Work Text:
Spare a thought on this darkest night,
For one of the victims of that fifth blight.
I've a candle to hold and a flame to light,
For the fate of poor, lost Lothering.
The young and the old they fled the hordes,
Dirt poor peasants and noble Lords.
Yet for all of the Templars with all of their swords,
We still lost poor Lothering.
The Wardens, betrayed, yet still they came by,
To help where they could, but then with a cry,
They fled with the wind, and though they did try,
They couldn't save poor Lothering.
The Wardens were gone, so with nothing to shield,
Darkspawn trampled building and farmers field.
The innocent screamed for their fate had been sealed,
And fall did poor, lost Lothering.
Now all that remains are bones of the past,
A story forgotten being told at last.
Feel not a sadness, be left not aghast,
At the tale of poor, lost Lothering.
For the blight has been ended by Wardens so bold,
They finished their duty, a burden so old.
So now we can honor those lost in the cold,
And remember poor, lost Lothering.