Bickering and squabbling.

Barely five minutes had passed, and council had already traded its veneer of politeness for bickering and squabbling.

In her husband's absence, Lady Eilir had come. She was the picture of fury, hair wild and voice thundering. She fought against allowing into Camelot that which had nearly killed her husband just a few hours prior.

Gwaine was trading arguments with her, refuting her fears about magic by citing his experiences from his travels.

Meanwhile, Melrose used his healing spell gone awry as proof that magic's danger. Too much so for its use to be permitted. For his trouble, Merlin rewarded him with harsh words on reckless use of magic.

Guinevere spoke in softer tones with Benedict, a middle-aged nobleman who had been quite against magic so far. She relayed her close call with the pyre and the concerns she had about punishments disproportionate to their crimes.

Across the table, Lady Rosalind inspected her nails. A peach and cream gown that wrapped around her shoulders. It would have been more appropriate for a ball than council, but Leon would never be the one to tell her that. She rolled her eyes and ignored the chaos.

Meanwhile, Arthur was explaining to Elyan and Percival that offerings to Emrys were reasonable. He carefully avoided mentioning the myths of the Once and Future King. He was becoming increasingly flustered. An entire conversation seemed to pass between Elyan and Percival with their eyes alone. One that questioned their liege's sanity.

And so Leon watched their bickering and squabbling in silence. He didn't know what to say. His choice had been to follow Camelot and its king, no matter the circumstances, to maintain stability. No more, no less, and so the discussion didn't particularly concern him. He was little more than a bystander in this debate. As the hours dragged on, Leon felt Mordred's absence keenly. If there was someone who should be here, it was him. He was the one with the understanding of magic and the guile to navigate its politics. He would know what to say.

But Mordred wasn't there and when council came to a close, Leon realized that Mordred had been wrong.

Emrys had kept his silence.

In the evening, after council had concluded, they were free to spend their time as they wished. The Knights of the Round Table gathered at the Rising Sun for some much needed tankards of mead. After several drinks, Gwaine pulled out a humble, if familiar, cup.

"Behold," said Gwaine theatrically, "Drink enchanted by Merlin himself. I offer fifty coins to whoever dares to take a sip. Who will rise to the challenge?"

"What does it do?" asked Elyan.

"No idea," said Gwaine, "but I would love to find out. Now, any takers?"

Leon blamed the mead. A sip for fifty coins through a drunken haze had given his skin an eerie golden glow that attracted the eyes of everyone around. The potion had had no other effect and was by far the least harmful magical effect Leon had ever seen.

When Sigune came to his rooms in the morning, she made a pathetic attempt at hiding her snicker. Leon frowned as she brought him his mail and a breakfast of blancmange with almond slivers. Where she found the nerve to laugh at him when she should be worried about an impending trial, he didn't know.

Magic was still illegal, after all.

"Is there something funny?" he grumped.

She put on a properly subservient expression.

"Not at all, my lord," she said. "Enjoy your meal."

She briefly bowed and left him to breakfast while she started on her chores. The cook had outdone herself as usual. This peaceful little morning routine nearly had him forgetting the condition of his skin.

The first thing he noticed was that he had only received two letters. He hoped one had only gotten lost somehow, but a stone settled in the pit of his stomach as he read the missives of his friend and his brother. Mother's illness had taken a turn for the worse. Most of her time was lost to sleep these days, and Howel feared the sickness would reap her life.

Part of Leon longed to go home to nurse his ailing mother and help Howel with the estate. A better part of him knew that times in Camelot were too tumultuous for him to leave with a good conscience. The laws were changing. Within the council room, division and discord threatened. In the shadows of the kingdom, Morgana's armies grew. The Triple Goddess stood behind Morgana as Emrys stood behind Arthur. It smelled of war.

It was a gods' game and Camelot was their playing field. Leon didn't know how to help, besides trying to stabilize things, but if there was war, he had to be there to fight. What truly frightened him was what he might return to if he left. He could not stand the thought of being absent from the battle that might end Camelot.

He'd run from enough battlefields as it was.

So he penned his worry, tried to bring up their morale, and begged them both to look after his mother in his absence. Then he stopped thinking about it because thinking about it wouldn't help one bit. However, eating his breakfast in silence did nothing to stop his thoughts from returning to his mother.

"Hey, Sigune," he said to distract himself, "How is Sir Griflet doing?"

She paused in her dusting of the mantle.

"He's feeling much better. Another day of rest should see him back on his feet, though he'll probably go to training this afternoon if no one ties him down to his bed."

That was good news. Leon really needed to hear some good news.

"Excellent," he said. "How has Lady Eilir been taking things? She was out for blood at council."

Sigune shuffled awkwardly.

"We haven't spoken. She hasn't been home since Griflet's poisoning."

Now wasn't that curious?

"Any idea where she's been?" asked Leon.

Sigune shifted.

"I... have heard some whispers about it. But we really must be discreet."

Leon motioned for her to continue.

"I've heard," she said, "that Lady Eilir spent last night in Lady Rosalind's quarters."

Really? While that did sound like Rosalind, Leon thought that flirting the very next day of Eilir's husband's near-death was too short of a delay. If Eilir was of another mind, then by all means. Hopefully, she would be calmer today and spare Leon's eardrums.

That woman could screech.

"That's... good," he said, "I think. Whatever the case, consider me surprised. I didn't know you knew magic."

Sigune scratched the back of her head.

"I don't," she replied, "not really. Once, I saw someone else cast the spell and thought it was brilliant. I studied it plenty, but I wasn't sure it would work. I've never cast a spell before."

"Oh," said Leon, "Well then, what was that spell meant to do?"

"I, well, it makes the target cough up a toad."

Leon blinked.

"A toad? You mean like..."

"Aredian, the witch hunter," said Sigune. "Back when he had caught Morgana and Merlin for practicing magic, Merlin cast it to frame Aredian as a fraud and a sorcerer himself. It got them all off the hook."

"Wow," said Leon. What else was there to say?

"Wow indeed," she sighed, "So brilliant. So ruthless. The things I would do to that man if I could get my hands on him..."

Leon cleared his throat. Sigune blushed when she realised she'd been musing aloud.

"I... should really take the laundry down for washing."

Once she'd swished out of the room with the basket, Leon's mind ran over their exchange again. Gaius had made it understood that Merlin had some guilt or regrets he wouldn't speak of out of shame. That Aredian had caught them both at the same time implied that they had to be involved enough with each other magically.

Had Merlin and Morgana been in cahoots?

Or worse. If Merlin had known magic this entire time, could he have taught her?

Leon really had to get some proper answers out of Merlin and soon, or he was going to lose his mind. What kind of strange, backwards conspiracy was going on around here? Leon needed to know.

And if thoughts of magical conspiracies distracted Leon from the morning's news, it didn't need mentioning.

Eyes trained on him as he made his way to the council room. He crossed paths with Mordred, who seemed slightly haggard from the long night, but whose eyes danced when they noticed Leon.

When warm hands guided Leon into an alcove, he followed without question and found himself quickly wrapped up in Mordred. It was soft and wonderful and over far too quickly. Though the risk of being caught brought the familiar thrill of danger, it limited their time.

Mordred complained when Leon pulled away.

"I can't keep the king waiting," said Leon.

Blue eyes trailed the length of Leon's subtly glowing arm.

"Merlin will be furious," he said. "Hold still for a second."

Strange words turned his irises gold and Leon found himself entranced by them for just that second. He'd never seen Mordred perform magic so close. In fact, Mordred often concealed his eyes on the few occasions Leon had seen him cast. He would look down or shield his eyes. He'd drift further away from them.

It was never like this.

"Your eyes," whispered Leon, "they're lovely."

He was rewarded with a facet of Mordred he hadn't seen yet. For all of his teasing and flirting, it turned out that he was far from immune to compliments. Mordred blushed something fierce and turned away, pretending to check that no one was coming their way as he did. He cleared his throat.

"It should be fine now," he said, entirely ignoring Leon's comment. "We should get going if we don't want to be late."

Leon looked down at his hands to find them perfectly dull again.

"Right," said Leon, feeling oddly disappointed. "Yes, we should go."

More bickering. More squabbling. A never-ending cycle of bickering and squabbling that sucked away at Leon's energy. Rosalind was dressed in yet another unsuitable dress for the occasion, throwing winks at Eilir, whose volume hadn't diminished from the previous day.

More nothing. Little progress. Leon observed Merlin to pass the time. He was surprisingly quiet for a man whose continued existence was being heatedly debated. He answered questions about magic and clarified misconceptions. Something about his manner of speaking reminded Leon of Mordred. Magic as being inherent to life rang as druidic, though Leon couldn't imagine Mordred had taught Merlin that. The two had met less than one year ago, after all.

Merlin took the insults against sorcerers far too well. The degrading comments about magic swept right off him. He didn't so much as blink. He was good at hiding his true feelings, but Leon couldn't tell if he was putting on a show or if he was simply used to it.

Suddenly, every magical attack from a sorcerer who snapped and went on a murderous rampage made sense. For Merlin, who had always been magical, every comment about magic had to be personal. Leon couldn't imagine sitting there and accepting it all. He would challenge whoever dared to a duel. Even if they were old and defenceless, like that worm Melrose.

But not Merlin. That which seemed to offend Merlin the most was the bowl of almonds and sage leaves at the center of the table. He scowled at it, ignoring Melrose's tirade about malicious sorcerers as he did.

And it was Merlin's discomfort with the offerings that gave Leon an idea. If he wanted to get answers out of Merlin, Leon would need to put pressure on him. Give him something to sweat about. Leon couldn't threaten his life, not with how much the king favoured him. And even if Arthur disliked Merlin, it would still be dishonourable and utterly socially inacceptable.

No, Leon needed something more subtle. More... Mordred-ish. Besides, Merlin didn't have the self-preserving instincts possessed by ordinary mortal men. He followed Arthur into battle after battle with no armour. He, as a sorcerer, worked as a manservant to the royal household.

Threatening the life of such a man would accomplish little. Merlin didn't much care for his own life, but worship of Emrys...

Worship of Emrys bothered him a lot.

Leon leaned over to Percival.

"Hey, Perce," he said, "I know what we're going to do today."

The land across the street for the stocks was cheap because it was across the way from stocks and smelled of rotten vegetables.

It was easy to excuse himself from the table with Percival, claiming to have forgotten something urgent that needed taking care of. It wasn't as if he had been contributing much anyway.

It was even easier to find workers and materials. There were always desperate people in the Lower Town ready to work for coin. Also, there had been so many recent attacks that they had taken to keeping a solid stock of materials ready in case the houses got blown to bits or burned down again.

With all of his preparations in order, there was nothing left to do but wait.

It was only a few hours later that the guards marched Merlin down to stocks. What for? Who knew anymore? Honestly, Leon didn't particularly care. Whatever it may be, Merlin had a way of being sent to the stocks with more regularity than anyone Leon had ever met.

Which was why he had chosen this location. Once Merlin's wrists and neck were secured in place, Leon motioned for the construction to start. The seven young folks from the Lower Town looked at him blankly.

"That means get going," he said.

Once the message was received, they wasted no time bringing planks, nails and tools to the site. Leon stood back to enjoy the progress. He was paying salaries for others to do it for him, and he had some pressure to put on a certain someone.

Percival watched him drift toward the stock curiously.

As for Merlin, he had yet to be the target of vegetable throwing, but it was only a matter of time.

"Good afternoon, Merlin," said Leon. "Whatever has landed you here today?"

Merlin looked decidedly unimpressed.

"Nothing Arthur didn't need to hear," he replied. "Is this the 'urgent business' you had to get to?" Merlin awkwardly motioned toward the workers.

"Of course," said Leon, "with the king's recent change of heart, it is only natural that the constructions within the city reflect his values."

When Merlin looked at him with fear in his eyes, Leon knew he had him.

"What are you building, exactly?" asked Merlin delicately.

"A shrine, of course." Leon relished the words. "To Emrys, naturally."

Merlin sighed.

"You're just doing this to get into Mordred's pants, aren't you?"

If Mordred appreciated it, then that would just be a bonus.

"No," said Leon, "but I understand you have been withholding information. Given proper, complete and transparent information, I could be persuaded to call the project to a halt."

Merlin looked up at him incredulously.

"Have you completely lost your mind? You know, most people just ask when they have questions."

Something about Merlin's attitude grated at Leon's nerves.

"I have asked. Time and time again. I have neither the time nor the patience to drag out every bit of information from you. It is my job as First Knight of Camelot to ensure that every knight making up Camelot's army is of sound mind and body. It is my job to make sure that none of them are compromised by the horrors of the battlefield and can act go about their duties afterwards. And I have had so many good men slip through the cracks and drive themselves mad."

Leon took a breath and lowered his rising voice back to a conversational level.

"I know the patterns," he told Merlin. "I've seen them before, and I'm seeing them now. You're not keeping it together. And frankly, every rumour I've heard about you makes me worry as much for the sake of Camelot as for you. Let me do my heavens forsaken job and help you."

"I am not a knight," gritted out Merlin, "And my business is none of yours."

"You're right," admitted Leon, "You aren't a knight. You don't study the sword to fight on behalf of the king. You aren't noble, you haven't taken the vows. Anyone who looks at you and thinks 'that man must be knight,' would be out of their mind. No, you're just the king's closest confidante, his most trusted advisor and one the most powerful sorcerers in the kingdom. You're just part of the backbone of this kingdom. And I need you to be stable because regardless of my opinion, you're the man that leads Arthur right whenever he starts down a dangerous path. Not me. Not Guinevere. Not any of that lot bickering in the council room. You. Do you understand?"

Merlin looked up at him, irritatingly nonplussed. Just like in the council room, the words seemed to slide off of him, and he just looked at Leon with a mildly pleasant expression.

"Are you done?" he asked with a challenge in his voice. "I assure I know exactly my role here and I guarantee that you have no understanding of it. I will do exactly what I must."

Leon looked down at this twig of a man. He practically sneered at Leon with his voice alone and not a hint of doubt lingered in his eyes. Like this, Leon could see how such a man might get on with Morgana as they knew her to be now.

"Then we will continue with our project," said Leon, projecting a false sense of calm. In truth, his blood was pounding in his temples and his fingertips tingled with a desire to do something about this infuriating man.

Merlin twisted his trapped hands to flip him off.

A cart sat nearby, empty but for a few cabbages. Leon didn't exactly remember when he noticed it, but at that moment, he decided that enough was enough. Leon made a decision. He was going to throw the fattest of the cabbages at Merlin's stupid face.

Leon woke to Mordred's intense eyes inspecting his face.

"Hello," said Leon, somewhat breathlessly.

Mordred scowled at him as he dabbed a damp cloth to Leon's temple.

"'Hello'? Is that all you have to say for yourself?" The dabbing became more aggressive. "When hurling a cabbage at a powerful warlock, one can expect that cabbage to stop in its path and return to its sender twice as fast." He stopped dabbing to rinse the cloth. "And now you're concussed, you idiot. And here I thought you were clever."

A silence came between them while Mordred got back to work cleaning the wound. Leon, somewhat disoriented, looked at the side table and the fireplace in the corner to recognize Mordred's quarters.

This made no sense. He shouldn't be here. Mordred had elsewhere to be right now. Away with Leon. He wasn't meant to be with Leon until the following week. That's why they had been kissing in alcoves.

"Why am I...?" he asked, hoping Mordred would fill in the blanks for him.

"Percival fetched me because leaving you with Merlin, the cause of your concussion, seemed unwise. And I'm skiving off patrol to take care of you, you fool."

"Good man, Percival. 'Always knew I could count on him."

Mordred didn't seem amused.

"While Percival may help out of sheer altruism, I'm afraid my help comes at a price."

An embarrassingly confused sound escaped Leon.

"You must answer me two questions as payment. Do you understand?"

Leon nodded mutely.

"First: why did you throw a cabbage at Merlin?"

"I... he was acting like... an annoying cabbagehead," said Leon.

"Fair enough, I suppose. Anything more specific?"

"I just want to help. It's my job to help, you know?"

Mordred raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.

"Alright. Second question : why did Merlin throw a cabbage at you?"

"I'm building a shrine," he admitted.

Mordred pursed his lips.

"I didn't believe you to be religious. Why build a shrine?"

"To annoy Merlin. He hates Emrys. I thought I could...pressure him to talk to me."

Mordred barked out a laugh.

"You're building a shrine to Emrys as a mean of coercing Merlin's secrets from him?" He whistled, impressed. "We'll make a bandit out of you yet, Sir Knight."

Leon sniffed. His head hurt too badly for him to care too much about Mordred using such a strong word.

"Well, it didn't work."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," said Mordred, "Finish building the shrine and give it a couple of days."

Leon tried to wrap his head around Mordred's meaning, but his efforts only worsened his headache.

"Urgh... don't you have spells for concussions? I thought druids had healing spells for everything."

"I do, but I'm not helping you. You cannot brush off the consequences of your actions."

"Please?" Leon tried.

Mordred caved.

"Alright, alright. On one condition : if you find yourself in a position like this again, do not act on your own. If you want to coerce, blackmail, steal, deceive or manipulate, you come to me. We will make a plan. I will verify that the plan will not get you killed, and we will enact it together. Deal?"

"Deal," said Leon, "but why?"

"Because you have the subtlety of a rampaging dragon. Merlin is a dangerous man to back into a corner. You could have died. I have years of experience as a bandit. I know it works. I may have turned over a new leaf as a knight, but if you are going to engage in bandit-like activities, let me help. Now don't move."

Mordred's eyes flared gold. His whispered words sharpened the world around them. The pulsing fog eased from Leon's mind.

Leon leaned back, enjoying the relief.

"Thank you."

Mordred snorted.

"We're both already skipping our duties, so," he climbed into bed, straddling Leon, "I think there are much better ways for you to thank me than words."