Arthur woke before dawn.
Not to sound, but to the sense that sleep had overstayed its welcome.
His eyes opened to darkness and low wooden beams, and for a brief, dangerous moment, his mind reached for a different ceiling smooth, white, electric lights humming faintly above.
That memory dissolved quickly now.
He lay still, listening.
The estate was already awake. Somewhere nearby, a door opened and closed with practiced care. Boots crossed packed earth. A voice murmured instructions, calm and steady. Ector.
Arthur exhaled and sat up.
His body no longer protested movement. The awkward stiffness of the early weeks had faded into something closer to familiarity. He knew how to stand without wobbling, how to pace his breath, how much weight his arms could lift before strain set in. That knowledge unsettled him more than the weakness ever had.
Adaptation meant permanence.
He dressed quickly and stepped outside. The air was cold and damp, mist clinging low to the ground like something reluctant to leave. The countryside stretched outward in muted tones—fields divided by stone walls, fences patched and repatched, the land bearing the scars of years without care.
Britain did not feel like a kingdom.
It felt like something abandoned halfway through becoming one.
"Arthur."
Ector stood near a cart, checking the straps securing several sacks of grain. He did not look up when he spoke. He rarely did he expected people to listen without needing his attention drawn.
"Help Kay with the loading," he said.
Kay groaned loudly from the other side of the cart. "Why do I always get the heavy work?"
"Because you complain about it," Ector replied calmly.
Arthur almost smiled.
But in his mind he said. 'You deserve it '.
They worked in silence at first, lifting sacks and settling them into place. Kay was stronger, older, but careless. Arthur compensated instinctively, adjusting balance, steadying loads before they tipped.
"You don't have to fix everything I do," Kay muttered after the third sack.
"I'm not," Arthur said. "I'm just keeping it from falling."
Kay snorted. "You act like this place would collapse without you."
Arthur paused, sack half-lifted.
For a moment, an image flickered in his mind structures failing not from lack of strength, but from neglect, Systems breaking because no one bothered to notice the small fractures.
(N/A:It's my reference to the Soviet union or any particular country that share it trouble, it's not just that their system is flawed it's cause they refuse change)
"I just don't like waste," Arthur said finally.
Kay studied him for a moment, brow furrowed, then shook his head. "You're strange."
Arthur resumed lifting. "You say that every day."
"And it's always true."
---
By midmorning, Arthur was sent into the nearby village with supplies. It was a small place too small to matter, too scattered to defend itself properly. A handful of soldiers lingered near the edges, more habit than deterrence.
Arthur moved through the village quietly, listening.
A disagreement near the well caught his attention. Two farmers argued over water access, voices sharp with exhaustion. Neither noticed Arthur at first.
"There's not enough," one insisted. "Your cattle drink twice what mine do."
"That's not my problem," the other snapped. "I was here first."
Arthur hesitated, then stepped closer.
"There is enough water," he said.
Both men turned, surprised.
"You don't know that," one said sharply.
Arthur pointed toward the upstream channel. "The blockage there hasn't been cleared. If you divert part of the flow before it reaches the well, you reduce pressure and lose water to runoff."
They stared at him.
"…What?" one finally said.
Arthur swallowed, then continued more slowly. "Clear it. Widen it slightly. You'll get steadier flow. Enough for both of you."
Silence followed.
One of the men scratched his beard. "That… might work."
The other frowned. "How do you know?"
Arthur hesitated again. He couldn't say experience. Couldn't say future knowledge.
"I've seen it done elsewhere," he said instead.
They exchanged glances, then nodded reluctantly.
"Worth a try," one said.
They moved off without another word.
Arthur stood there for a moment, heart pounding.
He hadn't meant to intervene.
But they had listened.
That disturbed him more than it should have.
Merlin found him later, perched on a fence that had not been there moments earlier.
"You solve problems like you expect the world to obey," Merlin said lightly.
Arthur scowled. "I just offered a suggestion."
"And they followed it."
Arthur turned away. "That's their choice."
Merlin hopped down, walking alongside him. "Is it?"
Arthur stopped. "Why are you pushing?"
Merlin tilted his head. "Because you push back."
Arthur clenched his fists. "Stop watching me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm something you're waiting for."
Merlin smiled, but there was less humor in it than usual. "I wait for many things."
"That doesn't answer ... anything"
Merlin stepped closer. "You don't like being noticed. But you don't hide either. You organize, you correct, you lead and then you pretend it wasn't intentional."
Arthur's chest tightened. A faint heat stirred beneath his ribs, subtle but unmistakable.
"I just don't want things to fall apart," Arthur said sharply.
Merlin studied him for a long moment. "Careful," he murmured. "That's how it starts."
"Enough," Arthur snapped.
For just a heartbeat, the air between them felt… heavier, warmer.Merlin's expression shifted just slightly from amusement to caution.
Then the moment passed.
"Well," Merlin said lightly, stepping back, "you're no fun when you're serious."
Arthur didn't respond.
---
That evening, Ector found Arthur repairing a broken fence without being asked.
"You notice things," Ector said quietly.
Arthur froze. "I just didn't want it to stay broken."
Ector nodded. "Most people don't look unless something demands it."
Arthur hesitated. "Is that bad?"
"No," Ector said. "It's rare."
They worked in silence for a while.
"You remind me of someone," Ector said eventually.
Arthur's pulse quickened. "Who?"
Ector shook his head. "Someone who thought responsibility meant standing still while the world leaned on him."
Arthur didn't know what to say.
Night fell.
Arthur lay awake again, staring at the ceiling. The pressure returned—stronger now, more insistent. Not a voice. Not a command.
Expectation.
What are you trying to make me? he thought.
He didn't want an answer.
If this world intended to shape him into something, then he would understand it first. Learn its rules, Its limits, Its weaknesses.
Outside, the wind shifted.
Far beyond the quiet countryside, beyond broken borders and forgotten crowns, something ancient stirred not in command, not in demand, but in recognition.
Arthur finally slept.
He did not dream of swords or thrones.
Only of standing still while the world slowly, inevitably leaned closer.
The boy did not yet understand who he truly was.
But Britain—fractured, weary, and waiting just had begun to notice his weight.