Title: Count the Ways
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Gwen/Arthur; minor Gwen/Lancelot
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Entire series.
Summary: Forty-four Arthur & Gwen stories inspired by Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese. Missing and expanded scenes, as well as pre-series and future!fic.

Disclaimer: Merlin does not belong to me. Neither do the quotes at the beginning of each piece, which were taken from EBB's Sonnets from the Portuguese, each from the corresponding number.

Author's Notes: So this idea came to me when I found an Arthur/Gwen wallpaper with the words from Elizabeth Barrett Browning's famous Sonnet XLIII, "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways" on it. I have held a long affinity for EBB's work—I even wrote my final paper in Women Writers on her—so I never need much of an excuse to reread the Sonnets. The wallpaper made me grab my old copy and dive in again, and while I was reading them the thought kept coming to me: reinterpreted, almost of these work for aspects of Arthur & Gwen's relationship. The result is this, an odd collection of short stories, loosely bound together (they all operate in the same universe, though they are not in chronological order), and often only loosely prompted by each sonnet. At first, I intended to wait until I had the entire collection finished to post, but in my entire life, I've never been able to hold to a goal like that. I hope you enjoy!

I.

"Guess now who holds thee?"—"Death," I said. But, there,
The silver answer rang,—"Not Death, but Love."

In the last thirty-six hours, Gwen has been abducted, forced to impersonate her mistress, and locked in a dungeon cell. All of that pales in comparison to the loneliness of awaiting a ransom she knows will never come.

She almost wishes she had refused to don Morgana's dress and let that ruffian kill her. The last time she was in a dungeon—when Uther convicted her of sorcery—she decided the worst part of death was the anticipation. She would much rather die from a sudden, surprise stroke than feel the hour slowly approaching.

With still fresh grief, Gwen's thoughts turn toward her father. Had he suffered? Had he seen the blow coming? What were his last words, his last thoughts? She thinks it likely they were of her, and that sends another wave of sorrow straight to her heart. How she aches for him now! For his gentle heart to comfort her, his strong arms to hold her close.

She knows it is a ridiculous wish. Even if her father were still alive, he could never reach her in this terrible place. She should be grateful he will be spared the pain of losing his only daughter.

But it is terrifying to know oneself completely alone in the world. She has had fleeting sensations of this utter desolation over the past months—when she laid her father's body in the ground, alone because Elyan did not bother returning; the first night back home, spent entirely in tears; the day she gave Tom's bed away to a neighboring family; every morning and evening passing by the silent, unlit forge—but nothing as shattering as the knowledge she will die here, unmourned by anyone.

Her musings travel even farther back, to the deathbed of her mother. Tears pool in her eyes as she sees again the strong, vital figure grown sallow and weak from long illness. She can still hear her father's sobs and her baby brother's shrieks for, "Mama! Mama!" Mostly, she remembers holding onto Mama's hand as tightly as she could, as though she could hold her mother's soul to earth by the strength of her touch alone.

Gwen longs for someone to hold onto at this moment.

Morgana is probably safe in Camelot by now. Gwen is grateful for this. If she is to die, at least her life is given in service of a friend. That is what her mistress has become to her. Morgana helped exonerate her from Uther's charges and supported her through the days after Tom's murder.

Gwen knows Morgana cares for her, but she is practical enough to realize that Morgana will forget her in time. Their bond is transitory, and Morgana's life and concerns are too vast to focus for long on the life of one servant.

Merlin will grieve for her, she believes. Once, at the height of her silly crush on him, Gwen had asked him to remember her. Though that infatuation faded, their friendship is strong and real. Merlin will miss her when she does not return. But Gwen knows equally well that he will not hesitate to befriend Morgana's next maid. He will go on helping Gaius and serving Arthur, his life fundamentally unchanged.

And Elyan? Gwen is not even sure where he lives now, if he has a home at all. Years may pass before he even learns of her death. Her brother is many things she disapproves, but never heartless, and he will mourn and reproach himself then. She wishes she could see him one last time.

Gwen tries hard not to think of Arthur, though he is almost all she has thought of the last few weeks. She can still feel the warmth of his lips on hers, still see his face as she rode away. But she can also hear the words he spoke, words laced with regret but clear in their intent to break all ties. "…my father would never understand."

Uther will not send the ransom, let alone an army led by his only son, to the rescue of a lowly servant. Gwen has moments where she lets herself hope that Arthur will defy his father—he did once before when Merlin's life was at stake—and bring the Knights of Camelot to her rescue.

Reality always returns with the echo of his words.

"I'm afraid my father would never understand."

Arthur will not come. The ransom won't be paid. There is no hope.

Everything changes when Hengist forces her to attend the banquet, and she sees Lancelot. Her vain wishes and prayers all unite in his person—hope of rescue, someone who will not forget her, a hand to hold.

Gwen dispenses with her usual practicality; she does not stop to question if her emotions are real or facades induced by stress and fear. She swears eternal devotion to a man she barely knows and feels no qualms at doing so. If they are going to die, at least it will be with love in their hearts; if, by some miracle, they survive, it will remain a perfect, unsullied memory.

(Later, she will wonder if she would have been so quick to profess her feelings to Lancelot if she had known Arthur was coming. She doesn't like what that says about her.)

When Lancelot's plan fails, she awaits death with his hand grasped tightly in hers. It is enough, she thinks.

Then Arthur comes to their rescue, and she sees the hearts of both men break in front of her eyes. She is grateful—so grateful—to be free, but her tongue is tied. Unsure of Arthur's motives, she cannot even summon the nerve to say, "Thank you."

(Over a year later, Arthur will save her from another castle, another dungeon. That time, when all the chaos is over, she will remember to thank him. Arthur will tell her, "it's what you do when you love someone." She will think of that moment, searching Arthur's face across the campfire with Lancelot by her side. And she will finally know the reason he came.)