Embrace The World In Grey

It takes him two hours to get to the nearest village. It takes him three hours to find a sorceror. It takes him four hours to even start control this burning golden power now residing within him.

If he's honest, Arthur has no idea how Merlin managed to control himself and keep his magic a secret for so long – it's a newfound respect for his manservant that's warring with his disappointment that Merlin didn't confide in him sooner. But there's no time to think about what he's meant to be feeling, no time to turn things over, because if he's not found a way to save Merlin soon then nothing else will matter.

Convincing the sorceror that no, really, he's not here to execute him isn't an easy task. Proving it means that he has to perform magic himself, and even though he knows he shouldn't (he is a Prince, after all) he does it anyway, for Merlin. And then he has to explain exactly why he needs his help.

"I need to save somebody."

The elderly man's eyebrows raise slightly and he takes another sip from his goblet. Arthur has no idea what's in it, and he can't really see anyway – the shack that they're sat in is dirty and dark and damp, but he doesn't complain. He doesn't have time.

"Save somebody?"

"Yes, save somebody," he snaps, because the man's being exceptionally slow and he really, really needs to get this done as soon as possible. "A friend of mine was stabbed. I need to heal him."

"How serious was the wound?"

"Serious."

The man regards him, almost thoughtfully, then stands and makes his way across the poorly-lit room and retrieves a book from the floor, beside what could be classed as a bed. He deposits the book on the table and a cloud of dust whooshes up around them.

"Can you help me, or not?" he asks irritably, and the man gives him a far sharper look that the Prince thought he'd be capable of. His eyes spark with intelligence.

"You've come to me for aid, sire," he says clearly, traces of the dim-witted geriatric from just moments ago vanished. "I can help you, yes. But you must be patient."

"My friend needs saving now."

"They stumble, those that run too fast," he shoots back, flicking through the pages. "If you're to control your gifts, you need to be calm."

"But how can I be calm when Merlin needs me?" Arthur bites, his voice raising, and the man stops at a page near the end.

"If you're not calm, you'll never save him. It's quite simple. Here's what you're looking for."

Arthur's frown fades and he pulls the book towards himself. He doesn't understand anything. Merlin will stay dead at this rate, he's quite sure of it, and he feels a black pain begin to well up inside his stomach. He pauses, pushes away the feeling, and looks up at the man. The sorceror's face is unreadable.

"Help me. Please."

**

Arthur rides back to the castle nearly twelve hours after setting out, his stallion spurred on by magic, his hooves sparking gold where they hit the cobbles as they canter up across the courtyard. Guards rush out to him, no doubt sent by Uther, but they never reach him. The old man prepared him for every eventuality.

He dismounts and leaves him horse – somebody will take him away – and sprints to Gaius' chambers. He didn't bother to put on any armour before he left, he didn't have time, so he's unhindered as he hurries down the various corridors. He passes guards and servants and ignores them all.

He doesn't knock when he reaches Gaius' chambers and the old man jumps up as the Prince enters, pestle in one hand an a sheaf of herbs in the other.

"Sire, what are you doing?" he asks quickly, following the young man as he walks straight up to the door and raises one hand, uttering no incantation as he unlocks the door. He thinks he hears Gaius gasp behind him, but carries on anyway.

Merlin is, thankfully, lying on his bed. He could just be ill, Arthur thinks, with his hair stuck to his forehead still with cold sweat and the colour all drained from his face. But the blood that's seeped into the bedclothes tell a different story.

"Arthur, please."

Arthur pauses then and looks at the physician, and he can see that he's been crying at some point since he's been gone. His eyes look dead. He thinks his probably look the same.

"You knew about Merlin's magic, didn't you?" he asks, but it's not an accusation, and Gaius seems to realise this. He nods slowly, and takes a few more steps into the room.

"I told him to be careful, and not tell anyone."

"And he did that admirably. But when he was dying, he… passed it on to me. I have his magic now."

"All of it?"

"I don't know."

And Gaius doesn't seem to really know what to say to that, but he clearly knows what Arthur's about to do next because he doesn't ask anything else as the Prince crosses the room and settles on the bed beside Merlin's hip. He reaches and takes the warlock's face in his hands again, just like he did less than a day ago, and closes his eyes. He's calm now. He knows the incantation, knows what he has to do. The village sorceror made him practise for hours before he'd allow him to leave.

He wipes his mind empty all everything but one.

"Ic i ágíeme, ic i ábire áncorlíf ond bróðorlufe."

Nothing.

"Ic i ágíeme, ic i ábire áncorlíf ond bróðorlufe."

The sorceror had said that it could take a while, but even so Arthur feels a pang of uneasiness as the spell fails again. So he repeats it.

And he repeats it again.

And again.

And he keeps on whispering the same words over and over until there's nothing left but the incantation and his hands on Merlin, gripping him as though he can physically raise him – there's no light, no sound, no Gaius. Just the sudden flow of magic as something finally clicks, appearing before his eyes as a golden light emanating from his hands though he knows he's the only one that can see it.

He might have heard Merlin gasp, or it could have been Gaius, or maybe even himself – but the next thing he knows, he's staring down into Merlin's open eyes, and the warlock looks so overwhelmed that he's not entirely sure what to say. It turns out he doesn't have to. He's drained himself.

He collapses over Merlin, just as he hears the warlock say his name.

Sometimes beginnings aren't so simple
Sometimes goodbye's the only way