Leon always wanted a little brother.
Long were the hours he had spent dreaming of what it must be like, having one so much younger than himself to look after, to lead and to guide, to taunt and to tease, to cherish and protect; one who would learn the ways of sword and shield with him, learn the ways of weapons and warriors with him, one to stand at his side and be knighted right along with him.
Of course such childish fancies had faded long ago, as childish fancies were wont to do, but well could Leon still remember them, all his far-fetched fantasies and nonsensical daydreams of one who would stand always at his right hand, who would laugh when he laughed and cry when he cried, who would follow him into mischief when they were young and into danger when they were old, who would never know a day without his guidance or support or protection, one who would look up to him and love him as he'd always believed little brothers to do…
A faint, drowsy mumble pulled Leon at once from his musings, and he turned his gaze straightaway upon Merlin – the rag he'd created by tearing the hem of his cloak, and dampened with the meager remnants of the water from his skin, had slipped off the servant's clammy forehead, dark hair damp and slightly sticky with sweat. He was still a damn sight better than he'd been only a few hours previously, when his temperature had first shot skyward, and he'd begun to struggle ardently against Leon's ministrations while shouting nonsense about Morgana and Morgause and far too many Serkets, then rambled deliriously for the next twenty minutes about curses and lakes and strawberries and destinies that got in the way of everything, before finally surrendering to a peaceful, silent slumber while Leon thankfully noted his slowly cooling skin.
It had been nearly four hours since that first crudely made but deadly sharp arrow had sailed straight on past them, harming no one but frightening the horses something fierce, four hours since the ensuing battle, the short-lived but utterly disastrous battle, and though the bandits now lay dead only mile and a half away, Leon alone had escaped unscathed, the others wounded and, from the looks of things, near to collapse.
Leon hadn't had much choice – the skirmish had taken them well away from Camelot, at least two days' hard ride, and their injuries could prove ruinous if left untended, so the senior knight had done all he could to manage his friends' wounds and make them comfortable while they slept. Though he was by no means a physician – he'd much rather take care of the fighting and leave the healing to Gaius – he had picked up a few things here and there, mostly from Merlin, and he figured he must have done quite well, considering they all looked…well, they still looked a little worse for the wear, truth be told, but considering how they'd looked before, it was safe to say this was a vast improvement. And now that Merlin's fever had begun to recede at last, Leon was beginning to think his companions were truly in the clear.
Even so, he went again to each slumbering member of their little party – stopping to gently draw Percival's pillow back under his head, tug the blankets up to a shivering Elyan's shoulders, check the long, thin slash running up Arthur's leg, offer a soothing whisper and reassuring touch to a restless, mumbling Lancelot, feel Merlin's forehead one more time…
Perhaps, he thought as he gazed fondly round at his sleeping friends, perhaps his childish fancy hadn't really faded at all – perhaps…well, perhaps it had been fulfilled.
After all, Leon had always wanted a little brother.
And it seemed fate had given him six.
notes: have i mentioned i'm trash for older brother leon b/c i am literal trash for older brother leon