i. you have never been one for loyalty or pure, unbridled faith but you see her one spring day and something about the steely strength in her eyes her gentle, commanding words opens a gaping fissure in your chest, an arcane ache that only lessens in her presence. she walks away from you that first time and a voiceless chant begins to echo in your ears follow, follow, follow.
ii. you follow. you find yourself, more and more, trying to ease the weight of her burdens. she starts to expect your presence, rely on your counsel– she commands, you comply she questions, you reply. over time you learn to breathe in time with her heartbeat, know her joys and sorrows as deeply as your own. you let her reach for your hand when the pain is too great and treasure every fleeting smile she sends your way.
iii. she is a wonder to you whether she is faltering or fearless, whether she is lost or lordly— oh, you love her all the same. you do not ask for more than you deserve, no, you dare not presume for she is a queen and you are no consort but sometimes, when she thinks you cannot see her gaze upon you is tender, so very sweet that you cannot help your quiet hope.
iv. you stand by her in times of great beauty and times of great grief, you are there for her triumphs and her crushing defeats. you cannot tell if you love her more when she is a sunlit blaze on the battlefield, exuding an unattainable, otherworldly grace or when she heaves a sigh after a long day, runs calloused fingers through her hair, weariness lining her face (but then your love never truly fluctuates.)
v. she holds your hand as the stars fall and again as the world burns. you grasp her like a lifeline every time and ignore your hungering heart. enough, you think, as you feel her fingertips soft against your skin, this is more than enough.
lionheart, amrita c.