Chapter 2: The Inner Machinations of Leon's Mind (are an Enigma)
To say that Leon didn't know what to do with himself when he wasn't on guard was describing dragon fire as 'a bit warm'. After he'd slept, bathed, polished his armor, sharpened his sword, checked on his men, checked on his horse, eaten, checked the on his men again, walked around the castle, and checked on his men a third time, he was at a complete loss of what to do for the succeeding hours. Arthur insisted that Leon not attend council meetings as well as stay off the parapets. Leon sighed. He could go to the tavern, although he wasn't really one to drink, let alone for the purpose of getting drunk. Plus it was only one in the afternoon and who was he, Gwaine? He could visit Geoffrey in library, but Geoffrey always seemed to be busy. The same was true of the nobility, and the servants, and, assumedly the other knights as well. The same should have been true of him, he thought, and sighed again.
After tidying his room and rereading his favorite passage of 'A Good Knight's Guide to Battle' he decided to leave Camelot altogether and take a walk. He started to leave in only a blouse and jerkin, but then decided to don a full suit of mail. He didn't know why exactly, he just didn't feel right leaving the city without it. Besides, he thought, who knew what matter of wicked, bloodthirsty, and or evil thing he might chance upon in the forest. A light smile crept over his lips as he buckled his sword-belt. He felt slightly underdressed without his cape, but until Gwen could help him with a replacement he would have to make due.
He opted to leave his noble steed behind and headed over the cobbles and thru the courtyard. He squinted enviously up at the guards working gates as he passed beneath the portcullis. Leon wished he were working. He kicked up pebbles and dust the entire way until he hit the forest. With the wall of trees the smells and sounds of Camelot seemed to vanish completely. No longer could he smell cook fires, or people or the various breeds of cattle being traded; the clink of hammers on metal, the shouts of merchants and the general buzz of life, all seemed to die out. Nature was quiet, mysterious.
He stepped over large fallen branch. I wonder what knocked this down. His mind fumbled with half-hearted explanations for the leafy obstruction as he walked. Leon couldn't help but think that maybe there was some terrible beast there in the woods beyond Camelot. And maybe…just maybe, this evil beast—because what kind of non-evil thing tears apart trees—was on its way to Camelot. Then, by extension, if said evil beast were to attack Camelot, why then he would have to quit his holiday earlier. It would be ever so dreadful, but Leon would take the blow for Camelot…king and country and all that. Yes… Maybe he would take a quick, perfectly safe walk deeper through into the forest. He sincerely hoped that no magical creatures would find offence in his being there and thereby threaten Camelot.
His gut tickled in anticipation with every step, yet nothing seemed to happen. He walked for an hour, then another. Still nothing. After three hours, or there about, there came a rustle from the branches. He readied his sword, prepared for whatever group of highwaymen or no good magical miscreant he had happened upon. He flicked his head back bouncing his honey curls out of his face for full, unobstructed vision. Leon was practically bouncing from foot to foot with giddiness. He was a hungry wolf salivating for the taste of his prey…
To his dismay, it was only a deer.
And thus was set the straw that broke the camel's back.
"Oh, honestly!" he screamed into the wood, "Do you know how many times I've been in these woods on patrol? Never once, never…once," he shouted with extra emphasis, "have I ever made it through these woods unscathed! Something is out there! I know it! Cockatrices?" He paused as though awaiting an answer or some conveniently timed rustling of leaves. Yet, not a sound disrupted the harmony of the peaceful wood. "No? Really? Not a single griffin, troll, fairy, or winged-jaguar wants to pick a fight with Camelot today? I'll take people: sorcerers, another army of the undead, neighboring kingdoms with farfetched outdated vendettas against Prince Arthur. Anyone?" He kicked at the earth. "I suppose you're on holiday too, Morgana!?"
Leon aimed an incomprehensible roar at the sky. He drove the point of his sword deep into the earth with frustration and sank into a cross-legged sit. The sword seemed to stare at him. He gazed back at it. He looked passed the beams of sunlight gleaming off the metal, beyond the rainbow of greens reflected on its surface, his view was caught on a point further than the metal itself. There on that invisible spot, yawning in the depth of his mind, Leon's gaze was fixed, and from this innermost spot came a question: what would he be, if not a knight?
How earthshattering! How unthinkable! How utterly horrifying! And yet there it was. Who was he if not a knight of Camelot? Leon pondered.
His initial conclusion was that there would never be a reason for him to pursue an alternate profession; that he was a knight, had always been a knight and would forever more be a knight. "But what if you lose a hand?" the sword seemed to ask.
"Then there is always the other!" he reasoned, "and handless though it may be that arm could bear a shield."
"What if it's your sword hand?"
Leon didn't quite understand the question.
"What if it's your leg that's struck?"
"…well in an honest man's fight," Leon began.
"What if it's both your legs? What if you're thrown off a cliff whereupon your back shatters in millions of pieces?" the sword insisted.
With the realization that the necessity of seeking a new occupation was indeed a possibility, however remote, Leon turned his attention to what kind of work he could do in the event that he absolutely had to.
He was good at leading. Yet, what would he have need to lead if not a party of knights? The king led the common people, and animals didn't take to human leaders. He thought back to the nest of bluebirds he'd found as a child. His hand touched the scar behind his right ear mechanically. There were sheep he supposed, though that wouldn't be leading as much as herding. He could herd sheep…what were the necessary qualifications of that? Wait, wait what was he saying? He didn't even like sheep and beside that, shepherd's attire did him absolutely no favors.
He started over. He was good at following orders he supposed. However, his heart only allowed him to follow the words of a just, noble, honest man…(and even Uther gave questionable orders). Plus, after following the words of a king, Leon didn't know that he could take the words of someone lower on the social scale.
He let his mind restart a second time. His skill with a sword was impressive. He could teach sword craft. He sat on that a moment. What folly! If he could handle a sword for the purposes of teaching the craft, then he could be a knight, his brain insisted.
He could ride. Yet what use was that? What would he be, an ornament atop a plow horse? An errand boy? No…and not again.
He was relatively good with heraldry. Perhaps he could aid Geoffrey in the library. "And be staring out the windows into the training yard until I got the urge to jump," Leon thought. "Mercy, what am I good at?"
Leading, riding, sword fighting, he counted on his fingers.
There had to be something else… His tutor had once told him that he was a great pupil because he listened with such attention.
"I could be a professional listener," Leon thought hysterically. He shook his head to ward off the thought. The color was fading from the sky and he felt his grip on sanity slipping. He stood, yanked his sword from the ground, and returned it to its place on his belt. The belt was new; he'd lost his previous one in the escapade with the cockatrice. The leather was shiny and stiff and his usual knot didn't hold. He set upon it with a sailor's knot.
It donned on him then that he knew several knots. When he was a boy he'd ridden along the beach with his cousin and chanced upon a beached craft. The crew was scuttling about in an attempt to remedy their crisis. Epic tale told in a stanza, Leon and his cousin, Mel, befriend a sailor affectionately known as 'Biscuit' who taught them all matter of knots before his ship was repaired and he returned to the sea. Leon supposed that he could be fit to work aboard a ship. The air was fresh and adventure could be ample, he supposed. But if he didn't have hands….
The vivid image of himself wedged in the corner of a tiny vessel suddenly lit his mind's eye. His blonde beard had grown wild, sheltering a nest of bones and oddities in its unkempt curls. He wore a mishmash of ill-fitting clothes that peaked out from what looked oddly like a shepherd's rope. He was tying knots in an enormous rope simultaneously with his feet and his teeth. It was ghastly. Awaking from this horrible fancy Leon snatched up his sword and as good as ran for the sheltering walls of Camelot.