A/N: So...it turns out I was wrong (again. What else is new). This chapter actually only has one of the two scenes that started this fic. Ironically, even though it's not the scene that the story is mostly based upon, it is the one that spawned the majority of the scenes throughout this fic. There's a rather long tale behind that, but seeing as how it's long and I don't think most people would be all that interested, I won't bother going into it here :) Besides, it's rather late, and I have to go to work in the morning...sigh. Thank goodness for caffeine.

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 :)

Not much else to say this time. This chapter turned out way different than I expected 'cause I kept having to add things to make it all make sense and to not rush things. I'm rather pleased with how it turned out :)

If you see any errors, please let me know and I shall fix them post haste :)

Onward!

CHAPTER 18

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, unmoving with his eyes on the floor even though he wasn't really seeing anything. His mind was too busy, too full to process his surroundings, much less in a way that would actually make sense. Arthur was pretty sure that he had tried and failed a hundred times to shape his thoughts into something that worked, that aligned, but it seemed to be an impossible task. Too many of the truths he had believed in had been unraveled with just a few sentences, and as long as he tried to cling to them, he would never be able to put everything back together. He knew that, but accepting it was another matter.

How was he supposed to accept the fact that his best friend had spent the entirety of their time together lying to him, hiding, going behind his back, committing treason? It was a bit funny in a way how the last one didn't bother him anywhere near as much as the first when it really should have been at the top of his list. However, he had already come to the conclusion that not all sorcerers were evil, not if they were truly born with their gifts. People weren't born evil, after all. Wickedness was a disease that festered in the heart, that grew out of pain and loneliness, fear, hatred, greed, bitterness and despair, and no one, no matter how noble, was completely immune to its touch. It was something that all people were capable of, not just sorcerers, and since not all people were bad, then surely some sorcerers had to be good.

He couldn't help but wonder if Merlin fell into that category.

Just what kind of sorcerer was Merlin? What had he been using his magic for? Why had he chosen to practice it in the first place? Sure, magic was a talent that people were born with, but it was still a choice to practice it, to use it. What was Merlin's reason for using magic? Why would he take that kind of risk while living in Camelot? Why had he even come to Camelot? What was the point? There had to be a reason.

He had so many questions, and no matter how many times he cycled through them, he wasn't likely to get anywhere on his own. He knew that there was really only one person who had the answers. Even though he was still mad, still uncertain, still felt that horrible pang of betrayal, he knew what had to be done. The only way he was going to get anywhere was if he talked to Merlin. Whether he could believe him or not didn't matter. At the very least, he needed to hear what he had to say.

When he finally managed to pull himself back together and raise his head, his thoughts were honestly no more sorted than they had been before, but they were quick to zero in on one very important fact when his eyes fell on the very empty cell next to him.

Merlin was gone.

"Merlin?"

He looked around, thinking that perhaps he had missed something, that his vision wasn't entirely clear yet, but no matter what he did or where he chose to look, there was no change. His servant wasn't there.

Just how long had he been standing there lost in thought? Surely it couldn't have been that long. Surely he would have noticed if someone took Merlin from his cell—he couldn't have been that far gone, right? He couldn't possibly have missed something like that…and yet the cell next to him was empty. Merlin wasn't there.

The last time he had seen him, really seen him, Barragh had had him. Merlin had been on his knees, held up by his arm, unable to support himself by his own power. He had been looking at Arthur with eyes so sad and so desperate, full of guilt and dread, pleading not to be hated, not to be ignored, and Arthur…

The prince clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging into his palms.

He had done nothing.

While he had been having an internal crisis, Barragh had dragged Merlin from his cell. That tyrant had done it right in front of him, and he hadn't even noticed. Surely Merlin would have called out to him, would have said something, tried to get his attention in some way, but he couldn't recall anything. He just didn't remember, and he began to hate himself for it, because even if Merlin hadn't called out to him, there would have still been noise—the cell door opening, the sound of footsteps, the door being slammed shut—and yet he hadn't heard anything.

He had simply stood there, staring off at nothing while they had taken Merlin away. Sorcerer or not, he was still human, still vulnerable, and only moments before he was dragged from his cell, Barragh had been torturing him. He had to have been in pain, must have been desperate and scared, dreading whatever else the man had in store for him, and instead of trying to help him or defending him (it wouldn't have amounted to anything, because Barragh wouldn't have listened, but direct results weren't always the point when it came to words), Arthur hadn't even acknowledged him. He hadn't said anything, hadn't done anything; he hadn't even noticed until Merlin was already gone.

What kind of friend did that make him? What kind of prince, kind of person?

If this was his reaction, then was it truly any wonder that Merlin hadn't trusted him with his secrets?

Frustrated and angry—and more than a little worried—the prince fought the urge to slam his fist against the wall and instead threw himself against it, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. He couldn't find the strength nor the will to stay standing, his head too heavy and too full, too many emotions battling for dominance. He wanted someone to talk to, someone to help him sort through his thoughts, help him make sense of everything, but there was no one there. The only two people who could have helped him were gone—one had disappeared and the other had been taken. He was alone.

He had never felt more powerless.

"You really are pathetic. What did you hope to accomplish, calling out to the prince like that? Did you really think he would help you? If so, you're more of a fool than I thought."

Merlin didn't say anything. He remained silent as he was dragged down the hall, trying not to listen to what Barragh was saying to him. He didn't want to hear it.

"There's no way a Pendragon would sympathize with a sorcerer. He may be noble and all, but he's still his father's son."

You're wrong. Arthur wasn't his father. He wasn't. Merlin just had to keep believing in that, believing that the prince wasn't as thoughtless and closed-minded as Camelot's king. Arthur was a very different man from Uther, but at the same time he also knew that the two shared a lot of qualities, that the prince had been brought up on his father's values and beliefs. It wasn't an easy thing to change a person's way of thinking.

"Even if the two of you did form some sort of bond, it doesn't matter now. He knows what you are. You'll find no refuge in him."

He wanted to tell Barragh that he was wrong, that that was a lie; he wanted to say the words so badly, but he couldn't push them past his lips, could barely get them up his throat, because if he did, it may cast suspicion on his and Arthur's "bond" as the man had put it. Also, well…

He was no longer entirely sure if it really was a lie. Arthur had ignored him, after all.

Eventually Barragh came to a stop, and when Merlin raised his head to see where they were, he found himself standing in front of a large door at the end of a corridor. He had been expecting to come face to face with a cell, most likely a reinforced one seeing as how he had already blown apart one of the sturdiest cells they had. However, what he saw before him was baffling, because the room he had been dragged to wasn't a cell, and the door was made of nothing more than wood. Was Barragh trying to insult him, taunt him? If he was, it wasn't working. Had he tried a few days ago or even a couple hours or so ago, it might have, but now he couldn't be bothered to care. He was just too tired to worry about it. It didn't really matter where he was placed. Given the state he was in, he wouldn't be able to escape regardless of where they put him.

Still, a wooden door of all things. That just wasn't fair.

"Welcome to your new 'cell,'" the nobleman said as he pulled the door open and dragged the warlock inside. Just like Merlin had thought, the room wasn't actually a cell. It looked more like it had once been a supply room, but now it appeared to be more like a chamber used to interrogate prisoners. There were multiple sets of manacles chained to the wall, some on the floor, and at the center was a table and chair. He couldn't really see any weapons anywhere (he wasn't sure whether to be grateful for that or not, though he decided he may as well be, seeing as how he was pretty sure that a weapon wouldn't help him any in the state he was in), but there was a small knife stabbed into the table. Part of him was a bit curious as to what it was for, but the other part prayed he wouldn't have to find out.

With a sharp tug, Barragh began to drag him across the room towards a set of shackles hanging from the wall.

"You better get used to this place, boy," he began, a cruel smirk spreading slowly across his face, "because unless you start behaving, this room'll be the last one you ever see."

Catching sight of the twisted gleam in his captor's eyes, Merlin knew what was about to happen. He knew that Barragh had every intention of putting that brace back on him, of letting his magic rage through him until he either blacked out or begged for death. He was going to torture him until he agreed to serve him or until his body gave out entirely. Having already tasted that kind of agony, he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to last. However, he did know one thing for sure.

No matter what, Barragh would never have his loyalty. His magic was for Arthur and for Camelot. Even if the prince chose to hate him, that simple fact would never change. Camelot was still his home just as Arthur was still his friend, and he would rather die than cause harm to either one.

He prayed with all he had that that resolve would hold, that his heart and mind wouldn't waver, because he knew that there was only so much a person could endure. Everyone had a breaking point. As he was chained against the wall with Barragh standing over him, that same merciless grin on his face, Merlin hoped that he would never find his.

…But when he saw that metal brace descending upon his arm, he feared he already had.

"…I'm not sure how much longer I can take this."

When he heard those words echo down the corridor, Rordan came to a stop, glancing over his shoulder as two guards walked out from one of the side passages. He had been on his way to the armory to turn in his equipment for the night, but he decided to linger a little longer to hear what the two men were talking about. He had a pretty good guess already, which only made him that much more eager to hear what they were saying.

"I know. Even after it's done, I feel like I can still hear the screaming."

"I wonder if Barragh's finally lost it—I mean really lost it. I've never seen him obsess so much over a sorcerer. The look in his eyes has gotten almost manic."

"At this rate, I don't know how much longer he'll last. There's only so much a person can take."

"I wish there was something we could do. Merlin's the last person who deserves this."

As the two guards passed him, paying him no mind, Rordan found himself gripping the hilt of his sword so hard that the grip dug into his hands, his knuckles turning white. He had more or less already known who they were talking about—Merlin had been a popular topic over the last month—but knowing certainly didn't make hearing it any easier.

Even though he hadn't been able to see the warlock since his attempted escape, he had made sure to keep his ears open for any information about what was happening. That had proven rather difficult after Barragh had given the order to lock Owyn in a cell on the other side of the castle. Unlike Owyn, most of the guards were too afraid to say or do anything directly, meaning that asking questions rarely got him anything worthwhile. Most of what he knew about the situation he had learned through eavesdropping. He had wanted to talk to Merlin directly, but Barragh hadn't allowed anyone to see the warlock other than the few guards who brought down his meals. The same orders had been given in regards to Owyn.

However, he knew that Merlin had been locked up next to Arthur. He knew that in that time, the two of them had talked. He also knew that the prince had been told about Merlin being a sorcerer. Barragh had done it on purpose in order to force his hand, to take his home from him so that he could never return to Camelot. After that, the nobleman had dragged him off to one of the rooms used for interrogation, and ever since then he had been torturing him, trying to get him to break, believing that he would if he no longer had any hope of ever being able to return to his home…but Rordan was certain that Merlin would rather die than serve Barragh.

It had been nearly three days since then. If something wasn't done soon, his body would eventually give out.

Clenching his jaw almost as tightly as his hands, Rordan fought the urge to punch the wall next to him, knowing that it wouldn't do him any good. Anger and guilt rolled through his chest, gripping at his heart until it hurt. He wanted to do something, anything, because none of this was fair, and Merlin was going to die if something wasn't done, but at the same time he knew what was on the line, knew that just one wrong move, one miscalculation could bring everything crashing down around them. He had a family to think about, to protect, and he would never be able to live with himself if anything were to happen to them, but at the same time he couldn't stomach the decisions he was being forced to make.

If he were to abandon Merlin, abandon his friends…just what kind of person would that make him? How would he ever be able to face his family with so much blood and guilt on his hands?

Taking as deep a breath as he could manage, he slowly relaxed his grip on his sword. Instead he reached to the set of keys on his belt, the keys he had been about to turn in. His shift was ending much like it always did so late at night, but he couldn't bring himself to make the rest of the journey. Instead he just stared at his keys, at the possibilities they presented.

Would it be worth the risk? Could they really come away from this unscathed?

"If something does happen, promise me you won't give up. We can't just leave him here."

He had promised Owyn that if something happened to him, he would do what he could to get Merlin out. Perhaps, if he played this right, nothing would have to be sacrificed. It was worth a shot.

He knew what he had to do.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed. A day, maybe two. Either way it didn't make much difference, because in the end he still wasn't any closer to figuring things out. Arthur was beginning to get more and more frustrated with every hour that passed (he was pretty sure that it had been at least a day, but beyond that he wasn't entirely sure), and the more anxious he got, the more he began to worry. After all, in all that time—however long it had been—he had yet to see or hear any sign of Merlin. He didn't know what was happening, and the guards weren't talking—not that he was asking, mind you—but from the looks on their faces, he knew it had to be bad.

There was a small voice in the back of his head that spoke up every once in a while, telling him that he shouldn't be concerned, that Merlin was a sorcerer and a traitor, but it hadn't taken long for him to start ignoring it. There was no point in paying it any mind, because even if he did, it wouldn't stop him from worrying. Even if Merlin had lied to him and had betrayed him, that didn't mean that Arthur wanted him to be tortured. He would never wish that kind of pain upon anyone (expect for maybe Barragh, but he still rather preferred the thought of running him through with a sword instead).

All he really wanted to do was talk to Merlin. He'd figure out what to do with him after he heard what he had to say, but at the rate things were going, he wasn't sure if he would ever get that chance. There was every possibility that Merlin could die from whatever torture Barragh was inflicting upon him, and even if he endured it, it was unlikely that he'd be able to escape from the weapons dealer again.

There was also another problem. By now word would have reached his father about his imprisonment, and whether he paid the ransom or sent an army, Arthur wouldn't be a guest in Barragh's castle for much longer. He was almost hoping for the army. At least then there'd be a better chance of getting Merlin out with him. He wasn't entirely sure what he would do with him after that, but at the very least he knew that he couldn't just leave him at the mercy of a madman who saw sorcerers as nothing more than tools. That wasn't a fate anyone deserved.

He heaved a sigh (number one hundred and five by his count, although truthfully he had lost track a long time ago, so that number was quite possibly a bit exaggerated) and slumped further against the wall as he tried to at least sort out a few things that he had figured out in the past however-many-it-had-been days (he was starting to lean more towards two, although three was looking like a viable option as well). First off, Merlin was a sorcerer. However much he wanted to pretend otherwise, that fact wasn't about to change. Second, Merlin was not evil. It was pretty much impossible to think otherwise; the two weren't even remotely similar.

The third was something that had taken him a little longer to figure out: Barragh had somehow stopped Merlin from using magic. It was the only thing that made sense, because otherwise Merlin would have escaped a long time ago. Barragh had said that he was powerful—Arthur wasn't entirely sold on that idea yet—and so seeing as how the castle was still in one piece and Merlin was still a prisoner, that meant that for some reason he couldn't use his magic, not fully at least.

The fourth and final thing that he had been able to figure out actually didn't have much to do with the other three, although they had certainly helped him arrive at it, and that was that something actually had happened to Owyn. Had the man been well and able to visit them, he would have, especially after what had happened. Therefore something must have gone wrong, and if that was the case, then Arthur was entirely on his own. He no longer had an ally to count on, to talk to, someone who could help him think of a way to get to Merlin before Barragh succeeded in whatever twisted plan he was weaving. He was completely alone.

What was he supposed to do now?

The sound of footsteps coming down the corridor had become so common to him now that he almost didn't notice them. They only ever signified a meal being brought, and so he probably would have ignored them this time too if not for the fact that the leftovers of his supper were still sitting on the floor by his feet. He raised his head and quickly looked up, trying to gauge what time it was. He was pretty sure it was still dark out; he couldn't possibly be that out of it to not notice the night passing into morning. If that was the case though, then why was someone coming down the corridor?

Not sure what to expect, Arthur stayed quiet and waited, listening as the steps drew closer, never once faltering in their stride. Whoever it was and whatever they were coming for, they seemed determined. He couldn't stop himself from tensing a bit when the steps became rather loud in the otherwise silent hall before suddenly stopping as their owner appeared in front of his cell.

In all honestly, Arthur wasn't entirely sure what to make of him. Most of the guards who had visited him in the past week or so had always come with food or water, but this one wasn't carrying anything. He also looked a bit different, his expression resolved instead of resigned. There was something else too, something almost familiar about him. He felt like he had seen him before, but for the life of him he couldn't place his finger on exactly when.

Not knowing quite what to say or how to react, the prince simply watched as the guard glanced down the hallway quickly before reaching to his belt and removing something from it. Despite the darkness of the halls, there was enough torchlight for him to see what it was.

A key ring.

"Who—" he began to ask only for the guard to shush him, signaling to stay quiet. Scowling a bit at being treated like a child, he adopted a much softer tone and asked, "Who are you? What are you doing?"

"My name is Rordan..."

Rordan. He knew that name. Owyn's friend.

Things made a bit more sense now.

"…And I'm letting you go."

…Wait, what?

"What?" he asked, a little louder than he had intended, earning him a nervous look from the guard.

"I…I'm going to let you go," Rordan began, his voice shaking just a bit with hesitation before he took a deep breath and pressed forward, "under one condition."

He didn't particularly like the sound of that, his eyes narrowing a bit in suspicion as he watched the man outside his cell. He wasn't all that fond of making deals with people, though he should have known that his freedom wouldn't come without a price.

"What kind of condition?" he asked, expecting to be asked for a reward or maybe a favor, but what Rordan actually asked of him wasn't at all what he had been expecting, though in hindsight it probably should have been.

"Take Merlin with you."

"…What?"

"If I release you, then please, take him with you."

He wasn't sure what surprised him more, the earnest way Rordan was asking for his help or the fact that he had asked for it at all. After all, unlike Owyn, Rordan had no idea that he and Merlin knew each other beyond a mere acquaintance. He was Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther, prince of Camelot, the kingdom where magic was outlawed and sorcerers were sentenced to death. What could have possibly possessed him to ask for a favor like that from someone like him? Was he completely mad or just naïve?

Or had things simply become that desperate?

"Why?" He needed to know. He needed to understand what was going on, because that pit of worry that had blossomed in his stomach almost three days ago was slowly growing into something he couldn't hope to bear.

"Because he doesn't deserve this," Rordan said, his voice full of guilt and desperation, quiet but still every bit as intense as the words themselves. "Because I can't take it anymore. What Barragh's doing to him—what he intends to do to him—isn't something anyone should have to endure. Merlin is a good man, one of the most selfless and kindhearted people I've ever met, and I can't keep sitting by and doing nothing while Barragh tortures him."

He felt his heart clench. He had known that Barragh was most likely torturing the sorcerer, but to have it affirmed was a hundred times worse. He could understand Rordan's desperation to put an end to it, but what he didn't understand was how he could hand Merlin over so easily when he had no knowledge of Arthur's intentions.

"But why me? You know who I am, right?"

"Yes."

"And you know about the laws regarding magic in Camelot?"

"…Yes."

"Then why entrust him to me?" Why take him from one prison just to send him to another? Why save him just to condemn him to death?

Rordan hung his head, his hands clenching around the bars of the cell door. There was a pained expression on his face, the torchlight playing off the lines that creased it. When his answer finally came, it seemed like each word fell with the weight of a blade.

"Because even if you decide to execute him, it would be a mercy compared to what Barragh will do to him."

His breath caught as everything in his chest seemed to tighten. He almost didn't believe what he had heard. A part of him wanted to be mad, to yell at Rordan for suggesting something like that, to call being executed a mercy, but at the same time he knew that it was when compared to unending pain. This man was desperate enough to seek help from someone like him, someone he knew nothing about, who could very well kill the friend he wanted to save. Even if Merlin hadn't already been someone important to him, how could he ever say no to a plea like that?

"…Alright. I'll help him."

A small smile crossed Rordan's face.

"Thank you." He quickly raised his key ring to the lock, sifting through them to find the right one. "Owyn was right about you—seems you can be trusted. Guess I shouldn't be surprised though. He really does have a knack for understanding people."

"What happened to him?" He needed to know. It had been bothering him ever since the man had suddenly disappeared. He was pretty sure that it had something to do with Barragh finding out about what he had been up to.

Strangely enough, his assumption was actually right, though not in quite the way he had expected.

"Barragh found out that he had been talking to you and bringing most of your meals, so he locked him in a cell on the far side of the castle."

"What? But why?" What did it matter?

"I don't know, but if I had to guess…it's probably because Owyn is good at saying things, the kind of things that make people think. Barragh was probably worried that he'd say something to you."

Arthur opened his mouth to say something along the lines of "well, he didn't," but at that very same moment he realized that the correct response was actually "well, he kind of did." Ever since that first encounter, Owyn had been talking to him, spouting a mix of nonsense and philosophy and fact that somehow always made perfect sense after thinking about it. The guard had dragged him into conversations about honor and pride, about prejudices, empathy, sacrifice—about the difference between what's expected and what's right. He had talked about compassion and friendship, attachment and loss, morals and magic and trust, and through every conversation and every argument, Arthur had listened. Whether he had intended to or not, he had truly listened.

Had Owyn somehow been counting on that?

"You know, Owyn and I had always intended on rescuing Merlin, but it was his idea to ask you for help. He said that you were a good man. I'm glad to know he was right."

All that time, even without the knowledge that the two of them knew each other, had Owyn been setting everything up, preparing him so that eventually he would be willing to accept Merlin?

"I don't really have an opinion on magic. I think it's incredible, but as far as seeing it as good or evil, to me, magic just is."

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

All that time…

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

All that time, and then even after that…after their plan had failed and everything had fallen horribly apart.

"Can you at least tell me something?"

"No, I can't, but…I can at least give you some advice. No matter what happens, never question his loyalty to you. I may not know what the two of you have gone through, but I'm almost certain that everything he's done has been for you. Don't ever throw that away."

He didn't know if that was true or not. There was still so much he didn't know, but he would find out. He would save Merlin, and together they would return to Camelot.

"There, finally," Rordan said as the lock clicked and the door opened. Arthur quickly got to his feet, and for the first time in over two weeks, he stepped outside his cell and into the corridor.

It was liberating.

"Here." He turned to face the guard and found the hilt of a dagger being pressed into his hand. "It's not much, but it may come in handy. I'd give you my sword, but I fear that'd be too noticeable."

"Thank you." He quickly attached it to his belt, feeling more comfortable than he had in a long time. It wasn't the same as having his sword at his side, but it was enough to lift some of the unease in his stomach.

After closing the cell door as quietly as possible and taking another quick glance around, Rordan turned to face him and then pointed down the corridor.

"If you go down this hallway and take a right, you'll eventually reach a small intersection. Go left from there and follow the path all the way down. At the end you'll find a large wooden door. That's where Barragh has him."

"You're not coming with me?" He tried not to sound as concerned as he actually was, because it was all well and good to tell him how to get to Merlin, but he would have no clue where to go afterwards. He had been informed more than once that the castle was pretty much a gigantic maze. The last thing he wanted was to get lost.

"No," said Rordan, holding up his key ring. There was the barest hint of a smirk on his face. "I still have one more thing to do. I'll meet you there as soon as I'm done."

"Alright." There was no helping it. For now he would have to move forward on his own.

"You shouldn't run into anyone, but still, be careful."

"I will."

He was about to take off, but before he could, Rordan stopped him for just one moment more.

"Arthur," he called, and when the prince turned to face him, he offered a very short but very sincere bow. "Thank you for your help. Merlin means a great deal to a lot of us. Even though I've only known him for a short while, I still consider him a friend, and I know Owyn feels the same. No matter what happens after this, I just want you to know that I'm grateful, so thank you."

No, I'm the one who should be grateful. You looked after him when I couldn't. You protected him as best you could when I didn't. You've probably done more for him in just one month than I ever did.

Thank you.

He couldn't say it. Not yet. Not until this was all over, not until Merlin was safe and Barragh was nothing more than a bad memory. When that time came he would definitely say it.

Until then he would accept the thanks that he didn't yet deserve, and he would commit himself to doing everything he could to earn it.

"Everything he's done has been for you. Don't ever throw that away."

The lies, the betrayal, the magic—none of that mattered, not now. There would be time for that later, and there would be a later.

No matter what, he would save Merlin.

A/N: So, I hope you enjoyed the chapter :) The next chapter will have the scene that inspired this all and that more or less gave me the title for this fic (which took an absurdly long time for me to come up with when I first started writing this). I was originally going to include it in this chapter, but then it would have gotten too long, and I think I'd rather have it stand on its own anyway. Plus this gives me more time to spend writing it so I can make sure it turns out right :)

I estimate maybe four or five more chapters after this, but don't take my word for it. I'm almost always wrong. We'll see what happens.

Again, I want to thank everyone for reading this. I'm glad you're enjoying my fic, and thanks so much for all the support :) I really appreciate it, and I'm sorry that I haven't been getting to the review responses. If you have a question for me, please feel free to ask, and I shall do my best to remember to respond. If you just want to chat, then by all means, I'm more than willing to talk :)

Feel free to drop a review and let me know what you thought, but please don't ever feel obligated :)

Until next week!