The Return

This story contains a brief mention of the topic of suicide

“Where is everybody?” asked Little Plump Jo.

“They will be back. They always come back. Even Arthur always comes back”

The hitch in Sir Lancelot du Lac’s voice and the pain and uncertainty expressed in his dark eyes indicated that Lancelot was trying to reassure himself rather than answer.

Jo had only been away for three days but it felt as if it had been much longer. And Malory Tennyson’s Cloudbank Cabin for Arthurian Studies, where Jo was a current Artisan in Residence, felt different too. It was as if the dimensions had somehow changed and been skewed. She wondered whether it was because the information and interactions she had experienced during her time at The ARC Arthurian Readers Club had altered some of her perceptions. She had been exposed to so many disputed facts, researches, theories and fantasies in the three days that she was questioning her own understanding.

It had been an eye-opener for Jo that very few of the authors who wrote Arthurian fiction came to the Fog Lake to write; and even among those there was disparity in whether they could perceive the re-enactments in the Fog Lake, and how much connection they achieved with the characters. This she guessed accounted for the variation in the time period, settings and character attributes in the Arthurian stories being written. For herself, as Malory Tennyson’s protégé, she was limited to recording the stories in accordance with the tellings of Malory and Tennyson.

It was very strange to see only Lancelot in the cabin which was usually filled with Arthurian characters who came up from the re-enactments in the Fog Lake.

“I will just go and put my bags down…” said Jo.

“No, please do not leave me” Lancelot pleaded. “I am sorry. I do know they will come back. But everything has been so different since The Glitch in the Fog Lake. Events are happening out of order. Do you think they have all been caught up in the Rapture and I was not worthy to go?”

Jo dropped her bags in the corner and sat down beside the bed where Lancelot lay, exactly where he had been before she left for the ARC conference. His leg was still supported in the splint and sling device but Jo could see that the wound had been bleeding again. Lancelot had been severely wounded when he departed from the script in a Fog Lake re-enactment, defending the honour of Queen Guinevere in the trial by combat with Sir Mador de la Porte. Jo could not physically do anything to help him. He was in the fictional dimension.

“Where is Merlin?” asked Jo.

“I do not know. He went somewhere with my foster mother, the Lady of the Lake.”

“And where are Robin Butler and Petit Oz Le Cure Hardy?”

“I do not know. Everybody went out to see something of miraculous import that was happening in the Fog Lake.”

“What about Lady Charlotte-Elaine?”

“She has gone to a weaving expo somewhere. I do not know whether she will come back. I was starting to

listen for her coming and regret

Her parting step

“Well, her loom is still there in the corner; so she will probably be back fairly soon” Jo said reassuringly. “So, has nobody been nursing you the last few days?”

“Yes, an old peasant woman. She keeps on scolding me with gloomy prophecies. She seems to think I am going to die within the year”

“She is not as tidy as Elaine” Little Plump Jo observed, noting a wooden tub of reddened water and a pile of blood soaked bandages left of the floor.

“Your Intellectual Dabrowski dog says she is the Old Peasant Woman from the Forest in the Bresson film.”

Ah, of course! No wonder things felt different in the Cabin! Jo’s overexcitable writing companions, the five Dabrowski Dogs were not there. She had left them with a family in the village while she attended the ARC conference. Because dogs hear a different range of sound, they were her connection to Malory Tennyson and the Arthurian characters in their fictional dimension.

Jo was sure that her dogs would have been well cared for in her absence. But she could not help but remember the tales she had heard at the ARC conference about authors who brought their dogs to the Fog Lake. One had run away into the bush and another had licked toxic wallpaper necessitating a trip to the vet. But her dogs would be safe, surely? They were probably right now playing with other dogs on the village green. Jo sent a quick text informing the family that she was back and received an answer ‘Welcome home. Bringing dogs back soon’ with a smiley face.

So, how was it possible that she could still communicate so well with Lancelot? A thought occurred to her. “Is Heureux there with you?”

“Of course, he is very faithful!”

So apparently this dog intermediary system worked well on both sides of the fictional divide!

“I am very cold, Little Plump Jo, and the strength has left my arms and I have a feeling of dread upon me.”

“Heureux, get your master a blanket” Jo instructed “une couverture, un tapis, une fourrure, une peau de loup, or something.”

Heureux just sat there beside Lancelot looking puzzled.

“He only takes orders from me” Lancelot said. “Heureux, apportez une couverture!”

“That is much better. It is amazing how much difference a small thing like that makes. Little Plump Jo, I should have gone straight from the battlefield at Camlann to the nunnery at Amesbury to find my Lady. She would have said she had retired from the world to seek repentance and I should do the same. I would have been able to find redemption and peace in a monastery with the few surviving Knights of the Round Table. But I was too tired to go on and then the cart bearing the wounded brought me here. Has my ending changed? I have not had my peaceful death in this iteration yet. Should I try to get to Amesbury now?”

“Of course not!” Jo said soothingly, “At least until you have recovered, you need to just rest here. Is that where Queen Guinevere is now?”

“I assume so. But where are all the others? If they have just gone to see something in the Fog Lake surely they would be back by now!”

A familiar triple knock on the door announced Jo’s friend bringing back the Dabrowski Dogs. “Here they are! They were no trouble at all. Loved having them. Hope you had a great time at the conference. I’ll call in later to hear all about it. Have to run now to catch the store before it closes!”

The five dogs rushed in to bounce around Jo.

“Did you bring us some treats?” yelped Psycho Motor.

“I hope you collected plenty of history information handouts!” barked Intellectual.

Emotional and Sensual sat down one each side of Jo and just gave out lovings towards her.

“I cannot wait to hear all the stories from the conference” sighed Imaginational.

“Yes, I brought you treats, yes I collected heaps of information and took notes and sketches, and yes I have stories to tell you that will curl your Bedlington fur even further! I have missed you all so much!”

“Now, could you go down to the Fog Lake and find out what is happening? I need to stay here with Sir Lancelot.”

The Dabrowski Dogs burst back in through the door with a crowd of Fog Lake characters. They were all exclaiming and chattering and barking at once.

“The sword in the stone has been drawn!”

“Excalibur has been claimed!”

“The rightful king of all Britain has been revealed!”

“Long live King Arthur!”

“They said ‘Let the boy try! Let the boy try!’ and then King Arthur came up and drew the sword and they all cheered.”

“Long live King Arthur!”

“Actually he didn’t look any younger than when we saw him last” quibbled Intellectual to Jo “ a bit like Nigel Terry playing young Arthur as well as older Arthur in Excalibur. But the Fog Lake script called for them all to chant Let the boy try!”

“Arthur has returned? So soon?” That was Lancelot.

“Yep, he is back like Arnie!” Psycho Motor yelped. “Ah’ll be baaark!”

And then there was King Arthur himself, striding into Cloudbank Cabin and greeting Lancelot with a great bear hug warrior’s embrace.

“I tried to come to your aid at Camlann but again I arrived too late” Lancelot said.

“Bless you! Bless you for coming! And bless you for coming to our Table” said King Arthur. “There! Now you are up to date; and you don’t even have to knock me off my horse this time.” (Camelot The musical Act 1 informed Intellectual)

“But…” Lancelot protested

King Arthur passed him a broom handle. “Very well, poke me in the chest if you must” Arthur took an undignified prat fall. “And I will knight you officially. There! Now we have completed the formalities!”

“But Arthur, there are usually several years separating you drawing Excalibur and me coming to court.”

“Well, I did not get as long a long sleep on Avalon as usual” King Arthur replied. “When I return from Avalon, the Sword in the Stone is always re-enacted. But Malory Tennyson does not want to go through all the Early Reign scenes again. He said to condense where we could.”

“I see. So, if you have drawn Excalibur and I have been knighted, where is Queen Guinevere now? Is she at Camelot already or do I have to escort her from Cameliard for your wedding?”

“I do not know.”

“You do not know!” Lancelot exploded “Is she at Camelot or not?”

“Not that I have noticed.”

“You have not noticed!” Lancelot’s dark eyes were flashing dangerously.

“Well, I am only just back from my shortened long sleep and it has been very busy. You always were more concerned about Her Majesty’s whereabouts than I was, Lance.”

“Concerned about her wear-abouts!” snickered Dagonet the Jester, who had just rolled in from The Tavern with Robin Butler and Petit Oz Le Cure Hardy. “It’s a real hoot in The Tavern today! Malory Tennyson cancelled the Birth of Arthur scene and Opportunistic Olga is upset because her Arfur will miss his chance of playing Baby King Arthur. Everybody is taking bets on who will have a baby in time for the next iteration and predicting there will be a spate of babies being named Arthur, Artorius, Artus, Bear and Wart in a few months.”

“Arthur, you know that, as Her Majesty’s Knight Champion, it is my duty to know at all times where Her Majesty is, in order to ensure her complete safety” Lancelot growled, wincing as Robin and Petit Oz eased his position. “A responsibility which you yourself bestowed on me ; unless perhaps you would prefer to choose someone else for the role this time.”

“Oh, come on Lance, lighten up! I was just joking! You are the only one I would trust to care for her. It is usually a few years between drawing Excalibur from the stone and my marriage, so I really do not know whether Guinevere is in Camelot yet.”

“But seriously, Arthur, I think you should choose someone else this time. I do not know how long it will be before I can even put any weight on this leg.”

“When will Lady Elaine be returning?” queried Petit Oz. “This current nurse, The Old Lady from the Forest is a real joy snuffer with all her gloomy prognostications. And she leaves such a mess around. It is not really our job to clean up after her.”

“Seems like Lady Elaine, or Lady Charlotte-Elaine as she likes to be known now, is a law unto herself these days” said Dagonet. “And we would not expect her as Elaine of Astolat to be here so early in the story anyway.”

“I do not understand why your health has not been reset for this next iteration, Lance” Arthur said. “That wound happened in the Trial by Combat with Sir Mador. It is usually not much more than a scratch and everyone laughs and gossips about you claiming it as reason to stay behind rather than compete in the Tournament for the Ninth Diamond.”

“It is because it is not a regular Fog Lake wound, Arthur. I departed from the script and walked into the blow without deflecting it. My cousin Bors said (and Bors knows about such things) that I was following too much the devices and desires of my own heart and that it was a mortal sin to do such a thing. I told him I had not intended to die – I just wanted a severe enough injury to avoid the Tournament for the Ninth Diamond.”

“Somehow you all seem to be at different parts of your stories or have actually departed from your stories” observed Dagonet. “It must be because of The Glitch in the Fog Lake.

Maybe time is going faster and the Fog Lake has a Black Hole in it and everything is spiralling faster and faster towards the hole.”

“Your role as Jester is to be amusing, cheering and uplifting!” King Arthur cautioned.

Malory Tennyson came striding in. “Come on you lot – dragons to slay, damsels to rescue, oppressed peoples to be liberated.”

“Can you be more specific?” asked Lancelot.

“And you, you lazy …. I want to see you out there doing and overdoing and daring doing!”

“Yep, that’s right! Give it the old Monty Python ‘it’s only a flesh wound attitude!” yelped Psycho Motor Dabrowski.

“Malory, I will not be fit to return to the Fog Lake for several months” Lancelot said.

“That is just not good enough!”

“What are you going to do – dismiss me? You know I am the You that you want to be! I am not perfect, Malory, so deal with it!”

“I will find me a better you, a son of yours, who can

do and almost overdo the deeds

Of Lancelot

“I will arrange for a Galahad!”

And Malory Tennyson went striding out again.

“Malory doesn’t have a clue where they up to either!” barked Intellectual