The dawn came slow and orange, spilling across the fields that stretched beyond the estate. Arthur woke with the ache of his muscles reminding him he had worked longer than usual the day before. His body had become stronger, yes, but that didn't make it comfortable. He flexed his fingers, felt the fine line of calluses along his palms, and pushed himself upright.
Kay was already awake, leaning against the wall waiting with a grin that promised mischief.
"Up late, Arthur," Kay called, pointing toward the rising sun. "You're going to miss the morning exercises."
Arthur groaned. "Exercises? You mean running, climbing, and hurting myself?"
Kay laughed, clearly not bothered by the pain. "Exactly that. Come on, I'll show you how it's done."
Arthur followed, feet unsure on the uneven dirt path. But his body remembered more than his mind expected. He had fallen, stumbled, and scraped himself enough times that even now, balance came easier than yesterday.
He caught Kay mid-step, steadying him when his younger brother tripped over a hidden root.
"You didn't catch me," Kay protested. "I didn't need..."
"Too late," Arthur interrupted. "You're stable now. Stop squirming like a girl."
Kay shot him a look, half annoyance, half admiration. Arthur almost felt a thrill at it, though he quickly dismissed it as inconsequential.
The morning exercises were brutal in their simplicity. Running, carrying logs, lifting stones. Every task tested patience and endurance. Arthur noticed, again, that the estate had no more than a dozen men-at-arms. Their skills were uneven, some rusty, some sharp. Unlike the grand castles or legends he had glimpsed in fragments of memory, this was small, humble, and entirely unassuming.
Merlin appeared suddenly, as always, perched atop a low branch of the nearby oak. His hair caught the sunlight, almost glowing, and his grin was wide, infuriatingly knowing.
"Ah, the small boy struggles again," Merlin called. "Your persistence is charming, I must admit."
Arthur scowled. "I'm not struggling. Not really."
Merlin twirled a lock of hair around a finger. "Ah, but that is precisely the point. You are always struggling... merely not always aware of it, The important part is whether you continue."
Arthur didn't answer, focused instead on lifting the log. Still, a small part of him the part that remembered other lives, heavier burdens stirred.
Merlin was observing, but this time it felt… different, He wasn't just teasing he was measuring, Waiting, Watching.
---
By mid-morning, they reached the edge of the estate. Ector had arranged for a small obstacle course a test of balance, climbing, and timing. Arthur approached it cautiously, knowing this was less about speed more on technique.
"You always think you know what's coming," Merlin said softly from the oak, "but the world has a way of teaching otherwise."
Arthur's fingers itched, He wasn't sure why but the words carried weight.
He glanced at Merlin, who winked and disappeared before Arthur could even ask what he meant.
Arthur shook his head 'Focus. The obstacle course demanded it.
One misstep, one miscalculation, and the lesson was immediate and unavoidable.
Hours passed. Logs carried, walls scaled, fences repaired. Arthur's muscles burned, but his mind sharpened. With each challenge, he noticed more how a rope swayed with wind, how a plank could bear more weight if shifted just so, how timing a step could save energy.
By the time he returned to the estate, sweat-drenched and weary, he found Kay waiting near the barn, grinning with mischief and arrogance.
"Not bad," Kay said. "You're getting… predictable."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Predictable? You're the one who keeps changing the course of things just to watch me stumble."
Kay laughed. "Maybe. But you really adapt faster than I expected."
Arthur felt a flicker of pride he didn't let show.
Ector appeared then, calm and steady as always. "You both did well today. Enough for now. Rest, and eat." His gaze lingered on Arthur for a moment longer than usual, not critical, but calculating.
Arthur knew it. He felt the weight of that observation. Not judgmental, not approving just noticing. Only noticing the things that mattered.
---
As evening fell, Arthur found himself alone on the hill behind the estate, looking down on the fields they had tended all day. The sun painted everything gold, and for a moment, the ache in his muscles faded beneath the warmth of the fading light.
He thought about the men and women he had seen that morning. Not knights, not soldiers, not nobles.
Just people doing what was necessary.
And yet, their effectiveness struck him as profound.
He could imagine leading them. Not commanding with fear, but guiding them. Making decisions that mattered. He didn't fully understand why he felt the pull, but it was there, tugging quietly at his chest.
Merlin appeared again, stepping lightly onto the hill. "You're thinking too much," he said, voice soft but amused.
Arthur turned sharply. "I am not. I'm observing Planning."
Merlin laughed lightly. "Planning, yes. Observing… more and perhaps sensing something deeper than yourself.
That, Arthur, is the beginning of what makes a leader, What most people never feel it and never understand it."
Arthur frowned. "I'm not a leader."
"Not yet," Merlin said, eyes glinting. "But you will be, And if you survive this truly survive you will lead not by title but by consequence."
Arthur's heart thudded at the implication. He didn't fully know what Merlin meant—but he didn't need to. The weight of the day, the small victories, and the quiet observation of those around him had planted a seed.
Something inside him stirred, subtle but insistent. A spark he couldn't ignore.
And far beneath it all, something older, deeper, something ancient whispered.
Not words, not language just a presence, barely perceptible, reminding him that the life he was living was only the beginning.
That the world had much to show, and that he had much to become.
Arthur exhaled.
For now, the fields were calm. The work was done and the day had passed.
But the thought lingered, as it had every day:
If this world demanded something of me… I will be ready.
I always have been and always would be.