Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Before That Fateful Arrow Flew

In years long past and near forgot,
Before that fateful arrow flew,
When men who now wear shields and swords
Were fresh and young as morning dew:
The fates had intervened again,
And brought their skein of twisted cord;
They wove a tale of theft and grief
To fell that fierce and brutal horde.

Two sons were born of peasant stock;
The firstborn child was strong and bold,
With smiling, ruddy countenance -
A handsome infant to behold.
The younger twin born on that day -
In visage pale, in stature slight -
Was cursed with twisted, shortened limbs,
A homely face and clouded sight.

Between these boys there grew such love,
A strange affection they had found;
The younger idolized his twin,
The elder was by pity bound.
But fate had set these twins apart,
For deeds of greatness yet unknown
As one was stolen from his home,
And raised by strangers all alone.

How can I speak of evil deeds
Inflicted on that elder son,
That broke his body and his soul -
Left every hope at last undone?
In service to the pagan priests,
Without a country, stripped of name -
He only knew of blood and fear,
And sacrifice upon the flame.

Yet far away, beyond his reach,
A younger brother wept and prayed,
Bereft of strength, bereft of love,
Twice over by the fates betrayed.
And though he prayed with passioned pleas,
And wept with fervent, bitter tears,
His tears were dried, his prayers were stilled
As hope was crushed by passing years.

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