All Or Nothing

I want it all.

Selfish bastard that I am.
Yes, bastard.
Its almost comical, she has no idea when she calls me bastard, that I am.
She has no knowledge of how that word rips into me, twists my gut within me. I am born of an act of passion, a safisfying of a carnal urge, the product of man's evil indulgence, and void of love. I am so hideous, such a blasephemy that my own mother abandoned me and could not bare to look upon my face. I carry her shame, the shame of the man I never knew as father, and the shame of that evil that cannot be controlled within us all.
I am bastard.
I speak to no one of this.
There are things you can speak to no one of, no one, save one.
God.
To Him, I do not have to speak of things buried so deep within my soul, He already knows. And forgives me for them. Incredibly.
Perhaps that is why I am down on my knees to Him tonight.

She sleeps peacefully, I write while sitting on the floor beside the bed, where I can easily and quickly take her hand, assure her of her rest, quiet her dreams at a moment's touch, if she needs.
If she needs. Thats it, isn't it?
We have a need for each other, that has grown to be evident, and culminated in the events that occurred between us tonight...and....those that did not. We live with the savage urges of the animals we are, those that rise with our passions to take us over, control our actions, erupt in our midst until that is all we know, that is what drives us, that is what gives us pleasure and soothes our body's needs.
We had that.
But there is more.

I want it all.

I know she did not understand, I read it in her eyes, she said as much, and at that moment, I began to believe perhaps she was right.
I am a crazy bastard.
I had her there within my hand.
I had her, but did I have her heart?
Just the night before, I had asked her if she loved me.
She gave me back words, a whole slew of them, layer upon layer of words, explaining, exclaiming, all the reasons, words and more words.
I only wanted one.
One of two, and she could say neither.

I want it all.

The beast within me moves, growls, threatens. The snakes move to his command, he controls their power, his goal to control everything.
He has hunted, the prey is ensnared and now he wants to finish the kill, he wants that satisfaction.
He is close, and he can win. I alone cannot hold him at bay.
We are both bastards.
But I am the greater evil.
He knows nothing, only the urges that drive him, that he must satisfy, but he neither knows nor cares why.
I know that there is more, there is higher, there is the two in one under God. To let the beast have his way without that is blasphemy.
That is why I pray.

I am nothing without my God, it is only through Him that all things are possible. I live the code of the Black Knight, to honor above all.
I have taken vows, and not only to her.
There must be a way to honor them all and I must find it.
That is what God requires.
To love and honor, until death do us part.
They both matter.
To Love with all your heart, with all your mind, with all your soul and with all your strength.
It all matters.

I control the beast, but not for long, and not by standing alone.
She pushed me to the edge and I hesitated and she did not understand.
If I lose her because of it, then the vows do not really matter.
The beast rages, licks his lips and waits.
He is here, he waits while his power grows.
He has waited for centuries to return, what is a few more days to him?

May God have mercy on my soul.
_________________
There are no lies in memories, only the Truth of what was - and the foundation of what will Be.

The Hour of the Watch

"Mercy in the dark of night,
Angels are among us.
Say your prayers and keep the faith,
For he has come to save us.
As a cold wind blows,
Nothing grows.
But his mercy flows.

Up from the ground blooms the winter rose."*

Long after the sounds of merriment in the Great Hall were put to bed, long after kit and kin retired to intimate hearths of their own, or...someone else's....I alone walked the streets of this place I now inhabit. Actually it was an improvement on my usual status, as walking.... even if going nowhere....does lend at the very least a change of scenery to the procedure, rather than pacing in a tight circle, my usual state after such an evening.

I wondered....as I wandered....does she know?
Can she not sense some inkling of why I am here, why I show up wherever she is, and make my presence known to her? Surely there are some qualms she has about me, some knock upon the level of wherever her heart is (I would not expect her head), a feeling that something, where I am concerned, where....we....are concerned, that gives her a sense of pause, even if it is only a shadow to her footsteps, an itch beneath her skin that has no visible cause, a queisiness to her stomach that tells her something be amiss, even if she decides to doggedly ignore it? I speak not of the remembrance of actual events, or of me, but that little gnawing feeling that makes the hairs on the back of one's neck stand at attention and clues in the heart that this is a way passed before, this is something to investigate.
Does she have none of that?
For, to be sure, that is how it appears.

I was quite serious when I asked her, then....did she want me to leave, truly. Yet she answered that not, at least, not directly. And I would not, but that it come as a direct order from her, as her utmost wish. If it is to be over, then it is to be over the sooner the better. Let it lie in the past. She seems to have done that fairly well, come to think of it.
It is I who has the difficulty there.
There and somewhere else.
I touched her, I whispered words to her ear, and she bled.
Why does this go on, if truly God wants me to be here, to help her, to love her again?
It happens with no one else. I know, I watched for it. So many she spoke to, so many she touched in passing, and they in turn, her. In passing, in dancing, in standing close by, there were many, both male and female, and of none of them did she have such a harsh reaction. Even as close and prolonged as she stayed in the company of the one called Kalamere, she suffered no ill effects.
Yet I have merely to utter a word, breathe a breath, and she is hurt.
To say I do not understand is simple enough.
To say I will not tolerate it much longer, a hurt of her, even if it means my departure from these lands, never to see my precious Zoee and Zander again, is a conclusion I am fast reaching.
This cannot be for her own good.
And I will not let it continue much longer.

I should not have come.
Correction. I should not have stayed.

It is 3 a.m.
The hour that has meaning all its own.
Some say, the witching hour, others report it as the Hour of the Watch. Whatever anyone's faith calls it, there is but one thing left to do. If, after that, there is no change, then I will know. God will have given me His sign and I will take it as such.

Soon, I will know.
Correction. We all will know.

-------------------------------------------------- -----------------

*(from the song, "Winter Rose", music and lyrics by Bill Leslie)

And A Little Child Will Lead Them

Psalms 14, a psalm of David...the Folly and Wickedness of Men


The fool hath said in his heart,
There is no God.

They are corrupt,
they have done abominable works,
there is none that doeth good.

The LORD looked down from heaven upon the children of men,
to see if there were any that did understand, and seek God.

They are all gone aside,
they are all together become filthy:
there is none that doeth good, no, not one.

Have all the workers of iniquity no knowledge?
who eat up my people as they eat bread,
and call not upon the LORD.

There were they in great fear:
for God is in the generation of the righteous.

Ye have shamed the counsel of the poor,
because the LORD is his refuge.

Oh that the salvation of Israel were come out of Zion!

When the LORD bringeth back the captivity of his people,
Jacob shall rejoice, and Israel shall be glad.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"She didn't run from you, she was taken. She was too happy, Fate recycled her. Stole her mind.. wiped it all away. Everything. She didn't even know....she was pregnant."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Backed into the darkened corner,
forced to sift through the ashes once again.
He'd been there before.
Another life, another wife, a fire caused by a jealous fate that detroyed happiness.
Sent him into the bottomless pit.
Forsaken by God, forsaken by love, forsaken by a Savior.

Until he walked into her art studio.
She thumbed her nose at Fate and saved him.
And God smiled.

Oh ye man of wicked foolishness.
There is a God, a fitting opponant for Fate.
And all you have to do is believe.
Believe and never let go of hope.
Never let go of....her.

The panther stopped its pacing.
He lay down with the lamb, refusing to fight any longer.
Gave God thanks for the voices of his children,
And slept at last.

"He will not judge by what he sees with his eyes,
or decide by what he hears with his ears;
but with righteousness he will judge the needy,
with justice he will give decisions for the poor of the earth.
He will strike the earth with the rod of his mouth;
with the breath of his lips he will slay the wicked.
Righteousness will be his belt
and faithfulness the sash around his waist.
The wolf will live with the lamb,
the leopard will lie down with the goat,
the calf and the lion and the yearling together;
and a little child will lead them."

Isaiah 11:3-6

There Is No Moon

There is no moon here this night.
It matters not.
I cannot be still.
I pace in circles around the tree which I have claimed as my place of rest in these lands. Correction, God-forsaken lands.
For yet have I to see any resemblence of the Almighty, any reference to a sovereign deity by the....creatures....that I co-habitate with here....wherever here is. Vanessa might at least have told me the ways of things here, rather than just shove me toward that strange, vibrating ring of stones, finger pointing, with a haughty..."That way, lover"....before she vanished in a puff of smoke.
And I thought she liked me.

Could have been worse, I could be stranded alone and on foot, but as fate would have it, smiling on me for once, I was mounted on Duff, although he is not battlewise or as yet trained by my ways, like his sire. Ciardha, ah, but there is a true warhorse! Still, Duff is possessing of a raw and rare fire and strength, a mighty streak of potential to be seen in him, and what have I here, but time on my hands for the instruction he will require of me?
I digress.

Devil's trampling grounds, thats what I am making.
A mess of these bushes, a mess of her life. Nae, she already accomplished that.
She told me once twas not of her doing, mostly.
Fate held her in His mightly clutches, ripping at her heart, gashing at her flesh, churning in her head nightmares instead of allowing her sleep.
How she could only find rest in God's own joined Oneness, head upon my chest, my dreams hers, my breath hers, my peace....hers.
I believed her. Once.

Tonight again I hear likewise, from those gathered around who seem loyal to her, distressed to find her blood where she herself should have been, but no other remnant of her.
Was it her blood, in all truth?
Or merely her craft making them draw conclusions that were not honest?
She is a witch.
Do they not know what that means?
Or has she bewitched even their very sensibilities so they cannot see, hear, taste, feel, understand.....Gabriella.....

There is no god here to curse at, spit at, lay prostrate before in prayer, shaking with the thought of an answer.
I prayed for her. Once.
I cannot be still.
There is no moon here this night.
It matters not.

Ashes Are Burning

I remember the night we stood together in the fire....

No. I will not.

I remember...it is part of who I am and has been, since that night...
It is written that fire clenseth the soul, purifying, making over again, making a new creation.
I swear as I stood with her that night, it was so.
I looked into her eyes, held onto her, body and spirit, with all that I had, and I believed that she did the same for me, that she my savior and I hers did become.
I believed that all else fell away, save the sharing of our souls in sacred pledge and vow.

She made that into a lie.

She used to touch me....touch...my heart.
I thought it was a healing she was performing.
It was a robbery.
All this time, I have not thought about......what used to be.
I could not.
But I can see it now for what it was.
She gave me nothing.
She took.
She stole.
And she thought to get away with it.
To get away with all of it.

But I know.
I know of what she did that day.

"It was the day the world went wrong
I screamed til my voice was gone
And watched throught the tears as everything came crashing down.
Slowly panic turns to pain
As I awoke to what remained
To sift through the ashes that are left behind...."

Redemption is what I want.
I want what is mine. That will be redemption.
The two for her one.
I will take them far away, to the ends of the earth, where we shall never again be disturbed.
Never discovered.
I will save them from the horror of her fire, the pain of her lies.

I will do what needs to be done.

For them.
For the lives that stir yet in the ashes that are burning.
For when all else falls away......
....in their innocence
....they are the only hope left to rise.




http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rJynET3b3PM

The Domino Effect

So. She has been found. And more than....she. One of my men has brought to me a letter. It is her handwriting, there can be no mistake in that, even as weather-worn and faded as it is. And the secrets it reveals to me..... There is a depth of will I did not think I still possessed. But my mind is clear again. I have set a plan in motion, and like a domino effect, one part hinges upon the next. When the first one falls, and I do not say if....when that happens, then it cannot be stopped....until I have again what is mine. She? Oh no. I care not for the cunning conniving of a she-bitch. She played me false, after all. But her whelps....are mine as well. They are more mine, they will be more mine, than they have ever been hers. For them, I have made this plan, I have come back to life, I have purpose. It is started. It will be finished. So help me God.

The Year In Hell

I have spent the last year of my life in hell.
I have traversed the globe, not once, but thrice, in search of that which was mine.
I have occasionally returned to Spain, for the rest and strength that it provides, so that I can continue in my search.
Early reports were that Brazil held the answer, and I have spent much time there, looking under every rock, and in every corner, for that which has alluded me. Indeed, I have spent so much time there that I have purchased land there, a small ranch, austere but comfortable in its furnishings. It is a working sheep ranch, under my ownership, yet I employ men to oversee the business, allowing me to pursue....other ventures.
Such as the venture of finding my wife.
She is the reason that I have spent this last year in hell....she once my salvation, now my condemnation.
It matters not what I do in the remnants of this life, therefore, for I have no fear of death. Most men fear death because they fear hell. I hold no such fear for I have been there, lived there, for longer now than a year.
Commit murder and wind up in hell eternally?
Oh, to be sure, it phases me not in the least.
I dream of it, in fact.
I dream of my hand closing around the length of her pretty neck, my eyes trained upon her face, as I squeeze and watch her life, finally and totally in my hand, in my control, where at last she will know her place, as my wife and I her lord and master. I grin at her, sneering as I complete the deed....or grant her mercy.
It is the only thing I have left to smile about, so beware.
If you chance to meet me in the street, and I am smiling, you will know.
There is murder in my dream, in my eye.
Look closely, little one. Recognize what you have done to this man.
This bastard of a Spaniard.
Now....this murdering bastard of a Spaniard.

I am coming....for you, Gabriella.