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sacrifice There are some days when it's all I can do to get through without resorting to the bottle of fine old Scotch I have hidden in the bottom drawer of my desk. I know all too well the demons hidden within that amber liquid; I've lost too many days to them already and I'll be damned if I lose any more. My time on this plane of existence grows short, and I won't waste those precious moments I have left in a drunken stupor. I must admit, though, that the allure of oblivion strong, especially these days, when I am daily reminded of what I've lost. I feel his absence so keenly, feel the ragged edges of a wound I'm sure will never heal. I am incomplete without him, dreadfully incomplete. I wonder if his shade knows how deeply it wounds me when it appears, bereft of everything I loved about him. He is oddly soulless now that his soul is all that's left of my once proud king. I wonder if his ghost remembers our stolen nights? I wonder if he still feels that old savage passion that left its marks on my body, a permanent brand? He was my sun and my moon. I revolved around him-we all did, we all worshiped our brave king. He knew that, I'm sure. He knew that, and that was why he left me alone to raise his daughter and mend his broken planet while he sacrificed himself-sacrificed me and the hope of his people-to the flame of war. But we were both old hands at sacrifice, weren't we, my lord? We both knew that there are some things in life that must be destroyed. The many always comes before the one, especially for people like us, for people like the children who now guard your planet. You loved your people too well to sit idly by, and I loved you too deeply to stop you when you girded your loins and rode off in vain glory. I could tell you, now, that I cried bitterly within my soul when you left, but you knew that then. My soul weeps still. There are some days when the solace of the bottle seems to be the only haven left to me, now that his strong arms have turned to dust. But I can't lie drowning in my own bitter memories these days. I was sacrificed for a planet, but I'll be damned if I let that fate befall another. In young Captain Keith, I see my king reborn. I see the same headstrong passion and blind worship of glory that killed my king. And I see, too, the painful, wanting gazes that pass between him and Lance. I can see my fate replayed, unfolding before these two. I can see Lance cast aside, left behind to wander in a world turned to ash and endless grey. I see this, and I will not let it happen. There are some sacrifices that must be made, and sometimes the sacrifice is to stay alive when the horns of death sound their beguiling call. |