Merlin's avoiding them.
The shift is awkward, abrupt and obvious, painfully pronounced to all who spare the servant more than a passing glance – his smiles are forced and his laughter false, his excuses flimsy and paper-thin, and every time he sees them now he suddenly remembers something he needed to do or somewhere he needed to be and sorry it really can't be put off, until they can scarcely get a word in before he's hurrying off in the opposite direction, the usual spring in his step missing.
Puzzling out the reasons behind the change is an entirely different matter.
It must have something to do with the gaps in their memory, Leon insists – except that they aren't gaps, not really, they're simply too big to be considered such. They're chasms, that's the only word he can find to really describe them, enormous, yawning chasms, so ugly and dark and vast it seems nothing short of a miracle he can still remember his own name. They terrify him, to tell the truth – these empty spaces, these blank stretches of complete oblivion. Something happened inside them. Something important.
Merlin knows what it is, that much is obvious – quite apart from his clumsy attempts to evade them, there's something in his eyes now when he looks at them, something dark and wary that wasn't there before. Something Leon knows – though he doesn't know he knows it – but he just knows it was never supposed to be there.
Gwen knows, too.
She doesn't avoid them like Merlin does, but she doesn't answer their questions, and she's got that same look in her eyes, that dark and wary look – doubt, Leon realizes, and it makes something inside of him turn to ice at the thought. Whatever happened during those gaps, those chasms, it's made it so Gwen doubts him. Whatever occurred in those awful blank stretches, it was something bad, something ugly, something that never should have gone on, and Leon hates himself for his cowardice, but he wants those blank stretches to stay blank.
It isn't an easy thing to admit, not even to himself, but he isn't near so proud or stubborn as Arthur or Gwaine, and he can admit it – painful and dishonorable and shameful as it is.
He doesn't want to know what filled up those empty spaces, because as frightening as they are, they're nothing to what could have put that look in Merlin's eyes, what could have filled Gwen up with all that doubt, and he just doesn't want to remember, right up until he does.
It isn't anything of consequence, at least not at first – merely blurry, disjointed flashes here and there that hold little weight and make not a bit of sense. The sharp, smoky scent of a campfire, the soft blue cotton traveling cloak wrapped firmly round Gwen's small shoulders, a burst of bright laughter as Gwaine told a joke, a clash of steel as swords met, a bony wrist much smaller than his own twisting and jerking in his grip, fighting him—
The memory grinds to a rough halt as Leon tentatively probes his own thoughts, inexplicable unease stirring in his stomach – he's never done anything like that before. It doesn't even feel like him.
He has never hesitated – and, in the battles to come, he knows he will never hesitate – to spill the blood of an enemy for the love of Camelot and her king, but he takes no pleasure in the crumpled, lifeless bodies, the sticky crimson stains left on his hands when he walks away victorious. He kills because he has to, because he will do anything to protect the city and sovereign he loves so much, but he does it quickly and smoothly and entirely without pomp, tries to grant his victims swift, painless release, regardless of how little they deserve it. Never would he handle someone so roughly, even a creature so corrupt as the lamia.
Pushing aside his own reluctance, he returns hesitantly to the troubling recollection, new details trickling suddenly through that vast, empty oblivion – warm skin bruising rapidly beneath his rough, unyielding fingers as startled eyes stare up at him from under a messy mop of black hair, dark brows descending in evident confusion…
Leon stumbles back a step, revulsion rising up within him at the revelation – Merlin.
It wasn't the lamia he'd treated so harshly – of course it wasn't, he was enchanted by it at the time, the last thing he would have felt is a desire to harm it. It wasn't even a fellow knight, the way he'd almost begun to believe, but a servant – an innocent and harmless servant with not a bit of training in matters such as battle, an unarmed, defenseless, vulnerable servant so much weaker than he and with a station so far below his own, he would have been powerless to fight back even if he'd possessed the physical means to do so. And it was Merlin, enthusiastic and good-natured and kindhearted Merlin, who would never hurt anybody even if he could, who caught spiders in Arthur's chambers so he could set them free, Merlin who protested hunting trips and begged them not to shoot the little rabbits or the sweet, graceful deer…
Misgivings now thoroughly forgotten, Leon only hesitates another moment before he plunges back in, now opposing those ominous chasms instead of welcoming them because he has to remember, he needs to remember, he needs to know if it went any farther than that, he needs to know if he actually hurt Merlin, or maybe Gwen…
Dim, hazy images rise suddenly to the surface of the inky chasms; he's powerless to resist as they fill his vision and flood his mind.
Percival's hand on Merlin's chest, their faces inches apart as the knight pins the servant to the wall and roars at him, a wordless, enraged bellow—Gwaine's usual merry smile twisting to form an awful, ugly sneer—Elyan's warm brown eyes turning suddenly cold—Merlin on the ground in front of him, a thin line of blood streaking down his temple and genuine fear in his eyes—skin breaking, bones crunching under his powerful fists—spots of blood flecking his knuckles—Gwen screaming—swords clashing—Merlin flinching—his own voice, but…much too loud—Lamia crying—falling…
Leon forces his eyes open, physically wrenching himself out of the past with a huge, shuddering gasp – the lamia hadn't just turned him rude or sharp-tongued, as Gaius told him, but hotheaded and violent, enough so to hurt somebody else, somebody he'd sworn to protect, somebody weaker and smaller than himself.
And suddenly it all makes a horrible, sick sort of sense – Gwen and Merlin, when they look at him, that isn't doubt in their eyes. It's fear.
He's scared them.
He drops his head into his hands – under the weight of these new revelations it feels, suddenly, too heavy to hold up anymore – and rakes his fingers roughly through his tangled curls.
It all makes sense now, all of it – Gwen and Merlin, and their odd behavior as of late; Gaius and his careful evasion of his own and the other knights' questions, the way everyone looked at him when he first woke up back in Longstead…he shuts his eyes and grimaces at the thought, trying desperately to banish the awful recollections.
Leon lifts his head at last, fingers finally stilling in the knotted mess of hair, and squares his shoulders, turning to face the bolted door of his own bedchamber – every inch the soldier preparing for battle.
He has to make this right.
He needs to find his fellow knights, of course – speak with them, figure out how much they know, what they remember, if maybe they've put the pieces together on their own. But first – and though his stomach drops as he considers it, he knows it has to be done – he needs to find Merlin.
For all the admittedly efficient effort he's put into avoiding them since their quest came to an end, Merlin proves surprisingly easy to find – it takes maybe an hour for Leon to trace him back to the armory, perched on an upturned crate with Arthur's muddy gauntlet balanced on his knee, clutching a rag soaked in strong-smelling polish.
As always when he completes this particular task, Merlin's shed his threadbare jacket and pushed up his thin sleeves – the sight of the bruises still visible on his skinny, bare arms leaves Leon feeling quite sick.
He can still scarcely believe he did that – he left that purple mark there on the servant's thin wrist, he grabbed him so hard it left that, he grabbed Merlin so hard he bruised, he grabbed Merlin and he didn't let him go.
A startled cry – and a sharp, noisy clang – jerks the knight from his thoughts; Merlin has obviously spotted him, and dropped Arthur's grimy gauntlet to the floor, to boot.
"Sir Leon!" Merlin tugs his sleeves sharply back down as he talks, making no moves to chase down the runaway glove. "I-I didn't see you there!"
Though it's faint, there's just enough of the old Merlin in the tone to bring a smile to Leon's face as he retrieves the gauntlet, dropping it back into the servant's lap. "Forgive me. It wasn't my intention to startle you. I came in the door and…" His gaze flickers down to where he knows the bruises lay concealed under the shabby blue sleeves, and his stomach churns. "…forgot myself."
"Startled or not, Arthur won't be happy when he sees this dent," Merlin replies ruefully, hurriedly stooping to gather the rest of the grimy mail from the floor, giving a rather strained grin. "Sorry to run out on you, but I really need to get this back to him. You know how he can get some days."
Leon scrutinizes the armor piled precariously high in the other's arms – despite Arthur's incessant complaints regarding his servant's hopeless ineptitude, Merlin's proven himself unfailingly diligent, bordering on tireless, and he'd never try and present the metal he holds to his master, not in its current state.
He's trying to run away again, and Leon can't let him. "Please, don't leave on my account, Merlin – I'm always happy to have company down here."
Merlin's stilted smile falters somewhat. "I—no, I really need to get this to Arthur immediately. He was very insistent."
"Wait!" Leon abandons all pretense – now that he's remembered, he can't let this continue a moment longer – and steps in front of the escaping servant, barring his path to the door. "I-I need to speak with you, it's important."
"I'm sorry," he gives his head a firm shake before stepping neatly round Leon, making again for the exit. "I really can't. If it's as dire as you think, you should bring it to Arthur."
"I want to talk about the lamia!" Leon surprises even himself with the words – he'd no intentions of announcing his purpose so candidly, but he finds he's glad he did; Merlin stills where he stands, halfway between the knight and the door, filthy chainmail still clutched tight to his chest.
Slowly, so slowly that at first Leon wonders if he's imagining the movement, the servant turns on the spot to face him, eyes so dark and guarded they're nearly unreadable. "I'm afraid I don't understand you, Sir Leon." He readjusts the unwieldy, mud-splattered armor in his grip before he continues. "A creature in the woods tried to harm us, it's very simple. I don't see what more needs to be discussed." His tone shifts, turning suddenly aloof; the warm, good-natured Merlin the knights have come to love sounds downright unapproachable, and it leaves Leon nothing short of stunned for a moment or two.
But fury bursts almost instantly through the shock, flaring to fiery life somewhere in the pit of his stomach, scorching him from the inside out.
He approached Merlin – despite the guilt and anxiety plaguing him, the shame sitting heavy on his shoulders with a weight that nearly overwhelms, he approached Merlin, he offered nothing but honesty and goodwill, and the servant would still rather play at ignorance.
It's this anger that pushes the words off his tongue, unplanned and uncouth though they are. "You mean, aside from how we nearly killed you?"
The guarded expression slips from Merlin's face, eyes going wide as Arthur's armor tumbles from his grip, falling to the floor with several heavy, resounding clangs before rolling away toward the darkened, dusty corners of the room. He makes no move to follow the begrimed mail, hands beginning to shake. "I…I don't—don't know what you're—what you could be—whatever you're tr-trying…"
Something inside Leon softens at the sight; he takes Merlin gently by the elbow, guiding him back to the crate still pushed up against the opposite wall.
He overturns another and takes a minute to settle into the makeshift seat before speaking again. "We nearly killed you," he repeats, grimly and mostly to himself. "I know what happened, Merlin, I remember. I remember everything now."
Merlin seems to return to himself then, at least a little bit – he tears his gaze at once from his own knees, brows drawing instantly together. "What—what do you mean?"
"It hit me just this morning," Leon gives a little, incredulous shake of his head. "I could hardly believe it, it was so…" He pauses a moment, dragging in several deep, slightly shaky breaths before he continues. "What we did to you, it was…it was absolutely—
"You didn't…remember…before?" Merlin's eyes, if possible, have gotten even wider.
Leon frowns, momentarily troubled – the timing of when he regained the hard-won memories, which he's hardly given a thought to, is all the other man appears to care about. "Why, did the others?"
"You didn't…remember…when you woke up?"
Leon's mouth twists back into a frown, thoroughly baffled now. "Should I have? Gaius said it was normal, I…" He abandons the sentence and arches an eyebrow at the servant, sudden doubt taking hold. "Didn't he tell you?"
Merlin retreats again, tension returning and gaze withdrawing at once to his lap. "I didn't ask." That strange, aloof note has reentered his voice.
The words are loaded, so thick with implications the knight can't help but wince. "I can't say I blame you. I'm sure you're still furious with us."
"No." The denial is instantaneous, spoken so quickly and firmly, it can't be anything but the truth. "I was never angry – not with any of you. The enchantment the lamia put you lot under was awful. You couldn't control yourselves. I don't blame you for a jot of it."
A thousand dubious replies rise instantly to Leon's tongue, but he hesitates just before speaking any of them aloud, looking at Merlin – really looking at him, searching his eyes and his face for any falsehood, any trace of deception, but there's none to be found; it's only honesty staring back at him, nothing more, and the revelation has him heaving a soft sigh.
Of course Merlin doesn't blame them. Of course Merlin's not angry with them. Of course Merlin's never been angry with them. Loyal, forgiving Merlin would probably sooner cut out his own tongue than nurse a grudge.
A new thought occurs to him, and Leon's brows lower. "Hang on! If you haven't been angry, why in the world have you been avoiding us like we've all some sort of plague?"
Merlin suddenly looks very uncomfortable. "I-I haven't—haven't been avoiding—
"Merlin." Leon's tone brooks no argument. "Tell me the truth."
Something like surprise flickers to life in Merlin's eyes, but he stays silent for the space of several heartbeats, his discomfort plain as day. "I was being a coward." The words are fleet and dismissive, and it's clear he believes if he only says them quickly enough, they'll pass unnoticed – as though they're an explanation all their own.
The knight lifts his brows, confusion increasing – despite Arthur's slew of distinctly derogatory monologues concerning the man before him, he himself has never truly considered Merlin a coward. Quite the opposite, in fact – ever since he first came stumbling into their lives with his oddly endearing inelegance, he's revealed an astounding and unshakable courage to rival even that of his master.
Really, he's only a servant, and should he choose to stay behind, wait at home like every other, no one would blame him one bit – instead, he rides out to battle alongside his king, day after life-threatening day, never shrinking, never cringing, never even flinching, no matter what dangers they encounter on their perilous quests.
He isn't a knight, yet he'd been the one to push Arthur from the path of Mary Collins' knife at that fateful feast all those years ago, and the one to drink poisoned wine in his prince's stead; he'd had no training, yet he'd still been there with them to battle a dragon the size of a castle, and to help defend Camelot against hundreds of thousands of immortal soldiers; he couldn't wield a sword, even to save his own life, yet had shown himself willing to follow Arthur to the mouth of hell and beyond, should they ever find the need.
Merlin must catch the confusion in Leon's face, because he looks away as if scorched, as if embarrassed.
If the noble wants answers, he's going to have to press – that much is clear. "What are you talking about?"
"How I'm a coward. I think we established that the first time we met."
"No, Merlin," it sounds silly when he lets himself think about it too long, but he has to know, he has to be absolutely sure – the cowardice that purportedly kept his friend away, it couldn't be fear, could it? Fear of him? The thought turns his stomach. "You know what I meant."
The servant won't meet his eyes anymore, fidgeting awkwardly with the hem of his tunic, and for a moment, he doesn't look like he's going to speak anytime within the next century, much less than the next few minutes – and then suddenly words are pouring out of him like water, so quickly it's clear he's been holding them inside for days. "I didn't ask Gaius, so he didn't tell me so I didn't know you hadn't remembered, and whenever you lot tried to talk to me, none of you ever really brought it up, and it isn't like I was about to bring it up, so I thought we just weren't ever going to—and it isn't like we really needed to, anyway, I knew you couldn't help what you did, any of you, knights' code and all, you'd never hurt anyone who couldn't fight back, I knew that, only the enchantment—the enchantment never really made you lie, did it, and I guess I got to thinking about the things you'd said, and obviously you'd never actually say them, of course you'd never say them, but—I don't know, maybe you could have been thinking them, I thought maybe…" As if he's only just realized he's rambling, Merlin turns violently pink and immediately falls silent, closing his mouth with an audible snap and chewing nervously on his bottom lip.
But the damage has already been done – Leon can hear what he didn't say, as clearly as if he'd shouted it aloud.
I thought maybe you meant what you said.
Instantly, Leon can recall his own awful, deafening yells – he hadn't spared them much more than a thought when he'd first remembered them, deciding instead to try and figure out whether he'd seriously hurt Merlin or Gwen, but now he pursues them, pressing until his own furious words come back to him, positively overwhelming in volume as he bellows for Merlin to "stop talking, just stop talking before I rip your goddamn tongue out!"
It doesn't stop there – the ones that follow are hazy, at best, and confusing, but he catches fragments here and there: not even a knight…any idea how annoying you are…should just run you through, it'd be doing Arthur a favor…think you're so important…stop pretending you matter…
"Oh, God…" Leon mutters, eyes falling closed; his legs buckle underneath him, refusing to support his weight – he winds up back on the dusty wooden crate with a rather painful thump.
Somewhere above him, Merlin's rising to his feet and talking over him, stammering out a rambling string of what sounds like apologies, and incredulity sweeps through him all over again – what does Merlin have to be sorry about?
With a great effort, he pulls himself from the past and pushes a few stray curls out of his face – it seems he and his fellow knights dealt Merlin a greater wrong than he'd first thought, but so help him, he's going to do his utmost to right every single one of them. "Stop that, stop it, you have nothing to apologize for. It's I who should be doing that."
"You don't have to apologize for anything, Sir Leon," the servant counters at once, sinking slowly back into his seat when it becomes clear the conversation isn't over. "I know you couldn't control it."
"That doesn't matter," the hair he managed to tame for mere moments tumbles free once more, cascading over his eyes as he shakes his head furiously. "Enchanted or not, that's no excuse. I did things to you I would never have even considered doing to anyone, not even a sorcerer. And the things I said—I've never so much as thought anything that horrible, about anyone before, and certainly never about you. I know it doesn't change anything – I know how awful I was – but everything I said, everything I did, I didn't mean one second of it. All that rubbish I said about you, that's all it was – rubbish. I can promise you that."
"Sir Leon, please, you've nothing to apologize for. I know your actions weren't your own. The lamia was…powerful. I don't hold you responsible for anything you did under her influence." Without the knight's notice, Merlin's voice seems to have softened sometime during the conversation; when he looks up, he sees something in the servant beginning to relax, the tension lifting slowly from his shoulders and vanishing as if it had never been, his dark wary eyes beginning to brighten.
This, Leon realizes, has been weighing on Merlin, far more than he thought.
Something inside him clenches unpleasantly at the thought, and as he rises once more from his crate, this time knowing he's not going to sit back down, he finds himself clapping the servant on the shoulder and offering a small, rueful smile. "You may not blame me, but I still regret it. I didn't mean it, and you didn't deserve it."
Merlin takes a great and sudden interest in his knees again. "It's all right, Leon, I've told you."
The knight doesn't miss the subtle, but probably unintentional, omission of his title – and it's this, above all, that puts the smile back on his face. He gives his friend one last, reassuring pat on the shoulder before straightening to his full height once more. "You're a good man, Merlin. Take care."
"Take care, Leon."
The knight steps from the cool darkness of the armory into the glare of the autumn sun, pausing a moment before the door to draw in a deep breath, and consider everything he's just heard, stomach still twisting violently from the memory of the bruises on Merlin's arms, the tight set of his shoulders, the dark wary look in his eyes…
But that's over now, Leon reminds himself, pushing away the haunting thoughts and choosing instead to remember his last glance back at the servant – the tight set of his shoulders loosening, the dark wary look in his eyes fading, expression turning sunny once more, and he can't help but smile.
notes: this is literally the shittiest thing i've ever written but i couldn't keep staring at it anymore y'feel? anyways this was just something that had been bouncing around in my head b/c i realized i couldn't find any fics based off 4x08 that focused enough on leon & this was something that had to be rectified.