Pretty4Iz: I would have responded to you in a PM, but you were not logged in! Thank you for your thoughts! No one is perfect, least of all the Lady. She's had limited dynamic relationship experience, so when things go south in such a drastic way, it's easy to fantasize about the 'what if', as it were. I hope it will all make more sense as I move forward with this.

Chapter 29

If the rhythmic gusts of air were any assessment of the mass of scales and wings that undulated through the night sky, it would be clear that the creature flying overhead was of colossal proportions. In the dark under the full glow of an orange-tinted harvest moon, the mammoth gold Dragon completed a second pass and threshed his wings once more. The force over the currents over the air caused the panes in the window to rattle once more, and the noise in the mid of the silence of sleep caused Loren to shoot to a sitting position.

There was a click of a door, and across the room, the adjoining entry was opened by Ursa, who hovered there at the door hesitantly as she looked at her Lord, and then to the large windows. The man slid from bed and the two wordlessly left the suite together to the common balcony on the floor.

Approaching the open mezzanine, they had arrived just in time as the Dragon swooped past with an elegant roll as he dodged the castle in midair. He was frighteningly close to the stone structure, and the thundering noise caused the pair to falter with a wince. In an automatic gesture, Loren's arm shot out in front of his wife to guard her as the Dragon dove and ascended into the higher airs in his rotation around their House.

Self-consciously, he dropped his arm as he remembered his wife's position on their union as of late, though he didn't note specifically that it brought her any ire. Goldoduur circled lazily overhead, his neck craning to the ground below as though he examined everything below him.

"Was this more of the same from the first night he passed over?" Loren asked of his wife.

"Aye, the exact same." Loren could scarcely take his eyes off his Dragon as the being continued its enclosed circling of his family's House. "Was there anything else that you discovered after I withdrew to my rooms, my Lord?" Loren nearly smiled a little at his wife's stubborn insistence in avoiding his name. He sighed and continued to watch the spectacle of his unsettled Dragon in the air above.

"Nothing useful yet." She nodded distractedly. The ensuing silence was neither uncomfortable, nor heavy with unspoken words as their dual attention was occupied at the sight in the sky.

"Rightly, my Lord, I am fascinated with what reasons could exist that could cause your Dragon to behave thusly." She confessed, her eyes upward. "Do you presume them to be sinister?"

Loren was a man to spend time considering his answers rather than filling space with questions and exchanges. But the fact that his estranged wife was asking him of his postulations on this tugged at him. "There haven't been conflicts in the factions of Dragons for an age, it seems. I uncovered no references to any great perils of concern, nor were any dangers spoken of in passing context." She hummed.

"How many years of records are there?" The Dragon above them let out a thunderous sound; something between a growl and a roar, but it called their attentions upward once more as the creature rocked in midair and plunged downward again with his wings folded until they expanded again to catch him as he rose once again, and circled lower. The rush of air and thundering of wings was a jolt to their previous calm and Ursa gripped the edge of the balcony nervously, her eyes shooting over to Loren.

The nights had grown ever-more crisp, and the blast of air that was carried along the Dragons body from the troposphere was almost glacial as it drafted over the couple. Ursa, clad only in her night dress, gripped her shoulders and rubbed, trying to fend the sudden blight of cold away.

Their sudden and newfound emotional separation was difficult on Loren, to say the least. But it was, too, that every time he made to touch her, he remembered that it was also a physical separation as well.

Paired together it had planted a seed of longing within the man that he didn't have any fortitude to cope with. Ursa was his wife, dammit! He felt his frustrations leak into him as his mind shifted away from the unfolding curiosity concerning his Dragon, and to the woman who stood beside him. It wasn't solely an ache for familiarity that he suffered, it was guilt, too. He had wrought this on them. He had been the seed of discourse. It plagued him day and night, and as she stood here, with him, bared and vulnerable, he prayed to the Gods that he could win her back to him.

Ursa must have felt his burdens, because she looked at him now. His dark eyes burned for her under the moonlight, and his attentions caused her to feel a warmth prickling into her cheeks. She crossed her arms around herself and turned her body out towards the night air defensively. The contact they'd made with their eyes was enough though, and Loren closed the distance as he nearly swooped in at her.

His hands were hot, such as they always were, and he placed them at either side of her cheeks and turned her head to him. The warmth was divine on her cooling cheeks, but she resisted as she focused on her resolve. She was not going to let him draw her back to him with shows of physical desire, nor appeals to the wantonness he created in her body.

"Please-" He pleaded to her, so gently, nearly a whisper. Ursa felt her intention waver and she closed her eyes, even though he had won in turning her to face him. She could feel his breath then, just above her lips and her fingers gripped her upper arms tighter, as though she could shield herself from his advance, refusing to put her hands upon him, even to push him away.

And just as suddenly, the warmth of him retreated, and she opened her eyes. His hands still cupped her tenderly, but he had fallen back away from her. His dark eyes searched her face, and drank her in as though she was the most precious thing in existence. She could feel the tingling under her palms that ached to lay them over his chest, and accept him into an embrace, but she tightened them instead.

"My Lord-" She said in a reproachful tone, but he placed a finger over her lips.

"Ursa-" He spoke her name as though it were a prayer. "You are my heart. My Own." He whispered, grasping for the words he needed now. "I cannot breathe without you." She shook her head almost imperceptibly.

"You cannot draw me back with platitudes of your suffering." She said simply, and he balked at her.

"Platitudes? Is your love for me so mercurial that you cannot find forgiveness within yourself?" He challenged and she scowled. She pulled his hands away from her and threw them back at him.

"You have asked for nothing!" She spat. "You think only of your own heart, and consider nothing for how you have brought hurt upon me."

"I ask you for everything!" He nearly shouted. "I beg that you return to me. To be my wife again! I can no more live with you in this House without being able to love you, than I can live without breathing." She shook her head, and he reached to her to close the distance between them by settling his palms to her shoulders. Without thinking she flinched backward away from him, a fearful expression crossing his eyes.

The silence following was broken only by the sound of wings in the air, and the far-away low vocal noises the Dragon made as it continued its survey.

"You hurt me." She said finally, her voice trembling. "And I will never permit you to do it again." Her eyes burned, and he felt such acute sadness once more. In their clash of wills, the Dragon had continued to circle above them until another roar sounded as he tipped his wings and retreated over the mountaintop once more. It broke their attentions from each other to watch as he flew away again, to wherever his mate still waited for him.

Loren tried one last time, his endurance all but threadbare by this point. His wife was not wrong, and that was the greatest problem. He was a coward, and his insecurity had bested him when it should not have.

"I am a man. Not a God, not a Dragon, only a man. Not even a wise one, at that." He conceded, and Ursa snorted softly, the ice of her countenance broken only in her derisive agreement with him. "What I have done is….." He looked away now from her. "If I have poisoned your heart to me….. Then that is the price I have paid." It was a defeated statement. "You are rarely wrong, and this is no exception. But I need you. I will never not need you." Loren turned to leave them; pressing her as he had was fruitless and counterproductive. He had wished for too much and been able to provide too little as well.

His love for her, it seemed, was not to be enough.

His shoulders sagged more than they would normally, and he had turned to depart to their rooms now that Goldoduur had retreated back to his aerie. His wife stood there, quietly and deep in her own contemplations as he walked away. She knew she should call out to him, and she fought herself as she watched him walking away. She did love him. She knew she did; she always had. That love had not been sewn from seeds at the top of the soil; it had taken roots deep within her soul. Its gradual growth had sustained them through the years, and had been fair and even. Their warmth and adoration had not started like a hot flash, but had grown and changed as they had.

It was a truth she could not refuse, and she closed her eyes as she fought through the resistance pride. She wanted to succumb to his testimony, to wrap her arms around him and feel his familiarity again. Neither her heart nor her body were hewn of stone.

She looked out to the nighttime that surrounded the castle and wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing away the chill as best as she could. She curled her bare toes beneath her, though they were icy and exposed. She closed her eyes once more and made her decision soundly.

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Loren lay at the pillow, his body supine and not fully covered by the duvet. His breaths were long and measured, and his chest trembled as he breathed out each time. With each beat of his heart, it felt as though it was tearing in two within his chest. He was drowning in his own hopelessness.

Beside him, the bed sagged just slightly and his eyes shot open once more at the surprise. Next to him, wreathed in the moonlight that crept in through the breaks in the curtains, his wife had sat next to him. He was frozen in place as she stared at him; her form barely visible in the dark there with him. She lifted her hand to his cheek and she leaned down to him, touching her forehead to his.

Without even knowing he had, he let out a sigh that was wracked with the first of his tears. They began pouring from him at the corners of his eyes and down towards his ears. His breaths were ragged and wrenching, and she touched his other cheek as well, and made a gentle shushing noise. In the night there, he heard her murmur softly. "My heart is not poisoned to you."

His stillness was broken as he wrapped her body against him, almost completely on top of himself, and he crushed her into him. His crying shook his whole body, and her with him. Her hands still upon his face, cupped him firmly as she allowed him to embrace her. The cover of night acting as a veil of protection for them both, keeping them cocooned away from their pain and suffering.

His lips found the top of her head, and he gently kissed her again and again until he found that he was unwilling to allow so much as mere space to be between them anymore. He rolled her across his body and into the middle of the bed, nestling here there among their pillows. He cradled her there in his shoulder, his strong arms held her with intensity, afraid that if he loosed them she would leave.

"My heart." He managed to whisper between his sobs. "I am so sorry. I am a fool." She closed her eyes and Ursa gently lay her arms around his shoulders as she felt her own tears gathering at her eyes. He peppered kisses repeatedly in her hair, his face buried in her tresses. She could still hear the murmurings of love and devotion in his deep timbre.

Loren crumbled there in the warmth they were creating, and Ursa held him as he did. These last months without her had come so unexpectedly, and at a cost that had been unpredictable as well. The turmoil they had endured, and the changes to their lives and the dynamic within the House had taken tolls on all of them. Their idyllic life together had been tipped upon its side, indelicately.

But here, in the safety of the dark, her estranged husband held her and spoke to her of his love for her. He spoke of his regrets and his insecurities, pouring himself open to her and holding nothing back. She listened silently, and stroked his arms as he whispered his transgression under influence of magic at the inn, and his notice of the Master Black's continually lingering gazes at her. How they drove him to rage. He spoke to the events and consequences at the convocation, and how the House of Weasley would not be so easily mollified in the decrees drawn up subsequently.

As he bared everything to her, she felt the barriers between them strip down more and more to be replaced only by a rawness that clung to her visceral components. As he was revealed more to her, her own secrets pressed more intensely inside her, willing her to let them free.

It was only once he had finished, and the silence again lingered between them that she touched his brow delicately and moved to face him. They could not see each other with exactitude, but they were so close that their breaths mingled. Her voice was so soft it could barely be heard. "Since the day I was pushed from my parents' House, I have never spoken a word aloud to this." She started. "From the time that I was a little girl, my father indulged me in education. It was more than I was entitled as a girl, and more certainly than what my sisters ever desired." Loren was still, clinging to her words and careful not to make any noise so as to require her to repeat them. Her tone was uncertain and delicate. "And I shared my lessons with the son of my mother's ladies maid, and our family coachmen…."

Her speech was even, if subdued, and Loren listened long into the night until she had finished her tale. The two of them had drifted away in the last vestiges of night time while still wrapped up together. And entangled together still, the bedclothes almost precisely where they had started when first they settled, and the light of the new dawn broken through the breaks in the curtains the following morning.

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The ascension of the sun the next morning had found more than one of the residents in the House of Gresham a bit worse for wear. The festivities of the night previous left heads muzzy and mouths scented of stale meads and ales. The attendants to the informal table that morning were more sluggish than a normal morning, and even the pair of Masters lacked their typical bounding steps as they also joined.

Tyt'o had sunk himself gingerly into a chair and plucked a mug of steaming tonic meant to rejuvenate and energize the imbiber. It was willow bark and ginger root; made to relieve any pounding behind the eyes as well as provide a bit of a zing to get one moving.

He groaned slightly, and Hermione plopped down unceremoniously into the chair beside him. He glanced at her from the side, too tired to maintain any of the pretenses of his ire and annoyance that he'd employed to keep her at arm's length. She sighed and looked longingly at what he was drinking. Her expression matched his own; tired with a bit of a headache, from the looks of her face.

Her brother rolled his eyes and handed her the cup and she accepted it with a slight smile and leaned into his shoulder. He shrugged her off, though without much enthusiasm. "This doesn't change my displeasure of you." He grumbled and she waved him away.

"Yes, yes." She said in dismissive agreement. "You remain mightily oppressed with your conniptions. I am aware." She slurped loudly and looked at him again.

"Have you no manners?" He asked sourly and she shook her head and gave him a shark-like grin.

"Nay. Nothing of the sort. Just like a barbarian, tearing at carcasses with my teeth and putting my elbows on tables-" She demonstrated by plunking her elbows on the wooden surface, defiantly. The brew she'd begged off him sloshed in the cup.

"Young Lady, you will kindly remove the joint of your arms from the table, this instant." Their mother interjected in an authorative tone. The siblings jumped to attention, and her daughter did indeed remove the offending body parts from the table as directed.

Ursa stood before the two accompanied by their father who waited for her as she gave the two a speculative look. She examined them in turn and the two withered slightly under her gaze until she took her seat. Tyt'o watched as his father's palm cupped her elbow and he pulled her seat for her. More importantly, she let him. Tyt'o glanced at his sister, but she didn't notice. She merely gulped again loudly, followed by a notable wince as she cleared her throat and continued her drinking silently. Ursa raised her eyebrow back at her daughter.

Loren took his own seat and chuckled in a low tone. "Managing the flock, as always." He praised of her, and she gave a small smiled as she arranged her napkin at her lap. He caught her hand before she could reach it to the table, and brought it to him so he could brush her palm with his lips. She struggled to meet his eyes as he did, for he conveyed a meaning without speaking. Despite that they had woken together, entangled and warm in the morning, they had not made any continuation in their conversation from the night previous.

The crew gathering at the table were all mostly silent and tired. Dancing as well as the flow of drink had gone long into the night, and that the Gresham youths were considered of age, it was not inappropriate that the two had enjoyed several rounds of mead and ale as well. Though, most belatedly, they were individually discovering that a heavy mixing of the types of drink came at a high cost the next morning.

It was Hermione that broke the reverie around the table first.

"Did mother tell you that Goldoduur came down from the mountains?"

Her inquiry was entirely innocent, but it caused several utensils to drop to the table when she asked it. Loren cleared his throat and glanced around the table before answering. "Aye." He said hesitantly, not wishing to call any attention to the subject, though it was being aired as certainly if it were laundry in the sunshine. "It has been discussed." His tone was clipped, hoping that it would satisfy her question. He ought to have known better.

"He came down again last night, too." She mentioned, her statement hovering and hoping her father would fill in the rest.

"Aye." He agreed and she waited expectantly. The father and daughter staring at each other until she furrowed her brows. The two spoke in time, interrupting the other.

"For what purpose did-"

"Perchance might I steal you and your brother-"

She smiled at her father, but he bullied onward. "I missed you two fiercely while I was away, mayhap you would join me a moment to discuss your achievements in these months?" Hermione frowned. He dodged her.

"Always, father, but what of the Drag-" Tyt'o's foot came down on top of hers and she hissed, looking under the table, as well as at him. His eyes caught hers with an unspoken annoyance, practically begging her to quit speaking. She looked at her father, who had remained stony, and then at her mother who was frozen in place. She sat back and huffed.

Theo and Draco, also at the table, looked at each other before returning to their own affairs of consumption and the table remained largely silent for the remainder of their meal.

Once finished, Ursa excused herself and had exited the hall doors when she heard quick steps behind her. She turned to see that Loren had caught up to her. He surged forward only slightly and claimed his wife's hand in his own, holding her back. His dark eyes were intense, and how he lowered his jaw to look at her made him appear desirous. He brought her knuckles to his lips, grazing them lightly, opening his mouth so she could feet his breath on her as he searched her face. "It changes nothing." He said into her hand, and she tilted her head in curiosity. "When you were young, with that boy." He reminded her, grazing his tongue delicately across her flesh and her eyes widened a little. "It does not change how I love you, my heart." He whispered at last, and took his other hand to cup her where her cheek joined her neck.

Waking in Loren's arms had flooded her with her familiar concerns over whether or not reneging on her proclamation was wise, and she'd spent so long deliberating in her mind over it she'd realized she'd risen and excused herself back to her rooms without a word. Though, were she to have spoken, what would she have said to him?

Her confession had followed his own, and that had proceeded their slumber. There had been no time for anything more. She'd held nothing back from him; good nor bad, and he had listened to her without interjection or opinion. He picked up easily on her silent turmoil, for he pulled her close to him, leaning over her with his lips so close to hers she could feel the heat radiating from him. "To whom does your heart belong, now?" He asked. It was simple, and direct.

Her words tumbled from her without her having to think about them, and they were true. "You Loren. It is you that I love." She breathed, and his thumb slid across her cheek.

"Would you choose differently?" It was a cautious whisper and a vulnerability. His eyes had softened with his question, and she felt her heart sink in seeing how he was affected, and how much he was still bearing to her.

Were she to have taken a different path, it would have rendered everything in this life she loved invalid. The years she'd spent in the existence she led, she had come to love. It had proven deep and abiding for her. Her children would not have been hers, this reality would have belonged to someone else. What would her other life have brought her? It was easy enough to paint a picture of carefree romance, but another entirely to create the foundations of a life from. She shook her head gently and gave her answer with as much honesty as she possessed. "I would keep this life."

Loren smiled slowly but widely, and he leaned in to her mouth and claimed it with his. He no longer hesitated with expressing himself through that kiss; it was filled with passionate foreshadowing. His tongue swirled hers expertly as he opened her to him. His free hand cupped her at her ribs below the breast and pulled her to his chest as he explored her, pausing to nip at her lips, and then returning to his worship of her mouth.

It had been so long since they had kissed, that when he seized her body to his she gasped and moaned as she felt exhilaration surge through her body. Her noises encouraged him, and spurned him onward and as he pressed forward physically, her body bowed backward to accommodate him.

Their bubble was popped when the quiet in the common hallway was interrupted by the noise of a throat clearing, and the pair pulled away from each other as bashful smiles appeared on each of them. Loren's hands did not leave his wife's body, though he did turn his head slowly to address the noise that had interrupted them.

Standing frozen in the doorway were their children and their young wards, all with expressions of varying levels of shock. Hermione was the first to speak, and her voice was clear and surprisingly impassive.

"Are we to meet with you in your study then father?" Loren chuckled and looked back to his wife before he replied.

"Aye. Join me there presently." He touched his wife's cheek and kissed her hand one final time. He leaned in close to her ear so only she should hear. Whatever it was he whispered caused her to smile as she gave him a measured look and laughed lightly.

Turning from his wife, Loren nodded to the four awaiting to leave the hall, but struck by their nervousness at having interrupted. She cleared her throat lightly. "Today is the last day you are released. Use it as you see fitting." There were a few uncomfortable acknowledgements hidden in the doorway ad Ursa took her leave shortly following.

Tyt'o groaned after a minute, wiping his hand down his face at the horror their group had stumbled upon. Hermione scoffed and shoved him into the door playfully. "How you remain utterly unflappable, is beyond me." He groaned.

"I pray to the Gods you already know the logistic of how a man puts a baby in-" He cried out, and clamped his hand over his sisters mouth. Draco and Theo both cringed at her brassy choice of words.

"No. Absolutely not." She shirked him off.

"What? There are two of us, you lummox. They have to like each other enough to-" He tried to lid her flapping jaw once more, and the she shooed his arms away by batting at him.

Theo put his hands over his eyes and cringed, and Draco turned himself completely the other direction to take a deep breath to keep himself from breaking down utterly into laughter, but it was unsuccessful.

"Prig."

"Cease!"

"Cynic!"

"Desist, lest I throw you into a trough."

"Prude."

"Gods, strike me down as I stand here." Tyt'o bemoaned, and Draco belted out a loud guffaw.

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The warmth of the sun had long since slipped to give way to the chilling air that accompanied the night. The stars above glittered in the inky blackness that was the sky over the castle of House Gresham. The stones beneath his feet had held little warmth as the seasons had now made their shift towards winter in earnest. It summoned a memory of his night last when he stood here, watching the gold Dragon above him as it continued in the bizarre break in behavior of leaving its nest.

This time when those same forceful and powerful gusts of wind had enveloped him once again, it nearly toppled him from his feet with the momentum as it approached so closely. The whooshing sound of the massive wings filled his ears as the great clawed feet came to rest atop the roof nearest the plateau on which he stood, and the sound of a rumbling growl filled his ears. Its massive body accompanying the creature reflected the moonlight over its many armored scales, and the long tail dropped down over the stone tower towards the ground below.

For the first time in nearly a full turn of the seasons, the shining scales that armored his face across the slits of his nose and moved back into the curve of the three horns they formed on each side of his face were a warming and familiar sight. It was the narrowing of the gold eyes into glowing slits, and the deep and warning rumble that graced his mounts countenance that gave Loren unease.

The plated head leaned in low as the claws gripped tighter seeking purchase along the clay shingles, crushing many, and sending others sliding down and off the castle top. The deadly creature leaned in until it was well-within Loren's personal space and with an unexpected panic, the Lord stepped back, suddenly unnerved at the now-wild creature's true intentions.

The low rumble of his voice maintained the melodic tone that Loren had always know, but it was hardened in a way he had never heard before. The tones were harsh, wilder even. The resonance of speech forming from deep within the chest of the being. Even at a whisper, the sheer volume was entirely mighty.

A krasaar has come. His yellow eyes were hard and calculating and his mouth was so close Loren could smell the tang of magic that emanated from the Dragon. He found his heart rate pick up slightly and his throat had gone dry. This was not the same creature who had bid them love and friendship that had left to tend his mate and nest. The creature's wildness was astonishingly terrifying, even for a man who had spent his entire life in the company of Dragons. Loren cleared his throat nervously. His mouth had dried completely and he stammered to speak. I sense but I cannot see. He hissed.

Loren licked his lips as gaze fell upon him, examining and scrutinizing with a degree of hunger Loren was unnerved by as the great eye hovered ever-nearer to him, waiting for his response.

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A/N:

Krasaar means "sickness".

If you would like a visual on what Goldoduur looks like, check out my Pinterest. I am IndigoBirds, and the board is (creatively) Guild of Dragons.

There's a lot of flim flam in there that's inspiration, but a lot of it is used for me to better visualize what each dragon looks like. Makes them easier to describe.