A/N: I don't own Merlin. That was the luck of the BBC.

New chapter, yay! This one took a while to write, just because I wanted to get it right, and also get it pretty long (longest chapter yet at 1,700 words!). Chapter 13 is half written so shouldn't be too long (don't hold me to this). I swear the next multi-chapter fic I upload after this one I will create some sort of upload schedule.

Also, thank you so much everyone - Of Swords and Warlords has 125 reviews, which is just mental. You're awesome and every review means so much to me. I keep all my email notifications in a little folder, I never delete any alert from FanFiction, that goes for follows and favourites as well.

The world exploded in a sandstorm of golden power, as mercenary guards were thrown effortlessly into trembling stone walls. The few objects furnishing the room were also sent into a cascade of power, crashing into the walls and immobilising the now unconscious guards. Arthur and the knights found themselves unchained, the manacles adorning their wrists simply falling off, allowing them to rise up. Once they'd gained their bearings they began to arm themselves with the discarded swords of incapacitated guards.

Merlin stood in the eye of the storm, dead centre of the chaos happening around him, his arms outspread with magic surging from his palms. His eyes glowed a fierce gold as he strained his magic to breaking point. It felt amazing to have free-flowing magic once more, but exhausting. There was no stopping it from unleashing on everything with which it came into contact, it had been caged too long and need to fly free.

The world was nothing but a blur around him, and he could only hope that he'd managed to keep Arthur and the knights safe from the assumed chaos he was causing. The one sight Merlin could focus on was that of Drin, pinned to the wall with an invisible force keeping him still. The man's gaze was fixed on Merlin, wide-eyed and pleading, and the vision of him desperately clawing at anything to get away riled the warlock.

"How? How did you do that? Those manacles were supposed to be suppressing! I don't understand." Drin was stammering, his pallid skin growing paler and paler at his trapped predicament.

"I told you. You underestimated me Drin." Merlin stated, his magic still swirling around the room, though the initial commotion was somewhat dying down.

"Merlin, Merlin, you've got to understand, I'm so much better for you than Arthur. You can see that, can't you? I accept your magic. I won't punish you for it, nor will I keep it hidden." Drin beseeched, his nervous grin twitching, his despairing eyes never leaving Merlin's.

The statement weighed heavily on the room's occupants. Though they all knew it to be the desperate appeal of a condemned man, the words he spoke did hold some truth. Merlin's future in Camelot was uncertain at best. Arthur had flinched at the words; each vile utterance tinging his heart, with what he didn't know, but they hurt.

"You accept my magic?" Merlin whispered, to the room's astonishment. Arthur's stomach was uneasy with worry, his inherent distrust of magic clouding his rationality, unused to seeing it displayed as freely and openly as Merlin was conducting it now.

"Yes, yes! I told you, a position in my court, by my side. You see, Merlin? You can see?" Drin encouraged hopefully.

"You would do nothing with my magic except use it for your own selfish gains. You think yourself better than Arthur? Fairer? More understanding? Well, let me clear that up for you. The injuries I have sustained at Arthur's hand have either been self-inflicted to protect him," the memory of a poisoned goblet followed by a feverish few days flickered in Merlin's mind, "or minor wounds I probably brought on myself." He couldn't but let a smile ghost over his mouth, mirroring that of Arthur's, at the memory of the numerous bruises sustained on patrols, training or just a plain old goblet to the head. Merlin couldn't remember the pain of them, now long forgotten in the recesses of his mind. However, the pain he had suffered over… however long it had been, would stay with him until he took to his grave. "Whereas in the short time I have had the displeasure of knowing you, you have inflicted on me a pain so great I would not wish upon anyone else."

"Now, y-you see, that was just… a test, to test your… strength, and your loyalty. That's it! And you passed. Congratulations Merlin, many a man would've failed." Drin grinned, though obviously fake, not even his face could hide the falseness of the lie.

The force holding Drin in place shifted to his throat, cutting off any more pleas or lies, as well as the air he so needed to live. Drin's hand wrapped around his throat, trying in vain to remove whatever was choking him, as Merlin began to focus all his attention on Drin, a silence filling the room, save for Drin's suffocated gasps.

The knights watched in shock as Drin began to turn purple, clearly running out of both air and time, and all were conflicted. On one hand Merlin had every right to kill Drin, even with magic. However, everyone knew Merlin, and knew what this would do to his conscious. This was the man who felt for the animals killed and eaten by the men, and here he was about to take a life with his bare hands. None could decide whether to intervene or let Merlin carry out his actions.

They needn't have worried much longer as the roof of the room began to cave in, a large chunk of stone landing almost on top of Percival, who only just managed to dodge out of its path. The distraction was enough for Merlin to lose his grip on Drin, who fell to the floor in a spluttering heap. Several more chunks of rock landed between captor and captive, making any kind of focus impossible as they both manoeuvred out of the way of any more missiles falling on them.

After a moment of calm, rocks no longer falling but the ceiling still teetering on the brink of collapse, Merlin flinched at the feel of a solid hand on his shoulder.

"Merlin."

The warlock paused for a moment, his body tensing against the touch. The sight of Drin, though now obscured as he sought refuge behind a large piece of debris, caused Merlin to assess what he had been about to do, and his heart pounded with guilt. It shouldn't have, this was the man who had tortured him, there should be nothing stopping him hurting Drin, but Merlin was torn. The integral good within him was resisting the urge to inflict deliberate pain on another person.

"Don't do this. I know you, and this isn't you." Arthur stood by his words. In all the time he'd known Merlin, he'd never hurt someone intentionally. Many times he'd floored a maid carrying piles of clean laundry with his clumsiness, but never on purpose. It just wasn't Merlin, and Arthur knew what rage and trauma could do to a man. If he let Merlin hurt Drin, he didn't know if Merlin would survive that, at least mentally, but he also didn't know how Merlin exerting himself to the point of killing someone would damage him physically. "Besides, we have to go." He urged, eyes glancing cautiously at the disintegrating ceiling.

"He hurt me Arthur." Merlin sounded like a small boy, as if someone had just broken his favourite toy in front of him. He turned his head to look at Arthur, hints of glowing golden embers still flickering within the ocean of soft blue eyes that were encompassing so much hurt and pain and sadness.

"I know, and for that he shall pay a thousand times over, but this building won't last much longer, not with the way it's crumbling." Arthur's voice was hurried, steadying himself when the reverberations of Merlin's assault tried to throw him off balance.

Merlin's eyes glowed with a resigned acceptance, despite the anger he felt towards the man who, for such a long time as it felt to the warlock, had tortured and beat him, he wasn't convinced he could use his magic so maliciously. Especially not in front of Arthur, who he was desperate to prove his worth to, to make him see that not all magic was used for evil. Hurting or executing Drin in that manner would do nothing, except perhaps give Merlin the satisfaction of knowing that the warlord had felt something akin to Merlin's pain, and he had to consider the way it would be perceived in the King's eyes.

"We can go home?" Merlin felt so tired, so physically and mentally exhausted, and Arthur's heart tore in two at the broken hope that resonated from his servant's voice. Quickly followed by guilt spreading throughout his chest, because he couldn't answer Merlin's question.

Could he take him home? He was a sorcerer. No not sorcerer, warlock, Arthur had to keep reminding himself. Merlin hadn't chosen this life, it had been forced upon him. However, the use of magic was illegal in the entirety of Camelot, and, as had been drilled into him since he was born, no man was above the law.

Not even if the law was wrong.

The battle within his conscience was beginning to rear its ugly head once again, but his mind cleared instantly at the sight of Merlin's eyes beginning to roll back into his head. A clear warning sign of the inevitable, Arthur dove forward and just managed to wrap his arm around Merlin's back to prevent him from doing any further damage to himself as he slipped out of consciousness. Though what additional injuries Merlin could sustain, Arthur didn't know, but he knew that the ones he had would need treating immediately.

Until now, Arthur had only seen the damage that Drin had inflicted, but with his arm around Merlin Arthur could feel what had been done. His usually lanky frame was bonier than ever, his ribcage felt awkward and protruding against Arthur, and the heat that was radiating off his skin, a clear sign of infection, was astonishing. Arthur didn't know how the boy was still alive, whether it was a side-effect of his magic, or just the sheer willpower of wanting to survive, but he was alive. Barely.

"Let's go." Arthur nodded to his men, Gwaine already supporting Merlin's other limp side, and was met with no objections.

Finally, after what felt like countless hours manoeuvring through the depths of Drin's castle, and getting lost twice (as for some reason they were being led by a preoccupied Gwaine, whose sense of direction was hazy at the best of times), they finally reached the large oak door they'd been led through on their arrival at this horrific nightmare. One of its hinges had been torn off in the scuffle, leaving it slightly ajar, greeting them with a long overdue sight.

Freedom.

So what did you think?

The first part is over, they're free from the tower, they're on their way back to Camelot and everything's going to be awesome…

…Or will it? *Cue evil laughter and clichéd lightning*

But seriously guys, I think the pacing speeds up a lot at the end, because I didn't want to write endless paragraphs of escaping the tower, so it kind of happens really quickly and I'm not too sure about it.

Also thank you to mizzymel who pointed out some confusing wording in chapter 3 about Drin's intention, which I'm fixing with this update.