"So I'll just ask it, since every hammer in this hall is afraid to. What do you want from the dwarven people, Conqueror?"
The towel at Quinlan's neck stirred, poured back down over his chest and arms, and rewove itself into his shirt, and he took his time settling the cuffs while the royal smithy of Elvardia held its breath around him.
"What do the dwarven people want to do?" he finally asked with a sly grin.
"...We want to live our lives honestly. Work hard mastering our craft, drink good booze, and sleep in our beds without fear."
"Sounds like the kind of people any sane ruler would want to support."
Brokk looked at him for a long moment. Then she nodded, once, to the Conqueror of the Continent, smith to smith.
"... Any sane ruler, hmm?" she said.
Sera reappeared at his side without any of them catching her cross the floor, nestled her cheeks into his shoulder, and let a wounded little sound out against his ear.
