May It Be

by Ashe

May it be an evening star
Shines down upon you
May it be when darkness falls
Your heart will be true
You walk a lonely road
Oh! How far you are from home

Author's Note: This story is actually several years of work finally coming to fruition. I'm amazed that I'm actually sitting down to write it. This is in fact so long in planning that it disregards most of the final book and anything said therein. This story is set in the early middle ages, but I neglect to include a year for my own purposes. History is a loosely considered thing. I hope that this story can still be enjoyed. There are many OCs, because a story like this could never successfully happen with only the four founders. However, they remain the focus of this tale, and it will extend through the founding of the school until the story. The primary pairings in this story will be Salazar/Rowena, Godric/OC, Helga/OC, and some other far more minor OC ones. Well, read on. You can only find out if this story suits if you keep reading, after all.

This first installment is Helga centric. It introduces her family condition, her major OCs (brother, cousin, and uncle), and it sets her story up. These first four sections are going to be shorter things, because they serve as an introduction of sorts.

Chapter One, part one: A Brighter Day

Helga was not pleased, but her expression was the best attempt at a fond farewell as she could muster just then. She was an icon herself, standing out in the courtyard with the sunlight pouring down on long blonde waves, tumbling over slim shoulders and down her back. She was a petite creature, so newly delivered from the awkward stage of being all elbows and knees. She was not an elegant young woman, but she was sturdy and strong and had begun to mature into the handsome features gifted her by a long line of Germanic princes.

A number of those Germanic princes were laughing and jabbing at one another as she looked on. They were the source of her general irritation, and they would be blind and foolish not to know it. It was very early spring, and the three noblemen who were even now checking their tack and gear for a long ride were dressed in thick woolen cloaks, bound at their necks with shining broaches. Helga herself shivered a little in the cool air, but as she would be returning to the hall soon enough, she had worn no such cloak.

Even a year ago, she would have been pouting. Now she glowered a little, but knew that no fit she threw would win her uncle's approval. He would take her brother and cousin with him in their yearly rides to view the tenant farmers and the far pastures. They would be gone for a week or more, but nothing much. Helga would not be allowed to go with them, though she longed for the same rough freedom her kinsmen enjoyed. She was a woman, and thus it was far from proper for her to want such things.

Her brother and cousin mounted, a pair of blonde headed fools she decided. Joran had the decency to look abashed when he glanced at her, but Edvin—her long suffering older brother—avoided looking at her all together. That was just fine, she decided sourly. Let him pretend that she did exist. She bit firmly down on her tongue to keep from lashing out, but had distracted herself so thoroughly that she did not notice her uncle's approach. He touched her elbow, and she turned to face him, turning her face upward to look at the tall, broad shouldered man. Her uncle had always seemed as tall as the heavens themselves, she'd thought, and she adored the man. He had taken both her brother and herself in when their parents had died. It was a kindness, but he had always adored his sister—their mother—and he often said that he saw much of his dear younger sister in his niece.

"As usual, you will be in charge while I am away. You should be save here. I take only an escort of two. The remainder will stay to guard the capital. Should there be trouble, send riders to find us." Fredrick explained. They had spoken about all of this already. She knew that nothing would happen. Their lands had been at peace for three full seasons, and never had battle come close to the capital. "Do you hear what I say, niece?"

She blinked and nodded. "Yes, uncle. If you thought there would be trouble, you would not leave me here alone. I have faith that we will be fine." she replied, a soft smile gracing her features. Her smile lit her face, making her beautiful in a way that she was normally not. She leaned up on her toes to kiss her uncle's cheek. Her lips brushed his beard, and when she withdrew she licked her lips to work away that strangle, prickly feeling.

He caught her in a strong one-armed hug. "Take care." he turned to a guardsman standing close behind the lady. "Keep her safe."

"Of course, m'lord."

Their prince turned and mounted his own horse, turning the great beast and calling a cry to urge it forward. Five horses ran for the gates, Helga turning to follow their travel. She took off, her skirts in her hands and strong legs carrying her up stairs until she stood on the walls. She slid between guards and peered downward, watching until she could no longer see the horses and their riders. She stared after them several moments after they had disappeared, before she turned and disappeared herself back down those stairs, through the courtyard, and into the keep itself.

Helga kept herself busy that evening with a quiet meal taken by herself, a healing text propped up in one hand and her other idly picking bits of food off of her plate as she chewed thoughtfully. Reading by candlelight would eventually make her eyes go bad, but the flickering light was comforting. She was a gifted healer. Many had said as much to her in her lifetime. She spent afternoons pouring over texts concerning herbs and magic and it all. She would prefer to be riding with her brother or practicing the sword with her cousin. It was not as if she did not like healing; it was her gift and her pleasure. She simply did not like being left out simply because she was the girl and the youngest.

She had bitten off an end of the tough, crusty bread that the cooks favored making for her when a servant approached. The girl was one of Helga's attendants, and Helga was so used to her presence that she did not note her appearance or approach, far too lost in her text.

"My lady..." the servant prompted, startling Helga out of her reverie. She choke on the bread, and took a long swallow of beer to wash it down before she started coughing. Despite her efforts, her eyes were watering when she finally motioned the servant to continue. "There is an... old woman. She begs shelter for the night." the girl showed obvious discomfort. Helga wondered why.

"Is something wrong with her?" Helga asked the girl. The girl hesitated.

"She seems... strange. I do not mean to impolite, m'lady, but..." she trailed off, avoiding Helga's eyes. "She does not seem like a normal old woman." she finished finally. Helga was puzzled, but rose.

"I will see to her myself. Thank you." Helga replied. The girl gave a bow and left in a hurry, which concerned Helga. Something about this woman had frightened the child. Helga left the dining hall and walked briskly until she stood in the courtyard. None of her uncle's guardsmen would allow a stranger into the keep itself without being told otherwise. When she stepped into their midst, several of the guardsmen stepped back to allow her to view this stranger. Two remained very close to the woman, in case she pulled a knife or some such nonsense.

"Ah, you must be the lady of the house!" the old woman laughed, a grating, croaking sound. Helga furrowed her brow to study her. It was dark, but torches had been lit to keep the courtyard as bright as it could be with only a sliver of a moon overhead. "An old woman begs for a warm place to sleep and a bit of food. Surely your kindness will suffice to allow that." Helga felt strangely repulsed by the woman. She could not put a name to her instant discomfort, and felt foolish for it.

As if sensing her discomfort, one of the guardsmen—a man who had taught her to wield a knife when he'd caught her practicing without skill or guidance years ago—reached and caught the woman by her shoulder. "Begone now, off with you!" he ordered. Helga reached out to stay his hand.

"No, allow her entrance." She looked up at him and he was unsteady but conceded to her will. His desire to protect her and his lord's keep was evident, but Helga's authority superseded his own. She gestured, and he released the woman. She laughed that croaking laugh once more and followed Helga's lead, up the great stairs and into the keep. They entered the dining hall once more, silent, but Helga could feel the woman's eyes on her. Helga had a plate set for the woman, and a cup of beer. She retook her own chair, but seemed to lack appetite to finish her own meal.

They ate in relative silence. Helga had no tongue for idle chatter, and the woman offered nothing herself. Helga held her healing text in white knuckled fingers, placed in her lap, out of sight. When the food had finally been finished, and the table cleared, the old woman turned her narrow, beady eyes on Helga and she found herself squirming. There was old knowledge in those eyes, and Helga wished for a moment's respite from that piercing gaze.

"For your kindness, pretty lady, I offer you a fortune. For I am a fortune teller, they say, with old magic in my bones. Care ye to listen?" the woman spoke up. Helga blinked, and despite her discomfort, could think of no way to decline the woman's offer. Magic was nothing to remark upon here. Her uncle, her brother, her cousin... they all held the old magics in their blood. Helga was no exception. Nearly half the staff and soldiers in the keep shared the same sort of magic.

"I will." she replied. Her voice was softer, perhaps more subdued, than she would have liked. It were not as if she not entertained guests before. Never once when her uncle was gone, and she felt strangely isolated and alone. Which was perfectly ridiculous of course. She had an entire keep full of soldiers and servants to call on. She was far from alone.

The old woman produced a lyre from the folds of her cloak, and began to play. Helga was transfixed by the music, and felt herself tremble gently with the sound of the music. It was a light, airy tune. Far simpler, and far more sprightly than she might have imagined it would be. The woman's eyes unfocused, lost in the music, and she began to sing. Her words chilled the light-hearted song, and Helga's heartbeat quickened.

She sang of love unrequited, of death, of war, and of a future for Helga in a land she had never seen before. The words were cold and unfeeling, though the song danced with deceptive light. Helga's hand tensed hard around the binding of the book and she pressed her jaws together so tightly that the ache of it was intense. She forced herself to sit through all five verses and the chorus before the woman finished. Helga said nothing. The woman gave her a long look before throwing her head back and laughing. Helga rose and stumbled, moving rapidly away, away from that laugh and those beady eyes and the woman who had told her too much.

Helga did not see the woman again. She sent a servant to see to it that the woman had a warm pallet next to a hearth somewhere, but insisted that she be gone at first light. Helga passed the days until her uncle's return largely in seclusion. She remained alone, only seeing the sun from a window, but not daring to step into a garden or courtyard. The fortune teller had startled her, shaking her to her very core. She dared not conjure up the memories of those words, the cruelties, and the death.

When word came that her kinsmen had been spotted from the tower, she set aside her sewing and raced down flights of stairs to meet them in the courtyard. She appeared at nearly the same moment that Helga burst into the sunlight. She felt herself smile in relief, and came to her brother, who closed arms around her and held her fiercely against his chest.

"Is all forgiven, little bird?" he asked with a light laugh. She looked up at him, and he seemed to note for the first time her pallid cheeks. "Fare you well, sister?" he asked. His concern drew Fredrick's attention, and he turned to his niece. She shook her head and waved them both away.

"I am fine, as is everyone in the keep. Perhaps we all suffer from boredom if anything, my lord." she said to her uncle. Fredrick drew her close for a hug, and Helga felt her eyes water. Relief was a potent thing, and she let herself indulge in a childhood vice of clinging to her uncle when she was scared. Fredrick did not say a word, even as she held on several heartbeats longer than she should have. She stepped back, carefully covering her expression by turning to Joran, the last to receive an embrace of welcome. By the time she had pulled back from him, three servants had appeared with warm mulled wine to heat the men's bones. "Come into your home, my lords, and ease tired bones, no doubt."

Her words seemed to ease even herself. She led the three men indoors, her arm linked with her uncle's, as stablemen saw to the horses and servants rushed to bring a light meal for the men to break their fast upon. Helga felt much safer with her kinsmen at home, even if the words of the fortune teller echoed in her mind. She could not quite convince herself they were simply an old woman's cruel lies. Not even knowing the woman had said that one of these three men would die in a fortnight's time, and it would be her fault.