Ordhan automatically followed Cyril's glance to the forge, a habit born from dueling that latched onto any quick eye movement as a giveaway of their next move. It was a habit he didn't realize he had, but it came in useful often enough. In an armory bedecked with traps...who knows? It might.
It was good to speak to one who gave and received information for what it was, with neither offense nor apology given or taken. If the merchant was so honest about what he could not do, Ordhan was much more certain of his boasts of what he could. Most merchants would rather deflect or outright lie about their weaknesses for the sake of a sale. When it came to armor and weapons, such deceptions could cost limb or life.
"Not yet," Ordhan answered. "Whatever you make will be taken into battle, though, so perhaps in the future. I am sorry it is not a more interesting piece," he with a slight tilt of the lips that couldn't exactly be called a smile. If the dwarf was a custom craftsman, he likely preferred making suits according to his own creative ideas rather than modeling them off of scores of identical knights.