The following morning was supposed to be easy. A perk of Leon's station was that he rarely needed to patrol at unreasonable hours anymore. To be quite honest, the least pleasant tasks were mostly relegated to others. Somewhat like Arthur, Leon was more valuable teaching younger knights, exchanging pleasantries with visiting nobles and participating in war councils when the need arose than patrolling or guarding.

And when the itch for battle became too much, the king was always in the mood for a spar.

That said, that morning was supposed to be easy. Leon had planned to send Mordred on his way, get a servant to fetch him a light breakfast and read over his correspondance in peace.

Mordred was at the table where Leon had left him, cheek certainly glued to its surface with sticky cider. The crick in the neck he would surely wake to would teach him to mind his drinks. However, Leon's drinking partner was still soundly asleep and Leon knew Mordred would need to prepare for patrol soon.

Although part of Leon wanted to let him rest, maybe even set him on the bed Leon had vacated, he knew it would be wiser to wake him. If Mordred was late, it would be Leon's duty to reprimand him.

Leon didn't know if he could handle that.

And if Mordred was late and Leon didn't berate him, then people would know he was partial to Mordred and Leon would just die of embarassment. It was his duty as First Knight to be fair and impartial and to make sure that the knights tended to their duties.

No one could know that Leon preferred Mordred. And it absolutely could not get out that they shared drinks together. It was inappropriate to show such preference, especially toward a relatively new knight. Leon knew that, but it didn't seem important when he was with Mordred.

So, he needed to wake Mordred and send him off before he put Leon in a position he could not handle.

"Mordred," he said gently as he shook Mordred's shoulder, "Mordred, wake up."

Mordred grunted something and waved him off.

"Mordred," Leon tried again, shaking Mordred a bit more roughly, "Come on. Up."

Mordred blinked awake groggily, part of his hair sticking up as he peeled himself off the table.

"You're going to be late for patrol," said Leon, and that shook Mordred up.

The man came to life and rushed about the room gathering the belongings he had brought, mumbling something to himself all the while. After passing a hand through his hair and shaking out his shirt, he rushed out the door with his pack like a whirlwind.

Leon chuckled at his antics. It was nice to see this side of Mordred too.

It was quiet after that, at least for a time. Leon dressed himself and pulled back the curtains to let in fresh sunlight. The sky was tinged with the vestiges of aurora and when he opened the window, the air was dew-fresh. Below, the square came to life with the rise of the sun.

The peace of it all washed over Leon.

Sigune, a servant who was often assigned to his rooms, came in soon after and jostled Leon from his musings over the scenery. It was easy to ask her to fetch him breakfast and soon Leon had a plate of fruit, sausage and pastries to pick at while he read his mail. Sigune rubbed at the sticky spot on the table while he read.

They were letters from home. Leon hadn't been there in a long time, but his childhood memories of studying letters with his mother and picking up a blade for the first time were ground in that place, and that made it home. There were letters from his mother, his brother Howel who now ran their familial estate and his childhood friend Matilda who, despite the distance and the years, still considered him her greatest friend.

The stories of home made Leon smile and he carefully penned his responses. To his mother, he gave false assurances that his adventures were perfectly safe and well-wishes for the illness she was combatting. To his brother, he gave his best advice on handling his latest bandit problem. To his friend, he gave truthful assurances that his adventures were quite dangerous and regaled her with tales of Arthur's bravery.

It was all so very serene and pleasant that Leon should have known something was afoot.

It wasn't until several hours later when he left his chambers to attend council that he noticed something strange. The lords and ladies he passed carefully avoided his eyes and stopped speaking when he crossed them. Some of the servants whispered to each other.

Clearly, something was going on, but nothing too dangerous. This was a phenomenon he had witnessed before : a rumour was making its rounds of the castle.

He was sure he would hear about it sooner or later. For now, he had a council to attend.

The first thing he Leon noticed when he pushed past the solid wood door to the council chamber was a small pile in the center of the Round Table, if only because it was the only new thing. There was a pastry similar to the one Leon had for breakfast, a shallow dish of honey and a coin.

Before Leon could comment on it, he was assaulted by Gwaine who hit him him on the arm and congratulated him.

"I didn't think you had it in you," said Gwaine, "You've been dancing around each other for ages. I thought for sure we would have to interfere, but I've certainly underestimated you-"

Arthur cleared his throat and threw Gwaine a pointed look. It was for the best, really, since Gwaine was rambling nonsense and they really needed to get this meeting started.

Leon quickly took his seat along with the few people who were still standing, except for Arthur who was trying to grab everyone's attention.

"As most of you know, we brought back the tradition of the Round Table of the Old Kings after Morgana's invasion. It has long been used to give to no man a greater importance than any other. I have researched further into it and found that it is attributed to the god Emrys, who presides over equality among men. In order to honour him in using it, I am making this offering in the center of the table."

He waved to the small pile and sat down, staring intently at a spot on the wall and squaring his shoulders in a way that didn't allow for questions.

Leon hadn't really thought that Arthur was going to suddenly start worshipping a strange god, but here they were. Someone or something was certainly going to give. Across the way from Leon, two lords were turning redder and redder. Lady Rosalind's eyebrows rose impossibly high, her lips pressed together and she folded her hands in front of her. Queen Guinevere side-eyed Arthur, clearly as surprised as the rest of them, but carefully supportive. Gwaine glanced madly between everyone, relishing the tension.

Everyone was waiting for someone to react.

Surprisingly, it was Merlin who broke the tension.

He set his pitcher of water next to Arthur and marched to Mordred, who had been watching the proceedings so far with his usual quiet reserve.

"You," hissed Merlin, "This- This is your fault. Somehow."

Mordred sighed.

"I had nothing to do with this," he said.

"I don't believe you."

"That is enough!" interjected Arthur. "What has gotten into you, Merlin?"

Merlin whipped around to Arthur.

"Me?" Merlin scoffed. "You're the one making offerings to Emrys. What's gotten into you?"

"I am thanking the god who sent me hope in our greatest hour of need and whose philosophy I used to make the basis of my council. You, on the other hand, are making a scene, undermining the decisions of your king and harassing one of my knights. A knight who has proven to be honourable and worthy of trust. Unlike you."

Merlin jerked back as if he had been slapped and a jab of unease stabbed through Leon. Arthur and Merlin didn't fight. Not really; not like this. They were a team and watching them fight did not bode well. Especially not when Leon realised that for all the careful deceit Merlin had shown before, there was nothing but honesty in his reaction now.

However, he wasn't stupid enough to put himself between them. That would be suicide.

Mordred looked at Arthur in horror until gaze slid to Leon across the way. His eyes were wide and blue and pleading for help and, as it turned out, Leon was stupid enough to interfere.

He got to his feet.

"Arthur-" he began, not really sure where he was going, but certain he had to do something. Merlin interrupted, his jaw set and his eyes icy to cover the hurt.

"Nevermind, Leon," he said, "I'll just go."

He spun around and stalked to exit , slamming the large wooden doors as he left.

A distant part of Leon noted the melodrama of the action. He wondered whether Merlin had learned his dramatic flair from Arthur or if it was an innate quality that all sorcerers had. Leon immediately squashed the inane thought.

Arthur cleared his throat and brought up the first order of business in stunted sentences. Slowly, the people around the table relaxed and discussed the issues, putting the wayward servant out of their minds and certainly not commenting on the offering.

Leon too, decided to put it aside for now. Arthur and Merlin always came around. Arthur would apologize later and maybe they would actually discuss Merlin having magic and everything would be fine again.

It was perhaps about twenty minutes later that Leon noticed that Mordred was still incredibly pale, as if something truly horrid had happened.

He wondered if Mordred had seen something in that fight that the rest of them hadn't.

Arthur was frustrated.

"Get up!" shouted Arthur to Mordred, "Again!"

There were plenty of ways to handle frustration and the gods had sent Guinevere to this plane of existance to whisper them in her husband's ear. Talking featured prominently. Going for a walk. Taking some deep breaths. Making a plan to overcome the source of the frustration. They were all excellent ideas befitting of a queen.

Arthur, however, was a knight to his core.

And there was only one way knights vented their frustration.

Training. The place where knights spent their sweat and energy.

While Mordred valiantly kept up with Arthur's assault, Leon focused on his own opponent.

Elyan was a tricky fighter. His footwork was impeccable, which gave him grace and speed that was usually reserved for slighter men. It was also the foundation of original counters and movements that made him unpredictable. Leon liked fighting Elyan; he kept him on his toes.

Leon stepped forward to jab at Elyan's torso, but his opponent side-stepped and swung his sword down in a sweeping arc toward Leon's side.

Leon braced his foot for a clash of swords and twisted his blade to deflect.

The weight of the deflected sword pulled Elyan downward and dangerously close to Leon's blade, but Leon had to change his footing to aim at him properly.

Still, Elyan had no time to prop himself back up properly and pull his sword back around to defend himself.

Leon was surprised when he swung to find Elyan had twisted to an unusual stance in a low lunge of sorts to pull his sword through the space he had occupied before.

Having forgone getting back up had bought him time to bring his sword closer, and bringing the sword through that path instead of around had given him just enough time to parry.

Very clever.

Then, Elyan pushed off the ground in an explosive movement to fling himself into a counterattack that would have subdued an average fighter, but Leon wasn't First Knight for nothing.

With his feet on solid ground and a sword in his hands, he controlled the space around him. He countered with minimalist adjustments and handled every attack smoothly.

Elyan, on the other hand, rode off the momentum his sword was gathering and his hits were getting fiercer and faster. At this rate, Leon couldn't keep up long.

When Elyan darted forward, Leon braced his sword to deflect Elyan's to an uncomfortable angle. If he'd been going slower, Elyan might have been able to hold onto his sword, but at this speed, the gathered momentum flung the sword away from him.

Elyan looked at his empty hands before laughing. Leon smiled.

"Well fought, Sir Elyan," he said.

"Well fought."

Elyan fetched his sword and went to challenge Gwaine to a spar. Meanwhile, Leon went to the the table just outside of the fighting area where Merlin kept flasks of water and medical supplies.

Mordred was seated at the bench for Merlin to fuss over a scrape the cheek he must have gotten from Arthur, who was now having a go at Percival. Mordred's eyes met Leon's and he turned slightly toward him as Leon took a flask. The water washed over his tongue, cool and refreshing.

Once he had drained it, he wiped the last droplets from his lips to find Mordred craning his neck and staring intently at him.

"Stop squirming around," ordered Merlin as he patted some sort of ointment on the wound, "Or you'll get some all over your face."

Reluctantly, Mordred turned to look forward again. Or rather, face forward and look down to avoid Merlin's eyes.

Merlin's accusation was still fresh, even as he applied a bandage over Mordred's cheek and muttered unkindly things about recklessness with pointy objects.

It was strange and almost endearing how Merlin seemed to at once despise Mordred and want to dote on him.

Maybe it was just his physician's instinct that curbed his hatred.

"Arthur nicked you?" asked Leon.

"He did," said Mordred, "He seems quite... angry."

Mordred dared to glance up at Merlin who snorted as he worked.

"And I'm still angry with you," he said.

"But I didn't do anything!" he insisted.

Merlin didn't answer.

"Actually," interjected Leon, "it's my fault. I brought up Emrys to Arthur because I was worried we would offend a god. I didn't know he would make an offering and I don't pretend to understand your anger, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry we upset you. Neither of us really know what we're doing."

Merlin thought on that for a second.

"Alright, fine. Just stop messing with Emrys if you don't know what you're doing. And you may have spoken to Arthur about Emrys, but I know you got it from this one," he said, poking at Mordred's other cheek.

And, well, Merlin wasn't wrong. But how could he possibly know that?

"What would make you think that?" he asked aloud.

Could it be that someone had noticed him drinking with Mordred? Had anyone noticed that Leon favoured him?

Merlin rolled his eyes just as he finished patching up Mordred's cheek.

"Everyone knows about you two, you know, there's no need to keep it secret. It's all anybody's been talking about since morning. I certainly don't care unless it affects Camelot or Arthur. Except it is affecting Arthur, so let me be blunt :

"Mordred, stop filling Leon's head with stupid ideas about Emrys.

"Leon, stop goading Arthur into worshipping Emrys."

Leon paled because, apparently, everyone knew. He would be fine, he was a nobleman who had been serving for many years after all, but he had a reputation to maintain! And what about Mordred? He had far more to lose than Leon since he was just starting to career. What would people think if they thought Mordred got to shirk his duties by befriending the First Knight?

Mordred blinked up at Merlin.

"What exactly do the rumours say?" he asked innocently.

Too innocently to be entirely honest.

"Well, you stayed the night in Sir Leon's quarters. You're lovers, obviously."

Leon's thoughts ground to a halt.

No.

He should have known. He should have seen that morning that the sky had been just a tinge too blue, the air a tad too crisp and life just a little bit too wonderful.

He should have been waiting for the other shoe to drop; it always did. He had been a fool to hope otherwise.

This was a nightmare. Merlin had to be joking, but he didn't look like he was joking at all. This was worse than Leon had feared.

And the part of him that fussed over his public image needed to see the previous night through the eyes of the gossips. He saw Mordred escaping his quarters, hair ruffled and clothing wrinkled. He saw Sigune rubbing at the sticky table. And perhaps through the keyhole or from the window, someone might have glimpsed Mordred ruffling Leon's hair or eavesdropped on the way Mordred teased him.

It all coalesced into a night of drinking and passion where Mordred's teasing pushed Leon over the edge and he took him on the table instead of moving to the bed a few feet further. And that was worse than showing favouritism toward a new knight or seducing them. It would mean Leon being discourteous to his lover by not showing basic care for his comfort.

Leon was horrified at the notion.

Meanwhile, Mordred stared at Merlin. His face was unreadable, as it often was in public spaces, and he just stared Merlin for long moments and mumbled something under his breath. He stared and stared and stared and-

Mordred was very good at staring. Most people got bored of it quickly, but Mordred could stare at someone for hours without tiring of it. Leon should know; he had been on the receiving end of it too. At first it had been unnerving, but it quickly became obvious that Mordred was trying to learn the way of life in Camelot. He had stared at everyone, mimicking their actions and interactions to get by. He was settled in now, but his gaze still rested heavily on Leon sometimes. Now, that unnerving gaze of a stranger had become the eyes of fellow knight watching his back.

It was that stare that rested on Merlin now, and Merlin responded with a cocked eyebrow too reminiscent of Gaius. Before long, he broke eye contact and grimaced.

"I really don't need to know," he said.

The words jostled Leon out of his reverie. Somewhat embarassed, he bottled up the thoughts about Mordred buried them deep inside of himself. It wasn't as if there was any truth to the rumour; it shouldn't be dwelled on.

He promised to himself not to think about it again and focused on the Mordred and Merlin's interaction.

What was Merlin talking about?

Mordred kept staring at Merlin until Merlin put his hands up in surrender.

"Alright, fine. Fine. I'll talk to Arthur."

Mordred narrowed his eyes.

Merlin sighed.

"And the offerings can stay."

Seemingly satisfied with that and not concerned in the least about the rumour, Mordred smiled his cat-who-caught-the-canary smirk, took his sword and went back toward the training field to return to sparring.

Something must have shown on Leon's face because Merlin patted his arm.

"You really don't need to worry so much."

But there was everything to worry about. If the rumours already existed, then the damage to their reputations was already done. And if the meeting earlier was anything to go by, it didn't take much for Mordred to goad Leon into a reckless decision.

Without the bond of his reputation or of his chivalry, what was to stop him from doing whatever Mordred asked of him?

For the first time since Mordred came to Camelot, Leon empathized with Merlin's view of Mordred.

The man was dangerous.

And while he watched Mordred launch into a swordfight against Elyan, all smooth, deadly motions and defined muscles wrapped in chainmail, he wondered how he had missed it all this time.

He was no stranger to peril. He knew it well, in fact. So many of his assignments had turned deadly. He could smell it now when there was danger approching. That danger must have at some point seduced him because there were times when a chance to go on a life-threatening journey presented itself and something in his chest begged to chase after it.

Perhaps seeing too much of the battlefield had branded the call of danger inside of him. Perhaps it was something else.

In any case, he knew danger and recognized in the way Mordred danced with his sword, but Leon didn't mind.

He had long acquired the taste for it.