Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognise.
The Sweet Bard
You tell him he's a miracle;
That he is beautiful because he is kind, soft
Like the down of a hart's proud neck;
But nothing is as lovely as his voice,
So supple, so elusive;
His face is turned away; he sulks
like a loveable, sullen child;
You pluck a wild rose from a bush
and prick your finger; blood wells;
You kneel before him, offer this gift
and say, "Sweet bard and
I grow idle behind the damp, cold walls of this Mithrim fort;
just one song. Tell me
of the burning ships and
the way your noble brother
and of his rescue by your valiant cousin."
He looks at you
With eyes dark as twilight shadows;
He takes the rose; you smile.
He crushes the flower in his snow-white fist, and now
Warm red streaks run over his fingers, and he says,
hear the song of my blade;
nothing else to give."
A/n: This was inspired by Ugly Duchess' beautiful poem, 'Tell Me of Helcaraxë'.