Disclaimer: I don't own this. If you recognize this, I didn't create it.

AN: Kindly words for my kindly reviewers.

dw: Welcome to the Party! Thank you for the compliment. And I agree, Lucan and Dagonet do deserve to be a family. Thanx a bunch for reviewing.

Natalie: I'm so sorry! Tears were not the aim! Oh well. So….you liked it that much huh? ;)

HGandRHForever: How do I rate, huh? Three! Count them, THREE reviews in one day. Feels loved! Thank you for thinking it that special. And it made you cry too! I didn't mean to make you cry! Honest! And you sounded intelligent to me. I'm glad you like my Morgaine. She's so much fun to write. I love her to death. Aw, I love you sweetie! I can't say anything else. I love you man! And I loved those chocolate chip cybercookies. They were yummy! ;) And thank you for the compliment. Tristan's alive! He's gotta get married some time. shrugs

LANCELOTTRISTANBABY: Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. I'm happy for Lucan too! He has a Daddy! Yeah!

Meraculas: Good to have you back chick! I'm glad you liked this. Here's the next chapter. No more waiting.

:op: I am yours honey. Here's the next chapter.

Woody101: Thank you. And as to your question: Morgaine is in love with Gawain and Gawain is in love with her. Galahad knows and is okay with it. Like Lancelot said, "They're two sides of the same coin." I hope that helps clarify it.

Chris: You're a doll. And yes I know. Florence Nightingale Syndrome. ;)

Babak: I know exactly how you feel! I am so jealous of all those lucky women too! It's just not fair! And it's definitely too bad that we don't have Knights in this era. Although, if we do and I just don't know about it, I claim Galahad for myself. ;) And today we find out about poor Gawain's fate.

And so, without further ado….

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Four days passed and dawn of the fifth found Morgaine kneeling on the floor beside Gawain's bed, her head resting on the mattress beside their clasped hands and her eyes closed in restless slumber. Galahad slept in the chair in the corner, having intended to stay awake, but the exhaustion pulling him under inexorably, despite his valiant fight.

Gawain's head tossed slightly and his blue eyes fluttered open, staring at the room in confusion. His hand shifted slightly, waking Morgaine and bringing her head up to see what was wrong. "Gawain?" she questioned quietly, before smiling at the sight of clear, lucid blue eyes for the first time in nearly two weeks. "Gawain! How are you feeling, dove?" she inquired, tossing a rolled-up towel at Galahad -who jolted awake- before bending over Gawain's dazed form.

Gawain blinked, his mind starting to break free of its confusion as he saw Galahad's face join Morgaine's above him. "Gawain?" Galahad asked quietly, folding a cool palm over Gawain's forehead. Looking at Morgaine, he murmured quietly, "His fever's broken."

Morgaine nodded, reaching up to brush the dank blond hair from Gawain's face. "Honey? How do you feel? You have to tell me so that I can help, okay?"

"Th…." Gawain paused, startled at the croak that had come from his own throat. Screwing up his lips, he tried again, "Thir….thirsty."

"You want some water?" Morgaine asked, sending Galahad running for the jug of fresh water that Lucan had brought that morning, sitting by the door.

Gawain nodded, allowing Morgaine to lift his head slightly as Galahad came back with a glass of water. He drank slowly, keeping in mind that he hadn't eaten anything in awhile and the cramps that would surely come if he drank too fast, would be twice as bad as his thirst in the long run. Setting his head back on the pillows, he took both of their hands, squeezing their hands tightly. No matter how forcefully they kept it reigned in, Gawain could still sense the desperation lingering just under the calm façades of his lover and best friend. "How long was I out, Lady?"

"You spoke to us about two days ago, Gawain. Do you remember?" Morgaine encouraged, moving to examine the wound. Though still red around the edges, there was no heat and the pus was gone. She slumped backwards onto her heels gratefully, sending up a private prayer of thanksgiving to the Gods.

Gawain shook his head in denial of her question. "I don't remember, I'm sorry."

Morgaine shook her head, placing a gentle finger to his lips. "You ave nothing to be sorry about. Do you know where you are?"

Looking around, he replied questioningly, "Are we at the Wall?"

"Yes, Gawain, we're at the Wall. And you have nothing to be sorry about, old friend. We've been here since the battle was over. Lancelot is healed up; he left the infirmary two days ago. He's going about completing some light chores, I believe, even as we speak. Tristan is healing more slowly, but he continues to regain his strength. We've all been worried sick about you. Arthur has come down several times to check on you both." Galahad reassured him, his hand resting gently on Gawain's shoulder, keeping him firmly on the bed.

Morgaine spoke, laughing lightly through her tears. "Tristan's actually mostly healed now. The gashes have knitted well, and his emotional mask is once again fully operational. He's just enjoying the nursing of a young Woad woman by the name of Isolde, an old playmate of mine. Which is fine, because their wedding will be in about a week and a half. Arthur has ordered that the Knights take wives. Tristan has been ordered to take Isolde as his. He's using his convalescence to feel her out, I think."

Gawain looked startled at the "ordered to take wives" part of Morgaine's speech. "Wives? What does that mean?"

"You're not included, Gawain, you're already married. That is, if you still want to be?" Morgaine questioned, feeling her heart stutter in her chest at the idea of his confession being only fever-talk.

Gawain nodded, laying back on his pillows. "I do, I'm just…I'm sorry. I'm just tired. I'll be better soon."

"The fatigue is normal, Gawain. You've been sleeping for five days off and on. Give your body some time to get used to being awake and you won't be so tired anymore." Morgaine soothed, her hand rubbing gently over his collarbone, fingers dancing easily over the flesh. "Sleep, Gawain, and you'll feel better when you wake again."

Gawain nodded, pulling Morgaine down using the hand he held. Her free hand came up to touch his cheek, her fingertips caressing in tiny circles across his cheekbone, as she kissed his lips sweetly. "We'll be here, Gawain. I promise," she whispered, her eyes meeting his.

Gawain nodded slowly, his eyes slipping closed as Galahad kissed his friend's forehead. "Rest, my old friend." Galahad murmured, before watching as his oldest companion slipped into the oblivion of sleep.

Morgaine took Galahad's hand, dragging him into another small room next to Gawain's and smiling happily. "He's awake, Sarmatian."

Galahad laughed loudly, scooping her up around the waist and swinging her around and around in joy. Morgaine hugged his shoulders tightly, laughing with him. "Thank the gods. Thank you, Nazneen. You did just as much as the Gods."

Morgaine scowled, smacking his shoulder lightly. "Hold your tongue. Do you want them to take him away, just after they've given him back?"

"That would be cruel, and I don't believe that the gods are that vicious."

Morgaine nodded, "You're probably right. I just don't want to risk it. I almost lost him once. I just got him back. Like hell I'm going to loose him again." Wringing her hands together, she began to babble worriedly, "He's lost so much weight. The fever really drained him. I'm going to need to talk to Vanora about what he can eat to start filling him out again. It's not healthy for a man of his size to be so small. Plenty of broth, whatever vegetables are available, liquids of course…"

Galahad lost patience with her rambling, gripping her face firmly between the palms of his hands and pulling her up for a searing kiss. Her hands coming up to frame his face, Morgaine kissed him back, taking and offering what comfort she could with her lips, tongue and hands. "He's all right, Galahad. We're all going to be all right. He's pulled through the worst of it; there's nowhere else to go but up," she murmured against his lips.

Galahad nodded, before ravaging her mouth. She returned his passion with her own. Galahad dropped them both to the empty, narrow bed as they ripped at each other's clothing. There was nothing gentle or comforting about their joining. There was only passion, both wanting to be sure that the other was safe and in their arms.

An hour later, Morgaine slipped back into her gown, braiding her hair back out of her face deftly. Galahad rolled onto his side, head propped up with his hand to watch her for a moment, before he reached out and grabbed the train of her skirt, pulling her closer to the bed. Pushing the fabric up and away, he ran a gentle fingertip down the bruises dotting her inner thighs like blemishes on too ripe peaches. "Looking a little saddle sore, my love," he murmured lazily.

"I feel like I got beaten by a blunt object," she teased, her fingernails running over the blunt object in question.

Galahad laughed at the analogy, rolling his shoulders carefully. "Aye, well, my back stings like hell and you drew blood in at least three places."

She turned back from the mirror, laughing lightly. "Aye, well, bed a vixen."

Galahad laughed with her, before he mused, "I hope Gawain knows what he's getting himself into."

Morgaine shook her head. "I doubt it. I'm going to go check on him. I promised one of us would be there when he woke."

Galahad nodded, shifting his shoulders again, grimacing painfully. "All right. I think I might lie here for a moment. Try and regain my strength."

She nodded, kissing his lips lingeringly, before leaving the room. Isolde scrambled away from Tristan guiltily as the door creaked open. Isolde's cheeks flushed becomingly as Morgaine stepped through, looking rumpled and sleep-tossed. Morgaine watched the two of them for a moment, making her final evaluation of the pair.

Isolde's eyes were the color of honey with hair like freshly turned earth to match. Her lips were swollen and bruised, a firm testament to what had been happening before she'd interrupted them. She was small and lithe, with sharp eyes and quick reflexes. Tristan was dark all the way around, eyes and hair the same color, blacker than a moonless midnight. His eyes, even now, darted to and fro, trying not to miss anything. They were well matched, and she felt a small bauble of joy shine in her heart at the knowledge that one of the remaining Knights would be happy. Though less than put together, Morgaine was completely unruffled, smiling at them kindly before asking quietly, "How are you feeling, Tristan?"

"Better, thank you, my lady," he said, meeting Isolde's amber eyes out of the corner of his own ebony.

Morgaine smiled, looking back over her shoulder as she went into Gawain's room. "I'm glad to hear it, Tristan. And Tristan?" she asked, leaning back out of the door again. "If you're well enough to be exchanging….pleasantries, shall we say?...you are well enough to get out of my infirmary."

"Yes, my lady." Tristan said, surprising Morgaine slightly at the sight of a pale blush creeping across Tristan's cheeks.

"Why, Tristan, is that a blush?" she teased, slipping into the room and shutting the door behind her.

Isolde held her hands over her burning cheeks, her eyes wide with horror. "I can't believe this. She caught us."

Tristan nodded, pulling her forward for another kiss. "She gave her permission. I just have to leave the infirmary."

Isolde looked at him concerned. "Do you think you're well enough to leave the infirmary? You don't think that you should stay under Morgaine's eyes for awhile longer?"

"I've already been here for almost four weeks. The sooner I'm back to earning my keep, the happier I will be."

Isolde nodded, standing and assisting Tristan from the bed. Together, the two managed to get him dressed into a pair of trousers, a shirt and a vest, all of which were typically black. Slipping under his arm, she looked up at him with a small smile, "Let's get you out of here and back to the dormitories with the rest of the Knights."

He nodded, walking along beside her, looking deceptively strong and in control. Only a very close observer would be able to see that he was leaning against her slightly. Isolde helped him to the dorms, before letting him go on alone from there. He graced her with a rare smile, making her blush rosily, before entering the crowded room. Dagonet was sitting on his bunk, Lucan handling a set of daggers quietly under Dagonet's closely observing eyes. Bors was sleeping in his cot, snoring drunkenly, as the commander's trusted lieutenant reenacted a book for Bors' bastards, as Vanora read aloud. Tristan cleared his throat, moving past a little boy who was sleeping in the doorway. "One of his sons is sleeping in the door."

"That would be Five," Dagonet replied, shifting the knife in Lucan's hands so he didn't hurt himself. "Did Morgaine release you finally?"

"Yes. She said I was well enough to go. I'm not allowed to go too fast or work too hard, but I am allowed to get out of that sickroom."

"And Gawain?" Lancelot asked, knowing that Arthur had been worrying nonstop about the blond Knight and by consequence, the two people who needed him most.

"His fever broke about an hour ago. He should be getting out of there before the end of the week."

Lancelot nodded, exchanging relieved smiles with the rest of the Knights. "Someone should tell Arthur," Dagonet remarked quietly, his eyes still fixed on Lucan.

Lancelot looked over at him, knowing that if Dagonet had two pairs of eyes, one pair would be firmly planted on his body. "I'll go tell him. Hey, Dag, has Arthur found you a wife yet?"

"Not yet. What about you?"

"No. But I'm going to be getting on a particular woman's good side, just in case." Lancelot remarked, his eyes narrowed in frustration.

"Which woman? Guinevere?" Tristan asked, his eyes impassive and voice as calm as always.

Lancelot shook his head, before speaking again, "No, Morgaine, the manipulative little witch."

Dagonet only shook his head ruefully, before returning his attention to Lucan. Without looking at Lancelot, he spoke, "You love her anyway."

Lancelot shrugged, replying, "Doesn't mean she has to know that," stretching widely and heading toward the door of the dormitory. "I'm going to go tell Arthur about Gawain!" he shouted over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hall.