warriors to the end

He knelt in a traditional warrior bow of respect, his nose nearly touching the ground. He would have bent further if he could have - Spirits knew she deserved it - but his movements weren't as fluid as they were before. Years ago, when they had been together, fighting side by side, a perfect team. He rose, on shaky but sturdy limbs, vision distorted by stray tears. It appeared that he still had more to spare.

His blue robes ruffled gently in the wind and eyes closed, he imagined her comforting presence, the feel of her collarbone under his thumb, auburn hair turned grey, eyes as spirited as the day he met her. The day she knocked me on my ass, he thought and smiled fondly. And it definitely wasn't the last time.

The first time they met, she managed to change his most ingrained beliefs, the ones he was ashamed of, but held to quite tightly, which was quite a feat, considering that his stubbornness was only rivalled by his sister's. She had been wearing green and he couldn't quite make out her face under all that paint, but he just knew that her beauty matched her fighting prowess. The second time they met, she was also wearing green and her face was bare, and it was apparent that he had been proven right.

He gazed at the freshly turned plot of dirt and the thick, engraved slab of stone, his heart seizing but at peace, knowing he wouldn't have to wait long before he could be reunited with his beloved, and they would look at each other and he would be home, and they would be young again, chasing each other around in the never-ending sunset, he with his sword and her wielding her favourite fan. They would spar and she would turn and look at him with that gleam in her eye, already sinking into a fighting stance.

My warrior princess.