5.7

Jewel had never been on this side of a guest feast before. She, Kraok, Father, Tsulogothulan and Bromthil were all waiting in a far too small hallway for the mass of them. Well mostly it was too small for Jewel and anyone else of any consequential size.

It was different from home in Fort Rochford, no convenient winding hallways of stone to spread herself out in, just this cramped little room with solid heavy exterior doors going outside to the yard and then lighter interior doors blocking off entry to the next room with two beeswax candles for light paired across from one another.

One of which was almost entirely useless on account of the heaps of dragon in the way.

She had ended up having to coil up on top of herself on one side of the room so everyone else could stand very carefully on the other. Pressed in a bit too tightly even then and arranged in order that they would be called upon to their seating. Bromthil and then Kraok were closest to the doorway that would lead into what was passing for an audience room.

It was a small space to contain a dragon but she expected there would be more space beyond.

Jewel was not entirely certain what the size of the feast hall would be, but judging by the character of the stones beneath her talons there should be a substantially sized room beyond those doors.

Finally there was the bang and the muffled words of announcement.

“Captain of the Guard of Rochford, Bromthil.”

Bromthil exited at his name, straightening his shoulders and smothering the weariness of the road so he could put on the best impression for the sake of Rochford’s reputation.

And so he was through the door. Jewel could have craned her head to peek but that would have been almost certainly unbecoming. She did however catch a whiff of sweet honey, berry pies and roast rabbit over garden vegetables wafting through the door before it closed behind him.

She spared a glance with Father and then Tsulogothulan’s prominent eye. Apparently today it was on the left side.

So far the Wyrmling had yet to muster the courage to ask if there was any significance to which side the Bog Wizard chose to manifest their eye.

Still this was an incredibly stuffy and uncomfortable affair and soon Jewel could stand the muffled greetings no more.

Her voice was soft as she could manage while still being heard over the murmuring of the officious and sluggishly droning voice of their apparent host.

“Is this what it was like when you were waiting to be welcomed to our table? When you first arrived in Rochford?”

The bog wizard gave a silent nod so as to not be heard while Kraok was called forth, bringing another wave of delicious smelling supper into the entry chamber.

“Knight of Rochford and Boarslayer, Kraok.”

Only once the door was closed again did they murmur in a soft reply.

“Oh yes, complete with the torture of smelling supper just out of reach.”

Father nodded along and laughed a little as the poor crier of their host proceeded to stumble on the Bog Wizard’s title and name just as had happened in Rochford.

“The E-Esteemed Sorcerer and Weird of the Uloghai Bog, Su-”

They were already gliding through the door, not bothering to actually open it rather than bleed around the door, like water welling up around a stone.

“Tsulogothulan?”

And then it was just Her and Father.

He offered one of his gentle private smiles of encouragement to her, but all the words seemed stuck in Jewel’s throat.

Soon, after what now felt like far too short a time to wait, it was Jewel’s turn.

“The Esteemed Lady Wyrm, Daughter of Rochford, Jewel”

It was only right for Father to close out the arrival of their party and be welcomed last.

She strode into the chamber with every bit of poise and grace she could manage. There had not been facilities to have a proper bath; there had barely been time for a brush down to clear the dust of the road from her scales and to see her harness and bags stowed in the stables with the rest of their packs, animals and Zephyrvam.

The chamber she entered struck her in a way she had not been expecting at all.

Jewel’s earlier comparison to the Village Temple seemed surprisingly apt.

The ceilings were taller than any in Fort Rochford, stones arching overhead like the boughs of trees, windows narrow but shining with colored glass reflecting the incredible abundance of light.

And light there was, despite it being well into sundown!

Light sparkling from dozens upon dozens of wax candles! Each set into alcoves and cubbies in the column and walls of the room filling the space with an incredibly clear and steady yellow glow.

The expense of that alone was an astounding price to be bringing out for mere visitors!

But then again there was the extensive extravagance of the space itself too!

In the space where the pews would have stood for a congregation in the temple back home the floor had been entirely cleared out and several solid wooden tables had been arranged with equally solid benches.

Upon the table was spread out a feast more opulent than any Jewel had seen since Bathory had been a guest at Rochford!

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Heaping platters barely contained an absolutely wonderful medley of pies, whole honeyed rabbit arranged in trios with hind legs bound together, surrounded by small breads and candied vegetables. The overbearing smell of sweet bee produce absolutely saturated the vastness of the space in the aroma of wax and honey and nearly made Jewel miss the people seated at the table.

Kraok, Tsulogothulan and even Bromthil were all obviously amused although they were putting on a good act Jewel could tell by the smell of them.

At the head of the table the man who Jewel presumed was their host had stalled in his rote welcome to stare at her as she paused in her approach and presented her most polite but firm smile.

The rules of hospitality were very clear that she should not take her seat until indicated where it was by the master of the household.

Even though she could guess it was one of the only two chairs with a full back that were present at the opposite head of the tables.

Chairs that neither of which would have been able to accommodate her.

When indicated she would either politely move the chair out of the way and simply lay upon the perky flagstones that tingled in delight at her arrival or wait for servant staff to do the same.

The Host however was failing to set this properly in motion as he was still gawking!

Which Jewel was willing to give him at least a moment for as she appraised him curiously.

He did not wear any distinguishing finery.

Besides his position of leadership at the table, there was not much to mark him out from anyone else present but for the whiteness of his hair and the lines in his face.

He was dressed in a fine tightly woven but otherwise unadorned brown cloth robe. But so were the other dozen men present of various ages.

A strangely large number for a household.

Finally after the surprise had run its course, the one at the head of the table laughed in a moment of apparent relief. Proclaiming far too casually:

“Hah! I see, Wyrmdaughter! That’s very clever, and she is very well trained too I see. Well I suppose... Be welcome to my house, eat and be at peace. Heh, go on then.”

Well that was mildly insulting. He was speaking to her like an infant! But Jewel bowed to him, which for some reason delighted the man and his household immensely. Relief and the all too familiar rapt curiosity breaking through the initial frozen shock.

But it was the correct words of hospitality and he was gesturing very exaggeratedly to the seats at the head of the table.

Jewel approached, considered the chair and to a surprising amount of cooing praise and infantilizing noises gently lifted up the furniture that would by no means be sufficient for her, placed it to the side for any staff that might be attending them (where was the household staff? These were obviously more than mere peasants or temple-minders like in Father’s demesne) and took her place on what would inevitably be Father’s right side. Shifting her coils about to avoid blocking his own approach.

The Herald (who was also dressed just like everyone else?!) banged a simple wooden staff against the stone rather than a spear, announcing Father.

“The Esteemed Lord Baron of Rochford, Head of his House, Wyrmkeeper, 1st Among Gryphon Lords and 3rd Captain of the Armies of Viznove, Jonathan the Third”

And so did Father enter, striding smoothly in his campaign finery and with a bearing to his stature befitting a Lord. A full head taller than anyone else in the room besides Jewel and, just for decorum, she kept her neck curled to give her Father the proper deference in height.

He waited as Jewel had, but where there had been an almost insulting delay and demeaning tone, the man in the simple robes gestured immediately to the last chair and performed the greeting of hospitality in a curtly precise rush and once Father had settled clapped his hands twice.

“Well, I must applaud you Lord Rochford, your messengers earlier this season and harbinger this morning have given me one of the most delightful surprises I’ve had in years! I had known you were Wyrmkeeper and that hubbub about an adopted daughter. But even then I must beg to be forgiven that I did not make the connection of the literalness of your ‘Wyrm Daughter Jewel’! Truly a delight! and so well behaved for such a fearsome beast.”

Jewel put on her best smile and bowed her head to the complement. Taking on that airy tone that she knew mother preferred when someone complimented the household on how well kept it was for a ‘provincial lord’.

Just like mother she also waited until he was taking a deep draft from what her nose said was a delightfully sweet mead.

“Why thank you sir! And I must complement the quality of thine vittles. Such an abundance of honey and wax! Truly it is an honor to have such an expense made for our sake.”

Jewel watched as the shock from before came back with a thunderous vengeance and a sputtering choking.

And though it would be terribly improper to outwardly acknowledge it, Jewel silently and invisibly basked in the quiet chuckling from her traveling companions.

The man at the head sputtered and gasped around his mead and his neighbors leaned away from the spittle and drips coming off of him before he finally managed to gasp out with utterly horrified pair of words.

“IT SPEAKS?!”

To which her wonderful father responded with the most utterly perplexed and insidiously innocent expression she had ever seen on his features.

“Of course she does. Why so surprised, Abbot Herbort? I would assume word would have reached you if my daughter was mute.”

Jewel glowed underneath her scales at Father’s noble bearing, he made it look so easy. While she herself was having to work so carefully to hold her smile of bemused politeness.

It was nothing close to as good as Mother’s subtle mastery of faces but it was the best she could manage.

“One would assume they would have reached me that your daughter is an accursed tyrant wyrm.”

However Jewel had to strain a bit harder to maintain it. Especially since those words had been muttered far too quietly for any but the man’s nearest neighbors to hear.

Well them and Jewel herself.

She curled her coils around Father’s chair, closing off any potential attackers.

The rules of hospitality had been sanctified. But suddenly she did not feel they were particularly safe here.

Still no one would dare violate those rules. The impropriety alone!

And besides, the food was amazing!

Jewel tried to put the thought out of her head but she could not bring herself to move her coils away from their protective curl around her Father.