Three months had passed from the weekend at the lake with his parents when Arthur got his first real vacation from work (injury leave not withstanding) and he planned on not taking Wade this time. It was too far.
The memories of himself as a king had somewhat returned over time, mostly fractals of routine and barking orders at Merlin. He could see the tender face of Gwen, and of Morgana, and his knights beginning to leave lasting impressions- even his father, who looked much like his own now; save for a darker expression and a ghastly thinness to his figure, one unfit for a former king.
Arthur, Morri, and Finn were still close but did not drink together like they had before. There was a tensioned silence between them at the absence of Emrys, of Merlin, which made them feel lonely. Finn focused on his girlfriend, and Morri focused more deeply on the restructuring of his practice. Morri would watch Wade while he was gone, for however long he needed.
Arthur wanted to look for his past selves again, travel Europe in their shadows, though he wished to forego America with such being as it were. Plus, he felt he remembered all the important things in such an average life in which his love was the only extraordinary component.
He would relive his life as King and as artist. He would piece himself together again. He would travel and find himself.
He wished to go to see Stuart Thithe's remaining paintings, currently displayed in a small gallery in Bristol. It was a little over an hour and a half by train and would be on the way to where he really wanted to visit, Winchester. One of the towns that is supposed to be where Camelot once stood, which was another few hours from Bristol. He would be able to finish the whole trip in a day or two, depending on how long he planned to dwell in both cities.
Arthur wanted to take his time with this, but he had no idea if the whole trek was a futile task. He got up at dawn, packed a rucksack of a few days of clothes, a few books to read on the train rides, and the needed essentials. He would be gone a day or two, up to a week at most, given the amount of time he had off. He decided he could travel until his budget ran out, if he had the desire to.
He dropped Wade off with Morri sometime after 7 and reached the gallery in Bristol by 9. It was not open yet, so he wandered aimlessly window-shopping. He was wired all morning, despite not having any coffee. He wandered aimlessly until stumbling upon a tourist gift shop, filled with the usual rabble to entice the gullible traveler.
He wandered in, taking a large breath of the strawberry incense burning from the back of the store, an old woman doodling on a notepad of paper, glanced up and welcomed him warmly. The further he got into the shop, the more the usual mug and poster fodder faded into histoical books and hand-stitched patches.
"Looking for anything in particular?" She asked, sizing him up with her eyes.
He looked around with interest, eyes glued to a particular patch and rubbing the embroidery with his fingers, "No, just waiting for the gallery to open. Looking around."
The blood red of the crest and shield drew his attention, tracing over the gold accent when the woman leaned forward and offered with interest, "You know what that is? You seem fond of it."
"It seems familiar," Arthur admitted, though he wasn't sure why. It was that pull again, that indescribable tug.
"You have likely seen it in a book somewhere at least once. It's the Pendragon crest, you know, King Arthur and all that?"
Arthur felt a strangled laugh escape his lips, "Oh. Wow." It made sense, he had seen it in passing in his own memories, after all.
"Have an interest in all that?"
"Yes, actually," he smiled, looking at the patch. "I was actually thinking of heading to Winchester from here, see where the castle was."
"You'd be going the wrong way!" She smiled conspiratorially, "They say it might be in Winchester but I am something of a history buff, have a degree on renaissance literature, and I can tell you you're better off heading to Somerset. It's closer, anyway."
"Really?" He asked, "you're sure?"
His heart seemed to remind him of his mother's words, this surely had to be his sign. It had to be, right?
"Positive," she beamed. "Wanna buy that patch? I can tell you the best way to get there by train."
He dug some bills from his pocket with a smile, slipping the patch into his pocket, "Name your price."
Armed with a change in plans, he made it to the gallery and was surprised to be the only one there aside from a single staff member. He wandered around, halfheartedly viewing art as he passed. Merlin's face on canvas at the back of the u-shaped room made him pause, the paintings were even more stunning in person. He gazed at them adoringly, saw affection in every painted expression, and tenderness in every brush stroke.
In his mind, he saw glimpses of it, the madness to paint your past life and love over and over until every facet and pore is memorized and reassuring in it's sameness. He closed his eyes and the warmth overwhelmed him, even the saddest memories had the tiniest glimmer of light: Merlin, Emrys, he felt his presence in the portraits.
He sat on a nearby bench and lingered, staring at those faces, until he grew weary and decided to continue on. He wished to reach Somerset before evening, if all went well. He wished to see the castle, or its remains, and to pay respects to all who lied there. Perhaps he would be able to find his own grave, a symbol that everything really happened. That Emrys, Arthur's memories of him, was not a long conspiracy of the world to drive him to inescapable lethargy.
He got off the train a little after 3pm and adjusted his bag on his shoulder, taking out the map the woman had given him, a circle where the castle was supposed to be located. He took his time walking, taking in the sights of the beautiful city and nearby forests. It was a very long but not unpleasant trek. His heart soared the closer he got to the grounds.
His feeling settled somewhat to disappointment to not only see no marked graves but no castle to speak of, merely a hilled fort. It was a beautiful view, though. He stood away from the other tourists, sitting on the edge of a knoll on the grassy hill.
He closed his eyes and breathed the air. While no memories flooded him, a sense of relief washed over him. He could feel the castle walls and their dampness, their chill. The spring wind felt welcome on his skin, the warmth of the sun made him feel whole. He felt at home.
He opened his eyes, eyes gazing over the horizon. A giant blue patch a mile or so away, drew his eye. He looked around for the guide and waved him over, pointing to it, "What is that?"
"Part of the old Ambrose farm, it's been in that family for generations. Why don't you go take a look? I believe they're holding market today with their neighbors, selling their crops. They usually do this time of month. You go straight from here, through that field, and you'll end up right at their door. Nice old folks, make the best jam in the continent."
Arthur smiled, feeling the more walking at this point, the better, focusing on his sore feet would soften the blow of his disappointment not being able to see his old home. "Thanks, I'll be going, then."
He strode along, his light bag feeling heavier and heavier as he walked. Part of him wished he had rented a locker at the train station. Exhausted, and the sun starting to set, he eventually reached the beginning of the blue field he had seen from so far away. They were little blue flowers.
He sat on the dirt path between the two halves of the field, taking a rest. His stomach protested loudly. He would never make it to this market in time, if it had been around at all. Remembering the guide mentioning the jelly made his mouth water.
As the sun slid behind the hills the flowers gave off a delicate scent of sweetness. He leaned his head over and buried his nose in the flowers, the faint scent calming him.
Once he stood up again, he picked some along the way as he continued to walk to the house. Perhaps he could find an inn nearby to sleep. Admittedly, the thought never crossed his mind. He was so excited for the trip, he got a little swept up in the whole thing. He had lodgings prepared for Winchester and cancelled them while on the train, he had nothing prepared here.
His phone had lost signal a couple hours ago, but his clock showed it was nearly 7, there had been fields of the flowers nonstop for the past twenty minutes. He reached near the end of the field, the other arranges of crop finally lining the grounds. He finally saw a figure of another person, wearing a straw hat, clipping tomatoes from the vine.
The bouquet of flowers nearly fell from his hand as he ran full speed towards the figure, who had taken off their hat to wipe the sweat from their eyes.
"Emrys! Emrys!"
The figure stood, wobbly, as he was crushed in a hug, a sob wrenching from his throat, "You found me."