The Epic Tale of Sir Lovelorn: Part 1 of 2

By Bud Pharo

It had been over a year since Thomas Mallory last assumed his alter ego, the dashing Sir Thomas Lovelorn, a valiant but hopelessly romantic knight. But when he received an email invitation to sign up for a virtual Camelot-themed cosplay event, he decided to dust off his chainmail, launder his surcoat, and give Sir Lovelorn one more chance at finding everlasting love, even if it was by way of Zoom. Besides, as a wannabe knight in his 30s, he hadn’t had an actual in-person date since the last crusade, not the final 13th-century crusade, but his last crusade against the gluttonous free Wi-Fi squatters who hog all the seats and bandwidth at his favorite coffee shop.

Those internet interlopers would nurse a cup of coffee for hours while doom-scrolling or chasing clickbait down various rabbit holes as if it were the quest for the Holy Grail. Three to four hours and one coffee later, the squatters would yield their seats, giving up their respective quixotic quests, thus, successfully pulling themselves back from the event horizon of yet another internet black hole. Their searches for the meaning of life and/or solutions to the world’s problems would have to wait until tomorrow and another fresh cup of coffee.

However, when Thomas and his date, a fellow co-crusader, complained loudly to management, the only thing they succeeded in accomplishing was getting themselves banned from the shop for creating a disturbance. Despite their lack of success, he thought their noble quest would bring them closer together. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect.

Once they were abruptly shown the door, her face reddened, and she let him have it. “I’ve never been so embarrassed! It’s over between us; you can’t even manage to plan a simple protest. You’re such a loser—just like your pathetic Sir Lovelorn!”

That was over two years ago, but the harshness of her words stung as if it were yesterday, largely because he realized she was right. His fascination with knights and chivalrous quests had cost him dearly. He had lost not only his girlfriend but, worse, his favorite coffee shop.

Unlike his self-assured alter ego, Sir Lovelorn, Thomas was in a quandary as to why, since that day, he had not met anyone who shared his passion. After all, he was of average height and weight and above-average intelligence, so statistically, there had to be an average, non-serial killer female out there who would find him fairly attractive and, perhaps, might even share in his love of legendary knights and chivalrous deeds.

Frustrated by his lack of success meeting women in real life since the coffee shop fiasco, his brother suggested he try dating apps, which, unfortunately, he did. However, this part of the dating landscape proved no better, especially after he listed his keen interest in the Middle Ages and legendary knights.

After a few weeks, he received a few potential matches, but the first ghosted him after he sent her images of his extensive medieval action figure collection. The second relayed his contact information to a rare toy collector who wanted to buy several of his action figures, which, of course, was a nonstarter—his knights were off the table—round or otherwise.

A third potential date seemed more promising, as she was not put off by his fascination with the Middle Ages and seemed genuinely interested. They exchanged a few DMs, but then she surprised him by sending a series of suggestive images of herself dressed as a sultry sorceress, a scantily clad young maiden, and an unchastity-belted forlorn noblewoman, along with a discount offer to join the pay-as-you-go private website, Only Damsels, which he did, much to the chagrin of his credit card balance.

Nevertheless, it was through Only Damsels that Thomas met someone who would become very special to him, a beautiful maiden who went by the stage name Elaine. Like all women on the site, Elaine dressed in period-appropriate clothing befitting a masquerade ball, including an appropriate mask for the occasion, which added an air of mystery while helping protect her true identity. Elaine preferred a simple black Venetian half mask that accentuated her most striking features, her high cheekbones and radiant cobalt-blue eyes. She wore her thick raven hair in a braided crown, typical of the young courtesans of the day.

After the first month of repeat online visits with Elaine, Thomas decided, with some trepidation, to reveal his alter ego, Sir Lovelorn. I hope she doesn’t laugh. She didn’t.

Her eyes sparkled as she gushed, “Thomas, I absolutely love it! It reminds me of the tale of Tristan and Isolde. Did you ever hear of it?”

“Wasn’t Tristan a knight sent to escort Isolde back from Ireland to marry his king?”

“Yep, that’s the one. It’s such a beautiful story of star-crossed lovers,” she said as her voice caught and she wiped away a tear that flowed from beneath her mask. “Oh, sorry, I have a real soft spot for chivalrous romances,” she added with a weak smile.

Thomas nodded sympathetically. “I completely understand. Chivalrous romances are quite poignant. That’s why I chose Sir Lovelorn as my knight’s nom de plume.”

She dabbed at another tear. “I get so emotional when I think about their ill-fated love story. Thank you for not laughing; it’s rare to meet such a sensitive young man in this business.”

Over the next several months, instead of the typical bawdy banter that most customers desired, Elaine regaled Thomas with the stories of Dante and Beatrice, Abelard and Heloise, and, of course, the complete story of Tristan and Isolde. Her expressive blue eyes held his rapt attention—he was her willing captive for those precious few hours they spent together each week. After every reading, they shared intimate details regarding how the story made them feel. Thomas had never opened up to another person as he had with Elaine. Perhaps it was the anonymity of the internet that allowed him to share private thoughts of love with a woman whom he only knew through the character she portrayed, but he didn’t since he cherished every moment they spent together.

His pessimistic side often wondered how many other men she was having similar online relationships with and if she was only stringing him along with her intelligent, seemingly heartfelt discussions just to bolster the site’s revenue stream. After all, he thought, she’s just an avatar in a live-action game, nothing more. But he quickly pushed aside such pessimistic thoughts, for Thomas knew there was something more to their relationship; he could feel it, and, more importantly, he could see in her eyes she felt it, too. She wasn’t just acting; she believed in the power of romance and true love.

However, once their conversation turned to The Scarlet Letter, Thomas sensed something was amiss because the nineteenth-century American classic could not be part of any Middle Ages or Renaissance script—she was sending him a message, one he was not prepared to hear. He tried to change the subject several times, but she persisted.

“My beloved Thomas, you’re a sweet, passionate man, but in our story, I’m Hester Prynne, a marked woman. I’m sorry for leading you on, but we can never have a real relationship; you’re just a client,” she said, dabbing at tears as she began to cry softly.

Crestfallen, he said, “You’re not a marked woman, and you know, in your heart, I’m more than ‘just a client.’ I see it in your eyes.”

She calmed herself and said softly, “But, unfortunately, that’s who and what we are.”

“No, I don’t accept that version of our story,” he said, growing misty-eyed. “Also, Hester Prynne was victimized by puritanical thinking, yet she refused to be defined by her circumstances and became the heroine of her own story. I see those same qualities in you, even if you can’t,” he said, his voice faltering.

“Oh, Thomas, you deserve so much better than me,” she said, her bright blue eyes filling with tears once more. “I need some time to sort things out,” she said, dabbing at tears.

“Please take all the time you need,” Thomas said, squeezing his eyes tightly to avoid crying, then quickly signed off.

After thinking about what had transpired, he concluded that she must have known he was falling in love with her, as probably happened before with other clients. Were the tales of star-crossed lovers her way of gently preparing him for the inevitable conclusion that their relationship, like that of Tristan and Isolde, was never meant to be?

Still, Thomas refused to believe they had no chance at a real relationship, for he knew the woman who went by the name Elaine had captured his heart, and his love for her was real, not merely an internet infatuation. Therefore, he abided by her wish, waiting an entire, excruciating week before logging on to the site. But, when he did, Elaine was gone. Vanished! He waited another equally excruciating week, thinking she needed more time; still nothing. He routinely checked once a week for the next year but eventually gave up. His quest to find his beloved Elaine, like so many of the Arthurian quests for the Holy Grail, ended in frustration and failure—she was gone from his life forever.

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Bud Pharo is a disabled veteran who writes flash fiction and short stories. His work has appeared in Fiction on the Web, Altered Reality Magazine, Neither Fish Nor Foul, WayWords, 101 Words, 50 Word Stories, Scribes Micro, and The Siren’s Call, among others.