And they were singing "The Flowers of Auvanne"

By Martel Reynolds, to the tune of "And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda"

When my scars start to ache in the cool of the spring, And the shadows grow longer and darken, I’ll set down my spade and I’ll sit down to sing In the shade of my little herb garden. And I'll gather vervain with its blossoms of green And think on how lucky, how lucky I’ve been, And me an old soldier at all of nineteen; And I'll beg my old friends for their pardon. For I was not always a gardener: I was young with a sword in my hand. And twas then I first heard Elayne Silverlark's words To the song called The Flowers of Auvanne.

When I was a stripling, I took up my shield, And I thought to earn fame in the battle. And before I was grown I'd killed foes on the field And heard their last dying breath rattle. And now I pluck bladeroot with blossoms of grey, And think of the friends who are not here today; And ache for how quickly it all slipped away, And how swiftly a dream can unravel. For I was not always alone here: I swore my first oath to that band; And we told tales of worth, Heroes long laid in earth, And the tale of the Flowers of Auvanne.

When I was a captain, the Empire declared The Barrens would suffer no longer. And called on all captains who dreamt and who dared To prove that our Virtue was stronger. And now I pluck marrowort, slender and tall, And remember the oath that we swore, one and all, To fight on no matter how many might fall, To go and to free and to conquer. For I dreamed of earning my legend, In the marsh and the bitter salt strand; And that cold winter morn As we marched out of Dawn, They sang us The Flowers of Auvanne.

When I went to the Barrens, the rivers ran red, And the bodies piled high in the water; We fought to the Spires on the backs of the dead, And we asked and we granted no quarter. And now I plant mazzarine, sovereign for pain, And name one by one all the friends I saw slain, And think how it seemed it had all been in vain, As we stood on the plain and were slaughtered. Then I saw the Hounds raise the blue banner, At the gate where the Druj made their stand: And they died in the mud, Buying victory with blood, But they were singing The Flowers of Auvanne.

And when I turned homeward, I came home alone, My friends in the marsh where death laid them. Though their bones and their banners may never come home, This garden in memory I made them. And now I grow roseweald with blossoms so red, And I think of the children of Dawn as they bled, And those who will bleed in the battles ahead; And perhaps with my garden I'll aid them. For though I'm no longer a soldier, No strength for the sword in my hand, But while I breathe yet None who hear will forget When the Hounds sang The Flowers of Auvanne.