Mary Dedwydd verch Gwalter
In Revision...
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Is a 11th century Welshwoman from the
Northern Marches. She enjoys cooking and costuming. Member of
the household group known as "The Sisters of Mercy" |
Device: Argent, a boar rampant azure, in a chief, vert, three
open books proper. Above device needs to be redrawn!
Awards:
Lesser Known Awards:
Modern Data:
Contact Data: /
Society Resume:
Persona Story:
In Revision... Is a 11th century Welshwoman from the Northern
Marches
Untitled
(A poem for Paganus Grimlove
So. Custom is clear and Caid's crown
Again called the brave and the mighty to battle
For honor and chivalry's sake.
There was Paganus Grimlove, the Gaelic wolf,
A warrior wise in the ways of the Warfield
And versed in the virtues of chivalry's grace.
At his belt rode the favor of Mary Dedwyyd,
A Welsh lady young in the world of The Dream.
At her breast, a small battle-torch lay,
Mark of his honor worn over her heart.
She stood silent all the stately ceremonies
Of the day, wondering on his gift.
Sensing its import but still unsure
How fate and honor would weave the day.
Fluid and graceful, swift-footed Paganus
Faced strong-armed Ciana across the fighting
Ground, honor's trial for CAIDs crown.
Marshall's sticks clashed and the deadly dance
Began. To right and left they circle
Slow, and then like lightning struck.
Fast the blows and furiously they fell
Blocked by shield and offhand sword.
At the edge of the eric, eyes bright,
Welsh Mary wondered, feeling the weight
Of chivalry's burden. He battled for her and
The certainty seized her that honor held a
Heavy ransom. All too soon
A slight misstep brought the bright-haired
Warrior within Ciana's range
Her arm snapped down and watchers recoiled
At the echoing boom of her blade
On his bone-house, and Paganus fell.
For an eternal moment the marshals stood
And waited for the wolf to move
Sluggishly Paganus rose and strode
From the field; his steps did not falter.
But back at the camp, his breath came in gasps.
He lifted his helm and the light of the sun
Saw the pain of his wound written there
On his face. In fear, Mary called
For the Lady of Solaz to lay her hands on him
And heals his hurts, still he spoke not.
Then the herald's call came, and he calmly
Stood, asking only for help to arm again.
Mary reached for his armor but still she asked,
Why do you battle?
I will finish the day, was his only reply.
Slow and stiff the wolf entered the Eric
Where waited the black Irish bear,
Sir Donald Cathchern. Sword rose in salute
Before the death-dance began once more.
She watched, wondering at his strength.
Even wounded, the wolf fought well
But the bout was swift and a shot to the helm
Sent Paganus down to the dust once more.
So Paganus rose and walked from the field
Slow, but proud still, his honor certain
A warrior wise in the ways of the warfield
And versed in the virtues of chivalry's grace.
At his belt rode the favor of Mary Dedwydd,
A Welsh lady young in the world of The Dream.
By his side walked the lady, head held high.
Today the dream lived in the honor he gave her,
To fight through his pain for the sake of his word.
The world-torch shone on the sword at her breast
Mark of his honor worn over her heart.
- Mary Dedwydd verch Gwalter
Copyright © Belongs to the Poet
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