He said what he had said before,
A nose not stranger to bloodiest gore,
Turned a hand to beckon closed door,
Locked and barred bendwise and hammered,
By the eyes of many battles.
They simmered with experience, drew a handbook out,
Laid before them as such options were plentiful,
Should these street hooligans, singing and playing for free,
Prove to be sorest enemy, agents of Toblin's freshly minted son.
Still hot and brash from command's ascent.
Prienne's mind wasn't one to be weighed by age alone,
His talents lead chessmasters to weeping chambers,
He'd dine at dinner wearing a bib of success,
No challengers exist for my skills to test,
A fact he had to acquiesce.
Savoring the sounds of old crones and men alike,
Unaccustomed to losing control of the light,
A candle lit as sole companion, they'd given life to master,
An art he merely dabbled triumphantly.