It is decided, after two hours of debate and three close calls between Merlin's red knuckles and Kilgharrah's bruised face, that the dragon would rest for the night in Merlin's chambers before departing the next morning.

Despite the hubbub and hissed threats occurring around her, Aithusa had eventually fallen asleep in Merlin's arms, her head tucked beneath his chin, fingers twisted into the fabric of his neckerchief. Eventually, after things had settled, Merlin finds himself sitting on Gaius's patient bed, a long thumb swiping back and forth over Aithusa's arm, his chin resting delicately in her hair.

Gaius had excused himself about a candlemark ago amid growled threats between the warlock and the elder dragon. The physician mumbled something about food and clothing for the little girl as he left, bent beneath the stare of Kilgharrah. Not long thereafter, the old lizard-turned-human went up to Merlin's room to wash up, tend to his nose, and then fall asleep in Merlin's bed.

Things have been quiet and tense since then. Lancelot sits across from the pair on the worktable bench, long legs extended and crosses at the ankles. He watches Merlin and Aithusa carefully and quietly, allowing his friend time to think and process.

"What's she like?" Lancelot asks to break the silence. His voice is kept quiet to avoid waking the slumbering Aithusa and incurring Kilgharrah's annoyance.

Merlin glances up at him, eyebrows half-raised. Lancelot inclines his head to indicate the little girl.

"Normally, I mean," Lancelot adds.

A corner of Merlin's mouth quirks into a smile.

"She's wild," he answers. "And kind. And so smart. A few months ago, she was about the size of a cat, and Kilgharrah said she was finally big enough to hunt for her own food. So I took her into the woods for a hunt. She tried chasing rabbits on foot and got herself tangled in some ivy, and then got one of her feet stuck in a molehill. So she tried flying instead and was so focused on the squirrel she found that she crashed straight into a tree. Scared herself so bad she coughed sparks, and then flew into a panic when a bush caught fire."

Lancelot laughs, which makes Merlin's soft grin widen.

"And then, when she finally caught a rabbit, I was so proud. You know me, I'm not a fan of hunting, but seeing her do it was just… amazing. But then I had to comfort her for the rest of the afternoon because she didn't realize the rabbit had to die in order for her to eat it. Apparently, she thought it was a game and just wanted to play with it. It devastated her to learn that Kilgharrah and I had to kill other defenseless rabbits for her to eat."

Lancelot chuckles. "So she's much like you, even when she's a dragon."

Merlin smiles and responds, "Yeah. I guess she is."

A long moment of silence follows.

"What are you going to tell them?" Lancelot asks.

Merlin sighs. "I don't know. Something as close to the truth as I can manage, I suppose."

"Which would be…?"

"That she's my daughter. I left her with someone I trusted to look after her, and then they were in danger and so came here."

"You'll have to do better than that, Merlin," Lancelot says gently.

"I know," Merlin says. "I know. But if she's to be here two years, I can't just make anything up. I need something I can remember, that's close enough to what actually happened so that if anyone asks her…"

"Yeah," Lancelot agrees. "Well, let's try to hash it out now. As much as we can before you have to bring the king and queen their dinner."

Merlin groans and says, "He only gave me the afternoon, not the evening. I totally forgot."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Lancelot says wryly, "but I'd wager serving him dinner would keep King Arthur from seeking you out when you aren't ready."

"Get ahead of it," Merlin says, grimacing, "as much as I can."

"Right," Lancelot says. "What of the girl's mother?"

"Her mother?" Merlin says slowly.

"Yes," Lancelot replies. "You see, Merlin, when a man and woman come together under the bonds of marriage–"

Merlin snorts. Then, he says, "Not always in the bonds of marriage, though."

Lancelot looks at him carefully. "Right."

"What about just a fling? A tavern maid, or–"

"You aren't Gwaine," Lancelot points out.

"No. But my mother and father had me out of wedlock–"

"You aren't a persecuted man, either. Your father was a good man with the interests of your mother at heart. He left to protect her from Uther's far-spread searches."

"No…" Merlin says. "I wasn't a persecuted man.."

"You weren't." Lancelot says slowly. "You weren't."

Merlin watches his friend carefully. It holds little of the iciness from his earlier exchanges with Kilgharrah, but nonetheless his look holds a warning.

"I know–" Lancelot begins.

Merlin doesn't even hold up a hand. His fingers twitch, and Lancelot falls silent. Guilt and empathetic sadness are written into the lines on his face, and both the knight and the warlock know what is left unsaid. Lancelot does not fear the warlock, but does respect him and care for him enough to not push his point.

Merlin is quiet for a long time. Lancelot lets him be. Between them, held oh-so-surely, Aithusa slumbers in her dragonlord's arms peacefully. Every so often, a delicate snore escapes her.

"No one really knows what happened," Merlin says quietly. "But… but Gwen might remember something. A conversation."

Lancelot only nods.

Merlin had been sparing in his description of his story with the entity now known as the Lady of the Lake. Bare bones. Lancelot knows she was a druid girl, cursed and imprisoned. Merlin had freed her and they had made plans for escape. Arthur's sword had been the one to end her life, when the then-prince had been desperate to end the violence that the girl's curse incurred. Merlin had buried her in the Lake of Avalon, which took her on as a guardian. She protected had Excalibur until Arthur was ready to wield it.

Her name had been Freya, and Merlin had loved her.

Still does.

Lancelot knows all this, and had an inkling that Gwen knew, too. Once, Merlin had asked Lancelot to cover for him during a trip to the woods. Lancelot had pressed him for details, desperate to know whether his friend was plunging once more and head-on into some unknown danger. But Merlin had simply answered that he was going to see about a girl. And Lancelot knew what that meant.

And then the knight had meet Gwen on his patrol, while he had been cutting through the markets of the lower town, and the pair had spotted a sad-looking Merlin carrying flowers and a few odd trinkets through the lower town. Gwen's gaze had softened, her jaw worked as if swallowing and keeping away a tremble.

She and Lancelot shared a gaze, and Lancelot knew that the woman had to know at least some of the story as well.

"It would explain why I didn't talk about her," Merlin says quietly. "Why I sent Aithusa to live with Kilgharrah. Why no one knew."

"And if she does something… dragon-y," Lancelot says, "then, you know…"

"So I get to test what it will be like revealing my own magic when Arthur catches my daughter?" Merlin asks sharply. "We're not doing that, Lance."

"You're already in this," Lancelot points out. His tone is gentle, but firm. "You've said she's your daughter. You've decided on that course of action. You have no siblings, no estranged family member but Kilgharrah. You have no reason for her to not be yours after today."

"I could leave," Merlin whispers. His eyes bore into the top of Aithusa's head, becoming lost in her white-blonde curls. "She's in danger here anyway."

"You can't really think that Arthur–"

"Arthur is not the only one in Camelot with a grudge against magic," Merlin snaps. "A king's relationship with his people is much like a worshiper's relationship with a god. You never really know who's really in control of whom."

Lancelot starts at the claim. He isn't sure why. The warlock says things like this regularly. And yet every time, something deep in Lancelot shifts. Another supposedly foundational idea knocked from where it holds up his worldview, his map of the world. And so his whole perspective shifts.

"You really think that of the gods?" Lancelot asks quietly. He can't seem to help himself.

Merlin fixes him with a stare. "We aren't talking about gods, Lancelot. We're talking about my life, here and now. Damn the gods. We'll care about them as much as they care about us. Help me fix this, this problem I am having now, and not the problem the gods and I have with each other."

"You are devoted to them," Lancelot says slowly, lowly, as if someone could overhear their blasphemous and somehow still treasonous conversation, "and yet sometimes you don't believe in them."

Merlin snorts and replies, "You're drawing erroneous conclusions about me and my relationship with Arthur, aren't you?"

He casts a derisive glare at Lancelot, who holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. Not cowing, but conceding the point. Merlin nods at this, then looks down at the floor. He huffs a shallow laugh.

"Maybe you're right," Merlin says. Then, he fixes his friend with a fierce stare and continues, "Not about me not believing in the gods, though. Or about me not believing in Arthur. I believe whole-heartedly in both, because I've been presented incontrovertible evidence that they are worth believing in. Perhaps Arthur has as much sway over my reality as the gods do. Perhaps the gods are as worthy of believing in as my king. What I don't know is how forgiving either of them are when faced with reality and popular opinion."

Merlin's smile becomes rueful. They sit in silence a while longer, both men thinking hard.

"You want to tell him," Lancelot says finally. "About your magic. Why not take this chance?"

Merlin sighs again. "We've had this conversation before."

"Why not now?" Lancelot asks eagerly. "This would be a big secret to keep from them."

"Having magic isn't?" Merlin questions, voice bitter and hard. "They already think this of me. We're doing damage control, Lancelot. As always."

Lancelot leans back against the workbench.

"Don't you ever tire of it?" the knight asks.

Merlin doesn't ask him to specify. The possible answers are endless: don't you ever tire of the lies, the deception, the hiding, the pretending, the acting, the suffering, the serving of destiny, the serving of Arthur?

"I'm tired of it," Merlin concurs. "And yet it will continue."

They both fall quiet again. Merlin looks at the child in his arms.

"At least, for once, I can conduct deception for the sake of something more innocent and in need of protection than my own self," Merlin says.

"You–"

"Her name was Freya," Merlin says, looking resolutely up at Lancelot. "Freya was a druid girl, persecuted by Uther. She died. She and Aithusa never got the chance to know one another. But they would have loved each other, of this I am certain. Freya didn't tell me of her pregnancy because it would put me at risk. She died, and she was perfect. Just like Aithusa."

Lancelot's eyes shine with unshed tears. Merlin's face is made of stone.

"So I left Aithusa, my daughter, who I saw brought into this world, with my uncle," Merlin says, "until Morgana started showing an interest in turning Druid children to her side, and they fled here looking for refuge for her. My little druid girl.

"You're right, Lancelot," Merlin says, looking up at his friend. "I'm not persecuted."

"And in two years' time?" Lancelot asks, swallowing against the knot in his throat. .

Merlin looks down at the child in his arms. "In two years, I will lose a child on the eve of Camlann." When he looks back up at Lancelot, he continues, voice made of steel and eyes hard as granite, "And I will have my dragon back."