Beyond Recall

A/N: Thank you so much for such a lovely response to the last chapter. I'm glad you liked it. Please let me know what you think of this one!

Chapter 23

He ran through the night, desperation pounding through him with every step he took. Throwing himself through the undergrowth, he became almost painfully aware of the path behind him and the path up ahead and he was hard pressed to work out exactly what it was that he was running from and what it was he was running to.

Behind him, he knew, lay James; his gentle bravery now a relic of the past, a past that Merlin had only briefly been part of, but which had impacted him immensely. He could still feel the man's blood on his hands, could still see, in his mind's eye, James lying there, his face ghostly in the dark light. The image, however, was incomplete and blurry due to the fact that Merlin hadn't truly been able to make out his features in the dull light, but now, as he remembered, he found the image twisting into something horrific: grimaces of agony, the man's face marred by gruesome scars and injuries that Merlin knew hadn't been there, but which now assaulted him as he ran.

And as they formed in his mind, he felt his grief rising up. The shock had held his reaction in place, making it possible for him to think about his next moves, but now all he needed to do was run towards Camelot and that didn't require thought or strategy. His mind was free and he found that he had freed it up to grieve. He cried now, as he ran, his chest hurting from more than just the physical exercise of his flight. James had spent his life protecting and building Cyathia and supporting Tiden, and then he had been betrayed, killed by the very people who he thought shared his dream; a peaceful and hopeful dream.

Now the dream was ruined and James had died leaving his last hope to Merlin. Why had he involved James in the first place? He shouldn't have said anything, that way James would never have thought to spy on Tiden, would never have discovered their plan and paid for his change of allegiance with his life.

But then –and it was a thought that Merlin couldn't deny- he would never have known Tiden's true purpose; Arthur and Camelot would have been caught unawares. Now, at least, they would have warning, Merlin would make sure of it. He would not let James' bravery and death be for nothing.

And suddenly he understood what Arthur had really meant when he said that he wanted Merlin's death to count. He understood where the King had been coming from.

With all the force of a cannon, a memory suddenly ripped through him, causing him to crash to his knees. He saw himself and Arthur, surrounded by several of the other knights. It was night time and they were talking in whispered tones. Merlin watched the scene unfold, followed it through from start to end. No longer was he just seeing glimpses, he was seeing everything in context. He quickly realised that the memories he was reclaiming were those of his last day before the accident which had flung him so cluelessly into Cyathia. He remembered the conversation he and Arthur had had; he remembered the travelling that had taken place the following day; remembered the cliff path and the snake. He heard Arthur's calm instructions to get Zephyr under control, followed by the abject panic in the King's voice and the desperate scream of denial as Merlin finally found himself falling through the air. He could feel the rush of wind that had engulfed him as he began to plummet, remembered afresh his own panic at the thought that he was probably going to die. And then nothing.

He took several deep, gasping breaths as he lay on the forest floor, the images still flashing through his mind before they settled back into memories that he could draw on at will. Dazed and shocked, he lay still for several moments, trying to even out his breathing, but the hope and despair that was simultaneously rushing through him made that difficult. That hadn't been the disjointed memory returns of the last few days. No, that had been a continuous stream of memory, with context and deep emotions.

He struggled to his feet and tried not to consider what that might mean; all he knew was that he had to get to Arthur.

A sound far behind him caught his attention as he prepared to run once more. There was shouting; it was muffled in the distance, but he knew the voices were heading his way. They had spotted his trail. They knew that someone had spoken to James. Merlin felt his urgency resurge afresh. If Steven and Tiden knew that they had been discovered, then surely they would instigate the plan straightaway.

Merlin set off again, ignoring the burning in his muscles, the heaving of his chest and the tears that streamed down his face. He ran from Steven; he ran from his failure with James; he ran from the mistakes that he had made; he ran from his disloyalty and his regret.

He ran towards Camelot.

He ran towards Arthur.

Towards a future that he was uncertain off; towards people who he should have protected and yet had betrayed; to a chance to redeem himself and be again the person that he wanted to be.

And as he ran, he found his mind racing over more returning memories, each of them fully formed and seated within a context which gave them meaning and significance. As he ran to Camelot, he found himself running towards the man he had once been. Running towards terrible regret and desperate hope.

'Arthur!'

Arthur found himself jolted out of sleep at the sound of his name being shouted across the room and his door slamming into the wall where it had been thrown open. He twisted and then sat up violently, his sword already in his hand as he jumped across the bed and stood protectively in front of Guinevere who was looking around in fright.

But he lowered his weapon a moment later when, in the light of the fire, he saw Merlin standing by the door. The man was breathing heavily and he looked exhausted. There was a desperation in the way he held himself, in the way his eyes stared into Arthur's.

'Merlin, what do you think-' he began in irritation, but he stopped short when he spotted the blood that coated the man's clothes. Across his chest and stomach, Merlin's brown jacket was covered in the telltale dark red that Arthur had grown all too familiar with. He felt fear flare through him. Merlin was hurt, badly hurt from the looks of it.

'What happened?' he asked hurriedly, putting his sword on the bed and taking several quick steps over to his manservant. 'Guinevere, we need Edward now.' He made to reach and grab Merlin's arm to steer him to a chair, but the man backed up several steps in panic, his eyes full of confusion. 'Merlin, you're hurt.'

'What?' he breathed with difficulty, but then he looked down at his shirt and hands. His fingers trembled and Arthur saw a tear roll down his face. He took a deep breath, shook his head and looked up at Arthur once more. 'I'm fine. It's not my blood.'

'What's going on? Whose blood is it?' Arthur asked, stepping forward once again, but again Merlin backed up. This only served to infuriate Arthur. A strange fear was creeping through him. Guinevere had come to stand beside him; she had wrapped her hands around his arm in an unusually fearful display. Evidently she sensed it too. 'You need to tell me what is going on right now, Merlin, or I swear-'

'I need to tell you something,' he interrupted, the words being thrown out so forcefully that Arthur knew it had taken all of Merlin's willpower to say them. There was a moment's silence before Arthur spoke again, keeping his voice even.

'What do you need to tell me?'

At first, it seemed as though he wasn't going to say anything. There were tears in his eyes and his whole body was shaking. Arthur felt the unsettling fear grow even stronger in his mind. A sense of vulnerability came upon him and he couldn't shake it. In front of him, Merlin took several more deep breaths. He stood up straight, tears still running down his face, but fresh determination overriding them.

'I'm sorry,' he began. For a moment, Arthur thought he was talking about their argument in the woods that day, but the intensity of the words and of Merlin's countenance convinced him otherwise.

'Merlin-'

'Please, don't interrupt. Just listen, I need you to listen to me.'

For once, Arthur didn't feel compelled to point out that he was the King; there was too much gravity in Merlin's voice, too much grief. Arthur felt his chest tighten in fear.

'I have betrayed you,' he breathed. 'And I'm sorry,' the words shook as he bit back a cry. 'I have been working for King Tiden, feeding him information on you and on the talks. Anything you have said about them, I've repeated to him. Anything that worried you or concerned you, I told him. He knew exactly what to say to you in the talks the other day because I had told him everything he needed to get through your defences.'

The words came out in a desperate rush with not a breath between them, but Arthur found them fading out until he heard nothing except the crowd of thoughts that ran through his own head. He looked at Merlin's familiar gestures and facial expressions, saw the way the man was pushing himself on, but he could barely comprehend any of it. Instead there was a knife being pressed slowly into his chest and he could do nothing to hinder its progress because Merlin kept talking and kept forcing it deeper into Arthur's heart and soul.

And covering everything was the terrible truth that Arthur couldn't help but accept: he believed every word that Merlin was saying. There was no attempt on his part to argue against the confession, no theory as to why Merlin would say such stupid things because, when it came down to it, the person in front of him wasn't Merlin, hadn't been Merlin for weeks, as much as Arthur had wanted him to be. Every strange behaviour, every unexplained reaction now helped to convince Arthur that he had been stupidly blind to a traitor within his closest circle. Before the accident, it would have taken so much more to even begin to convince Arthur of Merlin's disloyalty.

Now it took nothing more than a few words.

But that didn't stop Arthur from feeling the hurt inflicted by such a personal wound. He understood the sensation by now; had felt it so many times in the past from people who he had loved, but that didn't numb it or make it any easier to bear when it began afresh.

Beside him, Guinevere had gone very still, her hands now pressed against her mouth in horror, but Arthur's horror was forced right down into his chest. It was anger that was beginning to flare in him, a deep and terrible anger that stemmed from betrayal. He moved over to the bed and picked up his sword and then took several steps towards Merlin, who, by now, was standing close to the wall. The man made no attempt to move as Arthur approached, he simply stood there, acceptance and resignation in his stance.

So it was that when Arthur found himself with his arm pressed against Merlin's chest, pinning him to the wall, with his sword pointing at the man's throat, his manservant still showed no signs of trying to escape or defend himself.

Trying to ignore the way his sword was shaking, Arthur looked at Merlin, met the grief-stricken eyes with the fury of his own.

'Why would you do that?' he hissed, his voice seemingly controlled and even, but he could sense his whole body simmering and it was taking all his will power not throw his sword to the ground and deliver blow after blow to Merlin's head. Something held him back, something that still knew who Merlin had been and couldn't bear to let go of that person again.

'Cyathia wanted the talks to fail to protect themselves. I was asked to help. And I did,' he finished in no more than a whisper. Arthur pressed his arm harder into Merlin's chest, making the man gasp slightly, but apart from that initial sound, he made no attempt to plead with Arthur. The way Merlin's body stiffened suggested that he was probably struggling for air more than he was letting on.

'You are surrounded by people who would have done anything for you,' Arthur continued; restrained fury echoing in his tone. 'By people who have taken you in and cared for you. We are your friends and your family.'

'I know,' Merlin managed to breathe, though it took all his strength. Arthur did not let up on his grip, his anger was rising, beginning to break through the barriers that he had hastily constructed to hold it back. He could feel his own chest heaving as he fought to hold back tears of anger and grief, and the only way he could do that was to put all his strength into holding Merlin in place.

'Everyone has been helping you, hoping that your memories would return, doing everything they could to remind you, and this is how you repay us?' he spat. He pressed harder and this time Merlin's hands did come up to wrap around Arthur's arm, trying to push it back and allow air into his chest once more. His mouth formed the same words that he had just uttered: 'I know,' but it was nothing more than the faintest whisper that reached Arthur's ears. Still he did not relent, feeling rage flowing through his arms. How could Merlin do this? How could he, the one person that Arthur had always known would never betray him, turn against him with so many lies and treacheries?

He looked again at Merlin's eyes and they were pleading with him as he tried to remove Arthur's arm. But they weren't pleading for air, Arthur realised -though how he knew, he wasn't sure- Merlin was pleading for forgiveness; his eyes were filled with regret and shame. He was pleading for Arthur to forgive him, and though Arthur could not fathom being able to do such a thing, he suddenly wanted to let the man try and convince him. This was, after all, Merlin; and for the Merlin he had known, he would give this man a chance.

With a sudden jerk, he moved back from Merlin, who staggered forward several paces as he tried to breathe in air once more. Guinevere was standing closer to Arthur than she had been before and he wondered how close she had been to intervening in that exchange; she would no more see Merlin dead than Arthur would.

'Explain yourself!' Arthur shouted, pointing his sword at Merlin.

'Arthur-' he began desperately.

'That's Sire,' he told him, his face free of all emotions. He saw Merlin flinch at the words, but ignored it; he had lost the right to the title that a friend would use.

'Sire,' he began again. 'I believed that Cyathia's protection was important and I wanted to help. I didn't realise that Tiden would use the information I gave to attack you as he did.'

'So the downfall of the talks, the agitation between the rulers…that's all down to you?' Arthur asked.

'Yes,' Merlin whispered, 'myself and a few others in Cyathia's entourage.'

Arthur turned away, unable to look at Merlin. Beside him, Guinevere seemed to have been rendered silent and unmoving by shock. She looked at Merlin in confusion as if she could no longer recognise the man that stood before them; like he had changed into something different before her eyes.

'And you tell me this now out of…what? Guilt? A moral conscience?' he muttered bitterly. He turned back to Merlin. 'You want forgiveness?' he laughed humourlessly.

'No,' Merlin replied quietly and it was abrupt enough that it caused Arthur to pause. 'I won't ask you for that; I don't deserve it. I came because I remember who I am now, not fully, not yet; but I know how much I have betrayed you; I know the depth of the injury I've inflicted. I won't ask your forgiveness, but I will not leave you undefended. I know that I am meant to be at your side and-'

'No,' Arthur told him angrily. 'No longer, Merlin. You are not meant to be by my side; you are not meant to be in Camelot. Once, that was true; once, that was a truth that could not have been refuted by anyone who knew you, but now…' he shook his head and swallowed back the lump that rose in his throat. 'You are no-one to me. Just another person who betrayed me.'

'Like Morgana,' Merlin nodded, 'and Agravaine,' he added, swallowing back tears. 'I know.' But Arthur's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He didn't remember mentioning either of them to Merlin. Neither had Merlin asked after them in all the days that he had been here.

'What did you say?'

'I remember things, Arthur,' he said tearfully, 'not everything, not all of it, but I remember enough to know that I've made the biggest mistakes of my life in the past few weeks; that I've shamed myself and all that I am meant to be through my actions. The more I remember, the more I tear myself apart with regret. I will not let these mistakes be your downfall. I will not let you or Camelot fall.' Arthur looked at him, angry with him for saying anything that made him sound like the old Merlin; angry at him for being able to illicit the tiniest bit of sympathy from Arthur. But even as Arthur tried to think of something to throw at Merlin, anything to hurt him and make him feel the sting of betrayal, Merlin seemed to draw new strength from somewhere. His stormy emotions cleared; he stood up straighter; his eyes burned with purpose and Arthur found himself wanting to know what he was going to say.

'I will not let you fall,' he repeated firmly.

'There is no reason why I would,' Arthur argued.

'That's where you're wrong. I've discovered more in Tiden's plan, something that was hidden from me. It's why I'm here.' He moved closer to Arthur now, his stance more conspiratorial as he looked between Arthur and Guinevere. 'Tiden plans to destroy Camelot for good. All the kings and queens are in danger, including the two of you.'

'That's ridiculous.'

'No it isn't.' He paused and seemed to measure up his next words carefully. 'There is magic involved.'

Arthur felt his whole body seize up at the thought. Magic? In the very heart of Camelot; unchecked and unnoticed?

'What do you mean?' It was Guinevere who spoke; she had paled considerably at the words, but had gathered her wits about her more quickly than Arthur had managed. Merlin turned to her, his expression grave.

'Tiden and some of his men have enchanted soldiers and knights from every represented Kingdom. This blood,' he said, holding out his stained shirt, 'is the blood of a man who found out and died to get the information to me so that I could warn you.' At this he turned to Arthur. 'Please, soldiers are about to turn against their masters and Camelot will be blamed. It's our soldiers who will turn first.'

'My soldiers,' Arthur replied, emphasising the first word, 'are loyal. They are loyal to Camelot.'

'But they are not impervious to magic,' Merlin argued. 'Tiden's magic is strong…' He paused for a moment, his vision clouding briefly. 'They will have no choice but to obey.'

There was silence for several seconds. Arthur's eyes burned into Merlin's, but the man did not drop his gaze, which only convinced Arthur of his sincerity in this matter. What he was saying was true, but even though he felt the terrible weight of the information and felt the urge to act in the protection of those gathered in his kingdom, Arthur felt his mind focussing on another piece of information.

'You knew that Tiden had magic,' he whispered, 'you knew that he and others had magic and you said nothing.'

'I didn't realise that he would use it for evil,' Merlin argued, but he was nervous.

'Magic is evil!' Arthur spluttered incredulously. 'You of all people should know that! You've seen what it's done to Camelot in the past.'

'I remember some of it,' Merlin nodded. 'But I don't remember the evil of magic. I remember the evil of men and women.'

'How dare you. You mock Camelot's most stringent law?'

'I'm not mocking it,' Merlin argued, 'I'm questioning it based on what I have seen. The man who died to get the information to you had magic. Are you saying that he used it for evil?'

'That's why Cyathia wanted the talks to fail,' Arthur said instead, a revelation flaming through him as he thought of all the magic-users that seemed to be connected to that kingdom. He turned and looked at Merlin and saw panic flit across the man's face. 'They are a kingdom that practices magic. Of course they don't want a land united against it.'

'They're not evil,' Merlin told him firmly. 'I saw it with my own eyes. They use magic for good, for creating a better future.'

'How does this plan create goodness in anything?' Arthur asked him incredulously.

'That is the evil of Tiden, not of his people. They can't be held accountable for his crimes.'

'Stop it!'

Arthur swallowed back the next retort to Merlin that had risen in his throat at Guinevere's harsh demand. She looked between the two of them.

'This is not the time. We've been given a chance to save the rulers that are gathered here. Don't waste it in bitter recriminations. You'll have time enough for that later on.' She rested her gaze on Arthur and looked at him pleadingly. The wisdom and intelligence in her words rang true over his and Merlin's argument, making it look petty and insignificant.

'You're right. I'll send the knights to take them to safety.'

'No!' Merlin told him. 'Not the knights; they could turn at any moment.'

'Then who?' Arthur asked him angrily. 'They're the people who know how to protect others. They can get them to safety.'

'You can't risk it,' Merlin argued.

'What about the servants?' Guinevere asked, looking at them each in turn. 'They can get messages to the rulers. They can take them into hiding and they won't pose a threat.'

Instinctively, Arthur found himself looking at Merlin for some sort of reassurance, but caught himself just in time to see Merlin's shocked and then hurt face.

'Alright, the servants are the best chance.'

'Good.' At that, Guinevere walked over to the wardrobe and opened it up. She felt around at the bottom, throwing out cloaks and sheets that lay there and then pulled up a panel at the bottom that Arthur had genuinely had no idea was there. He walked over, a frown on his face.

'What are-?' but the question died on his lips as he saw Guinevere's old servant clothes; the ones that he had always looked out for around the castle before they were married. Instantly, he understood her plan. 'No,' he told her firmly, trying to take the material off her. 'I won't let you.'

'Arthur-'

'I am not letting you walk around the castle unprotected. You heard what he said: the soldiers are going to turn on kings and queens.'

'I won't be recognised. I can wear a head scarf as well.'

'No, I'm not letting you out of my sight.'

'It might be best…' came Merlin's voice from behind them, but Arthur whirled around so violently that Merlin froze mid step where he had been coming to join them.

'You have no say in anything!' After a moment of stillness, Merlin lowered his eyes and nodded his head. By the time Arthur turned back, Guinevere had laid down the dress and was looking gently at him, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. 'I won't let you do this,' he whispered.

'I will be safer disguised as a servant. I know the servants, I can make sure that they understand the dangers of the situation, I can organise them without any questions asked. If you let rulers die in Camelot then all hopes of a future alliance are shattered. If you save them, then that hope burns brighter.'

Arthur tried to ignore the logic in what she was saying, but it was irrefutable. He held her gaze challengingly for several seconds, but he was met only with her gentleness and eventually had to drop his eyes.

'I don't like this,' he said.

'I know, but it's the best way.'

From behind them, Merlin edged forward. He looked at Arthur, evidently asking for permission to say something. It was so unlike Merlin that it only made anger rise afresh in Arthur. He turned to him, his eyes piercing, but he did nothing to stop the man from speaking.

'We need to get all of them somewhere safe,' he began cautiously. 'Somewhere where the soldiers can't get to them.'

'They need to be out of Camelot,' Arthur argued.

'They'll be chased down,' Merlin replied, shaking his head. 'The soldiers will have horses, training, everything they need to track and hunt the kings and queens. Unless…' he paused and looked around the room for several seconds and then back at Arthur. 'If we can get them to the siege tunnels then we can get them to safety or at least hide them. Gwen,' he said, turning away from Arthur and walking over to her. Arthur saw how quick she was to listen, how free of anger she was when she looked at Merlin, and it only made him feel more alone. How could she trust him so easily after everything he had done? 'Tell the servants to take the kings and queens into the catacombs below the dungeons. They must not let anyone know where they are going.'

'How do you know about the catacombs?' Arthur asked him, walking over and placing himself between Guinevere and Merlin. 'How do you know they lead to the siege tunnels?'

'Because you told me,' Merlin replied quietly as Guinevere disappeared behind her screen to change into her servant clothes. A new suspicion rose in Arthur and he grabbed Merlin's arm, pulling him back as he tried to walk across the room.

'How much do you remember?' Arthur asked him, eyes narrowed. 'Or was that all a lie as well: memories reappearing at random? Was that all a ruse to make your actions appear more innocent than they are?' For the first time since Merlin had run into the room, Arthur detected the briefest flicker of anger in his eyes. He stepped forward, meeting Arthur's brittleness with his own.

'If I had remembered even the smallest amount at the start then I would never have done any of this. You know that.'

'No I don't,' he replied firmly, knowing it was a lie and yet wanting to hurt Merlin as much as he could. 'I don't know anything about you, Merlin. I obviously never have.'

It had the desired effect. Merlin backed off instantly, his eyes loosing their ferocity and his stance losing its confidence. He moved to the other side of the room, away from Arthur and away from Guinevere, standing instead by the fire and staring into it with an intensity that seemed almost painful. A small ache of guilt throbbed through Arthur, but he pushed it aside. He would not be made to feel like his actions were wrong, not when stacked up against the treacheries that Merlin had carried out. He found, however, that he could not continue to watch Merlin; the grief it raised in him was almost too much to bear. Instead, he quickly got dressed, before pulling on his chainmail. The tension in the room increased tenfold; always in the past, Merlin had helped Arthur get ready. He ignored the thought.

Moments later, Guinevere reappeared from behind the screen dressed in such familiar attire that for a moment Arthur felt like he could step back in time to a place where none of his current cares and hurts could reach him. As she had done so many times in the past, Guinevere clasped her hands in front of her, bowed her head, which was covered with a simple head scarf, and looked every bit the obedient servant. He couldn't help but smile. As much as he now loved seeing his wife dressed in all the finest and most elegant materials, it was the woman in front of him that he had first fallen in love with.

She walked over to him and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

'I'll be fine. I'll meet you in the catacombs. The servants will be discreet.'

'Be careful,' he whispered. She nodded and made to move away, but Arthur found his hands slipping down to her waist, holding her in place for a few seconds more. He could think of nothing to say, all he knew was that he didn't want to let her go.

'I'll see you soon,' she reassured him and then gently used her hands to remove Arthur's. Seconds later she was gone.

Arthur stared at the door for several moments before turning, hesitantly, to look at Merlin. The man was still standing by the fire, but he was more composed now, as if he was pushing aside everything else in order to carry out the task at hand.

'We need to get to the siege tunnels,' he said carefully. Arthur said nothing, but he gathered his things quickly. 'When this is over,' Merlin continued, a moment later, 'I'll show you that you can trust me again.

'No,' Arthur replied quietly, his voice free of emotion, though his heart was crushed with it. 'When this is over, you will leave Camelot and never come back.'

He walked past Merlin, feeling the man's grief as strongly as his own.

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