We are the warriors noble, the sons of the planets that bore us Into this galaxy bitter. Our birthright is struggle and conquest. I am of warriors born, a proud scion of golden Cardassia, Glory of empires, brought low to rise again ever and stronger, You my true enemy. Son of the softness, the waters of Terra, You stand in nobility equal to any the Guls of my planet. Each day I plan out my courses, the ways that are plotted to snare you, To bring you back into my battle, to match once again wits between us. Plans upon plans do I make them, always you rise to the challenge, Always I want once again to see and to best and to beat you, Have you admit my successes. And when you win by your own right, Graciously do I acknowledge the tactics and might that you offer. None on the planet below you ever could match me for - -. Servants are they all, the masses that don’t understand a true soldier. Cowards, guerillas, and traitors. They never offered a rival. You, though, are someone respected, someone who’s earned my respect. I will defeat you one day, yes, but I will then honor you just as You honor me. We are matchless to others. To us we are matched. Ever we’re destined to meet, and to challenge and clash and withdraw, Struggling equally in our equal and opposite war. You see me. You met me on neutral ground that became the last castle, Chosen by Prophets or Pah-Wraiths. The Prophets chose you as their emblem, Champion, vessel, and harbinger of their ultimate planning. This raised you from your beginnings on your soft planet of swamplands, Made you a man of the starfields, the cold empty deserts of space. But we are equals and rivals. I cannot let you precede me In glory and honor. The power of Prophets you hold in your blood, And so I will meet you, my rival, my enemy worthy of myself. Here I beseech to the Pah-Wraiths. Choose me and grant me their power. Make me their champion, vessel, harbinger of their unfolding. This is the fate of Cardassia. This is the judgement of Bajor. This is the balance that has been sought by the forces of battle Such that I meet you again, now no longer merely a mortal, But too an emissary. Now we are truly matched as we’ve never Been so before. See me, Sisko. See me and fight me and meet me As your true rival and brother in the last battle for glory.
---
Written in unrhymed dactylic hexameter, the metrical style of the ancient Greek and Latin epics. Dukat thinks a lot of himself!
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timeasmymeasure
Star Trek: Deep Space 9, Dukat/Sisko (one-sided obsession)
Date: 2023-07-20 06:23 am (UTC)Into this galaxy bitter. Our birthright is struggle and conquest.
I am of warriors born, a proud scion of golden Cardassia,
Glory of empires, brought low to rise again ever and stronger,
You my true enemy. Son of the softness, the waters of Terra,
You stand in nobility equal to any the Guls of my planet.
Each day I plan out my courses, the ways that are plotted to snare you,
To bring you back into my battle, to match once again wits between us.
Plans upon plans do I make them, always you rise to the challenge,
Always I want once again to see and to best and to beat you,
Have you admit my successes. And when you win by your own right,
Graciously do I acknowledge the tactics and might that you offer.
None on the planet below you ever could match me for - -.
Servants are they all, the masses that don’t understand a true soldier.
Cowards, guerillas, and traitors. They never offered a rival.
You, though, are someone respected, someone who’s earned my respect.
I will defeat you one day, yes, but I will then honor you just as
You honor me. We are matchless to others. To us we are matched.
Ever we’re destined to meet, and to challenge and clash and withdraw,
Struggling equally in our equal and opposite war.
You see me. You met me on neutral ground that became the last castle,
Chosen by Prophets or Pah-Wraiths. The Prophets chose you as their emblem,
Champion, vessel, and harbinger of their ultimate planning.
This raised you from your beginnings on your soft planet of swamplands,
Made you a man of the starfields, the cold empty deserts of space.
But we are equals and rivals. I cannot let you precede me
In glory and honor. The power of Prophets you hold in your blood,
And so I will meet you, my rival, my enemy worthy of myself.
Here I beseech to the Pah-Wraiths. Choose me and grant me their power.
Make me their champion, vessel, harbinger of their unfolding.
This is the fate of Cardassia. This is the judgement of Bajor.
This is the balance that has been sought by the forces of battle
Such that I meet you again, now no longer merely a mortal,
But too an emissary. Now we are truly matched as we’ve never
Been so before. See me, Sisko. See me and fight me and meet me
As your true rival and brother in the last battle for glory.
---
Written in unrhymed dactylic hexameter, the metrical style of the ancient Greek and Latin epics. Dukat thinks a lot of himself!