Arwen allowed Aragorn to help her into the rows of benches, tucking her cloak closer around her as she sat down. She'd deliberately avoided watching Bronach fly, but certainly could do so no longer.
"No guards against harm at all?" she murmured, repeating her biggest concern once more, as if the answer might change if she just asked enough times.
"You have seen her ride," Aragorn said comfortingly, and slightly exasperated. "If she was a natural horsewoman, she is a hawk in flight."
She took a deep breath, and let it out. Arwen knew logically that she had sent both Aragorn and Bronach off to far more dangerous pursuits, but it never made it easier to bear. The Rhûn campaigns had certainly taken their toll on her peace of mind, let alone Bronach's tendency to do things like single-handedly decide to cleanse Carn Dûm and Minas Ithil.
The players filed out onto the grass below as the last of the staff members took their seats, and if she squinted, she could make out Bronach, wrapped in red and gold, at the back of the line of Gryffindor players. There was a brief handshake, and then the players were rising into the air.
For the next hour, she found herself transfixed. If anyone asked about the game, Arwen would have to lie, since her eyes were fixed on Bronach. Aragorn had been correct, as natural as Bronach appeared on horseback, she was even more graceful in the air. If Arwen had to guess, Bronach was showing off slightly, though for whom was the question.
"She is far more exuberant today than I expected," Aragorn said, as Bronach flung herself through a mixed knot of other players, scattering them like water droplets. As she flew by, body almost flattened against the handle of her broom, Arwen thought Bronach grinned at her. "Do you think it could be…"
"It might be," Arwen allowed, reaching out to squeeze his hand. She hadn't been so caught up in her reunion with her mother to miss how Bronach had slowly eased from unsure and hesitant to soaking up the easy affection that Celebrían's parents offered her. So much of the time, Bronach was precise in masking the war-forged orphan who had known too much loss too soon, but during their visit, Arwen had seen her mask slip as Celebrían drew her close, coaxed stories and answers from her. It had warmed her heart, that her parents loved the ones she loved and that they loved her parents in return, but it felt…special, that she could offer to Bronach what had been withheld from her for her entire life, even if it was just for one night.
Bronach seemed to be teasing out the game, just to prolong her time in the air. Arwen cared very little for the strategy or mechanics of the game, but she knew enough to understand that Bronach's sole intention seemed to be causing mayhem. It seemed to be equal opportunity mayhem, though calculated never to cost her side an advantage, given the bewildered look several of the Gryffindor players seemed to give her.
"How many times has she almost led that boy into the ground?" she asked Aragorn as Bronach climbed in a steep spiral, the Slytherin boy who had been on her tail barely managing to pull up in time.
"You would think he would stop falling for it," Aragorn said with a snort.
"The others are wearying of it," Arwen glanced at the score, just visible between the commentator and Minerva's body as they squabbled over something the boy had just said. "No matter what, if it is caught now, they should win."
"She will choose to end it soon," her husband agreed, squeezing her hand before tucking it back into her cloak courteously. The late fall was growing chilly, and she was glad of her well made cloaks and warm woolen gowns. When they had planned this excursion without return, Arwen had chosen to leave most of her Gondorian court apparel behind, choosing instead the simpler fare she preferred for the court at Annuminas when it wasn't in full session. They'd been there more often, in those twilight years, letting Eldarion prepare himself, and prepare their people, for his rule, living out a quieter life away from the pressures of Gondorian nobility.
Arnorian nobility, she thought with a smile, had to be reminded that they were nobility. It was a dress they wore when the southerners begrudgingly made the long trek north during Summer Court, away from the heat of the southlands, but winters in Annuminas were far more like the winters of Imladris or Caras Galadhon in her younger days.
Bronach had been oft away in the south, the only blot on those quiet years. Her talents had been needed to ensure Eldarion's rule was peaceful, that the impending transition would be welcomed. But they were here now, only two more years before they could be openly together as they wished.
"There she goes," Aragorn murmured, leaning forward slightly, and Arwen saw Bronach twist sharply in midair, reversing her direction as she descended rapidly, almost upside down for part of it. The other player didn't follow this time, seeming to learn his lesson, but Arwen caught her breath as Bronach's hands came off the broomstick until her entire upper body was outstretched in midair, reaching for the speck of gold Arwen could just see. Her eyesight had remained a hair better than any of the dúnedain, even after her marriage, and she blessed it now, as Bronach's fingers wrapped around the golden speck, her descent leveling out with a shift of her weight as she brought herself upright and to a halt with her legs alone.
"And I thought our stunts on horseback were terrifying," she said weakly, catching her breath.
The other players landed as Rolanda blew her whistle, while the commentator eagerly announced Gryffindor's victory. Around her, the staff was ribbing each other about the game, and about how Potter had grown even more reckless during the summer. As Arwen got to her feet, she realized that Snape wasn't talking, his expression rigidly neutral and lips thin, and she wondered what conclusions he had drawn from the display. Aragorn had confided his concerns that the man was too observant, and Bronach had taken the general warning that she might be loosening her guard to heart. But Bronach had also confided that she thought she might be able to turn him against both of his masters, with the promise of true freedom at stake.
It was interesting, and something Arwen would be interested to see. Few men that Arwen had met bore such soul deep wounds, to say nothing of the darkness wrapped around his forearm.
As they descended, the first of the staff members to leave their seating, her attention was drawn to the field by a blooming scuffle. She picked up her pace. The Slytherins were heckling, if Arwen was hearing their words correctly, and one of the Weasley twins was being restrained by the three females on the team. Something else was said, and the unrestrained twin was lunging forward, only to be tackled to the ground by Bronach. For a moment, the two rolled around in the frosty turf, but by the time Arwen and Aragorn reached the group, Bronach had come out on top, firmly pinning the boy to the ground.
"Watch out lads," one of the older Slytherin boys said as Arwen came into earshot, a leer on his face, "looks like she's feisty."
"I bet I could tame her," one of the others said, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Enough," Arwen snapped, striding into the space between the two teams. "Someone rational, please explain what this is about?"
"Malfoy said some…things…" one of Gryffindor's chasers said, shooting a poisonous look at the blond boy who Bronach had almost driven into the ground several times. "About the twins' mother. And Potter's mother. George lunged at him, but Potter stopped him. And…you heard the rest."
"And what did Potter and the Weasleys say to provoke this?" Arwen turned on the Slytherins, who stared back at her, uncowed. "You there," she pointed at one of the boys carrying a wooden club. "Tell me what was said to provoke that level of retaliation?"
"Uh," the boy said eloquently, clearly not expecting to be put on the spot.
"They didn't say anything," the Gryffindor team captain said, clearly spitting mad. "We landed, and were about to shake hands, when Malfoy started spilling that shite."
"I see," Arwen was aware of Aragorn's restraining hand at her back, but he had no reason to worry. She knew how to handle simple bullying. "Then I believe the solution will be a detention, with me," she announced, eying Malfoy. "Tomorrow night, after dinner. One of your classmates should be able to give you directions to my classroom."
Turning to the Gryffindors, Arwen saw that Bronach had hauled her ginger upright, keeping a firm grip on him. "Weasleys, Potter, you will have detention with me tonight. Potter, you can show the boys where the classroom is."
"Hem, hem," Arwen refused to turn at the sound of Umbridge's sickly-sweet voice. "Do you really think that is sufficient punishment for what seems to be a Quidditch rivalry spiraling out of control?"
"On the contrary, High Inquisitor," Arwen kept her voice polite and even. "Clearly the Gryffindors exhibited significant control, despite being provoked. However, there is room for improvement, hence the detentions. But you are correct, I had neglected part of the incident."
She turned back to the Slytherins, smiling politely in a way she knew didn't meet her eyes. "Twenty points from Slytherin, for the vulgar language I heard when I arrived. That should be sufficient reminder to mind your manners."
Arwen allowed Aragorn to escort her back to the castle, numbly furious at the petty nature of the insults offered to Bronach, and how the odious woman seemed desperate to blame everything on Bronach. She had been warned of it, but seeing it in action was galling.
Minerva came to see her, an hour or two after the game.
"I'm sorry you had to deal with that," the witch said, sitting down in the chair Arwen gestured to with a sigh. "Mr. Malfoy is…rather antagonistic in his dealings with Miss Potter and the Weasleys. Had I been closer to the field, I would have intervened, but alas, I was giving Mr. Jordan yet another warning about proper commentary."
"Do you disagree with my punishments?" Arwen knew that as a full-fledged staff member, even one with a contract as a guest lecturer, it was her responsibility to discipline any misbehavior she witnessed, so long as she stuck to permissible punishments. It had been explained to her that senior staff had the power to override her, if they felt she had transgressed.
"Detention is fine," Minerva assured her with a wave of her hand. "What do you intend to have them do?"
"Lines," Arwen said, having considered it on her walk back to the castle. "The Weasleys will be writing There are more acceptable ways to settle differences than brawling for an hour after supper, and Miss Potter will be writing lines about the use of force on her teammates, even if it was for a good cause. Mr. Malfoy will be writing lines about being a gentleman in the face of defeat."
The witch snorted, raising her hand to muffle the sound. "Be prepared for a letter from his father," she warned, a smile playing around her lips. "The last few years, each teacher who dared give Mr. Malfoy a detention invariably heard from his father about their audacity."
"And has that prevented Mr. Malfoy from sitting well-earned detentions?" Arwen inquired, already mentally drafting her response to such a missive.
"It depends on the staff member in question," this time there was a definite quirk to Minerva's lips as she spoke. "He has continued to sit detentions with me, though some of the other staff members have found taking points a more suitable punishment."
They sat in silence for a moment before Minerva continued, the amusement gone from her voice. "I would be wary of antagonizing the High Inquisitor."
"I have been well-informed of what she might do," Arwen said honestly, having listened to Bronach mutter under her breath behind Umbridge's back during the lesson that was inspected. Half of what was said, in hissing Sindarin, was simply vulgar commentary on the witch herself, but the other half was projections of what the witch might do if she was crossed. "Please, be assured that I will do my best to remain out of the High Inquisitor's reach."
"If you have need of me, please let me know," Minerva said after a moment, clearly not fully understanding what Arwen meant, but reluctantly satisfied by the answer. She rose, and Arwen showed her out, wondering who else might come to discuss the altercation.
To her surprise, Snape arrived, shortly before supper.
"Professor Telcontar," he said, glancing around her classroom, where she'd started to set things up for the upcoming detentions. Kreacher had been kind enough to supply her with a trio of student desks that she'd tucked in separate corners. It had taken a bit of rearranging of the furniture, but they'd managed.
"Professor Snape," she returned. "How may I be of assistance?"
"One of my students has detention with you tomorrow night," he said shortly. "Mr. Malfoy."
"He will be considering his behavior as he writes lines about gentlemanly conduct," she said dismissively. "Hardly an inappropriate punishment for the boorish behavior I witnessed."
Truly, few at court had ever been so gauche in their conduct. Oh, the subject of the insults was common enough, but to hear them given so blatantly? It was appalling.
"I see," the professor said, his face inscrutable. "And the points?"
"Were for the other members of the Slytherin team, whose remarks about Miss Potter were vulgar," Arwen sniffed delicately. "While she certainly should not have been wrestling with her teammate, nobody deserves to be discussed in such a manner."
Snape studied her for a long moment, and then glanced around the classroom once more.
"It is not a typical classroom," she said, watching his response, wondering what his true purpose was in coming to see her. "My lectures are more like discussions, and we have progressed to the point where we spend most of our time working on practical applications."
Her classes were an unexpected joy, watching students progress in their chosen craft. Some of them were already knowledgeable, and a small number proficient, but it was a pleasure to watch the novices learn about the different crafts she could teach, and find which one suited them best. And her two master craftspeople…well, she was starting to suspect that they would accomplish a piece with magic embedded into it by the end of the year. They were watching her demonstrations closely, and paying attention when Bronach offered commentary.
"Thread magic is not common in British wizarding society," Snape said. "It has been many years since the school taught it."
"To their detriment," Arwen said lightly. "I have found it most illuminating, and my magical gifts favor it almost exclusively."
"Did you construct this?" he asked, moving to look at a tapestry she'd hung on the wall, void of all magic but the simple charms to keep it from wear and decay, to keep the colors well-preserved.
"That was made by another," she said, thinking of finding it on her bed in Annuminas when she returned, of unfolding it to find a depiction of a raven perched in a white tree as the stars glimmered above. "A master of their craft, who gifted it to me."
"It is far finer work than I have seen before," Snape's praise was almost grudging as he examined it more closely. "Though I am no expert in the art."
"Perhaps one day I will introduce you to the crafter," she said lightly, hearing the bell ring for supper. "If you'll excuse me, Professor Snape, I must be sure to attend supper promptly, as I am supervising detentions afterwards."
While September was a novelty and an adjustment, and October was a roller coaster, November seemed to be settling in as a slog.
Saturday afternoon, a week after the first Quidditch match of the season, Bronach trudged into Arwen's workroom and allowed herself to flop dramatically on one of the couches.
"That bad?" Arwen said, glancing up from where she was working on some embroidery in the window seat.
"I want my reproductive system to go back to normal," Bronach muttered into a cushion. "But I forgot how hellish hormones were."
Madam Pomfrey had explained that she was on high doses of whatever potion she'd prescribed to kickstart her periods, and that as time went on they'd work on decreasing the doses until her body self-regulated, but Bronach was vaguely reconsidering after the morning she'd had.
"I saw a first year and I just wanted to pinch her cheeks because she was so cute," she turned her head slightly so she wasn't chewing on the cushion with each word. "And then I heard the High Inquisitor and had to make myself scarce before I put a knife in her kidneys. Plus Snape is still watching and I know I need to try to be better about baiting him, but it has been so long since I had a chance to test myself against a master spy and also I want to rub his face in….everything."
Her partner, much to Bronach's display, laughed lightly.
"And that's just scraping the surface," Bronach considered staying slumped on the couch for a while longer, but she knew that if she wanted to accomplish Arwen's challenge of three outfits from the skin out with her own twist of having to process as much of the necessary fiber herself, she needed to keep working.
Thankfully, all of the initial fiber prep was completed before she'd put anything into stasis, so all she had to do was blend and spin. She'd decided to use Arwen as her model and muse; since she was accustomed to sewing mostly for herself it made it more interesting. But it still meant she had a fair bit of wool and flax to spin before she could weave anything.
So she hauled herself off the couch and over to the spinning wheel. Kreacher popped in with a basket full of wool for her, and Bronach set to work, complaining to Arwen about the resurgence of her hormones as she did.
"- and your breasts get all tender," she whined, knowing she was acting like a child but unable to help it. "And I know what torture feels like, but the cramps I had last month… and the worst bit is-"
Aragorn came through the small door that led to Arwen's private office, looking as if he'd just returned from a long hike through the castle grounds. He was dressed as a Ranger, and Bronach's mouth went dry at the sight. She swallowed hard, pushing back the urge to bury her face in the join of his neck and shoulder, where she just knew he would smell divine, warm from the exertion but not so much that he'd sweated. Her fingers twitched in the fiber, and she could almost feel the strands of his hair sliding through them as she reached out to pull his head down…
"The worst part is?" he asked, a knowing, teasing, glint in his eye as he turned towards her.
She scowled at him, and studiously focused on her spinning. "Never you mind," Bronach said, affecting an airy manner.
"But I want to know," he murmured, coming to stand behind her. "Perhaps I could make it better?"
Bronach could feel the heat of him against her back, even though they weren't touching. She shifted in her seat, her body tingling at the potential.
"You tease," she grumbled, the wheel still turning steadily. "I am quite sure you know full well what the worst part of my blossoming hormones is."
"Mmm," he hummed, sending a jolt through her. "Do tell?"
"Tease her not," Arwen admonished lightly, though as Bronach glanced at her, she could see the flush on her cheekbones, the curl of her smile, and Arwen's darkened eyes. "It is unkind."
"I suppose," Aragorn stepped back, and Bronach let out a frustrated growl as she resisted the urge to reach for him.
"That is the worst part," she muttered as she pulled herself back under control. Thankfully, neither of her partners teased her further, clearly sensing that if they pushed she might snap.
"Do you have sketches you are working from?" Aragorn asked after a moment, taking a seat in the armchair across from Arwen. "For your designs?"
"I do," Bronach said, drafting out some more fiber. "But they are not for you to see."
He pouted at her, but she ignored him. "Rude," Aragorn muttered, glancing at Arwen. "Do you know what they look like?"
"No," Arwen said, her lips turning down. "Apparently it is a surprise."
"Do not spoil my fun," Bronach kept her treadling steady. "You will get to watch them come together, but until they are finished, you can just keep guessing."
A ward pinged, and she straightened. "Company inbound," she muttered, and Aragorn did his best to exit the room without seeming like he was fleeing. There had apparently been several female students who didn't seem to care that he was married.
Thankfully it was just the younger Greengrass sister, come to work on her project in quiet, but her presence did put an end to the more personal chatter that Bronach had been indulging in.
Bronach wrapped herself warmly against the chill of an early November Care of Magical Creatures class. If she remembered correctly, this was the day that Hagrid introduced the class to Thestrals, which should be interesting enough.
To her surprise, when she, Ron, and Hermione reached the castle doors, Aragorn was heading out to the grounds as well.
"Mr. Telcontar," Hermione said with a confused smile. "Are you going out for a walk?"
"I had thought to get some air," Aragorn glanced up at the sky, which was absolutely suggesting an early snowfall. "Winter is fast upon us, and the snows will begin soon enough."
Not that it had ever stopped him, Bronach knew, hiding a smile. She could distinctly remember the guards complaining about following their king through snowstorms as he pressed on until it was dangerous for man or beast. Arwen was much the same, if Aragorn, Bronach, or her children were waiting on her.
Bronach also knew that she couldn't point fingers, given that she'd absolutely abused the limits of her mastery over death to travel during the worst of weathers.
The Care of Magical Creature class assembled by Hagrid's hut, most wearing cloaks and gloves and several looking profoundly disappointed that Professor Grubbly-Plank was no longer teaching. Hagrid beamed at her though, but was quickly distracted by Aragorn introducing himself.
"Yer welcome t'come along," Hagrid offered with broad smile. "We're goin' into th' forest today."
That sent discontented murmurs rippling through the class, though they soothed somewhat when Aragorn agreed. He and Hagrid led the way into the Forest, while Bronach drew back, keeping a rearguard, remembering that Umbridge was due to inspect Hagrid's lesson that day.
"This way, Professor," Bronach called, seeing the toad huffing and puffing her way across the lawn towards the forest's edge.
"Potter," Umbridge said curtly. "Trying to skip class?"
"No professor," Bronach said politely. "I saw you coming, and wondered if you were going to inspect Care of Magical Creatures today. We are going into the Forest, and it is not safe to wander on your own."
"Do you often go into the Forest?" Umbridge's quill hovered over her clipboard, and there was a nasty edge to her smile.
"Professor Hagrid did not seem to think it was appropriate for third and fourth year students," Bronach shrugged, picking up her pace slightly. Umbridge could deal with not being able to take notes. The last of the class was disappearing into the gloomy trees ahead, but she remembered vaguely where the Thestral herd tended to frequent. "He must have a high opinion of our class if he is bringing us this year. From what I understand, sixth and seventh years often have classes about the creatures living at the edge of the forest. I am sure we will be well-prepared for our exams, having this opportunity."
"Indeed," Umbridge puffed vaguely, trying for menacing, but it was rather defeated by her red face.
"Oh," Bronach said, as they arrived on the edge of the clearing. "It looks like we are to study Thestrals. Can you see them, Professor?"
Umbridge's expression was something Bronach would classify as both revolted and horrified. "Of course not, Potter. Can you?"
"Oh yes," Bronach said, watching as the Thestrals melted out of the trees towards the cow carcass Hagrid dropped on the forest floor, the students staying warily on the edge of the clearing as he explained why they were there. "I did see Cedric die last year, during the third task."
"Cedric Diggory was not murdered," Umbridge snapped, her quill blotting the parchment on her clipboard.
"I did not say he was." She assumed an air of confused politeness. "I just noted that I saw him die, during the third task."
"Deeply unsuitable," the toad muttered, scratching a note on her clipboard.
"Professor Hagrid?" Bronach called, drawing the class' attention to her. "Is it true that you trained the thestrals to pull the carriages? So they are safe for students to be around?"
Hagrid went on to expound upon how well behaved and trained the thestrals were, and most of the students were starting to lose their fear of the creatures, who were gathered around the carcass, devouring it eagerly. Bronach spotted several students describing the thestrals to those who couldn't see them, but her attention was drawn by Aragorn asking Hagrid something, too low for her to hear. To her surprise, Hagrid nodded excitedly, and Aragorn approached the herd, murmuring in low Sindarin.
One of the thestrals broke away from the carcass and bumped its head against his arm, and Bronach saw Aragorn smile. He ran his hands over the skeletal body, gently inspecting the wings. The thestral practically preened under the attention, and Hagrid called the class to order, telling the students who couldn't see the creatures to follow the way Aragorn's hands moved to get a sense for their size and structure.
Obligingly, Aragorn traced the outline of the thestral's body from nose to tail, running expert hands up and down its legs. She saw his lips twist in a grin, and then Bronach ducked to hide her own grin as he pressed himself up onto the thestral's back, sitting as naturally as he always had on any horse. He sat quietly for a moment, letting the thestral accustom itself to his weight.
With a shift in his weight, the thestral started moving, making a slow circle around the clearing. Most of the students were whispering in awe, though Bronach could still see how unnerved a few were. Neville looked sad, but seemed to have mostly gotten over his fears. Aragorn sat deep, and the thestral halted in front of where Bronach was standing with the toad.
"May I touch him?" Bronach asked, and Aragorn glanced at the thestral, which answered the question by turning its head to lip gently at her cloak.
Slipping her gloves off and putting them in her satchel, Bronach gently caressed the thestral's neck, smiling as it arched in satisfaction and pride. Running her hands, over the body, she took great care to avoid touching where Aragorn was sitting, considering where Umbridge was standing. "Professor, if you reach your hand out a few inches, you will be able to touch it."
With a look of disgust, Umbridge's hand darted out and barely brushed the thestral's skin before withdrawing. Aragorn moved the thestral on, before the toad could say anything, completing his circuit around the clearing before sliding off and allowing the thestral to return to the carcass.
"Perhaps nex' time you might be able to take a bi' of a fligh'," Hagrid boomed, as the castle bells could be heard faintly in the distance. "You'd bes' get back up t' the castle though."
Bronach arranged herself so that Umbridge got caught up in the swell of students hurrying back towards the castle, without a way to further question Hagrid, who Aragorn had detained with further questions about the thestrals. By the time Umbridge realized that Hagrid wasn't with them, she was halfway across the lawns, and Hagrid was nowhere to be seen.