaning; his empty mead jug had shattered on the floor beside him.

"Damn," said Gwaine, rushing to Llacheu's side and lifting up the older prince's head. "That's way too much mead to drink in such a short amount of time." Gwaine slapped Llacheu's face lightly. "Come on, Llacheu. Wake up."

Llacheu never opened his eyes, however; when Gwaine tried to move the prince to the bed, Llacheu threw up all over himself and Gwaine.

"Amr, get me some water, will you?" asked Gwaine, holding onto the vomit-covered prince.

Amr rushed out and returned moments later with a bucket and ladle. Gwaine splashed some of the cold water onto Llacheu's pale face, but the young man didn't stir. The older knight turned to Amr with a look of alarm on his face. "Get Christiane," he ordered.

In a panic, Amr ran to the infirmary, chastising himself for having left Llacheu alone at all. He and Llacheu fought, it was true, but that was only because they loved one another. Life without Llacheu was unthinkable. Amr reached the infirmary and charged in without pausing to knock.

"Christiane," he panted, grateful to find her sitting at the workbench, otherwise unoccupied with patients. "My brother's in his quarters. He drank too much and he won't wake…"

Christiane jumped to her feet and began to gather supplies. "Is anyone with him right now?"

"Yes. Sir Gwaine."

"And is there fresh water in his quarters?"

"I fetched some. Please hurry," begged Amr.

After tossing a few bottles into her basket, Christiane rushed off with Amr. When they arrived at Llacheu's chamber, the healer took charge.

"Let's have a look," she said, dropping to the floor next to Gwaine, who was cradling a deathly-pale and sick-covered Llacheu in his arms.

"I think this is bad," mumbled Gwaine. "He drank far too much too fast."

Christiane pulled open Llacheu's eyelids and took a quick look, then pressed her ear to his chest. "His heart rate is a little fast, but his breathing sounds fine. Give me a moment." She rose and retrieved a thin glass phial from her basket, pulled out the stopper, and knelt down next to Llacheu again, waving the phial beneath his nose. Llacheu coughed and retched, then opened his eyes.

"What the hell?" mumbled Llacheu.

From a few feet away, Amr sighed in relief. "Thank God you're all right."

"I don't feel all right," croaked the older prince. "What's going on?" He looked up at Gwaine. "Why am I on the floor with you holding me like a baby?" Sniffing the air, he grimaced. "And why do I smell like vomit?"

"Because you coped with being jilted by getting pissed beyond belief," offered Amr.

"Let's get you changed and into bed," Christiane interrupted. "You're to sip water and consume ten drops of this tincture of fennel and peppermint each hour." She helped Gwaine and Amr hoist up the prince, but turned away and fussed with her basket as the men helped the prince change clothes and eased him into bed.

"You're likely to get sick again," warned Christiane, "so I want someone to stay with you all night and come get me if you feel worse. I'll be in the infirmary." She gave Llacheu a sympathetic smile. "I know it's tempting to drink away a broken heart, but what you did was dangerous."

Llacheu sank back into his pillows and groaned. "Everyone knows."

"I told them all to fuck off," said Amr. "Sorry, Christiane," he added.

She waved away his apology. "I have six children and work in an infirmary. I hear 'fuck' at least ten times per day."

While Christiane gave Llacheu his first dose of the tincture, the prince asked, "You're not going to tell my parents about all this, are you?"

"No," she assured him. "But please promise me you won't do this again."

Llacheu grew a shade paler. "Never again." He turned to his brother and Gwaine. "And Gwaine? Amr? You won't say anything, will you?"

Amr and Gwaine assured the prince they'd keep this episode quiet.

Christiane left, and Gwaine and Amr spent the night with Llacheu, taking turns waking him to feed him water and tincture. In the morning, a pained Llacheu thanked them for their help, but told them he never wanted to discuss this night or Ilene again.

XXXX

It was three days since Ilene had left for Anglesey with her father escorting her, and Llacheu had never told her goodbye. Llacheu knew his ongoing stomach ache wasn't from his night of excess drinking, and it matched the unyielding ache in his heart. Even though the weather was bright and warm, to him, everything looked dull and grey. The world seemed almost crooked, off-kilter, as if nothing made sense without Ilene. The missing her was torture.

While most people knew why Llacheu looked pale and somber, no one spoke of his heartache, not even his own parents. Not until after a council meeting, that is.

King Arthur had gathered his knights in the council chamber and was talking about some matter of state – Llacheu was too busy picking at a deep scratch on the round table to listen – then called for a break. The other men stood and socialized while Llacheu sat there with a blank expression on his face. But one discussion right behind him caught his attention. One of the new, younger knights (Llacheu couldn't recall his name) spoke to Wallace.

"A few days ago, I'd gotten lost on patrol, but I saw a gorgeous woman sunbathing by the creek," said the knight, leaning in, his voice low. "She was stark naked. And she had these long legs and the best tits I've ever seen. You'll never guess who it was."

"All right, who was it?" asked Wallace, sounding as if he didn't care at all.

"It was the knight commander's daughter," muttered the young knight, "the oldest one, that one with the curly, dark hair? Man, I'd like to suck on those tits and sink my cock into that tight little –"

Wallace had tried to silence the knight, but it was too late. Without a word, Llacheu leapt out of his chair, sending it skidding across the room and crashing into the wall. The prince then tackled the new knight and got in a couple of solid punches. However, with so many knights around, the fight was broken up instantly. But Llacheu was like a wild man, shouting and straining against Wallace, Percy, and Gwaine, who held him back.

"I will fucking kill you if you speak of her like that again!" roared Llacheu, purple faced with rage as the three men struggled to hold him back.

"I'm sorry," apologized the dazed and battered young knight, who had to be helped to his feet by several men. "I didn't know she was your lady…"

A calm Arthur walked up to Llacheu. "This meeting is dismissed," he announced to the room, then took his son's arm and led him away.

Arthur remained silent until he and Llacheu entered Arthur's private quarters. The king asked his son to take a seat. Llacheu sat down and burst right into hot, miserable tears.

"I might as well be a woman. Lord knows I cry like one," sobbed Llacheu. "I'm not fit to be a king, now or ever. I'm not even fit to have a lady friend. Men don't cry, and certainly not kings…"

Arthur dragged a chair next to his son and put his arm around him. "Rubbish. I've shed more tears in private than I care to count."

"Over a woman?" asked Llacheu, sniffling.

"Over your mum, yes. Several times. Kings cry, Llacheu. Real men feel pain. And if they tell you they don't, they're lying to you or to themselves."

Grateful for his father's confession and wise words, Llacheu chose to tell the king how he felt. He'd understand.

"I'm in love with Ilene, Father. And I think she might have loved me a little in return. She wanted to keep things quiet, and I respected that. But then she told me she was leaving for Anglesey and she'd be there for six months and not three, and I lost it. The whole time we were together, she told me her biggest worry was that a man wouldn't support her and would try to hold her back, and in the end, that's exactly what I did." He gulped and looked at his father. "I said awful things to her. When I tried to go after her, she wouldn't listen. Now she's gone and I never said goodbye. One of the last thing she said to me was: 'I'll see you around Camelot when I next visit. Have a good life, _sire_.' I can't get those words out of my head."

King Arthur dropped his arm from around his son's shoulders. "I see. Do you think she's worth fighting for?"

"She's everything to me."

Understanding flashed in Llacheu's eyes, and he knew right away what he needed to do. The prince stood so fast his chair toppled over. "I must go after her. Even without your permission, I have to go. Not to force her home, but to tell her how I feel. And to say I'm sorry."

"I won't stop you," said Arthur. "But I ask you bring a man to accompany you. And if you'd make a quick visit to our northern border on the way home, I'd appreciate it."

In a rush, Llacheu ran forth and hugged his still-seated father. "I will, Father, thank you. I'll leave first thing in the morning. Is it all right if I take Percy with me?"

"Yes. He's a good choice."

Now in lighter spirits and feeling hopeful for the first time in many days, Llacheu sought out Percy and asked him to ride to Anglesey with him.

"That's fine by me," Percy told his friend while standing out on the training field, packing up his equipment. "We should be there and back in what, two weeks?"

"That sounds about right," said Llacheu. "I want to get you back to your wife as soon as I can."

"Please, Anna will be happy to be rid of me for a time. She's accusing me of hovering and mollycoddling. But the woman's pregnant; what am I to do? Of course I'm concerned. Anyway, I'll be ready to leave at dawn." Percy extended his arm, and the men shook on it. "And Llacheu, I fucked things up pretty badly with Anna once, and now we're happier than ever. Don't lose hope."

XXXX

Llacheu spent the afternoon making preparations for his trip. He knew Ilene might not receive him well, and she might not even receive him at all, but he had to try. He loved Ilene, and deep in his heart, he knew she loved him back. When they touched, he felt a hot spark of attraction between them and he could see the love in Ilene's warm gaze. She might not have said the words yet, but he knew it was true. Ilene was just scared and Llacheu had pushed her too hard. That, and Llacheu had been a royal prick just before she left.

Now, he was going to go tell her he'd accept her as she was. If she wanted to travel all over the world, that was fine. He'd travel with her as much as he could. As long as she was his when back in Camelot, that's all he needed. As his wife, she'd have her own life, too.

Yes, Llacheu was going to ask her to marry him. If she was willing to see him.

Before supper, Llacheu asked to have a word with the young knight he'd assaulted earlier in the day. The poor man had a fat lip, and the prince felt bad. Llacheu apologized, and the knight accepted his apology with grace.

"I'd have done the same if someone spoke of my woman that way. If I had a woman," said the knight with a quiet chuckle. "I understand. You were in the right."

"I appreciate your understanding. Yet I'm embarrassed to say I don't know your name."

"It's Degore, my lord."

The two men sat next to each other during supper and made friendly conversation. Llacheu thought it was funny that a couple of punches might have been the catalyst for a friendship. It was odd how things worked out sometimes.

After the meal, Llacheu went to say goodbye to his family, since he needed to get to bed early that night. Amr was upset that Llacheu wasn't taking him along, but the older brother said not to take it personally.

"You're in charge for the next couple of weeks, Amr. We can't have both princes traveling together right now. Next time, though, you'll come with me. But while I'm gone, give the knights hell during training, all right?"

Wenda flung her arms around her brother and cried. She told Llacheu she'd miss him, but informed him he should bring her back a good present. Llacheu and King Arthur embraced one last time, and Guinevere asked to have a few minutes alone with her oldest son. The rest of the family agreed and left them together in the solar.

Guinevere kissed Llacheu on the cheek. "I know you're too old for that, but as your mother, I'll always worry. You'll travel safely, won't you? Take breaks and rest as you need."

"Of course, Mum. I don't want to turn up in Anglesey looking like a disheveled rat."

"No, that wouldn't do," said Guinevere with a smile for her firstborn. "But before you go, I have something for you." The queen unclasped her silver bracelet and removed a ring that had been secured on it. "Here," she said, handing the piece of jewelry to Llacheu. "Your father gave me this ring before we were married, when he made me the promise that one day I would be his queen. It's not a fancy piece, I'm afraid, but it has great meaning to me and I had always hoped one of my sons would pass it along to his true love."

Llacheu studied the ring. The band was made of thick silver and had a large, round, clear piece of glass situated in the center with some greenery embedded in it. "What's that in the middle of the glass?"

"It's moss from a rock in the castle garden. Your father told me no matter where our lives took us, I would have part of Camelot with me forever."

"It's perfect," whispered Llacheu. "This is just what she needs. And you're sure you want to part with this, Mum? It must be very special to you."

"I'm positive." Guinevere kissed her son's cheek once again. "Good luck, my Llacheu, and safe travels to you."


	56. Chapter 55 Return to Me

**A/N - All right, I'll confess – I'm becoming super-emotional over the fact that there's only ONE more chapter after this, and the epilogue! I just can't believe it. These characters live inside my head and heart, and saying a goodbye of sorts is tough. Is it ridiculous to become this emotionally attached? Perhaps, but that doesn't change how I feel!**

**During chapter 54, we saw Ilene leave for Anglesey (a small island just off the northwest coast of Wales), and she and Llacheu have split up. As we saw, he's devastated by the separation and is not coping well. But thanks to Arthur's support and encouragement, he's off to apologize to Ilene, tell her how much he loves her, AND propose! But is he too late?**

**Much of this chapter takes places on the island of Anglesey. Llacheu travels there with Percy, and we will meet Ilene's new colleague and friend, a man. **

**Once again, readers, thank you for taking the time to read this long tale. I appreciate the fact that with so many amazing fanfiction works out there, you have chosen to read this one. And I am thrilled that I have picked up a couple of new followers, even now! Welcome, RoxyMoxy7625 and izzieguerrero96. **

Chapter 55 – Return to Me

"With any luck, it'll rain even harder," said Percy with a scowl, sounding sarcastic and cranky. And sure enough, the heavens opened up and a torrent of rain beat down on Percy, Llacheu, and their horses as they rode.

Yet even with the soaking deluge, Llacheu laughed. "Let it pour!" he proclaimed. "Nothing could get me down today."

This was the second day of their journey to Anglesey and it was even wetter and colder than the previous day.

"Why did I agree to this trip again?" asked Percy, soaked and frustrated. "Can we please, please stop at that big tavern in Dyred? I beg you. I need rest, a load of food, and nice, dry clothing. I'm shriveled."

Llacheu wanted to press on, but he knew Percy was doing him a huge favor by traveling with him. His friend was getting nothing out of it but drenching rains and aggravation, so he agreed they'd stop once they reached town.

"Yes, we'll stop. But if the weather's good tomorrow, I want to make up the time," said Llacheu.

Percy exhaled an audible sigh of relief. "Thanks. And I want to get to Anglesey quickly, too. I'm going to eat a cart full of fresh oysters once we arrive, just you watch. Hell, I might dive into the sea for them! Did you know they serve them with a spicy sauce? It's not like anything we have at home." He smacked his lips together. "My mouth's watering at the mere thought."

Two hours later, Llacheu and Percy settled in at a table in the clean and spacious tavern. The men ordered beef stew and a basket of bread. Percy ate three heaping bowls full of meaty stew and four loaves before he was satisfied.

"Damn, I thought I could eat," observed Llacheu, polishing off his second bowl.

Swallowing his last bite, Percy laughed. "When you're one of the tallest men in the kingdom, you require as much food as a war horse." He leaned back in his chair and sighed with contentment. "If Anna and I have a girl, I hope she doesn't inherit my size. Or my appetite."

"We'll hope she looks like her mum." Llacheu leaned back in his chair also, nursing his ale. "And how does it feel? Knowing you're to become a father?"

"Ah, it's the best feeling in the world. There was a time when I thought I'd lost Anna for good. Those were damn dark days. But now, knowing we have a child on the way makes me feel closer to her than ever. That we'll have this little person walking around who's part of us is just amazing." Percy took a long drink. "I sound like a sentimental woman, don't I? Should I get drunk or pick a fight to prove my strength and manliness?"

"I think the fact you have a wife at home who's pregnant proves your masculinity well enough."

A serving girl approached the table and removed the dirty plates, then refilled the men's tankards of ale. Llacheu took a sip of the fresh beverage.

"Can I ask you something personal, Percy?"

"As long as it's not about how I whined about the rain, sure."

"When you and Anna weren't together," Llacheu stared into his tankard, "did you ever cry about it?"

Percy let out a hearty, booming laugh before answering. "You have no idea! I was a complete mess and sobbed like a babe every night. I know everyone in my family heard me. My mum was probably ready to chain me up in a room like a mad person."

Percy's frank declaration made Llacheu feel much better about his own behavior. "Good to know I'm not the only one. Thanks for being honest, mate. Should we see about getting a room?"

XXXX

Llacheu and Percy had been good friends before this trip, but their travels had brought them even closer. Percy was a good listener and gave honest and thoughtful advice. Llacheu was grateful for his friend's understanding and companionship.

Two days after their stop in Dyred, late in the afternoon, the men approached the stables at the ferry port. Percy confessed that he had trouble with seasickness, and even the short ride to the island was likely to make him ill.

The men handed over their horses and boarded the tiny ferry boat on the overcast and windy day. And sure enough, Percy spent the ride to the island of Anglesey alternating between heaving over the side of the boat and resting his head against his forearms. Llacheu fed him small sips of water and assured him the ride would be over soon. The prince thought one day, he'd make a big gesture to thank Percy. The fact that the man had left his pregnant wife and faced nauseating seasickness all to accompany Llacheu on what many would consider an unnecessary trip meant a great deal to the prince. Percy wasn't full of bravado, and he was usually even-tempered and a dedicated, hard worker. He'd make a great knight commander. Perhaps one day.

The moment Percy and Llacheu stepped off the boat, Percy looked less drawn and miserable. "Thank goodness I have to do that only one more time." Percy took a long pull of his waterskin, then swished the water around his mouth and spit it out. "I'm hungry again…"

"Of course you are," said Llacheu with a smile.

Percy withdrew a faded map from his jacket and studied it. "My appetite can wait. We need to get ourselves new horses, and according to the map, it looks like we should reach Ilene's town within the hour."

Now Llacheu was nervous, and the apprehension showed on his face.

"All right, one final piece of my much-loved advice," said Percy, as they reached the stables to speak with the hackney man and select their horses. "Just tell Ilene everything. Be open and honest about how you feel. Don't hold back. I know it's a risk, but if you want her back, she needs to know the truth and depth of your feelings."

Llacheu paused in front of the stable and stared at his friend. "When did you become the philosopher?"

With a playful shove, Percy said, "Don't be a royal arse!"

Following some negotiating with the surly hackney man, Llacheu and Percy set off for a small seaside village an hour south of them called Awel y Môr.

For the first time since they'd started their journey, the day was dry and the men made good time. They reached the quaint village at dusk and asked around for Ilene. Their first stop was the local tavern, built out of stone and covered in moss. It was damp and chilly inside, even though it was now early summer and a fire burned in the substantial hearth.

The handful of tables were all taken up by patrons, and Percy and Llacheu stood in the doorway as everyone turned to gape at the two strangers. People tended to stare long and hard at Percy anyway, due to his size, and this time was no different. After the two young men stood around uncomfortably for several minutes, an older, plump woman with stark-white hair emerged from the kitchen area and approached them. She wiped off her hands on her worn apron.

"My, what handsome young men we have here!" said the woman, a bright smile lighting up her weathered and wrinkled face. She eyed Percy up and down. "And you're a strapping man aren't you? What can I help you boys with? Are you waiting for a table? You can sit at the bar for now, if you'd like. Are you boys hungry or looking for a drink?"

Llacheu stepped toward the woman and bowed. "Madam, we're looking for a young woman. She would have arrived here a few days ago. She's the new Greek language teacher and translator ––"

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed the plump old woman, clapping her hands. "That gorgeous thing has eaten here a few times. I just adore her! We don't get too many newcomers here, and this is all very exciting. Please let me introduce you to some people here…"

Llacheu really wanted to see Ilene right away, but he knew he needed to be pleasant and cordial with the villagers. Once he introduced himself as the Prince of Camelot and told the woman Percy was a knight, he thought she might faint. The woman fanned herself and gripped a table. Percy held onto her and she swooned further.

"Please, we're not that special," said Percy with a winning smile.

The woman nearly fell into his arms. "I can't wait to tell everyone I know a prince and a knight were in my tavern. And the knight held me! This is amazing."

Once Percy and Llacheu had assured her they were no more than ordinary men, and after the tavern owner had introduced them to every single patron (twice), the woman finally gave up information about how to find Ilene.

"She's staying with the family who lives down the lane, the last house on the right. She has her own small room and everything. But I know she spends some time at the inn some evenings, studying with Carrig. He's one of the scholars who came from Scotia."

Instantly, Percy turned to face Llacheu, whose mouth was now set in a grim line. "I think we'll be on our way to find her, then," said Percy, ushering Llacheu out the door. The woman called after them and encouraged them to come back later for a late-night supper, but they didn't answer.

"Carrig?" groaned Llacheu, once he and Percy had emerged into the humid yet cool evening air. "Ilene's been here less than a week and she's spending time in a room with a man, alone, at night? You know what that means." He rubbed his unshaven face as they walked. "Let's bypass that family's home. I'm sure we'll find Ilene at the inn. With that man."

"It might not be what you think. You know these scholarly types. They can be sort of weird," said Percy. "I doubt there's anything improper going on."

Llacheu didn't believe that for a second. In his mind's eye, he saw an image of a handsome, older, worldly man tearing off Ilene's dress, tossing her onto a bed, and shoving his huge cock into her. The thought was so horrifying, Llacheu groaned.

"You all right?" asked Percy.

Llacheu picked up the pace of his steps. "Fine. Let's hurry."

Since the village was so small, it took no more than a few turns to reach the pleasant yet sturdy-looking brick inn situated a short distance from the sea. Percy and Llacheu entered the building, and asked the burly innkeeper if they might find an Ilene or Carrig.

"I'm not supposed to give out that information," the man insisted, his voice deep and serious. "I want to protect my customers from people who might want to do them harm." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"I need to speak with Ilene," Llacheu told the man. "My knight and I traveled all the way from Camelot. It's an urgent issue. Can you please just tell me if she's here?"

"I'll do nothing of the sort."

Percy glanced over at the prince. "Llacheu…" warned Percy.

But it was too late. Llacheu dashed for the stairs and ascended them two steps at a time. Reaching the top landing, he rushed toward the only two rooms with their doors closed, both of which were situated at the very end of the hallway.

"Get back here!" bellowed the innkeeper, but Percy held the man back.

"I promise, he means no harm," said Percy. "He came to see his woman is all. Once he's spoken to her, we'll take our leave, I swear."

"If he hurts her…"

"That will never happen," Percy assured the man, still holding him back. "That's Prince Llacheu of Camelot. He loves Ilene. Can I let you go now?"

The man shook him off. "I suppose. But if there is a whisper of trouble, I will round up men and have the two of you taken to our elder. I don't care who you are."

"I'm Sir Percy Martel…" he extended his muscled arm in greeting.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Llacheu knocked on the first closed door he reached. An elderly woman clad her dressing gown answered and screamed.

Llacheu held up his hands. "I'm so sorry. Wrong room. I didn't mean to disturb you." The old woman slammed the door in his face.

That left one more door for Llacheu to try. He just knew Ilene was in there with this man. He could sense it, and he was terrified of what he might find. The prince stood in front of the door and listened before knocking. He heard the laugh he knew so well, Ilene's light, happy chuckle. Then he heard a man's deep voice, and Ilene laughed some more. Llacheu summoned his nerve and knocked.

A clean-shaven man with an average build and short brown hair answered the door. He looked about thirty years old. The man was dressed, but his shirt was mostly untied and he wore no shoes.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Llacheu forced himself not to strike the man straight off. "I am here for Ilene."

"She didn't mention any visitors. Who are you?" asked the man, wrinkling his nose, appearing sour-faced and put-out.

"Are you Carrig?" asked Llacheu through clenched teeth. He felt his patience waning.

The man straightened and lifted his chin. "I am. What is this all about?"

Llacheu couldn't stand it anymore and he pushed his way inside. And there he found Ilene, also shoeless, but dressed, sitting at the lantern-lit desk with a massive, dusty tome open before her. Her mouth dropped open with absolute shock at the sight of Llacheu.

Carrig grabbed Llacheu's shoulder. "I insist that you leave! This is my room, you can't muscle your way in and do whatever you want. Who do you think you are?"

Furious about being grabbed by this man and desperate to speak to Ilene in private, Llacheu unsheathed his weapon. Carrig's eyes grew wide with fear and he leapt back. Llacheu pressed the tip of his sword against Carrig's chest. "I am Prince Llacheu of Camelot, and I am here to speak with the woman I love. Now get. The fuck. Out!"

"Llacheu, really, this is unnecessary," said Ilene, on her feet and grabbing at Llacheu's hand, forcing him to lower his blade.

At the height of the conflict, Percy turned up at the door. "You're Carrig, sir?" he asked kindly, stepping into the room and putting a hand on the man's back.

"Yes," said Carrig, pale and trembling after having had a sword pressed to his chest. "I don't understand what's going on here."

"Come, let's get you a nice, new room for the night, the best available here. I'll explain everything," Percy told Carrig, ushering the man out of the room and closing the door behind him.

Llacheu and Ilene were now alone. And Ilene didn't look pleased.

"Ilene, I'm sorry for turning up unannounced and drawing my sword on your friend. I didn't know what else to do…" said Llacheu, slumping down on the tidy bed. "If you've found someone else I understand. After the way I treated you before you left, I wouldn't blame you."

But if Ilene told him she'd gone to bed with Carrig, he was going to be sick on the spot.

Ilene's face split into a wide grin and she laughed hysterically. Llacheu scowled at her reaction.

"I know I was wrong, but must you laugh at me when I'm hurting so much?" he asked, worried his threatening tears might flow.

Ilene's hands flew to her mouth and she took a seat right next to Llacheu on the bed. "I'm so sorry! I'm not laughing at you or about you. Oh, you couldn't possibly know about Carrig, could you?"

"If you're going to tell me that he's a wonderful man and lover, I'm leaving for Camelot right now."

"No!" said Ilene with another loud laugh. "It's not like that between Carrig and me." She straightened herself and faced Llacheu. "He is a good man, but Carrig is only a friend to me and nothing more; that's all he ever could be. He prefers men." Llacheu shot her a questioning look. "In his bed," she explained. "He has a lover back in Scotia and they've been together for a very long time."

Llacheu had never been so glad in his life to hear that a man was a homosexual. "That is the best news I've heard all year!" He dared to slip his hand into Ilene's. "Would you let me explain why I'm here? Would you be willing to hear me out?"

"I would," Ilene said softly, running her thumb against Llacheu's palm.

"All right. Thank you." Llacheu took a settling breath and looked into her eyes. "I love you, Ilene, and I will take you any way I can get you. If you want to travel and teach, that's fine with me…it truly is. As long as you'll let me come along sometimes and you're mine when you're home, that's all I want. I will never stop you from having what you want and living out your dreams."

Ilene sniffled a little and wiped away a tear. "This dream isn't all I'd hoped it would be," she confessed. "I like it here and I enjoy the work, but I miss home. And I miss you most of all."

"What are you saying?"

"Oh, you know how I feel about you, Llacheu."

"No," he said with a small shake of his head, continuing to look into Ilene's eyes. "I still don't. Never assume someone knows how you feel about them. If you haven't told them, they don't know."

She dropped Llacheu's hand and rose from the bed. "What we have together, our love, makes me happier than anything. Our love is my dream now." Fresh tears ran down her cheeks. "I love you, Llacheu." He reached for her, but she held up her hand. "But I still want to travel and teach each summer. Then I'd be happy remaining home the rest of the year, tutoring students in Camelot."

He stood and wrapped his arms around Ilene, and she buried her head in his chest. "That sounds perfect, Ilene.

"But I think you can take it one step further. I think you should establish a small school once you're home. That would attract people from all over and Camelot would become well known as a place for language and learning."

She gazed up at him. "That is an amazing idea. I love the sound of that."

The two held one another for a good long time, swaying gently as they stood. The lantern had sputtered out, as had several candles. The room was now dim, and Ilene moved to go relight the flames. Llacheu stopped her with a light touch to the shoulder.

"Remember that offer you made before you left?" asked Llacheu, pulling back to look at Ilene. "When you said you wanted to go to bed with me? Do you still?" He was nervous and feared what she might say. It was one thing confess love, but another to agree to hop into bed without sufficient consideration or preparation. But he was so damn desperate to be close to her, to finally share the most intimate act two people can share, he couldn't help but ask.

"I still want that," she said shyly, her eyes averted as she spoke.

Llacheu was thrilled, but nervous. Because after they'd made love, he had something important planned, so he hoped the event wouldn't be a painful disaster for Ilene, as he'd heard it could be for some women their first time.

"Will you stay the night?" she asked. "Here, in this bed?"

This was better than Llacheu had hoped. "I would love to." He released Ilene and moved toward the desk. Facing away from her, he poured two cups of water from the clay pitcher.

"Should we do something else first?" he asked, busy pouring. "I mean, do you want to do it now or later?"

Llacheu turned back around holding the full cups. Once he saw that Ilene had rid herself of her dress and stood there in just her corset and shift, he placed the drinks back down on the wood surface and gulped.

"Thank heaven for front-tie dresses, eh?" said Ilene, sounding nervous. "But I'll need help with the corset."

A flood of desire overwhelmed Llacheu and he moved toward Ilene. "Tonight, I feel like the luckiest man alive." He pressed a long, hot kiss to her mouth. "Other than helping with your corset, what can I do to make this easier for you?"

She chuckled, looking less flushed, and her posture was now more relaxed. "First things first. Let's get undressed."

Llacheu had never realized how long it took to help a woman get undressed. How could they stand going through such an ordeal each and every day?

"Are there knots in this wretched thing?" he asked playfully while seated on the bed with Ilene's back toward him, working the laces through the tiny holes of her corset. He pulled the last lace free and cheered. The corset dropped to the floor and Ilene turned to him. His eyes skimmed her beautiful shape, the curves and pale skin so apparent beneath the feather-light fabric. He pulled her down on top of him.

"I want to touch and kiss you everywhere. I don't even know where to start," said Llacheu.

Lying on top of him, Ilene's hands found the laces of his trousers. "Lose these. And the tunic. Now. I don't want to wait." She rolled off of him so he could get to work disrobing.

Llacheu listened to her demands and stripped as quickly as he could. Once he was bare, he helped Ilene slip out of her shift. He pulled the bed sheets over them and then moved right top of her, his lips brushing the tight peaks of her nipples, his hands everywhere. Though he was in a somewhat-frantic state, he took the time to absorb the little details of Ilene's body: the graceful slope of her shoulder, and the pink flush of desire that crept up from her chest to her cheeks.

As Llacheu's mouth worked Ilene's breasts, teasing every inch with his tongue, Ilene's hands traced the lines of the prince's muscular back and arse. The more he touched and licked, the more she squirmed and moaned. Eventually, she reached down and handled his erection. Llacheu stopped and propped himself up on his elbows.

"Best to leave that part out," he said, breathless, but his tone was light. "I want to last for you…"

"Okay. Then I want to do it now. But can you get something for me first?"

Llacheu stroked her cheek affectionately. "Sure, anything."

"Can you get my hair oil?"

"Hair oil?" he asked with confusion, still on top of Ilene. "You'd like it now?"

She suppressed a chuckle. "It's not for my hair. It's to use on our private areas to make things easier. So it doesn't hurt me as much? It's perfectly safe! It's just almond oil in a fancy little bottle."

"Of course, of course! Where is it?"

"In my sack beneath the desk."

Llacheu disentangled himself from Ilene and the bedclothes and made his way over to the sack. As he rummaged, looking for this little bottle, he felt somewhat insecure standing there naked; he'd been happier under the covers with Ilene. He found what he thought was the oil container and held it up. "This it?"

"No, that's rouge."

After pulling out several more bottles and holding them up for inspection –– none of which were the oil –– Llacheu grew frustrated and he felt his burning desire diminish. But he reminded himself that this oil would make Ilene's experience more comfortable, and he pressed on. He held up a fifth bottle. "This?" he pleaded.

Ilene, still tucked-in nicely, sat up and smiled. "You've found it!"

Grinning, Llacheu returned to the bed and placed the oil down on the bedside table with a dramatic flourish. The moment he eased into the bed once again, Ilene teased him.

"How much work will it take to get you aroused again?" she asked, inching her fingers from Llacheu's bare chest downward.

He grasped her hand and smiled. "Already done." He pulled back the covers to show Ilene that he was, in fact, plenty aroused again. "How could I lie right next to a naked beauty and not be?"

Ilene gazed up at him. "You think I'm a beauty?"

"You are breathtakingly beautiful. You always have been and always will be."

Llacheu rolled on top of her, pressed a deliberate kiss to her mouth, and ran his hands over every inch of soft skin he could reach. Ilene responded by wrapping her legs around his body and caressing him up and down from his neck to his arse.

This went on for several minutes, and every heated stroke of Llacheu's tongue against Ilene's delicious skin made him burn with lust. The need to be inside of her grew like a small fire that had roared to life. He cupped her face.

"Tell me when. Tell me when you're ready."

She answered by reaching across to the nightstand and retrieving the bottle of oil. She pulled the stopper and poured some liquid onto hand and rubbed it onto Llacheu. But due to her shaking hands, she spilled the rest of the bottle's contents onto her lower belly.

"Damn," she whispered.

"Don't worry about that," Llacheu assured her. He smoothed as much spilled oil from her skin onto his hand as he could, and rubbed it between her legs gently. With the bedsheet, he cleaned off the extra liquid from her belly. "There All done." He brushed his lips against the skin where the oil had spilled.

Ilene breathed out a sharp pant.

"What is it?" asked Llacheu.

"I'm just nervous," Ilene explained to him. "I know it's going to hurt."

Llacheu took her face in his hands. "We'll go slow and I'm promise to be very gentle. We have all night, so when you're ready, I'm ready, but not a moment before."

With her hand, Ilene guided Llacheu's erection to her entrance. "Go on," she instructed.

Saying a silent prayer of thanks to any deity who might be listening, Llacheu eased his way into a gloriously tight Ilene one small push at a time. When he broke her barrier, he advanced further than he'd meant to, and Ilene gave a sharp cry.

"I'm so sorry," said Llacheu, moving up onto his elbows. "Are you all right? Does it hurt?"

"Worse than you can possibly imagine," she groaned.

Llacheu felt guilty. "I hate that this hurts you when it feels so good for me. You feel amazing. What can I do?"

A tear escaped Ilene's eye. "Can you, um, lie still and let me be the one to move?"

_God, I sure hope so._ "Of course."

Ilene drew her hips back a touch, then eased them up toward Llacheu slowly. After a short pause, she did this again. And again. Every few times, she'd pull her hips back more than before, then push up and accept more of Llacheu's length. He could feel how he stretched her and hoped her pain would subside soon.

However, remaining still was almost maddening. Llacheu took short, choppy breaths and did nothing more than cup his hands beneath Ilene's shoulders, hoping she'd give him the signal he could move again. After a good few minutes of this, Llacheu realized that Ilene was now moving her hips up and down faster, and she seemed to take in his entire rigid length with more ease. He dared to move within her.

"Oh!" she groaned.

He stopped right away. "That was wrong of me. I'm –"

"That was a good 'oh,'" panted Ilene. "Do more of that. Much more."

He did more. And more and more. Before long, he felt as if he could barely control himself, and Llacheu was thrusting in and out of Ilene with abandon, worshipping her neck with lips and tongue as he moved. Her tight silkiness was overwhelming, and Llacheu was sweating and his heart beat faster than a desperate warrior going in for the kill. Somehow recalling he needed to give Ilene her pleasure first, he reached between them and teased her core with his fingers, still thrusting, but now groaning and panting.

"Oh, that's it," moaned Ilene, arching toward him and tipping her head back on the pillow. She reached up and pulled his face toward hers, locking her lips with Llacheu's, refusing to let him go.

Llacheu felt her legs begin to tremble and knew that was a good sign. Ilene's tongue tangled with Llacheu's furiously, and her feet were now in the air. Other than those first few minutes of pain, this had gone better than he'd ever hoped. He pulled back from the kiss and opened his eyes and watched his beloved woman's expressions, knowing she'd come apart soon.

Ilene opened her eyes a moment later. In a powerful moment of intimacy, Llacheu and Ilene gazed at one another, both absorbed in the sublime feelings of love and passion.

"Llacheu," she uttered before she cried out, her orgasm clamping around him in waves.

He moved within her a little longer. Ilene was so easy to love, and the fact that every glorious inch of her body felt like heaven didn't hurt. And she'd said she loved him, too, which made the sex even better.

Llacheu had wanted to draw-out their lovemaking, to remain buried inside Ilene's silky warmth. But the next instant, Llacheu reached the point of no return and his body went rigid, his cock pulsing within Ilene as he came. He collapsed against her chest, exhausted. But when he heard Ilene's quiet sniffle, he went up on his elbows again.

"Hey, what's all this?" Llacheu wiped away a tear from her cheek. "Are you still hurting? Upset?"

"No," said Ilene. "I'm just grateful to have you here and I love you so much. They're tears of joy. I'm so glad you came to me." She leaned up and kissed him. "And I loved every second of what we just did. All right, perhaps not the first few, but everything after that."

"Good. That's a relief. I don't need to tell you how much I loved it," he said, tugging her hair in jest.

Although he was still positioned on top of Ilene, he leaned over the side of the bed and started to rummage through his clothing that lay on the floor in a pile.

"What are you doing?" asked Ilene, but in that instant, Llacheu had leaned over too far and fell onto the floor with a crash. Ilene sat up. "Are you all right?" She took an instant to wipe herself down with the sheets –– only a few drops of blood were apparent.

Llacheu lay on the ground, cursing, tangled up in his clothing. "Yes, fine, don't worry. I'm just looking for something important…" He pawed through his belongings. "Aha!" He hopped back onto the bed with something closed up tight in his fist, and eased beneath the covers.

"Are you sure you're all right?" asked Ilene. "Mentally?" She burst into laughter.

He gave her cheek a light pinch. "Don't taunt, my little lady. Now, please close your eyes,"

"But I'm still naked!"

"Close them," demanded Llacheu in a mock warning tone.

Ilene complied, and the moment she did, Llacheu slipped his mother's old ring onto her finger. It was a little loose, but that could be fixed. Ilene opened her eyes and gasped. "What's this?"

"I'm asking you to marry me," said Llacheu, settling his weight on top of Ilene once more. "I want you as my wife because you've captured my heart and soul and I love you more than words can express." He took her hand and kissed her knuckles close to the ring. "You'll be a princess, but you'll be my wife first; I'll never forget that. You'll be my partner and equal in all things. I pledge that to you."

Ilene glanced down at the ring and looked back up at Llacheu. "I see. Is there any reason why you're proposing marriage while on top of me?"

"Of course," said Llacheu with a serious face. "It's so you can't escape."

The two laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks. It took some time for them to settle down, but once Ilene had caught her breath, she answered.

"Yes, Llacheu. I would love to be your wife."

They lay in bed, holding hands. First, Llacheu explained the story behind the engagement ring. He offered to get Ilene a different ring, but she insisted she loved this one and adored the idea of having a little piece of Camelot with her no matter where she went.

The two went on to discuss some of the details of their union. Llacheu and Ilene knew Leon would go wild if Ilene married before she turned seventeen. Therefore, they decided they'd wed once Ilene's six months in Anglesey was done and she had returned home. That would mean an early-winter wedding, but Ilene would be seventeen by then, and that would give Guinevere and Alis plenty of time to plan the nuptials, which would no doubt be huge and extravagant, due to the fact Camelot had not seen a royal wedding in over twenty years. Both Ilene and Llacheu would have preferred something smaller and less grandiose, but sometimes, people must make concessions for those they love – and they loved their families and the people of Camelot. After all, it would be a time of feasting and merriment for everyone, and they didn't want to deny people an opportunity to enjoy themselves.

Llacheu and Ilene discussed how they would handle their separation for the next six months. The prince told his fiancée he could return for another two visits, spaced-out. They talked about announcing their engagement, which Llacheu said he would do the moment after he asked Sir Leon for Ilene's hand in marriage. He only hoped Sir Leon wouldn't challenge him to a duel, since Llacheu was asking permission after the fact.

"That might have been a mistake," said Llacheu, "not going to your father first for permission." He grimaced. "To be honest, I was in such a rush to come see you, I didn't even think of it. I hope that doesn't cause a problem."

"Oh, no," said Ilene with a wave of her hand, turning onto her side to face Llacheu. "He'll bluster and bloviate, but in the end, how much can he complain? I mean, I am marrying a prince, aren't I?"

Llacheu grabbed Ilene's face and kissed her. "But I'm still getting the better part of the deal."

The newly-engaged couple was caught up in more kissing, until a rumbling, growling sound reverberated in the room, and Ilene started.

"What _was_ that?" she asked, wide eyed, pulling up the sheets over her chest. "I think there might be a wild animal in the building!"

Llacheu turned a bright shade of red. "Um, no. That'd be my stomach."

"THAT sound was your stomach grumbling?"

The prince pulled down the sheets and patted his firm belly. "Yes, it's a demanding thing. I hope you can get used to that."

"I need to keep that growling monster fed is what I need to do." Ilene rose from bed, plucked her shift from the floor, and slipped it over her head. She crossed the tidy room to a small end table on which a cloth-covered wooden bowl lay. Ilene carried the bowl back over to the bed and placed it down next to a semi-reclining Llacheu.

"Sustenance for the monster," she teased, removing the cloth and revealing a bowl full of bread, cheese, and strawberries.

Llacheu groaned with relief at the sight of the food and his mouth watered. "It's official: today is the best day of my life. No question about it."

He pulled Ilene into the bed next to him, and the two snacked and teased one another. Llacheu convinced Ilene to allow him to eat the last berry off of her belly; however, being ticklish, she flipped around like a madwoman and laughed, squishing the final berry into the sheets. Sticky, bright red strawberry juice now covered the couple, but Llacheu didn't care. He peeled off Ilene's juice-stained shift and licked her skin clean, which led to them making love again, but this time, without haste. Their joining was slow and leisurely, with Llacheu reveling in Ilene's every sweet sigh of surrender. At their joint peak of passion, Ilene uttered, "I love you, Llacheu."

In his ecstasy, Llacheu could not speak, but once his body and mind were back under his control, he told Ilene once again how he felt. "I love you, too," he said, kissing her brow. He told her he loved her a dozen times, and each time, he kissed a different part of her.

Exhausted from the lovemaking and the day's excitement, Ilene and Llacheu passed out dead asleep, tangled up together in a jumble of arms and legs. Llacheu drifted off to sleep feeling nothing but relief, love, and joy. As long as he had his Ilene, all was right with the world.


	57. Chapter 56 Camelot Celebrates

**A/N - I won't get all ridiculously emotional on you just now; I'll save that for my endnote in the epilogue. **

**Here, without further ado, I present the FINAL chapter of _Life and Love in Camelot_. As the title indicates, Camelot celebrates Ilene and Llacheu's wedding. All our beloved characters, new and old, make appearances, and something quite special happens at the end. **

**Next week (if you are reading this as chapters are posted), I will post the epilogue, which takes place at a tournament a little more than ten years after this chapter. **

**And as a parting gift, someone new "favorited" my story! Thanks so much, InsiderDream.**

**Lastly, it has been an honor having you read this – I mean that from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for your kindness and encouragement along the way. I hope this story allowed you to forget the difficulties of real life and escape into fantasy and romance, even if it was just for a little while. **

Chapter 56 – Camelot Celebrates

Extreme thirst woke Llacheu; he felt as if he'd swallowed a pail of hot sand. For the briefest of moments, he forgot where he was. Yet as an uncommonly dazzling summer sun blasted through the window, it all came back to him. He sighed, relieved it hadn't been a dream. Then again, how could it have been, with a warm, sleepy Ilene curled against him? He thought back to that night when he had fantasized about sleeping in the same bed with Ilene on a bright summer morning, and that dream had come true. Except right now, unlike in that fantasy, she was naked. Even better.

However, before he could act on his impulse to bed Ilene again, he needed to quench his burning thirst, check in with Percy, and apologize to Carrig. Besides, Ilene was sleeping so soundly, he hated to wake her. Before he slipped from the bed, he smiled at her. She looked adorable while sleeping, with pink cheeks and a slight smile on her lips.

With the silence of a stealth-moving knight, Llacheu used the chamber pot, gulped down a cup of water, dressed, and exited the room without waking his love. Though he didn't arm himself with his sword, he had his belt-knife, just in case Carrig and the innkeeper were furious at him.

The moment Llacheu stepped out into the corridor, he heard Percy's voice chatting downstairs with the innkeeper. The conversation sounded friendly, which was a relief, and Llacheu ambled down the stairs to face both men. Both Percy and the innkeeper burst into laughter at the sight of the prince.

"What is it?" asked Llacheu with confusion.

"You look like you've tangled with a bear!" Percy blurted out through his laughter. "Your clothing's wrinkled, your hair's sticking straight up, and you look like you slept for about a minute." The knight and innkeeper howled with laughter again, and Llacheu scowled at them. "And what the hell are those red marks all over you? Is that a rash of some sort?"

Llacheu glanced down at his arms. Strawberry juice. "Erm, no, it's –"

Percy waved his hand at Llacheu, cutting him off. "Never mind, never mind. I don't want to know. I assume you want a word with Carrig?"

"Yes, exactly."

"Good idea. Carrig seemed…unhappy last night. Even when I told him you'd be paying for a larger room here and meals at the tavern. For a week," explained Percy.

The young knight then stretched out his long arms, as if he'd just woken up from a refreshing nap. "And thank you for paying for such a nice room for me, too. I had a great night's sleep. Too bad you may be broke after today."

Llacheu smiled at his friend. "It's all worth the expense."

"You may change your mind when you see the bill from the tavern from last night," added Percy with a smirk. "You know how I can eat."

The innkeeper, Percy, and Llacheu chatted for a little while longer. Llacheu told the men he and Ilene had gotten engaged, and they thumped him on the back and shouted their congratulations. After enduring the requisite back-slapping and bawdy comments, Llacheu wandered back upstairs to call on Carrig. He hoped the man wouldn't be too furious. Llacheu tapped on the door to Carrig's room and the angry man flung it open.

"Ah! Here to threaten my life and wellbeing again? Point a sword at my chest? Is that what young men do these days to prove their supposed strength and manhood?"

"No, I'm very sorry about all that. I was wondering if you might let me in to apologize."

Carrig glared at Llacheu through narrowed his eyes. "I suppose," he said with an exasperated sigh. "Come inside, if you must."

After Llacheu apologized and groveled, Carrig forgave the prince. "I was a hot-headed young man in love once, myself," said Carrig. "I suppose I can relate." He paused and studied Llacheu. "I assume you know I'm a homosexual?"

"Yes."

"And you're not about to call for my head to be cut off for engaging in 'immoral carnal activity' with another man?"

"You want to know the truth?" asked Llacheu. "I'm glad you like men. Because that means you want nothing to do with Ilene romantically, and that puts my mind at ease. You see, I asked her to marry me last night and she accepted. We'll have a long separation while she works here, and knowing you're nothing more than her close friend and will be here to watch over her makes me feel better."

Carrig softened a little. "Yes, I know how hard it can be when you're separated from your love. I understand it can make one a little irrational. But still, drawing your weapon and pointing at me was wrong."

Clearly, Carrig wasn't about to let that one thing go. "No, it was wrong, indeed," agreed Llacheu.

The prince mulled over what he could offer Carrig as compensation; he had a sense money would insult the man. "Wait," he said slowly, "how would you feel about moving to Camelot when you're done here? Ilene and I have discussed her starting a school for languages, and she could use the help of an excellent scholar such as yourself. Your lover is welcome also, of course." A corner of Llacheu's mouth turned downward. "I can't promise you that you can be open with your affections toward your man. I can do my best to assure your safety, but there are no guarantees. Not everyone is accepting of two men together."

Carrig smiled and let out a light chuckle. "How do you think it is for us in Scotia right now? We're used to hiding. One of us occasionally turns up in public with a woman when people start to ask questions. And we pay the lady well and send her on her way after a short time. I ask for no guarantees." He paused, deep in thought. "This is quite the opportunity. Ilene has told me all about Camelot. I like the sound of this. May I get back to you in writing after I've discussed this with my lover?"

"Take your time," said Llacheu with a nod.

"Then I suppose I shall forgive your transgression," said Carrig, grinning wide. "And I shall watch over Ilene in your absence. I adore her and see why you do, too."

The men exchanged a few more words, and Llacheu left the room with a smile on his face. He knew Carrig would be a great addition to Camelot, and hoped Ilene would convince him to move.

Llacheu met back up with Percy downstairs and explained that he'd be spending the day with Ilene, but they could all meet up at the tavern for supper. Percy laughed at his good friend.

"I understand. You'll be in bed most of the day, no doubt. Those first few days after you've discovered sex are the best!" he exclaimed, clapping Llacheu on the shoulder. "I recall those several days after my wedding. Anna and I scarcely came up for air. But you should probably grab up some food and drink to sustain you and your lady for the day. Our innkeeper here is going to introduce me to a few men and they'll take me on a tour of the town and surrounding area. AND show me where to get the best oysters. Finally!"

Percy was right. After Llacheu had rushed over to the tavern and purchased a basket of bread, a crock of butter, and cold sausages, he and Ilene didn't leave her room again until evening time. Ilene was more forward and willing to experiment than Llacheu could have hoped. When she suggested he bend her over the bed and "take" her "like a wild beast," he thought he'd died and gone to heaven. The thrill of standing behind her and spreading her legs apart with his knees as he drove into her had been exhilarating.

Yet while that had been fun, his favorite parts were when he heard Ilene's sweet sighs of surrender as he brought her close to climax. The sounds soothed and excited him, and they were the most wonderful sounds in the world.

Not long before dusk, Ilene confessed she was sore and needed a break. With a chuckle, Llacheu admitted the same. Besides, they needed to clean up and prepare to meet Percy and Carrig for supper.

Yet before their evening meal, they stole off and bathed in the ocean. Ilene took Llacheu to a private, wooded alcove where the surf was gentle, but still, the sea water was cold. They disrobed in a rush and hopped right into the crisp salt water. The two shrieked and splashed for a short time, but it was enough to clean them. They rushed back to the inn and dressed for dinner.

When they arrived at the tavern, late, the elderly tavern owner screamed congratulations to them and hugged the couple as if they were old friends. And the sight before Ilene and Llacheu made them gasp. The establishment was packed with excited people buzzing from table to table, and the place was decorated floor-to-ceiling with white banners and signs bearing "Congratulations to the Prince and Future Princess!" Seashells and smooth chunks of sea glass adorned each table and the bar, and flower petals lay strewn across the stone floor. Ilene and Llacheu turned and stared at one another, open-mouthed. Percy smiled at their reaction and stepped in front of them.

"I might have mentioned something about your engagement to the tavern owner, and I think she became a little over-enthusiastic," said Percy, grinning. "People around here get awfully excited about this sort of thing."

"It seems so," whispered a surprised Ilene, taking in the scene before her.

Before Ilene and Llacheu could take their seats, every single person in the tavern, young and old, approached the newly-engaged couple and expressed their congratulations. That event took close to an hour. Finally, Llacheu and Ilene were seated at a small table with Percy and Carrig. The celebrations and toasts of congratulations carried on and on. Ale and mead flowed; Ilene and Llacheu's cups were never empty for long. And platters of roast goose, oysters, and fish and fruit soup kept coming and coming. Even Percy couldn't keep up with the grand feast.

Hours later, Ilene, Llacheu, Percy, and Carrig extracted themselves from the celebrations. Rather drunk and bellies full of food, everyone fell into their own beds.

Still, they would long treasure the memories of this evening's unexpected celebration.

XXXX

The very next morning, Llacheu and Percy had to prepare to leave Anglesey. After all, Llacheu had promised his father he'd take a look at Camelot's northern border, and he intended to keep that promise. Yet he hated the idea, because that look away from his time with Ilene, but he knew it was his duty and the right thing to do. And besides, Ilene had to return to her work.

Ilene helped Llacheu pack up and secure provisions for his trip home; both of them were tearful.

Carrig and Ilene accompanied Llacheu and Percy north to the port where the men were to catch the ferry. Percy boarded, but Llacheu almost missed the boat; Llacheu and Ilene had been engaged in a long and emotional goodbye kiss. The newly-engaged couple broke apart at the last moment, just as the ferry shoved off. Llacheu had to jump a good several feet off the dock and landed in the boat.

"I love you Ilene!" he called out as the ferry rowed away.

"And I, you," she called back.

Llacheu kept waving at Ilene until he lost sight of the shoreline. His heart was both heavy and full of joy. The prince was counting the moments until he could see his dear Ilene again.

XXXX

A week later, Llacheu and Percy arrived back in Camelot. Llacheu went to call on his family before anyone else to say hello and update them on the news of his and Ilene's engagement. They congratulated him with warm hugs and Guinevere wept with happiness. Llacheu handed over his gifts to Wenda and Amr. He'd had no time to seek out merchants during his travels, so the best he'd been able to do was find a large pink shell for Wenda, in which she could hear the ocean when she held it up to her ear, and a black rock shaped like an arrowhead for Amr. Wenda loved her gift, but Amr told Llacheu he was a "stingy old man." But Amr delivered the taunt with a discreet wink.

The family caught up with one another, but Llacheu needed to speak to his father privately about matters on the northern border.

"Father, when I spoke with our people who lived on the border, they'd heard rumors about huge, well-manned Northmen ships sailing by the coast. They may just be rumors and nothing is confirmed, but the people are nervous."

Arthur nodded his head, his face grim. "I know the Northmen's lands are vast and customs varied depending on the kingdom, so I'm sure they're not affiliated with our friends who visited. At least I hope not. I _thought_ Camelot's alliance with the Northmen who visited us was solid, but this is concerning. Thank you, son. We'll have to discuss this further at the next council meeting."

Llacheu's next stop was the armory, where he found Sir Leon doing weapon inventory. Much to Llacheu's relief, the man was all by himself. Without preamble, Llacheu dropped to his knees and made a long speech about how much he loved Ilene, and confessed he had asked her to marry him before going to Leon.

Ilene was right. Leon bloviated. Blustered. Bristled. Stomped around. Asked Llacheu what seemed like no less than a thousand questions about the future and the prince's intentions and motivation for marrying, all while the young remained kneeling on the hard floor. In the end, Sir Leon sank down onto a bench.

"You can get up now," said Leon. He motioned for Llacheu to take a seat next to him, and Llacheu did as requested. "This is a difficult day for me. Letting my oldest go. I realize she's only a few minutes older than her brother, but still…" The older knight took a deep breath. "I couldn't ask for a better husband for her. You are a good young man and I respect you. But letting go still hurts."

Llacheu reached out and placed a tentative hand on Leon's shoulder. "Please don't worry. I love your daughter and will treat her like a princess all the days of her life." He chuckled. "Better yet, I'll treat her like a queen."

"I know you will," said Leon, a hint of sadness in his blue eyes. "I may be knight commander, but by family commands my heart."

Recognizing one's children are grown is never easy.

XXXX

For Llacheu and Ilene, waiting six months to wed had felt like a near eternity. Even though Ilene had been busy with work in Anglesey night and day, and Llacheu spent much of his time traveling to and from Camelot's northern borders with the knights to assess the kingdom's security, the two thought of each other all the time.

However, on a cloudy and blustery day in December, Ilene arrived home, escorted by her father, Sir Michael, and Sir Ulrich. After a few hours of rest, Ilene was immediately drawn into the last-minute details of wedding planning, since the ceremony was to happen in one week. And it was to be quite the ceremony and celebration.

She and Llacheu had been somewhat involved in planning from a distance, but now that they were both home, Alis, Guinevere, and members of the castle staff descended on the couple; the two of them hardly had a moment's peace. If seamstresses weren't standing around Ilene, pinning, measuring and debating, Guinevere was conferring with Llacheu about guest lists, menus, and seating arrangements. Once those conversations ended, the kitchen maids would pounce on Llacheu and Ilene, asking for new recipe approvals, making more menu suggestions, and forcing them to taste more cake than the young couple could stomach.

"I'll never fit into my dress at this rate," grumbled Ilene, tasting yet but another cube of dessert.

Llacheu sighed as the two of them sat at a table in the castle kitchen, swallowing one last bite of pastry so the bakers could get their opinions. Again. "We've been home a week and my trousers are getting tight! To think I used to love cake…"

Ilene chewed thoughtfully, then pushed away her plate. "You know, this isn't right. We should not complain about this. There are far worse things besides eating too much cake! You and I must be mindful of that. No more complaining about weddings or cakes. The two of us are incredibly fortunate."

Llacheu finished his bite and faced Ilene, adoration clear in his eyes. "You are so right. We're lucky on so many levels and must never forget that."

Llacheu leapt from his chair, pulled his fiancée into a tight embrace, and kissed her right on the mouth. The bakers and maids whooped and cheered until the couple separated.

"But what do you think? Cherry cake?" asked Llacheu with an adoring smile for his bride-to-be.

Ilene grinned. "Cherry cake it is!"

XXXX

Llacheu and Ilene's wedding was a lavish, memorable event that took place on a bright and cool winter afternoon. But as the couple had said, this celebration was for the people of Camelot.

The actual wedding ceremony took place in the Great Hall. But not only was the Hall packed beyond capacity, the castle grounds swarmed with delighted people. No one could move an inch in the courtyard or out on the training field. Those who could not get close enough to the castle celebrated Ilene and Llacheu's union out in the streets. Camelot had effectively shut down for the day.

The Great Hall itself was jam-packed; people stood shoulder-to-shoulder, front-to-back, pressed up against one another. Leon had trouble escorting Ilene down the aisle because there were so many people, the path was scarcely wide enough.

However, even with the challenge of maneuvering down the long aisle gracefully, Ilene looked radiant and full of joy. Her wedding gown was a silvery-blue with voluminous skirts, and delicate, tiny pearls adorned the fitted bodice. The sleeves of the dress were sheer and shimmered in the sunlight that filtered through the Hall's many long windows, and the bride's glossy hair hung down in a cascade of carefully arranged brown curls. Although the wedding was a grand and formal event, Ilene wore her dragon necklace around her throat. While she was willing to make some concessions, wearing a new necklace at her wedding was not one of them. And she refused a tiara, instead opting for a wreath of holly leaves and berries. Some things would never change.

After a never-ending walk the length of the Great Hall, Leon handed his daughter off to Llacheu. The young prince straightened his dragon-emblazoned silver coronet and flicked away a tear at the sight of his stunning bride. On Ilene's side stood her dear friends, Grace and a very-pregnant Anna, as her bridesmaids. Amr and Percy were Llacheu's two best men.

Llacheu and Ilene moved forward several steps and stood before King Arthur, who acted as ceremony officiant.

"I welcome one and all to the union of Llacheu and Ilene. We are gathered here to witness the joining of this man and woman in blessed matrimony. From this day forward, their lives, their love, and destinies are intertwined…"

The ceremony carried on, with many sighs of delight and tears of joy from the massive crowd. Upon the words of: "Llacheu, you may now kiss your bride," the sound of the cheers, clapping, and foot stomping that erupted from the guests rattled the walls of the Great Hall. When the residents of Camelot who had not made it inside to the ceremony heard the cacophony, they joined in with their own shouts of glee. In that instant, it was as if time stood still; the perfect moment was captured forever in the minds and hearts of the people of Camelot.

The new bride and groom then stepped outside for a time to accept hugs and congratulations for their people. Several of the knights commented that it was a "nightmare" ensuring the couple's safety among thousands of well-wishers, but Ilene and Llacheu insisted they wanted to do it. Anyway, it would take some time for the castle staff to set up the Hall for the wedding feast. And not only did the staff have to set prepare the Hall, the new bride and groom had ensured the people outdoors had plenty of food and drink, so tables and tents had been set up on the training field also.

A good two hours later, Llacheu and Ilene finally worked their way back inside and up to their seats at the head table in the Great Hall and managed to gobble down a little food and drink. The toasts, the kind words, and their kisses seemed to never end.

In a quiet moment close to the end of the feast, as Ilene and Llacheu held hands while seated at their table, Llacheu looked out at the guests. Ismo, the Northman, had made it, along with a petite yet buxom woman whom the Northman declared would be his wife one day. Based on the way she looked at Ismo with adoring eyes, Llacheu figured that was probably true.

Carrig was also there. The man had decided to relocate to Camelot and was waiting for his lover to arrive. Carrig winked at Llacheu and held his cup aloft.

The biggest shock of the day had been the presence of King Taran, who had come to the wedding by himself. During the festivities, the young king spent a good deal of time with Madlen, Percival's youngest daughter. The little girl was fascinated by Taran's "pretty" accent and she was constantly at his side or climbing up in his lap, asking him questions, telling him stories, or trying to make him laugh. Percival thanked Taran for being such a good sport, but Taran explained he enjoyed spending time with children. Llacheu overheard Taran say: "I would love to have such a smart and lively little girl of my own one day."

As he spoke, the king had a smile on his face and a spark of something deep within his eyes: hope. In his heart, Llacheu somehow knew Taran would find love again, if he hadn't already.

Following hours and hours of guests reveling, feasting, drinking, and dancing, the court musicians announced they were preparing to play a final song, so everyone present took to the floor, including the bride and groom. Guinevere and Arthur danced by their son and daughter-in-law, breaking off to hug them. Percival and Christiane, Ulrich and Carina, and Gwaine and Drea also danced by. The wives blew kisses and the knights shouted their congratulations once more. Last but not least, Leon and Alis danced close to the couple. Leon had tears running down his cheeks.

"Your happiness makes me happy," the knight commander choked out, sounding emotional. "I love you both."

Alis reached up and wiped away Leon's tear, then kissed him.

That's when Llacheu came to the following realization: Knowing how to love with your whole heart makes you a man. Sometimes, it will bring you to tears, but that is nothing to be ashamed of. It was a lesson he'd carry with him all of his days.

Right then, Amr and Fen danced by, laughing and smiling at one another. Amr grinned at his older brother and Llacheu chuckled.

"I think she's the one," Amr mouthed over his shoulder to Llacheu, as he spun away on the dance floor with Fen.

Llacheu wondered if perhaps something might happen between the lively Fen and Amr. Maybe something lasting.

The song drew to a close, and Ilene and Llacheu shared one last public kiss. However, a commotion erupted at a corner table. The bride and groom broke apart and went over to see what was happening. The couple approached the scene, where they found Percy white as a sheet, holding Anna's hand while she sat, panting and grimacing. Grace held Anna's other hand, while Wallace tried to calm Percy. Merlin suddenly appeared at Llacheu's side.

"I think this is the perfect day for a new baby," declared Merlin, a satisfied smile on his face. "The cycle of life, love, pain, and joy continues on in Camelot. It's perfect." The man winked at Llacheu and Ilene and wandered off.

"That was a little cryptic," said Llacheu to Ilene. "I like Merlin, but he can be odd."

Ilene shrugged. "Perhaps…"

After ensuring Anna was safely on her way to her bedchamber with the competent Alis, Ilene and Llacheu paused and indulged in a long embrace. Soon enough, it would be time for the bedding ceremony and all that entailed. Yet before they separated, Ilene leaned in close to her new husband.

"By the way, I'm with child," Ilene whispered in the prince's ear.

Ilene was then dragged off by several women to prepare for the bedding ceremony.

Llacheu was left standing there alone, shocked. But that look of shock melted away into a huge smile. Merlin had been right, as he often was. The cycle of life, love, pain, and joy would carry on.

Life was wonderful.


	58. Epilogue

Epilogue

A great winter tournament was held in honor of Prince Llacheu's thirtieth birthday. Llacheu was very much like his father, and insisted on taking part in the joust. The heir to the throne of Camelot wasn't about to sit around and simply watch like an idle prince. And his dear princess, Ilene, wouldn't have it any other way.

Of course, if Llacheu was participating in the joust, Percy, Wallace, Amr, the younger Leon, and Ismo (all of whom were now knights) had all insisted upon joining in, too.

As the population of Camelot had exploded over the years, the size of Arthur's army had also grown exponentially. Therefore, having one knight commander was no longer sufficient. Now Percy, Wallace, Amr, and Ismo were all knight commanders. Shortly after Llacheu and Ilene's wedding, Ismo had a falling out with his fellow Northmen because he disagreed with their brutal raids. Therefore, he settled in Camelot with his new wife. Ismo had become a trusted knight and a true asset to Camelot.

Further, Leon II had turned down the offer to be one of the commanders. He said his first love was teaching the new men, and being their mentor and combat instructor was his passion. Yet he still loved competing in tournaments.

While his men prepared themselves, King Arthur (now nearing sixty years of age) sat back comfortably in his seat in the stands. Fortunately, as Merlin's skills and powers had increased, the warlock had quelled the dark magic that coursed through the king. Only a small amount of said magic remained, of which the king was reminded when he had occasional pain in his bones. But overall, King Arthur was in good health for his age, as was his queen.

As such, the king and queen sat together happily, watching the joust. Arthur and Guinevere held hands, even all these years later, with their children and grandchildren at their sides. The king of Camelot always looked at his bride and his family with love in his eyes.

Percival, Ulrich, Gwaine, Leon, and their wives, children, grandchildren, and Merlin had all been invited as honored guests of Arthur and Guinevere. It was quite the crowd to manage, and they were a little late arriving at the tournament grounds.

The large group of over forty moved to their seats slowly. Percival had his eldest grandson, Percival III, now thirteen, in a loose headlock, ruffling his hair and joking with him. Leon's vision had begun to fail the previous year, and Alis held his hand and led him along lovingly and carefully. They had been there for one another, always, in both sickness and in health. Gwaine carried his youngest granddaughter and Ulrich carried his youngest grandson. Grace corralled her and Wallace's children, while Anna did her best to control her and Percy's excited children.

In the end, everyone laughed over the disorderly scene.

Even with the chaos, it was a near-perfect day, one of the rare occasions where everyone was present, and they planned to enjoy themselves. After all, a winter tournament meant hot spiced mead and a grand feast afterward. Who could ask for more?

While the men and their families made their way over to their destination, Prince Llacheu rode over to the stands and accepted Princess Ilene's favor. Bucking tradition, he hopped off his horse, vaulted into the stands, and kissed his pregnant wife on the lips, holding the kiss for a near minute as the crowd cheered wildly. The people of Camelot adored their future king and queen.

During this spectacle, the boisterous group of the knights and their families finally took their seats, with Guinevere and Arthur greeting all of them warmly. The king loved his men and their families, and had seen to it that they had enough gold to sustain themselves for the rest of their lives.

Having sat down, and ready to watch the prince have his turn at the joust, Percival grabbed Christiane's hand and kissed it.

"We've been so blessed, love," he told his treasured wife. As he admired their large, loving family and dear friends, the knight felt his heart swell with pride, joy, and love.

"That, we have," she said, smiling at her husband with tenderness and affection.

Percival leaned toward his wife and kissed her. All these years later, her hold on his heart was as strong as the day they'd married. Loving Christiane had made him whole. She was, and always would be, the greatest blessing of his life.

"Thank you," Percival whispered in her ear, giving her shoulder a light squeeze.

"For what?" Christiane asked.

His heartfelt answer was simple. "Everything."

XXXX

Life in Camelot was filled many magnificent exploits: moments that brimmed with tragedy and triumph, pain and joy. Naturally, King Arthur's descendants and the knights' children and grandchildren experienced such grand adventures, too.

And they learned that love, with all its complications and challenges, is the greatest and most precious gift of all.

But those are stories for another day.

**THE END**

**A/N – There we have it! Our happy ending. I say "we" because this one is for all of us, all of the _Merlin_ fans who wanted to see things turn out differently, to see the knights and King Arthur to go on and have wonderful lives filled with love. **

**To anyone who took the time to review, "favorite," "like," or read this story, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Writing this story helped me cope with one of the most difficult years of my life, and I am honored that you chose to take this journey with me. **

**All the best to you, readers. Our hopes, dreams, and love for _Merlin_ live on! **


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Merlin, Drama, Romance