Page 12 of The White Knight

Lancelot

The castle is quiet.As if it had all the wind knocked out of it and is now struggling to take its next breath. It feels different, changed over the years. I do not recognize a soul. And no one turns their head toward me as I pass by.

Camelot. A place I once called home feels so foreign to me now. The stone walls have become weathered. Even the dirt on the ground looks different, grayer than I remember. Still, I hope that I have a home here. That Guin is here. For wherever she is, I will be home, finally back home. I am unsure how long I have been away. The journey from the distant land the dragon had flown me to was endless. I thought I would never make it back.

As I walk past the armory and stables, I peek inside, hoping to see a familiar face. There is only a young squire I do not recognize. When I ask where everyone is, he explains the castle had hosted a fortnight-long festival in honor of the prince’s seventh birthday. Everyone has either left Camelot for the winter to return to their own castles or is sleeping off the two-week binge.

Arthur has a son. I do not think to ask the lad if Arthur is still king. I am sure that news would have traveled far and wide if King Arthur was dead or dethroned. Not to mention his golden dragon banner still flies along the walls of Camelot.

A clashing of swords leads me over to the small training yard where a young boy with golden hair is practicing his fighting stance. On the far side, I see a pair of young squires testing their newly learned sword skills. Then my face lands on a familiar face. I turn before Mordred can see mine. He will not be the first person I speak to after my years in exile.

I trudge on, approaching the great hall, which only contains a handful of people. Still, there is no one I recognize and the head table is empty. Either Arthur is dining in his private apartments with his family or he is away from Camelot. Hunger carries me through the doors, pulling me to the nearest table with food.

Filling my plate with bread, cheese, and bacon, I eat in silence, trying not to shovel the rations down my throat. Barely anyone takes notice of me still. Why would they? I am a stranger here among strange faces. With my long tangled hair and grizzly beard, I most likely would not be recognizable to my greatest friends here at Camelot. I need to find them. I need to see a friendly face. One face in particular.

Sitting in the great hall fills me with memories. I smile, thinking of the night when Guin joined me and the knights for supper. She had gotten a little drunk, and I selfishly did not stop her. How she glowed with happiness. Her hand brushing mine. Our fingers interlocking. Her eyes set upon my gaze. My Guinevere. How I miss her. I would have gone to our castle in the north first, but I landed much closer to Camelot. If she is not here, I know where to look next.

I finish my meal quickly, needing to continue my search. The chapel stands out among the old, rough walls of the castle. Its once wooden facade replaced with a more solid stone structure,small sculptures of Christian saints lining the entrance. I doubt Guin would be in the chapel, but I take a glance inside. Then I turn toward the keep. Perhaps I should go directly to the royal apartment. Arthur will be glad to see me and surely he could tell me where my wife is. As I approach the keep, I look up, remembering the first time my lips pressed against Guin’s. A lifetime ago, yet it feels like yesterday.

The sound of music interrupts my memory. A heart-achingly beautiful voice sings along with a string instrument I know to be a lute. My heart jumps out of my throat. As it settles back into place, it beats rapidly, drowning out Guin’s song. For I know that voice is my wife’s. I turn toward the gardens on the far side of the keep as my mind reels with greetings to say to Guin.

All these years in solitude, I did not think about what I would say to her. Now she is only a few steps away and I cannot make myself move toward her. I am a goddamn knight. I have killed demons, dragons, and gods. But I am terrified of what I will face through the trees standing in front of me.

I close my eyes, imagining her face, her contagious smile. She will be happy to see me, of course she will. I am her husband. But I am also the man who left and never came back. It is difficult to believe otherwise when I could have stayed. Arthur has many knights who are just as courageous as me. Maybe another could have slain the beast as I could not.

Taking a deep breath, I walk through the trees. There she is, my beautiful wife. Her red hair falls to her hips in long waves as she bends over her lute. The sun has tinted her usually porcelain skin red. I want to reach out and touch her, but I do not want to frighten her. She looks so peaceful, playing a melody I have often heard from her and her magical “phone” object.

As if suddenly sensing my presence, she looks up slowly. Then quickly stands up, taking a step backward in fright. “May I help you, sir?”

“Guin,” my voice trembles. Our eyes lock onto each other and I know then that she sees me. Her breath catches and her eyes glisten with tears as she looks past the dirt, grime, and hair. I can see her peeling back all the layers that hide the face she knew from so many years ago.

“Lance?” Her voice is delicate, a whisper. “Lance. How are you—“

I run to her, falling to my knees in her presence, and bury my face in her abdomen. I feel her arms pull me in closer. Then she is kneeling before me, her face in front of mine, her hands combing through my mess of hair.

“How is this possible? We all thought you were dead.” Her lips tremble as she holds back her tears.

“I thought I was dead too.” I try to smile, but her enchanting face in front of mine brings me to tears. For a moment, I think I am dreaming. That I am still living in a cave, surviving off mice and insects.

As if sensing my thoughts, Guin asks, “Are you really here? At Camelot? This feels like a dream, one I have dreamt so many times.”

“I have fought so hard to get back to you, my love. Yet, holding you in my arms, breathing in the same air as you…if this is a dream, I wish to never wake. But I need to know, are you real? Have I finally made it back to you?”

Tears pour down our faces. Tears of joy, anger, elation, loneliness, fear. At least those are the tears pouring from my eyes. A sharp pain in my right arm takes me out of my stupor. “Ow. Did you pinch me?”

“Yes, you asked if this was real. I pinched you to show you it is. You’re really here.” Guin pulls me in tightly against her body. She smells exactly as I remember, but her body is different. I no longer feel a warm glow pulsing from her. Perhaps I only dreamt about that during my many lonely, cold nights thinking of Guin.We had known each other for not quite a year. But her body is something I know well.

“You feel different.”

“And you look different.” She smiles through her tears, trying not to let her emotions destroy her. I know her well enough to know that she is struggling to keep herself together. Before I can suggest we head inside, a small boy runs through the trees, yelling for his mother.

“What is it?” Guin asks the boy, turning to face him.

“Who is this?” The boy asks, disregarding Guin’s question and pointing to me.

“Oh. Well. This is Sir Lancelot,” Guin responds.

A look of shock explodes on the boy’s face. “No way! My father talks about you all the time. But he said you’re dead. That a dragon ate you.”

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