Work Text:
O king of fire, king of frost,
Tell me where your sons are lost
Tell how your halls to ruin fell
Tell now that tale, tell it well
Gone your men, your swords, your might
You, too, shall go come daylight
Sprits you are and even so
Hear it told, afore you go
Your voices clear yet, low and proud,
Your faces twisted ‘neath your shroud
Speak of old deeds; let me be caught
In what you meant—what you did not!
Speak loud, and do not be shy
Why now let buried bones lie?
Speak your quarrel; let us test
Which son your father had loved best
Which heart was fell, and which was pure
Who worse hurts labored to endure
Please do recount every slight
Come, lordships, talk away the night
Think not of blood on golden sand,
Of darkness in ancestral land
Think not of courts, of wives, of kin,
They settle ill beneath the skin.
Both too grand, too good, too right to fall;
Come not now, travelers, to the halls.