[Historical Notes: Albania, at the time of the Founders, was still part of what we know as the Byzantine Empire. It wouldn't be called that, though, until the 16th century (after it had fallen). The world in the 11th century still knew it as the Roman Empire. Incidentally, the Bloody Baron can be a baron, but only just barely -- the rank was introduced by William I following the Norman Conquest of England. I'll stop being a history geek now, I promise.

From the personal journal of Rowena Ravenclaw; last seen in 1376 in the library of Perenelle Flamel

I suppose I should have seen it coming. Between wisdom and occasional prophetic fits and a simple understanding of human nature... well, it should have been entirely plain. But... I have always had rather a large blind spot where my children are concerned.

Helena always was... temperamental.

And resentful. I see that now. What I dismissed as sibling rivalry, as rightful pride, those things were allowed to fester and ferment and turn poisonous. Too much of her father in her... and I always thought the trouble would come from Drefan!

Two dark children and two fair... and all there in the prophecies, for anyone to see, if they knew how... I did. I learned that long ago, when I discovered my own fate was set down among them. I could read them, and chose to turn away... I did not want to know. I! For once in this too-long life of mine, I closed my eyes to the knowledge, because I did not want to think of it.

I digress. It is a privilege of the old. And yes, I am old. After so long holding in the vigor of youth, I feel it now. Even if my body is slow to catch up, I feel it... I have felt old since Hastings.

I died then, too. To lose my country, my lover, and a son in one sweep... and Helga and I decided it was time, time to stop... our four reduced to two, and soon to be none... though I think Helga will make it a sight longer than I will, even without the potions we've been taking for, oh, over a century now. I am weaker by the day...

Synnove and Drefan are here. Baffling reactions, each of them. Sweet, gentle Synnove, who weeps when a newborn kitten is too frail to survive, holds my hand, serene as a summer breeze. She sings the lullabies I whispered at her cradle, and tells me all will be well soon. I believe her. She understands, I think... I should have gone out to war as well. I should have fought the invaders at the side of my lover and my child, I should have died then...

And Drefan, stoic so much of his life, cannot seem to countenance this. I do not think he saw me as mortal, until now. It is shaking his world, and for that I am sorry.

My other children... Anbidian's stone lies next to Godric's, at the edge of the forest, though no bones rest beneath either. The phoenix took them both, in mercy, I think. And Helena...

I did not want to send him. I do not trust him. A man who would kneel to the Conqueror... But... the Baron of Pembroke loves her. If anyone has the strength, the determination to find her, wherever she has hidden herself, he will. I advised he begin in Constantinople; her first impulse would be to go to Salazar, and I was fool enough to let slip to her that I last saw him there. Of course, that was twenty years and more ago... but he may still be within the Roman Empire... its Dark Arts always called to him...

I'd hoped to have a better influence on her. She could have been so great...

And clearly she thought it my fault that she never achieved. If I'd known what it would come to... I would have given her the diadem, with my blessing. I would have given her the secrets of the Potion. I would give anything...

I want to see my child again. I want to say I'm sorry, to forgive her, and be forgiven. I want all the things a dying woman wants... but mostly, I want to see her. My little girl, my Helena... I cannot think it so very great a request.

Rowena Ravenclaw, passed on this night, the full moon of May, 1067 AD. As of this date, neither Helena Ravenclaw, nor William of Pembroke, have been seen or heard from.
Requiescat in pace, Mama.
--S. R.

1 November 1068 AD – The ghosts of Helena Ravenclaw and William, Baron of Pembroke, have returned to the castle. Neither will explain how, why, or even where they died.

--D.R.