*                                               *                                               *                                               *

The wheels of the carriage rumbled over the dry road, jolting us this way and that. I stared out the window forlornly at the blackened battlefields that lined the road on either side. The Hengist had finally invited me to come see a battle, now that he was so certain of victory. The band of Briton soldiers had been defeated again and again, and were fleeing to the mountains of Cambria. The Hengist planned to trap them there, and make Britannia his.

I was traveling with my husband, but we were not speaking. The past two years had aged him greatly – the effects of losing his crown, and seeing his people run off by the Jutes were finally showing. And in two years, I had still not learned to love him. I shivered in the chill morning air, wrapping my cloak around me tighter.

"Close the window," he murmured, gazing out of the window on the other side of the carriage. "You'll catch your death of cold."

I pretended not to hear him over the noise of the wheels. Instead I focused my attention out the window. I was facing back toward the east, from whence we had come. It was still very early in the spring, and the land was recovering from a harsh winter. Certainly, the weather had been favorable for the Hengist's campaign, I thought. His soldiers were used to cold, hard winters, where the Britons were not.

The countryside had been one battlefields after another, marking the Hengist's progress. As we journeyed further west, the ground became blacker. Ash blew from the fields, across the land, kicking up clouds of dust. The smell of smoke grew ever present. Occasionally we would pass skeletons of soldiers, from both sides. As we traveled toward the setting sun, these bodies grew progressively more gruesome. Birds circled overheard, some landing to perch on the bodies and peck at the remaining flesh.

Along the desolate road we passed an occasional sentry, and would usually stop and ask him the latest news from the front. But as we wound further to the west, toward my homeland, the soldiers often walked in troops, with prisoners of war chained between them. Now we were passing an especially long chain of bedraggled peasants, some chained hand and foot. We must be nearing the front, I decided. Then I noticed the peculiar  thing – the chain was marching away from Londinium, toward the west. I must ask the Hengist about this when I arrive, I told myself.

I gazed down at the group. They were mostly men, but there were women and children and elderly along as well. There faces were lean and pale, with a haunted look – the look of one who has seen terrible suffering, even death. I began to turn away, but one face from the crowd struck my mind, at that very instant.

It was a face I recognized, like a long forgotten friend. Perhaps I had seen it in my travels through time. She was a wisp of a woman, trudging down the road like the rest of them. She leaned on the arm of a tall man for support, a man who looked more like her brother than her husband – I could only tell his true relation to her by the tender way he supported her. They were both emaciated, like walking skeletons. Both had black hair – hers long and wildly flowing, his short and shot with silver. He wore an exceptionally long beard. The woman raised her eyes to mine. They were dark and shadowed, yet burning, like coals in the fire. I felt my lips part, I wanted to reach out to her, to console her. Her husbands eyes darted up, shots of silver. He put his arm around her protectively. It was only then that I realized that she was with child.

I quickly leaned back against my seat, my eyes flashing over to Vortigern, praying he had not seen me watching her. My husband was beginning to think that I was unable to bear him an heir. In fact, I was quite able, but I took certain magical precautions that would not allow me to have a child. Somewhere, in the back of my conscience, I knew that it was not suppose to be, not yet. I would have plenty of time in later years.

We stopped to camp for the night atop a flat, dry hill. In the morning, we continued our monotonous journey. I stared out the window, hour after hour, my eyes passing over soldiers and prisoners, twists in the road and far away mountains. Then suddenly –

"Oh!" I cried out, turning behind me, and opening the door to speak to the driver. "Stop the carriage! Stop it at once!"

They must have thought me mad. Vortigern twisted about in his seat, mouth half open in a silent curse. I wrenched open the door and hopped out of the carriage before he had a chance to hold up an arm to restrain me.

My smile spread as I ran across the barren plain to the great circle I had stood by years before. I stopped at the edge of the ring, daring not to intrude before I offered up a silent prayer of thanksgiving. When I was done, I raised my head to the sky, and gently touched one of the monoliths. I was home.

The sound of running footsteps interrupted my silent reverie. The driver, Vortigern, the soldiers that had flanked the caravan for protection… all had rushed out after me. They arrived, panting, wondering what on earth I was doing. Vortigern looked at me as if I had gone mad. I smiled.

"This is it," I told him. "This is the great circle I have spoken to you about."

The corners of Vortigern's mouth curled up at me as he struck one of the rocks with his sword that he had drawn from it's sheath. "So this is your wondrous memorial," he said. "Impressive. I have always wanted to see it with my own eyes. Perhaps the Hengist can use it to see the outcome of the battle, no? Why not give it a try?" He laughed, a rather dry bitter laugh, and spit on the ground at the very center of the ring. His face contorted as he hissed, "Curse the sorcery of this heap of rubble, the same as has allowed my downfall –  Let it be damned!"

I flinched, but held my ground firmly and turned so that he could not see my expression.

Just then, the ground rumbled beneath my feet. I swayed, but righted myself, grasping to one of the great grey stones for support. I looked to the heavens, and saw a miraculous sight. The light of the sun was fading, yet at the same time, it became more brilliant than ever before. I shielded my eyes from it's blinding glare. When I looked again, the fiery orb had all but disappeared, save a glistening ring of rays like a celestial crown, colored in every shade imaginable. I turned to the king.

His face shone through the darkness, ghostly pale. It was then I knew, I no longer felt any bond between myself and this man; this quivering creature who trembled at the power of the very thing he pretended to defy. He was no longer the ruler who I had married. I had respected that man, even if I had not loved him. But this Vortigern, stripped of land and power, was unrecognizable. He was malformed by bitterness and hatred. He cowered at the darkness, like a small child.

Still, I did not make my decision until three days later. After crossing the river, we stopped to camp. The water, the stillness except for the gentle rustle of the wings of the birds spoke to me. In my heart, I knew I was close to home – Ravenwood was nearby. That evening, while the men were busy eating their supper, and laughing over the battle to come, I slipped out into the forest. It was dark, but I did not need a torch or a lantern to walk the path. I knew it as a blind man, just by the sounds and smells. They had refused to change, constants in my spinning world. As I neared the village, I grew more and more excited, my heart leapt wildly in my chest. I broke loose from the trees, and made my way over the hills, trekking toward the low mountains over which the sun had long set.

I sensed it before seeing it. I should have realized earlier on, as I missed the sounds of the ravens cries echoing over the glen and through the woods. As I topped the crest of the final hill, I cast my eyes to the gentle valley where once there had been houses and farms and the sounds of children laughing, and music playing. Gaping ghosts of ruins stared back at me with their empty eyes.  No warm fire burned in a hearth where I had planned to spend the night, at a neighbors, or (perhaps wishfully) at my mothers. But there was no life in the valley, save a few patches of low heather, growing out of stone walls where nothing else could root. Ravenwood had been leveled, scorched by the flames of fire. I had seen the scene before, and cast my eyes away from it. When it had played again in my dreams, I had believed it only to be my guilty soul giving me my penance. I had never imagined it to be a vision rather than a memory.

I entered the house closest to the edge of the village. I pushed aside the door, which creaked on it's blackened hinges. I peered into the darkness, and recoiled at what I saw. Still at the dinner table were three bodies – A man, his wife, and a young girl. The girl's skeletal hand still clasped a wooden chalice, her arm outstretched, and her head lying face down. Dark hair still clung to her scalp. All three bodies were blackened, yet they looked as if they had been caught in the middle of supper, too surprised to even move from the table. I bowed my head, recognizing the signs of a curse. I consoled myself with the fact that they had not suffered.

All in all, I counted three and three score bodies. The other houses were the same, but not everyone had had such a merciful death. Bodies lay in the street, where they had fallen after catching fire. A small dog lay curled into a ball, his body virtually unmarked. I smiled bitterly, my face unconsciously echoing Vortigern's expression as he had cursed magic. The Hengist was cruel, crueler than I had ever let myself know. The chance of the deaths – dogs who had been allowed to die by the killing curse, and people who had been left to burn in agony. I felt ill – not in the way one would think, but as if my heart had ripped itself in two, and was holding on by a few bloody threads.

I found a small hut at the foot of the mountains. It had not been badly burnt, as it looked as if the dwelling had been abandoned years before. I scraped away cobwebs, and made myself a bed from the straw which had fallen from the hole in the roof through which the stars shone. In the morning, when I rose, I continued in my path to the west, up into the mountains, toward Cambria. I refused to turn back to look at the rising sun.

It took several days to reach the base of the great mountain at which the Britons were camped. The terrain was rockier than I remembered, and several times I tripped over my long robes, or slid down a rocky path in my delicate slippers. By the end of my journey, the hem of my dress was tattered, and my hair blew freely around my face. I smiled at my reflection in the pool where I had stopped to take a drink. I was free again, for the first time since I had left home, ten long years ago. How they had seemed an eternity.

By nightfall, I reached the top of a crest, and gazed into the valley below. It was a camp to be certain – but the mood was quite different from the one I had just left. The scene looked the same: rows and circles of tents, hidden between trees, and small fires over which dinner was roasting and boiling away in pots. As the smell wafted up to me, my stomach growled. I realized that I hadn't eaten in days. Children stood patiently in line, waiting for mothers to serve them dinner in their wooden bowls. There was a peace over the camp, but a quiet peace – almost too quiet. The laughter and music that had followed on late into the night at the Jute camp was absent here. Not even a lullaby drifted sweetly through the air. The only song being sung was the whispering of the wind in the trees.

After considering how I could make my entrance for several moments, I decided to walk down and talk to some of the women. But as I approached, they shooed the children away into the tents, faces dark.

"Good evening," I began, trying to keep my voice steady and pleasant. "I have come bearing information about the advancing army. I would like to request an audience with your leader."

As soon as the words left my lips, I cursed to myself for my blunder. Request an audience? That was not the way to speak to be accepted by these people. I spoke like a princess – had I truly forgotten from whence I had come?

A stout lady with a hardened face had stepped forward as I had spoken. Now she stood there with her arms crossed, and said not a word, but stared directly at me. Usually, I would have stared straight back, defiant to her silence, but something in her eyes forced me to lower my gaze to the ground like a cowardly dog. She motioned to a younger lady, thin and frail, who disappeared off toward the next group of tents.

Within moments, she had returned, bringing with her several burly men, armed with farmer's tools – scythes and pitchforks. The largest of the men spoke.

"Igraine tells us that you want to see the leader of the Britons. Pray tell, who sent you?"

I flinched at the mockery in his voice, but answered, "I have come of my own accord with information that may help you defeat the Jutes."

One of the woman, with a mess of straw colored hair, whispered loudly. "She has the accent that they do." Several others murmured in assent.

I turned to face her. "I have come to help you. The Hengist is camped a good walk of seven days to the east. They are overly confidant in their ability to win this battle, but with my knowledge of their plans – "

I was cut off as someone cried, "She's a spy!"

I felt my temper rise. "I am not a spy, I left the Jute camp and journeyed here of my own accord, as I told you!"

The circle drew in closer, the men holding their torches high. I had an urge to grab my wand from my cloak, but I resisted. Instead, I turned back to the leader of the group.  "Please," I implored. "I want to help. They have destroyed all I have as well – my village, my family…"

For a moment, I thought he was going to believe me. The rest of the crowd watched, glancing back and forth between our faces intently. Then the murmur rose again.

"Trying to make us pity her, I expect…"

"…listen to her voice, she isn't from a village…"

"She sounds like a lady of the court – Vortigern's crowd…"

"One of the Hengist's traps, of course…"

I wanted to scream, to cry, to curse them all. Couldn't they see? I would have made such an obvious trap, especially if they had known my true identity. But I suspected that they would lock me up even sooner if I told them my title was Lady Rowena, Queen of Britannia. Former queen by now, I supposed, my husband a mere puppet crown, and a good weeks journey away.

"What is your name?" the man asked.

"Rowena," I responded, lifting my chin and staring him straight in the eye. "Rowena of Ravenwood."

"Well, Rowena of Ravenwood, for our safety, and for your own, I think it best if we hold you until our own men return with their reports. I trust you will come along easily now, and not make trouble for us."

I folded my hands behind me, and head held high, followed him. We stopped not in front of a tent, but a small cabin, deeper in the forest. I was led in, and the door shut firmly behind me. I turned in time to hear a heavy bar being pushed into place, and the man's gruff voice. "You there, stay there and keep watch until Lion-heart returns."

I sank down to the floor, and held my head gingerly between my fingers. How long would this take? The Hengist's army could be here in a matter of days, and here I was, the hope for the Britons, locked up in their detention chamber. I glanced about. The building actually wasn't very bad, the roof had been newly thatched, and it was rather cozy. I wondered where the generals headquarters was – if this bunch of peasants had managed to find a general. If I knew, I could slip out in the night. But if I couldn't find him, if that plan failed, and I was found sneaking about, they would surely believe I was a spy, and then they would never accept my help. I sighed in frustration. Their lookouts had better return soon. Until then, I had no wise choice but to sit and wait.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

            For several days I followed this plan. Twice a day, a woman would come in, and silently hand me a bowl of gruel or stew, depending on the time of day. She had entered ten times, meaning that the next morning would be my sixth day. I could wait no longer. I wrapped my dark blue cloak around me, hoping to hide all the white of my dress, and pointed my wand at the door. "Alohomora," I whispered, and gently pushed my way outside.

The night air blew my hair gently astray as I lifted my hood, exposing my face the cool breeze. I lifted my eyes to the moon, as if searching for a sign. I raised my hands in the air, threw back my head, and closed my eyes. I whispered the words of the parchment, words once foreign to my lips, now known, repeated them again and again, as if it were a song. All around me, whispers echoed my chant. A sharp current of air dove past, a whispering spirit, then another, from a different direction. Soon they surrounded me, a hurricane of whispers, a ghostly choir. I opened my eyes and looked toward the east.

A silent cavalcade poured over the ridge from whence I had come – the Hengist's horsemen. I turned my head to the south. An army on foot, armed with bows and arrows stopped atop the ridge. And finally, as I looked to the west, I gasped at the sight of yet another legion of soldiers, this group armed with catapults. In the early morning dream-light, the Hengist's forces descended upon the camp. My hand flew to my mouth as I saw giant balls of flame rip apart tents. A great wail rose up from the camp…  men, bleary-eyed, stumbled out of bed, only to be cut in half by the Jutes on their great armored horses. The Hengist had led the cavalry down the mountain, and was casting his staff here and there, laughing as the green light felled the Britons. I forced myself to watch as the survivors ran to the north, pursued by the army. I looked back down to the camp, to the burning skeletons and the bloody bodies. I couldn't take it anymore. I collapsed, clawing at the dirt. Tears stung my eyes as I tried to contain the wail that was welling up inside of me. The winds ceased, and I returned to the present, lying on the ground in front of my hut.

For a long while I lay breathing in and out, as if I had forgotten how and was learning once again. Painfully, I regained my breath. I lifted my eyes to see bobbing lights. For a moment, stupidly, I thought they were fireflies or fairies. As my vision cleared, I saw what they truly were – people carrying torches, rushing to the spot where I had fallen.

For the next few days, I drifted in and out of slumber. They now kept a watch by my door, and a woman sat by me in the room as I fell in and out of the dreams. I'm sure she thought I was mad, speaking in foreign tongues of things she had never seen or thought to exist.

When I finally awoke, it was to the sound of beating hooves, coming directly by my cabin. The woman jumped up, and ran out the door, leaving it wide open. The guard abandoned me too. I rose, still half in a dream, to see what the commotion was.

I wandered out into the clearing. There stood five men, mounted on horses. They must be the scouts, I thought blearily. Have they confirmed my news yet?

One of the scouts spoke. "They are tracking us, on foot and horse, to the south and the east! We must go toward the mountains immediately!" There was a murmur of assent, and a sudden scramble to prepare.

"No!" My voice rang through the words, clear as a bell. I was fully awake now. "If you go west, you meet certain doom! They are coming from that direction, slower, but they will be here soon. They are armed with great catapults, and will burn you to the ground!"

The horsemen turned. "Who is this?" one of them shouted.

The woman rushed forward. "She's only an enemy spy sir, don't mind what she says!"

"I swear to you," I gasped, "if you go west, you will end the rebellion, and Britannia will fall into the hands of the Jutes. If you want to survive, you must go north!" By this point men were grabbing my arms, holding me back as if I would strike out at the five.

The tallest of the horsemen held up his hand. "Let her go," he said calmly. "Her words ring with a certain truth."

The Britons gaped at him. I straightened myself, brushing at the dust that caked my dress. "Thank you," I said.

"Who are you?" the horseman asked. I noticed that while the four other scouts were quite fair, with light hair and blue eyes, he was dark, like a Pict or a Jute. Yet I knew I could trust him.

"I am Rowena of Ravenwood. I was born in Cambria, but have been in Londinium for the past ten years. I have first hand knowledge that the Hengist was planting troops to the south and the east, and I have seen his troops in the west as well." I did not bother to explain exactly how I had seen them, but waited to see if he would believe me.

He nodded briefly to one of the other scouts, a man with hair so sun-bleached it was almost white in contrast with his ruddy face. The man nodded back. "We head north at once!" he proclaimed.

The women and the children were first to go, accompanied by their husbands and fathers. The rest stood guard on the crest, waiting until they were safely into the forest, several miles away. I stayed with the horsemen. They did not speak, in fact, the only noise on the ridge was that of the horses snuffling and stomping. Yet their eyes looked toward the horizon warily. They watched on into the night. One of the men finally looked down, and said kindly, "You should get some rest. We will watch, and wake you if we must leave."

I sat on the grass, knees pulled to my chin, but could not sleep.

It was almost morning when the Jutes arrived. In the dark, they set up their phalanxes on the three sides of the valley. If we had not known they would be there, they would have gone unnoticed until day break. By then it would have been too late.

Putting his finger to his lips, the dark rider backed his horse silently down the hill. The others followed suit. We had almost reached the bottom when a twig snapped to our right. We all turned. The enemy had spotted us. The men on foot broke out toward the woods in a sprint as the battle horn was blown. The riders turned. The dark rider grabbed my hand. "Quickly now… you cannot run in that dress." He hoisted me up, onto the horses back. Then he took off. The horse was as fast as the wind, and I held onto the rider for dear life.

The small band of Jutes pursued us only to the woods. There they stopped, waiting for reinforcements to continue the chase. We were well on our way by the time we got started. We rode until we reached a craggy outcropping of rock that loomed high above the river. There, the riders dismounted, and led their horses toward the cliff face. The dark rider helped me down. I looked up at the great rock, uncertain of where we were to be heading. "Can you swim?" asked the dark rider.

I nodded. I had had to ford rivers before, and had quickly learned how to stay afloat.

We crossed the water, which never became very deep. At it's peak, it reached my shoulders. I followed two of the riders to the rock, the other three bringing up the rear. My heavy dress was now dragging with the extra weight the water had given it. I slipped and one of the riders caught me. We climbed into a crevice in the rock, it's angle hidden across the river. We climbed higher, until we reached a large cave. I stumbled in, and was met by a host of wide-eyed creatures. This was where the Britons had come to hide. A small child gazed up at me. His mother hugged him close, as if I were a child-eating hag. I stayed toward the front of the cave with the scouts

From the cave, we could not see the Jute horsemen, but we could hear the steady clip-clop as they passed by. The scouts slipped out of the cave and down the rock face silently. They were gone for many hours, but when they returned, they brought along the good news that the Jutes had turned back to the south-east, and had made no signs of coming back.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

We emerged from the caves several days later, and life as it was in the Briton camp returned to usual. A few of the ladies begrudgingly accepted me when I offered to help with the wash and mending of clothes. They presented me with a more practical set of robes, which I gladly took. I was starting to enjoy the routine of things – it was like being back in Ravenwood – when I was called upon. The leader of the Britons wanted to see me.

I was highly skeptical. I had seen no leader in that last flight. It had seemed thoroughly uncalculated. However, I went, following Igraine to the clearing in the forest. Four of the riders stood there. I looked around for the fifth, realizing him to be my dark rider.

Suddenly, there he was in front of me. He laughed as I jumped, hand flying to my mouth. "Sorry to frighten you, Rowena," he said, "but I enjoy my secrecy now and then. Tell me, how did you know the position of the Hengist's troops?"

I glanced around at the four horsemen. "I already told you," I answered simply.

He followed my eyes to the pale faces of the Britons. "Excuse us for a moment," he said. They nodded, and left.

Once they had gone, he let out a small noise, almost like a sigh, but not quite. "They are good fellows," he said, "and I chose them not only because they are able to practice magic, but because they are loyal, and trustworthy. They would die for me, and I for them, even though we are not of the same country."

I looked at him questioningly.

"No, I am not from Britannia," he said, shaking his head.

"Then why do you fight for us?" I questioned.

"I am from Caledonia," he answered, "though my mother was from Cambria. The Hengist began his campaign of terror along the northern borders. He burnt our villages, destroyed our crops, killed our men, tortured our women and children. My own village was attacked, while I was away. I still do not know what happened to my loved ones. I will fight against the Hengist until I find what happened to them, or until one of us perishes in battle."

I was silent.

"You can trust me," he said. "I heeded your word back at our camp, did I not?"

This seemed to bring me back to the reason I was here. I felt myself bristle.

"A fine leader you are," I said, "running off with your scouts and leaving the camp unprotected."

"My men were at the camp. And they are good men, simple, but good. Just because they failed to listen to you does not make them evil. They were wary of you. Why not? A stranger, with the accent of the court, dressed in fine robes, comes into camp and tells them exactly where the Hengist will strike?" He was up and pacing now. "Sounds suspicious to me."

I sighed in exasperation. "And that is exactly why they should have trusted me!"

He stopped and looked at me. "These people have seen their children die, their towns destroyed. They have good reason to be cautious. And they are loyal. They wanted our word before any decision was made."

"Their loyalty will be their downfall," I said, massaging my brow.

He shook his head. "You do not see, madam, that their loyalty is the only thing that keeps them alive. Haven't you ever had something to live for?"

His question struck me a full blow. "No," I said resignedly. "I don't suppose I have." I sighed once more, this time in defeat. "I am a lady of the court, in a sense," I began. "I also served the Hengist for many years through my divination, though I had no idea what he used the knowledge I had given him for. I managed to escape on my way from Londinium, and made my way here to warn these people."

"And what made this sudden change?" he asked.

"I too have seen my village burnt and destroyed, my heart and my home, that my father founded himself," I responded.

He lowered his eyes. "I am sorry," he said.

I shook my head, embarrassed. "Don't be," I said, "you have suffered the same as I. I want to help, not dwell on the past."

He knelt and took my hand, kissing the back of it gently. "Wise words, Lady Rowena of Ravenwood. Godric of Gryffindor welcomes you to the camp of the Britons."

"How may I be of service?" I asked.

"You are a seer, you said?"

"Of sorts," I replied, with an inward smile. "What would you like to know?

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

 "Right over that ridge there, see? Between the two clumps of trees?"

I nodded. I was part of a mission, a rather risky mission. We had been able to avoid the Jutes by my divinations, but the Briton troops were dwindling, and we needed all the help we could get.

"Let's move to the left, fifty paces," he whispered. "Rowena, stay here and keep watch." I pressed my lips together impatiently, but said nothing. At least I had been allowed to come.

I watched as the nine men crawled over to the covering of trees, watched breathlessly as they made their way down the hill. They were almost to the prisoners when the Jute guard called out in his tongue. There was swearing, and somebody cried out, "IMPEDIMENTIA!" The riders overtook the remaining guards and stunned them as well. Then all was still. The prisoners lifted their heads. I could not hear what Godric was telling them, but a tall man stood up, and clasped his hand in a brother fashion. I knew we had been received favorably.

Before we left for camp, I tended to some of the wounded. I had never been a very good nurse, so I was quite glad when some of the healthier prisoners asked to help. I had just finished applying a poultice to a sore on a child's leg when the tall man approached me. "My wife is ill." He had a very aristocratic voice I noted, and I wondered why he had been held captive. "Could you please tend to her?"

I followed him to the shade of the trees where the woman lay. When I saw her, it was then I realized – these were the two that had caught my eye on the road. She lay there, her splendid black hair spread out across her shoulders. Her belly was swollen even greater than last time I had seen her, and she still had a ways to go. I knelt down beside her.

"Would you like some thing to drink, dear?" I asked in a soft voice.

She nodded. "Please." Her voice was low and clear, with a foreign ring to it.

I brought her the skein I had been passing around. She drank from it as if she had been lost in the desert for days. "Thank you," she murmured, finally handing it back to me.

"You're quite welcome."

"Where did you come from?" she asked, a confused look on her face. "You do not have the accent of the rest of these people. You seem familiar somehow."

I lowered my eyes, embarrassed. "I lived in Londinium for ten years," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "Perhaps that is the accent you hear."

He dark eyes flashed with a faulty recognition. "Ah, yes. My husband and I journeyed there from his homeland in the east. Salazar thought our opportunities would be greater there, but we were expelled from the city. All who have a great talent for sorcery are now."

This caught my attention. "The Hengist is persecuting the magical community?" I asked, frowning.

She nodded.

"And what of Diagon Alley?" I asked.

"It is still safe," she replied. "They have hidden the entrance away with more spells and devices than before. It is our haven."

"But this makes no sense," I pondered aloud. "The Hengist is one of us, although he has no great talent."

"But that is why we are persecuted," she said. "He needs our services. Seers, curse-casters, healers… we are all called into his service. He has enslaved us."

I sat back, my eyes closed tightly. So this is what it had come to. I had no doubts any longer. I had not been assisting the good fight. But now I must. I got to my feet. "Do you need help walking?" I asked.

"No," she replied. "I am weak, but a little food would replenish my strength."

"Oh, yes," I said absent-mindedly. "Food!" I dug about it my sack, and retrieved a small, rather flat loaf of bread I had been carrying, and some dried fruit. As I handed it to her, I glanced over to Godric. He was conferring with the four riders, and with the tall man called Salazar.

The dark-eyed lady thanked me again when she had finished. I took her hands and helped her to her feet. "What is your name?" she asked me.

"Oh! Quite sorry… I am Rowena."

"Pleased to meet you Rowena. My name is Ophelia." She extended the palm of her hand in a gesture of sisterhood. I took it.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

When I spoke with Godric that evening, he seemed quite satisfied with our little trek. Salazar, and his wife Ophelia were wizards from Slytherin, a small town north-east of Londinium. He had the gift of talking to serpents, which could prove useful. That was something neither of us could do – cull an animal out of a field, and ask them where the Jutes were headed for. The only place I could speak to the ravens was within the realm between the winds.

Godric and I held council quite often in those days, to discuss where we would hold to next. He would have loved to be able to attack the Hengist's troops, but he was prudent enough to avoid such an encounter, knowing that his troops would be massacred if he attempted such a feat with so few men. But he had been right, the Britons were loyal, ready to follow him to the ends of the earth if need be. His plan was to defend the mountain realms of the west, and to build up resistance in the north and south as well. He sent parties of men out, and they all came back with favorable news. Entire villages joined the Briton cause, threw out the Jute soldiers, and set up strong holds along the mountains. In the sixty nights I had been there, a chain had been set up, defending Cambria from the eastern attacks.

It was now well into the spring time, and we sat outside as we discussed what was to come. Occasionally he would lapse into talk about his homeland. He was intensely devoted to it, and would speak of it -  a rocky, desolate land of lakes, moors and mountains. But something was always lacking in his description of it.

"But what of the people?" I asked. "Are they as barbaric as it is believed in the south?"

"Some are," he said, gazing up at the night sky. "But there are also villages, small towns, just like this land. The people are beautiful…" his voice trailed off as he got that distant look in his eye.

"You must have lost someone you loved dearly," I commented.

"Lost," he said, "but hopefully not forever."

"Your wife?" I questioned.

"No," he shook his head, "though I hoped that she would be."

I pulled my knees to my chin. "Tell me about her."

He sighed, a sigh like a summer breeze. "She was beautiful… light, full of life. Her eyes were as green as the new leaves on the tree, and her hair like sunshine."

"And what was her name?"

"Genevieve. My dear Gennie." He leaned back in order to survey the heavens more clearly. "Have you ever been in love, Rowena?"

I thought for a moment. Had I ever loved? I had loved my mother, as a child loves their mother, my long lost father I had wished for… I had hated Phineas, loved Owen like a brother… obeyed the Hengist… respected Vortigern…

"No," I replied.

His eyes did not waver from the stars. "No," he repeated. "You are too wise to ever fall in love."

I was glad when Salazar joined us, for I knew not how to answer him.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

That night I did not search for the future. The future found me instead. I had slipped off into a dream, when a knock came at my door. Arousing myself, I crept to the door, and opened it a crack. "Who is it?" I whispered into the darkness. No one answered, but I heard the flapping of wings. I searched for the source of the sound, following it deep into the forest. Finally it ceased, in a rustle of wings. I looked above, into the canopy of trees.

There my friend the raven sat, staring down at me with glittering eyes. "Why have you come for me?" I asked. "I did not seek you out."

The raven looked at me greedily. "For a prize, I will tell you."

Impatiently, I pulled one of my silver earrings out of my ear, and handed it to him. He swooped down, taking it in his claw, and hid it away. "The Hengist has discovered that a leader exists in the Briton forces. He has ordered his assassination."

I caught my breath. "Do they know his name?" I asked.

The raven shook it's head. "They only call him Lion-Heart."

I put my hands to my face. I had grown fond of Godric, fonder than I had realized. "When will it be?"

"I cannot tell you when, only how," he said. "Rowena of Ravenclaw, you will be his downfall."

I was too upset to correct him on my name. Instead I turned, and headed back out of the forest, tears streaming down my face.

When I awoke, I was still crying. The sun was shining in through the cracks of the thatched roof of the lean-to. I felt the dread release my body. I relaxed, falling back onto my mattress. It was only then that I realized I only wore one earring.

I searched frantically for the silver disc, but could not find it anywhere. In agony, I went to find him. I came upon the four light riders. I asked the one with the sun-bleached hair, Lazarus, where he had gone.

"He's out on a journey, madam," was the response. "Left this morning before daybreak."

I cursed to myself. "Can you catch up with him?"

"No madam." Lazarus looked concerned. "Is it urgent?"

"Yes, very."

"You'd better go tell Salazar. He's in charge while Lion-Heart is gone."

I mumbled my thanks, and headed off for the Slytherin tent. Ophelia was standing outside, and I bid her to get her husband. He came quickly, and listened as I explained myself. "So you see," I said breathlessly, "I must leave."

He regarded me shrewdly, stroking his beard. "Yes, perhaps that would be the best course of action. But you must be careful to avoid the Hengist's troops. If you are captured…"

"I will lead them on a false trail," I said quickly. "But I must leave at once. Send the horsemen out after him. I will go in the opposite direction."

He nodded, "Fare-thee-well, Rowena."

I turned. "The same to you."

I flew from the camp on horseback. I was a poor rider, but I needed to go as far away as possible. I needed to change the flow of time, yes, for my own devices. I rode on into the night with no rest. As we leapt a wall, the horse stumbled, and threw me. I lay in the dirt, a thin trickle of blood down my cheek. I turned on my side, and watched the events unfold before me, like a mirage.

I saw his horse, saw him arriving back at camp. As soon as he received the news of my departure, he galloped off again. I saw him splash through the brooks I had, jump across the walls I had. I saw him stop in the middle of a field, and extend his arm to someone out of my view.

"No," I cried, "keep going," but he did not hear me.

I struggled to get up. I climbed onto my almost-lame horses back, weak from the loss of blood. The crimson liquid was pouring down my cheek. I retraced my path, galloped out to the plain where he had been. I stopped in horror. He was holding out his hand to help me onto his horse.

But it was not me. I was standing right there, my gushing blood proof that I was alive.

"Godric, no!" I cried.

His eyes flickered up, I caught the recognition in them. His mouth opened slightly as he looked back down to the false Rowena. He raised his staff. "IMPEDIMENTIA!"

The figure fell to the ground, and as it did, it's shape grew. From my hood fell the burly head of the Hengist.

"It's a trap," I screamed, "run!"

From either side of the valley came the two armies, vicious animals starved for the blood of their foes. It was terrible.

When the Hengist regained his senses, he mounted a horse, and drew his staff. I knew what I had to do. I ran toward him, the words on my lips. He turned, surprised. We both yelled the curse at the same moment. "AVADA KEDAVRA."

But neither fell. We seemed to be locked, for a moment, outside of time. "Well, if it isn't the traitor," he sneered. "My own daughter, the betrayer. Your death would have come more gently if you'd bled to death on that rock in the road."

I flinched. "You are not my father. My father was Bram of Ravenwood, a noble and true man. You are neither."

At this he raised his staff again. He would have had me.

But at that moment, another voice bellowed, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" The Hengist turned in his saddle, in time to see it coming. It hit his general, seated behind him.

"Well, Lion-Heart," he said, "let us battle this out like true men." He drew his sword, a heavy, serrated blade.

As Godric drew his sword, I realized that I had never seen it before. In the same instant, I also realized that he had never once used the killing curse in any ambush we had made. He was truly honorable. My eyes fixed to his blade of shining silver, the handle embedded with rubies.

"This ends it all, Hengist," he said.

And there they dueled, in the center of the mass of bodies, all swords and spears and arrows. I winced as the Hengist almost caught Godric's arm. But he turned in time, planting a neat blow between the Hengist's ribs.

It took several more jabs for me to realize that something was not right. The Hengist should have been bleeding heavily by now, as any mortal would. But he didn't seem to feel the blade at all. He must have put a spell on himself. It was another trick, one that used Godric's honor as it's bait. I ran out to them, ducking arrows and axes. I raised my hands in the air, holding my wand high. "FINITE INCANTATUM!"

Godric understood. The Hengist turned to me, and roared, and Gryffindor had a clear shot at his back. He could have ended it right there. But something, some flicker of remorse, made him pause. In that instant, the Hengist picked up his heavy sword, and flung it at me.

Without a sound, Godric disappeared from his saddle, then reappeared between me and the sword. He held his own blade up against the flying one. The Hengist's sword cut his in two, and sank deep into his armor. Godric fell back on me. From the ground, I yelled once more, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" But the Hengist dissipated before my eyes. His black horse fell to the ground with a mighty thud. Without their leader, the Jutes quickly disappeared over the hill from whence they had come. Our men who were still able to stand helped the injured. When they came across Godric, his head in my lap, a great wail rang out across the valley.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *

It was a three day journey to the sea, which gave me far too much time to ponder my actions. I tried to keep busy, but the inevitable questions came – if I hadn't run, would the same events have occurred? Where was the Hengist now? What was to become of the Britons now that they had lost their leader?

They laid him out, cleaned his wounds, dressed him in his best clothes, put his broken sword by his side. In this manner, they carried him to the sea. They placed him on a great raft, heaping it with the flowers that grew in the late summer months. As the sun was setting in the west, they carried the raft down the steep slope to the water's edge. I stood beside them sadly. Leaning over the float, I whispered "Reparo," and lightly tapped his broken sword. I couldn't bear to leave it in such a sad state, even though it was custom. I ignored the murmurs. I leaned over and kissed his brow. "Fare-thee-well, Godric," I murmured. "May you join Genevieve out on the sea…" I threw a flower onto the bier.

With that, the men pushed the raft into the choppy waves. Lazarus and Gideon stood side by side, the two remaining horsemen. Damian and Alphonse had perished in the battle. Salazar stood on the cliff above, his arm around Ophelia. All up and down the slope stood the Britons, the last of their race on earth. One voice pierced the night air, a sweet arrow of song, and many others joined. My throat closed in tight, and a single tear rolled down my cheek. We watched float until it became a speck on the horizon, engulfed by the brilliance of the setting sun. Then darkness fell, and he was gone.

*                                               *                                               *                                               *