Those Who Challenge The Dead ...

The Lament of Baldor the Hapless

Where from the minstrel’s lips my name would ring there will fall silence. Where simbelmynë would have bloomed now choking weeds will grow.

Here will I lie hopeless and foresworn – my blade and pride are broken. What moved me to drain the horn and my father of his hope’s heir? Venture from the new-hallowed hall to this accursed place? I cannot say, but when the seer died at my feet, his words took root in my heart like thorn.

“The way is shut.”

The Dead deny me passage, laughter on their rotting lips. I will come among them soon enough.





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