So. This is a poem about Krisafitsa-Tharina from Tharaman's POV. Was going to be called 'To You, With Love', but it doesnt fit.

Disclaimer; If I was Stuart Hill, then my knowledge of Vikings would be more than that of hats with horns.


The rain is heavy upon my fur

Like the strike of a sword they fall;

Cutting the manacles whom choke my call

Of deepest fear for her.

The clouds submit to none who ask,

Grey and unsettled they glare upon

A world, a time that hath no song

To warm an old friend's flask.

But through the mist there is one light

Shining from sea-deep blue;

A light which, loyal and true

Disguises more than one could sight.

A pelt of snow, soft and smooth,

Hosts flecks of brown roses, which

Doth change in size, in beauty, in pitch

To help one see more than they prove.

Blinding is the warmth within:

Kindled by a blaze immortal,

To all enemy's heart it should chill

Like the death of anothers kin.

Sabers shall rip the evil fog

Whence claws tear flesh from bone

And when single bugles tone

Blood shall in nails, clog.

Rivers washed in crimson tears,

Drying in their beleaguered fears

And padding over sheets of ice

Will be she, my only vice.

A/N: Sorry if the use of language is a bit off... it sounded good when I was writing it, but looking back over it - it seems weird.

Maybe its just me.