Life as a mercenary means people drift in and out. Some of them are contacts for jobs, equipment, lodgings, odds and ends or just bits of gossip, some of them are firm friends you know how to get hold of or leave notes for. Even nobles become people you become accustomed to on a regular basis too since that's the nature of it all; work for them, go to the parties, mingle, find new work. (None of them are his lady, none are so loved by all, none do quite so much or have that same presence she has.)

Not knowing what to do with this information because when did another dwarf last tell him that? Has another dwarf ever said that without a qualifier? Wasn't there always something about improving himself. About how he could do it better, faster, quieter, no unbridled praise in the Carta and he can feel his cheeks heat in a way he will absolutely blame on the drink if he's called out on it. "Yeah you say that, don't know 'bout all the other shit and you-- I mean shit, Legion to this? How'd that even work? Legion to Darktown to wherever you went to now." The deflection is a little desperate, mead sloshing over his hand as he refills his drink but this is embarrassing, what does he do with those words?