Chapter 5

Loren looked at his wife appreciatively; the dress she had chosen revealed the line of her collarbone down to a very modest point on her chest and the very implication of her shoulders. Blue and gold brocade flowed down the front of her elegantly in a complimentary swath of decoration surrounded by complimentary blue fabric that hung to her feet. The sleeves long and encased her arms to her wrists, which concluded the gown with more delicate blue and gold brocade near her wrists. Ursa was the very definition of beauty, where Loren's mind was concerned. She smiled at her husband as she caught his watchful eye, and he back at her. "Rather be alone?" She teased him very quietly and he leaned toward the woman he loved just a fraction, though they all stood side-by-side in wait of their impending guests.

Hermione caught the implication and rolled her eyes, having skied the exchange between her parents. She feigned disgust at their subtle glances to the other. She straightened her index finger and poked it rapidly into her brother, he jerked away. "Aaaah, what, wren?" He chided and looked down at her from the end of the line of the family. Ursa and Hermione were flanked by Tyt'o at one end and Loren at the other beside his wife.

"They're doing that thing again," she hissed at him through her teeth and he made a scoffing sound at her.

"Displays of love is not 'doing that thing'" Tyt'o squared himself up again. His mother leaned forward to look past her daughter.

Ursa beamed without looking at her children, and the hand closest to Loren sought him out, gently touching the leather of his belt nearest her hand. He caught it in his, and raised it to his lips in a kiss. Ursa looked to her son Tyt'o as her smile broadened, and she returned her attentions to her husband. Tyt'o was in his 17th year, and well-past the squeamishness of bearing witness to the shared affections of his parents. Given more freedom himself to cavort within any sister Houses within the Guild, he would normally be in pursuit of a Lady of his own, were it not the case that his time was otherwise consumed with training in preparation of their families hatching Dragons.

Hermione, it seemed, had no such care to be appraising of her progenitors amorous displays. If Tyt'o's experiences with members from other Houses was lacking, then it was even more so that Hermione's was nonexistent. She would never dare to say this aloud, but the suspense of these two interlopers coming to their house was leaving her fraught with anticipation. She felt with certainty that she and her brother were far enough along in their training that within the remaining months coming they would find their plateau. Having to take on the training of these two wizards –supposedly their own age- and supplement their own mastery as well? Hermione wanted to take her capable fist and box something with it. Hard. She did not like setbacks, and she didn't care to suffer the company of dimwits. She chuffed discontentedly, and Tyt'o gave her a sidelong glance.

Far down the road, the carriage conducted by their family's horse master had drawn into view. To ensure the safe travel of their guests from the safe-point to the halls of Gresham's castle and keep, Loren had called upon the horse master to see the Malfoy and Nott sons to them directly. Each animal, a large and healthy beast, appeared small specks from this distance to her eyes as she fixated on them, willing the time to go more quickly, so she didn't have to keep standing her, uncomfortably, waiting like a sentry. Hermione's mind floated away from where she stood, at the side of her family waiting for their guests to thoughts of her normal quiet household. How the table they sat at, filled with laughter, stories, and mirth, would be affected with presence of rivals to their house. With exception to the last few years of intense study; the House of Gresham was a warm and welcome place. Many summers had been passed with allies of the House in attendance both here in Morvan, and elsewhere within the lands. To House Longbottom, or Brown they would often travel to reinforce alliances and friendships forged and sustained through the houses who sat at the table of The Guild. The children allowed to forge friendships and learn from the tutors and instructors of the house in magic and academics.

The Guild of houses, Hermione knew, had long aligned themselves together in the pursuit of rightful ideals and practices, though not every House in the land was part of this venture. No, many years past there was a great breach among many of the Houses based on power struggles, greed and deception that lead to a separation that had never been repaired. Almost a dozen Houses had split themselves from The Guild and left their ancestral seats of the Counsel, and had formed their own covenant together, but under one House. A dark House. She allowed her grimace to creep up to her face out of her mind as she rolled the name along her tongue, Gaunt.

From an early age, Hermione had been captivated with her mother's nighttime tales of the histories of the Houses of the Lands. Tyt'o would have fallen asleep long before, but Hermione would be curled into her mother's warmth many hours into the night begging her mother 'more, mama, more!' as Ursa would smile at her knowledge-thirstful daughter and tell her another story of the great houses. The great Dragons and the stories of their family's great history as Dragon riders.

Tyt'o could see little movements in his sister's face next to him from the corner of his vision. In silence, he reached her hand with his and grasp it softly. His touch spoke everything to her in that second when they connected. Reminded her that it was he who grounded her with this silent show of solidarity. Her brother, who-would-be-a-man, who would forever bring her back to the ground when her mind swept her far away in thoughts and worries. Hermione smiled her thankfulness at his gesture.

The carriage delivering their opponents had drawn quite closer so that the face of their horse master could be seen in better view. His broad shoulders hunkered a little over, reigns resting in his hands. His hard hair was dusted with flyaway earth and cheeks dusted with the kisses of sun from the last days of outdoor exposure. His mouth, set to a line, turned up at the sight of his Lord and the family standing beside him. They had reached the end of the stone bridge that drew the road straight into the heart of the House, and their horse master guided the carriage in through the broad doors and through the turn to stop at the foot of the steps before the keep. Unlike a formal party, this received no fanfare and there were no attendants nor announcements of the parties or their affiliated familial names: This was a quiet arrival in comparison with any other.

Hermione squeezed her brothers hand and she let it go, chiding herself in her foolish impatience. Her chest had tightened and she felt a rush of unexpected panic at this uncertainty as the reality washed over her: she and her brother were going to have to take in the sons of opposing houses, and train then to ride their Dragons as though they were her own brothers. A sour taste gathered along her tongue and she fought to spit it out onto the stone. Were she to have her druthers, she would have spat it into their eyes at this farce of an agreement.

A valet at the foot of the stairs opened the door formally and the horse master disembarked the driver's seat to attend the working horses in front. When the words "Son of the House Malfoy; Draco" and "Son of the House Nott: Theodore." were spoken, it was several seconds before the first head emerged from the door to the passenger car. Draco took the first exit and emerged with his pale blond hair shining first like a beacon. Its light quality caught Hermione entirely by surprise; she had never seen hair that color before in her life. His features were so classically aristocratic with his defined jaw and straight nose that it was difficult to look anywhere else. But his eyes were an entirely other matter. They were light like she never knew possible. Gray as storm clouds and just as cold. His gaze was fixed to her father as he brought himself up the stairs towards the Lord of the House.

The second youth exiting the carriage stood quite tall; his hair was dark brown, straight and to nearly to his shoulders. He looked forward and straight to Loren Gresham, seeming to identify him immediately as he stepped forward and up the stairs to approach him behind the blond, with his near-white hair and cold face. Hermione couldn't see his eyes quite clearly and cast her eyes away again trying to maintain some semblance of propriety before strangers she still had not met.

The blond reached a step below that of her father, and gave a short bow with his eyes fixed on her Loren's. "Draco Malfoy, my Lord, son of Lucius". Loren nodded and gave a nod to acknowledge him. He did not extend a hand in friendship to Draco, but his face shifted to Theodore when he came beside his companion.

"Theodore Nott, my lord, son of Thoros." Presenting his bow, Loren nodded again.

"I am Lord Gresham, head of my House, and I welcome you Draco, son of Malfoy" he turned his head between them "and you Theodore, son of Nott, into our home. You will be as our guests and family and afford all comforts and protections of our House and family." The boys nodded and thanked Loren individually, and formally. Politely, even, as though this wasn't some political maneuver that Loren Gresham was on the losing end of.

Nevertheless, as the Lord of the House, Loren would not treat a guest without welcome. He turned slightly to Ursa and she dropped into a ladies curtsey, and extended her hand. "The Lady of the House, and my wife, Ursa." Draco noted immediately that her eyes had never left him, and still trained on him wordlessly as he brought her hand to his mouth to kiss just above it. Formal, respectful, and distant, but they burned into him all the while.

"My lady" was all he said to her as she silently withdrew her hand and she extended it to Theodore. He emulated as much, cautiously and stiffly. The tension in the air could have been broken apart and fed to the birds, Tyt'o thought as he held himself straight. His father spoke his name to the youth and Tyt'o nodded only once, and spoke nothing. Draco Malfoy found himself again scrutinized under the weight of eyes he'd never seen the likeness of. Bronze and full of fire. He recalled the glare the Lady Ursa had on him and saw the distinct resemblance in their intensity.

It was then that his eyes fell on her. Standing to the side of her brother, Hermione was nowhere near as tall as her brother or father, almost a slip of a girl by his assessment, and certainly nothing very special as far as he was concerned. Though she was clearly a member of the House, despite that she stood before them in the almost identical outfit that her brother wore. Upon her was a tunic down to her knees cut for riding atop thick breeches and boots to her knees of a thick and tooled leather. In contrast to the elegant gown upon her mother, the daughter was standing before them in permissionto wear the garb of a man. Draco found this quite laughable; no lady he had ever met would have dared herself to be seen in less than her best dresses. What else could be expected from a House like this? He mused to himself.

Her eyes met his and her mouth moved as she pinched her cheek speculatively. She moved to Theodore motionlessly beside him having heard her name spring forth from her father's mouth in introduction. Hermione offered them no hand as the three sets of eyes speculated each other warily.

Theodore wished he could steal a glance back to the Lady to compare the look in her eyes with that of her daughters. He considered her briefly in her outfit; no pretenses or shows of wealth, nor station. Simplistic and almost utilitarian. The words his father had spoken to him reverberated in his memory about the mother. He mused to himself if the daughter would prove similarly disposed to dogging him?

The polite exchanges of introduction satisfied, Draco and Theodore were both brought into the House together behind the family. Though, by no means considered poor, the inside of the keep was simple and not ornate it was mostly decorated with warm woods, smooth stones and the banners with the House colors of gold and white. Not like the halls in some of the Houses Theodore and Draco were used to. A sneer crept across Draco's lips as he took in the simplicity around him in the décor. Despite that no one seemed to be observing them directly, Theodore held himself in far greater reserve than his compatriot, carefully taking in his surroundings without judgement or conclusion.

Draco was far less discerning about his opinions on how the Gresham's kept their house as was evident in his imperial glances at the lack of showmanship. Their valet showed them quietly to a set of guest suites adjacent to each other, though also on the same floor as the two Gresham children, Tyt'o and Hermione.

Draco considered the two for a moment; the son, who stood taller than he, had given him nothing. Just empty staring. Hermione, with her curls and boys clothing, seemed an annoyance at best. He felt a little smug in his decision that neither one was going to have any formidable opposition to his designs.

Neither guest had very much to say to the other, though they observed each other briefly before entering their respective rooms to retire for some hours prior to a supper served, as they were instructed to attend, in the great hall downstairs. Neither one of the Gresham younglings had come up with them. Theodore nodded to Draco, "Until supper then." He stated simply, and closed his door behind him.

…

Tyt'o's footfall was as quiet as he could make it over the stones with his soft-soled boots, which was decently silent enough considering it seemed that the entirety of their family castle had ears. He minded each step carefully and cautiously, as he knew Hermione did behind him. Together they made their way down through the lower passes into the passageways that would take them back out to the stables. Once out of the main halls, they made their way into the stables once again, checking any available corner for staff or anyone else who would take heed of them being there.

Tyt'o shut the door to a smaller barn behind him, and looked on to his sister. She did anything but hold back.

"Shiiiiiiiiiiit!" Hermione drawled out and kicked a bucket along the floor, sending ropey waves of slimed water sloshing in the wake. "How in all the burning realms of the underworld are we supposed to make Dragon riders out of-" she gestured up and down at imaginary figures before them "-these 'ladies in waiting' that have been delivered to us?!" Tyt'o laughed at his sister's vulgarity.

"We need to come up with a strategy, wren." He offered and his sister narrowed her eyes at him. More at the suggestion and less at his usage of his typical jibe. That was honestly the last thing on her mind at this moment. "If their training is mucked, and the chick isn't proper-bonded, either Imri or Goldoduur is going to tear through the lot of us. Right there in the nest, and mother and father won't be there to help." A serious look overcame him. "Father's sent for the tutors to come back, but the sands are slipping away….."

Hermione grimaced at that. He was not far off. When Dragons began their nesting and clutching, they digressed into their feral selves. Their tendencies to guard and hoard were legendary, and until their chicks had been hatched and had chosen their rider the Dragon sires were going to be wild and unpredictable. The last think they needed were two fully-grown adult Dragons exacting their wrath out on a handful of teenagers with mouths of teeth, and bellies full of rage when the two newcomers botched their bonding.

"So number one," she ticked a finger at him "make sure none of us get eaten." She ticked her second finger "Number two; it's all in or out. These courtesans we've been 'gifted' need to be warriors to be reckoned with by the time the wrymlings are ready." Tyt'o let go of a terse breath.

"Don't forget that we are still a few weeks away from our final tests." He reminded her, and she rolled her eyes and groaned.

"Three," she emphasized with her third finger "establish that you and I are irrefutably in top form." She stared at her brother, their matching eyes watching each other closely.

"No pressure." Tyt'o contributed sarcastically. Hermione dropped her hand at him and leaned against the stall behind her, and the soft snout of a horse nibbled into the soft curls of her hair. She snatched the strands out of hit's mouth. "Pig." She shot at it and it snuffed at her again and wiggled its lips at her.

"The master tutors are going to handle the spell casting and lessons, but since we've passed all these phases, we're going to have to see to their riding skills." Hermione nodded as she fingered through the horse spit in her hair, trying to wipe some of it off.

"And we're certain that we couldn't just give the two of them a map to the Upper Reaches and pray to the Gods that one of the Dragon sires doesn't smell them and sweep them up for supper?" She offered hopefully and her brother laughed at her. He opened his arms to her, and she fell into them, into the offer of comfort and solidarity that he showed.

"No, you dark sorceress," he accused of his sister lightly and she laughed a little, lessening the severity of the mood. "Setting them out as bait for the Dragons isn't an option. We can do this." Hermione looked up to her brother from their embrace into the eyes identical to her own.

"What if we can't, Tyt'o? What if we fail? We'll lose the clutch. Lose our lives?" She whispered, allowing her gaze into the distance somewhere over his shoulder as he released her. "This is the first clutch of Dragons in nearly a score." She felt a pit in her stomach begin to bottom out.

"We're Greshams, Hermione. Those soft ladies will become proper riders, and father will be back on his Goldoduur again." Tyt'o poured his platitudes out to his sister, hoping it would be enough.

"And to what end, Tyt'o?" Hermione broke the embrace. "What then, once they have the Dragons and are able to ride them? What comes after; they come to the Guild, or do they take them?" Her worries were painted in her brows as she sought her brothers' face for answers. Tyt'o picked up on Hermione's implication immediately.

"It feels a great treachery no matter what happens, doesn't it?"

"I wish we were part of fathers counsel," she complained. "Not knowing what end he has in mind, is maddening." His large hand came to her shoulder, their now-silence was permeated by the goings on of horses around them, snuffing through their feed, kicking hooves into the stall floors, and light nickers through stall-walls.

"Father's alternative to permitting this intrusion is giving you to House Malfoy," Tyt'o told her. "Have you knowledge of the wife of House Malfoy, sister?" she shook her head in the negative. Of course she didn't. The wife of the House had never stepped foot into Gresham lands, and the two of them had never done likewise to Malfoy lands themselves.

"Lady Malfoy was a Black before. A House disposed of poise, intelligence, cunning," Hermione toyed with the end of her hair still as she listened "Lord Malfoy gives a woman only her most 'Kingly' use…" Hermione's temporary naiveté was writ on her frown and Tyt'o sighed at being unable to avoid the vulgar definition. "-on her back, dear sister." Hermione's face crumpled up disgustedly at what she thought the image should look like in her mind, finding herself displeased at how a man would chiefly use his wife. Father has never beset himself upon mother in such a –a vulgar way! She compared mentally. Her thoughts betrayed her and Tyt'o took his sisters palm in his to show gentleness at her unrest.

"Not every man of a House loves and honors his wife as father does, little sister," he explained, softly. "Men of the Houses are often disposed to taking their lady to bed as it fits only them; their wives are a vessel for children and," he hesitated "their own comforts. Not the comfort of their lady wife."

"Not like father at all, then." Hermione agreed as she quieted in her thoughts, trying to sort through this comparison between House and marital dynamic. "And you, brother, will you honor your lady wife as he does, or as our father?" She challenged back.

Tyt'o's face grew serious. "I have no wish for an empty woman," he countered. "What gratification could I glean for a woman with no thought of her own?" Hermione smiled at him, gladdened by his quick offence at her implication. It proved to her that this man, this father of the soft boy who had been sent to their house, was no true man at all. Raised by a man with no interest in a woman with mettle, with fire. She scoffed in her mind.

"So then," he turned and looked out into the rows of stalls down the corridor at the waiting mounts housed there in wait of proper use. "we start as soon as possible." He gestured out towards the horses and Hermione smiled.

She spoke only two words: "Rinnan and Gæst." Tyt'o's head whipped around to see a wicked smile painted on her face. The names of their stables two most notoriously high-spirited horses having left her mouth, and he could not help but belt out a fully-belly laugh at her audacity.

"We can't kill them the first day of riding!" He managed to get out as he leaned over and slapped his thighs.

"True. But we haven't time to let them have pony rides like bearns." She admonished him. He conceded with a nod of his head, and wiped at the moisture in his eyes.

"Come," he motioned to her as he opened the doors to the outside again. "Let us take supper and bens our father's ears of your schemes." His sister exited the stable door first, and Tyt'o gave her a playful little push as she moved. "My fiery sister and her barbarous schemes." His words carried the levity they needed at that moment, and the infectiousness of it made Hermione laughed with him as they walked back up to the Keep.

…..

A/N: The names of the two horses are translated from Old English. Rinnan is "run or runner" and "Gæst" is "Demon".

Bearns = children