Disclaimer: Still don't own.

A/N: The inspiration was 'Higher' by Creed. My sincerest thanks to my beta reader (you know who you are).

Galahad shifted on his horse, stifling a yawn that caused his body to involuntarily shake. He hated early morning missions. It forced him out of bed well before sunrise. Not only did he miss leaving the warmth of his bed, but also of his dreams.

He never told anyone of his dreams – not even Gawain. He was not afraid that Gawain would make fun of him; rather he was afraid the latter would say nothing. That, to Galahad, would be worse than being laughed at or even told to stop dreaming. He could always ignore those. But if nothing was said…what did that mean?

Shaking his head, Galahad bit back another yawn and was thankful that in the darkness no one would notice the shake. Every time he shook, shuddered or otherwise moved in what was deemed an "unnatural" way, he was chided for his choice of clothing; translated: his lack of pants.

This was going to be a long, boring ride. They were going to another fort to meet some dignitary or other who was touring the Empire's frontier. Sometimes Galahad thought that was all the Sarmatian Knights had become to Rome – an escort for whichever visiting Roman politico requested them.

He looked up and noticed Gawain moving his horse closer. He looked awake this morning, quite contrary to how Galahad was certain he appeared. Judging by the look on Gawain's face, he was correct.

"Galahad," Gawain began, "give me your reins and sleep a bit longer." He held out his hand for Galahad's reins. They often did this – let one sleep while the other led the sleeper's horse. Bors and Dag did the same. Mostly it was Bors sleeping and Dag leading, considering Vanora was expecting again and Bors was not getting much sleep taking care of his little bastards.

Galahad gave only a moment's thought to Gawain's offer before handing his reins to the more awake Knight.

More sleep will make me a better Knight later and I'll return the favour another day.He knew deep inside this was flawed reasoning – he had yet to return any of the favours of sleeping during a boring ride, but the lure of sleep and return to his dreams was too strong to resist.

Positioning himself so as to not fall out of the saddle (Bors had done that once and was still teased about it thoroughly), Galahad gave in to his body's demand. Heavy lids drooped, black curls bobbed as his chin sank into his chest. Before the group had even reached the main road, Galahad was deeply asleep.

--

He recognized this place. Sweet smells wafted to his nose and he inhaled deeply. The grass was long and golden brown, not unlike the grasses on the plains of Sarmatia. He stretched under the bright blue sky. Everything here was so…serene. The sun was intense but not blinding or harsh. It was more like continuous dawn – golden hued and fresh. The gurgle of water caught his attention and he set off, following the sound intently.

He reached the stream quickly. After a few dreams, he knew decisively which way to go in order to locate the water quickest; and in the water…her. She stood not in the water, actually. She was the source of the water. Or, more accurately, the great bowl she held was the source of the water and though it splashed at her feet, he did not see any wetness on her long dress the colour of fresh milk. She stood barefoot, he could see her feet peeking out underneath the vast folds of the dress, but yet her toes did not seem touched by the waters. Neither did the long golden curls that spilled over her shoulders, barely held back by the narrowest gold circlet. As he approached, she looked up from watching the endless waters pouring forth, soft blue eyes meeting his.

She beckoned him into the golden waters, not with any overt motion; rather it was with her eyes, her gentle smile. Everything was communicated there if he only looked. He moved forward but paused when a soft voice resonated in him. Her voice. He heard it not with his ears – no, this was a voice he heard through his whole being, and it took hold deep inside him. The voice was telling him to remove the armour he hadn't even realized he was wearing. He did not even pause or think, simply began shedding pieces – the heavy breastplate with Roman crest, the mail underneath, vambrances, boots… When he'd removed the cumbersome gear, he again moved forward, letting his toes squish into the stream bottom, shedding the remainder of his clothes and letting them drift away in the current. He moved forward, keeping his focus on the beautiful woman of gold and sunlight and warmth.

The water was soon mid-thigh, but Galahad didn't notice or care. His eyes were on the bowl the woman held. The water poured forth but yet he could see no physical way water was entering the bowl, feeding the steady flow. She tilted the bowl toward him ever so slightly and he understood. She wanted him to come and bathe under the cascading waters; to duck under and wash away…whatever this clear, golden water would. He moved forward assuredly. A smile curved his lips, mirroring the peaceful smile that pulled him forward. He did not even have to think – he simply moved. It was a lovely feeling – calm, relaxing and more intoxicating than any drink he knew.

He closed his eyes as he approached the bowl, drew a deep breath, bent and prepared to enter the luminous waterfall.

Before he could immerse himself, Galahad's eyes snapped open to his name being shouted. He blinked hard to focus on who was yelling. Lancelot. He was shouting at the top of his voice for Galahad to wake. The next voice was Gawain's yelling back at Lancelot, telling him to shut his mouth and let Galahad get some sleep. To which, of course, Lancelot had to reply. And so the bickering began.

Sighing, Galahad retrieved his reins from Gawain's trust, who surrendered them without fight as he was still embroiled in the exchange with Lancelot. It finally, mercifully, ended when Arthur ordered them both to shut their mouths. Everyone rode in silence after that. Well, everyone except Bors. He had somehow managed to sleep through the entire exchange, snoring atop his mount.

--

They made camp early. Arthur provided the escort and conversation that the politicos desired, he was actually quite good at it, but Galahad quietly suspected he despised these assignments as much, if not more, than the Knights.

Turning his attention back to the task at hand, Galahad wondered where Gawain had gotten to. The answer came in the sound of a low whistle. From the pitch, Galahad knew that meant Gawain was onto some quarry. Also known as supper, Galahad thought amusedly over his grumbling stomach as he quietly picked his way through the forest, following the whistle.

Sure enough, looking down he saw three snared rabbits at Gawain's feet. He was about to say something, but a raised hand from Gawain maintained his silence and focused him on a low mound where two birds perched.

Each slowly nocked an arrow and took aim. They'd been hunting as a team long enough that no words were needed; Galahad knew which bird was his target. Both held a moment longer before releasing their arrows. They were on-target and now two fowl added to three rabbits…this would be a good supper indeed. Galahad went to collect the birds as Gawain collected the rabbits at his feet.

They walked back towards camp briskly, the last sunlight dancing on the forest floor.

'Galahad.' Gawain's voice startled Galahad, who had withdrawn into his own world.

'Yes?'

'What do you dream of?'

Gawain had stopped walking and stood, forcing Galahad to stop and turn to face him. He saw…something…in his brother's face. Not worry. Not amusement. Simply an earnest question.

'I mean, well,' Gawain spoke hesitantly, 'why were you smiling earlier as you slept?'

Galahad hesitated. Why was he questioning telling Gawain of his dream? Should he lie? Why was he even thinking of lying to Gawain?

'I…well…' He paused in hope that Gawain would shrug it off but the elder stood there, rabbits in hand, watching and waiting.

Rabbits. Galahad held up the two fowl.

'We really ought to get these to camp so they can be cleaned and cooked.' He motioned to the rabbits in Gawain's grasp as he spoke. 'This is going to be a good supper and, I don't know of you, but I am starving.'

With that, he started back to camp, hoping desperately that Gawain would take his hint and follow along. Gawain stood a few moments longer before hustling to catch up with Galahad.

--

After supper, Gawain had drawn first watch. They were far from the Wall already and although a Woad threat was minimal (Tristran had been scouting all day and reported no signs of Woads), Arthur had ordered watch shifts.

Waiting until he knew Gawain would be situated, Galahad set off to locate his brother. He felt terrible for the way he answered Gawain's inquiry earlier. It had caused distance between them, as they had sat readying their kills for cooking and during supper itself.

He located Gawain a good distance from the camp, leaning against a tree.

'Gawain…' Galahad figured it would be best to alert his brother of his approach lest he find himself staring at the wrong side of his axe. When he got no reaction, he plunged forward. 'I am sorry I did not answer your question earlier. I didn't know what to say. I still don't know what to say. I sleep. I dream. I don't want to leave where I go in my dreams because there is a woman and she is beautiful and it is quiet and calm and…' Galahad had become so worked up that he was pacing and waving his arms. '…and I am happy there, with her and the water. I had taken off my armour and my clothes and I so desperately wanted to wash in the waterfall from the bowl like she wanted and then Lancelot started yelling…and ruined everything. Why does he always seem to have the worst possible timing?'

For his part, Gawain simply stood, listening and watching the spectacle that was Galahad. He had long grown accustomed to the expressive way Galahad explained things at times. Sometimes, at the most inappropriate, it even made him laugh, which only made Galahad more frenzied.

'Are you quite done?'

Galahad stopped pacing and squinted at Gawain.

'Yes. Yes, I think so.' He was a bit embarrassed but knew that his brother understood. This was simply who he was and though he'd tried, he could not change.

'Good. At least now I understand, a bit. Any dream with a beautiful woman is worth smiling about.' Gawain smiled and winked.

Galahad could not help but smile back. 'So then you have had a similar dream?' He was hopeful.

Gawain shook his head side to side, long mane brushing the dust and collected dirt from his scale shirt. 'I have not, Galahad. From the sounds of it, you had a very…interesting…or, rather, special dream. I've no experience in those. I don't have dreams one wants to remember.' At this, the blue eyes turned dark and Galahad knew what dreams Gawain spoke of – he'd had his share of those as well.

With another shake to clear his thoughts, Gawain continued, 'If you want to be certain, I would suggest you talk to Tristran. Or Dagonet. Either one will listen and be able to sort through whatever it might mean.' He shrugged. 'As for me, you know I am only interested in the beautiful woman, so why don't you stick around. Help me pass the time since it is not likely any Woads are nearby. Tell me about this beautiful woman and the water. Was she naked? Or just you? And if it was just you, skip that part. Or make something up. Yes, make something up instead.'

He reached over and punched Galahad lightly on the shoulder, smiling and winking. Galahad laughed and sat down on a nearby stump. He knew that this was Gawain's way of handling things he did not comprehend – to joke about them. He decided to keep his brother company and made a note to seek out Tristran or Dagonet later and talk to them about the real dream.

Note: I am leaving this as "chaptered" in case Galahad decides to tell me about who he spoke to and what the interpretation was. So far, he has been mum on the topic.