A/N: Written for the AU diversity boot camp, prompt #038 – Queen. Also for the Freeverse Frenzie Competition, poem 30.
Ripples to a Tide
3. Queen's Endgame
It was no stick
but a sword
And magic
meant a very different thing
back then.
It was a war that brought
even the Gods
down from their stool
As blood pooled everywhere.
He learnt
from a far younger age
to kill;
far faster
he watched others die.
Far harder
it was, to raise
his laden arm
but far surer
to strike him down.
There was no safe point
with a sword, after all –
their swords were not
their own
And there was no brother sword
to alter fate this time.
There was no way to avoid
the stained hands of blood
When he took up
that White Queen's sword.
