A/N: Hello. It's late, I'm tired, so I'm gonna keep this short today...or try to.

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, this chapter turned out way different than I had planned (angsty chapter is angsty)...which actually isn't that strange, because that's pretty much half of everything I write. It was originally going to include another scene, but that would have made it way too long, and I ran out of time. Besides, I liked this ending way better, and that way I can throw in both of the scenes I really want to write into the one next week :)

Been listening to "Time of Our Lives" by Tyrone Wells. There's a Merlin music video for it on youtube, which I highly recommend to all who have seen season 5. It's dedicated to all the Merlin fans. It's beautiful, and it nearly made me cry.

So, while editing, I added about a page worth of text, so if I made any mistakes, please let me know, 'cause I didn't read it through a second time.

Onward!

CHAPTER 17

Sorcerer.

It was a lie, right? That's all. Nothing more than a trick, an act, a way for Barragh to mess with them, to pull them apart, to damage everything further—that had to be it, right? The man was insane, after all, because honestly, who in their right mind would look at Merlin and think "sorcerer" of all things? There was absolutely no correlation between the two; nothing about him screamed "magic" or "powerful" or anything else along those lines. It was hard enough to relate a word like "servant" or "competent" with the boy, let alone a word as ridiculous and powerful as "sorcerer."

Therefore it had to be a lie. All of this was just some grand lie that Arthur had been tricked into contemplating, that he had been reading too far into (Merlin's earlier question was hypothetical, surely, because it couldn't be anything else). It was all just a trick, a lie, right?

…Except it wasn't. It really, really wasn't, and he couldn't keep fooling himself into thinking otherwise. In any other situation, he probably would have laughed at such an accusation—had done, actually—but not this time, because nothing about the situation was even remotely funny. This wasn't some joke, something said without thought or without proof. Barragh was serious. He was grinning like he had just won, as if he had struck a mortal blow to an enemy long sought dead. There was a malicious sort of glee there, a desire to hurt and ravage and break. He wasn't just spouting words to get a reaction, to tear apart a bond he believed to only be a few days old. He seemed to believe that his revelation was the final hit, the last strike, that with those words everything would either begin or end, and that no matter the outcome, he would still be standing at the top of it all.

No, there was no lie in those words. Before him was nothing more than the truth, the last piece to a puzzle he should have figured out long ago.

He wanted to pretend this wasn't happening. He wanted to look at Merlin and just laugh it all off, maybe even congratulate him on pretending so well or perhaps just yell at him for being an idiot and getting himself mistaken for a sorcerer. He wanted to ask him if it was true and hear him say that it wasn't, followed by some long, bizarre explanation that would be farfetched and ridiculous but that Arthur would believe anyway because he was Arthur and this was Merlin, and he trusted Merlin, and…

And even though it would be full of holes and full of lies, constructed in such a way that a simple prod in the right place would send it all crashing down, he would accept it, because it was easier, because he didn't have the time or the patience to sift through the rubble to find the truth. Accepting was easier, simpler, but it wasn't just that. He knew that there was more to it, because he was certain that had it been down to just his own carelessness, his own lack of insight and patience, then it wouldn't feel like someone was crushing his chest, pressing down on his heart and lungs until he could barely breathe.

No, it wasn't just that he hadn't tried to find the truth. It was that he hadn't wanted to, hadn't felt the need to, because after everything they had been through, he had wanted to believe in Merlin, to trust him in a way he had never been able to trust anyone else before. He had wanted to believe that even though Merlin hid things and didn't always tell the full truth, he was still someone who could be trusted with the important things, the kind of things you tell a friend. He had wanted to believe that that sentiment, that level of trust and confidence went both ways, that if there was ever something important, Merlin would tell him.

It seemed that was all just wishful thinking.

In the end, Merlin really hadn't trusted him, and the part of him that still wanted nothing more than to deny it all, to pretend that that just wasn't the case, to laugh this all off and act like nothing had changed found itself fading away the moment he looked at the supposed sorcerer. He had expected to see fear there and perhaps a bit of desperation, eyes begging for him not to believe Barragh, not to listen to the words of a madman, a silent plea for help and assurance, but what he found there wasn't just fear and desperation but guilt—a remorse so heavy and so deep that it looked like his whole body was crumpling under the weight of it. Those blue eyes were sad and pleading, but he wasn't begging for Arthur not to believe Barragh, wasn't begging for trust.

No. He was seeking forgiveness. The only thing he could read on that face was the simple phrase "I'm sorry, please forgive me," and a person only ever sought forgiveness when they believed they had done something wrong.

There was nothing there that denied or renounced the claim that had been made.

This time around, there was no pretending that what he had heard and the conclusion he had drawn was anything other than the truth.

Merlin was a sorcerer.

He had magic.

Merlin had lied. He hadn't trusted him, and if that was the case, then how much of their time together, of the things they had gone through together did Arthur only know the half of? How much had Merlin kept from him, hidden from him, lied to him about? How much was a mere fabrication, a shadow of the truth? If he hadn't been able to see something like this in his servant, then what else had he missed? If Merlin had magic and had been practicing it all this time, then what had he been using it for? Why? For what end, what purpose? What did he hope to accomplish by practicing magic in Camelot? Was he just that much of an idiot? Why hadn't he said anything? Did Merlin truly not trust him?

How much of it was true and how much was a lie? Where was the line between the two? More importantly, how could he ever know the truth when there was no way to know whether it would only be yet another lie? How do you repair something as important and fragile as trust after it shatters?

Had he not been raised as a prince and therefore immune to things as shameful as hysterics, he might have started laughing at the place his thoughts had taken him. He was the son of Uther Pendragon, the king who persecuted magic and its followers, who executed sorcerers without thought or fair trial, and yet the law against magic was the last thing on his mind. It should have been the first, and yet it hadn't even crossed it. Strange how in the end it wasn't so much the magic that bothered him (even though it did, because how could it not) but the fact that Merlin had spent months and months on end lying to him, hiding from him, keeping secrets while Arthur had spent the same amount of time confiding most of his. It seemed that in the whole of their friendship, nothing had gone both ways.

He couldn't help but wonder how many times Merlin had used magic behind his back or even right in front of him without him ever noticing. Had he thought it was funny? Had he been laughing behind Arthur's back the entire time, laughing at his ignorance, his inability to see, his almost blind trust in a friend that he had thought he knew but obviously hadn't?

He wanted to ask. He had hundreds of questions, hundreds of accusations, so many things to say, and yet for some reason, all he could do was stand there and stare like some gobsmacked fool who had just been told that the sky really wasn't blue after all. It felt a bit like the world was coming down around him, because in all honesty, if Merlin of all people had kept something like this from him, then what else was he missing? Who else was lying to him? What more couldn't he see?

Amidst the chaos that was his heart and mind, the jumble of thoughts and emotions that threatened to crush him, nothing hurt more than the sharp sting of betrayal he felt at the thought that Merlin, his best friend—his only friend—had lied to him.

What was he supposed to do now?

"My, my, that certainly is an interesting expression, Prince Arthur," he heard Barragh say, but he found that he couldn't quite focus nor could he bring himself to look away from his servant even though Merlin no longer seemed able to look at him. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you look as if you've just lost a friend."

Yes…perhaps he had.

"To think that even for a moment you actually sympathized with a sorcerer. What would your father say? Though I suppose I can't blame you. He certainly doesn't fit the picture of a powerful warlock, does he?"

No, he really didn't.

"I wonder how many other people he's managed to deceive. Masquerading like someone normal, someone ordinary, when all the while he has enough magic to raze a kingdom to the ground. To think that he was living in Camelot of all places… I wonder how many have had to die over the years just so he could keep his secret."

Arthur didn't say anything. He couldn't. There were no words he could use, nothing that would be adequate to express what was going through his head, his heart.

Never before had he felt so lost.

"I think he needs to be punished, don't you?"

When Arthur didn't say anything, didn't raise his head, didn't even acknowledge that he was being spoken to, Merlin finally found the courage to look up once more, meeting the prince's gaze head on. He almost turned away again at the sight of so much pain, so much disbelief and betrayal. He hated it. This was why he had never said anything before, why he had kept his magic a secret. He couldn't stand to see that expression, to be looked at with so much hurt and accusation. He had never wanted to put Arthur in this kind of position, to put that kind of look on his face. It wasn't fair to him, to either of them.

He couldn't help but wonder if things might have turned out differently had he been able to tell the prince himself, if the words had been his own. Perhaps if Merlin had only had the strength of mind to say something before Barragh arrived, they wouldn't be in this mess. It was a bit too late for that though, wasn't it. Even though he had been given the chance to say it, to finally tell Arthur the truth, he had hesitated. Even though he had known that this would eventually come, that if he didn't say something, Barragh would, he still hadn't been able to say the words. He hadn't been fast enough, hadn't been brave enough.

If only he had had more time.

He wanted to tell Arthur everything, wanted to tell him that he had had magic from the day he was born, that he had never had a choice, that yes, he was powerful, but he would never use that power for his own gain, would never use it to hurt someone or bring misery to Camelot. He wanted to tell him about all that had happened since the day he arrived in Camelot, about the dragon and the prophecy, about their destinies, and above all else he wanted to tell him that even without some grand legacy, some bright future hanging in the balance, he would still serve him, still protect him, because Arthur wasn't just his prince, his future king.

Above everything else, Arthur was his friend, and whether he wanted it or not, he had his loyalty. Even without a destiny, his magic and his life were for Arthur, and nothing would ever change that.

However, he couldn't say anything. No matter how badly he wanted to, he couldn't, because if he said anything at all, anything to explain himself, Barragh would know. He would know that Arthur was someone important to him, that he could be used to get to the warlock, to control him. To try and justify himself to the prince would be to place him in danger, and he had decided long ago that given a choice between his own life and Arthur's, he would always choose the latter. No matter what sacrifices he had to make, so long as Arthur was safe, that was all he needed. Even if it meant a fate worse than death, he would endure it, because everything he was was for Arthur.

But still…still, he had to say something, anything, because he couldn't stand to see that look on the prince's face. He didn't want him to think that everything had been a lie. After all the things they had been through together, he just couldn't let it end like this.

"Arthur…" he whispered, trying to get the prince's attention, because even though he was staring directly at the warlock, his gaze wasn't focused. It hadn't been ever since the word "sorcerer" had left Barragh's mouth.

However, at the sound of his name, Arthur's attention flickered back into place, the haze of shock finally lifting, and for just a moment their eyes met—two shades of blue staring back at each other, unguarded and vulnerable with everything on the line and nothing left to hide. Merlin tried to pour everything he could into that one moment, to say everything he wanted to without saying anything at all. He just wanted Arthur to know that he was sorry, that he hadn't meant to lie, that he wanted to be able to trust him with everything but had been too afraid to take that risk, to lose everything and everyone he cared about for something as selfish as being recognized. It just wasn't worth it—and he knew that keeping a secret could be seen as selfish too, no matter how selfless the intent, because the two were exact mirrors of each other, opposite but equal in every measure. He had long ago learned that humans were selfish by nature, and in the end, he was no exception.

It would be a lie to say he didn't want to be known, didn't want to be seen for who and what he really was, but he didn't need to be, not in that way, because there were so many things that were more important, so many things that were far more precious to him. He would gladly give up every ounce of magic he had if it meant saving the people he loved, keeping them safe from all that would do them harm. That was all he needed, all he would ever need, and he did everything he could to convey that simple truth to the one person who meant more to him than anything.

…But not even a second later, Arthur looked away. He turned his head and cast his eyes to the ground, hurt and anger warring with equal vigor upon his face, and no matter which one won, the result would be the same. When it came to Arthur, they were nothing more than another side to the other. Regardless of which persevered, the look of betrayal in his eyes wouldn't change.

"Arthur—"

A sharp tug on his arm cut him off as Barragh pulled him back just enough so that he was sent sprawling on the floor, no longer able to remain kneeling. The man crouched down in front of him, his grip so tight around his wrist that it would surely bruise later. Usually Merlin would resist in some way, either physically or with a few barbed words, but he didn't have the energy or the state of mind for either, and Barragh obviously knew that. The grin on his face was pleased and condescending, cruel and amused in a way that only a man as twisted and arrogant as he could manage.

"Do you know what this means, boy?" he asked in a low voice meant only for the warlock but not quiet enough to not be overheard. It didn't much matter anymore. The prince wasn't paying attention, and there was nothing left to hide from him anyway. "I know you know who this man is—probably not a sorcerer in the land who doesn't recognize the Pendragons. He knows what you are now. If you return to Camelot, you'll be hunted down and beheaded, or maybe even burnt at the stake. Do you understand, sorcerer? Even if you do escape, you'll have nowhere to go. You can never go back to Camelot. You'll never be free."

Ah…so that had been his plan after all, the reason that he had put them next to each other. He had intended to take his home away from him by revealing him as a sorcerer to the prince of Camelot. After all, the Pendragons were known for their ruthlessness when it came to magic.

In a pique of hysteria that thankfully passed as soon as it surfaced, he wasn't sure whether he should laugh or cry at the irony of it all. Barragh truly had no idea just how much damage he had wrought with that revelation. He had wanted to steal Merlin's home away from him, but in the end he had stolen something so much more than that, had shattered something that was possibly beyond repair. A home was nothing without people to come back to, and Barragh had just stripped away his most precious bond, the very person who had given his life and his magic a purpose. Without Arthur, without his friend, Camelot would never truly feel like home again.

He needed to talk to Arthur. He needed to. Even if the prince wasn't willing to listen, Merlin still needed to say the words. As soon as Barragh took his leave, he would tell him everything, and he meant everything. After being left alone in the dark for so long, the prince had a right to know.

However, it seemed that he wouldn't be getting that chance. In hindsight, he should have been expecting it. After all, things rarely ever went the way he wanted them to.

As Barragh slowly got back to his feet, he gave a short whistle to call the guard back to unlock the door. However, even after the door was opened for him, his hand remained locked around the warlock's wrist like a shackle. If anything, his grip seemed to grow a little tighter. Usually by now he would have let go, maybe given him a kick or a shove for good measure followed by a few parting words that would be nothing short of a not-so-concealed threat. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case this time. Instead when he started moving towards the door, he dragged Merlin along with him.

"Come on, get up," he commanded, tugging the warlock into a semi-standing position. He bit down on his lip to keep silent, cringing at the sharp stab of pain as his wounds were stretched; this was the first time he had been on his feet since he was flogged the second time, and his body was none too happy about it. His legs felt like they could buckle at any moment, and if not for the large hand holding him up, he was pretty sure he would have fallen flat on his face right after being forced to stand.

With the help of the guard (the poor man looked like he would rather be anywhere else at that moment, and Merlin certainly didn't blame him for it), Barragh was able to drag him out of the cell and into the corridor.

"I think a change of scenery is in order," the tyrant said, a wide smirk on his face, those dark eyes glinting. "Allow me to personally show you to your new cell."

Strangely enough—and it was truly a testament to how long he had been imprisoned there if this was how his mind worked—his first thought upon hearing those words was something along the lines of "why, it's not like I've tried to escape yet."

His second, however, was vastly different.

New cell? But that would mean… No. No, he can't…Arthur…!

He couldn't…he just couldn't! If Barragh took him away, if he separated them, then Arthur—Arthur would…

Arthur would be left there, alone, with no answers, no comfort, believing that Merlin had betrayed him, that he was just another sorcerer—not a friend, not anything, just a traitor. If they were separated, then he would never be able to tell Arthur the truth, to try and fix the damage that Barragh had caused. If he left now…

"No…"

He might never see Arthur again.

"No, stop!"

He couldn't let that happen.

"Come on," Barragh said as he began to drag him away from the cell and down the corridor. Merlin tried to struggle, to pull away, but his body was still too weak and Barragh was more than twice his size. There would be no getting away, not without magic, and that wasn't an option.

"No!"

He turned to the prince, eyes pleading even though he knew nothing could be done. Still, he wanted to try. He would do everything he could to keep it from ending like this.

"Arthur."

All he wanted was one moment of acknowledgement, just one sign that the prince didn't hate him, that all wasn't lost, that the bond between them was stronger than even this. That was all he wanted, all he needed, because with just that he'd be able to find the strength to endure whatever Barragh put him through. As long as he had hope, he could withstand anything.

"Arthur!"

But the prince didn't look back at him, didn't raise his head. There was nothing to show that he had even heard the warlock calling to him. He just stood there, hands locked around the bars that separated the two cells, eyes on the ground, unfocused and lost. Even as Merlin was being dragged away, past the door of his cell, he didn't move.

"Arthur!"

He didn't do anything. Even if the prince had looked up at him in hate, that would have been fine; he could work through that. Animosity was at least a form of acknowledgement, something that could be felt, and he would have settled for that if nothing else, because it meant that there was still something there, even if it was something that needed to be fixed. However, there was just nothing. In the end, Arthur did nothing, and there wasn't anything in the world that could hurt more. Perhaps some would disagree, but to be regarded with nothing more than apathy, to be treated as if you weren't there—unseen, unacknowledged… He would have accepted hate over something as cold and heartbreaking as this any day.

Would he ever get the chance to fix this?

Could it even be fixed?

Would Arthur even let him try?

It didn't much matter, did it. No matter what, things could never go back to the way they were before. Words could never be taken back, and knowledge could never be unlearned. There was always a price. Perhaps this was his.

With no strength left to resist and not enough resolve to even try, Merlin was dragged down the corridor, away from his cell and away from Arthur. He didn't know where they were taking him

He was no longer sure he even cared.

A/N: So, a bit more angst than I had originally intended, but it felt right. Don't worry, Arthur will snap out of it next chapter. He's just got a lot going through his mind right now. If all goes well, the next chapter will involve the two scenes that pretty much spawned this story as well as the title. I'm super excited for it, and I plan on starting earlier in the week so I can definitely fit in everything I want to without running out of time next Tuesday night. Should be fun :)

As always, thanks for all the wonderful support. I'm glad you're still enjoying this fic :) We're getting pretty close to the end now, I think (never know with me. It's already gotten way longer than I thought it would). Please feel free to drop a review to tell me what you think, but don't ever feel like you have to. I'm just glad there are people reading this :)

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