Fic: "Dead Things," PG
Title: Dead Things
Author: acidpop25
Rating: PG
Word Count: 638
Summary: DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Founders fic, based on the new canon; I can't be any more specific without the summary itself getting spoilerish, so that will just have to do.
Warnings: Again, SPOILERS for DH.
The lamps were still burning in Rowena's tower haven, although it was well past midnight. Helena lifted her chin, tilted her head back to look up though the wide window; two figures sat near it, silhouetted against the yellow glow of the lamplight, their heads bent together, sitting close, very close.
Salazar, then.
Helena continued on her path back into the castle, out of the cold; autumn had come on suddenly, this year, sudden and sharp, and the air tasted of frost. The warmth of the entry hall wrapped around her like a cloak when she stepped inside, some inviting, friendly magic of Helga's- Helena could always tell their spells apart. Helga's, warm and comforting; Godric's, bold and sweeping; Salazar's, subtle and oily.
Rowena's, precise and unfeeling. All colourless, intellectual, with none of the human spark found in the work of the other three. Passionless. Removed. Ice unmelting, cold and hard, unpleasant to touch for very long.
Helena's steps echoed as she climbed the spiral stair to her chambers; she could hear Rowena and Salazar's muffled voices through the closed door. The cool, distant voice of Rowena, the arrogant drawl of Salazar.
"I think," Rowena was saying, "that I shall die soon." She sounded absent, unconcerned, but then, Rowena never did value anything but facts, now did she?
"No." Salazar's voice was very sharp. "You will not. You are young, and you are brilliant, and no one will ever, ever touch you." You are mine went unspoken, but Helena heard it. Doubtless Rowena did, too.
Helena could almost see the look that must have passed between them in the silence that followed. Salazar's pale eyes burning with a desperate, intense fire; Rowena's gaze distant, contemplative, not quite focused on him.
"Perhaps." A maddening trace of something in her tone, some certainty of greater knowledge. "Helena is just outside the door."
Before Helena could move, it had swung open, and the pair were looking directly at her.
Salazar spoke first. "How much did you hear?"
"It does not matter," Rowena cut in, dreamy. "Do not concern yourself, Helena. The musings of an old witch; I have made mistakes before." Her eyes became curiously focused as she said it; Helena shifted under the sudden intensity of Rowena's gaze. Piercing. After an endless moment, Rowena smiled her faint little smile and brushed back a stray lock of dark hair, straightened the diadem on her brow. "The hour is late, Helena."
"I was about to retire."
"Ah." Rowena finally blinked, breaking her pale stare at last. "Pleasant dreams, Helena."
"Goodnight." She nodded once to them both and left the room, and as the door fell shut behind her, Helena heard Rowena speak once more.
"I think I shall go mad, ere I die," Rowena said. "I shall quite lose my mind, slowly. I have never been mad before, you know, Salazar. I will tell you what it is like, if I am sane enough to do so."
Sane, Helena thought bitterly, leaving the threshold and retreating into the safety of her own bedchamber. How can one be sane if one is not human? How can one die if one is not alive? A brittle husk, all facts, ideas, thoughts, empty things. Dead things, meaningless fragments of a foolish, pointless glory, but there was nothing in Rowena. Nothing but thoughts. Like a soulless thing, a hollow shell refilled with knowledge where feelings ought to be, yet it was Helena who was the disappointment. Never as brilliant, as though brilliance mattered more than the ability to feel! And Salazar, Salazar with all his burning, ugly passions. Salazar for whom Rowena was an obsession, Salazar who hoarded every moment of Rowena's attention like the most precious treasure, Salazar who dared begrudge those few, sparse moments of Rowena's distant notice of Helena.
A fine pair they made, the two of them.
Helena glared sharply at her lamp's low flame, and the light went out.
Author: acidpop25
Rating: PG
Word Count: 638
Summary: DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS. Founders fic, based on the new canon; I can't be any more specific without the summary itself getting spoilerish, so that will just have to do.
Warnings: Again, SPOILERS for DH.
The lamps were still burning in Rowena's tower haven, although it was well past midnight. Helena lifted her chin, tilted her head back to look up though the wide window; two figures sat near it, silhouetted against the yellow glow of the lamplight, their heads bent together, sitting close, very close.
Salazar, then.
Helena continued on her path back into the castle, out of the cold; autumn had come on suddenly, this year, sudden and sharp, and the air tasted of frost. The warmth of the entry hall wrapped around her like a cloak when she stepped inside, some inviting, friendly magic of Helga's- Helena could always tell their spells apart. Helga's, warm and comforting; Godric's, bold and sweeping; Salazar's, subtle and oily.
Rowena's, precise and unfeeling. All colourless, intellectual, with none of the human spark found in the work of the other three. Passionless. Removed. Ice unmelting, cold and hard, unpleasant to touch for very long.
Helena's steps echoed as she climbed the spiral stair to her chambers; she could hear Rowena and Salazar's muffled voices through the closed door. The cool, distant voice of Rowena, the arrogant drawl of Salazar.
"I think," Rowena was saying, "that I shall die soon." She sounded absent, unconcerned, but then, Rowena never did value anything but facts, now did she?
"No." Salazar's voice was very sharp. "You will not. You are young, and you are brilliant, and no one will ever, ever touch you." You are mine went unspoken, but Helena heard it. Doubtless Rowena did, too.
Helena could almost see the look that must have passed between them in the silence that followed. Salazar's pale eyes burning with a desperate, intense fire; Rowena's gaze distant, contemplative, not quite focused on him.
"Perhaps." A maddening trace of something in her tone, some certainty of greater knowledge. "Helena is just outside the door."
Before Helena could move, it had swung open, and the pair were looking directly at her.
Salazar spoke first. "How much did you hear?"
"It does not matter," Rowena cut in, dreamy. "Do not concern yourself, Helena. The musings of an old witch; I have made mistakes before." Her eyes became curiously focused as she said it; Helena shifted under the sudden intensity of Rowena's gaze. Piercing. After an endless moment, Rowena smiled her faint little smile and brushed back a stray lock of dark hair, straightened the diadem on her brow. "The hour is late, Helena."
"I was about to retire."
"Ah." Rowena finally blinked, breaking her pale stare at last. "Pleasant dreams, Helena."
"Goodnight." She nodded once to them both and left the room, and as the door fell shut behind her, Helena heard Rowena speak once more.
"I think I shall go mad, ere I die," Rowena said. "I shall quite lose my mind, slowly. I have never been mad before, you know, Salazar. I will tell you what it is like, if I am sane enough to do so."
Sane, Helena thought bitterly, leaving the threshold and retreating into the safety of her own bedchamber. How can one be sane if one is not human? How can one die if one is not alive? A brittle husk, all facts, ideas, thoughts, empty things. Dead things, meaningless fragments of a foolish, pointless glory, but there was nothing in Rowena. Nothing but thoughts. Like a soulless thing, a hollow shell refilled with knowledge where feelings ought to be, yet it was Helena who was the disappointment. Never as brilliant, as though brilliance mattered more than the ability to feel! And Salazar, Salazar with all his burning, ugly passions. Salazar for whom Rowena was an obsession, Salazar who hoarded every moment of Rowena's attention like the most precious treasure, Salazar who dared begrudge those few, sparse moments of Rowena's distant notice of Helena.
A fine pair they made, the two of them.
Helena glared sharply at her lamp's low flame, and the light went out.