When he next had some free time, Leon went up to Geoffrey's library. He wanted to know more about this Emrys and Mordred had proven to be next to useless. Leon had a suspicion that Mordred had been messing with him. After going over his notes, Leon somehow felt more confused than when Mordred had first answered his questions.

Maybe there would be some mention of this god in Geoffrey's archive. Leon fancied his chances, especially since Arthur had allowed books with information about magic and the Old Religion when he became king. Leon rather suspected Arthur still felt guilty about killing a unicorn without having any idea of the consequences it would have on his people.

In all their adventures, Leon thought that was the lesson Arthur had taken to heart : ignorance of magic would bring nothing but misfortune.

So, now they were allowed books.

When Leon entered the dusty library, Geoffrey was paging through his ledger, looking bored. The creak of door startled him to attention, as if he didn't expect visitors.

Perhaps this place didn't get as many as it should.

"Can I help you, Sir Leon?" asked the archivist.

"I- Yes. Do you have anything about... gods?"

Of the Old Religion, of course. But Leon hesitated still to say that quite out loud. It was one thing in private with Mordred or even Arthur. It was another entirely with Geoffrey.

"Ah, yes," said Geofrrey. "Of course. Follow me."

He waved Leon down an aisle until coming to a stop in front of a shelf. Giving it a cursory look, Leon found that it was mostly about law.

"Geoffrey?"

The old man seemed to have done something while Leon was reading the spines because the wall suddenly gave way and opened into a hidden room full of books and objects.

Objects that he could not properly identify, but that looked definitely magical and therefore illegal.

Leon gawped.

After several moments, Geoffrey's voice brought him back to attention.

"Come along, Sir Knight."

"R-right."

Leon stepped into the poorly lit room where Geoffrey was looking over a small collection stacked on a shelf.

"Do you want a general overview or are you looking into a particular god?"

Somehow, Leon managed to make his tongue work.

"I need information about Emrys."

Geoffrey sneezed as he turned away from the books.

"I'm afraid the king left with that book just yesterday. If it's urgent, you could ask him to see it. Otherwise, I imagine he will return it within the week."

Leon thanked him as they made their way out.

When the door to the hidden room shut behind them, Leon had to ask.

"Has this room been here this whole time?"

"Certainly."

"Uther let this room exist during the Purge?"

Geoffrey half-shrugged.

"It has been here since the castle was built. Uther was informed of its existence when he took the throne. I imagine he forgot about it."

"Does King Arthur know?"

"He found out about it yesterday and would have sooner if he had read all his reports."

Leon tried to cover his horror as he bade Geoffrey a good day and headed back to his chambers.

Only there, once his shock had faded, did he think over what Geoffrey had said.

Arthur had taken out the book on Emrys.

Leon smiled. It seemed his warning had been heeded after all.

While it was nice that Arthur was educating himself about the god that might smite him, Leon's worries and–this he would only admit to himself–curiosity were far from sated. As such, he would ask around about this Emrys until he could get his hands on that book.

According to Mordred, Emrys was the god of magic. It would make sense then that sorcerers would know about him.

As it was, magic was still largely illegal outside of dire circumstances. The punishments were much less severe than they once were, however, and Arthur had excused many uses of magic when there were exceptional circumstances.

One such circumstance had been on a hunt where Percival had been injured and the weather had been awful. They had ducked into a cave for the night, but the downpour had been so fierce that Leon hadn't bothered even going outside for firewood. Everything outside was drenched beyond hope of burning.

Leon and the knights had gone about setting up camp, taking up Merlin's usual duties as the man fussed over Percival. The knight was pale and seemed so much smaller than he should. He shivered as Merlin stripped him of his armour and inspected the wound in his side. It pulsed purple and sickly yellow, certainly infected. The blade that had struck him might have even been poisoned.

Leon didn't know, but the way Merlin's eyebrows knitted didn't bode well.

When their sleeping rolls had been unfurled and Merlin appeared to have done everything he could for Percival, Elyan passed around cold rations for their party.

Merlin chewed on his half-heartedly as he glanced between Percival and Arthur silently.

It wasn't in Merlin's nature to be silent.

He was always bantering with Arthur despite their difference in station. The ghost of that banter hung in the air and Leon knew Merlin was going to do or say something that no one would like.

Leon chewed on his rations too, waiting for Merlin to tell them that Percival would die tonight.

It didn't take long for Merlin to clear his throat and grab everyone's attention.

"Percival's in a bad way," he said.

Leon braced himself for the rest.

"The wound is infected. With proper tools and rest, he would be fine, but it's too cold and wet. He'll catch his death while his body tries to fight the infection."

Gwaine said what Merlin didn't.

"We need a fire."

Merlin nodded.

"There's nothing to burn," said Arthur in a rare moment pessimism, "There's no way to get a fire going in these conditions."

Leon closed his eyes and breathed deep. He had expected it, but it hurt all the same.

Percival was going to die.

Once he had steeled himself, he looked up to find Merlin staring at the empty spot between them where they would usually build a fire. Then, in a strained, quiet voice, he said :

"Not all fires need wood to burn."

Everyone froze. Leon thought for a moment that his ears might have deceived him, but there had been no other noise and Merlin hadn't stuttered.

But there was no way. Not after a decade of serving in Camelot.

Arthur laughed and, because he had always been a bit slow, asked Merlin :

"And how are you going to find a fire like that, Merlin? There's nothing here."

"With a spell."

And then Arthur froze too.

"What are you saying?" he asked, cold and dangerous.

"I'm saying I don't fancy the pyre," Merlin hissed back.

Arthur considered Merlin for a long moment before coming to a decision.

"You won't burn for saving my knight."

Merlin nodded and schooled his face blank. Leon couldn't tell what he was thinking anymore and that notion frightened him.

Then Merlin lifted a hand.

"Forbaerne."

And a fire came to life between them, hovering a few inches off the cavern floor.

The incantation rattled Leon. He had heard it before in battle against sorcerers. It was a spell that had nearly taken Leon's life before.

The other knights looked similarly uncomfortable and Merlin went back to fussing over Percival, bringing him closer to the fire and whispering assurances.

No one said anything.

Leon and Elyan had second watch, but neither of them made a move for their bedrolls. In fact, none of them slept that night. They stared at the dancing fire that burned from nothing while Merlin crushed herbs and wiped the sweat from Percival's brow.

When morning came, the fire snuffed itself out and Percival was well enough to travel to Camelot through the drizzle.

No one spoke about that fire again.

The point was that Merlin was a sorcerer. And if sorcerers knew Emrys, then Merlin might know something.

That was why Leon cornered Merlin after practice in the armoury.

"Merlin," he said, "Could I have a moment of your time?"

Merlin stiffened for a moment before fluidly turning to him with an open and affable expression. The moment was so short that Leon would have chalked it up to his imagination if he hadn't known the manservant had magic and thus, a reason to be wary of a knight of Camelot.

As far as Leon knew, no one had confronted Merlin since that night. It was understandable for him to be nervous, even if Arthur had made his decision quite clear.

But he didn't look nervous. He appeared as open and friendly as always and that sent a shiver down Leon's spine that the magic hadn't.

"What can I help you with, Sir Leon?"

Not a twitch, not a stutter. A perfect performance, except for that half second of hesitation. Leon knew he must be terrified, but Leon couldn't back off. This Emrys was someone he needed to know more about, even at the cost of frightening Merlin a little.

Not that Leon intended to scare him more than he already was. Perhaps, with time, they could come to nearly be friends again.

For now, there would be fear beneath their interactions.

"Have you ever heard of a god named Emrys?" he asked.

Merlin's face did something. It passed through a mix of emotions before settling on bemusement.

"I have heard of Emrys," he said delicately, "but he isn't a god."

"Mordred says he is. He- He worships him."

Leon didn't really know how else to put it.

Merlin groaned.

"Well, he shouldn't," said Merlin, rolling his eyes, "because Emrys is not a god and definitely should not be worshipped."

It seemed Merlin would be quite adamant about that. Hmm.

"Then you know about him?" pressed Leon. "What can you tell me about him?"

Merlin thought on it for a second before answering.

"He's the most powerful warlock to ever live according to druidic prophecy. I don't know much else."

"But you were certain he wasn't a god."

"Because he isn't."

"How do you know?"

Merlin didn't answer. Instead, he made a noise of frustration and resumed his chores as if Leon had never interrupted him.

Leon didn't know what to make of Merlin. He had known there would be tension between them after that night, but this was more than that. Merlin was acting more strangely than that.

It occurred to Leon then that Merlin might not know Emrys the same way Mordred did. What little magic Merlin knew couldn't have been learned in Camelot and there was little opportunity for him to learn the same legends and faith as Mordred.

No, he must have learned about Emrys in a much different way.

"You've met him," he whispered when the realization dawned on him. "You know Emrys."

Because Emrys was in Camleot and Mordred found him to be easily recognizable. Maybe he was easy to recongize; if only one had magic. Then Merlin would have been able to recognize him too if they had crossed paths.

Merlin paused for half a second before returning to his polishing.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

It sounded so genuine. The tone was somewhere between confused, annoyed and pitying, the same kind of tone Leon used when dealing with peasants clearly driven mad.

But that half second pause gave it away.

"You're lying."

His mouth formed the words as he thought them, falling from his mouth before he realized that accusing Merlin wouldn't help get more information out of him.

Merlin glared coldly and clenched his jaw.

"Mordred mentioned something that had me worried," admitted Leon, "and I just have some questions. You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but it would help lay some of my worries to rest."

Merlin relaxed a bit at that and made a motion with his hand for Leon to continue.

"I'll answer what I can," he said.

Leon hesitated for a moment before launching into his questions. He decided not to mention Emrys worship for now.

"Does Emrys really smite his enemies?"

Merlin did not immediately respond.

"It was one time," he said. That followed with what Mordred had said.

"Do you think he might smite Arthur?"

"What? No."

That was good. This interrogation was already going better than trying to pull information out of Mordred.

"Why not?" pressed Leon, because this was what truly worried him, "He's supposed to be a powerful magic user, right? And Camelot has been hunting sorcerers for a long time. Why wouldn't he want to attack Arthur?"

Merlin considered his answer, making a motion with his hand as if he was arguing with himself. He started saying something then abruptly cut himself off before settling on an answer.

"None of us can choose our destiny, Leon, and none of us can escape it. Not even Emrys."

Well that sounded ominous. And cryptic. More cryptic, in fact, than Mordred's answers, and that was an achievement in and of itself.

"What?" he said.

"It's like- He wouldn't."

"But why?"

"Because he can't."

"So he can't smite him?"

Merlin was struggling again.

"He could, but he wouldn't."

"What if he changed his mind?"

"He won't."

"He can't change his mind?"

"He could, but it wouldn't change anything."

"Why not?"

"He would change his mind again."

"But why?"

"Because destiny."

Leon's mind was spinning.

Maybe Arthur was right about Merlin being a bit touched in the head.

Before he could ask another question, he snapped his mouth shut. This was clearly not going anywhere.

"Thank you, Merlin," he said, trying to cover his dwindling opinion of Merlin with cordiality, "this has been... illuminating."

"Of course," said Merlin with a smile, as if they hadn't had the most confusing conversation of Leon's life, "I'm sure you have duties to tend to."

Leon didn't, but he knew a dismissal when he heard one. He couldn't even be bothered to be offended about being dismissed by a servant.

He just got out of there as quickly as possible.

Mordred thought Leon's misadventures in interrogating Merlin were hilarious.

It was, admittedly, a comfort to be sharing cider with Mordred again at an unreasonable hour of night despite the mockery. Geoffrey and Merlin had been unsettling in a way that Leon couldn't quite put his finger on.

Despite the riddles, Mordred had been more than happy to share his faith with Leon and truly did his best to explain. In stark contrast, Geoffrey had quite openly criticized the king and the late king and Merlin had shifted between wariness and maundering about destiny.

Besides, Leon liked to hear Mordred laugh. He was such a serious man even at celebrations or when they invited him to the tavern. Only in privacy did he seem to truly relax. Only then did he laugh freely, and Leon loved the way his laughter rang.

Even when it was at Leon's own expense.

"You had difficulty with what I was saying so you went to Merlin? Merlin?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Mordred's laughter rang until he eventually ran out of breath.

Red-faced, he finally pulled himself together and Leon had to ask :

"Care to explain what's so funny about that?"

There was perhaps less heat behind the question than Mordred deserved after laughing at him for nearly ten minutes.

"I'm sorry," he said, wiping away a tear, "Merlin's just... very powerful, you see."

Leon mulled that over.

Merlin : Snarky yet incompetent manservant to the king. Known to scare off cute game before they could be killed and somehow still being completely incompetent with a sword despite years of "sparring" with the king.

Powerful: A quality of having a great capacity in battle or court.

No matter how he looked at it, these two words did not belong in the same sentence.

"You're kidding. He couldn't wield a sword to save his life."

Mordred smiled at the thought.

"That's true, but powerful magic is rarely about battle skill."

Leon frowned.

"I still have a hard time believing it."

Mordred hummed as he refilled his own cup.

"I heard a rumour," he said, "that Merlin used magic to make a fire when Percival was injured. And rumour has it that it saved Percival's life. You were there. Tell me: is it true?"

Leon sipped his drink. He had been hoping the knights would mind their tongues, but it seemed that had been too much to hope for.

"It is," he answered.

"Which spell did he use?"

Leon hadn't expected the question.

"How many spells for fire are there?" he asked. He had assumed there would be just one and that any sorcerer could deduce the exact spell from knowing it had been fire.

Mordred smiled wanly.

"There are dozens. So, which one?"

Leon remembered because it was a spell he had heard many times before.

"Forbaerne."

That answer made Mordred's smile grow. It rather made him look like a cat proud of having caught a mouse.

"Forbaerne," he said, "is a popular fire spell because it doesn't require anything besides the sorcerer's own magic. It serves as both the flint and the fuel. Some spells, like byrne, only serve as a spark for the fire, but they need some fuel to burn. A torch, oil or wood is needed. Does that make sense?"

Leon nodded, feeling strangely naughty about learning about actual magic spells.

"Because forbaerne needs magic as fuel, the sorcerer casting it needs to pour magic into the spell for as long as the spell lasts. Otherwise, the fire will snuff out."

Leon thought of the flame hovering above the cavern floor, seemingly burning without sustenance. But that hadn't been true. It must have been surviving on Merlin's magic.

Mordred continued.

"Since it is so demanding, it's usually reserved for quick atttacks, flashy demonstrations or just as a spark like byrne. Long uses of it will burn through the caster's magical reserves until they are magically exhausted and collapse. Tell me, Leon, how long did Merlin maintain the spell?"

"All night," he whispered. He had never even considered that it might have been taxing for Merlin. "About twelve hours."

Generally, there was a restrained quality to Mordred that was almost ladylike at times. The alcohol had rinsed it away. The way he leaned over the table now reminded Leon more of Gwaine gossiping at the Rising Sun.

"What if I told you that the average sorcerer could maintain it for about two hours before collapsing?"

Leon blanched. It was one thing to say "this person is powerful." It was another to give the perspective to demonstrate exactly how so.

"Are you telling me that Merlin is six times as powerful as the average sorcerer?"

Mordred laughed at him again.

"Tell me, Sir Knight," he began teasingly, "Did Merlin collapse in the morning?"

Leon shook his head.

"He didn't."

"Did he seem tired?"

"No more than the rest of us."

"And did he rest the following day?"

Leon frowned.

"No, we travelled to Camelot and he tended to Percival until Gaius took over, and then he served Arthur for the rest of the day. What are you saying, Mordred?"

"I haven't said anything, Sir Knight. What are you saying?"

It was strangely cruel for him to pull the words from Leon's mouth, but Leon couldn't help but be swept along by Mordred's cadence.

The conclusion by Leon's own observations was obvious.

"He's far more than six times as powerful as most sorcerers."

Mordred laughed again, truly delighted, but far too loud to be sober.

"I knew you were clever underneath all that First Knight primness."

When he ruffled Leon's hair, Leon froze. Mordred avoided physical contact as a rule. He didn't playfully punch the other knights and did not like to be punched either. He respected others' space and breaching his usually resulted in a grumpy Mordred.

That being said, Mordred was touching Leon. Affectionately.

There was only one explanation : Mordred was very, very drunk.

He had been drinking more than he usually did and his face was flushed. Leon wondered how much of what he had said so far was accurate. The notion of Merlin being a powerful sorcerer still didn't seem quite right to him. Maybe this was just a drunken rant that Mordred would dismiss as ridiculous in the morning.

On the other hand, maybe it would be easier to get answers out of Mordred while he was inebriated.

When Mordred pulled his hand away to nurse his drink again, Leon refocused their conversation.

"So what's so funny about asking Merlin about Emrys then?"

"There are two reason. The first is... well, remember why you couldn't understand my explanation of Emrys?"

"It was because the knowledge gap made it sound like nonsense, right?"

Leon still wasn't sure how that worked.

"Right. And Merlin is fairly more powerful than me, so while my words may have seemed enigmatic, Merlin's would seem outright-"

"'Unhinged,'" Leon said, echoeing Mordred's words last time about the most powerful sorcerers.

A silence settled between them as Leon thought that over. It made a twisted sort of sense. When he thought back over Mordred's words, he realized something.

"Wait," he said, "you said there were two reasons you found it funny. What's the second?"

Mordred brought a finger to his lip.

"That, Sir Knight, is a secret," he said with a wink.

Then, he promptly passed out on Leon's table.