Meduseld.
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
Then.