P. Power - Knight of the Realm

The fine bed he sat on was soft, of course. Tor would have expected nothing less of one found in the King’s palace. The dark wooden frame had a high polished sheen, the covers silky and new looking, not worn with age at all. Whatever they used to stuff the mattress just formed under him when he shifted and sure as heck wasn't straw. That he was in it was a bit of a mystery, but no one else seemed to mind, at least they hadn't come to tell him to get out yet.

That it was comfortable didn't mean all that much. It had a lovely brown and gold coverlet, done in silk, like the sheets, which were both wonderful… and a complete waste of resources to his mind. Silk sheets? Expensive and far too easily stained, plus hard to reuse for anything else later. Cotton would have made a lot more sense really. Then when it got too worn it could be turned into children's clothing or even rags and given new life. Personal comfort shouldn't outweigh practicality, should it?

Ursala, his friend, had assured him that she'd make sure no one bothered him while he worked, palace or not. After all, he was building magical devices she wanted, so it was kind of critical that his focus remain as intent and smooth as possible the whole time. Those things led to quality work, which was important.

So far that hadn't happened at all. Not even a little bit. Being left alone that was.

That he'd managed to focus was a bit of a miracle really.

For some crazy reason people kept trying to visit. Tor realized how absurd that was, sure, but it kept happening anyway. Ursala was Countess Thorgood, and even her words hadn't kept them from his chamber door. What did he have to do, hire the King himself to stand guard?

It was insane, of course.

The man was way too busy for that.

With everything going on, why in the world would anyone ever want to sit and chat with him anyway? His friends he could see, looking to share and keep the social connections strong, but they all knew he was working and generally left him alone like they should. Tor had good friends that way. No, it was all the people he didn't know that kept bugging him.

Stupid people.

OK, that was a little unfair, they were just scared and looking for ways to protect themselves from the damage of war, but really, that was what he was doing. Trying to help people be a little safer. Making his little trinkets to help them be secure, and to keep their people and homes that way too.

You'd think that would count for something.

True, Tor was just making copies of magical devices right now, amulets to shield people in battle or from attack, some flying rigs, military grade Not-flyers and the like. All things he'd designed himself and made so many times before that he could do it without even holding the original template in his hands now. It was rote work, and should have been boring, except that he went too deep while doing it to notice that kind of thing anymore.

Pure concentration trumped boredom every time.

Luckily. Otherwise he'd have given all this building up long ago and gone to sea or something more active. He'd only been to the ocean once, but it had been kind of impressive. Sailing on the waves would be an adventure if nothing else.

As he finished the latest batch of one hundred shields, Tor inhaled deeply. Swimming back to consciousness again he oriented himself. First feeling the soft silk under him, smooth and slightly tacky, then where his legs rested against the soft down of the mattress which was as it should be. Perfectly normal. Then he heard them. Voices coming from about ten feet in front of him.

Annoying voices.

Grand… more visitors.

“I simply must have an audience now! War is upon us and I can't leave my County unprepared. Master Tor must simply produce enough shields and weapons for my people as well.”

The voice wasn't familiar, but had that base rumble that Tor associated with all the royal giants.

He tried not to automatically hold it against whoever the man was. Some of his best friends were giants. And, even if they were over-sized and used too many resources to be efficient, they were still good people. Maybe this fellow would be as well. Probably not. Most of them were a little too into themselves, to feel good about.

Tor felt like grunting a little, anger suddenly ripping through him. He “must” make things for this guy? Really? Most people at least asked if he would, even the King and Queen requested politely. But then they got that it worked pretty well, especially since he never actually told any of them no. If they wanted his things all they had to do was ask, but a little bit of courtesy wouldn't hurt. He was putting out twelve hundred field devices per day, by himself, and this man wanted him to do more? The Debri manufacturing house only put out half of that each day and they were the main official supplier of flying rigs and shields for the whole kingdom. The agitation tried to turn into full blown anger as he opened both eyes and found the man that had been speaking, looming in the doorway, a pissy look on his face. In front of him stood a cowed looking boy of about twelve, maybe thirteen, baring the giant entry to the room with his body.

Intimidated or not, the kid didn't move, which almost made Tor want to cheer. It was hard to stand like that, looking up at someone nearly twice your height and not get out of the way. Tor knew the feeling himself. It was like they could trip and crush you at any moment.

The very large man, dressed in incredibly nice blue and black clothing didn't try to push the smaller figure out of the way at least. He just stood arguing to be let in, as the boy rather politely refused him, his brown haired head nodded as he spoke as if trying to influence the man to agree with him through force of will.

It wasn't working.

That could be done, theoretically, but it would take some kind of direct effect, which required a vast amount of focus, as well as knowing what you were doing. Tor couldn't do it. Not yet at least. Or at least he’d never tried it, which wasn’t exactly the same thing.

“Um… My Lord Morris? I was told to not let anyone in to see Master Tor. If you'd like to make an appointment with him, there's a list, you see, and a few people ahead of you, but if you wish I can put a good word in with the Master and try to gain you an earlier time slot… He's working almost non-stop though, making things for the war effort right now, so-” The boy wasn't someone Tor knew really, a page? That seemed likely; the pages were all small boys that he'd noticed, or small girls with short, boy like, haircuts. He hadn't talked to a lot of them yet, which was obviously an oversight on his part if some of them were going to be acting as his personal guardians like this. He'd kind of thought they just ran messages back and forth. Apparently they were expected to do more than that.

Like stare down giants.

The big man looked over at Tor and noticed that his eyes had opened. He tried to walk past the kid only to find that he wouldn't budge at all. Heh. Morris, who was probably a Count given the name, Tor decided, frowned.

“I'm a Count boy! Get out of my way or I'll have you whipped and hung by your thumbs for good measure!” The Count, who must have been nearly six-eight compared to the smaller figures five-two or so, bristled and started to draw his hand back to strike with a backhand. Afraid or not, the small figure in brown didn't move out of the way, even as he cringed from the proffered blow.

“I wouldn't.” A soft voice came from the hallway behind the count, male and deep, a bass rumble even compared to Morris, the feeling that loomed was familiar, even though the bits of skin and hair Tor could make out seemed too dark to be his friend right now.