Chapter Text
It took a few weeks for Fort Galfridian to stop falling into the sun. The Pendragons worked tirelessly to steer their world back into stable orbit. Gawain, Mordred, and Grace ran back and forth, maintaining peace in Camelot as best they could, especially because tensions between Saxons and the townsfolk still ran high.
But one day the heat abated. For the first time in any of their lives, they could go outside without a hat. On that day Grace told Gawain to dress in her nicest clothes so they could take their dinner together as a picnic the next day.
They were sitting in the town square, devoutly ignoring Merlin who occasionally attempted to chip in from across the space. Gawain begrudgingly admitted that picnics were quite nice, even if she thought they were highly impractical. Grace laughed and they continued to eat.
As the artificial sun started to dim, they intertwined their fingers, and leaned into each other. It was nice to have Gawain at her side. Gawain who was always strong. Gawain who would always protect those she cares about. Gawain who could let herself be protected sometimes.
They were something. Something that was not what they were before, but also not like what the Pendragons had. Something different. Something special.
And that something included picnics and holding hands. It was a nice something.
Galahad would not change it for the world.
“Gawain,” she called, and she pricked up her ears. “Let's go home.”