Gwaine woke drenched in sweat, once again unable to recall the face of the girl in his dream. He was sure it was the same one, the girl he'd seen so many times he almost thought he knew her.

He didn't know her. He'd never met a girl so beautiful outside of dreams. Her features slipped from his mind like water in his hands, but his first thought every time he thought of her was that a girl that beautiful was either a princess or a goddess.

Eadmund, his companion, sat up abruptly.

"M'up," he muttered sleepily, rubbing his eyes. "I was going to wake you for your watch, but I thought you deserved a bit of a break."

Gwaine rolled his eyes, glad they hadn't had any need of watch that night. Eadmund was a good sort of man, but he wasn't particularly dependable.

"How much farther to your village?" Gwaine asked. It wasn't that he didn't like Eadmund, but Gwaine had found that he prefered travelling alone, and he was a little bit eager to get rid of this companion who had proven none too helpful.

"Another day or two of walking, depending on the heat," Eadmund said happily.

They had met at a bar, of course.

It seemed like most of the people Gwaine met anymore he met at bars. If he recalled correctly, Eadmund had been flirting with the serving girl, and it turned out her father was the owner and was none too pleased with a few of the things Eadmund had been saying, Gwaine fended off the barman, allowing Eadmund to escape, and then ran off after him.

Gwaine really didn't expect the fat barkeep to come after them to defend his daughter's honors. He would be a fool if he tried. Watch was meant for brigands and ruffians they met on the way who might try to rob them.

"You were talking in your sleep for a long time," Eadmund said, smirking as they readied to go. "Something about the most beautiful woman in the world?"

Gwaine stiffened, feeling heat pool his cheeks as he wondered exactly what his dream had been about, beyond the beautiful girl who haunted him.

"Did I?" he asked, not looking at Eadmund for fear of giving himself away.

"Yes, and then you called her your wife. Something you want to tell me?"

This was news to Gwaine. He had no memory of ever dreaming something like that. In fact, it put the dream in an even more unrealistic perspective. A lady like that could never be married to him.

"I have no wife, Eadmund," he finally said. "Now let's get going, or a day or two will turn to three and we'll start to run out of food."

The walk was pleasant enough. Gwaine thought that he could walk through open country forever, especially if it meant never going home again. His mother had passed, but his sister and younger brother were still there. Gwaine didn't mind his brother, Gareth, but he did mind his sister, and she minded Gwaine as well.

"What did you say your sister's name was, Eadmund?" Gwaine asked when they stopped for lunch.

"Hilda."

"Is she pretty?"

Eadmund raised his eyebrow. He was the sort of man Gwaine felt no shame in describing to himself as pretty, with incredibly fair hair, crystalline blue eyes, and lips and lashes that could have belonged to a woman. If Hilda looked like Eadmund, with even more delicate of features, she would be very pretty indeed.

"Yes," Eadmund said slowly. "But she is not twelve years old."

Ah, there was a pity. It wasn't so awfully young if you were planning a marriage in a few years, but it was very young if you were just looking to have a bit of fun. Gwaine closed his eyes and tried to picture the girl in his dreams. He thought she might have been fair-haired as well.

"And your brother, what was his name, Osbeorn? Is he pretty too?"

Eadmund raised his eyebrows even higher and began to laugh.

"A little, but what can you say of a boy barely become a man? He still has the prettiness of youth, certainly."

At least Gwaine had Eadmund's permission to tease his brother, if he turned out to be as pretty as the elder. From the sound of things, he might even turn out prettier.

"What about your family?" Eadmund asked as they walked in the warm mid-day sun. "You haven't told me much about them."

In Gwaine's opinion there wasn't much to tell, but he told anyway. After Eadmund had spoken so long on his own family, it wasn't like he had anything he ought to hide.

"I have a sister and a brother as well," he said, feeling a particularly hard rock under his boot as he walked. "But my sister is older and my brother is younger."

Gwaine could still remember the words his sister had screamed after him as he walked away for the last time, Useless, worthless dog. No, Edith wasn't much worth remembering.

"Is she pretty?" Eadmund asked.

"Unfortunately, yes," Gwaine admitted. He hated to think that someone with a soul so black could be so attractive, but Edith had always been about appearances, after all. "With any luck, she's married to some poor sod who doesn't know what he got himself into and she'll worry him into the grave."

Eadmund gave him a strange look, like he wanted to ask why that was a good thing, or how she would manage such a feat, but Gwaine gave off the air of someone who was well-convinced that the conversation was over, and so Eadmund said nothing, merely walking in stunned silence.

Gwaine liked it when Eadmund was silent, not that he himself often was. It was just that he was almost certain he didn't sound nearly as stupid as his companion did. And how Eadmund liked to talk. They could go three miles with Eadmund scarcely pausing for breath. At least Gwaine talked in spurts.

At nightfall they made camp again, and Gwaine said that he would take the first watch, determined to stay awake as long as possible to limit the likelihood of Eadmund falling asleep on duty again. Eadmund looked a bit nervous about this, perhaps sheepish with his former failure, but he could hardly argue.

Gwaine sat up on watch, staring up at at the night sky. There was a cool, evening breeze across his face and he sighed, trying to put together the features of the girl from his dreams. He thought he recalled a head of silky blonde hair, up in a way that did not suit the station her beauty proclaimed her to be. Even with just the memories of desire in his mind's eye, he wanted to reach out and touch that hair, let it fall around her shoulders, run his fingers through it, see if it smelled as good as it looked. A woman so fine likely washed her hair frequently, and doused it with the oil of some sweet-smelling herb.

Her face, though, was something he could not put together in his mind, and Gwaine frowned up at the stars, desperately trying to recall at least the shape of her eyes.

When it was time to switch watch, however, and Gwaine could barely keep his own eyes open he still had not managed to call up a proper memory of her face. He woke Eadmund and then settled himself down for sleep, which came almost immediately.

In dreams, she came quickly to his mind, flowing blonde hair as she slept on a bed of crimson sheets, naked beneath the covers, her pale skin showing from her shoulders up, without a blemish. Even in sleep she looked like a goddess, and Gwaine found his hands in the dream running through her golden-blonde tresses, feeling the silky smoothness of them.

Her voice echoed in his head as he heard her say his name and he loved the way it sounded. In the dream, his dream self said nothing, merely leaning down and pressing a kiss on her smooth, pale jaw. Gwaine felt himself excited within the dream, feeling her hands tracing up the front of his tunic, pressing against him in a way that was more inviting than anything else. This was confirmed as she reached his shoulders, letting her hands trace up into his hair, pulling him closer.

Gwaine had kissed a few girls in his time, and even a few in dreams, but this was the sweetest one he'd ever had. The gentle pressure of her lips, the delicious warmth of her breath, the way his body tingled as this mystery woman touched his skin. In the dream his tunic had come off and she was petting his skin. Gwaine enjoyed the sensations of the dream, almost forgetting it was a dream, until he felt a hand nudging him awake. He groaned, sitting up, finding birds chirping and light on the horizon.

"Sorry," Eadmund said, frowning. "You seemed to be having a good sleep, but you did say to wake you when-"

"Yes, right," Gwaine muttered, rubbing his eyes and trying to see if he could remember the woman.

But alas, all he could picture, once more, was the luxurious blonde locks.

/-/

Gwaine looked around Eadmund's village and wondered how they managed to eat. He knew taxes were high in this kingdom, and he wondered if all of them did manage to eat.

"Eadmund!"

It was the shrill, bird-like voice of a young girl, and Gwaine and Eadmund turned to find what could only be Hilda. Very pretty indeed, and Gwiane thought that if she grew curves, she might even turn into a beauty.

"Hello!" Eadmund cried, wrapping his arms around his sister as she flung herself at him. "How is everyone?"

"Oh, dull as usual," Hilda sighed. "Actually, mother is very sick. Osbeorn acts like she's not, but I'm no fool. I really don't know know how bad it is, but it doesn't look very nice."

Gwaine frowned, allowing himself to be introduced to Hilda, who led them happily to a small hut at the end of the lane. It looked nearly ready to fall over. Small wonder one of its residents was ill, with a roof that was bound to leak a river.

"Eadmund?" a woman rasped from a room off from the main room. Osbeorn was just greeting them, and he licked his pretty lips when the woman spoke. From the shadow of a frown that passed over his young face, Gwaine knew all he needed to know.

Their mother was dying.

Eadmund walked toward the voice, motioning for Gwaine to follow. Osbeorn sent Hilda outside to get some water and Gwaine let his eyes adjust to the poor light of the sick woman's room.

She was a small woman, with her daughter's build, but with the air of a woman who had been larger in the not too distant past. This was a good thing, too, because there was something about her that seemed diminished, like she was literally wasting away in her bed.

"Mother," Eadmund said, sitting beside her, taking her fragile hands in one of his. "This is Gwaine. He and I have been travelling together for a while now. Gwaine, this is my mother."

"Hello, ma'am," Gwaine said, bowing his head respectfully. Whatever his thoughts on authority, his opinion was that matriarchs were the only authority worth respecting, and Eadmund's mother had the air of a woman who had clearly been an able matriarch. She smiled at him weakly.

"You look strong."

Those words were the only ones she said while he stood there, as Eadmund related their travels. Gwaine carefully watched the movements of the woman and took in her general appearance, trying to decide if this was something he had seen before, something he could do even a small thing about. His brother had known a thing or two about healing, but Gwaine was close to useless, even with most wounds.

As soon as Gwaine felt was polite, he excused himself from the room to allow Eadmund and his mother to talk more freely. He walked out of the house into the open air with a small nod at Osbeorn, who was making dinner.

A light breeze greeted Gwaine's face, teasing his hair without really blowing at it, and he scanned the lane, wondering what sort of place this was in winter, or how it looked to those who lived there.

Gwaine didn't live anywhere. He didn't belong anywhere. A different man might have been upset about that, but Gwaine found that it suited him. Men like him, who didn't abide by authority, always ran out of good favor and fortune sooner or later, and life was generally safer if he just kept moving. He'd never found anything that made him want to stay somewhere, anyway.

"Gwaine?" said the sweet voice of Hilda. He turned and smiled at her. She smiled in return, but the gesture did not reach her full, blue eyes. "My mother is very ill, isn't she?"

He hesitated. It wasn't his place to tell her that her mother was dying.

"I'm no healer," he said softly. "She's ill, yes. But I can't say how bad it is."

He wasn't lying to her, exactly. For all he knew, Hilda's mother would live another ten years and marry off all her children to very nice people. Gwaine certainly hoped this was the case.

"Do you know anything about herbs?" she asked, hoisting up the pail of water she was carrying that looked much too heavy for her. Gwaine took the pail in his gloved and and shook his head. "I know a little," she said, frowning. "Mother wanted to teach me more, but I suppose the best I can do until she's better is try to learn from books." She paused, kicking a stone in front of her lightly. "Except I can't read."

"I'll do my best to teach you," he said, smiling. "While I'm here."

"How long will you stay?" she asked, instantly brightening.

Gwaine licked his lips thoughtfully. He wanted to give this girl a promise, but promises were binding and Gwaine didn't like being bound.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'll stay as long as I can."

/-/

As it happened, he couldn't stay very long. Not even a week later, he was standing in the kitchen while Hilda cried by her mother's bed.

The woman had passed in the night, and Gwaine hoped that it had been painless, in her sleep perhaps. Eadmund was staring at a tree outside, and Osbeorn was standing behind his sister, hands on her shoulders, a poor excuse for comfort.

Gwaine went outside to stand next to Eadmund, whose eyes seemed to be looking through the tree.

"I'm not sure what we'll be able to do for Hilda," Eadmund said softly. "If she were a few years older we'd marry her off to someone, but...we can't raise her. Not very well, anyway. Not like she ought to be raised."

She had two brothers who loved her, Gwaine wanted to say. Perhaps that's enough. But that was the sort of thing that should be said by someone who knew their situation better, and Gwaine was a stranger, an outsider.

"I'll have to do something about dinner," Eadmund continued. "Once Hilda's fed I'll see to burying her. I've never had to bury someone before."

"Your father?"

"I was away. My mother did it by herself. She was a strong woman."

Gwaine wouldn't have ever known, from the weakness of the woman as she was dying, but he supposed it fit. His own mother had been a very strong woman, but she had died even weaker than Eadmund's mother. Edith had been a wreck, and while she had ever been an especially pleasant person, Gwaine marked the day they buried their mother as the day when his sister became impossible to live with.

"I should go inside," Eadmund murmured. He stared at the tree for a few more long moments before sighing and turning to Gwaine with a sad smile. "Are you coming?"

For a brief, fleeting moment Gwaine thought that perhaps he ought to stay with them, at least until they were settled, until she was buried and they had begun to properly grieve. But they did not need his help to grieve, and the longer he stayed the more they would rely on him, and the harder it would become to leave later.

"I'll be in," he lied, watching Eadmund go into the house.

There was something very convenient in travelling with only what you could carry. After he was sure that they would not come looking for him too soon, Gwaine began walking down the lane, headed east and south. The cool evening air ruffled his hair around his face.

Rules were how he survived, every day, day to day. Never kiss a woman who owns a knife. Never owe anyone anything unless you can make good on it quickly. Never stay too long in the same place.

Still, Gwaine found it hard not to get a little bit attached to places. Perhaps if he'd lived a nomadic lifestyle as a child he would have found it easier not to belong somewhere, but he had this sense in his gut that he had a place, somewhere, that he simply hadn't found yet. He didn't give in to this feeling often, didn't seek out a place to live. That was dangerous. But he didn't seem able to shake the feeling, either.

Gwaine found a cave to sleep in comfortably, and he slept with his hand on the hilt of his sword, but as soon as his eyes closed in sleep that night, his mind was transported once more to the bed of the woman who lived in his dreams, the beautiful woman whose kisses made him dizzy even in sleep.