Yea! I got reviews! Keep them coming! This is a big MRC Chapter. If you don't like MRC, I'm sorry. I simply couldn't help myself; I was in such a good mood.

MonDieu666- We all missed you (and your updates!) Thanks for reviewing!

When Fire Meets Ice- That is so nice! I'm glad you like Papay.

A.K. Anomynous- Thanks!

Nianko- It did help! You updated! Hurray!

Galasriniel- (I love your new name!) Thanks for the review!

Camlann- You shall see...te he he! (it even rhymes!)

BillieLiv- Thanks!

Tomb Raider X- Thanks for reviewing!

Camreyn- Yes! Long review! I love your reviews! Galahad is gaining confidence. You mind reader, you!

Notes-

Lancelot's pendant- I got three different possibilities, but I like the wolf one best. I don't know, wolves are just cool (Not that dragons aren't, I was born in the year of the dragon. It was a good year...grins)

Names- Don't worry if you can't pronounce some of these, neither can I. The Sarmatians didn't exactly leave us lists of baby names, so I had to steal some from kings and queens and Gods. If anyone is offended, I apologize. I was a bit nervous stealing the god's names, so if I don't update for a month, it is because I have been struck down by lightning. Don't worry.

It was dark. The feast had just finished, and the village was meandering to their various tents. Some gave the newlyweds lewd grins before turning away.

Radha didn't see what all the fuss was about. It was not the first occasion that she and Gawain had made love. Yet, Gawain was feeling romantic. Without warning, he swept her off her feet, and carried her back to their tent. Radha protested.

"I can walk just fine, you dolt!" she said.

"I know. It's the principle of the thing, dearest. Tradition, you know."

It wasn't too bad, being carried about. No need to break with tradition, right?

Gawain deposited Radha on their cot. He turned from her, and made sure the tent flap was securely fastened before joining her on the bed. She was still wearing her battle garments, which he found to be overwhelmingly sexy. He told her this, and she laughed. There was that element of fun that she found so endearing in him. Her head was thrown back, and he took this as an invitation to feast on her throat. He could feel the satisfied vibrations in her throat and grinned. Radha liked to pretend to be indifferent to emotion. She wasn't. All one had to do was strategically break down her wall, and her passion would come flooding out. Her hands snaked out; her fingers winding their way through his main of braids, holding his head were it was. If he stopped she would scream.

Lancelot had always wanted to help women. He made it his mission in life to help women out of their clothes. Now, he would relegate such services to one woman for the rest of his life. Yet, this was not a depressing thought. It was actually kind of nice. He didn't have to worry about pleasing everyone anymore. He just had to worry about pleasing her. Which he proceeded to do. Sera was happy that they had set up their tent a distance away from the others. She did not want to hear about the various sighs/groans/screams that came from their tent for the next week. Rebekah could be rather wicked when she set her mind to it.

They lay in a tangled heap long afterward. Wrapped in the silence, in each other. They were home.

Aine was apparently asleep when Sebbi entered the tent. She was no longer dressed in her Woad clothes, but had wrapped herself in a large tunic. He watched her chest rise and fall. Could hear her soft breath. Without even being conscious, she was a torment to him. He couldn't help himself. He settled himself down next to her, and threw a careless arm around her waist.

Aine stared at the insides of her eyelids. She was awake. She had been awake for a long time. She had felt the change in the air, the shift of the cot. The warm flesh wrapped around her. He had pulled her back to his chest, and Aine could hear his heart beat. Her own increased.

Sebbi noticed the slight change in her rhythm, and was puzzled. Was she dreaming? Experimentally, he placed a kiss on the nape of her neck. If she were truly asleep, she would never know. Her skin was hot against his lips, and he heard a slight gasp escape Aine. He tugged the loose tunic off her shoulder, leaving it exposed. The cool air stung, but his lips made her skin burn. She couldn't stop the moan from escaping. Sebbi turned her towards him. He stared into her eyes, trying to see her thoughts. Was she simply reacting, or did she want this?

She leaned forward and brought her lips to his. She rolled him over onto his back, straddling him. Aine rested her elbows on either side of his head and deepened the kiss, feeling his tongue flick over her swollen lips. He slipped his hands under her tunic, and reversed their positions.

Deirdre was sprawled over Galahad, completely exhausted. She smiled down at him, and was rewarded with a kiss.

"Marry me?" he asked, as he regained the use of his tongue.

Deirdre was startled, and collapsed on Galahad's chest, making him laugh. When she was in control of her movements, she kissed him.

"Yes."

Habren was on her back, body stretched out over the hill, looking up at the stars. Babai and Amage had disappeared into their tent, and she had no desire to walk in on potential lovemaking. As much as she loved her parents, she could live a full and complete life without seeing them naked.

She would ask Lancelot tomorrow about going with him, back to Britain. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She wondered how her parents would react. They needed some time to figure out their problems now, and she would visit. She didn't intend to desert them forever.

Habren took another deep breath, and noticed a change in the air. A new scent. She had noticed it during her morning exercises for the past few weeks. She couldn't quite place it. Yet, it reminded her a bit of her mother's herb collection. It was more sensual though, more powerful. Whenever she looked about for the source of the scent, it vanished. Just like the figure that had been on this very hill during the wedding feast. Her eyes snapped open.

He was there. Black hair tied back, gazing at her. He saw her eyes, and locked onto them. A stunned silence followed.

Who was he? What was he doing here? Habren reached for her sword, and found that she had left it in the tent.

So, this was she. The moonlight shown down, leaving her form in a harsh contrasting dark and light. Half of her face illuminated, the other hidden in shadow. Her curly hair was out of its confining braid and streamed down her back. He couldn't see what color her eyes were in the dark. She looked slightly wary, but not terrified. That was good.

He took a step toward her, and stopped, gauging her reaction. She had drawn herself up to her elbows, and then to her feet, ready to attack or defend, whichever proved necessary.

In the blink of an eye, he had grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her into a kiss.

Habren was too stunned to attack him. No one had even approached her in such a manner. Her hands automatically ran up his arms, coming to rest at the base of his neck. She didn't know why she didn't just pull away. Run off. Instead, she was encouraging him. She didn't even know who he was.

Papay deepened the kiss, eager to feel her more, to be closer. His hands were running up and down her back, making her skin burn. Her fingers at the nape of his neck, lacing through his hair, were driving him over the edge. For a moment, he considered dragging her to the ground and taking her right then and there. He quickly dismissed this idea. She was special. She was different. She would know who he was.

Suddenly, Habren's ear picked up familiar voices. Her parents were looking for her. She managed to pull herself away, succumbing to one last frenzied kiss before running back down the hill. She turned back, searching, but he was gone.

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