Original subtitles

Previously on Dwight in Shining Armor.

I awoke in the woods one morning

with no recollection of my life, no clue to my origin.

Auntie Ermie, this is Macklyn the Fox,

leader of the bandits.

Auntie Ermie: This is Lord Henrick, your godfather,

and my husband.

I know someone who can help you reclaim your memory, a mage.

Let's away.

Begin with a bunny's weight of flour.

In closing,

my life is a rich tapestry stitched

from my Polish, Albanian, Portuguese, French heritage.

And then I pass out the macarons.

Whaddya think?

Most informative, Sir Dwight.

An angry pinch of salt.

Mm.

Blah!

There.

I feel good.

And I'm not gonna over-prepare this time.

I tend to do that

and it ends up killing the spontaneity.

You uh, wanna go over your presentation?

I'd prefer to surprise you, Sir Dwight.

That's cool.

Just here to help.

You want to make sure

you hit all the points in the rubric.

Hm?

Who?

In an oral presentation, not to exceed five minutes,

tell the class about the cultural history

of your family

and how you actively remember it

in ideology, language, art and food.

Have no fear, Sir Dwight.

I shall praise, laud and honor the house of Moondragon

until the very rafters shake.

Mm-hm-hm.

Well, that's not really the assignment.

And then we pass around the biffels.

Pip! Pip!

Biffels?

A cream-filled Rogemorian pastry, Sir Dwight?

There's no better way to honor my ancestors

than with biffels.

Pip! Pip!

Ah, a bee's bottom of cinnamon.

A bee's bottom?

And how much is that?

As much as the bottom of a bee.

It is what the recipe calls for.

It's part of our cultural history,

Sir Dwight.

And I'm all for that.

I just also kinda love standard measurements.

There is only one way to make biffels.

What's next?

Guys!

Come quick!

Uh.

Macklyn the Fox!

Uh, uh, uh, uh.

Okay, so about a thousand years ago,

there was this princess, Gretta, and she was in big trouble

'cause she had lots of enemies and not a lot of friends.

So her court magician, Baldric, cast the champion spell.

It put everyone in the woods to sleep

until a champion would come

break the spell with his kiss

and deal with Gretta's big, scary enemies,

but that guy never showed up.

Instead...

Ahhh!

they got me.

Ahhh!

Ow!

Uh.

Your Aunt Ermingarde is a glorious woman.

The love of my life.

The first person I'd pick to fight at my side

against a legion of orcs,

but I have known drunk squirrels

with a better sense of direction.

We wandered in circles for months looking

for that mage friend of hers.

You got lost?

Don't tell anyone.

Then what happened?

We found a mage, retired now from public life,

living in a beaver dam on the other side

of orc territory.

Oh, no kidding.

What did he say?

He said...

If your memory were lost,

I could find it.

If it was broken,

I could repair it.

But your memory, dear boy, is neither lost nor broken,

it was stolen from you.

Stolen?

By a memory thief.

A memory thief?

I have never heard of such a thing.

Nor had I.

Or perhaps I had,

but I don't remember now for obvious reasons.

Uh.

Did the guy in the beaver dam

say anything else?

That'll be 80 crowns.

Eighty crowns?

Dirty bandit.

Huh.

Then your memory is gone forever.

If the mage is correct.

Well, maybe the mage isn't correct.

You should absolutely get a second opinion.

Ermingarde said the same.

Where is she?

She went north

to look for a wizard of some renown

and I've come here looking for a contrarian

the mage told me to find.

Hey, we know a contrarian.

Oh.

Baldric/Dwight: Oh.

We do?

Well met, good sir.

Not well met at all.

You interrupt my soup course.

We need but a moment.

Our situation is dire.

If you'd swallowed your eyeballs

that would be dire.

Indeed it would.

I take it you're the contrarian.

He prefers counterarian.

Not anymore.

Counterist, would be more to my liking.

I have journeyed far to meet you.

Far is relative.

Most revered counterist.

Now that I hear you say it,

I think I like contrarian better.

We've come for your help.

Huh, not for my help.

Your professional opinion then.

Not for my professional opinion, either.

You have come for a quick and easy solution

to your problems.

A way to cheat the consequences of your own poor choices, hm?

Hey.

You see that human being standing right there?

Well, he dragged himself through the woods,

through the ticks and the mosquitoes

and the poison ivy for months

because some creep in a beaver dam

said you might help him.

I didn't say that I wouldn't help him.

There's an empty place in you.

It was once filled with rich memories of love and joy, fear.

All gone now, stolen.

Yes, by a memory thief.

No, by one who steals another's memories.

So a memory thief.

Most alarming.

I wouldn't say alarming so much as perplexing.

Oh.

Oh, you're both right.

It's alarming, and it's perplexing.

Until today I had never encountered a victim

of a memory thief.

Don't you mean one who steals another's memories?

Baldric/Gretta:

Now I've encountered three at once.

Three?

You,

and you.

Three victims of the same thief.

You mean to say, our memories have been stolen?

Not exactly, no,

they were taken without your knowledge or consent.

Which means they were stolen,

uh, you know what, never mind.

You're right, as always.

Which of our memories were stolen?

I couldn't say.

Then my memory is gone forever?

Not forever, not necessarily.

There is a way.

Find the thief.

How?

Search your memories for what is missing,

that's where you'll find him.

And then what?

Steal your memories back.

How?

I wouldn't ask how, so much as in what manner.

That I cannot know until you find a thief.

Come back when you know the answer to that question.

Wha--

Who spied the hairy beef?

Who's supposed to read this?

Who is the memory thief?

Mm.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

So, according to the contrarian,

we'll find the memory thief

if we figure out what's missing from your memories.

Yes.

Think Baldric, what don't you remember?

Uh, oh.

Uh, hm.

Maybe we're asking the wrong question.

Not, what don't you remember, what should you remember?

I should remember my childhood.

Yeah, that's a good start.

Ah.

My family, my boyhood antics.

Family and antics.

I should remember meeting Ermingarde

and our wedding day.

Yes, agreed.

I should remember

what took me to the woods 16 years ago.

Woods.

Huh.

Now we're getting somewhere.

If the contrarian was right,

then we should find the memory thief

somewhere right there in all the stuff that's missing.

Macklyn, maybe you don't remember your childhood,

your family, your antics, your wedding day,

or the day you were in the woods

because the memory thief was there at all those times.

And that's where I must return to find him.

Reminder.

Cultural history presentation tomorrow.

Oh.

Forgive me, Macklyn,

but I have the urgent need to make biffels tonight.

Pip! Pip!

A welcome distraction.

How many are you making?

One for every member of the class,

plus Mr. Hammond.

So, 24.

Correct,

though this recipe only makes four biffels.

So, we'll have to repeat the process six times.

Six times?

You're gonna be at it all night.

Biffels are worth it.

Pip! Pip!

Why don't you just scale up the recipe?

You know, just multiply it by six

and then do it all at once.

It's getting pretty late,

it'll save you a bunch of hours.

A novel idea.

The risk is too great.

Guys, it's just math.

You work smarter, not harder.

The recipe is most emphatic.

Follow these instructions perfectly else your biffels

will end in shame and catastrophe.

Seriously?

Mm.

What, is everything a life and death drama

with you guys?

We're talking about cream puffs.

Biffels!

Pip. Pip.

Work smarter, not harder.

I like your thinking, Sir Dwight.

Hm.

Bu-- Bu--.

We're going to need a bigger bowl.

Okay, begin with six bunnies' weight of flour.

Pff, how much is that?

Well, you didn't have any trouble with one bunny's weight.

I can imagine one bunny's weight,

but six,

that's nonsense.

Let me try.

While she's doing that.

You get an angry pinch of salt, multiplied by six.

Wait!

Is the salt multiplied by six or the anger?

Oh.

What?

Both, to be safe.

Ah, yeah.

That ought to do it.

Okay, we're ready for six bees' bottom's worth

of cinnamon.

What has a bottom six times larger than a bee?

A hummingbird?

Guys.

A hummingbird's bottom is perhaps four times

the size of a bee.

Guys.

A beetle doesn't have a bottom, per se.

Mm.

I think we're getting off track here.

Oh! Newborn mouse.

Brilliant!

Ah, ha, ha.

Ha.

Ha.

Form scoops of dough

into the shape of unicorn droppings.

What?

Ew.

Hm.

And place them on a baking tray

nestled together like four puppies in a basket.

Okay, I'm getting a little lost in the metaphors here.

Are we doing droppings or puppies?

First droppings,

then puppies.

Drink a tall glass of water and bake

until you can't hold it any longer.

Wow.

Should we then drink six glasses of water?

Oh.

Nope.

Just the one.

When do we eat them?

They're not for us.

They're for history tomorrow.

Oh, I'll see if I can save you one.

I suppose my quest for the memory thief

can wait one more day for a biffel.

On the morrow the name of Moondragon

will ring to the skies.

Nicely done, Dwight.

Your Polish, Albanian, Portuguese, French ancestors

will be very happy to see how you're preserving your culture.

So we have time for one more, any volunteers?

Her Royal Highness,

Princess Gretta the Besieged of the Kingdom of Rogemore.

Good day to you harmless, peasant youths.

As you all know I am the eleventh great-granddaughter

of Osric the Grim,

the last heir of the house of Moondragon.

We are a grim people,

forged in the flame of battle,

though we do enjoy lively dancing,

sprightly song,

and puffy pastries.

Bring on the biffels!

Pip! Pip!

Pip! Pip!

Mm.

Oh, yeah.

Sorry.

Behold the Rogemorian national pastry,

served at births, burials, weddings, knightings,

greetings, farewells, tea parties,

and amputations.

Amputations?

Uh-huh.

As we say in Rogemore,

life is misery and fate is cruel,

but biffels are a delightful, tasty puff pastry.

You guys really say that?

Pip! Pip!

Okay, guys.

Let's dismiss and go get the cream puff out of our hair.

There's an eyewash in the science lab.

Does anyone need that?

Who can tell me where the janitor's closet is?

End of the hall on the right.

Uh.

What did I tell you?

Wait, how is this my fault?

We strayed from the recipe

and now we paid the price.

Follow these instructions perfectly

else your biffels will end in--

Shame and catastrophe!

Why didn't it just say your biffels will blow up?!

My grandmother would be so disappointed.

Ah, this is gonna take a while.

Hey guys,

did you get the biffels out of the desks?

Like in the cracks?

The biffels are no more.

Great, then uh, what's wrong?

See this.

Oh, ha-ha.

Whoa, a C-.

Oo.

He claims my history isn't history.

What on earth does that mean, Sir Dwight?

Yes.

Wow, that's uh, that's a tricky one.

Do you remember what Mr. Hammond said

about how history is what people have chosen to remember?

Mm-hm.

Well, I guess Rogemore and Osric the Grim

and the House of Moondragon aren't those things.

And when you search Rogemore you get Roger Moore.

He played James Bond like five James Bonds ago.

There's no record of the House of Moondragon.

Just that one Chinese restaurant.

Who does the Google think banished the orcs

to orc territory?

Or drove the giants out of the realm?

What kind of ungrateful lot of peasants,

it's-- It's as if--

we never existed.

Pip! Pip!

Did you save me a biffel?

Well, uh, um.

It is my royal wish

to never hear the word biffel again.

What's amiss, princess?

The biffels blew up.

Pip, pip.

Shame and catastrophe.

But not to worry, fellows.

We will live to eat biffels another day.

I must be off.

Biffels or no biffels.

I go now to find the knave who pilfered our memories.

How will you find him?

I shall rejoin Ermingarde,

and return to the places and people of my youth.

No doubt the thief is hiding among them.

Macklyn!

Uh, Uncle Henrik.

Please give my love to Auntie Ermie.

Guard your back.

This thief knows us, but we do not know him.

Never fear my friends,

for I am not called Macklyn the Fox for nothing.

Hey.

You okay?

They're gone.

Well, yeah.

That's not your fault.

Some dirtbag stole 'em, but Macklyn's on it.

They'll find the guy.

We'll get your memories back.

They're gone, Dwight.

My family.

I'm all that's left.

I'm the last heir of the House of Moondragon.

My people have been forgotten by the world,

and even I don't remember them as I should.

What's all this?

Biffels, Highness.

Uh, but done properly this time.

Uh, I'll get the custard.

Hey Gretta.

I wanna show you something.

Nana made this for me after my mom and dad died.

It started with just pictures and notes.

Ah, these are ticket stubs

from when we went to the pumpkin patch

one Halloween.

My parents went as ghostbusters

and I was a little baby Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.

And this is an invitation my mom made

for my first birthday party.

It was duck-themed.

We just kept it going.

Any time we remember something about them,

we, uh, write it down here.

I used to think

I didn't really remember my parents.

But that's not true.

I remember my mom holding me.

I used to love to put my face on the inside of her arm

because it was so soft and cool.

I remember my dad smelled like mentholatum.

I guess he had chapped lips a lot?

This is how I make sure I won't forget them.

And this is for you.

If history really is what we choose to remember,

it's up to you, Gretta.

Anything you don't want to forget

about your mom and dad,

about your family, your people, where you came from,

just write it down there.

Then nobody can steal it.

Thank you, Dwight.

Huh.

Glory to the House of Moondragon.

All hail the ruler of Rogemore.

Bring on the biffels!

Thank you.

Princess.

Thank you.

Pip. Pip.

Gretta/Dwight: Pip! Pip!