“Your concern is most welcome good Ser.” Arja said cheerfully taking it all in stride. Even if it had been a joke, the fact that he'd said something was well appreciated and said something about the kind of man he was. Not that they had the most terrible of types drop in to the pub, but it never hurt to find someone who'd stand up for someone else. It gave a renewed hope for the country. Although hope was never something she was in short supply of. An extra bit here and there wouldn't hurt.
It seemed pub brawls were more than just common place in Denerim, they were a way of life. Arja wasn't sure just how she'd feel about working in a place like that. Sure the fights gave the bar some excitement but strangers killing strangers inside the bar? That was just crazy talk. The least they could would be to take the messy very bloody parts outside. Didn't they know that tireless barmaids had to clean up those messes? She wasn't so naïve to think that people didn't die in bar fights, but secretly, she was quite pleased that none had happened at the Butterfly.
Pride swelled in Arja more than he could have ever known. “It's true I am! Though not without merit. Ask anyone in town and they'll tell you!” Despite not knowing a great many dwarves, she held onto the fact that it made her different. And instead of letting it get her down – as nothing really did – she channeled it into something productive. Arja wasn't above using her heritage as an advantage with some people. She'd certainly played up the fact that dwarves knew their ale when she'd asked Micah for her job. And even though it was a bold faced lie, the fact that her presence and mother's reputation kept the bar safer was another point of pride. House names didn't mean a damn to her, but being a Serik meant working hard because that's how the dwarf family was viewed. And when she'd learned of her talent with the crossbow, her mother had quietly mentioned that she was also a true Rielow. A name she'd only recently found out was her mother's Warrior Caste House name.
Pleasure glowed off of her in waves. The man's simple use of words was most effective to her. It wasn't sussed up or prettied, and to Arja that made it all the more honest. So when he only replied that he didn't mind her incessant talking, it smothered her in happiness. And was that just the touch of a smile? Progress! What stroke of luck had brought such an interesting person into her pub? He was quiet, sure, but she was certain with just enough coaxing, he'd be a treasure trove of insights and tales. Sadly, there probably wasn't enough time for that in the evening.
“And what is it you fight Ser? If you don't mind my asking that is?” Arja attempted to keep her excitement to a minimum as he could very well be sworn to silence or just not very keen on reliving old fights but it never hurt to ask. Because if you didn't ask, the answer was always going to be no, as her father had told her. “A life of battle? Is it terribly tedious? Or exciting and new? Does it ever just seem like routine as if the battlefield serves as your home rather than your work place?” For what else could be a work place to warrior than a battlefield?
The subtle awe in his voice wasn't lost on her, and it warmed her quite a bit to hear. Jealousy was also wrapping around her. He'd been close enough to see the mountains that housed the entrance to the Dwarven city. She'd only seen her small slice of the world and longed to see more. “It sounds lovely.” Her voice was just a touch dreamy as she spoke. “I bet your travels have taken you a great many places! Could you pick out your favorite or we're they all equally remembered? Anything that stands out to you? Any particularly dangerous battles? Or celebrations you've visited upon in the smaller towns?”