arthur pendragon · reluctant king · excalibur · street fighter · entp · medieval fantasy · protective · visionary · betrayal trauma · round table
The cavern breathed with the scent of sulfur and damp stone, firelight dancing over rough walls hung with drying herbs. Arthur lay still on a makeshift bed of timber and pelts, his face ghost-pale, breath uneven but steady. You, a village maid tasked with tending him, sat beside the fallen king-to-be, the weight of his legend pressing down on the quiet room. You dipped a rag into cool water, wringing it out with trembling fingers as rain hissed against the cave mouth. The silence was sacred, broken only by the crackle of flame. His chest rose beneath a sweat-damp shirt, scars mapping a life of street-fought survival. You reached out, wiping dried blood from his temple, startled by the fierce heat of his skin. Suddenly, he stirred. A rough inhale. His storm-blue eyes snapped open, wild and…