"Right," Jaskier agreed faintly and let out a quiet, flagging laugh as, despite everything he wished, he urged Cantata forward and toward his familial home.
The estate was quiet lovely, definitely not worthy of all the dread pouring off the bard. It was an old stone building that had been meticulously up-kept, had paned glass windows, many with extravagant stained glass paintings in them, and the fountain out front bubbled becomingly as they approached down the lane. There were several carriages out front and, if one watched, they would spot a servant or two now and again, darting from the front of the house toward the back.
The house seemed, to Jaskier, to loom rather terribly. It didn't, not in reality, it had only the barest hint of a third floor and the facade wasn't terribly imposing or dramatic. All the same, the bard grew stiffer and more agitated as they approached.
Around behind the house, they'd have set up tents and archways of flowers. There would probably be a temporary floor put out, to spare fine slippers from grass stains, and he'd be shocked if the seating weren't nicer than an outdoor affair called for. There would be a wealth of food and expensive wine, of course, but probably all carried by servants rather than spread out on a table. The string quartet were all very skilled (and undoubtedly expensive) musicians--nothing but the best for his cousin Iris and...whatever her husband's name was. Hildebrandt? Jaskier had never met the man but, frankly, if Iris liked him at all he was guaranteed to be a certifiable nightmare of biting manners and absolute noble repose.
Jaskier recognized the man who came to greet them as they rode up. He would take their horses. His name was Archibald and he'd been with the household long enough that Jaskier had known him as a young boy. He looked older but, by in large, identical to how Jaskier recalled him. He greeted Jaskier briefly, with a nod and his given name, which was uncomfortable, but even the bard could see how harried the man was. (How many people were here if they managed to discomfit the servants so?) Still, Archibald was absolutely polite and begged their forgiveness for his brevity as they dismounted in the shadow of the villa.
He'd take excellent care of Roach and Cantata for them, Jaskier had no doubt, but letting them out of his sight made this all more real. He did not care for that at all.
"Drinking--let's go find drinks--" Jaskier encouraged.
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The estate was quiet lovely, definitely not worthy of all the dread pouring off the bard. It was an old stone building that had been meticulously up-kept, had paned glass windows, many with extravagant stained glass paintings in them, and the fountain out front bubbled becomingly as they approached down the lane. There were several carriages out front and, if one watched, they would spot a servant or two now and again, darting from the front of the house toward the back.
The house seemed, to Jaskier, to loom rather terribly. It didn't, not in reality, it had only the barest hint of a third floor and the facade wasn't terribly imposing or dramatic. All the same, the bard grew stiffer and more agitated as they approached.
Around behind the house, they'd have set up tents and archways of flowers. There would probably be a temporary floor put out, to spare fine slippers from grass stains, and he'd be shocked if the seating weren't nicer than an outdoor affair called for. There would be a wealth of food and expensive wine, of course, but probably all carried by servants rather than spread out on a table. The string quartet were all very skilled (and undoubtedly expensive) musicians--nothing but the best for his cousin Iris and...whatever her husband's name was. Hildebrandt? Jaskier had never met the man but, frankly, if Iris liked him at all he was guaranteed to be a certifiable nightmare of biting manners and absolute noble repose.
Jaskier recognized the man who came to greet them as they rode up. He would take their horses. His name was Archibald and he'd been with the household long enough that Jaskier had known him as a young boy. He looked older but, by in large, identical to how Jaskier recalled him. He greeted Jaskier briefly, with a nod and his given name, which was uncomfortable, but even the bard could see how harried the man was. (How many people were here if they managed to discomfit the servants so?) Still, Archibald was absolutely polite and begged their forgiveness for his brevity as they dismounted in the shadow of the villa.
He'd take excellent care of Roach and Cantata for them, Jaskier had no doubt, but letting them out of his sight made this all more real. He did not care for that at all.
"Drinking--let's go find drinks--" Jaskier encouraged.