|Doloris illa Ustulo Anima
Author: Feste the Fool PM
Knighthood is not tournaments and flowery speeches. Knighthood is pain. A series of ficlets dipping into the hearts, minds, and souls of the series' finest. Might get...odd. I'll post spoiler warnings in the chapter. Title changed to fix translation.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Angst - Chapters: 6 - Words: 2,229 - Reviews: 15 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 01-10-12 - Published: 01-14-11 - id: 6654415
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
At last, the long-awaited story of Sir Palomides. It was hard to come up with a good pain—and then, it hit me. And yes, it did hurt. WARNING! SPOILERS FOR THE LEGEND OF THE KING!
Sir Palomides, who was not a knight of the Round Table only because he never made it to Camelot, was a knight of few pains at first. Mostly little things—missed opportunities and the desire to be rude on occasion without having to accept the consequences of his rudeness. Only after his second return to England did he discover what his greatest pain would be—and it was that he had, indeed, never been to Camelot.
Certainly he never regretted turning back when he did. He had seen all the honor and glory of England in his friend Dinadan. Surely there could be no greater example of the truth of the Round Table. He did not need to see the thing himself, not anymore. Then Camelot fell, and through his friend Dinadan, he, Palomides the Moor, was one of eight souls charged with spreading the legend of the king.
What right did he have to bear such an important task? He, a Moorish knight who often missed Africa more than he cared to admit, he who had never even clapped eyes on the great King Arthur, he who had never spoken to any Round Table knight save Dinadan who was no one in perspective? He who had been in England only for a collective two or so years at the most, who had fought and killed Christian Knights in the Holy Lands, who did not believe in the English God? What right did he have to help these relics of the Age of Camelot to restore the glory of Arthur's England? He was far from home. He did not belong here. It bothered him more than he could say, that pain of un-belonging, of unworthiness. Many times he thought of crossing the Chanel and never looking back—his love for his friends and his immense respect for their dead ideals stopped him every time, although there were several close calls.
Even when Palomides was at his most troubled, Dinadan could cheer him without knowing quite what was wrong. A word, a hand on his shoulder, a song, and the pain was deadened for a time. The memory of Morganna's first laugh or Guinglain's infectious smile and it seemed even further away. Even if it was always for only a short amount of time, it was enough. He would help rebuild England. When order was established once more, he knew he would at last have a home.