Songfic drabbles: now with added beta! This chapter is dedicated to tasteslikemiso for her invaluable advice and contributions.
Idioteque
Ridiculous, really, this outmoded concept of chivalry. This society rewards chance with glory, ignorance with acclaim, brutality with power. He is the last of the children, following an outmoded way of life that in his heart he still truly believes in. People don't understand him, but those of his sort have always chosen to set themselves aside from the chaos of everyday living. There is no sense to this existence! Yet still he continues, though he isn't sure why. Perhaps he is obliged to protect the memories handed down to him. Is that all he has become? A vessel? He retains these fragments of the past that would otherwise be forgotten, and he traces the words with his mind so that he too will not forget (cannot forget) these truths, the history that has been written in the blood of his predecessors.
He has to be alone, because there is nobody in the world who could understand him. His eccentricity, he supposes, stems from this knowledge and acceptance. When he seems cold, it is because he is unraveling the mystery of conversation. Bit by bit, they chip away at him, though he doesn't see it yet. He needs drama to make himself understand. Danger, bravado- these only serve to reinforce the truth.
Really, he knew all along that he was living a lie. He just needed somewhere to pin his fear, his hatred, and his self-loathing. A cowering fool, he had been, and he had to outgrow that before he could admit to himself his true path, throwing upon the fire all that had been before. It had made him selfish. Sometimes he forgets that others have felt pain and abandonment the same- or even worse- than his own. After all, his isolation is, to a certain extent, self-imposed.
Critically, analytically, dryly, he continues upon the well-trodden path, with a clear head and trembling hands.