The Grand Feast
The proceedings had begun, that much Matthew could tell from the myriad sounds coming from the Golden Palace. The smooth marble steps heralding his ascent, with armoured guards keeping watchful vigil like chiselled statues, complementing the architecture as well as providing a stalwart defence over their betters. Matthew travelled with one other, a servant it seemed, accompanying him exactly two steps behind at all times and keeping pace like a well trained lapdog. The young man looked over his shoulder to double check, offering a thin smile to the servant, who returned it. Superficial of course, neither particularly got along with the other, nor did Matthew expect it, they were of different breeds now, after all. Still, a trained and delicate hand to fetch him wine or deliver messages when he were trapped in conversation would be useful, no, necessary at this event.
​He nodded to the guards as he moved through the great Palace doors, entering a preliminary corridor, studded with grandiose artwork along its length. Music drifted down the gargantuan hallway, as did the laughter, speaking of good things to come. Matthew welcomed it. He was at home here, whilst all the bravado might follow him on the battlefield and in his speeches, it was the courts that called. Here he was in his element, as his former tutor always noted with mild derision, a now deceased knight whom he owed much for his squiring. Horsemanship and swordplay are one thing, but it was never these things that brought his family this far, he reminded himself. As lowly as commerce and hard work might be, his lineage always preferred mercantile and academic pursuits, with only a handful of ancestors appreciating the sword. It was a good thing Lurians prided meritocracy, unlike many other realms, otherwise his new life may never have come to be.
​A curt nod came to the steward collecting invitations; manservant swiftly heeding the silent order with the bejewelled letter that Matthew had received from his overlord, Aldrakar Renodin. He entered without taking the briefest glance back, arrogant assumption that he was granted passage and that this was where he belonged. The open doors released a cacophony of sweet imperial grandeur. Confident that his simple purple tunic with white hose, embellished with but a sturdy leather belt, was dressed enough. The quality of the material could not be disputed, velvet from D'hara, or maybe Madina. It wasn't local, that was certain. Matthew made note to keep his jewellery to merely his signet ring, a golden serpent pinned to his tunic and a single golden ring, set with a modest pink tourmaline, on his right index finger. One could also not forget their sword or dagger, as much a part of his dress here as on the battlefield, his former tutor had informed him. He didn't dispute it, and whilst thinking it unnecessary to have a sword, he certainly felt the knife might have practical applications of opening letters or eating with at least. Neither were particularly impressive at the hilt, but the scabbards were lined with silver swirling patterns, a mild attempt at prettying up what was essentially a butchers tool.
​"Sir Matthew Coffey, knight of Summerhill Hall." heralded his servant dutifully and clearly, though Matthew expected the formality would be lost on the din of music and chatter throughout the great hall. Nevertheless, he stood tall, gazing over the crowds once. Then twice. Slowly and methodically, casting his eyes about for his overlord first, and then his liege. Not seeing Dubhaine about the thronging noble and servile crowds, he strode toward Renodin with purpose. Spotting the king was no effort really, his presence was given due distance from lesser nobles and his attire alone had him standing out like a sore thumb. Good for Matthew, at least. Thankfully, the training he'd been conducting saw him fill out his tunic a bit more so than usual, hopefully betraying his youth. With his charcoal hair bobbing about the shoulders as he approached at some speed, he motioned for his servant to come forth. Having arrived at his destination, being dwarfed somewhat by Aldrakar's trained physique and kingly bearing, the young knight bowed deeply to his king. He did not rise until he was spoken to.
​Once Aldrakar had recognised the young knight, he cleared his throat before speaking clearly yet softly, "Sir Matthew Coffey, at your service, my king. I come bearing a humble gift as gratitude for your invite, I hope it is worthy of finding itself in your secondary collections." He offered forth a letter to the king, signed in his own hand, for a stallion that had come from his own stud up in Summerhill, currently stabled with no expense spared at the Palace stables. "I trust he will serve you faithfully and fully." Retreating a step, Matthew smiled briefly, inclining his head to the man.
​This would be good night already, he could tell.
