Author's Note: I've been working on this fic for quite a long time now, and it will go through season 5 and should end up as a fixit.

**THERE WILL BE CANON DIVERGENCE**

Some brief guidelines of big things that will change:

1) THERE IS NO LANCELOT/GWEN. In this fic, we have fem!Merlin, and Lancelot does not have eyes for Gwen but for Merlin. This fic will be Arwen, and brief Freylin, and later Merlin will end up with someone else (NOT Lancelot). Because of this, a lot of major conflict points are changed, so unless a specific event that has to do with the Arthur/Gwen/Lancelot love triangle is mentioned, ASSUME IT DOES NOT HAPPEN.

2) Another big change: Merlin is born a girl. I really hope you've picked up on that by now. Cookies and warm hugs if you didn't.

3) This is a SOULMATE AU. (If you've read any of amusewithaview's Marvel soulmate AU stuff on AO3, same sort of principles. If you haven't and you're a Marvel fan, or especially a Darcy Lewis fan, go find it right now and READ. Literally that author is so amazing, and there are so many different ships that you can pick and choose which you like.)

In this AU, the first words that your soulmate(s) says to you are tattooed somewhere on your skin in black in their handwriting. One of the only differences from amusewithaview's Nothing but love in view is that when a soulmate dies, the words turn pale gray.

4) I just feel like you should know this: all of Merlin's soulmates are platonic except one, which I feel like she is suitably disgusted with because they're almost all cute guys. But like I said above, the only ships here are: Arwen, Freylin, Merlin/YouDon'tKnowYet, and possibly minor Lancelot/minor OC because I want him to be happy at SOME POINT.

And another thing: the tense switches from past to present in this chapter because I was experimenting with it and wanted most of the prologue in past even though I'm writing the stroy in present. I hope it doesn't screw with your brains too much and let me know what you think!

Okay, sorry to bore you with this incredibly long note, but I needed to clear things up. I should be updating at least every three weeks, if not sooner. I'm erratic, sorry!

On to the show!

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

Prologue:

Once upon a time, in a land full of magic and happiness by the name of Albion, someone first spoke the spell to give a child their words—their soulmark. There are those who said it was a druid who had invented it out of curiosity. Others insisted it was the spell was a gift from the creatures called the Deiamares.

Whatever the origin, everyone agreed that the soulmarks were an amazing magic. To have a sorcerer or sorceress speak over a child, and for a set of words to scroll over the newborn's shoulder, or chest, or arm, or leg, or wherever else…it was truly something.

The inky black words, each in a different set of handwriting, were said to be the first words ever said by the child's soulmate to the child. Sometimes it was a platonic soulmate, and sometimes a romantic one. It was possible for a child to have more than one soulmate, or even three; but to have four or five soulmarks was almost unheard of.

Amazing or not, still it was unknown whether the magic actually worked. Until it did.

I'm so pleased to meet you. I'm sure we'll be good friends.

I would have waited for you to say that forever if need be.

It had worked.

Within months, every child had the spell spoken over them and were rewarded with a soulmark, or two or three if they were lucky, because every parent (or nearly every) wished their child to be happy, and if finding their soulmate would make them happy, it was worth it.

Even the ones who could care less (and there were very few of them) did so to follow the customs of the time. It wouldn't do to seem lacking.

Years later, the first generations of children with soulmarks were having children themselves.

But when the magic-users arrived to say the spell, they were astonished to find the puzzled parents holding a child with words already scrawled in their soulmate's script. It seemed that the magic was passed through the bloodline of the parents, and there was no stopping it now.

Over five hundred years later, every child born in the land of Albion had a set of words…occasionally two or three. More soulmarks were usually considered good luck, for the child would either be so loved that he or she had more than one soulmate, or the child would need more than one soulmate to help straighten them out. It was a win either way.

And then there came the Great Purge of Uther Pendragon. The king of Camelot tried and tried to discern a way to erase the words, or at least to stop their magical appearance at a baby's birth, but there was none to be found; for there were none who even remembered the spell once used to make the words appear.

The soulmate words were the one form of magic Uther could not best.

Finding your soulmate was still a cause for celebration, because it was not your fault you had the words and they were your soulmate, but the more sets of words you had, the more shunned you were. Magic must have been in your family to touch you so, people would say, and though otherwise they would not be concerned, they would have no wish to be accused of conspiring with sorcerers while Uther Pendragon was king.

Two marks were considered normal, because everyone knew that King Uther had two marks himself. There was a rumor his son had two as well. Three marks were enough to get stares if you didn't cover up at least one in public.

But to have the misfortune to be born with four or five? It might have been enough for the king's men to hunt you down themselves.

More and more magic-users were killed, and their essence of magic was poured back into Albion. The magic, no longer being used, fought to be released. Through the years, it has never found an escape.

Until now.

Now, it finds an outlet when a baby girl, the daughter of a Dragonlord, is about to be born.

The child would have already had power, once the father died, at least, for the power of a Dragonlord or lady passes from parent to firstborn child. This suits the magic, for even the mighty power of the dragons is now fading, one dragon left, and the Last Dragonlord is driven into hiding.

And then, the girl is born, and the magic comes with her, and is her, in essence.

Just for a moment, every magic-user left feels the surge of power, and the quiet whispers begin.

Emrys.

Emrys is here.

And the girl is given the name of Merlin by her mother, for the hawk that soars through a sky of the same color as her startlingly blue eyes.

Merlin Emrys, the warlock that will bring magic freely to Albion, is born with eight sets of words.

Chapter 1:

Merlin grows up with a singular distaste for her soulmarks—even with the insanity that has been her life from the day she was born, Merlin can't really understand how she can have eight perfect complements.

How can clumsy, silly, ridiculous Merlin have eight people who will love her (romantically or not) and stay by her, and watch out for her, and pick her up when she stumbles and falls? How in Albion is she the perfect person for all of them?

It is remarkable enough, Merlin thinks morosely, that Fate has decided that eight people will even like her enough to be her friends, warlock or not. They must be something really special.

Her mother, Hunith, laughs and remarks that one day, Merlin will understand. She rolls up her sleeve and exposes the words written out in a strong, blocky script.

Would you care to dance, lady?

Somewhere out there, a thin flowing hand answers in exactly the same shade of black, I'm afraid I don't know how, as no one has ever asked me before. It is the only thing Merlin knows about her father: his words.

But Hunith, Merlin decides, doesn't understand. She understands that Merlin is special in more than one way; that her daughter was born with magic, and that she carries eight soulmarks. For her, that is enough.

She does not understand the weariness of wearing long-sleeved everything so that no one will see three different soulmarks on her arms alone, or boots and breeches instead of dresses because there is always a chance the skirt might fly up and show any of three more. She does not understand sweltering in the summer, or the way the other children disdain her for not showing off her soulmate words as they do.

"Look at my wrist," one girl says. "You have the voice of a fallen angel."

"My shoulder," a boy asks. "Someone read what it says again?"

When those types of conversations come up, Merlin quietly slinks away, knowing she can't get caught up in them. In conversations among the children about magic, she does not even have that luxury in case someone connects the topic with her steady disappearances.

At least with soulmarks, the others just assume that her soulmate's first words to her are something exceedingly uncomplimentary, which although unusual, is not unheard of.

One boy in Ealdor has the misfortune to have Oh, NO! I can't be stuck with HIM! coiled around his leg, and one of the girls has So it's you then? Honestly, I thought you'd be prettier. along her spine.

Merlin is lucky enough, she supposes, that none out of her eight soulmarks say anything terribly nasty, although she does wonder about a couple.

She has always grown up always only a bit shorter than normal, and she despises being short because people seem to look down on her. Even at eighteen, her figure is that of a girl three years younger. However, Merlin's face has cheekbones that could cut glass, and her long, pale fingers and small hands are decidedly feminine. Her ears stick out a bit, but the young warlock has never thought about what she looks like enough to care.

Her hair would be considered beautiful, hair the color of a raven's wing, but Merlin wouldn't know to care about that either; and keeps it up in a messy bun from which small wavy strands escape to hang down and frame her pale face.

The only feature she really likes enough to notice is her eyes. Merlin's bright blue eyes reflect her father's, unless the magic burns through to turn them gold.

And like most people, her soulmarks help tell her who she is—disregarding the magic problem.

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

Look out!

You do not know me, and yet you call me friend?

I really hate dungeons right now.

I think what you did yesterday was very brave. Oh, sorry, I don't think we've been introduced?

You have got yourself into a bit of a pickle, haven't you, my lovely lady?

Why did you do that for me?

And one of her personal favorites (note the sarcasm):

RUN!

Honestly, not a single one is commonplace, Merlin decides yet again, staring at the inky black words that spiral and flow and twist over her ankles, arms, collarbones, shoulders, and back. But it suits her, really.

If she herself was normal, she might appreciate that, the ability to know almost immediately if she is talking to her soulmate in a land where a majority of marks are as simple as Hello or It's a pleasure to meet you. It drives a lot of people off the wall.

But Merlin is anything but commonplace—anything but normal—and from a young age, she fully intends to avoid every single soulmate for as long as she can in order to steer clear of the impending chaos she is sure having eight soulmates will be. That is absolutely the worst sort of thing for someone like her: someone who doesn't need any sort of attention.

At eighteen, she's succeeded in avoiding soulmates completely so far. Unfortunately, her magic is hard to control, and she is constantly catching things like apples as they fall from trees or pinning flies and mosquitoes in place when they fly close enough to annoy her. At least she isn't knocking trees over anymore.

One time when she was ten, she accidentally toppled a tree over on top of Old Man Simmons. That is the day Will found out officially. (He tells her later that he knew for ages—he was waiting for her to tell him.) The fair-haired boy who is her only friend didn't stop laughing for hours.

"The point is," Merlin insists to her mother, "my control is improving."

"Mmm," Hunith says neutrally. She starts thinking.

Merlin goes out into the woods every day with Will, who is unafraid to show the whole world exactly what he's thinking every moment of every day, and lets it out. She creates butterflies and bees from grass and flowers and bark and stone, and makes squirrels dance with happiness when she lets her magic shine out of her.

"That's disconcerting," Will says, chucking an acorn at her.

"Why?" the warlock asks, lying back on the grass, grinning and throwing four back at once—without her hands.

Will rolls his eyes. "Squirrels dancing, Merlin. You have that effect on them, and it's disconcerting."

"Well, since you're so disconcerted, why are you still here?" Merlin asks playfully.

"I wouldn't leave you for anything," he says only half-jokingly. Merlin's blue eyes twinkle at him with mirth, and Will rolls his eyes again. "Oh, shut up, Merlin!"

She doesn't think anything of the seriousness in his voice the moment before. Will groans and rolls over in the grass to stare up at the clouds. She is so oblivious.

Will wishes Merlin was his soulmate, instead of Be more respectful, won't you?

Merlin is gone the next day, off to Camelot on her mother's insistence without so much as a Don't worry for me, Will.

"What do you mean, she's going to Camelot?" he demands, standing at the doorway to Hunith's cottage on the outskirts of Ealdor. "That's the worst possible place for—for her!"

Hunith sighs, leaning against the wooden doorframe. Her eyes look tired. "The only person I know to trust with the secret of her magic is my half-brother, Gaius. He is the court physician at Camelot. He practiced magic himself, before the Purge. He will help her learn to control it."

Will sputters indignantly. "But—but! It's Camelot! And the roads are lined with bandits and robbers, she won't be safe."

"You and I both know why that isn't true, Will."

He draws himself up, and wipes the back of his hands across his eyes. "I—I would have gone with her."

Hunith smiles sadly. "I know."