[Ansteorra] I have a question

[Catrin ferch Maelgwn]

As many girls do, I used to play at being a princess.  But when I played, I
was a princess with a toy sword and paper bag armor.  I wore boots that got
muddy when I rode into the woods behind our house, to battle with dragons
and rescue handsome princes.  My mother would pack me a bag with sandwiches,
and pens and paper, and whatever book of heroic adventures I was reading at
the time.  I'd go up into the hills and the woods, and spend all afternoon
reading and having adventures of my own - and then writing about them in
halting verses that, once written, meant all the adventures had been real.

Sometimes I was lucky enough to meet others who understood the make-believe,
and then I would lead expeditions of neighborhood children to look for
Narnia in our backyards.  But mostly I kept it to myself, kept to the books
and stories that filled my dreams and shaped a little world of my own
making.  I had friends in the stories, and heroes I could look up to -
Arthur with his knights, and the Pevensie children, and Bilbo Baggins, and a
girl named Alanna who disguised herself as a boy so she could become a
knight.

>From the first time I read those stories, I knew what I wanted to be - not
the princess to be rescued, but the brave warrior who did great deeds, who
protected the small and downtrodden and always tried to do what was right.
I was small myself, of course, often bullied at school like so many weird,
awkward young dreamers are.  I wrote myself into my own story and found
solace there, brave enough to be a warrior even if I wasn't beautiful enough
to be a fair lady.  It was a good story, but it didn't mean much when it was
only in my head.

Then somehow or another, when I was 16, I heard about the SCA.  I went and
read everything I could about it, devoured the history and the heraldry and
the ideals before I made it to a single event.  From the beginning, it was
the fighting that drew me - not just the rush and excitement of the fight
itself, but the chance to *be* what I had ached for, for so many years - to
be a warrior, in real armor, to know brotherhood and courage and chivalry,
not just on the pages of a book, but all around me.  To be in the story.

So I went to my first war practice in Caid, still too young at 16 to put on
armor and fight.  Instead, I spent the day waterbearing and volunteering at
the chirurgeon's tent.  And while I brimmed over with excitement and joy to
watch the fighting, I found something else that day, something completely
unexpected.  As I walked among the fighters with a bottle of water and a
basket of oranges, they greeted me--shy, awkward, unglamorous me--with warm
smiles, with courtesy and gratitude, with more compliments than I had ever
received in my life up to that day.

When I went to my first event, people invited me to sit with them.  I could
sit and talk about history and music and poetry and adventure, without fear
of being mocked for my enthusiasm.  They understood.  They wanted to be in
the story, too.  I could share songs at a bardic circle, singing hesitantly
and forgetting my words, and still be treated with welcoming kindness.  I
delighted in the way people called each other "M'lord" and "M'lady."  And
the first time my hand was kissed in greeting by a young lord, my heart
nearly leapt from my chest.

A couple of years later, I fought in my first tourney at Estrella War.  I
walked off the field battered and exhausted at the end, with a long hike
across site to look forward to before I would reach my encampment.  I had
just begun that walk when one of the marshals from the tourney caught up
with me.  He wore a white belt and a coronet of strawberry leaves.  He
introduced himself, complimented my fighting (I was terrible)--and then,
without another word, he took up my shield, my sword, and my helm, and
carried them as he escorted me back to camp.  When we parted ways, he bowed
and kissed my hand and bid me farewell.  I was a bruised, dusty,
sweat-drenched, brand new fighter, and he was a knight and a duke--and he
treated me with the same reverence he might have afforded the Queen herself.

I joined the SCA because I wanted to be a brave warrior.  I stayed--among so
many other reasons--because of kindnesses like these.  Because of people who
helped me believe that I could be not just the brave warrior, but the fair
lady, too.

I wish I could remember that duke's name, but the best I can manage is to
try to follow his example.  You never know when you're going to be someone's
first impression.

Regards,
Catrin ferch Maelgwn