12.3

Jewel missed Mother and Alexander. Seeing them felt better than sweet air after your throat had been left crushed closed for hours.

Of this she could personally attest.

It was a relief to see them both safe and whole.

Even if Mother and Father then proceeded to be quite improper out in the courtyard where everyone could see.

Kissing in public was for marriage.

She had, of course, like a good noble daughter, and not some mismannered peasant born girl turned away from her parents out of propriety.

Alexander had joined Jewel in studiously avoiding looking at their parents being shamefully affectionate in public.

To fill the time he peppered her with questions about the battle. Which Jewel tried to explain.

It all felt far too short in glory and daring actions then confusion, dirt, sadness, screaming, pain, blood-

Jewel mustered herself and remembered the lesson she had discovered in talking to the villagers about the nature of her shameful encounter with the Terror Boar.

She recalled how she had heard the knights boasting.

And on reflection Jewel now wondered if some of the reason that they said things so bombastically was much as she now did.

Was all battle actually like this? Was every boast and flowery word on the subject there to ease the telling of it?

Seeing her brother’s wide eyed adoration and glee for her and how she was telling of the thing that she herself did not even want to think about felt like the very foundations of her home were shifting under her.

Could Jewel ever find it in herself to tell her Brother what it was really like?

Could Jewel even find the words to describe it?

The blood, the screaming horses, the sudden and shocking pain of the entire world closing in on you if you slay a Weird?

Jewel felt her brother's hand tugging on her shoulder but for a moment a thought struck her even harder.

Every Levy from Rochford had mothers, fathers, even children for some. Many had siblings just like Alexander.

And every levy, footman and Knight that had been left torn apart upon the battlefield and stripped for armor was much the same.

All of them in their thousands.

Bodies torn apart on the ground, Gryphons tearing into their bellies.

“JEWEL?!”

Father was there, as was Mother.

Alexander had been shouting?

Everyone was looking her way. Was it improper somehow? Maybe? Jewel was not sure all she had done was stop a moment.

Stop and freeze and think of the bodies.

And the ash that smelled the same as grass and soil under her flame.

There were hands on her, Father’s large warm hands, Alexander’s arms hugging her neck. But they were still in the courtyard. She tried to protest, but nothing came out of her throat but a very low and yet somehow sharp keening.

Mother was holding her close and whispering something?

Something about a bath?

Jewel had not had a bath since the battle.

Not a proper one.

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Just dips in streams and some scrubbing from Smithson.

Jewel missed her baths.

That would be good right?

Jewel felt a tugging lightly on her neck and only then realized she needed to walk with her Mother and Father.

To move through familiar halls that were yet still somewhat crowded by officers and lords from Viznove.

They would stay a night in Rochford before setting out again?

Jewel thought she remembered that, but everything was muffled and distant.

The stones welcomed her feet.

Her flame was strong and let her mostly be dragged along by Father and Mother.

Make her weigh little enough even mere human hands could pull her.

Alexander looked very distraught for some reason.

She should say something but Jewel was not sure what she could say.

There were words happening around her. People she knew that somehow felt faceless.

The air changed, she smelled lavender oil.

Jewel wanted to protest that her Father and Mother were here in her bathing room with her but they all seemed too delicate suddenly.

Too fragile.

A single breath from Jewel could reduce them all to ash.

Ash that smelled the same.

Jewel could only keen again despite how much she wanted to send them away.

Despite how much she wanted them to stay.

Gentle familiar but far too small hands helped her into the water.

Hot water and lavender oil floating on top.

Jewel sank slowly and with much prodding into her bath.

And she would have stayed coiled up underneath the thin skin of scented oil until the water felt stale in her lungs, maybe even beyond that point.

But those same familiar and yet far too small hands refused to leave her there. Pulling at her head, muscles straining taut to bring her to the surface and the air.

Without the lift of her flame the muscles went taught with the effort but they dragged her free of the surface.

Smaller gentler hands running over her mane with the metal comb.

And then suddenly something sparkles.

A small copper pail.

Brushing her nose.

The metal catching on her wyrmflame and drawing it out and back.

Every crevice and dent of it is familiar.

With her since she had first been bathed in a tub.

Filled with water now and gently poured over her by the same hand that had done it that first time.

Father.

Jewel was home.

She was Safe.

The war was over.

There was no blood, no bodies, no ash.

Her Father was here holding up her head out of the water despite how heavy it was without her supporting herself.

His sleeves and front were soaked from reaching into the bath.

Mother was brushing her hair.

Alexander had fetched her pail and was filling it and pouring it over her head.

Jewel could not find the words.

But she could finally find the tears.

Jewel cried, she leaned into her father, lifting her head from his straining arms.

Taking a tiny burden from him.

She took the pail that had been used to rinse her since she hatched. That she’d grabbed and held after her first bath and treasured ever since.

She cried and keened and rumbled in deep sobs that made the water around her splash and dance with droplets.

Her family’s clothing was soaked.

They were all in her Bathing Room.

It was so improper.

And Jewel didn't care.