A/N: Nothing to say this time around. I'm extremely tired, so I'm going to do this quickly tonight :)

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 :)

Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews and all the alerts/favorites :) It really does mean a great deal to me, so thank you! I just wish I had enough time to respond to everyone, but alas, work seems to enjoy sucking the life out of me (and the heat. It's bloody freezing in that store. I even have fingerless gloves now because it was so cold).

So my eyes were sort of blurring when I went through this, so if you find any mistakes, please point them out, and I shall fix them when I get home from work.

Onward!

CHAPTER 13

From the moment they had thrown him into his new cell, he had known that this would happen. It was too much to hope that he'd be left alone, even for a little while, or that they would give him enough time to really talk to Arthur. He still had questions, and he was certain that the prince did as well—ones he could and couldn't answer—but apparently that would have to wait until later. Whoever was coming down the corridor was getting closer, and as much as he wanted it to be one of the guards, he had a feeling it wasn't. The sinking feeling in his stomach wouldn't allow him to believe otherwise, and the sound of the footsteps was too familiar, too unsettling. He had learned to dread it over the last month but never as much as he did now.

Barragh.

Barragh was coming, and Arthur didn't know. He didn't know about the situation they were in, about what could happen, or even what Barragh wanted. He didn't know, and if he were to say the wrong thing in front of the overbearing lord…

The footsteps were drawing closer. Merlin knew that he didn't have much time to act, but there was one thing that had to be done. He could only hope that Arthur would go along with it, that just this once he would do as he was told.

"Arthur," he called, his voice barely even a whisper, but in such close proximity, the prince had no problem hearing him. Once he was certain he had his friend's undivided attention, he pressed onward with as much gravity as he could force into his voice. "Arthur, I need you to listen to me. It's important—and don't give me that whole 'I'm the prince, I give the orders' lark, because I really don't care right now, and we both know I never do as I'm told anyway."

Something about what he had said must have struck the prince as urgent—whether it was the seriousness in his voice or the words themselves, he didn't know—because as soon as he was done talking, Arthur's eyes narrowed, and in a voice just as quiet and grave, he asked, "What is it?"

He was almost certain Arthur wasn't going to like what he had to say, but it had to be done. For both their sakes, he needed to agree, or everything would be over. No matter what, Merlin couldn't let things come to that. He just couldn't.

"No matter what happens," he began, fighting the urge to look away but keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the prince, "you can't let Barragh know that you know me."

He watched as those blue eyes widened fractionally as the prince's mouth twisted into a slight frown. There was confusion there, as well as a bit of suspicion, but strangely enough (or perhaps not so strangely, all things considered), concern seemed to be the predominant reaction to such a request. When Arthur voiced his confusion, it came out as something even less than a whisper.

"What?"

He knew he needed to explain. He knew that, but he couldn't do it. The footsteps were drawing closer, and he was certain that it would be Barragh coming around the corner. He still didn't know for sure what the man intended to do or what his plan truly was, but he knew for a fact that if the nobleman were to find out about his connection to the prince, he would exploit it. He would use Arthur against him, and Merlin wouldn't be able to do anything to stop it. He'd be forced into submission, because no matter what became of him, he had to protect Arthur.

As long as Arthur lived, his fate didn't matter. Even if Barragh were to tell the prince about his magic, even if Arthur couldn't accept it—even if he grew to hate him because of it—that was alright…just so long as the prince lived. If he could have nothing else, nothing for himself, then he at least wanted that. Surely that wasn't too much to ask.

The footsteps were getting louder. He was running out of time.

"I don't…" he began, swallowing heavily as he tried to get the words out, praying that Arthur would agree just this once, "I don't have time to explain, just…just promise me you won't let him know. You need to pretend you don't know me."

He knew it was a lot to ask, especially of someone like Arthur. He didn't like being told to do things, least of all by Merlin, but this had to be done. He couldn't tell him why or give him any sort of explanation, at least not yet, and he wasn't even entirely sure if he could explain it without everything blowing up in his face, but he'd worry about that later. At the moment, getting the prince to trust him was far more important.

"Please, Arthur. Just this once, listen to me. It's important."

"I…"

"Please, Arthur. Promise me."

The prince opened his mouth to say something but then closed it just as quickly, his voice failing him as he stared down at the young man lying before him. He wasn't sure what to say. He had no idea what was going on or why Merlin was asking such a thing from him. Even though the face looking back at him was firm and determined, there was something frantic in that gaze, a fear he couldn't quite understand. He had so many questions, but he knew there wasn't time to ask them considering how close those footsteps sounded. Each one seemed to build on the desperation he could see in Merlin's somewhat hazy eyes, still glazed with pain, both physical and not. It bothered him…a lot.

The servant knew something he didn't—about Barragh, about everything—and so Arthur came to a very quick though perhaps not entirely rational (for a prince, anyway) decision. In the end it was rather simple, because it really came down to just one thing: trust. Arthur trusted Merlin, and after everything his friend had gone through, the least he could do was grant him this one request. Perhaps he didn't understand why Merlin was asking this of him, but that okay for now. He'd find out the truth eventually, so until then—just this once—he would listen to him.

"…I promise," he said with a nod. He half expected Merlin to be surprised at his easy agreement, but instead the desperation only seemed to grow. A part of him had kind of believed that Merlin was just being a little paranoid given the situation (he chose to ignore the voice in his head saying that Merlin's "paranoia" had an irritating habit of being well-founded), but now he was starting to think that maybe things were a lot more serious than he had originally thought.

"No matter what?" Merlin asked, his eyes flicking over to the corridor outside their cell.

"No matter what. I won't let him know."

Satisfied with that answer, Merlin slowly moved away from the bars, wanting to put some distance between him and the prince before anyone saw them conversing. Arthur's hand slipped from his shoulder as he pulled away, and he found himself missing the contact almost instantly. However, this was necessary. In order to protect Arthur, he had to act like he didn't know him. It wouldn't be too difficult, all things considered, because he had gotten rather good at dealing with Barragh and keeping his mouth shut about certain things over the last month. He just hoped that the man didn't decide to reveal him as a warlock to Arthur. If he did…

Well, he would just rather not think about that. For now he was just hoping that Arthur wouldn't let anything slip.

The warlock managed to drag himself over to the middle of his cell before his strength gave out entirely and he collapsed onto the floor again. It was at that time that the owner of the footsteps finally came into view.

Barragh. Just as he had thought, and he even looked exactly the way Merlin had figured he would: arrogant and pleased with himself with a wide, smug grin on his face. It was the look of someone who believed he had won and was basking in the glory of it while rubbing his victory into the faces of everyone else. The warlock really hated that look. He had seen it far too often, and it was beginning to irritate him. Not that there was anything he could really do about it though. Until he could come up with a plan or something, he was still at Barragh's mercy. A pity that the man didn't believe in giving it.

When the nobleman reached his cell, he immediately used his personal set of keys to unlock the door. There was no one else with him, no guards or henchmen whatsoever; Barragh had actually come alone for once with no one around to keep watch or guard the cell. Instead he just pushed the door open and walked in, and to add insult to injury, he didn't even bother closing it behind him. He was more or less saying that he didn't consider the warlock to be a threat to him in the slightest. Oh how Merlin wished he could use his magic to teach the towering mountain of a man a lesson, but he knew that was impossible for him. He couldn't reach his magic, after all, and with Arthur there, he wouldn't dare use it unless he could guarantee their escape (or at least the prince's. He still wasn't entirely sure what Arthur would do to him when he found out about the magic, and to be honest, he really wasn't in any hurry to find out).

"So," Barragh began, his voice just as irritating and smug as his face, "how do you like your new cell?"

The warlock chose not to say anything and instead just averted his gaze. He wasn't in the mood for this. All he really wanted was to pass out for a while and not be bothered. His back was really starting to burn, and the hollow feeling throughout his body was beginning to bother him far more than he would have ever been willing to admit. It was unnerving and worrisome to not be able to feel his magic, to not have that constant warmth flowing through him. If he ever made it out of this alive, he would never take it for granted again.

"Oh, so you're ignoring me now, are you? Is that how you want to play this?"

Still he said nothing as he tried to school his expression into something indifferent. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction of getting a reaction. For as long as he could, he would keep quiet and just continue to ignore him. Hopefully he would get bored of gloating and just leave. One could only hope.

The weapons dealer gave a soft huff before moving closer until he was standing right in front of the warlock, staring down at him. Still Merlin refused to look at anything other than the floor. He knew that he would probably end up angering the lord if he kept ignoring him, but at the same time he really didn't feel like trading insults. He just wanted to be left alone, and the less he goaded the man, the sooner that would happen. Barragh had a habit of getting bored when he couldn't get a reaction out of someone.

Unfortunately, his resolve could only go so far. Verbal abuse was one thing. A booted foot pressing down on his back was another thing entirely. Try as he might, he couldn't keep from crying out as pressure was placed on his poorly bandaged and still very fresh wounds. He closed his eyes tight and tried not to react any further, all the while praying that no matter what happened to him, Arthur would keep his word and not say or do anything stupid. If he were to get too upset over the treatment of a "stranger," someone he wasn't supposed to know anything about, Barragh would get suspicious, and knowing him, it wouldn't take long for him to put the pieces together.

For both their sakes, Arthur needed to keep quiet.

Easier said than done.

In his own cell, the prince had to clench his jaw and grit his teeth to keep himself from saying anything. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, and that was where he kept them, all the while wishing that there was some way for him to get into the other cell so he could bash Barragh's face in. The anger and irritation he usually felt when thinking about the nobleman had increased tenfold now that he was actually standing before him. He wanted to say something, wanted to do something, but he knew deep down that he couldn't, that no matter what, he needed to play the part of the proud, conceited prince. He needed to pretend that he wasn't bothered, that the fate of another prisoner was none of his concern.

He had promised, after all.

To be honest, at first he had been incredibly confused. When Barragh had appeared before their cells, he had originally assumed that the man would barge into his. He had been expecting a few pointed comments about sending word to his father, detailing his rather embarrassing capture and his even more shameful imprisonment. However, the man had instead ignored him entirely, apart from a brief glance, and gone straight for Merlin. Why?

What did he want with Merlin?

For the life of him, Arthur could not find an answer. He couldn't come up with a single reason as to why someone would bother to kidnap Merlin unless it was to somehow get to him or to get information about Camelot. After all, even though he often insulted the boy and called him an idiot (among other things), Merlin actually wasn't mentally afflicted. Despite his seeming idiocy, he was actually rather smart, and because he was Arthur's servant and Gaius' errand runner, he knew the castle almost as well as the prince himself. Merlin was also present at a great deal of council meetings, and even though he often spent them trying not to fall asleep, some of the discussions had to have sunken in. Simply put, Merlin had a lot of information on Camelot in that head of his, so kidnapping him to obtain it would possibly be understandable.

However, Barragh didn't know that. He had no idea of the role Merlin played in Camelot. Whatever it was he wanted him for, it wasn't to get information. After all, he had no idea that Merlin was Arthur's personal servant.

But then what other reason was there to keep him? How had he even gotten into this mess in the first place? Had he simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, or had someone deliberately taken him? Why? What did Barragh want with him?

It just didn't make any sense.

"And here I thought you would be grateful," Barragh said, grinning down at Merlin with one foot still placed on the boy's back. "I told you it'd be ten lashings the next time you tried to escape, but instead I only ordered five. You should thank me for being so lenient."

When Merlin didn't say anything in reply, he increased the pressure being put on the servant's back, and Arthur watched as the patches of red on the white shirt began to grow and spread. He had been through his fair share of injuries, and although he had never been flogged before, he knew that it was painful, that the wounds felt like fire licking at your skin. Not only had the injuries not been treated properly, but Barragh was pressing down on them, making them bleed more. It had to hurt, and yet Merlin was doing his best not to show it, with his eyes closed tightly and his teeth clenched together. His fingers were curled so tightly against his palms that if not for the fabric of his sleeves getting in the way, he likely would have drawn blood.

However, he didn't say anything, didn't make a sound. Aside from that first cry, he was completely silent, and Arthur realized not for the first time—though it had never hit him quite as hard as this—that Merlin was a lot stronger than anyone gave him credit for. He was also unbelievably stubborn.

Unfortunately, Arthur was finding that his own resolve wasn't quite so unwavering. The more blood he saw and the more pain he could read on Merlin's face, the more he wanted to do something to make it stop. How could he just sit there and do nothing when someone was deliberately hurting his friend? Barragh even seemed to be enjoying it, smirking all the while, and it was beginning to be a physical and mental battle for him to keep still and not rush to the bars between their cells and demand that he just stop it already! If only he were standing a little closer, then Arthur could grab him through the bars and bash his head against them, maybe even snap his neck if he had enough strength. He wanted retribution for what this man had done.

"Still not going to say anything?" the lord taunted, his grin turning a shade crueler. "Maybe I should give you those other five lashings. If you still have the nerve to be this insolent, then surely you could endure a few more."

By now the entire back of Merlin's shirt was stained red, and it looked like he was having trouble breathing. If Barragh noticed, he showed no signs of caring in the slightest, and to top it off, he took it one step further. He twisted his leg and dug the sole of his boot in, and this time all the resolve in the world wouldn't have made a difference.

Hearing his friend scream was the last straw for Arthur.

"Stop!" he yelled, already on his feet and next to the bars. "Just stop, damn it!"

"Oh?"

The lord turned to face him, lessening the pressure of his foot a bit as he did so, and once Merlin managed to catch his breath, he opened his eyes and looked directly at the prince. However, Arthur was doing his best not to look back even though his eyes had flicked over that way for a moment. He almost regretted speaking up when he caught a glance of the fear and sudden desperation in those blue eyes, but he couldn't find it in himself to curse his actions, because even though it hadn't been a wise move, it had gotten Barragh to stop. Now all he had to do was figure out how to talk his way around this without letting him find out that he knew Merlin. He stared right at the lord, trying to keep his expression firm while the face staring back regarded him with a great deal of amusement but also with just the tiniest hint of suspicion. He had to find a way to crush it before the tyrant grew too curious about his sudden outburst.

"Well, well…I never pegged you as the sympathetic type, Prince Arthur," Barragh said with a laugh. "Why do you care what I do to him? It doesn't concern you."

"Just leave him alone. He obviously can't fight back. All you're doing is picking on someone weaker than yourself. There's no honor in that."

To his surprise, Barragh didn't say anything. He just burst out laughing. It was loud and boisterous, and Arthur found himself gripping the bars even tighter as a different kind of anger began to take root. That arrogant bastard was making fun of him, was laughing at the fact that he actually had the decency to care about other people and that he believed in behaving honorably. How dare he? How dare he mock him like that?

"Honor?" the man sneered through his laughter, still looking far too amused. "What use would I have for something as worthless as that? You…you truly are ignorant, aren't you—saying something as ridiculous as that—but I guess you really are like they say—the noble prince, Arthur Pendragon, an ally of the people. Your father must be so proud."

Arthur ground his teeth together, almost certain that the sound could be heard even over Barragh's fading laughter. Forget punching him in his fat face. If he ever got his hands on a sword, he'd just run him through. That was certainly a surefire way to shut someone up.

When the nobleman ceased his guffawing, he finally removed his boot from Merlin's back, sparing the prince one last amused glance before giving his attention back to his unfortunate victim. Once again Merlin had schooled his expression into something that gave nothing away, pain being the only clear thing that still lingered on his face. Arthur just watched the two of them, tensing up a bit when Barragh bent down and fisted a hand in Merlin's short hair, forcing his head up enough to look at him.

"I suppose I'll let you off with this for now, but don't think I'm through with you yet. The only reason I changed your punishment is because I've thought of something far better. You went too far this time, and I fear I've run out of patience. I will break you, mark my words."

With that final threat, the lord released him, and with not even a glance back, he took his leave, locking the door behind him. As soon as his footsteps faded completely, Arthur allowed himself to relax and sink to the floor until he was leaning against the bars. He simply sat there for a moment and watched Merlin. He half expected his friend to try and drag himself back over, but he soon realized that he probably couldn't move. His eyes were closed and he was breathing hard; everything about him practically screamed that he was in pain, and yet if he didn't come closer, there was no way for Arthur to help him. Of course, it's not like there was much he could do anyway, but at the very least he could try.

If something wasn't done, the wounds would only get worse. They weren't life-threatening on their own, but if they became infected…

Arthur was about to call out to the servant, to see if he could somehow coax him into moving closer when the sound of approaching footsteps once again drew his attention. He turned to stare out into the corridor, waiting to see who it would be this time. He knew it wasn't Barragh coming back—the steps were too quick and nowhere near as loud—but otherwise he really had no idea who it could be. Judging by how frantic their steps sounded, it was probably someone who wasn't supposed to be there. The fact that they were coming so soon after Barragh had left also supported that assumption.

When the steps suddenly grew much louder but slower as their owner came to the end of the hall, the prince's theory was proven right as a head of light colored hair and a pair of anxious, worried green eyes came into view.

Owyn. He should have known. No one else was quite as reckless when it came to sneaking behind Barragh's back (and probably quite literally this time too). However, much like the weapons dealer, he only spared a brief glance at Arthur before heading to Merlin's cell. The prince might have been offended under different circumstances, but he couldn't bring himself to care about the lack of acknowledgement given what Owyn was obviously there for. The guard was carrying a bucket of water in one hand and a bag in the other, one that most likely contained the necessary supplies for treating wounds. He had come to help Merlin, regardless of Barragh's wishes.

Just one more reason as to why he rather liked the somewhat odd excuse for a guard.

Arthur watched as Owyn quickly set his supplies down so he could unlock the door before dragging it all in next to their wounded friend. Unlike with Barragh, Merlin immediately turned to look at Owyn, eyes sad and pained. To Arthur's surprise, the guard glanced up in his direction again with an expression that looked a lot like guilt plastered on his face. It looked like he was trying to apologize for something. He wondered if maybe he felt bad about running off earlier without having explained anything, leaving the prince in a rather frustrated and worried state, but in all honesty, Arthur didn't really care anymore. He had had his reasons, and in the end, the prince had still managed to see Merlin again. There was no reason for him to feel guilty.

"Arthur…" he began hesitantly only for the prince to cut him off.

"It's alright. I understand."

"Even so, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." His eyes drifted to Merlin, and he found that the rest of his words came out far more softly and a lot more concerned than he had intended. "Just…please, help him."

Owyn nodded and began to prepare the supplies he had brought, some of the guilt slipping away only to be replaced with a deeper sense of concern. The guard tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as he continued to sneak glances at the two young men, trying to gauge from their expressions and their actions just what had occurred so far between them. Meeting up again had to have been a shock, but then to be visited by Barragh so soon after… That couldn't have been easy. Given the state Merlin was in, it had obviously been anything but pleasant or even civil.

Despite the obvious pain though, the warlock seemed to be more anxious than anything else, a lingering fear hiding in those half-lidded eyes. It bothered him, because in the past month, that was perhaps one of the only things he hadn't seen there before, one of the few emotions that Merlin had never allowed himself to succumb to, at least not while in his presence. It felt strange to see it now, but at the same time he was pretty sure he understood why it was there.

He had spent a lot of time thinking about the whole situation, about Merlin and Arthur and the odd bond they had, about Camelot and the laws and magic. He had tried putting everything together and then tried to figure out what Barragh had in mind by placing the two of them next to each other. In the end, he had only been able to come to one conclusion, but in order to know if he was right, he needed one vital piece of information—a confirmation.

He placed his hand on the warlock's head as a means of comfort before bending down until he could whisper into his ear without being overheard by the prince. In the end he couldn't keep his voice from betraying his worry.

"It's alright, Merlin. I know the two of you know each other. Arthur let it slip the last time we were talking. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone, but Merlin…he doesn't know, does he? About the magic."

Even before the question fully left his mouth, he knew the answer. He could see it in the way they acted towards each other, had heard it in the conversation that he and the prince had had not too long ago about morals and magic. He could even feel it in the way Merlin's tired body tried to tense up at the mere mention of that word, as if it were the greatest of taboos, and in some ways perhaps it was.

The warlock didn't need to answer, because in the end Owyn already knew, but he did it anyway.

"...No."

Just one word, barely more than a breath, and yet when it fell, it fell with the weight of a kingdom.

A/N: Well, there you go :) I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I tried not to leave it on a horrible cliff hanger again, but I may have failed.

It's come to my attention that there actually isn't all that much left of this fic, maybe six or seven more chapters. We're actually getting really close the scene that this entire story was built upon, and I'm rather excited to finally get to write it. Hopefully I can pull it off the way I want to.

Anyway, thank you for taking the time to read, and please feel free to drop a review if you like. I love getting to hear from all of you :)

Until next week!