A/N: Hello again! It's me, celebrating my birthday with another chapter :) I'm in a pretty good mood, seeing as how I was serenaded at work today by a couple of my favorite coworkers. I may not always like my job, but I love the people I work with. I don't think I could find a place with a nicer group of people if I tried :)

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 :)

Anyway, for all who wished me a happy birthday last time, thank you! I had a lot of fun, and I thoroughly enjoyed watching all of Season 5. We all cried, but it was a good kind of sad I think. Merlin has been my favorite show and a big part of my life for the last 3 and a half years, and I'm horrible with endings, so I imagine I'll be feeling it for some time, but I enjoyed every moment. I won't say anything here 'cause I don't want to spoil the end for anyone who hasn't seen it, but I really did like it, every tear-jerking minute of it.

Hope you enjoy the chapter. I had quite a lot of fun writing the first part :) Arthur is just so much fun to play with :)

Onward!

CHAPTER 16

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, staring at the back of his servant's head. It could have been only a few minutes or a couple of hours, but in the grand scheme of things it didn't much seem to matter, because for Arthur it felt like the world was trying to unravel around him. His thoughts kept going in circles, meshing together, sometimes stopping entirely as if the onslaught was too much for him to handle all at once, but in the end he always managed to end up back at the same place, with just one question.

Is Merlin a sorcerer?

Sure, there were variations of it, but the basis of the question was still the same. It all just led back to that one word that he had always been taught to despise and mistrust, to fear and doubt and hate.

Magic.

Did Merlin have magic?

No. No, he couldn't. It was ridiculous to think something like that. Merlin was just a servant with no particularly outstanding skills unless one considered sarcasm, insolence, and not following orders to be talents. He was just a normal peasant from a normal village who came to Camelot one day, challenged him, pissed him off, and then somehow saved his life and was given the "reward" of being his servant (and okay, maybe most of that wasn't exactly "normal," but it certainly didn't scream "magic" either). Surely if Merlin were a sorcerer, none of that would have happened. After all, what kind of sorcerer would come to Camelot willingly other than a vengeful one, which Merlin was most definitely not? Sure, perhaps he didn't know about the laws at the time, but that didn't change the fact that he chose to stay and serve Arthur instead of turning right around and heading back home. What kind of self-respecting sorcerer would do something like that?

Therefore Merlin couldn't be a sorcerer, because honestly, only a complete idiot would—

Oh, wait, but Merlin actually was that, wasn't he? An idiot. He had proven that time and time again and in more ways than Arthur could count. Moments of wisdom and insight aside, the boy really was a fool. He probably would be the type of sorcerer to stay in Camelot and serve in the royal household even with a metaphorical axe hanging over his head…but if Merlin was an idiot, then surely he couldn't have magic. Sorcery took skill and discipline to learn, and where the first was questionable when it came to his servant, the latter was pretty much nonexistent. There was no way he'd be able to stay on task long enough to actually learn magic.

Merlin wasn't a sorcerer, and besides, even if he was somehow capable of using magic, then he was certainly rubbish at it, because there was no way he could still only be a half-decent servant if he could actually use magic. If he did have it, then surely he could use it to do some of his chores (or to make himself less of a clumsy oaf). Seeing as how Merlin still had a habit of messing things up sometimes, then it was unlikely that he was actually capable of using magic, and if he couldn't use it, then he wasn't really a sorcerer (even if by some off chance he did have magic).

Unless, of course, he was just hiding it—unless he had been hiding it the whole time.

But that couldn't be possible either, right? Merlin wouldn't lie to him like that. They were friends, and friends weren't supposed to lie to each other. They were supposed to talk to each other, trust each other, divulge secrets and worries and problems; they were supposed to be honest with each other. That was how friendship worked, and Arthur had done all of those things at one point or another, because he knew that Merlin would tell him the truth, would give an honest opinion, and wouldn't give away his secrets to anyone else. He had thought—hoped—that it went both ways, that his servant knew he could come to him, but he wasn't so sure anymore, and if that was the case, then who was to blame?

Merlin, for accepting too much and not giving enough, or himself, for having too much but not showing enough—whose fault was it? He had thought that Merlin trusted him, but even now there was something he was hiding, something he didn't want Arthur to know, and that bothered him more than he would ever be willing to admit, because if he couldn't even gain the trust of his own servant, then how was he supposed to earn the trust of his people? How could he become the kind of king he wanted to be if his people didn't have faith in him?

Maybe it wasn't his fault. Maybe it was Merlin's. Perhaps Arthur was trustworthy enough, but if that was the case, then that would mean that Merlin was either too much of a coward to give him his trust or that he was purposely trying to deceive him. He didn't really like either of those choices, nor did he really believe them, but at the same time he didn't want to admit that Merlin's lack of trust in him was quite possibly entirely his fault.

Perhaps they were both to blame, somehow.

Assuming Merlin had magic, that is.

The prince wanted to bang his head against the wall or bash it into the bars he was partially leaning against. Pain was a good distraction. It probably wouldn't help him sort his thoughts any, but he was willing to try almost anything at this point, because thinking about it certainly wasn't helping him. He was tempted to just flat out ask the boy whether or not he had magic—whether or not he was a sorcerer—but he got the feeling that if he did, Merlin wouldn't answer. That or he would just lie. Asking Merlin anything outright very rarely got him anywhere, so what good would it do him now?

Oh what he wouldn't give to go back a few minutes—or a couple hours, however long it had been—and just not ask his question or at least un-hear Merlin's. Things would have been so much simpler had he just let everything be instead of allowing his curiosity to get the better of him, because now he knew that his servant was hiding something, that magic was most likely involved in some way, and that no matter how he tried to look at it, Merlin had lied to him. Whether he was a sorcerer or knew one, he had lied, had broken the law…but he didn't know that for sure yet, did he. A part of him continued to cling to that hope, however small.

"…Arthur?"

At the sound of his name, Arthur was pulled from his thoughts only to find that he was no longer looking at the back of Merlin's head. His servant had shifted so that he was facing him, blue eyes guarded and wary but also questioning. He looked like he was waiting for something, and it took the prince a moment to remember that Merlin had technically asked him a question (a whole slew of them, actually, although they all pretty much led back to the same thing). He never did give him an answer, too caught up in his own thoughts and worries, and now he wasn't even entirely sure he could answer it, because in the end he honestly didn't know.

Besides, there was something far more important that needed to be addressed now, and that was whether or not Merlin had magic. Despite his earlier thoughts on the topic, he was starting to think that it would be best to just ask him bluntly and then see what his reaction was. Merlin was a terrible liar, after all, so it wouldn't be hard to find the truth in whatever he chose to say. There was no way he wouldn't end up giving it away, whether through his actions or his words, and if he tried to deflect, Arthur would be ready. This time around, there would be nothing to distract him from getting the answers he wanted. Even if they turned out to be ones he didn't particularly like, at least he would finally have the truth.

He took in a deep breath, composed himself as best he could, and decided to just go for it.

"Merlin," he began, making sure he had his full attention before continuing, "do you have—?"

The sound of a door opening down the hall cut him off. Both of them fell completely silent as they waited and listened, and sure enough the opening of the door was followed by the sound of footsteps. Someone was coming, and they were steadily getting closer. All it took was one glance at Merlin, and he immediately knew who was coming their way. After being locked up for over a month, the boy had obviously learned to differentiate between the steps of those who were welcome and those who weren't. This time around it was the latter. It didn't take a genius to realize what that meant.

He watched as Merlin tried and failed to push himself into a sitting position, obviously not wanting to be on the ground for the impending encounter but still too physically worn out to do anything about it. When he failed a second time, he didn't bother trying again and instead turned to Arthur with a grave expression that almost seemed to border on desperate.

"Arthur," he began, soft but intense, "no matter what happens—no matter what you see or hear, don't do anything, and please…don't think any differently of me."

"What do you—?" Once more he was cut off as the footsteps thundered around the corner, and in a matter of seconds, their owner appeared in the corridor. Arthur turned to glare at the man as he passed by his cell and went straight for Merlin's just like he had the last time. There was a wicked grin on his face, full of superiority and that annoying arrogance that never seemed to fade. Once again the prince found himself thinking of all the things he could do to wipe that aggravating smirk off the man's face.

It wasn't until the door to Merlin's cell was unlocked that Arthur realized there was another person with Barragh, a normal guard by the looks of him. However, the sad, dreadful look on his face was enough to make the prince a little nervous. He clearly knew what his master intended to do and obviously was anything but pleased by it. There was a good deal of sympathy on his face as he looked at Merlin, and Arthur found himself wondering not for the first time just what it was that the servant had done to earn the consideration and care of so many people in such a short amount of time.

As soon as Barragh was inside the cell, the guard closed and locked the door before heading off down the hall to wait until he was needed again, leaving the two of them alone with the crazed weapons dealer. What Arthur wouldn't have given to be in the same cell so he could punch him right in his fat face. The impact would most likely end up breaking his hand or at the very least bruising it, but the pain would definitely be worth it.

"Hello again, boy," Barragh said, greeting Merlin with an even wider version of his normal smirk. Even from his position on the ground, Merlin managed to look just as defiant as ever as he turned his head away without offering a word in return. "Now, now, don't be like that. You should show some gratitude. After all, I gave you time to heal, and far more than I originally intended."

"How generous of you," was the response he got, which earned Merlin a kick to his side though he did his best not to react.

"Well, I see not much has changed. I wonder what it will take to fix that attitude of yours. Perhaps a few more lashings…"

Merlin tried not to flinch at the thought—didn't want to give Barragh the satisfaction of scaring him—but after being flogged twice in less than two weeks, he knew the pain well, and his body tensed up at the thought of more. Even though he couldn't see his captor, he was certain that Barragh was probably grinning at him again, satisfied that his words had had the desired effect. He just hoped that it was only a passing thought and that the man hadn't come down to deliver the five that were owed. That was the last thing he wanted, and not simply because of himself but because of Arthur. He didn't want the prince to see him like that (he wasn't sure if Arthur would keep his promise if he did).

As he lay there, facing away from the weapons dealer, he could hear Barragh moving. His footfalls always seemed loud even when his steps were slow and measured, and Merlin could both hear and feel them getting closer until the man was right in front of him. He tried to turn his head away, not wanting to face him, but before he could even move, Barragh lowered himself to one knee and crouched down, placing a firm hand on the warlock's shoulder to keep him still. Merlin had no choice but to meet those dark eyes and that amused grin.

"Never mind," he said, brushing off his previous threat as his expression fell into something even crueler. "I have something far better in mind."

Carefully and deliberately, Barragh began to reach for a pouch at his side, making sure that Merlin could see every motion he made. The warlock watched, trying not to let his apprehension show, although he figured it was probably a little too late for that. The man pulled open the pouch and reached inside, grabbing whatever was there before slowly drawing it out. Whatever it was couldn't be very big given the size of the bag, which made him wonder what it could be—not a whip, obviously, which helped relieve some of his anxiety at least.

Barragh finally pulled out the lone object he had brought, and in the end, Merlin found himself wishing that it had been a whip. In his captor's hand was a single metal band not unlike the one he already wore, but the two were vastly different. The moment it left the confines of its bag, he was able to feel it, to sense the magic within it, and the pull it created was painstakingly familiar.

"Do you know what this is?"

Yes, he did, though he wished he didn't. That was the thing that had been used to draw him out of Camelot and into the woods. That little band of metal was what had gotten him into this whole mess in the first place, but this time around it felt different. Before, he was able to feel it calling to him, pulling at his senses and his magic, drawing it all to the surface. It had invoked a sense of power, but not anymore. Now all he felt when being in its presence was a growing sense of pure dread, because he could feel it. He could feel the natural magic of it tugging at him, pulling, trying to reach for something that he himself couldn't find. It was trying to call to him, but his magic had been pushed so far down into his being that to draw it up again would probably be excruciating. Even now he could feel his core tightening, pulling, stretching until it almost hurt as his magic tried to respond while all the while being shoved down by the band he already wore.

It hurt. Just being near it hurt, and if Barragh intended to put it on him, then…

As much as he wanted to remain calm and not give his captor the satisfaction of seeing him come apart, Merlin couldn't keep himself from panicking. He tried to pull away despite his body's exhausted protests, but Barragh's grip only tightened on his shoulder, keeping him exactly where he was.

"So, you do remember it. That's right, this is what got you in trouble in the first place. I wonder what would happen if we put it on…" He began to bring the metal band closer to the warlock, and Merlin tried his hardest to pull away, to move, because the closer that thing got to him, the more it hurt.

He didn't want to beg or plead or give any sign whatsoever of weakness or fear, but at the same time he couldn't help it, because the last thing he wanted was to be anywhere near that little piece of metal.

"No," he whispered, knowing that his voice had betrayed him, that he sounded desperate, but at that moment he didn't care. He just wanted the band gone.

"Oh?" Barragh queried, his tone amused as he huffed a laugh, deep and mocking. "Are you scared, boy?"

He brought it even closer, and the sharp tug Merlin felt on his magic along with the stabbing pain that came with it was enough to give him a burst of strength that would have been impossible otherwise. With one quick, violent jerk he managed to pull away from Barragh and back himself up against the wall of his cell. He pressed himself into the corner, as far away from his captor as possible, his eyes wide and locked onto the magical artifact he held. Barragh's grin only widened as he got to his feet and began to walk over, and Merlin realized belatedly that this time he didn't have anywhere to run to. He wouldn't be escaping the man a second time.

"So," he began, letting the word hang for a moment until he stopped right in front of the warlock, "now that you know what I have in mind and what I'm capable of doing to you, let me ask you once more. Will you submit to me? Will you give me your loyalty?"

He swallowed thickly, trying to force the discomfort and the fear down so that he could say what he wanted to say. After all this time, Barragh should have known the answer. No matter how terrified he was, it wouldn't change.

"Never. I would rather die."

He would rather condemn himself than serve such a monster.

A hand shot out and grabbed his arm, the one without the magic-suppressing brace. He tried to pull away, but Barragh was far stronger, and before he could do anything, the sleeve of his shirt was torn to just above his elbow.

"So be it," the man snarled. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging for a death that will never come."

Without another word and before Merlin could do anything other than open his mouth, Barragh snapped the brace around his arm.

There weren't words to describe the feeling that flooded through him, spreading to every inch of his body. Perhaps a more articulate person could have likened it to something more descriptive, more accurate, but all Merlin knew was that it felt like he was being torn apart. There was no other way for him to explain it. His magic, which had been buried deep within him after his overuse of it when he had tried to escape, was being forced to the surface, pushed throughout his body while at the same time another force was attempting to temper it, push it down, suppress it. The constant push and pull happened so quickly and so consistently that it felt like someone was trying to pull him apart from the inside.

So really, it was only natural that when he tried to keep himself from screaming he failed spectacularly.

He wasn't sure if he was hearing things or not (it was kind of hard to hear much of anything over his own voice), but it sounded like someone was yelling, someone who wasn't him. Had he been able to comprehend anything around him other than the searing agony spreading throughout his body, he probably would have recognized the voice.

There were only three of them there, after all.

"Stop! What the hell are you doing to him? Stop it! Damn it, just stop!"

Arthur could admit that he had no idea what was going on. He could admit to not understanding half of what Barragh had said to Merlin as well as why his servant had suddenly looked so terrified upon seeing what looked like a mere bracelet. He had no idea what it was or what it was meant to do or why any of this was happening in the first place, but the one thing he did understand was what he was seeing before him.

This was a hundred times worse than any flogging could ever be. He was pretty sure that he had never heard someone scream like that. The moment the metal had touched his skin, Merlin's eyes had gone wide, his whole body freezing for barely a moment before he collapsed to the floor in what could only be described as indescribable agony. His fingers were curling against the stone floor, trying to find purchase, to grasp something as his back arched off the ground.

Maybe Arthur didn't know why it was happening, but it was happening, and it only took him a second to completely disregard his earlier promise. He had tried keeping quiet, feigning indifference, but this was too much. He couldn't take it. He didn't care if Barragh somehow found out about them anymore, didn't care if the connection was made, because he just couldn't do it. There was no way in hell he was going to just sit back and pretend that he was unaffected by something as inhumane and malicious as this.

"Stop it!" he yelled as loud as he could, and this time Barragh glanced back, acknowledging him before moving towards Merlin. With just a few quick touches to the brace, it snapped open, and the moment it was removed, its victim collapsed, gasping for breath and looking like every last bit of energy had been drained from him.

"Oh, my apologies, sire," Barragh said, his tone fake and mocking. "Was that a little too much for you?"

"What the hell did you do to him?"

"My, my, you certainly do seem angry. I was merely teaching him his place. Isn't that what you do to those who defy you?" He reached down as if he was about to grab Merlin's arm again, but Arthur had had more than enough of this.

"Leave him alone!"

"Why should I? What does it matter to you? This boy has nothing to do with you, princeling…or have you somehow grown fond of him too?"

Arthur gripped the bars that separated him from the other cell until he could feel the metal digging into his palms. What he wouldn't give for just a single bout of superhuman strength so that he could pry the bars apart and launch himself at the smug man beyond them. His anger was clearly giving him away, which only seemed to make Barragh's grin grow smugger.

"That's it, isn't it. How amusing… To think that someone like you would actually come to care about a creature like this."

"What?" Just what was he saying? Why had he suddenly referred to Merlin like that, as if he wasn't even human, as if he were some kind of monster?

"Arthur Pendragon, crown prince of Camelot, do you have any idea just what this boy is capable of? Do you even know what this poor excuse for a human truly is?"

From his place on the ground, Merlin's eyes suddenly went wide. He nearly choked on the breath he tried to take before he began to force his body to move, to turn over so that he could see what was going on, so that he could try and stop what he knew was about to happen.

No, not like this. He needed to do something. He couldn't let this happen. I don't want him to find out like this! He tried to find his voice, but no words would come, and when he finally managed to turn himself so that he could see the prince, he found that he couldn't draw his attention. Arthur was fully focused on Barragh and what the man was saying.

This wasn't good. He was supposed to tell Arthur, not anyone else. Before they had been interrupted, he had resolved himself to finally telling the truth, because he had known that if he didn't, someone else would. However, he had been too scared to just say it outright, too afraid of what Arthur would do, too terrified of being hated, and now it was too late. Barragh was going to tell him, and then Arthur would know that he had lied, that he had been lying ever since the day they met.

Arthur would know that he was a sorcerer, that he had magic, and that by the laws of Camelot, he shouldn't be allowed to live. He would find out that Merlin had betrayed him. Even though Arthur had called him a friend, would that be enough to weather something as great and as jarring as this?

"Do you want to know, princeling, how he managed to escape from his cell, not once but eight times? Do you want to know why I've kept him when he doesn't seem worth the trouble?"

"Barragh," Merlin called out breathlessly, his voice failing him as he tried to push himself to his hands and knees only to collapse onto his stomach. Everything still felt like it was on fire, especially his back from where his wounds had been pulled and stretched. He could still feel his magic too, trying to settle itself from the onslaught it had suffered, and the feeling of it churning was enough to make him feel sick.

However, he had to do something. He couldn't go down without a fight.

"Well, I'll tell you."

"Don't…" He tried one more time to say something, to stop the lord from saying the one thing he didn't want him to, the one thing that was his and his alone—his power, his life, his secret to tell or to keep—but it didn't matter. There was nothing he could offer, nothing he could do to earn the man's silence aside from the one thing he never would. For as long as there was still life in his body, he would remain loyal to Arthur and to Camelot, no matter what. He would never allow Barragh to take that from him.

As he tried to push himself up one more time, he felt a hand wrap around his upper arm and pull him up to his knees. Finally he was able to really see Arthur, to look into that familiar, angry, worried face, and he wondered if this would be the last time he'd ever see it like that—if this would be the last time that his friend would ever look at him so openly and with such concern again.

He prayed it wouldn't be. He hoped that they could get past this, somehow, because he was certain that he would rather die than lose his greatest friend. The thought of Arthur hating him, of never trusting him again, of wanting nothing more to do with him was a hundred times more painful than anything Barragh could do to him.

"This boy…"

His captor pulled him up just a little more, enough to make it hurt, before he pushed the sleeve of his shirt down past his elbow, revealing the brace that was there, that had been a part of him for over a month.

The runes etched on the metal were glowing gold.

"…Is a sorcerer. Magic flows through his veins just as naturally as blood."

There was no getting out of this. As much as he wanted to, there was no way to go back.

"He's a living weapon."

I'm sorry, Arthur. I wanted to tell you. I'm sorry…

"And he's mine."

A/N: Arthur's reaction to all this will come next time, promise, since I know his is the one we all really want, right? But anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter :) For all who were interested in the answer, this chapter was originally how I had intended for Arthur to find out. What happened last chapter was more of a spur of the moment decision, though I do like it better this way, because now it won't be quite as sudden of a shock for him. He had already been playing around with the idea, and now it's just being confirmed. That doesn't mean it'll be easy for him though :)

Anyway, as always, thank you so much for all the reviews! You guys always make my week, and you never cease to amaze me with all the wonderful comments. Honestly, I never expected so many people to like this, and I'm continuously blown away. I hope I can continue to meet your expectations. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my fic, and even if I can't thank everyone individually, know that I really do appreciate it. Feel free to drop a review, but don't feel obligated :)

Until next week!