Angus, Build a House for Me

Written for Angus Pembridge by Aneleda Falconbridge after Spring Crown Tourney AS 46.

Listen to it here…

Oh Angus build a house for me
Of sturdy stone beside the sea
A thatchy roof, a fire warm
and you to love in sun and storm.

Your knowledge broad is what I prize,
and your gentle laughing eyes.
The words you whisper in my ear,
I beg you, be forever near.

Oh Angus build a house for me
Of sturdy stone beside the sea
A thatchy roof, a fire warm
and you to love in sun and storm.

A simple life beside the stream,
work both honest and serene,
a waterfall to grind the wheat
and you to make my life complete.

Oh Angus build a house for me
Of sturdy stone beside the sea
A thatchy roof, a fire warm
and you to love in sun and storm.

A rooster dancing in the yard
shall sing to rival any bard
a cow for milk, a sheep for wool,
such modest things make my heart full.

Oh Angus build a house for me
Of sturdy stone beside the sea
A thatchy roof, a fire warm
and you to love in sun and storm.

Sawdust and the scent of pine
your rough hands encircling mine
on your workbench beneath the stars,
marveling at what is ours.

 

 

So there’s a really lovely person many know as Master Angus (Kerr) Pembridge (or perhaps His Excellency Baron Angus Kerr). He is clever, and kind, and has a merry sense of humor, which may be his best trait of all. While joking at Crown Tourney, there was a comment tossed about having (or not having) an Aneleda-written song, and likely a smart one tossed back about it as well – but as I was missing the court procession at that very moment, I don’t remember the details because I had to run! (Bad champion! No cookie!)

Anyway, I started thinking of this house-building, mason-loving, ever sweet Laurel who is so beloved of our Thanet household and well-respected, and thought, you know, Angus *should* have a song! And the song agreed, and came to me a little vision of a golden-haired northern maiden standing by the sea, telling this gentle man her dreams of life with him and his gifts in domestic rural bliss. It mostly wrote itself, because the pictures were vivid, and since I was a little car-crazy by then, I pulled off the highway to a nearby beach where I pulled out my trusty macbook and recorded the sea, and the song. It’s a present for Angus, for always keeping me well-entertained at events when I see him.

And also, for looking after all my stuff when I toss it in front of him and run.

And finally, for totally agreeing, without hesitation, that I am, indeed, a delicate flower of the northern army.

The Tale of Spring Crown Tourney, AS46

The tale of the Spring Crown Tournament, AS46, as told by Aneleda Falconbridge,
recorded at the request of King Lucan VIII.

Asked Jana, Queen, on morning bright
Enter you with good intent
To serve the East with fullest heart
should you to this throne ascend?
Over five score answered, Yes.

Bright the day
Fierce the sun,
Fiercer the combat.
Tygers’ pelts grew soaked with work.

Consorts sweet called down the bees,
Eastern flowers fair and soft,
swayed beneath the tourney trees in bloom,
where creatures of all kinds did rest.

Poles clash, swords swing
Some fall to rise again,
Some fall and remain.

Gentle music fills the air
to the tattoo of brutal drums.
Hawks circle in the sun,
keeping carrion birds at bay.

Come the clouds
as wains the day.

The earth trembles as falling, tumbling
comes the bear
crescents whirl their brightest points,
but are at last torn from the sky.

Golden lyon meets a dragon azure,
of double head. Thunderous roars
and jets of flame blaze,
but the lyon’s golden paw stomps the flame,
and it is done.

Now the massive bear approaches,
shaking fur, arctic strong.

Now the lyon paces in,
circling with softest growl,
stretching singed paws.

The sound of their meeting
shakes the hills,
waves crash on stillest lakes,
stormclouds gather to watch.

Now ursus, now lyon,
now argent, now or.

Noble beasts,
strong as forged ore,
bravery blinds with brightness.

Stamping, pawing
steaming in the flashing sun
axes glinting, lightning quick.

The bear takes a blow,
with his last he fights on as though unharmed,
but then a pause,
a word spoken in honor,
your blow has killed me.

He bows, then falls,
his silver head pants and hits the earth.

The lyon honors such a foe,
a fight worth having, battle bold.
The fallen bear he does salute.

He now walks to his lioness,
in the tall grasses pacing and prowling,
prowling and pacing.

With steady eye he watches her.
Your love, he growls in gentle tones,
rekindles a fire I thought was lost.

He takes her gently in his paw,
presents his pride and prize
to pride and cubs with joy.

Enter you with good intent
To serve the East with fullest heart
should you to this throne ascend?
Yes, the lyon and his lady say.

Lyon gold and tyger blue
we honor fully on this day.
I boast, for I was there to see,
Gregor strong, and Kiena keen,
take the crown and Eastern hearts
as prince and princess of the realm.

 

Now Master Toki has given me a little challenge with this now, and so it will likely appear again in a new incarnation of verse-style later.