#rowecca | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fycourtera · 12 years

Text

{chapter twenty-eight: 12} rebecca & rowland

dated may 8th, 2034

Rowland: *They had almost every copy of every history book written during that time, give or take 30 years in each direction because they literally have no idea when in the universe they were. Assuming they couldn't travel across universes that was. He, personally, wouldn't put it past his son but Brandin assured that was 'currently theoretical.' Well, everything was theoretical until it was put to practical use, but that wasn't the point. They just had a lot of books to go through and so far they had come up with nothing. Newspaper clippings from that time were also impossible to get ahold of, and Rowland doubted that they existed anymore. Derek was trying to get them access to the archives of the Prophet but the pretty bluntly said that there were a few decades unaccounted but they still needed to try. Rowland rubbed at his eyes under his reading glasses. Not even Google worked! Why hadn't wizards gotten into Google yet? He flipped a page, his sudden aggravation obvious given that he ripped the lower part of the page. Oops. Before he had a chance to repair it, however, the book repaired itself. Brandin was really meticulous about his things wasn't he? Well, Isobel was as well.* It'll be our little secret. *He muttered to the book before closing it and putting it back on the shelf. The last book he had talked to had talked back, even.* I'm really starting to regret the fact that the Fayes -weren't- egotistical enough to document every single little detail of their lives. *He would read through a million sentences of 'today, the breakfast was apples and porridge' if one of those sentences said 'today, Alec and Blair Stone visited court'. Anything, just one inkling of it. He found consalation in, apart from his wife, knowing that Alec, Blair and the rest hadn't torn a hole in the space time continuum. Though, knowing his daughter, she probably hadn't been allowed to try. He missed them, so much. And he needed them back, with him and Rebecca, immediately. Why the stupid books failed to realize that, he didn't know, because otherwise they would spit out the information at them. He exhaled again and leaned back on the shelves, looking sideways at his wife, who was in the middle of pouring through books herself. They had both been unable to get much sleep since the night she had woken from a nightmare, a vision. The first one in decades.* There has to be something else we can do.

Rebecca: *Fingernail scratching down the page as she tracked through mindless pontification, Rebecca wasn't surprised she couldn't manage to scratch the page. How often was anything broken around here? Besides the laws of decency, common sense, and gravity that was -- but those things were less important to the prominent members of society. And apparently they had been sin the beginning of flipping time, since had the goddamn purebloods had been so keen to erase their indiscretions from history. Brandin had glared at her, then shaken his head when she asked if there had ever been an attack in the ballroom that night, then taken them to the ballroom in question and shown both of them the markings on one of the columns - as if expecting they would understand that instantly, just as he had expected his exasperated look to somehow magically change her attire - she was supposed to worry about clothes matching when her children were missing?! The explanation that as a young boy he'd examined the markings, said that magic had left them as they repaired the marble, as if the marble itself was trying to pretend it had never fallen down. Bloody Fayes. So yes, there had been a battle of some kind, but Brandin didn't know when exactly, -- early twentieth century was the best he had, while he continued bemoaning that Rebecca wasn't supposed to know about this. Well, bloody hell, there were a lot of things she knew she wasn't supposed to know but it just seemed the universe had other plans, didn't it? Well rather, that their brilliant son and daughter did. A small quirked up her lips, proud at the thought. Hearing her husband, her finger paused on the page and she looked up slowly, eyes wide with exhaustion and resignation. She nods once, chewing on her bottom lip.* I agree. If I see one more book about how brilliant a peaceful transition time this was, I'm going to lose it. *She flicks her gaze over his shoulder, and then back to them, asking quietly.* Why wouldn't they have told us? Did they think we wouldn't...understand why they'd want to go? *She swallows, disquieted.* I know all children rebel at some point but...God, Rowland...

Rowland: *The shocking amount of times they had read how perfectly everything had gone after Damocles passed the legislation that made muggleborns legal, was frankly more than a little annoying by now. He was proud at first to hear it, years ago when he had inquired about the fate of the family and friends he'd left behind. Returning to it again after all these years left him skeptical. And after countless of days and nights of coming across the same cock and bull story he was about ready to tear his hair out, if he wasn't already getting teases about going bald. He wasn't. It wouldn't surprise Rowland if the cover story, for surely that's what it was because Rebecca's visions never lied, was Damocles' own invention! 'Everything was fine and dandy and we puked butterflies and rainbows and ate candy made out of sunshine and everything was grand and glorious.' If Rowland was there, he would have had plenty of other, much more believable and entertaining accounts. Like a meteorite landing. He shook his head slowly, leaning off the wooden shelves to do that because it wasn't very comfortable.* The same reason they don't tell us when 'sleepover' or 'studying' actually means rave party, maybe. They don't want to hear no for something they're going to do anyways. *At that moment, he much rather have Blair walking around in a permanent bikini, as long as she was -here-. He reached for Rebecca's hand and squeezed it.* And I think they wanted to spare us the decision of...tagging along. *No matter how much he thought of traveling back sometimes, he knew he couldn't. And he didn't have the ability to go back either, not without Brandin's help, and he was only doing it to get Alec and Blair (and Jesse and Sid and Bhavi) back to the correct century. (Well, and obviously the man cared about the children who so affectionately called him uncle but heaven help Rowland whenever he tried to point it out.) Every day that they couldn't find when Alec and Blair were meant another day of them stuck in the past...Rowland was only relieved that his children would have gone to Damocles. Damocles would keep them safe, of that he had no doubt.* Maybe we're going about this the wrong way.

Rebecca: But we pretend not to know those are what they mean. *Well, mostly. Her voice was as tired as the rest of her, incredulity and confusion on her face more than anger or disbelief. The truth was it was hard for them to keep something from her, and they knew that - but she didn't think that having a Seer for a mother should mean they had to live a different teenage life than everyone else. As much as she could help it, anyways. Then again, they were already magical, and had parents born in different centuries...they were never going to live normal lives, she knew that, they were proud of it. Maybe if she had talked to them about it more, about the realities of that time period instead of their romance, and the story they made a bedtime fairytale - maybe if they'd just spent more time...she sighed, eyes darting to see her husband's hand in hers. Smiling small, she looked back at him.* Well, they always did care too much about taking care of us too.

*Furrowing her brow, she said quietly,* Blair didn't write it in her diary... *And God, how she had hated skimming that for clues, it had been the last of her daughters books she'd looked through and even then she had stared at it's blue velvet cover for ten minutes first. It felt such an invasion of privacy she had covered the pages with a torn spare post it, and skimmed as fast as possible, careful to avoid anything that mentioned the name 'Kale' and only look for dates. Their daughter had written extensively on the 'wicked idea to go." Her heart had ached reading how desperately they wanted to see their grandparents and Rowland's family -- a desire she knew he harbored and had from the day he arrived. But nothing specific. Nothing in Alec's schoolbooks either (though Brandin had startled over -some-thing in them and hurried off to his lab for two hours, before returning and declaring 'it was possible' with an expression that meant he was both tired and proud of Stones outsmarting him. It had made her smile, if only for a moment, for Alec figuring out how to take them back didn't surprise her - her son was brilliant. And confounding Fayes was what they did best, as Rowland had joked.*

They didn't even know what they were going back to, not truly. *That was what hurt her the most. They had no idea the war they were walking into, no idea the danger they were putting themselves in as the purebloods had seen fit to lie and erase it from the damn books. And they were supposed to be back. That's what Kale and Dair had said, what Patti had, what all their confidants had -- and cursed as she was, she knew they were telling the truth. Only she knew already why they weren't back. She'd seen that first. The crumbling marble column danced in front of her eyes again until she shut them. She rubs her forehead, tired and honestly--she wanted a drink, only she had pushed that feeling off for ages, needing her mind sharp.* There has to be a bloody account of that attack -- -something-, they couldn't have gotten rid of it all.

*The trouble being that it appeared they had done a damn thorough job of simply erasing that what they couldn't change. Whole families seemed to disappear, and many more without family names. A pit fell in her stomach like the worm sinking to the bottom of a tequila bottle, squirming as it drowned. But Rebecca couldn't assume that meant they were dead -- she knew already it hadn't meant Rowland was, even when the history books had screamed at her the man beside her couldn't have been alive. From an open book across the table, she paused, seeing the name 'Stone' and as ever feeling hopeful despite the fact there were a bloody lot of Stones. Pulling it over, she blinked in surprise -- and then smiled, tapping it.*

Well. Hey, at least we know your brother won an archery competition in 1901. *Little Mitchell...lord, was it odd to think of him older than nine. Heart clenching as she thought 'imagine how Rowland had to feel', she looked back with a determined smile and understanding eyes beneath a wiggling brow.* I'm not surprised. We did see him pierce a dragon's wing with an arrow. *She tilted her head looking at the handwritten account, dug up as it was from the Fayes personal accounts, amused to see Damocles' handwriting. It wasn't as though that was unusual: the man had never stopped journaling or writing. He was a historians best friend in that regard. Oh, and he wasn't self-aggrandizing in it at all. But neither was she surprised to see him making comments on members of Rowland's family; his handwriting often creeped up around them. It always made her smile, even seeing the slight flush in Rowland's ears at her remarks.

Reciting aloud,* So...we can add that to the list of certain facts. *Which were ridiculously few.* George was named chief councillor few years after we left, he married Adelina. Malcolm not only lived, but he was in detention loads in Hogwarts, and then there was that one article about him and Derrick's son, at that Easter Ball? The Brackners have some kind of super-powered sperm. The baby Evelyn was pregnant with was named Jane, and she published a book. *She gestured to an old, faded copy on the stack.* Number of them, really, all fiction. She got some award for her creativity of inventing the civil war in it, which there's no way that was her imagination and I'm betting that award was actually for reporting. Er--your nephew Wilson, became Damocles' son's manservant. Oh and Leah achieved that dream of hers of becoming a knight. Do you remember anything else? *She sighed, rubbing her forehead, as if it would suddenly appear on the page, the date that Alec & Blair arrived. She'd thought Damocles would have written about it, dammit, but through six years of his journals she hadn't found anything -- anything except the fact that Brandin couldn't find the years 1902 until 1907, save some entries from 1906 about a wedding. At Rowland's words her expression clouded -- Brandin had said pointedly to her under his breath earlier when he let them into the library that he didn't know why they continued looking for records, when she knew to do. Biting her lip and frowning again, she looked at their joined hands and squeezed.* If only I could have a vision with something more specific...but we'll find something, sweetheart, we have to. Far too many people were in that attack for it to just be gone...

Rowland: *Actually, at first Rowland thought that was exactly what those were. And at the beginning they were...then his children grew, and they learned to lie with the truths. They didn't like to lie to them, that much calmed him at least, but they also knew they could lie to him far more easier than they could lie to Rebecca. Which was never. It proved particular useful sometimes, but he knew Becca tried to give them as much privacy as possible. But these were desperate times, of course, and Rowland had made sure to stay far away from Blair's diary. Quite frankly, there were some things that a father should never ever have to know about his children. But no matter how many possessions they went through, there was still nothing to be found. He had talked to Jesse's mother and Sid's parents to ask if they would have kept anything behind that might have been a clue but there was nothing. And man, had it been difficult weeks ago to explain to them the fact their children were stuck in another century. Jesse's mother and sister were particularly hysterical.* They thought they were going back to a peaceful time...they picked a time where they thought they would be safe...*It wasn't their fault, it wasn't even the pureblood's fault for covering it up; how were they supposed to know that there would be people time traveling? Well, it was a irksome still, not to mention completely dishonest. How many other things in history had been a lie? He already had to hear from Alec how Jesus had been born sometime between April and July, not December. Rowland didn't think he could take another hit at this point. Lips flicking briefly, he not-very-quickly did the calculation in his head of how old Mitchell must have been when he won that...twenty six? God, and that had been so long ago, before he had left England. Well, Giselle assumes that's what happened. Mitch's fate was one of high debate in their family even now.

Some say he became part of the mafia which was ridiculous because his little brother would have never...It was at times like this that he had to remember that people grew, people changed, he didn't know much of anything about the people his family had grown to be, save for whatever was salvaged.* After giving me a heart attack, I remember. *Recalling things that had actually happened nearly a century and a half ago no longer seemed odd to him, that was simply part of who he was. His friends had eventually learned to go along with his train of thought as well. Smiling still, he nodded as she picked up her list to recite what they knew so far. Wasn't very much. He picked up the book from the stack. Rowland had read it, it was actually quite good but it all seemed so...familiar and at the same time, completely foreign. It wasn't a feeling he particularly liked. He didn't want to imagine his children in a similar environment, he could practically feel his blood pressure rise by the moment.* There was something about a scandal involving an illegitimate daughter of a politician? And Damocles and Maeve set up a grant for Esther's school...*Damocles had once spoken of building a school, but Esther apparently had beat him to it so by the end, the only thing left to provide was some supplies and the wages. He was proud, of both of them. His little baby sister Esther, wood carver extraordinaire...Rowland learned from Giselle long ago she married a carpenter, it seemed fitting. Returning his gaze back to hers, he bit his lip for a moment.* It's been weeks, love...*And he would look for more weeks if it was necessary, for months, but he didn't want it to be that long, he couldn't deal with that, they both couldn't. He put his other hand on top of hers, cradling it. He remembered the first time he held her hand, so many years ago, could recall it as if it was yesterday. Though, perhaps that wasn't the best of sayings, given that he wasn't sure what he had for breakfast yesterday.* You've forced a vision before, darling. You've gotten names and memories- personal details no one else could have known. *He squeezed her hands* You know our children better than anyone else, you can tap into them easier...I think you should try.

Rebecca: *All thoughts were driven out trying to liken the scandal in the book to one in history, or of how proud she was of the school. She even forgot for a moment that it had been weeks since she'd seen her babies -- well, they weren't babies anymore, they had grown up, and she was proud of them for it, but dammit they were still her babies -- as her husband reminded her gently of something she hated thinking about. Anger and guilt twisted in her stomach as her gaze dropped to their grasped hands. Flashes filled her mind's eye; image of a man she loathed sitting with endless patience in a high-backed chair smirking at her filled her mind's eye, him a hundred years before that still a man, broken down as he cradled the body of the woman he'd loved -- the image of him killing all those people with pure, animalistic viral rage -- a rage present then and now in her own gut -- the way he'd faltered when she'd said her name -- Natalie -- the way he snapped, the feel of his teeth scraping, biting, sinking into her neck -- she snapped a free hand up to it, cupped and squeezed hard. Her eyes swimming with tears, she flicked her gaze back up to her husband, feeling more guilty for the fact she knew already he was right, even as she said,* I can't. *She whispered, licking along her bottom lip.* Rowland I-- I can't. I was so angry - I wanted to kill him -- I changed, I - I stabbed Marcus. *Still, all these years later she didn't feel right saying anything but his name, and still she ignored how easily she spoke it. A tear slid down her cheek.* I don't know how to do that again. I don't want to be that person again, I just. *She shakes her head, hair flying off her shoulders and drops the book, holding on to her husband's hand harder as she lets her eyes shut. He was right and she knew it. And if there was anything she could be that angry about again, the answer came to her instinctively: if her children were in danger, there was bleeding nothing she wouldn't do. Heart hammering and hand slipping from her neck to her lips, she opened her eyes slowly, looking over his shoulder to fix distantly on the cart in the corner, filled with alcohol. Well, perhaps she wouldn't mind a drink after all. It appeared it wasn't a sharp mind she needed.*

Rowland: You can. *He said it so sure of himself of her, even as he hated himself a little for having to remind her, for seeing her eyes water, tears ready to spill.* I know you don't want to but you could. Hatred for Marcus, wanting to hurt him, made you see those things but this is for our children, sweetheart. *A hand came up to cup her cheek and brush away the tear that had spilled, and kept his hand there to gather whichever ones would continue to fall.* Yes, you changed...we all changed that day. Ultimately, it made us stronger, it made us who we are today. And, I think we're pretty wicked, if I do say so myself, at least Alec's team say it...then again, they're mostly talking about you and include me so I don't kick them out after practices but, that is completely and utterly besides the point- *focus, right. He could still veer away off topic even in his older years. He squeezed her hand, rubbing her cheek with his thumb, exhaling.* Rebecca, sweetheart, look at me. The same way I was there with you all those years ago to pull you back, I'm here now. I would do anything for you and Alec and Blair, and I know you'd do the same...*he nodded slowly, biting his bottom lip before admitting quietly.* I hate to ask this of you.

Rebecca: *Eyes wide and watering, her bottom lip trembled until his thumb grazed against the pink flesh, brushing it up. Or perhaps it was the ramble. Her husband had an easy way of talking, his words slipped out in one long stream-of-consciousness thought that always made her think that for as hilarious as he could be aloud, his head had to be even funnier. She envied that sometimes: wishing she could hear him all the time, everything, to never have to be apart from him. And then again on particular peak moments of frustration with chores or the like, she admitted, perhaps not. Now it only made her smile - nodding shallow to ensure she didn't move his hand. Trust and adoration in her gaze as she opened her mouth, her words were quiet.* I know. And I know why you ask, you're right. I just...*She seizes, and then holds his hand tighter, breathing in and out. If she was going to try...she tried to remember what she had even done that day, but all she could remember was anger. Visceral, red-hot, burning-in-her-blood ire. She swallowed tightly. If anger was a conduit as much as her dreams had been, fear working on a relaxed mind...why couldn't love be? Why shouldn't the near desperation she felt and all-consuming love fuel a vision? Wasn't that why she had seen that ballroom explode in the first place? Breathing in and out heavily again, she let her eyes flutter open and gently pulled her hand from his. She stood.* I'll try. *She kept her gaze on him hard, cupping her hands behind her back, thinking to pace - thinking she had to have blood pumping, adrenaline, something. After three quick strides around the table, she cupped the back of the chair, and leaned closer, staring at the grain in the wood. Thinking what she had done...she stilled and then looked back at her husband saying quietly,* Can you...talk? Just tell me of them? *What was killing her was the thought she had to think of them in danger. That was the thought that made her blood boil. Their babies...*

Rowland: *He nodded, knowing that was all he was asking, for her to try. If she couldn't, if it proved too much, then they would go back and look through whatever books remained for clues. No matter how hopeless it might have seemed to continue to do so, Rowland was of the believe that nothing was ever hopeless, not really. He had seen and been part of so many extraordinary things in his life in both centuries. The fact that he could say he was technically from two different centuries was extraordinary in of itself. No one could ever discourage Rowland from anything, not even from a sale. The moment he heard the words 'impossible', he would just remind himself that he had already done that; everything else was easy by comparison. He tried to tell himself that know, but he wasn't the one putting in the effort, it was his wife Rebecca, trying to tap in to a part of herself he knew she detested. That part of themselves they had discovered that day, and spent hours together trying to get past. He watched her walk up and down, patiently, willing to give her as much time as she needed (lack of time was an issue they had beaten before). Head lifting at her request, Rowland didn't think to question it at that moment and nodded. Talking, God, that was easy for him. And about their children, even more so.* Do you know that Alec still has that model train set you gave him for his 5th birthday? I found it in one of the boxes he had stashed in the bigger box, that he'd stash in the biggest box- yeah, well, I found it, along with every single birthday card he's ever gotten and report card. He's a bigger pack rat than Blair, though Blair doesn't hide it. I'm afraid to go into her room sometimes...most times, really. It's a miracle I don't trip over a pile of clothing every time I do walk in. Clothing that looks decidedly more covering on the floor than they ever are on her by the way. I'm still hoping it's a phase, fingers crossed, and that the next one doesn't involve a nudist colony. Though if it's true, she's been in that phase since that one day when she was seven and you said she could pick out her own clothes- do you remember that wonderfully colorful combination? The big yellow hat and the two polka dotted shirts and the tutu? All the beads and the sunglasses bigger than her face? *He chuckled, his memory vivid enough that he could practically see his daughter now as she was when she was seven. He rubbed at his eyes a moment and then added with a smile* That one time Blair backed the car into the neighbor's lawn, breaking their prize winning hand carved garden gnome collection and Alec took the blame for it? I almost believed it, no I did believe it, when he stepped in and told Blair to stop covering for him. *But there was no lying to Rebecca, obviously, and she had told Rowland the truth after they had sent the pair of them inside of the house to try to diffuse the situations with the Jameson's.* And when Blair tried to let Alec in through the back door at the crack of dawn the first time he stayed out all night? They're always watching out for each other, always. We did right by them, love, they are...extraordinary, magnificent, devilish children. Teenagers- they'll be adults in two shakes of a lamb's tail really, God, do they grow up fast. *He sniffed again, having to clear his throat.* Whenever they are, they'll look out for one another, keep each other safe, it's what they do. *They had to be safe, they had to be. There was no other alternative, Rowland couldn't accept any other alternative.*

Rebecca: *A smile cracking over her lips as she listened-- she nodded first, eyes riveted on her husband, every minute gesture seeming harder than she ever thought. The mental images helped. She saw Blair's room - which nearly a month later she still had not cleaned - and Alec's model train set - and how he'd set the tracks up through the kitchen from under his birthday cake on all day, how she'd tripped and then hurried repaired the track with a wave of her wand, praying he never noticed. She saw that first outfit of Blair's, saying wry,* I remember Mum yelling at me for the fact she didn't match. *But the moment she spoke she shut her eyes, listening hard, seeing the smoke behind the car, the shattered pieces of the gnome -- agreeing and believing Rowland when he said they would looked after each other -- before the thought of her child driving lit aflame the inherent fear she had every time they were behind the wheel. That flame fanned as she thought how worried she was discovering Alec not in his bed -- a fear ten-thousand times worse now to discover them not in the right century -- and she frowned, breathing hard, shutting her eyes, wishing an instant that 'the Jamesons' was actually whiskey, she could diffuse this situation with that. It didn't bloody matter they looked after each other, she thought, as warming a thought as it was -- if they took after their parents, and Lord knew they apparently did more than they knew -- they also would throw themselves in front of a bus to save those they loved, and her heart went cold at the thought. Find them, she thought, trying to picture what Blair would have compromised to ear-- trying to think what coverstory Alec would have offered Damocles -- how creative it would be, how large Damocles' confusion, how gleefully Blair would have hugged her grandmother, all her cousins and aunts and uncles -- actually, at that, Helena and Vlad, and Maeve -- Maeve -- Rebecca's breath cut out and she seized.

Going deaf to Rowland's words she panicked, breathless and leaned forward over the chair through a flash of images, a rush of sounds: two little kids practicing levitating in a tree; the pair of them sparring with sticks while a third looked on; flames erupting in a stiff, night sky, a gut-wrenching yell of 'you can't do this' in that furious lordly tone; a young child stuffing bread in his mouth as he goaded his friend to ask 'Bri' for a dance, his friend glaring in response at his retreating back while he went to grab someone else to dance ; a teenage girl with a sword on her hip snapped something about pyromaniacs ; a lilac gown ; wedding vows ; a torn scrap of a parchment with a reward offered for any information on -- no -- ; and then trumpets blasted in her ear, announcing foreign dignitaries arrival and an older André appeared, Leanne on his arm. Rebecca flinched, her hand covering her ears despite the futility of it as she saw Leanne curtsy to Evelyn and Garrett -- and then it was the ballroom again, the crumbling marble, and she was shaking, shaking as she recognized her children, saw them grab at each other and spin the other out of harms way -- saw the flash of green -- saw a man crumple, neck snapped, and the horror on the young Lord's face who had done it, gripping a girl's hand tighter.

She focused forcibly, visibly shaking with the effort; saw Alec and Blair waking up the next day, her heart pounding and aching with the urge to reach across time and wrap Alec in a hug as she saw his fury, wanting to take the pain for him, wanting only to see him smile again -- and then naturally she did, laying in the grass with his sister at his side, pointing at the sky above them -- saw Blair dancing -- Alec playing cards in the tavern -- the pair of them at the blacksmith's, being taught how to use a hammer -- climbing trees and shooting arrows with their father's youngest brother -- a date, she reminded herself, distracted to see her daughter wearing so many clothes. The connection tenuous at best, she forced past flashes of hugs and tears, flying fists and disappointed fathers, arrows stalling a carriage delegation and a home in the mountains, a man chained up while his friend cried, past two kissing reunited -- until suddenly she saw Maeve embrace Blair tightly -- her daughter crying -- saw Alec screaming -- the back of a councillor, a spinning carriage wheel in mud, rain pounding down, the door slamming shut on her daughter -- no, a cage, no, a dungeon door and it wasn't her daughter - it was a proper lady, smiling proudly. And the woman stood with dignity -- that is, until she saw left alone, and then she fell to the ground behind bars, skirt billowing in the dirt and wept.

Only aware next of Rowland's face, the images already tangling and mashing in her head, Rebecca's eyes snapped open. Heart thudding and limbs loose she gave way to sitting, mouth gasping for water or something, furious that she couldn't see more as much as she was that she'd forced anything at all. Realizing her husband already held a water glass she lifted her chin, stole it and took a sip before reaching up to kiss him -- hard. When she broke away, unaware of the tears on her cheeks, she said first softly,* They are, looking out for each other. I think they might even be having a swell time...mostly. *She flinched, gasping out and took another sip of the water. With her eyes still on the floor, trying to sort through the mess, knowing only a few things had stood out to her -- and not knowing how to tell Rowland what she had seen of his youngest brother. So instead she focuses on the last one, breathing harshly, the last image most vivid, perhaps only because it was most recent. She whispered,* Maeve was in jail.

Rowland: *He stopped speaking as he saw Rebecca's gaze turn blank on her surroundings eyes closing soon after, her grip on the back of the chair increased, left her knuckles as white as chalk. White chalk, not the multicolored ones Blair bought every summer so she could draw on the sidewalk. He moved towards Rebecca again, standing near, arms and hands hovering protectively over her. His eyes were wide as he saw her expressions: distraught, disbelieving, afraid. Visibly startling as her hands went to cover her ears, he only wished he could know what it was that she was seeing and at the same time, not. His wife was much stronger than he ever was or could be. Rowland hadn't realized he had been holding his breath until he suddenly exhaled when she finally opened her eyes. Seeing her knees buckle and her mouth gasp, he brings out the chair, and then fumbles in his jacket for his wand, conjuring a glass of water for her. He watched her taking a lengthy sip before he found his mouth meeting hers in a hard kiss and it was his turn to drink her in. Breaking away breathless, he wiped the tears from her cheeks softly, exhaling as he hears she's seen Alec and Blair. About to ask what she had seen, what she could discern, he felt a cold chill run down his spine.* She was arrested?! That's impossible, there's no...*He sighed, rubbing his face. He was about to say 'record' but of course there wasn't one, there weren't any records of anything like that.* And she was arrested while Alec and Blair are there? That's as much of a date as we're going to get- we have to tell Brandin.

Rebecca: *Shaking, she rubs the back of her neck, realizing the cold sweat dripping down her spine. Swallowing tightly, she stayed sitting as her knees felt far too weak to support her. Realizing a ravenous hunger on top of everything she sighed, leaning closer to her husband, terror in her eyes as she tried to sort through images that flew from her mind too fast. Fixing her gaze on Rowland, she gripping his hands and wishing she could somehow rely simply on his strength. Sweaty fingers grasping his, she pressed her lips together, afraid suddenly to tell him what she had seen as much as she was of the images themselves: for one thing stuck out in her mind.* I agree. *It was a quiet hiss.* But ... Rowland there...there was something else. *Biting her lip hard, she tasted blood. Gaze fluttering to there hands she said instead with a broken smile.* Well. A few things. Apparently, Mitchell and Leah have more in common than rebellious streaks. *That, was much easier to focus on: the image of them embracing in a fierce hug.*

Rowland: *Leaning against the table, he held her to him with an arm around her shoulders, holding her hand tightly, frowning as he realized how clammy they felt all of a sudden. It had been years since Rebecca had a vision, let alone one that she forced on herself. Turning his gaze on her directly, his head tilted in confusion and curiosity. Something else, what could it be?* Mitch and Leah? *He knew the two were becoming friends by the time Rowland had been pulled to the future, well, maybe friends was a hopeful term.* What else is there, then? Is it about Mitchell?...*A part of him was nervous to know, but the rest of him yearned for some news of his brother, the one who had evaded leaving down a legacy to track down, the one he knew least about.*

Rebecca: *At first all she could do was nod. It was a usual burden - the thought of knowing something she shouldn't, knowing it would pain one she loved and wondering if she had to tell. But it was not one she'd had in years. Nodding slowly yet, she thought for a moment she was crying...before realizing, her eyes watered for she had not blinked in minutes. Blinking rapidly, she squeezed his hand tighter.* Yes. Your brother... *She bit her lip, exhaling, and then decided only to relay.* He...well, I saw him as a teenager goading a friend of his - did you know a Wyatt? To dance with some girl...and then he yanked Leah into a hug in another...*She didn't know what to call it; separate visions? Images? She swallowed, and reached to finish the water off.* And then he was firing arrows at some...stopped, besieged caravan...the wheel was spinning...*She bit her lip hard, knowing none of these were what had her terrified and heartbroken. Quietly--so quietly--she looked down, staring at the ripples of the water glass as she added,* ...and there was a warrant for his arrest. Huge reward, actually.

Rowland: *He moved to sit on the chair beside her slowly, careful not to let her slip out of his grasp. He licked his lips, nodding silently at her question. They were almost damn well inseperable the pair of them weren't they? Mitch was always dodging his chores at the farm to run into the town and pull Wyatt and his other friends along. There hadn't been a person in town that didn't know those four rascals by name and deed. He pursed his lips as he waited, figuring that Rebecca simply had to work her way through it, it wasn't unexpected or unfamiliar, it had just been a long time. He frowned to hear that Mitchell would be firing arrows at anybody to begin with, and wondering about reasons that were unknown to him and Rebecca both. Looking up suddenly, his mouth was left open as he tried to process what his wife had just said.* Arrest? But...no, no, he can't have done anything...did it say *he cleared his throat, forcing himself to continue the question* what for?

Rebecca: *Guilt twisted her stomach seeing the shock, anger and hurt that seized her husband's overly expressive face. Squeezing his hands she shifted in the chair, trying to pull him in, afraid she couldn't hold up both of them. As she shifted she lifted her legs, annoyed how light and weak they still seemed, and then curled up against his side. Her eyes shut, trying to remember the words on the parchment, knowing it was her daughter's hands gripping the side of it and feeling fear twist her stomach anew. How remarkably flexible it appeared to be! As much as her legs were weak, it seemed. And still it hungered: for answers, she thought, as much as food. With her eyes still shut, she winced and looked back at him.* Treason. And... *And rape, and murder, but did she have to tell her husband that? Overtop herself, she said hurriedly,* But...but Rowland, if Maeve is arrested, if she's in jail, if they're fighting a war, it ... must be a lie, must be that someone's framing him. *She might have only met him as a child, but it didn't matter to Rebecca. He was Rowland's kin. That meant more. It also meant there was a chance...* ...Mitchell...do you think he had magic? I--did you ever notice?

Rowland: *It was bad then, he realized when Rebecca didn't finish the thought. If treason was the least worrying one, Rowland could only imagine what else it could be. It had to be wrong, a mistake, a lie, somehow. Mitchell might have been a scamp and a prat, but surely he could never had turned into this type of man. Their dad would have boxed his ears and only if mum hadn't gotten to him first. It was difficult to think about them like this, knowing that while they weren't alive now, they were at some point, some time. It wasn't just fondly remembering as he had been for so long. He nodded absently, rubbing at his face before he answered easily.* Yes, I knew so. I left him one of my books, the one Ephraim left to me before he was executed. *One of the many casualties of Merwyn's misplaced sense of justice.* He always so proud about it, so angry towards the nobles for us having to live in hiding...*God, that was another lifetime ago.* I don't understand.

Rebecca: *Just hearing the word 'execution' called to mind another flash, another image and she flinched, her hand freeing itself to scrape scalp through sweaty hair, as if she meant to yank it out. Her eyes snapped to the grain in the chair's arm; this really was not the most comfortable of places to perch, but moving seemed to impossible. Praying she wasn't physically hurting her husband on top of everything else -- though honest to God (oh listen to her), whoever said emotional hurt did not cause physical pain had never not known where their children were. When their children were. Breathing heavily as Rowland continued, she nods slowly and flicks her gaze up to him beneath fluttering eyelashes hooding her eyes.* If he was angry - which, he bloody should have been - it stands to reason he'd fight back. *Her words were weighted with worry, but fervent.* And if Maeve is arrested...*Her heart sank.* ...then it's not Damocles, right? They're probably fighting together. Or at least...the same side. *She nodded encouragingly, not thinking for a moment that she spoke in present tense about events that had occurred more than a century ago. Tenses were troublesome, idiotic things. Trying to think of something else good to tell him, she said slower,* Alec and Blair met him, though, he was showing them how to shoot...*She swallows.* Hector too. *Her lips flicked, thinking of that tiny miracle baby swaddled in his mother's arms as she educated the entire region on swear words.* At least I think it was Hector. He's a giant. And was working in a forge with them....

#rebecca stone #rowland stone #book: the proclamation #chapter twenty eight #rowecca

0 notes

fycourtera · 12 years

Text

{chapter sixteen: 4} rebecca/rowland

Rebecca: *When she had collapsed to sleep that evening, she had been out with the light. Kim, Nate, Jude, and Jess had all been over for a just-because-we-don't-need-a-reason party, and exhaustion was quick to claim her. Curled up in her husband's arms, the times she had trouble falling asleep seemed themselves a distant dream. At least, until she suddenly found herself waking with a jolt, her breath heavy and quick, her heart beating faster than a rabbit's, not realizing she was bent over the side of the bed until she nearly fell off it. She realized she'd exhaled--* Alec-- *Only after a moment or two, her eyes snapped shut as she shook her head, trying to clear the images.* Rowland: *Whatever dream he might have been in, he couldn't recall it any longer, not as he sat up awake. It was only an instant later that he realized the cause of it had been his wife stirring suddenly and rather violently in his arms. Reaching for her again worriedly, the brief rush of adrenaline had seemed to take away whatever grogginess one would expect from awakening recently.* Becca, my love, what's wrong? *he brushed a strand of her hair back, his features contorting into a frown before he asks in partial disbelief* ...A nightmare? Rebecca: *Breathing out heavily, her face still screwed up, she hardly hears him at first. There were images moving through her mind quickly, like frames of a film cut too fast to see: of swirling ball gowns, marble columns, crystalline goblets and broken windows, a room lit up like decorated for christmas in red and green, only they were flashes of spells, dangerous spells--she gasped out. The calming gentle sweep of her hair makes her eyelids flutter open, and she turned to focus on the worry, disbelieving face of her husband. She bit her lip hard enough to bleed.* Rowland--they--*she reached her hand for his, the other brushing at her lip and cheeks. Numb to the pain, she was startled to bring back a tear. Nodding swiftly with eyes wide with her fear, she found her voice only because it was Rowland she was speaking with.* Yes. But it... *Her voice sounded weak.* It was...real, I think. Oh God. *she pressed her hand over her lips, and looked away, bending forward again before getting off the bed.* We have to...owl Hogwarts, or actually, go there, we just--Alec...Blair... Rowland: *he squeezed her hand, watching her expressions closely, a hint of fear in his own, a fear that was only growing every second in which Rebecca looked like that. That face, he never thought he would see it again, after all this time. He didn't need to be told it was real, he could see it in her eyes, but two people worrying would only make matters worse. At least, that's what he thought before she said 'Hogwarts' and the names of their children. He stood up as well, reaching for her hands again* Rebecca, sweetheart-- *he squeezed her hands again* What did you see? Are they in danger? Rebecca: *Spinning around as he took her hands, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Oh, Lord. Her hair was a matted, curly mess, her nightgown half see through and the tie still down on one side where she knew her husband's hand had rested instead against her shoulder. Yet it was her eyes that scared her, and she looked back to Rowland, not giving a damn, knowing she'd walk to Hogwarts herself dressed precisely thus -- all right maybe she'd grab a coat -- if any of what she had seen was really true. Squeezing his hands back, her gaze still locked with his, she spoke quietly, breath harried* I don't see how they...could be, I don't understand. Maybe I was...combining things...*she freed a hand to press to her forehead, but spoke quickly, knowing she had to be worrying him--wanting to at least tell him the facts. The trouble was she had no idea what the facts were. Letting her eyes lock on his again, she shook her head, saying slowly* It was a ball. At Faye Manor, I think, except...*she shook her head* I know it doesn't make sense, Damocles was there. And Maeve, and George, and he was married, and -- *she shook her head quickly* -- but something...happened, someone attacked. Or many someones, there was too much going on... *She rubbed her forehead hard.* And Alec...Blair...even Jesse in a suit and Sid in...something resembling a gown that certainly Damocles had never seen before and Bhavi too... they were there. *It felt like everything stopped dead the moment she said it, like a penny dropped and the world was silent. Her hand fell back to their joined hands and squeezed tightly, her voice a sudden whisper* They were there. How could they be there? Rowland: *A ball at Faye manor. Usually a mention and memory of that time would be mentioned with both a fondness and a slight sadness, but now neither was present, only confusion and disbelief. His breath caught in his throat at the mention of an attack, instantly trying to recall in his mind if he had read of any such event in Brandin's books or Damocles' journal. He was flummoxed, even more vexed on what this had to do with their children and then his heart dropped into his stomach. They were there? No, they couldn't be there. He would say it was impossible, but this was their family; nothing was impossible, just terribly difficult. And if they had found a way..* They can't be....can they? *his eyes flicked up to Rebecca's, her own mirrored his own thoughts* We have to be sure. Rebecca: *Swallowing tightly, she nodded rapidly at him.* We can owl Hogwarts, but we should check with Brandin too--he'd have to know, if there was something at the manor, what it was I saw--wouldn't he?--and if it'll take time for Hogwarts to let us in...*she was speaking quickly, she realized, too quickly. Her husband would be able to follow her, but no one else would. She breathed out, forcibly and pulled herself a little bit closer to him, saying firmer.* They were fine. What I saw...they were unhurt. And it...probably was just a dream, love, right? It has to be...how could they be there? Rowland: *he nodded, following her along on her train of thought, she reminding him actually that they simply couldn't floo there or apparate, they'd have to wait either way. He licked his lips, pulling her closer, breathing difficult but an exhale came rather easy as she said they were alright. So even if her dream was true, they were safe. He wanted to tell her it was probably only a dream, but she hadn't had a nightmare like that in so long.* I don't know. It's supposed to be impossible....*he pursed his lips together; Brandin had never said it exactly like that, and he did thrive on technicalities* We'll write to the school, and floo Brandin. *Not for the first time, he internally cursed the fact that Alec and Blair's mobiles didn't work at Hogwarts. Cupping a cheek, he rubbed his thumb in circles* We'll sort this out, my love, we will. Rebecca: *Impossible. Yes, that was true...and yet, had that word ever meant anything to them? They had taken pride in it before, in confounding what was supposed to be possible. She shook her head briefly, squeezing his hand again as he pursed his lips and saying quietly* They did want to go back. See it. We know that. But if they found a way...*She swallowed tightly, her voice giving out from asking: why wouldn't they have told them? Did they think they wouldn't understand? It had to be a dream, this couldn't be happening...and yet she could see Rowland already believed her entirely, that he couldn't even tell her it was just a dream. Heartened by his faith as much as she was scared by the possibility of it being true, she smiled briefly as he took her cheek. She nodded and echoed.* We will. *much calmer, she leaned in to kiss him briefly, smiling at him as she pulled back and saying softer, in dry amusement* I suppose we should get dressed then. *her hand came up to rest on his bare chest, brushing her thumb against it with a lip quirk* I'm not willing to share. Rowland: *If they had found a way that simply meant that they were their children...and that perhaps they had spent too much time with Brandin. He breathed more easily to see her smile and kissed her back, a soft and brief kiss* I believe clothing are society's standards, yes. *he smiled in momentary amusement, bringing that hand on her chest up to his lips so he could kiss the back of it and then walked quickly but calmly (as calm as he could be) to the wardrobe and find a shirt and trousers to slip into* Rebecca: *Softly, she remarked without missing a beat* Shorts and shoes are, anyways. *Her lips flicked again as her gaze followed his lips, exhaling out as they released each other. It was remarkable how significantly less safe she felt just by dropping his hands. Even as she fetched a jumper and jeans, even as she felt better to be doing something, moving, her breath was heavy. Sliding the nightgown over her head and tossing it away from her, for once without caring, she mashed her hair down through the neck hole and let it fan out again. Her fingers still buttoning the jeans as she turned back to Rowland, she asked quietly* Do you remember...anything, about a ball like that? *She bit her lip.* I didn't think there were any more fights...

#rowland stone #rebecca stone #rowecca #chapter sixteen #BABIES I MISSED YOU #ILOVEYOU #book: the proclamation

1 note · View note