much, much, much more there than they did in places that had Godmothers.
He was beginning to have suspicions about his gods. He was beginning to think they were just another kind of Fae Folk. Very, very powerful Fae Folk, but ones who were quite shortsighted and not particularly bright, with a penchant for meddling like a lot of old grannies. Why else would they act pretty much like thickheaded warriors without the common sense of a goose?
But at any rate, this new sort of magic had fair made his eyes bulge. And then, they got to the Princess's Palace.
Now...he'd spent most of his time, a good eight years of it, wandering in the wilderness of just about every Kingdom he'd been through. Leaving home that young was unusual, even for a Hero, but he hadn't had a lot of other options — and at least, wandering in the wilderness was relatively safe. On the whole, cities made him feel like a bumpkin, and on the rare occasion he'd done some hero business for a noble or a King, it was generally when he'd followed rumor to a war, or had encountered one of those nobles or Kings wandering on their own in the wilderness. Mostly, when he'd been entertained, it had been in remote stone castles that were not a great deal different in the sort of things you found inside them than the Clan houses he was used to.
So when he saw the sort of affair they were riding up to, he'd been taken a bit aback. He had to keep reminding himself that if you measured worth in terms of deeds, he was just as good as anyone who lived in a place like this.
And that had held him right until the servant brought him to his rooms and left him there. Rooms! In the plural!
He had spent most of his life before he had left his land sleeping out-of-doors, or in a cave, or at best in the sort of one-room Clan house shared by most of his people when they were gathered under the protection of a Clan Chief or a petty lord. Oh, they were big places, really big. Big enough to house a hundred or more. But it was all one big room, with a hearth fire in the center and a smoke hole above it. Impressive, if you were used to tiny cottages, yes, and large, definitely, but they were nothing like the buildings in these lands, and the idea of a bit of space carved out with walls for just one person was laughable.
After he had left his homeland, well, it had been the occasional room in an inn, where people mostly slept several to a bed, the occasional bunk in the barracks of some notable for whom he had done heroic service, or the occasional cottage, pretty much identical with the ones back home, where he slept on the floor next to the fire in the middle, because as the warmest place, it was the one first offered to guests. Otherwise he slept out-of-doors, or in a cave.
He had never had an entire room to himself — unless you counted a cave as a room — much less several.
This was the first time he had spent any length of time with the high-ups of any kingdom in a setting other than a battlefield. The bird had coached him on how to behave, or he would likely have covered himself with embarrassment. The bird on his shoulder didn't seem to give them any pause at all, which was a great help. Then again, half of the dandies, half the old ladies, and half the young ones were toting around a fluffy little thing that they said was a dog, or were followed by whole clouds of the yappy creatures. He had to be very careful where he put his feet. It was a good thing that they seemed better trained than the dogs at home, or he would have had to be very careful about where he put his feet for an entirely different reason.
He hadn't been in those rooms long enough to get over the shock of them when one of the servants turned up with a big pile of clothing for him. Another shock. All his life, he had had two sets of clothing, the one he was wearing and the one he had just cleaned. Now he had...well, a great deal, and someone was always whisking away what he took off to clean it for him!
He did like the clothing; it was much like his own, without the armor, and was very practical. The stuff of which it was made was certainly the finest leather and linen he had ever set eyes on. The leather was so soft to the touch it felt like the finest swansdown, and the linen was like warm water on the skin. He'd seen other men here, who were not servants and not Guards, wearing much the same sort of thing, so he knew he was not being mocked subtly. It seemed to be the clothing of choice for a sober sort of man.
Well, that was all right. He supposed he could be considered a sober sort of man. He would not have wanted all the nonsense and folderol that the other fellow, Leopold, was wearing.
He did know good table manners, however. He'd picked that up fairly soon after passing out of the Clan- lands and into a real Kingdom. And he also knew how to manage polite conversation — which was pretty much talking about nothing, when you came down to it.
But he could manage that. The way he managed, even if he didn't understand half of what the other person was on about, was that he simply looked grave, paid close attention, and when their intonation and body language told him they were asking for his confirmation of something they already believed, he nodded gravely, and said either 'yes' or 'no' as fit the question. And when they looked at him for a simple comment he would nod again, and say 'indeed.'
So he had himself a bath — his people were fastidious about baths; they bathed all the time, even in winter, or they'd have been eaten alive by lice and fleas. He was very partial to a good steam bath with an ice-water plunge after. He put on the clothing and went out into the hall, then followed the sound of people until he came to where everyone was gathered — gathered to await dinner, he finally understood. People at this court seemed to wait a great deal. But then, they seemed to have very little to do.
Within hours he was reasonably popular. The bird said they found him a good conversationalist, which meant, he supposed, that they liked the way he listened and agreed with them. The young women found him fascinating. Maybe it was because all their young men were so spindly. But the few times anyone flattered him, or tried, about his strength, he simply looked somber and said, 'Size and strength are not the answer to everything. Cleverness can overcome strength nearly every time. A small clever man can almost always best a strong, dim one.' Or, 'I cannot take great credit for having a strong father and a sturdy mother.'
As a result, he got fewer black looks from the young Eltarian men than he might have, and a reputation for commendable modesty.
He also made no attempt to follow up on the interest of any of the young ladies, and devoted himself as much as possible to making friends with their elders. The black looks rapidly diminished to nothing.
Not that this was from anything other than self-interest in his part. He certainly did not need any smoldering resentment here, and while the young ladies were attractive, he very much doubted any of their fathers would be interested in acquiring a penniless northlander as a son-in-law, however heroic he might be. At any rate, there was only one young woman he was interested in, and that was the Princess. What with that Godmother about, she could be counted on to have rings of magic fire at her disposal. And she might even be persuaded to put on a breastplate for the purpose of being awakened. So far this was the most promising alternative to his Maiden of Doom he'd encountered yet. Provided that she was reasonably interested in having a penniless northlander as a
