Son of Summer,
child of flame,
bore the crown
uncouth, untamed.

Until the dark
defiled the land,
snow and prairie,
swamp and sand.

And so our prince
his foe did seek,
the Frigid Prince
(though tongue-in-cheek),
asked for his blade
and for his heart,
the age of Emroy
then did start.

In Northern halls,
dear Cas did stroll-
although his head
was set...