~*Prologue*~
"...Under the ancient rock the warrior ventured alone, no Fitela fighting beside him, but still it befell that his firm steel pierced the worm, the point stood fast in the wall, the dragon had died the death!" the boy exclaimed, his green eyes flashing an excited intensity as always when he told her stories.
"What happened then, Salazar?!" the much younger girl asked, eager and smiling.
"You know, Rowena, for I've told the story often enough," he replied, shaking the thick, dark hair from his face.
"Sigemund found the treasure!" she told him, clapping her little hands.
"Yes, the Hero's daring had won the treasure to have and to hold as his heart might wish. Then the Waesling loaded his sea-boat, laid in the breast of the ship the wondrous and shining treasure, and watched the worm dissolve in the heat. Sigemund was the strongest of men in his deeds and daring, warrior's shield and defender, and most famous in days of old..."
Rowena sighed as she sat high in the oak tree, upon a thick brown limb, shaded from the warm summer sun, recalling the days past when her friend Salazar would sit there with her, telling fantastic tales. She was feeling particularly bitter, having only moments before watched Salazar Apparate along the edge of the castle grounds at Cnoc Liath in the Glen and proceed up the hill to the castle without so much as a wave to her. At first, she figured it was because she was nestled in the treetops of the copse near the Loch, but upon further thought she concluded he would know she would be milling about there on a summer's day in their tree.
She crossed her arms and leaned against the coarse, thick trunk of the great tree.
He used to sit here with her and tell her wonderful stories of heroes and their adventures--of Odysseus, Beowulf, Sigemund, and Gilgamesh--yet now it was as though Rowena did not exist.
"Rowena," her father had said to her one day, following her disgruntled complaint. "Salazar is sixteen; he is a young man now, and does not have time to while away the hours with a little girl, telling her stories and playing games."
Her fair, lightly freckled face presently frowned as she remembered her father's words. To add insult to injury, Salazar had not even entered the wing near the library where his teacher, her father, was--he had gone to visit her mother yet again.
Rowena saw an ant, out of line and lost from the others scurrying along the lichen spotted trunk. In her jealousy, she squashed it. Nathaira Ravenclaw was not worthy of Salazar Slytherin's company, as far as her daughter Rowena was concerned. Extremely beautiful, the fair Lady Ravenclaw was a cruel and unfair mother, neglectful of her daughter, and on the occasions when she did see her, she said only hurtful things. For Rowena to see the one person she loved most of all, next to her father, even acknowledging her mother's existence was too much to bear. Her face flushed red with her cross feelings about Salazar.
"Fairy folkes are in old oakes!" a voice called from below Rowena, startling her from her anger. A red headed boy of around eleven stood under the oak tree, looking up at her.
"I'm not scared of fairies, Kay. I've read all about them," she answered smartly.
"Oh, really?" Kay returned, a tone of mischief blatantly present. The boy, son of one of the few wizard servants in the castle, had a knack for leading Rowena into trouble. They were the same age, and sometimes played together, but it usually led to Rowena getting punished.
"The fields on the other side of Lairig Mor are blooming with Deadmen's Bells..."
"Bluebells," she corrected. "And I'm not scared of fairy enchantments."
"Well, I heard if you hear them ring, it means you'll die. I bet you would be too scared to go and see."
Rowena almost took the dare, but she remembered then that she was angry. With ease that came from repeated practice, she quickly scrambled down the massive trunk of the tree.
"Not right now, Kay," she said, taking off at a run. She bounded over the grassy knoll between the copse and the castle, making her way to the private entrance of the western wing, where her father spent most of his time. Through cool corridors she ran until she found her father absorbed in study, bent over a table in the library. The library was Rowena's favorite place to be. It was not a well-ordered place, with books and scrolls squashed into tall shelves, scattered around on various tables and even piled in haphazard heaps around the floor. As usual, Lord Ravenclaw sat, scribbling away on the writing desk perched atop a large table covered with an ornately decorated tapestry he was proud to say had graced the Emperor Justinian's study wall. His thick, red robe fell like drapery around him as he leaned his head on one hand and turned to glare at Rowena. Stern and thoughtful, his eyes told her she had disrupted him, as they looked out from under his white eyebrows and crinkled forehead. Her father was old, much older than her mother, and he was nearly bald, with a long white mustache and beard. He reminded her very much of the bust of Sophocles that rested on a nearby shelf, crammed in between books and scrolls on Charms.
"Sorry, Father," she said, changing her dashing to tiptoeing. "But..."
"Not now."
"But..."
He turned back to his writing.
Rowena stomped her foot. "Salazar ignores me! What is wrong with him lately? He's not been himself!" she demanded.
"Why must you be such a petulant girl, Rowena?" Lord Ravenclaw asked, peering down at his daughter who scowled underneath a head of straw-yellow hair, messy and windblown from outdoor activities. His face softened and he smiled, letting Rowena know that as trying as she could be, he prized her over any knowledge, and loved her deeply. "I have tried to explain it to you. Why don't you ask him yourself when he comes for his lesson today?"
"He's already here," said Rowena, sullenly. Just thinking about him ignoring her to visit her mother made the jealousy rise up again, and she crossed her arms.
She saw then that her father did not look pleased, either. Rowena thought she understood--she and her father were a family separate from the Lady Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin was a part of that family as a son and brother. The way Rowena saw it, he was fraternizing with the enemy.
Lord Ravenclaw's face looked very gray, and though Rowena longed for anger, it was more a terrible sadness.
"Go out and play," he instructed, turning away from her. "Get out of the castle for a while, Rowena."
"If I do, I may get in trouble," she replied. "Kay wants to go over Lairig Mor to see if we hear the Deadmen's Bells tinkling in the fields."
"Bluebells," her father laughed. He reached for a leather-bound book and handed it to her. "Take my field journal. I could use some more sketches of bluebells. Do you have your wand?"
Rowena nodded.
"Well, then you should be prepared. Sometimes bluebell fields can be very enchanted. Run along, now."
Rowena ran up to her father and kissed his cheek. It was a special occasion indeed, that he had entrusted her with his field journal. In both of their eyes, that tattered book was quite sacred.
He smiled at her and touched her little nose, which bore the most of her faint freckles.
"Enjoy the summer day, Rowena. Keep Kay on his toes."
"Goodbye, Father," she replied and hurried off, eager to play the part of the scholar on special assignment by Lord Ravenclaw himself.
She found Kay loitering about by the barn, bothering the horses and the stable boy.
"Kay!" she called to the red headed boy.
"What?" he asked, somewhat upset that she had abandoned him.
"Don't you want to go over Lairig Mor? Don't you want to see the bluebells?" Rowena questioned, superior and brave.
Kay suddenly looked very sheepish. "Well...yes...I suppose..."
"Come on then!" she called, sprinting off up the hill to the great brown pass that rose from the green Glen.
The sun was high in the sky when the two children set off for the mysterious enchanted fields, but it was nearing mid-afternoon by the time they had cleared the pass. Climbing was nothing to their fun seeking selves, and time seemed to pass slowly as they discussed many stories and elements of fairy magic as they climbed and climbed leisurely, stopping to jostle one another and play. When they reached the top of the pass however, Rowena took in a deep breath. The hillside below, leading to the next glen, was washed in blue. A sea of bluebells swayed in the summer sunlight, not unlike the blue Loch when it was ruffled by the wind. Rowena could not recall seeing so many flowers before, especially not of the same color. As if someone had taken a giant paint brush soaked in blue color and shook it over the hillside, massive amounts of blue flecks dotted the verdant green grass of the meadows. Like a winding black snake, a rocky river curved through the middle of the glen and it's cool water looked just as alluring as the sea of blue flowers.
Rowena turned and smiled at Kay with a look of fierce competition, as she took off down the rocky, steep incline.
"Oh, not this time, Rowena!" he shouted, fast on her heels as they raced down to the field.
Rowena pressed on, slipping, sliding, laughing, all the way down until she tore into the field, her long dress getting caught among the leaves of tall grass and flowers.
"No...fair..." Kay heaved. "You...had...a head...start..."
Rowena laughed and flicked her wild flaxen hair from her face, dropping down into the sea of bluebells. The journal, which she had clutched ceremoniously, was dropped into her lap as she took a piece of charcoal from the inside pocket of the leather binding.
"What are you doing, Rowena?" asked Kay.
"Father...Lord Ravenclaw asked me to sketch some bluebells," she explained importantly.
Kay nodded and laid back in the grass, plucking a dry piece and placing it between his front teeth.
"That cloud looks like a dragon...Norwegian Ridgeback..." he muttered, as Rowena began her sketching in her father's field journal. "Anything else in them pages besides flowers?"
"Plenty," she said, flipping through the pages. "See, he's seen the Unseelie Court before. Look, here's the Fachan."
Kay took a quick glimpse at the sketch of the frightening fairy creature. His face went white. "Those ain't around here."
Rowena smiled devilishly. "Of course they are, Kay!"
She delighted in seeing Kay's changed demeanor. He was always trying to frighten her, and now she had finally succeeded in terrorizing him. After glancing around nervously for signs of the Fachan, Kay reclined back in the flowers, chewing on his piece of yellow grass.
"Do you suppose we'll hear the bells ring?" he wondered aloud.
"Perhaps," Rowena answered, biting her lower lip as she carefully moved the charcoal across the coarse parchment paper in the journal.
For a long time, Kay was quiet as Rowena sketched an individual bluebell and a panorama of the hillside. Butterflies and small fairies fluttered among the blue and green, as the sun moved across the sky, ever filling with clouds.
"You don't suppose it might rain?" Kay inquired, when Rowena paused in her drawing.
Some darker clouds were approaching on the horizon, no doubt coming from the sea.
"We'll be back before then," she said in her usual know-it-all fashion.
"That's bad luck, that is," Kay said darkly, screwing up his eyes to scan the edge of their world. "Storm clouds and Deadmen's Bells."
"The go home, little scared boy!" she teased.
Kay shut up and laid back down, chewing more fervently on his grass in his nervousness.
A little fairy with flowing brown hair and dainty blue skin lighted on a flower in front of Rowena, smiling from under her little cap made of a springy bluebell.
"Hello," Rowena spoke softly. "May I sketch you?"
The fairy flitted around for a few moments, caught up fiercely in the attention, but as fairies are wont to do, quickly became interested in something else and sped off with a vibrant beating of wings.
Rowena hastily began to sketch, excited to show her father such a wonderful drawing of a bluebell fairy. But as she continued, the dark clouds on the horizon began to approach, lightning rocking the dark gray as they soon covered the Glen and pass.
Kay became jittery at first, and despite a scolding from Rowena, grew uncontrollable with superstitious fear. At the next clap of thunder, still far off, he nearly leap out of his skin and was on his feet, bouncing around.
"Kay," Rowena spoke impatiently. "It is only a little thunder..."
The boy rubbed his messy red head and muttered something about bad luck, and then was off in a flash, making his way up and over the pass. Rowena frowned as she watched her friend scamper away. Obviously, he was not educated on weather patterns and predictions, for Rowena was not in the least frightened and knew that she had much more time. She scribbled and shaded until a perfect representation existed on her paper--something her father was sure to delight in. Satisfied with the sketch, and seeing that soon the rain would be coming, Rowena stood up in the vast multitude of bluebells that waved wildly in the winds of the approaching storm. And then, she saw something she did not expect. Nearly to the field, stumbling down the pass, was Salazar Slytherin.
Even though she was cross at him, and terribly jealous, Rowena loved him as her own dear brother, her "dear heart," as they called one another from their younger ages. She dropped the field journal and sprinted to him, nearly blown over by the storm gusts that began to sweep across the Glen. The sky had darkened and lightning, with it's resounding claps of thunder, was growing ever closer.
"Salazar!" she cried over the winds and thunder, running to meet him amid the whipping blades of green and blue.
Pale and deadly, Salazar's young face was ghostly white. His usually vibrant green eyes seemed dark, as he looked at Rowena, stopping in his stead and dropping to his knees. She raced to him, falling into his outstretched arms, both of their forms surrounded by violently tossing tall grass and blue flowers that began to look all purple in the growing murkiness. He held her tightly--so tightly it hurt her, and she felt his fingers dig into her flying yellow hair, feeling his mouth warm near her ear as he let out horrific gasps.
"I'm...so...sorry...Rowena...my dear heart..." She could tell he might be crying if it wasn't for the immense pain she could feel him exuding. "I didn't...it wasn't..."
He kissed her forehead and her lips and her cheeks. "I love you...please...forgive me...I didn't..."
Rowena was frightened, and she didn't understand any of this. At first, she thought maybe he was apologizing for ignoring her, but she just knew it was something more important than that. Before she could ask him what was wrong, she heard voices and saw wizards approaching, some Apparating while others raced down from the pass.
"There he is!" they were shouting.
"Halt, Slytherin!" others were crying.
"W-what?" she tried to ask, but Salazar would only repeat that he was sorry. He would only gasp and kiss her hair.
Three of the many wizards were soon upon them, and they were forceful and mean.
"Salazar Slytherin, you must come with us. You are under arrest..."
"No! No!" Rowena screamed, grabbing firmly to her friend Salazar, whose dark hair blew about wildly, his green eyes so dark and frightening within his youthful, sixteen year-old face.
"You are under arrest," the wizard said, ignoring Rowena, "for the murder of Lord Ravenclaw."
Rowena screamed something that sounded like "no," and clutched Salazar so tightly, she thought they might never be able to take him away. The wizard's words had not sunken in yet. In her fright, all she could think of was preventing those cold wizards from taking her friend away. One of the larger wizards came forward and with little trouble, pried her from Salazar's arms. She was surprised to see Salazar did not struggle, but complied with the wizards, turning only to say his last words to Rowena.
"I'm...sorry..."
The wizards surrounded him and then, all of them were gone with a series of pops, leaving Rowena alone in the windswept meadow, suddenly quite dark and frightening.
What was it the wizard had said? Murder?
Rowena bit her lower lip and stifled her tears. What did they mean? In her mind she knew, but not in her heart. Without another seconds thought, Rowena was off like one of the coming bolts of lightning, heading hard and fast for Cnoc Liath.
She knew something was wrong when she saw armored men and strange wizards around the castle, but she ignored them, heading to the one place she knew she would find her father--he would sort out all the confusion.
The library, however, was in a state of ruin. Smoking, smoldering books and scrolls were upon the shelves...the very air had a static feel...
And there, on the floor was her father, face up with his eyes closed. His skin was gray and waxy, and two wizards were covering him with a sheet.
"What are you doing?!" Rowena screamed, rushing to try and pull the white cloth back.
"No, darling, no," a falsely sweet voice spoke, and Rowena felt a hand pulling her away. Her mother pulled her into a tight embrace and feigned crying as they watched the wizards take the body of her father away.
"Where are they taking him?!" Rowena demanded. "What happened?! Where is he going?! LET ME GO!"
Rowena struggled and finally elbowed her mother, trying to get away. Lady Ravenclaw let out a cry, and then grasped Rowena by the hair. The wizards had gone with the body and they were alone. She stopped her act of distraught wife and caring mother, slinging Rowena back by her flaxen hair.
"How dare you hit me," she spoke coldly, her icy blue eyes meeting Rowena's.
She struggled again to get away, but it hurt too much as her mother still had a firm grasp on her hair.
"Let me go!"
"Go and pack your things. I'm sending you away immediately..."
Rowena startled, not at her mother's words, but at the realization that her father was gone and she had left his field journal out in the coming storm, when it had been entrusted especially to her. "But my book..."
"I don't give a damn about a ridiculous book," she sneered.
At that moment, a few wizards entered to survey the scene. Nathaira let go of her vicious grip on her daughter and resumed her play of lamentation.
Rowena took her chance and bolted from her mother's reach, tearing out into the darkening afternoon, fleeing up the brown pass and over the edge. A slight sprinkle of rain began to fall as she bounded, nearly out of control, down the other side into the field, searching in a terrible panic for the small, leather bound book. The charcoal, she thought...it would melt in the rain! Frantic and on the verge of tears she searched and searched, dropping to her hands and knees as she fumbled through the growth of grass and flowers. Then, her hand crossed something soft and square and she knew she had found the journal. Quickly, she crawled and grabbed it, finding the charcoal stick near, and she tucked the stick safely in the front pocket.
Rowena let out a deep breath and clutched the journal tightly to her chest, falling down face first to the dark earth as the rain began. The horrible reality of it all swept over her with the wind and rain, and she wept.