Ashes

Gwaine glanced up at the darkening sky, well aware that the last mourners had left more than an hour ago. His joints were stiff from the slight chill in the air and from standing still for so long. But he couldn't tear himself away. The fire had turned to bright red embers, and there was nothing left of Leon's body but ash.

In the few days since Leon had died, this was the first chance he'd had to stop and reflect. He wasn't locked in a dungeon or being tortured. He wasn't running with soldiers on his heels. He wasn't trying to save Arthur and Merlin's lives. And for the time being, he wasn't worried about what Uther thought of him. It was the silence and the stillness of it all that finally broke him. He fell to his knees and released the tears he'd been holding back.

"How…" He choked back a sob and dried his eyes with his wrists. "How could you do this to me?'

A sudden gust of wind caught him off guard and blew strands of his hair into his face. He didn't even try to move them, he let them stay wherever the tears left them plastered across his face. He had not cried like this in longer than he could remember, and now that he had started, he never wanted to stop.

When the sun finally sank behind the horizon, he pulled the edge of his cloak across his eyes and wiped them, knowing they were bright red. Shakily, he stood up and walked over to the pyre, placing a hand on the remnants of the wood. When he pulled away there was a light dusting of ash covering his fingers. He closed his eyes and grabbed the dented silver pendant around his neck. He opened them again and watched the dying embers for a moment before the whisper escaped his lips, "I love you."

I love you. He'd never said it before, at least not to Leon. There had been enough chances, but he'd always found an excuse. The words tasted bitter in his mouth and he tried not to remember each and every time Leon had said I love you.

Gwaine sighed as he walked up the stairs into the castle. There was a large part of him that wanted to go directly to the tavern and drown his sorrows, but he was still covered in cuts and bruises and sleep sounded a million times better than mead. He was trying so hard to get to his chambers quickly that he didn't even see Guinevere pop out of one of the closets in the hallway and he slammed straight into her. The stack of pillows she'd been carry went flying in every direction.

"Gwen!" He automatically reached down to start picking up the scattered pillows. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry about it, I should've been paying more attention to where I was going. Besides, everyone's on edge," She assured him with a soft smile. She was about to wave him off so he could get on his way, but then she saw his face.

"Oh, Gwaine," She said, kneeling next to him, and placing the pillows in a neat pile out of the way. "Are you going to be alright? I know how close you were to Leon."

No, you really don't, Gwaine thought, but he knew she was just trying to help. She'd known Leon since they were children. He had to remind himself that he didn't have a monopoly on grief. Other people felt it, too, and other people cared. "I'll be fine. I just need a day or two to adjust. I promise I'll be back to my normal, charming self in no time."

Gwaine stood up and nodded at her, "Again, sorry I ran into you."

"It's not a problem. Good night, Gwaine," She was as polite as usual, but she couldn't help narrowing her eyes suspiciously as he walked away. He'd been through a lot the past few days. So had Merlin and Arthur. He probably just needed some rest, and a few hours without any life-threatening crises.

When he finally reached his chamber, Gwaine let out the breath he'd been holding since he left Gwen. He pushed open the door and closed it behind him quickly. It took no time at all for him to strip off the majority of his clothes. Even less because he just left the pieces wherever they fell. He threw himself backwards onto the bed with his arms behind his head. He laid there staring at the ceiling for a while, but despite all the thinking he was trying to do, exhaustion won out and he fell asleep.

The sunlight glaring in through the open window across his bed woke him not long after dawn. He hadn't slept well, but it was still the best rest he'd had in more than a week. He sighed and sat up, rather frustrated at the sun's intrusion into his fitful sleep. "Oh, well. I suppose there's probably training to get to anyway."

He got up and shuffled across the floor, retrieving his outfit from the night before piece by piece. He took extra care putting on his chainmail, something Leon had done for him more than once. Crossing to the mirror, he straightened his mail and ran his fingers through his hair. It helped a bit, but he still looked ragged. There was a dark bruise on the side of his neck that was starting to turn sickly shades of yellow and green. He glanced down at the scabs on his knuckles, which were itchy now that they were beginning to heal.

He went to scratch at them with his other hand and noticed his fingertips were still a little dirty. Ash. Clenching his hands, he shook his head, trying to calm himself down. He caught his reflection as he moved in the mirror. Without thinking he slammed his fist straight into it, sending glass shards flying. He noted with surprising indifference that he had ripped his scabs open again. He took a moment to compose himself, then attached his sword belt around his waist and headed down to armory.