Chapter 3

"Be still my youthful, beating heart!" Hermione cried with unrepentant amusement. Her teasing exclamation carried her musical laughter all around her as she pressed her heels into the sides of her mount, keeping his cantering pace at a delightful bounce beneath her. Tyt'o, on the other hand, was not amused at all.

"That you", she continued, alighting her fingertips to her chest as her horse circled her older brother, "should seek a favor from me?" she finished, throwing her head back in a mockingly aristocratic sneer. Her brown curls bounced all over her back and shoulders, bound only at the nape of her neck and allowed to tumble all across the dark hood she had pulled back from her crown. The warm late-summer sun was terribly hot when she wore it, no matter how mother chided her that she should shield her fair face and hair from the elements when she rode, Hermione could never stomach keeping her head wrapped up just for the sake of appearing as a lady should. Least of all in the presence of her brother.

From the ground, her brother Tyt'o grew progressively more irked by her antics and jeering. Every time she passed him in the circles she rode astride her horse, she continued her mockery of his state, and his patience with her gall was waning fiercely.

"Now now, little wren," he jibed at her affectionately as she made another pass, using the childhood moniker for Hermione that she absolutely hated. Wren. Her mirthful amusement turned to a scowl directed straight at him as she circled again, defiantly. Tiny brown bird. She intoned in her mind. HA! Tyt'o guffawed at her inability to keep her vexation with him at bay. "Come down, little wren, and then let us speak of favors granted." He teased again, knowing that her upper hand was only for the sake of being astride a horse, while he found himself on foot. Yet again.

Tyt'o Gresham was admittedly not the most skilled of riders, this he knew. There were few horses here in the reach that possessed the correct balance of strength to carry him long distances at his size, as he also had need of them to have some modicum of grace as they did so. The bulky, muscle-bound mounts that they bred in Morvan as mountain horses were outstanding choices for any laborious ends required, but not as much for riding great stretches for any distance. The dense muscle they had in abundance simply did not translate into an animal that was suited for long enduring rides. It exhausted and irritated them to no end, as Tyt'o discovered, though through no lack of lecturing from his dear baby sister.

As Hermione slowed her bay Noriker from a lope to a jostling trot, her ease astride the animal was evident in her confidence as she slowed him expertly, never taking her focus from her brother, despite his friendly jibing at her. "How many times must I tell you, Tyt'o?" she chided him, "A draft horse is simply not befitting a ride to the Upper Reaches," she added, laughing "you featherbrained giant."

Her brother crossed his arms and painted his face in annoyance, when he really only concealed his mirth. He was nearly 19 hands and despite being on horseback, it was not much of a stretch for him to look her in the face from the back of her horse. Compared to her much smaller stature, he was quite a giant. Hermione brought her horse to a stop before her brother, and he swiped the reigns at the bit as she did to anchor her mount.

"Yes, thank you for reminding me of my own shortcomings in learning anything new, little wren." He rolled his eyes at her and she laughed again, despite his consistent attempts to further goad her with his favorite little sobriquet.

"Well, yes, but so long as you're aware of your shortcomings, brother," she emphasized "then I think there's truly little harm done." Hermione swung her leg up and over the saddle and dismounted her horse to stand beside her brother.

At an initial glance, a lingering question on relation between the two might arise; given the two were such difference sizes and coloring. Tyt'o stood as tall as their father now, and had already begun to fill in the muscle that came with daily training they had engaged in for the last 2 years. His tawny hair had grown longer than his shoulders and he drew it loosely to the nape of his neck to keep it in some assembly, but that it lacked the utter animation that Hermione's sienna colored curls possessed. Her height was much more conservative in comparison to his own, much to her chagrin, as the top of her head reached only to the top of his shoulder.

Their link was in their skin and in their eyes. Both were possessed of a dermis of a flawless buff, along with eyes the color of copper. A shade that positively radiated beneath the thick of their lashes like an inferno.

Hermione knocked her elbow into her brother's side, playfully, and he gave her a little shove to the shoulder in response. Theirs was a banter of constant play, and perpetual one-uppmanship. Since the morning Hermione came wailing into the world, a mere 10 moons behind Tyt'o, they were at permanent war with the other. A friendly one, of sorts, given the boundless love they shared for each other that was evident in their loyalty to the other. Had they been true twins, their bond would not have been more enduring than it already was: If Tyt'o was injured, it was Hermione who cried, and if Hermione was angry, it was Tyt'o who railed for her. However, this never stopped them from a constant and incessant pecking between the two.

He took the reins over her the neck of the horse for her, and she pulled her waist sack open to hand him a bit of dried meat to tear into while they walked down the mountain path back to their home many miles below them. Their plans for the day slightly foiled by the episode of Tyt'o's sturdy mountain horse (the ones ill-suited to the tight mountain paths, as Hermione had pointed out several times on their ascent to the Upper Reach) dislodging its rider in favor of a meadow below filled with blooms of honey clover and fresh alfalfa. A veritable buffet for a morsel-conscious gelding.

"Good planning that you brought this." Tyt'o motioned to the morsel his sister had shared. She shrugged and smiled as she nibbled her own.

"Of course it was." She agreed steadily and brought her hand to her brow a she shielded her eyes from the midday son to look up to his greater height. "Pity you're such a barbarian, or we could ride as a pair to the Upper Reach." Tyt'o laughed and shook his head.

"You mean pity I chose an inferior mammal to bear my burden the many miles up to the Uppers!" And they both laughed together at the little joke. Their laughter died, as they continued to walk leading Hermione's horse. She mused a moment in thought.

"Alas, then, our plans are foiled for this morning." She signed, dramatically. Tyt'o nodded.

"Likely better anyway," he mentioned, "with Imri at the nest exclusively we'd still be chancing her irascibility just to get a look at the eggs, let alone get close to them" Hermione digested the information thoughtfully.

"We don't have much more time before the clutch will be ready," she outlined. "Before long we'll be making the climb back here, but without any mounts to bear us." Tyt'o offered to the conversation as he nodding his head, imagining what the ancient ritual would look like in earnest as they ascended the ancient mountain peaks in their once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage. The idea brought him such anticipation that he felt his innards flutter involuntarily.

Hermione side-eyed him, recognizing her own excitement in the language of his body as much as her own. It was why they had hatched this little jaunt this morning, without permission or knowledge from their House or family to try to get a feel for the trails before them, and the distance they would have to travel. The quest they would ultimately undertake was one that would be solely on their own; they would have no map as to where they were to travel, no guide to provide instruction, and be prohibited from doing anything other than short-distance apparitions for reasons of safety. This segment was critical in the process of finding their Dragons by nothing more than wit, instinct, and fortitude. They were to prove that they were worthy enough by being tested physically by this days-long walk through cold and bare rock, so they might be shown strong enough to take their places at the mantle of a Dragon.

"Aye, true enough." She concluded. The two slipped into silence together, comfortably processing the little morsels Hermione had brought in their mouths, the gentle hoof sounds behind them and a soft snorting of her horse being the only presence with them.

The two of them had spent enough of their childhoods spanning these trails back and forth to know almost every part of the area with at least some familiarity. The pathways up through the mountains began in large swaths cutting through the mountainsides, and eventually narrowed as a journey moved into the jagged upper peaks. The had never undertaken the long road to the Upper Reaches, or "Uppers" as they were often called: Their Cast offered no welcome to their riders to come into the heart of their breeding and nesting ground, no matter how many generations had sat astride one of them. It was only during a hatching, when the chicks were to bond with their rider that a human being would not be roasted alive, or torn to shreds if they were to amble their way into the territory of nesting Dragons. There was none in the House of Gresham who would have been so foolish as to tread without invitation or outside of the hatching time. Such an imbecilic action was taught against from the time any child was old enough to start learning of their Legacy as rider of Dragons.

Tyt'o and Hermione knew this well; they had been taught, lectured, explained and scolded at any time when they had questioned why they weren't allowed to travel to their Dragons. The fact that the immense and dangerous creatures were not only incredibly territorial was evident in how lacking the Gresham lands were in attacks by outsiders. A Dragon attuned itself to their territories from a young age so that any threatening forces or unfriendly hoards were a presence that a Dragon could smell and feel, and would respond to without compunction. The wrath of a dragon who felt an unacceptable person or presence in their land was something to dread.

The siblings walked side by side companionably as they hiked down the wide path travelling down the mountain en-route to the larger expanses of meadows that opened up at the last slope at the base of the hills surrounding the House in the depression amid the Morvan Mountains.

Their expectation of spotting Tyt'o's pigheaded Ardennes pushing his face into all manners of edible delights was one built on common occurrence with any wayward draft animal at this time of year. The mountains could be a cruel and desolate place during any winter, often feeling empty of life as the snows layered higher with every falling. When the vernal equinox rose and warm sunshine cast out all the ice and drudge, the flora and fauna of the mountains sprang forth in almost no time whatsoever. Snowdrifts receded quickly to allow for grasses, flowers and glowing mosses to appear with the onset of moisture and warmth, and the deciduous trees in the valleys shot blooms and cattails out to tempt nature's pollinators forth once again.

Every living thing in these lands awaited that first breath of new life with great expectancy, and of all the many animals both magical and non-magical, it was always the hefty and gruff draft horses that would break to temptation first. With impetuous and consistent passion, they would often spurn their handler or rider and trounce merrily off in search of scrumptious flowers and sweet tall grasses to gorge themselves on. Their jubilant nickering aimed for the heavens in triumph as it bounded off merrily toward whatever patch of delightful greenery it was nearest, while the unsuspecting straphanger was left behind often on their back or backside wonderstruck at what had just happened to them. Moreover, it was always the Ardennes that brainstormed this brand of mischief, and never the sleek Norikers that sought themselves a sabbatical.

A fact that Hermione chided Tyt'o with just before he found himself sailing through the air, and squarely on his hind end at the side of the trail, much to the bruise to his pride. Tyt'o prided himself on the strength of his body, and the requirement to master horsemanship left no room for any failing. The finesse of riding a creature was instilled in every member of the House them from their first breath. From the moment they could be swaddled to the breast of their mother and father for sun-filled walks through the lower meadows, they were acquainted with the slow pitch and heave of travel astride a horse. The mastery of riding the earth-bound beast of burden was a stepping-stone in their eventual dexterity as a fully mounted rider of a Dragon.

The two neared the last stretch of pathway, which gave way into the acres of field overlooking their family's ancestral home and the House of Gresham. Its light walls glistened in the morning light as the carved stone and masonry rose out of the very rocks beneath it in the vale amid the vast mountain range. Their home sat comfortably within the large range of mountains a day's journey from the plains and lower lands where crops and the larger portion the livestock was kept and cared for, but a cache of animals lived in the Range with the family for purposes of leisure and day-to-day needs for food.

The moseying winds manipulated the tops of the grasses around in dancing waves, dotted with colorful flowers and the bees that flew busily to visit each of them, weaving a familiar silken melody as Old Father Wind played his loving songs upon the breast of The Great Mother. The sounds of the mountain winds were practically lullabies to the ears of the Gresham children growing up, and the tune that was the quintessential theme of their homeland.

There, in the waves of green that swayed gracefully was the dark silhouette of the draft horse Tyt'o had saddled for their conspiratorial jaunt up to the Upper Reaches. His head bobbing up as he grunted contentedly, ripping up masses of grass, and various flowers. Pushing his velvety snout here and there sorting out the sweetest mouthfuls. Hermione pointed, in glaring mockery at her brother. "See your great beast, brother?" She sang to him, hoping her tone enforced her notion of his choice. "Beseech that the great brute doesn't eat himself to colic." Her eyes danced with her intentional antic at the expense of his pride, and the amusement in her copper colored eyes caused them to dance in the morning light.

The pair jibbed back and forth as they approached the horse, Hermione's mount occasionally poking his head between the two to fumble his soft lips at her shoulder before he'd try to tug the reigns lose and grab a mouthful of same pasture the bulkier draft was gluttonously pillaging. He made grunting happy little noises as he ripped, chewed, and shuffled to a new little patch, gently hunting along with his soft snuffles as he lazed along. Having had nearly an hour to quell the never-ceasing pursuit of food, the large draft horse inflected no complaints when Tyt'o plucked up his reigns, and remounted the horse in the final stretch of path down to the valley below, and Hermione followed suit.

"Not any surprise he wouldn't go farther than the first plateaus," she started, and Tyt'o tilted his head her direction to focus on her statement. "The horses have never liked going out of the valleys. The Uppers made them as nervous as long-tails in a room filled with candles." Her observation was as keen as the metaphor she compared it to; felines never scent-rubbed a candle the same way a working beast wouldn't ascend the same mountains that held one of their greatest predators: Dragons were known for snapping up lone beasts while in the wild. The idea that they would discern between wild and domestic if there were without a rider was unlikely. No horse would abide to be ridden any deeper into Dragon territories than they already lived, especially the large horses.

Tyt'o's response was stalled as the horses beneath them nickered at a procession coming through the valley road below that ultimately connected the lower lands to the valley to Gresham House. Though small from this distance, the team could see a sole rider traveling before the group behind, and the horse beneath him being ridden hard and urgent. Astride it could have been none other than their father, Loren Gresham.

From the distance, the face was anything but clear, but Hermione and Tyt'o both understood immediately that there was no other person who would have ridden before a returning group of riders, at such a distance as to indicate his leading the band back to its roost. She shot him a glance and nudged her head toward the remaining path to return to their home. This was going to put them in the distinct position of having to come up with a reason they were not in training at this time. Slipping the care of their various tutors was one matter, avoiding their parents was another entirely. One that had always proven far more difficult than either had managed to achieve. Nevertheless, they continued to remain diligent students in the pursuit.

With her brothers horse having snacked himself utterly languid, he would not be brought to any speed outside a quick walk, and Hermione simply wouldn't consider leaving the two behind. They nudged their animals with an unspoken understanding that they would, in fact, have to come up with some explanation as to why they had not been participating in their daily tutelages. The duo had shirked their normal schedule without word to any of their tutors and simply absconded the keep on horseback into the mountain paths that morning, without so much as a by-your-leave to any of their instructors.

They had unwisely assumed that time would be on their side, and their brief absence would be unnoticed if they were to only be gone a few hours. Such as it was, their father had come home earlier than they had anticipated, and they would be returning their horses to stable at the exact time his processional was. Hermione sighed at Tyt'o wordlessly, acknowledging their foolishness in her furrowed eyebrows as she bore into her brother with the copper color of her eyes. He returned her look with one of calm complacency. Such was their dichotomy; Hermione the ever-worrier, and Tyt'o the ever-calm.

The duo did not share any more conversation on the remaining trip, each caught up in their own minds with their own thoughts. As the stables approached, the two dismounted and handed their animals to one of the young stable hands that eagerly fisted the reigns of the two geldings, and bowed properly to the young lord and lady of the House. Hermione always smiled at them, and voiced her thankfulness at their endlessly good care of the animals of their home.

Once past the long avenue and into the lower courtyard, the two entered into the wide-open bailey. When there was no one there from their father's processional to greet (and chastise them for being absent from their lessons), the two shared a glance as they continued walking on to the keep.

The silence through the keep of House Gresham felt queer given the return of their father, not more than an hour before themselves. The sounds of voices as household staff were hushed and lacked the general gaiety and lack of reserve that was more normal for the home. Tyt'o looked to his sister's face in question, and she shrugged her shoulders without any words to offer him, but she jerked her head toward the grand stairs that extended upward to where the Gresham family quarters were situated in the higher levels of the House and mouthed a single word to him; 'library'.

The two ascended quietly side-by-side, not wishing to squander their vein of good fortune any more than they had by entering undetected to this point. Softly stepping on foot at a time without allowing their feet to slide against the stone of the stairs, they each looked over their shoulders still feeling as though their sense of security ought to be false.

"I see you've managed to find you way back," Ursa said from the landing behind them. Tyt'o and Hermione froze instantly, the copper of their eyes met briefly as they shared the same unspoken expression of a grimace. Their mother continued, "Your father waits for you in his study."

Expecting the familiar lift in the corner of their mother's smile that would set her beautiful eyes glimmering at them when she caught her two children trying to get away with something they weren't supposed to, was unexpectedly supplanted by the lines of a frown. Her posture was straight and tense, her hands rested together formally in front of her, as though she were greeting guests of the House, not as if she were addressing her own two mischievous children.

At their brief hesitance to move from where they stood frozen at the top of the stairs, their mother tilted her head slightly behind her and moved an eyebrow so subtly, one might not understand the gesture. Hermione and Tyt'o knew this one well, and together felt a cold drop in their own stomachs realizing something was terribly, unexpectedly, wrong.

Hermione brushed Tyt'o's hand with her own as the two moved in synch, never breaking eye contact with Ursa as they crossed towards her, her own eyes trained on them as they came.

Ever the inquirer, Hermione's mouth moved as though to speak, and Ursa lifted her hand immediately to her daughter in a silencing gesture. "No questions." She stated in a final tone, garnering no arguments from her inquisitive daughter.

The hem of their mother's gown whispered across the dark wooden floors before them, delicately swishing and swooshing as she led them through the thick double doors that served as the gateway to their father's study where the sound of her gowns moving around her was joined by the crackling of the fire within the hearth of the room.

Tyt'o tried desperately to keep his shoulders as relaxed as he could, but the silence from their mother was deafening. He knew that beside him his sister was certainly bursting to speak; to ask questions in her incessant impertinence when it came to knowing the what, the where, or the why. He found that even he was agitated at this rapid change in relationship with his mother, usually a warm and welcoming presence to the two of them both. It struck him then that there must be something dreadfully wrong.

Their father had removed his traveling cloaks with the fur collar and dark woolen fabric, and sat pensively, his thumb and forefinger methodically stroking his unshaven chin downward into a point. His eyes were cast downward, unseeing until his children and wife entered the room. Ursa's eyes met his knowingly and he gestured to several of the other chairs, bidding them to seat themselves. Behind then, Ursa secured the door, locking and warding it strongly behind them, making it impenetrable to prying ears and eyes from outside.

Hermione was beyond bursting! The gay motives of her morning had rounded completely into repeated disasters, and now she and her brother were sitting silently before their parents as though scrutinized for being criminals. All silence and austerity, and no warmth nor pleasant exchanges. Loren Gresham was a stern and serious man, but where his family was concerned, there had never been a time in which his hard countenance was not melted when he would return home to the open and zealous peals of joy from his daughter. They were always open-arms awaiting and smiles alight on faces to the other; his sobriety was cold and removed toward her and her brother and she felt a pang of discontent that as she sat, wriggling minutely, Tyt'o remained as a statue awaiting their fathers assured tirade about their earlier escapades.

Loren drew in a slow breath, watching his two children in from of him, flanked by Ursa in a chair beside him. Mulling over his future omission had caused a discomfort to rise in his chest the longer he considered the implications, and the more he brooded over the matter. His two children were on the cusp of adulthood now, and no longer children to be sheltered from the treacheries of life, but it caused him great sorrow to know that as a House, they faced this great challenge. That as a father, he would stand in need of their solidarity so immensely. He did not hesitate any longer.

"We have provision to change the candidates for the hatching," he allowed his pause to have greater efficacy to their ears. Hermione's copper eyes widened at her father, as did Tyt'o's. Her hand sought his without breaking her gaze, suddenly realizing 'One of us is going to be weeded from the bonding!' This possibility was her most ardent terror, realized! As the sight of his children's dread, Loren understood that they believed he spoke of them directly. He continued, "In half a fortnight, we will expect the Scions from House of Nott, and House of Malfoy as the guests of our great House, to begin their training to present at the hatching to bond as Guild Riders." Loren looked from one child, to the other and added, "It is my expectation that you will assist your tutors in aiding their training."

Tyt'o narrowed his eyes speculatively at the mention of the names of these houses, but Hermione exploded angrily before he could bring any questions. "Those snakes have no place here in Morvan!" She exclaimed hotly, her expression disgusted, and confused. "Neither House has any loyalties to our Guild, and there already suitable, trained candidates to present!" She emphasized. Tyt'o squeezed her hand softly to remind her to quell her anger. Hermione's explosive tempter was only matched by that of her father, so like a mirror to him she was that he often found himself smiling later in seeing first-hand how much of him he would witness in her ranting and raving.

"Father," Tyt'o entreated, more diplomatically, "Surely this late hour leave too little time remaining to properly prepare any new possible contenders to sit at the hatching to bond?"

Loren had only to look upon his wife, their mother, for her to respond in kind to him directly. "Nevertheless, my children" and she offered up a modest smile to them both, bringing back the warmth in the room as she did so. Comforting, reassuring, loving. "It is our place as the keepers and riders to ensure that any bidder for a seat as a bonded rider be properly, and highly prepared before the hatching." Ursa reached to her daughter, and stroked a hand down her forearm with hope painted in her expression, entreating Hermione to overcome her hot response to the news and listen to reason. "It is better that we bring more than adequate possibilities, lest we wager a loss of the chick to the cast when it has no human to bond to." The possibility hung in the air between the four, and Hermione pinched the corner of her cheek in her teeth thoughtfully.

Ursa's eyes dashed to Loren's, already having understood the unspoken alternative in this scenario was that House Malfoy, if denied this surrogate accord, would invoke their claim to Loren's only daughter in consortium with their House. If that poisonous serpent thought himself the case to plunder their daughter into the bed of his son….. Ursa shut herself off from the thoughts of Hermione, in all her chaotic and delightful joy to be imprisoned and cowed beneath the heel of that depraved House.

Loren had entreated his lady wife to speak nothing of this furtive aspect to neither son nor daughter. In their agreement to bring them both into the fold of this revelation and change of plan, they needed both Tyt'o's determination and Hermione's passion to ensure that these two new apprentices, albeit highly undesired, were going to be pivotal in the greater picture of success. Ursa's great gold dragon, Imri, had lain four luminous and shining golden eggs; and Loren would place their safety above anything else. Hundreds of years ago, ancestors of the House established the prestige as the foremost family to have joined with the Gold Dragons as their riders, and cemented treaties and friendships with other Houses who followed suit.

"Mother, how are we to know that the wyrmlings will find a bond in either of these two insufferable shi-" she cleared her throat "young men?" Hermione's near slip into vulgarity was no way to sway her mother's opinions, and she rapidly covered her misstep. "House Malfoy has aligned with the legitimized bastard of Gaunt; a power-obsessed, bloodthirsty zealot. House Nott mimics their complacency in Gaunt's advances into the reaches and mountains as he tries to further embargo free trade among the Houses" she objected further "explain that to me? He means to wage a war, Mama. Is that not clear enough indication for The Houses in the Guild? Should we not counter? Fortify?"

Loren and Ursa shared a glance, the answer bitten back between them. It was certain that most Houses had no care to educate the females of their line beyond reasonable expectations. But as Ursa hailed from a House known widely for its academic accomplishments and contributions, negating Hermione's insatiable intellect was never even a consideration for her mother. Loren gave his brilliant daughter a wry smile at her accurate perceptions of House politics. Tyt'o assuredly shared as much; there was nary a morsel of imparted to his son that was not then heard by his sister.

"Take heart then" Ursa entreated her doubting offspring, "your fortitude and strength are necessary for your house, and the future of our great Dragons. You must arise to this need as the Scion," she looked at Tyt'o, "and the Daughter of House Gresham." She finished with Hermione, who did everything in her being to keep her rising petulance at bay, knowing that honor and pride could never truly compete in this challenge. "We will mount and conquer this challenge as the great House we are" Ursa encouraged "we will take these youths in, and they will be trained as your brothers in all ways, and will be recast as men before the ascension into the Upper Reaches."

Hermione and Tyt'o were to be cooperative in this regard, nay, emphatic participants in refining the training of the two young lords that were to arrive in short order. Tyt'o mulled over the words they had imparted, and more so what his father had not imparted. Such a drastic, risky change, so close to the hatching and bonding? He considered silently. So soon, following he returns from the assemblages between the Houses? He recalled the conversations had with his father in the many weeks prior to Loren's travels out of Morvan and into the lower plains to join with the other great Houses in the congregation among the leaders of the Houses of the Guild. Could Lord Malfoy have been there, too? He wondered.

Not realizing he had been openly staring at his father, Loren's movement broke his introspective ponderings when he straightened his body. Tyt'o looked away, back to his mother. Loren's brow sunk, nearly imperceptivity, at Tyt'o. The look he had given him; it was searching, but distant. Mulling what was unsaid behind those fire-filled copper eyes he shared with his sister. So much like a Dragon, Tyt'o was. Ever wise, ever thought-filled and perceptive. It was never possible to withhold from his son; Tyt'o had a way about piecing together the truths from empty spaces and whispers unspoken. It left Loren wary at the possibility that he would hash out the actuality, and menace facing them sooner than Loren was ready for him to.

It was no great secret, certainly. Nevertheless, knowing Hermione's temper and Tyto's increasingly protective temperament where his sister was concerned, it would be of no benefit to impart the fact that if this failed, Lord Lucius Malfoy would be within his rights to beckon Loren's daughter to be joined to his own son. Loren would not, could not, allow this to happen. To deliver his daughter into the den of the men conspiring to unseat the fellow Houses across the land was unthinkable. The safety of his family, their Dragons, and their lands and people were what Loren guarded as the Lord of these lands, and this House.

He looked upon the faces of his two children and felt his heart ache at what they were tasked with now. To welcome sons of warring Houses into their lives; to entreat them to their families table as equals, to strengthen them and fortify them to the very limit of possibility, and present them at the first hatching in near 20 years….. Loren felt a sudden rage in his mind build unthinkably fast when it dawned on him: Lucius Malfoy had bidden his time, and planned his attack so impeccably. The treachery was clear as day. Now that there was a suitable uprising within the Houses against each other, it was the crowning time to cross the lines to the enemy and unseat them where it would cleave Loren's heart from his chest: The possession of one of House Gresham's prized Dragons. Or else the nuptial rights of his beloved daughter to the son of a man utterly without conscience or scruple? There was no victory in his choice. There was no lesser evil. Men had gone to war for less than this, Loren knew.

Ursa's hand gently at his elbow brought Loren crashing back into reality from the where he ruminated in his mental indignation. The bronze in her eyes alight with the fire in the room, highlighting the waves in her hair around her face, she beckoned him back to her with her smile. Strong in its gesture, and soft in her femininity. He longed to hold her to him again, to forget the entanglements of his life as a Lord. To feel the softness of her skin in his rough palms, and taste the salt and sweet of her body once again. It had been too long since they had shared in the joys of their love, and he longed for her in that brief moment. His capable and enduring wife.

"Their arrival with harken a tour de force within this House," Loren looked at his children, their eyes to him beckoning his guidance. "We will double efforts to prepare them both with tutors and the guidance from you both." He motioned to them together. "They are to be guests of the House, and treated as such, regardless of political upheavals as of late," he offered, a bit lamely "It is our commitment as the House of Gresham to see this succeed, no matter what needs to be done."

He stood, squaring his shoulders and straightening himself regally, regaining his composure in the face of his children. Ursa stood with him, and opened her arms to her son, who had grown so much taller than she, as though he were still a boy in his golden youth. Tyt'o sunk into the arms of his mother, his chin in her shoulder and face into her hair. Her arms were tight and urgent around him, and without words from her he knew that there were many things left unsaid that were pertinent to understanding what was truly going on, but he said nothing. Tyt'o spoke softly into his mother's ears of his love for her, and his commitment to his duty as her son, and the future Lord of this House.

Hermione crossed over to her father, in his grandeur he towered over her and she looked to him to confirm his affection for her. He swept her to him in his great arms and lifted her into his chest adoringly, feeling suddenly a fierceness and urgency that was intimated in the silence they shared. "I love you, Papa." Hermione whispered. "We will do as you bid, and we will succeed." Though she loathed delivering promises in cases where she knew not why it was required, she offered it to him, committing her mind and stamping out the need to question, and discover. Loren kissed the top of her curls below her chin.

"I know you will, my little warrior." He whispered their private pet name into her scalp as he held her.

….

When the sun had sunk below the mountains and the light had melted from the sky, hours after dinner was eaten and when the great doors of the House were closed, and locked, and the presence of the staff, and house elves had all gone. Clothes already stripped and tucked away, Loren stood over his wife, her arms encircling him into the warmth of her body, joining them again in their nakedness.

The heaviness behind the brown of his eyes betrayed the passion that pressed into her midsection and she lifted her hand to his cheek as a silent tear slid from his eye down into his growing beard. The weight of what he carried in his heart was far greater a burden than that of the neglected passions of their bodies. Ursa drew him downward into their bed atop her, nestling his head into her naked breast, her hair encircling them together. As the wet of his tears flowed silently onto her skin, she held him tighter still to her, in silent solidarity to remind Loren that she would guard his vulnerability with her love for him.

…..

a/n – super sorry it took me so long to post this! We moved, and life got away from me. Hope you enjoy the belated update!

Hope this is filling-in the dynamic well enough! If you have the time/inclination, tell me what you think! What did you like, what didn't you like?

I hope that now that we are moved and settling in, I'll be able to work on this more. I am dying to get this story out of my head!