Beyond Recall

A/N: Here's the next update. I'm glad you seem to be enjoying it and thank you so much for the reviews. I feel, in myself, that the story is moving quite slowly, but just want to assure you that things will begin moving forward in the next few chapters. You should be able to see it all starting in this one though!

Also, I'm not exactly sure where I want to story to go as it moves further along and, as such, the synopsis might change slightly. Just wanted to make you aware in case you think you've been lured in under false pretences!

Anyway, enough rambling from me. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

Chapter 5

The heavy clunking of footsteps on stone awoke Merlin from his sleep as it had done everyday since his arrival in the castle of Cyathia. He sighed and turned over, putting the pillow over his head in an attempt to shut the sound out, but it was predictably useless and soon he found himself sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes.

He had been there two weeks now, and in that period, thoughts of biding his time and escaping back to Ealdor had begun to fade. Not because the possibility wasn't there -Merlin was quickly realising that if he really wanted to get away, no-one would be able to stop him- but because the castle, the people, the life, was beginning to become familiar to him in a way that nothing else seemed to be at the moment. On top of that, he was being treated remarkably well. No dungeons, or stale food. He was being treated as a guest –not a really important one, but a guest nonetheless.

His room was also more than comfortable. It had a bed -a novelty that he still hadn't quite got used to, not after spending his life so far sleeping on the ground- not to mention several thick rugs, a writing table, a fireplace and a chest of drawers; they were, admittedly, empty, but Merlin couldn't help but marvel at the fact that he had them at his disposal.

No, it really wasn't that bad.

Where the people were concerned, Merlin was also finding himself beginning to build relationships that –while not quite at that stage yet- could become friendships in the future. Steven, the younger man who had captured Merlin had proved himself to be just as irritating as he had been by the river and Merlin was not sad to see less of him, but James, on the other hand, was quickly becoming –if not a friend- an acquaintance that Merlin was beginning to trust more and more. The man's down the line attitude and views, which had made him sound so cold when Merlin first met him, meant that if Merlin had questions, James didn't waste energy or words being patronising. If he was willing to give an answer then he gave it straight away, if not, he made it clear that that was the case. Merlin was quickly beginning to respect his approach to situations and the authority he wielded.

For that's what he was, an authority figure, a counsellor to the King of Cyathia. Merlin got the impression that he had been an advisor to the previous King and as such had retained the position when Tiden –the then-Prince and now-King- took over. If the amount of time the man spent with the King was anything to go by, then it was clear that Tiden trusted and respected James's views. But despite his time-laden duties with the King, James came to visit Merlin every day, having been selected to be his teacher of sorts, and Merlin had discovered a lot from the man about the way the kingdom worked and its reasons for remaining isolated.

And therein lay the crux of the matter for Merlin, the reason he had made no attempt to leave and head back to Ealdor. Magic. It had become apparent within the first few days that this was a kingdom unopposed to the use of magic. Not that it was performed all over the place by any random person, but within the court, within the castle and in all areas of the kingdom, magic was an accepted skill.

The ease with which it was used stemmed from a history steeped in magical understanding. The kingdom itself had been founded by a group of sorcerers who rejected the corruption of other magic users across the land. In secret, they had built a small settlement where they could practice their art for good and for the benefit of others instead of the constant pursuit of power. James had told Merlin the story a day or so after he arrived and Merlin had felt his heart pounding at the idea, a passion flaring through his chest at the thought of magic being viewed as something good and beautiful.

He had never had that. His magic had been a secret, always a secret. The thought of anyone finding out had filled him with terror and he had assumed that because of this fear, he would never be able to use his gifts for anything other than hidden tricks. And even they worried his mother. How many times had she looked at him with tears of anxiety in her eyes as he used his magic for the tinniest of things whether intentionally or accidently? She had lived under the constant fear that her only son would be found out for what he was and be dragged off for execution. Merlin loved his mother dearly, but her fear had seeped into him, leaving him feeling that his abilities were a curse that would get him killed.

But here in Cyathia, that wasn't the case. From the original settlement had sprung a city that comprised of the descendants of the sorcerers. It meant that nearly every person here had some magical ability. Of course, that had been the reason for the secrecy that surrounded the kingdom; it was a small land, weak from a military perspective and with a law that forbade harming others with magic; the kingdom was vulnerable to attack, especially now that magic had been banned in most of the land. If anyone found out about Cyathia's focuses, it would stand little chance.

As it stood, King Tiden and his advisors were relatively certain that Cyathia's magical foundations had remained a secret from the rest of Albion. The one exception was the druids. According to James, they were aware of Cyathia's sympathies, but when Merlin asked whether there was some sort of alliance between the two peoples, the man had shook his head.

'Over the years, Cyathia has attempted to forge relations with the druids, but they are a secretive people.'

'Sounds familiar,' Merlin told him wryly. For once, the man cracked a smile.

'The druids do not wish to share their understanding and powers with another kingdom, and those are terms that Cyathia will not accept.'

'If there were envoys or treaties though…?' Merlin suggested. 'Surely it would be better to join with the druids? They are the most magical people alive.'

'Their ways and their rituals do not match the views that Cyathia has on how magic should be used and monitored,' James said shaking his head. 'Their magic does not move them forwards; they remain locked in ancient traditions. Cyathia wishes, always, to move forward in its use of magic for society. It is enough for us that they keep our true focuses to themselves.'

Merlin had mulled over the words several times, wondering if there were druids out there who would happily join Cyathia, but he knew very little about them himself, only what he had heard through rumours and hearsay.

The secrecy of Cyathia, therefore, seemed to be very much intact, and Merlin found it easy to see why: entry and exit into and out of the kingdom were very closely monitored and any new travellers that happened upon the land were fully and carefully examined and interrogated before being granted access. The whole kingdom was locked down against those who saw magic as a curse and an evil. Magical barriers were in place in many different forms to ensure the continuing safety of the citizens and their way of life.

All this, Merlin had been told with no reservations, which, he realised, meant that he too was being entrusted with the secret. At first, he hadn't understood why they would put so much faith in a stranger, but it soon became obvious.

They knew that he would feel happy here. They knew that he would feel accepted. They knew that he would feel free.

And he did.

After their initial talk in the castle, James had brought Merlin several magic books from his own personal collection. Merlin had stared at them with awe and no small amount of fear. In many other places, just having books like these in your possession meant execution, yet here they were freely available.

'Go on then,' James had told him.

'What?' Merlin asked, just managing to drag his eyes away from the leather bound volume.

'You're a sorcerer, perform a spell.'

'But…' Merlin moved to open the book, but changed his mind. 'I've never used any spells. I don't know how they work or what to do.'

'What do you mean you haven't used any spells? How did you learn your magic?' Merlin shook his head and shrugged.

'It was just there. I could just use it -not always very accurately- but I didn't need to say anything.'

'Not even saying a spell in your head?'

'No. I don't know any.'

At a long silence from James, Merlin found himself looking up at the man, only to find he was studying Merlin with an expression of thoughtful contemplation.

'Is that unusual?'

'Yes,' the man nodded, causing Merlin to frown in surprise. 'Let's see how you do with spells. Can you read?'

'Yes.'

'Good.' The man took the book from Merlin and began to flick through the pages. Merlin looked on eagerly, entranced by the beauty of the words and drawings, noticing the runes that bordered every leaf of paper. 'How powerful is your magic?'

'Not very,' Merlin told him. 'I can't do much.'

'You're sure?'

'From what I can remember.'

'What about what you can't remember?' Merlin shrugged. Perhaps he had become more powerful over the past five or six years, for that was how far they had decided Merlin's memory loss went, based on big events across Albion he could remember and on the calendars of Cendred's kingdom and Cyathia's. James studied him for several more seconds and then placed the book in front of him, open on a page that showed flames arranged into a variety of shapes and images. 'Try this one. Conjuring the flame should be easy, but manipulating it will take far more skill.'

'How do I do it?' Merlin asked, scanning the words.

'I'm not telling you; I want to see what you can do on your own.'

Merlin had nodded in determination, trying to keep the grin off his face at the thought of what he was doing: using a spell for no other reason than because he could. He took several deep breaths and mouthed the words to himself. As soon as he felt like he'd memorised them, he turned to face the middle of the room and stood up, raising his hand –something that he had never done before when doing magic, but which somehow felt right- and spoke the words, fully expecting them to produce nothing more than a few sputtering sparks of fire, despite the effort he could feel himself putting into it.

What he got instead rendered him speechless. Instantly, a huge flame appeared, not in his hand as he had expected it to, but in front of him: a fiery ball of raging heat, taller than him. Somehow, he was protected from it, and, as he turned to James' shocked face, he saw that the man was also unaffected by the flames. Part of Merlin had wanted to drop his hand and end the spell right there, but instead, he found himself completing it, being more extravagant than he had planned to be because of the success of the initial part. As he finished his words, the fire began to move and twist until a dragon -its wings out and its mouth screaming yet more fire- stood in the room with them. The details were exquisite: each scale was defined, the claws were sharp and curved; there were even imperfections on the beast as if it had been in some terrible battle. Merlin was awed at the precision of the creation; after all, he had never seen a dragon.

Eventually, he let the spell fall, and the dragon and flames disappeared, leaving only a room which, although being very warm, showed no signs of the scorching or burning that Merlin had expected. He turned back to James, sure that the man would have been impressed with the display –Merlin definitely was- but his expression went beyond being impressed. He studied Merlin again, but this time with a respect and curiosity that Merlin had never been on the receiving end of in his entire life. A spark of pride went through him; a feeling of worth.

'Not powerful, you say?' James asked.

'I'd never have thought…' he laughed, looking back at where the dragon had been.

'You are powerful, Merlin, and I think it's safe to say that you haven't been anywhere near Ealdor in the last few years. Somebody's been teaching you.'

'In Camelot?'

'I don't know, but I want you to continue your studies here.'

'I'd love to,' Merlin nodded, before he'd even thought about what he was saying. Was it really that easy to throw aside a lifetime of secrecy and caution and just start studying –or, apparently, continue studying- magic? He thought back to the dragon, thought about what he had been able to do, the way James had looked at him like he meant something. 'When can I start?' he asked.

The more Merlin studied magic, the more he realised that James was right: he hadn't been in Ealdor for the past few years. There was no way he could have gained the magical skills he seemed to possess, in his tiny village. No, he had been somewhere else entirely and it must have been for a while. The thought gave him comfort, it meant that his mother was unlikely to know he had disappeared and as such wouldn't be worrying –no more than she usually did anyway. It gave him the chance to redevelop his skills without feeling guilty about the fact that he was leaving his loved ones in the dark.

And they were impressive skills indeed. Merlin had to admit it to himself. Time and time again he surprised everyone, himself included, with what he could do using magic. Many spells that took others weeks and months to perfect worked for him after his first attempt. He was soon given permission to use a training room in which to practice so that he could try bigger and more powerful spells and he met the challenges with ease. Under James' watchful tutelage, Merlin learnt how to control and direct his magic, but even James' admitted that he was doing little more than recapping all the things that Merlin instinctually seemed to know when it came to using magic.

As the days went on, Merlin soon found that he had an audience to his training sessions; people watching him and congratulating him and complementing him. Not long after that he found himself answering questions about magic and teaching people some of the spells. And the longer he was there, the more he felt like he was meant to be. This was a place where someone like him could live out his life to its full potential not cowering under the rule of kings and queens who were afraid of what they could not understand.

Here in Cyathia, he felt like he was with a family of sorts. Before long, he was being invited to the taverns or training with other sorcerers who accepted him instantly. He also found himself watching several magical duels –friendly ones of course- which were regularly carried out. It was at one of these events that he first met Peter. Peter, who had been all but useless in his duelling match. It was the luck –or the unluckiness- of the draw that some people in Cyathia had been born without the magical potential of their parents. But they were not treated as lepers in any way; the communities found ways in which their limited skills could be used and pushed.

Peter, however, hated the fact that his abilities weren't up to the standards of others. He had lost his duel and then thrown himself down next to Merlin with a huff of resignation and disappointment.

'It really isn't fair,' he had started saying, despite the fact that Merlin had never talked to him before. He vaguely remembered that the boy was a stable hand at the castle. 'My parents both work in agriculture; they keep five thousand acres of crops free from diseases with their magic, and what do I do?' He snapped his fingers and muttered some words; a tiny flame appeared in his palm, but it flickered and died within seconds. 'It's really not fair.' Merlin hadn't known exactly what to say, deciding that it probably wasn't the time to mention that his powers were slightly more impressive, but the boy continued for him. 'Peter,' he said, holding out his hand.

'I'm Merlin,' he replied, shaking it. Peter's eyes went wide.

'You're Merlin?'

'Erm…yes?' he felt like he should question the boy's confusion. Surely there wasn't another Merlin. The unusualness of his name had always been something that he'd prided himself on. It was the only thing that made him stand out.

'As in the visitor to the castle who can do anything with magic?'

Oh. Merlin swallowed down a sigh and inwardly cursed Steven. The man, despite barely being around, had made it his personal mission to embarrass Merlin whenever he could. He sometimes appeared, with his lackeys –for that's what they seemed to be to Merlin-, in the training room when Merlin was there and started going on in mocking tones about how fantastic Merlin was and how everyone should bow down to his superior skills. Merlin hated it. He wasn't sure what it sprung from, whether jealousy or fear or just plain nastiness, but the man's words seemed to have spread around the castle quite quickly. When people first met him, they seemed to expect an arrogant self-righteous sorcerer. It didn't take them long to figure out that Steven was just being an idiot, but nonetheless, it was irritating. And evidently, word was beginning to spread outside the castle.

'I can't do anything,' Merlin told him quickly.

'No, I've heard what people have said. Can I see something?'

'It's really not that-'

'Don't give me that,' he said pointedly. 'I heard about the storm in the castle. You made it rain inside.'

'It really wasn't that-'

'And don't even get me started on the invisibility.'

'Alright, alright,' Merlin whispered, trying to hush him; people were beginning to look.

'You'll show me?' he asked hopefully.

'I suppose I could…' he began, wondering whether this was such a good idea.

As it turned out, it was a good idea. As soon as Peter had gotten over his initial awe, he turned out to be exactly the person Merlin needed. James was brilliant, but he was hardly a conversationalist. Peter, on the other hand, would sit and talk about absolutely anything. They quickly became friends, despite the fact that Merlin –although he felt like he was roughly the same age as the boy- was seven years older than him. That didn't seem to matter, however, and soon Peter was a regular visitor to the castle and to Merlin's training sessions. It gave him an even stronger sense of belonging.

Thoughts of his missing memories, however, did distract him regularly. Yes, he felt at home in Cyathia, but surely wherever he had come from had felt like home as well. Unless of course, he had been running away from that life; maybe that was why he had ended up half dead in a river.

Merlin found himself believing more and more that the missing memories would hold nothing more than a difficult past where he had been using his magic in ways that he wouldn't approve of. The signs on his body were enough to convince him that whatever he had been doing had been dangerous and full of conflict. There were scars everywhere; scars that he had no recollection of receiving. On his chest was what looked like a burn scar; a small circle as if he had been hit full in the chest. On his scalp, he could feel numerous imperfections that had not been there before. His shoulder had a deep scar which looked like it had been caused by a weapon. Not to mention all the others.

What worried him most was what he had been in the past. He couldn't imagine ever being someone who would hurt others, but all evidence pointed to the contrary. It made him shudder. Had he been a sorcerer for hire? Someone to do the dirty work of those without magic? Surely not; it went against everything in him, but there was still a nagging doubt. As time passed, he realised that he didn't want the memories to return. He wanted to be here in Cyathia, creating a new life for himself.

'Has Sir Gwaine been found yet?' Arthur asked the guards at the castle entrance for the third time that morning. The apologetic shake of their heads and general responses to the contrary caused Arthur to fist his hands in frustration, but he showed nothing of his agitation to the men and instead nodded his thanks and went inside.

He paused for a moment in the corridor, unsure of where to go; he could go and speak with various council members about the upcoming meeting, but he knew his mind would not be able to focus on anything for very long; it hadn't so far this morning. Guinevere had come into their chambers after her morning walk to find him pacing them, a frown of concentration on his face. She had asked him what was wrong, but this was something that he wanted to share with Gwaine first; after all, it was the knight who had planted the seed in Arthur's mind.

Instead, he had kissed Guinevere goodbye and told her that he was going out into the town. The plan had been to find Gwaine quickly and spend the morning outlining his idea, but the knight was proving as elusive as he had been for the past two weeks and no amount of searching taverns or asking Camelot's citizens had enabled him to find the man. It was a little frustrating.

Eventually, Arthur decided to head for the meeting room. That would no doubt be one of the first places Gwaine would go once he got the message that Arthur was looking for him. He strode purposefully down the corridors, trying to emit an air of preoccupation –which wasn't difficult in his current state- to avoid having to talk to anyone. It worked, and he reached the meeting room quickly.

'Where have you been?' came a loud voice as Arthur pulled open the doors. There, sat at the roundtable, with his feet up on it, was Gwaine. Arthur gave him a look, which he hoped was piercing, and shut the doors.

'I could ask you the same thing,' he retorted. 'How are the knights meant to find you in an emergency?'

'I'll turn up, don't worry. Got a nose for trouble.'

'I can believe that.' He took up a seat next to Gwaine and pointedly looked at the man's feet on the table. He got the message and slowly, with a grin on his face, put his feet back down on the floor.

'So, how can I help?' he smiled. Arthur took several seconds to compose his thoughts. He had gone through his plan, and how he would explain it, hundreds of times in his head, but now it came to actually voicing it, he feared that it would sound ridiculous.

'I've been thinking about what you said,' he began eventually.

'I say a lot.'

'About Merlin and making his death count.' Instantly, the knight's face sobered and he sat up a little straighter. He evidently hadn't been expecting Merlin to be the topic of conversation. It was understandable; Arthur couldn't remember mentioning Merlin to anyone, save Guinevere, in the past fortnight since it had happened. Everything was still too raw for him and he found it hard to control his emotions if he let Merlin fill his thoughts too regularly.

'Oh. You've come up with something?'

'I think so, but it's…' Arthur shook his head. '…it's not an easy task.'

'What is it?'

Arthur took a deep breath before continuing. 'The night before Merlin...before he died, we had been talking about the future…about Albion's future. I told him that I wanted the whole land to be working together; to be united. And he said…' Arthur laughed quietly and shook his head, remembering the easy faith that Merlin had shown.

'He said you should do it?'

'Basically,' he nodded. 'He told me it was a good dream and that if anyone could do it, I could.'

'Course he did,' Gwaine shrugged, looking at Arthur as if he was saying the most obvious thing in the world. 'Merlin believed in you more than anyone.' Arthur stared at the ancient wood of the round table, tracing some of the patterns with his fingers. He allowed Gwaine's words to sink in.

'I know,' he nodded after several seconds.

'He always saw something in you, even from way back when I first met him. Everybody else thought you were an arrogant, spoilt, cocky royal. But not Merlin.'

'I think he probably did think that,' Arthur murmured. 'He just…'

'Saw past it?' Gwaine ventured, his tone gentle.

This time Arthur didn't reply, he couldn't. This was why he was so careful when it came to picking his moments to remember Merlin; he couldn't keep the grief at bay well enough to function.

'So is that the plan then?' Gwaine asked a few moments later. His tone was carefree and relaxed again, giving Arthur the distance that was needed. 'Just unite the land?'

'Just unite the land?' Arthur asked him incredulously.

'Well you must have called me in here for some reason. I'm assuming that it was to tell me that was the plan.'

'I haven't got a clue how to do it,' he admitted.

'I really don't think I'm your best political strategist,' Gwaine told him, putting his hands behind his head. 'Tell you what, as painful as it is, tell me what you think Merlin would have suggested. He was always giving you his opinion.'

Arthur considered the words. Gwaine was right, Merlin would have had plenty of ideas about how to go about uniting the land; probably a few stupid ones, but there would have been some incredibly wise ones in there as well.

'He'd have wanted promises of peace to be given and received,' Arthur began hesitantly. 'And he'd have picked the most politically and strategically useless places.'

'Why?' Gwaine frowned.

'Because he'd have picked the ones that most needed our help,' he said with a small laugh.

'Well, why not start there?'

'But then what?'

'Bigger and better I suppose, get different kingdoms on side, make them understand why it's worthwhile, make peace, promise security, send them expensive gifts to show good will. Isn't that what kings do?'

Arthur laughed at him, keeping comments to himself about the difference between knights of noble birth and those that came from less fortunate backgrounds. It definitely wasn't as simple as that, but all those ideas were a start. He went and picked up a map from the cupboard at the end of the room and unrolled it across the roundtable, looking at the different kingdoms and territories that made up Albion. Which places would be best to start with? Before he did anything, he'd have to get his current allies on board. The five kingdom peace treaty meant that ideas such as this had to be shared. Yes; that would have to be his starting point; the lands with which he was already united.

He felt a hand press onto his shoulder and turned to see Gwaine smiling down at him, no arrogance or joking in his expression.

'This will make it count. You do this because of Merlin, and it'll make his death count.'

'Thank you, Gwaine.'

'Nah, thank Merlin,' he grinned.

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