A/N: We're playing the Battle Pavane by Tielman Susato in band class (beautiful song), and my brain puked up this. Then decided to be sick and twisted about it. What else can anyone expect from my mind?
Youtube link is: /watchv=7TjMuVnMUoQ
I recommend listening while reading. Dramatic effect and all.
The White Knight
"So dear I love him, that with him all deaths I could endure, without him live no life."
-John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book IX, line 832
The White Knight rides on, pushing his horse to daring speeds.
Though he can hardly be called the White Knight now, his chalky surcoat and its stark black emblem stained with the blood of his enemies, both fresh and old.
Badges of honor, trophies from fiends he struck down with his own sword.
He rides to meet his love, his precious prinzessin.
His dear prinzessin, waiting for him to return from battle.
The thought of his impatient beloved urged the knight further.
Silky brown hair, perfectly groomed, tickling the knight's nose when they lay together.
Smooth, warm, creamy skin that the knight would embrace.
Skilled fingers that would caress the knight's cheek.
Long arms that would find themselves around the knight's neck, pulling him close.
Violet eyes that would look over the rim of spectacles, into the knight's own, filled with love and longing.
An aristocrat's beauty mark, accenting soft pink lips.
Lips that would whisper sinful things in the knight's ears, smile at him teasingly, that he would capture with his own.
The horse began to slow, but the knight urged her on.
"Just a bit further." He said, more to himself than the animal beneath him. "We're almost there."
In the distance, a weak gleam appeared.
The light of his prinzessin's family home, a beacon of comfort to the exhausted warrior.
Inside the stone walls of the manor's grounds, the horse was allowed to stop, immediately taken by a young stable hand, his face dark.
The knight rushed to the doors, about to open them when someone inside did it for him.
A young woman, tears streaming down her face and onto her green dress, looked into his eyes.
"Elizabeta, what is wrong?" The knight asked the baroness frantically, concern filling him as a dreadful explanation formed in his head.
She choked out a sob, shaking her head.
"Please, Gnädiger Herr." She cried.
Grasping her by her shoulders, he managed to stop her weeping.
The White Knight spoke one word. "Where?"
"The study." She hiccuped, drying her eyes.
In a moment the knight was sprinting through the manor, to a room he knew well.
He burst into the room, rushing to his lover's side.
Garbed in rich indigo, brown hair swept off of a sweaty brow, lay the knight's prinzessin.
The knight removed his gauntlet, resting his hand on a clammy cheek.
At the touch, a cold hand grabbed his and violet irises met burgundy.
The aristocrat's mouth formed a weak smile.
"I knew you would come." The baron, Roderich Edelstein said to his knight.
"I will always come for you, mein prinzessin."
"I really wish you wouldn't call me that." Came the reply, although they both knew it was a lie.
Roderich reached up to stroke the silvery hair of the knight, pulling the head to his and connecting their lips.
The kiss was slow, tender, the kind that made one sigh with content when it ended.
"Ich liebe dich, Gilbert." Roderich whispered before his mouth was recaptured.
The knight held his beloved in his arms, and when this second kiss ended, the baron breathed no more.
Gilbert felt liquid sliding from his eyes, dropping onto Roderich's fingers.
"Goodbye, mein prinzessin." The knight uttered, his voice wavering.
"True love makes the thought of death frequent, easy, without terrors; it merely becomes the standard of comparison, the price one would pay for many things."
-Stendhal