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/-\
Arthur hadn't expected peace to feel this strange.
He stood beside George, just having returned, and his mother still sat in the living room behind them poised, elegant. The realization that she was really there still felt unreal.
She gestured lightly with her hand, chin raised.
"I have an idea, instead of standing here let us prepare dinner," she said, as though she hadn't just shattered Arthur's entire composure minutes prior.
George straightened. "Allow me, madam. It will be no trouble."
But Lady Blackwynd shook her head.
"No, George. We will do it together."
Then her eyes slid to Arthur, sharp but softening.
"And you, my son, will assist us."
Arthur blinked.
"…Me?"
A faint amused smile curved her lips.
"Yes. You."
She turned and walked toward the kitchen like it was final decree. Even Dexter trotted after her like a tiny lion obeying its queen.
Arthur followed slow, resigned and for the first time in a long while his hands were not wrapped around weapons, but vegetables, knives dull with domesticity instead of blood.
George chopped, measured, followed them.
Lady Blackwynd worked beside him, sleeves rolled carefully to her elbows, movements elegant even here. Arthur took cues silently, eyeing her hands, mimicking the cutting rhythm she taught him when he was barely tall enough to reach the counter.
George spoke as he placed herbs into a simmering pot, voice warm and dignified.
"Master Arthur, you should know that the lady may be of esteemed standing, but she has always insisted on preparing meals personally for you and young Master Adam. Even when the staff offered she preferred her own hand."
Lady Blackwynd gave him a gentle but firm glance.
"You need not flatter me, George."
"I flatter no one," George replied without breaking rhythm. "I merely remind him of truths he forgets."
Arthur exhaled through his nose something almost like laughter.
"I haven't forgotten. I know, Mother. And I appreciated it then… I still do."
She paused mid-motion. Her fingers stilled on the cutting board before she turned toward him fully. She reached up and held his face with one hand, guiding his gaze down to hers like she used to when he was small and stubborn.
"I know the burden you carry now," she said softly. "Power unlike anything anyone could have fathomed. I saw heroes on tv fight and return from battle broken, bloodied, leaving ruin in their wake...and I resented them. The destruction, the loss, the way they expected the world to simply endure all of that constantly."
Her voice trembled, but her posture never faltered.
"But when I first found out that you, my own son wields powers just like them…"
She drew a breath unsteady, painful, honest.
"I finally felt the terror their families must feel. And pride. And a strange safety I still cannot name. As if the world still stands because my son stands, because he always keeps fighting despite the odds."
Arthur's fingers tightened around the counter edge.
She continued, her eyes glistening but unwavering.
"So when you keep distance… when you carry this alone…"
Her hand slid to his cheek, warm, human, grounding.
"I understand. Truly. Because love and care takes many shapes, and this is yours."
Then she wrapped her arms around him.
Arthur froze.
The Shadow Monarch who tore monsters and great beings apart, who killed Kryptonians and commanded death itself stood there like a child who didn't know where to put his hands. His fingers trembled, something no blade or blast had ever caused. He felt small. Mortal. Human.
After a moment, he returned the embrace slow, hesitant, then firm.
He didn't speak. He couldn't.
George quietly stepped back to let them have the moment, a gentle smile softening the strict lines of his face.
For the first time in a long time, Arthur realized that vulnerability could hurt more than battle…
but it also warmed deeper.
And he held his mother, letting that warmth settle into a part of him he thought it started to die.
****
Dinner was warm.
Not grand, not royal, not dripping with wealth or power.
Just warm.
The three of them sat around the polished table, dishes still steaming the kind his mother used to cook when life was normal to them, before shadows became part of his vocabulary. The scent of herbs filled the kitchen, mingled with the faint crackle of fireplace heat and the quiet purr of Dexter curled lazily at Lady Blackwynd's feet.
His mother cut a slice of roasted vegetables, eyes shimmering with amused nostalgia.
"Arthur was five," she began, gesturing with her fork, "when he discovered he could sneak cookies from the pantry without making a sound. George found the jar empty and blamed the staff for weeks."
Arthur tried to maintain dignity but his mouth betrayed him in a smile before he could stop it. George cleared his throat with exaggerated offense.
"Madam, I maintain to this day that the jar was enchanted. No normal child could infiltrate my kitchen so effectively... he was blessed with powers early on it seems."
Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "You were too easy to fool back then."
George raised an eyebrow, silver hair catching the chandelier light.
"Young Master, I assure you I merely allowed you to believe that. A man has his pride. And you were my weakness."
Lady Blackwynd laughed soft, melodic, effortless.
Arthur watched her, truly watched, eyes softer than battle ever allowed.
His mother continued, voice laced with fondness.
"I remember when Arthur refused to sleep anywhere except beside the crib with Superman's S logo which used to be his when he was just a babe...It was a strange thing really, he'd glare at anyone who came too close, even me."
Arthur drank water to hide the way his chest tightened.
George added slyly, "Ah yes, the young master Arthur was quite territorial. An early display of possessiveness; fitting for the current King of Shadows."
Arthur threw him a glare, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
They ate. They spoke. They laughed like a family unburdened by destiny.
But beneath it all, Arthur's mind never rested.
His soldiers lurked unseen flowing like ink through the backyard, lining rooftops, curled beneath moonlit hedges.
Silent. Watchful. Blades waiting to be drawn at a thought.
And Arthur felt all of them.
Their presence pressing against his senses like phantom hands tugging at his attention.
Inside, he held two conversations one spoken, one internal.
'If Lobo comes tonight… He is chaotic so it might happen...'
His grip on the fork tightened just slightly.
No tremor. No fear. Just calculation.
'A bad time to visit... but Mother will not leave without suspecting something. I can't move her...not without breaking this moment. So I'll guard her. Guard this.'
If he breaches the perimeter, I'll end it quickly. No spectacle. No collateral.
I won't let destruction touch this room.'
He cut a piece of bread, placed it on Lady Blackwynd's plate. She smiled, unaware of the war he quietly is preparing for.
"How strange it is," she mused, "to see you like this. Calm. Home."
Her eyes softened. "It suits you, Arthur."
He met her gaze, and for once didn't look away.
"It's nice," he admitted. "I forget sometimes."
"To live?" she asked gently.
He nodded.
George lifted his wine with dignified flair. "Even Kings should rest, once in a century."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "I've been home for thirty minutes, George."
"A historic victory nonetheless."
His mother laughed again, and Arthur let the sound sit inside him warm and unfamiliar. These were things the Black Heart might one day take from him. He knew it, and he feared it.
That's why for now, he wanted to feel it.
He ate with them. Talked. Listened.
As king, not a monarch.
Outside, shadows crawled along the estate walls like loyal wolves. Flying in the skies and surveyed the orbit.
And Arthur allowed himself to breathe with his family… for it was worth guarding with both hands and every shadow he owned.
/-\
If you Like this story! Check out my other stories! Solo leveling in Westeros.
&
If you wish to read more or simply support me than check out my patreon at
"https://www.patreon.com/FrenzyAren"
You can Get Access to 3 More Chapters OR 7 More Chapters if you want