Hi All,
This story is came to me while I was hanging out at my favourite tavern, drinking heavily and talking about red cloaks and knights in shining armour. It is all about Sir Leon, so, no reveal, no Merthur and no fight to save Camelot and the evil M sisters or King Cenred...
It's a present to my fellow Leonettes and in particular to BM, for endless supplies of mead, shots, cupcakes, pancakes and stews.
I'll update as and when I get the chance, but I can't guarantee prompt updates, so please, please, be patient.
Hope you enjoy it.
Upon opening the door, Sir Leon scrunched up his nose. The place was even dirtier and smellier than usual. The flicker of the candles hid the grime that was covering the walls and handfuls of saw dust generously applied to the floor drank in the spilt drink, obliterating the sweet stench of rotting food and fermenting beer. He waved his men in, leading them to one of the greasy tables cramped in the available space.
The Rising Sun had never been Sir Leon's favourite alehouse, but the day had been long and the young knights deserved a night out. The hunt for a hoard of brigands in the Darkling Woods had been a success, although Sir Golwen had died in the fight and the young Erimen had lost an eye at the hands of one of these vicious outlaws. Although the bandits would now rot forever more out of sight in the dark and dank dungeons of the castle, Sir Leon couldn't help but reflect on the physical and mental scars knights were made to bear nowadays. He had known from the start that a knight's career was short and not so sweet, and only through a strong sense of duty, relentless loyalty to the Pendragon family and eagerness to maintain his physical ability had he been able to stay alive long enough to lead his own squadron and earn a slightly more sheltered position as Arthur's second in command.
Signing to one of the serving maids, he ordered tankards of mead for his men, and took out dice out of his small leather purse, hoping that his unruly crew would soon be too engrossed in a good game to remember the horrors of the battle. He couldn't help but feeling a twinge of envy at the carefree ways of youth, and a certain sadness at the thought that so many of the lives in his hands wouldn't make it through another winter if another war was declared with one of the neighbouring kingdoms.
He looked around as the golden mead flowed into the dirty wooden tankards. While the establishment was grimy and of dubious reputation, it was obvious why it was Camelot's favourite hideout for the knights. The innkeeper had an exquisite taste as far as serving maids were concerned. All were fresh young maidens, probably taken out of their farms in the outlying villages of the kingdom and thrown into this dingy existence in order to earn a living and lessen the burden they represented for their peasant families.
While a couple of the serving girls were known to be of little virtue and often seen heading to one of the rooms at the back with less than recommendable people, most of them were righteous girls and refrained from engaging in conversation with the drunks and other coarse patrons of the inn. He smiled looking at one of the newest recruits, a young woman about three years younger than him, dark wavy hair carefully tied in a bun, revealing a think and gracious neck perched on top of wide but elegant shoulders. She bent forward slightly to fit her hands under the heavy tray of tankards and walked towards the knights' table, tankards shaking lightly as she struggled to make her way between the tables. She was only about three yards away when an uncouth, fat and oily man grabbed her woollen skirt and starting fumbling and groping. The maid jumped at the unwelcome touch, spilling some of the sweet mead onto the floor.
"Ahh, come here sweetheart" rudely called the man. The young woman averted her deep blue gaze and tried to wrestle, but his horrible hands grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her, so that she fell onto his lap, dropping the tray and drenching her in mead in the process. In spite of her best attempts to keep composure, she started crying as he seized her face in his hands in an attempt to steal a kiss from her. Just as he was about to place his drunken lips on her, a strong hand grabbed him by the collar and threw him on the floor.
"That's enough, now, commoner" asserted Sir Leon. Two of his young knights rose at once, hands on their swords, but the knight lifted his palm to them, urging them to avoid a display of weapons but to remain on their guard in case a fight broke out.
He left the commoner to struggle back on his feet and moved swiftly to the maid who had crumpled on the floor, crouching to her level.
"Are you alright?" He asked as quietly and softly as he could, so as to not embarrass the servant further but to ensure she would not cower away from him.
The young woman nodded, and found herself lifted from the floor by two reassuring arms, upon which she flattened her skirt in an attempt to regain composure.
From the back of the room, Sir Leon heard the innkeeper shout: "This will be taken out of your wages, stupid girl". The maid sighed, lowering her gaze to her hands, clasping the wet fabric in her small hands.
Sir Leon grabbed the commoner up and led him forcibly to the door, before whispering threateningly. "I would leave quietly while you have the chance; I've got ten knights on standby should you decide to try anything of the sort again".
As the man left, Sir Leon turned round, realising that the room had gone very quiet. Hell, that peasant was going to cost him dearly.
"Enough! He smiled. Let's have some fun now. Innkeeper, tankards of mead for all, please!"
The innkeeper rubbed his hands together. If the knights were enticed by the nice ladies on display, they were well worth their wages, as a knight's night out was a sure sign of a profitable evening.
Sir Leon strode back to his table to pat the shoulder of one of the knights who had stood behind him, and to share a couple of quick jibes before striding to the bar.
"Roland", he called toward the man behind the counter, curling his fingers to intimate him to come closer. Roland came closer, dishcloth in hand, and bent his chest forward to hear Sir Leon. The latter turned towards the crowd, casting a glance at the waitress who had now resumed her duties, apparently no worse for wear. He swivelled back slowly, untying the purse that hung at his belt, and opening it in front of the innkeeper.
"How much do I owe you for the round, Roland?" he asked.
"Two gold coins, Sire, best value in the whole of Camelot", Roland answered gregariously.
"I'm not sure about that" Leon smiled back before continuing in a lower voice. "And how much for the spilt tray?"
Roland recoiled slightly. "Ah, no sire, this is on the house..."
"Not if this young maid of yours is going to pay for it, Roland."
Roland squirmed uneasily. "That was just for show, Sire, just for show..."
"I doubt so, Roland." Leon's piercing eyes met with those of the keen owner. "How much for her drinks?" He repeated, gesturing in the direction of the girl.
"Another gold coin, sire." He paused for a moment before adding. "She's a pretty one, isn't she, sire? I guess there's not one more pretty in the whole of Camelot, other than the Lady Morgana of course."
Sir Leon barely acknowledged the repartee and the dark meaning barely disguised in it. Grabbing his purse from the counter, he tightened the strings and hung it back onto his belt, issuing a quiet warning to the innkeeper:
"You'll have your money when I leave, Roland, provided you keep your greasy paws off those girls. And don't think I haven't seen what you're up to with Mellie and Iona. I urge you to put an end to it quickly, or I will find myself compelled to raise the matter with the king. Knights abide by a strict code of conduct, and I won't let my squadron be enticed by your girls' lurid ways.
The rest of the evening went quietly, as Leon listened to the immature chatter of his youngest knights and shared more than one tankard with the older, wiser knights, watching them play with the dice he had had the good idea to bring.
Soon, the tavern found itself empty of any patron, other than Sir Leon and Sir Edwin who had stayed for one last tankard of mead. The girls were now cleaning the tables and placing the benches on top of those, readying the place for the night. Mellie and Iona had gone upstairs to their quarters. Alone, Sir Leon contemplated with an incredulous smirk. The other girls, who lived away from the tavern in the lower town, were leaving one by one.
Sir Edwin finished his mug, and stood, asking Leon whether they would walk back to their quarters together. The knight, older by three winters, had noticed Sir Leon's sullen mood. He knew Sir Leon wanted some time alone to reflect on the day and didn't insist when he answered.
"No, go back to the castle. I'll foot the bill and make my way back in a minute. Leon drew himself back towards the bar, and dropped the promised three gold coins, plus another one for other refreshments that had been shared throughout the evening.
The night engulfed him. It was new moon, and only the stars lit the narrow streets of the lower town. Leon found that the darkness and silence surrounding him mirrored his inner disposition. The loss of a knight may have been mundane to King Uther, but Leon couldn't help but feel the sting of guilt and helplessness every time it occurred. Over time, he had come to realise that, as far as lives were concerned, Uther attached as little value to those of his knights as he did to those of hs servants and subjects. He was dispensable, and the thought didn't sit well with him.
At barely thirty years of age, he still had so much to experience. Life in Camelot was good, and knights were respected, but it left little time for anything else, and little company, other than that of younger fellow knights, who came and went too fast to forge lasting friendship. On reflection, his present life was not that dissimilar to that of a monk, or maybe a hermit, but much more dangerous.
Deep in thought, Leon did not see the shadow that hovered behind him, from one side of the street to the other. All of a sudden, he felt a sharp sting in his right thigh, which quickly turned into a searing pain. He barely had time to let out a scream that is attacker withdrew the dagger than had pierced him and lifted it again towards the sky, preparing to apply his coup de grace.
Slumping onto his injured leg, Sir Leon found himself unable to draw his sword, thus unable to defend himself. Knowing he was but a second from death, he stood still, waiting for the blow to end it all when he was irreverently pushed sideways, away from the blow.
A barely audible squeal broke the silence of the blade travelling through mid-air followed by a fierce, guttural roar and a thump, as a body hit the wall. Then everything fell silent again. Lights lit up in nearby houses, faces appeared at windows, only to disappear moments later. Uther had trained his citizens well.
"Sire, can you hear me?" A shadow loomed over the injured knight.
Leon could feel blood gushing rhythmically out of his leg and pooling under him, covering his hip and back. He slapped his face in an attempt to shake off the black clouds that formed in front of his eyes, but the blood loss impaired his consciousness, leaving him to the mercy of the shadows.
"Sire, I'm sorry I've got to staunch the blood flow..." A rip tore through the air and the knight felt pressure applied to the ocean of pain born from his leg. "Sorry, sorry, sire, I... It just won't stop, I... I need to get you back to the castle. I'll be back in a second."
The shadow disappeared, leaving Leon to drown into the darkness. It was a lovely night to die, starry skies above beckoning, inviting him to close his eyes and fall asleep to never wake again. A slap in the face brought him back to his predicament.
"I'm so sorry Sire, I didn't mean... Sire, I need you to help me, I've got a cart to carry you to the castle but I can't..." Sobs broke through the night as frail arms grabbed Leon's chest and pulled him upwards against the edge of the cart. Leon mustered all the strength and energy he could and hoisted himself onto the cart, before losing consciousness.