A/N: Well, sorry again for being late. I've been really busy, as you probably could have guessed, and my beta reader got sick for a while (and still kinda is), so she couldn't read anything for a while. It'll be a week or so before the next update (again). OMG, you guys…I just found out the other day that adima is a disease…isn't that horrible? I'm not sure if it's spelled the same, but it's the name for a disease. My friend had told me that once but she said she wasn't sure, so I didn't really care, but I heard it from an adult this time! I feel really bad…hey; maybe I'll name my next character strep! Who knows?

A Phoenix Fire: Yay! You gave me my 150th review! Thanks!

ChildlikeEmpress: Lol, have fun with that wrench.

Tracy137: Who knows who I'll kill…? It'll be a surprise till the end!

IrishFire: I know! I'm jealous of my own character! But, I guess that's why we writers write romantic fan fiction, isn't it? To see what our characters (aka: ourselves) do when presented with hot guys that we adore and love! I actually kinda like the idea of Guinevere and Lance…I'm not sure why. I didn't really like him much in the movie, but then again, I didn't care for Arthur either…I pretty much just liked Tristan. Lol, but I think Guinevere and Lance would make a good couple, and had feelings for each other, by Gwen chose Arthur in the end to unite their people.

Camlann: Yeah, sorry about the length of the chapter. I did my best…lol. You know, Tristan still is a hard nut to crack! It's STILL hard to get him in character, but I'm hoping I can pull it off, lol.

Chapter Seventeen: Morning

Adima awoke to the chill of the dawn. Once she rose from her sleep, she blinked her eyes, wearily, and a long yawn broke into a smile as she glanced down at the still warm spot beside her on the bed. Her outstretched arms reached high into the sky as she lengthened her muscles like a cat when woken from its sleep.

But what she did not expect was the empty space in the bed beside her where she could still feel the heat from Tristan's warm body. He was gone. Where was he, and when did he leave? She asked herself, worriedly.

Before she had time to ponder the matter, the door of Tristan's room opened and the knight himself walked in, a ripe, green apple cupped in his palm. In an instant, Adima had pulled the milk-white sheets over her body, but when Tristan shut the door behind him, she relaxed a little, with a sigh.

"I thought you'd awaken hungry," the knight offered, kindly, setting the apple in Adima's open palm. He sat on the bed beside her, wearing a pale russet tunic and trousers.

"I did," Adima replied, kissing him on the lips, her mouth lifting upward with a smile.

Their lips parted, and Adima bit hers with a still grin, blushing slightly. "The sun has barley risen," she said, bringing the fresh smelling fruit to her mouth. "How long have you been awake?"

Tristan watched her as she crunched hard on the apple, ripping its tough green flesh with her teeth. A little dribble of juice trickled down her lower lip and onto her chin. Adima quickly wiped her mouth with her hand and offered the apple to the knight with the other. "Apple?"

Tristan smiled. "Not long. It's for you," he said, gruffly. "I'm not hungry."

A square of light melted into the room through the small window above the bed. Adima seemed to be bathed in it, her back against the stone wall. Tristan frowned. Would this be their last morning together? How could he hunger for food at this moment? All he hungered for was her. Her thirsted for her, too. A craving that would never be satisfied unless she was with him; in his arms, by his side, in his heart, forever.

Tristan knew all too well the feeling of starvation- he had known it all his life. Growing up, his family never had much food, and the Romans, when they took him to transport to his post, had not spared much of their food for him. Even on scouting expeditions he didn't get much to eat. But food was not all he had been starved of; freedom, as well. But he had that now, and he didn't want to starve ever again.

Adima's eyes glazed over with a saddened color to them- a color Tristan had never seen before and it stole him away from his dreary thoughts. "You should ready your things," she said, blandly, avoiding his eye.

"I've done so," Tristan replied. "I never carry much." This was followed by a short time of silence; both Adima and Tristan spent gazing around the room as if afraid to face each other.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. "Tristan," Lancelot's voice broke through the wood as if there were no barrier. "We're getting the horses ready. You should get prepared, too." His voice was solid, and Adima noted that it sounded troubled as well.

Tristan stood. Adima bit into the apple once more, tasting the ripe juice as it swished around in her mouth. She chewed angrily at the crunchy inside of the fruit. As Tristan made for the door, he turned to Adima and said, "You should dress. I'll go to Passebreul…"

"No," Adima said softly. Carrying the blanket around her with one hand, she stepped up to Tristan and leaned her body against his. "Stay with me," she said, closing her eyes.

Tristan smiled. He'd hope she'd offer him a place to stay, even for a while. He wasn't sure if she'd need her privacy or prefer to be left alone while she dressed.

He watched her with loving eyes as she dressed and fixed her hair. With a sad smile, she walked over to him, while he waited in the center of the room. "I'm ready," she told him, taking his hand in hers.

I don't know if I am, Tristan thought, sadly. No, I'm not. He wanted to talk to her, but he couldn't find the words to say, and even if he found the words, he didn't think he could speak for the terrible lump in his throat was choking him, painfully.

Adima's heart pounded as Tristan led her through the knights' barracks, through a small courtyard, and into the stables. Don't be afraid, she kept telling herself. Take in every moment. Don't be afraid. There's nothing to fear…yes, there is…no, don't think of it. Don't be afraid. She had to shut her eyes more than once to keep the tears at bay.

The stables smelled of fresh hay and horse droppings. The droppings were not as pleasant as Adima thought the smell of hay was. She had never smelled hay before, but the scent would stay with her forever. It was a clean, refreshing scent.

The stables were long, and every stall had a horse inside, waiting to be groomed or saddled and bridled, or taken out for a walk. The stallions and mares called to each other with neighs and grunts, and snorts of all kinds. Adima giggled as one sneezed when she and Tristan walked by. She pat it gently on the warm pink flesh of its nose, and it ducked its head back inside its stall, eyes wide with her new scent.

Lancelot, she noticed, was saddling his dark bay steed, and Gawain was grooming his grey stallion, brushing the horse's soft coat with lazy strokes, eyes fixed upon his steed. He appeared tired and restless to Adima, and she felt the same.

Bors walked in the stables grumbling and groaning, two of his children skipping along beside him. One was a little boy, probably only four or five, and the girl was around the age of eight.

"Had a long night, Bors?" Lancelot asked, with a grin, as Bors swung heavily from side to side as he waddled towards his steed's stall.

"Oh, shut up, Lance," the knight grumbled. "My head hurts like nothing I've known…"

"I'd expect nothing less from you, Bors," Lance grinned, patting his horse on the neck. Bors ignored his comment, and began muttering kind words to his horse. His children skipped around at his feet, anxiously. "We wanna ride, too," the little girl said. "Let us ride, Father, please."

"Please, please," echoed the boy. He had his mother's dark brown hair and soft, delicate eyes.

"Oh, shush, the both of you," spat Bors. "Maybe I'll let you ride on the way." Not satisfied, the girl crossed her arms over her chest and pouted, but Bors ignored her and opened the latch to the stall. He opened the stall door, walked inside, and led his horse out to be groomed and saddled, his children kept closely at his side, offering their help if it was needed.

Tristan finally stopped at the door of Breul's stall. "Here, boy," he whispered softly. His horse turned around to face him and strode up swiftly to see his master. Tristan stepped aside so Adima could pet the horse's head, and then he too, led the giant beast out of its stall.

"May I help?" Adima asked once Tristan had Breul out of his stall. "I'd like to groom him, too."

"Sure," Tristan agreed.

"Show me how…"

"I will," Tristan offered as Adima stroked the horse's hide gently with her bare hand. Tristan left her side a moment and came back quickly with a small brush that Joles had handed to him. "Take this," he gave it to Adima who began stroking the horse's neck with it. "Good," Tristan observed. Adima turned her head to watch Lance and Gawain and Bors groom their steeds, and followed their lead. Every once in a while Tristan would guide her hand across the horse's hide.

It felt good, Adima thought, for Tristan to teach her something new again. He had already taught her so many things.

Once Breul was finished with his grooming and Tristan had saddled and bridled him, he turned to Adima. "Arthur has already returned your sister and Talso to their home. They left early this morning." Adima frowned. "It is time I returned you to them," Tristan muttered. "We should be off soon." Adima nodded, but said nothing. Tristan let her mount first and then he rose up behind her on the horse. Adima remembered the first times she had ridden with Tristan. The first rode had not nearly been as pleasant as all those that followed she thought with a sad grin.

"Goodbye, honorable knights," Adima called as they quietly walked toward the stable door. Gawain, Bors, Lancelot, and now Galahad where all there. They fared her well and their goodbyes were over.

Adima remembered every step of the ride out of the fort. Every moment was a pain, and yet a blessing to be with Tristan. When they left the wall, Tristan urged Breul into a steady canter, and then a gallop. They reached the edge of the forest she called home in little time. Adima dreaded the moment when the horse would come to a halt.

A/N: Please review! And, this chapter is dedicated to Kayla Malfoy, my good friend!