Beyond Recall

A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews! They've been great to read and I'm glad the cliff-hanger has kept you on your toes. The end of this chapter might have a similar effect! This chapter was tricky to write, but hopefully it's clear what's going on. A couple of people have made some guesses as to what might happen, and a lot will be revealed now!

Also, you'll notice that I'm updating early again! That's because I've finished writing the story! The last chapter took me forever, but I'm pleased with how it turned out. All I've got to write now is the epilogue. So I can officially say that this story will be 29 chapters long, plus an epilogue!

Anyway, enough from me. Here's the next chapter. Please let me know what you think!

Chapter 26

Arthur was under no illusions. This was a battle that he simply couldn't win. It wasn't that he doubted his skills as a swordsman; out of everything his role as king required him to do, fighting was the one thing that he had absolute confidence in. Many times throughout his kingship he had had to feign confidence in other areas, but never when it came to combat. He was an excellent swordsman.

But even so, he was no match for four of his best knights. He had trained them, been trained by them on occasion. He had watched them hone their skills to near perfection and he knew that he would be equally matched when facing one of them, but when it came to fighting all four of them at the same time he stood no chance.

And yet, thirty seconds later, he found that he was still alive, still parrying blows, still ducking and jumping to avoid slashes in the small area of Tiden's room that wasn't occupied by the King, his advisor and a frighteningly pale Merlin who had sunk to his knees. Arthur didn't understand how it was that he hadn't been run through by now; it should have been almost instantaneous. He backed up several steps until he was in a more open section of the room, the dinning table being the main feature of the space. Unwilling to use it as a shield, knowing that the knights would just attack from both sides, he kicked it back, opening the space. As the knights moved forward, Arthur began to understand why he was still alive. Whatever enchantment they were under was dampening their skills, just as it had with the other fighters throughout the castle.

Soon, they were on him again, but Arthur became more and more aware of the flaws in their technique. For one, they weren't fighting as a team. There was no attempt to communicate, no carefully considered movements for another knight to follow through on. There was no doubt that they were fighting for the same reason, but they were not fighting together. It gave Arthur time between attacks. He could move, force them to block each others' path, cause them to mess up each others' blows. But it was more than that. The knights simply weren't fighting to their potential.

Elyan's finessed and lightening quick attacks were slower and clumsier than usual. He delivered a side swipe to Arthur, one that, under normal circumstances, would have caught him before he could bring his sword up from parrying a blow that Leon had delivered, but the movement was slow enough that Arthur could meet the blow and even twist his sword in order to force Elyan back a few steps.

Gwaine's somewhat unorthodox style –mostly picked up from his history of bar fighting- became much more predictable than was usual. He charged at Arthur, having previously backed up several steps from a kick to the chest that Arthur had delivered while side-stepping a slash from Elyan. Arthur waited for him to get closer, knowing that the knight usually feinted at the last second, but instead the man came straight at him, allowing Arthur to block and jab, forcing him back once more. He was quickly replaced by Leon, but the man's usually perfect execution of Camelot's traditional fighting stances was full of mistakes. Arthur watched incredulously as the man leaned to the right as he moved to attack, making his intentions obvious. He was soon sprawled on the floor, his attack having been predicted and then met with a much more precise response.

It was perhaps Percival who caused the most problems through the sheer force of his attacks. His strength was by no means diminished, but his control over it was tenuous. Some blows that he delivered were so heavy that Arthur felt his arm vibrate with them, but they weren't particularly focussed. The knight would put all his weight behind them and stagger if Arthur deflected it.

Seeing a chance, Arthur decided to use that strength against Percival. He waited for the knight to come to him, deflecting blows from Elyan and Leon, and pushing Gwaine back into both of them in the meantime. Percival charged, but with a deft sidestep and a shove, Arthur sent him careering off to the side, tripping him as he did. The man crashed hard into the dining table, a sickening crack echoing around the room, and then lay still. Arthur only hoped that there was no major damage, but there was little time to consider the alternatives. The others were back on their feet. One down, three to go.

Merlin couldn't remember anything ever making him feel as helpless as he did kneeling in agony on the floor of Tiden's chambers. From the moment the man had initiated the link that the oath created, Merlin felt as if he was being torn apart from the inside, as if his magic was collecting in the very centre of his body, before being wrenched from him. The sensation of his magic -magic which he had always felt held the very essence of who he was together- being taken was excruciating. It felt like fire was twisting through him.

For several moments, all Merlin could do was endure the agony, which was as much to do with pain as it was to do with the grief of losing such an integral part of himself. He was vaguely aware of Arthur's shouting voice and then he felt a shift in his magic, felt it being used and turned to someone else's intentions. Automatically, his own instincts fought to regain control, but it was useless. Realising he couldn't stop it, he tried to block it, throwing everything he had into creating a barrier which could stop Tiden from being able to draw on his strength, but it did nothing except cause Merlin more pain. Before he knew it, Tiden had twisted the magic to his purposes and Merlin could sense how it was being used. Though he was helpless to prevent it, he knew that Tiden had taken control of the knights.

But that wasn't all he knew. Somehow, through the link that Tiden had forged, Merlin could also sense how the magic was being used across the castle. It was at that point that he had found himself crashing onto his knees, finally understanding the sheer hopelessness of his situation as he became aware of the magical potential in the room.

He could sense where the magic was coming from. It was as if a part of him could comprehend things beyond his immediate surroundings. He could follow seven lines of magic that twisted and centred on Tiden. The King's magic and Merlin's made up a strand each, while those of Steven and his men, wherever they were, also flowed in like threads of magical power, curling around each other to create an incredibly powerful source. And all of that power was at Tiden's disposal.

Desperation flowed through Merlin as he saw Tiden's inevitable victory approaching. Even if, by some miracle, Arthur survived the fight with his knights, there was no way he could take on all the soldiers in the castle, and now Tiden could direct them straight to this room. He could bring hundreds of soldiers and instruct all of them to kill Camelot's king. He was linked to all of them through the enchantment. Merlin could feel the way the magic flowed not only into Tiden, but also out of him; could sense the hundreds of threads of magic connecting to each of the soldiers that were under the enchantment. The reach of Tiden's influence was frightening.

A crash from somewhere beyond the confines of his magical prison diverted his attention to the room he was in and to Arthur's danger. As if looking through a haze, Merlin saw Percival lying on the floor and Arthur, breathing heavily and looking tired, still somehow facing off against his most skilled knights. The smallest trickle of hope filled Merlin, but it was quickly replaced by a searing flash through Merlin's mind as Tiden drew more power from him. Merlin felt more of the knights in Camelot fall under the enchantment and begin making their way up to the room: ten, twenty of them; all of them being told to kill Arthur. He couldn't survive that.

On the other side of the room, Merlin heard Gwaine yell, before promptly falling silently, but a glance told Merlin that, while Gwaine had been knocked out, Arthur had also been injured. He clutched his arm tightly, just about managing to parry the other blows that headed towards him. Again, Merlin fought to pull back his magic, to block its path to Tiden, but it was useless.

Anger filled him at his continued helplessness and without thinking he reached for the stream of magic, throwing himself into it to try and wrest control from Tiden that way, but while it didn't break the link, Merlin felt the slightest amount of control pass to him.

It wasn't control that he could do much with, but it was an advantage that he hadn't realised he had moments ago. He could force more magic into the link. He wasn't able to pull it back, the flow was engrained within the link, but he could force more magic into it. The moment of elation quickly turned to despair. How could that help him? The last thing he wanted to do was give Tiden more power, but maybe…

He felt resolve fill him. If it didn't work, he could always stop, but if it did work…

Fighting through the pain, ignoring Arthur's ragged breaths and focussing on the link, Merlin began to force more of his magic towards Tiden. Tiden could evidently handle large amounts of power flowing through him, but Merlin was willing to bet that he hadn't realised just how strong his most recent sorcerer really was. It took no more than a few seconds for Tiden to understand what was happening. For a moment, Merlin sensed -and he had no idea how it was possible- the King's confusion, which quickly turned into smug satisfaction.

You have decided to join us, Merlin? he asked wryly, the message reaching Merlin as if it was travelling through the connection they currently had. It was evident from his smug tone that he knew what Merlin's plan was. Your arrogance is surprising, he continued, you can not over power me.

Merlin didn't reply, he refused to give the man the satisfaction of an argument. Instead, he forced more power into the link and, as he did, he felt his strand begin to tremble, dispersing a thin sliver of excess magic. Hardly daring to hope, Merlin reached out for the escaped tendril of magic, calling it back to himself. Slowly, as if it was under two opposing loyalties and was wavering between them, the small whisper of magic that had broken free from the oath's connection moved back towards Merlin, lodging itself in a place that was outside the control of the link. Elation flowed through him, and he pushed harder with his magic, forcing more and more of it through the link, feeling the escaped remnants gathering inside him. They were only the tiniest amount at the moment, but it would not take long for them to grow.

But his small stash of magic –magic which Tiden didn't seem to be aware of- was not the only change that Merlin felt coming over him. Something about being so surrounded by magic, the intensity of it in the room, even if he wasn't in control of it, was beginning to affect his mind, the way his thoughts moved, how they formed. He could still think clearly, but it was as if underneath that clarity, his mind was twisting and writhing, clawing its way through every recess, searching for something.

His memories.

He knew, without knowing how, that his mind was desperately attempting to retrieve them, that they were within his grasp. A feverish determination came over him. He needed more magic, he needed to be able to use more of it, he needed anything that could help his thoughts and memories disentangle themselves from whatever prison they were being held in. He needed to be able to heal himself.

With a yell, he forced even more power into the link, power which surprised him, but it did what was needed. He felt more excess magic trickling back to him, building on the supply that he had gathered. It would take only moments more.

It was at this point, however, that Tiden's smug confidence began to waver. Merlin could sense it through the link, could see that the sheer amount of power was beginning to be too much for the King. He was fighting to redistribute it quickly enough, throwing it into the knights who were heading their way, trying to get rid of the sudden surge that he was being faced with.

But Tiden was not a man who took being made a fool of lightly, he was not a man who would allow himself to lose. Merlin knew this, knew it after seeing it demonstrated in all its malevolence over the last few days. And so, while Merlin railed against the King's next moves, they didn't surprise him.

All of a sudden, Merlin felt the magic that Tiden had been using being distributed in slightly different ways. Ways that Merlin understood instantly. Soldiers in the courtyard, at least twenty of them, suddenly broke off their attacks and headed in unison towards one of the watchtowers.

I am sending them to kill your friend, Tiden whispered, though he didn't use words: it was more like impressions that floated through the magic. Either way, Merlin understood the threat, understood the blackmail. Peter. Peter was somewhere in that watch tower, injured, alone and helpless with soldiers heading his way. He stood no chance and Merlin felt panic fill him.

But that wasn't the only threat that he became aware of. In the room, Arthur was still facing off against Leon and Elyan and he was rapidly weakening. Silently, the two discarded swords, those of Percival and Gwaine, rose in the air, twisted and angled themselves towards the fighting King. Evidently, Tiden no longer cared for the irony of a Camelot knight killing their king. He was going to do it himself.

Stop what you are doing, Tiden snarled. Merlin felt the words resonate towards him, infused with Tiden's evil intent, or I will kill both of them.

Merlin made his decision then and there. He had succumbed to Tiden's lies and blackmail too many times already, it was the only reason all of this was happening. He would not do it again. A sudden peace settled on him; a peace borne of the certainty that he was strong enough to stop Tiden from killing Arthur and Peter, and anyone else; a conviction that he had abilities and powers and skills that would be unmatchable if only he could remember them. Something that he intended to do.

I'd like to see you try, he replied.

A split second was all it took for Merlin to put into action his final retaliation. With the magic that he had managed to filter from the strand, he did two things. The first was to send half of it into his mind, latching it onto the attempts that his thoughts were already making to retrieve his memories. The second was to send the rest of the magic towards the swords that were now flying towards Arthur.

In less time than it took to utter a sound, Merlin had done both.

The swords fell to the ground with a clatter and remained there, and his mind fused itself back together.

Instantly, his head exploded with images; they flowed in as if they had been kept back by a dam that had suddenly been thrown open. Places and people and sounds and emotions and events all spilled into his mind, filling empty spaces that he hadn't realised had been there. They swirled and twisted, each one slotting itself into its rightful place, with all the memories before and after aligning themselves, until his life worked from beginning to end, with each part memorised and known.

He knew exactly who he was.

He knew that he was Merlin.

He knew that he was the last Dragon Lord.

He knew that he was Emrys.

And he knew that Tiden didn't stand a chance.

Memories of his magic flowed back to him in a split second; understanding of his abilities that went far deeper than anything he had suspected during the last few months.

Merlin stood to his feet, the pain diminishing somehow and his resolve strengthening. Without hesitation, he took all the magical power that was inside him, all the power that had been hidden from his understanding without his memories, and sent it down the strand towards Tiden.

The effect was terrifying in its destruction. The strand fractured instantly, sending a raging flood of power towards Tiden and shattering the other connections. On the floor, Steven yelled out in agony, clutching at his head as remnants of Merlin's magic raced into his mind. So too, Merlin sensed, did Steven's men. For a moment he knew where they were in the castle and knew that they were in just as much torment as Steven. A split second later, all those connections had severed. In the rest of the room, Leon and Elyan fell to the floor, motionless, the enchantment having been broken. All around the castle, Merlin discerned -through the last flickers of the links- soldiers and knights falling to the ground, their minds unable to cope with the sudden release. They would heal quickly, that he knew.

But it was Tiden who took the brunt of the attack. Merlin watched as the man's body contorted in agony. He could sense the magic swirling around the man, overwhelming his body. At first, Merlin couldn't understand why the magic didn't dissipate, until he remembered the shield that Tiden had placed around himself. A shield that he had undoubtedly fuelled with the magic he had taken from others. Reaching out carefully with his senses, Merlin could feel his surge keeping the shield in place, while Tiden was forced to endure the agony of all that power reflecting constantly off the barrier to torment and destroy him. He was trapped in a prison of his own making, being tortured by the very power he had sought to control. The man's body trembled; his mouth opened in a silent cry.

Merlin could sense the magic losing its strength and potency, but it would not be soon enough for Tiden. The man's body gave a sickening jerk and then crumpled lifeless to the floor; overcome by the raw power that it had been exposed to.

For several seconds Merlin could not move. He remained still, his body slick with sweat and his hand outstretched in front of him from when he had sent the power towards Tiden. But a shifting from the side of the room brought him out of his frozen state. He turned his head, confused as to what had caused the movement.

His hand dropped instantly and he stumbled to the side as he realised what it was –who it was.

Arthur, staring at him wide eyed with fear.

He had seen it all.

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