Mirain was up and bathing and trying not to growl at the servants, and when Vadin came into the bathing-room he greeted his squire with a mixture of glare and grin that was almost painful, so long had he been locked away with his wrath and his god. “Come in here,” he said, “and give these busybodies an excuse to flutter about elsewhere.” They were not even insulted, let alone deterred. They were bursting with joy to have their wild young lord back again; to have him waging his daily battle with them, which always had the same ending. He bathed and dressed and fed himself, but they drew his water and set the cleansing foam where he could reach it, held the towels for him, laid out his clothing and served him at table. In Vadin’s mind, they won the war by a hair. As usual, Mirain shared bath and breakfast with Vadin. As usual, Vadin protested to the last. It was all perfectly as usual. After days in the saddle and nights in a tent and never a word except for the most dire necessity, it was an honest miracle.
What do You think about Hall Of The Mountain King?
