Beyond Recall

A/N: Another early update! I'd love to tell you that this means I've finished the story so can post more regularly, but it doesn't. I'm just very excited about the next few chapters and can't wait to see what you think of them. This one in particular was one I really enjoyed writing!

Thank you so much for the reviews! I always love reading them, and they're so encouraging!

One more thing before I shut up. I think I made an estimate on how many chapters were left a while back, and I just wanted to say that it was wrong! I reckon we're looking at thirty, give or take a couple either way. So still a way to go yet, but we're definitely heading to the end!

Anyway, enough from me. Enjoy!

Chapter 22

For several long minutes, Merlin found himself unable to move, but even as his body remained still, his mind was working furiously to try and find a way –any way- out of the situation he now found himself in. But anger made it hard for him to think straight. Where was Peter? What had they done to him? What had he found out that had caused them to snatch him away so violently? Merlin cursed himself for not refusing to go on the hunting trip that morning. He should have been here, should have done anything he could to stay in Camelot, no matter how much Arthur insisted otherwise. He looked down at the blood again and felt sick. How hurt was he?

The questions circled his mind until he felt the room begin to spin. He forced his eyes closed, took several deep breaths and then looked up again. He would achieve nothing by standing here panicking. He had to do something. But what? Now they had even more leverage over him. Yes, by now Gwaine may have found his mother and Gaius, and the fact that Torrent was in the stables, while Zephyr was still gone, caused him to hope that that really was the case, but if they had Peter, if they could use him to blackmail Merlin, then he was just as trapped as he had been before. More so, even, because Peter was so close. All it would take was one false slip from Merlin and Steven could have the boy killed within minutes. No-one would notice one missing stablehand in amongst the hundreds of visitors in Camelot.

He had to find Peter. He had to work out where they were keeping him and get him to safety. But how? The only people who likely knew where he was being kept were the two people that he wanted to remain unaware of his intentions. Perhaps if he went and found Elyan… but even then, they would have no idea where to start looking, and this extra blackmail might make the knight rethink his not-telling-Arthur stance.

No, if this was to be done, then Merlin had to do it himself. And first, that meant finding out where Peter was being held.

He crept through the corridors of Camelot as the night deepened. Most of the castle was asleep by now, or at least preparing to be very soon, but Merlin felt no such weariness. His mind was focussed, his goal was clear; it was only a matter of remaining hidden. He moved forward in the shadows, eluding the few people that he crossed paths with by doubling back into empty corridors, or taking advantage of any available hiding places.

When he reached Tiden's corridors however, he ground to a halt. What was he supposed to do now? He peered carefully around the corner to find that there were no guards on the doors. Merlin didn't know whether that was usual for Tiden, or not -he hadn't been to the King's chambers in days in an effort to keep his motives unquestioned- but either way, it meant that he could probably gain access to the King's room. But what then? The man was hardly going to have a map of where Peter was being kept stashed away in his room.

Not knowing what else to do, however, Merlin eased himself forward. He rested an ear against the door, listening for any sounds, but there was nothing. Surely the King wouldn't be asleep yet; not if he had apprehended someone who he saw as a traitor. The room had to be empty. As quietly as he could, Merlin tried the handle and then, on finding it locked, whispered the spell he had used on James' room before. He cautiously moved into the room, realising quickly that it was deserted, but as he did, he heard several sets of heavy footsteps down the corridor. His heart raced as he recognised Steven's voice distantly.

With barely concealed panic, Merlin shut the door behind himself and used magic to lock it before frantically looking around the room. He had to hide. If they found him in here…

His limited time meant that hiding under the bed was the only real option; anywhere else was too vulnerable. He knelt to the floor and scrambled under the thin gap, trying to ignore the voice in his head that said this was a stupid place to hide. But even as the thought crossed his mind, tiny flashes of memories of hiding under beds assaulted him; something else he had done before. He was shocked, though, at the ease with which the memories re-emerged; there had barely been a trigger.

The thought was quickly dispelled from his mind, however, as the door to Tiden's chambers was unlocked and four pairs of feet walked in. Tiden's dismissal of two of them showed that the extra men were guards, which left only him and Steven. James, Merlin was pleased to see, was nowhere in sight. He only hoped that meant his Cyathian mentor really wasn't involved.

'How long ago?' Tiden asked. He seemed on edge, nervous, something that Merlin had never associated with the man.

'According to Elex, he arrived back, followed by Arthur, less than half an hour ago.' Merlin barely dared to breathe. They were talking about him.

'They didn't return together?'

'There were only a few minutes between their arrivals.'

There was a short pause and Merlin hoped that the King wouldn't look too deeply into their staggered arrivals; it would do no good for Tiden to realise that Merlin was attempting to drive a wedge between himself and Arthur.

'Then he will have seen the evidence of the stablehand's capture?'

'If not yet, then very shortly. Everything was left as you requested. Shall I go and find him?'

'Merlin is not our concern at the moment,' the King began firmly, as he paced across the room in agitation. 'He'll come and find us. He is trapped, desperate and angry. He will come and plead for the boy's life, or at the very least demand to know what we have done to him. No,' Tiden continued, and his words were filled with threat, 'it is James that we must find.'

'My Lord, I wounded him myself; he will not last more than a few hours.'

'All he needs is a few moments with anyone loyal to Camelot and all is lost,' Tiden retorted. 'I want him found and I want him silenced for good!'

From where he lay under the bed, Merlin was hard pressed to contain his shock. What had happened for the King to have turned so violently against James? What had he missed while he was out hunting? He felt his frustration well up again, but he pushed it down. He could not miss what was being said.

'It would my pleasure, Sire, but are you sure you don't want him alive? He will be of use later.'

'It is not worth the risk. He and the stable hand found out about our plans. The boy is easy to control: his magical abilities are pitiful and he is weak. But James… His loyalties have turned, I sense that through the oath mark, and he needs to be removed. We have an ample replacement for him anyway.'

'Then I will send more men to the woods. He headed east out of the city-'

'He will try to return. Speaking to Merlin, or perhaps even Arthur, will be his plan,' Tiden said gravely.

'We will stop him, my Lord. He will not get far, injured as he is.'

'I want to know the moment you find him.'

'Yes, Sire.' With that Steven disappeared out of the room, leaving Merlin alone with King Tiden. He absorbed the information from the conversation quickly, turning it over in his mind. Both James and Peter had discovered the plans? Surely that had to mean they had been together. Merlin felt a flood of relief wash through him. James had listened to him after all; he had evidently done his own searching. But now both he and Peter were in trouble.

Suddenly, Merlin felt torn. He wanted to help Peter, he wanted to save him, but he still had no idea where the boy was. But James…he knew roughly where the man was and if he could find him then he would know what Tiden and Steven were planning; he would be able to stop them. Merlin closed his eyes, saw Peter's face rising up in his mind's eye, and silently whispered an apology to him, biting down on his lip to stop his emotions from spilling over. He would find Peter, he made a promise to himself that he would, but for now, he had to find out what Tiden's plans were.

Now all he had to do was get out of the King's room without being seen.

Arthur slipped into bed and wrapped an arm around Guinevere, kissing her gently. She turned with a contented sigh, her eyes opening slowly.

'Where did you go?' she asked him sleepily. 'Did you speak to Merlin?'

'No,' he whispered. 'I spoke to Leon. He's going to set up a watch for Merlin. Find out who it is he's trying to protect.'

'Arthur,' she said, more awake now as she sat up.

'I know it's not ideal.'

'You're spying on him? Why?'

'No, I'm not…' he sighed. 'I'm not spying on him. I just want to make sure he's alright.'

'But putting a watch on him? If he realises…'

'He won't know,' Arthur told her gently. 'I just want to find out what's wrong and he won't tell me himself.'

There was a long silence. Guinevere watched him uncertainly, her eyes searching his as she absorbed the information. Eventually, she lay back down, but her face was still turned towards him.

'Do you trust him?' she whispered, sadness in every word. Arthur swallowed heavily and didn't meet her eyes for several seconds. What could he say to that?

If she had asked him before all this, then his answer would have been an immediate yes, even if it was disguised by some scathing comments or flippant remark. Merlin had had his unfailing trust at all times, even when he did things that Arthur didn't understand, or disappeared for days on end, or evidently lied his way out of a situation, Arthur had still trusted him without a second thought because he was Merlin and everything he did was rooted in his loyalty to his King. Arthur had known this, even if he didn't understand it, and so he had never once had doubts about Merlin.

But now he was dealing with a Merlin who didn't remember that loyalty, not really, and who didn't have his history in Camelot to draw upon when making decisions and acting on them. He was acting strangely; he was giving Arthur no answers and he was slowly drawing away from the people who he should have been closest to. And it scared Arthur; it worried him; it made him doubt the one person who he had never doubted in the past.

'I trust the Merlin I know,' Arthur replied slowly, caressing her cheek with his hand. She put her own over it and kissed his palm. 'But he's not that Merlin yet. I just want to help him and ensure that he isn't caught in something that he can't get out of.'

'Like what?'

'I don't know,' he shrugged, leaning down and kissing her on the lips. 'Which is why I need to find out.'

Guinevere's reservations were still clear, just as his own were more than evident, but she nodded, kissed his hand once more and then turned over to sleep. Arthur lay back down beside her and wrapped an arm around her stomach, pulling her close and breathing her in.

But while his wife quickly slipped into dreams, Arthur found that sleep evaded him. Thoughts of Merlin kept him awake; thoughts of what he was trapped in. He hoped that he was wrong, that Merlin's strange behaviour was nothing more than Merlin's strangeness –he was nothing if not odd- but Guinevere's words from earlier about what scared Merlin, refused to leave Arthur. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that she was right and the more he became convinced that Merlin had something to hide.

What that was exactly, Arthur wasn't sure and it was only with reluctance that he began to consider the numerous possibilities. His first thought had been that perhaps Merlin was actually intending to return to Cyathia after all; his actions, then, made sense. He was trying to protect Arthur emotionally. Though Arthur had never said it, Merlin must know that the King wanted him to stay, that he would be devastated by the news that he wouldn't. Arthur hated to admit that, even if it was only in his head, but in the interests of trying to get to the bottom of Merlin's predicament, he had to be honest with himself. Up until now, he had tried not to picture Merlin returning to Cyathia, tried not to imagine saying farewell to Tiden and seeing Merlin at his side, but he did now, as he lay in bed, and couldn't stop the rush of sadness at the thought. Yes, Merlin would want to protect him from that.

But though his first theory held firmly to the conviction that Merlin was still the person he had always been, the other theories that he had to consider were darker and much harder for Arthur to entertain. He wondered whether Merlin had gotten in to some sort of trouble in Cyathia –he wouldn't put it past him- and someone was giving him a difficult time now. He certainly seemed on edge and wary, but of what, Arthur could not begin to guess. Or perhaps since coming to Camelot he had fallen out with someone, either from Camelot or Cyathia, and was struggling to mend the rift. Arthur was less convinced by this idea: Merlin was a diplomat and peace maker at heart; his desire was always to smooth things over and if he set his mind to that, he usually managed it.

His next thought was one which settled a cold weight in his stomach. Perhaps someone was forcing Merlin back to Cyathia, perhaps they were holding something over him. Arthur wasn't sure about this theory either, if he was honest. Although he valued Merlin highly, he doubted that anyone from Cyathia would have been so in need of him that they would force him to return to their land. He was, after all, just Merlin, and even if his servant skills were far better than Arthur had known, he wasn't exactly irreplaceable from that point of view. Indeed, Arthur's need of Merlin stemmed in no way from his skills as an employee: they were entirely rooted in his friendship, and while Merlin could make friends quickly, Arthur doubted that in the six weeks he had been in Cyathia, he would have formed such a strong connection with someone.

And that was where his theories became more far-reaching and he considered them only for the sake of covering all possibilities: the thought that somehow Merlin was working against Arthur or that he was in a plot with Tiden or one of the other monarchs. Even thinking it made Arthur feel like he was betraying Merlin. Never, in all the years of knowing Merlin –even right at the beginning-, had Arthur ever had cause to doubt Merlin's loyalty. He had always been trustworthy, from the moment he set foot in Camelot, which meant that whatever loyalty he felt towards Arthur had been there from the very beginning and, by that logic, should still be in him now. And with all the returned memories that Merlin had, that loyalty should be set in stone by now.

No, it was not Merlin's loyalty that Arthur was questioning -that was as sure as the sun rising- it was a hidden predicament or worry in Merlin that Arthur was basing his concerns on. He just had to find out what it was. That was where Leon and the knights came in. They would be able to tell him if anything was amiss.

Arthur felt his eyes begin to drift closed at the reassurance of that thought: as soon as he understood what was wrong with Merlin, everything would work out.

As it turned out, getting out of Tiden's room was more straightforward than Merlin had dared to hope. The King wandered his room in agitation for several minutes, but then settled himself on a chair where Merlin could easily see him. He looked worried, which only caused Merlin to hope more. Tiden was nothing if not sure of himself; whatever his plan was, he was beginning to worry about it, which only convinced Merlin that whatever James knew would be enough to put it to an end.

But he still had to get out of the room. He had gone through several options: making a run for it, waiting until Tiden fell asleep, attacking Tiden, climbing out of the window. In the end, he combined three of those ideas. The first was attacking Tiden. He been considering different spells that could achieve that result when a particular memory had returned to him clearly and with very little prompting. He had been desperately going over his limited list of spells that James had taught him and those that he had studied in Cyathia, when, unbidden, he found strange words and situations flooding back to him through his memories. There were several times when he had used a spell, or seen others use a spell, to render a person unconscious or asleep.

With a strange confidence born from the realisation that he had done this before, Merlin whispered the remembered words, pouring a huge amount of magic into them in case Tiden had some sort of magical protection on him and watched as the King's head lolled forwards and he slumped heavily against the arm of the chair. Quickly, Merlin slipped out from his hiding place and then inspected the King, his hands outstretched just in case the man was feigning, but Tiden made no move. That done, Merlin headed for the door and pressed his ear against it. Outside, he could hear the telltale rustle of chainmail. The soldiers were there. It wasn't that Merlin didn't believe he could take them on; he knew that his magic would be more than a match, but attacking two guards would be too conspicuous; he couldn't afford to have anyone hear him.

He had turned full circle in the room and then seen the window. Another sweep of the room had offered him with no alternative and so, shaking his head and muttering to himself about the stupidity of what he was about to do, Merlin walked to the window and peered out. Just below, no more than a couple of metres, there was a small ledge, just about big enough to put his feet on. Glancing along the wall he spotted a corner, created by one of the towers of the castle meeting the main wall. Taking several deep breaths and trying not to think of the plummet to the hard ground below, Merlin slowly –achingly slowly- climbed out of the window and eased himself onto the ledge. He closed his eyes and pressed himself against the wall for several seconds, before beginning to inch his way along. Once again, he was struck with familiarity. He had scaled walls before, though he remembered quite clearly that he hadn't been any more comfortable with doing so in the past. The light from Tiden's room was limited and so Merlin trusted to his senses, feeling his way along the ridge and testing each section of it carefully, before using the indents in the corner of the tower to climb to the ground. The whole thing could not have taken more than five minutes, but by the time his feet touched the floor, Merlin felt like he hadn't been on the ground for hours. He put the thought aside however and turned to look at where he was. He was close to the north gate if his memory served him correctly, which, he realised with shock, it was beginning to do. Unbidden, images of areas in Camelot that he had not been to since arriving with the Cyathians rose in his mind. The castle felt familiar: its layout was clearer to him than it had been through the entire visit. He knew where he was, and he knew where he had to get to.

A few minor distractions for the guards and several minutes of hiding in shadows, and Merlin found himself outside the walls of the city, running as fast as he could towards the eastern woods. He had to reach James before Steven did if he wanted any chance of returning to the same Camelot as the one that was quickly resurfacing in his memory.

The sounds in the eastern wood constantly shifted and changed, making Merlin feel at all times like he was being watched. It was stupid, however; he knew that Steven and his men had a head start on him; if anything he would be the one sneaking up on them.

The night was a cloudy one and the air cool. Merlin remembered Arthur telling him to make sure that he had his jacket with him on the hunt and he was glad that the King had suggested it; the chill of the breeze was numbing and Merlin could afford no such distractions. As he moved deeper into the woods, away from what little moonlight filtered through the clouds, Merlin found his sight becoming more and more obsolete. He could see nothing and he was loathe to produce any sort of light source in case Steven caught him. Instead, he focussed on his magic, allowing it to reach out into his surroundings and trusting it to guide him. He had done nothing like this since waking up after his accident, but he had feeling that actions such as this had been instinctual in the past. The thought was only confirmed as he suddenly, without even knowing what he was doing, found his senses reaching forward, skirting around trees and down slopes in the woods, too fast almost for him to comprehend, before suddenly stopping at a fallen tree. The strange vision was not confined to the darkness of the woods and Merlin saw clear stains of blood on the log. James had rested there.

Merlin blinked and his vision was plunged back into darkness. He staggered slightly from the onslaught of images, but somewhere in his mind he understood what his magic had instinctually done. It had responded to the desire in him to find James and found the path forward, leading him on to his next clue. Hope surged through him; as long as James could remain undetected by Steven for a bit longer, Merlin would get to him first. Throwing aside all his feelings and allowing his magic to guide him in a way he had never experienced before –not that he could remember- Merlin ran through the darkness, his feet never faltering.

When he did find James, Merlin was unprepared for what he saw. He had raced through the woods for nearly two hours. On more than one occasion, he had caught sight of a search light and had quickly distracted their attention, using magical interference. Once, he had nearly stumbled into Steven as he crept past another man that he had spotted, but his magic had screamed a warning at him and froze him in place until he was safe again.

When his magic had finally revealed the last leg of his path, Merlin had been too preoccupied to pay much attention to the picture of James he was presented with. So it was that when he finally fell to the ground beside the man, he could not help but flinch at the terrible paleness of his skin –which stood out even in the dark night- and the terrible rasping of his breath. The man turned suddenly as he felt someone appear beside him, his hand raised in attack, but Merlin grasped it quickly and held it tight.

'It's me,' he whispered. 'It's Merlin.'

'Merlin?' Merlin had to lean closer, so quiet was the man's voice, even with only the echo of leaves around them. The man blinked several times, his focus trying to fix on Merlin's face, and Merlin could not help but notice the slice across the man's chest; his clothes were wet to touch and Merlin knew his hand would come away red if he could see the colour clearly. Merlin felt his hands begin to tremble as panic encased him.

'James. What can I do? Tell me a spell.'

'Inflicted by magic…' he breathed, struggling over each word. '…No help.'

'No, I can,' Merlin argued. 'I'm strong. I know I am. I don't remember, but I know that I'm strong.'

'They'll use it.'

'What?'

'You're strength.'

'What do you mean?'

In the distance Merlin saw a light splinter through the boughs of trees. He looked around frantically.

'I need to get you out of here,' he said. He shifted his weight and then tried to pull James up, but the man shook his head and winced in pain.

'No, there's no time.' He breathed heavily, as if gathering his strength. 'Listen…'

'But I need-'

'No…' he man gasped. 'Listen… you must listen.' The desperation in the man's tone stopped Merlin's protests, but as he knelt down once more, he felt an inevitability settle across the scene. Tears pricked at his eyes and he felt his shoulders begin to shake.

'I'm listening,' he murmured, even as the light moved forward in the distance.

'You were right,' James began. 'I didn't know…I didn't realise. He has twisted our goal…made it into a bloodshed. He protects Cyathia at too high a cost.' As Merlin held James in his arms, the man began to choke, a gentle cough escaping, and then his back arched several times in quick succession. Merlin closed his eyes and bowed his head closer, wrapping his arms more tightly around the man.

'What is his plan?' Merlin whispered, when James expression deepened into a frown, like he was lost in his own dark thoughts.

'His plan…his plan. Peter was…he was watching them…they saw us…Peter ran to find you.' Merlin could imagine it. Peter running to his room, desperate to let Merlin know and then realising that he wasn't there. 'I held them off,' James continued. 'Steven…' he gestured to the slash across his chest. 'But we…we heard.' He became agitated and Merlin felt tears trickle down his face as he tried to soothe the man, whispering assurances to him. This was not what James was like. The man was strong, focussed, calm. He could always assess a situation objectively and wisely. 'Merlin, he…he has enchanted soldiers…knights…the fighters of all realms.' Each word came out as a gasp, and each one struck Merlin with a new blow of horror.

'What?'

'Steven and his men…enchanting them. They will turn…they will turn against kings and queens. Camelot's soldiers first…then the rest…all kingdoms fighting against each other. And then the knights…many knights…those closest to Arthur.'

Merlin felt his entire body sway under the knowledge and he gasped as if he had fallen through ice into a black lake. That wasn't possible. That wasn't possible. The light flickered again, closer now; Merlin could just about hear footsteps.

'Camelot…Arthur will…Arthur will be killed and blamed. Nations will turn. War…fighting. But Cyathia will be untouched…they will flee…back to safety…back to obscurity. It was his plan from the start. But not mine,' he added, his hand clenching Merlin's more tightly than it had done so far. 'Not mine.'

'I know,' Merlin assured. 'I know. But this isn't possible. He isn't powerful enough. Tiden can not control so many.'

'He can,' James gasped.

'How? How can I stop it?' James shook his head, his eyes widening until the whites seemed to shine, and then with strength Merlin didn't know he possessed, the man flung his hand up and tightly grasped the top of Merlin's arm, his shaking fingers digging into the skin their.

'He has the power of many…all with the mark.'

Merlin froze, his whole body stiffening at the words. Surely that wasn't right, surely that was a mistake.

'What?'

'You have pledged your…' his back arched again and his eyes creased in agony, '…magic,' he whispered, his voice ragged. 'He can use it at will.'

'No, no. That can't happen.' Merlin looked around desperately. There was another light now, closer still, only a hundred yards. How was that possible? Merlin couldn't process the thought. Tiden could use his magic? He could take it at will? Merlin swallowed heavily, his mind racing. He was beginning to understand the strength of his magic and he knew that he could not allow Tiden to have it. 'How do I stop it?'

The pain on James' face subsided for a moment, as a deep grief replaced it. 'I don't know,' he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. 'But you must.'

Merlin saw the man's eyes close and put his own head back in a silent cry to the heavens. He looked back down. James was looking at him. 'Please,' he called. Merlin bent his head down and pressed his ear to the man's mouth. He could barely make out the words. 'Cyathia's dream…it is real…he has twisted it. Please, Merlin,' he begged, his voice wavering at every moment. 'Don't let her fall.'

Merlin felt the man's breath against his ear, and then felt nothing but the cool night air once again trying to cut its way to his skin. James' hand, which was still clutched against the mark –a mark that Merlin now felt as brand- slowly fell, leaving Merlin alone and desperate, with only the company of those who would see his magic exploited and then likely kill him. He looked down at the man who lay in his arms, and felt shock reverberate about his body. This wasn't possible; this couldn't be happening. He swallowed down the scream that wanted to tear from his throat and instead buried his head in the man's shoulder, hugging him close, willing him back to life, but he remained still.

The lights cast shadows nearby and Merlin knew he could stay no longer. He shifted from under James' lifeless form, feeling more guilt seer into him at the thought of leaving the man, but he was beyond Steven's cruelty now, and he had told Merlin what he needed to know. Merlin bowed his head and placed a hand on the man's forehead.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, before getting up and racing away from the lights that, moments later, settled across James' body. Shouts echoed through the forest, but they were not directed at Merlin and he ran from them, allowing magic to guide him, throwing himself through the undergrowth without care for the branches that slashed across his face, or the roots that rose up to meet his feet. He continued on, consumed by one thought.

Time was up; he could protect his secrets no longer. He had been placed on the earth to be Arthur's servant; to build and unite Albion with his King -he felt it with a certainty that he was sure stemmed from his old life. Nothing else mattered now.

And above that understanding was one belief. No matter what the cost, no matter what the fall out, no matter what it meant for him: it was time to tell Arthur the truth.

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