Chapter 12: Gwaine (part 3)

He smelled lavender. And floated on something cloudlike – soft under his cheek, his whole body. He was sore all over, but hurt nowhere in particular, and when he persuaded his eyes to open, the blur of colors was all light, the shapes nonthreatening and mist-edged.

"Good afternoon, my lord." A soft male voice, expertly modulated for the sort of full-body ache that distracted him. Deferential, but there was a note of amusement there also.

Gwaine grunted, and shifted, and focused on blues and browns. Merlin, seated on a chair next to the bed, leaned forward over his knees to grin.

"You feel like staying awake, this time?" his friend added.

Gwaine considered. "We'll see," he muttered roughly, shifting again but content to remain prone and relaxed. He moved his left arm and felt the pull of stitches beneath bandages. The cut made by enemy sword, rather than the whip, he thought. "How long?"

Merlin understood the abbreviated question. "Almost a full day. All night and this morning… It's midafternoon now."

He moved up from the chair, and Gwaine felt cool air hit the bare skin of his back. It wasn't painful, just the slightest bit uncomfortable.

"I healed the worst of it for you. The wound here from the tournament was fairly deep, and bled a lot, and… some of the other marks. I think Arthur wanted to kill Odin again, when he saw what they did – and make his death last a lot longer, the second time."

"Odin didn't want any of us… able to win," Gwaine said carefully. Of his own decision to submit and endure, he'd never say a word. "Did you look at the others, too?"

"Yes. There was one knight, Sir Gareth, who wanted a chance to express his gratitude to you for what you did, for him and for all of them. My age, or younger maybe - he sounded like he expected you to recognize him?"

"We didn't exactly introduce ourselves formally." Gwaine thought the only knight of Gawant he'd recognize would be the clean-shaven youth, but Gareth was a name that would fit him. Time enough for that later, probably.

"Gwaine… I'm really sorry about this. I should've –"

"Shut up," he interrupted, taking a leaf from Arthur's book – and understanding a little better the king's impatience with Merlin's tendency to apologize for things that weren't his fault. "It was my choice…"

Merlin's touch was light and gentle, introducing no self-consciousness as he finished satisfying himself over the state of Gwaine's injuries, and sat back down. Now that Gwaine could focus on his friend's face, he could see that Merlin looked weary – and there was still that bruise at his temple. "Lord Godwyn's physician is really good, though they let me help. Gilli, too, once he was healed."

No wonder the young sorcerer looked so drawn, and that after the long hike back over the border to the palace of Gawant. Gwaine started, "But what about –"

"Special dispensation from Lord Godwyn." Merlin smiled. "Healing magic is now legal in Gawant."

"Mm. Good." It was a start, and probably energized Merlin as much as a good nap and a full meal. Gwaine started again, "What about –" and his young friend correctly anticipated that question, too.

"They left this morning. We patched them up, too… Evidently –" Merlin's eyes lit with a pleased sort of merriment – "one of the younger knights was actually King Odin's son. Illegitimate, though he was never acknowledged even unofficially, everyone knew it. The rest remaining were content for him to assume command – he signed a treaty with Arthur this morning. A messenger was sent to Bernard to be alert to unrest along the border, but Arthur thinks Isdern can hold the throne, especially since no one wants to fight in the winter, and by spring hopefully no one will care enough to contest his claim, if his understanding with Camelot remains secure."

"Isdern, huh?" Gwaine tried to call up the young man's face in his memory, tried to match it to Odin's sneer, and couldn't make it fit. Well, if he was a better man than his father – like Arthur – no wonder he'd reacted so strongly to the wording of Gwaine's refusal to surrender to him.

"They found your father's sword, too - it's set aside in the armory, for when you -"

Somewhere behind him, across whatever room they'd put him in after the tournament, the door opened. Gwaine watched Merlin's glance flick alertly past him, before he relaxed in the chair again.

"Arthur," his friend informed him, half a second before the king spoke.

"Is His Lordship going to lie in bed all day? Come on, Gwaine, if it's one thing I know – shut up, Merlin – it's that a tournament champion has to get up in time to attend his own victory feast."

"Feast," Gwaine said, and even though he was lying on his stomach, it woke with interest at the suggestion.

"I've been feeding you," Merlin objected with a twinkle in his eye. "Broth, and so on. Tiny bites of bread while you were half-conscious." He moved out of the chair to make room for Arthur – out of armor and wearing a simple red shirt under a fine but understated dark jacket.

"Broth," Gwaine scoffed, getting an elbow under him. The muscles from shoulders to knees only felt sore, not acutely painful.

"So," Arthur said, seating himself and pretending to be stern – and he might have pulled it off were it not for the quirk at one corner of his mouth. "It seems that you're married. The first of any of us, without waiting for your king's permission or presence, and quick before we could stop you."

"I was stalling for time," Gwaine protested. "It's not my fault you were late."

Arthur scoffed, sprawling back comfortably in the chair, and Merlin was grinning as he leaned on the wall beside and above him. Gwaine studied them, and a concern occurred.

"They are going to be able to annul it, aren't they?" he said. "I mean, performed under duress and the cleric used the wrong name for me if you want to worry about details…" Then again, he'd been knighted under somewhat-false pretenses and he considered that binding.

Arthur looked up at Merlin.

"He's a man of his word, you know that," the younger man softly answered what the king hadn't said. "He'll keep the vow of fidelity… What I want to know, though, Gwaine, is that you like her well enough for both of you to be happy."

"I like Elena more than anyone except Gwen and Ally," Gwaine said honestly, but with a sinking-flying feeling that wasn't just an empty stomach. "But I thought –"

Arthur shook his head. "It was public," he said, "and yesterday. I mentioned it to Godwyn very delicately, but he seems to consider it done, the matter closed. He assumed you were an honorable man with my full confidence – and he wasn't wrong - and I think we could cause great offense by bringing it up again. Gwaine… you're married."

He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to the mattress, muttering, "Mind if I get drunk tonight?"

Merlin sounded both sympathetic and amused. "As long as you get up and eat a meal first… But it's probably not Arthur or me you need to be asking that question anymore."

She took form in his mind's eye, beautiful and uncertain, and he turned his face to the side to look at his friends again. "What about Elena? She knows she's stuck with me? What has she said?"

"She hasn't protested," Merlin offered encouragingly.

More pragmatic, Arthur added, "She probably wouldn't." Then he leaned forward and his eyes took on a warrior-king sort of intensity. "Gwaine – no matter how highly I think of you, and all joking aside, if you make her miserable I will carve you."

Gwaine shook his head heavily. "If I make her miserable, I'll let you."

"All right, enough of the threats," Merlin said. "Gwaine, you still need your rest, and this whole situation will look different when you're feeling better."

He grunted, not sure whether his young friend's optimism made him feel better at the moment, or not. He remembered that Merlin himself was contemplating a marriage-upon-agreement, rather than a love-match – but Merlin was a different man than Gwaine. And only days ago, Percival had found himself unexpectedly betrothed – but that had been his choice, and he had years to befriend his bride and fall in love, before the actual wedding. Gwaine decided he was too exhausted for any more thinking.

"If I sleep now, I can be up for dinner," he conceded. "Maybe ready to ride by tomorrow. When did you want to…" He trailed off as Arthur exchanged an upward glance with Merlin again. "What?"

"You're married to the princess of Gawant," Merlin said gently – and though he smiled, there was a suspicious brightness to his eyes that had nothing to do with amusement. "You can't just pack her up and bring her to Camelot with you. Her place is here."

"And you can't just marry a lady and then ride off without her," Arthur said, trying to make his voice light. "It's rude."

He hadn't thought of that; a stone settled in his stomach. "Means my home is here, now?" he said, half to himself. And he wasn't fifteen years old, to literally run from responsibilities that were laid on him without choice, to plunge into disreputable freedom.

Arthur's hand was warm and gentle on his shoulder. "It's not bad, here."

"It's not far," Merlin added immediately.

"Do you want any of the knights that accompanied us to stay with you?" Arthur offered.

Gwaine thought of Sindran, who he'd gotten to know on the journey to inspect Lord Bernard's border defenses – a good sense of humor, infinite patience, and open-minded regarding a man's class and skill. And he was dead, now – just like more than a few of Gawant's defenders.

"No," he said. He'd have to start over getting to know people and proving he could do the job unexpectedly appointed to him. Just another challenge – and if Arthur and Merlin thought he could do it, he'd have to. "Thank you, but no."

Arthur moved out of the way, preparing to depart as Merlin bent over Gwaine again to fiddle with bandages. "Gilli's here," Merlin reminded him. "And Descalot is half a day's ride – Lancelot and Ally will be there eventually."

He couldn't help sighing, as his body relaxed and pulled his mind toward oblivious slumber. " 'M going to miss you fellows."

"You won't have time to," Merlin whispered, with a note of laughter catching in his voice. "Pity us - we'll have to learn to manage without you."

"Won't be hard," Gwaine muttered, as his eyes slipped closed, and his friend's murmured protest faded into unconsciousness.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Evidently Gwaine didn't need as much rest as Merlin expected. The room still held the warm glow of late afternoon when he opened his eyes, and blinked them to focus. It was very still. Restful. But also much larger and more richly decorated than anywhere Gwaine could remember sleeping, and the reminder drew him to full wakefulness.

He drew in a deep breath, feeling the pull around his ribs and the skin of his back. Dinner would be uncomfortable but manageable; not imminent, judging by the light, but he was wearing only trousers. That thought led to others, of suitable clothing and someone to provide it and probably help put it on…

Servants. Lordship.

He groaned to his elbows and knees, then rolled awkwardly to his side past the middle of the bed, the covers bunching and twisting at his waist.

Elena was seated in the chair at the bedside, wearing a very light blue gown that suited her, the sides of her hair pulled behind her head. Quiet and calm, with a book just folded closed in her lap – but her eyes held doubts and questions.

And she was his wife, so… he had no idea how to act.

"Ah," he said lamely. "Hello."

"Are you feeling better?" she asked, betraying genuine concern. "Merlin said he healed you, but that you'd be tired for a while."

"Yeah, much better, thanks. And he did." They waited uncomfortably, man and wife. Gwaine propped his head on his fist and ventured, "And you? They didn't hurt you?"

"I didn't get much sleep, but…" She gave him a nervous smile. "They didn't touch me. And Veramay was all right, after warning the knights, so she was with me."

"Good," he said.

Another awkward pause.

"Would you like some – water, or something?" Elena offered, fluttering one hand toward a side table supporting a couple of silver flagons and a handful of matching cups. "Or, I think there's some wine…"

Gwaine grinned suddenly. Why should they both feel constrained to be conventional, now? He said frankly, "Would you like me to get out of bed and dressed, before we talk?"

She dropped her eyes as her color rose – briefly. "It is ridiculous, isn't it? I'm sorry – no, if you're more comfortable there, please stay."

And maybe she'd feel a little more in control, if she was the one upright and fully dressed. "I should be apologizing, not you," he told her. "I had rather thought yesterday might be considered play-acting for Odin's benefit, but they tell me… you're stuck with me."

"You're not angry," she said, looking at him. "Disappointed? Or thrilled at the prestige of the position and full of plans for your newfound wealth?"

Gwaine snorted. "You could just put me on the payroll along with your other knights, and I'd be satisfied. We don't even have to –" A sudden thought struck him horrified. "This isn't your chamber, is it?"

She looked around as if she'd forgotten which room she was in. "No, it's not. But... you don't… want, to share my room?" Shy and uncertain.

"I thought you might not want to share mine," Gwaine said gently – and offered her an excuse and a grin. "My feet smell bad, remember?"

Elena glanced absently down the length of the bed. "I don't remember my mother," she said. "My father never was interested in courting again, either. I don't know – how these things are done, usually, arranged marriages, but –"

"I swear to you," Gwaine interrupted, rising onto his elbow. "I won't pressure you or force you to do anything you don't want to do, I won't so much as lay a finger on you that's unwelcome. Ever."

She nodded, twisting her fingers in her lap. "The thing is… I don't want to be lonely, either. When I was unwed, I could always hope to – to meet someone I could love. And now…"

"Now it's just me."

Elena nodded again, and Gwaine studied her critically, realizing the courage that lay behind her presence in his room, and this admission. Courage he'd already seen when she'd risked coming to warn Arthur, when she'd stood up straight and looked Odin in the eye. Taking a chance himself – she had no real reason to trust him, after all, he patted the mattress beside him in invitation.

"Will you?" he said. "Get a little more comfortable. We aren't strangers, after all – and we could be more than friends."

She looked at him a moment, then hiked her skirts and shifted from chair to bed, leaving her book abandoned in the seat. Tucking already-shoeless feet under the hem of the blue dress, she pulled the twist of her hair self-consciously over one shoulder.

"I have never been in love," he confided, "but I imagine marriage works best when two people can be honest with each other, and speak openly. Which is, I admit, a prospect more terrifying than facing Odin's warriors in the lists. But I'm your husband now, so I'll do my best… Ask me anything you'd like."

"You don't want to stay here, do you," she said. "You want to return to Camelot with your friends."

He was glad she hadn't said, You don't want to be married, do you. Because that was a moot point now in any case. Wanting things to be different than what they were – dissatisfaction that was allowed to linger never made anyone happy. And he did want Elena to be happy, in spite of how all this had turned out.

"I'll make new friends," he said. "It'll be a while til it feels like home here, and I'll probably always worry about my friends' safety and wellbeing when I'm not with them."

"Camelot isn't far," she said, unconsciously echoing Merlin's sentiment. "We can go often, and stay long."

"Yes we can," he said, turning her suggestive tone into fact. "You don't have many ladies in your court here, do you?" She shook her head. "Well, we're gathering a few more – and I'm sure they'll be happy to include you in their number, now… Ask me something else, then?"

Her eyes dropped slightly, and she reached forward – but stopped before actually touching him. "What's that?"

The cord he wore around his neck, bearing two pieces of actual and symbolic worth. Gwaine dropped his head so he could use the fingers of both hands on the knot.

She added, "Oh, you don't have to take it off, I just wondered – it seemed a safe and not terribly personal thing to talk about…"

"It's all right." The knot gave, and he slipped the gold ring off the cord. "This should be yours anyway, as my wife. It was my father's."

She took it reverently, turning it over between her fingers. "Tell me about him? Why do you have this?"

"He gave it to my mother, the last time we saw him before he died. She gave it to me, and I've had it since then."

"I'm so sorry, about your father," Elena said, and meant it. "How old were you?"

"Twelve. Almost thirteen." Almost old enough to be taken as a squire to one of the other knights. Almost, and not quite. "I left home two years later to earn my living with my father's sword. I'm lucky I survived as long as I did, til I met Arthur and Merlin and everything changed."

She made another sound of sympathetic interest, studying the ring – then stopped. "This has a crest," she said. He didn't answer, and she met his eyes. "And you didn't have to ask about Gawant's succession rights – and I heard you giving those commands to the pups." He held her gaze a moment longer; she said slowly, "Gwaine – who was your father?"

"Sir Geart," he said, speaking the name aloud for the first time since that day in court, and his king had given their whole family a sneer to rival any of Odin's. "A knight of Caerleon."

"But you served Arthur," she said, and realized, "He doesn't know."

"It never was important," Gwaine said, and watched her test the size of the ring, finally leaving it on her right thumb. "But at least now you know your husband isn't totally ignorant when it comes to administrative duties." Just totally disinclined – but he could change that for her. He probably would have changed that for Arthur sooner or later, anyway, if Arthur wanted him for a senior, commanding patrols or garrisons.

"That wouldn't have mattered to me," Elena said, slightly troubled. "Of all the knights I could possibly have ended up married to, unexpectedly, I'm glad it was you, after all."

Gwaine blinked and said stupidly, "Really?"

"Everyone else is so embarrassed when I'm clumsy, or when I say the wrong thing. Or they pretend not to notice, which is awkward. But you just laugh and make me feel like – all that is normal, and fine."

"Because it is," Gwaine said. Maybe not among royalty, but very few of them could earn his admiration and respect. "Listen, if there's something I love about you already, it's your lack of pretense. Your willingness to overlook flaws in manners."

Her skin flushed faintly pink and she lowered her eyes again to point and ask, "What's that piece, then?"

A silver disc the size of the ball of his thumb, with an arc missing from the bottom and a hole punched for the cord. He handed it to her so she could examine the markings engraved on it.

"A symbol for strength," he said. He'd had it years before he and Merlin had followed Arthur on his knight's quest; it hadn't surprised him that the odd little bridge-keeper had mentioned his personal strived-for virtue. Much. "I needed the reminder a lot of times after I left home. A skinny boy trying to do a man's job, learn what I needed to know fast enough to stay alive. I'd hold onto this and tell myself, there's more kinds of strength than just physical, muscle and bone."

She cast a glance along his body – it was probably involuntary, but he was naked to the waist and she was his. Shy but willing young bride. Color rose in her cheeks again; he felt a similar heat low in his belly and it left him a little breathless and uncertain himself. Of course he knew what to do, but it was when and how that he worried about, now.

"I like that," she told his charm. "I'm glad you told me." And leaned deliberately forward to tie the ends of the cord around his neck again.

He held very still, trying to rein in his thoughts. She smelled like sunshine. Daisies and hay, and the embroidered neckline of her dress dipped just slightly, just enough to make him think of soft skin, warmth and mutual companionship – and passion. She breathed, and her curves lifted near enough his face that he couldn't actually focus – but she moved back before he'd found his control again, and by the look in her eyes when he met them, she realized what part of her his attention had been drawn to.

"Sorry," he blurted, having never apologized for what most women he interacted with took as a compliment. Most women weren't princesses. "I'm sorry, that was –"

"If I can look at you," she said, sounding breathless herself – and let her eyes travel his body more deliberately. "I guess I can't blame you for a similar curiosity."

"Yes, but…" She was innocent, and he was not. He said desperately, "I want to be honest with you, but I don't want to hurt you."

He was shocked when she smiled wryly. "You've done this before?" she guessed.

"Elena, I –"

"No, don't – apologize, I just want to know if –"

"Not apologize," he said, scooting closer and taking her hand away from toying with a lacy frill on her skirt. "Explain. I never dallied with – the daughters of farmers or tradesmen, honest girls who'd want a husband and family, someday, if not then. I never made promises because keeping my word was one point of honor I wouldn't give up, no matter what else I did or became. The women I – got to know, were more interested in my money than in me, and to my knowledge I never hurt them in any way."

She was blushing and wouldn't look at him. He shook her hand a little, to make sure of her attention.

"Elena. Never since Arthur knighted me. Wenching might be okay for an unattached mercenary, but I'd not disgrace the knights of Camelot with public promiscuity. Tease a girl for some company, a smile and a kiss or three – but even that, I'll no longer do. Because you are my wife, and I do keep my word. I don't want you embarrassed or unhappy with my behavior."

"Do you remember how many?" she said in a low voice. "Women you've… gotten to know, I mean?"

"I do." And if he'd known that his I'll-never-wed vow was going to get turned upside down so emphatically, he'd have tried to make different choices, those days and nights. "You don't want me to tell you, do you?" Hells, he was so out of his depth with an inexperienced wife.

She darted him a glance. "Less than ten?"

He was relieved for her sake, that he could admit honestly, "Less than ten."

A longer look, turning into scrutiny. "And all that is over now, and you never loved any of them."

"Never did." He lifted her hand to kiss as he'd done at their abrupt vow-ceremony – her scent was clearer and sweeter, some kind of lotion or hand-cream. He closed his eyes to inhale more deeply, and turned her fingers to press his lips to her palm.

Her fingertips rubbed the whiskers on his cheek, just slightly – and when he opened his eyes again, the look on her face had changed. Lips parted, she leaned forward - hesitated, to search his eyes again for confirmation.

He knew what she wanted and didn't quite dare. So he stretched up on his elbow, tightening his grip on her hand and dropping his gaze to her mouth. And as she crossed the distance, he had a moment to panic. She's never done this before – it should be perfect for her – not too fast not too insistent – but she's beautiful and soft and mine –

Light, momentary pressure on his mouth. He held still, and she didn't move away, so he opened the kiss. Slightly. Still just lips. And she didn't retreat, but rather moved with him – shyly and hesitating, but still… willing.

Releasing her hand to cup her cheek to keep their lips together, he rose up from his elbow to kiss her more deliberately, mold his lips around hers and touch the tip of his tongue to that pink bow-curve he could see in his mind's eye.

She made a small noise of pleasure that delighted and encouraged him, tipping her head slightly.

I don't deserve this. It staggered him what trust she was placing in him. So he didn't push their pace - just a slow exploration, inviting her to learn his mouth, too – and her innocent curiosity made his blood simmer in his veins. He was pretty sure his hand was trembling, discovering the curve of her cheek, the edge of her jaw, the lobe of her ear with an unseen earring, hidden behind the soft and flower-scented curls of her hair.

Then she lifted her hand to grip his forearm, and he jerked back with a hiss at the pain that flared from the cut Merlin had stitched instead of healing.

Her eyes were wide, and those entirely-kissable lips dropped open. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to - I don't know what I was –"

"It's fine," he managed. Nearly incoherent himself, but for other reasons. Slow down, make it perfect.

"It's not," she contradicted, and now there were tears in her eyes. "I want you to be pleased with me, only I don't know what I'm doing, and –"

"You don't need to please me," Gwaine told her, feeling something in the middle of his chest wince at her distress. "Really. You're beautiful and sweet and I meant it when I said I won't touch you if you're not ready. We don't have to rush… Here." He shifted and rested back against the pillows. "Just lay down here beside me. And we don't have to touch and we don't have to talk – we'll just get used to being together. All right?"

Her expression said, I'm not so sure about this, but she rearranged her legs and laid herself down carefully next to him. Not touching, except he felt her hair brush against his; he closed his eyes and turned his face to her and breathed in deeply.

"Tell me a story," she suggested, sounding a bit tense and breathless again. Maybe the silence was more nerve-wracking than soothing, for her. "Tell me how you know Gilli."

"I met him coming to Camelot for a tournament," Gwaine said.

She shifted her weight on the bed again – closer rather than further, he thought, and though having his eyes closed made him feel tired in spite of all the sleep he'd gotten, the realization shot through him that he could have this every night for the rest of his life. He couldn't help smiling. Funny how destiny had better ideas for his life than he ever could.

"Talked him out of using magic to compete in front of Uther Pendragon – Arthur knew about Merlin by then, so he was a lot more perceptive, too, and probably would have suspected Gilli, at least…"

She murmured agreement; she was very close. "Can I – touch you?" she whispered.

His heart skipped, and his mouth went suddenly dry.

"Of course you can, I'm your husband," he said, making his words sound a lot easier than they felt. And shivered at the light brush of her fingertips over the curve of muscle in his shoulder, down his arm. "As long as you don't tickle," he warned, opening one eye to squint at her. She giggled – and snorted – and covered her mouth. He grinned and relaxed again, perfectly contented. "Remind me to tell you my favorite joke, sometime – I love how you laugh."

He also rather loved this being-honest thing, more than his usual being-charming thing. He could try that later, when she knew him better and would realize what he was doing, trying to make her smile or agree to kiss him. Her fingers trailed back up his arm and across his collarbone, leaving sparks in their wake that faded to lingering warmth. And she wasn't even trying to arouse him; how would it feel when –

"Anyway, where was I? Oh, Gilli – so I talked him into giving Camelot a pass and coming to spend a few days with me and Merlin, instead…"

Shyly she shifted again, laying her cheek on his shoulder, her hair brushing his neck. Her hand finding his to twine their fingers together, and the softness of her body pressed against his side. He held still, and she relaxed, exhaling with a sigh.

"I'm glad you two kept him out of trouble," she said. "I think my maid – likes him." Her comment was interrupted by an audibly obvious yawn.

He chuckled, liking the way he felt but feeling no sense of urgency to persuade her to more. They had all their lives, didn't they. To make love. "Tired?"

"Guess so." She snuggled a little closer. "You're warm."

Once, in a tunnel beneath the fortress of Fyrien, he'd looked at the skeleton of an unidentified soldier and thought about what might have happened to him had his father not died, had his king not betrayed. More than just continued life, he'd found a king worth serving, the best of friends in a unique sorcerer – and now it seemed that his life had led him to an extraordinary marriage, also.

"Go to sleep, then," he whispered, reaching to cup her face and turning to kiss her hair.

She mumbled something drowsily, and he decided to obey the pull of slumber again himself. The rest of the world could wait.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"What is he doing? I told him he wasn't supposed to miss –"

"Ssh, Arthur! Look… No, just leave them, it's fine."

"What's Godwyn going to say when neither of them shows up for dinner?"

"What can he say? They're married."

"… He looks happy. Doesn't he? They both look happy. I'm glad they had each other to… help, getting through this…"

"Your time's coming, Arthur, I promise. Now – get out of here. Let's just let them sleep – they've earned it."

"Hmph. But in the morning –"

"Out, Arthur."

A/N: At this point, I want to say – even though Gwaine's basically moved away from Camelot, he is by no means finished with Arthur and the Round Table – or even this story… And next up, the Merthian we've all been waiting for! (Gosh, I hope it satisfies…)