Beyond Recall

A/N: Hello all and thanks for the reviews for the last chapter. This chapter is sort of the start of the big finish, although there are still plenty of chapters left: at least another six or seven. But even so, things are moving forward again. Let me know what you think!

Chapter 18

Arthur wanted to run to his chambers; he wanted to run and hide and lock himself away from the rest of the world…and that had never happened to him before. He could sense his pace quickening as they got nearer to the room and only Guinevere's steady hand in his stopped him from running off like a child. He kept his mask in place as they walked through the corridors, but the moment Merlin shut the door behind them as they walked into the bedroom, Arthur felt the mask crumble to dust.

He stopped in the middle of the room and allowed all the emotions that he had suppressed to rise to the surface: all the humiliation and desperation and anger and failure. Each emotion rose and bubbled and Arthur felt his head spinning with all of them. What had he done to lose their respect? How could they even contemplate speaking to him as they had done? He thought about their remarks; the cutting accusations they had made; words which made him feel so small and weak and useless and stupid. In all the time he had been king, he had never felt as helpless in his role as he had done earlier. Even when Morgana had taken over Camelot and he had doubted that he should even be king, he hadn't felt as awful as he had done in that meeting: because their comments had been thrown at him when he should have been in a position of authority and respect; they had managed to make him question himself even as he sat in his own council rooms. They had treated him like a fool and their words weighed heavily upon him even now.

He was angry; furious. He could feel the rage flowing through his veins like a fire. He felt hot and restless; his muscles were coiled and he desperately wanted to strike out at something.

'Arthur,' Guinevere tried, but he could tell that even she was unsure of how to bring him round this time. That made him feel even more out of control. If Guinevere's gentleness couldn't calm him then he doubted anything could. Perhaps if Merlin had been his old self then between the two of them they could have said what was needed. But Merlin wasn't that Merlin yet and from the corner of his eye, Arthur could see the man standing nervously, his expression grim and sad.

'Why did Tiden do that?' Arthur asked quietly, surprised that those were the first words to come out of his mouth. When Merlin didn't answer, Arthur felt more of his rage pull free. 'Why did he do it?' he repeated more loudly, stepping towards Merlin.

'Arthur,' Guinevere said, walking to stand beside him. 'Merlin can't tell you anything.' But Arthur didn't care, because he needed Merlin to be there at that moment; he needed something from him: some words of encouragement or wisdom or belief. But he said nothing, just stood there, barely holding Arthur's gaze; his face uncertain.

'You were in Cyathia for weeks,' Arthur told him fiercely. 'So tell me what I did to turn Tiden against me like that. He started everything in there.'

'I don't know,' Merlin blustered, shaking his head and moving back as Arthur approached.

'Then think! You were his manservant; you must have attended Cyathia's meetings on the run up to their departure.'

'I didn't.'

'You must have!'

'Well I didn't!' Merlin replied; his own voice raised in a shout, now. Arthur took a deep breath. Part of him wanted to yell at Merlin some more –in the past he'd done it, knowing that the man would do or say what was needed- but he knew that if he shouted at him, he wouldn't respond in that way, and it would only serve to widen the distance between them; something that would have cut Arthur like a knife after all the progress that had been made in the last few days.

'Fine,' he breathed. 'Then tell me what I can do to change his mind.'

The desperation on Merlin's face was painful to watch. The man stood there, shaking his head, his mouth opening and closing several times as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he looked down.

'I don't know.'

'Merlin!' Arthur growled. But before he could say anymore, Guinevere stepped in front of him; her eyes held his in a glare and she pressed a hand against his chest, pushing him back several steps from where he had been in front of Merlin.

'Stop it,' she told him, her voice a harsh whisper. 'This isn't fair on him, Arthur; he can't help what he doesn't know.' She was right of course, but even so, it wasn't what Arthur wanted to hear. He turned away from her and moved towards the table, slamming his sword onto it so hard that he dented the wood with the hilt. 'Arthur,' Guinevere tried again.

'Arthur.' At Merlin's gentle tone, Arthur turned and looked at him. Hesitantly the man moved forward, some sort of resolve on his face. 'I'm sorry that the talks have failed,' he began, 'but you did all that you could and your response to the other kings and queens in the meeting showed true strength.'

It was by no means as eloquent as Merlin's speeches usually were, but the sentiment behind it, though restrained, was familiar. Beside him, Guinevere was smiling gratefully at Merlin, but Arthur couldn't allow himself to be distracted.

'The talks haven't failed,' he told them, moving away from the table and pulling out several documents from the cabinet that had information on the represented kingdoms. He felt Guinevere's hand on his shoulder and allowed her to turn him round.

'I know how important this was,' she gave him a sad smile, 'but I don't think Albion is ready yet.'

'Yes it is,' he argued. 'This can be done.'

'Arthur, they don't trust each other and they don't trust us. There will be no strength in any union formed now.'

'I can't give up on them,' he told her, hearing the desperation in his voice, seeing the sympathy in her face. Slowly, she took the documents from his hands and put them back in the cabinet, before moving so that she was in front of him once more.

'You heard what they said; what their views are.' She placed one hand on his arm and reached up the other to rest in his hair, her fingers gently curling through it. Arthur swallowed, his head shaking, but he found that he couldn't speak. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, wanting to just disappear into her touch and forget the utter failure that surrounded him.

'I can't,' he whispered.

'Why are they so important?' Arthur looked up at the question. Merlin was looking at him, a frown on his face; a desperation to understand. 'Why is it so important to you that they succeed?'

Arthur stared at him and felt sadness rise up in his throat. He moved away from Guinevere and heard a bitter laugh escape from his throat.

'You tell me.'

Merlin's frowned deepened at the comment. He opened his mouth to respond, but then a sudden understanding came onto his face. He paled, opening and closing his mouth several times before eventually stepping forward and warily looking at Arthur.

'Did…' he stopped, but then shifted his stance so that he was standing taller. 'Did I have something to do with them?'

Arthur watched Merlin, feeling his own confusion rise. The man exuded nervousness; everything in him seemed to want to run; like he was desperately pleading with Arthur to prove him wrong. He was going to wave Merlin's question off, but suddenly he wanted the man to understand; he wanted Merlin to know that he had been a supporter of all that Arthur was trying to achieve. He wanted him to show that same support now. He looked over at Guinevere and saw her nod in encouragement before she moved over to her dressing table and sat down at it.

'The night before your accident,' Arthur began, 'I told you that I wanted to unite Albion. It was something that had been on my mind for a while.' He looked up to see Merlin absorbing the words fearfully. 'You told me that I could do it and then a few hours later I thought you were dead.'

'So you…' he frowned, taking another step and pointing between the two of them, '…we decided on the talks. That's why they're happening?'

'No,' Arthur said, beginning to regret starting the conversation. Behind Merlin, Guinevere nodded him on. 'The way you died…or at least the way we thought you'd died…it was so pointless,' he paused, remembering those first few days and hours. '…it meant nothing and we couldn't…I couldn't let that be it.' He looked up to see Merlin's wide eyes and white face.

'What are you saying?'

'Merlin,' Arthur began gently, forcing himself to keep looking at the face of his friend. 'These talks were supposed to be your legacy. The only reason they're happening is because of you.'

Merlin didn't remember what he had said in order to leave Arthur's and Gwen's chambers. He remembered both of them asking him what was wrong, remembered making some excuse to do with chores, but the next thing he knew after that was standing in the middle of his own chambers, his entire body trembling as he let Arthur's words sink in.

'The only reason they're happening is because of you.'

Merlin sank to his knees, unable to remain standing anymore. He covered his head with his hands, wanting nothing more than to tear at his hair.

What was he doing? What was he stuck in the middle of? And how could possibly continue to work against Arthur? Everything here: all the gathered leaders, all Arthur's speeches about unity and peace, all the kingdoms represented; everything was here because of him, because whoever he had been before in Camelot was someone whose life and death had to matter in the eyes of the King.

That person from before -that Merlin who had lied everyday to his King, but yet had seemed to be willing to anything for him- that Merlin had wanted these talks to go ahead. He had wanted these talks to go ahead. He had believed in them; he had encouraged Arthur to see them through.

In destroying them with Tiden, Merlin had betrayed not only Arthur and Camelot and Gwen and Gwaine and every other person who had cared for him and loved him, but he had betrayed himself. He was destroying his own dream to try and create a new one in Cyathia.

The self-loathing that surrounded him at that moment was overpowering in its intensity. This wasn't who he was supposed to be. The thought had been hidden away at the back of his mind for days, but now he couldn't ignore it. The truth was undeniable: living in Cyathia was not his destiny. With or without his memory, he understood now: his destiny was in Camelot at Arthur's side. The instant he allowed the thought to fully form in his mind, he felt a flood of certainty fill him in a way that he hadn't felt in the last seven weeks of his life.

He was meant to be here.

He was meant to be fighting for the success of the talks with Arthur; he had believed in them, and Arthur had believed in them enough to try and make them Merlin's inheritance. He had believed in Merlin enough to entrust the unity of Albion to his legacy.

And if that was the case; if the dedication and devotion that Merlin had understood in his fleeting memory returns and in his interactions with Arthur were true, then he couldn't deny one simple fact.

His loyalty lay with Arthur.

It didn't matter about the mark burned into his skin. Yes, it had been created as a symbol of loyalty to Tiden, but it didn't control Merlin's thoughts and feelings; it couldn't stop him from switching his loyalties; it just meant that Tiden would know. Which meant…

It didn't take long. Minutes later, Merlin got to his feet as he heard footsteps running up the stairs outside. He took a deep breath, turned to face the door and lifted his chin, just in time to see Steven burst through the door.

The man moved forward instantly, but though there was anger on his face, that wasn't the overriding emotion. No, overshadowing the aggression in Steven was an excitement, a restrained ecstasy. He had been waiting for this; had been waiting to be let lose to deal with Merlin however he pleased. Merlin had seen it in every interaction between them; the loathing that Steven held for him, for reasons that Merlin doubted either of them really understood. But what he did know was that up until now, Merlin's loyalty to Tiden had protected him from Steven's persecution; that protection was gone.

Merlin stood his ground as the man approached, but Steven seemed to enjoy the challenge that he was being met with.

'I do believe you were meant to be meeting with me the moment you left Arthur,' he began. 'You have information to give us.'

The sneer on Steven's face was enough to send defiance flaring through Merlin. This was his own life; he wasn't some puppet to be used and threatened.

'I'm not doing this anymore.'

Steven laughed and shook his head.

'You're under the impression that you can leave Tiden's service whenever it pleases you? You're even more naïve than I thought.'

'You can't make me do anything,' Merlin told him, stepping forward. He wasn't all that keen to close the gap between the two of them, but Steven hadn't attacked him the moment he arrived, which was what Merlin had expected, and the man's restraint, though confusing, made Merlin feel more confident. 'This mark-' he pointed to his arm '-doesn't hold me to that promise; it can't control my decisions.'

Another laugh from Steven and he shook his head patronisingly, as if Merlin hadn't got a clue what he was talking about.

'No, the mark may not hold your loyalty, but I'll bet blackmail will.'

'You can't do anything to me,' Merlin told him, 'If you expose me to Arthur then you expose yourselves.'

'Expose you?' Steven grinned. 'Why would we do that when we need you right where you are?'

'I told you,' Merlin said through gritted teeth, 'I'm not doing this anymore.'

Steven nodded at him and then moved across the room. Confusion flooded Merlin as the man began inspecting vials and looking around as if he was there for a casual visit.

'How is your mother of late?'

It took less than a second for Merlin to understand the meaning behind the words. His entire body went cold, even as his heart began to hammer. Now he understood why Steven hadn't beaten him; this attack had been an emotional one from the start. But still, Merlin refused to believe what the man was insinuating.

'My mother has nothing to do with this.'

'That's right,' the man nodded, 'because she's in…Ealdor, is it?'

'If you try anything-'

'Have you heard from her recently?' he interrupted. He turned to look at Merlin now, his face full of what looked like mild interest. Merlin didn't reply; did Steven know about the letter? 'Now, Merlin, don't hold out on me. Perhaps I can guess,' he continued and Merlin could see the amusement and satisfaction he was getting from the exchange. 'A sickness, perhaps, in your lovely little village?'

'I don't know how you found out ab-'

'Found out? Oh, Merlin. You do make these things so much more interesting. Have you still not caught on?' Merlin felt his anger rising; he didn't know what Steven was getting at, but the more he thought about it, the more his panic began to rise. He thought of the day when he had returned to Camelot, thought of Peter's discovery that one of Steven's men had left and returned; thought about when the letter had come. He remembered reading it, remembered thinking that something didn't seem quite right. Without saying a word to Steven he raced into his room and pulled out the box from the chest in there, the one he had found with various keepsakes. With trembling fingers, he pulled out the items he was looking for; letters –many of them- that his mother had sent to him while in Camelot. He had skimmed them briefly when he found the box, desperate to understand what his role here had been, but she had said nothing that helped him and so he had put them to one side.

Now, though, he wished that he had paid more attention. He looked at the letter he had pulled out, his eyes focussing on the gentle curves of different letters, the way she flicked the quill at the end of certain words. And with horror, he realised one thing for certain: the letter that Arthur had received had not been written by her. He picked up the other letters, frantically skimming through them in the hope that he would see handwriting that matched that of Arthur's letter, but that hope quickly died.

He turned, fury raging through him, but he saw that Steven was already at his door, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

'Would you like to know how she is?'

Before Merlin knew what he was doing, he had raised his hand, sending Steven –and the letters, which had still been clutched in his hand- flying through the door to land heavily on the floor. He looked shocked at the action for a moment, but soon recovered his senses enough to stand up.

'Really?' he asked. 'Using magic in Camelot?' He walked forward until he was in front of Merlin.

'Tell me where she is,' he hissed through clenched teeth, but in reply, Steven only delivered a staggering punch to his stomach, sending him crashing to the floor, gasping in pain. Instantly, Steven was next to him. Merlin raised his hand to use magic, but the man's boot came down painfully on it. Merlin knew that he could deliver an attack anyway, but he needed information.

'What have you done with her?'

'Oh not just her,' Steven told him, crouching down and whispering in his ear. 'The physician seems just as fond of you. It was easy enough to convince them to leave Ealdor once they heard you were alive. And even easier to imprison them after that.'

'If you hurt her…'

'If we do, it'll be because you don't do as you're asked,' Steven told him, his voice hard and unrelenting. 'Now do you understand, Merlin? The mark can sense your loyalty, but it takes much more to ensure that it's kept where it is needed. Tiden didn't trust you from the minute he found out your connection to the King. He took certain measures to ensure that you kept your end of the bargain. Had you turned out to be the spy we first assumed, your mother would have been our guarantee that you wouldn't expose us. Now she ensures that you will see this through to the end.'

He moved off, his foot finally coming away from Merlin's throbbing hand. Merlin stood up slowly, his eyes fixed on Steven, wanting nothing more than to tear him apart with magic. He could feel the power flowing through him, ready to do his bidding, but he held it steady. He couldn't risk it. Steven, seeing this, smiled again and moved towards the door.

'You will see this through or we'll kill her,' Steven told him. 'I think that's simple enough for you to understand.' With that, he turned and disappeared through the door, leaving Merlin standing in the room terrified and alone.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.