UNHERALDED
by serennog
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Summary: A tale of loss, forgiveness, and love. Leon/OC. Begins shortly prior to S4, continues during 'The Darkest Hour' parts 1 and 2.
Disclaimer: Any 'Merlin' characters or plotlines you recognise are the property of the BBC and Shine Television. Those you don't are mine.
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Chapter I: Homecoming
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Sir Leon sighed and shifted in the saddle, his breath briefly visible before being chased away by the biting wind. Not for the first time since setting out the previous morning he was struck by the urge to turn Haveron about and race back to Camelot. But even as he thought it his hand reached for the pouch hanging from his belt, gloved fingers tracing the edge of a parchment folded one-too-many times. A letter written in a hand that was not his mother's, but signed and sealed by her, begging his return to Lostwydhyel as soon as possible.
His father – Lord Adelard – was gravely ill.
Bitterness rose up in Leon's throat, threatening to choke him, and he pulled on Haveron's reins. The stallion tossed its head in irritation, but obediently stopped.
Leon inhaled deeply in an attempt to compose himself and concentrated on a point in the landscape ahead of him. He could see the river Fowy, full-to-brimming with snowmelt. It cut a meandering path southwards to the nearby coast, glimmering in the harsh early-spring sunlight like mercury. His eyes followed the river until he found what he was looking for: a broad stone bridge. West of the structure stood the fortified manor house he knew too well.
Haveron snorted and pawed the ground impatiently, drawing Leon from his thoughts. He clapped the horse affectionately on the neck.
"I know, I know." Finding again the distant manor house and the scattering of cottages that surrounded it, Leon took a firmer grasp of the reins.
"For mother, if not for anyone else…"
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"Sir Leon. Welcome home."
Leon turned from the stable hand who was beginning to lead Haveron away, finding a familiar figure crossing the courtyard towards him.
"Galien." Leon smiled and grasped the steward's forearm in greeting. "It is good to see you."
The older man inclined his head in acknowledgment. His expression gave nothing away, but Leon knew Galien well enough to detect the like sentiment that leant a twinkle to his grey eyes.
Sobering, Leon cast a glance at the house in which he'd been born and raised. With the sun shining down on it, causing the limewash to gleam, he found it difficult to imagine his father lying infirm within.
"What news?" he finally asked.
Galien frowned, gesturing for Leon to walk with him. "I am afraid the physician, Lagot, has given up hope of your father's recovery. He prescribes various concoctions for no other purpose than to ease his pain."
Leon only nodded. He was yet unsure what his feelings were, but there was one person he thought of with concern. "And mother?"
The steward sighed imperceptibly. "She has not left his side, but-"
"Sir Leon?"
Both men stopped and looked up at the address.
Standing on the pentice and walkway that connected the solar block to the south tower was a woman. Leon felt his breath catch as he took in the dark hair and equally dark eyes, certain for an instant that he knew who she was. The moment passed as he noticed how her hair was not quite as dark as he'd initially thought, and that her face was youthful. She could not have been much older than eighteen.
"Lady Helisent." Galien gave a diminutive bow.
Leon, realising he was blinking somewhat owlishly, cleared his throat and offered the same greeting. "My apologies, Lady Helisent. I thought I was seeing your sister, Lady Hawis."
Helisent smiled minutely, descending the stairs to join them. "No apologies necessary. It is often said we look very much alike."
Leon made no further comment, remembering how very different the sisters had looked on the day of Hawis' wedding four years past. Helisent had been a reedy fourteen-year-old then.
"Your mother has not lacked companionship nor kindness," informed Galien cordially. "And you, my lady, have been very kind."
A look of weariness washed over Helisent's features, making her appear suddenly older. "I only wish I could be of more help." There was a moment's pause before she met Leon's eyes and forced a smile.
"It is good to see you again, my lord."
He thanked her, making sure to convey all the gratefulness he felt.
"Lord Adelard lies in his bedchamber with your mother keeping vigil," Helisent explained as Leon's gaze strayed to the south tower. "Should I direct the servants to draw you a bath, my lord, while you sit with them?"
Leon abruptly levelled her with a curious look, which, judging by her next words, must have been interpreted as displeasure.
"Forgive me, my lord," she excused while colour rose in her cheeks. "It is only that I have been given leave by your mother to act as mistress on her behalf and-"
Leon raised a hand to stop her, managing a small, reassuring smile. "No apologies necessary, Lady Helisent. A bath would be welcome. And something to eat."
"Of course," she said and quickly excused herself.
Leon watched her disappear in through the far door of the hall. It took him a moment to notice Galien's eyes on him. The older man seemed briefly amused before his features hardened in what Leon recognised as the precursor to words of counsel.
"As I have said, Lady Helisent has been too kind."
Leon nodded thoughtfully. "And I am in her debt." Having said so, his eyes again found the south tower, jaw tightening in grim determination.
Galien laid a hand on his shoulder. "I will take my leave of you now." Quietly, he added: "You have become a fine man, Leon, and a great knight, praised by many. Remember this."
The steward departed, leaving Leon standing alone. When at last he approached the tower door, it was with the air of a man readying himself for battle.
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Leon was not unused to the smell of sickness, but there was something especially oppressive about the aromas that met him on entering his father's bedchamber. A nauseating combination of sweat, herbs, and decay, made worse by the stifling heat. The shutters, he noticed, were all closed with heavy drapes drawn over them, and a fire roared in the hearth to his left.
Looking to his right, Leon could make out his father's bed in the gloom, and while he couldn't see its occupant, he did not miss the slender figure perched on its edge.
"Mother."
Lady Mariel gave a start, turning her head towards him. In the next instant she had crossed the room and pulled him into an embrace that was almost suffocating in its desperation. Leon was alarmed by how thin and frail she felt in his arms.
"Oh, Leon." Mariel drew back, fondly holding his face between her hands.
Leon swallowed thickly as he took in the worrying sight of her. The dancing shadows caused by the fire brought the hollowness of Mariel's cheeks into prominence and darkened the rings about her eyes. Her hair had mostly escaped a hastily-made braid, curling madly to frame her face, lending her a distinctly wild look.
"Mother," he said again, this time chidingly. "You have not been resting."
She cast a glance at the bed. "Your father has needed me." When her eyes met his again Leon saw tears in them. "Will you come and sit with him, dearest? I think it will comfort him to know you are here."
Leon doubted his presence would do any such thing, but did not resist as Mariel led him to Adelard's bedside.
As with the smell of it, Leon had long become accustomed to the sight of illness and impending death, yet seeing his father in such a state gave him pause. The man was a shadow of his former self. Tucked closely around him, the blankets hinted at a slight frame that was a stark contrast to Adelard's previously solid build. Likewise, his pockmarked face, once so formidable, was skeletal and very pale. The skin looked waxen in the weak light.
"Adelard, my love." Mariel gently caressed his face, coaxing him from sleep. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and Leon saw they were glassy. More than likely from the concoctions Galien had mentioned.
"Mariel?" Adelard's voice was barely audible.
"Yes, husband." She reached behind her then, fingers curling in Leon's cloak to urge him closer. "Look who has arrived."
"Father," greeted Leon stiffly.
Adelard shut his eyes, looking suddenly pained. Seeing this, Mariel moved to smooth his forehead while uttering sounds of solace, but Adelard's discomfort only seemed to grow.
"You sent for him," he accused through gritted teeth. "Why?"
Mariel hushed him fretfully. "He is your son."
"My son is dead!" Adelard jerked with the ferocity of his exclamation then fell back onto the mattress, coughing and spluttering. As Mariel struggled to ease his convulsions with the contents of a goblet, Leon fought to subdue the hurt and anger provoked by his father's words.
"I have succeeded, father-" began Leon once Adelard's coughing had subsided. "-In every way that you claimed I would not. Do I not deserve even a little of your respect?"
But whatever had been in the goblet was swiftly taking effect. Adelard's head lolled to the side, his eyelids drooping.
"Alain," he murmured. "I will see you again soon." And then he was asleep.
The silence that followed seemed to stretch into eternity, broken only by the sound of Adelard's breathing along with the occasional crackle from the fire.
Scowling down at his father's recumbent form Leon suppressed the urge to storm out. Taking a calming breath he conjured Galien's earlier words of commendation, feeling, as he repeated them in his mind, a surge of gratitude for the man he had known since infancy.
Finally Mariel spoke.
"I had thought-" She did not finish, but began to weep.
Leon laid a soothing hand on his mother's back.
"I know."
There passed another spell of quiet before Leon gently grasped Mariel's shoulder. "I will fetch a servant to watch over him while you rest."
Mariel's hand abruptly latched onto his with a strength that nearly startled him.
"No," she said firmly. With her free hand, she reached to tenderly brush back Adelard's hair. "It is almost time. I can feel it. I will not leave him."
Leon opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. "Then I will return later." He bent, kissing his mother's temple before turning to take his leave.
"Leon."
He stopped at the door, looking back to find Mariel's eyes on him. Her expression was pleading.
"Forgiveness is to be earned, I know, but…" She hesitated, briefly shutting her eyes. "Your father loved Alain very much. If you knew the whole of it, perhaps you would understand…" Not waiting for an answer, Mariel turned, taking up Adelard's hand in both of her own and held it to her cheek. Leon watched as her shoulders shook, searching within himself for the forgiveness of which she had spoken.
He could not find it – and doubted he ever would.
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A/N: 'Lostwydhyel' is the Cornish name for Lostwithiel, which was (incorrectly) translated as 'lion's tail' in the 17th century. This little bit of information flicked a switch in my mind – so despite the mistranslation, it became Sir Leon's childhood home. The manor house itself is based on Stokesay Castle, Shropshire, which I was fortunate enough to visit two years ago. It's a beautiful, tranquil place, so if you're ever in that county I highly recommend you stop there for a wander.
-serennog.
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