The days after the failure did not soften.
They sharpened.
Arthur expected ridicule. He have expected Kay to needle him, expected the guards to look at him differently. What he received instead was something worse— normalcy.
Training resumed as if nothing had not happened.
Ector did not lower his expectations. Merlin did not laugh and mock him. Kay did not bring it up.
The world moved on, and Arthur was left carrying the weight alone.
At first, that angered him.
By the third morning, it steadied him.
He woke before the sun, muscles stiff but it became something familiar now, and dressed without rushing. The yard was quiet when he stepped out, mist clinging low to the ground. A single guard leaned against the fence, half-asleep.
He doesn't judge, that job maybe is simple but it's exhausting.
Arthur began his swordmaship forms slowly.
Not because he was tired— but because he was thinking.
Every movement from the failed bout replayed in his mind.
The impatience.
The overreach.
The moment he tried to force strength instead of letting balance do the work. He corrected each flaw one step at a time, repeating the motions until his arms burned and his breath became shallow.
When Kay finally wandered out, rubbing sleep from his eyes, he stopped short.
"You're up early," he said.
Arthur didn't stop moving. "Couldn't sleep."
Kay watched for a moment longer than usual. "You're not rushing."
"No reason to," Arthur replied.
Kay snorted. "Wow, That's new."
Arthur almost smiled.
————±————±————±————
Later that morning, Sir Ector joined them.
He did not announce himself. He simply stood nearby, arms folded, watching Arthur train. The silence stretched long enough that Arthur noticed and becomes unnerved, he adjusted his stance without being told.
"Better," Ector said at last.
Arthur lowered his blade. "I still lost."
"Yes," Ector agreed.
The lack of elaboration unsettled him.
Arthur hesitated, then asked, "Should I have done something differently?"
Ector studied him. Not his sword. Not his posture. Him.
"You have assumed improvement meant readiness," Ector said. "It does n't."
Arthur frowned. "Then what does?"
" Your judgment," Ector replied. "And patience. You had one and not the other."
Arthur absorbed that quietly.
Ector gestured toward the practice post.
"try again, but slower."
Arthur obeyed.
This time, when his footing slipped slightly, he corrected it without panic. When his grip tightened too much, he loosened it deliberately. Each adjustment felt small — but it felt good.
Arthur lips turned up a bit
Ector nodded once, satisfied.
————±————±————±————
The magician found him near midday.
Arthur was hauling water from the stream, sleeves rolled up, boots muddy. He heard the footsteps before the voice.
"Kid you're sulking less today," the trickster remarked.
Arthur didn't look up. "I wasn't sulking."
"Ah," the magician said pleasantly. "Then you were brooding like a certain duck head, A subtle but important distinction."
Arthur set the bucket down harder than necessary. "If you're here to say something cryptic, please don't."
The magician leaned against a tree, unbothered. "I'm here because failure attracts attention."
Arthur stiffened. "Whose?"
"Yours," the magician replied. "And mine."
Arthur finally turned. "You knew I would fail."
The magician tilted his head. "You would have been worse off if you hadn't."
That answer earned him a glare.
"I don't enjoy being wrong," Arthur said.
"No one does," the magician agreed. "But the land enjoys teaching it."
Arthur paused. "The land?"
The magician waved a hand dismissively. "Figure of speech. Mostly."
Arthur frowned, suspicious, but didn't press.
Instead, he asked, "Why didn't you stop it?"
The magician's eyes sharpened—just slightly. "Because then you'd still believe improvement protects you from consequence."
Arthur looked away.
"Pain," the magician continued lightly, "is a wonderful teacher a terrible companion but a neecessary guide."
Arthur muttered, "You sound pleased."
"Oh, how pleased I am," the magician said cheerfully. "You didn't break."
That, somehow, mattered.
————±————±————±————
That evening, Arthur sat with Ector by the fire.
The work of the day lay scattered around them— tools, half-mended gear, the quiet signs of a household settling in for the night. Ector worked in steady silence. Arthur watched the flames.
"I don't want to fail like that again," Arthur said suddenly.
Ector didn't look up. "Oh, You will."
Arthur clenched his jaw.
"But," Ector continued, "not the same way. And not for the same reasons."
Arthur considered that. "Is that enough?"
Ector finally met his gaze. "It has to be."
The fire crackled between them.
After a moment, Ector added, "Strength isn't about never falling. It's about learning where the ground gives way."
Arthur nodded slowly.
————±————±————±————
That night, sleep came easier.
Not because doubt had vanished—but because it had settled into something quieter. Something usable.
Arthur lay staring at the ceiling, thinking not of destiny or crowns or futures beyond reach. He thought of balance. Of patience. Of choosing when not to strike.
The whisper at the back of his mind was still there— but it no longer demanded answers.
For now, it was enough to learn.
Tomorrow, he would train again.
Not just to prove something tohimself.
Not to win.
But to understand what he lacked.
And that, what he sensed, mattered more than any victory.