Chapter 1966: The Old Dragon - Part 2
A grand enough mansion that none could doubt the royal status of its residents. Too grand even for the likes of the ancient and dignified city of Ernest. Great white buildings, all wound together over a vast estate, with gardens of the tallest trees, all neatly trimmed by constantly working gardeners. It was a veritable eden, and not only one that was a testament to the architectural prowess of man, but one too that celebrated the natural beauty of the area around it. The Black Mountains were not blocked from view by the estate’s many buildings. It was given reverence too instead. Nothing was build over two stories, as if the architects humbled themselves, declaring that no matter how hard they tried they could never match the mighty height of the mountain behind them.
The clear crystal waters of a nearby lake, and the gravel path that wound to it, growing increasingly thin, and increasingly difficult to spot, for the lacking gravel, the closer one came to the lake’s edge. As if the path were courting the lake, and growing more timid for its arrival. Even with the winter’s snow still on the ground, one could see the reeds and tall grasses poking up out of the ground, and one could imagine just how rich a place it would be to relax come summer.
They came in through the low outer wall of the estate. A wall that wasn’t tall enough for the purposes of defence, but one that was there once more simply for the purposes of design.
Pendragon soldiers greeted them. They gave Oliver and his retinue stiff, uncertain salutes, mirroring Oliver’s own emotion. None were more in limbo than the Pendragon people, who had lost their Queen, and knew not what sort of respect to give to the man that had seen her crown stolen.
They took away their horses, and saw them stabled in the vast stables elsewhere on the estate. A hundred horses they kept there at any one time, Hod told Oliver, but he still warned them away from allowing their entire party of three hundred admittance, for the strain they would put upon the stable boys.
It was only a group of ten that went in with Oliver. Hod, as his advisor, and Verdant and Blackthorn as his retainers. Then Firyr, Jorah, Karesh and Kaya as bodyguards, along with a small couple of soldiers of their own, and then Nila, simply because Oliver wished to keep her near to him, for the lagging state of his heart. He knew it to be the politically incorrect thing to do, given her status as a peasant, and Hod had warned that it might be taken as an insult, but Oliver found himself willing to endure more harshness for that. If the Stormfront were to mock him for it, then so be it. He did not wish to distance himself too far from the woman that he loved. He only regretted the burden that it would place upon her, for she would endure likely even worse than he. But she had declared herself ready for it, more out of worry for Oliver than a true acknowledgement of what she was likely to face.
In through the grand gates of the main building, past the swinging banners of silver dragons that marked them as men and women of the Pendragon House. A servant led them through the main entrance, respectfully, and with a good many bows, as if he really were greeting a King. He used the proper titles, and proper formalities, and saw them humbly guided towards the main dining hall, where the Patrick party were seated at an empty table, ahead of the residents of the house that were meant to join them.
Three fires were already burning in three different hearths. The room had a pleasant aroma of smoke. It felt homely to Oliver, for the wallpaper on the wall, and the large rug that ran the length of the large room, and the many paintings on the wall. Homely in a very grand sort of way, for it was still impossibly rich compared to the homes that he was used to staying in, but still far more homely than he would expect from a palace.
There was no food yet on the table. It was left completely bear, as empty as the rest of the room. No servants or guards stood watch over them as they waited. Oliver and his party simply took their own seats at the long wooden table, and they waited, sharing the occasional murmured word.
Being made to wait as they were, Oliver’s attention quickly drifted. His eyes tilted off to the side, and caught a glimpse of the flames. A cough of fire, as one half-charred log tumbled from atop another. The flames danced, dark orange and then a lighter yellow, and then when it was hottest, and one was privileged enough to see that heat, they could find the greens and the blues. Their own sort of invitation for the guests – their own sort of dance in lue of the servants that ordinary should have been there to entertain them as they waited upon their masters.
The familiar fire, a short few minutes of staring into it, wearing a grim expression, and Oliver Patrick’s shoulders slowly began to slacken. The tension that he’d felt upon the entire ride over began to dissipate. It was hard to call him exactly relaxed, when he had such a glassy look on his face, and such a seriousness to his jaw, but looking upon him, Nila knew that at the very least, the man was contented.
He hardly even stirred when their hosts came. Sat at the head of the old Pendragon King’s table, and Oliver was looking off to the side, simply admiring that fire, as the old King came striding in, crownless but still finely dressed. His wife flanked him on one side, and his young son flanked him on another. Guardsmen came after them, but they were far enough behind that they would have struggled to react if there were any true danger that were to come to their master. A show of confidence, one had to wonder. Or perhaps it was simply a lack of care.