In a world of soulmates, Merlin has three.

When she was younger, she thought that was amazing. Now, as a grown – or at least nearly grown – woman, she sees the problem in that, and then of course, are her actual soul-marks. The first, most normal – meaning most like the usual words printed somewhere extremely specific on a body – was 'What' in looping, obviously quite posh, but messy cursive. It was the only one she let the Mark Seers see. They said that due to the type of lettering, and language, she was looking at either a Noble or Royal, or perhaps some sort of scribe, or high-ranking servant. Or, maybe, someone who dealt in paper and ink, such as a librarian, or a rich merchant who dealt in shipment. Merlin's gut though, went with the 'Noble or Royal' quote. It made her stomach flip so much she forced herself to go to her lessons more as a teen – and eventually, take on the job as town meeting scribe.

Her second soul-mark was unusual – golden in colour, in the shape of an eye, placed on the inside of her palm. She knew it was a soul-mark because it reacted like all soul-marks should when touched by someone other than your soulmate. It burned, and boy did it burn hot.

Merlin's third soul-mark, she kept as hidden as she could, because – oh because – it wasn't a mark of a soul-mate. It was her.

Personal Marks were rare. Uther hunted down all sorcerers and sorceresses, and those that dealt with magic – but he hunted those with Personal Marks too. It wasn't talked about, obviously. What he did was unthinkable, so people didn't think about it. In depth at least. Unless you were crazy and wanted to die.

Her Personal Mark was amazing, in her opinion. It was a brilliant navy blue, in the shape of an explosion, symmetrical from all sides and based around her belly-button, as all Personal Marks were. What made Merlin's amazing though was the roaring dragon behind it, huge and warping, reaching around and up all the way to her shoulders, it's wings over her chest, with its tail curling around and around her leg to reach her ankle. Her mother had despaired when it appeared, and went all the way to the Isle of the Blessed in under a week right after she was born to have her Mark hidden. But eventually, Merlin grew to control that glamour, that illusion, ripping it away at will and overall weakening it until only her own power kept it up.

Each of her marks are brilliant in their own way – even the plain, boring old 'What' – but as said, now she was nearly grown, Merlin could see the problems in all.

Sighing, she gripped the empty Hollyhock and Feverfew bottles tighter in her pocket, hoping the Lady Percival would get better. She had been staying with her grandfather in one of the more pleasant houses outside castle grounds until she got better, and with her extensive knowledge of Camelot's twisting paths and tunnels – coming early had been a boring godsend that had her mapping the city – she was able to reach her home pretty quickly. But she didn't want to risk being found sneaking into the castle, so she took the longer, more obvious route now. Merlin rubbed her eyes.

I wish I had a better nights sleep. And hadn't refused that sandwich Gaius had offered – Gods, he still thinks I'm a boy. Merlin shook her head. It wasn't hard to keep up the pretence that she was male, far from it actually – games with Will as a child, and the last six weeks of travelling to Camelot and staying in the inn for two more made it easy – but lying had never been her strong suit. And these bindings are too tight. Sighing, she ducked into an alley-way, leaning against a wooden wall in the shadows before mentally giving up, pulling off her ever-present hat slash scarf that hid her long curls, wondering if it was a mistake not to cut it.

Sighing again, she unravelled the hat from itself, returning it to scarf-form, before looping it around her neck, shaking out her hair before taking off her jacket, unbuttoning it to show her blouse, tying it around her midsection and changing the colour to a dark blue that matched the smaller part of her Personal Mark. I might as well at least try to hide the fact I have a dual identity. With that decided, she shed the glamour that straightened her jaw and softened her features, feeling happy as her eyes pulled upwards more, feminine lashes fluttering against her skin. Glamour magic was tricky and powerful, usually, but for her it was easy as pie – though not as easy to deal with. Feeling magic against her skin oft-times felt horrid, and constricting, like she was breathing in something foreign, and disgusting.

Leaving the alley, she walked up to the castle, only for shouts caught her attention as she walked up the path. A frown graced her face as she saw a blonde man – young, maybe a knight – throwing knives at a circular target, being hefted around by a serving man she knew to be called Morris.

"I told you to keep moving!" He threw another dagger, Merlin pursing her lips angrily, cricking her fingers before approaching steadily from behind. "Come on! Run!" Morris shuffled more, the blonde throwing more daggers as Merlin pushed past his friends, tapping his shoulder. He turned.

"What?"

Having been asked that too many times to count by complete strangers, Merlin decked him, making him fall over onto the grass.

"That's enough. You've had your fun. Now get up off the grass and apologise, stranger."

The blonde gaped at her, mouth opening and closing before he scrambled up, "Do I know you?"

"No," she replied sharply, before scratching at her wrist, feeling a heat from it.

"You called me stranger." He gripped his hands tightly, gaze burning into her. "Do you not know who I am?"

"When I think about it…" she stepped forward, running a finger down his chest, "Yes, you do strike a familiar figure. My mistake."

"Yes, I think so," he puffed his chest up, grinning, only for Merlin to smirk and continue.

"Of course I know who you are. You're an ass. I think I've seen you around, kicking people down because they won't feed your impossible ego." She walked past him, only for him to grab her itching wrist, the heat immediately soothing. Why-

"Please, wait." Merlin made a noise of annoyance, but turned, watching as he let go of her, removing his glove clumsily, dropping it once before showing her his hand – or more specifically, the black words on the inside of his fingers spelling out 'That's enough. You've had your fun. Now get up off the grass and apologise, stranger'. It took a second to kick in, before her eyes widened.

"Oh…that was…unexpected, to say the least," she breathed, voice high, before she saw his belt of daggers, being reminded of what led her to stand there. "You still have to apologise to Morris."

"Why would I? He's just a servant." The man motioned to him incredulously. Merlin's eyes flashed with anger.

"Really? So servants are nothing, then? I am nothing?" She glared, before taking off the bracer on her wrist that hid her words – well, word. Showing it to him, she took his wrist, his own hand wrapping around hers – his words around hers. A momentarily unbearable heat took over both of them, before there was a small, tiny flash of light, blue and gold sparks twirling around their conjoined limbs. The man looked about to cry, before she tore her hand away, ending it.

"W-w-why would you do that?" The man asked, stricken, as people around them both gasped and muttered.

"Apologise."

"Why should I?" He gasped. "He's just a-" he stopped, hesitating, before stepping back. "I can't. I won't."

"I wouldn't if I were you. Learn a little humility, loverboy." She hissed, before turning and stalking away, putting on her bracer. What an ass!

"You can't just walk away from me!"

"Watch me!" She shouted back.

"Then be my guest! Go! Run off like a coward! Go on! Just go!" He cried, before she rolled her eyes and entered the castle, slipping into a side-corridor before someone could stop her, slipping out of sight.

When her anger finally drained away, Merlin stopped, leaning against a wall with her hand to her mouth. Gods, I just met my soulmate. And she'd pushed him away. By the Triple Goddess, why did I do that?!

Feeling tears come to her eyes, Merlin wiped at them furiously, only to hear a muffled shout. Quickly, she took her scarf, turning it into her 'hat', and putting on her jacket properly, focussing on her magic before using it to refresh herself and cast the masculinising glamour. Just in time, it seemed, as the blonde followed by several knights came to stop in front of her.

"Have you seen a girl pass by here?"

Merlin made a show of trying to think, "Uh, yeah, she was muttering something about this blonde prat…" she made a show of squinting at him, "Are you the prat? Cause if you are, I'll have to misdirect you. She looked pretty upset. What did you do?"

The blonde growled, taking out his sword and putting it to her neck, causing Merlin to stiffen, "Where did she go?"

"Who do you think you are?" She asked, scoffing, going to step back only for the bloody wall to get in the way. "The King?"

The blonde smirked viciously, pressing the blade harder to her throat, causing a bead of blood to well. "No. I'm his son – Arthur. Now tell me where she is, or I'll have you thrown in jail for denying the prince the location of his soulmate."

Merlin saw red.

"You stay away from her," she said roughly, bringing up her brace-covered wrist to push away his sword from her neck as an idea came to her, quick as a flash, "My sister is none of your concern. If you think for one moment I would let you touch her after making her cry, you have another thing coming." Damn, 'making her cry'? Oh, if I had a brother who said that to someone I despised, I'd kick them where it hurt.

Arthur gave him an appraising look, "You're her brother?"

Merlin made a face, "None of your business," she muttered, before starting to walk away. "Stay away from her."

"What's her name?"

Merlin stumbled. Holy gods on high. "Uh, uh, her name…" she stumbled, trying to think of something she'd react to if he somehow caught her taking a break from being a boy. A second later it came to her. "Call her Dragon." Her mother had called her that all her life. She'd react to that.

"Dragon?" Arthur sounded incredulous, "Her name is actually Dragon?"

Merlin paused. Right…Dragon isn't a proper name for a girl, unless you're a druid… "No, it's a nickname. That's why I said call her Dragon. If you can get her forgiveness, maybe she'll tell you the truth." The whole truth – about pretending to be a boy so she could become her great uncle Gaius' apprentice and safely travel along the roads, and about her magic, and about her strange soul-marks. Swallowing, Merlin started making her way through the corridor again, in the direction of Gaius' tower – only for another call to stop her.

"What's your name?"

Her heart thudded in her chest.

"My name is Merlin." Then, she escaped.