A/N: Ah, too little too late, but did I mention there was going to be an epilogue? Now you know as well as I do that I can finish a story. Sort of. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for reading and engaging and your always thoughtful, inspiring feedback.
Gwaine and Vivian do find each other, though things are not as simple as they wish.
No one who glimpses them in those torrid months can doubt their ardor, but theirs is a passion sustained by too many fights and promises and declarations. Their relationship burns hot and bright, and all too quickly crumbles to ash—ugly, loud, and unsalvageable.
After their botched elopement, Vivian retreats from their circle. Later, they read of her engagement to a young business executive of local celebrity. The rumors are ceaseless, but in the pictures she is always smiling.
Gwaine takes it as he does most things in life: with good humor and a light heart. It turns out a year of pining is enough for him.
His path back to happiness is more cautious. Surprising everyone, he stops pursuing relationships altogether for a time and they all learn more about him than they had ever known before.
Eventually he sets up at the coffee shop near Merlin and Freya's place, first for internet access during his job hunt, and then later for freelance writing—a dream he hadn't revisited in many years.
It takes him comically long to realize that the clumsy, sweet, soft-eyed blonde behind the counter is mainly soft-eyed for him.
Her name is Elena.
""""
Arthur and Gwen spend a few months living between the half-unpacked monstrosity of Gwen's flat and Arthur's ill-equipped apartment. Living separately is never a consideration. There's so much wonder between them as they explore things previously forbidden, they might as well be living in a closet for all that either of them care.
In fact, Arthur requires considerably less sleeping space than Gwen thought, having seen the way he can dominate any surface with the careless splay of his graceful limbs; he's much more compact when they're all wrapped around her.
The outside world becomes an interruption they tolerate, but when they do re-emerge it's together, which might be why everything seems a little brighter.
Grocery shopping is no longer a chore when Gwen can reach over and hold Arthur's hand and they can fight over who actually eats white bread anymore and which flavors of ice cream to fill the freezer with. It doesn't matter that they have room enough for all of them between their two flats.
Arthur makes a habit of carrying her to bed, though he is more elegant about it on some days than others. Gwen learns it's much easier to lure him out of bed when food is involved and, failing that, making off with the covers is equally effective.
They share his favorite armchair, though eventually Arthur admits that he lives to see her curled up in it, all bare toes and reading glasses. She blushes just the same as if he were fixing the zipper on her dress or sucking luxuriantly at the curve of her neck or telling her he loves her in the million other ways he does.
"I'm glad you two figured it out, in the end." It's all Merlin says to Gwen at first, but sometimes she catches him staring at her and Arthur longer than necessary, the glimmer of pride in his eyes reflected in Freya's.
Still he seizes on Arthur's occasional bouts of petulance to ask her if she regrets it.
"Really, Merlin, haven't you got anything better to do?" Gwen laughs.
"Easy for you to say," Freya interjects. "You haven't been watching this ridiculous drama unfold for eternity."
Morgana is even less tactful, sparing no opportunity to berate Arthur for wasting his time with anyone else when Gwen had always been there. She's more conflicted toward Gwen: happy that they have finally found each other; skeptical that Gwen might not realize what she's getting into with a prat like her younger brother; and, most surprisingly, protective over said younger brother.
As if Gwen hadn't been there when Arthur was young and insufferable. As if she hadn't challenged him for every careless remark or selfish decision. He'd as good as told her that she helped to shape who he is now, though she thinks he gives her too much credit.
In the fall, Arthur makes his annual pilgrimage to the coast, but this time it's Gwen who accompanies him. She helps him gather flowers to leave for his mother, and he lets her share his burden. When they return home, she surprises him with the whortleberries she picked and together they make something loosely resembling a pie. Covered in flour, they end up on the kitchen floor with laughter, one fork, and the mess of it between them.
It's Arthur's new favorite memory.
Gwen no longer mourns any lost time with him because they'd both needed to grow before they were ready to be together.
Neither does she regret her time spent with Lance and Gwaine. Relationships, she decides, taught her more than how to appreciate another person.
They taught her how to appreciate herself.
One year later
Gwen wakes, nuzzling her pillow and wondering again how morning sneaks up on her.
Arms stretching, she searches blindly for the warm body next to her and feels his arms close around her.
She cracks an eye open to find bright blue eyes gazing down at her. For once, Arthur is awake before her—a surprise she chooses to ignore as she blinks heavily and tucks her head under his chin.
"Guinevere."
"Mmm?" She wishes he didn't sound so patient and good because she can't be annoyed that he won't let her fall back asleep. She realizes this is how he must feel when she's waiting for him to wake.
"There's something I—I've been waiting and..."
"Hmm? What is it?" she murmurs against his throat. She can feel his pulse quicken in its hollow; it always gives him away.
Gwen lifts her head and her tangled hair slides over Arthur's hand on her back. His eyes hold a disquieting mixture of something she can't identify.
She only knows she's seen it once before.
"What's wrong?" she asks, shaking off the mental haze of slumber and reaching to touch his cheek.
He takes a deep breath and forgets to release it. "I wanted to say: I've waited a year. Today, it's been a year since... And I thought I could ask you..."
She grows worried as he rambles.
But then she follows his gaze as it drops to his hand, curled gently next to hers on his abdomen.
His fingers unfurl, slow and creeping like a morning glory, and she sees it.
It's small and simple, and just like Arthur, it makes her breathless.
"Do you remember," he asks quietly, "when I told you I'd give you all of my years? That I'd give you every one of them?"
Somehow, she manages a small nod as moisture collects in her eyes.
"Guinevere, will you—" He falters, so she moves her hand over his. He draws confidence from the gesture and says, "Will you give me all of yours?"
It's too much, and she gives a little half-sob, half-laugh as she turns her face into his chest, a few unexpected tears escaping.
Arthur waits, cradling her head against him as she sniffs and catches her breath.
Then, she raises her head to search his eyes, giving him a watery smile to match his own.
"Yes." Her voice is thick, and she gives a hiccuping laugh as she shakes her head, dizzy with possibilities. "Yes."
He beams, and it's all for her, and she watches a tear slip down his cheek before he pulls her solidly against him.
They remain that way for a while as their breathing slows, syncing with each other, and then Arthur digs in the creases of the sheets next to her hip.
Both of them laugh as they realize it's gone missing, and they give up searching for a few elated moments of kisses and caresses instead.
When they finally locate it, they both glance down as he takes her hand and slides the ring delicately onto her finger.
Gwen is in awe at how right it feels, and how she already never wants to take it off.
"What do you think?" he asks, uncharacteristically shy.
She doesn't think. She feels.
"It's the second most romantic thing you've ever done for me."
His chin worries and a small line appears between the fair brows.
"Second after fixing my fridge, of course," she smiles.
He laughs, chasing off nerves with a few breathless huffs. "I never thought I'd have to compete against myself for romantic gestures."
"You've done admirably," she says, feeling the necessity to sniff again.
"Well," he plays with her fingers, grinning. "Just you wait until next year."