The half-elf saw Elana's furtive glance and looked away. Then he cursed himself for a fool and walked over to the noblewoman.
"My lady...we will not agree on this, and perhaps not on many other things as well...but that does not mean you don't have my sword, my friendship or my respect. And no matter what the result of this argument comes to be...I hope you know my words to be true."
With that, the half-elf went back to busying himself with covering Grunur's armor with as much mud and refuse as he could. Poor dwarf, he thought, looking at the pitiful man in rags. I've dragged him into a war and have forced his most prized possession to be stripped from him...some g@&@*!ned friend. It's a miracle he doesn't crush my skull with his bloody hammer and be done with it.
But if Grunur shared these feelings, he made no show of it. He was despondent and anxious, but he was not wroth. He just looked like he wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible; as it was, rags or no, he felt like a naked man being paraded through the streets. Neither beggar, nor soldier, nor Queen would appreciate such a feeling...