A/N: Alas, I did not win the lottery. I was really hoping I would, but I guess it wasn't meant to be. But anyway, thank you so much for all the reviews. Seriously, I'm not really sure what to say other than thank you. I know I haven't had time to do individual responses, but I really am grateful. You all make my week so much more bearable. Anyway, gonna keep this short tonight cause I can barely keep my eyes open :)

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 :)

Other than, you know, working 6 bloody days in a row, I spent quite a bit of time trying to memorize a song I found this week. It may very well be one of my new favorite songs of all times. If you like Japanese music (this one is Jrock), then you should totally look for the song "Order Made" by Radwimps. It has quite possibly some of the most beautiful lyrics ever (you can easily find a version with subtitles on youtube). Seriously, listen to it :) It's gorgeous *end shameless plug*

Not much to say about this chapter. It's a tad shorter but still over 4,000 words. Um...I won't say how it ends. I'm pretty sure you all know by now anyway :)

Onward!

CHAPTER 12

After being dragged from the room, Merlin hadn't really paid his surroundings much attention. He had been perfectly content to just keep his eyes closed and let the guards take him to whatever cell they had been ordered to throw him in. He hadn't really cared simply because it wouldn't make any difference. He was just too tired to be bothered with the details. It was all the same to him anyway, so what did it matter?

A great deal, apparently. He couldn't help but wonder if the world, life, fate—whatever or whoever it was that dictated things like this—got some strange sense of satisfaction out of continuously proving him wrong. Honestly, what other explanation was there, because for the life of him, he could find no other reason for something like this to happen, because things like this just simply didn't happen. The odds were too great, too ridiculous, and yet there was no denying what he was seeing as he forced his arms to support his exhausted, injured body in order to look at the cell next to his.

Sitting there staring back at him with wide eyes was a man who looked exactly like—

"Arthur…"

He was hallucinating. He had to be, because why would Arthur be there? Perhaps he had finally lost his mind, or maybe the pain was making him delusional. It was certainly possible. It made more sense than anything else he could come up with. However, the longer he continued to stare, the more uncertain he became. Sure, he probably knew Arthur better than anyone else, but he was pretty sure that not even that knowledge would be enough to create such an accurate, lifelike hallucination. Plus, he's pretty sure that he had actually heard him call his name instead of the sound just echoing in his mind. He was no expert, but he was fairly certain that hallucinations couldn't actually talk.

But if that was the case, it meant that Arthur really was there, sitting in the cell next to his.

He wasn't entirely sure which scenario he preferred.

In the end though, it didn't really matter which one made more sense or which one he would rather have it be, because the truth of the matter was that Arthur was there. The real question was why. Why was the crown prince of Camelot in the cell next to him? Barragh had never put him next to anyone before, so why now, and why Arthur of all people? What was that arrogant lord thinking, doing something as ridiculous as this?

The first reason he came up with was enough to make his blood run cold.

Does Barragh know? Had he somehow found out about the connection between him and the prince?

Merlin very quickly recalled every conversation he had ever had while in the castle, every word he had ever spoken, and he couldn't think of a single time where he had mentioned Arthur. Barragh knew that he was from Camelot and that there was someone he had sworn loyalty too, but he didn't know who and the warlock had never elaborated. He had always been careful not to give anything away that could endanger the people he cared about, so there was no way that he could possibly know about Arthur. It was simply impossible. He needed to believe that, because he knew what would happen if that wasn't the case. He knew what kind of man Barragh was, what he was capable of, and how he liked to control people.

Merlin had managed to remain strong so far, but if something were to happen to Arthur—if he were to be threatened…

It was suddenly vitally important for him to know why the prince was there, and since it didn't look like Arthur would be finding his voice anytime soon if the disbelieving, gaping stare was anything to go by, he would have to make the first move. At any other time he probably would have made fun of the prince for being rendered speechless (not an easy feat), but he wasn't sure how long he had before he either passed out or someone decided to check on them. He needed answers, and he needed them now.

But where to begin?

"What—how…" He wasn't sure where to even start or what question to ask first; he had so many—it had been over a month, after all—and all of them were important. There was just so much he wanted to say, to ask, but he started with the most pressing one first, his voice shaking as his strength began to wane. "Why are you here?"

Unfortunately, his arms gave out before he could properly finish and he found himself collapsing back to the floor, his question ending in a groan as the fresh wounds on his back pulled and burned. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to bite back any more sounds that threatened to escape (the situation was embarrassing and frustrating enough the way it was. The last thing he wanted was to appear even more pathetic than he already felt). He didn't even bother trying to move again; he already knew it wouldn't be a wise decision. Besides, he could still see Arthur if he moved his head a bit. He didn't need to be propped up to look at him.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that the prince had finally broken out of his shocked stupor. It seemed that the warlock's collapse had been enough to spur him into motion even though it had put an end to his own. Arthur had moved himself right next to the bars between their cells, getting as close as possible. They really weren't all that far apart. If he were to move his arm a bit, he'd probably be able to reach him.

"Merlin," the prince began only for the warlock to cut him off.

"Why are you here?" he asked again albeit far more softly. However, instead of answering, Arthur just shook his head, his expression changing into something that was both familiar and foreign. It was firm and commanding—the look of a future king—but it was dampened, softer…concerned.

Maybe he really was hallucinating.

"That's not important right now," Arthur told him. He was rather tempted to argue that yes, it was important, but before he could even attempt to say anything, the prince was moving again. He unwrapped one of his hands from around the bars he had been holding onto and reached out. He was careful and cautious, moving slowly as if he were afraid for some reason (Merlin wondered if maybe Arthur wasn't entirely sure that this was real either) before very gently placing his hand on the warlock's shoulder. Merlin couldn't stop himself from flinching at the touch—everything still hurt, after all—and even though Arthur tensed for a moment as if he were about to pull away, he kept his hand where it was.

Neither of them would admit to it, but they needed the connection. They had both gone far too long without it, both fearing that they may never have it again.

Funny how something so simple could be so incredibly grounding.

Reluctant to move his hand from his servant's shoulder just yet, the prince instead distracted himself with taking a closer look at the boy's less-than-ideal state. He was pale, even more so than usual, with dark circles under his eyes, but the most worrying part was the blood that was soaking through his shirt in places. At first he had thought, hoped, that the marks had been left by old wounds, that the shirt just hadn't been washed or disposed of, but he knew that wasn't the case. Whatever injuries Merlin had suffered had been recent. They also hadn't been treated properly. There didn't seem to be a sign of fever yet, so they likely weren't infected, but without the right care, that could very well change.

Unfortunately, he didn't have anything he could use to clean them. He really didn't have anything at all that he could use to help Merlin. Sure, he could probably do a better job of dressing the injuries than whoever had tried to patch him up, but it wouldn't matter much if the wounds weren't cleaned properly first. He would simply have to wait until someone came along with water or until Owyn decided to show his face. Surely he'd be able to help.

The prince looked down at his friend, meeting a pair of half-lidded and somewhat glazed blue eyes. Even though he couldn't see the injuries, he knew they had to be painful if they had reduced Merlin to this. It almost looked like he was on the verge of passing out. He was pretty sure the boy hadn't been beaten seeing as how his arms and face showed no signs of bruising. There was no swelling, no twisted limbs, which meant no broken bones, and seeing as how he wasn't struggling to breathe while lying on his stomach, his ribs were probably alright as well. However, the clear exhaustion and those hazy blue eyes were enough to make him worry and wonder what was wrong aside from the obvious.

"What happened to you?" he asked softly, hoping that the servant would give him an answer, but instead it seemed like his body was trying to drag him into a pain-induced sleep. His eyes slipped closed with a sigh, and for a moment Arthur was worried that he had missed something, that he had overlooked an injury and that Merlin was actually hurt a lot worse than he appeared. He wanted to squeeze the boy's shoulder to get his attention, but he didn't want to cause additional pain, so instead he just opted for calling out, hoping that for once his unruly servant would listen. "Merlin."

"I'm awake," came the half-mumbled reply.

"What happened?"

Merlin cracked his eyes open a bit and looked right at the prince, a very small smile crossing his face. It was wry and perhaps a bit wistful, but it was genuine and familiar and there, which was enough to reassure him that the servant was in no real danger from his wounds, that whatever had been done to him wasn't life-threatening. It was a small comfort even though the words that followed were anything but.

"You know me," Merlin told him with a breathy laugh. "I'm not very good at doing what I'm told."

Yes, I know. He wanted to say it; he was even about to when the full implications of what his friend had just said began to sink in. His breath caught as his attention immediately returned to the patches of blood along Merlin's back. At first glance they simply looked like random spots of red, perhaps from a few cuts here and there, but that was rather unlikely. If they were just cuts and thus had been made with a knife, then there would have been wounds on his arms and legs as well, not just his back. However, the rest of Merlin was untouched. He wasn't injured anywhere else.

And the bloody spots on his back… If one were to connect them, they would form lines.

Five lines, to be exact.

Something must have shown on his face the moment he realized it, because Merlin had closed his eyes again, a pained, self-conscious expression crossing his face. Arthur couldn't decide whether to feel sick or angry, and so he settled on something in between. He clenched his teeth to keep himself from yelling at the wrong person, a pit slowly opening up in his stomach at the thought of what had occurred.

Merlin had been flogged. Someone had taken a whip to his servant.

If he ever got his hands on Barragh, he'd run him through, though tearing the man limb from limb would probably be more satisfying. Not only had that overbearing tyrant tortured Merlin (and it was torture, not just a punishment, because he was certain the bloody sociopath had enjoyed every moment of it), but he had managed to put that kind of look on his face. There was shame there, humiliation and perhaps guilt, as if he had something to be ashamed of, as if he were somehow at fault. It wasn't right. Merlin had no reason to look like that. The fault lay entirely with Barragh. One way or another, he would pay. How dare he harm one of the few people that Arthur truly cared about, his only real friend?

He would pay.

"Arthur," he heard Merlin call quietly, drawing the prince's attention away from his somewhat violent thoughts and back towards the situation at hand. Those blue eyes were open and clear again even though there was still a pained look about them, but that was only natural considering what he had gone through.

"What?" he prompted just as softly, waiting for whatever it was that Merlin had to say.

"Why are you here?"

It was the same question as before. In all honestly, he really should have been expecting that; after all, he never did answer. However, he wasn't entirely sure if he could. There were so many answers to that question, and he wasn't certain which one the servant wanted from him. Knowing Merlin though, it was probably all of them, or if there was a specific answer he was looking for, it would probably end up being the only one that Arthur wouldn't think to give (or wouldn't want to). His servant was peculiar like that sometimes. Nonetheless, he needed to say something. They hadn't seen each other in over a month, after all. Of course there would be questions after meeting up again under such unbelievable circumstances.

"I'm being held for ransom," he said. It was best to start simple. He knew it wasn't enough of an explanation, but he'd wait to see how far Merlin wanted to take it before offering up much more than that.

A puzzled look appeared on the servant's face before he opened his mouth again, his words a bit unsure. "But, how…?"

"I was ambushed by Barragh's men near the border."

Even more confusion filtered into his expression, a frown appearing on his face as he stared up at the prince. Arthur found himself trying to predict the next question, already having a good idea of where Merlin intended to go with this.

"What were you doing so far from Camelot?"

He didn't say anything at first—just because he had known what the question would probably be didn't make it any easier to answer. He was so very tempted to lie, to tell him that he had been out hunting or on a patrol or that there had been rumors of a beast and his father had sent him to slay it. He wanted to give any other answer than the one he knew to be true, because swallowing his pride was always such a hard thing to do, especially when it came to Merlin…however…

However, while he had been in Camelot, Merlin had been here—locked up, alone, hurt. Even though he had spent a great deal of time looking for his missing servant, it didn't change the fact that part of this was his fault. He was the one who had written Merlin's disappearance off as nothing more than skiving, as the boy being his lazy, insolent self. He was the one who had waited three whole days before sending out anyone to look for him, pretty much guaranteeing that the ones who took him would be long gone before anyone could track them down.

If he had set off that first morning, he probably could have caught up with them. He could have saved Merlin, and then neither of them would have ended up where they were now, locked away and at the mercy of a narcissistic weapons dealer. Perhaps things would have turned out the same way anyway, regardless of what he had done, but that didn't change the fact that for three days he had done nothing. Had their positions been reversed, Merlin would have set off immediately, without hesitation. What did that say about him then? What kind of man did that make him?

Just what kind of friend was he?

And what about Merlin? During all that time, had he been waiting for someone to help him? Surely he had to have known that they were looking for him, right? He couldn't possibly have believed that no one cared, that they would just abandon him—that Arthur would abandon him…right?

It was that thought that pushed him over the edge, that had him swallowing whatever remained of his pride, allowing him to just speak the honest truth, because Merlin needed to know that he hadn't been forgotten. He deserved to know why Arthur was really there. Pride was a small price to pay when compared to all he stood to lose by clinging to it.

"I was looking for you."

No pretending, no lies—the guilt and the relief still flooding through him would never allow it. He had promised himself that if he ever found Merlin, he would do whatever he could to be a better friend. What better way to start than by acknowledging that he actually was one?

Beneath his hand he could feel Merlin's whole body tense up, a response to being startled if his wide eyes were anything to go by. His servant was staring at him as if he had just sprouted a second head or something. He clearly hadn't been expecting an answer quite like that, and Arthur found himself feeling rather pleased that he had been able to shock him into speechlessness (a near impossible feat, all things considered, though Merlin did occasionally have his quiet moments).

Eventually his body relaxed a bit as the surprise began to wear off, but as it did, his brow furrowed and the confusion returned to his features. The prince was about to ask him what was wrong when Merlin suddenly cut him off with yet another question of his own.

"Why?"

This time it was Arthur's turn to stare back in confusion.

"Why what?" Just what did Merlin have a problem with now?

"I…"

The warlock swallowed rather thickly, watching from his place on the floor as Arthur continued to stare at him, waiting for whatever it was he wanted to say. Merlin was tempted to just tell him not to mind it, that it wasn't important, but at the same time he wanted to know what the prince would say, how he would react. A part of him wanted nothing more than to berate his friend for coming after him, for risking himself like that when it wasn't necessary, but the part of him that was more selfish, more unsure, needed reassurance. He needed to know whether or not it truly went both ways.

"I'm just a servant, Arthur."

"No, you're not," he said, nearly cutting the warlock off. Once again Merlin found himself at a loss for words as he looked up and saw a face full of conviction. "Not to me, anyway."

The warlock wasn't sure what to say. What could he say to something like that? He had been half expecting Arthur to agree with him—well, maybe not agree, because Arthur almost never agreed with him, but at the very least he had been expecting a comment about half-decent servants. He certainly hadn't been expecting that. Sure, Merlin had called Arthur a friend more than once, but he couldn't really remember a moment where the prince had referred to him as such in return (being enchanted didn't count). He hadn't used the word itself, but he had flat out admitted that the warlock wasn't just a servant, that he was important enough to look for. Arthur really had cared enough to come after him, unaided and against his father's wishes (Uther would never waste his time and resources searching for a servant, least of all Merlin).

He wanted to say something, wanted to thank him in some way, but he couldn't find the right words. Nothing would be enough, so instead of trying to put his gratitude into some kind of "thank you" that would only ever fall short, he simply smiled, his grin widening even further when Arthur returned it. As terrible as the situation was that they had landed themselves in, he was still grateful, still glad to see the prince unharmed and no longer missing. His friend was right there, and maybe together they'd be able to escape from Barragh and go home.

Barragh…

Why did he…?

Now that he was beginning to settle down a bit from the sudden flood of emotions that seeing Arthur again had stirred up, he found himself wondering just what the lord was up to. He was certain now that Barragh didn't know about his connection to Arthur, so then why had he decided to put them next to each other? What was he planning to accomplish? What good would it do? If they had been strangers, Arthur would have probably ignored him for the most part and vice versa. Sure, maybe they would have talked a bit, but it wouldn't have amounted to anything important. Just what was he thinking? Why put him next to the prince of Camelot…oh.

Merlin was a sorcerer from Camelot.

Arthur was the crown prince of Camelot.

Camelot executed sorcerers.

So that's it. Barragh was trying to keep him from using magic. He was trying to prevent him from escaping again. Well, little did the lord know he was just wasting his time, because after that last attempt, Merlin couldn't use his magic. He was far too tired to even try to reach for it. It would've actually been a good plan under different circumstances even if not for the reasons Barragh probably thought, but in all honesty…if it came down to it, he would use his magic to protect Arthur whether the prince saw him do it or not. He would rather avoid that kind of situation altogether though if he could, because if Arthur were to react badly—if he were to abandon him, hate him, want nothing more to do with him, then, well…he was pretty sure he would break.

Arthur was the purpose for his magic, for his life, and if he were to lose that…

Wait…no. No, no, no, he wouldn't—

The warlock sucked in a sharp breath, his pulse quickening as his heart pounded against his chest as if it were about to burst. He found himself suddenly terrified, unable to finish that thought for fear of where it would lead, because surely he was mistaken. It was too great a risk; so much could go wrong, and yet…Barragh had put him there for a reason. He wanted him next to Arthur. What if he planned on telling the prince what he was? What if he told Arthur that Merlin was a warlock? Would he really stoop that low?

Yes.

Yes, he would. Everything Barragh had done to him so far had been to try and get him to swear his magic and his loyalty to him, even if it meant breaking him. As far as the lord knew, he was just a sorcerer from Camelot, and all Merlin was trying to do was go home, but if the prince of Camelot were to find out he was a sorcerer…then he would no longer have a home to go back to.

No…

No, that couldn't happen. It couldn't. His heart clenched at the thought and he slammed his eyes shut, not wanting to think about it anymore, but the damage was already done. He knew now that there was a good chance that Arthur was going to find out about him, about his magic, and he was terrified. There was absolutely nothing he could do, no way to fix this. He couldn't escape and neither could Arthur. If Barragh decided to say anything about his magic, there would be no stopping him.

It was highly unlikely that he'd be getting out of this with his secret still intact.

The hand on his shoulder tightened just a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to show that Arthur was indeed concerned while making an attempt to comfort him in the only way he could. It was a nice gesture, but it wasn't helping, because the kinder Arthur was to him, the more it hurt to think that sometime soon he could lose all of that, everything that the two of them had built. What was he supposed to do?

"Merlin?" Arthur called, but the warlock kept his eyes closed, unable to face the prince. He knew that he would have to eventually, but at that moment he just couldn't, not when his thoughts were so scattered and the fear would be easily seen in his eyes. He just needed a moment to calm down, to let things settle, and then he could write it off as a spasm or something—his body really did hurt, so it wouldn't be a complete lie.

He just needed a little more time. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently it was.

"Merlin, what—?" Arthur began to ask only for the sound of a door opening down the corridor cut him off. Both prisoners froze, listening for what they knew would follow, and sure enough, it wasn't long before they could hear the telltale sound of footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent hall.

Someone was coming.

A/N: I'm sorry. I know, I did it again, but those kinds of endings are so much easier for me (and more fun). I fear there may be a few more before we're done.

Anyway, thank you again for the wonderful response, and to all those reading, I hope you're enjoying this fic. If you feel so inclined, please go ahead and drop a line. I'd be happy to hear from you, but please don't ever feel obligated. I'm more than happy just knowing that there are people taking the time to read my work :)

There was probably something else I wanted to say, but I'm too tired to think of it.

Anyway, that's all for now. Until next week!