Aftermath
Enough. I have no stomach to defame
his memory. The man died well. Set men to prise
the blazons from the walls and doors. My name
will over-write his wealth, my lordly rise
will soon rub out his lineage and his line.
Bring in my hounds, my hawks, install my pages.
Unlock his stores, uncask his finest wine,
unchain his chests to pay my army's wages.
My sword is stained with blood, indeed. No, leave
it so. They say good brands must drink their fill
before they sleep. That steel was forged to cleave
the armour of my foes, to carve and kill.
His family? Safe passage to the North,
except that one fair daughter -bring her forth.
(grasshopper)
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