The unKiss, in Shakespearean-style verse, as written by nfriel:
What pyre burns in Aegon’s city proud!
The Rush aflame, with groaning cries, lets birth
Its shadow’d sons, like hounds releas’d, to fight
The champions of common flame above.
The rats who flee the Bottom’s anarchy
Turn thieves, their knavish pockets stuff’d with prize.
And oh! The heroes of the crown return
More corpse than man, with fewer than before,
And gravely wounded, faces veil’d with ash.
Cruel War has made them strangers to themselves.
Fair Dawn surrenders to the furied claws
Of wildfire, alchemists’ delight.
The acrid stench, the herald old of hell,
This world invades, declaring its demise.
To life or death, to Dontos or to Payne,
My fate is sealed, thus perforce must I wait.
The course of night shall pass, and in its stead
My wolf I’ll meet, if I am mark’d for dead.
The bird in ashen clime still finds it nest.
The Hound now seems his namesake’s perfect glass.
See how his eyes glow in the emerald light!
Yet dark remains the rest, his cloak except.
Thy scream will be thy death. To that, I swear.
But wherefore cag’d, sweet bird, in martial rage?
Has thou no interest in the victor’s name?
I know not. Has a victor been reveal’d?
Not triumph but in failure bear myself.
Let others make a like report for news.
In failure? Has thou lost?
And grievous so.
All lost, the vile Imp to thank.
They say he died.
Not so, I wish it not.
The mercy of the gods would see him burn’d.
Yet not for me their justice to dispense.
I needs depart.
So spake the bird.
Aye, quick departing.
Yet the realm is vast.
Hast thou no destination in thy mind?
Away shall serve. From ash and flame I flee.
Perhaps the North my purpos’d place shall be.
The gates and Keep are clos’d, at queen’s command.
To those who wear the cloak, no pass is barr’d.
To those who wear a sword, none stand oppos’d.
Alone can fire cease my certain flight.
Thus spoken, why come here and so declare?
Thou Starks keep promises. What, lost thy sense?
A song thou swore, and thus do I insist.
Amidst the smoke and death? Nay, I shall not.
Unhand me, for my heart is seiz’d by fear.
Thine eyes once open’d see but only fear.
Look now upon my face—this, I command.
The mummers’ demon masks give lesser dread.
Thank Seven for the blood, to hide his scars.
What wild eyes and frenzied, as a beast’s!
His brother’s burns with violent shivers twitch.
This drunken sword, come stinking in his gore—
Is this what singers dream belongs to war?
Away, sweet bird, come fly with me away.
No man in hearts e’er struck such fear as I.
I promise thee more safety in my care
Than ever could thou hope in Maegor’s Keep.
The man who wish’d thee hurt my hand would slay.
A maiden has no fight for man so strong.
Thine eyes kept clos’d? What, still afraid, my bird?
Then give the song thou promis’d long ago.
Maid Jonquil and her fool shall be thy life.
Thy blinded silence will earn naught but death.
A bird has native aptitude for song
Yet terror now constricts my learned tongue.
But I dare not his face screen from mine own.
One song I know, and that one shall he have.
[to SANDOR] [sung]
Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
Save our sons from war, we pray,
Stay the swords and stay the arrows,
Let them know a better day.
Gentle Mother, strength of women,
Help our daughters through this fray,
Soothe the wrath and tame the fury,
Teach us all a kinder way.
The bird has sung.
Though fearsome was his countenance, I felt
Some salty tears were wept beside the blood.
Yet now alone, to face a fate unsure.
The wild fires sounded their retreat.
Now stoic darkness overwhelms the land
And only jaded ghosts remain as proof.
His Kingsguard white, with blood and fire stain’d,
He left as souvenir, and close I keep.
For all I have is memory and cloak
To think of him who vanish’d in the smoke.
How is it possible I’m only discovering this now?! This has made me unspeakably happy.