A/N: Well, here we go. The longest chapter yet, and it has the longest conversation I have quite possibly ever written, so hopefully it turned out alright. I may end up adding a few more details when I go back through it again on Thursday, cause I'm not 100% satisfied with some of it, though oddly enough, the dialogue isn't included in that. For once, that part was actually easier :)

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, I do this to myself every November, which is work on a fic while I'm supposed to be writing for NaNoWriMo, but I'm going to try to balance both regardless. I'm trying to take NaNo seriously this year, because I really do want to publish something. It would be nice to be able to make my way as an author instead of running myself into the ground while trying to balance everything, though I'm still not entirely sure if I'm good enough. I would like to try though :)

Anyway, onward, and I hope you enjoy the chapter :)

CHAPTER 8

Strangely enough (or perhaps it wasn't really strange at all, all things considered), it took Barragh three days after the flogging to finally visit him, though he would have much rather preferred that the man not even bother. He was still in pain most of the time, but thankfully it had lessened significantly over those three days. He had both his magic and Rordan to thank for that. The guard came regularly to change his bandages and make sure the wounds weren't infected. Even though he wasn't a physician, he wasn't half bad at it. Perhaps that was one of the reasons that Barragh deemed it necessary to keep him around.

He had actually been expecting Rordan when the door to his cell creaked open, but the grinning face that greeted him was smug and cruel instead of caring. The weapons dealer just walked in with all the arrogance of a selfish, narcissistic lord, and Merlin made sure to keep his expression indifferent in response. The last thing he wanted was to show discomfort or fear in the man's presence, because it would do him no favors. It would only give Barragh a reason for his smug grin and his haughty attitude.

No, it was better to just ignore him. He was good at that.

"So," his captor began, "how's my favorite prisoner doing?"

Merlin said nothing, only glared in response, but Barragh pressed on anyway, looking more amused than frustrated with his silence.

"Come now, don't be like that. You brought this on yourself, after all."

As true as that was, he didn't much care. It's not like he could undo any of it, and even if he could, he wasn't sure if he would. This had happened because he had pushed a little too far, been a little too insolent, but he had absolutely no intention of submitting in any way, shape, or form. He wasn't one for bowing and scraping (just ask Arthur), least of all to a man who saw him as nothing more than an asset…a weapon.

When Barragh came up to his cot, Merlin looked away and did his best not to flinch as his back was examined. Rordan had used fewer bandages that morning when he had redressed the wounds, and as a result, parts of them were visible. He had said that they were closed for the most part but that he needed to be careful for a few more days to make sure they wouldn't reopen. A few of the cuts had been particularly nasty, but given that no one could stitch them, they had had to close on their own, which took a good deal longer even with his magic supposedly helping the process along.

Some of them were going to scar though. Not even his magic was enough to stop that.

"Looks like you're healing," Barragh said once he was finally done with his inspection. "Suppose I should thank those two. After all, you're no use to me dead."

Merlin was surprised at that statement for all of a second before realizing that of course Barragh knew. There was no way he couldn't. He would have to be a complete idiot not to notice how often Rordan and Owyn disappeared or that supplies seemed to continuously vanish from his stores. Obviously he knew some of what they were doing—there was a good chance he had even given the order, although the warlock doubted he knew the full extent of their actions. He had probably only told them to keep him from dying, not to regularly visit him, bring him three (and sometimes four or five) meals a day, and supply him with potions to help with the pain.

No, there was no way he knew, and Merlin certainly wasn't going to tell him. The two of them were his friends, after all, and they were taking a huge risk doing even that much for him. If ever Barragh found out, it wouldn't be from him.

"You know," the man began, dragging the word out as he walked to the front of the cot, trying to gain the warlock's attention, "you could have easily avoided this. All you had to do was swear loyalty to me and none of this would have happened."

His tone was so laid back, so matter-of-fact that Merlin found himself raising his eyes to meet Barragh's. The look he found there was so pompous, so condescending and condemning and so incredibly conceited that he found he could no longer feign indifference. This man believed he was superior, that he could simply take what he wanted without a care, as if it were his due, and all his words were painted with fake benevolence and fake understanding and far too much self-confidence.

The lord was the worst kind of egotistical bigot. He was even worse than Uther, and, well…Merlin never had been very good at keeping his mouth shut.

"I already told you," he hissed out, quiet but with all the intensity he could manage in his weakened state, staring the man down unflinchingly. "I don't care what you do to me. You will never have my loyalty." And much like the last time he had said such a thing, Barragh's demeanor twisted, his smug mask falling away, and the man completely snapped.

He reached down and fisted a hand in the warlock's dark hair, pulling him up by it, forcing his back to arch and his wounds to stretch—not enough to reopen the ones that were still a bit raw but enough to make them hurt. He couldn't hold back the sharp cry that forced its way up his throat, his eyes clenching shut as his vision went white and his stomach rolled.

He really, really should have kept his mouth shut, but he couldn't bring himself to regret his words. His magic, his life, was his and his alone, and he had already made his choice as to how he would use it. Nothing was going to change that.

"You are really starting to try my patience, boy!" Barragh snarled, and Merlin quickly decided that perhaps it was a good thing he was in too much pain to talk, because he got the feeling that most of the comments he could make on that statement wouldn't do him any favors. "Don't think you'll get away with it unpunished."

Barragh released him, letting him fall back to his cot and pulling another pained yelp from him before stomping across the room and towards the door. He threw it open with a bang and then turned back to the warlock. Merlin watched him with as much defiance as he could muster given what had just happened, but it turned out to be more than enough to earn him a livid glare and a completely unveiled threat in return.

"I've broken many sorcerers over the years, some even more defiant than you. One way or another, you will submit to me."

The poor excuse for a noble was just about to walk out the door when Merlin, needing to have the last word (and because he really was the world's most insolent servant) conjured up the rest of his strength and proved once and for all that Arthur was right about him. He really was an idiot.

"Don't count on it."

The slamming of the door resounded throughout the room with a sense of finality.

He would come to regret those words.

Arthur was fairly certain that if not for the fact that the guards brought him meals regularly (and occasionally irregularly), he would have lost track of time by now. That and he probably would have died of boredom at some point. He was pretty sure it was possible; a person could only take doing nothing for so long before completely losing their mind.

…And okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic, but as the prince of Camelot, he was surely entitled to be. After all, he wasn't used to spending so much time sitting around and being confined to a small space. In Camelot there was always something for him to be doing, whether it was patrolling, training the knights, attending the council, arguing with his father, piling chores on Merlin (he winced a bit at that one and vowed to do better if—when—he got his friend back), or even on rare occasions reading. Here there was nothing. Barragh hadn't even deemed him worthy enough to visit, and Arthur had actually been hoping he would if only so that the prince could take out some of his pent up frustration on him (not the best plan, but it would have made him feel better).

The only thing that had been able to break up the monotony in any way whatsoever was Owyn. The guard always brought him at least one of his meals each day, and unlike the other guards who would usually just drop off the food and come back for the dishes later, he always stayed and talked. Sometimes he just rambled, but most of the time he was either asking or answering questions. The two of them had had some rather interesting conversations, some of them serious and some of them not. He had managed to learn a bit more about Barragh at least, and how he had come to own his castle. He had learned about the kingdom and its king as well as the type of people who dwelled within his realm. He had even ended up learning a bit more about the guards, but there were a few topics they stayed away from.

Owyn never mentioned the other prisoners (with the exception of their first real conversation) and Arthur never mentioned Merlin (not directly, at least). Both of them were rather good at steering the conversation away from the things they didn't want to discuss, and there was enough respect between them not to push the other into talking about it. However, they had had some rather difficult conversations (difficult for Arthur), because Owyn liked to discuss things, to make people think, to challenge opinions and beliefs and offer up his own, and as much as it pained him to admit it, the man was actually rather wise. It made for good and often interesting discourse.

So he really shouldn't have been surprised when, after almost a week of his captivity (six days, to be exact), Owyn walked through the door, delivered the prince's supper, and the proceeded to ask with a smile on his face, "So, how do you feel about magic?"

It was a good thing he hadn't had the chance to eat or drink anything yet, because he was fairly certain it would have ended up on the floor. That or he would have choked to death. As it were, he snapped his head up to meet Owyn's seemingly inconspicuous gaze with an incredulous one of his own.

"Why?" he asked, the word coming out a bit harsher than he intended, but the guard didn't seem the least bit put off by it.

"Just curious," was the reply, accompanied by a shrug, as if the answer didn't really matter to him even though it obviously did. He wouldn't have bothered to ask if he wasn't interested, and even though this wasn't a topic that Arthur wanted to talk too much about, he got the feeling that Owyn wouldn't let him get out of it. It was better to just give his answer and get it over with.

"I don't condone the use of magic," he told him while reaching out to grab a few of the berries off his plate. "It's dangerous, as are those who practice it. It's against the law in Camelot."

"…I didn't ask about the law." There it was again, that shift in tone that he had become familiar with over the past few days. The guard was able to change his demeanor so suddenly that it often left the prince confused and trying to catch back up. This time around was no different. "I wasn't asking what Camelot thinks or what your father thinks. I asked how you feel about magic."

"What's the difference?"

"There's a big difference. You're your own person, so you should have your own opinions. Just because someone tells you something is or isn't a certain way doesn't mean it's true. You should try to see things with your own eyes, because the truth can be a lot of different things to a lot of different people. You'll find that most things often aren't one way or another."

Arthur gripped his cup rather tightly, feeling just a little frustrated and perhaps a bit angry (he really hated talking about magic), so instead of answering the question or commenting on Owyn's little bit of philosophical advice, he deflected.

"What's your opinion then?" he asked haughtily, fighting the urge to cross his arms over his chest in a classic manner of defense and defiance. He couldn't hold back the scowl though, but the guard didn't seem fazed by it in the slightest. Arthur's question did, however, earn him a rather stunned stare in response, those green eyes blinking a few times in genuine surprise.

"Mine?" It almost sounded like he had never been asked before, as if he had never really had to consider it. He turned his eyes towards the ceiling like he often did when giving up something about himself, and Arthur waited for the response he knew would be coming shortly. "Hmm…I guess I've never really thought about it. I don't really have an opinion on magic. I think it's incredible, but as far as seeing it as good or evil, to me, magic just is. It's something you either have or you don't…although…"

His expression fell along with his voice, and Arthur wasn't sure what he had been expecting to hear, but it certainly wasn't what followed.

"…I'm starting to pity the ones that do."

"What?" he asked, shocked, though it came out sounding more like indignant. "Why? It was their choice to practice it."

"Not always."

"What?" He knew he was starting to repeat himself, but he couldn't quite help it, because that…that was something he hadn't heard before. That wasn't what he had been told, what his father and so many others had taught him over the years. Magic was a choice—it had to be, and yet those two simple words were attempting to completely unravel that way of thinking. They paled though in comparison to what followed.

"A talent for magic is something you're born with," Owyn began, his eyes drifting briefly over to Arthur before returning to the ceiling. "You either have magic or you don't. Some people can go their whole lives without ever realizing it's there, and sometimes it awakens on it's own, whether the person wants it to or not. Choosing to study it and to learn spells is a choice, but having it isn't…and I guess, sometimes, a person isn't really given any choice whatsoever in using it either. Sometimes magic is instinctive. It just happens, whether they want it to or not."

Arthur wanted to say something. He wanted to tell him that that was ridiculous, that magic had to be learned and practiced, that it wasn't something instinctual, that there was always a choice, but the words wouldn't come, and Owyn wasn't done talking. As much as he wanted to just tell him that he was wrong, a part of him felt the need to listen, to hear what he had to say even though his words were trying to shatter everything Arthur had believed to be true about magic and the people who used it.

"Magic is both a gift and a curse, just like any other form of power. It can be a terrible responsibility, and I pity those with it because most people don't understand. Sorcerers are persecuted, feared, hated, or they're used by cruel people with selfish intentions, treated as tools or weapons, and all because of the way they were born, for something they can't help being.

"Don't get me wrong. I don't condone the use of magic for selfish gain or for harming others—people need to be held responsible for their actions—but I know that in Camelot, sorcerers are executed simply for having magic, regardless of whether or not they've actually used it. Even children are killed simply because their parents were sorcerers, and I'm sure plenty of parents have been executed as well just for having a child with magic. People are killed simply for the way they were born, for existing."

Those green eyes fell from their place on the ceiling and bore straight into his, burning with both righteousness and a deep-seated grief.

"You can't possibly believe that that's right."

No. No, it really wasn't. It was perhaps one of the few areas of magic where he vehemently disagreed with his father. A child can't choose their parents just as parents can't choose their children, and it was wrong to kill someone just because of how they were born. He also couldn't condone killing by association, executing entire families when there was no proof of their guilt. He just couldn't, and magic or not, he could never bring himself to kill a child. He knew that according to his father it was treasonous to think like that, that magic was magic no matter the age or the nature of the user…but it just felt wrong.

Magic is evil. How many times had he heard those words over the years? How many times had he seen first hand the damage and destruction that a single sorcerer could cause? How often had his kingdom, his people, suffered at the hands of magic? Before the great purge, magic had nearly destroyed Camelot. It had been for the best to rid the kingdom of it. His father couldn't have been wrong about that.

But if having magic wasn't a choice…

"I've been told that magic corrupts," he began, his voice nowhere near as steady as he would have liked it to be, his mind too much at war with itself to fully support the words he was saying, "that it can twist even the purest of hearts."

"No," Owyn said—no admonishing, no attacking, just stating his thoughts like he always did, calmly and with a sense of knowing. "Power corrupts. Fear and anger, bitterness, self-righteousness, hatred…those corrupt. Magic itself can't do anything without a mind and a heart to guide it. The wielder is the one who decides how it's used. I won't deny that magic is dangerous, but it's not evil. Good and evil are human concepts—they dwell only in the hearts of people. Magic just…is."

"You talk as if you know a lot about it." Arthur was only just realizing how little he actually knew, how much he didn't understand, because as much as he didn't want to admit it, Owyn's way of looking at it made sense. His words were too sure and his expression too serious for him to be lying. It wasn't easy to accept. He wasn't sure if he even could, but for now he would just continue to hear him out. He could think about it more and sort out his thoughts later.

"I do," the guard admitted, though he didn't seem at all happy or proud about it. "I've…met a lot of sorcerer while working for Barragh."

This time around Arthur did almost choke, though thankfully it was just water. His whole body went tense at the thought that there were sorcerers in the castle, that Barragh had people like that around him, possibly working for him.

"What do you mean?" he asked, needing an answer so that his mind could hopefully be put at ease. Owyn just fixed him with a thoughtful, cautions look, and Arthur instantly knew that whatever answer he received wouldn't be a very direct one. The guard had a rather bad habit of answering the questions Arthur really wanted answers to with more questions. This time proved not to be any different.

"How much do you know about Barragh?" It wasn't exactly a question he had been expecting, but it was easy enough to answer.

"Only what you've told me, and what I've been able to see for myself." Which wasn't much, and the little he did know wasn't all that useful. It certainly wasn't anything that could help him escape.

"…Barragh is a weapons dealer," Owyn began, and Arthur was about to point out that he already knew that, but before he could even open his mouth, the guard cut him off, "who specializes in magic."

Well, there went pretty much any hope he had of ever being able to escape.

"He can't use it himself," Owyn continued, "nor can any of us, but he has a lot of tools and weapons that can be used against it or to enhance it. He also…" The guard clenched his fists, his eyes narrowing as he grit his teeth in a show of repressed anger, something the prince wasn't used to seeing on the normally cheerful man. Whatever he was about to say was clearly something that didn't sit well with him at all. "…He sells sorcerers as weapons."

Arthur was fairly sure that he had never, not in a hundred years, expected to feel indignant on a sorcerer's behalf, but alas.

"He sells them?"

Owyn nodded, and the prince found himself feeling even more repulsed by the tyrant of a lord, because people weren't objects. What right did he have to treat them as if they were?

"I'm sure you can well imagine that sorcerers aren't the easiest people to find, but out of every type of 'magical weapon,' they sell for the highest, so Barragh started capturing sorcerers. When he began to have a hard time of it, he started hiring mercenaries to go out and look for people with magic. He has quite a few groups of them now, spread throughout the neighboring kingdoms. Once they find someone, they take them as discretely as possible, usually at night or while they're out on an errand. It doesn't always work out—sometimes they get themselves noticed—but they usually bring in a few every couple of months or so. There was even a group in Camelot not too long ago, but they were taken out by a patrol of knights. A few managed to escape, but Barragh disposed of them when they returned—"

"Wait," Arthur cut in, because he remembered that incident rather well (it had only been a month ago). People had been disappearing from some of the surrounding villages, so his father had sent him and the knights to deal with the mercenaries responsible for it. "Those men were Barragh's?"

What sort of cruel twist of fate was this?

Thankfully he wasn't the only one feeling a bit gobsmacked by that revelation. Owyn's mutual shock was only a small comfort, but at this point he would take whatever he could get.

"You were a part of that patrol?"

"Yes. We had received word of a group of men suspected of taking people, so my father sent us to stop them…what?"

Owyn was grinning again, the smile spreading across his face slowly, but it was sardonic at best and void of any of his usual lightheartedness. He huffed a soft, almost bitter but amused laugh as he leant back against the wall and fixed his gaze across the cell.

"It's a bit ironic, isn't it," he began, "Uther sending you out to stop a group of men from kidnapping sorcerers."

…Oh. He hadn't actually thought of that.

"If he had known what they were really doing, he probably would have rewarded them for providing a service to the kingdom."

This time it was Arthur who clenched his fists and gritted his teeth out of repressed anger, because how dare he. How dare he say something like that as if it were funny!

"Those people had done no wrong."

"But they had magic."

And just like that, he found himself back at the beginning. Owyn once again brought everything back full circle. The guard had questioned him, given his own beliefs, challenged Arthur's, and then shifted the conversation to Barragh only to lead him into a mental and verbal trap where he couldn't just pretend that the issue didn't exist, that it was all separated into black and white with nothing in between. He couldn't retract his words, couldn't justify them, and he didn't want to have to, but Owyn was right about his father and what he would have done if he had known. He would have left them alone, allowed them to continue their work, because he didn't care whether or not a sorcerer actually used their magic or what they used it for. Having it was enough for him to condemn them, no matter how honestly or innocently they had been living, no matter how dear they were to the people around them.

He couldn't accept that, but if he didn't…what then? Where did that leave him?

"…The law makes no exceptions," Owyn said, and by now Arthur was certain that the other man could actually somehow read his thoughts, because his insight was always provided with shocking accuracy. "By your father's decree, all who have magic, who consort with sorcerers, and who know and conceal a sorcerer are to be executed, no matter their reasons. Under his rule, even a healer would be put to death for saving someone's life simply because they used magic to do so. Do you agree with that?"

No. No, but…

"Magic is dangerous…"

"It is, but so are weapons, and everyone has the potential to use those. All people are capable of great destruction, and yet we don't pass judgment on them just for having the potential to cause harm. Why should it be any different with magic?"

Arthur didn't say anything. For the longest time he just sat there, trying to put everything together, to find a way to reconcile his truth and his father's truth with Owyn's, because he didn't want to believe that any of it was wrong, but he knew it was impossible. His father, who believed that all magic and all who associated themselves with it needed to be destroyed, and Owyn, who believed that magic wasn't evil, that a person's actions and their choices were what should really be judged. It couldn't be both ways.

Owyn had asked him, back at the start of their conversation, how he felt about magic, but the truth was he didn't really know. He often tried to avoid thinking about it, to just accept his king's word on the matter like he was expected to, because he knew that if he spent too much time contemplating it, he'd probably arrive at a conclusion far different than his father's. It certainly wouldn't be the first time though. After all, he was in this position because his way of seeing things was different. He had no trouble whatsoever disagreeing with him about his servant, so maybe, just maybe…it was okay to disagree with him a bit on this as well?

"…I've never really met a sorcerer who wasn't trying to kill or deceive me," he mused aloud, waiting to see what Owyn would have to say.

"Well, I have. You probably have too, you just don't know it. Magic can be hidden, after all. There are plenty of sorcerers who just want to live peacefully, and so they would have had no reason to use their magic on you."

It made sense. It all did, really.

As Arthur got lost in his thoughts, mindlessly picking at the food still left on his plate (he certainly didn't remember eating so much of it, but that was also something rather common during Owyn's visits. The man was a bit distracting), he didn't see the determined if not somewhat wary look flash across the guard's face. He didn't see his shoulders straighten or his gaze become fixed and focused, but he did hear when he opened his mouth to start yet another conversation, because one way or another, he always got the answers to his questions whether the prince was aware of it or not.

"Can I ask you something?" he began, drawing Arthur's attention. "If you were to meet someone with magic who had done no wrong, who meant you no harm—someone who may as well be the very definition of a good person…what would you do? If you met a sorcerer who only ever used their magic to help others, would you still hand them over to be executed?"

It should have been a difficult question. It should have put him at odds with everything he had been told, all he had grown up believing in, the lessons he had been taught as a child, but in the end it didn't. There had been so many moments in the past few years where he had been uncertain of his father's actions when dealing with magic. The king had been willing to execute Gwen for healing her father and causing a plague, neither of which had been her doing, but if either had been proven true, the result would have been the same. He didn't understand it then and he still didn't now, because where was the evil in saving a man's life?

There had also been that incident with the druid boy, a child that his father was going to behead simply because he was a druid, because he had been born that way, and that was enough of a reason for him. How many druids had been slaughtered over the years for no other reason than the mere fact that they existed?

"If…" he began, swallowing deeply before pressing on, "if there really was a sorcerer like that…" If there really was a good sorcerer, someone who only used their magic for the sake of others, who had been born with a gift but harbored no resentment or ill-will toward those who persecuted them for it, then… "No. I don't think I would."

"It would be an act of treason. Could you live with that?"

Gwen, the druid boy, all the times he had defied his father for one reason or another and for one person in particular…

"…Yes, I could. I have done." And he would continue to do so if his heart told him it was the right thing to do, regardless of the consequences. Uther was his father and his king, but he wasn't Arthur, just as Arthur wasn't him. Two separate people, two separate truths—that was how it worked. He could have his own opinions. Surely that wasn't a crime.

"So how do you feel about magic?"

He still didn't have an answer, but the look on Owyn's face, so full of relief and pride and something else that he couldn't quite place but that was no less overjoyed, made him think that just maybe, he didn't really need one.

A/N: So, if all goes according to plan, next chapter will be the start of what everyone has been waiting for. Don't be surprised if I end it in a cliffhanger though. I've been fairly nice this time around, so it's bound to happen sooner or later :)

I'm sorry I didn't get around to the responses for the last chapter. The only day I had off between then and now was Thursday, and that was spent mostly with my sister. I should be able to manage this time though since I have Thursday plus the whole weekend to play with. Feel free to ask me whatever you want, and don't be afraid to give your honest opinion. I love hearing from all of you :)

That's all for now. Until next week!