It was on a lovely day, Midsummer's Day to be exact, that they were wed. The air was warm, but not stifling, the sky was blue and cloudless. The castle grounds had risen to the occasion, helped, I believe by Helga's hard work and tender care, and had blossomed overnight. Where rolling hills met the shade of the forest, there we gathered. The lake glittered a deep blue, reflecting the heavens above. Even the birds seemed to sing with joy.
The bride was the picture of loveliness, wearing the white robes she had traveled in, far across the hills and heather. The wreath of flowers perched upon her head like a halo as her husband took her hands in his own and bent down to kiss her. There was great applause at this display of affection, and Godric smiled at the crowd gathered; students, faculty, and curious villagers who had come around once more, this time for reconciliation.
I stood at the edge of the festivities, quiet, watchful. I had spent my time trying to find faults in the lovely Genevieve, but truth be told, she had none. She had been as sweet and charming as possible throughout her introduction that day at the castle. She helped with the work as well as she could, and was a wonderful conversationalist… smart, and yet with a sense of wit that I could never possess. And her beauty was undeniably beyond compare. She lacked only one thing – magic. She was not a sorceress, and yet, she seemed to have an enchanting brand of magic all her own, one that made the stars pale in comparison to her shining eyes. Even when her face was at rest and her lips unsmiling, she had a calm beauty, like a statue of marble, yet very much alive. I could now see why Godric could love only her, why he had searched for her through the bitter winter.
* * * *
It was in the disruption after the feast, and the end of the school term that the impossible happened.
"Rowena!" cried a voice. It was one I had not heard in years. I turned in disbelief to face it's owner.
Vortigern had come for me.
The look on his face told the entire story. As he reached me, he knelt and kissed my hand. The years had not been as kind to him as they had to me. It had been fifteen years since I had last seen him, and in the meanwhile, he had become an old man, his once light hair turning white at the temples. It was long and unkempt. Behind him, I noted a small line of weary looking knights.
"Rowena," he breathed, repeating my name once more. "I have found you, at last."
"You haven't been searching all this time, have you?" I said shortly, laughing at him inside. He was so serious.
"I have," he replied, taking me aback. I lost the trail after the battle of my subjects and the Hengist." I winced at his possessive usage. "I thought I had lost you. I began a wanderer, the Walker, they called me. I scoured the countryside, hoping to hear of some tale of magic, of a beautiful sorceress. And at long last, I heard of this place…" he gestured, rather distractedly, "this castle. I journeyed here as fast as humanly possible, though that may not be much to you." He tried to smile, rather embarrassed. Getting to his feet, rather slowly, he asked me what I knew he would.
"Rowena, will you have me? I am sorry. I was a fool."
I paused, waiting for the outcry, expecting him to expect me for his 15 years of penance. But as the silence prolonged, the words did not come. He waited, patiently, looking sadder and older by the minute.
Just then, a musical laugh sounded from the tower, spreading across the grounds like music. In a moment, my mind was made up. I accepted Vortigern's hand. His face broke into hundreds of wrinkles as he smiled.
After going upstairs to gather my things, I took my quill and scribbled a hasty note, explaining my disappearance. As I flew down the great stairs, I passed Helga coming the other way. She opened her mouth to ask where I was going, but before she could speak, I was out the door, and on my way.
I entered the carriage waiting in front of the gates, and took my husbands hand. We drove away without a single glance back.
* * * *
Eventually he recounted his story to me, though not until the fifth year I had returned to him. It pained him to think of it. After I had fled from the Great Circle, my husband had received word that the Hengist was coming to visit his "dear" son-in-law. At that meeting, the Hengist had slain all of Vortigern's men, and imprisoned him for a time. Unbeknownst to me, my husband had been planning a rebellion from the east. If the plan had come into action, then perhaps the Jutes would have been destroyed. But he had been betrayed, and his rebellion was crushed, and he was punished. He told me of his escape into the mountains, and how the Briton rebels Aurelius Ambrose and Uther Pendragon had followed him all across Cambria, vowing to avenge the giving of Britannia. He felt despised by all – Britons and Jutes alike.
He had wandered through Cambria, trying to settle in different places, building fortresses along the way. At that time he still had a rather large following, but as he moved from one place to another, further north all the time, the numbers dwindled. His knights who had rushed to free him from prison decided to stay, one by one, to guard the embattlements and towers along the mountainside. Local people gravitated to these fortresses, setting up homes within the walls, and starting families, intermarrying with Vortigern's men. This is what had become of Godric's brave band – they had settled with their one time foes, and were now living peaceably in the mountains to the west.
But Vortigern had persisted on, ever searching. Finally, it seemed hopeless. He had followed my trail as far as he could, had learned my story from the Briton villagers, up to the point where we had been banished from the camp. Then, all trace was lost. For all he could surmise, I was dead, having fallen in the wilderness. So, by the lake of Llyn Dinas, he gathered together the last of his men, and set the foundation for his final tower, the one he was to spend the rest of his days in.
It was not to be. He had some problems in the building of the castle, given the spot he had chosen. It was a breeding ground for a particularly nasty group of dragons, who enjoyed knocking over the castle foundation almost every night. Exasperated, Vortigern searched out for help, and found it in the form of a young wizard from the south, Emrys Myrddin. Not only did Emrys help him banish the dragons, he also happened to be a former student of Hogwarts, a Gryffindor, who told him of my whereabouts. So, Vortigern moved on, leaving his castle to find me at long last.
* * * *
He had been married before I was born, you should know, to the grand daughter of a Roman Caesar. She had died giving birth to their sixth son. Now in his old age, he began to think wistfully of his children, who were now either dead or had forsaken him. So when I announced that I was with child, he became overjoyed. Sadly, he never saw our daughter. He died in his sleep on a stormy spring night.
I was up and about, unable to sleep. The dreams had come again to haunt me, though now I not only dreamed of the future, but of the past as well. I decided to take a walk through the orchard, though my nurse was strictly against it. "You'll catch your death of cold," she moaned, "and take the child with you." I walked through the crooked rows of trees, rejoicing in the feeling of the rain on my face, in my hair, down my neck, and falling onto my shoulders. In the distance, thunder rumbled. I watched as the heavens split open, and fiery bolts of lightening shot across the sky, illuminating the land of Cambria all the way to the rugged peaks in the distance. I shivered with delight.
As I turned to head back, the lightening shot down through the sky once more. I raised my hand to my mouth as it struck the great rowan grove by the fort. I stood on the clear hill and watched in awe as the fire leapt from one tree top to the next. Soon the forest was burning.
My nurse found me standing there, gaping at the scene. She did not think me right in the head, and thought it best for me to follow her into the kitchen. There she fixed me some of her hot brew. It was sitting there, sipping at the chalice, and dripping wet, that the page came in with the unexpected news. I dropped the clay cup, and it shattered on the floor. Nurse hastily got me a new one, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. I sat back, dazed. What was I to do now?
The fire burned on all night, and Vortigern slept in eternity. I counted the days, and waited for my child to be born.
* * * *
My daughter was born on Midsummer's eve, Ano Domoni 476 in the way of the Romans. It was uncommonly hot that year, all the crops had withered and the fields had burnt. I noticed nurse hanging amulets about, and I asked her what they were for.
"Keep the evil spirits away," she said in an ominous tone. "There's something not right in the country these days."
I merely smiled at her predictions, and went on my usual walk of solitude. I passed through the burnt forest, which had never fully lost the smell of the fire. It was quiet enough here to hear the movements of the earth. I stood still and listened.
Then it came. For a single second, I thought in my stupidity that an earthquake had begun. Then I realized the quake was inside of me. I fell to the ground, gasping for lost breath, clutching at my belly. The nurse had been walking, not far off, for she refused to let me walk alone in those days. She cried out to the gardener, who was inspecting the rose hedge 300 paces away. He ran for help.
I lay on the ground, staring at the high blue sky, where there was no sign of clouds. Red shots of pain flashed before my eyes like lightening, and I struggled to keep calm. I felt the animal within me creeping up, threatening to pour out of my mouth. The pain came again, sharper, and steady, like a pulse. For the first time in my life, I allowed the creature within to speak. I screamed. The ravens circled above.
It was there, on the charred ground of the forest, that my daughter was born. The nurse lifted her up, gave her a thwack on the back. She let out a healthy scream. "It's a girl, love," nurse proudly announced. I stared at her, this foreign being that I had created. She was uncommonly pale for a newborn. I remember Ophelia's childbirth, and how red and homely Lilith had been. My child was beautiful.
The nurse handed her to me gently, after wrapping her tightly in swaddling cloth. I pulled it loose to examine her. She had fine, long lashes, ten slender fingers, and ten slender toes. She stopped wailing for a moment, and looked toward me, her eyes not yet focusing. The little hair she had on top of her head was dark, like mine, but her eyes were the color of the sea on a stormy night, like her fathers had been. Overhead, a raven cawed, announcing her birth to the heavens.
"She will be called Brenna," I announced, "in honor of her grandfather, Bram of Ravenwood."
"A lovely choice for that baby. She will have hair as dark as a ravens wing when she gets older, like yours Ma'am."
They carefully carried me inside, and laid me out on my bed, my daughter by my side. I fell asleep gazing at her.
That night, for the first time in six and three score days, it rained.
* * * *