A/N: OK in this chaptr they get into the story of Camille past, indicated by the italics (its told frm the point of view of her mother) This story is kinda twisted and turned so hang on and enjoy the ride!

lowly, the knights filed out of the small room, until none were left but Lancelot, who knelt still by her bed, watching her sleep. Bitterly, he pondered on the irony of fate. Fifteen years of servitude, risking his life, he had survived. Then he had met her, fallen madly in love with her, and now, after refusing to relinquish her to the blades of the enemy, he might lose her again, to a foe he couldn't take on in single combat. He almost wished Arthur were there to pray over her, although he didn't believe in his god. She turned and opened her eyes.

"Lancelot" she whispered, her voice hoarse "Lancelot, I am so cold, so very cold." her mouth twisted in sadness and tears welled in her lovely eyes.

"Please. Hold me" He rose and slid onto his bed next to her pulling her against him cradling her.

"I will keep you safe even if I have to hold you here forever. never will anything take you from me again." She sighed and laid her head on his chest as he held her even closer. Through the haze of fever, she felt his arms strong and protecting wrapped around her. It had been so long since his troubled mind had allowed him rest that even though his fear tied knots of all his reason and common sense, eventually, his body relaxed and forced his mind into sleep. The next morning, Arthur came in and saw his friend, still holding Camille as if he let go his world would shatter. He shook him gently causing the other to shake his eyes drowsily and gently releasing her to sit, and rub his eyes.

"That must have been you first real sleep in months?" Arthur said congenially. Beneath his happy guise, Lancelot could see the concern.

"I believe it may be my last for the next few" he replied.

"Lancelot" Arthur began slowly "You haven't left her room at all. You haven't eaten. This-" he motioned around the room and at Camille, still sleeping "Its all…unhealthy" Lancelot's face tightened at this and he said quietly

"I'm not leaving Arthur, I let her go once, but never again."

"There are others who love her as well. At least let them have their chance to watch over her." Arthur argued. Lancelot shook his head stonily

"she is in pain, I can't leave her". Camille stirred and opened her eyes reassuring him

"I will not leave you yet my darling" Her fever had broken.

Summoned by Lancelot's yelling, Bors, Tristran, Galahad, and Gwain crept in, only to be shoved aside roughly by Vanora, who, completely undaunted by the testosterone she was thrusting aside like Moses and his proverbial red sea.

"Get out of the way! Now! Bors if you so much as touch my arse again, I'll lose my temper and introduce my fist to your scummy face!"

"I never!" whined Bors, who was at least two people away, Vanora whirled realizing that her lover had not been the culprit and singled out Gwain, who appeared to be biting his tongue rather hard, to keep from laughing. Galahad, unable to hold it any longer sniggered then immediately suppressed it. Bors following, if rather slowly, the turn of this silent conversation, realized that either Gwain or Galahad had taken an unchaste swipe at his woman's rear end roared at the general public

" Eh! You so much as touch her arse again I'll introduce my fist to your face" he nodded his head curtly, satisfied that he had successfully subdued the randy masses. Vanora rolled her eyes and shook her head in pity for her man

"Very original darling, and absolutely terrifying, as usual." Bors smiled happily as if he had just been patted on the head.

"Ask him if he wants a cookie" whispered Galahad audibly, causing Bors to chase him from the room, swinging his huge fists. Vanora smiled fondly at his exit and briskly pushed Lancelot out from the side of the bed. Pulling over a chair and sitting, she uncovered a wooden bowl, full of soup and a plate with some dark soft bread.

"Hungry dear?" she asked kindly "Quite" smiled Camille, then frowned apologetically

"If you could just help me sit up" Vanora reached up and helped her up into a sitting position. She handed her the soup and bread and ruffled her hair affectionately, rising from the chair.

"Now" she instructed, "you, all of you, leave the room and give the womenfolk some privacy." She cast a glare in Lancelot's direction who was sulking "that means you as well sir knight! You shall leave this room even if I have to grab you by your sulky little ear and drag you!" Afraid that one of their own was to be left to the terrible devices of a vengeful woman, the knights dragged Lancelot out the door, to many protests. Vanora came back and sat down. Camille smiled and sighed in relief as the door closed behind them.

"That's better isn't it" Vanora chuckled,

"Oh yes!" Camille agreed, "I love them all dearly, but they bring with them an intensity that can be extremely exhausting"

"Don't I know" it said Vanora ruefully, "It's hard to be linked with one of the great Sarmatian knights. They have force of personality that blows you over, but you cry yourself to sleep every night they're gone, which is often."

"Well at least I ride with them" Camille smiled, "although that in itself can be just exhausting"

"So…how exactly did you come to be riding alone, I mean, it must be lonely out there by yourself?"

"It's a very long tale" she broke off and set down the bowl, "one I haven't told anyone in an even longer time" she fell silent and regarded the other woman with solemn eyes "I suppose it cannot stay locked within my breast forever." Knowing she was about to be experience a blissfully long conversation with a woman who did more than simper and giggle for a living like the other women on the wall, Vanora unconsciously leaned forward and furrowed her brow.

"My mother was a beautiful, dangerous Woad warrior, named Wynth. Some say when she prepared for combat, even her own allies would run and cower from the sight of her face." In her eyes, the gray, frugal bedroom she saw gave way to a forest road, a slate gray sky, and heavy miserable rain falling down….

When she rode into the village, she could hear them whispering her name. The mumblings melded with the sighing wind creating a cacophony of breath around her. She rode with no cloak or shawl, and the rain ran in clear rivulets down her bare arms and legs. Her fiery red hair was loose and soaked, creating further paths of water, which hung on her lashes and dripped from her nose. Her eyes, iron gray that matched the sky and the horse she rode, were cold and fierce at the same time. They said that she had been a slave to a roman lord before she had tired of his advances and slit his throat. She had escaped his guards, leaving five of them dying in pools of their own blood. They said she had no mercy for any living thing and nothing, no man, nor god himself, could tame her. Wynth rode into the village that day, her bow strung and her quiver full. Before the day died, she vowed, the last thing Gowan Kelbraiugh would see would be her iron gray eyes.

Please review!