The second half of Lammas! More merriment and celebration! But oooo, I'm a liar about my update schedule, aren't I? Liar, liar, pants on fire. Oh well.
Take note: some themes here might be considered R-rated.
Chapter 21
As if to prove that the warm season wasn't yet over, the weather maintained the perfect agreeability throughout. Though not much time overall had been invested in bringing the troupe into the woods to forage for the offerings and for Ursa to bless each of them, it was not yet midday when Hermione and Draco's horses emerged onto the main road where the rest of them waited.
The duo had truly not been more than a few horse lengths behind the others, and had rallied their expressions appropriately by the time the joined the others. Though, that was not to say that the two of them didn't share a few glances at the other while they headed up the rear of the company. Hermione had, most interestingly, even elicited a few muffled giggles. Draco had discovered that the sound drove him positively wild, and riding a horse that distance was of no help in his plight of frustration.
Paying the two little mind, for the group was all occupied with their own thoughts, and their own devisings; the mood of everyone had maintained the lighthearted air to it. Truly, it must have been a day of festivity for not a one of them seemed preoccupied with anything other than finding some manner in which to make merry.
"There are some hours yet in the day, my nestlings. You will not have to return to the House until the feast." Ursa informed them encouragingly. Tyt'o and Hermione looked at each other and their faces lit up like children. Being offered freedom was rare, indeed. At least, it had been over these warm months.
Their mother noted their exuberance and chuckled. "Ensure you return in time to clean up and make ready for the celebrations, dear hearts."
The four of them needed no additional encouraging, and the siblings nodded their respectful understanding to their mother, and motioned together to Theo and Draco to follow. Within a few seconds, the four of them had their horses running, full-tilt, out and away down the road.
"And where would you supposed they would be off to, My Lady?" Sirius questioned, and Ursa sighed.
"Most of the time, Hermione and Tyt'o will try to see if they can't navigate the paths up to the start of the reaches. They've spend the whole summer searching for the paths into the mountains."
"I'm not certain I understand, Lady. Why would they be hunting out the path? Isn't it clearly marked for them?" He queried, and Ursa shook her head. The two horses they sat astride set a lazy path in return back to the House.
"There are many paths into the upper mountain reaches that will lead a traveler, but only one that will take them to where the Dragons nest. They have to navigate the labyrinth of those paths in order to find them."
"How will they know when the time comes for them to leave?"
"In truth Sirius, I could not say. There has not been a hatching in mine of my Lord's lifetimes. It is written that there will be a calling to them, Tyt'o and Hermione. Though I am not certain if Theo or Draco would be able to hear as well….." She paused. "They are not family directly, and it has been an age since a man rode a gold Dragon that was not a Gresham by blood."
Sirius took the information in solemnly. Having taught for the Gresham's for many years, it was one thing to have been familiar with their House, and their dynamics, but it was not often he had a chance to speak of the Dragons, nor of matters that did not pertain immediately to the children themselves. Much was it the same with his other pupils as well; there was simply no windows available for socializing and cavorting for the sole purpose of pleasure.
The black haired Warlock smiled at his Lady companion on her horse, and the Lady smiled back at him as well.
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Rune's calloused hands rubbed at her temples in frustration as she tried to clear her head. Her stocky and strong legs felt prickly up and down from having been crossed for so long, that they lacked blood flow now, and she stretched them with a muffled groan. She was no spring chicken anymore, she knew, but it still annoyed her that her bones had begun to creak, and she felt the occasional aches in her joints after long meditation.
The Necromancer sighed deeply and leaned back on her elbows as she stretched further along the blanket beneath her. It had been month since she had had privacy and quiet, such was the life of one who resided in a House where there were more happy voices than solemn ones, which was, she rationalized, better than residing in one where the residents were oppressed with dark thoughts. It was all about the little blessings, she agreed internally.
She opened her eyes, and brought her hands to her face. Her vision. She recounted. Why would the powers have shown this to her? She further pondered. What significance did this play at this point? Rune Mora had spent the majority of her life delineating and deciphering the whispers the magics she conjured spoke to her, and the visions she conjured to divine the fates and futures. There were some times they made sense, and other times she found that she needed to seek out further pieces to the puzzle she was looking at.
But Rune was nothing, if not patient. She had not been calling upon and manipulating her powers for the decades of her life if she was not prepared to understand their methodologies. She would learn the purpose, in time, she was certain.
The image of the young woman she had seen; dark haired and dark eyed, weeping in the shame of her agony. Wishing there were some means of escape. It wasn't the first time Rune had borne witness to the sighs of the abuses of women at the hands of man. She was well aware of what the hands of men were capable of, and how their minds could become twisted. She had always grinned in her victory that the fates had deigned to spare her any interest in the haven of a man's arms, particularly when the arms of a woman were so much more blissful.
Nevertheless, the vision of the young woman, so abused and isolated, was sad indeed to see. Rune knew that there was nothing that could be done for the wretch that was this girl, for what she saw was not present; it was already past. It had brought her hope that despite the unending sorrow she saw the girl experiencing, and the pleading she had done to the powers to save her, that her wish was granted. Granted in the form of a coachman, who in his adoration for the girl, swept her into his arms and the protection of his love, and took her away from her pain.
Rune Mora made to sit fully, and end her resting fully. She pushed the vision from her mind, for the time being, but mentally agreed that she would ponder on it again, when the next moment presented itself to her. And, perhaps if the powers deemed it, she would be bestowed further vision of what this meant.
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Afternoon had arrived and had begun to bleed slowly into the falling of the sun at the horizon, and the House was positively trembling with activity from the staff that hurried delightedly as they readied the Great Hall for the evening's celebrations. The Hall had been cleaned meticulously, and the long table set with fine linens in rich oranges, reds, and greens; the colors of the harvest and of bounties.
The best pieces of crockery were brought out, as were goblets of crystal and fine utensils. All items were arranged in perfect unity with the table, and were attended with pride by the House staff. This was, as they had always experienced, a day for celebration for all who lived here with the Gresham's, not explicitly for the family themselves.
The four wayward youths had spent their hours of freedom roaming lazily through the forests, gathering berries to eat, and picking flowers like children again. The had spent long hours trading stories about their young years, and speculations about when the hatching would come, as they were all now certain it would be soon.
Hermione and Tyt'o had told their two foster siblings many tales of the Dragons of the old years, and explained much of the lore they had cut their teeth on as the earliest stories from their nursery years. Theo and Draco had traded those stories of old, for their own tales from the earliest recorded years of their own Houses. Years past when the great Houses had not warred, but had experienced lasting peace over many centuries past. Not like how it was now, with tensions high and tempers flaring easily. D
The four had made their way back to the Keep when the sun in the sky had reached its three quarter position; dutifully returning back to make ready and bathe the grime they had amassed in their jubilations. Each took care to clean their person meticulously in mark of the feast, finding that oils and soft cloths with fresh sweet soap had been brought to their rooms already.
Upon her arrival Ursa had knocked softly to Hermione's door to be invited in enthusiastically; the mother carefully combed out her daughters tangles and helped her wash out her long curls with meticulous care, scrapping her scalp and rinsing it for her several times. Being predisposed to her own waves, Ursa knew from experience how unruly they could become if not cared for properly, and she was silently very thankful that her nearly-grown daughter allowed her to indulge in maternal cares for her, still. As each of her children had grown over the years, they needed her less and less, so to have a window in which she could dote on them, if only a little, Ursa leapt on it.
She added fragrant oils and combed Hermione's hair from the ends to her crown, never pulling or snagging, and the two women spoke softly and happily through the chore. Once she was finished, Ursa kissed her forehead one more time, and gave her privacy behind her dressing screen so she could finish her bath and dry off.
Within several hours, minstrels had arrived and begum playing, and many people had arrived into the Hall to congregate. Ursa herself found herself realizing she was a bit at a loss arriving to the Hall without her husband Loren, and realized that it was the first time in the years of their union that she was without him on such an important celebration.
There were so many years' worth of memories that her mind raced through, as she recounted the year she had reached the part of her pregnancy where Loren had had to have several dresses commissioned for her to fit her growing belly inside. And how, though her ankles had wished to swell, she had danced again and again with her loving husband, through the whole day and night. She remembered their laughter, and tender caresses together through those celebrations; carefree and unburdened.
There was the year that the festival of Aonach Tailteann had been in full swing, and the sounds of horse hoofs had pounded the ground as their riders raced madly to the finish line, while she and Loren had cried out their encouragements for victory.
She smiled to herself then, as she stood on the lee side of the door, tentatively toeing her procession into the Hall before she entered, as the Lady of the House, and without her Lord. Ursa gathered her courage; I am a Lady, she reminded herself. I have known most of these folk as family for all the years I have been a Gresham. She felt stronger then, reminding herself who she was. It struck her then, when she entered, that a large part of that definition had to do with her identity as Loren's wife. Which, as it were, was not all of who she was. Certainly that was the mantle she had assumed in matrimony, but she was not only her Lord's Wife. She was Ursa Gresham, née Allerton. She was a powerful and brilliant mistress of magic, hailing from the noble line of great scholars of the House Allerton and she could hold her head high knowing that she had no one to account herself to, no one to supplicate to.
Her confidence was clear as she entered, and the music playing faltered as the Lady of the House entered the room. People bowed to her left and right as she swept past in her gown of dark blue and gold embroideries. She waved to the minstrels to continue their merriment and greeted familiar faces with a beatific smile. Tonight, she held herself proudly, and without the same strains she had carried over the last few weeks. Her smile was open and pure, her shoulders proud. Her dark wavy hair had been left brushed until it had gleamed, only two cords pulled back from next to her ears in two braids that met at the back of her head, and joined together to fall down.
As Ursa assumed her seat at the middle of the great table, she noted that as her Lord was not present, hers was the only chair present, and situated directly in the middle. She nodded to herself, accepting that indeed she felt it fitting that she helmed this ship as captain.
Tyt'o and Hermione had already arrived, and together had sat themselves to either side of their mother, both in uncharacteristic shows of propriety. Their mother smiled to both of them and mouthed her thanks that each had assumed their own position without prompt, and without argument. Both of them had taken expert care in their dressing as Tyt'o tawny half-waves were left loose down his shoulder, and he had work his softest white linen short, covered with a golden brown jerkin that had been tooled with subtly embroidered symbols of the harvest right down the middle around the buckles.
Hermione, however, had done something Ursa had never seen before, and had chosen a long green dress with full skirts and sleeves that was meticulously adorned with gold and orange designs at her elbows, hems, and down the middle. The dress cinched delicately with ribbon down her front beneath her bust, and tied elegantly where her hips began, creating a curve inward that her normal jacket and breech pairing never showed. Her curls were shining and lovely and fell just as her mother's did down to the middle of her back, though had considerable more buoyancy to them than Ursa's ever could.
Her daughter's attention to her appearance was noted by the Gresham matriarch sharply, and she gave her daughter a knowing look. Hermione, unable to yet shield herself from her mother's scrutiny with any skill, blushed and looked down, smiling. It was no coincidence she'd worn the beautiful dress.
Revelers from towns nearby, various vassal families and the families of those who worked in the Gresham House hold all gathered together. Little children dashed and played under the smaller side-tables, laughing madly at their little games. The one thing that was most important today, was that everyone wore smiles.
Titles were laid to the side for the evening, and bows were no longer being presented. There was hugging and laughter among friends, and dancing to the music. As the dishes of food arrived, and drinks were poured, the Gresham's three stood and made their way about their Hall to socialize, and make their own merriment. Hermione had spied a pair of little children who had been poking their heads out from under a table, reaching their hands up across to reach some of the sweet breads at the edge; their deliciously chubby little hands finding nothing but bare table. The young Lady casually walked by, and plucking up two such morsels, knelt down and handed them to the two pilferers with giggles of her own.
After a half a cup of sweet mead, Tyt'o had bid a gentlemanly bow to his mother and offered her his elbow, and led her out to the dancing. The mother accepted it happily, and her heart soared with joy at seeing her son's grace and kindness. It was everything she had ever dreamed he would become, and though he was no longer a boy –in fact it was she who had to look up to keep eyes at his height- She found that she no longer felt as much fear for his future as she once had.
Hermione's secret gift to the two children had spread among the young folk like wildfire, and soon, her skirts were surrounded by tiny people, each asking for the Lady to pluck a sweet for them. Their darling little hands grasping the velvet of her dress with adoring and pleading faces, and Hermione caved to them, quite predictably. As the last of the platter was given away, and the last cherubic face glazed with sweet frosting from their indulgence, Hermione felt on more tug at her right sleeve. She turned to face what she thought was a child, but was instead a man.
She blushed madly, and straightened to stand as she stammered. "Beg pardon, I thought you were another youngling looking for a sweet." Draco smiled.
"Ah, but I am, my Lady." He said, softly so only her ears would hear him. Hermione's blush deepened and she looked away as she fought her smile, becoming acutely aware how very exposed to the public they were. "But I see there are no more sweets to take, so I would take a dance instead." Hermione was able to command herself to turn and place the platter back to the table, and accept Draco's hand as he bought her out to the middle of the room, supplanting themselves in the midst of the other revelers.
Draco raised his hands and she placed her own delicately on top of them. They were warm, and dry, and would fit perfectly in his own if he were able to cup them with his own, but such connectedness was not part of dancing, and Draco felt how acutely they were being watched from all sides as they bowed together and the music picked up. Through each of their moves, he ensured that his position in front of her gave no one any question about their association, but the longer they moved together, and the more their bodies accumulated warmth, the greater the heat poured from her body.
The proximity was intoxicating, and after their second song, Draco felt a tap at his shoulder to find Hermione's brother holding his own hand out invitingly. "May I steal your partner away, friend?" he asked, and begrudgingly, Draco bowed out from their pairing. Though Hermione was delighted to keep dancing, her eyes lingered on Draco as he made to move back out to the edges of the Hall.
"Not so fast." A familiar voice smiled, and Draco found himself sequestered then by Ursa. "We can't have our blood cooling now, the evening has only just begun!" The Lady held his hand out to him, and he accepted with a little bow, and brought his new partner again around as the music played on.
As they turned, parried, bowed, clapped and laughed, Draco could see that Hermione had kept up her lively movements, and though he could now watch her openly now, he glanced her constantly in his periphery.
At the end of a second song, Draco bowed to the Lady of the House, and complimented her on her grace and enthusiasm of movement, and stepped back in search of something cool to drink. Revelers were in all phases of celebration; some seated and eating, some standing with drink, and the remaining covering the area in the middle as they danced. There were so many bodies in the room now that the air was warm and thick. The wooden doors had been propped open, and the glass windows had been released to the fresh air from outside.
Though a gentle breeze carried in occasionally, it could grow stuffy in some places if you stood there long enough. After her fifth dance, Hermione broke from her brother, panting and waving her hand at her face. "Brother, I will sweat this dress clean from my body if I do not stop!" She laughed, and he let her go with a smile.
"Losing your dress at Lammas feast would not do for a Lady." He shot at her, and she smiled saccharinely.
"Only since it is the great feast will I allow you to call me such a wretched word." She sniffed, and poked him in the chest once. Tyt'o's laugh was full, and he bowed in mock formality to her. The youngest Gresham took her leave and collected a goblet with cool water within it, and gulped most unbecomingly. The clamor around her concealed her lack of decorum nicely, and as she was still gasping slightly after such an invigorating dance she didn't feel like paying much mind to being lady-like. Additionally, though her dress was stunning, and she had very secretly never felt more beautiful than she did tonight, it was damned heavy.
She made a mental note that someday, when she was forced under threat of torture and required to wear dresses, they were going to be made with cottons, and never velvet. A wave of warmth washed over her, and she resumed waving her hand at her throat and spied the great doors, ajar and open to the outside. Her goblet still in-hand she made to leave the Hall, but just for long enough to find a balcony she could sit at, and maybe privately draw up the heavy curtains covering her legs. The heat under this garment was growing intolerably high.
Hermione rounded a little corner on her way onward, and though the Hall was well-lit, that same light did not make its way into every little alcove and corner in the House. As she passed one such dark pocket, the flowing corner of her sleeve caught and stopped her in her tracks. As she reached for the caught corner, she came face-to-face with the same smiling face she'd found herself thinking of for most of the day; his hand clasp purposefully around the cloth he gave it a gentle tug towards himself.
Bursting with excitement, Hermione, now-smiling madly, stepped into the little space with Draco and looked up at him. "So this is how the Ladies of the House comport themselves in the midst of great celebrations?" He teased.
"Oh, and how is that?" She tilted her chin up and met him head-on. Draco's smile was without any pretense, as she was standing so close to him in the little space they occupied, it was all he could do to even keep his hands from finding their way to the curve of her waist.
"Why completely without any sense of propriety." Hermione opened her mouth to make a protest –to point out that since his arrival he'd never so much as seen her in a dress, and whom was he to speak of 'propriety' when he had pulled her into a dark alcove while the residents of the House all occupied themselves in celebrations? But her protesting mouth was found, quite suddenly, covered with his own and she gave a little exclamation of surprise as he pulled back his crushing kiss a bit, and softened it more on top of her lips.
His initial assault over quickly, she softened to him, and returned his movements. They were tentative at first, both of them, not really knowing what to do and only learning by what felt the best. It wasn't long before their lips were growing more eager together that Hermione dared, if only for a second, to part her lips slightly. Oh, but gods above, was it like giving a starving man the sight of a warmed meal, and Draco drew in air quickly as he'd felt her breath tickle him along his lips, finding that he wished to fill that void.
He swiping gently at the opening of her mouth with the very tip of his tongue, and their sudden fervor was suspended midair as though they were holding their breaths. The sensation created an electricity that brought this newfound passion between then to a completely different plateau, and she gasped sweetly as she felt her body want to lurch desperately into his. Her noise caused Draco's eyes to nearly roll back into his skull, and he slowly repeated his motion with his tongue, and found that her hands had crept up to his chest to grab at the soft fabric of his jerkin.
"Oooooooh." She whispered into him, and met his tongue for the first time with her own. Slowly, so slowly, they found a new, and entirely deliciously passionate exchange there together. They licked, and caressed and kissed again and again, savoring the taste and feel of each other until their excitement had caused them such ardor that the two of them were panting like crazy.
Draco's hands had snaked over Hermione's shoulders and into her hair as he leaned her back, struggling to contain the need to press himself fully and frontally into her with abandon. She gasped and writhed in turn, unsure why her body danced all over as he kissed her, but delighting in the sensations that surged wildly though her.
Breaking their kisses abruptly, Draco pulled back and righted the Lady in his arms. Their shared breathlessness and excitement left their cheeks flushed, and Hermione's lips looked shiny and plump from lengthy bombardment they'd endured. "I can't stop." He whispered, and she looked at him with an eyebrow raised.
"You just did?" She offered back, and he nodded and stepped back from her slightly.
"I know, but I don't want to stop kissing you." He reasoned, rationalizing for himself aloud. His voice was strained, as were less-gentlemanly parts of him, and he was fighting desperately at the pull within him to push her back into the wall and grind her into it. Such a thing was unseemly, he knew, but his body felt otherwise.
"You don't have to." She whispered, stepping forward to close the gap between them once more. "At least, not yet." She brushed her upper lip over the line of his jaw silkily and watched his eyes close, and he swallowed. She pulled back and gently swept her lips over his again, making the faintest of moans in her mouth as she did. He nearly came undone.
Draco snaked his arms around her, fully, and pulled her into his chest with all his strength. Hermione's smile was crashing into his lips as he kissed her, again and again, and her palms trapped at his chest between them while he lifted her onto her tip-toes as he arched his back. She giggled under his lips and returned his passion with her own.
For a few seconds after they rejoined, their passion marched on until Draco was, again, stepping back only slightly, and broke their kiss again. Their eyes, still closed, he touched his forehead to hers. "You taste like honey." He whispered, and she smiled at his compliment. Though, in all fairness, a staggering amount of mead was being served with their celebrations. But it was most flattering to her ear anyway.
He found her hands with his, and squeezed them tightly. Their eyes locked, and so much less afraid to maintain contact in their newfound familiarity. She licked her lips, and his gaze fell to her mouth and he moaned wantonly. "Gods, I don't want to stop-" He crashed his mouth back upon hers and they fell again back together, their kisses only broken up with their intermittent chuckles.
A roaring laughter sounded from down the hall, though the door, and the pair were reminded that they were not far from the possibility of being detected. Reluctantly, the two wound down for a time, and though breathless again they stood in the same tiny little alcove together, unwilling to break the spell they had woven while they'd secreted away here.
Her eyes glittered with the flickering of candles nearby, and though their stunning color was muted in the dark, Draco had already memorized their hue. He touched her cheek gently and pressed his forehead to hers one more time. "I want to see you one more time tonight, before the night is over." His eyes were hungry, and she mirrored how he felt. "Will you find me again?"
"Yes!" She exclaimed. "A thousand times, yes!" She flung her arms around his shoulders and his found themselves wrapped around her ribs, holding her fast as though he'd never touch her again. Her hair smelled like nothing he'd ever known before, but was as divine as the finest ambrosia imaginable. He wove his fingertips through it as he squeezed her to him, its silken strands tickling his skin.
When they broke apart, he placed one last firm kiss on her mouth, and released her. Hermione's sparkling smile was the last thing he focused on as she left first to return to the Hall. He waved to her one last time a she walked back and he stayed behind, leaning against the wall. The straining member of his person was pressing fiercely beneath his pants, yet he was not as concerned about it or discomforted by it as he had been in previous weeks. Where he had been agonizing over its recurring and insistent appearances over the recent weeks, it seemed now that having been able to replace his imaginary theatrics with real ones left him… a little less desperate for the privacy of his own rooms.
He shifted himself slightly, and left the little alcove as well to return to the Hall.
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The laughter and music had continued in the Great Hall, and while Ursa had danced again and again, eaten and drank many goblets of drink, she felt herself invigorated rather than tired. She felt herself full of life and full of energy, such as she hadn't felt in weeks. Nay, months, she concluded. Her brown-bronze eyes danced as she clapped to the music, and watched the dancers, as though she was a young woman once more. She'd shared several dances already with Tyt'o, with Theo, Eachan, Morgan, and several of the young Horse grooms that had come, if only for a while into the House, to partake in the celebrations.
Without her Lord here for the feast, it seemed that the skies were the limit as to how long she could dance, or with whom. Though, it was only one person whom she knew to reside in the House that she hadn't seen but all day, and that was Rune Mora.
Ursa had thought she'd spotted the teacher, and had made to seek her out, and wish her a good Lammas, but she repeatedly escaped Ursa's searching gaze. It wasn't until she spied Sirius, who had cornered her a moment, that Ursa made her way over post-haste.
The Lady knew well that Rune More was not one for social niceties; she was a master possessed in the practices of serious magics, and generally not very accepting of touch and affections. Nevertheless, the woman was present, and it was Lammas, and Ursa would share with her a wish of blessing.
Nearly out of breath, Ursa reached the two teachers and smiled openly. They were not speaking lowly, or cautiously, so there seemed no reason not to approach that she would interrupt. But as she did, Ursa found that Rune's hard blue eyes bored into her suddenly, and it stole her breath away as she felt a wave of magic wash around her, stunting her exuberant arrival.
The Lady faltered in her steps, though none in the Hall spied it, other than the Necromancer. In her minds eyes, the vision of a woman appeared there that Ursa had not laid eyes upon in some near-two score. It shocked her then that she should either think upon, or see that face once again. Her soft brown hair, and sparkling hazel eyes…. The very same shade as the eyes that had haunted her for years after she had been made to leave her parents' House. The Master approached the Lady, her head turned slightly, having felt the magic that had reached out for the Lady acutely. "Good Lady, can we speak in private?" Rune asked firmly.
Suddenly struck dumb her smile faded into a daze, she nodded, and Rune took the Lady's hand as though she were a Lord. Allowing herself to be tugged behind, Ursa felt herself still dwelling on the image that had come to her.
It was not long until the pair were out of the Hall, and Rune had guided her swiftly into a corner some two dozen paces from the Hall doors. Rune turned herself to look straight at Ursa. "Whom did you see, Lady?" She inquired sternly. "Who is this woman?" Ursa shook her head in confusion.
"I'm not certain why you know what I see, Master Mor-" Rune interrupted her with a flick of her hand.
"Cease with the formalities, Lady. I performed a meditation my very self this afternoon, and was shown visions of the same woman you saw just now in your mind. This is not a woman with whom I am familiar-" The Master paused. "-And I have known many women. But you know who this is, you have seen her." She prompted.
"Of course I've seen her: I saw her every day of my life until I left my parents' House. She was my mother's ladies maid." Ursa's expression was questioning and unsure. "Why would I be struck with a vision, from your magical incantation?" She asked sharply. "What conjuring did you perform today, Rune Mora?"
The Master's blue eyes stared deeply into Ursa's, as spread her magic wide around the two. "Give me your hands, Ursa, I need to see who she is." The fierceness of her demand made Ursa almost blindly complicit, and she allowed Rune to take hold of her hands. When she did, she felt a warm tingling start at her fingertips, and then behind the barrier of her eyes, she felt a sudden wave of disorientation as Rune dipped into her mind. Suddenly unsure of the permission she granted, Ursa panicked and tried to pull away, but Rune held her hands in a grasp that was shockingly strong, and Ursa could not tear her eyes away from the woman. "Sssshh," she soothed. "You're safe, it's just uncomfortable sometimes. I will slow down."
The Lady felt the wave roll back and her sense of balance returned to her once more, the sensation lessened and she felt more normal. The pools of Rune's blue eyes were more mesmerizing that Ursa had ever imagined them to be, and the trance she came into flowed over her like a great sigh.
In only a few more moments, Rune's strong grip loosened, and the spell melted away and Rune retreated from the Lady's mind. Rune's eyes searched desperately unto Ursa's brown eyes and the lady became aware that her expression was expectant. "What did you see, Rune?" She whispered.
"Your mother's ladies maid. What was her name?" she asked, more softly that Ursa had ever heard her gruff voice before, which took Ursa aback momentarily.
"Her name was Merry. Merry Riddle."