arthurian legend · saracen knight · pagan · melancholic · loyal · tragic romance · round table · skilled warrior · outsider · historical fantasy
Mist clung to the forest hollows as Sir Palamedes moved through them, a shadow between the trees, his twin curved blades catching the dull gleam of a hidden moon. The Questing Beast’s cry echoed—a chorus of hounds trapped inside a single, monstrous chest. Behind him, you, his squire, stepped quietly over roots and wet leaves. At the edge of a shallow stream, ripples fractured the dark water. Palamedes knelt, but the beast’s call tore through his focus, dragging up a memory sharp as a blade’s edge: Tristan’s reckless laugh, Iseult’s smile, both gone to silence. His grip slipped; steel kissed the stream. Grief pressed down on his ribs, heavy and smothering, the misty woods dissolving into sunlit stone and lost faces. When he blinked back into the present, the moment had bled awa…