Merlin Headcanons

One Day

After Arthur's Return . . .

Arthur flipped through the calendar. Red ink was crammed into every box that marked dates, but instead of appointments, names practically dripped from the pages.

Finally, in February, he found a single day that was completely blank. It was circled in gold.

"Why's it circled?"

Merlin glanced over his shoulder and smiled. It wasn't his old grin, the one he'd only managed to pry out of him a few times. It was his new one. Happy, yes, but shaking, as if he was barely holding back the tide of grief that had swamped him for so long. "Oh, that's my special day."

"It's your birthday?"

He snorted. "Hardly. No, it's Life Day."

Arthur stared at him. "Huh?"

"No one I've known has ever died on that day."

A horrible feeling started choking him. "Just one day?"

". . . It helps that we only have that day every four years."

In another time, in another world, it had been funny to make fun of Merlin. It had been funny to pour a bucket of water on his head. It had been funny to mock his fears and his dislike of hunting. Merlin seemed to expect the same from him now.

Merlin didn't understand why when he shamefacedly confessed to some new "weakness" or phobia, Arthur didn't mock him for it. He didn't understand why there were no cuffs around the head, why Arthur would never accept his quick "I'm fine's," anymore, why, why, why.

He didn't seem to realize that there was nothing, absolutely nothing, funny about the look in his eyes.

And the once cheery calendar was filled with the names that had put it there.

And Arthur had put it there.

And he would do anything, anything at all, to fix it.