The dwarves in the Noaria Territory were famous for their craftsmanship in stonework and metalsmithing. This fame leads them to receive the royal family as visitors, always when their weapons need to be fixed or a new custom piece was to be ordered. The lather was why they visited them today. The new King Nicodème Belmont was accompanied by his younger brother Dominic Belmont and his trusted friend Milovan Rowe. Their receiving was like any other potential customers; they were greeted in the great hall, one made out of the precious stone, marble, and gems. A perfect example of the dwarves outstanding craftsmanship and what they always provide in their work.

Nicodème stood stoically waiting, a perfect picture of an intense, battle harden King. However, his younger brother, a towering, imposing man on his own rights, stood back with arms crossed. The difference between the two were night and day. One of the only physical differences, besides the apparent lengths in hair that two had.

"You should try looking less like a brute," The King said, not moving his eyes off of what he had locked onto in the distance. Dominic, the one he was talking to, remained silent. Though he did adjust his posture into one more adequate for a Prince of the Kingdom. "Thank you." Nicodème approved, and then the silence of the three remained.

"How long must we wait?" Milovan asked, twitching around in his spot.

"As long as we have to, as you were present for Fletcher is currently busy, and as I said, we would wait here until he is not." The King said, "It has simply been you and my brother's idea to sit here in silence; I have not asked, but now I am going to. What happened to cause this?" Nicodème asked, turning around and facing the two younger men.

Milovan and Dominic looked between each other as if they were having a silent conversation before looking back.

Milovan spoke, "I will speak on behalf of the Prince."

Nicodème groaned, rubbing his forehead, "Fine, if this is how it must be. I'll entertain my brother's childish act right now."

"Permission to speak freely?"

"Grant-"

"You, my King, are an ass." Milovan waited long enough to know for sure what he was going to say but no longer, which ended up causing him to cut off the King.

"-ed. Excuse?" Nicodème head snapped over to Dominic and stared him down. "Would you mind explaining, brother?"

Dominic calculated his thoughts but only came out with one word, "Shïra."

"We have had this conversation. I will not repeat myself on the matter."

"And I will not let you control my life just because you have become King."

"Dominic-" Footsteps could be heard coming down the hall, alerting the feuding brothers. Nicodème backed away, "We will finish this conversation at home."

In walked an ageing dwarves male, with braided locks for hair decorated in beads. He moved with a limp in his step, causing him to almost hope every third step he took.

"Ah, King Nicodème, you look like your father; if I hadn't been by his side when he died, I would have thought you were he." The dwarf smiled as he arrived in front of the party of three. He looked over at Dominic, "Is that wee ol' Dominic?" He moved his head to the side, looking past Nicodème.

"Aye, how are you, Fletcher?"

"I am well." He said, "So, my lege, what can I do for you today?"

"I have a Shïra bracelet that is to be made." This statement caused Dominic to cough; he was doing his damnedest to keep from reacting.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Fletcher misread the action and- "Congratulations, my boy. I assume that's why you here to make suggestions on the design."

"No-No, that is not," Dominic started to say but decided to not drag the old man into him and his brothers fight. He went along with Fletcher, who was talking about how he was the one who made his uncle's Shïra bracelet.

Fletcher led the three men down the hall, past doors that were elegantly decorated and alabaster carved statues. Until they reached an archway that led outside to a smaller, less crafted building that held the forges.

The old dwarf shuffled the men into a small room with a table, large parchment scrolls and charcoal drawing sticks.

"Do we have a plan for what we want?" Fletcher asked with joy in his voice.

Dominic hadn't thought about the Shïra bracelet yet, so of course, he had no plans for what he would want it to look like. What did he want? Now that he had to think about it, he found himself thinking of every possibility, from colour combinations to metals and gems, even design.

"Prince Dominic?" Fletcher's voice sounded concerned; Dominic looked over and from their faces; he had probably been in his thoughts longer than he assumed.

"My apologies, and no, I haven't thought about anything for this bracelet. I know it's rather important, but... you know life as a Prince and all."

Fletcher sighed, "You've always been a lousy lair, Dominic, that's good. Now, what's the real reason you haven't planned anything before today?"

Dominic bit his lip, making an awkward face. He tried to spin words in his head when Nicodème spoke for him, which left Dominic wondering how much that would cost him.

"How can you expect the residential bachelor to think about his Shïra when he hasn't met him yet." Nicodème, look over at Dominic, mouthing your welcome. Fletcher was an old friend of their father, the late King; when the two were around him, it was like a second father.

"You haven't met him yet?" Fletcher's outburst caught the attention of several workers outside the door. Milovan being closest to the door reached out and shut it in the face of the men and women looking in.

Milovan with a grin, "Don't worry, ol' timer. That was about my reaction too."

Nicodème sided eyed the redhead but said nothing. "It was a quick decision,"

"For you," Dominic mumbled under his breath. His brother then looked at him the same way he did his friend.

"Given the situation in all, that is why I requested you worked on this project as you could produce the best quality work."

Fletcher crossed his arms, looking towards the ceiling. "Oi there, Nicoic, your boys have gotten themselves into quite a feud, haven't they." He pulled out one of the charcoal sticks. He started writing some notes on the large parchment. "Nicodème, since you obviously know more about the boy than Dominic does, why don't you start telling me anything you know."