Once there was a Captain...

Once there was a knight

Who lived strong, stubborn

As the battles she waged

None fought as fierce or bold

Or with the same fearsome grace.

She trained every day and hour

To crush any false power.

Once there was an orphan

Raising both brother and sister.

She worked any job that paid

For any meal - unswayed.

Yet, somehow,

She found time to learn,

To defend and secure.

Once there was a Queen,

Wise and strong

Though young, she would nurse

Her kingdom’s rise.

With one ride through a village,

She found true strength

Formed in fierce young woman

Who worked to bones,

For flesh and blood.

Yet also showed talent

Invaluable to power.

A fateful bargain struck:

One must train as a soldier,

First chance of her kind.

In return, had been Promised

Both brother and sister fed

Blessed in chance and time.

Once there were two sisters,

One born royalty

Ruled wise with power and grace,

One born peasantry,

Fought hard to eat, to stay alive.

Through bargain, with time

Sisterhood bloomed strong.

Trust, loyalty never lost.

Time goes on.

Through training and talent,

Dedication,

Luck and drive. When pushed,

Push Back.

Once there was a Recruit,

Talented and Tough.

Admiration grew,

Where envy bloomed treachery.

Though isolated,

Friendship born of jealousy.

Jealousy stemmed from admiration,

Though grudging, it was.

Once there was a Captain's Son

Born to fight, though hesitant

,

To change tradition.

Though respectful

To the other world,

Lacked understanding

And blinded by olden ways,

Thus more cautious to fight one

Of Feminine grace.

Thus ignorantly urged

The Recruit to return home, safe.

Frustration grew on both sides:

“You should mind your own business,

You careless, dumb oaf!”

“You are foolish and reckless!

You are not meant for this!”

Finally, a duel issued:

With victory

She would earn her place.

With defeat,

She would leave her place.

Swords clashed,

Blood and Honor at stake.

Foolish, he held back.

She was not so nice.

She fought, ruthless and fearsome.

Too late, he learned his mistake.

Forcefully, taking his sword,

She tackled, pinning him down.

“Yield,” She ordered, voice cold.

Reluctantly, He did.

Begrudgingly,

He offered a truce.

She was willing to accept,

‘Till He spoke:

“You fight quite well - for a girl.

No truce was struck.

So much indignation

Boiled inside her.

This spoiled Brute judged her,

Thought her weak,

Would force her out,

Send her family to Starve,

Lose their chance

For a better life -

Because She was a girl?

She took his outstretched hand

And twisted it - nearly Snapped.

She grabbed his scruff,

Undertunic clenched in a fist.

Nose to nose, inches apart

She spoke, glare older than age,

Voice quiet, yet trembling

With fiery rage:

“I am sick of your Idiocy.

You know not who I am,

Where I come from,

Or why i am here?”

“Yet, you feel it’s right

To judge me,

Tell me what I am,

What i am made for,

What i can do?”

“You don’t know me,

You know nothing about me!

You don’t know how difficult

My life has been, till now.

So Never assume my limits!”

She pushed him to the dirt,

“Never speak to me

Till you leave

Your chauvinist Fantasies

Behind, and understand

Reality!”

She sheathed her sword

And went to great her siblings.

The excitement of children

Calms her rage

As she holds them close.

She takes them by each hand.

They share their lessons.

Happy, cheeks full.

So much brighter than before.

He watched them go,

Confused by her words.

Yet He knew,

There was something about her

That made him want to know her

In the way She claimed

He didn’t.

Weeks went by.

Training went further

Promotions and duties

Issued.

Once there was a Captain,

Commander of Soldiers,

By His agreement,

A Tournament was ordered.

Of such contest

There were three challenges

Each a test

Of skill and intellect.

Winner of which would receive

A prize of prestige,

Position of Apprentice

Under second in command.

Any and all

Of army, welcome.

From recruit

To knight

To any who bare

The Queen’s coat of Arms.

If they could pass

The first Challenge:

The Entrance exam

Once there was a young Cadet

Who seized this opportunity

• A chance to truly

Show thanks,

Pay a debt,

And prove a keen point

She dove further into her

Training, practicing every day,

Sunrise to sunset,

And stopping only for meals

• And to break with family.

Though slightly disadvantaged:

Very few would spar with her

• A Woman.

Those that did

Went to easy on her.

Once there was a Captain’s Son

Who came to admire

Greatly, one Cadette.

Though she still remained

Cold and distant,

Many times,

He worked earn her favor.

One day,

Tournament but a weak away,

He happened upon

Her hour of morning Drills.

He watched as she defeated

Her fabricated foe.

He had yet to see

Any beauty to match this site

• A dummy gutted and slain.

Though, perhaps,

It wasn’t the Dummy

That was Beautiful.

Seeing chance

To make amends,

He hollered:

“M’Lady,

Might i have the honor

Of testing thine’s great prowess?”

She regarded Him,

Cool and aloof,

“I feel I must decline.

There is no test without challenge”

Undeterred, he grinned at Her wit.

Bowing Oh So dramatically,

“Oh won’t you take pity,

On this naive fool?”

With an eye roll,

A quick, “To Hell with it,”

And swords were clashing fast.

He long learned

Never go easy on an equal.

She was quite the opponent,

He mused in thought.

Even in her exhaustion,

She fought Beastly.

Eventually,

They reached a draw.

At break, they talked

And learned

And laughed - as she would deny.

The sun went down

And the day was over.

The weak went by

New friendships grew

All seemed well

That’s when Treachery

Boiled over.

Once there was a First Lieutenant

• A selfish, cruel man

He would not tolerate a

“Worthless Wench outside their place”

At word of her entrance,

The First Lieutenant,

Outraged,

• As if such news

Struck out of spite.

For, he was sure

She would not last this long.

“How dare she!” he howled

Alone, in his home,

“I will not stand this:

Such a vile insult!”

This Tournament,

His chance to find

A mind to mold for his use,

Ruined by that Peasant Whore!

He could tolerate orders

From a Wench Monarch,

He could tolerate a Wench

Playing knight with the big boys

• It might be funny! -

But a woman knight - Truly?

Outrageous!

He had spent to long

Bribing, cheating, and lying

To get his power,

To be spoiled some Wench!

He argued

For hours

With that Mochary

Of a Captain.

To no avail,

The imbecile stood stubborn

And let this outrage fly by.

Any man worth his own weight

Would see this Wench hanged

But this fool Captain's

Weakness proved incompetence.

Another reason

Why power should be changed.

Left with no choice

• ‘Cept lose to the Wench -

He found the strongest poison

And waited.

Once there was a Competitor

For a Tournament of knights.

The morning of Entrance rounds

Found her breakfast strangely tart.

However,

With no time to finish

She moved to early practice.

The Captain's Son,

Whom went to join

Noticed her sweety and feint

Odd - takes more to tire her out.

“Are you well?” He asked.

“I’m fine,” She panted.

Despite her words

She felt tired, Nauseous, weak

But she wouldn’t dare give in

• She would be thrown to the wolves

First weakness she showed.

Though respectful of her needs,

• One Captain's Son

would not see why

A mistake shows worse

•  

• On a Woman among Men.

Through every match

He glanced, nervous

Afraid for her health.

He learned,

Her boar’s head - unbeatable.

So he settled -

Guarding her health

Praying she would live

Past the last match.

Exhausted and sick,

Stomach arguing

• With itself - She pushed forward.

She fought with all her fire.

Finally, reaching last dual.

If won - she shall move forward.

If lost - more chance to be less.

Even so,

Her strength failing,

Surely She would fall,

Had she not glanced ahead.

Just a glimpse,

At that arrogant smirk

That donned her opponent

Raised her ire

• Fast.

With new, short strength

She forced his blade, gone

Kicked his feet out

And held him at blade’s tip.

Victorious,

She moved on.

As she journeyed to rest

The First Lieutenant

• Bitter, at Her Triumph.

Raging at her Victory

Plotted once more.

Second Tasked drew near,

Practice and Preparation

• For this test is accuracy.

Catapults,

Archery,

Ballistas,

A simple Axe throwing

• Any test of one’s

Knowledge and aim.

The First Lieutenant plotted.

Treachery is best,

But what to tamper?

Archery and Axe throwing?

• No way to tell

Her tools from others.

To weaken them all?

• Would peek investigation.

Catapults and Ballistas?

Easy for mistakes

• Machinery so complex -

Problems happen all the time.

By expectation,

A woman would fail

• As useless as expected

With archery and axes.

Once there was a Competitor

Who had trained with bows and blades

Whose proficiency

Of such arts - not likely matched.

For every Target -

Precision deadly.

Victory Acceptable,

If - No less than First.

Come time of the catapults

Armed at the cliff-side,

Set sights on the sea stacks

Wait - Something was wrong.

Hesitant, was the oak arm

• Stopping too soon.

Threw off her aim.

To on lookers,

Her aim was false.

Luckily,

A judge knew broken, busted

Equipment by trained eyesight.

Before voicing such knowledge,

The judge stopped -

For the Competitor knew,

Already, where there was fault.

Judging the main gears,

She found a stone slab

Jammed where it shouldn’t.

Strange, She thought.

What and How rang in Her mind.

No matter.

However, she failed,

This, Now, was how she wouldn’t.

Once searched, the gears turning clear.

The arm ready for battle

• As Her skill determined -

She was to be feared.

Though her victory now claimed,

Her skill rewarded,

And her keen knowledge marvel’d,

Her thoughts wander to that stone

• Though seemingly at random -

Was quite curious.

Wedged between the gears,

It’s placing, just so

• Where forcing the arm to stop

Just short full potential, though…

Though nagging,

Such thought pushed away

• Favor to ballista tests.

Targets positioned.

Prepped ammunition.

Ballista ready

Her aim locked, steady…

Target on the sea-stacks…

As she was about to fire

She noticed -

The Drawstring -

To worn and torn for battle.

“Stop!” - she ordered.

She unstrung the line.

With a view around,

She spotted her solution:

Growing on a tree,

A keen type of vine

• Perfect as makeshift rope.

Drawstring now replaced,

The trials proceeded.

Once there was a First Lieutenant,

Seething at the Triumph

Of a pathetic Wench

• His words, not mine!

Impossibly,

The Harlot exceeds judgment.

Judgment far too lenient

• Born of flirtations.

Sinful promises,

And seductive bribery.

At his wits end

The Lieutenant now sought

A more… direct approach.

Once there was a Finalist

• Winner of two Challenges -

In the epilogue

Of her latest victory

The tavern

• Packed with merry cheer and mead.

Competitors,

• Some proud, some jealous,

Gathered to hear her triumph.

Once there was a Captain's Son

Boasting in a sweetheart's stead.

Though she was silent, wary, withdrawn.

Her dear, masculine, friend

• Despite her begging and death threats -

Allowed his boasting to go on.

Boasting that increased

As he consumed fermented yeast.

Soon they blubbered in tunes

As she sipped her only drink,

Paid her tab and wandered out.

By now, the sun exchanged

For an open moon

And the village quiet

• She felt observed and estranged.

Paying no mind,

She mounted her horse

And rode herself to bed.

Weeks went by,

Training moved on.

The final round drew forward

• Six finalists remained.

T’was a fortnight before the finals,

When the challenge was announced:

• Unlike previous trials,

A challenge of strategy.

Each competitor,

Given troops to lead.

For three weeks, a game of war

Week one:

• Opponents matched in skill

Battle to ‘claim’ a territory.

Week two and three:

Battle a three way ‘war’

• Judged on strategy, cunning.

They must win with Honor.

They must protect their troops.

They must be a Leader.

As she fought and lead

Through the first weak.

She placed as a finalist

(obviously)

So impressed, were the judges.

So infuriated, was a First Lieutenant.

Once there was a First Lieutenant

At his wits end.

Driven mad in his rage,

Desperate and afraid.

So sure she would fail,

That her luck would end here,

At the final challenge.

Fault proven

• Tricks futile.

Truly,

Fear is the proven path.

Just one threat,

One well placed blade,

And she will cower

To a man, as she should.

Paying no heed, he did,

To clear contrary, he’d seen,

Her history had proven.

He basked at the “Perfection”

Of his new scheme.

The Wench: dealt with.

His Power: secured.

• With some fun on the side…

Once there was a Captain’s Son,

Drinking to his love - friend!

• Only his friend! -

Toasting in pride

To her victory.

Like many nights before,

She had slipped out, alone.

Unlike before,

He was sober enough to notice.

Aware, he was,

Of her preferred fun,

He would let her be,

Well aware of her competence.

• Not before walking with her.

What?

• He enjoyed her company!

Gazing in the dark,

He spotted her figure

Some distance forward.

It was then, his fond gaze

Drifted, noticing a large figure

Looming behind her.

Surprise yields weakness.

Quickly, she was yanked away

To a near alley

To fast for aid.

Once there was a dark night,

When a maiden soldier

• forced against wall of stone.

Above her,

Hands pinned to futility.

She glared to cruel eyes

• Eyes that shone

Of rage and lust.

Blade to her throat,

She struggled.

Like lightning,

Her dress sliced open,

Her front almost in tatters.

“Keep quiet, Wench,”

• Spoke a familiar voice.

“Listen well, or suffer!”

Her assailant leaned forward,

Hot breath in her ear,

He spoke:

Forfeit your cheetings,

Relinquish your fantasies,

Or else, should i choose

To have some fun, Whore,

With such an enticing sight…

Oh she had longed,

When  time had passed,

To shove that blade up his -

A holler broke her thought.

Her captor’s gaze shifted.

In his distraction,

He was left sterile,

From the blow of her knee.

Overcome by pain,

Quickly,

His blade: stolen.

And his wrist: twisted,

Pressed to his back.

She looked to find

Her friend rushing near.

Handsome eyes lit with fear.

With a handle to his head,

Her assailant out cold.

That night,

A new prisoner

Slept in the cells.

Once there was a traitor,

Stripped of his power and title,

Left to rot away, forever more,

Awaiting his creator.

Once there was a First Lieutenant,

Newly chosen and in love.

Honor granted from his father’s pride.

In a fortnight,

Her victory rewarded,

Though altered from the promised.

In her victory,

Her apprenticeship granted

Under the captain, himself.

Once there was a Captain,

One who fought longer and harder,

Then any before her.

For her,

Obstacles were larger,

Mountains were higher,

Trenches were deeper,

Enemies were fiercer.

Each difficulty

Pushed her further.

Failure was just

Too easy,

To be worth it.

The world’s cruelty

Fed evolution.

Strength grew

Where weakness, perceived.

Injustice fed her ire.

Insults carved her bones.

Emotion raise intelligence.

Birthing armed her nerves.

After millennia,

True strength

Found in her.

After all,

One must be strong

To survive this world.