Author's Note: So ... This isn't really a "reason" ... But it's the best I could do. And I'm really rather fond of it. Still lots of fluff and no major slash, but that is changing a lot in the next two chapters. I promise. Enjoy!

REASON #03

Galahad cannot sleep. He wanders aimlessly. His eyes catch the sight of a fire flickering off in the distance. He decides to ignore it. However, Galahad's curiosity gets the better of him. He grabs his sword, as well as his bow and some arrows. He fetches his horse and rides towards the fire. Stopping a fair distance away, Galahad dismounts his horse and takes only his sword. Stealthily, he creeps towards the fire.

"What are you doing, sneaking around like this, Galahad?"

"What are you doing, sitting here by yourself?" Galahad frowns and walks up next to the fire. He lays his sword on the ground. Tristan glances up at the sky, then at the fire.

"I'm enjoying the last days before the snow. You should be asleep."

"I can't." Galahad sits next to Tristan. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. "My mother used to tell me tales about bad things that happened to children who left their homes at night."

"Perhaps you should go back home, then."

"I don't remember my mother very well," Galahad continues, ignoring Tristan. "Sometimes I dream about her, but I can never see her. I'll bet she's beautiful, though. With long, curly brown hair and deep, rich eyes - blue or brown." A smile forms on his lips. "I remember her voice, though. As though I heard it only yesterday. ... Tristan? Do you think we'll be going home soon?"

Tristan looks at Galahad and studies him momentarily.

"No. I don't think so."

Galahad's face falls. He had anticipated that answer, yet did not want to hear it. He stares into the fire. Tristan moves closer to him.

"I'm going to tell you a story, Galahad."

Tristan watches Galahad's spirits lift slightly. He smiles only to himself, knowing how much the younger knight loves stories. Looking into the flames, Tristan chooses his words carefully.

"Once, a long time ago, there was a group of warriors. They were taken from their homes to fight in a distant and wild land for reasons that they could not help. As the years passed, their numbers grew smaller and the warriors grew closer. They became a family, each of them watching out for the others. In time, they forgot about the homes they were taken away from. They learned that they no longer had one single place to call home, but together was home for them."

Galahad bows his head slightly. He knows that Tristan is right. A small shiver creeps through him, and Tristan puts an arm around him. Galahad leans himself against the older man.

"You should tell stories more often."

"I'll leave the story telling to you."

Tristan does not need to look at Galahad to see him smile. Galahad loves telling stories almost more than he loves hearing them. He tells stories of everything, and, regardless of what the others might think, Tristan is always keen to hear them. Tristan leans against a tree and closes his eyes, reminding himself to have Galahad tell him a story about home one day.

Author's Note: Reviews make me a happy camper. D