A/N: so, here's the next chapter already, as I said! Also, did I say plot twist at the end of this chapter? I meant NEAR the end. And yes, it's more of a thin gthey didn't explain in the show than a plot twist, but still.

I realize I didn't thank all the wonderful people who followed, favorited, and reviewed! There have been 58 reviews, 146 favorites, 211 followers, and OVER 10,620 views! Simply amazing. This is my most-loved story by far, and I can't thank you all enough!

You all deserve so many hugs and cookies for sticking with it through my flakiness. HUGE thanks to all of you, and I couldn't do it without your support.

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

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD/NEAR-GRAPHIC PAIN.

Chapter 10:

"Raaaaahhhh!" An attacker's cry fills her ears. Arthur curses creatively and the ring of steel fills the air.

The first assailant is disarmed, and Arthur tosses the sword hilt-first to Balinor, who catches it and parries a blow from another bandit. The bandit thrusts his sword forward, aiming for a gut wound, but Balinor sidesteps deftly and slams his hilt down into the stumbling man's head, knocking him out cold.

"Merlin! Catch!" He reaches down, grabs the sword, and throws it to her.

She fumbles the catch only slightly and tries to get a good handhold on the grip, ducking as a bandit swings his sword wildly for her head, aiming to chop it off. He brings the sword down in a killing stroke, but she rolls to the side at the last second, scrambling to her feet and parrying his next attack.

He thrusts, she sidesteps nimbly, he slashes, she dances backwards. Merlin isn't very good with any sort of weapon, really, but if there's one thing she learnt from Arthur, it's how to dodge and defend. This rogue seems to be pretty new at his job, though, and isn't pulling all the punches experienced ones might.

And say what you like about her weapons skills, but once in a while she manages to get a good hit in. He growls and slices his swordpoint towards Merlin's legs, probably trying to disable her, but she leaps over his blade and toward his unprotected side, and with one lunge, the sword is through his side. He falls to the ground, unmoving.

Merlin doesn't even have a moment to be shocked or to recover when Balinor's voice reaches her. "No!" She knows exactly what would have happened in her dream. He would say No. Sprint forward. And push her out of the way just in time to be impaled on the end of a bandit's blade.

Time has stopped. A rush of air fills Merlin's ears. She has about two and a half seconds, but everything seems to be moving so much slower than that. Merlin can feel Balinor about to tackle her, and at the absolute last second, takes a half step backwards. He lands on the dirt a couple of yards away, the breath knocked out of him.

And the sword slides through Merlin's back.

Balinor roars, his voice filled with rage. He sounds so far away. He explodes off the ground, and two seconds later, the man behind Merlin is dead.

She sinks gently to her knees, mouth open in shock, and her eyes float down to see a steel blade, covered in the red of her blood, protruding from her torso. A puddle is spreading in slow motion and Merlin laments her favorite blue neckerchief for a millisecond before the pain hits.

It rolls through her body like a tidal wave, racking her entire frame with more agony than she has ever experienced in her entire life. Her eyes roll back and everything goes black. Merlin comes to after only two or three seconds, her entire whole body tensing up and stimulating blood flow as she tries not to scream. The sensation of a hand on her back is lost in the feeling of the swordblade rasping next to her spine as someone pulls it out.

Then she is being lowered to the ground, so incapacitated that she can do nothing but stare up at the sky through the trees and gasp vainly for air. Her vision blurs, but clears up again a moment later to see her father's face straight in her line of vision.

"Merlin. Merlin! Can you hear me?!"

She takes a painfully deep breath. And another. She doesn't remember breathing hurting this badly before.

Balinor is frantically inspecting the wound. "What did you do, you stupidly brave girl?"

It doesn't seem to be a question, so Merlin decides to save her breath. The place the blood is spreading from feels oddly cold, and suddenly she realizes exactly what is about to happen.

Merlin is going to die.

There's no way around it. Her eyes well up with tears. "I—I don't want to die," she whispers.

Balinor hears her from where he's frantically muttering healing spells. "No, you're wrong!"

"My dream," she says, and uses too much air. "Huunngh. My—you died," she wheezes.

"And so you decided you had to save me," he says, voice becoming gravelly. "Why?"

Merlin manages a tight smile. "I couldn't," she manages, and has to stop for air, "you can save—save Camelot. I can't. I tried—" She coughs, feeling the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. The tears in her eyes spill over and roll down her cheeks.

"Lie still!" He hisses, and holds his hand over it again, starting another chant. It's only a few sentences long, and it doesn't work.

"Leave it," she says hoarsely, face crumpling from the force she has to use to make her voice work. "It's no use."

His smile is heartwrenching, and when he speaks, his voice trembles. "When I said I didn't know what it was to have a child? I think I do now. I have no other way," he tells her.

Balinor places his hands on each side of her face. Merlin looks straight up at her father, confusion making its way through the pain. His eyes are filled with tears.

The dragonlord closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and kisses her forehead gently.

A slight wind swirls around the pair, stirring up leaves and debris. Golden, magical light follows it, circling them like the wind, and growing brighter and brighter.

Inside the light, Balinor's eyes are glowing, brighter than Merlin has ever seen a magic-user's eyes light up. The pain in her stomach dulls, and then fades, and then disappears. Merlin suddenly understands. "No!" She sits up, reaching for his wrists where his hands still rest on the sides of her head.

And then suddenly, the light storm is gone. Balinor sinks down onto the ground, torso covered with blood, pain racking his features. "Save Camelot. Your friends…Gaius. Meet your soulmate and fall in love," he manages, voice scratchy, but calm.

"No, I…I can't do it alone!" Merlin chokes, face crumpled in devastation. She can't do anything to the dragon, she has already tried, but he doesn't understand that.

"Oh, Merlin," Balinor says, the corners of his mouth twitching up. His eyes are filled with something Merlin once saw in her mother's, just as she breathed her last. "My daughter. I have seen enough in you to know that you will make me proud."

"No," she says again, but it is too late. He sighs, and his eyes close, leaving Merlin leaning over him, tears rolling down her face. "No. Father, no!"

Arthur staggers up, seemingly uninjured. It takes only a moment for him to grasp what has seemingly happened. The blood has vanished from Merlin's clothes along with the injury. Whatever spell Balinor had done to transfer the mortal injury to himself, Merlin had never seen it, or heard of it.

Right now, she doesn't care, because he's still dead. She failed.

"No!" Arthur yells angrily, throwing his sword down. Rage and despair are contending on his face. "Camelot is doomed."

Gaius only has to glimpse her face, and he knows. Merlin jams a fist to her mouth, eyes watering, in order to escape weeping out loud in front of the king's whole council. Her other hand is stuffed into her pocket, wrapped around the small wooden dragon figurine so tightly it's nearly cutting into her palm.

"I need a dozen knights," Arthur says into the dreadful silence. "Those who do not wish to fight can do so without stain upon their character. For those who are brave enough to volunteer should know," his already grave voice took on an even worse tone, "the chances of returning are slim."

No one moves.

There is a terrible, gut-wrenching moment where Merlin thinks that no one will be brave enough. No one will come.

From where he stands behind Uther's map table, Leon is looking at the floor as if coming to a difficult decision. Suddenly, he raises his head, a look of stubborn determination on his face; he steps out into the empty space. Leon's eyes meet Merlin's for half a second, and then he's holding eye contact with Arthur. They seem to be exchanging words without saying anything at all. The knight nods once.

Even is no one else is brave enough, Leon is. He will come, even if he is the only one.

He isn't.

Leon's motion of loyalty opens the floodgates, and within a few more long moments, a circle has formed around Arthur, of knights with brave hearts, red cloaks, and silver mail.

And if she can't do this, they are all going to die.

The dragon figurine that her father carved is heavy in Merlin's pocket as she rides. Arthur is to her right, and Leon is right behind her. The row of knights in a double line behind her are all each probably just as afraid as she is.

"Are you really going to face this dragon with me?" Arthur had asked, looking at her in a way he never quite had before.

"I'm not going to sit here and watch," she scoffed, trying to stay light-hearted. "It might be hard for you to understand how I feel, but…I care a hell of a lot about that armor, there's no way I'm going to let you mess it up."

Merlin has known most of these knights for a while now. She knows all their names. She doesn't want to watch them die. Somehow, she has to stop the dragon, not get the knights killed, and not reveal that she can, in fact, stop the dragon.

She puts a hand into her pocket and fingers the dragon. If only her father hadn't sacrificed himself for her, he would be here and this mess wouldn't get any worse.

Instead, Merlin's in his place.

"You dealt the dragon a mortal blow," she tells Arthur, adrenaline filling her veins. "It's gone."

"It's gone? I—I killed it?" He staggers upright, eyes full of a wondering relief she doesn't feel.

Merlin nods anyway and forces a fake smile which suddenly turns into a real one. Arthur is alive, and the dragon isn't really dead. But the knights are.

"Yeah! But…." She trails off, suddenly feeling sick. The knights. "Leon! Where is he?"

Arthur goes pale, stumbling over to one of the knights. "I don't…I don't know. This is Sir Oberon. And Sir Maece is over there…"

"No. No," she says, horrified, staggering over to the nearest body; slumped in a red cloak. Merlin turns the knight over. His face isn't Leon's. Neither is the one next to him, or the next.

There are eleven knights' bodies in the clearing, and none of them are Leon. Three are so burnt to a crisp by Kilgharrah's fire that they are barely identifiable, but one is far too tall, one still has the remnants of long dark hair, and one's boots—the only part that escaped—weren't waxed like his would be. So where was he?

Arthur puts a gloved hand on her shoulder. She spins around to face him, blue eyes wild with panicked fear. "He's not dead. He can't be!"

"Merlin!" Arthur says sharply.

"No, you don't understand—"

"Merlin, check your mark!"

Her eyes go wide. Merlin all but tears off her right boot, yanking her trouser leg up to her knee. There, wrapped around her right ankle, is Leon's flowing handwriting. The words are black.

Arthur breathes an audible sigh of relief. Merlin almost cries with relief, taking a moment to look at the mark. Its dark, inky color means that Leon is alive. But he isn't there—and neither is his horse.

It's been four days.

Merlin hasn't slept since Leon disappeared. Arthur has given her leave to search the forest surrounding the clearing, and she's done nothing else. She reluctantly comes back at nightfall, and waits until the gates to the lower town are closed for the night to trudge back to Gaius's chambers.

Merlin hardly lets an hour go by without checking Leon's mark on her ankle. It remains dark and bold, telling her that there is hope still.

She stands on the castle ramparts on the night of the fourth day, leaning on the battlements and watching the road into Camelot past the training fields where it vanishes into the forest. Merlin knows that she can hardly expect the knight to come riding up it like nothing had happened, but she refuses to give up hope.

Will is gone. Her mother is gone. Frey is gone. Her father is gone, now, too. She shudders at the reminder of his death.

She isn't losing anyone else if it kills her—Leon least of all.

"Merlin." Gwen appears at Merlin's shoulder, gently draping a shawl over her for warmth. "You're freezing. Why don't you have your jacket on?"

"Forgot it at Gaius's," Merlin mumbles. Her lips are cold, she realizes. So cold she can barely speak. She tugs the warm shawl tighter around her.

"You're going to kill yourself with worry," Gwen tells her, smooth brow wrinkled with concern. "You shouldn't drive yourself mad trying to find him. It isn't what he would want."

"I don't care about what Leon would want," Merlin snaps, scrubbing her eyes. "I care about what he does want. He isn't dead, and I don't plan on grieving for him until he is."

"I know," Gwen says quietly.

Merlin sighs. "I'm sorry, Gwen, but I just don't know how I can keep on seeing that he's alive and not knowing where he is. What if he's dying, somewhere out there, right now, and I don't even know it?" She tugs up her trouser leg.

Well, yes, but you may as well drop the Sir, seeing as we're soulmates and all that.

Gwen sighs, gazing at the soulmark contemplatively. "I don't know. But getting yourself frozen to death won't help him. Come on, let's go and get you inside and warm."

"You're right, I should go in." Merlin turns away from the ramparts. Out of the corner of her eye, in the dying sunlight, something at the edge of the forest glints. She whirls back around, squinting hopefully. Nothing moves.

"Merlin?" Gwen asks worriedly. "What is it?"

"Nothing. I just…thought I saw something." She turns back, heart sinking. They head along the wall towards the nearest staircase.

"Merlin!"

Merlin pauses, frowning. "Did you hear that?"

"No…." Gwen says, confused.

"Merlin!"

"There it was again! Someone shouted for me!" She grabs Gwen's sleeve pleadingly. "Tell me you heard it!"

Gwen nods uncertainly. "Maybe. I think so."

Merlin wheels around and dashes back to her vantage point, straining her eyes as she looks over the battlements. The shadows are slowly growing from the darkened trees, but in the dying light, she can see the unmistakable patch of Camelot red; as draggled as it appears to be. The figure raises an arm and waves it tiredly over its head.

"Merlin!" The voice that is drifting, barely even reaching her on the wind, is unmistakable. Merlin sprints for the stairs, Gwen only a few steps behind her. She hurtles through the gates and along the dusty path to where Leon is limping along, a tired smile on his face.

He looks terrible. His face is covered with scratches, his hair is matted with mud and twigs, and his cloak is nearly unrecognizable. It is a miracle she recognized it from the battlements; and even more of a miracle that Leon's sword, which he is using to lean on like a walking stick, had caught her eye in the last rays of the dying sun.

Merlin checks her pace just before she slams into him, realizing at the last minute that it might injure Leon further. He grins at her, even though he is obviously exhausted, and probably hasn't eaten much for the last four days. Of course, it isn't as though they haven't both noticed the fact the he is completely covered in mud. "Merlin. You heard me."

"Of course I did," she says, voice strained as she tries not to cry and laugh at once, looking him up and down worriedly. "Are you hurt? You look like you've been dragged backwards through the bushes into a mud patch!"

"Probably because I was," he replies. "By my horse, no less. my foot was still caught in the stirrup. But I'm alright, except the sprained ankle, or I would definitely have been back sooner. I was knocked out for at least a day, I think."

Merlin grins, tears finally escaping her and rolling down her cheeks. She throws her arms around him and buries her face in his shoulder, almost sobbing in relief. "Don't ever do that again, you absolutely horrible wonderful terrible idiot!"

He laughs and hugs her back gently, still leaning wearily on his sword. "I hope not."

"Come on; let's get you in to Gaius's." Gwen finally catches up with both of them, just in time to sling his left arm over her shoulders, as Merlin does the same with the right.

Now...everything might just be okay. At that thought Merlin smiles.

It would be better not to jinx it.