Work Text:
Our tale begins in woods of violet fire;
a story hidden well and seldom told:
a court of tattered banners, red and gold
the constellation's common dark desire.
Resentment, twist the knife and light the pyre,
resentment, open wounds and scars of old!
With rage and bitter memory controlled
the Prophet called the princes to conspire.
A messenger to greet the pair of kings;
the question now is which approach to take?
The Prince Apostle offers cordial greetings
to hide a sickly sweet and sharpened stake;
alliance with the twins is self-defeating
if change is what the revolution brings.
“Your pleas of chaos fall upon deaf ears,”
The King Who Wars tittered with glittered eyes,
“It’s to the Greater Chain we must adhere.
Consider this inane motion denied.”
“That universal chain is nature’s Law;
the strong exert their power on the meek.”
The Warring King, with massive, toothy maw,
did clearly view himself upon the peak.
“Even the strongest chain may turn to rust,”
the gentler twin protested from his throne.
“We change, or surely change will come to us:
Our dimming flesh will stagnate on the bone.”
The King Who Wars reminds you of your place:
that you still breathe is only by his grace.
With no support with which to topple Law,
the legion knew the folly of their plight
‘til through the darkened forest came a light:
The King Who Speaks was moved to join the cause.
The Measur’d King believed in something greater
than what he and his twin could do alone;
he’d abdicate his station and renown
and to the Light and Law become a traitor.
He rids himself of armour and of shield,
abandons fiery vestments, swears a vow;
he pledges service to their noble goal.
The gleeful glinting knives the princes wield
turn foolish King to sacrificial cow;
they feast upon his regal rebel soul.
The sky above became a crimson nova;
the light drowning the camp revealed the sin.
The Measur’d King, his dimming corpse picked over;
a hundred princes with their bloody grins.
“Beg not for death, for death would be too gentle;
His body, silent, so shall silence ring.
Your punishment will be most incremental,”
came wrathful bellows of the Warring King.
The traitor exiled, sewn into a story:
a story buried deep and never told.
This clever, cruelest kind of purgatory
is thwarted by intruders to its hole.
And therein lies the Prophet’s final jape;
a heedless reader serves as its escape.