The wooden beams creaked above him, a familiar sound that no longer unsettled Arthur.
Months had passed since he first awoke in this small, unfamiliar body, yet the memory of that initial terror remained vivid, a reminder of how far he had come.
His body still felt foreign sometimes, the limbs too short, the hands too small, but each day he had grown more comfortable with them.
He had learned to move, to run, to swing a blade with more precision than the first clumsy days, and, perhaps most importantly, to watch and understand the world around him.
"Arthur! Come on, slowpoke!" Kay's voice rang from the courtyard, carrying the same teasing edge it had the first day. A wooden practice sword twirled in his hand as he sparred with another boy, laughter and the dull thwack of wood on wood echoing through the crisp morning air.
Arthur grimaced. "First thing first I am not slow!" His legs carried him forward, testing the months of training and instinct he had accumulated. He stumbled once, then found his balance, the familiar rhythm of movement slowly solidifying into muscle memory.
From above, a flash of white hair caught the sun. Merlin leaned against the roof's ridge, a teasing grin splitting his handsome face. "Ah, you are slow. But it is delightful watching you improve so… incrementally. One day, you will surpass even him."
Arthur scowled, brushing dust from his tunic. "Why are you always here don't you have something better to do?"
Merlin's laugh rang out like bells, playful and light. "Because I enjoy witnessing potential struggling to be realized. And you, my child, are full of it. Fragile, yes but your fascinating all the same."
The morning flowed into noon, the courtyard alive with activity yet quieter than the early chaos of his first weeks. Months had changed the rhythm of life here. Tasks that had once seemed mundane now held purpose: carrying water, sweeping the courtyard, fetching wood, running errands for the household. Each motion honed his body, strengthened his limbs, and trained his instincts.
Kay, ever observant, caught the subtle shifts in Arthur's demeanor. "You're better than before," he said after one sparring match, eyes narrowing as if weighing his progress. "Not that fast yet, but you notice things I didn't expect you to."
Arthur pressed his lips together, irritation and pride warring in his chest. "I've always noticed. You just never pay attention."
Merlin's grin widened, amusement twinkling in his bright eyes. "Oh, I notice everything, Arthur. Every pause, every swing, and every step. The Red Dragon stirs, little by little. Can you feel it?"
Arthur froze. Red… Dragon? The words tugged at some long-dormant memory, a shadow at the edge of thought. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the whispering sensation.
"Don't worry about the words," Merlin said, his voice softer now, almost conspiratorial. "Focus on the feeling. That is what matters for now."
Seasons shifted in the quiet countryside. Leaves turned gold and red, falling to carpet the stone and dirt. Winter winds bit at his cheeks, but Arthur had grown stronger; he welcomed the cold as a challenge, testing his endurance with each breath and stride.
Months of labor, practice, and observation had shaped him. His arms had grown stronger, capable of hefting firewood or swinging a wooden sword with surprising force. His legs carried him with grace, balance no longer a constant struggle.
Through it all, Merlin remained a constant presence, sometimes teasing, sometimes instructive, always watching. "Aha! That is better, child. Your reflexes improve, your awareness sharpens, I can sense the Dragon in you stretching its wings."
Arthur's chest tightened. He didn't yet understand what the Red Dragon truly meant, only that it thrummed beneath his skin, subtle and insistent.
Some nights, when the household slept and the moonlight spilled through his window, he would feel it a pulse, a hum, as though something ancient and powerful slumbered within him.
Kay, meanwhile, remained a constant foil, teasing, challenging, and occasionally guiding. "You still hesitate," he would say after a sparring session, arms crossed, brow furrowed. "Don't think so much. Move. Strike. Fight, You'll never be a knight if you keep calculating every step."
Arthur scowled, cheeks flushing. "And you think moving blindly makes you a better one?"
Kay laughed, a bark of amusement. "Sometimes, yes. But you'll see, little brother. There's more to being strong than brains."
Even in their quarrels, Arthur felt the pull of camaraderie. Small victories the block he hadn't fallen short on, the balance he maintained while carrying a full bucket of water, the swing that didn't falter built something quietly formidable within him.
Months had passed, and yet the boy who had first awoken lost and terrified was slowly shaping into someone capable, someone others would notice, whether he wanted them to or not.
---
One evening, as the sky bled gold and crimson into the horizon, Arthur sat on the stone steps, arms wrapped around his knees. The world had grown familiar, yet it remained vast and unknowable.
He could hear the laughter of other children, the distant clatter of the few soldiers stationed at the household, the occasional exclamation from Kay. And above all, the ever-present laughter of Merlin, sometimes playful, sometimes knowing.
If this world expects me to survive… a thought settled deep in his chest, I will not just survive. I will make it remember me.
The wind shifted outside, brushing through the trees and carrying with it a sound older than memory.
Something vast, ancient, and knowing stirred beyond the quiet countryside, and it exhaled softly, amused.
Arthur pressed his hands against the stone beneath him, feeling the lingering hum of his own hidden strength, subtle and insistent. He was still a boy, still small, still learning—but each day, each week, each month had built him. And slowly, imperceptibly, the boy who had arrived trembling and confused was beginning to become someone else.
Merlin appeared at his side, light as a whisper, eyes glinting with mischief. "Do you feel it?" he asked. "The stirrings of destiny? The first faint pulse of the Dragon?"
Arthur's gaze met the white-haired figure's, uncertainty and awe warring in his chest. "I… I think so."
Merlin chuckled, a sound full of amusement and approval. "Good. Patience, little one. There is much to learn, much to see, and even more to become. But each month, each lesson, you grow closer to the Arthur this world will one day recognize. And one day… one day, Britain will wait for you. And you will be ready."
Arthur closed his eyes as the wind whispered through the eaves. The months of toil, the teasing, the lessons, the small victories they had been shaping him all along. He was still just a boy. But even a boy could feel the pulse of something far greater, stirring within him, waiting for the moment it could awaken fully.
And in that quiet, unassuming moment, Arthur allowed himself a small, fleeting smile. He was small, he was vulnerable
but he was learning, growing, and perhaps… becoming someone the world could not ignore.