Until the Grey Wardens Come

Maker, keep the candle lit, Hide our children from the pit. The Bannorn burns, the southlands bleed, Still we bury one last seed. Ostagar's fires died in rain, And no king rode home again. Carts on the road, fields left bare, Smoke in the wheat and wolves in the air. Bann against bann, brother against kin, While something older claws its way in. We bar the door with shaking hands, And pray the night forgets these lands. I washed the ash from my daughter's hair, Broke our bread into thinner shares. The Chantry bell has cracked its tongue, Too many dead, too many young. They say the throne is split by steel, They say the darkspawn do not feel. But I keep one candle high, For grey cloaks under a storm-black sky. If Ferelden falls to its own blade, If every oath becomes afraid, If the Blight comes crawling through the grain, We will rise and pray again. One more breath, one more dawn, Hold the line till the Wardens come. Grey Wardens, ride through the storm, Carry the dawn where the graves are warm. Through civil fire and Blight-born rain, Come like steel through a broken chain. Grey Wardens, hear our call, We are small, but we have not lost all. By fading flame, by blood and bone, Bring our lost Ferelden home. They took the oxen, took the grain, First for the levy, then for the pain. One son marched with a lord's command, One son slept with a spade in his hand. We heard the south was turned to mud, We heard the Wilds were drunk with blood. Then whispers crossed the ruined road: "Some Wardens live. The treaties hold." In Redcliffe's prayers, in Denerim's cries, In Lothering smoke beneath red skies, We heard of hammers under stone, Of Dalish bows and mage-lit flame. Not kings alone, not crowns alone, But every frightened hand at home. So let the black horde beat the gate, Hope is late - but not too late. Who keeps a candle when the bells break? We do, we do, for our children's sake. Who keeps a song when the Archdemon flies? We do, we do, with smoke in our eyes. One more breath, one more dawn, Hold the line till the Wardens come. Grey Wardens, ride through the storm, Carry the dawn where the graves are warm. Through civil fire and Blight-born rain, Come like steel through a broken chain. Grey Wardens, hear our call, We are small, but we have not lost all. By fading flame, by blood and bone, Bring our lost Ferelden home. Andraste, carry this prayer through smoke, Past every roof the war has broke. Maker, do not turn Your face, From every nameless, ruined place. Send not angels dressed in gold, Send the Grey, the scarred, the bold. When the Archdemon darkens the sun, Only Wardens end what has begun. Not for glory. Not for throne. Not for songs in halls of stone. For the child behind the door, For the fields worth dying for. Grey Wardens, rise through the flame, Let the dark remember your name. Through civil fire and Blight-born rain, Come like steel through a broken chain. Grey Wardens, hear our call, We are small, but we have not lost all. By fading flame, by blood and bone, Bring our lost Ferelden home. Not all who save us wear a crown. Some come in grey when the world falls down. If morning finds this house still here, Tell them hope outlived the fear. Keep the candle. Keep the song. The Grey Wardens came. We held on. We held on.