A/N: Ugh...this chapter took forever! Had I not spent my breaks at work this past week figuring out the dialogue, I would have been in trouble. I'm not 100% satisfied with this chapter, but I still like it. It's rather a lot of fun writing Arthur and Owyn's conversations :)

Sorry I couldn't get to the review responses last week. I pretty much just tried to answer the ones where there were questions (that I could actually answer). If I missed any, please feel free to ask them again :)

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 :)

Just wanted to quickly say that I am really enjoying this season of Merlin :) There's just so much that's good, and I can't wait for Saturday (even though I have to work).

Only had time for a quick edit on this chapter, so if you see anything horribly wrong, please let me know, and I shall fix it :)

Onward!

CHAPTER 7

The light spilling through the small window high on the wall of his cell was what finally woke Arthur from his rather uncomfortable and troubled sleep. He groaned in annoyance as the sunlight fell upon his closed eyes, attempting to blind him, but it very quickly turned to one of pain when he tried to shift away. Everything was sore and stiff, his body rebelling against its poor treatment. Apparently stone floors really didn't make good beds (despite popular belief, Arthur did actually know what it was like to sleep on less than desirable surfaces. Knights weren't always afforded the luxury of a soft bed, after all).

The prince chose to forgo moving for the moment and simply heaved a sigh instead, perfectly content to just lie there for a while longer. He couldn't help but still feel tired after having spent his night on the cold stone floor, although he was fairly certain he hadn't awoken at all through the night. That didn't mean his sleep had been restful though. He probably would have preferred being startled awake than being forced to endure the dreams that his mind had chosen to torture him with. He was pretty sure that the only reason he hadn't woken up was that the scenes had switched too often, never letting him feel the full impact before changing to something else.

A few had been rather mild, things that had troubled him often in the past, like seeing the disappointment on his father's face upon realizing that he had been captured, or seeing his friends (and sometimes his father) worrying about him, or even watching as Camelot was attacked in his absence. Some had been a good deal worse, like Barragh suddenly deciding that it would be fun to torture him or sell him to a neighboring kingdom, possibly an enemy of Camelot. There had even been one where he had almost had to watch the tyrant torture the people he loved to get information from him.

But for most of the night, he had been forced to watch himself as he failed time and time again to find Merlin. He had seen himself return to Camelot empty handed, unable to look Gaius and his father in the eye albeit for different reasons. He had watched as a faceless, nameless servant was assigned to him, doing Merlin's chores (more competently) and taking up Merlin's place (too quietly) in his chambers, in the castle—in his life—and it had all felt so wrong, but he hadn't been able to do anything about it. He hadn't been able to stop his father from giving him another servant, as if it was no big deal, as if they were replaceable, nothing more than a useful tool or a piece of the furniture…a mere decoration on the walls of a room.

No matter how many times he tried to explain it to him, his father just couldn't seem to understand, couldn't see servants as individual people, and couldn't understand why Arthur cared so much about finding his. The king just couldn't fathom the idea of a servant being a friend, a confidant, which is exactly what Merlin had become to him (only on pain of death would he admit it, but that didn't make it any less true). The thought of just leaving him behind, of abandoning him, of replacing him was completely inconceivable. He wouldn't do it, no matter the consequences. His father could throw him in the dungeons for all he cared once he returned to Camelot, just so long as Merlin returned with him.

That's all he wanted—the safe return of one man. That wasn't too much to ask, was it?

As his thoughts began to take on a rather morbid tone, he decided that he had spent more than enough time dwelling on his nightmares and all the "what ifs" that came with them, so he made the attempt to move again and found his body a bit more willing to cooperate. He was still rather stiff in places, but most of the soreness had thankfully disappeared. Arthur pushed himself up into a sitting position before slowly and carefully getting to his feet. He had been doing too much sitting lately. He needed to move around for a bit, even if that mostly just involved pacing. There honestly wasn't much else he could do, after all (he had already decided that punching the wall would be counter productive no matter how satisfying it would probably be).

Eventually though, pacing got to be rather tiring even though it had kept his mind a bit better occupied (counting his steps had proven to be a decent distraction from his rather troubled thoughts). In the end he found himself sliding down the far wall to sit on the floor once more, staring out into the hallway beyond his cell. Surely it had to be well into the morning by now, which meant that it was probably time for breakfast. Of course, there was no guarantee he'd be given any breakfast, but he was rather hoping to get some anyway.

And as much as it pained him to admit it, he was actually looking forward to the accompanying conversation more so than the food. Being on his own, locked up in a cell, was completely maddening. There was nothing to do, which would result in him thinking, and his mind wasn't exactly a place he wanted to be left alone in for too long. Last night had been more than enough proof of that. The last thing he wanted was to spend an entire day with nothing but his thoughts for company, and so when he finally heard the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall, followed by a soft click and his cell door swinging open, he couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped him.

Arthur raised his head and looked up at the man who had become a somewhat pleasant sight in such a short amount of time, although he did his best not to let his face show just how pleased he actually was to see him. No reason to give him a big head, after all.

"Breakfast!" Owyn called out cheerfully, making his way across the cell after the door was shut and locked behind him. In one hand was a pitcher of water and an empty cup while the other was balancing a platter of what looked like some meat, cheese, and a couple slices of bread. "Afraid it's not much though, at least not compared to what you're probably used to."

The guard set everything down before filling the cup with water, a large smile stretching across his face as he did so. He seemed genuinely happy for some reason despite all that had occurred the day before. Surely he should have looked a little tired or worried or just something that wasn't so ridiculously jovial, but he wasn't. He seemed to be completely back to his overly pleasant self. Honestly, Arthur wasn't sure why he had even bothered to expect anything different.

"What?" Owyn asked, once again picking up on the prince's thoughts (one day he'd figure out how he kept doing that).

"You seem to be in a good mood," he commented while reaching for the platter and taking a slice of bread.

"Of course. It's a new day, after all."

Of course, he parroted to himself rather sarcastically. Apparently Owyn was also one of those kinds of people, the irritatingly positive kind. It seemed that being a friendly, gormless idiot like Merlin just wasn't enough. Actually, Merlin could probably learn a thing or two from him in that respect, because even though the boy wasn't a true pessimist, he certainly had his moments.

Arthur almost smiled at the thought, but any and all joy he had gotten from it quickly vanished when he was once again reminded of the fact that his servant wasn't there. Against his will, his mind decided to cycle through his nightmares once more, and in the end he found himself worrying about something that he hadn't considered before. In hindsight, he probably should have.

Barragh intended to ransom him back to his father. If the king paid the ransom, then Arthur would likely be escorted back to Camelot, and there was no way his father would allow him to leave again for a long time, not unless it was necessary. He was a bit overprotective sometimes, and although it was always nice to know that his father truly did care about him, he found himself almost feeling sick at the thought, because it meant that his search would be put to an end with no means of starting another.

If he was sent back to Camelot, then he would probably never find Merlin.

It was suddenly very important for him to know if his father knew about his predicament yet.

Arthur tried to compose himself and find a way to ask his question, but in the end he simply chose to get to the point, not caring if Owyn chose to read into it or not.

"Do you know," he began, catching the guard's attention, "when Barragh plans on sending word to my father?"

"I'm afraid I don't, though I can't imagine he'd wait too long." The look Owyn gave him was a slightly scrutinizing one, a somewhat confused frown crossing the man's face. Arthur was just about to consider that look to be a victory on his part (confusion wasn't something he had seen there before) when Owyn opened his mouth and pretty much hit the metaphorical nail on the head. "Why do I get the feeling you don't exactly want him to?"

This time it was Arthur's turn to frown.

"It's not that," he insisted even while a voice whispered through his head that yes, it kind of was.

"Then what is it?"

He tried, he really did, to come up with a reasonable explanation, because he wasn't about to give him the real answer. That would involve far too much storytelling, and Owyn was still sort of a stranger to him. He wasn't about to spill the details of his life to someone he barely knew. At the same time though, far too many other answers seemed ridiculous and petty, and despite the situation, he was still a prince, and therefore he did have some dignity left to uphold. He reached for his cup of water to help disguise (or distract from) the uneasiness he was certain could be seen on his face as he tried to think of something to say.

But apparently he didn't need to come up with an explanation, because Owyn had already done it for him.

"…You're embarrassed, aren't you," he said, causing Arthur to nearly choke on his water.

"Excuse me?" he spluttered indignantly, but the guard seemed to be ignoring him as he crossed his arms over his chest and nodded his head in what looked like understanding, though he was fairly certain the man was just mocking him.

"It's understandable, I suppose. I'd probably be embarrassed too if I were in your position. I imagine it's a rather big blow to your pride, the thought of your father finding out you were overpowered and then captured by mercenaries and are now being held for ransom…what?"

Arthur was glowering at him, fighting the sudden urge to throw his cup at that irritating expression, one that appeared to be confused about the anger being directed at him but was actually fighting not to smile.

"Has anyone ever told you you're infuriating?" he asked before reaching for his breakfast again (after setting down his cup, just in case he was unable to resist throwing it).

"Yes, actually. Repeatedly."

Arthur huffed at that while he resumed eating, doing his best to ignore the irritating excuse for a guard. It didn't work.

"I am curious though," Owyn said thoughtfully, drawing the prince's attention. "How exactly did you manage to get captured?"

Damn. Another question he really didn't want to answer.

"I mean, I can't exactly see any of Barragh's mercenaries sneaking into the heart of Camelot, let alone the castle, just to kidnap you."

He was fairly certain there was an insult in there somewhere, but he chose to ignore it…for now, anyway.

"I wasn't in Camelot. I was in a town near the border."

"By yourself?"

"Yes."

"Why?

"I was…" He cut himself off before saying anymore, clamping his mouth shut and averting his eyes. He couldn't tell him. It would be easy to, but he couldn't, and it wasn't because he didn't think that Owyn would understand. There were rules, things to keep in mind when being held prisoner, and one of them was to never offer up anything personal, anything important—give them nothing that could be used against you. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't tell him the truth, because it would mean admitting to a weakness, and last night had shown him rather vividly what he stood to lose.

If Barragh were to suddenly decide that he wanted information from him, then the easiest way would be to use someone else against him (a part of him tried to reason that he didn't need to worry about that, because Merlin was missing, but that didn't mean that he couldn't somehow be found, and Arthur might never forgive himself if that was how he was reunited with his friend. It wasn't meant to happen like that…not that he had been planning it out or anything. He wasn't a girl, after all).

"…You don't have to tell me," Owyn suddenly said, his tone serious if not a bit sad, and Arthur was once again drawn in, startled by the shift in demeanor. "Not if you don't want to. I probably should have told you this earlier, but it can be dangerous to give away too much about yourself here. Barragh seems to have a penchant for finding out and using it against you, although…you shouldn't really need to worry about that. Barragh isn't trying to gain anything from you—not directly, at least."

He offered Arthur a small smile while the prince just stared at him curiously as a few things began to fall into place. The day before, when Owyn had first paid him a visit, the man had implied that most of the guards weren't there out of choice. He had referred to them as prisoners, just with a bit more freedom to move around, which didn't really make sense unless there was something keeping them there, a reason behind their almost self-imposed imprisonment. After all, good people didn't serve evil men, not unless they were being forced or coerced into doing so. It certainly wasn't the best form of employment—the help would be more inclined to stab you in the back than actually help you—but there were many who used such methods, who relied on fear and threats to make people do as they wanted.

As much as it wasn't his business, he couldn't help but wonder what some of them stood to lose if they went against Barragh. Somehow he got the feeling that it was more than just threats to their own lives. With that in mind, he also found himself wondering why the cheerful man sitting adjacent to him seemed to have no qualms whatsoever about going behind his jailer's back when there would surely be a cost to him if the man were to ever find out. What did someone like Owyn stand to lose, and why was he so careless about risking it?

Well, it certainly wouldn't hurt to ask. After all, the guard had been prying into his life, so surely he could do the same. It was only fair. Besides, it's not like he could use it against him (or that he'd even want to).

Arthur schooled his expression into something neutral before casually reaching for his platter again, and after popping a small slice of meat in his mouth, he leaned back and asked, "So what is he holding over you then?"

The look his question earned him was completely worth the faked nonchalance he had used to ask it. Genuine surprise was another new expression, and he found that it felt rather good not being the one thrown through a loop for once.

"How…?" Owyn began only to trail off, but he didn't need to continue. It was easy enough to guess what he was asking.

"You told me before that most of you are prisoners here," he said, and then simply because he felt it was necessary, he added, "Besides, I can't imagine you'd be working for someone like Barragh unless he was somehow forcing you to."

Owyn seemed to pick up on the hidden compliment, a smile crossing his face once more before he heaved a sigh in resignation and slumped against the wall.

"I suppose I have to give you credit there. You're a lot sharper than I thought."

…Well, so much for his earlier victory. Apparently the cheerful guard was rather well-versed in the art of banter. His automatic response of "shut up" very nearly left his mouth, but he clamped down on it and settled for scowling instead as he picked at a few more pieces of his breakfast. He kept his eyes on Owyn though, waiting to see if the man would answer his question or not. The guard had turned his eyes to the ceiling, a thoughtful look on his face as he reclined against the wall with his hands behind his head. He was clearly thinking about something, and that was just fine. Arthur could be patient when he wanted (or needed) to be. Many a boring council meeting under his father's watchful eye had taught him that (plus, Arthur was pretty sure that a person had to have the patience of a saint to put up with Merlin, which obviously meant that his patience was probably at a godlike level by now).

When the prince was about halfway through the food on his plate, Owyn finally decided to deign him with an answer…and it really wasn't one that he had expected.

"…My estate," he said softly, keeping his eyes averted, trained on the stones of the ceiling. "Barragh controls it. He bought his way in through our king by bartering weapons for land, so he now owns a rather large chunk of the kingdom, and my family's estate happens to be a part of it. Mind you, I have no siblings, so when my parents died, I inherited everything they left behind, and Barragh used that against me. He threatened to strip my title and my claims, everything my family had built and strived for, and in the beginning, that thought terrified me…but the more time I spent here, the less I began to care. I started to wonder if it was really worth it, demeaning myself for the sake of wealth and land, my family's so called 'legacy.'

"Most of the people working for Barragh are here for the sake of their families and friends, their villages, their people. Some are even here because he threatened their lives directly and they're too afraid of death to oppose him, but for the majority, it's because of the people they love. Take Rordan, for example—you haven't met him yet, I don't think, but he's a good friend of mine, one of the noblest men I know. He's married to a wonderful woman, and they have the cutest little girls…and Barragh has threatened to kill them all if he doesn't behave.

"...My reason seemed petty by comparison." A wry smile crossed his face, followed by a shrug of his shoulders as he finally lowered his eyes from the ceiling and met Arthur's. "So I simply stopped caring. Decided to try helping people for a change, even if Barragh were to one day find out—though I'd really prefer if he didn't. Right now he still thinks he can control me by threatening my title and my property. I don't need him to find something else to use against me…or someone."

"Someone?" he asked, because Owyn had already admitted to not having any family that could be used against him. Who exactly did that leave for Barragh to threaten?

Oh…of course. He had just said it, hadn't he. After all, family wasn't the only thing that could drive a person to the depths of self-sacrifice.

"That's the price you pay for kindness. The more you choose to care, the more you stand to lose, and the more vulnerable you become…but I think it's better to take the risk than to not care at all."

Arthur remained silent, trying to find the right words, but what could he possibly say to something like that? Perhaps at one point or another in his life, he would have argued that fact, would have claimed that showing care and kindness was a weakness, that it was unnecessary, but he knew that wasn't true, nor was it realistic, and it was no way to live. Not even his father was immune to the irrationality that came with caring for another person.

It was easy enough to pretend, to feign indifference, to fight and scoff and say things like "do your worst" when you were condemning yourself, but it was another thing entirely when your actions would condemn another, a loved one, a friend. Compassion and empathy truly were the greatest of weaknesses…and yet they were also the greatest of strengths. They could push a person beyond their limits, give them something that was worth fighting for, worth protecting, and earn them not only trust and respect but unfailing loyalty. It was far better to take the risk than to throw oneself into isolation and solitude, because even though many often sought it, there was no one who could truly endure it.

He would rather be the kind of ruler—the kind of man—that people followed and respected because they knew he cared about them. He wanted loyalty forged by trust, not obligation.

When he raised his gaze from the stone floor where it had shifted during his thoughts, he met Owyn's with complete understanding, and for the first time he felt like he truly understood the other man. He was certainly a lot wiser than he seemed (much like a certain clumsy servant, actually. Maybe that was why it was so easy to talk to him. It would also explain that odd sense of familiarity he had felt the last time they had spoken).

While getting lost in his thoughts, he failed to see the amused glint flash in the other man's eyes, and so he was rather caught off guard when Owyn once again returned their conversation back to where it had begun, something that he was apparently rather talented at.

"So, care to tell me why you were in a town near the border all by yourself?" he asked with a grin, startling the prince (curse him). "Don't princes usually have knights with them?"

"I couldn't risk bringing them," he replied matter-of-factly while he began to pick at his food again, hoping that would be enough put an end to that particular line of questioning. It wasn't.

"Why?"

A beat of silence—just a moment of hesitation and discomfort on his part, and the guard found his answer.

"…You snuck out, didn't you."

"No." he replied indignantly (if not a bit petulantly). "I just…told my father I was going hunting, and I couldn't risk that word would get back to him that I wasn't. I may lead the knights, but I can't order them to lie to their king."

"So then what were you really doing?"

Arthur hesitated again, but this time for a completely different reason. Earlier, before that conversation about Barragh and threats, he had been contemplating the consequences of telling him the truth, and now he knew how real those fears could potentially be. However, he kind of owed him at least some sort of explanation. The guard had entrusted him with a great deal of his own thoughts and reasons. The least Arthur could do was offer him a bit of the same. Besides, he knew that whatever he said would be kept between them. At least in that respect, he could trust him.

"I was looking for someone."

Whether Owyn had been expecting it or not, he didn't seem the least bit surprised at the answer.

"Someone important?" he queried, curious and unassuming, and Arthur found himself hesitating again, because, well…it was Merlin, and that wasn't generally a word associated with insolent, mentally-afflicted servants…or servants of any kind, really.

"I wouldn't say important…"

"But they're important to you?"

He found himself immediately opening his mouth to deny any such thing, but the words got stuck somewhere in his throat and refused to come up no matter how strongly he willed them to. They were a reflex on his part, an ingrained need to deny any sort of emotional attachment, but if he let those words escape, they would be nothing more than a lie. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't, because even though Merlin was a servant, a peasant, he was important—not because he was a particularly good servant or anything, because he kind of wasn't, but because he mattered, because he was loved by a great many people…and because Arthur couldn't accept the thought of returning home without his only friend by his side.

"…Yes," he finally admitted in a voice that likely wouldn't have been heard if not for the silence of his cell. Just this once, he would tell the truth. It actually kind of felt good to say it for once (though he had no intention whatsoever of actually saying it to Merlin), and the strange look of acceptance he received almost made swallowing his pride worth it.

…Almost.

And besides, he reasoned as he went back to finishing off his breakfast, it's not like Merlin will ever find out anyway.

A/N: How many of you are betting that Arthur is wrong about that? :) I do love adorable, fluffy moments, after all (which might be a bit hard to tell given the content in most of my fics). Also, I think it'll probably only be one or two more chapters before we get to what everyone has probably been waiting for ;)

So anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. It certainly feels strange to be writing so much dialogue and so little action, but I do rather love getting to do all the introspection :) Hopefully you all like it too, and thank you so much to all who are reading and to everyone who has dropped a review. I love hearing from you, and whether it be a review or a PM, I truly apreciate all the support. It truly does make my day when I see the alerts in my inbox, so thank you :)

Now I really need to go to sleep so I can be up in 4 hours again...sigh. I really need to manage my time better.

Until next week!