Title: Fearing For Her Safety

Show: Merlin

Characters/Pairings: Gwen/Arthur, implied Gwen/Lancelot, Merlin mention

Rating: T, to be safe, for mild violent and sexual themes.

Word Count: 960

Disclaimer: I obviously don't own, because if I did…I wouldn't need to worry about this whole A/G/L situation (cuz I would control it, mwahaha)

Spoilers: Up to 2x02 (and possibly 2x03) See A/N for rest.

Summary: While on his way to rescue her, Arthur fears for Guinevere and finds a mental way to cope.

A/N: Yet another 2x04 speculation fic for the fandom. Based off of episode descriptions and episode and series 2 trailers.

Written in a way that will hopefully coincide with the episode once it airs, but I thought I would post it before, in case once it does air, the idea is no longer be workable.

The writing style's also a bit experimental (quasi stream-of-consciousness).

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Arthur was afraid, truly afraid. (He's been afraid before, but he's usually been able to suppress it with his sense of duty or focus on the situation. It's never been like this, never where it keeps bubbling up like how the bile in his throat was now.)

Guinevere was in danger – immediate danger, mortal danger.

He finally understood the term 'worried sick.' Because he felt physically ill knowing that her life was in peril. That because of his father, her life had been forfeited and she was at the mercy of the worst kind of outlaws.

Arthur knew that she was more capable than the average woman. She wasn't helpless. She was strong and brave; she could fight. But he was hardly going to hang her fate on such things. Because she was also outnumbered and probably restrained, imprisoned.

He would have rather brought an army with him to rescue her, to slaughter her captors for daring to harm her. Except he wasn't allowed that; he wasn't technically allowed to go at all. But there may have never been a better time to damn his father's orders.

So he would have to go by himself. (And with Merlin, who insisted on coming. Although it's not like he would be of any use. He'd probably be more of a hindrance than anything, but Arthur didn't have the time to argue.)

It was up to Arthur alone to save her. A daunting task, even for him.

But he'd have to succeed.

He needed her to live.

Arthur couldn't bring himself to think of what they might do to her, what they might have already done to her. He couldn't think about her being beaten or – Arthur felt sick at the thought – violated. Or what if she were already dead, if they somehow figured out that she was not Morgana or had never planned on letting her live?

No. He couldn't think like that. Because if he let himself think about those things then he wouldn't be able to function.

She was fine, he told himself, he had to tell himself, completely safe.

He would find her completely unharmed, unscathed.

(Well, perhaps some bloodied knuckles from punching her attackers, he thought with the smallest of smiles. That was the type of woman Guinevere was.)

And when he fought his way to wherever she was kept, she would look surprised for a moment, almost in disbelief, before throwing her arms around him, so glad that he was there – for her.

And then she would kiss him.

Yes, he thought. The idea calmed him, distracted him from the near-paralyzing worry. He would focus on that, and then he would be able to carry on. If he thought about good things, like having her in his arms, then it might distract him from the horrifying mental image of finding only her cold, lifeless body – Stop.

She would kiss him, and he would hold her fast, only breaking the kiss because of necessity.

And he would take her hand and they would escape to their horses.

She would ride with him. He behind her, his arms wrapped around her. Her riding sidesaddle, able to turn her face to his.

(Arthur would send Merlin on ahead, lagging behind his manservant. They would take their time on the journey back to Camelot, not needing to rush, like on the way there.)

Then he could kiss her like how he'd wanted to as soon as he found her – like how he'd wanted to the first time (and in his thoughts ever since). And they could kiss as long as they liked, not having tournaments to run off to or escaping from enemies – not having anyone around to judge them and their relationship.

When they broke for a moment, his finger would trace the way the sun shone on her face, looking into her eyes, warm and beautiful in the morning light.

And she would whisper her thanks for coming to her rescue, a little shy but swelling with happiness. And he would tell her that he couldn't not come for her. How he couldn't bear to think of what might happen to her. That he needed her to be safe – even if he couldn't be with her. (Although he left this part out of the scenario in his head, not wanting to think of what would happen once they finally did reach the castle.)

He needed her to be safe.

---

Blood was pounding in Arthur's ears. He was close, both anxious and excited – the latter from what he'd had to imagine the whole way there, of finding Guinevere, of her face when she saw him…

But her face when she saw him wasn't what he'd imagined. There was surprise, and then… confusion and awkwardness and tension.

Because Arthur wasn't her only rescuer.

---

The ride back was nothing he had imagined.

He curtly told Merlin to give her his horse. (She would not ride with Arthur, in his arms.)

He rode ahead of the two; he couldn't look at her. (Not when he'd kept imagining how she would look back at him.)

And now that he had tried so hard before to hang onto thoughts of her (taking her hand, holding her, kissing her), he couldn't get rid of the foolish notions he'd had. His former thoughts taunted him (and the thought of her taking his hand, being held by him, kissing him), now that the situation was so far from what he'd idealized.

Underneath that little fantasy, he had still known he and Guinevere could never truly be together.

But that didn't make it hurt any less.

---

At least she was safe.

Because as much as he wanted to be angry with her, he would always want her safe.