It was a bright and sunny day. Not as warm as I’d hoped it would be, but warm enough, nonetheless. This would be my first Crown consorting for Sir Marcus. I was told I would have some mighty shoes to fill. After all, Astrid was a mighty viking. I was dressed in my finest garb, newly made for the occasion, because I lost my other finest garb — which of course, I found as soon as Crown was over.
I was early to site, with a hidden treasure tucked under my arm. I had been made aware that a month and a half prior that Dona Camille was to receive her Laurel. I had put myself to the task of composing a new piece for someone who had taken me under her wing. I found it quite the challenge to put to words what this human being was to me. So I did the next best thing. I reached out to her cadet, Trian, and asked him if he was willing to scheme with me. What a silly question that was. Of course he easily agreed.
By Trian’s hand, with a little help from me, there would be words. Due to location, and both of us being on the go individuals, we found it hard to meet up in person, however, thanks to the joys of modern machines, we were able to Skype and use Googledocs to compose at the same time. Have I mentioned how much I love modern machines? Because I really do.
I mean, we used doves, and carrier pigeons, and the Black Arts…. Yeah…
Anyways, after a few nights of tediously working and edit after edit after edit (what rhymes with Camille?) we were both sorta, kinda, maybe okay with what we considered to be the final lyrical product. It was now time for me to work my magic. *spits in hands, rubs palms together, then grimaces at gross hands* ugh….
The muse ran away. Even after I hog-tied her. Of course she did, stupid, frivolous muse! Even after all the shinies I gave her too. Then, as the muse does, in typical muse fashion, I laid in my bed, and she smacked me upside the head around 1, maybe 3 am. Eureka! I needed some tissues to wipe up the way it flowed.
I called up Trian to present the product, and he provided only minor feedback. I’d say that’s a win, right? Not bad for musical vomit in the wee hours of the morning, right?
So, back to Crown, after my musical malady had been cured. I’ll admit most of my focus was on my consort. After all, it was my duty to the East Kingdom, and him, to be who he needed me to be. I spent hours chewing at my fingernails, watching each of his combatants being laid to rest. Between bouts, I would check on Sir Marcus, and then run over to the vigil, to where Dona Camille had been taken that morning. I was lucky to have known the guards well, and gotten my name on the list when I was available. Text in a frame tucked under my arm, I made my way into the tent. The frame sat face-down in my lap and I began to explain to Camille in what words I could muster, who she was and what she meant to me. I turned over the frame, and almost skittishly provided the art that Trian and I had collaborated on. It was to no surprise that rivers ran down her cheeks — not the first time, and not the last that day. I wonder if the pollen counts were too high?
I then hurried back to the list field when my time was up to watch my champion. Sadly, soon after Sir Marcus lost his second fight and was eliminated from the tournament. This was in the top six if I recall correctly. I couldn’t have been more proud of my friend. He fought bravely and chivalrously, and was an inspiration to the fighter inside myself.
Soon after, we had our new Prince and Princess, Ionness and Honig, and it was time for court. It would be my first time attending a Crown Tournament court, and after I made myself comfortable next to some familiar faces, court began as dark quickly fell. Her new Highness, Honig, was presenting her first award as a Lady of the Rose, and she called my name. I was flabbergasted, trying to figure out what I could have done wrong. Honig had been, until recently, part of Malagentia, the local group, so she knew of some of my shenanigans, but I couldn’t think of anything horrible enough to get called up in front of court for. She called me up to present a token for my poise on the field. She said to me that she was impressed with my behavior, and how I presented myself as a consort. I gratefully accepted the token, and went back to my seat, where I buried myself in my cloak for the rest of the court.
The Maiden of the Gardens
Through solitude’s blooming orchid garden,
A graceful and elegant maiden does stride,
Enters our lady, Camille Desjardins,
Lavender waves across an amethyst tide.
The flowers herald her arrival,
Blossom with each step serene,
As if her presence Spring’s revival,
All in her grace stay evergreen.
Careful she gazes upon their beauty,
with every floret’s form observed,
For she accepts her kingdom’s duty,
to see them on a scroll preserved.
Her brushstrokes capture and acclaim,
the trappings of renown and glory,
To skill and service she does bring fame,
And to great battle, and claimed quarry.
Upon her parchment she infuses,
Life into the artistry she weaves,
She is the favored of the muses,
Her inspiration the lakes and leaves.
She captures the beauty of color and light,
Immortalizing honors with ink and quill,
To bring glory to those who do right,
Her patient hands bear unwavering skill.
This art alone could be life’s labor,
Yet her talent flows without such bounds,
Her voice, her stitch, her nimble saber,
The quality of which astounds.
Her voice can soothe a heart of fire,
Granting peace and granting reason,
As a lark’s call disperses ire,
that sounds upon the warming season.
Her mastery of fiber weaving,
Shows clearly within her stitch,
The way she blends fiber receiving,
awe from those it does enrich.
And none would dare to test her mettle,
As this gentle flower does adorn,
Herself with not just purple petal,
But with the our kingdom’s golden thorn.
A woman finely celebrated,
In talents stitched and inked and floral,
Does rightly need be elevated,
Into the Order of the Laurel.
Words by : Trian O’Bruadair / Sólveig Bjarnardóttir
Music by : Sólveig Bjarnardóttir
Meddlings of the Minnesinger 