So.
This is my fate.
My end is come.
Who would have thought?
I, Thane�s son.
Reared in sheltered land not besieged by war these thousand, thousand years.
Thrust into turmoil
Sword shoved in my hands
Told to go, follow, protect.
I was not made for such things.
But I, stupid and young,
I stumbled along behind and, inevitably,
I erred.
They berated me.
Fool, fool.
Dismissed.
Fool I was, and still am
For when they brought out arms of fallen kin and friend
Did I not weep?
I followed, and fell, and followed again
Only to fall here, now
And rise again no more.
Now I see the wave of enemy
Solid, surging toward me
And I know that it must be.
Who will remember me?
Thane�s son.
Who followed and stumbled and erred, but did what he could.
Will they sing songs?
Of the madness that ate the kingdom inside out
While war ate at it outside in.
The Steward, the son, the fire
And an order that could not be disobeyed.
But one did.
Did what he could to stay the madness
And succeeded.
Almost.
It is the almost that gets me.
Better to fall, fall in glory
Than live in the shadow
Of that almost.
Trembling sword is raised in hand.
With weight too much for my small shoulders
I stride forward.
I will die for friend and kin who fell.
I will die for dearest friend who stood alone on the wall.
I will die for the almost, the one I could not save.
It is a good day to die.
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