The road narrowed as the hills rose.
Arthur followed it anyway.
The ground grew rougher the farther he went. Stones pressed through the soles of his boots. Thorns caught his cloak and pulled at the stitching. The wind was cold and smelled of wet earth and old smoke. Nothing here made room for travelers.
He did not rush.
Ector's voice stayed with him, steady and precise. Move like the ground wants to trip you. Because it does. Arthur placed his feet carefully, weight measured, eyes alert. He listened to the scrape of his boots, to birds that went suddenly quiet, to the change in his own breathing when something felt wrong.
Hunger gnawed at him by midday. He ignored it.
————±————±————±————
He reached the ruins by accident.
At first, it looked like nothing more than a collapsed wall half -covered in ivy. Then he saw the rest: broken stone foundations, a fallen watchtower, black scorch marks burned deep into the rock.
A village had stood here.
Arthur crouched and studied the ground. Old tracks. Wagon ruts filled with rainwater. Bones scattered and chewed clean by animals. This had happened weeks ago, maybe longer.
Too late, he thought. Again.
He moved through the ruins slowly. No intact bodies. No signs of burial. Whatever had come through here had taken its time and left nothing behind.
Near the center of what must have been the square, he found a child's shoe.
Arthur picked it up. The leather was cracked. The stitching uneven, done by hand. He turned it over once, then set it back where he found it.
There was nothing he could repair here.
————±————±————±————
He did not leave immediately.
Beyond the edge of the ruins, he found what remained of the villagers— bones dragged away by animals, fragments left behind in the tall grass and shallow ditches. It took him the rest of the afternoon to gather them.
He dug with a broken plank and his bare hands. The soil was cold and stubborn. His fingers split. His arms burned. He did not stop.
The graves were shallow. He knew that. But they were better than nothing.
He laid what remained of the dead into the earth as carefully as he could. There were no names. No markers. No prayers he trusted himself to speak.
When he finished, he sat back on his heels and stared at the disturbed ground.
"I didn't know," he said quietly. It wasn't an excuse. It wasn't a defense. It was the truth, and it tasted bitter.
He stayed there until the light faded.
————±————±————±————
The sound came at dusk.
A cry. Sharp. Cut short.
Arthur froze.
He listened again. Movement followed— brush breaking, hurried steps. Someone running. Someone being chased.
He didn't think.
He moved.
Branches tore at his arms as he pushed through. His sword was in his hand before he registered the motion. He broke through the tree line and saw them.
Three men. Two older, one younger. The older carried a club. The younger— no more than fourteen —tripped over a root and fell hard.
"Please," the boy gasped, scrambling backward. "I didn't take anything— "
The club came down.
Arthur stepped in.
Steel struck wood with a sharp crack. The impact jarred his arm, but he held. The older man stumbled back, more shocked than hurt.
"Get up," Arthur said to the boy. His voice was calm. It surprised him.
The second man drew a knife.
Arthur shifted his stance. His body settled the way Ector had drilled into him. He waited.
The knife came fast and poorly aimed.
Arthur knocked it aside and struck once. The flat of the blade hit the man's shoulder. He dropped with a cry, clutching his arm.
The older man hesitated.
Arthur met his eyes.
There was no anger in his face. No thrill. Just certainty that if they continue death await them.
The man backed away, dragging his companion with him. They vanished into the trees.
————±————±————±————
The boy was shaking.
Arthur sheathed his sword and approached slowly. "You're noe safe," he said. "They're gone."
The boy nodded, breath uneven. "Th-thank you."
Arthur crouched beside him. "What exactly happened?"
"They wanted food," the boy said. "We don't have much. My mother sent me to trade wool." He swallowed. "They followed me."
Arthur reached into his pack and handed him dried meat and a small pouch of grain.
"Go home," Arthur said. "Stay near people you can trust. Don't travel alone."
The boy stared at the food, then at him. "Who are you?"
Arthur paused.
"I'm just passing through."
The boy nodded, as if that answer was enough, and ran.
————±————±————±————
Night fell quickly.
Arthur made camp beneath a low overhang, fire small and hidden. His hands shook once the tension faded. He hadn't realized how cold he was until he stopped moving.
I didn't hesitate, he told himself. That's what mattered.
But so did what came before. The graves. The ruins.
"If I hadn't been there," he said quietly, "he would've have died."
The thought didn't comfort him. It weighed on him.
————±————±————±————
Before sleeping, he checked his sword.
A small nick marred the blade. Fixable. Still, he traced it carefully, committing it to memory.
I'll need to be better than this, he thought. Not for praise. Just to last and Survive.
He lay back, eyes open, listening to the night. Wind through trees. Distant animals. Nothing close.
Tomorrow, he would keep moving.
And next time, he knew, survival would not come without leaving marks behind.
A/N: need opinion and suggestions on how to include Round table knight cause most of them are children of Morgan and you guys most certainly want a character virgin so comment guy's!