#protective leon

And you notice it. You notice everything. The way he leans closer when you talk, even when he doesn't need to. The way his gaze lingers, steady and warm, like he's still a little surprised he gets to be here at all. The way he gives you soft kisses on your head when he moves around you in the kitchen, insisting he help with dinner.

You're in the middle of cleaning up, telling Leon about something annoying that happened at work, when the knock comes. It makes your stomach drop. Two sharp thuds on the door. Too sharp. Too firm. It doesn't match the rhythm of anything you know, doesn't carry that soft familiarity you've come to expect. It cuts through the room instead of settling into it, pulling everything tight in a way that makes your words falter before you even realize why.

You don't even have to look at him to know it, but when you do, his gaze is already on you, not the door. He's watching your reaction first, the way your shoulders tense just slightly, the way your posture shifts like your body recognized something before your mind caught up.

"Expecting someone?" he asks, his voice low, even, but there's a subtle edge of awareness threaded through it now.

You shake your head no immediately. 

The walk to the door feels longer than it should. Each step is measured, slower than usual, like something in you is already bracing for what's on the other side. You don't want to assume, don't want to jump to conclusions, but there's a familiar unease settling low in your chest, something you recognize even if you wish you didn't.

Leon doesn't crowd you, but he adjusts, his presence aligning slightly closer to yours, like he's already placing himself where he needs to be without making it obvious. You know... in case you need him, he thinks.

You reach for the handle and open the door. And there it is. The past, standing exactly where you didn't want it.

Your ex looks almost the same. That's the first thing you notice, and somehow it's the most frustrating part. Like nothing about him has shifted, like the time between then and now didn't mean anything, didn't change anything, didn't force him to grow into something better.

He smiles like this is normal. Like showing up unannounced, uninvited, after everything, is just another conversation waiting to happen.

"Hey," he says, your name following it too easily, too familiar, like he still has a right to it.

"I told you not to come here," you reply, and your voice is steadier than you expect it to be.

He exhales like you've said something inconvenient rather than final, running a hand through his hair as if this is all just a misunderstanding he can smooth over.

"Can we not do this right now?" he says, already pushing past your boundary without acknowledging it. "I just want to talk."

"We already did," you reply, your voice sharper now, not loud, but edged with something real. "You just didn't listen."

You see it in the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his posture shifts, irritation creeping in where charm didn't work.

"I made a mistake," he says, like that should be enough. "It wasn't that serious."

There it is. The same line he used last time. The same dismissal that was supposed to excuse his actions. Something in your chest twists, not as deeply as it used to, but enough to remind you exactly why you're standing here instead of letting him in.

"It wasn't serious to you," you say, your words landing a little harder now, your hand tightening slightly against the doorframe. "That doesn't mean it didn't matter to me."

He scoffs, a short, disbelieving sound that feels louder than it should in the quiet of the hallway.

"You're still stuck on that?" he mutters. "It was one night."

"You lied to me," you say, quieter now, but steadier than before. "You didn't just cheat, you—"

"I said I was sorry," he cuts in, his voice rising just enough to talk over you, to reclaim control of the conversation. "What else do you want from me?"

There it is again. That shift from apologetic to defensive. From regret to entitlement. The usual cycle with him. You feel it, the familiar frustration, the edge of something sharper pressing up beneath your ribs. Your fingers curl slightly, grounding yourself in the doorway as you hold your ground.

"I wanted you to respect me," you say, and this time your voice doesn't waver at all. "You didn't."

He laughs. Actually laughs. And that stings more than anything else he's said.

"You're acting like I ruined your life," he says, shaking his head like you're the unreasonable one. "It wasn't that deep. It was months ago."

"Right..." you sigh, moving to close the door in his face. "Goodnight."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he steps forward, using his forearm to keep the door from closing. "Please, hear me out."

Behind you, Leon goes still. Something in your expression changes, just slightly, just enough that the hurt slips through before you can hide it, and Leon sees it.

He steps forward, making his presence known as if he hadn't been just around the corner the whole time. "You coming back, baby?"

The space beside you fills with him, steady and grounded, his shoulder aligning just slightly with yours, arm wrapping around your waist.

Your ex's attention snaps fully past you at the sound of Leon's voice. It's subtle, the way his posture shifts, but it's there. The casual persistence from before falters just slightly, replaced with something sharper, something more aware as his gaze lands on Leon properly for the first time.

Leon doesn't look rushed. He doesn't look tense. If anything, he looks like he's been there the whole time, like this is just another moment unfolding exactly how he expected it to. His arm settles more fully around your waist,  steady, grounding, his thumb brushing once against your side in a quiet reassurance that's meant only for you.

His jaw tightens, his forearm still braced against the door like he hasn't quite decided whether to back off or double down.

"...Mhm," he mutters, glancing between the two of you, his tone shifting into something more defensive now. "Didn't realize you moved on that fast."

You feel Leon's hand shift slightly at your waist like he's reminding you that you're not standing here alone.

"It's been months," you say, your voice steadier now, even if your heart is still catching up. "I'm allowed to."

Your ex scoffs again, but there's less confidence in it this time, less bite.

"Yeah, sure," he says, though it sounds more like he's trying to convince himself than you. "Just didn't think you'd replace me that easily."

Leon lets out a quiet breath beside you, almost a laugh, but not quite. Something softer, something edged just enough to mean something.

"I wouldn't call it a replacement," Leon says, finally looking at your ex directly, his tone calm, almost conversational. "That would imply you left something worth filling."

Your ex goes still for half a second, like the words didn't register right away, like he's still catching up to the fact that Leon isn't playing along, isn't intimidated, isn't even particularly impressed.

"What's your problem?" he snaps, irritation finally breaking through properly now.

Leon's expression doesn't change. He doesn't rise to it. He just tilts his head slightly, like he's considering the question more than reacting to it.

"You showed up uninvited," Leon says evenly. "Ignored what she said. Then tried to make her feel like she's the problem."

A small pause.

"That's usually where I start having one."

Your ex shifts his weight, his arm finally dropping from the door, though he doesn't step back yet. Not fully.

"I said I was sorry," he pushes again, though there's less force behind it now, less certainty. "I just wanted to talk."

"You talked," you reply, quieter now, but firm. "I'm done listening."

"You want me to close the door," he asks, low enough that it feels like it belongs to you, not the hallway, "or are we giving him another minute?"

Your ex hears that, too. And for the first time since he showed up, something in his expression shifts into something smaller, something that looks a little more like realization than frustration.

"...Seriously?" he says, quieter now, but edged with something bitter. "You're really doing this?"

You meet his gaze without wavering.

"I already did."

The silence stretches just long enough to make it clear there's nothing left for him to argue with. Your ex exhales sharply, shaking his head like he's still trying to make sense of something that doesn't belong to him anymore.

"Fine," he mutters. "Whatever."

He steps back now, looking defeated in a way you've never seen.

"Good luck with that," he adds, gesturing vaguely between you and Leon like he still needs the last word, even now.

Leon's mouth tilts just slightly, something softer than amusement settling into his expression as his gaze flicks down to you instead of staying on him.

"Don't need it," he says calmly.

Then, quieter, meant for you more than anyone else, his hand shifting just slightly at your waist as he leans in a fraction closer—

"You always attract this kind of trouble," he murmurs, voice low enough that it brushes past your ear, warm and almost teasing, "or am I special?"

Your breath catches despite everything, a small, startled exhale slipping out before you can stop it, the tension of the moment cracking just enough to let something lighter through.

Behind you, your ex goes still for half a second, like he's realized too late that he's no longer part of the conversation at all.

The door closes. The latch clicks. And just like that, the tension drains out of the space all at once, leaving behind something quieter, something heavier in a different way. Leon doesn't move right away. His hand is still at your waist, steady and warm, his presence still close, still grounded, like he's making sure the moment has actually passed before he lets anything shift.

Then, softer, "You okay?"

The question lingers for a second after he asks it. The tension that had been holding you upright, steady, composed enough to face him, to hold your ground, finally loosens all at once now that the door is closed. Your shoulders drop just slightly, your breath slipping out in a quiet exhale you didn't realize you'd been holding. 

Without thinking about it, you lean into Leon. It just happens, your weight shifting toward him, your forehead brushing lightly against his shoulder as if that's where you were always meant to land once it was over. Leon doesn't hesitate to comfort you, his arm tightening just slightly around your waist, his hand flattening more firmly without much thought, settling lightly against the back of your arm, steady and warm.

"Hey," he murmurs, softer now, his voice closer, meant only for you.

You nod against him, a small movement, your fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt like you need something solid to anchor yourself to.

"I'm okay," you say, though it comes out quieter than you intended, a little more honest than the version you might have given earlier. After a beat, you add, "Just didn't think he'd ever show up again."

Leon exhales softly, something measured and controlled, his chin dipping just slightly as if he's taking that in, filing it somewhere it matters.

"Yeah," he says, low and steady. "He shouldn't have."

Your grip tightens faintly against his shirt, your thoughts catching up now that the moment has passed, replaying pieces of the conversation whether you want them to or not.

"He always did that," you admit after a second, your voice quieter now, more thoughtful than tense. "Acted like if he just kept talking, I'd eventually give in, and sometimes I did."

Leon's hand shifts slightly at your side, his thumb brushing once in a slow, absent motion that feels more intentional than it should.

"I used to stay longer than I wanted to."

"That's not happening anymore," he says after a moment, his voice quiet but sure.

You lift your head slightly at that, just enough to look at him, your expression softer now, the earlier tension replaced with something warmer, something steadier.

"No," you agree, a small breath of a smile touching your mouth. "It's not."

Leon's gaze holds yours for a second longer, like he's making sure you mean it, like he's measuring the difference between who you were then and who you are now. Your fingers shift slightly against his shirt, not gripping as tightly now, but not letting go either. The quiet settles around you again, softer this time, less tense, but still holding the echo of what just happened.

You hesitate for a second because you don't want to say it. You haven't said it out loud in a while.

"It was with someone I knew," you admit finally, your voice quieter now, more thoughtful than anything else. "We were friends."

Leon doesn't interrupt you. He listens, thumb rubbing soft circles on your skin.

"She used to come around sometimes," you continue, your gaze drifting slightly, remembering. "He always acted like she was just a friend. Like I was overthinking it."

Your mouth tightens faintly, not with fresh hurt, but with the kind of frustration that lingers long after the damage is done.

"I found out later it had been going on for a while."

"He's got a pattern, then," Leon says, his tone calm, but there's something firmer underneath it now, something that wasn't there a second ago. Something protective, something that doesn't like what it's hearing.

You let out a small breath, something that almost passes for a laugh, though it's softer than that.

"Yeah," you murmur. "Guess so."

Leon studies you for a second, his expression quieter now, more thoughtful, like he's taking in not just what happened, but how you're carrying it. His mouth tilts into a smile, into something that feels a little more like him again, a little lighter, a little sharper in that controlled way he uses when he wants to take the edge off something without dismissing it.

"You've got questionable taste in men," he says, glancing down at you briefly before his eyes lift again, steady and warm. "Good thing you're improving."

It catches you by surprise, with enough humor to break the weight without ignoring it. Your breath catches for a second before a real smile finally breaks through, small but genuine, the tension easing out of your shoulders just a little more.

"That so?" you ask, a quiet hint of amusement threading back into your voice.

Leon hums, low in his chest, his hand still warm at your waist as his gaze lingers on you just a second longer than necessary.

"Yeah," he says, softer now. "Big upgrade."

"Big upgrade?" you echo, tilting your head slightly as you look at him, your tone light but threaded with something playful now, something that wasn't there a minute ago. "That sounds a little biased."

Leon huffs a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh, his hand still resting at your waist as his thumb brushes once, slow and absent, like he's gotten used to keeping you there.

"Maybe," he admits, though there's no real concession in it, his gaze steady on yours.

You narrow your eyes at him just slightly, your hand finally loosening from his shirt enough to shift, your fingers sliding lightly along the fabric before settling again, this time a little more deliberately.

"Pretty confident for someone who just showed up for dinner," you add, a hint of teasing slipping more clearly into your voice now. "You don't even know what the competition looks like."

His head tilts just a fraction, his gaze dipping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes, something warmer, more focused settling into it.

"I've got a pretty good idea," he says quietly.

The space between you feels smaller again, charged in a different way now, lighter than before but no less real. Your fingers tighten faintly where they rest against him, grounding yourself in the moment as your gaze flicks to his mouth without meaning to.

When you look back up, he's already watching you. And this time, you don't hesitate. You lean in first.

The kiss is soft and certain, your lips meeting his with a quiet confidence that feels earned, like something you've both already decided without saying it out loud. Leon responds immediately, his hand shifting at your waist, drawing you closer as his other hand lifts to your jaw again, familiar now.

When you pull back, it's slow, your breath brushing his as your forehead nearly meets his, both of you lingering in that space like neither of you is in a hurry to leave it.

Leon's gaze stays on you for a second longer before something lighter slips back in, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

"Still think I'm wrong?" he murmurs.

You let out a small, breathy laugh, your hand giving a faint, playful tug at his shirt.

"Ask me again later," you reply, just as soft.

Leon's hand lingers at your waist for a second longer before he finally steps back just enough to give you space, though not much. His fingers brush lightly against your side as he moves, the contact lingering even after it's gone.

His gaze drifts toward the kitchen, then toward the half-finished dinner waiting patiently where you left it.

"We're gonna have to reheat that," he says, a quiet note of amusement slipping back into his voice.

You glance over your shoulder, following his line of sight, and huff a small laugh.

"Yeah," you admit. "Probably."

Leon steps past you then, not far, just enough to reach for the container, popping the lid slightly as if checking the damage, his movements easy, familiar, like he belongs here just as much as you do.

"Tragic," he mutters under his breath, though there's no real complaint in it.

You move beside him without thinking about it, your shoulder brushing his as you reach for a plate, the contact easy now, expected.

"Your fault," you say lightly. "You distracted me."

Leon glances at you from the corner of his eye, something warm settling into his expression again.

"Worth it," he replies.

And somehow, standing there with him in your kitchen, the tension gone, the warmth back, it feels like it.

It takes Gwen and George (as important, smart, and the-only-other-servants-whose-names-we-know) all of a week to figure out Merlin has magic. It takes the Cook two, it takes the Housekeeper a month and a half, and it takes the Steward just shy of six months. Yeah. Merlin isn't very good at being subtle. The former First Knight, Leon's grumpy, stick-in-the-mud-and-also-up-his-arse predecessor, never finds out (much to the effort of everyone), but Leon of course has it all lined up in his head an hour after he takes over the role. He'd suspected before then, but hadn't really had much to do with Merlin anyway until he'd taken on the job.

Anyway. All of this just means that Merlin has no idea how easy his life is in comparison to what it could have been if he's actually managed to keep his secret, well, secret.

Most of the knights don't know, but a few do. With the guards, it's the other way round. Most of them know, a few specific ones don't. Look, as much as a lot of people know, and it sounds like chaos, it's actually very well controlled. Well, it isn't at first. Merlin is very lucky that the first few people to find out are willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, because it's those first few that carefully control where and when the secret goes.

ANYWAY. And I actually mean it this time. A lot of people know and Merlin has NO fucking clue.

The whole thing goes unsaid, and bar a few of the main crew (the aforementioned Gwen, George, Cook, Housekeeper, Steward, and later on, Leon) no one knows exactly who else knows. So there's a lot of awkward shuffling and suspecting side eyes as they try and tiptoe around it all. None of the guards that don't know are EVER put to duty outside Arthur's chambers, and they're kept away from places Merlin frequents as much as possible (the armoury, the stables, the physician's chambers, the washer rooms, etc) just because Merlin has no spatial awareness and never realises when there’s a guard right next to him/just around the corner.

Oddly enough, other than Leon and Lancelot, none of the main knights are in the know, with everyone’s reasoning being that... they’re the most loyal to The King. And as much as Leon and Gwen can vouch for them, they don’t like actively telling people about the magic, they just... corral people if they find out accidentally. Lancelot, despite knowing about the magic, also has no idea about this whole thing, but everyone else knows that he knows. It’s stupid. It’s complicated. But Gwen, Leon, and George are in too deep now to backtrack so... they just carry on going.

So yeah. They cover for him all the time. At any given night there will be at least one knight or guard in the tavern, so whenever Arthur kicks up a fuss about how “Merlin can’t have been at the tavern again.” they’ll start spreading rumours about how whip smart Merlin is at poker, because he won against Halbrand, Remus, Gregor, and Flint last night. When they know Merlin has snuck out to deal with something, they’ll make sure someone in-the-know is posted on the outer city walls, so they can send word when Merlin is sneaking back in. This just means they can clear the main courtyard and route to the Physician’s Chambers of anyone so that Merlin can still think no one noticed him coming and going.

After a few years, people notice that there are two days a year, later on three, that Merlin does actually disappear to the tavern for. It took Leon a little while to figure out, and he still isn’t entirely sure he’s right, but the first one falls on the day that Merlin had to leave Camelot to protect his home from ransackers. Gwen had mentioned one of his friends had died, and the word is spread to make sure Merlin is left alone that day. The second... he isn’t sure, to be honest. He knows it falls around the week that the beast had appeared, bought by the bounty hunter, but he’s not sure if that’s relevant. He thinks maybe the beast must have killed one of Merlin’s friends, and again, the word is spread. The third is easy. The third falls around the day the dragon had attacked. Leon himself, as well as many of the knights and guards, head tot eh tavern that week. He finds it odd though, that Merlin seems to separate himself from the memorials, from the drinking songs, from those that gather in mourning, almost like he’s mourning something else entirely. But again, Leon doesn’t question it, and the word is spread.

When he’s noticeably injured, Gwen, George, the Housekeeper, and the Steward will randomly have free days/extra servants available to help out, to lessen his workload. When he’s exhausted, the Steward and Leon will reorganise things so Arthur doesn’t have anything important on in the morning, and Merlin can sleep in. I guess it’s just lots of stuff like that, small things, that Merlin could probably live without but... well, these people love and respect him so much, why would they leave him to suffer alone?? It’s not just the fact that Merlin protects the Kingdom with magic, after all, it’s the fact that he’s so lovely, to everyone. He helps treat the guards’/knights’ injuries without judgment, he’ll cover for people when they’re sick, he’ll do other people’s workloads just to be kind. So yeah, they look after him. Not just because he’s a vigilante or whatever, but because he’s Merlin.

I just... they look out for him, ya know?? And maybe he finds out, in which case he’s very embarrassed that so many people knew about it. Or maybe he doesn’t know, maybe he never knows, and all those people continue to protect him from behind the scenes, the same way he protects Camelot. Who knows.

~