A/N: Hey, folks! I just realized that it's been more than a month since I posted, and I rushed to get this chapter up! I kind of hate this and the next one as a whole, but they had to be done. Steel yourselves, my friends, for much dialogue borrowed from "The Last Dragonlord" (2x13). Which is sort of why I hate it, because there wasn't much I could go into that was essential and wasn't already in the episode, and because I feel like I've stuck REALLY close to the episode for these chapters and I like to be original :( But I couldn't find a way around it, so I must apologize!

This chapter and the one after are centered on Episode 13 of Season 2, "The Last Dragonlord". I wouldn't usually spend this much time covering what happens in one episode, as you have seen, but I had to either make this one chapter and really long, or two chapters that I could flesh out more easily. The chapter after this one and the coming one deals with what happens afterwards (I wonder if anyone will predict the plot twist *evil laughter*), and then we're back in the free and clear.

Thank you for all your lovely reviews, follows, and favorites! My inbox was flooded and seven more pages just from FFN, mostly you guys, and I appreciate your support so much! :) Enjoy.

Summary: The soulmate words were seemingly the one form of magic Uther Pendragon could not best. Merlin has never wanted hers; they are sure to be a great deal of trouble on top of being a warlock. After all, soulmarks are a type of magic, and she has eight.

Spoilers for BBC's Merlin, Seasons One-Five

Warnings: Slight Angst, Multiple Canonical/Non-canonical Character Deaths

Chapter 8:

Frey's words curve from the top of her left shoulder blade down to the middle of her spine, once black as ink on her skin. Merlin knows without looking that they have faded to a gray, telling anyone who sees them that Frey is dead and gone.

But no one does see them, careful as she is, and she doesn't—can't!—look.

Her resolution to stay away from her unfound soulmates comes back in full force. Merlin is convinced that nothing good can really come of having soulmates, anyway. You can find them, but you can lose them, too.

Merlin has managed to leave behind the grief, for the most part, and is back to normal—ish, what do you call normal, for her? she's never normal—when she finds her father.

She is in the midst of regretting what is possibly the biggest mistake of all her almost two decades of life. Merlin let Kilgharrah loose on Camelot; on Arthur and Leon and the knights, and on Gwen and Gaius and all the other innocent people of Camelot. They are dying. Gwen has almost died at least twice. Arthur and Leon have almost died too many times to count.

And it is all her fault.

They are crouching on the battlements, Arthur just to Merlin's left, and Leon on the other side of Arthur.

"I'm sorry you're having to do this," Merlin says under her breath, needing to apologize for something when she has so much more to answer for.

Arthur hears her, and his brow furrows a little bit more. "Why? You're not to blame."

Merlin bites down on her lip so hard that she draws blood. She is to blame, and if everyone dies, and Arthur never fulfills his destiny, and she never meets another soulmate, she is the only one to blame. Not Kilgharrah, not Frey, not anyone else.

If only she had not sworn on her soulmates' lives, which the dragon knew meant more to her than her own…if only she had not needed the spell to return the soul of Cornelius Sigan. If only, she thinks bitterly. If only wishes were pieces of gold, beggars would be richer than kings.

Merlin is desperate enough to try to kill the dragon. She is no fool; she knows that Kilgharrah is the last of his kind. That if she kills him, she will practically be finishing Uther's job and committing genocide against an intelligent species. A magical race, one akin to her.

She may be desperate enough, but it doesn't work. It only makes him angry.

"Do not imagine your petty magic can harm me!" Kilgharrah roars, incensed by Merlin's attempt to kill him; turning on a dime in midair, the great dragon retreats for the night.

Furious, eyes stinging with the bitterness of failure, Merlin screams after him, fists balled up in her sleeves. "Why are you doing this? You're killing innocent people!"

Kilgharrah does not reply, but he turns his head a fraction, and she can read his accusation from just one magical-gold eye.

No. You are.

Arthur lists off the dead with a look of despair hidden in his eyes. Anyone who knows him well enough will be able to see it; the king, Merlin, and Leon not the least among them. Not even Arthur truly believes that there is a real chance of defeating the last dragon.

That scares Merlin more than anything.

Arthur never wants to give up. Arthur fights to the last man standing for as long as he can stay physically conscious. Arthur tries everything and then some and does whatever he has to. If Arthur is giving up…Merlin tunes back into the conversation, trying to ignore her bleak thoughts.

"…if there was, indeed, one last dragonlord left?" Gaius is asking. Merlin can see the hesitancy in his eyes; if he knows something, he is obviously only putting it out because they are out of options.

Uther shakes his head. "That's not possible."

Gaius pushes on. "But if there was."

The king turns to look at his physician and advisor intently. "What are you saying?"

"It may just be a rumor…"

"Go on."

Gaius takes the plunge. "I'm not exactly sure, but I think his name is Balinor."

Merlin is packing when she feels Gaius avoiding her. It's an acquired feeling that she often gets when he has information he isn't sure he wants her to know.

She pauses long enough to inquire casually, "Who were the dragonlords?" He pretends not to hear her, so she knowingly adds, "Gaius…."

He sighs. "There were once people who could talk to dragons. Tame them."

"What happened to them?" Merlin has a sinking feeling she knows exactly what happened. Gaius confirms her suspicion only a moment later.

"Uther believed the art of a dragonlord was too close to magic. He had them rounded up and slaughtered. Only one escaped."

She eyes him suspiciously, rolling up an extra blanket for her bedroll. "How do you know?"

Gaius regards her carefully through heavy-lidded eyes. "Because, Merlin, I helped him."

Merlin cants her head at him, fighting the urge to grin madly as she resumes packing her things for the road. He is such a hypocrite. "Gaius."

Gaius ignores her steadfastly, sitting down at the table where they habitually eat dinner. "Merlin…" He hesitates, and Merlin grows suspicious again. He continues with another sigh. "You have never heard the name Balinor?"

"No."

"Your mother never mentioned him?"

Merlin's eyebrows shoot up. "My mother?" This conversation is turning from strange to stranger. Gaius's words are leading up to something he thinks she needs to know, Merlin can tell.

Finally, he says it. "Merlin, I have always treated you as my daughter, but that is not what you are." Gaius seems reluctant, but finishes anyway. "The man you are going to look for is your father."

The world seems to stop. Merlin has grown up without a father, scorned in her village for being a bastard child, born to a woman whose lover disappeared into the blue without ever even knowing he had a child. They had named her a bastard, until she flinched every time the insult was used—against her, or not. Eventually, she had learnt to steel herself and hear the insults out. No one else but someone like her could ever understand how it felt, not having what every other child had.

And now Merlin knows.

Her father.

She has a father.

Balinor.

Her father is the last dragonlord.

Merlin's mouth starts working again, and she breathes out, "My father?"

She may have made a huge mistake in letting Kilgharrah loose, but now this is even more personal, this search for the man who could possibly put a stop to this. Now she has no choice.

She is going to find her father.

"What is wrong with you today?"

Merlin flops onto her other side so she can stare quizzically at Arthur. "What d'you mean?"

The blond rolls his eyes and readjusts his pillow. "Y'not being…normal. Much as it pains me to admit it, I actually enjoy your surly retorts. It's possibly one of your only redeeming features."

Merlin's pillow hits his chest. She turns on her side, facing away from him again. "Thanks," she says halfheartedly.

"See, that's exactly what I mean," Arthur protests, tossing the pillow back at her. She reaches around to the floor and picks it up, jamming it under her head absentmindedly.

"There are loads of servants who can serve, and not many are capable of making a complete prat of themselves," he continues. "But despite your particular skill at making me want to strangle you, we are soulmates, you know. What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, honestly. There's something."

Merlin doesn't reply, hoping he'll give up like normal when she doesn't want to talk.

Arthur sighs. "Alright, I know I'm a prince, so we can't really be proper soulmates. Or friends. But maybe if I wasn't a prince…."

Her interest spikes. "What?"

"Well, then….I think we'd probably get on. Sort of be more actual friends. I think I'd like that, to be friends with you like Leon and Gwen are."

"So?"

"So will you tell me?"

Merlin turns her head just far enough to glare daggers at him. "If you weren't a prince, I'd tell you to mind your own damn business."

"Merlin."

She gives a tiny shake of her head, feeling guiltier and guiltier. Merlin wants to tell Arthur, but she can't. He deserves to know that her father is the dragonlord…but he also deserves to know that she has magic, and that is another thing she can't tell him.

She sighs again. "Look, do you remember the thing that I can't tell you about?"

"…yeah."

"It sort of has to do with that, okay? And I really want to tell you, but I just…I just can't. I'm sorry, Arthur."

Silence for a moment.

"S'alright. But when you do tell me, Merlin, it had better be something unbelievable to be worth the wait."

Oh, don't worry, she thinks. It will be.

Merlin and Arthur are heading through the trees when she notices him wincing again. The wound is getting worse, she knows. He won't mention anything, but she can tell.

Arthur notices her watching him, and waves her off. "It's alright."

"I know it's the wound, let me have a look," she protests, but before Merlin can actually do anything, the sound of hoofbeats send the two diving for cover. By the time the men have passed, Arthur is unconscious.

Arthur is heavier than he looks, Merlin notes yet again. It took her nearly fifteen minutes just to get the prat across the horse's pommel. It must be all the chain mail. Merlin is glad that she doesn't have to wear it.

"Hello?" she calls, hearing her own voice echo to the back of the cave. If she can find her father, he might be able to heal Arthur.

Suddenly, a wiry hand grabs her shoulder and spins her around. "What do you want here, girl?!" The face glowering down at her is lean and brown. His nose is nobly bridged, and he has the same slightly sticky-out ears she does. His eyes are deep brown, though, instead of her sparkling blue, and his long, wild hair looks as though it might have been a similar color to hers before the gray started to appear.

Merlin is so shocked that she forgets herself and stares, openmouthed. Her father. This is her father.

"Well?" Balinor questions impatiently.

Her brain clicks back into focus. "Oh! Right, my…my friend, he's sick. He needs help!" She pleads, wringing her hands tightly.

His cold brown gaze softens the tiniest of margins. "Show me."

Her father might not be so bad.

So bad, it turns out, is relative. He is certainly not what she expected.

"Where did you go?" she asks softly, her knuckles white on the wooden bowl he gave her to use.

"There's a place called Ealdor," Balinor replies, his eyes still fiery with anger against Uther.

"Yes," she urges, hoping he will be moved to more merciful thoughts, where he might agree to help them.

"I had a life there, he continues, his eyes growing softer as he mentions Merlin's mother. "A woman I loved. A good woman. Ealdor is beyond Uther's realm, but still he pursued me. Why would he not let me be? What was it that I had done that he wanted to destroy the life I built, abandon the woman I loved? He sent knights to kill me. I was forced to come here, to this!"

He casts around the cave with disgusted eyes, shaking his head. "So, I understand how Kilgharrah feels. He's lost every one of his kind, every one of his kin. You want to know how that feels? Look around, girl. Let Uther die. Let Camelot fall."

Merlin is shaking her head now, eyebrows furrowing down. "You would wish death on the whole of Camelot?"

"Why should I care?"

"What if…" Merlin takes an even, calm breath in and out. "What if one of them was your child? Your daughter…."

He looks up sharply.

"….your son?" she adds.

Balinor's mouth creases into a thin line. "I have no children. No sons." His gaze lingers on her for half a second longer. "…no daughters. Uther took that from me."

Merlin leans forward just a little bit, eye alit with anticipation. "What if I told you…."

"Merlin…." Arthur groans from the ground, where he had previously been resting. Merlin does not try to tell her father again that night.

"I feel great! What the hell did you give me?" Arthur does sound surprisingly chipper as he comes up behind her where she is sitting on the rock.

Merlin shakes her head, denying any part in it. "That was all down to Balinor."

"We found him then?" The prince sounds so hopeful that Merlin hates putting him down.

"That doesn't mean he's willing to help," she says loudly and pointedly at her father, who is some distance off.

Arthur rounds on her, disbelieving. "What?"

"He refuses to be persuaded."

"Does he know what's at stake?" Her soulmate says more quietly, some of his despair creeping back into his voice.

She can only give a wordless nod.

He stares out at Balinor in confusion. "What kind of man is he?"

"I don't know," she sighs, pushing a few loose hairs from her bun back behind her ear. "I thought he'd be something…more."