A/N: This is a short chapter I know, but it seems the proper place to stop. (You'll realise what I mean when you read it.) Hope you enjoy.
Merlin's little upstairs room was a cosy retreat from the cold and brutal world outside. Even before the depravities of war had invaded their little part of Holland, Merlin had escaped from the stares and hostility into his own safe, cocoon as often as he could. The short days of winter meant he spent even more hours than usual at his drawing desk, putting all his inner most thoughts onto paper. Drawing and painting had been his passion since he was a child and even though war had halted the availability of painting supplies, he could still sketch.
Over the past few weeks, for reasons he could not explain, he'd been drawing dragons. Some savage killers; breathing their deadly flames over people huddled below while others had riders on their backs and were clearly working to help humanity. All of them were majestic, powerful and coldly beautiful and all possessed the knowledge of the ages, glinting brightly in their enormous black eyes.
At the moment, Merlin found himself working on a picture of a small, white dragon; clearly a youngster. It looked cute and vulnerable now but somehow still held the promise of vast power and energy it would one day hold.
It was long past midnight when Merlin finally put his pencil down, his concentration broken by the noise of a motor bike pulling up outside his house. Carefully extinguishing the light before pulling the curtain open, Merlin looked out to see Will drag himself off the bike, and then stumble before steadying himself on the dilapidated fence between their houses. Resisting the urge to run outside and help, Merlin watched from the darkness as his neighbour pushed the bike into his garage, slamming the door down behind it.
The next day Merlin set out into the forest to set traps. Strapping the hideous devices to his bicycle he set off up the dirt track which was cleared of snow by the Germans each morning so they could move around freely.
Merlin supplemented his household income by selling or bartering the rabbits and anything else he managed to catch. Meat was scarce so fetched a high price and although he hated killing, it made him feel useful to provide for his mother in any small way he could.
As he got deeper and deeper into the forest he was surrounded by mainly white; the snow stubbornly adorning the fir trees and covering the ground. It was oddly peaceful out here and he could all but pretend there was no war, no Nazi's, no Resistance and everything was okay. Setting the last trap up in a spot where he'd had success before, Merlin trudged back through the snow to his bicycle. He'd be back after dark or next morning to see what he'd caught.
Merlin set of towards the village along his usual route after gathering his bike out of the branches he'd rested it in. About halfway between his house and the centre of the village, was a short stretch of road that was surrounded on both sides by water. On Merlin's right was the cold, grey, roiling sea, being held back by the wide, raised area of land known as a dike; common throughout his low lying country. On the left was an area of scant forest that used to be farmland. A lake sitting within this land reached toward the dike and bordered it for around 50- 60 metres. In the depths of winter, it was frozen over and some of the village children liked to skate on its smooth, glossy surface while a few older people broke holes through the ice and fished.
Merlin was not unduly worried as he saw the gathering of people at the frozen lake ahead of him, as it was often a gathering place of sorts. It wasn't until he was much closer that he heard the screaming and saw the surrounding people gather into a concerned group and stare out into the lake. His stomach dropped in horror as he realized what had happened; someone had gone through the ice!
Dropping his bike again, Merlin moved to where he could get a better look at what was going on. A man was laid out horizontally, reaching out a thick branch toward a large cracked area.
"The poor child will never get out. He won't have enough strength to grab the pole." A woman muttered to his left.
As Merlin looked on in shock a small, bedraggled, mittened hand broke through the freezing water and flailed pathetically before vanishing again.
"No! Come on Paulus, please!" the desperate cry of the man on the ice rang out.
Merlin felt something then. Not just the nauseating dread and helplessness that watching a child die in front of him would produce, but a strange tingling in his veins that built and built until it was completely flooding his entire body with its power. As it became so strong his head felt like it was going to burst, Merlin fell to his knees, still managing to keep his eyes on the tragedy playing out before him. He's not entirely sure what happened next but as he clutched his head and clenched his teeth to stop himself from crying out, the child somehow rose inexorably from the icy clutches and seemed to hang momentarily before its relieved father grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him back to solid land.
Nobody was looking Merlin's way, fortunately, as all their attention was on the father and the weakly coughing child. If they had looked his way though, they would've seen his eyes return from a glowing, pulsating gold back to their normal deep, intense blue. Relief and exhaustion then took over and he dropped his head to the ground, breathing heavily.
Through the haze of confusion Merlin could still feel a small warming tingle, deep in his belly and though he vehemently tried to deny it to himself, he knew that it was him who had saved that child; his power or magic or whatever the hell it was, that had lifted the near lifeless boy from the cold hand of death and allowed him to go on living.
A/N; So he's not the useless, helpless thing he thought he was! Go Merlin!