Delaney rolled over and groaned. Her head felt as if a marching band was using her temples for the bass drum. She felt a hand caress her shoulder and wearily opened her eyes. Dark brown ones stared back at her; glinting mischievously. She groaned again, shutting her eyes, "Please tell me I didn't do anything I would regret not remembering?"

"You are still fully clothed." Lancelot said with a chuckle.

"What about you?" She asked; holding her breath.

"Unfortunately so am I."

She went to turn her head and felt the throbbing start once again. "Oh God, I forgot what hangovers were like. I need my purse."

Lancelot smirked at her as he sat up and reached over her head to the table next to the bed. "Here, try some of this." He handed her a mug.

Delaney took it wearily, "What is it?" She sniffed at the contents and felt herself gag.

"It will make you feel better." He watched her closely.

"Or it will make me throw up." She lamented.

"Come on, Laney. Trust me."

Delaney regarded him, "You know, I usually don't trust a man who says trust me."

"You trusted me last night." He chided, his grin broadening.

With a heavy sigh Delaney plugged her nose drinking the whole mug down in a gulp. Lancelot chuckling the whole time. "It won't be so funny when I throw up on you."

"It would just give me an excuse to have to take another bath." Lancelot commented innocently as he pulled her against him.

Delaney swatted at him, "You and water."

"You didn't seem to mind too much," He muttered as he nuzzled her throat.

Delaney paused as she felt his tongue graze against her pulse, her fingers tangling in the soft curls of his hair. She sighed in spite of herself. She turned to stare at him, and smiled.

Lancelot gently brushed her cheekbone with his fingers. "What shall we do today?"

"Go to sleep?" She offered.

"Isn't Gawain supposed to give you riding lessons?" His eyebrow lifted as his eyes twinkled mischievously.

Delaney covered her eyes with her hands, "Don't remind me."

"You'll feel better after you get up and eat something." She peaked through her fingers at him.

"You really are trying to get me to throw up aren't you?"

Lancelot merrily grinned at her, "Just rest for a few minutes and let the herbs take affect. I'll go get some bread from Vanora. You'll be feeling up to riding in no time."

Delaney lay with her hand partially thrown over her eyes, trying to get past the throbbing of her head. There was a knock at the door and then it opened. She heard the raspy chuckle before booted feet walked across the floor. She knew it was Tristan, "What do YOU want?"

"I'm shocked to find you still clothed." He regarded her with a lopsided grin.

"Ha Ha." She opened her eyes and sat up, "Really, Tristan, what do you want?"

"Here are your clothes. Gawain has every intention of taking you riding today." After a quick perusal he commented further, "Unless you want Lancelot's reputation to remain intact? We could always say that you couldn't walk."

"No rest for the weary." Delaney grumbled as she pushed herself up into a sitting position; sliding her feet to the floor.

"Don't you mean wicked?" Tristan asked with a smirk before he sauntered from the room.

Delaney stood next to the huge horse and glanced at Gawain. Lancelot, Bors, Dagonet, and Galahad all stood near the stable staring at her. "It's just like riding Lancelot, Lass." Bors offered.

Delaney couldn't help the blush, trying to hide her head against the horse's side.

Gawain chuckled, "We all know Delaney."

"Know what? I'll have you know I slept in my clothes last night."

"Really?" He looked down at her, his disbelief obvious.

"As did Lancelot."

"Really?"

"Ask him." Delaney taunted.

"Lancelot you losing your touch?" Gawain asked as he peered over the horse toward the dark haired knight.

"I prefer a woman to be drunk on desire not wine when I bed her."

"Passed out on him did you?" Gawain asked Delaney in a conspiratorial whisper, his voice filled with unvoiced laughter.

"I only remember leaving the tavern."

Gawain shook his head as he helped her up onto the horse. He felt her stiffen as she straddled it. "Relax. A horse is only as good as their rider. If they sense your insecurity they will fight you every step of the way. Become one with the horse."

"Yes master Yoda."

"I am not a short green pointy eared man."

"No, but you do sound like him." She looked at him, "Shouldn't I be on a saddle?"

"When learning to ride, it's easier not to have a saddle." He stared at her sitting stiffly atop the horse. The horse was standing stock still; waiting.

"Use the Force Laney and become one with the horse." He repeated with a smile.

Delaney asked, "What is his name anyway? And if it's something sugary sweet I'm getting off of him right now."

"His name is Achilles."

"That is one that could go either way you know."

"I named him that after he stepped on my ankle as a colt."

Delaney smirked and leaned down to the horses ear, "I like you already." She commented, patting his head affectionately. At that moment Gawain whacked the horses rump and Achilles shot off like an arrow in flight. Delaney clutched the mane tightly, hunching down. She squeezed his girth with her thighs. Gawain shouted, "Alright, if you want to go right, nudge his ribs with your right thigh. Apply a small amount of pressure. If you want to go left nudge with your left. If you want to stop jerk back on his mane."

"Easy for you to say", she grumbled. As soon as she caught her breath she pulled back on the mane. Just like that the horse stopped. If it hadn't been for the fact that her thighs were gripping the horses sides' she would have tumbled over it's head. She had to admit that the feeling had been exhilarating. With a lopsided smirk, she yelled "Giddy up!" And barreled down on Gawain, the horse stopping inches in front of him. Delaney asked, "What's next?" Her eyes twinkling.

After three more hours, and a considerable layer of dirt Delaney finally slid off Achilles. "As fun as that was, I'm sore as hell." She walked slowly to the stables; following the retreating rump of the horse.

"You did just fine. I thought you said you had problems falling off?" Gawain asked, turning to face her once he had lead Achilles into his stall. Ganis was there immediately brushing Achilles down. Gawain took an apple from inside his outer tunic and fed it to the horse.

"The last time I was on a horse I was 8 years old."

"That could explain why you kept falling off." Gawain ushered her from the stables. "Well, that was your riding lesson. Just keep up with it and you'll be a fine horsewoman."

"Next lesson will be shooting a bow from atop Achilles."

"Why on earth would you want to do that?" Lancelot asked aghast.

"Excuse me, sir knight, but need I remind you that the Scots are coming?" Delaney asked with a smile.

"And because of that you should stay in the fort." Lancelot turned, looking her in the eye; his eyebrows knit together.

"Would you expect Guinevere to stay in the fort?"

"No, but she's been in battles; you have not."

They had been walking towards the archery range where Delaney had glimpsed Tristan practicing as she had been riding. "Look, Lancelot, I have as much reason as Guinevere to fight."

"Why?" He asked blocking her way.

"Because I don't play the wilting flower well." She turned with a huff. She walked up to Tristan, waiting patiently as he released the arrow he had notched. Tristan then turned and looked silently at her, "Where can I get a bow and arrows?" He nodded his head in the direction of a building at the end of the path. "Thanks." She headed toward the building. She was jerked to a halt abruptly. She turned and found herself staring at Lancelot's goatee. "What?"

"I don't want to lose you, Delaney." He answered quietly, not quite able to look her in the eye.

Delaney rolled her eyes and continued walking. "You will lose me if you keep up this attitude." When she got into the weaponry she paused; head bent down. "I know you guys don't understand. In my century, women are allowed in battle. We are allowed to do most things men are."

"There are still battles, even in your time? There isn't enough land to not have been conquered by then."

"In my time it isn't over land; it's over religion and politics." Delaney answered as she tested a bow and put it back and grabbed another.

"Have you ever been in one of these battles?"

"No."

"Then why not just–" He was asking with a shrug of the shoulders and gentle persuasive tone.

Delaney had just picked out a bow and spun around, "I have never backed down from anything, Lancelot. Even if it may have been in my own best interest. It's just not in me."

Lancelot reached out and caressed her cheek, "This is hard for me."

She stared at him, sighing heavily. "It's hard for me too, Lancelot. I'm not from this time. I am not used to having to answer to a man before I do something. I-" she searched for the words, "For all I know your time is messed up because Merlin interfered."

Lancelot ran his hands through her hair, "I don't want to lose you."

"How the hell do you think I feel? Do you think I could stand losing you? Do you think I could sit back and wait and see if you come back?"

"I never thought of it that way." He mumbled.

"I didn't think so. To you its your duty."

He studied her a moment, "You still don't feel quite right here do you?"

"I may never feel quite right here, Lancelot. But right now, the Scots are coming; it's just a matter of time. Once we get them out of the way then I'll settle in. Maybe I can help Vanora serve drinks or something."

He smiled at her, "I'm glad you're willing to try."

"I can't sit around complaining what I don't have Lancelot. I just have a hard time remembering that some rights and privileges aren't in existence yet." She felt a lump in her throat. She refused to shed tears for something that hadn't happened yet. She had this feeling she was going to lose him. The man cheated death once, he could do it again. Or maybe he had cheated it one too many times already. With a sigh she pushed past him, "I need to see how lax I've become in my shooting." She mumbled as an excuse as she went to join Tristan out on the archery range.

She quietly stood next to Tristan, enjoying the rhythm of his movements. Everything was measured and even. His stance, how he pulled the arrow from the quiver; notching it into the bow. The sound of the string as he pulled it, the whistle of the arrow through the air. The "thump" as it hit the bulls eye, then it all started again. Delaney relaxed, breathing deep, letting all of her frustrations fall away. She tested the bow string; getting the feel for it. She set the quiver of arrows over her shoulder and pulled one out. She notched it, taking a deep breath she let go, exhaling as the arrow sped through the air. With a triumphant smirk she watched as it hit high on the target. "Not a bulls eye, but at least I hit the damn target." She muttered. She did it again; this time the arrow almost with in the bulls eye. She let lose again, getting the feel for it back and hit the bulls eye. Again she let fly, hitting the bull. She went through all of the quiver, embedding almost all into the bulls eye. She was about to walk off, to get her arrows when she felt a hand upon her shoulder. Tristan stood next to her. He handed her an arrow, "Try hitting one of the arrows already embedded in the target."

Delaney studied him, not knowing if he was challenging her ability, or offering advice. "Ookay." She muttered as she notched the arrow.

"Hold it like this," He gently moved her fingers over the arrow and bow string. "Look for the feathers." When she nodded her head he let go of her hand and stepped away, watching as the arrow sailed through the air landing right next to one of hers.

Delaney turned and looked at him, "It's not as easy as it looks."

"It's a smaller target. Sometimes in battle you have to aim for the smaller areas."

Delaney nodded her understanding. "Thank you."

Tristan looked at her questioningly, "For the help." She said with a small smile.

"You're welcome." He started towards his target to collect his arrows as she did the same. "He doesn't want you to fight."

Delaney paused as she pulled an arrow out of the wood surface. "No, he doesn't."

"But you want to."

"Yes."

Tristan sighed heavily, "I can understand."

This made Delaney turn and look at the man, "Why?"

He studied her, his eyes grey and blank; his face just as unrevealing. "Have you ever been in a battle?"

"No, but that's not the point! I can shoot–"

Tristan raised his hand and cut her off, "Exactly. You would be a hindrance to him. He would worry about your safety and not his own. Guinevere has been in many battles. Some against us. I am not saying you do not have skill. You do. But, you're skills are not tried or tested. You would do quite well I think shooting from the walls of the fort."

Delaney stared at him. Her jaw clenched and lips in a tight line. She wanted to argue with him but knew he was right. Finally she looked down, shoulders sagging, "I can't just wait around and do nothing." Delaney muttered as she gathered the last of her arrows. She was starting back towards the firing area when something made her turn her head and stare to the forest in the distance. She placed the bow over her shoulder and started for the trees. Listening and watching for anything that might have caught her attention. Then suddenly he was there, beside the trees, walking stick in hand. "What brings you out this way?" Delaney called to the aged mystic.

Merlin looked upon his daughter and grinned. "We need to speak."

Delaney walked up to him then followed him to a small pond within the shelter of the trees. Merlin motioned for her to be seated upon a fallen log while he took the taller tree stump. "They are 3 days away to the northeast."

"The Scots?"

"Morgan and her army."

"The Scots." Delaney stated. She sighed and looked up at Merlin, "In my time they weren't lead by a woman."

"A change in the timeline? Interesting." Merlin commented, stroking his beard.

"What do you suggest?"

"Morgan is coming for me. In her vision the child that was you died and because of this she left. In her vision the Scots were invading and they had killed you because of her. I do not know the complete details other than that. So, I took you and gave you to the Norse family. And you know that story, how your soul has been around the wheel of life numerous times. The day after I had taken you; Morgan came back; finding you gone. She was mad, blaming me for your death. I never wanted to let her know that you lived."

"Why on earth not?" Delaney gasped.

"Because she would have hunted you down and killed the parents I had given you to. She had changed; gone rogue. She no longer cared about her Woad family; she had a blood lust. It was then I found out she had joined the Scots in an effort to curb their warfare away from our home; thus preventing your death. Now I'm afraid she is after me." Merlin looked at the sorrow filled eyes and gently caressed Delaney's cheek. "Do not grieve, she won't get me; but she will get some. I wanted to say goodbye before the battle starts."

"But you just said–"

He reverently kissed her hand, touched her face once and walked off into the mist. Delaney felt bereft. She turned back toward the weaponry and trudged along, not even noting the clouds that had tumbled in. Once she got to the weaponry she grabbed a couple more quivers and went back to the archery range; needing to think.

Lancelot knocked on the door to Delaney's room, a tray of strawberry's and cream in his hand. When she didn't answer Lancelot gently opened the door. Finding the room empty he chuckled to himself as he made his way to his quarters. The little minx must have meant to surprise him. He opened his door and found his room empty as well. He set the tray down and closed the door. Standing in the hallway, leaning against the doorframe, he ran his hand through the mass of unruly curls. Tristan noticed him as he opened the door to his own quarters, "She's at the range still."

"How would you know?"

"I ate my lunch on the wall. I saw her." I watched her, he thought to himself.

"You watched her on the range and didn't tell her to get in here?" Lancelot's voice rose in pitch.

Tristan sighed, shaking his head. Delaney confused him enough with his own feelings and she didn't have eyes for him the way she did Lancelot. He couldn't imagine what the other knight was going through. This is why he stuck with hawks and horses. Women turned grown men into whining brats. "I think she has had enough of being told what she can and cannot do."

"Has she now? And did she tell you this?" Lancelot took a step forward.

Tristan stared at the man. He wanted to laugh, the knight had no clue that he had fallen in love. "No, Lancelot, she didn't tell me this." The other knight kept staring at him. "You don't want to do this."

"I think you like her, Tristan." Lancelot accused.

"Yes, I like her. I like her a lot. But I'm not in love with her. Neither are any of the others." Liar, he heard his conscious say. He wasn't lying, not exactly. He loved her, he wasn't in love with her. She managed to be a cross between a sister and close confidant and something in between. His feelings weren't always so brotherly. On more than one occasion he found himself fantasizing about her.

"Neither am I."

"So you say." Tristan muttered, as he turned to open his door. Just then he felt Lancelot grab his over tunic, turning him to face the shorter knight. Tristan rolled his eyes and in one fluid movement brought his fist towards the other knight's face. Just as quickly, he dropped his hand.. Lancelot back peddled, nearly tripping over his own two feet. Tristan pressed him into the wall, "I told you, you didn't want to do this. But you didn't listen. Now then, if you'd quit acting like such an ass you'd go to Delaney and tell her how you feel." With that he turned, opened his door and slammed it behind him. Tristan started undoing the lacings of his over tunic. Anyone with eyes could tell Delaney and Lancelot were madly in love with each other. At times it was enough to make him want to knock sense into both of them.

Lancelot strode toward the archery range the rain, which had been a mere shower moments before, was now a downpour. He watched Delaney a moment, her soaking wet form accented by her shirt which was sticking to her. Her hair matted down to her head in long wet strips. She had the same grace as Tristan when it came to shooting a bow. He felt himself fisting his hands; fighting the urge to rip the bow from her. Mad, because she was caressing the bow and not him. He shook his head. He was jealous of an inanimate object. That was utterly ridiculous. He noticed that Delaney was absently wiping at her face, more than just to push the offensive wet hair from her sight; but wiping at what had to be tears. From the set of her jaw, she was down right pissed. He took a deep breath, he could do this.

Delaney shot off an arrow, and swiped at her hair in exasperation. She then wiped the tears from her face, trying to focus on the target. She couldn't believe even Tristan sided against her. He had a point, but the point was she felt it was her fault this was happening anyway. She felt someone standing behind her; she was ignoring them. It was one of the knights most likely and right now she didn't want to deal with them. She continued firing off shots; each going more haphazardly than the last. When finally she wasn't hitting even remotely close to the target she hung her head; slinging the bow over her shoulder and enjoying the rain falling about her.

"Delaney, we need to talk." Lancelot started softly.

She turned and looked at him, then quickly turned away, arms crossed in front of her, " Then talk."

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"Well you did." She answered gruffly, not looking him in the eye.

"Would you look at me?" He stood in front of her, yet she still wasn't meeting his gaze.

Delaney in answer veered around him and went to go pick up her arrows. She wanted to be left alone, couldn't he see that? Lancelot stormed up to her and forcibly turned her around. Delaney fought his grasp, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Trying to have a conversation." Lancelot shot back.

"I don't wish to have a conversation." She felt as if he had his fist around her heart and was crushing it. The urge to run away was great.

Lancelot grabbed her shoulders with his hands and squatted down to peer into her eyes, rivulets of water dripping from his hair down his face, "What is wrong Delaney?"

"What's wrong? What's wrong? As if you didn't know!"

"If I knew I wouldn't be asking!"

"You don't want me to fight. Hell, even Tristan agrees with you! He says I'd be a distraction!"

"You would be." Was his quiet reply.

"I can't just stand around twiddling my thumbs!"

"Then help Vanora." He offered, trying to be helpful.

"But I can shoot a bow!" She exclaimed, hands upon her hips.

"Delaney, we aren't saying you can't." Lancelot fought for patience. "We're saying you have never seen battle, or war. Maybe we don't want it to scar you as it has us."

"You told me my scars didn't matter!"

Lancelot stood, trying to bring her into his embrace and comfort her. She fought him, but soon she was in his arms, fists clutched between them. "Laney," he brushed her hair with his hands, the rain pounding down on them. "I am speaking of the mental scars. You have enough mental anguish, I don't wish to add to it if I can help it. And shooting a bow in the midst of combat is totally different than shooting one at an unmoving target."

"You don't think I could do it?"

"I think you could, with practice. I have been training to be a knight for over 15 years, Delaney. Not only that, I have been shooting a bow for years before that. It was what we used to kill our food. It is how my people survived. I'm sorry, but I doubt you had to kill for your dinner."

"I hate this." She conceded.

"I know you do. You aren't a wilting flower, Delaney. You are quite possibly one of the strongest women I know. But you would make me worry, and that could cost me my life, which is what you say you do not wish to happen."

"I don't." She muttered. Wrapping her arms about him.

"I don't wish to watch you die either." He held her to him, kissing the top of her head, holding her close. He felt her arms go about him and hold him as if she were fearful he'd vanish. "What's wrong, Delaney? This isn't all about us telling you to stay put if we have to go fight."

"I don't know what I'd do if you don't come back Lancelot." She muttered, almost inaudibly; her voice faltering.

Lancelot's heart skipped a beat. What would he do if she was gone from his life? He felt stark terror at that thought. He had come to take her company for granted. He looked forward to her being there, he expected it. Her smile, the way it ghosted across her face. The way her hair fell over her eyes when she was deep in thought. Was Tristan right? Was he in love? He felt as if someone had punched him. He was. And Tristan had; almost. "I don't want to lose you either, Laney."

Delaney pulled away enough to look into his face and expressive eyes, "How would you lose me?"

"If I don't come back it would be losing you. I don't think my heart could take it."

"You'd be dead and wouldn't care."

"Are you so sure? Is there life after death? I would grieve for the lose of your love."

"Love? I never said anything about love." She suddenly felt awkward. She needed to put distance between them. She didn't love him. She cared deeply for him. She didn't love him. She hadn't known him long enough to be in love with him. Brent, she had known for four years, this man it hadn't been that long. She started to back away, "Lancelot I don't know what you are speaking of," she babbled, backing up further, "I care for you yes. We have had some tender moments but I don't think you could call that love."

"Delaney," He was reaching for her and she was moving away. "It's okay, don't be worried. I love you!" At the sound of the proclamation she turned and ran for the stable. Lancelot stared after her numbly.

"Give her time, she's scared." Lancelot turned and found Tristan standing next to him, a quiver half filled with arrows in his hand.

"How long have you been there?"

"Just long enough to hear you tell her you loved her." The other man mumbled.

"I would think she would be happy." Lancelot stated as he kicked at the wet mud.

"Think about it Lancelot, the last person who probably told her they loved her; loved to hurt her."

Lancelot winced, "I never thought of that."

"I know. Come on, help me pick up these arrows."

Delaney watched as Lancelot and Tristan picked up the rest of the arrows and then went inside the weaponry. She waited until they had left the weaponry and made for one of the ways to the tavern. She sighed, then made her way to her room.

She awoke early in the morning, the sun still hadn't risen. She put on her clothes from when she first had met the knights. She walked from her room towards the stable. Quickly she glanced up at the wall, one of the other men besides the knights was on watch. She breathed a sigh of relief. Knowing that Tristan would be in bed as well as the others. She hadn't quite figured out what she planned on doing. She was still dumbstruck that Lancelot loved her. She really wasn't worthy. Maybe, if she did this, she would be. She would face Morgan. Let her know that the child she mourned was alive. Maybe she could stop this madness.