The days settled into a rhythm Arthur could almost forget to question.
Morning chores came first. Water from the well. Feeding the animals. Repairs where the fence leaned too far or a post had rotted through. None of it was glorious. None of it felt important. And yet, he found himself waking earlier each day, moving with more purpose than before.
It bothered him.
Not the work itself—but how easily he accepted it.
Arthur hauled a bundle of firewood across the yard, shifting his grip when the weight slipped. His hands burned slightly where old blisters had hardened into calluses. He paused, staring at them for a moment longer than necessary.
They didn't feel like a child's hands anymore.
Ector noticed.
"You're favoring your left," he said from the doorway.
Arthur blinked and adjusted his hold. "Didn't realize."
"You never do," Ector replied mildly. He stepped closer, took the wood from Arthur's arms, and set it down himself. "Pain ignored turns into injury. Injury turns into regret."
Arthur nodded. "I'll remember."
Ector studied him for a moment, then placed a hand on his shoulder— not heavy, not forceful. Steady.
"You don't need to prove anything," he said quietly.
Arthur stiffened before he could stop himself.
"I know," he said.
Ector didn't argue. He rarely did.
————±————±————±————
Training followed after the chores were finished and the sun had burned away the morning chill.
Arthur stood in the yard with his wooden sword lowered, feet planted as Ector had taught him. He shifted once, then again, until the ground felt right beneath him.
"Again," Ector said.
Arthur swung.
The motion was controlled. Not fast. Not strong. Correct.
Ector nodded once. No praise. No correction.
That approval— subtle and rare— settled deeper than any compliment.
Kay stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. "My turn."
They circled.
Kay attacked first, sharp and confident. Arthur blocked, arms jolting from the impact. He stepped back, reset, countered. The rhythm came easier now, breath steady, feet responding before his thoughts caught up.
Kay feint.
Arthur reacted late.
The wooden blade clipped his shoulder. He stumbled, caught himself, and forced his balance back into place.
Kay paused. "You alright?"
Arthur exhaled slowly. "Yes."
Ector's voice cut in. "Again."
No scolding. No concern voiced aloud. Trust instead.
Arthur straightened.
————±————±————±————
The afternoon wore on. Sweat soaked through his tunic. His arms trembled, but he kept moving. Each mistake taught him something new— how to recover, how to endure, how to breathe through the burn.
When Ector finally called for rest, Arthur sank onto the fence rail, chest heaving.
Kay dropped beside him. "You freeze sometimes," he said, not unkindly.
Arthur stared at the dirt. "I know."
"Thinking too much?"
"Remembering too much," Arthur said before he could stop himself.
Kay blinked. "You're strange."
Arthur snorted. "You're just noticing now?"
From the edge of the yard, the trickster leaned against a post, watching with that unreadable expression that made Arthur itch.
"You don't deny it," Merlin said lightly. "That's unusual."
Arthur shot him a look. "Do you ever stop observing?"
"No," Merlin replied. "But I do stop interfering. That's a courtesy."
Arthur ignored him and turned back to his water.
Ector watched the exchange quietly.
————±————±————±————
Later, as the sun dipped low and the yard emptied, Ector motioned Arthur over.
They walked along the fence line together, the sounds of evening settling around them.
"You push yourself," Ector said after a while.
Arthur kept his eyes forward. "I have to."
"Why?"
Arthur hesitated.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But stopping feels… wrong."
Ector stopped walking.
Arthur did too.
"You don't owe this world anything yet." Ector said. "You're allowed to grow at your own pace."
Arthur swallowed. "What if my pace isn't slow?"
Ector considered that. Then he nodded.
"Then I'll make sure you don't break while you're moving forward then."
Arthur looked at him then.
Not a knight. Not a loyal vassal. Just a man who had chosen to stay.
"Thank you," Arthur said quietly.
Ector placed a hand on his head— brief, awkward, sincere. "Get some rest."
————±————±————±————
That night, Arthur lay awake longer than usual.
The ache in his muscles had dulled into something almost comforting. Outside, the countryside breathed quietly, indifferent to ambition or destiny.
He stared at the ceiling.
He was not a king here.
He was not important.
And for the first time, that truth didn't feel like failure.
Arthur turned onto his side.
If this world meant to shape him slowly, then he would endure it. Learn from it. Take what it offered without losing himself to it.
Tomorrow would come.
And Ector would still be there.
Arthur closed his eyes.
That, more than anything, let him sleep.