Beyond Recall

Thank you so much for your response to chapter 1; it was lovely to receive so many encouraging reviews.

I know I said weekly updates, but I've managed to write quite a lot over the last few days, so I think I can probably post this chapter a little earlier, and also I just love seeing what you think.

Oh, and as for the time period for this story, it's probably a year or so after the end of series 4. Giving us a three year gap between series 4 and 5 was an ingenious idea on the part of the producers to ensure that fan-fiction could be slotted harmlessly into the cannon of the show. I doubt that was the key factor in their reasoning though.

Anyway, here you go.

Chapter 2

Arthur felt himself dragged back by the same arms that had saved him from falling into the ravine, but he barely registered them. He kept his eyes fixed on the water, waiting to see Merlin resurface, wave at him for help and then tell them to make the two hour descent to the bottom of the ravine and come and get him. Arthur didn't blink, he didn't move, but nothing appeared in the water; it was fast flowing and treacherous. Merlin wasn't going to resurface.

An uncontrollable rage filled him and he slammed his fists into the ground, screaming at it with incomprehensible words. He scrambled to his feet, registering the shocked and desperate faces of his knights as they looked between him and the space where Merlin had been seconds before. Gwaine was closest to him, having been the one that pulled him back, but the knight soon moved off, a lost look on his face.

'No!' Arthur tore his gloves off as he said it and threw them onto the path. He paced back and forth, going close enough to the edge to worry Leon.

'Sire,' the man said gently, but Arthur wasn't listening, couldn't listen. He paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair, rubbing at his face, shaking his head. That hadn't just happened; that couldn't have happened. Merlin had been there. He had been right there. He had shoved breakfast at Arthur this morning. He had agreed with Arthur's dream of uniting the lands. He had been there.

And now he wasn't.

Without thinking, Arthur grabbed his sword from its scabbard and, with a mighty yell, slashed it across the surface of a tree that over hung the ravine. He felt the steel stab its way through the age old wood, felt the impact reverberate painfully up his arm, and then pulled the sword out and repeated the blow. Again and again he hacked at it, splinters ripping through the air, embedding in his arm and face, and he could hear his voice echoing all around, like a never ending symphony of anger and despair.

He revelled in the pain that shot through his arm with each strike until he became numb to it, and then he dropped his sword and allowed his knuckles to burst with red against the bark. It was then that arms pulled him back. Lots of them, all saying his name, or his title, whichever they deemed more appropriate when manhandling their King into submission.

Arthur fought against them, but it was useless; he knew these men, had trained them and trained with them for years. He was no match for all of them together. He felt himself being forced to the ground and being rested up against a rock while Percival and Gwaine held him in place.

'I know how you feel,' Gwaine told him as Arthur continued to struggle. The knight's voice was so full of desolation, so lacking all of its normal levity that the fight went out of Arthur. He sagged against the rock and bowed his head. Instantly, Gwaine turned and sat beside him. Percival held him in place a while longer, not as certain as Gwaine seemed to be that Arthur really had stopped, but eventually the man backed away and stood next to Leon.

There was silence for a long time.

'Where's Elyan?' Arthur asked abruptly a long time later. Gwaine was still sat beside him, one knee pulled up to his chest where his elbow rested on it, his hand supporting his head. Percival was holding the horses steady a little further back down the path and Leon was watching Arthur carefully.

'He…' Leon began, seemingly caught off guard by Arthur's sudden question. 'He went to fetch the horse,' he continued hesitantly.

'Merlin's horse?' Arthur asked, although he knew it could be no other.

'Yes, Sire.'

'That horse needs to be retired. I don't want the knights using it.'

'Sire,' Leon replied carefully, 'it was accident.'

'I don't want it used!' he snapped back. Leon looked at him for several seconds and Arthur met his gaze firmly, daring him to try and contest the ruling.

'Of course, Sire.'

Silence again. Arthur didn't like it. It made room for the sound of water to bubble up to his ears. Rushing water. Fierce water. Cold. Icy. Black.

He stood up abruptly. 'We're going,' he ordered.

'But Elyan-'

'We'll meet him on the way.' The knights hesitated, but one glaring look from Arthur changed their minds. They saddled their horses, now keeping even further away from the cliff edge. It was only a few minutes before they met Elyan leading the errant horse. Arthur didn't look at it; but avoiding looking at the creature's face meant that his gaze fell on the saddle bag that was still strapped safely to its side. Worn fabric, with patches dotted all around. The telltale sound of pots clinking together inside as the horse trotted. Arthur ripped his gaze away.

'I need you to lead it,' he told Elyan.

'Yes, Sire.' He gave Arthur a look which reminded him of Guinevere's expression whenever she was trying not to say something that she wanted to. Guinevere! No, he wasn't going to consider her reaction. He didn't want to think about how he would tell her, or what it would do to her. All he had to do for now was walk forward. That was all that was required of him.

The procession was a sombre one. They didn't stop for food, they didn't talk. Nothing was said until they reached the bottom of the ravine. Arthur turned his horse back along the river.

'Camelot's to the East, Arthur,' Elyan said slowly.

'We're not going to Camelot.' He was surprised when the words came out of his mouth. If they weren't going to Camelot, then where were they going? Evidently the knights were thinking the same thing.

'Sire?' Leon pressed.

'I want the banks searched. I want the river watched,' Arthur heard himself saying. Of course: he couldn't leave anyone behind. There was silence behind him and he turned to see the knights either exchanging glances or avoiding looking at him.

'Sire,' Leon began, evidently having been silently voted as spokesperson. 'The Bernt river is deep and the currents wild. Merlin couldn't have-'

'I know he's not alive,' Arthur told him quietly and firmly, using all his self control not to shout the words. 'But I am not leaving him here.' Leon didn't reply, but Arthur could tell he was choosing his next words. Arthur understood his hesitation; this was likely to be a failure. The river was notorious and unpredictable. But he also knew that he couldn't go back to Camelot without at least trying.

'I'm not leaving him either.' The voice came from behind Leon. Gwaine. The man looked pale, grim, desperate. Arthur had not seen this version of Gwaine before. He didn't like the fact that he had to see it now, but at least it gave him an ally. Gwaine dismounted from his horse and tied it to a mangled tree root. 'I'll head back along the river.' And with that he was gone; his pace brisk and determined. He wanted to get away from everyone, Arthur realised, before suddenly realising that he, too, wanted nothing more than to be on his own. He followed suit and tied his own horse up.

'We split up. Meet back here at sunset,' Arthur told them. He headed the opposite way to Gwaine.

He walked for a long time, his eyes scanning the water and the banks, but he took very little in. His mind would spring into action if his eyes saw anything that could be…useful in his search, but aside from that he wanted to keep his mind blank. It seemed like the best way. One foot in front of the other, the sucking of mud beneath his boots, counting each step. But soon the mud became thicker and he was forced to move further away from the river or risk loosing his boots entirely. His boots were a mess; he would have to ask Merlin to clean them up.

He shuddered to a halt. He hadn't meant to think that. He hadn't. He put a hand to his head as memories began to leach into his awareness. He shook his head, trying to dislodge them, but they were beginning to seep in like a slow leak. The dam would burst soon enough and Arthur knew he couldn't be standing when that happened. He stumbled into the trees that bordered the bank, and half sat, half fell, onto the muddy ground.

He was just in time. The dam burst, memories flooding through and filling his awareness. And weaved through all of them was the one truth that made everything so painful.

Merlin was dead.

Arthur put his head in his hands and cried.

Arthur reached their meeting point as the sun seared the horizon. His knights, with the exception of Gwaine, were already there, sat down on the rocks that littered the shore, each looking despondent, each looking as he felt. He scanned the area, looking for and dreading to find a familiar body, clothed in reds, browns and blues; but there was nothing, no discovery, no small piece of comfort in the situation. No Merlin.

'I'm sorry, Arthur,' Elyan said, standing up and offering him a water skin. Arthur took it, but didn't drink anything. His throat was tight and he wasn't sure how easy it would be to swallow.

'Gwaine?'

'He shouldn't be too long.'

Arthur nodded and joined his men on the rocks. He sat down and attempted a few mouthfuls of water. It seemed to stick in his throat, but he soon realised that he was very thirsty. He hadn't eaten or drank anything since breakfast. The breakfast that Merlin had given to him.

Gwaine reappeared several minutes later. He looked even worse than he had done when he had set off. Arthur wandered if the knight had done the same as him: sat somewhere as grief tried to force its way through his chest; gulped in air desperately between shuddering sobs that seemed to shake his whole body, while he forced a fist into his mouth to try and stifle the cries that poured from his throat. That had been a good proportion of Arthur's afternoon. Had anyone been there, he would have felt ashamed of his lack of control; but he had been on his own; there was no-one to judge him or deem his behaviour unworthy of a king, or say that he was being weak in reacting as he had.

Instead there had been his own accusations, his own guilt and regret, and the sound of rushing water. He had managed to calm himself down and restore his kingly façade afterwards, but he could feel the grief threatening to rise again, like a wave beginning to crest in the distance.

'I didn't find him,' Gwaine said quietly as he joined them and sat down. The rest of them shook their heads in acknowledgment of the shared failure before turning to Arthur. Here he was then: leader, King, decision maker.

'We stop here tonight.'

'That is not a good idea, Sire,' Leon said. 'We are exposed on the banks.'

'There is no-one here.'

'That's not to say that there won't be groups around; there have been reports in this area recently.'

'I am the King and I say we stay here,' he said firmly, knowing that he was being childish by pulling rank, but something in him didn't want to move. Something seemed to be tying him to the spot. He couldn't walk away from the river.

'Arthur.' Arthur's head snapped up at the sound of Percival's voice. He realised that the man hadn't said anything since…since before. That more than anything got his attention. The big man moved over to him, silhouetted slightly in the sunset, but soon his figure shrank as he crouched next to Arthur. 'My Lord,' he continued. 'I have been on patrol in these areas and there are rogue groups working along the river. There is a chance that they will have come this far. You are our King, but at the moment it is hard for you to think strategically.'

Arthur looked at him, holding his gaze firmly. He didn't want to look weak, not now of all times when he had never felt so much like he could shatter, but Percival had understood that. The man hadn't spoken loud enough for anyone else to hear. Slowly, Arthur nodded.

'Gather the horses,' he said quietly to Percival. The knight nodded and quickly handed over the organisation to Leon, who looked relieved at the easy change of heart. Within minutes they were heading into the woods that bordered the river.

Arthur didn't sleep that night. He didn't even try. He organised the watches, finding that having something to do took his mind off things, and then outlined a rough plan for tomorrow. They were aiming to be back in Camelot by late morning.

Then life would begin again.

He didn't know how he would tell Guinevere or Gaius; all he knew was that he had to at least hold it together until he reached his own chambers in the castle. He would have a meeting of the round table to carry out first and then he would have to organise a training schedule for the week. He would also need to debrief over what had been happening in Camelot while he had been away. It felt good to have the next day so clearly laid out; there wouldn't be too much time to think.

Night, however, posed a problem. There was nothing to be done after his watch had finished, save lie on the ground, not sleeping. His chest began to ache more painfully when he was still and quiet. He couldn't just stay there.

So it was that when he saw Gwaine get up and disappear off towards the river, he didn't think twice about following him. Elyan was on watch at the time and Arthur tilted his head to indicate where he was going. He didn't think the knights would appreciate him disappearing without a word at the moment. They didn't appreciate it at the best of times.

Silently, he made his way through the woods, feeling the snap of twigs beneath his feet as the wind crept through the leaves above him. A bright moon meant that it was easy to spot Gwaine standing by the river as soon as Arthur broke through the line of trees. The knight's armour shone eerily in the moonlight, giving him a ghostly aura, but Arthur didn't like that thought and so quickly dismissed it.

'You know, I never ever worried about Merlin,' Gwaine suddenly said. Arthur frowned in surprise, he hadn't realised he'd given himself away. He took a few steps forward until he was level with the knight; both of them looking down at the swelling torrents of the river.

'Really?' Arthur asked. 'I always worried about him.' He swallowed as he realised how easily the past tense had slipped into his words.

'Nah, he always came back, didn't he. Think about it.' Gwaine shook his head and sighed. 'It doesn't make sense, this.'

'It was an accident,' Arthur whispered, hearing a little voice in his head telling him that he should have done more.

'That's just it: Merlin was never going to die in an accident,' Gwaine continued.

'What do you mean?' Arthur asked. He was expecting Gwaine's words to bring his grief to the surface once more, but he felt strangely calm.

'I mean, if he was going to die; it should have been in some foolish but heroic act. You know the ones I'm talking about. He survived them enough times. But this…what happened…' he shook his head, swallowing heavily; Arthur recognised the inability to carry on, the fear that your voice would tremble and give you away.

'This didn't mean anything,' Arthur finished for him. Gwaine nodded, his lips pressed tightly together. Arthur couldn't escape the truth in those words. Gwaine was right: that wasn't the way that Merlin was meant to die. It meant nothing, it had achieved nothing; it had saved no-one. It was…pointless; it had been in vain. The grief began to rise up in him again, his moment of calm gone. He stared out across the river and felt tears slip down his cheeks; he willed Gwaine not to turn around and the knight seemed to hear his silent plea. He remained facing forward, stoic and struggling all at once.

'It has to mean something,' Gwaine eventually said. 'We have to make it mean something.' Silence for several seconds.

'I don't know how to,' Arthur eventually admitted, his voice quiet. He shook his head and scraped his boot into the mud; he didn't want to talk about this, not now, perhaps not for a very long time.

'I'm going to make it count,' Gwaine suddenly said; fervour in his voice. He turned to Arthur, his eyes firm. 'He was the best friend we could all hope for. You know he was.' Arthur nodded, how could he ever deny such a simple fact now? Another regret swept through him. Why hadn't he voiced that truth to Merlin more often? Why had he always had to wrap it in sarcasm?

'Don't do it to yourself.' Gwaine told him. Arthur frowned; since when had the knight been so insightful? Neither of them could really say that they were the best of friends; in fact, Merlin had always been their common ground. Arthur knew Gwaine had only come to Camelot because of Merlin. Since then, he knew that the knight's loyalties had extended fully to his King as well and, in return, Arthur had found his respect for Gwaine as a fighter and decent man increasing ten-fold, even if they didn't always understand each other's approaches to situations. 'You know he'd never hold anything against any of us. It wasn't in him.' Arthur didn't want to address that comment; he wasn't sure that he could dismiss his guilt so easily. He nodded briefly, but then changed the subject.

'How are you going to make it count?' he asked instead, wanting to be told what he could do.

'Dunno; I think we all need to do it. What d'you say?' Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but found that his voice had lost its strength. Instead, he nodded and reached out a hand to grasp Gwaine's elbow. The knight returned the gesture easily, but there was a gravity to the exchange, a determination, a joint purpose.

But a joint purpose didn't give way to any ideas and soon they were both staring at the water again, a companionable silence and shared grief enveloping them.

'I don't want to leave him here,' Arthur found himself saying suddenly. He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but the thought had been going around and around in his head as he stared unseeingly through the night air.

'We won't find him,' Gwaine replied heavily. 'I've seen rivers like this, places like this all over. The waters are…' he shook his head. 'I fell in one once, when I was little. Couldn't find my footing, didn't know which way was up. Thought I was going to…' he shrugged. 'Only thing that saved me was slamming into a rock. Managed to pull myself out.' He bowed his head. 'It's a frightening way to…' but he couldn't finish.

'He wouldn't have known,' Arthur told him quietly. 'He…I don't think he was conscious when he reached the water.' He closed his eyes as he saw Merlin falling and then hitting his head against the side of the ravine. Perhaps he'd even died before he'd reached the bottom.

'You sure?'

'He hit his head,' Arthur nodded.

'Probably better that way,' Gwaine said after a few seconds of silence. Arthur took several deep breaths as a wave of nausea rose up inside him; he could see the fall; see those last moments playing out in his memory. He didn't want to speak about Merlin like this, didn't want to accept what had happened before his eyes, but the fact was beginning to settle over him, undeniable and unchangeable. No: action was better.

'When we get back to Camelot; I'll send riders out along the river,' Arthur said quietly.

'Alright,' Gwaine nodded. 'But don't live on the hope they'll find him.'

'There's a chance.'

'I know, but it isn't one I'd bet on.' The words should have sounded hard, unfeeling, but there was such sadness in the knight's voice, that Arthur felt his heart hammering. More silence, more memories. Arthur needed to find a way to escape them.

'I'm really going to miss him,' Gwaine said, so quietly that Arthur only just made out the words. The knight turned away from the water and clapped Arthur gently on the arm before heading back to their camp. Arthur didn't follow straight away, unable to leave just yet. He traced the swirling patterns that the currents made and saw the violence in their movements. Gwaine was right; they wouldn't find him. He sighed and knelt down by the side of the river. Lowering his hand, he felt the icy water wash over it, pushing it forward, trying to tempt it downstream.

'Me too,' he murmured, Gwaine's comment still echoing through his mind. 'Goodbye Merlin.'

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