#leon dubois

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Leon (1600s)

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Merlin: *Is wearing a purple shirt*

William Shakespeare (who he’s fucking): Y’know wearing purple’s illegal. The Queen could have your head for that.

Merlin: Ha, she can fucking try

Leon: I just wanted to have fun acting 😢

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Chapter 1

Chpt. 2

   “How could you be so stupid? I will revoke the challenge,” Uther rages, pacing behind Arthur. Arthur seethes slightly, two of his men have died to the mysterious knight, “No.” He turns away from his father, he would cave if forced to look in his eyes.”The Knights’ code must be upheld. That’s what you told me.”

“This is different,” Uther insists, he lays his hand on his son’s shoulder turning Arthur to face him, “You are the Crown Prince. Someone will fight for you.” Arthur pales, he can’t lose another knight, “You want me to prove myself. I cannot do that by being a coward.” Uther opens his mouth to speak, but the door creaks open before he can, Leon pokes his head in.

“Ah, my apologies, Sire, I was not aware you were having a private conversation,” Leon says, backing out and going to close the door. “No, Sir Leon, this is perfect timing,” Uther says, beckoning him in. Leon nods.

“You’ve returned from patrol early?” Uther says; it is more a formality than actual interest. Leon holds out a pile of papers, “Yes, I came to deliver my report.” 

“Yes, yes,” Uther says, “I have another assignment for you.” Leon hesitates, his brow furrowed slightly, his eyes glance between the prince and king, “What is it, my lord?” 

“Arthur has foolishly challenged a foreign knight to a duel. One he is not prepared to face. Leon, you are one of my most skilled knights, would you take his place?” Arthur stares for a moment, it’s true Leon is perhaps the greatest knight of Camelot, skilled, and dedicated. They cannot afford to let this knight kill him, it would be a greater loss to Camelot than Arthur’s own death, at least in Arthur’s opinion. Leon only blinks for a moment, “Who is this opponent?” Arthur’s stomach drops, Leon is accepting or preparing to accept. 

Arthur suddenly wishes to leave the room, but he feels rooted to the floor. He doesn’t listen to Uther’s next words, nor Leon’s response. How can he? Leon is Arthur’s cousin, more than that, his friend. And Leon has always been there, steady and sure as the sunrise, the knight that Arthur admires most, (sometimes even more than his father- but that is a private thought he would not admit,) someone who is loyal and kind and gentle. Leon has always treated Arthur well, allowed him to win duels when he should not have, offered advice, and taught him to wield a blade well. The thought that steady sure Leon could quite possibly die in only a day’s time was- (world ending-) impossible. 

Leon observes his soon-to-be opponent with careful dread, he knows the armor well, he knows the crest upon the shield, he knows what Uther dares not to admit. Tristan DuBois, Leon’s father, dead for nearly twenty years. How he was here was unimportant; no, what was important was that he was unlikely to lose, to be capable of being felled. Leon could not face his father, or whatever was left, a wraith, he suspected. It is amusing perhaps, in that sick twisted way, that Uther has knowingly faced Leon against the remains of his father. Remains that Uther had caused. There was an ache in his chest, an ache he knew all too well. He turned his head, he must prepare, and rest was likely the best thing he could do. 

As Leon walks to his room, his thoughts return to the oppressive feeling in his chest. He knows what it is, hate. Hate is the only word for it, a soft dull thing, like the fading embers of a fire, or an old wound, the cause is distant but the pain is alive and well- after all embers still burn and old wounds can kill. Leon has long since lost the energy for righteous fury; it died with his brother, a decade ago. He sighs stopping, right in front of the heavy wooden door to his room, he has kept this room for a decade, his feet know the way. He allows his hands to trace the lines of the wood, before opening it and going to sit on his bed. 

He looks around, his room is as bare and plain as always. The other knights thought him modest or spartan. Too busy with his duties to decorate his room or to befriend. A more cynical man would realize that Leon’s room was as unadorned as Leon was, a purposeful act. He had done it out of fear, never shown who he was, never shown himself in his rooms, or made close friends of the knights. He regrets it now, with the promise of death awaiting him. Which is funny because he had never feared death. It was the one thing Leon did not fear. He shuts his eyes. 

His old desk only holds the various papers he must work on, a quill, and an even older inkwell. His bed has only the plain sheets provided. All of him is in his closet. There is a knapsack tucked away, next to it an ancient family heirloom sheathed and never to be used. The knapsack contains his knick-knacks, the things that identify him as Leon. A small Lion figurine his father had carved for him when he was a newborn, a necklace that had belonged to his mother and then his sister, and a portrait of his family when they were all together. The heirloom- the sword, had been passed down in his mother’s family for generations. It was a work of art and a magical artifact. The sword, by its proper name the Glas Sword, had been burnished in a dragon’s breath. He could not use it for it would reveal his magic. He opens his eyes, standing he opens the closet door, and reaches for the knapsack, pulling out the small rolled canvas. Unfurling it, he looked upon the portrait. 

He traces the figures with his eyes. Starting from the left, Uncle Balinor, his mother’s brother, his hand is on his sister’s shoulder, who sits in a chair in front of him. Mother sits in an elegant chair, her right hand in her lap, her left on the armrest. Father is to the right of Uncle Balinor, one hand covers his wife’s. Uncle and Mother both have a mischievous glint in their eyes. Sitting next to Mother are her parents, Caractos and Adhan. Grandfather Caractos holds an infant, Eleanor, Leon’s sister, her eyes are open and a tuft of blonde hair is visible from underneath her swaddle. Leon is next to them, sitting atop his grandmother’s lap. She has a hand on his shoulder, he was about two and a half at the time, but when he looks at this picture he swears he can remember the feel of her hand. Then to the right of his grandmother is his paternal grandfather, Amlawdd, hands folded in the center of his lap. Behind Grandfather Amlawdd, are his two younger children. Uncle Agravaine, he is much younger than Leon has ever remembered him to be, still stuck with peach fuzz rather than stubble, though he already must’ve been into his late twenties, and Aunt Ygraine, she is smiling, in Leon’s memory she is always smiling, her hands are sat on the corner of her father’s chair, though she looks at the painter. His elder brothers sit on the ground, Patrick is beside Mother, directly below Uncle Balinor, and Andre sits before Grandfather Amlawdd. Uther was not in this portrait, he had not accompanied his wife to the DuBois estate, Leon did not know the reason, nor did he care. 

He doesn’t look at this picture often, he tells himself it is a fruitless thing to live in the past. Most of the people in this portrait are dead now. His paternal grandfather was the first to die, it was when he was a child, and Leon’s memory of him is foggy at best. He supposes that he was technically a child when all of them died, assuming his Uncle Balinor is still alive, though he didn’t feel like a child for most of them. He stopped being a child after his Aunt’s death because that’s when everything changed. Then his mother died, she was already ill when this was painted, she had struggled with Eleanor, and her health had slowly declined. Leon was four when his mother died, but he remembers her with awful clarity. When his Aunt died, Leon was seven, she had only held her son for a moment, naming him Arthur, and then she was gone. Leon had been close with his aunt; she had spent much of her time with her nephews and niece after her sister-in-law had died. He remembers seeing his father cry. A month later Uther announces his plan to start the purge. Father rides to Camelot, Leon slips away from his siblings and follows him. Leon doesn’t see the duel, doesn’t see the fight that preceded it, no he only saw the end of the duel, only saw the sword plunged into his father’s belly. There are ten days before the purge starts in full force. It starts with the murder of the dragonlords, it starts with the death of his grandparents because his grandfather was a dragonlord and his wife had insisted on following him. Leon is eight when his sister dies, she is six years old. And she dies because she wasn’t willing to stand by and watch as Patrick was dying. She had used healing magic, and been discovered. It is a long time till the next death. Andre died protecting Leon, using magic. He had jumped in front of an arrow intended for Leon and was only able to do so using magic to slow time. He was seventeen then, just knighted, on his first patrol as a knight.

He puts down the portrait, he looks at the sword, a blade like this could destroy the Wraith, but the Wraith is of his father and he can’t. Besides the blade is spelled to wield a dragon-knight’s magic, Leon’s magic. He is tired, he should rest.

Merlin has to find a solution before Leon faces the wraith. And he thinks he has, but where convincing Gwen to give him a sword was easy enough, convincing the dragon will be far more difficult. He sneaks down the long staircase, and into the dragon's cavern. He is waiting.

“Merlin!”

“Do you know why I’m here?” He called. “It may surprise you, Merlin, but my knowledge of your life is not universal,” the dragon sassed. “It’s to do with Leon, his life’s in danger, he will die. Unless I can make a weapon that will kill the dead.”

“Leon, hmm?” the dragon said, “So what do you come to ask of me?” Merlin drew the sword, the sound echoing in the cavern. 

“Will you burnish it? To save my friend.” 

“The dead do not return without reason, who has he come for?” 

“Uther,” Merlin said. He knew this would make the dragon less likely to help him, but the dragon would know if he lied.

“Then let him take his vengeance, the wraith will die without my aid.”

“But it’s Leon who’s going to fight him, you have to save him,” he pleaded. 

“And why, young warlock, should I aid him?” the Dragon spoke, he wasn’t really asking, Merlin could tell. Merlin scrunches his face, frustrated, “Leon is the best of the knights, he’s one of the people that makes Arthur less of a prat, if he dies, then Arthur would be changed. Arthur looks up to him, cares about him.” ‘So do I,’ remains silent. The dragon weighs his head, and shockingly, “You make a good point, but if I burnish this sword for the young knight, he must not keep it. It is not his destiny.”

“I’ll give it to Arthur,” Merlin agrees quickly, too desperate to save his friend than to question why Leon too has a destiny. 

With the sword burnished, he runs to the physician's quarters needing to formulate a plan about how exactly to get Leon to fight with the sword. He is shocked to find Leon already sitting there. “Leon! I need to talk to you!” Merlin exclaimed, he doesn’t think as he says his next words, “This sword can kill the wraith, you have to use it!” Leon’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, then his expression is smoothed over before he gently smiles, “Merlin, thank you.” Leon stands, the knight’s hand comes to the servant’s shoulder, “But I cannot use that sword.” 

“What! But-” Merlin says, cutting himself off when Leon raises his hand, “I wanted to talk to you before it’s too late.” 

“Leon, don’t talk like that,” Merlin frowns. “Just listen to me, please, my friend,” Leon says. Leon goes back to his seat, gesturing for Merlin to sit next to him. There is a pause as Leon seems to think; as if he’s about to broach a difficult topic. 

“I know,” he says, “About your magic.” Merlin is shocked but Leon’s eyes are gentle and comforting, he allows Merlin to process the information, before continuing, “I’ve known since we met,” he sighs, “That’s not all. I have magic too. Nowhere near as powerful as yours but that’s how I know. I’ve known. And it’s not just shown me things like that. You’re my cousin. My uncle’s son.” 

“You know who my father is?” Merlin says, barely processing what Leon just said, it seems impossible, “Who was he? I mean what was he like?” Leon smiles, “His name was Balinor Glastos, he was a dragon-lord, and he was a lot like you.” 

“What’s a dragon-lord?” Merlin asks. Leon begins to explain, “A dragon-lord is the human term for what we are. ‘Man-faced dragons’ is what we call ourselves. We are dragons with human bodies, there’s actually not much more to it. And if you’re the child of a dragon-lord you’re a dragon-lord or a dragon-knight, and vice versa.” Merlin has a million questions, one that Leon had already answered, but he had to stay on track, “I have a ton of questions, but more importantly why won’t you take this sword?” Leon looks away, “I can’t destroy the wraith, even with that sword, I wouldn’t be able to do it.” Merlin wants to protest, Leon is one of the best knights he knows, he could totally beat the wraith, but Leon talks again before Merlin can begin. 

“The wraith is my father. I can’t kill him, even if he’s already dead,” Leon turns his head back looking Merlin in the eyes, “I’m sorry.” Merlin doesn’t know exactly what Leon is apologizing for but, “It’s okay.” 

Leon spends the rest of the night telling Merlin all about his father. And what it means to be a dragon-lord. 

“Then Uncle Balinor set Gorlois’ socks on fire, and he…”

“...Well I’m a dragon-knight, not a dragon-lord, the magic I have is more related to the physical aspects of a dragon’s magic, rather than the intellectual like yours.” 

Leon patiently answered Merlin’s questions, they laughed at old stories and pretended like Leon was not to face his death tomorrow. It was wonderful. But tomorrow came anyway.

Leon put on his armor for the last time. He sheathed the sword, put on his helmet, and stepped out to face his father’s wraith. There is a large audience but the crowd was silent as Leon walked forward. It felt as if all of Camelot was holding its breath. He faced the Black Knight, and the two drew their swords. 

The wraith immediately went in on the offensive, hacking his sword at Leon. Leon parried easily, trying to pretend like this wasn’t the walking corpse of his father. Leon refused to attack, it would waste his energy, it takes five minutes for the cycle of attack and parry to end. The Wraith lands a particularly hard blow knocking Leon to the ground, his sword skips along the arena grounds and the Wraith discards its shield. He scrambles working on pure instinct as he hides behind his shield. He manages to dodge a blow and use his shield to deflect the next. The wraith lands a foot on Leon’s shield, locking its position into place, the wraith raises his sword above his head and- “LEON!” Someone shouts it sounds like Arthur, but Arthur hadn’t been in the stands. The Black Knight is frozen in place. “Leon,” it whispers, its voice a hair louder than a breath. The wraith moves his sword to one hand and uses the other to pull Leon’s helmet off. Leon has lost his grip on his shield, shocked and confused. The wraith hisses, throwing its sword to the side, and then it repeats, in his father’s voice, “Leon.” 

His father moves backward before reaching out and enveloping Leon in his arms, 

“My Son.” 

Leon’s eyes began to water. His father removes his own helmet, looking the exact same as the day he died, “Oh my baby boy, my darling son, my little light! Look at you! Look how you’ve grown!” There are tears streaming down Leon’s cheeks and there are tears on his father’s as well. And then Gaius is there, and so is Merlin, and Arthur, and Gwen, and Morgana. And it’s alright, and Leon is half sure he’s dead, but- 

“Let’s get you two to my quarters,” Gaius interrupted his thoughts, “Make sure you’re alright.” 

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Chapter 2

Chpt. 1 … 3

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” his father sniffles. The two are shuffled to Gaius’ chambers. Where Gaius proceeds to poke and prod at Tristan until he is seemingly satisfied. “I do not understand how, but, Tristan, you seem to be in perfect health.”

“I was… dead, yes?” Tristan asks. Gaius nods. Tristan looks to his son, squeezing his hand, smiling slightly, “How long?”

“20 years,” Gaius responds. Tristan grimaces, “I thought as much, I would like to see my brother- and my other children, if that would be possible?” Gaius raises an eyebrow, “Leon, would you go outside, I believe there are people waiting to speak to you.” Leon looked to his father, feeling like a little boy again, “Yes, Leon, go outside.”

“Leon, what’s going on?” Arthur asked, “Are you alright?” Leon blinked, “My father has been brought back to life.”

“How is that possible?” Morgana asked. Leon only shook his head.

“Are you alright, Leon?” Gwen asked again. “I don’t know,” Leon said, “I think I’m alright. I mean my father is back! I’m happy but confused. I don't know.”

“Sir Tristan, I believe we should talk,” Gaius said, looking at the man. “Yes, that’s why you sent my son out isn’t it?” Tristan chuckles nervously. “I will send a letter to the DuBois estate, I am sure Agravaine and Patrick will come running,” Gaius assures. Tristan looks Gaius in the eyes, “I am almost afraid to ask, but what of Andre and Eleanor?” The knot in Tristan’s chest tightens. “I am so sorry,” Gaius says, shaking his head, “but they are dead.” Tristan swallows, his heart in his throat, two of his babies are dead? It can’t be. He lets out a choked sob. “How?” Tristan asks- begs.

“Andre was shot; he took an arrow for Leon,” Gaius answers, his voice gentle. “What of Eleanor? What of my youngest?” Tristan begs again, his hands coming to the upper part of Gaius’ arms. Gaius’ face is solemn, “We do not speak of Eleanor.” Strong hands dig into Gaius’ arms before releasing and falling to Tristan’s lap. He sobs doubled over his face in his hands. Tristan stops suddenly, wiping his tears, he goes to the door. “Leon.”

“Father?” Leon looks at him, there is a gaggle of people around Leon, fussing over him. A small comfort to the father. “I am so sorry. I should have been there, for you and your siblings,” Tristan says, wishing to bring his hands to his son’s cheeks like he did when he was a boy, he doesn’t dare, he is not worthy of being a father. “Father, you don’t have to apologize, you were dead,” Leon says. “Sir Tristan, I may have given you a clean bill of health but I suggest sitting, you can continue this conversation inside my chambers,” Gaius interrupts.

The group shuffles in, each finding a seat, Tristan sits on the bench beside Leon, across from them the women sit, they are both dark-haired and vaguely familiar, though Tristan cannot place them. The dark-haired boy, who is clearly the youngest of the group pulls over two stools, the blonde man sits on one of the stools. The boy looks over to Gaius before Gaius waves him down. They sit for a moment, before Tristan clears his throat, “Ahem, I suppose I should introduce myself, I am Sir Tristan DuBois. May I ask your names?” One woman, with dark curly hair, brown skin, and dark eyes, smiles, “Oh yes, we’ve met before- Though it makes sense that you wouldn’t recognize me I was only six- I’m Guinevere.”

“Oh,” he blushes, embarrassed, “I thought I recognized you. You’ve grown quite a bit,” then he mutters, “of course she has…”

“You all, look familiar, have I met you all?” He asks, doing his best to brush over his embarrassment, Guinevere’s mother had been his friend, though she certainly looked more like her father.

“You haven’t met me!” the boy says brightly, “I’m Merlin, I’m Hun- er- Gaius’ nephew!” Tristan blinks, “You’re Hunith’s son? Last time I saw her she was a little girl!”

“You knew my mother?” Merlin says shocked.

“Yes, she visited occasionally when she was young,” Tristan smiles, “She’s a wonderful person.” Merlin smiles brightly- familiarly.

“So I do know you two?” He asks the others. “I’m Morgana,” answered Morgana.

“Gorlois’ daughter? You look…” he pauses, he cannot say what he is thinking, ‘you look nothing like Gorlois,’ so he says, “very mature. Gorlois must be proud.” She smiles at that, but her eyes are sad. He turns to the blonde man, offering his hand in greeting, “And you are…?” The man startles, “I’m- I’m Arthur,” he says, taking his hand. Tristan stares at their hands a moment, then pulls Arthur into a hug. He pulls away and Arthur seems to totter a bit as he sits back down, stunned. Tristan observes his nephew’s features, he has done so only once before, “You’re the spitting image of your mother,” He says, though Arthur is broader than his mother, and his hair is straight like Uther’s. Arthur smiles, sheepishly, “Really?” Tristan leans forward putting a hand on his shoulder, “Absolutely.”

The sweet gesture is broken by a guard entering, “Prince Arthur, Lady Morgana, the King is requesting to see you.” The pair share a look before nodding. “I hope we will see each other soon,” Morgana smiles. “I would like that as well… Uncle,” Arthur says, Tristan smiles at the tentative ‘Uncle’ the boy uses. The pair leave the room. Gwen watches Morgana as she leaves, “I suppose I should get going too,” then hastily adds, “I’m Morgana’s maid.” She too leaves. Tristan remains with Leon, Merlin, and Gaius, who is busying himself nearby. Merlin fiddles with the hem of his shirt, before breaking the momentary silence, “So, Sir Tristan, shouldn’t we figure out where you’ll be staying tonight?” Tristan agrees, “Yes, that would be wise.”

“You could stay with me,” Leon says, “But there’s only one bed.”

“Does the castle not have extra beds in storage anymore?” Tristan asks. “No, it still does,” Merlin responds, Leon nods in agreement. “I can simply carry a bed to Leon’s room.”

“You are not carrying a bed up three flights of stairs!” Gaius exclaims, “You were dead for twenty years, you shouldn’t strain yourself!” Tristan shakes his head, “Gaius, old friend, I will be fine.”

“I can help!” Merlin says, “Leon and I will carry it ourselves!” Gaius glanced between the three and nodded, “Alright.”

Tristan observes Merlin and Leon with some amusement. The boy continuously allows the half of the bed he is carrying to slip from his hands, which is likely why Leon insisted on being on the lower end of the bed. Finally, once the bed has been shoved into the room, and Leon has gone downstairs to retrieve the bedding, does Merlin turn to Tristan. His expression fills Tristan with a sense of familiarity that he cannot equate to the boy being the son of a frequent acquaintance.

“So I was wondering…” Merlin started before hesitating, “Well, Leon told me something very interesting last night, and well apparently you knew my father?” Tristan stares, “Your father? And who was he?”

“Balinor,” the boy says, before quickly adding, “I’ve never met him and you were friends with him according to Leon’s stories so I thought you could tell me…” he trails off, sighing. Tristan is surprised that Balinor would ever leave behind his own child, but he doesn’t dwell on that, “Of course, what would you like to know?” Merlin looks up, eyes bright and wide, Tristan finally knows why he looks so familiar, he looks like Balinor.

“Oh, well, was he smart or kind or clumsy like me? I mean Leon told me a lot but I’d like to hear more!” Tristan smiles at that, “Yes, certainly. Balinor was clever, witty too. However he talked so much half the things he said were nonsense. And he had a terrible habit of dropping things. Once he knocked over a chamber pot, spilled it everywhere.” Merlin laughed good naturedly.

“And he was always going out of his way to help people,” Tristan finished, as the door opened, Leon entered, holding a set of sheets and a pillow. Merlin looked between the two of them, “Alright, I have something I need to do,” he says.

“Are you going to talk to that dragon?” Leon asks, slight derision in his voice.

“You know about the dragon?”

“He’s not trustworthy, Merlin,” Leon says, ignoring Merlin’s question. “But he’s probably the only one who knows why Sir Tristan isn’t a wraith anymore, I want to make sure this isn’t reversible,” Merlin reasons, leaving quickly so Leon cannot argue.

Leon looks at Tristan for a moment before going to make the bed. Tristan uses the silence to observe his surroundings.

His son’s room is bare, only standard sheets and a cluttered desk. He must have only recently been assigned to this room. “How long have you had this room?” he asks. “Ten years now,” Leon responds without looking up from his task. He looks over the room again, shocked, the room is gloomy, he decides.

“So, son, what has happened these past several years?” Leon, who is finished making the bed, sits down on his bed next to Tristan, “Many things, father.”

“Yes, I suppose so. What about you, Leon, you’re twenty-seven now, right? Have you gotten married? Had children? I want to know how you have been.”

“Yes, I am twenty-seven,” Leon blushes, “I am not married, I have- I’ve never been interested in that sort of thing,” there is pause in the sentence as Leon, fights back embarrassment, “And I’m a knight now, I haven’t got time for that sort of thing.” Tristan smiles gently, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder, “You know that there’s nothing wrong with not getting married. I just want you to be happy.”

“Father, I- thank you,” Leon looks to Tristan, eyes grateful, hopeful, teary. The two bask in the fragile moment, before Tristan pulls away and Leon breaks the silence, “You want to know more about my life?”

“Yes, of course,” Tristan responds. Leon smiles.

“I was knighted ten years ago. Currently, I’m head of the king's guard, that happened just recently. I’ve done well for myself. I’ve tried to do well by others,” Leon pauses, looking down, “Tried to be a son you could be proud of.” Tristan goes to comfort his son, but Leon continues before he can, his voice grave, “I know my faults well, father. I-I have sent so many innocent people to their deaths, for the crime of doing magic. I’ve tried to save them, used my position to give them opportunities to escape, but-” he holds his hands out, staring at them, “-but so many lives have been lost to my hands. I’m not-” Leon cuts himself off with a sigh, looking into his father’s eyes, Leon is hunched over his hands out. Tristan grabs his son’s hands, “My son, you have made me very proud, I’m sure of that,” Leon looks like he wants to argue, but Tristan continues, forcefully, “You have been put in an impossible situation, no one would blame you for running away, but you’ve fought for these people. You’ve done something very brave, very quietly brave.” Leon doesn’t respond, whether in quiet denial or in consideration Tristan did not know.

“You want to know what happened to my siblings, don’t you?” Leon says.

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s too painful,” Tristan says gently. Leon shakes his head, “You deserve to know, so I will try.” He weighs his head, considering where to begin, “Patrick, is the lord DuBois, he is also unmarried, but that’s because he doesn’t get out much.”

“Why doesn’t he get out much?”

“Ah, well he is often busy managing the estate and the lands,” Leon said, Tristan could tell from his expression, that there was more to it. “What else, son? There’s more isn’t there?”

“... His leg is bad, he needs a cane, and it can be painful for him to travel far.”

“What happened to his leg?”

“Not long after you passed, he got sick, he nearly died, and his leg was severely damaged.” Tristan felt another wave of shame at that admission, it was his job to protect his children, and it seems he failed. Leon looked at him, nervous, then spoke slowly, “Andre, he became a knight, he was a great knight, and he- he died protecting me. He took an arrow for me I-” Leons eyes began to tear, swallowed hard, “Eleanor she-” He cut himself off with a choked sob, “She-” Leon lets out another sob. Tristan wrapped his arms around his son, rocking him gently, “Shhhh, Leon it’s all right, you don’t have to. You don’t have to.” Leon sobs blubbering, “S’e ‘as so brave,” sniff, “When an’ s’e ‘as dis’o’red,” sob, “I should’a protected her!” he wailed. Tristan’s eyes begin to water, “It’s okay, it’s okay, oh baby, it’s okay, Shhh shh shhhhh,” soon he’s also sobbing, how can he not? His poor babies…

Kilgarrah watches as the young warlock shuffles into his cavern, he flies down landing on his perch, “So young warlock, how did the duel go?”

“He’s not a wraith! I mean- he’s not a wraith anymore! He’s Tristan DuBois again, do you know how that’s possible?” Kilgarrah, is left speechless for less than a moment before he smoothes over, “Of course, A wraith is a part of a spirit filled with wrath and grief brought into it’s body. If-”

“I know what a wraith is.”

“IF an emotion stronger than that of rage and wrath can be drawn from the wraith, it’s life will be restored,” He says, this was true, he had never witnessed it, nor had he known this was the wraith of Leon’s father, but Merlin accepted his explanation cleanly.

“Is it permanent?” Merlin asks, his eyes seem slightly hopeful.

“I believe so, however, I would keep him away from the source of his grief,” Kilgarrah says. Merlin goes to leave before stopping, “When were you going to tell me I was a dragonlord?”

“The young knight has told you?” He says, surprised.

“Yes, were you going to tell me?”

“It was not my place to tell,” the dragon answers, he is truthful, however, it certainly wouldn’t have been beneficial for Kilgarrah to tell him. Merlin seems to examine the answer, before asking, “Did you know Leon wouldn’t take the sword?”

“Merlin, I cannot see inside the minds of men or dragons.” It is not a lie, certainly, but it is also not entirely true. He had suspected that the young knight would refuse the burnished blade, it was not in the knight’s nature. This time the warlock seems to see through him, “You left him to die didn’t you?”

“I did not,” Kilgarrah bristles, “It is not the young knight’s fate to die… here.”

“Fate. What fate?” Merlin asks. Kilgarrah begins to flap his wings. “Wait! Answer me!” Kilgarrah flies away, watching as Merlin calls after him, until finally he huffs, and leaves the cavern.

Finally alone, Kilgarrah ponders the return of Tristan DuBois. The man is dangerous. In his lifetime he had insistently flown in the face of destiny, a habit Merlin shares, and could encourage the young warlock to continue. But Tristan is also a defender of magic, a husband and father to Kilgarrah’s kinsman, and one who had already fought against Uther. His return could aid in convincing Arthur of magic’s goodness. He chuckles to himself, whatever happens, he is certain that Uther will hate it.

[nerdyerror]

Leon Headcanon

A lot of the knights call him captain

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Im not depressed i’m just writing gay fanfiction

- me, writing a fanfic about Leon(bbc’s merlin) who i headcanon to be aroace, mourning his friend and cousin, Arthur (hc), his friend Gwaine, and trying to support his other friends Merlin, Gwen, and Percival who just lost the people they were in love with

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Snippet of a Leon Centric fic I’m writing I’m really proud of this so here you go!

As Leon walks to his room, his thoughts return to the oppressive feeling in his chest. He knows what it is, hate. Hate is the only word for it, a soft dull thing, like the fading embers of a fire, or an old wound, the cause is distant but the pain is alive and well- after all embers still burn and old wounds can kill. Leon has long since lost the energy for righteous fury; it died with his brother, a decade ago. He sighs stopping, right in front of the heavy wooden door to his room, he has kept this room for a decade, his feet know the way. He allows his hands to trace the lines of the wood, before opening it, and going to sit on his bed.

He looks around, his room is as bare and plain as always. The other knights thought him modest or spartan. Too busy with his duties to decorate his room or to befriend. A more cynical man would realize that Leon’s room was as unadorned as Leon was, a purposeful act. He had done it out of fear, never shown who he was, never shown himself in his rooms, or made close friends of the knights. He regrets it now, with the promise of death awaiting him. Which is funny because he had never feared death. It was the one thing Leon did not fear. He shuts his eyes.

His old desk only holds the various papers he must work on, a quill and an even older inkwell. His bed has only the plain sheets provided. All of him is in his closet. There is a knapsack tucked away, next to it an ancient family heirloom sheathed and never to be used. The knapsack contains his knick-knacks, the things that identify him as Leon. A small Lion figurine his father had carved for him when he was a newborn, a necklace that had belonged to his mother and then his sister, and a portrait of his family when they were all together. The heirloom- the sword, had been passed down in his mother’s family for generations. It was a work of art and a magical artifact. The sword, by its proper name the Glas Sword, had been burnished in a dragon’s breath. He could not use it for it would reveal his magic. He opens his eyes, standing he opens the closet door, and reaches for the knapsack, pulling out the small rolled canvas. Unfurling it, he looks upon the portrait.

He traces the figures with his eyes. Starting from the left, Uncle Balinor, his mother’s brother, his hand is on his sister’s shoulder, who sits in a chair in front of him. Mother sits in an elegant chair, her right hand in her lap, her left on the armrest. Father is to the right of Uncle Balinor, one hand covers his wife’s. Uncle and Mother both have a mischievous glint in their eyes. Sitting next to Mother are her parents, Caractos and Adhan. Grandfather Caractos holds an infant, Eleanor, Leon’s sister, her eyes are open and a tuft of blonde hair is visible from underneath her swaddle. Leon is next to them, sitting atop his grandmother’s lap. She has a hand on his shoulder, he was about two and a half at the time, but when he looks at this picture he swears he can remember the feel of her hand. Then to the right of his grandmother is his paternal grandfather, Amlawdd, hands folded in the center of his lap. Behind Grandfather Amlawdd, are his two younger children. Uncle Agravaine, he is much younger than Leon has ever remembered him to be, still stuck with peach fuzz rather than stubble, though he already must’ve been into his late twenties, and Aunt Ygraine, she is smiling, in Leon’s memory she is always smiling, her hands are sit on the corner of her father’s chair, though she looks at the painter. His elder brothers sit on the ground, Patrick is beside mother, directly below Uncle Balinor, and Andre sits before Grandfather Amlawdd. Uther was not in this portrait, he had not accompanied his wife to the DuBois estate, Leon did not know the reason, nor did he care.

Chapter 1 is here

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So i headcannon that tristain dubois is Leon’s father (Cause Leon looks a lot like Ygraine and considering Tristain looks a lot like Ygraine and I only used Leons face I was right), which would explain why we hear nothing about Leon’s family, and that his sister and one of his brothers are both very dead and very magical. Which i realized that means that Leon was absolutely traumatized by his dad’s wraith and I traumatized myself making that photo of tristain, bcs I had to use the wraith to get the armor. So there we are three siblings Tristain, Agravaine, and Ygraine.

Part 2