“Sometimes, the warrior dies a hero’s death. The sun is a little dimmer the next day, mourning his absence, but the night sky gains another star burning with the glory of his life and his death and his legacy, and all is right in the world. Sometimes, the warrior dies a martyr’s death. There are galaxies in his blood, and legends in his skeleton. The world mourns him with a revolution in his name. In the end, he is an epic in three acts: adventure, tragedy, victory. But sometimes, sometimes, the warrior does not die a hero or a martyr. There are no stars to see when he looks up for the last time. There is no glory to be found when his blood spills. It is a pitiful, whimpering thing, when the warrior drops his sword and shield because the world disavowed its own saviour. Sometimes, the warrior dies, forgotten and melancholy and alone on bended knees: a child’s death.”
— wasn’t he always just a child under all the armour? ( j.p. )
