The Copan Moire`
It was announced to her small village that the Green Lady was coming to the knoll off the loch. Young Rowena was excited; she always valued knowledge, and a visit from the queen of Faery was indeed an occasion for the gift of knowledge.
“As if I need anymore knowledge!” scoffed Aileen, a friend of Rowena’s mother, “I know how to card wool, weave my clothes, and feed my family, what else canna I need in this life given by God!?”
“But Aileen,” Isla objected quietly, “Do ye really think that the Green Lady knows less than ye? Surely it canna hurt to go?”
Rowena kept silent, but left to get water from the well at her mother’s insistence. She agreed with her mother, the faery folk knew much more than people could ever know. Aileen was being foolish and hypocritical. A flash of red hair caught her eye, and she turned to see her friend Ainsley walking by with a basket on her hip.
“Ainsley! Ainsley!” she called to her friend, “have ye heard the new about the Green Lady?”
Ainsley flicked a bit of her red braid away from her sweaty face and smiled. She moved her basket of rye to her hip so she could gossip properly.
“Yes, ah did! ‘Tis so exciting to know that the Faery Queen is commin’ to our village!”
Rowena grinned, showing her crooked, slightly yellow teeth. She sometimes hated that she didn’t know any spells right now that would fix them or whiten them. Ainsley’s teeth were white and neat, perfect, her pale skin spattered with freckles. Rowena’s face resembled a peeled potato, though she was sought out as a bride by many, but Isla put her foot down on that; the girl was just barely fifteen after all. Her hair was straight and dark, a rich black with mahogany streaks in the light, a pretty picture of a perfectly normal witch.
“She’s invited only the women though, do ya think we’ll be able to go?”
“Of course, the moon has passed on us,” Ainsley said, showing her good-natured confidence.
“Of course! Remember, Ainsley, tomorrow morn, bright and early!” Rowena called, taking her bucket and putting her wand into her apron waistband, upset at not using it. She loved her magicks.
As the sun peeked through the cottage windows, Rowena woke with it. She stumbled out of her small bed in the bedroom, where her mother was still sleeping soundly. She smiled, pulled the oiled paper covering (since they couldn’t afford glass, Rowena wasn’t quite up to transfiguring it, and who would bring glass all the way to this tiny Loch Ness village anyways?) from the window frame, and threw open the shutters.
Throwing her best, slightly frayed, blue dress on, she grinned more. She tied her buckskin slippers on around her woolen leggings, and tossed her apron on. She braided her hair down her back and stuck a few forget-me-nots in the end, wanting to look impressionable. After all, the Green Lady may have been queen of the faery, but she was still a queen.
Stopping only to touch the small ornament over the door that gave her the name “Raven’s Claw”, she ate a small breakfast, feeling too excited to eat. The sun was pulling itself into the sky a little more securely and Isla was still asleep. The time was soon, very soon.
“Mam! Mam! Hurry! We’re going to meet the Green Lady today, remember?” Isla poked her head up from the blankets, her blue eyes (inherited by Rowena) wide with realization after a moment. Hurriedly, she dressed, washed, and broke her fast. Isla and Rowena trotted out, hand in hand, together to collect Ainsley from her father’s cottage.
The widower Baird looked pleased that his Ainsley was going to the faery knoll. He stroked his Mars-red beard and smiled, repeating that Ainsley would be as wise as her mother over and over again. Ainsley gave her fa a kiss on the cheek and laced her fingers with Rowena’s signaling that they should hurry.
Together, the three women ran across the village, other women pouring from their cottages. Rowena could sense her mother’s dismay when Aileen did not appear, grumbling, saying that she was just going to observe. She gave her mother’s had a squeeze. If Aileen did not want to come, then let her be foolish.
There she was, the Green Lady.
Seated upon the grassy knoll, she looked imposing. She held a strange sort of beauty about her. Her cheekbones were high, her nose long and flat, her chin pointed, and her puckered mouth was set low on that strangely pointed chin. Her eyebrows were thin and arched upward, and her eyes were narrowed, somewhat slanted, the color of evergreen needles.
Her head was set atop of an extraordinarily long neck, and all that was left on her tall, thin body was lost in a gossamer dress of moss-green.
Strangest of all, her skin was a surreally lovely shade of grass green. Her long hair was many shades of emerald, and more than once, Rowena thought she saw leaves growing at the ends, but in must’ve been a trick of the light.
And set atop her green hair, resting above her long, pointed ears, setting her even more apart from the rest of the women, was a crown woven of mistletoe, holly, bluebells, and yellow roses.
She had a look about her of one of old age trapped in a body of extreme youth.
“Welcome, sisters,” she said graciously. Rowena felt like a child before a grandmother as the queen smiled graciously down at them. She stole a quick glance around the knoll. It looked as if all the women of the world had gathered here, not just her own village.
The Green Lady put a hand with only four long, thin fingers in her robe and the crowd pulsed, leaning forward to see what treasure she might pull out. Instead of golden chains or tiaras though, she pulled out a small blue limpet shell.
Again, she smiled graciously upon all of them and said, “In this cup is all the world’s wisdom, which I will share with all of you.”
“In a little limpet shell? The world must not be very wise!” shouted a woman who Rowena recognized as old Edme from her village. Edme scoffed at the queen and left, along with half of the women present.
After a few moments, the Green Lady offered, “Any who would like to gain wisdom, come hither."
Rowena found herself shunted, separated, and shoved to the back of the line of women, eager for wisdom. She felt tears prick at her eyes; none of them wanted the wisdom more than she!
The line took ages. When Ainsley and Isla passed, they encouraged her to wait. It must have been worth it.
“So, dear child, what do they call you?” asked a soft, cordial voice. Rowena looked up to see the Queen of the Faery looking down at her with her lovely smile. Quickly, Rowena brushed the tears from her eyes and hoped that she wasn’t all red and puffy.
“Rowena Raven’s Claw, ma’am,” she murmured, curtsying politely.
“Raven’s Claw, what an unusual name….” the faery murmured, “A raven, known for wit and cunning, the claw representing strength and defense.”
“If it pleases you, ma’am, though it’s not exactly what my mam says,” Rowena murmured.
“So bold for one so young,” said the Green Lady, laughing like a brook over stones. “Here, the Copan Moiré, but heed that you should always be grateful and thankful that you have your wisdom."
Rowena trembled as the little limpet shell was put in her hands. She put it to her lips at the Green Lady’s encouragement, and tipped it up. Liquid poured into her mouth, clear as water, sweet as honey, and cool as if it had been taken straight from the loch.
And she never regretted it, as she sat down at her desk, planning out the enchanted floor plan of Hogwarts, to tease the little Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs (not that they were thick, she just thought that things like this weren't exactly their highest priority), and to challenge the Slytherins and her own Ravenclaws.
She wondered slightly at whatever had happened to Ainsley...and then thoughts turned to the Green Lady. She jumped as little Helena cried out from her sling by the window. Rowena swore that she saw a flicker of green among the snow-covered boughs of the pine tree.
Now I've worked hard, just take a moment and review it. Constructive crit is openly welcomed!
The Copan Moiré by Crows
Chapter Notes: Thanks to Brian Froud, author and illustrator of Good Faeries, Bad Faeries for writing down the legend of The Copan Moiré (that's the Cup of Mary, for you who need to brush up on your history) and to Gareth (Hi, brother dear! I know your probably reading this! I miss you!) for listening to me rant on how Rowena would probably be there and be the last to recieve and letting me use his Celtic folk music CDs to get me in the mood.
I'm using the HP Lexicon's guess at Rowena being from Scotland, around Loch Ness. I think I've done damage to the accent though. I apologize.