The Shining Wyrm

1.4

Normally meals were pleasant and unofficial affairs: the family could spend some time unwinding and Mother, Father or both would generally enquire about how Alexander and her studies were doing, or otherwise relax and talk.

Jewel could lounge on the familiar friend that was the feasting hall flagstones, her coils reading the old stories of past revelry and if it was winter there would be a roaring fire in the hearths to tickle her inner flame with their own joy.

If there were any entertainers or otherwise interesting guests in the barony they would also be present, either during or after the meal, in exchange for her Father’s hospitality.

And everyone was far more relaxed and comfortable, sometimes even the staff might attend if there was reason to grant them the boon.

Father was very generous like that.

But then there were official Feasts, like this one. Usually brought up when esteemed guests arrived that required the pomp for appearances.

Bigger affairs with proper criers were brought up to announce guests then and everyone had to sit precisely to show and posture or placate as needed by the family. Jewel didn't know the crier tonight, he was some new kid brought on as an assistant to Jorge, maybe? Or one of the other senior staff, she thought. No Smithson as crier this time, which suggested no one was sick.

The official crier tabard was an alright fit for the boy, and he apparently knew his letters well enough from the way his eyes roved the scroll he would announce from.

Yes, an official Welcome Feast.

That meant proper seating, which meant that Jewel had to be seated like a proper lady.

Tonight, she was positioned to the right hand of her Father as a sign of familial allegiance and power. Which was a point towards the guest being a potential rival, or at least a not entirely trusted neighbor. Or a mostly genial foreigner.

Jewel being seated meant that there had to be a seat to sit upon.

Much to her dismay.

But for her father’s sake, Jewel sat carefully on the specially made ‘furniture’, taking great care to neither rip the fabric of the cushioning with her claws or overly rest her bulk upon its wooden frame, despite the assurances upon delivery that it could take her even without lift from her Wyrmfire keeping her weight from settling entirely upon it.

No, she would never force her parents to replace this piece like she had the chairs and stools she’d destroyed as a hatchling.

This one had been commissioned especially for her so that, to quote her mother, ‘No daughter of Rochford shall be seen to lay on cold stone’. Jewel wished it was acceptable to just let her lounge in a pile by the fire: the cold stone of the feasting hall was comforting, venerable with soft tales of trials and joy, and the hearths were warm and complementary.

Instead there had to be this ostentatious thing she was worried she would accidentally break.

And the expense?! She’d heard Mother and Father one night behind their bedroom doors that it cost more than the throne of the Duchess, which had stung so much. To give up so much coin for her sake?!

Jewel looked upon the preparations and the still-to-be-taken seats waiting for the arrival of their guests. Glancing at Mother and Father curiously before turning back to the entrance so that they could sit united and framed by the footmen at the ready in proper splendor.

Alexander was seated to Father’s left, as close as her as appropriate for his heir, but less favored for while a year older than her, he was not as physically imposing a show of strength as a dragon.

That he was present at all spoke to trust where her positioning had been a posture of strength.

He looked bored and uncomfortable in his feasting finery, a match to father’s own outfit, though of significantly less expensive fabrics and gilding.

Mother was seated next to Alexander further along the table. Which was a bit awkward but further cemented the suspicion Jewel was developing that the status of their guests were foreign powers.

She was subtly buffering the heir from direct engagement.

The preparations and dress of her family said a lot as well, where Jewel had not felt comfortable asking just exactly who (besides the wizard cat) was attending the feast.

It had been a bit of a hassle and a rush to get Alexander properly washed and fitted into his clothes. Mother had been upset he’d gotten all sweaty, instead of simply being perhaps a little ink blotted from history and scribe work.

It was mostly the usual but not overly unique signs of wealth from her parents. She’d seen that shirt on her father many times and mother generally favored that veil when she was not needing to overly impress.

So probably a contemporary to their own rural backwater, maybe?

But not a neighbor, Rochford was on near kin-alliance terms with all the surrounding manors, villages, towns, and the one other Barony.

Jewel ever so gently kneaded her forelimbs on the cushion, expertly keeping her actual claws from tugging on the fabric. There was also only the usual family regalia on display so it was unlikely that the attending guest had direct rulership over Father which meant it definitely was not the Countess or the Duke and King above her.

Likewise it could be no representative of either.

Jewel surreptitiously rubbed her left wing at an itch on its foreshoulder in front of her where a casual observer would not notice if anyone should show up that second but it still got a bit of a look from Mother.

That was more tense then she should be with a contemporary yet foreign barony.

Which was concerning, although again Jewel could not find the will to break the silence so close to the official start. Alexander’s impatient shifting under so much oppressive quiet got a soft whispered admonishment from mother again.

So given the timing, dress and accommodations, Jewel mused that despite the fact of the Wizard cat, this was not a terribly powerful political figure or their representatives.

So it was thankfully not The Countess Bathory herself!

Just thinking about the time of Bathory’s visit put an involuntary quiver rippling along Jewel’s scales.

That was the biggest welcome feast the wyrm had ever attended, at least after hatching. Her egg was apparently gifted to Father’s Father’s Mother’s Father from the King himself at the time.

The tapestries and histories made quite the ado about that feast, but it was tied up into the three YEARS of victory feasting that followed the victory in the Tyrant War.

But Jewel was not really THERE for that except by technicality.

So it was not the Countess or anyone equivalent. When she attended, the staff of the household had tripled during the preparations seasons in advance. Most of them were foreigners from the Countess’ own household coming to make way for her ahead of her arrival.

Entire rooms had been opened up and furnished, rooms that Jewel had not even known existed! A whole second guest wing was opened just to house her courtiers and the extra staff!

Strange new foods were prepared and Jewel had to be followed around everywhere by Smithson and Muriel at all times she was not in her room. In addition to often having at least one of the footman and the Countess’ own guard as well.

That had been incredibly stifling but at least Rochford was out of the way enough the Countess never saw fit to visit since.

This Welcome Feast was nothing like that, even assuming they somehow had hidden it from her in her own home, the banners were only her family’s own crest despite apparently being in honor of another lord.

So less ostentatious than a direct superior to father.

But that still left a lot of room.

The far more common situations for a welcome feast were Knights or other esteemed lords of their own baronies.

Those however rarely needed the kind of posturing and defensive stand-offish display that fully kitted footmen brought up. Further there was Jewel’s own position on Father’s right or the awkward placing of mother as a buffer to Alexander instead of having her place either on Father’s left or right.

Jewel had seen the other seating arrangements other times when she was just supposed to impress, then depending on the standing either Mother or Jewel would be seated on Father’s right while Alexander either was seated next to Jewel or Mother.

All of it itched and worried her, almost more than the fact the blasted Cat Wizard had interrupted her during her Bath!

Which was also concerning.

Jorge had been incredibly civil with the Wizard, which she had read some about their standing.

Jewel was unsure precisely what the standing of a Wizard was usually, she’d never met one before today. In the books they were generally titled at least a lord even when they were not landed with any territory. But often they also would have two or more other titles, half of which were either unique or particularly strange.

The visiting guests could be the Wizard as the head of it, with attendants to support him, or he could simply be an attaché to another individual.

Wizards were inconsistent and difficult to fix down in hierarchies.

She’d read about some that even insisted on being freemen or commoners rather than lords and at least one who was explicitly a serf despite having five other titles!

The sound of Alexander’s knee bobbing ever so slightly did not seem to be drawing anyone’s attention but the sudden cessation of it despite no visible sign from mother or father suggested something got him to stop and settle.

For the time being.

Before Jewel could start on chewing (figuratively) what might be able to be gleaned from the plates set out for the family and their guests the sound of metal on stone echoed into the feast hall signaling the guests (finally) were about to be announced.

The crier uttered a half muffled squeal in surprise and fumbled a moment with the scroll before settling into the familiar rhythm.

“The honorable house of Rochford welcomes their esteemed guests.”