*I just wanted to apologize for the long time between updates. I have excuses, but that is not very satisfying. I also re-wrote this chapter in its entirety after finishing it, and not liking it. That was fairly sucky. But anyway, enjoy!
Chapter 6
Birds were chirping. What in the fiery pits of Hades did the birds think they were doing? Draco thought to himself groggily as he cracked open an eye to be met with blurry light. He wondered if he could summon his magic with alacrity and send a spell to turn them inside out. Surely he could manage that without having to actually open his eyes? He waved his hand around, searching for the familiarity of his bed-side table, and found, well, nothing. Draco rolled his face back into the softness of his bed covers, noting in his mind that they were nowhere near as luxurious as his own were. The revelation hit him like a punch. His own? His head came flying up, not truly registering where he lay, and took stock of his surroundings.
Ah, yes, he reminded himself with an exhausted scowl. The Gresham hovel. Draco plopped his head unceremoniously back into his pillow following his revelation (decidedly not as soft as his own). Too hard, too unlike what he preferred, and he growled. "You'd think a House could afford simple luxuries to their own guest rooms." He muttered and shut his eyes against the rising light through the curtains in his windows. The noises of those gods-bedamned birds that would not stop chirping.
Draco roared his frustration and threw his hands to the covers at the continued disturbance with clenched fists. This damnable room awful with its tall well-lit windows and its disgustingly rustic adornments, and those fucking birds. He seethed, vowing at once that he would send a hex out that window as soon as he sat vertical that would light them all on fire.
Tearing himself out of the bedclothes, which were uncharacteristically warped and twisted all over the large bed (the bed was quite smaller than his own, he concluded mentally) and stalked to the curtain covering the outside light. Despite his sleepy-state, he had worked himself into quite the irate state at this nuisance with the flying rats, but had not taken any stock of his person. Specifically that his bed sheets were wrapped around his ankles, and entwined quite unexpectedly in the large bed as well. The result was quite sudden and Draco Malfoy found himself hurtled to the floor without any ceremony or warning, face first.
"Sarding shite!" His outburst was lost in the stones of the floor as they met with his chest, and nearly his nose. He rolled onto his back, kicking his legs this way and that, like a petulant toddler child being chastised for pilfering too many sweets. He didn't care. He'd slept terribly in the bed that wasn't his, on sheets that felt rough like unrefined wool against his skin, and awoken to the harping of those shitty, spiteful demon-rats flying around outside his window. Draco Malfoy wished for nothing more than a fire to rain down from the skies to burn everything into ash at that moment, as he lay on the floor tangled in bedcovers and clothes askance in directions that rolled themselves into the bends of his knees and the apex of his thighs.
Draco huffed and threw his legs out of the mess, and abandoned it all behind him. He jerked the long cloth of the curtain to the side to face the delightful chirping he'd been roused with just moments ago with a simmering rage bubbling to the surface. Though, the moment the curtain was clear and the light pink and oranges painted in swaths across the light blue background of sky was in view, the noises simply stopped. He stood still, looking for his miniscule serenading tormentors, and saw absolutely nothing but sky and jagged mountains around the valley in which the House of Gresham was nestled.
There were no trees as his window, no movement in the embrasures that gave any hint to signs of life. Simply put; there were no birds. Draco hesitated and plastered himself to the panes of the windows searching for sign of their little bodies swooping though the air as he was met with continued silence once again.
There was absolutely nothing in the sky, though the colors painted by the rising sun and the vaguest whispers of morning clouds in the sky. It was early morning and the light was growing in warmth and potency. Draco would have normally taken the opportunity to rise himself from his chambers at what he considered a much more decent hour, but he was up now, and he found himself lightly disturbed at this mystification.
He considered momentarily heaving the curtain shut and returning to bed until he reminded himself that not only were the sheets repulsively scratchy, but the bed covers were strewn across the floor in a flood of twisted cloth trailing all the way from the bed to the window. In order to achieve any semblance of comfort beneath them he was going to have to sort out their tangles and turn down his own bed. The notion of any drudgery offended his very senses. Elf work, that was, he affirmed stubbornly. Though, he could just use magic to straighten everything out and return to the warmth of the morning, and perchance find a few extra stolen moments of peace and rest…
He dismissed the possibility of reducing himself to simple servitude, even for the sake of his own comfort with an audible "Pah" as though someone was there for him to display his deeply ingrained entitlement to luxury.
Draco's irritation remained a constant through that morning; when he called for an elf to fetch warmed water, none came. When he went to pull garments from his the wardrobe, nothing he had arranged was in the same order he had left it in. Couple these little peeves in with a night of poor sleep upon a baseless peasant mattress with cats-tongue sheets, and a morning of demon-sparrows calling to the underbellies of Hades at the earliest hour of the morning, and suffice to say Draco was feeling positively barbarous when he finally emerged through the thick wooden door to walk himself down to breakfast in the Great Hall.
Theodore was waiting for him in a chair just outside his chamber, and examined his foul expression with curiosity, his dark hair and simple robes arranged properly. Draco's black look deepened. "A good morning, then?" Theodore inquired semi-lightly and Draco whipped his head back to retort.
"As good as a Griffon's hind end," he snarled at Theodore who raised his hands immediately as Draco had all but rounded on him, his expression slightly apologetic.
"Take a deep breath now, Draco, no need to be so excitable at this hour." He teased, the two already making their way down the hall and to the stairs. They were the only ones about and presumed to join the Gresham's in the hall for a morning meal. Tyt'o, however, stood stalwart and calm at the bottom of the stairs, watching the pair as they made their descent.
Draco and Theodore's exchange was dampened and the pair automatically put of their emotional and physical calm to express their detachment at the sight of him. It didn't go unnoticed and the pair realized a moment too late that they had been sloppy. Tyt'o did not smile, or give them any overtures of friendly morning ascent, he simply observed as the guests of his father's house descended to the ground floor.
"Lady Gresham," Tyt'o corrected "-Mother, wishes me to see you to the Great Hall for morning meal." Tyt'o gestured along the long corridor to both Draco and Theodore and he began down the hall without offering much more. Draco rolled his eyes at Theodore at their young hosts lackluster offering in conversation, as though to emphasize their superiority. In an old House, such as Malfoy or Nott, it was customary for the Lord to provide house staff to accompany a guest in the home, such as a butler. The son of the lord would remain with the family in the formal dining hall.
Theodore caught Draco's meaning and simply followed the two trailing up the last position in the line. Draco had purposefully positioned himself first behind the Lords son, and his proclamation of importance was not lost on Theodore. He simply didn't care; let Malfoy strut and claim all he wanted, it didn't really matter.
Down the hall and toward the passage was the entrance to the hall of House Gresham when Tyt'o took an unexpected turn and passed along a separate hallway down the side to a more obscure doorway. Entering into it, Draco and Theodore were caught quite off guard when they presented with a simply, but long and sturdy table with the three remaining Gresham's standing in wait of their guests. Loren, the lord, raised his hand in acknowledgement to their guests. "It seems I owe my radiant wife her wish as it was I who assumed you lost in our home, wandering aimlessly without knowledge of where to go." Ursa smiled at the pair, giving none of her thoughts away, and Loren pulled a chair away from the table for her, allowing her to seat herself gently before pushing it in. He stepped beside his wife and performed the same duty for his daughter, Hermione, who had her glowing eyes trained effectively on the pair of them.
"Lord Gresham was certain you had found yourselves adrift in our vast halls, and sent dear Tyt'o to ensure you made it safely." She commented sincerely.
Was she joking? The pair could not tell and stole a very brief glance at each other to see if they were thinking the same thing. The House, Gresham House, was or a reasonable scale to be certain, but was she aware that in any comparison, the House of Malfoy and the Houses of Nott to name just two, were on a scale of double size, if not greater? As uncomfortable as they were, standing here as plainly as two stumps protruding from the ground, and staring into the faces of members of a House so diametrically opposed in political and social belief to their own, they elected independently to keep their mouths shut, and simply play along. Theodore spoke for the duo, and quite warmly.
"Your ladyship is too kind to send your own son to squire us." And she smiled sincerely in return at his appreciation, despite that it was truly only a social gesture and nothing deeper.
"What excellent manners you have, young Nott." She complimented, and he provided her a little smile.
"If it pleases my lady, she would but call me by my name." He entreated, not entirely certain why he'd felt the need to offer such a request in that very moment though it had felt right, and Ursa turned her beautiful chin just slightly in consideration of his offering. Polite, to be certain. Even familiar, if one were to consider it further. The offering of familiarity was not lost on her husband, who scrutinized that overture very specifically. Next to him, Draco, was concealing his expression of distain at the sudden coziness his companion was discovering with the Lady of the House.
The remaining Greshams and the two young men all found their seats, in relative proximity to the other along this seemingly too-modest table they found themselves coming to. Adorned across the table was a variety of offerings; fruit, and pitchers of drink, and several bowls of something neither newcomer was familiar with. Though undeniably the aromas that wafted to them caused them both to feel an involuntary watering within the caverns of their mouths. Draco was revolted when a compulsory and audible grumble escaped his body, betraying its yearning for the sustenance spread out before them. Ursa smiled her approval. "Excellent. This speaks well for your day ahead young Malfoy." She handed a bowl to him casually and he looked at her with her arm extended with her offering, struck quite dumb it seemed. She nodded at the bowl and back to him encouraging him to take it from her.
Draco was mortified and fought desperately to contain his face in a blank and impassive mask. He had literally no notion on how to reach to the Lady of the House serving him at a meal. It was as if he were frozen in time. Theodore poked at Draco's foot with his own under the table, and Draco felt himself –quite improperly- reaching over to take it from her, glancing uninhibited around the table silently questioning where the house staff was.
Ursa answered his questioning looks immediately. "You won't see them here in the mornings, young Malfoy."
"Whom, my Lady?" he asked as she poured a little white cream into her own bowl, and placed the tiny pitcher back into the middle of the table, and picked up a bowl filled with ripe berries to dash upon the top of her own meal.
"Why the house staff, of course." She explained and looked at both young men in turn, as the young Gresham heirs both silently prepared their own bowls by adding cream, sugar, various dashes of spices or berries while Theodore and Draco simply looked on in complete shock. "It's a practice here in House Gresham that we spend one meal in the day together, only as a family, and without any aid." She gestured to the table. "This is the families private meal chamber, used only for this purpose." Ursa then gestured kindly to the various pitchers and bowls that the other members have availed their own portions out of to both Theodore and Draco.
"What is this, exactly?" Draco speculated at his bowl, still warm and steaming its contents upward towards him, tempting his senses with its aroma. His in trepidation was writ all across his face, and Ursa gave a little trill of a chuckle.
"It's a simple porridge, young Malfoy," she explained. "Wheats cooked with milk and spices as a base." She motioned to the various offerings across the table again "add whatever you like into it to make it as you would enjoy: berries, nuts, cream, sugar" she paused for an adoring look to her husband "I confess that my Lord prefers his quite sweet," she teased Loren, and his dark brown eyes twinkled at her affectionately. "While my dear Hermione prefers hers with quite the addition of berries and nuts."
The two young men held their bowls like pauper orphans begging in the streets as they glanced around the table at the variables they could add to their edible fare. Theodore carefully added cream and the same assortment of nuts that Hermione had chosen, while Draco pondered the cream and sugar option. Neither of them noted how the Greshams examined their choices, or their apparent fear at handling anything directly. Specifically how Draco gingerly attended to his own food, as though he had never lifted a hand in his lift to do anything for himself. Their actions spoke in volumes to Loren Greshams family.
The two guests found that once they had selected something to pair their meals with, the tastes they had created were thoroughly enjoyable. Hearty, certainly, but sweet, spiced, and utterly filling. It was a wholly new experience for the two to be in such an intimate setting with a family wholly unfamiliar to either of them.
The bulk of the short meal was companionable. Ursa and Loren spoke among themselves while Tyt'o and Hermione contributed commentary at intervals. It was when the final bite was chewed, swallowed, and utensil settled back to the tabletop that Loren directed himself to his two young guests.
"Your training will begin today," he informed them. "Masters and tutors have been recalled as Tyt'o and Hermione have already proceeded past their required lessons and they were released. Until they arrive in a few days the two of them will work with you on mastering your ride." Draco and Theodore were not completely sure they understood what Lord Gresham meant by that, sufficed to say that they brokered no arguments and nodded diligently, their bellies full and their appetites sated. Loren addressed his son and daughter together as well. "I have full faith you and your sister will begin efficiently and effectively in your introductions?" Tyt'o agreed enthusiastically, whereas Hermione remained stoic and observant of the group.
Undetected from below the table next to her, Ursa placed her hand on top of Hermione's while her son assured his father that he and his sister would be capable instructors. Hermione looked to her mother and found a warm, slight smile for her. Ursa knew beneath the surface her daughter felt explosively upset at the very presence of their two guests, especially with the possibility that one of them stood a marginal contingent at ending up as her betrothed. To a mother who knew her child, it was obvious that her daughter viewed the young Malfoy in utter contempt. She had not spoken a single word to the youth, nor done anything further than to bear witness to his uncertainty when performing a basic, and rudimentary task such as pouring cream into a bowl. Hermione was not only unimpressed with the specimens of the opposite gender before her, she found them to be in absolute contrary to everything House Gresham stood for.
The youths had been at her family table less than an hour, and Hermione had already dissected them in her mind as to what their principle uses could have been. This was, to say, very little.
The silent contemplations between mother and daughter were not shared in front of the males surrounding them. Such impressions would be discussed at-length in later times, and once her daughter had more opportunity to see what difficulty the family was going to have overcome to make these two would-be-wizards into specimens worthy to bear the trial of the final pilgrimage to the Upper Reaches once the clutch was ready to hatch.
Ursa squeezed Hermione's hand once more and released her, and she stood. As was custom, the youths and her husband arose in respect of the Lady of the House, her husband Loren offered her his hand and Ursa accepted and faced Draco and Theodore. "The children will take you presently to train, and shall be responsible for you in any times when you are not with a Master or tutor." They nodded and bowed to her as they would in their own House, their manners certainly not being questioned as lacking.
Once Loren and Ursa had availed together, Tyt'o and Hermione turned together to leave with Hermione leading and Tyt'o behind her. As they exited the doorway to the cozy hall, he turned to his family's guests and motioned at the door, "Let's get started then." Draco and Theodore followed dutifully through the door, and followed them through the same hall and out to the front entrance to the keep.
Once outside the morning sun had already warmed the very light chill from the shadows and was making its ascent over the entrance to the valley by way of the traveling road. The bustle of house staff was present in the bailey as the leading pair exchanged pleasantries with people as they passed. It was a simple as the occasional 'good morning' to one, or a 'happy riding, sirs!' from another. The friendly exchanges occurring before Theodore and Draco were putting them both on a sort of edge. Not a one of them was directed to them; but more than that, there were no members of their staff at their own houses who were permitted to greet them in such a casual tone, let alone dare to assume they could exchange pleasantries with them.
House staff were little more than indentured servants, as far as the Houses of Nott, or Malfoy were concerned. They bore almost as little importance as that of the House elves that were bound to the family, and the House. Though, likely possessing of their own magicks, and presumed to be that of common magic. Not refined magic such as that which the two youthful scions wielded, with their extensive tutelage and impeccable pedigrees. The common folk were barely fit to clean the mud from the boots of a nobleman, let alone carry on a conversation at-length, and in passing. It bore the overwhelming miasma of familiarity.
The whole family must consort with these muddied croppers. Draco presumed, finding himself shy away from the presence of anyone who walked too near him. Theodore found himself with the same thoughts as his companion, though comporting himself with much a little more false harmony. In truth, not a single one of the various people they passed as they followed the two Gresham heirs through the castle once laid a single finger upon them, or brushed up against them, or even made eye contact with them. Every exchange was specific to one, or both, of the two Greshams walking in front of them.
Hermione and Tyt'o escorted their guests to the large stables, where Tyt'o secured various stable liveries with which to bridle their individual horses. Hermione broke off from the group to seek the stable master and head stable boy while the two extraneous males in their company milled around a little in uncertainty. Adept deceivers already, the two were assuredly becoming. But in the face of so much divergent behaviors and scenarios they had been thrust into, the two found themselves more partial to sticking close to the other, somewhat out of a sense that this would provide them some safety.
Tyt'o returned first with several bridles, and thrust one at each of his fellow adolescent. They scrutinized it without understanding its implication in the foggiest. It was when Hermione returned with an arm brimming with leather saddle, which she promptly thrust upon Theodore –not taking into consideration that he had no inkling as to why, or what purpose it served, and he proceeded to nearly drop it to the floor. She wasted no time with apologies or explanations, and as Draco's slender and tall compatriot struggled to right his armload, he found a similar bundle being foisted upon his own person as well.
Draco backed up immediately and shot Hermione a look of pure incredulity. "Now see here, girl, I won't be bearing any burdens for you. Fetch your stable boy!" he waved imperiously at her. She didn't even flinch.
"No stable boys today, gnashlab," she shot at him, and Draco flinched at the insult. "You'll carry your wears the same as anybody." She thrust it into him again, and Draco again took a step back, causing her to have to advance by a step to keep herself from stumbling.
"I shall have use of a stable boy, wench, and I shall not serve as any common carrier for your burdens." He commanded again, feeling as though this would somehow imprint his point upon her more effectively. He was dead wrong.
Still holding the leather saddle she had attempted to foist on him, she closed in on Draco with sure steps, which he mirrored in reverse as he stepped away from her. Her face was hard upon him, and her eyes were narrowed, but blazing. "Oh you will be carrying this saddle, little prince" Tyt'o chuckled at the exchange. Draco was going to learn more than a few new lessons this day, one way or another. "If I have to tie it around your neck and walk you like a hound out the bailey and into the mountains!" Draco discovered as she ramped up her little tirade that he'd come to the wall behind him. With nowhere else to move, she shoved the saddle into his chest. Hard.
Draco found himself unexpectedly wishing he could strike this little savage in front of him. Their glares were quite well matched at each other, though the only reason she broke hers was to retrieve more riding gear from the tack rooms. Tyt'o smiled broadly at Draco and gave him a laugh. "Take heart," and Draco turned his scowl towards the young lord "after today's lesson, she'll be the least of your ails." Hermione handed her brother a saddle, which he accepted in thanks to her, picked up a bucket with grain, a bridle for himself, and left the two without instruction.
Draco still felt the fires of indignation of having been assaulted with a piece of riding gear, and spoken to in raised tones by the mere nothingness of the insignificant Gresham lass. Theodore had felt himself amused at Draco having bounced between petulance and then fear of that fiery young lady that had forced his companion to bear his own burden. He didn't mind feeling amusement at her just then, as it had frequently grated on Theodore's very nerves at the sheer amount of entitlement Draco displayed when it came to what he called 'common work'. The mere act of lifting a single finger to do so much as carry an object apparently carried enough weight to create him a mortal wound.
Theodore did not have any similar misgiving about working. Similarly, to the House of Malfoy, the Notts were afforded every luxury imaginable, and a few that were quite frivolous still. But this didn't mean that Theodore was a stranger to any form of industriousness. Thoros Nott was a self-created mage amassed of a great deal of power, and he had worked very hard for it. His own power was the proof of such labors; long years of dedicated study, and self-chosen strict discipline in form and practice. While his son felt very little warmth for his sire, he did recognize and admire the man's accomplishments. They imbued Theodore with an understanding that hard work wrought higher degree of exploit. He suspected that in terms of magical skill and accomplishment, that Draco Malfoy could very well yet prove himself quite less talented than Theodore was.
The grooms had brought out four horses for the quaternary and roped them up outside the stable. Tyt'o and Hermione were comfortable and well-acquainted with horses and had requested their groomsmen pick out a pair from among the small group that they usually preferred. They were all strong and sleek specimens; well groomed and good-tempered overall. Their heads bobbed up and down occasionally, and the gelding Tyt'o approached turned to him and wiggled his lips to Tyt'os shoulder with a little show of affection. Tyt'o handled the horse's velvety snout with a few low, friendly words in greeting and the animal pricked its ears forward and sniffed around his rider for any hidden morsels he might have to offer. Hermione swept past the pair and settled her own saddle atop the mount she'd be taking for their ride.
The young rider went straight to work situating her saddle over the blanket, buckling it down, and tightening it. She was all business and skill, checking for lose straps and hanging her bridle over the seat before she gave the horse a friendly patting at the shoulder and looked back to Theodore and gave her head a jerk. "Come meet your horse, Nott." He obliged diligently and Tyt'o emulated with Draco.
Hermione smoothed her hand over the back of the horse next to hers as she walked behind him. "Have you ever handled a horse?" she inquired.
"Never." He admitted and she nodded to herself.
She had expected as much, and began in on a series of explanations on how to properly tack and care for the animal, reviewing each step in detail and providing proper context on every aspect. From everything to easing the bid into the mouth, to proper position of the pad beneath the saddle, and how to tighten buckles without cinching an animal too quickly.
As the guided Theodore through each step, he noted carefully that much of her word choice when referring to his horse was actually a fair bit more ambiguous. She would use the words "beast" or "mount" quite often, and it occurred to Theodore at that point that she was encompassing a wider definition on purpose.
It was at some point between when Hermione had shown him how to command his horse to turn using the reigns, and detailing to him what a 'frog' was on the horse, and why such a thing mattered, that he began observing her. He noted at some point how her hands moved across his animal; so very confident, but kind with every touch. Her hands were smooth, but had seen many days of sun and where he expected dainty and well-groomed nails he found them clipped short like a man's instead. It was curious, still, that he noted she wore breeches as a man did as well, despite that her hawk-eyed mother was much more disposed to proper ladies finery. Though it didn't seem to be any issue that Hermione was not.
The two of them mounted to their horses together and she called over to Tyt'o to report her destination to her brother. Something about reaches, or the rivers. Theodore wouldn't admit it to anyone, but the horse underneath him unnerved him. He was no stranger to flight; wizards could travel by enchanted broom, carpets, or in a more advanced and powerful mage they could have achieved flights simply by themselves. Travel or trek by horse was typical of the lower classes, or those wizards or witches too impoverished to afford the luxuries of magical travel accommodation.
It was first in how gentle she was with the animal, as he himself had no need to ride any animals, he didn't have any appreciation for caring for any living thing himself. What emanated from her was an adoration that was subtle, but valiant. The young lady of the House took care to focus her direct attention on his horse more than she did at him, which he postulated was because she either didn't care for him, or she cared more for the animal. He could not be certain which it was.
Tyt'o and Hermione escorted their protégés on horseback through the castles outer walls and builds, and down the long road through the valley and into the foothills. The brother and sister kept themselves quiet, and aware through the travel. Draco and Theodore mimicked their tutors in shuttering themselves away any outward curiosity in the opposite pair, or their surroundings. Though, as Theodore noticed, Draco observed them as much as he did their surroundings.
The riders diverted from the main thoroughfare to what looked like a little foot path into the lower mountains. The horses knew this path well and started picking up their hooves more excitedly as they headed further to their destination. Draco's horse in particular had begun stepping much more quickly in anticipation as the single-file line of riders approached a forest path that was crowded in with brush and overgrowth.
Despite their original intent to pull a little prank on their father's new students by outfitting them with a pair of the stables least-broken and most spirited horses, Tyt'o and Hermione abandoned their sly plot when they agreed even though it would be greatly humorous to watch the two struggle to keep their mounts contained, that the luxury of time was not something they were in possession of. Simply put, antics would have to wait.
Tree branches and winding vines were sprung in all directions through the initial entry into the wooded area, having never been contained along this path, as it was far off any main route. Only the two Gresham children had made regular use of it. The two of them deftly leaned toward their horses necks to avoid foliage being slapped in their faces as they led the team through the pathway.
Exiting the wooded area they had used to reach their destination, Draco and Theodore found themselves in a wide open area surrounded by trees and cloistered by the mountains. The distance traveled some ways, and there were several additional paths that could be seen diverting from the arena they had entered. "First one to make 5 laps wins," he called, and kicked his horse into step right behind Draco's as he reeled back an open palm and hit the back end of the animal. The animal surged forward at the surprise and took off fast, causing Draco to yelp.
Theodore glared at Hermione and she gave him a smirk. "Time to start riding, princeling." Hermione's brown horse wheeled at her sturdy command and bolted to follow her brother and Draco. Realizing he'd started last, Theodore nudged his horse onward to follow the trio ahead of him.
The two newcomers were inexperienced to say the very least when it came to horseback, and it shortly became evident as the two fell far behind Tyt'o and Hermione that the siblings were accustomed to racing each other as they led the little group of riders by several horse-lengths in the lead, shooting barbs and jabs at each other playfully, out of habit.
"That all you got?!" Hermione shouted through her laughter.
"The wren can sing, but can she fly?!" her brother shot back, and Hermione cried out in amused indignance as Tyt'o, unbelievably, urged his mount ahead of hers. Dust and dirt clods flew from the hooves of their horses as the two goaded their horses faster, their companions falling farther behind, trying to cover their faces from the foray being kicked at them.
The 5 laps Tyt'o had challenged were over quickly enough, with Hermione close on his heels, laughing as she pulled her horse up short. Theodore and Draco reigned their two horses behind, coughing and glaring at the Gresham children unfavorably.
"What, exactly," Draco sputtered out between attempts to clear his throat "are we doing out here?" he demanded, alternately brushing dust from the sleeves of his jerkin and shirt. The dust covering his face, and darkening his eyebrows understated the glare out of his lightly colored eyes. Tyt'o laughed a little, and Hermione joined him through her delighted gasps after their exhilarating little race.
"Learning to ride, little prince!" Tyt'o exclaimed.
Hermione and Tyt'o spent that day with Draco and Theodore with them astride their horses going over various moves while seated, and over again once more to ensure the pair were beginning to pick up on the rhythm. Sometimes the siblings would dismount to point out points of weakness in their fellow students in how they held their reigns, or how to find a more harmonious pace while at a canter.
It had grown hot out as the sun overhead cast summer shine onto all of them. The three young men had all removed their doublets and hiked their sleeves over their forearms. Sweat had run rivulets down their brows and through the dust that had smattered their faces through their repeated riding through their runs. Even Hermione had pulled her braid to the back of her head, and with a few smoothed twigs she'd pulled from trees (and a little help with a small knife), she had poked them through her hair to keep it from contact to her neck.
The hours riding the steps repeatedly had tired their newest pupils to their utmost limit. While they had been able to stop for a few morsels during the midday, the tidbits were nothing like the hearty meal the pair silently imagined in their minds waiting for them at the end of a day. While Tyt'o and Hermione had exchanged laughter and quips throughout the day in jest and freely showing their elation in this was rather annoying to Draco, in particular. In truth; neither of them had expended any thought on the idea that an animal was not only ridable, but served any function of use, truly. Exhausted and still utterly uncertain why this had any necessity to why they were there, Draco grew impatient.
"I can see how you two would find this kind of ceaseless, dirty moil to be amusing," he finally shot out, causing the two Gresham progeny to stop their brief exchange over an inane and playful disagreement. "But I fail to see how this waste of a day has had any use to the either of us!" He wiped his brow in the crease of his elbow, trying to rid himself of the disgusting grime he was covered with. Hermione's mouth bend down in a little frown at him.
"How can you possibly learn to control a living, breathing Dragon, if you cannot even keep a horse under control?!" Draco balked a little at her question. Not only had the correlation not struck him, but Hermione herself had not uttered more than a few short, very terse words at him through the entire day. Now, to be at the opposite end of her ire, he found himself feeling foolishness creep up behind the mask of irritation he had put upon his face.
"Then why not teach us on a real Dragon?" he spat, "all this about how mighty they are and how serious this all is, and where are they?" Hermione's eyebrows shot up towards her hairline, but Draco kept on. "Riding a horse isn't anything like riding a Dragon!" At that last statement, she pitched her head back in a laugh, revealing straight and aristocratically cared for teeth. Her laughter was quite musical and carefree, unmetered with malic or anger. It was genuine mirth.
"You've got much to learn about Dragons yet, young Malfoy." Tyt'o added for her, and she nodded, moving her horse closer to Draco's to look him in the face as she spoke to him. Her eyes were absolutely burning into his, and he felt his gaze heat up with something he couldn't really identify.
"You see, little prince," she shot at him, her fierce copper eyes locked onto him. "Our Dragons are brooding, waiting for their young to hatch." She began to walk her horse around his as she spoke, never wavering in her scrutiny. "A Dragon loses a little bit of his higher self when the female lays her eggs, and they become all but wild by the time the chicks are ready to break their eggs. Dragons are mighty parents," she chuckled, as though it was a perfectly clear fact, and he was just too stupid to know any better. "Those parents will boil you- and everyone else in their nest, down to ash and bone if they think you're not befitting as a rider." Hermione stopped her horse parallel to her own, facing him closely, and she leaned out of her saddle at him with her eyes narrowing with distain. "I don't fancy being roast on a spit when it comes time to bond, you bemoaning quim, so my brother and I design to secure you two as properly fitted riders when it comes time to make the pilgrimage."
Tyt'o's snicker at Hermione's vulgarity towards Draco ignited one in Theodore as well, and he covered his mouth with his hand to keep some semblance of solidarity with Draco in light of her insult. Draco wore his mortification without reserve. He'd never been spoken to like that before. Being a Malfoy afforded him a certain esteem, and with it the expectation of his couth under pressure. He felt himself utterly unsure as to what to do in the face of her aggression, and her relentless dislike for him.
Outside of his mother, who doted on him consummately in their private chambers away from the austere view of his father, he had never really interacted with many females. Perhaps the occasional Lady from another House, but almost none near his own age. Even lacking that experience, he could see from the way she twisted her mouth that the very act of speaking to him she found embittering.
"You seem to think I want this, Lady Gresham," he ground out at her. "But I couldn't care one whit about your stupid blasted Dragons. Let them burn the lot of you to dust, for all I have care," he noted that her eyes narrowed further, but that she leaned away again and the twist upon her shapely mouth fell away as he continued. "Dragons are nothing but mindless beast with no purpose but to bleed." He enunciated the last vowel largely to make his point, but noted firmly that both the Gresham's straightened themselves as his implication sunk in.
Dragon's blood. It was worth fortunes to rival Solomon if you could get your hands on any of it. The problem there was finding a Dragon, and then having someone with a death wish to shake the beast loose its living coil.
Hermione and Tyt'o knew too well how much Dragon blood would fetch, and the prices on the heads of any Dragon they would ever mount into the sky would blacken their minds in fear. From the time they were little children sneaking into their parents' bed chambers when the light of dawn painted the sky, Tyt'o and Hermione had dreamed of riding Dragons. Every lesson in magick they were ever taught brought them back to how they would use it astride their Dragon. Every exercise in hand-to-hand fighting was correlated to how it was to be done as a Dragon rider. Any tutelage they received on caring for a magical creature was looped around to how it pertained to the care of a Dragon. Their breath, their lives, their dreams, they were all about Dragons. Draco's insinuated debasement of their livelihood felt like a knife across their flesh.
Tyt'o felt a burn behind his eyes and cheekbone, but for the fury he felt boiling beneath the surface of himself, he knew that the inferno raging in his sister would be so much worse. With only a light urging, and a few short steps of his horse, he had his hand on her forearm and his own matching copper eyes sought her face to ring her attentions back to him. She was vibrating with rage beneath his palm. Her reigns were fisted so hard that the leather in her hands groaned and crinkled loudly. Tyt'o diverted her by further inserting his horse between her and the young Malfoy to break her wordless, venomous gaze. But Tyt'o saw how Draco's face was placed in a smug, and pompously triumphant expression. He'd gotten a gouge at her, and now he knew how he could wedge the knife again, and again. A weakness he could exploit.
"Only a fool who knows no better than a child would price a Dragon at its most base worth," Tyt'o commented, trying to break the sudden deathly silence between his sister and her adversary. Hermione reluctantly un-fixed her gaze from Draco as Tyt'o's horse had forced her own to step away. Burying her volcanic enmity for this pompous and loathsome imbecile, she wheeled her horse around the small group and gave instruction once more, shaking her head lightly as though to clear it of the burden of her overwhelming anger.
"Again, then, you two," she motioned to the track they'd been riding, "half a score and two, and the one to lose has to comb down all four horses without magic."
Theodore and Draco balked at her a moment with their dirty and sweaty faces, and she smirked specifically at Draco, just as he had at her. "No time to waste, dear maidens," she added very specifically. Theodore wasted no time in setting a firm jab into his horse and wheeling it around. Draco, however, was caught more off-guard than his counterpart and ended up a mere second behind him.
"Seems a little light on the retribution," her brother mentioned to her as he made to stand his horse next to hers. "Not the kind of reaction I thought you'd have had." Hermione watched the two urge their horses faster through the track they had been running already; they were approaching the first lap already. Theodore was still leading.
"I'd have knocked him off his horse if you hadn't been here brother." Tyt'o knew that to be a truth, she hadn't even needed to speak it. He looked at her, and placed a gentle hand upon hers to entreat her with gentility.
"He'll never be able to hurt them, Hermione," Tyt'o's began, sincerely. "Goldoduur and Imri would never allow it-" her hand tightened over her saddle horn beneath his own, the idea of harm being perpetrated on any one of their families Dragons, on the Dragons that might be their own….. It filled her with a dread she refused to show. The racing pair before them completed the second lap, dust and clods of dirt flying up around the Gresham siblings. The noises of hoofs quieted as they rounded again around another loop, Tyt'o lowered his voice to Hermione and leaned to her. "We will speak with father," he promised. "We will warn him for when the masters come, the treachery the Malfoy speaks of. He will see to it the masters know their intention."
Hermione nodded to her brother, endlessly thankful of his wise words. Tyt'o was much like their own mother in this regard; careful to consider, wise in choices. Hermione, much to her occasional chagrin, was quick to act and even quicker to act when angered. In that way, she was quite more like their father, and a diametric opposite to her brother. She knew her brother to speak wisely, and though only a few handfuls of months older than she, it seemed he continued to prove the more sensible of the two of them.
"Have words with father, then, brother." Hermione said, as evenly as she could, her attention locked on to the pair of riders, of which Theodore was still in the lead. She felt a light tingling of pride knowing that Nott lead the race. Perchance this would bring the young Malfoy down a notch or so to be bested before a group. From their very brief experiences together, she had already decided he was a braggart and a bastard, to boot. Though while more quiet, and more inquisitive, she did not have any inkling to trust the young Theodored any more than she would Malfoy. He was simply more congenial.
Still, though, she shouldn't be too surprised at how contentiously he had behaved towards her. After all, he had not slept very finely last night. A little smile played on her face. The Gresham siblings had clandestinely seen to it that their guests had, well, less than comfortable accommodations. The false morning birds were a particularly devious touch that Hermione had added in at the agreement of her brother. A little pranking never harmed anyone, did it? Moreover, the two Gresham children had never truly had anyone beside the other to experiment their little larks on. It certainly told them which of the pair was more susceptible to cantankerousness once worn down, just a tad.
"The Dragons will be safe, little wren." Tyt'o assured her again. "Neither of these two could bring them any harm, once they've bonded." Hermione was comforted with this reminder, knowing it to be true from the stories told to them by their teachers, and parents both. Once a rider was bonded to his Dragon, no force on the plains of mortals nor gods could cause a man to raise a hand in anger to his Dragon. It would be the same as striking a wound upon your own soul to do such a thing.
Hermione knew he words were true, she grasp his words right down through the core of her own magic deep within her body. Nevertheless, as she watched this pair of newcomers into their lands, nay- into their lives. Riding hard upon their horses, upon their lands, she grappled internally with dread for the months to come before them.
The pair she watched completing their sixth lap were already trailing years behind on the same instructions that Hermione and Tyt'o had been educated with since they were young. The hatching of their new generation of their families Dragons was going to be upon them much sooner than they would be ready. The consequences of bringing a duo of under-taught and inadequate nominees into a nest of great Golden Dragons caused Hermione to feel a wave of panic overtake her, and her heart to race wildly. Goldoduur and Imri would burn them all alive for their insolence, and likely never cast them a second thought for the remainder of their long-lived existences. Such peril were one of the pitfalls of courting a Dragon to bond as a rider.
It would be all, or nothing, it seemed. Her panic at the scene in her mind where the face of her father's bound-Dragon decided the fate of their band of merry misfits subsided as she gulped breaths as quietly as she could, trying to press the terror from her mind. She and Tyt'o had never imagined that such a thing would be possible before this point, but the reality had finally sunk in for her. Her mother's earlier insistence at the importance of their training sunk in for her.
She and Tyt'o would stop at nothing in their endeavor to see these two soft, genteel boys be shaped into fierce, hardened and capable riders. Their taunting of the Gresham family be-damned, their hesitations at what they were learning be-damned, and their resistance to any of it, be-damned.
…..
Notes on some of the terms used:
"Sarding" is the equivalent of saying Fuck, or fucking. Ah, Draco and his secret penchant for swearing. Hermione has one as well!
"Gnashlab" – a person who is always complaining.
one half score = 10 (remember one score = 20)
So; the exchange between Ursa and Theo at breakfast…. Ursa is well aware of how the fellow Houses are set up. That's the point. The boys have no idea what kind of social and political acumen Ursa is capable of, except for Theo, which is a direct result of his father telling him to watch her.
I won't give anything else away, I just want to point out that Ursa is not empty-headed.
More terms: A bailey is like a courtyard outside a castle keep.
A keep is a main area within a castle, though the definition has varies throughout the ages. Castles can have varying complexity, and for the sake of my story staying relatively simple, I'm not going to describe it in too great of detail. Because that would be boring. This is the main part of the castle where the family is living, in this particular story.
If you would like an idea of what I imagined the castle of House Gresham to look like, take a look at my pinterest. I am Indigo Birds, and I have a board that I work on for this story called (drum roll, please!) Guild of Dragons (original, right?)
But seriously. There's a load of things on there that might help you visualize what I'm thinking about, in some capacity, when it comes to what things look like (In my feverishly geeky mind) when it comes to the tale I am telling. Some things are more interpretive than others, and there are probably a few extra pins in this section than I need. I just can't help myself. I get all geeky and excited and start pinning things for the story line, regardless of whether or not they're really relevant. So be gentle.