Birthright

From yonder mountains he did come
within his hand, a sword blood red.
Unto the plains he spread his wrath,
before his face vast armies fled.
To ocean's shores with willful stride,
unheeding of the damage wraught,
to fight the final battle, lo!
for victory, or come to naught!

From sea's darkest depths she strode,
her mantle golden, burnished bright.
Upon her brow the tempest rode,
within her eyes, the brightest light.
To ocean's shores, revenge to take
for countless wrongs, fell deeds unsung.
Her hardened heart no more to break.
The fate of worlds upon her hung.

Now come, these two, upon the flow
of ebb-tide, thunder threatening.
Unleashed they a mighty din
of sword and mail, of bite and sting.
From full moon unto new moon dim
and back again unto the full,
four cycles, yet not she nor him
did weaken, weary, rest nor lull.

Her dinted helm, his hauberk rent.
Blood red the sun to match the sand.
Her last strength, ebbing, ire spent,
triumph at last was in his hand.
Upon her knee, head bowed, eyes blind,
awaited she doom's final stroke.
A whispered voice, to left, behind
she heard, it's words it softly spoke.

Perceiving weakness in his might
the hilts she clutched, her lips apart
swinging one last mighty stroke
from groin, to bowels, to beating heart.
With mouth agape, a stifled cry,
unutterable agony.
So her nemesis did die
upon the shore of westward sea.

And she who claimed the victory
stood staring down upon his face
She spake in words of mystery
that none set foot upon this place
and ancient runes she did employ.
Then turned her back upon the land
her birthright, won, it brought no joy
Her father dead upon the sand