I'm SO sorry for the delay! It was for several reasons: I had writer's block, and hardly any time to write. This chapter will be a little short, but that's because I really don't have time to write any more. I'm going on vacation this week, so it'll be while before my next update. Sorry again.

OMG, I had the worst time today! I was walking, and I tripped over a root and when I fell, I skidded my knee on the road, and now it's all bloody and I had to tend to my wound. Lol. And, when I fell, I broke my beautiful nail! I'm furious! OMG, and then, I was editing this chapter, and my computer shut down, and I lost all of it. Luckily, I had printed a copy so I just copied it, but now my fingers hurt, and I'm tired…Grrrrr! Ok, remember to please review and let me know what you think! Thanks, and happy Spring Break!

Jewly: I love Tristan too! Lol.

Calliope Foster: Thanks for your review!

Keelin: Ok, I've wanted to get back to you on this horse thing. I'd like to start of clarifying that I'm a big horse person too, and have been riding for many years. I appreciate your comment about what I wrote, and would like to let you know, that what I meant by whipping was him tapping on the shoulder of the horse, like riders actually do. It never occurred to me that it would be taken as him actually beating the horse, so I'm sorry, I didn't mean for that. Anyways, I'm glad you reviewed and like my story, and I'll try to be more careful in the future.

Irishfire: Yep, she did. We did a trade off with characters; both sides offering cameos of our own characters. I'm not sure how to pronounce their names. I think it says how to in Camlann's story. Once you read her story, you'll find that Dayn and Tristan, though they weren't exactly close, were still allies, and Tristan's hawk knew Dayn well enough to follow his orders.

Starnat: Well, my phanfic is called 'The Mask and the Mirror'. I hope you read/review/ and enjoy it! Erik wants more reviews…lol.

Camlann: I feel sorry for Cynric too. Actually, if I do write a sequel, I was thinking about having a little Adima/Cynric action, just because I pity him. I do feel really bad for him, though. His dad's such a jerk! Oh, and me with more connections…Til Schweiger (who plays Cynric) is in Lara Croft Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life, with the lovely…Gerard Butler! Yay!

Adarthang Lomedur: I think I've read part of your story, but I can't remember, so I'll check it out when I have time. Have fun writing, and thanks for the review!

Chapter Fifteen: So This is Freedom?

"Gawain."

Gawain turned when he heard Lancelot calling to him. The dark-haired man stood, mug of ale close at hand. "I'm taking a walk to the wall, for the first time since we've been freed. You and your…friend, Talso, may join me if you wish," he smiled, glancing toward Tristan and Adima. "It's certainly a bit more peaceful up there."

Gawain pondered the invitation and shot a questioning glance at Talso who smiled back. "Take me to this wall of yours, Gawain," she offered with a warm smile and taking the knight's hand in her own. Gawain's heart began to race and he and Talso followed Lancelot out of the tavern.

Bors continued to slouch in his chair, unmoving, gazing intensely into nothingness. Not even the constant cries and whining of his eleven children could persuade him to move or even speak. Galahad took a final sip of ale and, leaving it on the table, went to join his friends at the wall. He glanced at Bors, wondering if he should be invited to join them, but Vanora motioned for him to move on- her lover was in no mood to follow the crowd.

Adima and Tristan eyed each other calmly. "Shall we join them?" Adima asked quietly. "I hear the view is quite spectacular up there, on the wall. We should spend our final hours in such a place of peacefulness."

"Very well," Tristan grunted in response, not wanting to think of their final hours together at all. He felt a strange bitterness inside as he took Adima's soft, gentle hand in his own. He rubbed his fingers tenderly against her own, never wanting to release them; he'd never felt this way about anyone, and the feeling at once comforted and frightened him.

Adima closed her eyes for a moment as they walked, breathing in the fresh, clean air. It soothed her throat and filled her lungs with its divine sweetness, calming and soothing all her senses.

They followed their friends to the wall, climbing the rigid stone steps as high as they would take them, and peered over the railing at the vast landscape below. A crisp, cool breeze floated past, rustling Tristan's dark hair. Adima smiled, combing it back in place with her fingers. Tristan frowned, a little uncomfortably. It frightened him to realize that this woman beside him had given herself completely to him, and he knew she would only expect the same from him. Though he feared this in some regard, it also gave Tristan a sense of completion, a sense of purpose.

All his life he'd been living under someone else's flag, someone else's colors, and laws, and rule. Now that he was a free man, after so many years of imprisonment, what was he to do with his freedom? He smiled now, pondering his hard-earned gift.

It was a taste on the tongue so ripe and fresh. The pure smell of it hit his nostrils and wafted into him as if he was smelling the sweetest flower. IT was surely the sweetest scent he'd ever taken in.

But there was more to it than that. Is senses had covered taste and smell, but what about touch and hearing? He closed his eyes, listening to the soft coo of the wind, its delicate melodies singing a harmony in his ears. It was the sound of freedom, something he hadn't heard in a long time. And then came the best of all; he squeezed Adima's hand lightly, as if reminding himself she was still there, still holding onto him. IT was the feel of freedom. It gave his feet the feeling that he was walking on air; it lifted his heart to the skies. He could soar with his hawk when he was free, when he was with her.

He gave a soft sigh, a sigh of content, and nothing else. He was happy where he was, with Adima; he was free. So this is freedom, he thought with a grin. He had a small hope that his friends would feel the same way about their freedom, but he doubted they all did.

Arthur, perhaps. He could hardly take his eyes off of Guinevere. She certainly was a gentle person, and quiet handy with a bow. Surely Gawain was quite content with Talso. His dreamy-eyed friend had told him of his frequent conversations with the Woad, though Tristan still didn't completely trust her.

Yes, Gawain seemed to have grown quite fond of the girl. Tristan was indeed happy for him. Though it pleased him that his friends were enjoying their lives, he couldn't help but he was most privileged of them all.

Of course all this heart-felt pondering could only bring him back to the much despised reality that surrounded him and the others. No one knew what tomorrow would bring. He was certain he and his comrades would journey off into foreign lands and reunite with their families and perhaps start a clan of their own. But Tristan knew not what would become of Adima. He would try his best to convince her to join him in his travels, but he wasn't sure how she would answer him.

She loved where she was, that was certain Tristan only hoped she would leave with him, for him. The question of her coming with him seemed to tug at the frays of his tunic, and he finally dropped his jaw, and the words fell like short falls from a rushing river.

"Adima," he never stopped or hesitated. "Will you come with me to my old home?" As soon as the words left him, he feared the answer would be no. His heart stopped a moment, clinging in his chest, afraid to move, afraid of the answer.

Adima blinked in surprise. All this time she had been in such a daze, now the man she'd completely surrendered herself to wanted to have exactly what she offered him. Her lips parted in a sweet, adoring smile. Tristan looked into her deep brown eyes, full of bittersweet thoughts, and thought he could read an answer from them. She was torn between two loves, he realized.

It was a smile of sympathy; she would tell him no. The wind seemed to sweep out from underneath him, and Tristan fell hard on the stone cold bricks of the wall. His hand fell from Adima's and retreated to his side like a faithful and wary dog. He could not smell, he could not breathe. It was all over. His freedom was gone.

Oh! Poor Tristan! Whatever will happen next? I guess you'l have to wait and find out later...lol. Be kind, please review. Thanks.