Chapter Four
It was a cold, windy day the day Jeremiah's body was burned – just another poor victim of the harsh winter they'd barely endured. The amount of crops yielded from the last harvest was miniscule; most of the town's livestock had died. Any food Jeremiah was able to scrounge up went to his wife and daughter. He made sure his family didn't starve; it would be the last thing he ever did.
Gwaine's mother was a different story. A few weeks before Jeremiah's death, she'd fallen ill from the cold and her son was the one who had to take care of her. Gwaine did everything he could think of to make her well again. He moved her to Timothy's house – a blacksmith's home was almost certain to be the warmest place in any village; he spent hours in the woods – sometimes in vain – looking for anything that moved; he even prayed. But he might as well not have done anything, for his mother's body was too weak, too worn down from years and years of hard labour to recover from a simple cold. Life fled from her body during the night. Gwaine had been so consumed with grief and anger he could barely think straight. He didn't want to think at all. One night, he discovered alcohol. Discovered the comforting numbness it provided him. For two long weeks, he was rarely seen sober. No one could talk him out of it – but Tori decided she would give it one last try. Telling her father she was going to see Elen – as she been telling him for the past year whenever she was really meeting up with Gwaine – she went to check up on her friend. He was alone in the house he used to share with his mother. Technically, it now belonged to the king, Carleon, which was why he'd ruined…everything. Tori walked in to see the inside of the house looking like it'd suffered a hurricane, with Gwaine sat on the floor against the wall, flask of wine in hand. When he saw her, he gave her a bitter smile.
"What did you do?" she'd whispered, appalled at how thoroughly he'd destroyed everything. Cupboard doors were ripped off their hinges, chairs were smashed, pieces of wood were scattered all across the floor. The bed was upturned, the mattress ripped open, spilling its filling everywhere.
"It's a present," he slurred, "for the king!"
"Gwaine –"
"D'you think he'll like it, Tori? D'you think he'll like it when he comes to steal my mother's house and sees this?"
Tori couldn't think of anything to say. All she saw was Gwaine's face: sweaty and flushed from the alcohol, with dark crescents under his eyes. When was the last time he'd had a full night's sleep?
"Do you think he even knows this is her house? Does he remember who she is?" Gwaine went on as he stumbled to his feet, voice rising. "I don't think he remembers. Why should he? Why should he remember the wife of one of his knights? I mean, my father only died for him right? Why should His Majesty care? Why should he care that my mother died because she was too weak because she worked herself to the bone because he refused to help her when she asked for it?"
Gwaine's face was now inches away from Tori's. Nauseated by the stench of wine on his breath, Tori turned her head away. He scowled at her.
"What, do I disgust you? Do you think I'm wrong?"
"No," Tori mumbled.
"I'm sorry, what was that?"
"No, I don't think you're wrong," Tori snapped, glowering at him, "I think what you've done is wrong." She motioned to the disheveled room. "And you don't disgust me, the way you're behaving disgusts me."
"The way I'm behaving?" Gwaine scoffed, and took a swig from his flask. "Well, sorry to disappoint you, Vicky, but this is me."
Before he could raise the flask to his lips once more, Tori snatched it out of his hand. "No, this – this –" she gestured to the wine "is not you." She threw the flagon aside. "This is some warped version of you that I don't know!"
Gwaine rolled his eyes, looking so utterly indifferent to everything – including her – that Tori couldn't help the stinging she felt in her eyes. "Why are you acting like this, Gwaine?"
"Why do you think?"
"I mean why are you trying to shut out everyone who still cares about you? Look, I understand what you must be going through–"
"Oh, Victoria, don't," Gwaine laughed condescendingly. "You don't have a right to say that to me. Not when you have both parents alive to tuck you in at night."
Again, Tori was at a loss for words. She felt like he'd slapped her. He was right, of course; how could she possibly know how he was feeling? She had both parents and Gwaine had neither. Still, she hated how he'd said it, hated how he used her full name, hated how he treated her like she was so much younger than him when their age difference was a mere year. But she didn't back down because she knew that, like a wild animal, whenever he fought and lashed out, that was when he was in the most pain. Tori took a deep breath to compose herself before speaking. And when she did speak, it was with the calm voice of one trying to soothe a trapped animal. "You're right, I don't. I'm sorry I even said that. But you can still talk to me, Gwaine. I want to help."
Suddenly, Gwaine snapped. "For God's sake, I don't need your help! I don't need anyone's help! Why is everyone trying to fix me? Has it ever crossed your mind that all I need is to be left alone?"
And to emphasise his point he stormed out of the dark house, slamming the door so hard that dust flew in all directions. When Tori's mother later asked why it looked like she'd been crying, she could say without lying that there was something in her eyes.
But that was two weeks ago. And in the time that'd passed, Tori and Gwaine hadn't spoken to each other at all; barely even looked at the other though both felt heavy with guilt and unease about the words exchanged that day. Gwaine knew he shouldn't have snapped at her like that; he wanted to hide behind the excuse that it was the wine talking, but that wasn't true. He had meant everything he said, it just shouldn't have come out that way.
And now here he was, standing around the pyre that was turning Tori's father into ashes. Almost the entire village showed up to pay their respects and – though no one dared say this aloud – receive free heating from the fire. Jeremiah was not the only person they were mourning that day, the pyre held at least four other bodies – most of them children who were too weak to bear the low temperatures, but he seemed like the greatest loss to Gwaine. Although the man had intimidated him, Gwaine had respected him. He was the father of his best friend; a strong presence in the small village. Gwaine remembered the times he'd felt Jeremiah's eyes on his back as he and Tori walked around the market or as he practiced his sword fighting with Timothy while Tori playfully heckled him. When he found out that Jeremiah had forbidden his daughter from seeing him, he'd simply laughed it off, at first. When Tori didn't laugh with him, he asked, "You're not serious?" though the expression on her face was enough to convince him she was.
They managed to be without each other's company for exactly three days. On the fourth day, Tori had shown up at Gwaine's door with one of Timothy's swords in hand.
"My sword fighting skills are getting rusty," she'd claimed.
Gwaine smirked; he knew better. "Yeah, I've missed you too."
Gwaine was pulled back to the present when the mother of one of the dead children crumbled to her knees and let loose a heart-wrenching sob. Tori's mother, Miranda, withdrew her death grip on her daughter's hand to kneel and wrap her arms around the broken woman. Tori now stood alone with fisted hands, staring into the flames, fighting hard not to break down like the poor mother. She lifted her gaze, meeting Gwaine's, but only for a second.
"Hey." Elen was suddenly at his side, her blonde hair tucked into her cloak so that it would be undisturbed by the wind.
"Hi, Elen. It's been ages."
She raised an eyebrow at him. "And whose fault is that?"
"The baker who's been courting you?" Gwaine couldn't help but say. Every time he'd seen Elen the past few weeks, if she wasn't with her cousin she was with Tobias.
"Oh, hush, he isn't courting me," she said, blushing slightly, then seemed to focus. "I need to talk to you about Tori."
Gwaine frowned, unconsciously looking up to find her, only to discover that the crowd had thinned out and Tori was nowhere to be seen. "What about her?"
"When was the last time you two spoke?"
"I don't know," Gwaine shrugged nonchalantly, but inside he felt the familiar ache of guilt. "A while."
"Well obviously, now's the time to start again."
"Don't you think I know that?" Gwaine said testily.
"Then go do it, you arse!"
"I was already going to! God. You're worse than your cousin sometimes, you know that?"
"I do, and I'm proud of it." Elen gave him a small smile. "Go."
Gwaine didn't have to do too much work to guess where Tori had vanished. He set off in the direction of the beach – a place he hadn't been to since his mother died. Like Tori, his mother, Michelle, didn't particularly like the forest, much preferring the seaside. Gwaine remembered the day he learned to swim. He was seven; and it was when his mother's employers had decided to give her a day off – a rare, precious occurrence. She'd packed bread, a few pieces of salted beef, cheese and three apples – a feast by their standards – into a basket and they headed to the beach, hand in hand. It was Gwaine's first time facing a large body of water, yet apparently he'd charged straight into the surf, exhilarated by the waves and the tiny hermit crabs he found. It barely took any teaching on Michelle's part. They were at the beach for hours though Gwaine couldn't recall exactly what they did. All he knew for sure was that for once, he and his mother ate until they were completely full and laughed until their stomachs ached.
Finally, he heard the gentle sound of waves hitting the sand. The beach stretched for miles on either side with a man-made boundary of giant boulders on each. Gwaine went to the east side of the beach, where there was a small cave-like niche hidden away amongst the rocks. Tori was there, as he'd hoped. Her knees were drawn close to her chest, her palms covered her eyes, and she wore her cloak backwards so that it covered her entirely. Years of hunting had given Gwaine a silent tread, but when he approached Tori he purposely kicked around some sand so as not to sneak up on her. She jumped when she realized she wasn't alone and hastily wiped at her face.
"Hi," said Gwaine awkwardly.
"Hi."
"D'you mind if I sit with you?"
Tori shook her head and moved to make space for him. There was a pause in which neither of them knew what to say or do now.
At last, Gwaine spoke. "I'm so sorry, Tori. For your father…for everything."
"You don't have to–"
"Yes I do. I was a complete arse to you before, and when I said that you had both parents to– I didn't mean– This was the last thing I'd ever want to happen–"
"Hey," Tori cut him off, laying a hand on his knee. "I know, all right? I know. I don't blame you, Gwaine. Of course I don't."
"I shouldn't have said those things to you."
"I shouldn't have given up on you when you did."
"Well…can't argue with that, can we?" said Gwaine in an attempt to lighten the mood. Tori couldn't help but laugh a little, and just like that, it was as if nothing had ever happened between them.
They stayed on the beach for a few more hours. They held a memorial for the deceased right there; taking turns to share stories and memories of Michelle and Jeremiah and writing their names in the sand. Gwaine saw Tori cry for the first time and – having never dealt with a weeping girl before – was unsure of how to act. In the end he simply put his arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. Neither of them said a word.
"The thing I hate most," said Tori after a stretch of silence, "is that I spent the last year of his life lying to him." Gwaine didn't need to ask to know who she was talking about. "And I made Elen lie to him too. She always covered for me when he asked where I was and I was with you."
"Do you regret it?"
"I regret not telling him the truth. Though deep down, I think he knew. He knew I was lying to him and he didn't say a word."
"I don't know what to say, Tori."
Tori's eyes were beginning to sting again. Damn, she thought, wiping them with her sleeve. "That's okay. I don't really know what I want to hear."
They decided it was time to go back to town. It was starting to get dark and neither of them could feel their fingers anymore thanks to the bitter weather. Gwaine walked Tori home, chattering aimlessly to keep her distracted from the sight of the smoking pyre. They said farewell with a promise to meet the next day.
When Tori walked into her house, she was surprised to be greeted with the warm glow of half a dozen lit candles. Her mother and Aunt Margaret, who were sisters, were huddled together on the bed, as was Elen. When Miranda saw her daughter, she opened up her arms and Tori dove into them without a second thought, like she was a child again. Although barely a word was spoken throughout the night, Tori had never felt closer to her family than right then.
Seconds before drifting off to sleep, she found herself thinking of Gwaine, and wishing he didn't have to be alone tonight.
