Merlin Headcanons

Big Deal

An AU of S1. In response to Aaronna's prompt which will be listed at the bottom so as not to spoil things.

"You're what?"

"Honestly, Arthur, I don't think you were this upset about the magic. What's the big deal?"

"The-the big deal?" Arthur sputtered. "Merlin - " He scrubbed a hand across his face. "Please tell me this is all some sort of elaborate joke."

Merlin was far too busy ranting to do any such thing. "You figure out that I used magic to help you in the cave, and you admit straight off that you don't know what to think. You find out I'm talking to the dragon under the castle, and the only thing that surprises you is that he can talk. My mother comes on one tiny visit to Camelot to tell me about my father for my coming of age - "

"Her visiting isn't the problem!"

"I'd figured that bit out for myself, funnily enough. If it's because he was a dragonlord, I really don't see how that's any worse than having magic."

"That's not the problem either. Although if my father ever finds out - "

Merlin shrugged. "He can only burn me once."

Arthur stared at him in sheer disbelief for a moment. "You have the self-preservation instincts of a lemming."

"Actually, lemmings aren't nearly as stupid as some people think - "

"Oh, so not like you then."

An apple went whizzing out of the fruit bowl and collided with the prince's head. Merlin hadn't touched it, naturally.

"Merlin!"

"What?" he asked innocently. "Really, what? I can't see you getting this worked up just because I didn't mention today was my birthday."

"It's not the date that bothers me, it's the year."

"There's no law against being fifteen, Arthur!"

No, Arthur had to admit, there wasn't. Nor was there a law against being fourteen, as Merlin apparently was only yesterday. There ought, however, to be a law against fourteen year old warlocks coming to Camelot and hearing the screams of sorcerers as they were burned. There ought to be something that prevented someone from being poisoned, stabbed, blasted with magic, dismissed as worth so little it was alright to let them die, or thrust into situations where they had to kill or be killed until they were at least . . . Well, Arthur didn't really have a good age in mind, but whatever it was, Merlin clearly hadn't made it there yet.

There ought to be a law against soldiers coming in and slaughtering Druid children too, shouldn't there? a little voice that sounded strangely like Morgana whispered.

But there wasn't. And he had stood by and watched them die –

He had helped Mordred though. That had to count for something, didn't it?

Something told him the dead wouldn't see it that way.

So many children had been caught in this war. Merlin certainly wasn't the first, and he wasn't even the worst off. He wasn't dead like the drowned children. He wasn't twisted like Edward had been.

He was scarred, though.

It was just different with Merlin somehow, perhaps because he knew him. He couldn't see Merlin as a number, or a necessary sacrifice, or even as a victim. He was just Merlin, and he was human and breakable, and Arthur understood all too well what it felt like to have too many responsibilities too young. Merlin had been told it was his destiny to protect Arthur, to save his people, to fight and be powerful, and he had been fourteen years old.

Merlin was starting to look a little concerned.

"The first time I killed a man," Arthur said quietly, "I was seventeen years old."

"Oh," Merlin said in a small voice. Almost apologetically he added, "I think I'm starting to lose count."

Arthur resisted the urge to throw something. He closed his eyes instead, hoping he didn't look as sick as he felt.

"I've got an aging spell if that would help."

"Not really, no."

"Sorry." A pause. "How old did you think I was?"

"Morgana said you were turning eighteen. I assumed she knew what she was talking about."

"That's a dangerous assumption to make with Pendragons. Even adopted ones."

Arthur was pretty sure he'd just been insulted, but he was finding it hard to care.

Merlin suddenly grinned. "Cheer up, Arthur. I'm still taller than you."

"You are not!"

"Am too!"

"I'm seven years older than you!"

"So I'm taller, and you'll go bald first."

Arthur threw a water pitcher at him. Merlin caught it with magic.

Guinevere let out a noise that was most definitely not "eep".

Arthur and Merlin spun to face her.

"Er - "

"Um - "

"I'll just . . . come back later. I mean, if that's all right with you, sire. I probably shouldn't have been here in the first place - "

Morgana's voice cut through the babble. "Of course you should be here, Gwen. What's the hold up?"

Then she saw the pitcher, still hanging in the air.

It hovered there for a few more seconds before clanging down to the floor.

Merlin turned to Arthur. "If you end up having to arrest me, can you hold off the execution until I've opened my presents?"

. . . . .

A/N: Originally, Gwen was the voice of Arthur's conscience, but for season one, Morgana seemed to make more sense. Also, I found it deliciously ironic.

Merlin will not be arrested, of course. I just couldn't resist ending it with that line.

Throughout history, different cultures have picked different ages for when children officially become adults. Since Merlin is from the fictional country of Essetir, I felt fully justified in picking fifteen as the year when boys come of age there.

The prompt: "Merlin was 14 years old when he met his destiny. The poor boy, everyone thinks he is at least three years older than he really is. Even the Lady Morgana thinks she is about the same age as him. How will everyone react when Hunith comes to Camelot for her son's 15th birthday?"

Arthur isn't everyone, I know, but I do think he would have the most interesting reaction.

And for those of you thinking that you don't remember Aaronna from the comments, that would be because I also post this story on fanfiction.net, and she requested it there. If you have a request, feel free to mention it in the comments section.