A great Knight with a bearded face,
Aiming his sword precise,
Duels a Lady with a mace,
Upon a stage of ice.

They stand, salute, recite, and fight,
A wager of high stakes,
"A ballad for the victor write",
Settled with a handshake.

He summons a stone wall to shield,
And launches in the air,
She hurls her mace across the field,
Astute beyond compare.

So hopeful still to find a way,
She slips off with a dash,
Yet one frosty breath did betray,
The strike to end the clash.

Thus this poet lauds the winner,
In this song just for you,
Steel and armour clash like thunder,
Such honour shining through.

O, chivalrous Lord of the Spire,
How stately you stand tall,
Your skills this poet does admire,
In poor rhyme she exalts.

Valiant defender of our home,
Upholding our beliefs,
Preserve traditions deep in stone,
Worthy of your great seat.

Courageous, noble, gallant too,
Mere words do not suffice,
This humble poet knows it's true,
For such is but a knight.

Penned by my hand on the 12th of Ero, in the year 994 AF.