Disclaimer: the Blood+ anime is copyright to I.G. and Aniplex.
Notes: first attempt at Blood+ fan-anything... hmm... I generally feel that Solomon is under-appreciated? Basically...

Song of Solomon

He had been named Solomon, like the biblical king whose name meant "peaceful" and whose exceptional wisdom was God-given. His parents had wished for him to be just as wise and revered; they had been well-off and could provide for him the proper education for achieving modern-day renown, so he was sent off in timely fashion to become a doctor. That was what the parents had wanted, but they did not bother to notice that his agenda was grounded in a completely different sort of gratification. As a doctor, Solomon hoped blindly that someday, his days would be filled with the sore throats of children suffering from minor colds instead of the anguished faces of amputees and blood-stained soldiers. He could never begin to understand how war could possibly be productive in any way to society, and he grieved for the follies of the human race until he was offered escape through Diva's embrace.

He had been completely baffled by her in that underground chamber, helplessly horrified and enchanted as he watched her greedily lick blood from the gash in Amshel's hand. Solomon could not blink the grotesque scene away. As he drank in the image of this creature with the preternaturally vibrant eyes harvesting Amshel's blood against the backdrop of a discarded cocoon, he felt a wrenching tug within. What kind of being could emerge from that shell, and could she really save him from the whims of strife? Yet there were no better options. There were no options in general.

A siren had sounded within his head as Diva's lips kissed humanity from his neck. She was impulsively fond of his flaxen hair and fine features. She favored him for his eyes which curiously reflected his desires in shades of blue and green. Solomon became a chevalier to a fickle monster who defied his wisdom; that was what Diva had wanted. In that chamber which smelled of darkness, he had severed his ties with mortal struggles only to be reborn into the crux of an epic and meaningless battle with oceans of blood as collateral. Solomon the chevalier smiled amiably and carried on, submerging himself into his duties as an instrument of Diva's whims and Brother Amshel's ambitions. He was heavily sedated with stylish clothes, fast cars, and Diva's charming lunacy.

It was just as well that Brother Carl's reckless self-indulgence smacked Solomon squarely in the face. Absolute madness --that was what it was-- how one man could be so lacking in self-restraint, so completely void in common sense or a sense of responsibility. He asked Carl whether his actions were evolved from his desires as an individual or his impulses as a chevalier, and Carl could not reasonably distinguish between the two, nor did he wish to. The only rational explanation must be that Carl was an advanced case of arrested development. After all, his entire existence was driven by a single...

Dreams. After Solomon Goldsmith met Saya and became acquainted with the feel of her dancing body in his arms, he began to dream. The other queen... the enemy queen; she wore the face of his mistress Diva but used its features with such dissimilar dynamics, expressions pure and sensitivities bare. She was the object of Carl's base obsessions; Solomon finally woke to the absurd rationality of that ill-fated fool.

For almost a hundred years, the one named Solomon gave himself to others. He gave his obedience to his parents, his compassion to his patients, his life to Diva. There was hardly anything to be claimed for himself, so what was the point of existing? Where had the man named Solomon Goldsmith gone? He, like Carl, came to find purpose in self-service. Carl the chevalier could not exist without Carl the selfish maniac; Solomon the chevalier was derived from and defined by Solomon Goldsmith, thus Solomon's desires would not be ignored any longer. Personal goals... he would live for them, die by them. He would defy Diva, his creator, in desperate pursuit of a last wish which was his own wish.

Saya.

That was what Solomon had wanted.

When the blade stroked his flesh, and the enemy queen's poisonous blood mixed with his, he greeted irreversible death with no regrets. Even half-empty dreams were far superior to those ignored.