The Golden Hall stands in the afternoon sun
Agleam with the bronze light.
Warmed thatch, scented of rich grasses and grains,
Leather and wood towers over me,
Blocking out the sky.
Below, the late winter fields wave, feather-ripple in the wind.
Bright equine eyes, long-lashed as any lover
And more faithful follow my steps.
A golden cage, a lush death bed
Scented with herbs and hay.

My liege fades under his counselor's hand
Like an old parchment slowly losing its words
Not to the brightness of sunlight
But to the spores and small creeping things
That favor the night.
Waves of skirmishes break over us with foam and blood.
My men lose their lives guarding the borders, yet
The enemy is among us at our very table,
A little bolder with every passing twilight,
Drawing the curtains against the dawn.
The golden home of my childhood
Slips deeper into slate-blue shadow.

I will meet him in that shadowed hall, and I will say
Look at me! Look me in the eye and tell me
You are a traitor, a murderer, a spy.
Look me in the eye and tell me plainly
You seek to secure only our death.
Speak aloud that you covet her,
That your allegiance is to another.
No more courtly games of words.
Meet my eye!

The horse-crests curve against the sky.
The tapestry of Eorl...
Where is the snake in that design?
If I find it I will trample it with my hoofs.
Under the pride of Eorl will I crush you...

The steps are strewn with old rushes.
The sun's heat lingers, bringing a sour smell,
Odors of neglect.
The orc-helm in my hand
Adds weight to the familiar climb.
The weight of the dead, memories of the faces of the slain,
Fill and overflow it like a cup.
I will pour it out before him -
How can he deny then?
Surely my liege will have to act

- Primula