Carta. [Coming out as more of a cough or a curse, hacked up out the bottom of his lungs. Some things trump everything else about you, have that funny way of being bigger than you because they're sewn so tight into the fabric of your being there's no picking them apart.] Not about names or lack of, this is...there's a whole nation of dwarves that wouldn't go calling me a dwarf, don't exist to them, or others as needed.

You don't know me. I got dwarves to come clear up red lyrium here. [Is that guilt making his voice fragile as shattered glass he's about to step on in bare feet? Who knows, what's he ever had to feel guilty about in his life before now.]