[dropcap]B[/dropcap]orn in the north amidst salt and smoke,
As a red star streaked across the sky,
An ancient legend he did evoke
In their minds. Could he be Azor Ahai?
But when the fable he was given to believe
Failed to unfold, he set out to retrieve
The truth of his future from Maggy's lair.
Eager to get over with the sordid affair,
He cut his thumb without a wince,
And asked, "Am I the promised prince?"
As she tasted his blood, his heart beat faster.
"You are no prince, though you shall be a Master.
And ere the sun is set on the dawn of your life",
Quoth Maggy, "You will become the first amongst equals."
Such gibberish must not escape these dungeon walls,
He thought, and slit the Frog's throat with her own knife.
From a lowly squire he was designated a Knight.
With a sword and a mind, both unflinchingly swift,
He decimated many a cantankerous wight.
This pleased the King, and as a reward,
It was decided to elevate him as Kingsguard,
A dream he had nurtured since he was a babe!
But the sands of his fortune were starting to shift,
With every ominous turn of the astrolabe.
For the Mad King would, in a frenzy of paranoia,
Attempt to burn them all down with wildfire,
Along with his dragon, Aerion the faithful,
A pairing that was devastatingly powerful.
Seething with anger at the King's villainy,
He could no longer bear to bend the knee.
Determined to protect the dwindling empire,
He consulted the Hand, who had long been resentful,
And together, they planned a mutiny.
The populace were fervent in their prayer,
When one afternoon, without any inkling,
He plunged his sword into the heart of the King,
Extinguishing that of which he was warden,
In the pale shade of the Hand's lush garden.
But nobody escapes the cruel twist of history,
For what he pictured as his selfless chivalry,
Earned him the moniker of "Kingslayer".
He thought the worst over, but when he was older,
Winter fell with a vengeance, though it felt much colder,
When the finger of accusation lay on his shoulder,
Levelled, extraordinarily, by an ordinary maid.
As the sword of Damocles whetted its blade,
He summoned his courtiers and launched a tirade
On the Night King presumably attacking his palisade.
In the end, disgruntled and unable to persuade
Them all, the stark realization dawned,
That the dragon he had thus far scorned,
Was the sharpest weapon in his fusillade.
Thus ensued the saga of ice and fire,
That he unleashed in his delusion.
A tragedy with consequences so dire,
It threatened the foundations of the very institution
That he had fought so hard to preserve.
"The white walkers are strong in their resolve",
He cried, "Against me, they continue to conspire!"
While Aerion smacked his lips in grim satisfaction,
Having prepared the maid's funeral pyre.
The coterie of wise men who can never err,
Provided him sanctuary with a simple device,
Which transforms the offended into the offender,
By alchemy! Based on their sagacious advise,
Maids have been banished from the castle since.
Others may forget, but the north will remember,
That the war was won with artifice.
'Tis true, he was no promised prince.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
This piece is steeped in Game of Thrones references. For the uninitiated, here is a crash course: