Chapter Text
Leon couldn’t be sure exactly when he had first arrested the thief.
All he knew was that the copper-haired lad had seen the inside of Camelot’s dungeons more than anyone else, perhaps even more so than Prince Arthur’s clumsy manservant. So, with a world-weary sigh and the clatter of armoured boots tapping on stone, Leon stepped into the view of the furthest most cell and grimaced at the sight of the lad lying limp in the middle of a pile of rotten straw with the brightest grin he’d ever seen.
“Ser Leon, we are making a habit of this.”
He was young. So young in fact he had likely only seen his twentieth birthday recently. The cluster of dots marking his face stretched to accommodate such a toothy smile. Although Leon was too far away, being behind the thick iron bars as he was, he knew his eyes were a stormy grey. They often shined with greed, with mischief, especially when caught by a guard or knight.
Leon’s gaze lowered to his hands. There was almost a sickly paleness to them, but they were also covered in light speckles just like his smooth face. A patch of red was visible just above slender wrists from where the heavy manacles had constricted around them painfully tight, no doubt kept that way overnight per the king’s demand for thievery. And yet, still, the thief just smiled at him unperturbed.
“I know, I know,” the thief drawled, chains clinking as he heaved himself into a sitting position. “You give me an earful about how I vagrantly disrespect the laws set by his majesty. I spend a couple of hours in the stocks, take a few pelts of rotten fruit, I repent for my actions and then I’m free to go. Rinse and repeat.”
The blatant indifference, the audacity of it, was what charred Leon’s nerves the most. It was true for a thief he never stole enough to warrant the loss of a limb, only ever stealing the odd piece of stale bread or a few coffers here and there, but the consistent longevity of his petty crimes paired with the dismissiveness…
“Perhaps you should remain bound. At least until you show true remorse. If you are even capable of it.”
It fell from his lips unbidden, shocking enough for his stiff stance to stagger a little. The guard stationed nearby turned his head a nudge, expression blank but clearly alerted by his words, before returning to his previous position. It was the thief’s reaction that really signalled how unlike Leon it was. His smile strained under the weight of a short gasp, jaw hanging loose for a moment before it settled into an entertained smirk.
“You have always been an excellent jouster, ser. I did not realise you were a good verbal one, too.”
“I do not take delight in it,” Leon responded flatly. He slotted the key into the lock and twisted, hoping the burn to his cheeks wasn’t visible. He wrenched the cell door open, hit with the stench of rust and rotten straw and added, “and there will be no more of it.”
“A pity,” the thief responded. Genuine disappointment seemed to taint his voice, but surely not. With a grunt and a stumble the thief rose to his feet and stretched his arms out, each action performed with a slow monotonousness. “It makes you seem a lot less…stilted. Approachable.”
Leon just glared silently as he stuffed a smaller, less blackened key into the slot holding the manacles together. With a clink and a sharp clunk, the unlatched iron hit the straw-covered ground. Fingers rushed to rub against raw patches of reddened flesh, a grimace momentarily darkening the thief’s smirk. Leon could have sent him to Gaius, the court physician was always willing to help even the most lowly of Camelot’s citizens, but his lips remained thin beneath his beard — even as he grasped the thief’s arm and marched him out of The Citadel towards the lower town.
His strides were long, nimble, and the thief dragged behind him slightly as he tried to keep up. He babbled as they walked, just like all their previous encounters, but something in the taunting this time gnawed at Leon so deeply he marched quicker to the point it was almost a jog.
“Come off it,” the thief eventually sneered, gasping for air. “Anyone would think you’ve got better things to do.”
“I do.”
The thief snorted. “Right, yeah, it must be so exhausting. Rough up and arrest a few petty criminals, dine with equally uptight knights, and then retire to a warm bed with a full belly every night…certainly a demanding job.”
And with that last sneer Leon’s final nerve snapped. He whipped around, ready to snarl some retort and throw the thief back in a cell, when the sound of thin cotton tearing filled the crisp morning. It took a few blinks for Leon to realise the thief had toppled to the ground, shirt ripped open to reveal thin, glossy scars lining his collarbone. That wasn’t what drew his attention and made his stomach drop, oh no, it was the roll of bandages tightly bound across the thief’s chest.
“Forgive me, the guards hadn’t mentioned — I didn’t know you were hurt,” he said, bending down to offer his hand. The thief just stared at it, oddly wide-eyed as his bound chest heaved shallower breaths the longer he remained lying on his back. “Here,” Leon added softly, extending lower to hook his arm around the thief’s but he shrunk away.
That was…new. The smart-mouthed young man never shied away from anything, least of all Leon himself. He backed off, palm facing forward to show he meant no harm but fear still gripped the thief as his trembling worsened. He looked like a sheep ready to bolt from a spotted predator and Leon, for all the grievances the man caused him, felt a small ache in his chest as his eyes flicked to prominent pale scars once more.
“I’m not hurt,” the thief declared, having followed his gaze. He unceremoniously clambered back onto his feet, fruitlessly tugging at his ruined shirt in an ill-fated attempt to cover himself. “It’s…nothing.”
“I can take you to the Court Physician,” Leon offered.
The thief whipped around and snarled, “I said it’s nothing!” His grey eyes widened as he staggered back, hand rushing to rub down his arm in a comforting motion. His head sunk to the floor, refusing to look up. “My sincerest apologies, Ser. That…that was uncalled for. I swear, I will go do my punishment and be an annoyance to you no further.”
Leon studied him, searching, thinking, before ultimately sighing wearily and waving the issue off with a dismissive hand.
“I will inform the king you received your punishment, but I do not want to find you in the dungeons again. Go home, now.”
The thief lit up so brightly it left a strange taste in Leon’s mouth — both bitter and sweet. He bowed his head, marking the first true sign of respect the thief had ever offered Leon, before he scurried away and disappeared into the early morning market.
Fabian slammed the door behind him and leaned heavily against it, heart hammering in his chest.
That was…well, the worst thing that could have happened.
The unyielding stench of fruit clinging to his body for weeks he could deal with, had grown used to, but to have the vexed knight speak so softly, be that close to learning his secret…the sheer panic had him flicking his tongue like a viper, venomous, and he was so sure that impulsive, stupid act was going to be his last.
And yet, a hand slid to press against his bound chest and felt the quickened thump of his still beating heart. By some miracle he was alive. No, he knew it was because of the kindness of a knight he swore held only contempt for him and that knowledge left an odd ache in his belly.
“You got caught again, didn’t you?”
Fabian huffed a tired laugh. His eyes scanned the cluttered, misshapen house and sure enough he found the owner of the mumbling squeak. A boy rose unsteadily from the small bed propped in the corner and stumbled forward, rubbing at his eyes.
Fabian smirked, fear dissipating at the sight of the groggy, fair-haired lad. “Yeah.”
The boy glowered, well, as best as he could while still being fuzzy from sleep. “You’re not drenched in rotten stuff. Why?”
Fabian crouched down to his level. He ruffled his bed hair and messed it up even more, earning himself an annoyed whine. “Because his majesty decided to be merciful.” For once, he added bitterly to himself. “So you don’t have to suffer a smelly hug this time.”
“And breakfast?”
Fabian winced. “Sorry, Finn. I’ll try and get us something in a little bit, I promise.”
Finn, the good-natured, long-suffering boy that he was, simply huffed a sharp sigh and nodded. Mossy eyes suddenly focused, a frown creasing his light brow.
“What happened to your shirt?”
“Ah. I’ll explain later, I promise. What do you fancy for breakfast?”
Finn considered the question for barely a second before his round face lit up, bouncing on his heels excitedly. “I’d love ham for a change…if you can afford it.”
Fabian’s mouth stretched into a warm smile, hiding the weightlessness of his pockets. “I think we can manage that. Tell you what, how about you go back to sleep for a while longer and I’ll have it ready for when you wake up?”
Finn nodded enthusiastically and practically skipped back to bed, burying himself beneath the covers. Fabian allowed himself a steadying breath, his smile faltering a little at breaking his word to the knight already but, in truth, it was for a worthy cause.