Beyond Recall

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews; they were lovely to read! Finally catching up with Merlin in this chapter! Let me know what you think!

Chapter 3

It really hurt. That was the first thing that Merlin realised as his eyes began to open. They seemed to have trouble remembering exactly how to do it; the lids getting half way up and then closing again, but eventually he found that he was looking up at bright foliage which the sun was beaming through. That was enough for him to abandon his opening eyes attempt. He shut them quickly against the light and pressed a hand to his forehead which suddenly throbbed like he was being stabbed repeatedly. The skin there felt tender and it was raised against his fingers. Evidently, he'd hit his head.

He groaned and tried to use his other, less painful senses to determine exactly where he was. He could hear water some distance off and he could smell smoke and something cooking. His stomach rolled at the thought of food. He was so hungry.

Cautiously, he turned onto his side and opened his eyes to slits, but at the sight of two men crouched down beside a small fire, his eyes opened more fully. Who were they? He didn't recognise either of them. More importantly: where was he?

One of the men suddenly glanced his way. He was older than Merlin, but still young looking, maybe mid twenties. He was dressed in leathers and chain mail with a sword hanging at his side. He looked rough and unshaven, his dark hair sticking to his forehead and dirt shading his face.

'Here, James,' he said, knocking the other man's shoulder. 'He's waking up.'

'Already?' the second man replied. He was much older than his partner. He was dressed in similar garb, but his hair was greyer and longer and he was much stockier than the other man.

'Told you, didn't I. It'd be the only way he could recover so quickly.'

'I'll admit, it's looking more likely.'

'More likely? Look at his head, hardly anything there.'

'That doesn't mean-'

'Tiden's gonna love him.'

The conversation made no sense to Merlin; he simply watched them with confusion and felt more and more alarmed as they moved closer to him; staring at him like he was some sort of animal.

'Who are you?' Merlin asked quietly.

'Much more important is who you are?' the older man, James, replied. Merlin hid his unease. This felt a lot like the beginning of an interrogation.

'My name's Merlin.'

'Merlin?'

'Last time I checked.' James gave him a look somewhere between annoyance and disinterest. 'Who are you two?' he tried again after a few seconds.

'I'm James, this is Steven.' Merlin waited for a slightly fuller explanation, but it didn't seem one was coming.

'Did you attack me?' he asked instead, gingerly touching his head and feeling the pain spike again.

'How's that for gratitude?' Steven snorted. 'We saved your life. Although, I think you might have been alright without us.'

'Saved my life?'

'We pulled you out of the river.'

'River?'

'The Bernt River,' Steven told him as if it was the answer was obvious. Merlin frowned and shook his head, before realising that the movement hurt…a lot.

'I don't…' he sighed. 'I don't understand what's happening. I don't remember anything that…' he tailed off and took several deep breaths. He couldn't deny that a swell of panic was forming in his stomach. 'Where am I?' he asked instead. 'Where's the Bernt river?'

'Camelot,' James said slowly. 'How hard did you hit your head?'

'Camelot?' Merlin asked in panic. He couldn't be in Camelot. How had he even got here? It was dangerous for him to be here. He knew what their laws were. 'We're near the border though, by Cendred's lands?' he asked desperately. Perhaps he had been out with Will and fallen in a river, although he couldn't remember there being a river called the Bernt anywhere near him.

'Cendred?' Steven asked with a short laugh. 'Where have you been for the past few years?'

'I'm from Ealdor, in Cendred's lands.'

'Cendred's been dead for ages,' James said, his voice less amused than Steven's.

'But…no he hasn't. That's impossible. I…' Merlin closed his eyes. What was going on? What on earth had happened to him? 'How far are we from Cendred's lands?' he asked instead. 'I need to get back to my village.'

'Steven told you: it's not Cendred's lands anymore. Besides, you can't have come from that direction,' James explained slowly. 'The Bernt River doesn't go anywhere near it.'

'There's nowhere else I could have come from. I've never been anywhere else.'

Steven and James exchanged a look and moved away from Merlin. He didn't bother calling them back, choosing, instead, to put his head down on the ground again and close his eyes. He concentrated on making his breathing steady and even. This was not a good time to start panicking. Although, he couldn't remember a time when he'd been in a worse situation than his current one.

'We think you've lost your memory.'

Merlin opened his eyes. He hadn't heard them walking over to him.

'I know; I can't remember falling in the river.'

'No,' Steven said slowly, like he was talking to a particularly stupid child. 'We think you've lost a lot of your memory.'

'I can remember everything else fine.'

'Really?' Merlin nodded. 'How old are you?'

'Seventeen.'

'Not a chance.'

'I am seventeen,' Merlin told them firmly.

'No you're not. You must be at least five years older than that,' James told him.

'I know how old I am,' he replied getting angry now.

'Really?' Steven laughed. 'Like you know that Cendred isn't King anymore? Like you know that you're in Camelot? Like you know how you fell in a river that doesn't go anywhere near your home?' He shook his head. 'Face it: you haven't got a clue.'

Merlin had to admit that the man had a point. What on earth was going on? He closed his eyes and tried to think back to the last thing he remembered. It had been harvest; he and his mother had been helping Tom bring in the crop. It had been a good year and Tom had given extra portions of grain to every family in the village. He remembered feeling excited at the prospect of fresh bread on a regular basis this year. Past that, he could remember nothing. He had no idea how he had left his village, let alone ended up in Camelot of all places. It wasn't exactly the safest kingdom he could have chosen to wake up in with no recollection of how he had got there.

When he opened his eyes, it was to find James offering him some food, rabbit from the looks of it. Again his stomach rolled and he accepted the plate quickly, allowing himself to be helped up by the older man and not caring too much about the fact that he had no idea who these men were and what their intentions were regarding his safety. He bit into the meat eagerly, barely noticing that he was burning his mouth as he chewed.

'So,' Steven began as he sat down with his own portion of food. Merlin looked up. '…you going to tell us what trick you spun to survive a swim in the Bernt?'

'What?' Steven laughed at him and rolled his eyes, turning to James.

'He must have been living in Camelot for a while if he's that precious about it.'

'He probably doesn't remember.'

'What are you talking about?' Merlin asked them. 'You said you pulled me out of the river.'

'Yeah, we did,' Steven nodded, 'but like I said: I don't reckon you'd have needed our help.' Merlin just frowned at him. 'Tell me: how does someone who smacked his head hard enough to knock out years of memories, wake up a few hours later with nothing more than a pink scar and a bit of bruising?' Merlin stopped eating instantly, panic coiling in his stomach as he pressed a hand to his head and felt the tender skin there once more.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' he replied, trying to feign confusion, but Steven just grinned at him.

'Let me tell you. When we pulled you from the water, your head was still bleeding...a lot. Now look at it.'

'It can't have been a bad cut.'

'No? Well, riddle me this. What conclusion would you draw if you pulled someone from a river, unconscious, and a few minutes later they lay on the ground muttering in some weird language while their body glowed and healed itself –bruises, cuts and all? Oh,' he added in an afterthought, 'and just to make it really weird, the person who had been in said-river was pulled out of it completely dry.'

'I'd say that you were mistaken,' Merlin replied, his voice shaking, his mind going blank. He tensed his muscles, ready to make a run for it, but suddenly James was kneeling beside him, a firm hand on his shoulder.

'We know what you are and we're not going to hurt you for it.' He stood up and walked over to Steven, clipping the man round the head. 'Stop scaring him, you idiot.'

Merlin watched Steven grin, shrug and then relax himself back into eating his meal, but Merlin felt no such calm. They knew. He was in Camelot and people knew what he could do. Not that any of it made sense. Yes, he could do a few tricks here and there -nothing particularly controlled and most of it done on instinct- but saying spells as Steven had suggested; he couldn't do that. He didn't know anything. And healing himself? He'd never been able to do that. He'd never really had cause to try.

'I don't know what you think you saw, but you're wrong. There must be another explanation. Maybe the sunlight or the wind or something.' From where he sat, Steven sniggered and carried on eating, evidently taking nothing of what Merlin was saying on board. James on the other hand turned to him.

'Don't take us for fools, Merlin. We've seen enough magic to be able to recognise it.' The man backed away, heading back over to the fire.

'I don't have ma-' Merlin began, but he was cut off as James suddenly reached for one of the cooler ends of the logs in the fire and then flung the whole thing at Merlin. Before he could stop it, Merlin felt his magic flare up inside him and direct itself at the incoming attack. Instantly, the log changed course and flew off into the distance. Merlin gasped and doubled over at the power of the surge; he had never felt strength like that before; never had his instinctual response been so immense.

'Woah, look at that James,' Steven said in amazement, his eyes watching the log fly hundreds and hundreds of metres into the air. Merlin looked at James, who hadn't bothered to watch the log.

'So we've settled that,' he said. 'You have magic; powerful magic if that's your natural response, so don't waste your time or ours trying to deny it.'

'That…' Merlin began, but he couldn't finish the sentence. What had that been? Since when had he been able to wield such instant and immediate power? The log should have just stopped in mid-air and fallen to the ground, that had been all that passed through his mind. But this? What had happened to him? What had he done to be here, at this moment, with this strength?

He looked up at his two captors –for that had to be what they were. What would they do to him? After all, he was in Camelot.

'Please,' he began as calmly as he could. 'I've never used my magic to harm anyone; I never would. All I want is to get back to my village. If you let me go, you'll never hear anything from me again.'

'We're not letting you go,' Steven told him with a shake of his head. 'There's somewhere we want to take you.'

'Please, King Uther will kill me, and I've done nothing wrong,' Merlin started, his calmness fading. This was getting worse and worse with every passing minute.

'Uther?' Steven laughed. 'It's like talking to an idiot,' he sighed at James. The old man took over.

'Uther is not king of Camelot. He died over a year ago. His son Arthur is king.'

'Well, then please don't take me to King Arthur,' he replied, wondering again, just how much was missing from his memories. 'I know what happens to those with magic in Camelot, but I'm not a threat.' James surveyed him carefully.

'We do not represent King Arthur. We're not even from Camelot. We work for King Tiden of Cyathia.' Merlin frowned at the information. He'd barely heard of Cyathia, but from what he could remember, it was an insular kingdom, not known for making alliances with anyone. Nobody really knew anything about it.

'Then why are you here?' Merlin asked, his curiosity staying his fear for a moment.

'You don't need to know, but let knowledge of our homeland convince you that we bear you no ill-will. Cyathia is not Camelot, and we are not with Arthur Pendragon.'

He sat down and the three of them fell into a silence that Merlin found distinctly unnerving. Steven watched him with barely concealed amusement, while James occupied himself with his food and studied a parchment that he'd pulled from his bag. Merlin looked around. He had no idea where he was, but he knew that he had to get back to Ealdor. Perhaps his mother would be able to fill him in on what had happened. He didn't dwell on darker thoughts that began to rise up as he considered what events and situations his lost memories might contain. For now, he just needed to be somewhere familiar.

'If you are not a citizen of Camelot and you bear me no ill-will,' he began carefully, 'then why am I not free to go?'

'Memory or no memory,' James said, not looking up, 'you might prove to be useful.'

'I'm really not that useful,' Merlin said, with a half concealed laugh. Useful was definitely not a word he had heard in relation to himself very often. He seemed to cause more trouble than most –not that he ever meant to. 'I live in a small village where I farm and cook. There's nothing else I can do.'

'Really? Then what was with blasting that piece of wood out of the kingdom?' Steven sneered.

'I don't think being able to make a log fly hundreds of metres can really be called a skill set,' Merlin retorted, irritation at the man's demeanour bringing out the insolence that his mother often warned him against. Not that he ever used it on her, but he was always quick with a sarcastic retort if someone was acting like an arrogant clotpole. Merlin frowned as the word popped into his head; what kind of childish insult was that? Looking at Steven again, however, he decided that it probably fitted.

'You listening to this, James,' Steven laughed, turning to his partner. 'Bit of fight in him. Might be useful.' Merlin didn't bother listing the reasons why him attempting to fight would be a complete waste of time. Experimentally, he stood up, trying to gauge how much of a problem his head injury was going to cause. Lots, it seemed, as he was forced to sit down again by a bout of nausea.

'Don't bother trying to get away,' James told him. 'We can track you easily. And besides…' He muttered a few words under his breath and instantly Merlin felt his hands snap to his sides, while his ankles locked themselves together as if held by an invisible cord. He struggled against the unseen restraints, but found that the movement agitated his head. He looked up at James. '…I've got a few tricks of my own,' the man finished, his expression unchanging.

A few seconds later, Merlin felt the restraints disappear and just about managed to conceal his sigh of relief and his renewed panic at his current situation. He looked back and forth between his two captors –there was no doubt anymore that was what they were- and then carefully touched his head again. A decision crept through his mind. Perhaps biding his time would be the best plan for now. After all, he had no memory of where he was or what he had been doing, no knowledge of possible friends or family that could help him, side from his mother. Not to mention the fact that there didn't seem to be anyone else coming to find him.

A shudder passed through him as he realised that he was completely and utterly alone.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.