Iron forging, Iron Lady, Iron diplomacy
It was early morning in Aglarond when it's Lady emerged from her private chambers, fully clad in her working robe.
Years passed since she sat on the cold stone seat of Glittering Caves, but little has time done to her features, besides the two deep wrinkles around her mouth.
Her maid opened her mouth to protest in her usual manner, but Lady raised her hand in authoritative gesture: not a word.
"Tell the Ambassador to meet me in the Iron Smith if he wants us to continue our… discussion."
Mouth set in a firm line, iron steelness in her green eyes, Lady's mind was set on something.
The maid nodded and looked expectantly at her Mistress, but Ezbad* shook her head.
"No papers, no signum, no formal invitation. He is fully-blooded Dwarf. Time for him to start behaving as one, and not as some administrator on Thranduil's court."
Ignoring the shocked look she received, Lady swirled on her boots and exited on the street.
Even though it was merely an hour after dawn, streets already started to fill with busy Dwarven folk.
Smiling and answering the few greetings, woman with heights and face shape of her mother, but definitely with steaming hot blood of her Fathers, walked briskly to the town center and descended to the Fourth City Level.
Finding and entering the Smith where she spent a lot of her time since she returned to Aglarond, she took the apron and gloves and started the fire, only nodding to few students, merely more but boys in Dwarvish count.
They were used to her sometimes odd behaviour, so they simply nodded back and minded their own business.
Just as she hoped, by the time she was up her elbows working on iron ore, a loud and stout figure of older Dwarf came into the range of her sight and ears.
He started a quick string of irritated Khuzdul, but she cut him in.
"M'lord, either help me, if you still remember how to do craft, or wait till I finish my work. No need for nonsense talk."
The Dwarves around them were shocked and tried to back away. Watching from the corner of her eye the ambassador's red face, she feared for a split of a second that she had gone too far. But instead of exploding or bolting out, the white-bearded Dwarf came near, taking an apron from the wall, and started to help her obtain the right strength of fire.
They worked in silence for two hours, and by the time she got perfect strings of iron from the ore, they were both covered in sweat from head to toe.
Weaving the strands around the coil to wait for further processing, and leaving the fire to slowly burn down, she finished their work.
Looking at the Dwarf, wiping her forehead, she saw his satisfied smile while looking at the iron they got.
It was time for the touché, she decided.
Adressing him again, her throat a bit raw, she spoke with unmistakable strength nevertheless: "M'lord, this work today is my final word. We are Mahal's children, whether you consider me one or not. We do not need many words, nor sugary politeness. Either you will help me with Aglarond when I ask, or stand aside. But don't try to take the tool from me. Either way, I will have my doing, and stay fully in charge. Your choice."
Leaving once again shocked Dwarf, while others in Smith hid their grins under her glare, for they finally understood their Lady's actions, Milica walked back to her chambers, forgetting to take the apron down, shaking from exhaustion, both emotional and physical.
Hopefully , her lesson wasn't rude… too much. Chuckling, she let out a whisper "We'll see."
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*Ezbad – A female ruler (in Dwarvish)