Shopping!!!
This is where you find the viking. This year, she’s up to no good, and by no good, I mean super secret, kill you if I told you no good. I had gotten wind that my teacher, Aneleda (though only for another day, OMG the year went too fast!) was to get her Laurel this Birka. What do you give a Laurel when you can only draw pregnant stick figures? I was sure they had already chosen the best person to make her scroll, her wreath, her cloak, and I knew my skills just couldn’t compare to those that had been chosen. What could I add to this occasion?
How about the gift that she’s been trying to enhance?
I put myself to the challenge that I would compose a song for my new-to-be Mistress about the best subject I could think of: her. I destroyed pens and pencils and perhaps a few computer keyboards while trying to make the lyrics befit her eloquence. This was no small task. Finally, like a load of bricks, I was hit by the muse.
The words poured out like water from a fall. I was mostly happy, and then I rewrote the entire piece about five times over, everything from the meter to the accents to pure word choice. Then came the music. It had to be folk-like. Because that’s what it called for. So not to forget what I had composed, I recorded a copy into my mundane recording device (aka my phone), and practiced it ad nauseum (I think I sang it in my sleep a few dozen times).
Once I had known Aneleda had safely received her writ, I reached out to her to find out if I should run the rounds class in her place, since she’d be just a tad bit busy. She agreed, and I did so. There was nothing profound about the rounds, but the sheer number of voices coming together to sing made me happy, and always makes it worthwhile.
It was then time for her vigil. The ad nauseum I was talking about? That’s turned to nausea, and let’s add some knees shaking, just for fun. This is something I had poured my heart and soul into, for someone I admired. Liquid courage was needed. A friend of mine had dashed off to find me a beverage, which I quickly consumed, and I found myself called into the vigil. I drew the curtain back, and sat by the candlelight. I opened my mouth and poured out my soul. When I looked up from the music, I saw tears running down her face, and knew I had achieved what I had come to do.
The Ballad of the Balladeer
There is a tale set not long ago
Ventures a maiden, rare and bold.
Locks of silver, tresses of flame.
Her songs, her charms, her stories remain.
Fearless she seeks tales, ever forth.
Lo! The shield maiden appears from the north!
Besides you she sings, besides you she fights.
Circled by shield wall she’ll take up the pike
With bolstered hearts, the army ne’r yields
Joined the warrior, bard on field.
Fearless she hunts legends, e’er forth.
Lo! The shield maiden appears from the north!
Warrior, friend, a sister on field
Ready for a tune and ready with a shield.
A leather bound book, great stories inside
If you are not careful, you too will reside.
This Balladeer n’er will leave your side
Your stomach soon filled as time would abide
A hearth ever lit where her songs resound
Souls never empty when she’s to be found
You will find savour burgeoning forth
Lo! The shield maiden feeds from the north!
Warrior, friend, a sister on field
Ready for a tune and ready with a shield.
A leather bound book, great stories inside
If you are not careful, you too will reside.
As fire lay dying, coals lay to rest.
Fellowship lines the walls of her nest
More songs, more tales, the crowd would plea
She’d exclaim, “Said you! post the last 3”
As stories of snails and epics came forth
Lo! The shield maiden sings of the north
Warrior, friend, a sister on field
Ready for a tune and ready with a shield.
A leather bound book, great stories inside
If you are not careful, you too will reside.
If you are not careful, you too will reside.
If you are not careful, you too will reside.
Words and Music by Sólveig Bjarnardóttir
Meddlings of the Minnesinger 