Berek the Blacksmith. So the tools she had seen belonged to that trade... And now that she thought about it, she had an image in her mind of intensely muscular men in aprons in front of fires. He didn't quite fit that image, but perhaps that was just what the royal blacksmiths had looked like. It made sense they would be the best of the best, after all. In any case, she hadn't laid eyes on them or thought of them in years. And now she was here. Like this. Incredible. 

Then came the moment she'd come to dread. At first she told everyone she saw who she was but eventually they stopped laughing and started getting angry at her "lies." Many in this town that had already heard it just ignored her now or even pitied her. Each reaction was worse than the last. It was why she never even tried to tell the wig maker. So how could she tell Berek? Especially since there was one fate that hadn't come up yet and it was one she dreaded the most--being thought mad.

However she might have a bit of bravery left in her. For the first time she was clean and fed, had money, and was being spoken to like a worthwhile human being. (Even if it wasn't as reverently as she was accustomed to.) 

"...What do you know about the kingdom of Demorion? It is," she took a breath and sighed, "Very Far Away."