Heir Apocryphal

To paltry peerage, a child born,
the union foul, kin’s honor shorn.
Unmantled, the babe was left to die,
yet the mother tended not His cry.
Monody steeped the harlot’s stair,
far from the father’s parget chair.
Yet loss and ague, wind and rain,
could find no purchase in His frame.
Grown to a man, learnt was the name,
So sought bequest, by blood His claim.
Athwart a steed of purest white,
in gleaming plate of moon’s own light,
He led a fusilier band of no reknown,
Them drawn by will, to honor bound.
Swift were the gates then overthrown,
The father rent from pallid throne.
The mother chained in the darkened heart,
of the pit from whence she learnt her art.
Unmarred was He by the battle won,
The barony clad in man and sun.
Yet He could not his title claim.
Til worth was proved to the king who reigned.
And so He rode toward the north,
Where massed the raiders brutal force.
Few knew true the king’s intent,
That the scion should die by no trouble spent.
Yet by providence, or His cunning will,
He routed the horde, unsullied still.
At band’s return, crowds gathered round,
The king aghast, fell plans unwound.
Thus a diadem was set on bastard brow,
and the swelling host did there avow,
with lances raised and banners high:
“All hail Avarr, who never shall die.”


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