Fear's Divine
Composed with Care by VigilanteK
"Where fear and love here do meet
Caught within a lover's seat
Here the pain and grief intertwine
In the course of fear's divine"
He told you, every time you closed your eyes in slumber that he wanted
you. He told you, when you lost yourself in sleep that he needed you.
He told you, when you fled to the world of dreams, that he craved for
your touch. Or, at least you thought he did. How your fears twisted
his words into ones you wanted to hear, instead of the ones that made
you afraid; you turned a deaf ear on his words of love, of passion and
compassion, of trust and deepest companionship. You would smile,
barely awake at these words, and told him that you wanted him, you
needed him, and you craved for his touch... You never tuned into the
hesitance of sadness before he obeyed you, and gave you what you
wanted- or rather, what quelled your fears.
He was gentle lover, which gave you dominance, and you liked it that
way. You could control him, control him that you feared, lost yourself
in the passion, forced him to his own complexion. You never once
thought, truly, deep within your soul, that he wanted more then what
you gave him, more then the driving sex that you thrust upon him. You
never once thought that he would just once, wish for you to love him,
and try to take care of him, in the way he so desperately wanted you
to.
He was your dalliance from the life of war and responsibility that you
were raised for, he was simply another bed-mate that you would, you
supposed, gradually lose interest in. He was no more then that within
your mind, no more then some whore to you, there for you to do as you
pleased to him. Never once did you hear him cry softly at night,
whispering words to you when he thought you were asleep, his words of
a love that you would always be afraid to take, because inside, you
were a coward of such things- alas, how such a mighty and respected
warrior as you was to be so frightened... Over such a small thing as
this.
Nonetheless, his words were twisted to you, and you extracted only
what you wanted, needed to hear. You could have him whenever you
pleased, and it never bothered you, or even made you pause in your
actions, to wonder at the fact that he would drop everything for you.
To please you. He obeyed what you told him, did everything just as you
told him, just when you told him to do it. You labeled it as fear for
you, fear of a great battle hero. He labeled it as a respect to the
one he held so dear.
Morning would come, and you would leave him while he slept,
thoughtless for the misery he would have to endure at once against
waking up without you at his side. You did not once think back, and
remember the tenderness that he held you with while your passion fled
you, and you dozed off, not once remember the devotion that he paid
you. You only remember what you wanted to remember: the driving
outbursts of lust. But your version of 'lust' was so different to him.
You now march out to a man-to-man battle with one who is determined to
kill you. You spent not a time longer with him then was required to
bid your farewell. He voiced that he loved you, but this time, you did
not even hear his voice; you just turned and walked away. He was your
whore – only your whore! – and that was the end of it.
Even as you fell to the ground, wounds countless in numbers, your
fears did flee with your life, and left your eyes open. The
compassion, love and misery that belonged to him bled into you, into
your vision, and enabled you to see. Your last dying breath held not a
prayer for your city, nor a curse for the enemy, but a confirmation of
love for him. Tears that one might have mistaken for the shame of
defeat, or the pain of death, was only the distraught feeling of
having been blind for so long. How you held him in grief for so long.
He would stand over your last resting place, where your body would be
set alight in your death, tears jeweled in his eyes as he looked down
upon your face. His hand ghosted across your eyes, placing small metal
circlets over them, closing the eyes that he loved and was cursed with
for the last time. After a deep breath, Paris spoke in a bare hint of
a whisper, meant only for the ears of the dead. "I wish only that you
had actually heard my words, Hector. I wish only that you knew that I
loved you. Peace, my brother."
Composed with Care by VigilanteK
"Where fear and love here do meet
Caught within a lover's seat
Here the pain and grief intertwine
In the course of fear's divine"
He told you, every time you closed your eyes in slumber that he wanted
you. He told you, when you lost yourself in sleep that he needed you.
He told you, when you fled to the world of dreams, that he craved for
your touch. Or, at least you thought he did. How your fears twisted
his words into ones you wanted to hear, instead of the ones that made
you afraid; you turned a deaf ear on his words of love, of passion and
compassion, of trust and deepest companionship. You would smile,
barely awake at these words, and told him that you wanted him, you
needed him, and you craved for his touch... You never tuned into the
hesitance of sadness before he obeyed you, and gave you what you
wanted- or rather, what quelled your fears.
He was gentle lover, which gave you dominance, and you liked it that
way. You could control him, control him that you feared, lost yourself
in the passion, forced him to his own complexion. You never once
thought, truly, deep within your soul, that he wanted more then what
you gave him, more then the driving sex that you thrust upon him. You
never once thought that he would just once, wish for you to love him,
and try to take care of him, in the way he so desperately wanted you
to.
He was your dalliance from the life of war and responsibility that you
were raised for, he was simply another bed-mate that you would, you
supposed, gradually lose interest in. He was no more then that within
your mind, no more then some whore to you, there for you to do as you
pleased to him. Never once did you hear him cry softly at night,
whispering words to you when he thought you were asleep, his words of
a love that you would always be afraid to take, because inside, you
were a coward of such things- alas, how such a mighty and respected
warrior as you was to be so frightened... Over such a small thing as
this.
Nonetheless, his words were twisted to you, and you extracted only
what you wanted, needed to hear. You could have him whenever you
pleased, and it never bothered you, or even made you pause in your
actions, to wonder at the fact that he would drop everything for you.
To please you. He obeyed what you told him, did everything just as you
told him, just when you told him to do it. You labeled it as fear for
you, fear of a great battle hero. He labeled it as a respect to the
one he held so dear.
Morning would come, and you would leave him while he slept,
thoughtless for the misery he would have to endure at once against
waking up without you at his side. You did not once think back, and
remember the tenderness that he held you with while your passion fled
you, and you dozed off, not once remember the devotion that he paid
you. You only remember what you wanted to remember: the driving
outbursts of lust. But your version of 'lust' was so different to him.
You now march out to a man-to-man battle with one who is determined to
kill you. You spent not a time longer with him then was required to
bid your farewell. He voiced that he loved you, but this time, you did
not even hear his voice; you just turned and walked away. He was your
whore – only your whore! – and that was the end of it.
Even as you fell to the ground, wounds countless in numbers, your
fears did flee with your life, and left your eyes open. The
compassion, love and misery that belonged to him bled into you, into
your vision, and enabled you to see. Your last dying breath held not a
prayer for your city, nor a curse for the enemy, but a confirmation of
love for him. Tears that one might have mistaken for the shame of
defeat, or the pain of death, was only the distraught feeling of
having been blind for so long. How you held him in grief for so long.
He would stand over your last resting place, where your body would be
set alight in your death, tears jeweled in his eyes as he looked down
upon your face. His hand ghosted across your eyes, placing small metal
circlets over them, closing the eyes that he loved and was cursed with
for the last time. After a deep breath, Paris spoke in a bare hint of
a whisper, meant only for the ears of the dead. "I wish only that you
had actually heard my words, Hector. I wish only that you knew that I
loved you. Peace, my brother."