The warm light from the inn flickered against the weathered stone walls, casting long shadows as Arthur and Artoria stepped into the small, bustling establishment. The scent of cooked meats and freshly baked bread filled the air, a welcome contrast to the chill of the evening air outside. The innkeeper, a burly man with a weathered face, stood behind the counter, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the two travelers.
He quickly wiped his hands on a rag and straightened his back. "Ah, welcome, welcome!" He smiled widely, giving them a casual nod. "What can I do for you, my lords?"
Arthur stepped forward, his posture relaxed, though his eyes remained sharp, scanning the room briefly before turning back to the innkeeper. "We need two rooms, please."
The man paused for a moment, his smile faltering as he glanced around the inn. He cleared his throat before responding. "Sorry, sir, we only have one room left at the moment. It's a small one, but it's all I've got for the night."
Arthur sighed inwardly, considering the situation. He wasn't concerned about his own comfort, but Artoria... The rumors that would spread if they stayed in the same room would be enough to reach every corner of Britain by morning. He could already imagine the whispers—some truth, some twisted lies. "I see," he muttered, his gaze briefly flicking to Artoria.
Her gaze met his, and for a brief moment, it felt like the world had quieted around them. Arthur's eyes traced her figure, a subtle, almost imperceptible hesitation in his expression. He was about to suggest they move on, find somewhere else—but then he stopped.
He couldn't deny it. The prospect of staying the night in a cramped room didn't bother him. What bothered him was the look in Artoria's eyes. She was always so composed, always so in control—but right now, there was something unspoken between them, something that made him pause.
Before he could offer an alternative, Artoria spoke, her voice calm and unwavering. "That's fine. We'll take the room."
Arthur turned to her, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly in surprise. Artoria had always been the one to follow the plan, the one who upheld the rules with a relentless sense of duty. This was a departure from her usual behavior, and yet it made perfect sense. She knew, as he did, that any hesitation would only make things worse.
Artoria stepped forward, her hand reaching into her coin pouch, and she placed a small pile of coins on the counter, pushing Arthur's contribution aside. The innkeeper looked between the two of them, slightly puzzled by the exchange, but nodded. "Very well, if that's what you wish."
Arthur watched as Artoria stood tall and unflinching, her gaze meeting his once more. There was something in her eyes—a quiet challenge, almost as if daring him to protest.
For a moment, he considered saying something, anything to break the silence, but instead, he simply nodded. There was no reason to argue. Artoria had made the decision, and in truth, Arthur had no desire to undermine her.
They had been through so much together already, facing enemies and trials that would have shattered lesser people. Yet, here they were, in the midst of a journey that neither of them had truly signed up for. A journey where the weight of their shared past—and perhaps something more—lingered like a shadow just out of reach.
Arthur took the key from the innkeeper, his fingers brushing against the cool metal for a moment longer than necessary. As he turned, he caught Artoria's gaze again.
"Shall we?" He said quietly, his voice soft but carrying an unspoken understanding.
Artoria gave a small nod, her lips curving into a brief but genuine smile. She turned and walked toward the stairs, her pace slow but sure, as though she knew he would follow.
And he did.
As they climbed the stairs together, side by side, the weight of their shared silence grew heavier—yet it was not uncomfortable. The absence of words seemed to speak more clearly than any conversation could.
Arthur glanced at her, his expression unreadable, but his thoughts were far from silent.
Artoria, for her part, kept her eyes straight ahead, though there was a slight change in her step. A subtle shift.
When they reached the door to their room, Artoria paused, her hand on the handle. She didn't look back, but her voice came, quiet and steady. "We'll make it work, Arthur."
Arthur's gaze softened, and for a brief moment, he found himself smiling in response. "Of course."
The door clicked softly as it closed behind them, and the faint sound of footsteps echoed in the narrow hallway before it was swallowed by the stillness of the room. Arthur, ever the gentleman, moved to place his belongings carefully at the small wooden table in the corner. His armor, now free of its weight, seemed to hang heavier on his mind than it did on his frame.
Artoria, on the other hand, made her way to the bed, her movements graceful despite the exhaustion of the journey. She had never been one to indulge in luxury or comfort, but the silence of the room, the absence of the ever-present duties and expectations of Camelot, felt like a rare kind of solace.
With a quiet sigh, she allowed herself to sit on the edge of the bed before easing down to lie fully back against the soft linens. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the room settle into her bones, trying to push away the constant thoughts of duty, responsibility, and the unspoken weight that always seemed to follow her.
But no matter how hard she tried to relax, there was always a quiet hum beneath her thoughts—something that gnawed at her, something she couldn't quite place.
When she opened her eyes again, it wasn't the familiar walls of the inn that greeted her, but the unmistakable presence of Arthur.
He stood at the edge of the room, just slightly apart from her. His back was turned, but she could feel his gaze on her, sharp and unwavering, as though he were trying to understand something that was just out of reach. His usual stoic expression was in place, but there was something different in his eyes. A depth to his gaze, a question or maybe a thought he had yet to voice.
Artoria's breath caught for a moment, her mind racing to comprehend the subtle shift she felt between them. She had known Arthur for years, fought beside him, and witnessed him in battle. Yet in this quiet, intimate moment, she felt a new tension—one that wasn't there before.
It was almost as if the world outside had disappeared, leaving only the two of them in this small room, where neither of them had to carry the weight of the crown, the expectations, or the burdens of their roles.
She shifted on the bed, breaking the silence with a small, but purposeful movement. Her voice was soft, though the slight edge of teasing was evident. "Arthur, do you intend to just stare, or will you join me?"
Arthur blinked, as if momentarily caught off guard by the question. His expression remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes—surprise, maybe, or a thought that he wasn't prepared to confront.
For a long moment, he said nothing, and Artoria began to wonder if perhaps she had overstepped, if her words had come too forward. Yet, as she tried to shift again, his voice finally broke the silence, low and quiet.
"I didn't mean to intrude."
His words weren't an apology, not quite, but there was a certain softness in them. Arthur didn't apologize for much, if ever, but Artoria could hear the underlying meaning in his tone. It wasn't his usual detached formality. This was... different.
She sat up slowly, the light fabric of her underdress shifting as she did. Her eyes found his again, and for the first time, the space between them didn't feel like a chasm. There was something unspoken in the air—a connection that neither of them had acknowledged until now.
"You're not intruding," Artoria said softly, her voice surprisingly gentle. "I... I was just resting."
Her words hung between them, but they weren't enough to shatter the stillness that had settled in the room. Arthur, his eyes still locked with hers, took a small step forward, the faintest of movements, but enough to close the distance that had existed between them.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Artoria's heart, which had been steady and calm for so long, seemed to beat just a little faster. She could see it now, clearer than ever before. The way he looked at her wasn't one of just a King to his trusted knight. There was something more, something deeper than she had ever acknowledged in her own heart.
"Do you think it's foolish?" Arthur's voice was quieter this time, almost uncertain. His eyes, those piercing blue eyes, softened as they remained on her. "To seek something outside of duty, outside of Camelot?"
Artoria could feel the weight of his question, as though he were asking about more than just their current journey. She knew his burdens. She knew the responsibilities he carried, the crown he wore. But now, in this moment of stillness, there was a part of him that was asking, just as much as she was: Can we ever truly step away from it all?
She tilted her head slightly, considering his words. "Foolish?" She repeated, as if testing the idea. "Perhaps it is foolish. But sometimes... sometimes it's necessary to be foolish."
Arthur's lips twitched upward slightly, but only for a fraction of a second. It was so subtle, so fleeting, that Artoria almost thought she imagined it. But she didn't. She saw it.
"I think you may be right."
There was a shift in the air, something that couldn't be articulated with mere words. They had always been so clear in their roles—King and Knight, leader and protector—but in that moment, neither of them held onto those titles. It was just them, and that quiet understanding between them.
Arthur took another step closer, this time not hesitant. He wasn't rushing, wasn't pressing, but his proximity felt like an unspoken promise.
Artoria didn't pull away.
They stood in silence for a few moments longer, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was... something else. Something new.
And for the first time in a long while, they allowed themselves to simply exist together, without the weight of the world pressing down on them. No crowns. No titles. Just two souls in the quiet of a small inn room, sharing a moment that neither of them would ever speak of aloud.
Arthur hesitated for a moment before slowly stepping forward, his measured footsteps barely making a sound against the wooden floor. The candlelight flickered, casting shifting shadows across the room, the dim glow making the space feel smaller, more intimate.
Artoria remained seated on the bed, watching him with an expression that was neither commanding nor expectant—just calm. When he was close enough, she reached out, her fingers wrapping gently around his hand.
"Don't be wary, Arthur." Her voice was steady, but there was a softness to it, an assurance that was rare between them.
Arthur glanced down at her hand in his, a quiet wariness flickering in his eyes before he met her gaze once more. There was no hesitation in her expression, no trace of unease—just an openness he wasn't accustomed to.
"Come join me," she said, her grip still light, as if offering him a choice rather than an order.
He exhaled slowly, his brows furrowing ever so slightly. "Shouldn't I sleep on the floor?" His voice was low, contemplative. "It would be improper for me to take the bed while you—"
"Do you truly believe that?" Artoria interrupted, tilting her head slightly, studying him. There was no rebuke in her tone, no sharpness—just an unspoken question.
Arthur hesitated. Of course, he believed it. It wasn't just propriety that dictated his actions, but something deeper—his sense of duty, the expectations placed upon him, and the distance he had always maintained, even from those closest to him.
Artoria gave his hand a slight tug, not forceful, just enough to remind him that he was still standing there, still thinking when he could simply be.
"You are no longer the Sword Saint here, Arthur," she said quietly. "Nor am I a ruler. We are simply travelers sharing a room for the night. Nothing more."
The weight of her words settled between them, and for a brief moment, Arthur allowed himself to wonder—what would it be like to set aside the burdens of kingship, even if only for one night?
He exhaled through his nose, a near-silent laugh escaping as he shook his head. "You speak as though it is so simple."
"Perhaps it is."
Her words were quiet but firm, and Arthur found himself unable to look away from her. He had always admired her resolve, her unwavering conviction—but there was something different about it now. This wasn't the resolute determination of a knight on the battlefield or a king defending her people.
This was Artoria, the woman, speaking to him—not a sovereign, not a warrior, just her.
The realization made something inside him shift.
After a long pause, he finally nodded and sat down beside her, careful to keep a respectable distance, though their hands remained lightly clasped between them.
The silence stretched, but it was not awkward. If anything, it felt... natural.
"You're tense," Artoria noted, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.
Arthur chuckled softly. "I am not accustomed to this."
"Neither am I," she admitted.
Another pause. The flickering candlelight cast their shadows across the walls, two figures sitting side by side, no longer weighed down by their duties.
"But," Artoria continued after a moment, her voice quieter now, as if she were voicing a thought she had never dared to before, "perhaps we should allow ourselves to grow accustomed to it."
Arthur turned his head slightly, watching her expression. There was no demand in her words, no expectation. Just a simple truth, left in the air between them.
And for once, he didn't feel the need to deny it.
"As you said, this journey is for me to find myself," Artoria murmured, her voice quiet but firm.
The words struck something deep within Arthur, shaking him from the momentary warmth he had allowed himself to feel. It was as if a veil had been pulled back, revealing an uncomfortable truth he had overlooked.
He stepped back, pulling away from the touch he had been unconsciously leaning into. His gaze lowered, his expression momentarily unreadable.
This is false.
The thought gripped him like an iron chain. How had he not realized it sooner?
Artoria was in pain. The loss of Caliburn had left her adrift, searching for something—anything—to anchor herself to. She was questioning her right to be a king, to even call herself one. And now, this journey, this companionship, this—whatever this was—was nothing more than an attempt to fill that void.
She was using him.
Not maliciously. Not consciously. But the weight of that realization pressed against his chest in a way he hadn't expected, tightening like a vice.
And yet... why did it hurt?
Arthur inhaled slowly, steadying himself before offering a small, practiced smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I insist. I'll sleep on the floor."
Artoria frowned, studying him. He knew that look—she wasn't fooled.
"You were fine with it a moment ago."
"That was before I thought it through," Arthur replied, keeping his tone light, almost casual.
She didn't break eye contact, as if searching for something in his face.
"You believe this is a mistake," she said, not phrasing it as a question.
Arthur hesitated. Not a mistake, he wanted to say. But not something real, either. At least, not in the way he had foolishly allowed himself to hope.
"You're vulnerable right now, Artoria." His voice was quieter now, but firm. "You may not realize it, but you are."
Her brows furrowed, a flicker of something crossing her face—irritation, perhaps, or confusion. But she said nothing, allowing him to continue.
"Losing Caliburn wounded you more deeply than you let on. And I..." He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "I do not wish to be a crutch for you to lean on while you search for something to hold onto."
Silence filled the space between them.
For the first time in a long while, Arthur felt exposed—more so than he did on any battlefield, more than he did when wearing his crown. He had faced countless opponents, but facing this—facing her—was something else entirely.
Artoria's expression didn't change, but something softened in her eyes.
"You think too much," she finally said.
Arthur let out a quiet laugh, though it lacked amusement. "I've been told that before."
Another silence. It stretched longer this time, neither of them knowing quite what to say.
Then, finally, Artoria sighed.
"Very well," she said, turning her gaze away. "If it puts your mind at ease, then do as you wish."
Arthur inclined his head slightly in gratitude before moving toward the other side of the room. He removed his cloak, setting it on the floor before lowering himself onto it. The wooden boards beneath him were far from comfortable, but he had endured worse.
Artoria shifted slightly on the bed but said nothing more.
And yet, even as they lay in silence, separated by only a few feet, Arthur couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed between them.
Something fragile. Something neither of them were ready to name.