A Demonstration of Love
"My, what has fate in store for me?" Arthur looked to the ceiling spacing out.
"Have we no chance of peace?"
"Have we no chance of love?"
"Have we no chance of betterment?"
This war was going to take a massive toll on both sides of the coin. Arthur knew war, he understood the trials that came after so.
Many wealthy families were ready to invest, and to expect an investment back.
To them it was a chance to take a hold of their bright futures.
To concrete themselves in history that follows.
War is no joking matter. War is hell. It is but a waste of breath.
Really war is a waste of life. To the men of armor, battle was a matter of protection.
It was to protect their valuables, their families.
However, what is yielded out of war when their life is lost is only grief for their loved ones.
Argue all you want, but war is the path towards death, not victory.
When war is treated as an investment, your life, your choices on the battle mean but a naught.
Has the meaning of life and peace degraded to such a level?
This city of peace, this city of contributions has become a host to the God of Death.
He is creeping, lurking in the shadows.
He follows and when it's time, he pulls the string of life and tears its connections.
Death has never been closer than before. Arthur can feel him.
Arthur is dying, at anytime, his body can give out and succumb to the intoxication of his pain.
What will follow after?
Will his cherished kingdom fall?
He cannot die, he ought to fight death, and stand triumphant for another day.
"I've not eaten." Arthur mumbled to himself.
"Guards!" He shouted as loud as he could, but sounded like a fading whisper.
Arthur stood on his own, with his power of will, he took his time to walk to the door.
He gasped for air with every step, his body shaking with great pain. His vision blurring, his teeth grinding.
He finally reached the door's handle, but will he drive enough power to open this massive hunk of wood?
He did, he walked out and made way to the kitchen.
His head throbbing as usual, his nose dripped blood, staining his chest.
This is a man.
One who will not back down. A man who will see to his kingdoms peaceful days before the arrival of his dear, the arms of death.
A loud thud could be heard through the castle, the guards away tending to their personal needs and the maids working around the castle heard nothing of such.
Arthur's face planted against the hard floor. His nose bled and his eyes closed, the world was dimming around him.
Another small thud was heard around him, it was his only hand, driving him up. It was his powerful spirit that will not let him rest.
He made way again to the kitchen. Finally arriving to the table. He took a seat and wiped his nose. Then a maiden, the kitchen cook, arrived to ask for his liking.
He ordered as such and was left alone.
All alone again.
His brother, John, was in his studies and will not finish till later this evening.
In his alone time, Arthur was haunted and taunted by the laughter of death.
He was nudged into a corner. He was stoned by memories of his failures, the people he let die, the people he killed, the ones he loved, the ones he hated; Arthur was chased by his parents who threw nothing but huge boulders of hatred at him.
But a King cannot cry, a King cannot show no weakness.
Hold that tear in, don't you dare cry, Mr. King?
Why are you crying? Like a baby shouting for its mothers' embrace.
The King cannot cry?
Who decided that?
Why hath the man who shoulders the fate of his people not be able to cry?
Well, many will say, the King is someone who is looked up to, an example to his people.
Many other might say, the King shoulders the kingdom, and that requires him not to be weak, a tear is a sign of incompetence.
Many other will say that the King has no emotions and does to the kingdoms' goodwill.
Many other might say that the King is not a human, but a tool for his people.
I say to them, keep shouting, you wretched little ants, for you have no empathy nor compassion. You dare to bring down another human, whom in times of need may require a release of his burdens?
What hath human kind fallen too?
They follow the path of destruction that leads to their demise and those around them.
The King, is not a tool, but a man who is burdened with the precious heart of his kingdom.
He cries when he cries.
He laughs when he laughs.
He is entitled to those emotions as everyone else is.
This King in particular is deserving of eternal bliss, but is receiving nothing of such; only pain, suffering, and eventually his unfair demise, yet he keeps his people, his kingdom first and himself last.
When will he get something in return?
The King, has shown strength in those tears that befell that table.
Who is this King we speak of?
King Arthur, the mighty warrior who has risen above death.
He suddenly felt his mask getting taken off.
He looked back and saw Leslie's majestic eyes staring at him.
He was captured, his heart like calm waves were guiding towards his moon. He was lured into a corner of the world where he truly took ahold of his eternal bliss.
"Arthur, why're you crying?" She asked softly.
"My burdens will not allow me to sleep nor be awake. They will not allow me to walk nor stand. My face is distorted and my body aches. These burdens are heavy, and my life is short." He says, the King opened up?
Is this weakness or strength?
"My, my. How've things gone and come? When this is all you have been through, will the bare minimum be expected?" She proposed a question.
"Of course not." He answered.
"I knew the answer before you even opened your mouth. This is your answer. You are at you peak when you are being yourself. Arthur, I have always trusted your choices, why not trust yourself?" Leslie placed that disfigured head into her abdomen, hugging Arthur.
"You my dear Arthur are the strongest of 'em all. The brightest and most beautiful star. You will guide us, you will make our days joyful and our nights dreams. Live once for yourself. Take hold of what matters and pursue it. Take ahold of your kingdom and lead it with pride, as you always have. Do not doubt yourself or blame your tears, for they are nothing short of pure wisdom and grace of release." Leslie spoke, her words echoed into his broken, frozen, twisted bitter heart.
His eyes glittered with tears, and his heart and spirit finally came to peace. His tears fell and the grace of release came upon him.
"Leslie, I love you." His spirit voiced, his heart shouted, and his mouth spoke.
Leslie cried a river of tears, she cried tears of anger, angry that he never told her any sooner, angry that she never said or shown these feelings of hers sooner.
To her Arthur was a great star, one that she reached for in the sky but could never hold.
Now that star has fallen into her palm, she couldn't bare the moment, and in a second her lips touching his, she demonstrated her love for the warrior.
As the King ate, and the now Queen watched. They both were running in a garden of bliss in their minds.
Their dreams entwined, their love entangled. They have finally chose themselves over their duties for once.
They spoke of their marriage. Sooner than later, their fingers will wear a ring of belonging.
They now both walk to the room, where the door shuts and the love becomes a touch.
The King and Queen learn of each other and their built-up emotions for one another.
They were entirely bonded to each other, body and spirit, they now were one.
The kindness and the warmth of love has now become a beacon to Arthur's miserable life and he will do anything to defeat the God of Death, to earn himself another day with his beloved now Queen and soon to be wife.