There was a bookshop tucked into a nook in London. It was the type of shop you wouldn't notice unless you were looking for it. It was a ma and pa type of shop. This shop had been around for over fifty years. Some of the costumers would swear that the youthful adult running the shop had been the same one to have opened it. The name of the shop was quaint. The Green Dragon. Maybe it was named green because of his emerald eyes. Maybe it was because it had been painted green when it was first bought. The youthful man was a blond with unruly hair, massive eyebrows, and a temper but he was the kindest man you would ever meet.
Year after boring year. Day after day. The same routine for almost fifty years. Dust the shelves. Gently move books to prevent damage. Clean the windows. Write corrections into different history books or plays that hadn't been translated correctly. Another boring day. Just him and his dusty books. Boring was good, though. Boring was safe. Sometimes the Queen would order him to be deployed for a tour or two. A few missions for the MI5 here and there. Train new recruits. Continue to look for the American personification. He knew that there was a small child. He had done research for centuries. He finally believed that he had found the place and pulled out a sheet of paper to write the place down. Roanoke.
The moment he finished writing the word, Americans with guns burst into his bookshop and flashed their badges before shooting him with many extremely strong sedatives. As he started to feel the effects of the sedative, there were arms grabbing him and trying to force him into hand cuffs and subdue him. He lashed out, refusing to go down without a fight. He knew that some of his assailants would be nursing nasty bruises for a while and that made him pleased as the darkness clouded his vision and he knew no more.
The American agents were not expecting the target to fight back or even remain conscious for as long as he had. Almost all of the agents were nursing some type of injury. The transportation of the target went relatively easy. The target was securely restrained and kept unconscious for the entirety of the flight to America and the ride to the Lightman Group. Who better to sense deception than the world's leading deception expert?
He was handcuffed to a chair in the cube, the walls white and the steel cold. He came around hours before they expected him to. He simply sighed. As he shifted enough to be semi comfortable, his eyes never shifted from the camera he spotted. He knew someone was watching him.
"Could I have a cuppa tea? I assume it's almost tea time and I would bloody well love a cuppa." The blonde Brit stated in a steady voice, slightly groggy. Loker snorted involuntarily. Torres smacked him.
"Honestly, Loker. His file is filled with documents dating back to the early 1600s and you are amused by the fact that he wants tea?" "But it's just such a British and normal thing to say." Torres rolled her eyes at that. Cal entered the room, followed by Foster.
"How long has he been up?" Cal inquired.
"About three minutes."
"Has he said anything?" Foster asked.
"No. Just asked for tea." Torres shot back. Cal leaned in to look closer at the screen, studying the agent.
"Bloody hell. He..." Cal stopped himself before heading to the room and entering it. He slammed the door when he entered. The blonde didn't even react.
"I suppose I won't be getting that tea?" The Brit asked.
"How old are you?" Cal slumped into the chair across from the Brit.
"I've lost count. How is the knee doing?" The Brit responded. Cal froze. "Hmm... It didn't heal fast enough for active duty. Went to the Pentagon, correct? Divorced. How is Emily? I hope she is doing well." The blonde was talking as if he was discussing the weather. Cal looked the coldest and angriest they had ever seen.
"Leave Emily out of this."
"I would never bring her into it in the first place. Family is too important to be dragged into government problems, Cal. I told you this when I was training you." The blonde stated in a slightly disappointed voice. "Why am I even here? The Americans have no right to bring me in. I have broken no laws and have stayed relatively unnoticed."
"Who are you?"
"Arthur Kirkland."
"Who are you, really?"
"My name is Arthur Pendragon Kirkland. I live in London, UK."
"How old are you?"
"26 years of age."
Something didn't feel right about the words coming from Arthur. Foster decided to make an entrance with one of the files they had. This one contained pictures of him throughout history. She casually tossed it on the table.
"Would you like to try again?" Foster asked mockingly.
"How do you expect me to move the photos if I cannot move my hands, Dr. Foster?" Arthur asked. Lightman slammed his hand on the table, scattering some of the pictures.
"You don't get the choice to back out of this, Kirkland! Many people are trying to kill you! The British Government has no clue you are here. We deserve the truth! I DESERVE THE TRUTH!" Cal yelled. Arthur only raised an eyebrow.
"I told you that I am Arthur Pendragon Kirkland. Look at the Wikipedia page on me. I'm the urban legend. I am nothing more than a myth. I saved you from that base because I knew that your daughter needed you. Is that what you want to know, Agent 2078?" Arthur snapped. Cal stared in shock. Floater pulled him out of the room. Kirkland sighed before flicking his wrists. The handcuffs came undone instantly.
"Honestly, those things need to be made better.  Again, I would like a cuppa." Arthur stated as he stood and stretched for a moment before sitting again, crossing his legs and arms, a scowl on his face. Torres watched him, startled by how he had freed himself. Lightman was glaring at the man, trying to see something.
"Foster, his Wikipedia page is... look at it yourself. It says he worked for the Queen in 2005. He is a UN Ambassador for something classified. He was a RAF pilot during WW2. He was a five star General in WW1. He was a pirate of the famous ship Britannia. He was rumored to have been married to Queen Elizabeth the First. He started the spy agencies. He was listed as one of the travelers to Roanoke but had returned before the disappearance. His name was mentioned in many accounts of battles during the Hundred Years War. He is even rumored to be..." Loker stopped.
"As whom?" Cal snapped.
"Kking Arthur Pendragon of Camelot." Loker whispered. Torres laughed.
"That would be impossible. All of that is impossible. It is scientifically impossible." Foster started.
"No. It's not. He was the most classified person in the MI5. I thought he died that day. He saved my daughter and I from a group that was going to shoot us. He told me to run after he had handed me baby Emily. We ran. There was an explosion. No survivors." Lightman sighed. "We have to let him go and destroy any evidence that he had been here."
"What?" Loker, Torres, and Foster almost shouted at the same time. A voice behind them caused them all to turn around.
"The world cannot know of my existence. To know would cause wide spread panic. I already altered the security records and deleted the voice recordings. I had hoped to see you once more, Dr. Lightman. I am sorry it had to be like this. Any questions before I leave?" Kirkland stated.
"How?" Torres squeaked.
"MI5 and experience, love."
"Are you King Arthur?" Loker asked. Torres hit him. "Ow! What was that for?"
"Don't be stupid!" Torres hissed. Kirkland smirked.
"If I was King Arthur, then I would be over a thousand years old. What do you believe?" Arthur asked softly before winking and disappearing.