I am totally thrilled with all the follows, favorites and continued reviews! Thank you for the encouragement, and I do hope that what comes will be enjoyable and thrilling for all the readers.
Pgoodrichboggs – for some reason your review did not post, but I was emailed about it. I could not respond to you directly! There will be some good surprises you will discover soon where Ursa is concerned. And oh, will the Dragons have some advice!
Feel free, as always, to let me know your thoughts. Heck, throw in questions or suggestions if you want. I do proof read my work, but now that we're moving into the 20-ott chapter range I want to know if there are silly inconsistencies that I can be addressing, or even things that just don't plain make sense! I do want to make this story THE best that I can.
On with the show we go!
Chapter 28
The vast stone and wooden halls that comprised the castle fortress of the House of Nott were much more opulent than one would expect from a Lord and Mage as solitary and secretive as Thoros Nott. The parapets were ornate in their designs with near-feminine elegance. The tower tops pointing into the sky with flourishes at the base of their cones, and the embrasures circular rather than square. Lovely buttresses supported the outer walls, and the corbels were rounded rather than swooped inward.
It had been rumored within the family that the founder of the castle, Thoros' ancestor, had built the castle fortress as a betrothal gift to his beloved wife upon her acceptance of his offer of marriage, and in his captivation of her, he had designed the castle to please her aesthetically.
Personally, Lucius Malfoy found it to be overly showy and somewhat ill-fitting given the irascible and singularly hermitical tendencies of the Lord who currently ruled it. His own castle in comparison was, though quite massive in size, entirely functional and proper in character befitting a Lord. It did not help matters that for all the years Lucius had known Thoros, he had never noted the man to be of the inclination to find himself so frayed by a member of the fairer sex.
The weeks and months that had passed as time moved forward into the final celebratory seasons of the year had been replete with a great deal of concerns over where the current stratagem was pointing the Houses within the United faction. Though prior to this stretch of time, Lucius had been accustomed to taking counsel directly with Tom Riddle over the concerns and ideas offered by other Houses. The tides had shifted, and not only did the Lord of House Gaunt no longer accept counsel from his aligned Houses, it had become clear that with the presence of the red Dragon, the Lord considered himself the unnamed despot of the entire caucus of Houses.
While the Lord of Gaunt was, in his own rite, a most impressive and intimidatingly powerful master of his magic, the amount of political power the man had begun to wield was situated entirely upon his own shoulders. The man maintained no form of counsel nor confidants; his inner circle appeared to consist exclusively of his own mind, and the red Dragon.
Neither of which Lucius was certain he could entrust the success of their endeavors. Nor, did it seem, could Thoros Nott.
The Lord Malfoy straightened his doublet, ensuring the front lacing was even and stately in appearance. His fair hair was bound behind his head elegantly and his posture was the absolute definition of regal as he stepped through the double wooden doors to the keep of the castle of House Nott. Their iron work accompanying decorative filigrees and ornamentations that complimented the heavy iron supports
The Lord of House Nott had been absent from the few gatherings and summons to public functions following Tom's successful collection of the Dragon. From Tom's account of Thoros' punishment, it was a wonder that the man had survived the Gaunt Lord's wrath once his deception had been uncovered. It was much to Lucius' relief that he himself was not implicated. Thoros was some number of years Lucius's senior, closer in age to his own father, but he had been a closer aligned with the Lord than he was in the majority of the other Houses.
An unremarkable domestic had accompanied Lucius through entry ways and accepted the cloak the Lord had wordlessly thrust upon him. The man had visited many times to the House, and needed no escorts around the vast interior. Today, however, Lord Nott's personal valet met him, bowed, and welcomed him inward as they walked to the Lord's private study.
Despite the midday light, the room was darkened with heavy velvet curtains, and the air seemed musty and heavy. A fire crackled robustly in the fireplace and wrapped in several blankets the Lord Nott sat pensively sipping at something from an earthenware goblet that steamed hotly. His ordeal was still etched across his face; his eyes were sunken and had a hallow quality about them. The pallor of his cheeks was paled and drawn back against his skull, causing his cheeks to protrude.
"If I didn't know already how fastidious your House staff was, I would assume you were being starved, old friend." Lucius commented casually as he stepped into the vast room. Thoros' attention darted to the door as his compatriot let himself in the room, his stride confident and swift. The Lord Nott's face sneered a little, drawing a thinned lip over his nearly-skeletal mouth.
"Might you have come sooner then, were you so concerned?" The older Lord condemned at Lucius, as his uninvited guest moved a padded chair across from Thoros, and settled comfortably into it.
"Indeed I could have, though I assume it would strike even the least observant man as an oddity were I to rush to your ailing bedside upon the heralding of your 'punishment', don't you agree?" Lucius made an excellent point, and Thoros knew that well. Once they had uncovered the ancient writings and texts that opened their understanding further as to the nature of red Dragons, the paid had resolutely concluded that their collusion should remain undisclosed, lest it be mistaken for an act of sedition against the Houses of the United.
The older man scoffed, though he identified the logic, he refused to accept Lucius' honey-sweetened excuses and silver-tongue demeanor without his own barbarous remarks. "And has the accursed red Dragon that our Lord Gaunt retrieved proven to be everything the man hoped for, and more?" His curiosity was mired only by his distain at having been unable to prevent this atrocious being from being set loose upon the lands.
The blond Lord nodded slowly, still eyeing Thoros, who sipped at his brew as he continued to ruminate in the mire of his speculations. "Be the beast as horror-bringing and appalling as the scripts said she'd be?" He said softer. Lucius nodded again and shifted his focus to the fire for a moment.
"Verily so, old friend." The older Lord shook his head slowly.
"And thus it appears the world be cast into darkness once again." He sighed, and Lucius returned his attention back to Thoros. The man took a long gulp from his goblet and winced as the hot liquid entered him. He gave a lengthy and wet-sounding cough, which he covered with the sleeve of his heavy robe as he made to sit up a little more straight in the chair.
As Lucius watched the man come back from hit fit of coughing, he took in the sight in front of him, noting that the Lord's dark hair seemed to have been streaked more than the last time Lucius had seen him. Though already a man past his prime, the extent of his ailment had taken a toll on him, and it showed very clearly now.
"Gods be damned, I'm getting to old for malaise." He croaked out and gulped back the remaining liquid. Once finished, he set his goblet aside and rang a bell that sat at his table-side to hail his staff as to his need. He motioned to the goblet in an expectant gesture when the domestic entered, so as to order more of what he'd been having.
"Don't you mean you're too old to be tortured?" Lucius prickled at him, and Thoros snapped his head to look at his companion. "Don't try to hide it; I know what consequences Tom spoke of." The elder hesitated, his breathing still accompanied by wheezing.
"I'm getting too damned tired to be suffering punishments like I were a child sneaking a desert." Thoros comparison was unusually sentimental, and Lucius snickered slightly.
The blond Lord scrutinized the man as he drew his blankets around his body, burrowing further into the nest of blankets amid his plush chair. "What mean you when you spoke of the world being cast into darkness, Thoros?" The younger Lord queried. His older companion waited until the retuning servant had deposited another steaming drink for him, and closed the door behind him to face more towards Lucius. He gulped back more and winced.
"My meaning is that a red Dragon allowed freedom can only spell chaos followed by death, Lucius. I mean that there were specific machinations behind the red Dragons imprisonment in the void lands. It was not a cruelty, nor a coincidence; it was for the safety of the beings of the world!" He'd worked himself up a little bit, and his body was wracked with heavy, wetted coughs once more. His frame shook as the hacking continued, and the Lord took a tentative taste of his brew once more to calm himself. "Before there were Houses, and Lords, and anything significant, magic was free and unbound to any lines. Men and women practices the archaics and lived in wooden huts and wore skins of animals as clothes. The great Dragons of Old ruled and prospered mankind with their tutelage and their magic, and shaped us into the wielders of magics that rivaled their own."
"I had no idea you were so interested in the histories of our magical ancestry." Lucius drawled, and Thoros scoffed and gestured to him in a shooing motion with his hand.
"Don't play coy with me, boy. You've seen my libraries; what information I have not uncovered is only a matter of time until I can find it. These great walls are filled with more than shows of frippery for a long-dead woman." His pride in his collective of information was not unfounded. Lucius knew better, but he couldn't help but tease the man, if only slightly. His austerity could be unbearable at times, and Lucius wondered briefly if the man had ever found anything in his entire life to make levity of, even as a child.
The older Lord continued, spurred on as his hot brew soothed his scratchy throat once more. "Dragons were once the rules and gods of this world Lucius. We were merely their pawns, their playthings. To be moved and influenced as they saw fit. They were not always the benevolent and wise begins that we hear boasts of that the Gresham's have cozied themselves up with. These beings were split into factions almost as stark as our own; there was no good, there was no evil, there was only whom was in power." He took a deep breath, though Lucius could hear how it pained him with the rattling sound it made. "With the exception of the red Dragons. They alone were the most treacherous, the most terrible and violent. Their views stood in opposition to anything that stood in the way of their desires; and their only desire was to destroy. To lay waste to anything, and everything, and to sit upon the ashes as the Kings of death and ruin."
"Their penchants for misery and destruction became overwhelming, and though the other Dragons, the Gold, the Silver and bronze, the Coppers. Gods, even the Blues and Whites. They all came together to confer and concede how best to rid the lands of the terror and scourge of the red Dragons. They were despised so greatly that beings that would normally spend the eons of their lives opposing each other finally had reason to set aside their differences to banish the bastards. That alone was a feat of mention that consumed me nearly a week in reading." He rubbed his temple wearily. "Dragon histories require a great deal of patience. The beasts be so damned long-winded that a man might die of old age before he reaches the end of a tale." Lucius chuckled and Thoros joined him, though only lightly as he wheezed inward once more, and cleared his throat to continue.
"There was a great Dragon, one of the very greatest and oldest that was ever writ about. His name so ancient that it had fallen into memory even by the time that men had stopped living in caves as beasts. He was called only The Elder, and he was a powerful and massive beast. The one creature that every red Dragon feared, and revered, though the repulsive beasts feared nothing and bowed to no one. It was he that devised their imprisonment. Chained them to the land by their blood, to spend the eternity of their existences separated and forgotten about for the remainder of time."
"I tried my hand at speaking sense into Tom, but that bastard shade is so consumed with securing his legacy, and power for his House, he had no desire to hear anything more than what he wanted."
The blond Lord had listened patiently and absorbed the lesson he was being lectured on. "Was it writ, this curse that was used to bind the red Dragons?" Thoros scoffed, and immediately coughed again. His body shook as he heaved and sputtered, gulping back once more on his heated beverage.
Thoros expression darkened with self-satisfaction. "Nay. Though the components to work out the curses were there, if a man was smart enough to put it all together. How we must lack for misfortune that I worked it all out, if only to solve the riddle itself."
"And thus the riddle has been solved, and we now rest in a quandary as to what to do about this beast of destruction that leads our fellow Lord." Lucius added. "The damnable thing makes the man impossible to oppose."
"Aye that it may." Thoros nodded, and smiled wickedly. "Unless, of course we find other Dragons willing to take up the cause against the red Dragon once again."
Lucius outright laughed. "Your ails are far greater than I imagined, Thoros, if you believe us to be able to find free and sympathetic Dragons willing to participate in the warfares of men." The older man scoffed at the jest being poked at him.
"I spoke nothing of courting Dragons with no alignments. Wild Dragons are rare enough anymore, and the ones remaining ignore men as though we were little more than insects at their feet. I speak of the Dragons of Harben, and the Dragons of Abildgaard." Lucius' eyes narrowed.
"Pray tell then, how you have planned to achieve success in convincing the lost Houses to join a cause they have long-since forsaken?" The man's voice had dropped a little with condescension. The Lord of Malfoy had overseen many of the previous efforts to court and entreat with the Houses that had broken from the larger factions, and had been thwarted every time in planting seeds of interest with them. Thoros Nott's response was to cackle with laughter, which was accompanied with a few more soggy sounding coughs.
"'The enemy of my enemy is my friend'." Lucius rose a single eyebrow to the aphorism, and proceeded with interest.
"Indeed it is, old friend." The elder cleared his throat and wetted his mouth with a gulp of his mélange.
"The Silver might have broken from their sovereign Gold, but that does not mean that the beasts are not equally as sanctimonious and secular in their thinking; only that they do not wish to be ruled. The Coppers are incidental; Weaker in fortitude, they are. Follow the Silvers and Golds to death, they would."
"So win the Silver, and take Copper as well."
The older man nodded, and Lucius smiled conspiratorially with his companion.
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The first of the three days of Mabon had finally come, and the castle of House Gresham was bustling with activity to put the final touches of the first of three feasts together. Ursa Gresham sat on a chair near a small writing table as she swept her attention over a list of supplies and another of dishes that the buttery and confectionaries planned to create, the warmth in the ante chamber of the kitchen was friendly and inviting. The Lady enjoyed her brief sojourns to the cooking staff; the group were merry and generous, always offering their Lady plates of vittles to partake on, and asking after the growing heirs.
Today she slowly savored fresh ginger bread, which was warm from the oven still and possessed of a lovely pungent spice. The flavor warmed her delightfully. This particular duty was one she had never had an objection to as the Lady.
The head of the kitchen, a wide woman who wielded a large white apron and an impossibly old and prominent wooden spoon at her side, like scepter or mace, bustled about the main table in her preparations and nodded dutifully when Ursa provided her approvals and signature to the sheets. She thanked the woman for the thoughtful offering and praised her good humor and generosity. The staff never minded the Lady being present to perform regular checks and monitor store levels, as there was no undue scrutiny, and no demanding presence they had to endure from her.
As the Lord had remained in his rooms as he continued to build back his stamina, Ursa had continued to oversee the functions of the House. The day following their discussion of their marriage, her personal effects had been moved to the rooms adjoining, complete with toilet items and wardrobe. The Lady continued to enter and leave through the doors which led to the Lord's suite, but she did not tarry to speak with him when she did; she minded herself directly to her own quarter.
Loren had been largely on his own through these days. He faded in and out of unconsciousness the first day, and was able to gradually find himself awake for longer periods the second. It was on that third day that he discovered he had a maddening desire to pull himself to a stand and to attend to his washing and dress, only to find that he tired easily, and the core of his person tired quickly. It had become frustrating to be bound for so long in a supine position, and the man was reaching the end of his patience with it.
His wife had risen and slipped away so quickly that it had not even stirred him as she crossed their former shared room. Loren had simply awoken sometime in the midmorning to find himself alone in their vast bed, remembering as he'd reached for another warm body, that none would be present.
The man rubbed his hands down his face and sighed at the current state of his affairs. So much had shifted so drastically, and in such a short duration of time that it was difficult to reconcile it all. He knew one thing with certainty however, and it was that he was consumed with concerns as to how to win his wife back to him, and mend the damage he had done to her.
Regret had been etched in his heart as soon as he had ceased throttling her smaller body, it had plagued him every waking moment since that day, and often came back to haunt him during his dreams. How low he had sunk in his jealousy and insecurity over something as insignificant as the benign attentions of Sirius Black. Ursa had proven herself loyal and true for nearly a full score in marriage; it was as if the fears that caused the blackness within him came from nowhere to devour him.
Loren knew when he had won Ursa in their youth, that there was some degree of reluctance she had exhibited when he first approached her. But they had found their stride together soon enough. At first his brazen interest with her had broken some of her reluctance, which had paved the way for them to discover they conversed easily over common subjects. The ensuing joyousness they had found together was not false. Loren knew that very well.
The Lord, who was in truth no longer a younger man, rolled himself up and out from the bed clothes. As he made to stand he closed his eyes and murmured a silent prayer to the Gods, and to their Dragons that he could find a way to make the wrongs he had committed righted. He loved his wife with every last vestige of his heart, and if it took the entirety of the rest of his life to show her how much she meant to him, then it would be a life well-spent.
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The Masters, in an uncharacteristically merciful gesture, had released their four pupils after a dueling lesson designed to help the four further channeling their focus in dueling while utilizing spells based in blood magics. Both Masters Black and Mora, though generally persons which would have abhorred the others presence, made a most dynastic pair when it came to the combined lessons they had devised to heighten the challenges, and stress on increasing the skills of their students.
Between Sirius's flirtatious nature, and Rune's rigorous self-disciplined austerity, they were often at odds as the man would frequently try to barb the woman, yet she would utterly and completely cast his commentary asunder with glowing glares and scowls. Or every worse; she would treat him as though he had not spoken whatsoever, which seemed to be the most effective at showing Sirius Black that she was completely immune to his brand of coquetry.
In earnest, the man did enjoy trying to find some ways to break his teaching-partners hardened exterior down in his petty tactics of humor. He knew there was no heat behind his whimsy, nor any serious intent. Her interests in him as a member of the supposed stronger sex were completely without presence.
In contrast to this; their collaborative teachings had escalated their lessons to heights of which even they had not devised before! The students oft left their lessons with dragging feet, and wiping their brows of sweat. Ursa reported to them that, following meals, she would seek each of them through the wall using her magic and she found that behind each of the four doors there was no significant activity occurring. This was greatly to her own relief after the unveiling that Hermione and Draco had been secreting away together all around the castle, at all hours during their free time.
That had greatly put her heart at ease, and was almost the whole reason she continued to check all four of the pupils each night. With Loren home, a second uncover of their night time rendezvous would spell disasters she did not even wish to entertain.
This afternoon the Masters had not only dismissed their small group, they had only had the four practice for a few short hours, and had bidden that their assembly collect their finery and prepare to attend with them to bring offerings of cider into the woods to the eldest of the trees, so that they could oversee one of the more noted traditions of Mabon.
Overjoyed at the early release, the four had wasted no time in retreating to their rooms to bathe, prepare and dress themselves again. Both Theo and Draco had entered and discovered that atop their goose-feather duvets there was each a tailored and fitted doublet. Each was made with hand brocaded stitching, and very elegant cutting in the arms where it connected with the forearms. Draco's was a deep blue and golden stitch with lighter highlights of blues and greens. Theo found his own in a rich Russet with Reds, golds and hinting yellows. They were utterly decadent and perfectly fitting each young man.
The pair, once cleansed and dressed, donned them most appreciatively and proudly before leaving their rooms, clear that each were a gift for the celebrations ahead. It seemed to be all they could do to contain themselves in their mirth that they did not bound down the corridors and stairways together to meet at the Great Hall.
Though the pair were jovial, and loosened by the break in routine, when they reached the foyer before the Great Hall, the sight that greeted them was somewhat jarring.
For the first time in several moons, stood Loren Gresham, and at his side, though smiling as she always did, stood Ursa Gresham. Her face, though, was what seemed the most out of place. Her smile was ever-present, that was certain, but her eyes seemed heavy and tired. Their normal shine lacked the usual luster, and her shoulders were not held with as much a kingly manner.
It was Theo's face that gave them away. Where Draco retained his stony mask, his compatriot appeared dismayed and inquisitive. The Lady straightened as she took in the sight of the pair, and did brighten then, but it was still not as luminous as she would normally have been. She spoke before Loren had an opportunity to question anything.
"It brings great joy to my heart that you bear our gifts this evening. The colors are as fine as I remember them." Theo bowed first, and made a bid for her hand, which she presented to him as though she would have Tyt'o. The gesture was familiar without being flirtatious, and Loren watched that simple intimacy with great interest. What all had happened in the months he had been away for this stripling to win such a gesture from the Lady of the House? How had his own heirs perceived it?
As though the answer was ordained by the Gods themselves, Hermione and Tyt'o had both joined with the gathering group with smiles and greetings, and no untoward notice of anything amiss between Theo and their mother. The Lord felt himself almost terribly left out, though his son and daughter greeted him with embraces and kisses of joy at his presence.
"Might I presume the honor of leading you to the stables, my Lady?" Theo asked of Ursa, and she tilted her head as she smiled. The kindnesses she received from him had been a comfort and blessing in these last months, and the trepidations sewn deeply before their visit had begun had melted to the wayside. The woman patted his hand in affection.
"You are always so kind and attentive, Theo. Alas, it has been such a time since I have been with my Lord and Husband that I believe he might feel me a might neglectful were I to accept."
Theo noted in her statement that she said nothing about having missed her Lord, only that she could not neglect him. He nodded and handed her palm to Loren, and bowed to the Lord. He smiled even, though it felt less genuine.
The young man who would someday assume the helm of the House Nott was not blind. Nor was he ignorant. The herald of her Lord's arrival had changed the atmosphere surrounding the Lady, and he was not immune to it. The tension in the air felt the exact same when his own father returned from any travel or sojourn, and the air surrounding them was thick with her worrying.
Loren's absence had been hard for the Lady, though not in the way one would expect from a woman in love. Her manner had changed somewhat when the man had been away. She'd grown more confident, laughed more, smiled deeper, she'd danced with the same exuberance as a maid would have during Lammas. But many mornings when she was there with the younger denizens of the House, he'd seen her eyes looking tired and glassy. On a few of those mornings, he could smell the bite of wine on her breath as well.
Whatever demons she battled, he had not known. But seeing them together now, he suspected it was not related to his absence, but rather his return.
For a brief moment, Theo imagined himself as a Lord in his future with a Lady at his side. His hope that she would be as sharp, grace-filled and gracious as Ursa, and he formed a vow to his future bride that when those days were upon him, that he would shelter her as she deserved.
As Loren accepted his wife's palm from the younger man, Theo gave Ursa a flash of a sad smile. But she clucked at him, bluffing in her show of attention to Loren. "The young Lord has been a paragon of honesty and honor these months." She hoped her comment would convey the context of his attentions as nothing more than virtuous, and she prayed that Theo, too, understood her appreciation for his kindnesses.
Theo looked directly at Loren, and his gaze was steady only a moment longer than was strictly respectful. If Theo was but two score older, or she the younger, he would have had no qualm about placing a demand upon the Lord Gresham where dominion over Ursa was involved.
In his heart, he knew that it was unfounded. It was unreal, in its own way, the affection he felt for her because it was not created out of the desire to hold her, nor any urgency to make her his own. It was a sense within him that she needed a person to treat her as their equal, and not as merely a puppet of a person.
Theo's blue eyes met Loren's brown ones in that moment, and the truth of it rang like a bell within his conscience. She defended his very touch as though her Lord had reason to question any reasons for it. It was only for the briefest of moments that Theo imagined what his fist would feel like if it were to connect fully and forcefully with the socket of Loren's eye. In lieu of an act of violence, he managed to grind out a smile. "An honorable Lady of the House deserves no less, especially when she is so kind, and pure." He selected the words precisely to convey his meaning, and he bowed to Loren, and Ursa in turn.
The young Nott joined his customary training cohorts, and Ursa remained connected to her husband at the hand behind them as the troupe led themselves out to the stables. The pair headed up the rear of the excitement, watching on as the two pairs conversed with ease as they accepted their mounts and saddled up.
It was only when Loren made to lift Ursa to her saddle that she broke her contact with him with silent refusal, sliding astride her horse without accepting his hand. He looked up to her face, but she would not meet his eyes. A Lady of this House, but not my wife. The slight was poignant.
The couple spoke nothing, though Ursa neither urged her horse faster, nor allowed it to plod slower. She rode beside him in silence, merely observing their children and their wards without speaking to him. Loren glanced at her several times, but she returned nothing to him.
Her hair had gotten longer, he realized, seeing as how she needed to move it from getting caught beneath her when she'd eased into the saddle. And the corners of her mouth drew in a little more than they had normally. From whence had this occurred? He wondered. Had he simply never noticed it before now?
The last months of his life had been spend in and out of a conscious state, feverish and confused. Sometimes speaking of nonsense, other times waking with a start in the night after a bout of night fevers and dreams of violence and terrors he could not make sense of. It had wrung him thin. And now, only feet from the woman who was his closest confidant, but too his most beloved, he felt stricken by loneliness. Within his periphery he could see her delicate hands as they held her reigns and how her arms were draped in sumptuously dyed velvet.
There had never been a time he had been so desperate to take her into his arms -rejection of their vows or not- to feel her against him. Her familiar warmth, the scent of her skin, the welcoming of her embrace. He breathed deeply, and swallowed down the tightness that had grown in his chest that he was certain would turn him to tears if he continued to ache so openly for her.
Their trek did not last long, for it was only into part of the forest that they journeyed. They had brought with them a bladder of fermented cider, and a flask of wine. Their exuberant younger-companions had fixated on a vast and thick tree which was nearly as wide around as a great Dragon itself, and the four looked on delightedly as they laid a small kerchief down and placed items of plenty within it.
Their own private turmoil's aside, Loren clasp his wife's hand as she knelt down at the roots of the tree and placed her hands upon its roots. Her soft hair fell unbound to the ground as a yellow glow emanated from her palms. The five surrounding her knelt as well, bowing their heads in silent prayer as she spoke to the spirits of the woods, and to the Gods themselves.
"In the name of Mea'n Fo'mhair, we honor the Gods of the Forests for their protection and wisdom. Long may we share in their magic and their teachings. We pay veneration to the aging Goddess as she passes from a mother to a crone. Her consort takes her hand as he, too, prepares for death before his re-birth once again."
"We honor you have blessed our lands and our people. That our harvests have been plenty and that our people will know now hardship. As the last hours of our year draw to close we finish our interests of old, to ready for the new."
"We seek balance in this time of celebration that we might esteem in our bounties, and we might remember those who have passed and be comforted by those whom remain. That we might find harmony and balance within ourselves."
As Ursa's words of blessing had passed by her lips, little hyters and brownies had gathered all around the kneeling group as they danced through the air around. From the earth beneath her palms there flourished a rapidly growing moss that unfolded and crawled its way over the tree they knelt beneath, wrapping the exposed bark with living foliage as a cloak.
"We bring to you our thanks, and pledge our magic that you too, might flourish and see plenty." She whispered finally. From behind her, Tyt'o handed Theo the cider, and Hermione handed Draco the wine, and the two wards emptied their vessels of the liquid atop the roots of the tree in offering.
They gathered their hands and together they spoke in unison, feeling their own magic reach out towards the trees, and for each other. "So mote it be." With the closing of their prayer-blessing, the air surrounding them had begun to shine brightly as though miniscule little diamonds floated within it. A great glittering cloud about the tree had former, and the ancient timber seemed to groan a little as it swayed just slightly.
Their offerings made, and their magics cast to cement their pledges, they rose once again. The ritual was short, and sweet this time and no one dawdled in getting back to their horses. Though, most comically it was fortunate that they had not had to wait any extra time for one of the mounts to provide the portion of the blessing that required fertilizer. Such was the reality of a House whose sigil was partly comprised of a horse.
Later, when the feast had reached its peak and the music played was merry and wild, Loren sat back pensively as he watched the festivities within his Great Hall. Once again it had been a prosperous year, and there were many things for which he knew he was fortunate over: His children both excelled in their study, and their teachers praised them often for their control and focus. Their undesirable wards, it seemed, had also found their stride while beneath the roof. As Loren gingerly sipped at a spiced and warmed wine, he watched as his wife's palms passed from their son's to Draco's to their horse master Eachan, to Theo's as their courtly formation in a circle continued. The ladies dipped and jumped around the men who skipped in circles, and there was nothing but merriment and joy to be heard.
The Lord of the House of Gresham was not prepared to push Ursa by engaging her out on the floor. Her smiles shone brightly as she jumped and ducked for a round once more, and her husband watched with interest. By and far watching her happiness from where he sat was like a knife pushing inside his chest, but he rationalized that it he were to suffocate her, his chase of her would never end.
As the Lord smiled in his joviality, his attention consumed with plots and schemes of his bride, it escaped him entirely that as his daughter danced, it was upon Draco's hand that she solely made contact. Where the dancing only called for contact when a man lifted his lady, it was the manner to allow the palm to hover without touch. Their familiarity should have been something he noted, but he had no nose for sniffing out any impropriety; only for that of his wife.
With heavy breaths and a clapping her hands to the music as so many onlookers did surrounding the dance, Ursa returned once to her place at Loren's side to perch a moment and dab at her forehead discretely. He turned slightly to smile at her. "Your feet are still as light as the first time I saw you dance." He chuckled, and she stiffed slightly at his attempts to strike up a conversation. She could not shun him openly, so she sighed.
"There is much joy in our House, and much happiness to share." She said simply and she sipped from her goblet, letting it hover at her mouth as a barrier to any more conversation.
"Imri loves the music in Lamas and Mabon. I wish she could hear it now from her lonely mountain." Loren said softly, knowing the mention of their Dragons would draw his wife out of her icy posture. He wasn't disappointed, because her face was suddenly alight at the mention of the Dragon sires mate, and she turned to him with a newfound earnest expression upon her.
"My Lord, why would the Dragon sire leave his roost when the hatching draws nigh?"
Loren faltered a moment before his incredulous reply was given. "A Dragon sire leaves only to defend his nest. There is no other reason in heaven or on the plains of the Earth for him to do otherwise." His wife tilted her head slightly.
"He would not come back to the castle then? Not for any reason?" Loren shook his head, slowly.
"Nay. If Goldoduur left the nest, it would be a mightily terror he was preparing to rain down from the skies as he flew." She pressed on.
"Surely you are wrong?" Loren was unsure as to where her line of questioning sprung from, but it made him uneasy to the fullest.
"Nay, wife mine. Never in the histories of our Dragons has a sire left his mate for any other reason than to do battle in defense of their young. There would be no other reason. Why do you ask of this?" She'd met his eyes in the discussion; their recent tensions pushed temporarily aside shot a dart of glee into Loren as he basked in it, if only temporarily.
"Goldoduur left his nest, my Lord. His flying over the valley woke the children and myself. We watched his flight from the balcony and wept at the sounds of his thrumming." His wife informed him, and he balked.
His brief feeling of elation was replaced with the souring sensation of panic. Dragons were steadfast beings at the time of nesting. The sire would leave only if his mate had perished and their wyrms had followed, or if there was a threat great enough to draw him from the refuge of their nest.
His expression had grown troubled and pensive, and Ursa waited patiently as Loren glanced away deeply in thought of this information. Verily, there had been no earlier moment for her to share this with him, so he felt no upset with her for not telling him sooner. And his wife did not realize that this information was dire, in and of itself, for him to know.
"Wife mine, we must consult the histories of the House. This occurrence stinks of ill portents." His tone was grave, and Ursa could barely hear him over the music. Though her firm declarations pertaining to the status of their marriage were not forgotten, she still touched his forearm to seek his attention to her.
"Then this occurrence was not a thing of joy, my Lord?" she asked, and Loren nodded.
"I pray that my fear is unfounded, but it is dire indeed for a Dragon sire to leave his mate, and their hatchlings unless motivated to protect them. He would sense a threat and react accordingly."
"But his humming Loren. It brought the children out of sleep to bear witness. As it did to all of us. We watched him in the moonlight as he flew."
"And in certainty, it was him?" Her husband asked, touching her hand with his own.
"Aye. As certain I am of the coming of each dawn."
He looked away, releasing his hand from hers and looking away momentarily. "I must consult the histories, my wife." He raised a hand. "Need you not come with me, I pray that you continue your celebrations and I shall return presently."
The man stood to leave, and not one to be placid, Ursa stood with him. "I will attend you, Lord. But be assured that this changes nothing between us now. I wish solely to know more of why this bodes ill, as I am shamed in not realizing its importance sooner." He looked at her sadly, and against his prior plans, he reached out with his palm and cupper her cheek.
"I know, my heart." He said softly. Her eyes widened at the forwardness of his caress, but he knew she wouldn't dare cause a scene at this touch, though he knew he was not entitled to it either. "You knew not, and there is no wrongdoing present. You are my Lady as much as my love, and I value your mind. We must seek to make sense of this change. Together." He added as a last statement. He hope its meaning was clear.
Loren withdrew his hand from his wife and offered his elbow instead. Stubbornly, his wife turned as she stood and refused it without word. She walked in silence with him through the halls to his study, and he accepted her silence sadly. The warmth of her cheek burned into his palm, and as they walked he couldn't stop himself from rubbing his fingertips over it.
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