Author's Note: Lots of knights this chapter and...that's really about it. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

Chapter Nine

"This is odd," Mordred stated.

"Everyone in Camelot knowing your biggest secrets?" Gwaine guessed, not even glancing up from the sword he was sharpening.

"No, actually. Being the armory and not doing anything."

"Well," Leon said a bit more sharply than he intended, "the king said you are not to touch a weapon until he decides what to do with you. But we still need to continue our regular duties while keeping an eye on you. So don't touch anything, all right?"

Mordred nodded and folded his arms across his chest, leaning against a wall for good measure.

Momentarily distracted, Leon studied the young knight and did not even try to be subtle about it. He searched for something, anything that looked out of place. Something he hadn't noticed before. Something that should have triggered his suspicions about who Mordred really was.

But there was nothing. Mordred looked the same as he always did. Same blue eyes, same curly hair, same mannerisms, same smile…there was something different after all, Leon realized. Mordred was smiling more easily now. And his shoulders were set a bit differently as well, as if the young knight was more relaxed, as if a layer of worry had melted away, a layer only made noticeable because of its absence.

Yet there was still nothing that visibly marked Mordred a Druid or a sorcerer. Not even now that Leon knew to look for it.

"The only mark is here, Leon," Mordred said casually, putting a hand under his right collarbone. "My Druid tattoo. I've learned well how to keep it hidden."

Leon refused to let the glimmer of guilt take root within him, because he'd made no effort to hide his scrutiny and he knew Gwaine was doing the same—he was just, in very un-Gwaine-like fashion, being a bit more subtle about it.

"That's why you never take your shirt off," Gwaine remarked. "Percival and I just thought you were embarrassed about being so scrawny."

"I'm not scrawny," Mordred retorted mildly, "I'm lean. It makes me faster and more likely to avoid a sword or other pointy objects."

Gwaine snorted, and for an instant everything had returned to normal. But it only lasted an instant.

Percival came into the armory then. Leon had seen friendlier thunderheads. The big knight greeted Leon and Gwaine, pointedly ignored Mordred, fetched a quarterstaff from the rack and left without another word.

"I am not looking forward to that discussion," Mordred mumbled.

"He feels as though you've betrayed his trust," said Leon.

Gwaine snorted again. "Can't imagine why." He slid his freshly sharpened sword into its scabbard and clapped the younger man on the shoulder, a bit harder than necessary. "Just pray you live through that day with all your limbs intact."

"That's assuming Arthur doesn't have me executed," Mordred pointed out.

Leon shook his head, finally turning his attention back to the crossbow he was repairing. "No, he won't execute you, Mordred. You'd be locked up right now if that was an option. He'll either exile you or change the laws about Druids."

When Mordred spoke again, his voice was very quiet, so quiet that Leon's ears strained to hear him clearly. "Which would you prefer?"

Leon's hands stilled in their work, and he carefully considered his words before he opened his mouth. "The laws will change someday. I know that and will welcome the change, because very little good can ever come of alienating people. But…I must say I feel the same as Percival. You earned our trust, earned the trust of the king, by lying to us. You broke our laws. There must be some payment for that."

"If you think about it, though," Gwaine said rather unhelpfully, "the only law Mordred broke was being born a Druid. And laws that punish people for something they have no control over do not belong in Camelot."

"But he is not just a Druid. He is a sorcerer," Leon argued.

"I'm standing right here," said Mordred, glancing between the two.

"He claims he hasn't used magic within Camelot," Gwaine continued, completely ignoring Mordred. "And I'm inclined to believe him. Any one of us could probably cast a simple spell, if we studied and worked at it. He has it in his blood and yet he has chosen not to use it because he wants to obey the laws. Honestly, that makes him a better man than I, because if I had magic, I'd be using it to light torches and cheat at dice and cards. And in the spirit of honesty, I'll also say that I will be disappointed if Arthur exiles you."

Both Leon and Mordred stared at Gwaine, who simply shrugged.

"Thank you, Gwaine," Mordred finally said.

"It will take some getting used to, however," Gwaine added. "If you stick around, that is."

Mordred nodded and trained his gaze on the floor as if ashamed. "I am sorry I lied to all of you. I did not have a choice. But I remain the same person. I can be the man you know and also be a Druid."

Leon sighed. There was the true problem, laid out in black and white: Could they learn to trust Mordred again, after realizing that he was capable of keeping this large a secret from them for three years? Leon considered a moment. He considered the way they fought together, as a unit; he considered how he would feel about trusting Mordred to guard his back now; he considered how much Arthur cared for the lad. "I think we can all learn to forgive you, Mordred," he said. "It will take time, some longer than others. But I am willing to give you the chance to earn my trust again. I hope Arthur feels the same."

Mordred looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. "I hoped…" his voice caught. He wiped at his eyes and then opened his mouth to continue, but never got the chance.

The armory door opened once again, and all three men turned toward the new arrival. Senga stood framed in the doorway, balanced on the balls of her feet, seemingly caught off guard by attracting the stares of three knights.

"Oh no," Gwaine exclaimed, sounding slightly horrified. "Tell me you didn't know."

Senga frowned. "Know what? Am I interrupting something?"

Suddenly, Leon realized she seemed very calm for a woman who just found out that the man she had feelings for had lied to everyone in his life. "Did you know about Mordred?" he asked incredulously. "You did, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," she said simply.

"Well that's just fantastic," Gwaine muttered. He swung around toward Mordred. "You told her? You kept it a secret from everyone else but told her? I'm hurt, Mordred."

"Pardon me," Senga said before Mordred could respond, "but he never actually told me anything. I figured it out for myself."

"Ah, I see," Gwaine smirked. "His tattoo. Of course he would have had to explain it to you. Well, have fun with the lovebirds, Leon. I'm off to calm Percival down. Wish me luck." He sauntered out the door, leaving two furiously blushing people and one extremely uncomfortable Leon in the armory.

Leon cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I can't leave you two alone."

"That's fine," Senga said, not quite meeting his eye. That was something new for her. She was the boldest girl Leon had ever met; she had never seemed intimidated by any of the knights, had never hesitated to look them in the eye, had never acted particularly shy around any of them. Perhaps it had something to do with being raised by her father, Leon reasoned. "I only wanted to talk with Mordred a moment," she continued.

Leon nodded and deliberately focused his attention back on the crossbow. The aiming mechanism was off just slightly. Shots tended to veer to the right. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Senga step right up to Mordred, hands clasped behind her back.

"They didn't react near as badly as you thought they would," Senga spoke so softly her voice barely reached Leon's ears. He tried to ignore them, he truly did, but there was only so much he could do to give them privacy.

"Percival is taking it hard," Mordred answered. "And I haven't seen Arthur since last night. I haven't a clue how he's reacting now that he's had time to think."

"He's very calm, actually."

"You saw him?"

"I'm the queen's maid; of course I saw him. There's no way to know which way he's leaning, though, or how long it will be before he makes his decision."

There was a sigh then, and Leon tried to ignore the way Senga went up on her toes and leaned into Mordred. They had never tried to hide their relationship in any way, but…but there were some things people did not do in front of others. Leon wasn't even sure he'd seen Arthur kiss Gwen in public. And while this technically wasn't public, he was still here, and—

Leon stopped that trail of thought before it could get any more tangled and focused on the crossbow in his hands.

"I am sorry about Kara," Senga whispered.

"She chose her path."

Mordred's voice sounded hollow, somehow; curiosity got the better of Leon and he peeked at them from the corner of his eye—and then immediately forced himself to concentrate on the damn crossbow. Whatever was happening across the room was none of his business.

"If I am to be exiled," Mordred began, only to have Senga interrupt.

"If you are exiled, I'm going with you. My father will have to learn to live without me sooner or later. He'll be fine. I love you, Mordred, and I don't plan on giving you up any time soon."

There was another pause, and then Mordred murmured something too low for Leon to hear, something that made Senga laughed lightly before stepping away from him. "Until later, sir knight."

Mordred bowed. "Until later, my lady."

Leon shook his head. There was a story there, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Sir Leon," Senga acknowledged as she moved past him toward the door. Then she paused and looked back at Mordred as if he'd said something, her brows raised in surprise.

Leon glanced between them, confused and certain he was missing something. Finally he shrugged and once again returned to fiddling with the stubborn crossbow. He heard the door shut behind Senga when she left. "You are a lucky man, Mordred," he said.

"I am," the younger knight readily agreed. "Goddess only knows why she chose me."

Leon smiled at him. "If you break her heart, I may have to kill you."

Mordred stared for a moment, obviously trying to decide if he was serious or not.

"Slowly and painfully," Leon elaborated. "I'll have to ask Gwaine for some imaginative tortures."

A slow smile began to spread across Mordred's face. "I think you may have to wait until after Aonghas takes his turn at me."

"True enough." Leon paused, looking down at the crossbow in his hands. "You're good with crossbows, aren't you?"

"Not as good as Senga, but yes."

"Senga?"

"Blacksmith's daughter, remember? She knows how to handle a weapon. I almost pity the poor Saxon who thinks she's easy prey."

Leon hesitated again before handing the crossbow over to Mordred. "Don't tell Arthur, but I can't get this blasted thing to shoot straight."

Mordred chuckled. "I'll give it a go. And if I can't fix it, I'll ask Senga to."

Leon snorted. If Gwaine caught wind of that, he would never live it down.

Gwaine found Percival on the training green pummeling a straw dummy into oblivion. He knew better than to sneak up on any man when they were this angry, let alone a man half again as big as he was, so he spoke from a fair ways behind Percival. "Tell me, what did that poor dummy ever do to you?"

Percival glanced at him but did not respond.

"It's just sitting there," Gwaine continued. "It couldn't have stolen your girl, because I'm fairly certain you don't have one. Could it be that you wish it to be someone else? Someone very specific? Someone with blue eyes and a tattoo?"

"Didn't know he had a tattoo," Percival grunted between swings. "Would've painted it on the dummy with mud. Are you sure you want to continue this?"

"Well, I'm not known for making the smartest decisions."

That almost wrung a chuckle out of Percival.

Gwaine stepped around until he stood in front of Percival—but still well out of reach. He'd never seen Percival lose his temper and was not sure what to expect. He didn't actually expect Percival to attack, but he wanted room to maneuver just in case. "So tell me: why are you pummeling my favorite dummy into dust instead of talking to Mordred like the reasonable human being I know you can be?"

"Because if I talk to that little bastard right now, I will pummel him instead of the dummy and Arthur will have to exile me."

Gwaine rummaged through a basket of fruit some servant had thoughtfully left for the knights and picked out an apple, polishing it on his shirt. "Is there any particular feature you want to pound at? Or is it just the young man in general?"

Percival swung his quarterstaff even harder, the force increasing with each strike. "He lied to us, Gwaine. I trusted him at my back. I thought I knew him. And now, three years later, we find out he's a bloody sorcerer? He. Lied. To. Us."

Crack!

The top half of the straw dummy—as well as the top half of the stake it was tied to—toppled to the ground. Both knights stared at it for a moment.

Gwaine crunched a bite out of his apple and chewed thoughtfully. "There are three more to break, if you've a mind."

Percival rounded on him with a snarl. "Why are you so bloody calm about this?"

"Mordred's not the only one with secrets," Gwaine shrugged. "You don't even know where I'm from originally."

Percival took a step back, his expression clouding with suspicion and disbelief and not a small amount of hurt.

"I'm not a sorcerer," Gwaine added quickly. "I'm not a Druid. I don't know anything about magic. I'm an ordinary man who lost his home, just like you."

"Well that's the problem, isn't it? He's not ordinary, is he? He's…something else entirely."

Gwaine considered carefully before opening his mouth again. Percival seemed to have calmed somewhat; he leaned against the quarterstaff like it was a mere walking stick, breathing heavily and waiting for Gwaine's reply. He looked more open to advice than he had a minute ago. But Gwaine did not want to push too far too soon. "Think of it this way, my friend," he said cautiously, allowing his tone to grow serious. "You were born with strength, and he was born with magic. Two different gifts that neither one of you asked for and neither one of you can return. How would you feel if someone made laws forbidding people to have too much strength? Would you go to that kingdom and live there for three years, hiding your muscles all the while, just because you believed the king was a better man than his father? That's exactly what Mordred has been doing."

Percival visibly withdrew. His eyes darkened slightly, as if someone had closed the shutters to his mind. Shaking his head, he took a step back from Gwaine. "That doesn't make it right."

"Percival!" Gwaine called as his friend began walking away.

The big knight paused only long enough to glance back. "I'll think on what you said, Gwaine, but I can promise no more than that."

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