Chương 150: 2.7

Jewel found that despite the best efforts of his father, mother and sisters, little Imre refused to be at ease whenever the Wyrm was in his presence. He could just barely stand to share a room with her, and if she should approach him? Jewel was not proud to say that she had been forced to flee and get one of the staff on far too many occasions. An act to both give him some space and to fetch some one that might calm his shamefully incontinent tears.

However for all his terror of her, there was a paradoxical comfort. Imre seemed to be utterly entranced by 'Gem' and Jewel's younger sister. Which was its own kind of awkward as Jewel was quite often curled around her smaller self/daughter/spawn. But it was one of the few things that would at least convince Imre to get near Jewel. So long as she did not speak, kept her head well and away from him and there was either his Father, Mother or the Esteemed Knight Sir Emil to 'protect' him.

And that was how she found herself in the mid-afternoon with Imre making various noises and waving at 'Gem'. Jewel was effectively shackled and muzzled by a five year old's terror of her in her own bedchamber! While simultaneously warbling, waggling and making strange chirps and whistling gurgles with the far too short throat of 'Gem'. For some reason this utterly delighted Imre. He enjoyed fussing over and playing children's games with 'Gem' even more than he did with Gwenn.

Jewel's sister would eventually grow weary of the boy's presence and was not shy about making her ire known. Quite loudly most times. But being a proper lady just as Jewel was, 'Gem' was content to humor her friend's son. Which brought some relief and made the stillness she had to endure whenever the two of them had a 'visit' bearable. Despite everyone else's insistence to the contrary, Jewel was still certain 'Gem' and she were one and the same.

Jewel felt that once 'Gem' could finally speak it would be as obvious to everyone else as it was to her. But words continued to be incredibly difficult with such a cramped throat. Nothing Jewel was used to worked correctly, and given the trial of it all, Jewel was finding far more appreciation for the time it normally took babies to learn to speak. If it was this much of a strain to simply shape the sounds? No wonder the village children could take years to learn to speak properly.

If their throats were even twice the length and half as clumsy as Gem's it would be ridiculous to go faster. But all good things had to come to an end. They were both expected to be dressed and prepared to their best for tonight's supper. Jewel would be having a bath and then getting her mane braided and scales polished. Imre would need a wash and to be prepped in his proper finery. For Jewel that was going to take at least an hour. Given the urgency, she was forced to oh so gently 'clear' her throat.

Which had Imre flinching hard, but not outright leaping back from her like he had in the first few days of his visits with 'Gem'. As she had been trying so far, Jewel stressed her throat into as gentle and soft a tone as could be done. More so than she ever had used with even the babes of Valasect.

"We both need to prepare for the welcoming feast, Lord Imre." He only just barely managed not to flinch from her voice, and he still refused to look anywhere but the smaller face of 'Gem'. But it was progress! Jewel flexed and turned 'Gem' away from him while closing her eyes, curling up to feign sleep. It seemed to get him to at least step back from Jewel's coils and towards the door.

"Sir Emil, l-let's go get ready?" Jewel did not sigh, but she desperately wanted to. Not acknowledging her at all was progress compared to outright panic and fear. The heir of Arva soon departed her chamber with the Knight Emil escorting. Imre was so frightful around her that he'd not managed to openly face or directly acknowledge her more then twice in ten days. Furthermore, his fright about her person had interrupted and prevented anything like a proper exchange or discourse with Count Thurzó or his family!

With the heir so disturbed by her and him often seeking comfort in his father's presence? It had made what Jewel hoped to be a time to share and enjoy her friend's company and that of his family to a series of stilted and awkward interactions. Simply speaking spooked the boy, prolonged conversation on Jewel's part brought him to tears. It was the first time that anyone had been so absolutely terrified of her. Not even the soldiers she faced in the war had been so unmanned and frozen by her mere presence.

The entire experience turned the better quarter of a season into a tense chore. And now the High King was arriving at Rochford this evening and all of Jewels' hopes of time with Count Thurzó were dashed. Tomorrow all of them were to make their way as entourage with and heralds of the High King to Kaeketeh and there join the audience between Countess Bathory and the High King to reaffirm their vassal obligations. Jewel huffed heavily with both sets of lungs.

One was significantly greater than the other, then she exercised a habit that had been forming in those times she had with herself like this.

'Gem' and Jewel. Staring into each other's eyes as one spoke and the other attempted to imitate.

"What a wasted visit this was." Both of them still her as assuredly as her tail or hands. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. As intuitive to move and flex as any other part of her. As receptive of her wyrmflame as any scale. With Gem's throat she made some noises that might have been charitably called words but had far too little nuance. And then at last it was time to depart and separate again. Jewel rose to her feet with a twinge of anticipatory fear.

Every time she left there was a terrible absence of her Wyrmflame left behind. Not from Jewel. But from her smaller self. From 'Gem'. The greatest distinction between the two of them. The assurance of which was Wyrm and which merely spawn. Undeniable in spite of the strange shared self between them. But though it dragged at her and made every limb feel heavy and even brought a sting of tears to all four of her eyes, Jewel found the fortitude to part with herself.

To lose the immediate sense of her other lesser self, and leave the small form to suffer bereft of her flame. Except instead of feeling the comforting presence remain Jewel found herself small and diminished. Just as she always did. Always some of her was the one that had to be left behind. Her coils were suddenly absent, her flame slowly draining out of her small form. Leaking out from her far too delicate scales. Leaving her feeling empty and uncomfortable.

Bundled up in blankets that helped with the bitter pain that cold now meant for her. So much was different that had once been familiar. Sight felt smudged, diminished. And of what she could see it was quickly bleeding away what they even were. Thoughts stalled and tripped as they rapidly then fell into a woolen sluggishness, confused. Memories of the assurance of herself, that she was a Wyrm seemed distant and smothered. Rapidly fading out of both anticipatory thought and past memory.

Even the clarity that this would be temporary and that soon she would be together with herself and full of her flame again were draining away Only the faintest glimmer of hope letting her grasp that it was not a passing vision, a dream of comfort that had now been lost. Jewel struggled with her throat, trying to make the sounds she felt she should be able to. To cry for aid, for assistance. For something? The sounds and their meaning leaked away, like water through her tiny, clumsy fingers.

What was the correct manner of it? She tried. She gurgled, growled, hissed, chirped. But though she could not grasp what the correct sound was she knew that none of these were it. Finally the frustration and confusion rose up in an overwhelming wave and her eyes were squinting shut and her mouth opened wide. It was so cold, it was so empty, it was so absent and confusing. The faint glimmer of hope that she was more, that she was a powerful wyrm was nearly guttering out entirely.

Surely something so wonderful had no place in the maelstrom of confusion that her life and memory consisted of. Sounds that she knew that had once held meaning were nothing but disturbances. Had she merely imagined that there was sense to any of it? The meaning, the all-important nature of sounds had been stripped of her. Had possibly never even been present. The loss and terror of it shook her, set her scales to tremble and shiver as if she was chilled. Jewel cried.

She wailed in despair, feeling the fleeting assurance of her larger self now gone far beyond her reach. Jewel was waking from the dream of herself as anything more than this weak helpless frightened meat. She wept in terror at the thought that somehow this had been the last time that she would ever again feel fully herself. Howled in horror at the prospect that she never had been herself but for passing daydreams. Until at last comforting arms and soothing but incomprehensible words filled the world.

Fresh strips of food waved in front of her nose and soon were snatched to touch her tongue and without even thought her jaws and throat bit, chewed and swallowed. Then the terrible stickiness and wetness that had found its way out of her body involuntarily was tended to, and though the relief from it was welcome, it also felt despicable and wrong in a manner she could not even say for certain how. And yet?

She was quieted, partly by exhaustion, partly by the soporific soothing of a voice and gentle rocking, the close warmth and clean cloth against her. The terror was banished slowly, belly full, head foggy, flesh warm. Sleepy. At last Jewel was quieted to slumber. But her dreams were awash in frightful confusion of things she could not name. And even there the terror of losing the assured greater presence of herself was clinging. Haunting her with horrific thoughts. What if this was now her forever?

What if it had never been otherwise? What if this was all she would ever be again? What if this was all she ever was? Jewel did not rest well. But there was always warmth, a soothing voice and gentle rocking when she woke.