From previous chapter:

The questions would come later, right now there was no way he would leave an injured child all by himself in the middle of the forest. If he was swift, he would reach his small manor in little over an hour and would then have a healer look at the boy.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before his home came into view. The castle and surrounding villages weren't as grandiose as Camelot, but the sea cliff they stood on was truly something to behold. The old castle was equal to a lighthouse standing tall and proud on the edge of the sea, the wind blowing mightily against its walls, while waves crashed against the rocks below. It consisted of seven thin, square towers, surrounding the castle in an almost perfect circle. The towers were connected by massive walls made of black stone, stylish windows scattered generously across them in a seemingly random pattern. A sizable gate with large wooden doors and archer holes guarded the entrance to the castle build at the edges of the shoreline. This castle had clearly stood the test of time, the rocks of the walls were aged and vines and plants had grown inside the cracks, but it would last for ages to come. Various homes and farms were scattered outside the gates, the roads and fields swarming with people as farmers gathered their crops, merchants sold their goods and fishers made their deliveries. Greetings echoed around Leon as he rode up to the castle. Carefully hiding the child in his cloak, he greeted back by inclining his head while subtly observing the poeple around him. Though Thomas kept him updated on the comings and goings of his lands, Leon had learned to pay attention to the general state of mind of his people, particularly when he had been absent for several months.

Leon made his way to the castle, nodding to the guards at the gate as he passed them by.

"Welcome back, milord" One of them called out.

Leon nodded his thanks and ordered one of them to fetch a healer and bring him to the small guest chamber. In the courtyard, he dismounted with the help of a passing maid, then instructed her to notify Lady Helena of his arrival. He would have gone and greeted her himself, but the boy in his arms was in urgent need of care. He turned and headed to the entrance, but surprisingly the maid called him back. «My Lord, there is something-!»

«I don't have time right now. I will see this boy attended to, and only then will I listen to any requests you may have. Oh, and bring me some fresh water» Leon answered firmly and finally stepped inside.

When he reached the guest chamber, he carefully laid his charge on the bed and began disrobing him. Soon enough the maid came in with a bucket of water and some rags and together they began working. The more grim they washed away, the more injuries were revealed. Burns, bruises, open wounds, lacerations… the list seemed endless. It was sickening to see what someone could inflict upon a child. Of course, many fathers educated there sons with a firm hand or a cane, believing that it was the only way to make a soldier or a knight. In noble families, raw strength and obedience was often thought to be more important than wisdom and kindness. But what the child had endured was more than a father's occasional beating, more than abuse: it was the evidence of someone's absolute will to hurt the boy as much as possible, the patterns of the injuries told as much.

Leon and the maid had washed most of the child's body when the door opened and the healer came in, followed by Leon's oldest friend.

"Thomas" Leon grinned and stood to embrace his friend in a manly hug but stopped in his tracks when he saw Thomas's expression.

"My Lord, I have to tell you something," The retired knight said in a soft voice. "It's about Milo. He's sick"

It had only taken a few days after their wedding for Lena to start rearranging the whole mansion. Flowers, rugs, and tapestries where added, heavy dark curtains were replaced by brighter ones, and windows were opened. When Leon's mother had been alive, the mansion had been darkened by her tears, the halls silent and the rooms barely lit. Though she had tried her best to keep on fulfilling her motherly duties, it had been a lonely place for a fatherless boy to grow up. But Lena had changed all of that, she had made it a true home, and it had only expanded when their little Milo had been born, his cries and his laughter bringing a new kind of light between the dark stones.

But Leon felt nothing of that light as he rushed up the stairs faster than he ever had, yet not nearly fast enough. He only just managed to stop himself from banging the door open, opting for a quieter yet just as efficient way to hurry inside the room. The sight that greeted him, did nothing to calm his frantically beating heart. His wife, his beautiful Lena was sitting beside the master bed, her hair tied in a messy knot, her usually calm and composed face now drawn and haggard as her pale hands swiped their son's brow with shaky movements.

Their son, oh God.

At that moment, Leon realized that he had never been truly afraid. No matter how often he had been face-to-face with Death itself, no matter how often he had feared for the life of a friend, comrade in arms or even for his own mother, it was nothing compared to the blank terror he felt as he saw the state of his son. Little Milo was shivering despite the thick blankets covering his body, his face was abnormally flushed and his eyes were restless behind closed eyelids. Small whimpers where heard as he shook his head from side to side, apparently in the claws of a feverish nightmare.

Lena didn't seem to notice his arrival, too anxious to stop staring at her sick son, and Leon couldn't blame her. Slowly, he made his way towards her and softly put a hand on her should. At first, she didn't move but when Leon squeezed her shoulder and called her name, she slowly turned her head and stared at him in obvious confusion. Leon's worry for his wife spiked as he noticed her unfocused and slightly glazed eyes.

"Lena, I'm home" he said quietly and, apparently, these few words were enough to get a reaction, as she launched herself into his arms. No word was spoken as they held on tightly onto each other, both seeking comfort from the familiar embrace after all these months.

"Leon …Leon… Leon" Helena kept muttering over and over and it took a moment for Leon to realize that she was shaking with tears and that her legs had given out.

"There now…" he muttered as he gently guided her back into the armchair. He pried her grip around his neck loose and crouched down in front of her. He cupped Helena's face in his hands and brushed away the tear tracks from her cheeks.

"Milo-"

"I know, Thomas told me," Leon said softly.

"I… I can't…I can't lose him, Leon" Helena whimpered brokenly. Neither can I, he thought to himself, but he knew that he couldn't show weakness right now. Helena was already on the verge of a breakdown, it wouldn't help at all if he were to admit his own fears.

"Lena, you look exhausted, why don't you lie down for a few hours?" he suggested, and added before she had a chance to protest "Lena, you need to rest. I promise that I will send for you if anything changes." With a tearful nod, Lena finally agreed and left for the master chambers.

Leon picked up the water bucket she had left behind and took over washing Milo's pale face, trying to compose himself. He had ordered Thomas to send for Gaius, but it would take days before the messenger even reached the physician, and who knew what could happen in that time? Competent healers were rare these days. The healer who was currently taking care of the mystery boy knew little more than the basics that he had learned from his mother who had been a midwife, and Leon as a knight knew practically more than him.

The door behind him opened as Thomas came in and sat on the other stool.

"How long has he been like this?" Leon whispered after a long silence.

"Three days. The fever went away yesterday morning, but came back during the night, this time with a vengeance. The healer made him drink white willow and yarrow infusions, but there was no improvement "

Leon swallowed heavily. Three days of fever was a long time for a young child like Milo. Many children his age didn't even survive that long. Not allowing himself to go further on that train of thought, he gently brushed a lock of golden hair away from Milo's eyes. Suddenly, Milo's eyes opened and he began looking around frantically.

"Milo?" Leon palmed his son's face, trying to make him look up at him, but the child's eyes were unfocused and dazed. He was hallucinating.

"Mother…" Milo whimpered

"Shhh, son, I am here"

"Father…" the boy whimpered again, his eyes darting back and forth across the room seeing things that weren't real.

"I am here, Milo, don't you worry."

Then, suddenly, his eyes rolled back in his head and his small body began to thrash uncontrollably. Leon jumped up and immediately held down his arms to keep him from hurting himself. Thomas held down his legs and both men waited for the agonizing minutes to pass. When Milo stopped seizing, Leon quickly felt for a pulse, frightened by the sudden stillness. He gave a sigh of relief when he found one and took a deep breath to calm his furiously beating heart. A fever-induced seizure at this age was extremely dangerous, a second one could be fatal for Milo.

"We need to bring his fever down," Leon said and realized with a sinking heart that they had not many options left. Hating himself for the pain he was about to inflict upon his son, he turned to Thomas and asked him to have ice-cold water brought from the well. Thomas nodded in understanding and Leon almost asked him to wake Lena, but decided against it. The ice-bath may work in bringing the fever down, and Leon would have woken her for nothing.

Leon took his son in his arms, rocking him back and forth while he waited for the servants to fill the small wooden tube with icy water. When the bath was ready, Thomas helped him strip the child of his clothing and together they lowered him into the freezing water. Though he had steeled himself for the reaction, Leon still flinched when his son jerked and spasmed at the sudden cold. His eyes snapped open in shock, though still dazed and unfocused, and cries of pain filled the room. Leon clenched his teeth as he continued holding him under the water. Only when the boy stopped shivering and went limp in his father's arms, did he lift him out and draped him in a heavy blanket. Leon dried his son and tried to warm him up a little. After a few minutes, Thomas checked the boy's temperature again and shook his head. They repeated the painful procedure three more times but there the fever stayed. Milo had since long gone unconscious and wouldn't even react to the cold anymore, apart from small whimpers.

"My Lord" Thomas began as Leon was getting ready for a fifth bath. Leon somehow knew what Thomas wanted to say, but he did not want to hear it and so ignored him.

"Leon" This time the knight froze. Turning around, he saw Lena standing in the doorway, tears running down her cheeks. "Leon, you have to stop" she whispered, her eyes communicating the same torture he felt. She knew as well as he did what it meant.

Clutching Milo to his chest, he tried to tell her that they couldn't abandon hope, that they couldn't give up on their son, but the words never came out of his mouth because a part of him knew that she was right. She had recognized that trying to forcefully bring the fever down was only hurting their son, it didn't help at all. She knew that there was nothing more to be done.

Slowly, Leon stood up and sat down on the bed against the headboard, arranging Milo in a comfortable position in his arms. With a sign of his head, Thomas ushered the servants out of the room, and after gently squeezing Lena's shoulder in support, he left the room. Lena sat on the bed next to her husband and leaned on him as she stroked Milo's cheek with her thumb.

"He is such a handsome boy" She whispered as she let her eyes roam over his face, taking all the detail.

"He takes after his mother" Leon smiled slightly

"Not the hair, he has your hair" Lena answered. A long silence followed, both parents trying to come to terms with the imminent death of their son.

"He takes after the both of us. He is a part of both of us, and when he leaves, a part of both of us will leave with him." Leon said as a single tear rolled down his nodded and let out a choked sob.

No word was spoken between them after this, as no word was needed.

Lena and Leon kept their vigils the rest of the day and into the night. The sun had barely risen when Milo took a last shuddering breath and went limp in Lena's arms.

"Milo?" Lena called, fear lacing her voice.

Leon checked for a pulse and felt his insides freeze over as he found none. Lena looked up and couldn't hold back a sob when she read her husband's face.

"Milo?" Lena called again, unable to see properly through her tears. "Milo, no. Please, no" She sobbed desperately. "Milooo" She wailed, cradling Milo's body to his chest and sobbing into the curly, golden hair. Leon was watching her numbly, his mind not able to process what was happening.

They must have stayed like this for hours, for when Leon was finally able to focus on his surroundings again, the sun had risen high in the sky and someone was calling his name. Looking up, Leon met Thomas' sad eyes.

"I'm so sorry My Lord" he murmured, and Leon simply nodded in acknowledgment, not trusting his voice to speak. Turning back to his wife, Leon saw that she had fallen into a restless sleep, embracing their son's body. Swallowing back new tears that threatened to spill, he gently pried her arms away from Milo, picked his son up and made his way to the crypt underneath the castle, knowing Thomas would stay behind and take care of Lena. The corridors were dark and depressing, reflecting Leon's pain as he made the journey no father should ever have to make. The crypt was lit with a dozen of torches, giving just enough light to see where he was going. A fresh linen had been set on the stone table in the middle of the crypt, as well as clean rags, a bucket of water, a jar of perfumed oil and a clean set of Milo's most sumptuous clothes. Leon mentally thanked Thomas for arranging the preparations. His old friend had known that Leon would want to follow his family's tradition concerning funerals.

Gently laying Milo down on the stone table, Leon first took a moment to compose himself, before he began singing. His deep mournful voice resonated in the crypt and the old Celtic song awakened long-forgotten memories of his mother singing the same song as his dead father lay on the table. The lyrics tore at his heart as they talked about death, pain, tears and farewell. Without interrupting his singing, Leon pushed away the blanket covering his son's body and began to wash him. The old lament was expressing what his words could not, and his hands were working with a care that spoke for the unlimited and unconditional love he held for his child. Once Milo was washed, Leon applied some scented oil on him, then dressed him in his white shirt, black trousers, and red surcoat.

The ritual finished, Leon stopped singing and left the crypt. Thomas was waiting for him just next to the stairs, and when he saw Leon approach he searched his lord's and friend's face, trying to gauge his present state of mind. Apparently, he wasn't satisfied with what he founded, as he frowned and said "You didn't say goodbye"

Leon stopped in his tracks and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "I did the funeral ritual" He snapped

Thomas calmly replied "I know, but you didn't say goodbye. There is no ritual to say goodbye to your son"

With these words, Leon remembered that he wasn't the only one to have lost a son in the room. Thomas had a son many years ago, a boy killed by bandits as he was lost in the woods. Somehow, Leon felt reassured by the presence of someone who had been in the same situation. Without saying a word, Leon entered the crypt again and walked over to his son's body. He carefully traced the child's facial features, he stroked his golden curly hair, he committed to memory as many details as he could.

"I love you, Milo" he whispered, and this four words seemed to open a damn inside his soul. Suddenly tears were uncontrollably streaming down his face, but for once he didn't care. He was alone here, he could mourn as long as he needed.

"I love you, my son, and wherever you are now, know that I will never stop loving you."

Leon leaned in and kissed Milo's forehead.

When Leon stepped out of the crypt for a second time, Thomas was apparently satisfied with what he could read on Leon's face, as he nodded once and led the way to the stairs.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait!