AN I did it. I can't believe I finally did it! Wow, that was definitely a long time coming. I hope you like it. I really hope you like it. Phew. I feel...I don't know. Funny maybe. It always feels like such a watershed when I get to this point in a story. Please, please let me know what you think!

Ryn's recovery was slower than she would have liked. After a month, she appealed to Arthur to allow her back on patrol, but, based in part on Vanora's evaluation, he refused. Ryn knew he was probably in the right, but it still annoyed her.

She worked every day to try to regain her strength and endurance. She even ventured to the training circle to work out with the other knights, but Dagonet and Bors typically sent her away before she could even get her armor on.

She and Lancelot did not speak much to each other. She desperately wanted to thank him for all he had done for her while she was sick, but couldn't think of a way to do it without coming clean about how she really felt about him.

For his part, Lancelot mostly tried to keep her out of his mind. He didn't know what had happened between her and Tristan that afternoon in the forest and if he thought about it too much, it just made him angry.

The snow had just started to fall when Arthur found Lancelot in the stables, tending to Maeglan.

"This horse has been antsy and restless for weeks," Lancelot said as he brushed Maeglan's dark coat.

"Much like its owner," Arthur observed, stroking the horse's head.

"When will you let her back on duty?"

"I haven't decided. I have a hard time telling whether she's actually better or if she's just making me think she is."

"Maybe Tristan could tell you," Lancelot said, surprised at how bitter he sounded.

"Tristan?" Arthur asked, puzzled. "Why would Tristan know?"

"Never mind," Lancelot said dismissively, returning his focus to the task at hand.

Arthur scrutinized his friend for a moment, trying to figure out what was going on in his head. "You ought to take him to her," he eventually said.

"Who?" Lancelot asked, thinking at first Arthur meant Tristan.

"Maeglan. I'm sure they would both benefit from some time together."

Maeglan's ears perked up at the sound of his name. He turned his head and nudged Lancelot with a good deal of force.

Lancelot raised an eyebrow at the beast. "Our legends hold that knights return as great horses when they die. Sometimes I wonder if this one's not already possessed by its owner."

Arthur laughed at that. "I'll saddle Eol for you."

After a brief visit from Jols, who had prepared a sack of supplies for Ryn, Lancelot trotted the two horses over to Ryn's camp. He dismounted before leading the two stallions through the thicket into the clearing.

He found Ryn with her back to him. Her tunic was off and she was struggling to clean the nearly-healed wound on her back. He dropped the horses' reigns and took the cloth from her without asking. He dabbed gently at the long scar. It was red and raised, but looked a whole lot better than it had a few weeks before.

"Thank you," she said, clasping her hands together to stop their involuntary trembling. It was just the cold, she tried to convince herself.

"It's looking a lot better," he commented, trying very hard to focus on the wound and not her long dark hair draped over one shoulder or her creamy skin at the nape of her neck. Of all the women in the world, why was it she that had such a powerful effect on him?

Maeglan had made his way to Ryn's side and was nuzzling her face affectionately.

"I thought I'd bring him to see you. He's been making the other horses antsy."

She stroked the horse's muzzle while she waited for Lancelot to finish. He passed the cloth back to her and she put her tunic back on without turning around. She disappeared into her tent for a moment before returning with two large apples. She fed one to Maeglan and one to Eol.

Lancelot was overwhelmed by thoughts of home as he watched her. There was something about the way she cared for and spoke to the horses that brought back so many memories. He knew the others felt the same way. No matter the circumstance, they almost always stopped what they were doing to watch her tend to the horses.

"Shall we go for a ride?" he asked.

Her face lit up. "Really?"

He shrugged. "If you think you're well enough."

She grinned and mounted Maeglan in a single movement. It took his breath away. He'd almost forgot how she looked atop her horse. They melted into each other seamlessly and almost always made him wish he was that horse.

He pulled himself up on Eol and followed Ryn into the forest. He kept close to her flank. She knew these woods better than anyone and if he lost sight of her for even a moment, he might never find his way back again. After weaving their way back and forth through the dense trees, they broke out onto a wide open meadow where Ryn urged Maeglan into a full-out gallop.

Lancelot found himself smiling as he watched her and tried to keep up. This was it. This was the feeling that was always missing in the pit of his stomach – this freedom, this abandon. This was home. Being with her, like this, was home. Now, how did he tell her that?

Ryn felt the wind pull itself through her hair, sending it flying out behind her as wild as Maeglan's mane. Her heart seemed to slow down and pump in rhythm with the horse's steps. She loved galloping at full tilt like this. It felt like they hardly ever touched the ground. She felt Maeglan's muscles contract and extend beneath her and matched her body easily to him. There was no thinking – just being.

She glanced beside her as Lancelot caught up to them. He caught her eye briefly and smiled. God, how she had missed that smile. She hadn't seen it since before they left Sarmatia. All the years of anger, bitterness and fear seemed to have melted off of him and it was all she could do to keep her heart from bursting. This was how it should be, the two of them, riding hard and fast, just as they were. She hated that it had to end.

She let Maeglan slow down on his own. Eventually they were back to a trot and headed back to camp through the forest. She broke off a twig along the way and whipped her hair around it and into a loose bun on the back of her head. It was messy and tangled, but she didn't care.

Lancelot thought she'd never looked better.

It had been such a long time since he'd rode just with her. Watching her, he didn't have to guess at why Tristan might be attracted to her. He also began to understand why Ryn and Tristan never spoke to each other. She communicated so clearly without ever saying a word. She could indicate direction, hazards and even emotions with the tilt of her head, the bend of a shoulder or a glance in his direction. Words somehow didn't seem important now.

He suppressed a sigh. All these years he thought he'd held the lion's share of knowledge about her – now he realized he knew very little about the woman he called his best friend.

Back in Ryn's clearing; they watered the horses and themselves. Ryn's cheeks were still flushed from their ride, but she was very obviously happy. Fat snowflakes kept landing and melting on her long eyelashes, making her blue eyes seem bluer.

Lancelot caught himself staring at her. "How are you doing?" he asked.

"Good. Great. That was…thank you," she said, eyes bright and energetic.

"My pleasure," he said with a flourish and a small bow.

She chuckled at his display, then decided she'd try pushing her luck. "Spar with me," she said.

"What?"

"Please?" she all but begged. "I haven't been allowed in the training circle for weeks and training on my own just isn't the same."

"No, Ryn. Arthur will have my head," Lancelot protested.

"Please, Lancelot," she said plaintively, her eyes big and pleading.

He groaned. "How am I supposed to say no to you when you look at me like that?"

She grinned broadly and went to fetch her sword.

He shook his head and reached behind him to pull his own swords from his back. This really was against his better judgment, but he couldn't resist the opportunity to spend more time with her.

"We stop when you've had enough," he told her.

She chuckled. "We stop when you've had enough," she countered.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh, is that how it is?"

"Aye, that's how it is," she said swinging her weapon at him.

He met her, dodging and parrying past her to smack her bottom with the flat of his sword.

"Hey!" she exclaimed.

"Are you sure you're well enough for this? You seem a little slow," he teased.

Her eyes narrowed. "Slow, hey?" she said, lunging at him again, managing to force him back against a large tree.

"Not bad," he said, before pushing her away and driving her to her knees.

She looked up at him with a coy grin. "You, my friend, have learned some new tricks."

"You noticed."

She ducked and rolled away from him, her hair bursting loose from its bun in the process. It was apparent to her that she definitely wasn't well enough to beat him, but that didn't mean she couldn't put up a good fight.

She attacked again, only to have him catch and trap her between himself and his sword. "Do you yield?" he asked, his mouth very close to her ear.

She elbowed him in the stomach hard enough to make him lose his grip on her. She dropped out of his hold and turned to face him, putting her own sword at his neck.

"Yield? Never," she grinned, waiting for him to recover.

She was breathing heavily and Lancelot could see she wouldn't have enough energy left in her to fend off a last attack. He was suddenly struck with the thought that this was the opportunity he had been waiting for. The smoke that always seemed to cloud their relationship suddenly cleared and he knew what he had to do.

He hesitated. Would he really make this their moment of truth? Would he finally show his hand and let the cards fall where they may? All their time together flashed through his mind and he decided he couldn't go on any longer without knowing one way or the other.

In two swift moves, he batted her sword away from his throat and out of her hand. Before she had time to recover, he had her up against a tree and was kissing her.

At first Ryn didn't know what to do. She'd been waiting and wanting this for so long without a hope that it would ever happen that she was completely stunned for a moment. She was surprised to find herself so quickly relaxing and even getting into it, overwhelmed by the sudden release of everything she'd been holding back from him.

Unfortunately, her brain kicked into high gear again. She pushed him away.

His initial hopefulness at her positive reaction was crushed. "So it's true then," he said, disappointment weighing heavy in his voice.

"What?" she asked, trying to catch her breath.

"You're in love with Arthur. Or is it Tristan?"

"Is that what you think?" she could hardly believe what she was hearing.

"What am I supposed to think, Ryn? You confuse me. You always have. You make everything blurry and uncertain. Just tell me. If you're in love with someone else, just tell me so I can be clear about where I stand with you."

"Where you stand?" her heart was breaking and she didn't know what to do. "Don't you see, Lancelot? I'm in love with you. It's always been you. Since the beginning it's been you. I left for you. I stay for you." There. It was out. She'd finally told him.

It was what he wanted to hear, but he wasn't sure if he'd really expected it. "Then why do you keep pushing me away?"

"I won't be another notch on your belt," she said, sorrow and anger rising up in her. "I'm not a horse to be broken. Do you think I don't know? Do you think I don't hear the stories you and the men tell each other? Women are just conquests to you – little battles that you win and walk away from."

She had him there and he knew it. "Those women have never meant anything. You mean something. You mean everything."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Because. You are home to me. To all of us. You are the only thing in this god-forsaken country that gives us any hope that we'll one day be free. You chose to stay when you could have left. You are loyal because you choose to be, not because you are forced. None of us feel worthy of that loyalty. We don't deserve it. Least of all me."

The gravity of his words hit her like a blow to the gut. Now what? She thought frantically. What do I do? What do I say?

They stood in silence for what felt like a lifetime. Finally, Lancelot couldn't take it anymore. He sighed heavily, defeated by his own admission of unworthiness of her. He turned and started to leave.

Ryn reached out and grabbed his hand to stop him. "You are worthy," she told him.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because," she said, pulling him close to her, "I love you."

He searched her eyes for a moment before kissing her again. It was for real this time, for both of them. She slid her arms around his neck a slipped her fingers into his thick, curly hair. He pulled her closer to him and deepened the kiss.

Years of repressed passion and desire seemed to burst out of them. Before they really knew what was happening, they found themselves inside her tent, pulling clothes off each other, needing the heat of the other's skin, needing to be as close as they could physically get, needing the culmination and release of years of a love that had burned in each of them, but never set free. The fire of that first release consumed them and they didn't care. They were lost in each other and didn't want to think, didn't want to analyze, just wanted to be.

When it was over, they both lay there, clinging to each other, breathing heavily, happy but not satisfied. What they had was too big to be satiated.

The wound on Ryn's back ached, but she didn't care. She ran a hand through his hair. "Will you still love me in the morning?" she wanted to know, overwhelmed by all that had just happened.

Lancelot furrowed his brow as he pushed a strand of hair out of her face. "I don't think this is love," he said.

"No? Then what is it?"

"I don't know. It's something bigger."

She leaned in and kissed him softly. "But it's ours, right?"

He smiled, marveling at how right this all felt. "It'll always be ours. No matter what happens."

"No matter what happens," she repeated, feeling truly happy for the first time in her life.