Beyond Recall


A/N: Thank you, as always for the reviews; I love reading them! This chapter is quite a long one, but I have been a bit mean at the end! You'll see what I mean! Please let me know what you think!


Chapter 28

With difficulty, Merlin helped Peter to Gaius' chambers, knowing that there would be salves and medicines that could help with the pain and prevent infection from setting in. Merlin knew enough to be able to treat him and set him on his way to recovery. A quick examination had put some of Merlin's fears to one side. Peter was suffering from some very nasty wounds, but none of them were life threatening. They would take a while to completely heal, but he would be fine.

Even so, the pain he was in was no doubt excruciating. For one, he said nothing to Merlin as they made their way across the courtyard. It was busier now, with more soldiers beginning to identify and clear away the bodies. Thankfully, Arthur was nowhere to be seen. By time they reached the bottom of the wing where Merlin's quarters were located, Peter was white faced, sweat dripping down his face, and he gripped onto Merlin with vice like fingers. Every step was accompanied by a gasp, and yet he didn't complain or ask to stop, just continued on.

Eventually, the reached the door and Merlin pushed it open.

'Merlin!'

The sound of the voice stopped Merlin in his tracks. His grip on Peter didn't loosen, but he suddenly became less aware of it, like the world had faded out. He turned his head towards the voice, so familiar and so full of warmth that his chest began to ache. And then he saw her, standing nervously, her hands clasped in front of her chin as if she was praying, her face so full of joy that it made Merlin feel slightly light headed. And beside her stood Gaius, looking much older than Merlin remembered, and yet his eyes shone with a promise of youth in them.

'Mother?' Merlin whispered. He became aware of Peter's weight disappearing, the boy having propped himself up against the wall and used it as a support. Merlin took a step forward and then suddenly his mother's arms were round his neck, her tears soaking into his jacket, while Merlin felt his own, so many that he had held back over the last few hours, pour from his eyes. He wrapped his arms around her, clinging desperately to her support and her love and her understanding. Clinging onto the sense of acceptance that she gave him; clinging onto the belief that she had in him.

'I thought you were dead,' she sobbed. 'My boy, I thought I'd lost you.'

'No,' Merlin choked, but the word was swallowed up by the desperate grief that flowed from him. He could hear his voice crying out, could hear himself pulling in shuddering breaths as he tried to breathe through the tears.

'I love you, my son. I love you so much,' she was saying, hugging him even tighter to herself. When Merlin finally pulled back, it was to find Gaius' arm around his shoulder. Merlin pulled him into an embrace instantly. The old man said nothing, but his shaking shoulders and the way he held Merlin to himself said enough. Merlin knew what he had put his mentor through, could sense the depth of the wound, one that was only beginning to close now.

Merlin moved back and looked at both of them, saw how much they loved him, how much they accepted him, how terrified and devastated they had been without him, and he felt a warmth –one that had been sucked from him with Arthur's rejection- returning.

'It's so good to see you both,' he managed. He realised that his mother's hand was still in his and she squeezed it tightly at the words, unable to speak, but nodding her agreement.

'Erm, Merlin,' came a pained voice from behind. 'I don't mean to interrupt, but I think I'm going to faint.' Merlin turned to see Peter do just that.

A while later, Merlin found himself sat in his room, staring at the wall unseeingly. Peter was resting peacefully in the main room, Gaius having treated his injuries and given him a sleeping draught to ensure a few hours of rest that would begin the healing process. Gaius had left soon after, his instincts and skills as a physician calling him out into the carnage of the castle -even if he was half starved and dehydrated. While Peter was being treated, Merlin had helped his mother tidy the rest of the room from when Steven had –as Peter confirmed and recounted in great detail- attacked Peter and dragged him off to the watchtower prison. She had already begun the process before Merlin arrived. She and Gaius, on hearing that the fighting had stopped, had made their way from Gwaine's makeshift hiding place with a butcher in the lower town and come back to the castle in the hopes of offering help and finding Merlin.

Once they had finished tidying and Peter was asleep, however, Merlin found himself desperately wanting solitude, and so took himself to his room. His mother gave him time, but eventually she came in, sat beside him and put an arm around his shoulder.

'What is it?' she whispered after a few moments silence. Her head was resting against his, while her free hand swept away a few tears that had slipped down his cheeks.

'Arthur knows,' he said bluntly.

'What?'

'He knows I have magic,' he repeated tonelessly, but then tears crept into his voice and he looked desperately at her. 'And he hates me for it.'

'That isn't true.'

'It is, and it's not just that…' Before he knew it, Merlin had confessed everything to his mother, telling her all about Cyathia and Camelot; sharing all his confusion and fears, all his mistakes and failings, all his shame and regret. It took a long time, his words interspersed heavily with pauses as he tried to speak through his erratic breathing, as he had to repeat words that he couldn't find the strength to say the first time round, but his mother listened to everything. Her sympathy was evident in the way she took up his hand and kissed it, in the way she smoothed back his hair and the way she pulled him closer.

'He hates me,' Merlin finished, 'and he will never forgive me for this.'

'Arthur doesn't hate you and he will forgive you.'

'You didn't see his face.'

'I didn't have to,' she pressed, more firmly this time. Merlin turned to her, willing to listen to what she had to say, but refusing to let himself hope in her optimism. He could still see Arthur's face, hear his words, sense his fear and anger. 'Merlin, when I thought you were dead…' her voice caught on the word.

'Mother, you don't have-' he tried.

'No, this is important. When I thought you were dead…' she shook her head and swallowed. '…I have never felt such despair, such darkness. It was like a pain Merlin, an agony that lived in my heart and in my soul-'

'I should have contacted you,' he murmured, his guilt swelling.

'No, I understand why you wanted to be in Cyathia, why you didn't want anything to take you away from that life.'

'But-'

'Listen to me,' she said softly, putting both hands up to his face to halt him. She lowered them again when Merlin nodded. 'As much as I hurt, as much as my mind couldn't comprehend anything, there was one thing that I kept on thinking over and over again. What will Arthur do without you? It stayed with me at every moment, like it was part of my grief. You are meant to be here with him.

'He wants me gone. He told me. I don't even know if he'll be that lenient anymore. As king, he should be executing me.'

'Merlin.'

'He'll banish me at the very least.'

'Merlin, stop,' she whispered. 'If you truly think that, then you do not know Arthur as well as you think you do.'

'I've hurt him and I've betrayed him,' Merlin said softly. 'I've seen what that does to him; I've seen how it destroys him. He doesn't want to know me anymore.' Merlin could hear the defeat in his voice, the resignation, but a weight had settled on him, one that he could not shake and which seemed to blot out any hope of a future where he was there for Arthur.

'Do you remember what I said to you in Ealdor all those years ago? When Kanen attacked the village and Arthur came to help. Do you remember what I said to you about Arthur?' To his surprise, Merlin found a genuine laugh falling from his lips.

'I actually do,' he said. But the humour of his in tact memory quickly drained away. He shook his head. 'That doesn't stand anymore.'

'Yes it does,' his mother argued quietly. 'I told you back then that he needs you. Nothing has changed.'

'Everything has changed,' he whispered.

'Not when it comes to how important the two of you are to each other. You have spent years keeping Arthur alive with your magic, helping Camelot, protecting everyone. Your magic has served to cement Arthur's kingship and ensure Camelot's future. Don't let it pull the two of you apart.'

How?' Merlin asked. She looked at him and smiled, a smile so full of pride and love that Merlin found himself swallowing back his emotion.

'By being brave once more, my son, as you have always been.' Merlin shook his head, understanding what she meant and yet terrified at the thought of it. But his mother simply nodded in response. 'Go and talk to him.'

The simple suggestion suddenly seemed like the most difficult thing in the world.


Standing in the courtyard, seeing Merlin on the other side of it at the top of the steps, Arthur had never felt a distance so keenly. Even if he had wanted to close the gap between them, he wouldn't have known where to begin. It was like looking at stranger, as if someone had taken control of Merlin's body, possessed it, leaving only a shadow of who Merlin had been.

And so Arthur had turned away. Again, voices were arguing in his head about whether or not the guards should arrest Merlin, whether he should be escorted to the dungeons, but somehow, in Arthur's mind, he didn't seem to be a danger anymore, not when compared to the destruction that had been poured onto his kingdom. And so he put Merlin out of his mind for now, instead focussing on the task at hand.

The disappointment of the talks paled in comparison to the utter despair he felt at the moment, looking around at the dead and dying soldiers that were scattered throughout the castle's grounds. All thoughts of an alliance and unity had been obliterated with this orchestrated treachery that Tiden had delivered to them. How many men had been killed? How many kingdoms had turned against each other through their soldiers? Perhaps a war had been averted for now, but it seemed that another was rising in the distance as recompense for these senseless attacks.

The country would turn against each other if Arthur didn't handle this correctly. At the moment that was all he needed to focus on. He spoke to several of the knights who seemed more recovered from their possession and gave them instructions. They were simple: help the wounded from all nations and ensure that they understood that their actions had not been their own; that magic had been involved and that the sorcerer responsible was dead. The last thing he needed was for soldiers to begin fighting in revenge. Their lack of memory of the events was the only blessing that Arthur could see in the situation: at least this way, they wouldn't remember who they had killed; the wounded wouldn't remember who their attacker was. Revenge was much more dangerous when it was personal; that was not possible for Tiden's victims.

Once he had given his instructions, he made his way down to the siege tunnels, knowing that, before long, soldiers and knights would begin asking where their leaders were. As Arthur walked through the castle, he found himself unusually inconspicuous. People didn't notice him; it helped that he was still dressed in the clothes he had borrowed from the lower town. Nobody even seemed to register that someone was walking past. Everyone seemed to be trying to help, treating those who were injured, distributing food and water. Arthur wasn't sure who had organised them, but the more he saw, the more he believed that the people were responding from a personal desire to help, not an order from someone else.

The anonymity gave him time to reorder his thoughts. He found that his initial shock from everything he had found out and seen had been replaced with an instinctual leadership. He could not allow his emotions to get the better of him. He was the King and, as such, he had to be able to tackle this situation with no distractions. It would take all his wisdom and resolve.

He reached the catacombs quickly, a torch from the dungeons in his hand –though his arm ached mercilessly from where Leon had slashed it, the bandage being a makeshift one- to find the siege door locked with no key in it. He lit the other sconces on the walls and then banged solidly on the door. Hearing no reply, he raised his voice.

'Guinevere, it's me.'

Instantly the lock clicked and the door was pulled open by Guinevere. The thankfulness on her face when she saw him was clear, and it was only then that he realised she wouldn't have had a clue where he was. As far as she had been concerned, he should have been waiting for her in the siege tunnel. He felt guilt flood him; his only thought had been to get to Merlin. Now, looking at her face, he could see the fear, uncertainty and utter relief. It was obvious that she wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around him. She restrained herself in light of the company, however, and settled for grasping his hand and squeezing it tightly. He gave her a small smile, suddenly finding it difficult to ignore the raging emotions he had fought to bury when faced with his wife's concerned expression. She knew something was wrong.

Before she could say anything, however, the monarchs behind began talking, all at the same time. Their voices quickly became a crescendo that echoed off the walls of the catacombs, making it impossible to distinguish any individual words. Behind them, the servants who had led them to safety were quieter, whispering amongst themselves.

'Please,' Arthur called. Unlike in the last meeting of the monarchs, this time they all fell silent, their faces both concerned and angered. They wanted to know what was happening. 'I will explain everything to you, but you must know that we stand at an impasse: our actions and decisions now will shape the future. Please think carefully about how you wish to proceed.'

The words were grave enough that no-one argued, even Chalere, who had always been so vocal in his disagreements with Arthur, remained silent, though it was obvious that he was ready to speak out at any moment. Choosing his words carefully, Arthur continued.

'Camelot, and all those currently visiting, have come under a magical attack from a sorcerer. I was warned of this attack less than an hour before it occurred and precautions were taken, as you know, to get all rulers to safety.' Arthur looked round, meeting the eyes of each one, but no-one said anything else. 'An enchantment was cast on soldiers and knights from all kingdoms; an enchantment that, as far as I can tell, has been put in place over the last few days without anyone knowing. Tonight, a sorcerer -who is now dead- took control of our soldiers with the aim of killing all rulers and blaming Camelot. With leaders nowhere to be found, however, the soldiers turned against each other.'

'What are you saying?' Queen Iola asked. Her voice was strong, but her face was pale in the light of the torches on the walls of the catacombs.

'There are hundreds dead,' Arthur replied quietly. A stunned silence sounded for a moment and then voices began to rise once more. Anger, disbelief, shock; all of them were evident in the tones the monarchs were using and all of them were directed at Arthur. Guinevere moved to stand beside him, her back straight and her head high. Even in her servant clothes, she looked every bit the wise queen. Arthur allowed the accusations to fly for a few moments more before calling the monarchs to order again. It was harder this time, but they listened.

'Arthur,' another voice continued. He looked to see the Queen of Gwynedd looking fearfully at him. 'My husband,' she said. 'He went out of the castle before the servant arrived to bring us here. I don't know where he is.'

'I will send someone to find him straightaway,' Arthur told her. He called a servant forward and quickly sent her to find Leon and tell him to search for King Gethin. 'If he was out of the castle, then we must hope he avoided the soldiers.' She nodded, but remained very pale. Arthur turned back to his guests. 'No doubt you wish to see to your men, and Camelot will offer every help in caring for the injured, but before you go, I ask you to restrain yourself from making accusations. The sorcerer who orchestrated this attack wanted a war, and though he is dead, it would be very easy for him to get his way. No-one is to blame for this attack save the one who instigated it. I ask you to remember that as you leave this place.'

'Who was this sorcerer?' Chalere asked, his voice brittle.

'King Tiden of Cyathia,' Arthur answered slowly.

'Tiden, a sorcerer?'

'Yes, and at least four of his men were helping him to carry out the enchantment. They are all locked up in the dungeons and are no danger to anyone. Whatever has happened to them seems to have put them in a trance-like state.'

'You expect us to believe-' Chalere began.

'Yes I do!' Arthur shouted, his voice unrelenting. 'I expect you to believe what I am saying because it is the truth! Camelot has long fought against sorcerers and made enemies who would destroy us. And so, yes, I expect you to believe that Camelot had nothing to do with this and that the threat has been removed.' His words left no room for argument. Arthur was not going to stand here and defend Camelot's actions, not when she had lost as many good men as everyone else, maybe even more considering the fact that Tiden had taken possession of Camelot's soldiers first. Several reports from soldiers had said that Camelot's men started attacking first, but past that they remembered nothing; that had been when their enchantment began. From what Arthur could tell, Tiden had managed to bewitch nearly every soldier in the city. Only handfuls of men had been found who remembered all that had happened and had been in full control of their actions. Most of them had attempted to get to their King or Queen to defend them.

'What of the Cyathians?' King Nyle asked.

'As soon as I return to the castle I am ordering their immediate arrest.'

'And what of their executions?'

'I do not believe the general population of Cyathia was aware of Tiden's plans or shared his views,' Arthur said quietly. He wasn't sure whether he really did believe that, he didn't know if he could trust any of them; the fact that they came from a kingdom of magic did not encourage him to give them the benefit of the doubt, but as it stood at the moment, he would not be executing anyone because of the actions of their King.

'So they'll walk free?'

'I will decide what happens to them. For now, we have more pressing things to deal with. Please remember what I have said. Under normal circumstance, this would lead to war. I do not want that to happen and neither, I believe, do any of you.'

No-one argued with that and so Arthur stepped aside, allowing them access to the stairs which would lead out of the dungeons and into the castle.

'One more thing,' Chalere said as he walked past Arthur. 'If this sorcerer was so powerful, then how was he destroyed?' The man's eyes pierced his, holding them completely. Arthur felt the question weigh in his mind. That was an answer that was not so simple to give.

'I was in the room as it happened,' he began slowly. 'I can't tell you what happened: one moment he was using his magic, the next he was screaming in agony on the floor. He died not long after. I can only guess that something went wrong.'

'Then we were very fortunate,' Chalere answered, his tone sharp with suspicion.

'Yes we were,' Arthur agreed.

As the Kings and Queens moved off, Arthur tried to reassure himself that he had only said that because the truth would have made the situation too complicated- there was no doubt that it would have done just that- but another voice, small but persistent, whispered that perhaps he was trying to protect Merlin. He pushed it aside violently. He was not protecting Merlin; the man had lost Arthur's friendship, trust and protection as soon as his lies were revealed.

No, this was not protection; it was merely a respite. Merlin would answer for what he had done, not now and not today. Arthur didn't know how he could face that along with everything else that had happened that night.

A red dawn broke over Camelot that morning, and for the rest of the day it was the only colour that Arthur seemed to see. The red of blood as injured soldiers were treated, and those who had lost their lives were either buried or their bodies prepared for the journey back to their home land.

The red of pain as King Gethin's body was discovered not far from the quarters that he had been staying in. Arthur had been the one to break the news to the man's wife, Guinevere with him to offer comfort as the widowed queen crumpled to the ground and sobbed. More pain as soldiers discovered their friends and comrades slain so senselessly.

The red of anger. It covered everything like shroud. Anger at faceless murderers who had taken friends and loved ones; soldiers' anger at themselves for the possibility of merciless actions that had been carried out. Anger at the sorcerer who had done it; anger at those who were associated with Tiden in any way, despite the fact that there were Cyathian soldiers amongst the dead. It seemed that Tiden had not wanted any suspicion cast upon his kingdom.

The Cyathians had quickly been rounded up and imprisoned, most of them offering no resistance; their shock and disbelief evident as they heard of Tiden's actions. In the end, however, it turned out that their imprisonment had been for their own safety. The fury directed at them from many individuals was terrible to behold. Arthur had trebled the guards in the dungeons -though that had been hard with so many lives lost and so many others helping with the fallout- and had instructed Leon to make sure the men could be trusted not to turn on the Cyathians. Only one remained unaccounted for: a stablehand who hadn't been seen at all since the previous afternoon. Arthur had put Gwaine on his trail.

As the day continued, it was the red of Camelot that haunted Arthur at every step. The banners, the cloaks, the crests. All of them the same red that had shaded the whole day. A red that he had put his hope and faith in; a banner that he had been proud to wave. And he was still proud to wave it, still proud to say that this was Camelot, but on that day, it was a pride that had to be replaced by humility. This tragic event had happened in his kingdom, in his city, a place that should have been one of safety to all that were gathered –he had promised as much. It was red that, for now, was tainted, and it broke Arthur's heart.

During the entire day, he had stopped only once when everything seemed to overwhelm him. He had retired to his chambers sat down on the floor, his back against the bed, and failed to hold back his tears. He made no noise, he didn't cry out or scream or sob, he simply sat there while tears ran down his face in a torrent, and nothing he did could stop them. It was then that Guinevere had come in, saw him and cried as well. She sat beside him, pulled his head down to her shoulder and held him as he gave into the terrible grief that was slowly consuming him.

He felt stupid when he finally stopped crying, tried to shrug his weakness off with strong words, but she didn't buy it and instead had asked him what had happened.

He told her most of it, told her how Merlin locked him in, how the knights had turned, how Tiden had been controlling them all, but when it came to Merlin's magic, he found himself leaving out the information. He wasn't sure why this time. Perhaps part of him worried that Guinevere would not react with the same anger he had; perhaps in saying it to someone else it would become even more of a truth than it already was. Either way, he told her the same thing he had told the Kings and Queens: that Tiden's magic had gone wrong. She didn't question him on it.

In the evening, there had been a meeting with the Kings and Queens, with the exception of Gethin's wife, who sent her apologies to Arthur, along with assurances that she did not hold him or Camelot responsible for what had taken place. The note had given him courage, courage which he had been grateful for throughout the meeting. People were angry, confused, desperate to blame somebody. Witnesses had been called in from all kingdoms, suspicion had been cast on various people, mistrust had blossomed in the tense room, but Arthur understood the grief and fear that fuelled it. He had gone straight to the heart of the disagreements, had tackled the sorrow that lived in them and the dark fears that were stirring at the thought of a bleak future. He had not tried to be a diplomat, he had not tried to create an alliance; he had simply stated the facts. That if everyone held on to the events of the day then it could only lead to one inevitable conclusion: war.

That had helped. The meeting had settled then, each person sharing their hurts, openly expressing their concerns, until at last they had ended the gathering in peace; one that Arthur hoped would disperse throughout all the people who had been involved in the attacks. It was funny, Arthur mused as the last of the rulers left the room, that only a day ago he had been hoping for an alliance between the kingdoms and now a resolve to avert a war seemed like the biggest victory. As the door closed, he slumped in his chair, utterly exhausted.

Guinevere had suggested that they retire early for the night, but Arthur had gently refused, instead taking himself up to the battlements. With one matter as resolved as was currently possible, Arthur now found that he had no choice but to start considering the other.

Merlin.

He was angry, he knew that much; he was furious for the lies that Merlin had been feeding to him for years and he was angry at himself for believing them. He had tried not to think about it throughout the day, but each time he had considered his blind trust in Merlin, he realised how many things he should have seen; how many strange disappearances and odd moments made more sense when Merlin and magic were considered as one. He had been a fool not to realise and he had been a fool to allow Merlin to get so close without ever questioning him.

Yes, he was angry, but past that he didn't know how he felt. A sort of numb acceptance had fallen on him. He now believed that Merlin had magic, but past yelling at him, he was undecided on how he should move forward.

He wasn't sure how long he was up there. It felt like several hours, but in the darkness of night it was hard to tell the passage of time. His thoughts didn't seem to be moving forward. Instead, his mind was stuck in a loop of images. Merlin hurling magic at Tiden, the power of the blow, Merlin uttering the words, 'I'm a sorcerer.' Those were the things that circled in Arthur's mind over and over again, giving him no clarity of thought; no clues as to how he should feel or react; no ideas on what he should do next, just a constant return to events that he had never guessed could be possible.

He was focussing once more on the magical battle that had gone on in Tiden's chambers when he heard soft footsteps behind him. He knew those footsteps; had walked with them in his shadow for years. They had never held any foreboding in them, but at that moment Arthur felt a dread settle in him. He turned, knowing who would be there, ghostlike in the moonlight.

Merlin.

It seemed the time for deliberating was over. Here, then, their next steps would be decided.


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