When Leon awoke, it was to darkness and a musty smell.
His shoulder and stomach ached as he attempted to arch his back, the memories slowly swirling in his mind.
The bandits, the sword swung in a low arch from behind him, the blinding pain…
And then nothing.
Leon supposed that they must have gotten him back somehow, although Merlin probably had something to do with that.
Really, after all this, Leon was going to petition Arthur to raise the younger man's pay. Stomach wounds weren't usually survived.
But they hurt like… well they hurt.
Leon winced as he attempted to sit up.
He did wish that they had put him on a more comfortable bed, and why was it so dar-
His head hit the top of… something.
Leon's breath hitched, wincing as he hunched over, hands reaching out to his sides and…
No.
No.
He tried to collect his thoughts, but panic had already taken over, hands scrabbling at the smooth stone.
No.
It was impossible.
How?
A choked sob let out, his throat scratchy and weird, like… like he hadn't any water in a few days.
Merlin and Gaius usually ensured that their charges were well hydrated while unconscious…
His body shook with another sob, his stomach throbbing, head now joining in as he wept silent, dry tears.
He choked back another breath, breathing in the musty smell, coughing, painfully aware of his dry throat.
At least they hadn't burnt his body.
Would he have come back to life after that?
He couldn't see his stomach, but it didn't feel like his guts were spilling out…
Maybe, maybe this was just a prank.
He closed his eyes, rolling over in the confined space to rest his head against the cool of the stone.
Yes.
If he believed it was all just a prank, then he could deal with this.
He squeezed his eyes shut, taking in deep gulping breaths of air, wrapping his arms tighter around himself.
It was cold.
It was just a prank.
If Leon reached over and pushed on the lid, he would surely be able to push it off. There would be no weight to it at all, and he would wake to find his friends laughing at him.
Yes.
Leon held onto that image in his mind.
It wasn't the fact that he had actually died, that he had bled out because of course all stomach wounds were fatal. It wasn't that he had died and they had had a funeral for him.
Because if that was what had happened, then Leon's body would have been laid to rest in his family crypt.
Because if he had actually died, that would mean he would be stuck in here for however long it took for him to die again.
Because if he was dead, then no one would hear him scream. They wouldn't hear him pounding on his stone grave because the servants only came down here once a month, if that, to clean the burials.
Leon would be long dead at that point.
This time the tears came, even if they were probably the last of the water retained in his body.
Leon would die all over again and no one would know that he had even woken up at all.
He slammed a fist against his stone roof, yelling out in frustration as he attempted to leverage his entire body against it.
It didn't budge.
Of course it wouldn't.
His position inside was awkward, his body hunched over unnaturally, breathing picking up as the panic threatened to overwhelm him.
He was a knight of Camelot.
He had survived a dragon attack!
Had helped take back Camelot twice!
Leon wasn't going to die in a crypt, alone and forgotten.
He tried again.
And again.
Again.
Over and over.
Once more.
Just a little movement, please.
Strain a little more.
Please.
Please.
Leon slumped, exhausted, neck and arms strained, the throbbing in his stomach coming back with vengeance.
Why?
Why had he come back to life?
That was the only reason for this.
They wouldn't have buried him if they hadn't been absolutely certain.
He wanted to scream, but all of his energy had been sapped.
Leon felt hollow.
If he died here from lack of water, would he just come back to life?
How long would that cycle continue for?
And no one would know.
He turned around, pressing his stomach and head against the cool of the stone, hoping to ease the throbbing that was building up.
He felt empty.
Hollow.
How many years would pass? How many years before this tomb was forgotten?
Would anyone ever find this crypt? Would they even open the burials that lay here?
Who would do that?
Leon pulled his knees up to his chest, ignoring the dull pain in his stomach, trying to ignore how the walls seemed to press in on him.
Maybe he had already been down here for centuries.
Who knew how long it took for his body to come back to life.
It was magic, Leon was sure of it.
But why would a sorcerer bring him back?
Why do that if they weren't going to use him to hurt his friends and family.
Leon would never see any of them again.
He shivered.
The cloak he had been buried with was an old one. Had been worn out through years of use. His new one would be given to another member in his family. Or another knight if none of his cousins joined the knights.
There was no point in wasting a good cloak. A dead person wasn't going to need it.
Except Leon did need it.
He had only just started to notice the chill that was slowly creeping through his bones, through the floor, the walls.
Part of Leon hoped he died again of the cold rather than lack of water.
He'd seen other knights die of the cold. They seemed to slip peacefully into sleep. Then Leon wouldn't feel the pain as his lips cracked, his tongue and throat swelling.
His lack of water would probably make things go quicker.
At least Leon hoped dying of the cold would be less painful than lack of water.
Leon felt exhausted.
Maybe if he just went to sleep, he would die peacefully.
His eyes drifted shut, body aching as he tried to conserve what little warmth he had.
Leon succumbed to the darkness.
It was coughing that woke him up.
His coughing, body wracked as his stomach cramped.
Leon tried to choke out words, before he slumped, wanting to cry, but not being able to.
His eyes were dry, itchy, mouth thick.
He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut, their dryness a bother as he tried to rub his hands across them.
His hands were freezing, shaking as he did so, and Leon hunched over, gasping, trying to curl up tighter.
He needed…
He wanted…
Leon slid back into the darkness of sleep.
Again.
Again.
And again.
Leon lost track.
He just wanted it to end.
His lips were cracked, body aching with a constant cold. Head throbbing, and his heart beat seeming to echo thrice over within the stone walls of his prison.
"Please," he whispered out hoarsely. "Please, someone save me."
He slipped into the darkness once more.
The grating had started some time ago, but Leon paid it no mind, the darkness swirling around him.
He had since lost all feeling in his body, emotions run raw, a hollow, dull ache spreading throughout his entire body.
Time drifted, as Leon himself drifted, his soul barely held on by the weak tether.
He took a breath, breathed in the fresh air, and-
Leon frowned, but his mind was sluggish.
Something was off.
He couldn't-
Something soft was pressed onto his head, something cool and wet, a buzzing feeling washing over him, before settling deep into his bones.
The ache disappeared and Leon felt himself settle into his body, hands reaching out, gently, so gently, guiding him.
A warm body.
Soft whispered words that he barely registered.
A sense of safety washed over him, the figure standing with him registering as familiar as Leon slumped once more into unconsciousness.
The last thing he saw before he succumbed to the blissful darkness was two specks of gold.
A/N There may or may not be a second chapter of the aftermath, but I haven't quite decided yet on whether I have the current mental capacity to try and write, so for the moment I'm going to mark it as complete :)