I've managed to come up with a title for the work, and that title is: The King of the Deep. Huh? Huh? Decent, you think? No? Well... I tried... (For those of you who've not read The King of the Deep Part 1, and for those of you who have but want to refresh your memory, click here.) Now then, without further babble, here we go!
Then
the wrath of the king was great indeed.
At
his roar the oceans trembled.
Upon
the nearest coasts of the dwellings of men
Waves
of fury were assembled.
Then
many mortals’ cries rang out
In
prayer and supplicating word.
The
fates wrought and worked that day
For
one unlooked for heard.
Their
cry reached the ears of Lanielia
Who
paused in the waters’ caress,
And
who felt a sudden pity stir
At
the noise of their distress.
Forth
she went, with graceful speed,
Forth
unto the coast,
Where
rolling waves of fury were poised
To
strike many an innocent host.
Out
from the sea she sprang suddenly,
Her
arms raised in command.
And
at the cry of her voice the waves leapt back,
Ere
they dashed upon the sand.
This
she did a few and several times more,
Till
at last the waters took heed,
And
dared not again to strike the land
Even
if so the King had decreed.
Forthwith
leapt Lanielia back into the sea,
And
to the depths she went alone.
Till
she stood before the King again
Who
sat upon a pearl-white stone.
To
her he smiled. “Back,” he said,
“Back
you have come as a sheep.
How
could it be any other way?
Who
can defy the Lord of the Deep?”
“Fool!”
cried she. “Pride-filled fool!
Careless
abuser of might!
You
hide behind your haughty strength
Because
your weakness is out of sight.
The
‘Lord of the Deep?’ A prisoner you are,
Fettered
against your will.
Whose
anger burns at lands beyond him,
That
the mortals govern and fill.
“But
no longer will I allow your wrath to strike,
And
bring ruin to the innocent.
Soften
thy heart, pride-filled king,
Or
beware my grim intent.”
The
King at once leapt to his feet,
His
golden eyes ablaze;
And
Lanielia saw that his pride was not humbled.
He
was a prisoner to his ways.
Then
began a contest sharp,
A
battle of the two.
A
struggle such as never before was seen
In
the bottom of the Deepened Blue.
The
mighty strength of the King was vast;
Seven
times he struck her down,
And
seven times she rose up again
With
wounds beneath her watery gown.
But
at the last, weariness came,
Written
on her face wrung with pain.
And
the King smiled within and without,
Deigning
to become her bane.
About
her neck he fastened his grip,
In
his eyes a fell delight.
For
no help could come to Lanielia
To
deliver her from her plight.
Yet
even as her strength was quenched,
She
swung hard her head.
And
little and naught thought the King of this,
Thinking
her already dead.
Thus
when her league of snowy hair
Seized
suddenly his mighty limbs
He
had not time to feel as one
Whose
hope swiftly dims.
From
her neck her white locks pried him,
And
upheld him doubly bound.
And
ere he could summon the waters to his aid
At
her command he was wholly enwound.
Coil
after coil she threw about him
Till
her hair was spent and tight.
Then
with her nails, enchantment aided,
She
cut the league of snowy white.
Then
she took the nameless, pride-filled king
And
cast him in a pit of the Deep,
Where
madness roams, and soundless foams
Form
about monsters that creep.
And
there he has remained from that time on,
Twice-over
bound in such a tomb.
But
whether he has died, or shall yet escape,
Remains
an unknown doom.
Keep Strong!
Keep Strong!
