Strawberry's Descent

Gorthruk listened to the entire pitch without interrupting once, the ring network, the four kingdoms, the mithril pipeline and steam engines already folded into the larger plan, the adamantium mining rights offered up as the trade for dwarven engineering expertise. He let her finish completely, notebook held up the whole time like evidence in a trial, before finally setting down the ore sample he'd been idly turning over throughout the entire explanation.

"...You want to connect all four surface kingdoms through a continuous underground tunnel network, roughly five thousand kilometers in total length, powered by lava-fed steam engines, guarded in part by borrowed hellhounds, in exchange for unrestricted mining rights to an adamantium vein you happened to find in the deepest trenches of Hell itself."

"...When you list it out like that it sounds like a lot."

"It is a lot, Strawberry." He rubbed his beard slowly, the specific, weighted gesture she'd learned meant he was taking something seriously rather than simply humoring her. "I helped fold your pickaxe. I negotiated a machine purchase with you. I have, on multiple occasions, personally advocated for your ideas before people who did not initially trust you. But this—" he gestured at the sprawling map and notes spread across her workbench "—this is not a forge deal, or even a mithril reserve request. This is continental infrastructure. This is a commitment that outlasts my own authority within the Republic several times over."

Arista's excitement dimmed slightly, the practical weight of what he was actually saying finally landing properly. "...You can't approve this yourself."

"I cannot." He said it plainly, without apology, the honest limit of his own position laid out clearly for the first time since she'd met him. "I am a smith. A respected one, with the council's ear on matters of metallurgy and craft, but adamantium mining rights, a multi-decade labor commitment, a treaty spanning four kingdoms and a demon-ruled underground network none of us have ever needed to consider before now? That requires the full council. Not me alone, however much I might personally believe in what you're proposing."

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"...Do you? Believe in it, I mean."

Gorthruk was quiet for a long moment, studying the map, the tunnel diagrams, the rough sketch of a central hub she'd drawn somewhere near Ashfall Reaches with four branching lines reaching out toward every surface capital.

"I believe you've already proven, repeatedly, that you can build things nobody else considered possible," he said finally. "I believe the adamantium alone is worth more than the Republic has access to through any other means. And I believe, against my better judgment most days, that when you say something absurd is going to work, it generally does." He met her eyes directly. "But my belief isn't the council's belief. And a project this size needs more than one dwarf's confidence behind it."

Arista sat with that, nodding slowly, the specific, unfamiliar sensation of genuinely being told no, not like this settling somewhere she hadn't quite felt before: not a rejection, exactly, just an honest limit she hadn't previously needed to run into.

"...Okay," she said. "So what happens now?"

"Now," Gorthruk said, already gathering the scattered notes into some semblance of order, treating them with more formal care than he had a moment earlier, "I think it's time for you to meet the council."

"...The whole council? Not just you, vouching for me from the sidelines?"

"The whole council. Every seat, every voice, every skeptic who's heard rumors about a demon blacksmith causing widespread rumors and diplomatic incidents but never actually sat across a table from you." He handed the organized notes back to her, weighted now with an entirely new gravity. "You'll need to make this pitch yourself, Strawberry. Properly. The same way you talked me into a mithril pipework, the same way you talked an entire crew into digging through a legend, except this time, it's eight council members who owe you nothing, and a decision that will bind the Republic for generations if it goes your way."

Arista took the notes back, feeling the actual scale of what was coming settle over her, not excitement this time, not quite nerves either, but something steadier, more focused, the same quiet determination she'd felt standing at the edge of that first, four-kilometer tunnel with nothing but a single, freshly-forged pickaxe.

"...Okay," she said. "When do I meet them?"

Gorthruk was already moving toward the door, the specific brisk energy of a man with a great many arrangements suddenly needing to happen quickly.

"I'll request an audience. Given who's asking, and what you're asking for—" he paused at the threshold, glancing back with something that might have been the beginning of a smile "—I imagine they'll clear their schedule rather quickly."

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