The Epiphany Provoker

“I want you to do this for me, Little Plump Jo. I want you to set me free from the Fog Lake, as you did for Elaine of Astolat!”

Sir Lancelot du Lac’s dark eyes were filled with hope and misplaced confidence.

Little Plump Jo had not actually done anything to free Elaine of Astolat from the Fog Lake. In fact, Elaine had not even vacated the Fog Lake. However, Elaine was now free from the eternal re-enactment of the tragic role of Elaine the Fair, Elaine the Lovely, The Lily Maid of Astolat. But unless you were to include ‘masterly inactivity’ as a course of action, there was nothing that could be ascribed to Little Plump Jo in Elaine’s escape.

Elaine had managed her own escape by simply declaring that from now on she would not identify as Elaine of Astolat but instead would be living in the Artist Tower on the Island of Shalott and be known as Lady Charlotte-Elaine, the Lady of Shalott, entrepreneur owner of Charlotte’s Web Weaving. She would not be nursing Sir Lancelot du Lac for months on end and then dying of unrequited love for him. So, by the end of Jo’s first book, it seemed that Sir Lancelot had died in the poplar grove and Elaine had gone on to new adventures.

In a way Little Plump Jo could be held responsible. She was the current Artisan in residence in Malory Tennyson’s Cloudbank Cabin for Arthurian Studies. She came to the cabin, on the shore of the Fog Lake to prepare a photo essay about The Realm Beyond the Cloudbank for her university studies. She had stayed on with the unrealistic goal of writing the whole Arthurian epic during the month of November. She had not completed even one story. She been undecided about her plotline and had not been decisive with her character profiles. She had not decided which of the Elaines or combination of the Elaine her Elaine would be. And Elaine had taken advantage of plot holes and loopholes to change her story.

Malory Tennyson had insisted that Jo’s first book should have a cliff hanger ending with doubt left as to whether Sir Lancelot had died. This would encourage readers to purchase the second book. Lancelot had survived and appeared in Little Plump Jo’s next book but, as Jo’s second book followed Elaine’s new adventures, Lancelot reentered the story as the over- confident, idealistic, young knight The Lady of Shalott saw riding past her tower singing ‘tirra-lirra.’

Now Sir Lancelot himself wanted to escape from the necessity of re-enacting the final chapters of Le Morte d’Arthur; or at least to orchestrate his part in a way that he would not cause Elaine’s death or be implicated as a key part in the fall of Camelot and death of King Arthur. He wished to avoid being banished to France and returning too late to bring his forces to fight beside King Arthur at the Battle of Camlann.

Lancelot had started the process by taking matters into his own hands and going off-script in a Trial by Combat in the Fog Lake, hoping to be severely wounded enough to not have to participate in the next few chapters and just be able to rejoin in time for the final battle. This had coincided with an event in the Fog Lake being referred to as The Glitch.

But Lancelot fully believed that to successfully change his story he would need Little Plump Jo to write the new story for him. He had decided this when he spent time in The Halfway House for Disgruntled Characters, a secret suite of rooms in the rear of Malory Tennyson’s Cloudbank Cabin.

And now he was back in Camelot under the care of King Arthur’s personal physician, Morgan Todd, facing a lengthy time of recovery from a fractured femur. So, he sent messages requesting that Little Plump Jo should come to his bedside.

Jo had assumed that the worldbuilding that had happened so far enabled her to view the re-enactments in the Fog Lake. And because of the connection her five overexcitable canine writing companions, the Dabrowski Dogs had with the characters, those characters were able to come up from the Fog Lake to Cloudbank Cabin. But she did not think it would be possible for her to make a visit to Camelot.

However, Imaginational Dabrowski was not bothered by those restrictions and could not see any problem with visiting Camelot if they put their minds to it. “We will go directly there” he said, “as I understand the connection between Camelot and Cloudbank Cabin through the Fog Lake has been badly compromised since The Glitch happened.”

“I need an epiphany and I appoint you as my Epiphany Provoker” Lancelot said, his dark eyes shining with hope.

“But…”

“You cannot refuse; you have been commanded! I want you to do for me exactly what you did for Lady Elaine.”

“That is what I am telling you. I did not DO anything for Elaine. She changed her life and I observed her as she went about her new life and wrote a book about it.”

“We will do that then. We will start now!”

After an hour of silence and inaction punctuated only by a couple of sharp intakes of breath as Lancelot attempted to find a more comfortable position, Lancelot asked “What have you observed? How is your writing going?”

Little Plump Jo could see that this approach was not going to work. Lancelot would need to take a more active part in creating a new story for himself.

“What are you doing now?” she asked, hoping to get some insight into his mood and thoughts.

“Is it not obvious? I am lying here in severe pain, endeavouring to project a demeanor of being unwinceable!”

“Camelot – the musical Act 1 – the C’est moi! Song” acknowledged Intellectual Dabrowski. With a sideways glance at Little Plump Jo, he said “There is his problem. He is too reliant on the references in the retellings of his story. He is acting on expectations put on him by himself or others.”

“It is OK to scream, if you want!” barked Psycho Motor Dabrowski. “Sometimes screaming helps!”

“Why would I do that? It is not the least bit dignified!”

“But it helps! Come on, do it with me! GRRRRRRR! WOOOOOF! GROOOOWL!

Sir Lancelot’s companion dog, Heureux, jumped at Psycho Motor, bowled him over with a blow of his massive paw and sat on top of him, looking to Lancelot for further instruction.

“Psycho Motor – outside now!” shouted Little Plump Jo.

“Elaine’s first action was to change her name from Elaine of Astolat to Charlotte-Elaine, the Lady of Shalott. Do you want to change your name? Maybe you could go back to being called Galahad?” suggested Jo.

“No, I am Lancelot. I am not still Galahad and could never be Galahad again and it would just be too confusing anyway.”

For what am I? what profits me my name

Of greatest knight? I fought for it, and have it:

Pleasure to have it, none; to lose it, pain;

Now grown a part of me: but what use in it?

“Alfred, Lord Tennyson Lancelot and Elaine in Idylls of the King, published between 1859 and 1885” informed Intellectual Dabrowski.

“I do not want to change my name. I can fight in different guises as The Black Knight or The Red Knight by merely changing my armour. But it is still me inside the armour. I do not want to change who I am; but I want to change my life.

“Sounds as if he needs conversations with a priest or a wise hermit” barked Intellectual. “I can find some references to those for the advice they give.”

“Non!” Lancelot was clearly becoming frustrated. “ I have had these advices in the past. I do not need these. I need Little Plump Jo to fulfil her position of Epiphany Provoker and write a new life for me.

“It just does not work like that” said Jo. “I did not do anything for Elaine. She decided who she wanted to be and what she would like to do and I wrote a book about it. That is all. You must decide who you want to be and what you want to do; and I will start writing about it. If you like you could start by working at your rehab therapy sessions and I will visit you and observe and write about that.”

“Will that change me?”

“If you allow it; especially if you can use some initiative and bring new and innovative solutions to the challenges you are facing. Do you have a therapy program set up already? ”

“I lie here. Morgan Todd comes and brings other grey beard physicians. They all probe and prod and say, ‘Can you wriggle your toes for me?’ Then they all argue about what to do next. Then Merlin comes with a bowl of bean soup and cooked coriander. I go to sleep and they wake me up to offer me a sleeping draught and pain relief, which I do not accept, as I must remain unwincable. And then the process is repeated the next day. That is the program.”

“Well, that does not sound either very inspiring or very encouraging!” said Jo. “Would you say you are feeling depressed?”

“I could easily become depressed; but at present I have great hope for a brighter future now that I have engaged an Epiphany Provoker. You will write for me a future which allows me to avoid Fog Lake re-enactments and still be able to fight beside King Arthur at Camlann.”

“That is not how it works….”

“I think I see a solution” chimed in Imaginational Dabrowski. “Sir Lancelot should consider what improvements could be made to his rehab program and Little Plump Jo could think about some art therapy activities and bring materials for those tomorrow. When he gets started on the new rehab program, Little Plump Jo will have something to write about and the future may begin to unfold."

"The only problem I see is that Malory Tennyson may try to keep Jo so busy with writing about Tristam and Isolde that she cannot come. Malory must not know about this; as it may mean that Sir Lancelot will end up leaving the Fog Lake.”

“I am keeping secrets here too!” declared Lancelot. “The search parties Queen Guinevere sent out are still looking for me. Only King Arthur, Merlin and Morgan Todd know I am back in Camelot.”

The following day Jo and the Dabrowski Dogs set aside time to spend with Sir Lancelot.

Sensual Dabrowski brought gifts of another sheep skin rug, a scented candle, and a small lyre harp. Little Plump Jo had brought painting materials. She also suggested Lancelot may like to learn another language.

“Why would I do that?” he asked. “I can usually work out what most people say from the seven languages in which I am fluent – unless of course it is an obscure dialect.”

Lancelot then listed the shortcomings he had perceived in his current treatment regime.

“I am losing weight and muscle tone. Part of that is related to the food. I cannot get food from the Camelot kitchens because my presence here is to be kept secret; so I am limited to what Merlin can bring me. He thinks cooked coriander is beneficial in cases of extreme blood loss but it tastes revolting. And unfortunately bean soup is the only soup he makes. I considered getting a delivery order from Tavern Takeaways but I decided that would attract even more attention than somehow organising meals from the kitchens.”

“Then when Arthur visited last evening munching on an ox shank, I asked if he could get one for me. He gets extra meals sent to his quarters for entertaining his guests and will ensure I get more suitable fare from now on.”

“I am also losing muscle tone. I am concerned that the fracture may not be setting correctly and my leg may end up shorter. But when I raise this concern, the grey beards start debating again about whether they should let the wound heal further first or whether they should open it up further and get the bones aligned. And that is also related to me building my blood up enough (hence the coriander) to allow them to do that surgery. I am also losing upper body strength because I am not exercising.”

Little Plump Jo had been writing furiously, taking notes as Lancelot voiced these concerns and his possible solutions for them.

“That is excellent. I have enough material to start the first chapter now” she said.

Three days later, when Little Plump Jo and the Dabrowski Dogs arrived, they found Lancelot set up in a complex traction device. A wooden frame surrounded the bed and his leg was suspended in a sling made from the sheepskin rug attached to weights and pulleys. “See what Merlin has devised for me” he said. “My leg can be encouraged into the right alignment while they are deciding what to do next.”

“And call Charles, the Armourer! He can demonstrate what he has developed for me.

“Do we know Charles, the Armorer? Is he a Canon character or one of yours, LPJ?” demanded Intellectual, who always liked to have a clear understanding of the characters and the citations.

“Actually Charles, the Armorer was introduced to me by a creative young man I am mentoring. He is a friend of Merlin. Merlin thought his skills could be useful in this situation” replied Jo.

“Ah, Charles. Do come in. But Charcoal must remain outside, as I have several other canine visitors today. Demonstrate what you have designed for me.”

“I have forged two dense pieces out of the material that fell from the stars to Earth, shaped to fit your hands, to exercise your grip and strengthen your arms. And I am particularly proud of this long rod of the same material, longer and heavier even than His Majesty’s sword Excalibur, for you to lift with both hands while lying on your back, to strengthen your upper body.”

“That is excellent, Charles! Thank you! You may go!”

Lancelot now also had a small portable easel. “I have been painting” he said. “I have used all the paints you gave me.”

This could be an expensive exercise, Little Plump Jo thought, if he kept up this output of paintings. They were surprisingly good paintings. They were mostly landscapes – lake scenes, pasture scenes, cloud scenes. But there were a few which at first glance appeared to be just the white and grey of the Fog Lake. No wonder he was going through the paint so fast! Oh well, maybe they were abstract pictures which would mean something to someone! But then, if you looked closely into those Fog Lake pictures outlines of Camelot castle, Stonehenge, and Glastonbury Tor could be seen. They were actually technically brilliant and breathtakingly beautiful.

“Wow, these are very good!” said Jo. “Do you paint portraits as well?”

“No! I used to paint people; but when I was a prisoner of Morgan le Fey I painted a mural on the cell wall about a love affair I wished I could have. The lady is quite recognisable. If that picture is ever seen it could spell trouble.”

“I really need to go back there and wash it off or paint over it. Maybe that would be an adventure for my new life story.”

“I have also written three songs. Would you like to hear them?”

“Of course!”

“This is not going well!” grumbled Intellectual. Critics will hate the book! At present it seems to be hitting that No 1 Rookie Error – Making your protagonist too perfect”

Little Plump Jo passed Lancelot the lyre harp. Lancelot proceeded to play and sing three beautifully crafted songs – one a stirring battle hymn, one a solemn lament for fallen comrades and one a heartbreaking song of a love which could not be. As his hand stilled the strings there were tears running down his cheeks.

Emotional Dabrowski jumped up onto the bed beside him to lick the tears away. Heureux rumbled a warning – no other dog should be so close to his master!

“Get down, Emotional!” commanded Jo.

As Emotional jumped, her back legs bumped the traction sling.

And Sir Lancelot gave

A marvellous great shriek

“References to both Malory and Tennyson” barked Intellectual Dabrowski with detached satisfaction.

“That’s the way!” yelped Psycho Motor. “It is OK to scream! Express the pain! GRRRRRRR! WOOOOOF! GROOOOWL!”

“Psycho Motor – outside now!” shouted Little Plump Jo.

Merlin came bustling in, summed up the situation and started to readjust the splint and traction sling “You summoned?”

Embarrassed, Lancelot murmured “I am sorry, Merlin. I am failing at being unwincable!”

Merlin smirked. “I thought you were excelling at scream therapy, which I hear can be very beneficial! And you may want to try excelling at accepting some pain relief too!”

Little Plump Jo started to apologize.

“I am so sorry for my dogs’ behaviour! I guess you will not want us to come again.”

“On the contrary! I feel we are making progress! You should prove a worthy Epiphany Provoker.”