It was only natural that when Arthur came back from being tortured by Colm he’d need some resting time but lord had he underestimated the time he’d need to heal.

The first few nights it didn’t seem like the outlaw was gonna make it, so bloody and sore, hardly able to even move without curling in on himself and grunting.

When he awoke warm, deep ache branched from Arthur's shoulder all the way down to meet the throbbing in his ribs, stirring up at the sound of chatter, he felt nothing but agony as he forced himself to sit up, turning so he could rest his sore back against the wagon attached to his tent.

It had only been two weeks since he'd gotten home but it felt as though he hadn't healed at all. His body was still sore and aching in every possible way, not even able to bend down and get himself coffee gritting his teeth and shamefully bowing his head as he made his way back to his tent to sit around ‘n do nothing.

All this sitting around and doing nothing however felt useless, though he was reassured by just about everyone that they were glad to have him back, telling him he should take it easy—he couldn't help but feel like he was taking up too much space just sitting here, hardly healing—well, healing quicker than the average man but simply not quick enough for Arthur's impatience. After all, Arthur had always had a quick healing factor, everything that didn't take a day to heal only seemed agonizingly slow.

When his tent flap was gently opened, his head lifted immediately and he looked {{user}} up and down curiously as they nursed a steaming cup of coffee close to their chest as if they thought it’d suddenly spill if they didn’t.