I do not own Priest.
Paul Bettany rocks though.
Daughter
The Priest, bloody and battered and bruised, held his daughter safe in his arms.
There amid the carnaged remains of the battle.
In the heat of desert, baking of the dead earth, he held her.
Wrapped and cradled as he had done when she was naught more than a tiny babe.
Rocking, rocking, just enough to comfort, to sooth.
He held her, bare head pressed to hers.
Before gently, slowly tilting over, kissing the delicate skin of her brow.
That blessed, precious child.
Just as he had done when she was only months old.
Letting her head fall back, just a little.
To stroke her face, so lightly, with such care and tenderness.
His daughter.
As she opened her eyes, those depthless dark orbs.
That he had always known had held the secrets and whisperings of the entire universe.
Gazing at him silently, seeking his soul.
So innocent, so precious.
His child.
His lips, drawn and thin for so long, awakening to remember to smile.
Her smiling in return, as she had always done.
Little girl. Sweet child.
My heart, my soul.
Forever.
The boy approached then. The man.
The one she loved.
And who loved her.
The one who had sought him out, walked by his side, fought with him.
Tooth and nail and blood and bone.
Bullet and bite.
And silver and ash.
To save her.
The one whom she loved. And who loved her.
Her. His only child.
A second more to drink in the sight of her.
Only once more, for all the long years and eternity of his life.
Father to daughter.
Daughter to father.
They knew each other.
They were of the same flesh.
He would, if he could, spend everyday in her presence.
Listen to her voice.
Behold her face, those eyes.
And be happy and content.
Daughter.
But he could not.
Because she was a free child.
And he was a Priest.
There was work that lay ahead.
Secrets, lies to be brought to light.
Killing to be done to make the world a safer place.
For her.
For them all.
And then, because it was time, and he could not, would not allow himself to fight it, he let her go.
Let her rise up and away from him.
Let her go into the arms of the boy.
The gunslinger.
The one who could, and would, be there for her.
Protect her all the days of his life until his dying breath.
In a way that the Priest never could.
Because he, the Priest, must go.
For the sake of his daughter.
For the sake of his child.
He let her go.
And made it enough.
I love this movie, I love this scene. Oh its just, oh.
*sighs*
Anyway, thanks for reading.
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