He woke up an hour early.
There was something different about today. Maybe it was because he woke slowly instead of being snapped awake by frost, because he realized he was missing a shirt, because he could feel warm breath against his back. Memories of the previous night flew into his mind, and he smiled, rolling over. Meghan was out cold, fair hair splayed in gentle knots across the cot's pillow. He doubted she would wake even if he shook her. Carefully, he trailed a finger down her cheek, drawing away when her eyelashes fluttered. Thankfully, she stayed asleep; pulled back under by the security of dreams.
They had an hour. An hour before they fought for their lives, an hour before the adrenaline kicked in, an hour before they picked up their weapons and fought for Faery. The ice prince would have done anything to stop it, but he couldn't. The Iron Fey were almost unstoppable, unless Meghan killed the new king. Ash propped himself up on his elbow, eyes concentrated on her face. An hour was all they had. So be it.
He moved closer to her, smelling flowers and clean cut grass, a scent he never thought he would like. His arm he lay against her stomach, drawing her closer to him. She murmured softly in her sleep, but did nothing more. Ash closed his eyes, calm in her presence.
She was the reason he was fighting. She was the reason for everything, why he found it so hard to hide behind masks anymore, why he developed that habit of raking his hand through his hair. She was why he had suddenly gained quite a few new scars, why he no longer considered Mab his Queen, and why he had developed a wicked protective streak.
But, she was also the reason why he could smile. Why he had become stronger. She was the reason why he had almost forgiven Puck (almost). She helped him feel whole again. She filled him, for the first time, with hope; and a grim determination. They would win this war. He was certain of it.
Clanking filled the tent. He jerked awake, slightly disoriented. He hadn't meant to fall asleep again. At some point Meghan had curled against him in her sleep, her forehead against his chest. He felt rather guilty as he pulled away, shivering as he left the blankets and found his clothes. (Which, he thought with amusement, were thrown almost everywhere.) Meghan was still asleep as he grabbed his sword, sat by the cot, and waited.
He knew she was waking up when her breathing deepened, the blanket sliding a little farther down her skin. He knew the exact moment she opened her eyes, the moment she remembered last night, the moment she assumed he was gone. Then, the moment she turned over and her eyes met his.
He smiled.
Yes, they would win this war.
