Disclaimer: Merlin is not mine.
All in all, it had been a busy couple of days. He and four score of his knights had ridden out from Camelot, meeting a band of enemies in the field, as was Arthur's preference. As they were on this occasion—as they usually seemed to be—incredibly outnumbered, Arthur would almost always choose a battle strategy that kept the fighting away from the common people of Camelot. They may have been drastically outnumbered, but to meet the enemy in the field meant that those who would fall would be those trained and prepared for the fight, not unknowing innocents. So the knights had ridden out from Camelot, there had been a battle, Camelot had—as far as Arthur knew—won the battle, Arthur had been mortally wounded and somehow ended up alone in the care of his manservant.
Yes, they had been a busy couple of days, but not atypical.
Not entirely atypical. On most fronts, the entire excursion had been familiar to the point of tedium. But on that one front, the one that he had never seen coming…everything had changed.
Merlin had magic.
Overall, Arthur had to admit that Merlin had chosen his moment well. Of course, Merlin hadn't really had any choice but to show his magic if he was to give Arthur any sort of aid this time, but he'd been lucky, at least. The two of them were alone and, mortally wounded as he was, Arthur didn't really have the option of chopping off Merlin's head or imprisoning him or hanging him or passing any cathartic sentence. He wasn't sure what he would have done, but having the option would have been nice. He was the king. As it was, Arthur had needed Merlin and lacked any alternative and, on the days that it had taken them to reach the point where Arthur could be healed, Arthur had more or less reconciled to the fact that Merlin had magic and—the hardest bit of all—had been deceiving Arthur since they had known each other. Arthur supposed that his own looming death had perhaps hastened his forgiveness, but he figured that when it came to being hasty, it was far better to be forgiving than damning.
So Merlin had magic and Arthur forgave him the lies because Arthur was going to die but then Arthur didn't die and Merlin still had magic and Merlin had been forgiven the lies, so that was that. What details and complications that would arise from this revelation—and Arthur had no doubt that there would be plenty and surely unpleasant—could wait until they were back in Camelot.
Assuming that they made it back to Camelot. They had been two days away from the citadel when—as always seemed to happen—they managed to lose their horses. So then they were on foot and therefore four days away from Camelot. Then, of course, bands of enemy soldiers that had survived the battle became aware of the fact that Arthur Pendragon just so happened to be wandering more or less unprotected through their woods.
It didn't help that they were lost. Arthur and Merlin were in strange lands, forced by patrolling enemy soldiers to stay off of main roads, trying to pass as commonplace travelers. They quickly discovered that even killing these enemies didn't seem to help. The soldiers were so disorganized that, when it seemed that Arthur and—mostly—Merlin had defeated them, another pack of them would pop up out of nowhere, making up for what they lacked in honor and decorum with a thirst for blood that surprised Arthur, even after his many years of fighting.
And so they ended up, on their second evening as the sun set, running zig-zags through the forest. Darkness was rapidly falling and the terrain was growing more rocky than green, and Arthur knew that one or both of them was going to end up tripping and breaking a leg sooner or later. But they had no options, there was nowhere else to go, this was how it was all going to end…and then, there it was. Their salvation.
A bridge.
A wooden bridge.
Too out of breath to speak, Arthur had just yanked Merlin by the jacket and shoved him in front of him, still too accustomed to looking out for his manservant to remember that he need not worry so much about both of their safety so much anymore. Fortunately, Merlin did not choose that moment to remind him of what had proved to be a sticky point between them and just stumbled onto the bridge, Arthur at his heels. In true fashion, Merlin tripped over the last plank of the bridge and skidded onto the rocky ground on the other side of the bridge. Arthur, just behind him, tripped over Merlin and did a sort of cartwheel over Merlin's shoulder.
Still breathless from the chase and having the wind knocked out of him by the fall, it was all that Arthur could do to point at the bridge and wheeze, "Light—"
Luckily for both of them—particularly considering that Arthur was behind Merlin, and Merlin couldn't have even known that Arthur was pointing at anything—they were of the same mind on this particular issue, and Arthur didn't even need to finish the order before there was a whooshing sound and the bridge was immediately ablaze.
Not for the first time over the past few days, Arthur begrudgingly had to admit to himself that Merlin's magic was coming in awfully handy. There was no natural way for them to have gotten a fire burning so quickly and hotly.
So the bridge had burnt and their pursuers had stopped pursuing and Arthur and Merlin lay on their backs, catching their breath and trying not to wonder why the soldiers on the other side of the burnt bridge were lamenting the loss by laughing. A lot.
It didn't take long to figure out. The bridge—which had stretched out over water rather than the ravine that Arthur had hoped for—did not happen to lead to another patch of forest or field or mountain for them to traverse on their way back to Camelot. No, the bridge—the only bridge—had stretched out to an island.
They were on an island, and they had burnt to ash the only way off.
The Once and Future King and the greatest sorcerer to have ever walked the earth had trapped themselves on a stupid island.
Later, before Arthur and Merlin had started arguing in the frustration of two men with no way out, Arthur would realize what sort of island it was. It was the site of what looked to be an old temple, abandoned and crumbling. From the marks, Arthur had the vague impression that it was a temple of the Old Religion. At first, his heart had sunk at an irrational guilt of the fact that it was abandoned because of him and then leapt at the possibility of Merlin doing something Old Religion-ish to get them the hell off of the island.
Because they hadn't been able to find one. They wouldn't be able to swim—there were enemy soldiers all along the closest bank, and the opposite shore was much too far and almost certainly too deep for them to swim or wade with their supplies. Merlin, in half-hearted snippiness, had suggested that Arthur abandon his armor and that they try to make a swim for it, but both knew that that wouldn't happen. They couldn't build a raft or boat out of anything—the only building material available on the island was stone, some of it natural and some just remnants of the temple. Despite Arthur's hopeful inquiry, Merlin had snapped that having magic did not mean that he was capable of building boats out of stone. The only positive that they could think of was that the soldiers had no way to get to them unless they built themselves a raft or another bridge, so the two men had time to try to come up with some sort of plan. Unfortunately, Merlin and Arthur soon discovered that it would not take very long for the soldiers to starve them out. Naturally, the majority of their rations had been in the saddlebags of the horses.
Merlin did not appreciate it when Arthur suggested that that, at least, was Merlin's fault. So Merlin had started listing all of the ways in which this was Arthur's fault and they argued because they were afraid and embarrassed and uncertain. So, with nothing else to do, they lit a fire—which Merlin had almost refused to do, from sheer annoyance of the way in which Arthur seemed to just expect it of him—from what wood of the bridge they'd been able to salvage, and they'd lain down to try to sleep, their only consolation lying in the fact that they had found an assemblage of rocks that altogether so resembled a room that there was only a crack through which anyone could enter. Arthur had had to suck in his breath to make it in at all.
To his later surprise, Arthur fell into a deep sleep, his spite apparently insufficient to keep him awake. He wouldn't have believed himself capable of falling into anything deeper than a doze, but the past few days all seemed to catch up with him at once, the relative release of his tentative acceptance of Merlin's magic somehow more exhausting than anything else. Besides, he figured that his body was accustomed to dealing with near-death experiences by that point. So he slept deeply, and it was not until he began to shiver that he properly woke. It took him a few moments to remember where he was; for a couple of seconds, it was as though he was back in his bed in Camelot, sleeping in because he was the king and he could damn well do as he pleased, being woken by a stern Merlin hurling the windows open to chill the king into consciousness because he was determined that Arthur keep all of his appointments. As he began to come back to himself, however, he found that he was entirely too uncomfortable to be in his bed. His bed wasn't nearly so lumpy. Even the way that Merlin made it.
He opened his eyes, realizing that he was very cold. Propping himself up on his elbows, he saw that their fire had gone down to embers and began to cast around for Merlin to yell at him for letting go so low. Even those remaining sparks seemed to be sputtering strangely. But he couldn't find Merlin, and he noticed that he was covered with a second blanket that was not his own. His ire faded into something resembling guilt, an uncomfortable combination that he seemed to be feeling an awful lot since he had learned of and tentatively accepted the reality of Merlin's magic and the decade of lies that concealed it. Merlin had given Arthur his blanket.
But that shouldn't have been necessary, Arthur thought, waking up. Even in the middle of the night with a dying fire, he shouldn't have been this cold. It was nearly summer. By all rights, Arthur should have been sweating under two blankets and all of his clothes. Something was off.
Still weary and nearly curious enough about Merlin's whereabouts to grow concerned about him, Arthur shoved himself up and stumbled out from beneath the stone ledge that had blocked out the sky. He was halfway through a yawn and wondering whether he should try to yell for Merlin anyway when he felt something tickling his cheeks and ears. Annoyed, he looked up.
And then he wasn't tired at all.
It was snowing.
For half a moment, Arthur considered just giving up and going back to sleep. Hadn't enough bizarre things happened to him over the past few days? Couldn't he just…shrug this one off and sleep for another few hours? If he wasn't still asleep, that was. It occurred to him that he might well still be out. It certainly seemed far more likely that he would never have woken up than for him to have woken up and discovered it snowing at this time of year.
But the snowflakes kept tickling at his bare skin and the cold was bringing him to full alertness with such rapidity that he had no choice but to dismiss the infinitely more appealing dream theory. Of course, even so, it couldn't possibly be as cold as Arthur was thinking. He was only so chilled because he'd woken from the inactivity of sleep, he thought.
Very suddenly, a lump grew in his throat. Choosing to believe that this was as a result of thirst rather than any burst of emotions, Arthur cast around for one of their flasks. It didn't really matter whose; most boundaries between the two of them had be cast away by necessity years ago. At this point, if one of them became ill with one of those ailments that Gaius referred to as "contagious," the other would come down with it soon enough.
After a few moments, Arthur found one. Shrugging himself free of the blankets that had still hung around his shoulders like particularly pathetic capes, he bent down. In one swift motion, he uncorked the flask and upended it over his mouth, bending his neck back. In the next instant, Arthur found himself gagging, and bent over his knees, unsure whether the pain of such cold within his throat was worse than the difficulty breathing. With a bit of effort, Arthur spat and saw what he had suspected as soon as the contents of the flask had touched his tongue.
The water had turned to slush. The water had turned to slush and, from the heaviness of the flask, there was ice in the bottom.
Perhaps it was as cold as Arthur thought.
"Merlin?" he croaked, then coughed. Trying to swallow a mouthful of slush was evidently not particularly good for the throat when it came to calling aloud. "Merlin?"
Merlin was nowhere to be seen, and Arthur sighed. Stamping his feet to regain some feeling into them and wiping away the trickling of snow melting in his hair, he tried to decide which way Merlin could have gone. Would he have retreated toward the center of the island, where the temple was, or would he have headed to the coast?
Not really knowing why, Arthur decided to go for the water. It was closer. He looked unenthusiastically through the narrow rock corridor that had led to their encampment. The dark was not particularly uninviting. For a moment, he considered trying to make himself a torch, but he dismissed the thought almost immediately. The fire was nearly dead, and it looked as though it was at the point that any attempts to rekindle it would just result in extinguishing it altogether. Besides, he had no idea where Merlin kept the flint. As Arthur seemed to be accepting Merlin's magic and was, at the very least, not dying anymore, Merlin had taken to using his sorcery for mundane tasks around their camp.
Arthur had the idea that Merlin had far more impressive abilities beyond lighting fires and moving rocks but did not want to overwhelm Arthur. Arthur wasn't sure whether he was grateful for the consideration or insulted at the implication of any sort of delicacy. But that wasn't the point, Arthur reminded himself. The point was that Merlin had lit the fire with his magic, and Arthur had no clue as to where the flint was. He would have no torch. No matter, he thought. His eyes would adjust quickly enough. Scowling for no reason other than the fact that he was awake, Arthur headed for the water.
It only took him a few minutes to reach the shore. The journey had seemed much longer when they had taken it the first time. He supposed that hunger and fear and sleepiness had ways of making far more lengthy all journeys with them denied. It felt as though no time at all had passed before Arthur moved out from between the white rocks and had full view of the lake that surrounded and cut them off. Despite himself, and despite the fact that they wouldn't be in nearly as much trouble if it was not there, Arthur had to admit that the water, just barely shining in the moonlight and the inexplicably falling snow, was a sight to be seen. He barely even registered the strangeness of how he grew colder and colder as he moved forward. There was no wind or anything that should have been thusly increasing the chill…
Then, Arthur saw something that he had never seen before, and his breath caught in his throat as his knees wobbled. He leant shakily against the stone, hidden in shadows.
He didn't even notice Merlin at first. There was so much else to absorb, to take in, to try to understand. It didn't make any sense, and he had the vague sense that he ought to be afraid, but there was such a stillness in the air that he felt calmer than he had since they had ridden forth from Camelot, all those days ago. What was to be feared of water?
But then, it wasn't the water that so transfixed him. Not really. It was the bridge of ice, stretching from the shore of their island all the way across the body of the lake and touching off at the land opposite. It wasn't particularly wide; only a dozen or so feet across. But it was ice, and it was all that was frozen, and the terrible cold that was everywhere was somehow concentrated into that one long strip of solid white water. In amazement, Arthur looked along the length of the ice bridge, as though staring would make sense of how it could have come to exist.
It was then that he finally saw Merlin.
Merlin was standing shin-deep in the water, boots tossed unceremoniously onto the frost-touched bank and his pants rolled up to the knee. He was away from the shore, with about ten feet of ice separating him from the land behind him. For an instant, Arthur wanted to laugh. Only Merlin could have stood still in icy water long enough to become literally frozen into it. But then he looked closer.
There was a perfect circle of black water around where Merlin stood, the dark smoothness of the isolated patch of water so starkly contrasted with the uneven frozen ripples that had been the rest of the lake. It was almost a beautiful sight. With snow swirling around him, Merlin was standing so still, so very still that Arthur would have almost suspected him of having frozen to death standing upright if it were not for the pale clouds of his breath that were visible in the cold. What little moonlight shone down upon them reflected off of the white ice, somehow illuminating the whole scene with an unnatural glow that took Arthur's breath away. Merlin, so pale and so still and so silent, seemed somehow so much more than he had ever been before, almost ethereal. In the whiteness, his dark hair seemed blacker than Arthur had ever seen, and he had to imagine that Merlin's eyes stood out with more clear blue—a blue that Arthur had suddenly become aware of when he had first seen the eyes glow golden—than as they could have ever been seen at any other time. Arthur wished that he could see them, oddly curious, but the angle of the reflection on the ice was making them appear far brighter than they should normally have been.
Because this wasn't normal, was it? Normally, he'd've been beyond embarrassed to have even had "Merlin" and "beautiful" in the same train of thought, but he found that it somehow didn't bother him. He felt as though he did when he looked upon a particularly striking painting—he could not help but admire the beauty of it even as he felt the inadequacy of his position in comparison. They were in different worlds, somehow, mortal and fleeting contrasted with immortal inherency, and it didn't make any sense to him how much sense this all seemed to make.
Then, very suddenly, Merlin moved, and Arthur almost jumped out of his boots in surprise. Merlin boosted himself out of his circle of water, too deep for him to just step out without almost certainly falling over and, knowing Merlin, slipping under the ice and drowning. After a moment, Merlin stood swaying on the surface, and Arthur almost smiled on the look on Merlin's face as he began to jump from one foot to the other, clearly not enjoying the sensation of having wet and bare feet on a frozen surface. After a moment, however, Merlin's frantic hoppings grew more controlled, and he began to jump two-legged up and down, looking thoughtful as he moved in a seemingly random path on the ice. Arthur didn't understand; why wasn't Merlin heading directly for the shore, where there were blankets and boots and a significantly lesser risk of losing toes to frostbite?
Then Merlin bent down, crouching over the ice. He ran his fingertips over it for a few moments, then knocked on it with a white fist. A grim sort of smile crossed his face, and all at once, Arthur understood what should have been terribly obvious from the moment that he'd glimpsed the strip of ice and what Merlin was doing.
Merlin was checking the strength of the ice. Merlin had been checking to see if it would bear his weight without cracking. Merlin was making sure that the ice could be walked upon. Merlin was making sure that their route—across this narrow white wasteland—would hold them as they crossed, after which Arthur presumed that a warm snap would immediately follow, and the ice would melt before their pursuers could come after them.
Merlin had frozen them a path across the water. They would escape.
Merlin turned around and hopped to the edge of the ice and back to solid ground. He hurried himself to where he had discarded his boots and dropped down with an undignified thump beside them. He seemed awfully normal.
For the first time in what felt like ages, Arthur exhaled.
It was apparently something of a heavy exhalation, for Merlin's head jerked up and his eyes began searching for the source of the sound. Not knowing why he had been hiding, Arthur stepped out from his position in the rocks, feeling foolish. He gave a small and awkward wave. Merlin nodded and turned to his boots. As Arthur picked his way carefully across the stony shore, he saw Merlin yank his socks out of where he had apparently stuffed them into his shoes.
"I thought you were asleep," said Merlin without preamble.
"I woke up," said Arthur, feeling more foolish than ever.
"You know, a few days ago, I would be panicking and trying to come up with a story about how all that was happening," said Merlin conversationally, gesturing out at the water.
"Do you really think that I might not have been suspicious of how convenient this is?" asked Arthur, watching Merlin and increasingly unsettled by how normal he was behaving. He dropped down to sit beside him on the frozen stones of the shore. "No matter what story you came up with?"
Merlin shrugged good-naturedly. "I dunno, Arthur. You've believed some pretty tall tales in your day."
There was silence for a few moments as Arthur stared out at the ice, and it began to dawn on him the gravity of what Merlin had created. At first, he'd focused only on the fact that Merlin was doing magic. The ice was all but incidental. Merlin was doing magic, and that was fascinating in itself. But to have created this ice bridge, running across a lake, thick and clearly strong enough to support them, of consistent width all along…that seemed like an awful lot. Too much. He'd seen sorcery before—mostly on the receiving end of some sort of attack—and had been impressed enough with the power to fear its potential. But he'd never seen anything like this. So harmless and yet so overwhelming and so…unfair, somehow, in its inequality.
"I don't like that you can do that," Arthur blurted out, pointing lamely at the ice bridge. He winced at the ingratitude, but Merlin just smiled softly, rubbing color back into his feet before beginning to put his socks and boots back on.
"Well, I don't like it when you get us stuck on islands," he answered lightly, almost laughing. "You've seen me kill me people and destroy things and lift things and light things on fire over the past few days, but manipulating the weather is what crosses your line?"
"Yeah," said Arthur breathlessly.
Merlin let out a low whistle, still smiling that soft smile.
"Remind me not to tell you what I did after you were bit by the Questing Beast," he said with a small laugh. "Not for a while, at least."
"Why? What did you do?" asked Arthur before he could help himself.
"Some other time, Arthur," said Merlin, rolling his eyes. "I'll tell you later."
"That seems to be your mantra," said Arthur quietly, almost to himself. Merlin glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, looking as though he was about to make some sort of argument in his own defense, clearly having understood Arthur's implication. But Merlin just gave a very small nod and unrolled his pants, accepting the rebuke. Arthur wasn't sure that Merlin accepted the sentiment, but they were both still on somewhat uncertain terms with one another. It didn't seem that they should go out of their way to push each other just then. Yes, Merlin had lied for a very long time. But then, Arthur hadn't given him much of a choice. Neither of them could claim much moral superiority in this instance. Accepting mutual fault seemed to be the safest choice at this point.
"We should probably go," said Merlin, struggling to stand. Arthur stood and pulled him up. He may have managed to avoid frostbite, but Merlin's legs were probably not at their most supportive. Once upright, Merlin pulled away, but Arthur hovered at his side as they began to head back to their camp. The last thing that they needed was for Merlin to fall down, hit his head, knock himself out, and probably break the damn ice bridge. Arthur couldn't help but imagine that they were tethered somehow. Besides, he didn't want Merlin to hurt himself.
"Would it melt in the sunlight?" asked Arthur, not wanting to ask Merlin if he'd be able to cross the ice on his uncooperative feet. He didn't imagine that Merlin would take that very well.
"No," said Merlin, sounding slightly offended at the apparent slight on his sorcery. "But wouldn't it be better that we're not seen leaving?"
"Can you make it?" asked Arthur, abandoning all pretense.
"How do you mean?"
"Can you walk that ice bridge of yours?"
"Oh," said Merlin. "Yes. Actually, walking is helping. Getting the blood flowing, you know."
"Right."
"Right."
There was a long pause as they made their way back through the narrow stone corridor, Merlin bumping into the walls from time to time. When they finally emerged into the opening in which they had camped, both men were grateful.
They began to pack.
"I suppose that it's a good things that you can do that," said Arthur casually, jerking his head back in the direction of the shore. "Even if it's uncomfortable and strange and bizarre."
"How do you mean?"
"We need to get away," said Arthur, trying to sound reasonable. "And if this is the only way that we can manage, I shouldn't question that, should I?"
"Well…" began Merlin, trailing off. His lips twitched.
"Well, what?" asked Arthur, suspicious.
"Well, I could have just made us an ice floe and floated us across," Merlin admitted, smiling and speaking very quickly. He bent low over his bag and began to shove what belongings they'd managed to scatter back inside. "This was just more impressive."
"You're showing off?" asked Arthur, half-amused and half-incredulous. "Now?" He rolled up one of the blankets and hurled it at Merlin, who actually managed to catch it.
"Hey, you twirl your sword and do unnecessary battle spins just because you can," said Merlin, unrolling the blanket and folding it before packing it away. "I build giant ice bridges and make it snow. Same thing, right?"
"Shut up, Merlin," said Arthur.
To Arthur's surprise, Merlin complied and stopped speaking. Arthur wondered if this was the true Merlin coming out, that the babbling manservant wasn't really much of a babbler. If this was another lie, perpetrated by action rather than statement. It certainly couldn't be that Merlin had a newfound increased respect for the king and willingness to obey his orders, if their previous conversations that day were any indication. But that didn't feel right. Then, it occurred to Arthur that perhaps Merlin's swaying steps had to do with more than cold feet. Merlin hadn't gone to sleep and had instead spent the last few hours freezing a portion of a lake. Arthur didn't know a whole lot about magic, but he knew that that had to be draining. Merlin probably didn't have the energy to do much arguing. After all, he'd had something of a busy couple of days.
Besides, it was still snowing.
.
.
.
.
So, this may be the first in a series of moments that would occur after Arthur would have learned of Merlin's magic and realized how helpful it could have been, had it been permitted. There are probably plenty such stories out there, but I had fun writing my series of reveals in "In Media Res," so I might give this a go as well. Also, I've seen to the end of season 5, but I'm going to keep this spoiler free for people watching on the American schedule.
Sorry if it seems overly-long-the exposition at the beginning was the last thing that I wrote, and it went much longer than I intended.
Thank you for reading, and please review!