The Iron Fist

I was a farm boy south of the Maesil’s bend, Where steel is dearer than a faithless friend. When raiders came with torch and lie, It was Ghoere’s banners split the sky. I took the oath, I bore the brand, Swore law would rule this fractured land. Through mud and blood my name was writ— Now I command the Iron Guard’s fist. Raise the standard, beat the drum, Let all the Realm hear it come— Though princes bicker, blind and vain, Our Baron breaks the rusted chain. No gilded crown, no borrowed lore— He needs no throne to make men kneel before. Hail the hand none can outmaneuver— Hail the Iron Fist! I’ve stood the watch in Bhalaene’s stone, Where Rook’s Roost casts its iron tone. The Baron’s gaze is cold and clear— No wasted word, no wasted fear. He measures men as smiths do steel, Tests the edge and strikes what’s real. I rose by merit, not by name— In Ghoere, strength alone wins fame. Raise the standard, beat the drum, Let all the Realm hear it come— While the Dragon coils in silken halls, And the Old Lion to faded glory calls, They posture, preen, and grasp at air— Our Baron builds what they can’t bear. Stand fast, stand true, we shall endure— Hail the Iron Fist! The Old Shield growls from northern pine, Clutching honor thin as twine. He names us wolves with hungry eyes— Yet hides behind old battle-cries. The Dragon smiles with velvet tongue, Counts his coin and calls it “young.” Empire reborn through whispered scheme— A merchant’s crown, a banker’s dream. The Old Lion thunders, loud and proud, Wrapped in lineage like a shroud. He claims the throne by ancient right— Yet shuns the forge and fears the fight. Let them quarrel, let them preen— Lost in what has always been. Raise the standard, beat the drum, Let all the Realm hear it come— While princes claw at phantom claim, Our Baron tempers steel in flame. Shunned the title, denied the name, Yet rising still in might and fame. From Maesil’s banks to mountains high— Hail the Iron Fist! He does not beg for ancient grace, Nor chase the ghosts of Roele’s place. He sees a land of fractured shields, Idle courts and fallow fields. Where others scheme for jeweled seat, He builds an army none can beat. Law made iron, borders sure— A realm made strong, a rule secure. So raise the standard, beat the drum, The age of weakness is undone— Let the Dragon whisper, the Old Lion roar, Their time is dust upon the floor. No crown bestowed, no blessing sire— He rises higher, ever higher. To bind the Realm by strength alone— Until the Realm stands as one. All hail the Baron, stern and sure— All hail the Iron Fist!