Forum Index > Roleplaying > The Founders of Hogwarts
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Creativity
Level 72
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Joined: 3/4/2013
Threads: 255
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Posted: 6/16/2021 at 10:45 PM
Post #1
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Creativity
Level 72
Cutely Creative
Joined: 3/4/2013
Threads: 255
Posts: 5,904
Posted: 6/16/2021 at 11:07 PM
Post #2
Perhaps it would've been a wiser decision to steal horses, Rowena thought bitterly as she adjusted her grip on the basket that seemed to be getting heavier by the minute. She didn't even know why she was the one carrying it - after their most recent rest, Helga had had such a strange look on her face; disappointed, perhaps. The next thing she knew, Rowena was scooping up the basket with an irritable comment to keep moving. It was a valiant act of altruism, and a full hour into the next stretch of their journey west, she was just about done.
"Take the thing," she said curtly as she carelessly pushed the basket towards her handmaiden. Helga always seemed to adore Helena, anyway, far more than Rowena did. That was fine by her.
Statistically, most infants died before their first year. If only one could be so lucky.
No, instead, the little brat that had the audacity to almost murder Rowena more than once was nearing the end of her first year, and showed no signs of wanting to leave. Since Rowena held less violent tendencies than the infant, she wouldn't be the one to take the life she'd given, no matter how much she wished she didn't have to deal with the burden.
They'd been travelling for three days already, and without a map nor a working knowledge of the geography, they could very well be nearing the edge of the world, and they wouldn't even know it until they'd fallen off into the abyss.
At least they were free, she supposed as she slipped her hand into the pocket of her dress and secured her grip around her wand.
Britters
Level 72
The Eggstraordinaire
Joined: 8/25/2014
Threads: 167
Posts: 2,041
Posted: 6/25/2021 at 11:44 AM
Post #3
Life was truly strange. Truthfully, however, Helga had grown quite used to it by now. When she was a young girl running through the trees of the Black Forest, long sunkissed hair streaming out behind her, the idea that this was what her future held would have seemed the definition of absurdity. She remembered feeling so free and full of hope, the possibilities before her endless and exhilarating...and her reality was far from anything she had imagined.
The good news? Helga was still very much full of hope...though how was anyone's guess...
"Yes, ma'am," came the amiable, automatic response when Rowena passed her the basket. She internalized the sigh which longed to escape and it wasn't until Rowena turned her back for a moment that a deep look of sadness flashed briefly across her face.
While it was certainly difficult for Helga to watch the other woman treat her child with such gruff indifference, she had been with Rowena long enough to feel she at least understood...a little. The poor thing had been forced into marriage, a child practically thrust upon her simply for the "good of the family line", and with no one to guide her at any point, to make her feel loved and therefore be able to love others.
Some might look at the current situation they were in and assume Helga was simply tagging along for little Helena's sake, but the truth was Rowena meant just as much to her as the fussing baby girl now sitting up in her lap.
"Hush, engelchen," she murmured into the child's ear, her hand absently running through the soft brown hair, "Miss Helga will make our dinner soon."
Creativity
Level 72
Cutely Creative
Joined: 3/4/2013
Threads: 255
Posts: 5,904
Posted: 6/28/2021 at 8:36 PM
Post #4
If Rowena were feeling sentimental (and oftentimes, she was most decidedly not), she would go so far as to call Helga an acquaintance. An egregious display of affection, she knew, but one that it could be said Helga was deserving of, rather than being flattened down to a mere stranger or servant. Both of which she technically was, in Rowena's mind.
See, Helga had been her handmaiden for over a dozen years now, and she had served her quite well, for a handmaiden that is. Despite their distant relationship, Rowena had come to develop a budding trust in the blonde.
That is why, when threatened with that which would completely shatter her soul and boil her down to bones and sinew, Rowena chose Helga to venture out into the world with. Helga was smart, and she knew things that Rowena herself had not been able to learn. Besides that, they were both witches, and two witches alone in a cruel and unforgiving world would always have a better chance at survival than one... right?
It certainly didn't make a difference that Helga's cooking was exquisite. Not a difference at all, no sir.
"This is a dingy little thing, isn't it?" she remarked as they came upon the next village. "Look at that, the walls are overwhelmed with muck and grime. We mustn't stay here much longer. I fear my heart couldn't take it."
Britters
Level 72
The Eggstraordinaire
Joined: 8/25/2014
Threads: 167
Posts: 2,041
Posted: 7/9/2021 at 2:48 PM
Post #5
There were two things in life that Helga excelled at: children and cooking. It was both areas of expertise that had brought her into Rowena's life in the first place, and in her heart she truly did not regret it even with the situation she currently herself being rather perilous. She was quite determined to not leave the other women's side, and not just because she was quite sure the child's safety would be questionable at best with just her mother...though that was certainly a factor.
It was true that Rowena was not much of a mother, but Helga knew that it wasn't really her fault. With no one to show her how to be a mother it was rather miraculous the child was still alive. A pang of guilt accompanied that last thought, accurate thought it may be, and with a faint wince she looked up at the dingy sight before her, the automatic motion of her steps coming to a brief halt.
The village certainly wasn't very lively, but there was something about the atmosphere that made her wonder...
"Hm?" she murmured briefly, turning her head to look at Rowena as she continued speaking. Oh, for Merlin's sake... she thought to herself, her ability to resist rolling her eyes at the drama in the other woman's voice honed from years of experience.
"Yes, ma'am," she said politely, readjusting the baby basket, "Perhaps we should see about food and accommodations first, though." They had some money with them, but bartering was easy when you had magic, and of course Helga was always willing to offer her services in the kitchen in exchange for meals.
Creativity
Level 72
Cutely Creative
Joined: 3/4/2013
Threads: 255
Posts: 5,904
Posted: 7/11/2021 at 10:05 PM
Post #6
Truth be told, Rowena wasn't quite sure what she was doing. Where she was planning on going. She had no experience outside of a castle, and a very, very small part of her thought that maybe she should just turn back and give in, if only for the luxury of maidens and cleaning staff. Wilmot is a terrible man, and his home was like a cage that she was forced into, bound by the chains of marriage and politics, but at least the estate was clean, and the food that she was served was fresh.
Still, no amount of cleanliness and luxury would make up for the pain she'd had to endure there - the inevitable threat of losing a whole part of herself. When she was in the Dryden Estate, wearing that same cursed name, she had to live day by day. She had to fear for her life because the simple act of bearing children had become a death sentence under that roof.
"I sincerely doubt any food could be found here that's not crawling with maggots and flies, and any accommodations we might find would surely lead to our untimely demises at the hands of a sinister thief," she huffed to her handmaiden, dusting off her dress as if the dirtiness of the town was infectious. "Or do you perhaps want to have your throat slit open in your sleep?"
Some days, it had felt like magic was her only crutch, the only thing keeping her upright. Even when Wilmot would berate her and spit on her, she could always count on her wand to be there waiting for her, soothing her anxieties after enduring her husband's billingsgate. Even with every fancy dinner where she got dolled up and put on display for the neighboring lords and ladies, instructed beforehand to smile and nod and 'oh, for the love of Jove, keep your mouth shut', she could retire to her chambers afterwards and make pretty little birds flit about to lift her spirits.
Magic was a comfort, and she certainly wasn't ready to lose it.
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