The Songbook of Ragnar Ulfgarsson

Herein are the works of Ragnar Ulfgarsson, mundanely known as Ron Snow, shared here through the kindness of his beloved wife, Thordis.

DRAGON'S GOLD

Below the bones of Ymir, some men have called the keel,
lay the mighty house of Hrothgar of legendary weal.
I pounded on the gatepost and was led into the hall;
they sat me in an honored seat 'tween carven timbers tall.
Hrothgar bid me welcome as the thralls lay trestles down
and the hunger burned within me when his daughter's face I found.
I had heard the tale from suitors that had come to seek her hand,
how none could meet her bride-price in all this northern land.
Hrothgar's eyes were glowing across the longfire's light
as my horn was filled by his daughter's hand the wolves howled in the night.
"The season's ill for journey," Hrothgar said to me.
"And your clothes so rich and your manner high bespeak nobility.
What is it that brings you here so far from kith and kin?
Know that I might aid you that you might call me friend."
"My journey ended sudden when I saw your daughter fair,
for I have found what I have sought in maiden beauty rare.
But, sleep of late eludes me for her face is in my mind,
so ask the price you seek for her so peace at last I'll find."
"Oh! Many have sought my daughter's hand but none could meet the price
And all now gaze on the face of Hel in the land of fire and ice.
For half the price is in your purse, and half," he said to me,
"is a treasure hoard in the northern crags that you will fetch for me.
But, death is there and madness, for a dragon guards the gold.
But I will have his treasure if my daughter you would hold."
And his eyes burned in the firelight as greed sparked through his brain.
My purse I threw before his feet and laughed at rede of bane.
Oh, you shall have your dragon gold," I said, "And more besides.
I'll show to you the dragon's head and then I'll claim my bride."
In three days time I stood before the greedy Hrothgar's seat
and the dragon gold was spread about and shining at his feet.
"I will take your daughter now, " I said, "Upon your word."
But he ran his fingers through the gold as if he had not heard.
"My daughter's beauty brings me wealth," Hrothgar told me then.
"And the flow of gold from a suitor's purse might likely never end."
And his henchmen then surrounded me at a signal from their lord.
"I fear that I must take your life and keep the dragon's hoard.
But if others come a-seeking you I'll tell them of your fame,
of how you slew the dragon e'er it brought you to your bane."
Then his daughter smiled upon me, then upon the dragon gold
and I found the girl was like her sire with a heart all frozen cold.
"I'd have settled for your daughter to end her suitor's quest.
Although I slew them one and all, they dared disturb my rest.
Now you would slay me out-of-hand for naught but mortal greed,
when you have broken faith with me and so the dragon freed."
Then the mist rolled back from off their sight and I stood in splendor dread.
With breath of fire and fangs of bronze and scales of crimson red.
"You'll have no need of a treasure hoard in the land of fire and cold."
Then I pulled the house of Hrothgar down and then took back my gold.

GOOD FORTUNE

Sweet have been the days of my life long and lagged not
I in bragging boast of fortune that has favored me.
That hound called Luck found me often.
Many things am I thankful for
And for these I shall raise my praise.
Loyal kinsmen and steadfast friends,
Fleet ships, a sword's sure grip and mead.
A good father and family
Fed me manners with a strong hand.
They taught me ships and sword and axe
And sagas of the bold hero's road.
Wealth I've had and I learned at length that
It lasts when given to friends.
More lasting than mountains
I found friends that did not
Fade when trading's poor.
In fear from my face there have fled few women,
And from that mead vat
Many a horn have I dipped deep.
Drank from a woman's breast is wine best.
Oft' have I sailed the swift swan road
To swim in the light of Mjolnir's bite
For the sake of seeing new skies
That soar above the roaring waves.
Would good fortune fill the future
As full and great as fate once did.
But should it not, my fill I have had
And held more luck than three score men.
But when comes the time Skuld severs my songs,
Let me end life in strife,
With a final horn, and a sharp sword;
A seat to win in Odin's hall.

BATTLESKALD

He runs before the northern wind
To cleave the foam with narrow keel
With one hand on the dragon's prow
The other clenched 'round thirsty steel.
Eyes like fire in battle's heat
From axe and sword the song does ring.
Come to bathe the world in blood
The Raven spreads the ebon wing.
Like thunder borne upon the wind
The word goes forth in warning dread
The Battleskald has come again
The Fenris Wolf has raised his head.

THE BEAR AND THE ROWAN TREE

Where the river winds in the forest glen, where the salmon jump in the morning sun,
When the breath of summer's on the wind, at the break of day the Bear will come,
And watch the leaping silver fin then slap the water three times three,
And breakfast there in the forest glen 'neath the spreading shade of the Rowan Tree.
And her singing leaves will whisper sweet to lull his great and shaggy head;
Weaving shade for the noonday heat with flowers white and berries red.
Straight and tall, she stands alone there where the rocky waters start
With roots that break the mountain stone yet tender twine the great Bear's heart.
And he will smile a wintry 'sigh and nuzzle soft against her skin
And feel the scar of years gone by when she had felt the hand of men.
And his eyes will fill with boiling blood and rumbles growl inside his form
As anger flows like a raging flood to think of those who wished her harm.
They came with steel and braying pride and wineskins draped from saddle bow
And spite was in their very stride and thunder clouds upon their brow.
They hunted horn from the wild hart's head as handles for their knives so bright,
The flesh they left for maggot's bread with waste the nature of their spite.
They stopped to boast and drink their wine beside the rolling riverside
But of the Bear there was no sign that ever did he there abide.
Perhaps a bow or shaft of spear the men saw in the Rowan Tree
And though the tree was young in year the axe bit deep to cut it free.
Like thunder after lightning's stroke from out the forest came a roar
And from the woods the fury broke and down upon the men it bore.
The axe was torn from a shoulder bone and necks, like twigs, were cracked in twain
The fruit sprung from the seed they'd sown was nourished in the bloody rain.
But soon the hunters gained their steel, for these were men that knew of war
But from the death the Bear did deal the ravens numbered one and four.
With spears they ringed about the beast, determined men with cunning bold.
One or two he'd kill at least before he felt the blade so cold.
Then the clouds grew dark and the lightning woke and witchfires danced above the trees;
In the forest heart there stood an Oak all ringed about with fiery leaves.
A white Fox stood at the oak tree's side with a grinning Wolf as dark as night;
An Eagle on the wind did ride above the fiery forest light.
And the men drew back as the lightning spoke and from the circle tore the Bear
And when the spell at last was broke a score of men stood cursing there.
They tracked the beast unto his lair, with spears they charged into the dell
But from those woods not one did fare and like a shroud the silence fell.
So, if by chance you ride one day where the river winds in the forest glen
And under a Rowan Tree you lay when the breath of summer's on the wind;
If for a time you'd linger there then let your heart dispel despite
Or you may chance upon the Bear, for the woods have teeth as well as sight.
And her singing leaves still whisper sweet to lull his great and shaggy head;
Weaving shade for the noonday heat with flowers white and berries red.
Straight and tall, she stands alone there where the rocky waters start
With roots that break the mountain stone yet tender twine the great Bear's heart.

BIG AXE

To the land of Ansteorra sailed a Viking one fine day.
He rowed right up the river toward Bjornsborg, so they say.
No one dared to ask the reason why he came unto this land,
For the Viking there among them had a Big Axe in his hand.
Big Axe in his hand.

It was halfway past September when he swaggered into town. He came striding from
the south side, slowly looking all around.
"He's a Viking out for plunder" came the whisper from each man, "and he's here to do
some mischief with that Big Axe in his hand."
Big Axe in his hand.

Now in this town there lived a Norman by the name of Jean Pierre.
He was foppish and a dandy and put perfume in his hair.
But was vicious and was deadly with the rapier at his side
And the many men that faced him were the many men that died.
Many men that died.

The Norman's fame at wenching was a scandal in the land.
A duchess or a milkmaid were like putty in his hand.
He would use them for his pleasure and then send them home in shame.
And their menfolk greatly trembled at the mention of his name.
Mention of his name.

Now the Viking started talking, made it plain to folks around.
He'd come here to wreak his vengeance on the Norman in the town.
Jean Pierre had bed his sister and no bride price had been paid,
Then he sent her back to Norway only after she's been laid.
After she'd been laid.

The Norman merely chuckled when the story he did hear,
Then he sharpened up his rapier and threw down another beer.
Forty vengeance-seeking brothers he had slain unto the man,
Forty-one would be the Viking with the Big Axe in his hand.
Big Axe in his hand.

Well, the morning passed so quickly, it was time for them to meet.
Wearing puffs and slashes, Jean Pierre stood in the street.
And the Viking dressed in leather and with furs upon his frame
Was the object of the snobbish Norman's obvious disdain.
Obvious disdain.

"I remember now your sister," said the Norman with a smile,
"You have similar taste in fashion and no sense at all of style.
I would rather slay your tailor, but I'll kill you where you stand.
You won't even get a chance to use that Big Axe in your hand."
Big Axe in your hand.

"I came all the way from Norway," said the Viking with a sneer,
"Not to enter fashion shows, for you would win, I fear.
I come here to slay a Norman dog whose blood I've vowed to spill
And it pleases me to see that you are dressed so fit to kill."
Dressed so fit to kill.

Jean Pierre glared at the Viking with a face so scarlet red.
His honor would be only soothed when Viking blood was shed.
Peasants watched them from their windows, everybody held their breath.
They knew this Norseman Viking was a hand away from death.
Hand away from death.

Well, the Norman started forward with red murder in his hand,
And the minstrels sing the battle was the swiftest in the land.
The rapier barely cleared its scabbard when the Axe came crashing down
And the Norman toppled over with a Big Axe in his crown.
Big Axe in his crown.

It was over in a moment and the folks had gathered round.
There before them lay the body of the Norman on the ground.
Well, he might have gone on living, never thought of lying dead...
But, it's kind of hard to think when there's a Big Axe in your head.
Big Axe in your head.

Big Axe, Big Axe...
And it's kind of hard to think when there's a Big Axe in your head,
Big Axe in your head

BLARDRENGIR SAGA

(THE SAGA OF THE BLUE WARRIORS)
This Work is written in the Drottkvaett (Court Measure) of 9th century Skaldic Poetry. The early scalds, such as Bragi the Old and Egill Skalla-Grimsson, were less strict with the rules governing this poetic style than were later scalds. Those rules were as follows: Each line must be of six syllables, though some syllables may be "quick" or "long". Eight lines will comprise a strophe. The odd numbered lines must contain two alliterating syllables (called pillars). The even numbered lines must contain a syllable called the main stave) that alliterates with those in the above odd numbered line. In some cases, there was only one, seldom more than two, alliterating syllables in the odd numbered line, but those were exceptions. Half and full syllabic rhyme could be used liberally throughout the piece but seemed to have been mandatory in the fourth and eighth line.

This story is based on the Battle for the Lost Lands that arose in the kingdom of Ansteorra during the reign of King Michael. Duke Seamus, Graf Dinar and Baron Olaf each raised an army to contend for possession of the disputed land that was said to be the birthplace of the Ansteorran kingdom. Much wealth and many artifacts were said to be buried there. Baron Olaf and his army met with many mishaps on the way to the baffle. Only seventeen men arrived to fight under his blue banner. Duke Seamus and Graf Dinar actually had only thirty to forty men each. I had pledged my support to Baron Olaf and arrived to find his seventeen warriors already swaggering like saga-heroes. They were vastly outnumbered but were determined to ride the glory road. What occurred was the stuff of sagas and so it was written.

Fast the glory road is ridden
and rise will the wise man early,
for high deeds are done by day,
and the rough day is short enough.

HOW BARON OLAF'S PLAN TO RAID THE LOST LANDS WENT AWRY

Olaf of Karkov called helm trees
to come ride the wide foam road
for the Lost Land where booty
for bold men lay gleaming gold.
A hundred raised sworn swords
and steely made the raider's song,
for who is loathe to leave
lofty halls when glory calls.

A hundred men set sail
to explore the lore-sung land,
and bring the bright legend
hoard aboard brilliant decks.
But ill luck wrought the Raven Go
to bring cold Ran her watered gold.
Wide the trestle feast she spread
for soggy bread brings bright rings.
Few of the sea steed herd
safe sailed that whale road.
Still beckoned the Lost Lands,
from ill luck to pluck riches.
Bold spear-friends they found
when fair to land the band came;
for Olaf's call was clear
to southern kin and shield men.
But spied they chieftains come
to check with might their right.
Embers from camp flames flew,
fierce gleamed and seemed like stars.
Like yellow grain sprang greed with
grim men to win the harvest.
By morning would gray geese fly
down to lakes of bloody ground.
Iron-hammered steel struck
the startled flight of night birds
as straight warriors wrought
the wound blades soon to work.
The men Olaf called came
to pick camp in thick woods,
the better to watch the way
and when weary sleep deep.

THE GATHERING OF THE RAIDERS

The camps the scouts skirted
and said when spied they wide:
"Seamus of the Cats called
his carls to camp to hamper
Dinar the grim Graf and
great dreams of Olaf's plunder.
A hundred shields show
bold the gold of Seamus.
Another hundred purple hang,
the hand of Dinar's man to show.
Few we are, but mighty men
and mighty men may win the day.
Let our count number now
the names who seek the hero's fame
that stands where shields clash cold
when light marks the killing fight."
Forth strode staunch CAMERINUS
his spear wood stood beside
his shieldman, sturdy STEPHEN.
Then up stalked hard RISHARD
and weapon-girt GAIUS
with minds to gain great fame.
Bold CORRBIN fierce in firelight
followed blame ridden ROLLO.
Battlemaid bright, BRIGITTA
and CONALL, bred for red slaughter,
with SEAN LINDSEY laughed
loud till dawn through battle songs.
DUNCAN MacLEOID'S lifted
blade open laid the ale cask,
then FURY BAN McMORN filled
full the cup he lifted up.
ALREK and broken toed TARL
together downed brown ale.
Dagger-eyed DAFYD dared
the morrow's doom with brave AVERY.
The giant KARL smiled sly
as stone honed his broad axe
and DANIEL told of dark days
and dire ones soon to bloom.
Then to Olaf's camp came
a few to crew the hold;
and found the fighter's
pack fair victuals lacked.
For the warrior's weal
welcome drew Ana'Stacia.
From far Bjornsborg, Blanche
brought the fat battle feast.
Red tressed Bonnie's timely
tread brought the hero's bread.
From the south sought Moonbear,
shining battle gold to hold;
with Ragnar to take the tale
and tell well the bold saga.
Thus had the number named
now to swim the grim blood sea.

THE CHOOSING OF THE CHIEFTAIN

Though his doom drove Olaf down to Niord's tall hall, his bold banner will wave for his wierd steered the course. But must a chief be chosen, the champion's fame to aim and point the straight spear down storm roads red to tread. Since Olaf's ships lost land only luck and skill plucks fruit from the baffle trees the field grows on the morrow. Must be cunning and craft the rede that leads this crew. So what fierce chief fares to make the wake they follow? Gave the Roman this rede: On the red field they'll wield not the sharper sword, but many stand ten to one against us. So the woods our plan must make, most to strike like a hound at the heel of the host and him drag down to ground. FURY BAN MacMORN followed: The forest boar cuts deep as did my Pictish people; so do we pursue them. We shall be the wild wind that wreaks blood streaks. Of these briar lands, Lords our lofty claim names us. This Pict the raiders raised upon the red shield and said, "You shall steer our quick course to carry us to victory. Of our band the banner and bane of foemen slain, blue as wode will it be, to wave the brave men on."

THE BRIAR LORDS DEAL WITH DINAR TO BATTLE SEAMUS

The Pict in dark night did dare fare to Dinar's fire. The white shield he bore bade behind their line safe pass. Received Graf Dinar his gifts and gave an ear to hear spoke the battle bargain bold, the lost gold to claim. At light's dawn the Gold Duke down the baffle track did sound his array of bright byrnies. Barred there his pass Dinar's men held grim their halberds. A host to reap the gold wheat. Formed Seamus his shield wall to spite the wound grouse flight. The shield line bright spears stung. Swords pranced the silver dance. Purple halberds hacked gold, as howling spears shed red. Kicked and shivered shield walls, biting like fighting stallions. Then from the flanking forest flew the blue warriors. Like a thursur's back broke by Mjolnir's bite the bright shield wall shuddered and fell. With spears fear raised men from the rent gap ran; bright red blades made them swift. Scorn words Seamus shouted, his shieldmen to group again. The blood struck fierce and fast the fold of golden sheep until the Lion roared his wrath and raised up their dazed shields. Back to the forest ferns fell the dire Briar Lords. Men, at the lure leaping left red dew on blue spears. Tight held the shields of Seamus shone they though less brightly. The far way back they fought; forest dread sped them home. Silver ransom weal rode raiders heavy laden; bright rings bought noble heads and stealth brought golden wealth.

THE WRATH OF THE GOLD DUKE

Vengeance the Gold Cat called on the camp the raiders made. Malice, his mind, steeped strong for storms thundered under gold helms badly battered. Black venom from men's hearts. His greatest heroes gave grave oaths sworn with brave words. At dawn rode ready men when raider tracks hounds found. The forest broad they braved, the bright teeth of wolves to pull. Wary they traveled the trail, a tread soft led the host. But a trail covered cannot long conceal the ale song. From raider beards fell foam from fearless horns of beer. Loudly mead-soaked heroes howled in the hall of the tall forest. Then fell hard upon heads the great hammer of Seamus. The victory ale's cold keg must not be cracked too soon. Men with foggy brains brawled to break away from slayers. Quick were scattered weapons snatched to scar the cold gold shields. But the fight the mead marked and men swayed in the fray. Brave FURY BAN MacMORN fell sore before the Duke's fist. The shield of strong STEPHEN staunch guarded his liege lord. Retreat called CAMERINUS, but came to this aim none. Then hard the battle band of men beat STEPHEN down. Enraged, the Roman swore vengeance red on gold heads. The safe haven few found of forest wide for hiding. Wet chains wrapped the raiders. Red the bands bound round them. In thralldom lay the lofty crew the call of Olaf drew. The net of wrath Seamus wrought tight wrung the blue fighters.

HOW CAMERINUS CAME TO STAND BEFORE THE STRONGHOLD OF SEAMUS

But one escaped to claim the cloak of forest oak. Speedy were his long legs and light as nightfall's dew. CAMERINUS slew some sly loud hounds that found him. In a leafy loft he I lay to plan man-slaughter. The Roman found no friends where foes had made their raid. The shattered shield of STEPHEN showed where the bowyer fell. The trampled grass dark grew; grim from the rain of blood stains. He tight gripped his great spear and grimly stalked the open road. Bloody raiders railed at rusty chains and wound pain. Sour wine and bark bread was broke to choke the heroes. "Slim the ransom from landless lords," did muse Duke Seamus. "Where is your cunning craft? Can luck pluck no ransom?" A warning the gate guards gave of a tall man standing with a staunch and fearless stance, and a stare that dared much. Loud called CAMERINUS so careful ears could hear. "This road I ride is gray but red should be instead. Bring your thanes to thrust My thirsty spear clear through. All at once or one by one come feel my steely blade." Arthur of the Fen faced fierce the tall bold Roman, six armed men followed fast, full wary of the dare. "Do yet the hounds hang back?" howled the warrior's words. Arthur called, "Come to us brave CAMERINUS must, for his fellow curs crawl in our cage and wagers say he is wont to work well sore the galley's oar." (Camerinus said:) "Your knights knelt before us and not so long ago. Our best beer and meat eased their bonds with fair repast. If won this contest could by callous customs foul you are far more famous folk than we hope to be." (Sir Arthur said.) "Your long legs outstep our line, so stand if man you are." Straight the Roman raced them to rush around their ground. (Camerinus said.) "Do you follow then through thorny ways or scorn glory?" (Sir Arthur said.) "You shall not draw us down to sore divide our force." Two men marched silent soft and so around they found the warriors’ broad back. Braver deeds need daring. Sprung thus the timely trap that about the hero closed. So fared the Roman's fate that oft' follows heroes.

THE COMING OF BATTLE BLANCHE

Left in the wake of waste where Seamus won the fray gathered there were those who thought were lost the caught men. To flee and find safety from the foe showed good sense, the camp's followers felt, before more doom came down. "With one mission we met and made to raid these lands," cried the feast bringer, Blanche. "Bargained we to share fair the hoard of glittering gold. For good support would we well earn our red gold rings. Ripe spoils for loyal friends. Now the bloody chain chafes our champions brave, gravely. I will not leave our lords lacking freedom while we flee to warm soft safety. Steady and true our blue banner should wave to wake wild the deep sleep of heroes." The banner of her band she bound tight round her hair. The kettle's wood cover became the shield she'd wield. For her sword the stout ladle swung, in slight grip, mighty. Armed thus with just jutted jaw she strode the red road. Dust swirled at her sharp step and shadows fled her tread. Wolves ran low with tails tucked from the track of black storms. High above the red road ravens dark barked hungry. Come then did Battle Blanche to break the gates of fate. In her eyes the fire flamed fierce to pierce the guardsmen. Spears drew bewildered back and barred they not her way. Up then paced Pendaran, proud and mighty fighter. The path he dared hold hard and hinder swift her tread. Him, lightning swift, she smote her stroke and broke a shard from out the ladle large, to lodge deep in seat meat. Up then Seamus shouldered to shout above the thane's pain. "Do hold your great spoon still and swat no more men sore. Do you bring ready ransom for rogues the hounds found?" "No ransom I bring," barked Blanche, "but a challenge shall I make to set lords loose. Let them free or fight with me." She raised the buckler brave and brandished ladled hand. Seamus up raised his hands to hold away the blow. "Strike me not with stir sticks for stout heart gained you fame. If for ransom courage counts, complete the debt you met. Take all your heroes home to heal and eat your meal." And so were shackles struck and stalwart heroes followed out from camp Baffle Blanche. Bright savior of the fighters. Fair keeper of the cauldron. Cruel beater of the hip meat. Breaker of the blood brawl. Bride of war and valor.

THE COUNCIL OF THE BLUE WARRIORS

Bloody sore and great were wounds wrapped fair with careful herbs. Loaded were trestle trays with tasty meats and sweet wine for vigor’s stout strength. Strong were warriors’ hearts. To them was brought the beer to boast with mighty toasts. After wounds sore were soothed, they sat for council round the brands that brightly burned. Brooded then the men of blue. Their Pictish chieftain charged, "Change we now sword for plow? Beaten men here sit sad who scorned once the Norn's thread. Shall we pack gathered goods and grovel to the tall ships, afraid to cringe or crawl or chance a backward glance? Hard we fought and hard fell, For, that's what heroes do. Shall now blades dance at dawn to drive Valkyries nigh?" Men jumped and held high their heads and cried with pride. "Our stand, the morrow marks, may make us fall to death, but none we face will force the field to see us yield. All-Father, may you mark where mighty fights the few."

THE WAR WAIN

The light of day burned bright and brought the horde of swords to gleam upon the pale plain. Perish there would good men, to drown beneath the broad and bloody flood of battle. Red muzzles of wild wolves woke and spoke the rune. Graf Dinar, ahead his host, hailed loud the proud Seamus. Ended he trusted truce with tribute thrown salute to the warrior's brave blue band standing at the wood's rim. Then thunder rolled roaring and rumbled from the forest. Mead heavy, shield sided, spear bristled, beer laden. The Briar Lord's War Wain was watched by wary eyes. Baftlemaids draped her deck to dare a boarding horde. From kegs, beer flowed foaming to fall in amber splendor. (The Blue Warriors said) "We mean to share the spoils sought by all who brawl here. Come swear your war weapons to well defend this end and see well how we host with heavy keg this levy. Well honored truce we'd toast; you thirsty men to win." But no man fared forward to fast seal the booty deal. Fear of chieftain's gruff glare or greed was worse than thirst. (The Blue Warriors said) "Know then your horns will hold hostage drink from chain links. We will baffle and bind your best men once again."

THE FINAL BATTLE FOR THE LOST LANDS

Then were champions chosen by chiefs to contest best. DAFYD of the blue banner bore the war challenge. Shields clashed in mounting might and made the blades bite deep. DAFYD swung dripping death and drew he life from strife. A severing blow broke bone to lay his foeman low. Loud then did fierce horns howl to hail the battle gale. Then broke the storm of slaying swords upon the field of shields. Savage halberds harshly hacked to rend attackers. The great shield walls washed with bloody gore and scored with axe bites cruel and crafty, crawled like brawling serpents. The wound blades fiercely fell. Few fled that day of slaying. Rich the raven's fat feast. Full the gorge of gaunt wolves. Seamus won the Lost Lands, his legion shared fair gold. The Lords of Briars bore the brunt of war’s glory. Long their death song sang. The safe way they shunned. On that last daring day drew they Valhalla's maids. Warriors of the banner blue. Bold, lost gold, sea raiders. The eyes of Ulfgar’s son saw the spear rain on Bellmead plain. Well filled was my high home with Gunnioth's heady mead. So ends this skald's saga of that shining battle time.