Melor of the Silver Hand
His father murdered for a throne, his own life under threat,
He lost a crown to envy and so he would not forget
His sword hand they had cut from him, so knight he could not be;
They took his left foot also, that the child might never flee.
A foot of bronze they fashioned and a hand of silver too
But as the child grew older, then magic metal grew.
Alarmed they had him kidnapped and his jailer took his head.
Yet climbing from the castle wall the jailer’s son fell dead.
The jailer journeyed onward, soon exhausted, grieving still,
Till, nigh to death and sick with thirst, he rested on the hill,
He recognised his faulty heart and wailed about the deed
That took his own son’s life as well, and now he was in need;
“Take up your staff,” said Melor’s head, “And in earth let it stand.”
The jailer did and water bubbled up beneath his hand.
The wondrous head fell silent as the jailer drank the stream
Above him branches bearing fruit as if within a dream.
Yet, once refreshed, his greed renewed, he sought out his reward
And took poor Melor’s severed head and gave it to his lord.
The King, delighted, gave him all land that he could find…
They later found the jailer on the hill he owned… struck blind.