When she steps into his room again, he is just in the process of sitting up. He spots her, grins, and says something incomprehensible in cheerful tones.

She smiles back, then says, "I don't actually speak your language, I'll need to get my comm to attempt to understand a word of that. One moment." She holds up a finger, deposits the blankets next to him, and goes to retrieve her comm.

He stretches, gets to his feet, wobbles a little, and follows her with an increasingly steady stride.

Oh, good. She didn't break the dwarf. That's nice.

She gently retrieves her comm from the statue people, and gets to fiddling with its settings.

"Look how not dead I am!" announces the Suffering Dwarf to the room at large while she's doing that.

"Yes, very impressive," says one of the Statue Friends.

Callida finishes fiddling with her comm's settings.

"You're welcome," she says, hint of wry. Her comm says the translation for her in a smooth, mechanical voice.

"What are we thanking you for, specifically?" inquires the Suffering Dwarf.

Oh. Well that kind of ruins that wordplay, doesn't it, if he didn't understand the context. That's disappointing. Oh well.

She doesn't think her translator could take complicated sentences, so she uses simple ones. "You were dying. I prevented it."

"In that case, thank you!" says Suffering Dwarf. "My name is Stalas, what's yours?"

"Callida. Hello."

"Nice saving the world with you."

She laughs, a little.

"Yes. Let's not have a repeat, though."

"I'll do my best." He turns to Armor Man. "How's the suit coming along?"

"Nearly finished," says Armor Man in his vast hollow voice.

"Suit?"

"Suit of armour," says Stalas. "For me to wear on my way back to Orzammar."

She peers at her translator for clarification. Ah, city. Okay.

"Okay."

"There will be politics," Stalas adds. "But also beds! And baths! I cannot express how much I am looking forward to having a bath."

Callida snorts, and looks down at herself. "Yes," she agrees, wholeheartedly. Pause. "Politics?"

"Do you want the long or the short version?"

"Short, then long?"

"Short version: I'm a prince. My younger brother had my older brother assassinated and framed me for it. I want to clear my name and straighten out the mess he made. Also, Caridin," he indicates Armor Man, "is the best smith the world has ever seen and he's been locked away in this cave for a thousand years. I want to put him where he can start doing some good again."

Blink. It takes her a bit to parse all of that from the comm, it mangles a few things, but she understands most of that.

"And the long?"

"Well - which do you want more of: context and biographical facts, or information about what I plan on doing when we get back to Orzammar? Or both?"

"Both."

"Okay," he says cheerfully. "So, context and biographical facts. First, you should know that dwarves have a lot of trouble producing children. It's a big problem. My father had three sons and this is very unusual. So an illegitimate heir is considered better than no heir at all, so there's a custom in place that if a lower-caste woman bears the son of a higher-caste man, the child takes the father's caste and the mother and her other close family are elevated to match. It's more complicated than that in practice, but those are the relevant parts. With me so far?"