The Despair of Wormtongue - An Iron Terror


An Iron Terror, this heart must become,
My liege-lord crumbles in his own chair.
My words are my sword, their will is my shield,
Therein I shall strike, in their minds I will lair.

Here in these walls, I succor and supplant,
My mind is strong, my heart is cold;
Place no guilt upon me now!
I have returned a changed man,
I have collected power and influence,
My Master is not in Heaven,
My master sits not on a wooden throne.
My strength is their end,
My law is their demise,
Their end is my grace.

An Iron Terror, this brand, I must wield,
This high-sighted dame, this warrior lass,
This pretty thing, the Shieldmaid of the Age;
She is my sweet to the sweet,
She is my dear thing;
She is my bright glass,
She is my lovely star.
One by one, they will abandon her,
And who shall be left?
This Iron Terror.

Who but I can meddle with their kin?
I, a servant of a Greater Lord;
Never shall I now waver,
Never shall I now doubt;
I am an Iron Terror,
I am the deed unspeakable!

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