moonsheen

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...man, anyone remember those days when the drabble memes were the new black?

Give me the names of two characters and I will tell you why character A loves ~~or wants to jump~~ character B. I might answer with a drabble, a quick bit of meta, or a list, just to make things that tiny bit more OMGSOEXCITING!

Current Mood: bored

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From:

moonsheen.livejournal.com

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt thou the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt--

when she knelt in the chapel, he watched her, hiding in the shadows, lying in wait. her hands were folded in prayer. her face darkened by shadow. her hair glowing soft gold in the light from the candles, sputtering in the damp air from the storm outside. So this was the princess, he thought. this was the girl whose greatest purposes in the eyes of princes and queens would be to die for their wars and their conveniences and he resolved to change this. to change her fate. so taken he was by her tragedy, and by her young, lonely face…

He brings her the tray. Stiff meat, vegetables boiled too long, served on a torn loaf of bread soaked in these juices. A banquet in this era. She lifts her head at the smell. She shoves it away.

“You lied to me,” she hisses, pressing herself to the mossy wall.

This confuses him. “About what?”

She looks at him bleakly, as though he has disappointed her in every possible way. “About everything.”

“You should’ve eaten that.”

“I’ll not take anything from you!”

“Would you like to live?”

This startles her. She grows stiff. She folds her hands at her breast, a spell’s intent already in her eyes.

“It’s no threat,” he assures. He shows her his empty hands. “I am curious. Your death would be to the benefit of many. Do you feel otherwise?”

Outrage flashes in her eyes. “What sort of question is that?”

“Do you?”

“Yes!” she cries. “Yes, of course I wish to live. I have wished to live all of my life.”

He nods. “Good.” He kneels before her. “I wish for that as well,” he says, truly. “Now eat.” He shoves the loaf into her mouth.

he does not believe in god. he has taken the oaths of a knight of the rood. he bears a blessed sword. he knows the prayers. knows how to ask the sky for its power, but he no longer believes. there is no god that would have taken that girl over him. there is no god that would have left her dead in the snow. yet here is in the cathedral. here he is standing at the altar. here he is staring upwards.

i would die for her, he says

it nearly comes back to him

“How convenient I am for you. You have your hero’s story. You have gone from lowly squire to commander of the highest order. You have unified your country. You have the love of your men, the love of your people, and even the love of the queen. How well this has worked out for you. How absolutely perfect it has been…”

“You are crying.”

“I am a fool.”

“All of us are.”

“I believed you.”

“As well you should. To you, I meant every word.”

She quivers in his arms, and somewhere in the midst of it he realizes that there is still dampness on her cheeks. He presses her into the sheets and stares down at her until she flinches at his gaze. He brushes it away, first with his fingers, then with his mouth, then with words that he whispers into her neck, as her breath turns to quick, sharp gasps and her fingers curl over his shoulders.

“You will live,” he tells her. “You will live. As long as I am with you. You will live.”

It was a grand celebration, though not the grandest. The Queen had a most godly modesty, and refused anything deemed ‘too extravagant’, but it was spectacle enough: the newly crowned Queen and her Common consort. He clasped his hands in hers and led her to the church doors.

“Will they accept this, do you think?” she asked, softly. Her doubts were only his to hear. He chuckled, looking down at her pale, upturned face with the utmost fondness in his eyes; fondness, and some devilish amusement, for good measure.

“We are young and beautiful,” he whispered. “They’ll love us.”

The doors swung open.

and in the end there is pain and there are flowers and there is darkness in the corners of his sight and redness in everything else. there is death between her fingers and defeat in her face and every breath she draws is one unwanted and all he can think with the knife in his breast is this: why for, my love? i did this for you.

From:

basement-gnome.livejournal.com

AGGHHH. Why....why do you love them so much, yet make such a tragic story? Well....I guess it would be disingenous and dishonest to the story to do otherwise, but still. I'm going to go cry now. I loved that.