Chapter Text
“Damn it, I know I buried it somewhere around here.” A very old man in a grey skull cap and fraying jacket stood in the middle of a field in Wales poking at the ground with a shovel. “Damn trees all look alike. IT WASN’T THIS LIKE THIS ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. TREES HAD PERSONALITY BACK THEN.” He yelled at the nearby grove of beech. They ignored him. Everything seemed to ignore him nowadays.
Emrys Merlin Dragoon Balinorson marched back to the line of trees. “Okay, we’re going to try this again. Fifty paces north or was it east? Of the biggest beech next to the broken fence or was it the gap in the hedgerow? No, that’s for oaks.” Emrys gave up and walked over the biggest beech tree he could find, spun around three times then walked fifty paces in whatever direction he happened to stumble in.
“Thirty two, thirty three..” A sudden gust of wind caused Emrys beard to get caught in his mouth. Making ‘ppftppftppft’ sounds, he tried to get the offending hairs back in their proper place, but it wasn’t happening. Emrys threw down his shovel and yelled, “FUCK!” then sat down with thump on the wet grass. Arms and legs crossed, scowling, he moped while the wind continued to tease and knot his long hair.
“Should we go help him?” asked an archaeology student in a nearby field.
“Who?” answered another. He shielded his eyes and followed the direction the other student was pointing “Oh him? Nah, that’s Old Man Emrys. Just some local color. He’ll be alright.” and went back to laying out string guides for their upcoming dig.
“He might be hurt. I’m going to go talk to him.”
“Wha- Daisy! Wait!” Jordan ran to catch up to his classmate. Together they made their way across the large field, and had to navigate several random holes of varying shapes and depths as they grew closer to the pouting old man.
“Hello!” Daisy called out, “Are you okay? Do you need us to phone anyone for you?”
Emrys turned and hissed in their direction.
“See? Absolutely barmy. Let’s go back.” Jordan tried to grab Daisy’s arm.
She pulled away, “I’m not going anywhere! He’s obviously not well. Besides, he reminds me of my Grandpa. They’re all like that when they reach a certain age.” She walked closer to Emrys and sat down within arm’s reach. “Hello pet, my name is Daisy. What’s yours?”
“Bah! None of your damn business!” Emrys spat, then looked at her, “Who are you?”
She took a calming breath, “I’m Daisy. And this-“ she gestured at the man a few yards away, “is Jordan.”
Jordan sighed, but sat next to his friend out of solidarity. “I’m telling ya mate, Old Man Emrys is mental.”
Emrys squinted at the young man, “You look like a Jones, boy. Are you a Jones? Yes, I remember you now. Little chap; liked to join your granddad when he played rummy every Thursday at the Dragon’s Head. Tell him he still owes me three quid from two weeks ago! Sore loser never did like to pay up-“ Emrys broke into a coughing fit.
Jordan rolled his eyes. “It's only been three years since you've last seen me." But then he sighed, "Yeah, I’ll let him know.”
Daisy moved closer to pat the old man on the back, reaching in her coat pocket for a tissue, “Here, take this.”
“Thank you.” He said weakly. “Damn wind won’t quit playing tricks on me today.”
Jordan and Daisy made eye contact over Emrys head. Jordan made a ‘coo-coo’ gesture and this time Daisy did not disagree.
“Have you found what you needed to win the bet?” Jordan asked after a while, pulling at some grass by his feet.
“How’d you know about the bet?!” Emrys snapped.
“Because Mister Davis has already sent out Saturday's invites to the Dragon’s Head so you can pay for all their rounds. What are you looking for this time? Treasure? A unicorn’s horn? The lost city of Atlantis?”
“You sure do have some mouth on you. Gotten real uppity since going to that big university. Don’t forget boy, you have Wales deep in your bones. You’re a child of Camelot! But what a sorry excuse you turned out to be. I’ll have to let your Granddad know how you’ve been talk-“ Emrys was interrupted by more coughing.
Daisy, whose sympathies were usually very strong, was starting to think maybe Jordan was right after all.
“So? What are you looking for this time?” replied Jordan, unfazed by the Old Man’s rant.
Emrys couldn’t meet his eyes, “Gold. Twelfth century Welsh gold.”
Jordan let out a low whistle. “That’s a tall order, Old Man.”
“Bah! So much you know! Help me up girl!” Daisy scrambled to help pull Emrys upright. “Now that the wind is done teasing, and young Jones here has mocked me, just like his many forebears, I feel ready to start my quest again.” Emrys picked up his shovel and turned back to the beech grove.
“Jordan? Daisy? Why aren’t you at camp? And who’s this?”
That voice. Emrys froze. His heart started pounding against his rib cage, his palms grew sweaty and his legs seemed to lose all their strength. He slowly turned around to face the person joining them.
The stranger smiled warmly at Emrys and held out his hand, “I’m Armel Griffiths, but my friends call me Artie. What’s your name?”
Emrys stared at the golden haired, blue eyed man in front of him.
Arthur.