This filk of Rosalind Jehanne’s “The Peasant Knight” (music here) was written for the Laurel elevation of Silence de Cherbourg of Aethelmearc, a dear friend, at Pennsic 52 in 2025.
The Pleasant Bard
A young girl journeyed to Aethelmearc,
And enchanted with her charms.
In Atlantia, she had learned the singer’s craft.
The royals made her their Sylvan Bard,
And then swiftly awarded her arms.
Her surprise and joy, it spilled out as she laughed.
“Oh, I have the heart of a troubadour,
When I hear them sing these songs,
I catch fire, and my heart longs
To be a bard, and make them ring forevermore.”
A Sycamore, and a Keystone,
Comets silver, blue, and gold
And with Escarbuncles would she be adorned.
Like treasure she collected songs,
Into pages that any could hold.
And with strings and pipes (and French!) has she performed.
“Oh, I have the voice of a troubadour,
I will make each song my own
And I’ll never be alone
For as a bard, I’ll find companions by the score.”
She gathered bards around her,
Leading circles, tournament halls,
Organized them (well, as much as any can).
In taverns and on stages,
Is her voice a clarion call.
Her renown is surely seen in every land.
Now you’ve earned your leaves as a troubadour!
For your journey’s led you here,
Your new title we shall cheer:
A Laureat, with glory that befits our lore.
On this day you start anew as a bard, so wear it true:
The cloak and hood, the Laurel wreath, forevermore.
Drake Oranwood 