Rowena Ravenclaw: An Insight on the Most Intelligent Founder

Chapter 7: Betrothal Troubles

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So I sent my letter to Howart, Helga and Tamara and hurried back to my tower. I sat there for the rest of the night. The sun set in a flurry of red and orange fire as I sat quietly in my tower. Hours passed and my eyes finally drooped into a dreamless sleep.

When I awoke the rosy-fingered dawn was brushing the mountain tops around the valley and Glen. Far away, perched atop a barn shed crowed the proud strutting and crowing of a rooster with bright red feathers.

I watched the cock shouting his own praises and it reminded me instantly of the pig I reviled so much. The one I would be betrothed to in a day's time. I was glad I was awake; if I had thought of the rooster and the pig while I was dreaming I would just have nightmares. Poor animals, both rooster and pig do not know they are in for a horrible surprise. While Alexandar will not be served for supper, he will get the shock of a lifetime when his supposed wife curses him into the swine he was meant to be born.

I yawned and readied myself for the new day in which I would be poked, prodded and put on display for my mother while she instructed me on betrothal ceremonies. I already knew the dress she would have me wear was white. Maybe Helga thought the colour wondrous but I loathed it with every waking breath. Once I escaped I would never wear that colour again. But while I still resided within the same walls as my mother I would be forced to wear such terrible hues.

So I stood in the bronze plated room, walls polished to a reflective gleam, so that one could see themselves at all angles. My mother instructed the seamstresses in her aloof tone and the three grey and blue clad women stripped off my clothing down to my loose shift. Then they pulled over my head a white satin dress with a long lace train and cloak so delicate it could have been butterfly wings.

Inwardly I hated all the embroidery and work and long hours and cloth that went into the stylish white garment. Each painstaking stitch that went into this beautiful peice of clothing was careful and tiny; the lace intricate and fine; the cloth strong and soft; the embroidery flawless. These were not the reasons I hated that dress. I would never admit it, but I would love to wear it if not for one fact. It was white.

Yes, I am sounding repetitive but white represents all that my mother has built up. The scheming and planning behind my back like the evil witch that she is. White was the ice cold of her heart as she promised me to a violent, wandering handed, vile creature. White was what I had lived in for too long. White was the cold, the isolation, the control, the iron grasp on my wrist that no power warding bracelet could rival.

Bronze is what I want. Warmth and comfort in the bronze clad lap of my father. Sitting there for hours listening to the truth of what we are. Bronze is the mystique behind the blue which I love. The shimmer of wonder behind the calm. Bronze and blue are the escape, for my mother was always a white and gold woman, since the day she was born until even after she was married to my father. Bronze and blue is my path. Freedom.

But until I achieve my dream of flight with Helga, Howart, Tamara and Slyvia, I am condemned to white.

Then the harsh but sophisticated tones of my mother sounded. "Rowena, turn towards me."

I did as I was ordered and swished the dress and myself towards her. As I turned the soft fabric of the dress caressed my hands the way I want my husband to do when we are married. If only I could meet such a man: a man who was the polar opposite of Alexandar Hufflepuff of Broad Valley. He would let me be myself and read and invent; he would be silly and endearing with charm and grace. He would be brave and chivalrous along with dashing good looks and a kind heart. Alas I doubted such a man could exist.

I waited silently as my mother poked me and tucked fabric. She ordered the maids to work as she dictated the changes needed while she inspected me like a prized cow to be brought to market. Although a cow did not need to squeeze into a corset sized for a mouse!

When my mother and her maids were finished I was clad in a barley recognizable item to what I was previously wearing. A low neckline displayed my chest or poor lack thereof, which, was now padded with mounds of silver-shot white lace. A yard or so was added to the train in white muslin, making it hard for me to move and breaking many fashion laws. More and more changes altered the once gorgeous piece of cloth to what was meant to turn me into some trollop woman who looked like she boasted about the things she and her husband (or any other man) did in bed. I looked like a proper mistress of the pig.

When my mother was finished with me I was wrapped in a white muslin day gown and sent off to a private lunch with my mother leading. She did not lead me by the hand like when I was younger but was so close to me, I felt pressured and insignificant under her powerful gaze and grand looks. Those were the only things I envied about my mother: her majestic presence and spectacular beauty. I could hold someone's attention if we were conversing about scientific methods or spell theory but my intellect is very threatening, especially to men. As for my beauty, I am too young to be glamorous so I console myself with merely pretty chestnut locks and my somewhat appealingly curved nose.

Stepping into the large gold, white and deep orange room, the colours of my mother's birth family the Goldenhawks, I felt like she was going to tell me something important and ground-breaking, but not in a good way. When she didn't mind me picking at the expensive meal our servants had prepared I felt certain she was going to spring something onto me.

My mother set her ornate gold knife down and folded her handkerchief to the side of her brown trencher. She looked to me, sitting at her right hand and started to speak, refined Rs and As and all.

"Daughter, as you know tomorrow you will be betrothed. This is a joyous occasion for all of Ravenclaw Glen; because this means the merging of our two estates. Ecstatic I may be, this is also a very serious time." My mother said gravely.

"As you may know Alexandar is the inheritor to the Hufflepuff fortune, which is ten times as vast as our own: and he will need an heir. So as soon as you are betrothed, I want you to allow him to sweep you off your feet; the sooner the better. I know that for the past twelve years I have preached nothing but modesty and this is wise; but times are getting hard.'

'The tides are changing and things in Scotland are not as they should be. Northern clans like the Wallaces and the McGregors are on the move, taking over villages and destroying the ancient nobility. The Hufflepuffs fear our province might be next, and as such an heir is needed as quickly as possible; not only that, the Hufflepuffs are concerned for their daughter-in-law to be, and for any child you might produce."

She continued on with her speech, all throughout lunch, not even caring that she was practically ordering me to sleep with the most putrid slime from the bottom of the pig sty. There was not even a drop of worry in my mother's voice as she spoke of the invisible concern from the Hufflepuffs. Yet more tales are spun into the loom of secrets and untold things that are my life.

Listening quietly I nodded my head at the appropriate times and bowed it when she had a threatening tone. I acted like I had for the past twelve years of my life, all the while mulling the horrible truth over and over in my head. I was to be taken as soon as I was betrothed. If Helga, Howart and Tamara's plan didn't work I would have already lost. Being in the same bed as him was nearly as bad as being bound to him. My virtue was something I treasured, not because my mother said so, but because it was mine and only the man I loved could have it.

Indeed I am only twelve but I have made the decision to only marry for truth, care, sincere feelings and love. If I find my second half to be a beggar I will go and live in the alley. My mother would no doubt disapprove, wanting me to further her, my father and myself in an alliance of power and wealth.

Perhaps she has motives behind such ideas but I for one will not go along, no mater how noble it may be to 'provide an heir' to the Hufflepuffs. I am my own person with my own mind and I intend to prove it when I escape on the day of the betrothal.

When I was released from my mother and her lunch I ran to my father in the library. I would say anything of anything to him, for he understood I was upset without needing the words. I think my father and I have a stronger bond than anyone else in my family. It is wonderful to have someone who understands me, no matter what the situation but alas the night came upon us in the library and I had to leave the towering shelves and warm chairs for my tower bedroom.

Moonlight shone off the half full face of Lady Luna, goddess of graciousness, hope, fertility and protector of women. I would have normally offered my prayers to her but I was too focused on tomorrow that I forgot to. Thank goodness she is a gracious goddess otherwise she might have cursed me.

Dark grey stone polished to a marble like quality shimmered off the glare of Luna's gaze. I rested my palm against the smooth stone and watched the fireflies twirl around the treetops of Glen. Peaceful murmurs of talk and sleep wafted from the village, making my chest tighten in sadness that one way or another I would leave Glen and it's wonderful people.

I sighed and tugged on my thin woollen shift. It barely did anything to my flat chest but it warmed me like the way Howart smiled at me. He truly was a good friend. As was Helga with her confidence and beauty. Tamara too made me feel content. Friends were a good thing to have.

I lied down on my goose feather bed and closed my eyes imagining each fibre of my being relaxing and calming. Tomorrow I would need to be as calm as possible so that no one would suspect that I was to run off and leave the pig alone. I would fly like my eagle to freedom.

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Islay12 here. How did you enjoy this chapter? I was trying to communicate Rowena's maturity and distaste for her mother and her ideals for her daughter. Also the sluttish dress represents that Rowena is being used as a pawn, a piece of meat to be used for her and the Hufflepuff's purposes. The dress is to draw Alexandar in.

Well leave me a review or message about how you liked it. I'd really appreciate it.