stl: pavarotti.
The war wasn't over-- he would never be so vain, so sure of himself, to assume that. But this battle, this first blow, they had won. There was defeat streaked across the faces of their enemies while a few pairs crimson eyes blazed with the promise of revenge. He squared his shoulders against their threats, presenting his own challenge.
I dare you, it said.
Come closer, it beckoned.
Not one of the guard moved in advance, instead they sank back like a band of cowards, retreated into the dense woods. He watched their departure intently as he took his wife into his arms, laying distracted kisses at the crown of her head. He had walked into this campaign not knowing if he would ever have the opportunity to hold her again, to tell her, show her, just how much he loved her. And love her he did. She was his angel and he worshiped the ground she walked on, savored every sigh, relished every scream. The last hours had not guaranteed him this moment again with her.
But now, and for however briefly, the threat had passed and he could once again resume his life by her side as her husband, her lover, her friend. The heavy armor of protector could once again be placed upon a shelf, collecting dust until circumstance called him back into action. Lovingly, he scooped her up, cradling her against his chest as he turned to walk to their home. Over miles of rugged terrain he carried her, refusing to let her delicate feet touch the ground until he was able to place her on their bed.
With care he slipped her shoes, her clothing from her lily white body, discarding the materials haphazardly around the bed. Today, however slight, had been a victory and he would celebrate it with his wife the only way he truly knew how. A hundred years ago he would have boasted with a mug of ale in his hand, riotous laughter and singing every homecoming song he had ever known. That was then, he reminded himself as he parted her thighs and slid between them. He was not a heathen but a married man. A man married to a woman who's sole existence revolved around her love for him. Now he would pour his love out to her in gentle kisses, some no more than the touch of butterfly wings along her lips. Now he would pay homage to every inch of silk that covered her body.
Today had been a victory.
And today he would rejoice in one more minute, one more hour by her side. Today, with her soft sighs of ecstasy echoing throughout their room, he would rejoice in the honor it was to live, to die, by her side. And as she lay in his arms, he would whisper a prayer of thanks to whatever god was listening that she had survived, that he did not have to live an eternity without her.
Yes, there was much to rejoice about now that the danger had passed.