sábado, 25 de fevereiro de 2012

Times of war

Times of war are supposed to be this tiring, I know. But to be in love with a king is definitely so heartbreaking that it takes skills more powerful than those usually accepted for a woman.

How I have long to see his face once more, in this time of wretchedness, but I had not had the honor of being great enough to be in his presence more often. And since I am but a girl in the eyes of this many men who only think of swords, I was not allowed to even be nearer to those who know him well.

To love a king is trouble. There is no doubt in that.

Had I loved a simple commoner perhaps my life would have been easier. Perhaps today I would be home, feeding my children simple stew and bread. I would have no fineries, and I would not have wine, but that would not matter to someone who had been happy. I could participate in the many festivities, wearing flowers in my hair and letting it loose upon my shoulders.

But that would never be, as I was not born for that. I am meant for the pain of watching girl after girl be chosen to warm his bed at night. I am meant to watch them leave just as broken as I left all those years ago. The only difference between them and me are the years… and the fine dresses. Mine are so very fine.

I wish he would call for me once more, or visit me at least. I miss his voice, even when I know his words will only bring me tears.

The crown upon his head seems heavy, so is mine. But since I am not allowed to own mine, only wear it, he still pretends to be better at bearing the pain. He is not. He will fall one day. And I will stay, for I have stayed. And all the times in which he has forgotten my existence will return to him.

At least, I wish they would.

I so wish to be able to enter his chambers now, and be allowed to talk to him. Like we did when we were first married. When he still allowed me to discuss matters of war and state.

He should have realized by now that his long absences to fight an unnecessary war have made our country vulnerable, hungry and frail. And I have stayed. I know.

I may still be a young girl, a maiden with her hair braided with lace and flowers, in his friends eyes. But he SHOULD know better. I am his Queen. There is nothing he knows that I don´t know too. We have learned and lived together for so long. And though he seems to have forgotten it long ago, I have loved him enough for songs to be made of our love and he has loved me enough to start a war - a war that broke us.