Hello folks. Early posting of Chapter 12, as promised! Chapter 13 is in the works after a major rewrite so don't hold you breath, but it'll be along eventually.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you make it all worthwhile. I'd have jacked this in a long time ago if it wasn't for you keeping me going! So thank you again!

Some language in this chapter, nothing worse than before but you're warned.

Chapter Twelve – Glory Paid to Ashes

The Knights rode in silence as the sun slipped down in the sky.

Tonight they would bury Gawain's broken axe. They would build a mound above it and raise his sword up as a monument. Then they would take it in turns to sit by his empty grave for two nights, and drink until they passed out. And then the day after, they would wake up and they would carry on, as if nothing had happened, and they would never talk about it again. But there would be one more empty seat at the Round Table, another spare pallet in the barracks, a riderless horse in the stables, and they would all hate the world just a little bit more.

Galahad stared down at the bundle he carried, and tried to feel something now. These weapons were part of Gawain. The last tangible link to his friend, his brother, and tomorrow they would lie in his place in the cold earth and rot, rust away to dust. There would be nothing left.

So Galahad looked at the bundle, and felt...nothing. For the first time in his adult life, there was nothing. The anger that fed him and sustained him was gone, leaving just a blank, hollow, emptiness. It wasn't meant to be this way.

"Galahad?"

He looked up, and realised he'd fallen behind, his horse slowing almost to a stop. The other Knights had paused, and turned back to look at him. The pitying looks on their faces made a mockery of the emotions that were missing in him.

"You alright, lad?" said Ector, in a cautiously worried way that made Galahad think he'd called his name several times already.

Galahad looked down at the bundle. "It's not fair," he said, hoarsely.

Bors sighed and nodded. "You're right. It ain't fair."

"I mean," said Galahad, mumbling. "I mean. It shouldn't happen...We shouldn't have been out there, and it shouldn't have to be Gawain, and we shouldn't even be on this fucking island, and..."

"We know, Galahad," said Perceval, quietly.

This was the point where Gawain would have ridden back, and put his arm round Galahad's shoulders and drag him into a tight hug. Galahad would pretend to hate it, but suddenly everything would be just a bit less shit.

Nobody moved.

"Come on," said Lancelot, at last. "We should make it back to the Wall before nightfall, or they'll have to get Arthur up to unlock the gates."

The younger man nodded, but didn't move yet. He was so tired. Tired of hating and fighting and grieving. Tired of losing people. Tired of this stupid life.

"Dagonet, will you..." He asked, voice suddenly choking. "I mean, with his things? I don't know what to do..."

The big man nodded, knowing what Galahad was asking. "We will honour him, regardless of where he now sleeps."

"Cineri gloria sera est,"said Tristan suddenly, taking them all by surprise.

"Tristan…" said Kai, warningly. The Scout shrugged and turned away.

Glory paid to ashes comes too late. Tristan really did choose the most inappropriate moments to share his wisdom, but secretly, each Knight couldn't help but agree with the Scout. It was definitely too late. But that was life and, yes it was shit, but it wouldn't make the situation any better by pointing that out. Galahad vaguely wondered where the man had heard the phrase, or if he had just made it up. Reluctantly, he kicked his horse and she started to walk slowly, catching the others up. The Knights waited for him to join them, and then turned back to the road in silence.

The sun set in a blaze of red flame amidst towering clouds of burning gold; sacrifices at the funeral pyre of a sky god. The slight hilltop the Knights rode down gave a long vista; the Wall was visible as a black silhouette across the land even from here, nearly a mile away. The sweep of darkening trees guided them towards the Wall Gate, even as the evening mists started to gather on the grass and swallow up the road.

The blood in the sky and wisping fog on the ground was an eerie combination, and Galahad shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the fast chill of the autumn evening on his bare arms and everything to do with the fact that he hadn't really slept or eaten in three days, and what did any of it matter anyway because Gawain was dead. Galahad clutched the bundle of Gawain's weapons a little tighter and realised his eyes were blurring. Gawain was dead. He half closed his eyes against the tears, and the forms of the Knights riding ahead of him turned to dancing shadows that merged with the swirling mists until everything was insubstantial and unmeaningful. He could live in a world like that forever.

A creaking groaning noise shook him from his reverie, and he looked up. They were at the Wall at last and the guards were slowly drawing open the massive gates, torchlight spilling out and mist spilling in. Unnatural light meeting swirling, clinging wildness at the liminal portal between these two worlds. Lancelot rode through, followed by Kai and the others, but Galahad found himself suddenly reigning in his horse, reluctant to make that last move. This would be the last act of his brotherhood with Gawain. Abandonment.

He turned and looked out over the low mists and the distant forests, the wildness of Britain that had swallowed Gawain up into its darkness. A horse snuffled behind him, and Galahad reluctantly looked back to the gatehouse. Dagonet was waiting for him, expressionless; Tristan on his horse sat just beyond, silent and watching. Galahad finally noticed the few tears that had spilled over onto his face and they felt as if they burned. He pushed them away angrily.

"Come on," said Dagonet, kindly. "We're nearly home."

This will never be my home, Galahad thought, viciously, but said nothing. They were all being cautious and pitying and kind around him, as if no-one knew who he was without Gawain. He wasn't sure he knew.

Galahad nudged his horse forwards and followed Dag and Tristan through the gate. Warmth and light engulfed him, and just at the last point of the threshold, he turned back once more to look out into the dark.

And saw him.

Blood stained, battered and pale as death, Gawain rising from the shadowy ground like a barrow ghost. Mist swirled and danced, and the figure was gone again, but the glimpse had been enough to nearly stop Galahad's heart. He must have shouted something, because Dagonet and Tristan were galloping back, weapons drawn, and he could hear more hooves as the others rode back to them.

"What is it?" said Tristan, poised and ready, but Galahad spurred his horse back out through the gate.

"I saw Gawain!" he shouted, calling them, "Quick!" He threw himself from the saddle, mist rising about his legs like ghostly fingers.

"Galahad..." said Ector behind him, but Galahad cut him off.

"Shut up and look!" He cried, and there was pure terror in his voice that he couldn't control. It seemed to have an effect on the other Knights though, and he heard them dismounting and calling out as he strode through the rising fog, eyes burning for that familiar form he'd seen through the shifting mists. Just a second, but it had been enough.

There! A dark form in the grass, a body. Galahad was so frightened he was imaging things that for a moment he couldn't draw breath to utter a sound. Then the numbness passed, and he was running forwards, yelling wildly.

"Here! Here!"

The Knights were beside him in a moment, and then it seemed none of them could move as they finally saw what he had seen.

For there was Gawain. Bleeding, dishevelled, and filthy, but impossibly, unbelievably there. Galahad threw himself down beside him and tried to speak, but it came out as a croak. The curled figure on the ground opened swollen eyes, and looked up at them all wearily.

"Sorry," Gawain whispered.

Galahad was crying so hard with emotions there was no name for, he could barely speak.

"Gawain?" he managed, and touched the other's shoulder, hesitantly. Blood-slickened leather met his fingers. Real armour. Real blood. This was real.

The name seemed to break the spell the Knights were under, and there was a storm of movement and shouting. Dagonet and Bors darted forwards to Gawain, calling his name and pressing down on bleeding wounds and covering him with their own cloaks. Ector was trying to grab hold of everybody's horses before they bolted, Lancelot and Perceval were running to the gatehouse shouting for aid. Kai was past them already, mounted and riding back to the main fort like lightning to raise Arthur and the healers.

Galahad let the sound and action wash over him like a flood. He sat there with his hand on Gawain's shoulder, one small contact that meant everything, and let his mind go numb. Knights were speaking and moving around him but there was too much to deal with.

A hand on his own shoulder, and someone was guiding him to stand.

"Galahad, you're in the way." Tristan was speaking. Galahad let himself be moved back as Lancelot and a few Legionnaires (where had they come from?) arrived with a make-shift litter.

"Tris..." Galahad croaked, but didn't even know what he wanted to say.

"I know, Pup," said the Scout. He didn't smile, but there was a softness around his mouth that suggested maybe he did know after all. "Come on."

The Knights were just arguing about how to move Gawain onto the litter when the Knight in question opened his eyes again with a start.

"Easy," said Dagonet quietly. "You're alright, Gawain."

"Ow." The injured Knight said, croakily.

Lancelot snorted. "Understatement, Gawain..." he said, as he pressed down on a wound.

Gawain's eyes met Galahad's. To all the Knights' surprise, Gawain reached up with his good arm and grabbed Dagonet's shoulder, trying to pull himself up to sitting.

"Woah, take it easy..."Lancelot said, alarmed, but Gawain just leaned forwards a little and pulled ineffectually at the sword tucked in his belt, partially hidden in the grass. Thinking that lying half on the weapon must be uncomfortable, Galahad quickly leaned down and helped Gawain pull the sword free.

"Better take it," Gawain mumbled to Galahad, before a gentle pressure on his shoulder by Dagonet persuaded the injured Knight to lie back down.

Galahad took the sword automatically, and barely glanced at it, before he realised with a small shock the weapon he now held was Excalibur.

"Gawain...what...?"

"Tell Arthur...to take care of his own bloody sword next time..." Gawain whispered, and fell asleep to the sound of Lancelot laughing.

T.B.C

Awww...the bit everyone's been waiting for! One chapter and an epilogue left and then we're done!

If you enjoyed (or didn't!) please review and let me know about it.

See you soon(ish) for Chap. 13.

~Nienna