The Line of Stewards

A line so old, yet not old enough,
A line destined to fall at the feet of another.
Perpetually lesser than those before
Perpetually under the shadow of a nobler seat.

A line noble, yet still not noble enough,
A line ridiculed by a fickle history.
Grace that was faint in beginning,
Grace that was stolen by evil times.

Alas that the line should fall,
In the time of he so grim, so tall.
As he the nobler took his chair,
His son there stood, the Steward’s heir.