Arthur woke slowly.
Not to pain— though it was there, deep and insistent— but to warmth.
Something steady beneath his head. Something softer than dirt or stone. His first breath came shallow, confused, then steadied as awareness crept back into him piece by piece.
The scent reached him before the sound.
Clean.
Cool. Like rain over dark earth.
His brow tightened faintly as he tried to move. The attempt failed. His body refused him, heavy and uncooperative, as though it had already spent everything it had to give.
"Easy," a voice murmured.
Low. Calm. Close.
Arthur stilled.
————±————±————±————
A hand moved through his hair.
Not rough. Not hurried.
Fingers threaded gently through blond strands, unhurried, almost absentminded. They brushed his fringe back from his eyes, then lingered at his temple, thumb pressing lightly as if to ground him.
Arthur's breath caught.
His eyes opened.
He was staring up at her.
She sat against the base of a tree, one leg bent, the other stretched slightly to the side. Arthur's head rested in her lap, cradled there as though it belonged. Dark fabric hugged her legs, stockings fitted smooth against her skin, the faint sheen catching the light as she shifted slightly to adjust his weight.
Her cloak had been drawn back. Her posture was relaxed— but not careless.
Morgan le Fay looked down at him with an expression Arthur had never seen on anyone before.
Not pity.
Not judgment.
But Concern.
————±————±————±————
"You're awake," she said softly.
Arthur swallowed. His throat was dry. His voice came out rough. "I—"
She pressed a finger lightly against his lips.
"Don't," Morgan said. "Not yet."
The gesture was intimate enough to make his chest tighten. Her touch was cool, but not cold. Controlled, but not distant.
She returned her hand to his hair, smoothing it back again, slower this time, as though reassuring herself that he was truly there.
Arthur became acutely aware of everything.
The way her fingers brushed his scalp.
The steady rise and fall of her breathing.
The warmth beneath his cheek.
He had faced blades without flinching.
This unsettled him far more.
————±————±————±————
"You shouldn't have fought it alone," Morgan said quietly.
Arthur frowned faintly. "The… orc?"
Her lips curved just a little. "Dead."
He exhaled, relief mixing with exhaustion. "Good."
Her gaze sharpened—not cold, but intent. "You nearly died."
Arthur gave a weak, crooked smile. "Didn't."
Morgan's fingers paused in his hair.
For just a heartbeat, her composure slipped.
Then she resumed the motion, slower now, more deliberate. "You're reckless," she said. "Proud."
Arthur met her eyes. "I'm still breathing."
"That is not the same thing," she replied.
————±————±————±————
Silence settled between them.
Not awkward. Not empty.
Arthur studied her face from this impossible closeness—the sharp line of her jaw softened by the way she looked at him now, the pale blue of her eyes steady and attentive. She was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous, but here, in this moment, she was gentle.
Almost tender.
"Why help me?" Arthur asked at last.
Morgan tilted her head slightly. "Because I found you broken in the dirt," she said. "And because you didn't deserve to be left there."
Her thumb brushed beneath his eye, wiping away dried blood he hadn't noticed.
Arthur's breath stuttered.
"I killed them," he said quietly. "All of them."
"I know."
"No hesitation," he continued. "No mercy."
Morgan did not look away.
"And yet," she said, "you still worry whether it makes you something worse."
Arthur closed his eyes briefly.
Her hand did not stop moving.
————±————±————±————
"Rest," Morgan said. "Your body needs it."
Arthur hesitated, then let himself relax fully against her. The tension drained from him in a way it hadn't since he left home. His fingers twitched once, then stilled.
"Will you stay?" he asked, almost without thinking.
Morgan's answer came after a pause.
"Yes," she said.
Her hand continued to stroke his hair as his breathing evened out again. This time, when sleep took him, it was gentler—bunforced, unguarded.
Morgan watched him long after.
Her expression unreadable.
Her hand never leaving him.