The forest thinned as the road stretched on. The weight of the past days pressed heavier than the pack on his shoulders. Arthur's boots sank into the damp earth, each step deliberate and careful. He carried the memory of the village— the graves he had dug, the boy he had saved and the faces he could not reach, the screams he could not answer.
The memory of the three men still lingered.
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He had cornered them on a narrow path. Poorly armed, desperate, but blood in his veins had whispered for action. He had not hesitated.
Steel clashed against crude weapons. Each strike carried more than strength—anger, fear, adrenaline. The first man's cry echoed as he fell to the dirt. The second had lunged, Sword raised; Arthur deflected and struck, steel meeting flesh in a sickening, metallic harmony. The third hesitated too long and paid for it with a blow that left him unmoving.
When the fight ended, the three lay still, blood soaking into earth and leaves, and Arthur's chest burned with every heartbeat. He had survived. He had won. And yet, a stone pressed into his chest heavier than any sword.
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The forest returned to quiet. Arthur's hands trembled slightly as he wiped the blade clean. He did not rejoice. He did not curse. He did not speak.
He carried the weight of the deaths with him, heavy, pressing, and a reminder that even the road's lessons could demand blood.
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Then he saw her.
At the edge of a small clearing, a figure stood perfectly still. At first, he thought her a statue, frozen in light and shadow, but her hair moved gently in the breeze—silver-blue, flowing and braided, catching the sunlight like water. Her eyes, soft icy blue, lifted and held his gaze.
She was slender, the subtle curve of her body accentuated by fitted black and cyan attire that hinted at both grace and power. Her legs were long, adorned with dark stockings that clung smoothly and ended in well-crafted boots. Every movement was careful, deliberate, like water flowing around a stone, and yet there was an unspoken magnetism in how she stood.
Arthur froze. The sword in his hand felt heavier—not from weight—but from the gravity of everything he had done and could not undo.
She stepped forward slightly, her motion gentle. She carried no crown, no overt aura of dominance—her usual commanding presence subdued. Her gaze was curious, soft, almost playful, and Arthur felt it anchor him in the midst of his tension.
"Who are you?" he asked cautiously, voice steady though his fingers twitched against the hilt.
"I could ask the same," she replied, her voice warm, melodic, inviting rather than commanding.
Arthur's eyes swept her carefully, noting the elegant simplicity of her form, the mastery in every line. He did not understand it, only the effect: she held him, even without trying.
She tilted her head slightly. "You travel far," she said. Not a question, not a judgment, simply an observation.
Arthur nodded once. "I do what I must. The road… it teaches us much. I've seen enough darkness to last several lifetimes."
Her lips curved faintly, almost imperceptibly. "And yet you continue," she said, her gaze assessing, amused, but soft. Arthur shivered—not fear, not danger, but an unnameable pull.
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Arthur lowered his sword slightly, though his stance remained alert. He had faced raiders, wolves, the weight of death itself, and yet here he stood, unsure what to make of this woman whose presence both unsettled and calmed him.
"Why do you watch me?" he asked finally.
Her smile deepened faintly, playful yet soft. "Because you walk differently. The world has tested you, and yet you carry more than most can bear. I am curious which path you will choose next."
Arthur blinked. No one had ever said that to him—not Ector, not Kay, not Merlin.
"Why… tell me this?" he asked.
"Because I can," she replied simply. "And because you may see me again. If you survive the road."
The warning was soft, almost intimate, and Arthur's chest tightened. He did not yet understand why it mattered so much.
He lowered the sword fully, keeping posture alert. "I will,I promise" he murmured.
She nodded. For a moment, her eyes held his. Then, without another word, she stepped back into the shade of the trees. Arthur could see her silhouette move like a shadow with the light behind it, but she did not call to him. She simply existed, a quiet pillar in the darkness of the world he had begun to traverse.
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Arthur exhaled slowly, letting the tension ease slightly from his shoulders. The forest felt heavier again, the path real, dangerous—but the pressure in his chest had shifted. Something about her presence anchored him.
He walked on, thoughts tangled. He could not stop replaying the way she had looked at him, soft and almost amused. The faint pull at his senses—the subtle, unnameable tension—made him aware of his own heartbeat in a way it had not been since the raids, the graves, the blood.
A shadow of a smile flickered across his lips. I am not ready to understand this, he thought. And perhaps I never will… but I want to.
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Hours passed, the road winding through forest and hills. Arthur walked carefully, aware now not just of the world, but of how he felt within it. Every sound— bird, branch, rustle of leaves— kept him alert. But his mind lingered on her, soft, unwavering, the calm after the storm.
He remembered the graves he had dug, the boy he had saved, the villagers who had not survived, and now—the three men whose blood had marked him. Their deaths weighed on him, but he would not shy from the lessons they brought.
Her presence felt like a pillar, a reminder that life and hope still existed amid the darkness. Not a light to blind him, but a weight to hold him steady.
Arthur clenched his fist lightly around the sword. "I will do better," he whispered. "Not for glory. Not for fate. But for the people I can reach. And… just perhaps for her."
The thought startled him, and yet it felt right.
A/N:My man 😭 is love struck
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Night fell. Arthur camped in a small hollow, shielded by rocks and undergrowth. No fire. He did not dare draw light. He checked the edges carefully, sword at the ready. Even as exhaustion pressed into him, the memory of her gaze lingered, faint but insistent.
He lay back, eyes to the sky, listening to the night. Wolves howled far off. An owl shifted closer. He let himself breathe.
The road was harsh. The world was dark. But somewhere ahead, he knew, she waited— not as command, not as danger, but as anchor, as challenge, as soft mystery.
Arthur closed his eyes. Tomorrow, the road would test him again. And he would walk it ready and with a smile.