05 Arngríms ættfaðir

Intro In the halls of Arheimar, where the hearthfire burns, A name was born, of which the saga learns. Verse 1 Angantyr, son of Heidrek, of pure Gautish blood, Destined to be the guardian of Tyrfing's flood. Yet the shadow of the father lay heavy on the throne, For the rightful heir, the firstborn son alone. Verse 2 From the east, from the Hunsfeld, Hlǫðr rode in, The bastard, the brother, a proud rider of kin. "Give me half of the inheritance, the wealth, the land, Or this realm shall burn by a wooden hand!" Yet Angantyr shook his head in silence deep, In the sacred right of his ancestors he chose to keep. Chorus Cold blows the wind across the Myrkviðr moor, The fate of the brothers steps bloody through the door. Do you hear the ravens? They call out your name, Angantyr, keeper of the Gothic seed and fame! A throne of gold, a grave of stone, One must be ruler, one must be dust alone! Verse 3 The war cry echoed through the dark of night, The Hunnic host brought ruin with all their might. Hervör, the shieldmaiden, fell dying in the grass, As the conquerors' rage let no mercy pass. Angantyr prepared for his final stand, While in Valhalla, the song of the fallen filled the land. Verse 4 For eight days straight, steel clashed on shield, The earth of Dunheiðr was a wild, scarlet field. The gods looked down upon the murderous play, As man against man fell in the graveyard's clay. In his hand gleamed Tyrfing, the curse of old, Which struck doom into history, as it was foretold. Chorus Cold blows the wind across the Myrkviðr moor, The fate of the brothers steps bloody through the door. Do you hear the ravens? They call out your name, Angantyr, keeper of the Gothic seed and fame! A throne of gold, a grave of stone, One must be ruler, one must be dust alone! Verse 5 Then they faced each other upon the plain, Two sons of a king, fighting through the pain. Hlǫðr, the avenger, and Angantyr, the lord, The air between them heavy, a sharpened cord. The sword of the dwarves, it thirsted for gore, It knew no mercy, nor kinship anymore. Verse 6 A strike, a cry, and the brother sank low, No more shall Hlǫðr sing the songs Huns know. Angantyr held him, with tears in his sight, For the fate of the Norns weaves no wrong into right. "I gave you no gold, now I gave you your dread, Cursed be the heritage in the twilight's red." Chorus Cold blows the wind across the Myrkviðr moor, The fate of the brothers steps bloody through the door. Do you hear the ravens? They call out your name, Angantyr, keeper of the Gothic seed and fame! A throne of gold, a grave of stone, One must be ruler, one must be dust alone! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 🔗 Stay with us Subscribe now:    / @klangwandlerahybridproject   Full Playlist:    • Playlist   Support our project: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?... Did the sound of the ancient tongue touch your soul? Let us know in the comments and tell us which story fascinates you the most.