The first time it happened was when Mordred slipped past Leon's guard and managed to knock him out. Leon had woken to a nervous-looking Mordred gently shaking him awake. His fingers were all over Leon: on his lips to check his breath, his wrist and throat for pulse and his scalp, where they brushed a sensitive bump.
"Oh, thank Emrys," sighed Mordred before helping Leon up and taking him to Gaius.
The second time it happened, it was in Mordred's quarters. He had invited Leon to drink with him one night, and Leon had found he was great company. So on the few occasions where neither of them had any duties at night nor anywhere to be early the next day, Leon would come over for a cup of the cider Mordred favoured.
An hour into their cups, the mysterious Mordred was more relaxed than he ever was in public. Leon regaled him with a tale about how he had escaped death by dressing a pile of straw in his clothes while he slipped away in his undergarments.
It was a story he usually kept to himself, but Mordred's laughter was worth the embarassment.
"For the love of Emrys," Mordred wheezed, "Leon, you're as bad as Gwaine."
And he dissolved into another fit of laughter.
The third time was when Mordred found Leon, Gwaine and Elyan hiding in an alcove. Elyan was holding a lady's dress, Gwaine had an unlit torch, Leon had a basket filled with fish, and all of them had guilty expressions. Mordred had found them whispering to each other and waving their hands about. Gwaine had a madman's grin, Elyan a smaller, mischievous smile and Leon stood stiffly, unamused but resigned by his fellow knights' mischief.
Mordred stared at them.
"What, in Emrys' good name, are you doing?"
Leon had figured it was just a quirk. An expression from wherever Mordred came from. Heavens knew that Merlin had all sorts of words that they didn't use in Camelot. Maybe Emrys was some heroic figure for a small village.
One winter night, when they shared their cider, Leon asked.
"Who is that? Emrys?"
Mordred flushed, looking for his words.
"He's a deity of sorts. Sorry, I shouldn't mention him in Camelot."
Leon wondered why.
"Is he of the Old Religion?"
Mordred sobered a bit and nodded.
"Please don't tell anyone."
"Of course."
Mordred was good man and a good knight. Leon knew that the Old Religion had been influential before the Purge, and twenty years wasn't long against hundreds of years of worship, especially in the countryside that hardly ever saw people of the citadel. He'd met many people who worshipped different deities. Mentions of the Triple Goddess were the most common.
But he'd never heard of Emrys.
"I've never heard of him. Tell me about him."
Mordred looked surprised.
"Never heard of him?" he echoed, "Leon, you're a Knight of the Round Table."
Leon scrunched his face.
"What has that got to do with anything?"
"A round table in a place of power is generally done to honour Emrys. He is a god of equality. You really should know this, Leon. He might be merciful, but he has smited people who have offended him before."
Leon blanched. Although he did not worship such gods, he had no doubt of their existence. The Knights had crossed paths with several gods in the past. It was a wonder Leon was still alive.
That they had been using the symbol of a god and hadn't known felt like too much danger for comfort.
"If that's true, why hasn't he stricken the king for using his symbol?"
Mordred smiled.
"Do you know why Arthur chose the round table?" he asked Leon.
The moment when they had found the table, when nearly all hope had been lost, was engraved in Leon's mind.
"We found the round table in the castle of the ancient kings of Camelot. In the old tradition, it was used because it bestowed no man greater importance than another. Arthur would see us as equals."
Mordred nodded.
"And Emrys walks among men as their equal. The gods-" he cleared his throat, "The gods can be difficult to understand, especially for someone raised as far away from them as the king has been. That he understood the Round Table and used it without distorting its meaning is impressive. Emrys doesn't care much for recognition, but he smiles on those who understand him. And he certainly smiles on Arthur."
When they next held council at the Round Table, Leon couldn't stop staring at it.
It was plainer than the table of the Ancient Kings, but held that same feeling of unity, of being part of something great. Leon wondered if Mordred felt it too.
He wondered if it was the presence of Emrys.
He shook himself. Men of faith often had strange worldviews that could worm themselves into your mind, if you let them.
Council wasn't all that different from how it used to be. It was boring grain reports and taxes. It was easy for his eyes to slip to Mordred, who was still engrossed by the novelty of it.
Mordred was listening intently to the lord droning on about the complaints of the merchants in the Lower Town. His face betrayed no emotion and his posture was stiff, but his fingers brushed the edge of the table with reverence. Leon wondered how he had never noticed before.
He caught his eye and when Mordred smiled at him, it sent a jolt through Leon. He was such a mystery. A fine knight, soon to be a great one soon, and every carefully concealed facet of the boy fascinated him. He was a knight, but when Leon was hurt, he was every bit the worrying physician. And then, he was pleasant late night company. And then, he was a follower of the Old Religion.
It made Leon wonder how many facets of his character he could find.
Later that day, Leon found Arthur at his desk, pouring over some documents. Merlin was nowhere in sight, but then, he was often running around the castle for some chore or another, if not helping Gaius. It was for the best. This should be a private conversation.
"Leon?"
Arthur put down the papers as Leon nudged the door to his chambers closed.
"Sire. If you have a moment, we should talk."
Arthur pulled over a chair and motioned for Leon to sit. Leon obeyed.
"Speak your mind."
Leon took a deep, steadying breath.
"I have been speaking with Sir Mordred," he said, "You are aware of his... beliefs?"
Arthur nodded.
"He was raised with the druids," said the king.
Leon blinked. That made a lot of sense. He couldn't believe he hadn't figured it out himself.
"So you're familiar with Emrys?"
Arthur's face blanked.
"Who?"
It was as Leon had feared : Arthur didn't know either. There was far too much risk in using the symbols of gods they didn't know or understand.
"One of Mordred's gods. He says that the Round Table is a symbol of Emrys."
Tapping his fingers on the desk, Arthur considered.
"Round table aren't so rare. Surely, it must be a coincidence. It's an old tradition of Camelot, after all, and we've never worshipped the old gods."
It struck Leon then, that Arthur had no concept of life before the Purge. That no tutor nor mentor had truly educated him in this matter.
"We did when I was a boy," he said.
"What are you trying to say, Sir Leon?" asked Arthur cuttingly and Leon knew he was going to be difficult. "Are you suggesting I worship some strange gods?"
Leon winced.
"No. Of course not. I mean only that we should be... careful of angering them. We've seen the effect of killing a unicorn. I don't want to see what a slighted god could do."
Arthur's eyes shuddered and Leon knew the conversation was over.
When Arhur dismissed him, he bowed and slipped out, unsatisfied. He didn't know what could move Arthur. But what could he do but warn him?
Leon could only prepare himself by finding all the information he could on this potential enemy. So, he peppered Mordred with questions.
"Does Emrys smite people a lot?" he asked.
Mordred gave him the most perplexed look.
"No," he said, "I've only heard of it happening once."
Leon jotted the information down on a piece of parchment.
"So how does he usually punish people?"
Mordred shrugged.
"He doesn't."
"So he doesn't hurt or kill anyone? What about the smiting?"
Mordred looked uncomfortable.
"It isn't that he doesn't hurt anyone, but walking among us puts him at the same risks as everyone. Bandits, rogue sorcerers, hunger. Although he doesn't punish, but he has been known to be a skilled battle mage and a master of trickery."
"Trickery?"
Mordred smirked at him.
"Sir Leon, did you know you've met him before?"
Leon looked up from his parchment.
"I remember every time I've been met with gods of the Old Religion, and I know that none of them were named Emrys."
Mordred's eyes danced.
"There are many trickster gods and Emrys is just one of them. He blends into the crowd and knows how to deceive men. "
"Then how did you recognize him?"
Mordred shrugged.
"It's hard to explain. He has an imposing presence."
"An imposing presence that can blend into a crowd?"
Mordred thought on it for a second.
"Yes," he answered simply.
Every time Leon found out something about Emrys, he also learned that the opposite was true and the more he learned the less he understood. He looked at his notes that contradicted themselves every other line.
He put aside his quill and parchement to put his forehead on the table and groan.
"I don't understand."
Mordred had the nerve to laugh.
"Most people feel that way when they study magic for the first time."
Leon jolted at the word.
"Magic?" he echoed.
Mordred sipped his cider.
"Well yes. Magic is difficult to study because you can't have a teacher who knows a lot more than you. Any question you ask them tends to sound like a riddle or a paradox. To actually learn something, you need a teacher who only has a little more experience. The most powerful sorcerers have all been unhinged, or at least seemed so. And Emrys is the god of magic, so nearly anything you hear about him will sound just as vague and enigmatic."
Leon's head was starting to hurt.
"But then how am I supposed to find out anything?"
Mordred patted his arm.
"There is no rush. You've learned many things about him, you just need to digest it before discovering more."
Leon made to interrupt, but Mordred shushed him.
"I'm sorry, Leon. I can see that I've really worried you. Emrys would never hurt Camelot. You don't need to worry him. If you do want to know more about him, it'll just take some time."
"If he is really so inoffensive, why would you warn me against offending him with misusing the Round Table?"
Mordred mumbled something into his cup that Leon didn't quite catch.
"What was that?"
"Emrys doesn't mind. But I don't like to see him forgotten." Mordred looked into his cup instead of meeting Leon's eyes.
And Leon didn't quite know what to make of that.
The bits of information whirled in Leon's mind that night.
...god of magic...
...would never hurt Camelot...
...knows how to deceive men...
...smiles on Arthur...
...forgotten...
Forgotten.
His thoughts kept returning there. There were gods associated with particular places or could only be called on in certain circumstances with the right prayer or ritual. When knowledge of these gods disappeared with the passing of their followers, they would fade from the minds of men. There were gods that were only called on by a blacksmiths or artisans for their specific domains, and they were practically only known by them.
But Mordred had practically admitted that Emrys was here. In Camelot. And that Leon himself had crossed paths with him without realising they were a god.
Leon had never even heard the name Emrys before Mordred joined them.
Leon did not worship the gods, but he knew they were powerful. He had heard how the whims and emotions of the gods could sway the weather or help create masterful pieces of armour. He had heard how they could send healing whispers in the wind or cause earthquakes.
He knew they were incomprehensibly powerful.
Emrys could smite people. Leon was not about to forget that, despite Mordred's assurances.
So how could a being so powerful be forgotten while he was right in front of them?