Luap’s vigil

his whole life, he struggled.
a misfit, a half-breed, neither
fish nor fowl, and barely
tolerated by either.
he had too much magic
in his blood
to be trusted by peasants,
and too much dirt
under his nails
for the highborn.
he toed a fine line
with little respect, until
his leader died and only then
could he set his own plans
in motion. even then
his own secret arrogance
soon brought him low
again. and now he waits,
silent, enchanted
by his own consent.
he has hundreds of years
to think about his many
mistakes. he watches
as the seasons pass,
and the stars whirl
above his head. kingdoms rise
and fall while he keeps
his lonely vigil, waiting
to be freed.

poor, foolish,
misunderstood Luap. what a
faithless, oathbreaking sucker.
still, he wrote the histories,
and now no one even knows
his real name.