Fair is foul and foul is fair,
And all that's broken returns there.
Every shadow pairs with light,
And for each bright star there is night.
Judgement falls upon the worthy;
For mercy none worthy call -
An alloy's stronger being broken,
And the stronger stand again from fall.
It was as it always should be, and as it should never be. The marred was healed and clean, and stood beside the pure and good; and the good had finally reached out to help the fallen and had finally gotten through. But what was marred should never have been, but what was broken should never be fixed and set up as new.
Each had been – in a way – a weapon designed to destroy the other. One stood against all that the other stood for, and the other ripped apart all that the one cherished and held dear. Each canceled each other out – opposistes in so many ways.
And yet – could one point to a brother and say definitively: "He should be destroyed. All blame lies with him." Could one fairly ostracise the one completely and embrace the other? The fault lay with both and yet with none – with all, and one.
It had ever been so. Always had forces been set up against each other, played against each other until the clashing forces destroyed each other. Puppet-masters stood behind the curtain pulling and strings and playing with lives carelessly until fire and ice quenched and consumed each other – clearing the place to step into the vacuum left by the two vanquished forces. It was an innate system of checks and balances – a natural way of controlling power.
Nothing was forever. The more powerful or perfect the being and culture, then the harder and darker the fall. The more depraved and weak a nation, the more damage they brought before they were forced to stop and give way to another. Crowns were easily melted down and destroyed, and swords and words quickly broken. The graves worlds left behind were too easily forgotten.
One brother fell and one stood higher. One destroyed his people, and one forgot them. One tried to kill his brother, and one could not do it. Who would forgive them their faults, and who would offer them pardon?
They prepared for war. They should have fallen instead, and one did fall. Both were broken, and yet they remade themselves and prepared to challenge a monster. They were puppets preparing to cut their strings – fire and ice working together to free themselves. It would never work.
And yet, it would. They would succeed in the end, come what may. One might fall, or both might perish and fail – but their goal would be realised. They were dangerous to each other, yes – but to those they allied against? They were destruction.
Night and day were complete opposites, and yet one could not exist without the other. Heat and cold worked against each other, but they enabled the other to be else than a bane. Neither could enter the other's domain, and yet they added to the other's beauty and strength. They were so different, and yet so alike.
Some things should be destroyed without remedy, lest they turn again and rend you. What was broken had been remade, and they came again. Brothers were born for adversity, but they were not meant to fight each other. They were made to strengthen the other – to stand side by side together and fight off the whole world that would attack them. Evil and darkness was always corrected and erradicated, and so it always would be. The war was over, and yet it had just begun; and what was meant to be destruction and death would turn again to bring freedom and life.
Fair was foul, but foul's now fair -
The fallen were forgotten there.
What's dark turns now to walk in light,
And stronger still with turn and fight.
The wicked twist good to their purpose,
But they must ever hold their grasp -
Forgiveness cleanses darkest waters,
And turns the broken from Death's clasp.