Chapter 157 - Working? Hardly

The tavern's low ceiling pressed down on the room, even by dwarven standards.

Smoke from countless pipes hung thick in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of ale and the faint metallic tang of the mountain. 

The firelight flickered, throwing an amber glow across the sturdy wooden tables, each one worn from years of use and countless mugs slammed in hearty toasts. 

Vell sat across from Master Lunt at one such table, the wizard's tankard untouched before him. The dwarf, in contrast, puffed on his pipe, the glow of its embers flickering. 

A half-empty jug sat between them, not Lunt's first of the evening. 

"You're quiet for a wizard," Lunt remarked, but it was not meant as an insult; his voice was gruff as he exhaled a plume of smoke. "Not many of your kind can sit still without givin' a lecture." 

Vell smirked, rolling his unlit pipe between his fingers. "An unfair stereotype, though not entirely without merit. I'd wager you haven't met many wizards, but I've learned when to hold my tongue. Dwarves aren't much for idle chatter, are they?" 

"That we aren't." Lunt nodded, his face softening for a moment before turning pensive. "Speaking of holding tongues… There's something I've been mulling over. Something I wouldn't normally share, even over good ale." 

The mage raised a brow. "Well, if the brew's loosened you up enough to speak your mind, I'm listening." 

Lunt chuckled dryly, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. He leaned forward, resting his thick forearms on the table. "I've been thinkin'... about becoming a Dwarf Lord." 

The words hung in the air for a moment. 

Vell's curiosity was evident. "A Dwarf Lord? That's no small ambition, Lunt. What's driving this?"

Lunt tapped the side of his tankard with a thick finger, the rhythmic clinking blending into the tavern's background noise. "Not ambition, not really. It's duty." He paused, weighing his words. "The council… they're set in their ways. Fossils, the lot of them. They cling to the old methods so tightly, they'd sooner let the mines dry up than adapt. Me? I've seen what happens when you embrace new ideas, new techniques. It can keep us strong." 

Vell nodded and asked, "So, you want to bring on change?" 

"Not change for its own sake," Lunt clarified, his tone firm. "It's about reclaiming what we've lost—restoring the glory of the old days. It's about survival. The veins aren't as rich as they once were, and the younger generations…" His expression softened as he mentioned them. "My grandson and his kin, they've got talent, potential. But if we don't give them something to build on, that potential will wither. They need hope. They need someone who understands that." 

"And you think you're that someone?" Vell asked, his tone neutral but thoughtful. 

Lunt met his gaze steadily. "I do. But I'm no fool. The council doesn't take kindly to new blood, even if it's from an old name. The Lunts have been respected smiths for generations, but we've never held a lordship. Not once." 

Vell picked up his tankard, taking a slow sip before setting it down with deliberate care. "You've got the skill, no doubt about that. But being a Dwarf Lord isn't just about forging fine steel or running a successful smithy. It's politics, diplomacy, and navigating a maze of egos. Very boring things. Are you ready for that?"

Lunt grunted, "Ready as I'll ever be. The question is, do you think I'd be worth followin'?" 

The wizard leaned back. "You're blunt, capable, and fiercely loyal to your people. Those are qualities any leader should have. But…" Vell's red eyes met Lunt's. "Do you have the patience? The council will test you at every turn. They'll push you, provoke you, and try to wear you down."

Lunt sat back, puffing on his pipe as he mulled over Vell's words. "Patience isn't my strong suit, I'll admit. But I've weathered worse than a room full of old stubborn dwarves. If there's one thing I've learned from smithing, it's that the best work takes time—and heat."

Vell smiled, raising his tankard. "Well said. Here's to time and heat, then." 

The mugs clinked, the sound ringing out briefly over the din of the tavern. After a moment of shared silence, Vell asked, "So, do you have a plan? Or is this still just an idea?" 

"I've been layin' the groundwork," Lunt admitted, "for a while now. Speaking to the right people, showing 'em what I can offer. 

Vell's gaze turned distant, as if calculating. "You'll need more than that, and you know it." 

"Aye, I do," Lunt said, his voice growing quieter. "That's why I'm askin' you… for a favor."