Sleeves

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AN:
TW- Sh references and implications, sh,
Suicidal ideation, gore and death.

I wanted to write a Leon centred fic as i love Leon and he is severely underrated.
I had this whole idea about what to write for it but then as i started to type the fic sort of wrote itself in a complete opposite direction to my og plan.

I haven't edited it so like plz point out mistakes i made so i can fix them : )

So yeah there's that,
Hope you enjoy <3
-Kojak
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Leon had always worn sleeves. He had done this for as long as he could remember, since he was just a small boy training to be a knight of Camelot. It felt natural to him, normal. This small thing was part of an outfit routine he had. All through growing up Leon had smoothed down the royal fabric that ran up his arms, twisting his fingers in it to soothe himself. Other times he would pull it over his hands, hiding away beneath tunics and chainmail and crested capes.

It felt safe. Leon felt safe beneath these layers. He liked the feeling of being able to hide away in plain sight, to blend into a picture whilst being the centre of attention. Leon wasn't Leon without his sleeves. He remembers his father, his kind eyes with smile lines carved into the freckled skin. He remembers the curly hair falling into position over his blue eyes, much like his own. Leon remembers the way his fathers gloved hand would come up to his hair and ruffle it endearingly, eyes shining with pride over his little boy. The man would laugh, it was a deep heart warming, tummy swirling laugh. Just the sound of it smothered Leon in a blanket of pure love and safety. The echos around the stone room instantly feeling like home.

"You're going to need to take your hands out of there one day son,"
His father would say,
"Someone's going to worry that your hands have fallen off. You can't hold a sword with no hands!"
The older man would hold a hand to his chest as he chuckled, always amused by his own humour. Around the room Leon's small giggles could also be heard.

"I'll wear a sign father!"
Leon would reply, gleaming grin never faltering.

"What would it say? Idiot?"
His older sister Harriett would jest. It always earned her a stern glare, followed by a secret smirk from their parents.

"No silly, it would say 'Don't worry i do have hands'!"
The young knight-to-be would state in a matter of fact manner. For it was obvious that is what the sign would be engraved with, for what else of course?

Now a knight of Camelot, no family left behind, Leon looked back fondly over these memories. They were something he held close to his heart, something he vowed to never forget. As though it were his nature, written into his very being, Leon would recite these memories before battles- he lived not just to serve his kingdom, not just to fight and protect his king, but to live on and make his family proud of the man he has become. Leon had worked hard over the years; blood, sweat and tears mixed into one big important potion that was crafted into knighthood. When he inevitably died at the fault of battle, he wanted his family to be his last thought, so that he could pass on with a soft smile- to be at peace.

Being a knight had a lot of harsh expectations. Expectations that all knights were fearless, emotionless blood thirsty killing machines. Warriors that bathed in blood, ready to slaughter at a moments notice. That they were strong and disciplined, never wavering from the line of duty. Leon wasn't like this, not all knights were, especially not his friends. Leon was loyal, bound in a sense of service to Arthur. The young man felt as though he had a destiny of knighthood, of duty although he had never been one to massacre an army. The loss of life, innocent or not, each soul tore away at Leon. He was scared, he was scarred. Each life took by his hands was something that made him feel like a failure- he was protecting his Kingdom, his men, his land, his home...but at what cost? He didn't want to forget those that were lost, he wanted their lives to live on through him, he wanted their sacrifices to mean something.

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