Free What's In Your Soul
He remembered nothing.
He felt nothing.
He was nothing.
He was whatever he was commanded.
Her wishes were his.
He'd serve her until the end.
But there were things that even a High Priestess could not understand – loyalty, yes, and even desire, but not love. Not something that was more important than anything. Not the road that lead towards sacrifice and towards protection. She had lived through these things, but always on the other side – the protected, the beloved. She never felt them for herself.
She knew much about magic, but little about souls – about the way some parts would cling even after life, shining on.
She had no idea that whatever she ordered would fade and die when he set his eyes on the person that had been the reason for his death – the reason for his life.
He remembered nothing, but he remembered her.
Not the information and the words that had trickled from the witch's mouth, but the light in her eyes and the touch of her hand.
He felt nothing, but he felt for her.
Not the desire that de witch had spoken of, but something far bigger, far more encompassing, something he no longer had a name for.
He was nothing, but he was hers.
She had brought him back, again and again, whatever the means used to get him back by her side.
He was whatever that she commanded.
She was his Queen, his beloved, his friend and he'd lived and died to serve her and would do so again and again, as long as she wanted him to.
Her wishes were his.
If she chose to turn him away, he would leave gladly, for her happiness was his ultimate goal.
He'd serve her until the end.
And no magic could part them.
But there were things that even a High Priestess could not understand – not the purity of a love that needs nothing but itself. Not something that was your heart's deepest desire. Not the road that lead you against your choices and towards comfort. She had lived through these things, but always on the other side – the one making the choices, the one to lose it all. She never felt them for herself.
She knew much about magic, but little about souls – about the way that some things would never be resolved and keep coming back stronger.
She had no idea that whatever magic she had put on that bracelet would fade and die next to the intensity of her own feelings, her own heart – the one person she had truly been in love with.
It was not about memories – memories that they no longer had – it was about feelings. It was about the way their own bodies seemed to have been dead and moving as puppets since they had last parted; how they had played a part without love or feeling until their eyes met again. It was about the way that it made their hearts swell and their skin burst into stars in a courteous touch.
It was not about memories – it was not about the past long gone – it was about the future. It was about the hunger it woke in their souls for something true, something intense, something that not even death could undo; how they had longed for each other even through the darkness. It was about the way that it made their breath hitch and their words fail with a simple look.
It was not about memories – it was about making new ones – a life for long dreamed.
The witch was lucky, for in their hearts, they all wished for the same – to be true to themselves, to finally live after servitude and duty for years on end. It was lucky that while the knight belonged to his lady, he still wished to have her all for himself – it led him to tell secrets that he must keep, in vain hopes of managing more than he would have believed possible, if he remembered. It was lucky that while the lady loved her king, it was nothing comparing to what she felt for her knight, she still wished that he would allow himself to be loved by her – it led her to jump at opportunities that she must decline, in vain hopes of finally having him, if she dared.
They had come together in a kiss of truth, to be parted by duty. They had come together because they belonged, trusting that they'd be allowed to keep their earnings even if they lost all else. They had come together in hope, to be torn apart in pride – the pride of the Pendragons that knew little of what love really was and that was too used to have their every wish granted.
She remembered nothing, but she remembered him.
Not the pain in the light of the King's eyes, but the softness of the knights mouth and the hardness of his shoulders.
She felt nothing, but she felt for him.
Not the guilt of having done something she shouldn't, but the relief of having something she had long wished for and the heartbreak of a death twice grieved.
She was nothing, but she was his.
He had reminded her who she was, again and again, and not even the weight of a crown would make her forget it.
His wishes were hers.
She would become a Queen and a wife, as he would have wanted her to, and worked to make Camelot a better place, because that was how she could honor him.
She'd serve until the end.
Until death reunite them.