The private room of the tavern had emptied, leaving only the faint scent of smoke from the extinguished hearth and the smell of stale ale in mugs that were left.
Vell and Lunt were the only two left.
Lunt had ordered a tray of bread and cheese, though it sat untouched on the table.
The dwarf leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. The weight of the meeting still pressed down on him.
"That could have gone better," he muttered, clearly exhausted.
"They don't seem to like me very much, do they?" Vell said. He was perched on a bench near the hearth, the few embers that were left lighting up his face. "Though I disagree, Lunt. It went as well as it could have. Skepticism was inevitable. You're challenging the status quo. That never comes without resistance."
The meeting went as any political discussion usually did in Vell's eyes.
The older dwarves debated ideals they wouldn't follow through on, while the younger ones naively clung to those empty words.
Lunt let out a low grunt, tilting his chair forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I knew Skarn would push back, but I thought he'd at least hear me out before questioning my worth. The man's known me for years."
"That's precisely why he's hard on you," Vell replied, cutting up the cheese into cubes. "He knows your strengths—and your weaknesses. Skarn's not one to shy away from testing someone he considers a potential leader. It's his way of gauging if you're ready to face the larger trials ahead."
"Is that what you think he was doing?" Lunt asked, his brow furrowed.
Vell's lips formed into the faintest hint of a smile. "That's what I hope he did. So, partially. I think the other part is that he doesn't trust me. Nor should he."
Lunt gave him a sharp look, one eyebrow rising. "That's an odd thing to admit, coming from you."
"I'm many things, Lunt, but I'm not deluded," the mage said, setting down the knife and finally beginning to eat the cheese. "Trust isn't something my name inspires—fear and caution perhaps, but not trust. That's a burden you'll have to carry yourself. I'm here to give you the space to earn it, not to share it."
Lunt nodded slowly, his fingers drumming against the edge of the chair. "The younger ones were the hardest to read," he admitted after a pause. "The older dwarves I can predict—greed, tradition, loyalty, whatever motivates them. But the younger ones? They look at me like I'm out of my mind. I hope they'll see that I'm doing this for them."
Vell studied him for a moment. "They don't see you like they see the other old guard," he said. "They see you as change. Change terrifies them and excites them, though not enough to believe in it yet. To them, you're not just a master smith stepping into politics—you're a new way forward."
"And you don't think I'm a risk?" Lunt asked, leaning back again, his tone half-joking.
"Oh, you're a tremendous risk," Vell said lightly, his smile turning sharper. "But I've lived long enough to know that life is full of risks. If you fail, it's no worse than the stagnation they're clinging to. If you succeed, you reshape your people's future. So, why not take it?"
"Do you really believe that, or are you just humoring me?"
"Whether I believe doesn't matter. You have to believe enough for the both of us."
Lunt sighed, running a hand through his thick beard. "Sometimes I wish I had your confidence. You walked into that room like you already owned it. I can barely keep my own doubts in check."
"You think I'm without doubt?" The mage asked. "Confidence isn't the absence of doubt. It's the willingness to act despite it."
The dwarf frowned, absorbing the words. "You make it sound simple."
"It's not simple," Vell said, his tone softening. "It's exhausting. And dangerous. But if it were easy, anyone could do it. I know it too well."
The wood in the hearth crackled softly, filling the silence as both men stared into the dead flames, lost in their thoughts.
For the first time that night, Lunt reached for his tankard, taking a deep drink of the ale before setting it down with a heavy sigh.