A/N: Totally watched the new episode of Merlin (had to wait until Sunday since I couldn't download it Saturday 'till after work)! I won't say anything about it other than the fact that I loved it :)

Title: Of Twisted Morals and Human Weaponry
Author: BeyondTheStorm
Rating: T for...well, a lot of things. Some language, some violence, the whole general situation, a bit of torture, etc.
Characters/pairings: The cast is as follows: Merlin, Arthur, an antagonist, two guards with names, and a few without. Merlin and Arthur are the main focus of this story. Oh, and no pairings. Only friendship here, though if you want to read more into it, feel free. Whatever floats your boat.
Spoilers: Um...none, as far as I know.
Warnings: Abuse, a bit of torture, me being descriptive
What to expect: Bromance, introspection, angst, some whump, H/C, lots of drama, lots of worrying...oh, and some magic. Can't forget the magic :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin :)

So...this chapter didn't end anywhere near where I wanted it too (it would have been way too long if I had tried), but I still like it nonetheless :) Hope you all will too.

Onward!

CHAPTER 4

When the whip cracked for the fifth and final time, tearing one last cry from his throat, Merlin found himself slumping against the wall in front of him until his knees hit the floor. If not for the manacles around his wrists, their chains anchored above him, he likely would have been lying on it instead. He felt sick to his stomach, wishing that the darkness creeping into his vision would just hurry up already, because passing out seemed like his best choice at the moment. His back felt like it was on fire—each lashing had come hard and fast, tearing into his skin, cutting it open.

Never had he experienced pain quite like this. His whole body was trembling, and it felt like he couldn't catch his breath. As undignified as he probably looked right now, hunched over and kneeling with his forehead pressed against the wall, he was in no mood to move. In fact, he was perfectly fine staying exactly where he was if it meant not having to risk stretching the wounds on his back. All five lines were bleeding; he knew they were, could feel the blood slowly flowing from each one.

The man who had wielded the whip, Neirin, hadn't held back. He had put all his strength into each strike while Barragh had stood there watching, encouraging the man to give it everything he had. In fact, the two of them were still watching him, and if he hadn't been in so much pain, he would've liked to glare at them both, to let them know that just because they had gotten the best of him this time didn't mean that he would be giving in any time soon. He had meant what he had said to Barragh earlier: the man would never have his loyalty. There was no way he would ever help such a heartless, narcissistic psychopath. He'd rather die.

"Well, boy," he heard the lord say from behind him, sounding almost pleased with himself, "I hope you've learned your lesson. Remember, the next time you try to escape, I'll make it ten."

Beyond the pain and the sound of his own harsh breathing, the warlock heard the sound of metal scraping against stone and saw a stream of light entering the room before eventually fading away. There was a loud thud and a soft click, and Merlin knew that they were finally gone. He quickly reached for what little magic that was available to him, trying to use it to ease the pain or to unlock his shackles—just something so that he could feel that familiar, comforting warmth flowing through him again. Unfortunately his magic wouldn't listen to him, wouldn't rise to the surface, and if he tried to force it, he'd be in even more pain than he already was (and no matter what, he couldn't let himself get frustrated again, because that certainly hadn't worked out in his favor, and he wasn't too inclined to risk potentially blowing himself up this time).

In the end he had no choice but to let his magic recede once more, and it felt like his insides had suddenly gone cold without it. It was an unbelievably lonely feeling. He wondered for a moment if this was what it felt like to be someone without magic, to constantly feel like there was something missing…but of course, that was just silly, because most people didn't know what it felt like to have magic in the first place. You couldn't very well miss something that had never actually been there to begin with, now could you?

Merlin sucked in a sharp breath, letting it out in a broken sigh, wishing all the while that there was something he could do to make the situation a little less horrible than it was. The warlock was completely alone in a cold, dark cell, chained to the wall and held up by only his wrists while tendrils of what felt like fire licked at his back. Each slice burned, and he honestly couldn't imagine having to endure ten. What if Barragh decided to add five more every time he tried and failed to escape? How many lashings could a normal person survive?

How many could someone like him survive?

He was really starting to wish that he had been a little more careful, that he hadn't pressed his luck so many times no matter how satisfying it had been at first. In the beginning he had reveled in the looks of irritation and the angry shouting from his keeper, because he had known that despite all the threats, nothing would come of them. The weapons dealer needed him alive, and so Merlin hadn't bothered to heed any of his warnings or take his words seriously. Instead he had continued in his quest to escape the castle, much to the amusement of some of the guards, but apparently even Barragh had a limit of what he was willing to put up with. Blowing his cell door off the hinges had apparently been the final straw. That or seven just really wasn't his lucky number.

It would be a while now before he could try for eight, and even though he didn't want to think about it, a ninth would take even longer (and no, he wasn't a masochist, honestly, no matter how many of his actions might claim otherwise. He just cared more about progress than consequences at the moment, that's all).

Merlin wasn't sure just how much time passed between Barragh's exit and the next time his cell door opened, but he found he didn't much care. He must have passed out or zoned out at some point though, because the pain had faded slightly since the last time light had spilled into the room. It still hurt worse than anything he had ever gone through, but at least it no longer felt like someone had set his back on fire.

Through the haze that came with both exhaustion and pain, he was able to hear a sharp gasp followed by the sound of hurried footsteps as well as a soft clattering, much like the sound a bucket made when hitting the floor (something he was all too familiar with). Someone must have dropped something, he mused as his thoughts waded sluggishly through his pain-addled mind. Must've been in a hurry. Too many chores, maybe… I know what that's like.

Before his mind could stray any farther, there was a light touch against the side of his face, carefully forcing his head to turn to the side where he met a pair of rather concerned brown eyes. It only took him a moment to figure out who they belonged to.

"Rordan?" he queried softly, earning him a nod in response.

There was suddenly another gentle touch, this time against his bound wrists. He glanced up to see a head of light colored hair, somewhere between brown and blond, and a set of very focused green eyes.

"Owyn?"

"Just hold on, Merlin," he said while slipping a key into the lock for the manacles. "We'll have you out of these in no time."

As soon as the shackles were off, the warlock just let his arms drop and slumped forward against the wall. He likely would have fallen completely to the floor if not for Rordan. The guard had wrapped one arm around his shoulders and the other was across his waist, holding him up. In no time Owyn was kneeling on his other side, reaching out to help support him.

"Alright, let's get you to the bed," he said, his voice light, but there was an underlying tone, one that sounded a lot like anger but was probably closer to concern. Merlin was rather familiar with it. After all, that's usually how Arthur sounded when he was worried (or upset, or nervous, or hurt, or…well, a lot of things, really. It was pretty much his default response to everything).

Between the two of them, they managed to get him to his feet even though he couldn't seem to find the strength to stand on his own. His body's lack of cooperation thankfully didn't hinder them any as they were perfectly capable of bearing his weight. They managed to get him to the bed without much difficulty, all the while being careful not to touch his back, not to hurt him further (Merlin would've appreciated the effort if not for the fact that moving even the slightest bit sent a flood of pain down his spine, and unfortunately for him, that was rather unavoidable). They very gently laid him down so that he was lying on his stomach, and as soon as he was situated, the two guards moved away to collect what they had set down earlier.

Merlin closed his eyes, pressing his face into the very flat pillow of his cot. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he got the feeling that he wouldn't be able to for a while. Despite having never suffered any serious injuries (he chose to ignore all the cases where he had been struck by magic, because it's not like Gaius had had to patch him up or anything afterwards, so they obviously didn't count), he had seen plenty who had, and he knew what the treatment was like. His wounds would have to be cleaned and then covered with something—herbs, salve, honey, whatever was available—in order to prevent infection before being wrapped up.

And depending on how bad it was, the whole process would have to be repeated, possibly even multiple times. He was not looking forward to it.

When Owyn and Rordan returned with their bucket of water and some cloth, the warlock heaved a small sigh and tried to prepare himself for the inevitable discomfort that would soon follow.

In the end, he failed spectacularly.

"Just try to relax," said Rordan. "We'll be as careful as we can."

Merlin was rather certain that no amount of caution or care would have made a lick of difference. Even the lightest touch had him clenching his teeth and tensing. The warm water wasn't at all soothing, and it had clearly been mixed with something—soap or salt or some other sort of substance used for cleaning—that made each line on his back feel like it was burning once again, more intensely than before.

Despite the pain, he managed to hold on through it, his hands fisting the sheets beneath him while he kept his eyes shut and his jaw locked. He tried not to make a sound, and in the end he succeeded…right up to the point where they started to rub some sort of salve over the wounds. His resolve shattered rather quickly after that, and for the life of him he couldn't keep himself from crying out. Instead he buried his face further into the pillow to muffle his voice, desperately wishing that he could just pass out already. Even though the process was painful, it wasn't quite painful enough to render him unconscious, and seeing as how the guards were making due with what they had, it wasn't likely that they'd be in possession of a sleeping draught or a concoction that could ease the pain. He would simply have to bear with it until the process was over or his body decided that it had had enough.

He couldn't help thinking, probably for the thousandth time in the past month, that his life was really unfair.

By the time they were finished and only had the bandages left to apply, Merlin was practically gasping for breath, and even though he knew that the whimpering noises he kept making were a thing of true embarrassment, he couldn't for the life of him stop. He was tired and in pain, and all he wanted was to fall asleep and maybe wake up a week from now, because by then his back might not feel like someone kept smacking it with a lit torch.

Strangely enough, he got his wish. In order to apply the bandages, they first had to move him, and when they tried to lift him up, the pull and stretch of his torn skin was too much for him to handle on top of everything else. It was almost ridiculous that after holding onto consciousness through the flogging and then the treating of his wounds, being bandaged is what did him in, but he found that he couldn't quite bring himself to care as he finally—at last, thank God—slipped into darkness.

"Finally," sighed Owyn as Merlin slumped against him, eyes closed and his breathing steady. "I thought he'd never give in. He certainly is a stubborn one."

"Indeed," Rordan agreed as he picked up the bandages. Owyn carefully maneuvered the warlock into a sitting position, careful not to touch the wounds or pull them back open. The boy had bled enough already—the sheets on his cot were a testament to that. They would need to be changed, and a new blanket would need to be brought up as well. He'd take care of it as soon as they finished tending to Merlin.

The two of them worked in silence for a while until Owyn noticed that Rordan's hands were shaking while he wound the bandages around the warlock's torso. One look at the guard's face and it was easy to see why. His dark eyes had grown even darker with anger.

"Neirin, that bastard," he growled softly. "He held nothing back." Owyn couldn't help but agree with that assessment. The brute of a man had struck hard enough that even the first lash had been able to break the skin. The rest of the guards would have likely gone easy on him, but Neirin was Barragh's right hand man, and unlike most of them, he didn't have a soft spot for the young warlock. It was quite likely that the man hated him, was perhaps even jealous. After all, Merlin had no small hand at magic. His level went above and beyond even the most well-trained sorcerers, and for someone like Neirin who had magic but hadn't the skill to use it… Well, he had likely built up a rather unhealthy amount of hatred for the boy, especially since Barragh had taken such an interest in him.

"He will heal, right?" Owyn asked, needing to know that their friend (and that's what Merlin was to them, as odd as the situation was) would be alright.

"In time. It'll take a while, and there might be some scarring, but he'll be alright. I'll make sure of it."

The younger man gave a soft hum in response, knowing that Rordan meant every word and would do all he could. Out of all of them, he was the one who had spent the most time with Merlin, who knew him best, although that wasn't saying much. However open and innocent Merlin appeared to be, he never talked much about himself. All they really knew about him was that he came from Camelot and that he was a ridiculously powerful sorcerer. No matter how gormless the boy seemed, he was no fool. He knew better than to talk about his life, about the things and the people that meant something to him. Everything he divulged had the potential to be used against him, and so he kept quiet, always changing the subject when a topic got too personal (something they had learned he was extremely good at).

It was a bit odd, really, how they could know so little about the warlock and yet feel like they knew him so well. They knew what kind of person he was, the kind of beliefs he had, and how he felt about certain things, and that was enough for them. After all, it wasn't so much about what a person was, what they did or didn't—could or couldn't—do. In the end, all that mattered was who they were, and after spending a month in the boy's company, it was easy to see what kind of person he was.

Merlin was probably one of the most—if not the most—selfless, stubborn, innocent, clumsy, loyal, bighearted fools that he had ever met.

He was the last person who deserved to be treated like this.

As the two guards continued their work in silence, Owyn let his mind stray a bit, needing to distract himself and Rordan with something other than Merlin's situation, because that was a road paved with far too much guilt and uncertainty, and they'd be of no help to him if they started wallowing in it. Instead he found his thoughts drifting to their other prisoner of great importance who was probably scowling at an empty mug and plate by now and wondering whether Owyn was actually going to come back.

He couldn't keep the corners of his lips from twitching upwards at the thought of Camelot's crown prince. He honestly hadn't meant to startle him quite so much, but his reactions to all the unwarranted hospitality certainly had been amusing.

"So," he began, wanting to make sure he had at least some of Rordan's attention, "I talked to the prince earlier."

The other guard glanced up briefly before returning to his task, although there was a somewhat amused grin, small though it was, on his face.

"Well, what's he like?" Rordan asked.

"He's interesting. Bit different than I thought he'd be though."

"How so?"

"Well, I guess I was sort of expecting him to start yelling or acting like a spoiled, pampered brat, but he was rather quiet. Of course, I think I probably shocked him a bit when I said I'd gladly get him more food if he wanted, so that could be why he didn't talk much. He kept looking at me like I was mad."

"You are mad."

Owyn simply shot his friend a halfhearted glare before continuing with his tale.

"Anyway, as I was saying, he's rather different from what I thought the son of Uther Pendragon would be like. I was expecting someone angry and pompous and overbearing, but he just sort of sat there and stared at me. He wasn't openly hostile at all. He actually seems like he might be a decent person, or at least a nicer one than his father."

For a while neither one of them said anything, but Owyn could tell that his friend was deep in thought, his brow crinkling as his eyebrows drew together. He remained like that even after he finished tying off the bandages and the two of them lowered Merlin back onto the cot. They would have to come back in a few hours to check on him, but for now he seemed to be sleeping deeply enough that the pain wasn't bothering him much. Maybe if Rordan were able to sneak away for a bit, he'd be able to mix up something to help with that (the man was no physician, but he knew his way around an apothecary).

It wasn't until the two of them were picking up their supplies that the older guard finally spoke up again.

"About the prince…" he began, letting his voice trail off as he cast another glance at the injured warlock. "If it comes down to it…do you think we could trust him?"

His question, vague though it was, needed no clarification. Owyn knew exactly what he meant and could hear what wasn't being said. At first he wasn't entirely sure how to respond, because even though it was easy to see that Arthur wasn't much (if at all) like his father, the two of them had only spoken for a short while. He would need to "interrogate" him a bit more before he could honestly answer a question like that, but he hoped that the outcome would be favorable. After all, they needed all the help they could get, because if they were to try anything without being absolutely prepared, it could all go very, very badly.

Especially for Merlin.

"I'm not sure yet," he said. "Give me a bit more time, and I'll be able to give you an answer. I swear I'll be discrete."

"Alright."

With nothing left to say and nothing more to do, the two of them left the dark, solitary cell, but not before taking one final look at their friend. Lying there like that, he looked so young, vulnerable…so completely innocent. He looked like someone who needed protection, who wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight or even look after himself, and while a good deal of that was true, at the same time it really wasn't.

The boy was dangerous, very much so, and not just because of his incredible talent and capacity for magic. That was frightening in its own right, but what truly made him and his gifts so terrifying was his nature, his very appearance, because no one would ever suspect that behind that unassuming exterior lay the power to topple armies, raze castles, and bring an entire kingdom to its knees.

Barragh knew this—but the real question was, did Merlin?

Did he have any idea just how powerful a weapon he could be?

When the door to his cell finally creaked open once more, Arthur had been occupying himself by staring down at the empty platter and cup, wishing he had more but still a bit hesitant in believing that Owyn would actually bring him any. The man had no reason to, after all. That's why it came as something of a pleasant surprise when he saw the guard enter his cell once more with another platter and an entire pitcher full of what could only be water while a second guard waited just outside the door. However, unlike before, he no longer had a smile on his face. If anything he looked tired, and it didn't seem to be from physical exhaustion.

Did it have something to do with why he had run off earlier?

The prince remained silent as the door was once again locked, the second guard taking off down the hall while Owyn walked slowly across the cell. When he looked up and saw Arthur's eyes on him, a smile crossed his face, and even though he barely knew the man, it was still easy to see that it was forced.

"Sorry I took so long," he said before setting the platter down. He took the empty cup and filled it back up until it was almost overflowing before setting the pitcher down as well. Unlike before, he remained quiet during the task; he didn't even make eye contact. The prince actually found it all a bit unnerving, which was just ridiculous, because why should he even care, but he found that it bothered him nonetheless. Still, he chose not to say anything and just waited until Owyn was done, watching as the guard moved away and went to lean against the adjacent wall. He crossed his arms and lowered his head, staring at the floor as if it had wronged him in some way, and his whole demeanor was just so completely opposite from what it had been before that Arthur found himself asking without knowing whether or not he actually cared about the answer.

"Did something happen?"

Owyn's head snapped up rather quickly, his eyes a bit wide at the query. Apparently he hadn't been expecting that either. It didn't take long for the surprise to wear off though, and in its wake was a look of resignation and wariness. The man shook his head a bit before returning his gaze to the floor.

"It doesn't truly concern you," he began, though not at all unkindly, "but yes, something happened."

"Someone was flogged, right? Another prisoner."

He counted it as a small victory when Owyn's head snapped up again, clearly shocked that Arthur knew what had happened. It was somewhat satisfying to know that even in this situation he wasn't at a complete disadvantage. Being able to surprise someone wasn't anywhere near a huge victory, nor would it really get him anywhere, but it made him feel just a bit less helpless in a situation that was still entirely out of his control.

"How did you know?" Owyn asked, just a touch of suspicion coloring his words.

"I overheard you and that guard from earlier."

A rather strange expression crossed the man's face, one Arthur couldn't even hope to decipher. Thoughtful and wary weren't quite right, but at the same time he could think of no better words to describe it. When it seemed apparent that Owyn wasn't going to comment any time soon—too lost in his thoughts, apparently—he decided that he may as well just let it go for now and turned his attention to the food he'd been given. There was no point in letting decent food go to waste, after all.

Unbeknownst to the prince, Owyn was watching him from the corner of his eye, simultaneously going over everything that had been said between him and that guard and everything that he had gathered so far about Arthur. He still didn't know much about him, but the prince had, at the very least, been curious about what had happened. Curiosity was sometimes a gateway to concern, especially for stubborn, emotionally stunted people, although it was a bit too soon to assume something like that. Arthur had no reason to be concerned about someone he didn't know, whose situation had no bearing on him, but that didn't rule out sympathy, and he could potentially work with that.

He and Rordan had both wanted to know just what kind of man the prince was—well, this was as good a time as any. He wouldn't give him too many details, nothing that could get them into trouble in the future, but he would let him know enough to get a reaction. Owyn knew he had to be careful though, because whether Arthur was a decent human being or not, he was still the prince of Camelot, and Camelot had rather strict rules when it came to magic and how those who practiced it should be dealt with. There was no way he would risk the life of his friend just to test the prince. There was no telling what consequences that could have. Merlin lived in Camelot, after all. Where exactly he didn't know—the warlock had never told any of them—but it still wasn't worth the risk.

Therefore he would be discrete. No names, no magic, nothing that could lead back to Merlin. What little he did know had been told in confidence, and he had no intention of breaking that trust.

No matter what happened, he would not compromise his friend. Somehow, someway, they were going to save him.

Or die trying.

A/N: That's all for now! Hope you enjoyed it, and thank you again to all who are reading this and for all the reviews. You guys totally make my week :) Always feel free to tell me what you think, even constructive criticism, just so long as it's polite...and you're willing to debate :) One thing to know is that despite all the worrying I do, I'm not one to back down. I can give just as good as I get :)
Oh, and all the smilies are genuine. I actually am constantly smiling :)

Review Responses: Like last time, this is where I'll respond to the anonymous reviews for the chapter ('cause I like talking to people, and I really am grateful for all of them :) Length of the responses is irrelevant. It all depends on how much I can comment on.

CM: Hello again :) I'm extremely happy to be back. I forgot how much fun I have doing this. I really missed being an active member of this fandom :) I fear I'm going to be a bit mean in this fic regarding Merlin and Arthur finding out about each other. I do enjoy drawing things out, after all, though this fic will (hopefully) be significantly shorter than my others, so I won't be able to draw it out for too long :) Just hope it all turns out well when I do finally get to that part :)

Paul: Ah, not just won't escape. He can't. That'll be explained later on :) And Arthur isn't always Merlin's priority even though he's meant to be (i.e. Freya). And about that "boy" comment, it's in character and it's cannon. A lot of antagonists have called him that, even Morgana, so I see nothing wrong with it. And if you meant in the plain text/paragraphing, that's a personal choice :) And yes, I do want to stretch myself, but not in the way you're referring to. An idea is an idea; it either comes to you or it doesn't, and you shouldn't force yourself to write something you don't care for. Fanfiction is meant to be fun, not just a challenge, and stretching oneself as a creative writer should first and foremost be about style and language. It's about perspectives, tenses, grammar, flow, wording, using spacing and placement and all of that to not only write a story but to give it life. That's what I was taught :) A great idea will fall apart without the right words, but even a mediocre one can become a work of art with the right language. And I'll go back to what I said before: I write what I like, and that happens to include whump (and I personally feel that generalizing it all and treating it as the same is a rather limited perspective). Anyway, my opinion on the matter might be different from yours, and that's fine. This is just how I do things, and if someone doesn't like it, oh well. It's impossible to please everyone (I work retail. This is a fact of life :), after all, and I'm certainly not going to turn something I love doing into a chore by trying.

Penelope V: Thank you! I'm glad you've enjoyed my fics :) And no worries. I'm rather shy like that too. I think I've probably reviewed just a handful of the hundreds of fics I've read here :) Merlin and Arthur really do have a wonderful relationship, and I'm glad I've been doing a decent job with it (I love those boys. They're just so adorable in their own unique way :) I'm starting to get rather anxious about them finding out about each other being there now too, because I get the feeling my original plan for it will end up changing (that seems to happen a lot to me when I write). I just hope that when the time comes, it turns out well :)

KIRA D: Thank you for all the reviews :) Glad you like my fics. I really liked writing that line (I adore philosophical type things like that), and this fic shall likely have quite a few of those sorts of moments. And I agree, how could anyone not love Merlin? He's rather nice and adorable in his own wonderful way. He deserves to have lots of friends who worry over him :)
You asked me, in another review, if I had a deviantArt account, right? Well, I do :) There's not much on it, but I do have one. My user name on there is Kitai-Matsuru (I think. I'm pretty sure there's a hyphen). I'm a rather boring person there, as I rather fail as an artist, and I never got around to doing much with it, but I still use it. I rather love fanart, after all :)