The Warlord left a rose on his Valkyrie’s pillow.
A simple red rose.
She sat at the edge of her bed. The Warlord was busy ruling his realm. His cavernous holds and tributaries. She knew his schedule and responsibilities. He had six meetings today with lobbyists, lunch with a Dignitary from another District and he had to maintain his grip on a rebellious population. He made the time to leave this for me.
Her torn jeans and oversized top wasn’t what a Valkyrie ought to be wearing. She didn’t choose the title, it was given to her when she learned how to break kingdoms with an axe.
She laid back on the bed, holding the rose. Smiling like a teenaged girl and her first sweetheart.
The Warlord, for all his faults, was a sweetheart.
A monstrous, murderous ruler who had to sin to keep the worst of us at bay. In this moments he could be a sweetheart. It was simple.
She rolled over, staring at the simple memento. Just grinning like the idiot girl she used to be. Before she ruined everything, before she became the Valkyrie.
Maybe it would be okay?
She would be okay.
He was more than the tabloids and newsfeeds called him. He wasn’t just a conqueror or a tyrant. He did the best he could with what he had.
He loved his Valkyrie.
And she would always be his Valkyrie.