A/N: Well, here we go. I bring you what I consider the true climax of this fic. In this chapter is the scene and conversation that literally spawned this whole story, including the title. Words cannot describe how much I enjoyed writing it, and I sincerely hope you all enjoy reading it just as much.

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 to say today. It's late, and I'm tired. Definitely going to bed now.

If you see any errors, please point them out, and I shall do my best to fix them post haste :)

Onward!

CHAPTER 19

With careful steps and a watchful eye, Arthur slowly made his way down the corridor. He could think of very few things that he had ever done in his life that had been quite so unnerving. Every step he took, however cautious, felt like it echoed off the walls, threatening to alert anyone nearby to his presence, because aside from the crackling of the torches that lined the hall, everything was silent. There were no voices, no approaching footsteps, not even the clanking of metal that often sounded during the stroll of an armored guard. Even though the shadows continuously moved around him, it was only due to the flames of the torch lights as they flickered in their brackets. As odd as it seemed, the halls were completely abandoned.

Had Rordan somehow planned for that as well?

Wary of such an easy passage to a place that should not be easy to reach, the prince stayed close to the walls, just in case. Even though he knew that most of the guards were technically friendly and likely wouldn't stop him if he told them what he was doing and who had released him, that didn't mean he was willing to risk it. After all, there were guards who were actually loyal to Barragh, and with the way his luck had been recently, he'd probably end up running into one of the few that was. Therefore, even though everything around him was quiet, he remained on the look out, taking note of his surroundings just in case he ended up needing to duck into one of the alcoves or even an unused cell in order to stay hidden. He wasn't particularly fond of hiding, but sometimes it was necessary. This happened to be one of those times.

As much as he tried not to, while slowly making his way forward, Arthur found his mind wandering a bit—not enough to distract him from his task but enough to make him slowly begin to fear what he would find once he reached the end of the second corridor. It had been three days, after all. Three days since he had last seen Merlin. Three days that the young sorcerer had probably spent with Barragh, and if that last encounter with the weapon's dealer was anything to go by, the time spent with him had probably been nothing short of torture—quite literally, in fact.

The prince grit his teeth, his fingers tightening around the hilt of the dagger at his side. As angry and frustrated as he was, he was also terrified, because he honestly had no idea what he was about to find. He had no idea what had truly occurred over the last few days, and a part of him was starting to worry that Merlin had simply given up. He didn't want to believe it, didn't want to even consider the fact that his servant would give in to Barragh after spending more than a month defying him at every turn, but at the same time he knew he had to be realistic, had to consider the worst possible scenario. Merlin was probably as strong as Barragh was ruthless. Between the two of them, it would be nothing short of a test of wills.

What if Barragh were to win? What would happen to Merlin? The nobleman saw sorcerers as living weapons, so would that mean that he would simply torture Merlin for the rest of the boy's life in order to make him do what he wanted? What if he pushed too far? What if the pain became too much? There was such a thing as dying from pain induced shock. Sometimes it was just too much for a person to bear. What if Merlin were to succumb to it? What if he just wasn't strong enough? What if he was already…?

Arthur quickly cut that thought off before it could fully form, not wanting to even consider that as a possibility. He would find Merlin, and the servant would be alright—perhaps not in the best of shape, but he would definitely be alive. He refused to accept anything less. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to live with himself if it turned out to be otherwise. After all, he had a lot to make up for. Sorcerer or not, Merlin was still his friend; their time together couldn't have all been a lie. After all, ever since they had found each other again, Merlin had done nothing but try to protect him from Barragh. He had known what would happen if the nobleman ever found out that the two of them were connected, and he had done all he could to keep that from happening.

Even in the midst of so much suffering, he had still placed Arthur above everything else. Those weren't the actions of a selfish, devious man or a false friend. Magic or not, at the core of his being, Merlin was still Merlin. That would probably never change.

Turning down the last stretch of hallway, Arthur picked up his pace a bit, not wanting to waste any more time. He needed to get there as soon as he could. The path was a simple one; if he just kept on going, he'd eventually reach the room where Merlin was being kept. He honestly wasn't sure what to expect. What kind of room would it be? Would he even be able to enter it (it's not like Rordan gave him a key or anything)? Would there be guards there? Would Barragh be there? Half of him was hoping that he would be so that he could finally run the crazed man through, but at the same time he knew that his presence there would make things that much more difficult.

There's no point in worrying about it. I'll find out when I get there.

In a matter of minutes that felt far more like hours, Arthur was finally able to see the door up ahead. Much like Rordan had said, it was nothing more than a large wooden door. There was no reinforcement, no special locks, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary; there weren't even any guards posted outside. It wasn't at all the type of place one would detain a sorcerer unless they knew for a fact that there would be no way for said sorcerer to escape. There could be any number of reasons why that would be the case, though some he would rather not think about.

Stopping in front of the door, the prince took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what lay ahead. There was no turning back…not that he ever would. Carefully he reached out and grabbed the handle of the door. He had expected it to be locked at the very least, but when he pushed forward, it creaked open just a sliver (he was marginally disappointed that he wouldn't get to kick it down, but surprise rather outweighed the dissatisfaction).

With one more deep breath, he pushed it the rest of the way open and stepped inside.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

As light spilled into the dimly lit room from the corridor, Arthur found his eyes drawn to the floor where dark lines had been crudely etched into the stone, spiraling in circles and twisted patterns that looked like intricate knots. They were surely runes of some kind, magic in nature, but what truly drew his attention were the dark splatters around and within them. Even in the faint torchlight, he could still tell that they had once been a vibrant red before fading into a rusted brown.

As his attention trailed towards the center of the room, he saw more markings and more blood, but what his eyes finally landed on was enough to nearly stop his heart and send it racing at the same time. Caught between horrified and enraged, he found himself staring at the very man that he wanted nothing more than to stab with the dagger at his side. Barragh was just standing there at the center of the room in all his condescending, arrogant glory.

But something seemed a bit…off about him.

During the few times that Arthur had interacted with the weapons dealer or seen him interact with others, there had always been an air of control about him. However insane the prince believed him to be, Barragh was actually rather smart and perceptive, a true manipulator, a nobleman with the air of status even if he didn't quite fit the part…but the man standing before him looked nothing short of crazed and completely mad. His hair was a mess, his clothing wrinkled and caked with dirt and spots of blood. The grin on his face was large, baring his white, crooked smile, and his eyes were slightly wide with an almost manic glee shining in them.

He was the picture of insanity.

When their eyes met, that intense, wild look didn't falter, and for a moment Arthur wasn't entirely sure if the man was even registering the fact that he was there. However, it didn't take long for that gaze to focus on him, for that brow to furrow just a bit, but still he found that the look on Barragh's face didn't change.

"You…" he began, sounding more amused than frustrated by the prince's sudden appearance. "How did you escape?"

Arthur tensed, preparing himself just in case Barragh chose to retaliate or call in a few guards, but to his surprise the man merely waved him off as if his presence meant nothing to him at all, just a slight inconvenience.

"Well, no matter. It's of little consequence." That manic grin grew even wider if that was even possible, taking on a cruel, self-satisfied edge. "Since you made it all the way here, I'll let you be the first to see."

The prince was about to say something along the lines of "see what," but the words very quickly got lodged in his throat when he finally took notice of what Barragh was doing, or more precisely, what he was holding. In his left hand was a knife covered in blood which he suddenly cast aside where it fell at his feet next to a slightly familiar metal brace. In his right hand was a sight that Arthur wished he had never been made to see.

Merlin.

Pale, unconscious, bleeding. His skin looked almost as white as his shirt had once been, aside from the dark bruises that hung like shadows under his eyes—either from exhaustion or blood loss, he wasn't sure which. The clothing he wore was torn and dirty, small cuts and bruises visible on the pale skin underneath. He was covered in wounds of varying degrees, some treated and others left to bleed, but the most prominent one was at his right temple where he must have been struck rather hard. It was recent, the wound still fresh, raw and bleeding, blood dripping to the floor from where it had run down the side of his head, down his forehead, around his ears, and even across his face.

From the way he looked, Arthur would have assumed him dead if not for the occasional twitch of his fingers against the floor and the quick but shallow rise and fall of his chest.

Of course, just because he was alive didn't mean that the damage done hadn't been enough to destroy him. He knew for a fact that the wounds he could see on his body were only a small fraction of the agony he had been forced to suffer. There was no telling what kind of wounds had been inflicted upon his mind or his magic.

When Arthur finally found his voice, it came out far softer than he had wanted, the words nearly getting caught in his throat again.

"What did you do to him?"

Barragh's large hand was wrapped around Merlin's thin neck, holding the boy a few feet off the ground. It was big enough that his fingers nearly touched at the back, making the young sorcerer look so much smaller, so much more vulnerable than he actually was, than the prince knew him to be. Arthur wanted nothing more than to tear it off. Just the sight of his servant in such a state was enough to make his blood boil.

"Isn't it obvious?" the nobleman asked, excitement and self-satisfaction dripping from his voice. "I broke him. Everyone, even a sorcerer, has a limit as to how much they can endure, and I found his. Just now he was actually begging me for death. It won't be long before his resistance shatters completely, and when that happens, he'll have no choice but to serve me if he wants the pain to end. With a sorcerer like him at my disposal, no one will be able to stand against me."

He glanced down at the boy hanging limply from his hand, and Arthur suddenly found his own fingers curling tightly into fists. He wasn't sure if anger was a strong enough word to describe how he was feeling.

"You're completely mad," he snarled, earning him a curious look in return.

"Mad?" Barragh questioned, looking confused for only a moment before his face twisted into a disgusted sneer. "No, princeling, I believe that's the reserve for people like your father."

Arthur was about to retort with all the fury of a scorned prince—Barragh had just insulted his father and his king, after all—but the man just kept right on talking, barely paying the prince any mind at all.

"Executing sorcerers, wasting such precious resources—he's destroying some of the most incredible weapons this world has ever seen!"

"Weapons?" he asked, wanting to make sure he had heard right. He had been told once before that Barragh viewed sorcerers as tools and nothing more, but to hear it outright and spoken with such insult and indignation was enough to temper his anger for just a moment as confusion and an angry sort of dark curiosity took its place.

"Yes, weapons. What else would they be?"

He motioned to Merlin, lifting him a little further off the ground before giving him a quick shake in emphasis. It took everything Arthur had not to charge at the man with his dagger drawn and demand that he let Merlin go right now.

"You see this here?" he said, that twisted grin spreading across his face once more. "This is a weapon. Sorcerers are tools to be used, nothing more."

"You're wrong."

"Oh, am I? So then you consider them to be human?" He scoffed, almost looking insulted at the mere thought. "If they were human like the rest of us, then magic wouldn't be an inborn gift. It would be available to all."

"What are you talking about?" Yes, he knew that the ability to use magic was something a person was born with, that not just anyone could use it, but what did that have to do with sorcerers not being human?

"Don't you know? Magic is a natural talent. Only those born with an aptitude for it can use it. It's not something that just anyone can learn. People like you and I could spend our entire lives studying it but never achieve anything. A normal person can't simply pick up a spell book and learn magic."

He already knew that. Just what the hell is he trying to say?

"Don't you think that's unfair?" Barragh continued, his grin less manic but his eyes suddenly more so. "Magic is such an incredible force, capable of making the impossible possible, and yet you have to be chosen to wield it. Unlike a sword, not just anyone can use magic. It's either a part of you or it isn't. No matter how badly I want to have it, magic will never be mine. It's enough to make me sick.

"All that power, all those possibilities, and yet so many sorcerers waste it—and then there are people like your father who just dispose of them as if they were nothing more than common criminals, mere rubbish, instead of using them for what they're meant for. Just think of the army you could build with sorcerers under your control. Who wouldn't desire an arsenal like that?"

The man began to laugh, loud and long and boisterous and nothing short of completely and intolerably insane.

Twisted.

That was the only way to describe such a cruel, inhumane way of thinking.

"Sorcerers are still human, magic or not, and they should be treated as such." He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles went white and his shoulders tensed. He took a step forward threateningly, looking for all the world like he was about to punch the man standing only a few yards away from him. He had never been so furious. "Now let him go."

"I think not," Barragh scoffed. "This boy has more magic in a single finger than most have in their entire body. He has the power to raze kingdoms to the ground, and he's been hiding it, wasting it! All that power, and nothing has come from it. He's nothing but a fool and a coward."

"You're wrong," he tried to say, but Barragh paid him no mind and just kept talking, and Arthur's short temper grew shorter and shorter with every word.

"But with my help, I'm sure he'll be able to put it to good use. A decent weapon just needs a hand to—"

"He's not a weapon!"

Angry didn't even begin to describe the feeling flooding through his veins.

The weapons dealer was looking at him curiously again, obviously a bit confused, but Arthur's attention was solely on Merlin, his servant and his friend, the bravest man he had ever known. That cheerful, selfless, kind, and occasionally wise idiot had been reduced to something like this, had been tortured and abused until he had begged for death in order to escape from it all, to make it stop.

No, angry really didn't describe it. Not at all.

"Why do you care what happens to him? He's just a sorcerer. At least with me, he'll get to keep his life."

"And what kind of life would that be?" Arthur demanded. "No will, no freedom, treated like a tool."

"That's what he is. Why can't you understand that? So many people treat magic as a weapon, but if that were the case, then everyone should be able to use it, but they can't. Magic isn't a weapon, it's a power, just like strength. A person can use a sword to channel their physical strength, but the only ones who can channel magic are sorcerers. Don't you see? They are weapons, no different from a sword. That is all they are—"

"Shut up." He could feel his hands bleeding, his nails breaking through the skin on his palms.

"—and so they should be treated as such."

"You're wrong!"

Those words seemed to echo around the room, bouncing off the walls and ringing in his ears. In that moment he was pretty sure he had never meant anything as strongly as he did those two words.

It was strange how in the midst of so much anger and so much hatred, listening to a man spout nonsense about human weapons and twisted morals, that he was finally able to find a moment of clarity.

At last everything finally made sense.

"Oh?" Barragh sneered, obviously no longer amused with the prince or his outbursts. "How so?"

He had been so lost in thought, so wrapped up in his own problems, his own pain, his own fears, worried and hurt and confused over so much when in reality the answer was simple. It had always been simple.

Merlin was a sorcerer. That fact would never change, but Merlin was also Merlin; he always would be, no matter what, and that one would never change either.

That's why it was okay.

"You know, sometimes its better not to have all the answers."

He didn't need to know everything, not yet.

"After all, if people were meant to know everything about each other, then a thing like trust wouldn't exist, would it."

One day, he would know the whole story. Until then, he would simply have to have faith in Merlin.

It was a very liberating notion.

Arthur took a deep breath and found himself able to relax his grip, unclenching his hands and allowing them to hang open at his sides. The fury that had enveloped his heart and coursed through his veins had calmed into something more temperate, more refined, even though it still burned in him, bright and hot as ever. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had control over what was happening around him. Even though there was still a great deal of things unknown including an outcome that had yet to be determined, he found himself willing to accept it with a kind of confidence that he had never quite known before.

He finally understood, and nothing was going to stop him.

"Even if what you said is true," he began, meeting Barragh's glare with one of his own, "sorcerers are living, breathing human beings."

They were people, no different from anyone else, and they deserved the same treatment, regardless of how they were born.

"You're right, magic isn't a weapon. It's a talent and a gift, something to be proud of, but people like you twist it for your own selfish reasons. You hunt and torture them, use them until there's nothing left!"

"You aren't any different," Barragh snarled, that familiar anger finally slipping in through the haze of insanity that had settled upon his features. "At least I am giving them a purpose. All that awaits them in Camelot is death."

"No." One simple word, spoken with more authority and more certainty than any king, any ruler, could ever manage. His voice, his words, they never wavered. "When I am king, things will be different."

I swear it.

"What, are you saying that you're willing to accept magic? That you'll actually welcome sorcerers into your kingdom?" The disbelief and mocking scorn was so heavy in his tone that the prince could practically feel it, but it didn't matter if Barragh believed him or not. He wasn't about to change his mind, and no question to his resolve would ever be enough to break it.

"If that's what it takes to protect people like Merlin from monsters like you, then so be it. I will do whatever it takes."

Merlin had stayed by his side through everything, had sacrificed so much for him, had put him above even his own happiness, his own wellbeing, his own life. Maybe he didn't have all the details just yet, but he knew enough to know that he owed his friend a debt that had to be repaid. Even if it took him the rest of his life, he would pay it. He would do all he could to become the type of friend he should have been from the moment he realized that Merlin wasn't just a servant to him…that he was someone important to him.

"Why do you even care? You don't even know him. This boy is nothing to you."

You're wrong!

With tempered rage, Arthur reached for the dagger at his side, his fingers curling around the hilt like they belonged there.

He was done. To hell with it all.

He had never wanted to make that promise anyway.

"That boy," he began, low and seething, his grip tightening until he could feel the leather hilt digging into his palm, "is my servant and my friend, you arrogant bastard!"

He didn't bother to relish the way Barragh's eyes widened beyond the realm of madness and into absolute, unadulterated shock. He didn't care that he had just revealed something that could very well blow up in his face. He couldn't even muster enough concern to worry about the situation he was in, how he was facing down an armed man twice his size with nothing but a dagger at his side.

Arthur just didn't care.

"You will return him to me."

The prince drew his weapon, his key to salvation, and pointed it straight at the twisted man standing before him. Come what may, whether it be hell or high water, he was going to bring everything to an end.

"Or I will strike you down where you stand."

A/N: Well, there you have it :) Like I said before, I sincerely hope you all enjoyed the chapter. It was great fun to write :) I actually don't have anything else to say this week, so I think I'll leave it at that.

As always, thank you so much for the reviews/favorites/alerts :) And thank you to everyone who has been reading. I'm glad you're all enjoying this fic, and I hope this chapter didn't disappoint. I would love to hear what all of you think, so feel free to drop a review, but as always, please don't feel obligated. I'm a terrible reviewer, so I've no right to ask, but they really do make me happy :)

Until next week!