Stevens unveiled their selection with flair; he had apparently done diplomatic presentations before joining the DSS, though probably not to dwarves who could smell fermentation from across a room.

Granted, it wasn't much of a selection, but Perry had made sure to curate it carefully. He'd decided on three categories during his planning: what Americans actually drank, what they sometimes splurged on, and what they aspired to drink.

"Let me show you the range of what the United States can produce."

He began with a bourbon that cost about thirty dollars back home, respectable enough to demonstrate quality without pretending every American kept premium whiskey in their cabinet.

"This is bourbon whiskey," Perry announced, holding up the bottle so they could see the label. "It's what many Americans drink after work or with dinner. A bottle costs about what a good meal does in our currency."

Stevens poured measured amounts, and the tasting began with the kind of careful consideration Perry recognized from alcohol tourists, though these dwarves could probably drink most sommeliers under the table.

War knocked his back without ceremony, set the glass down, then made a face that wasn't quite disappointment but wasn't enthusiasm either. Truth told, it seemed more like the way someone might react to a reliable Toyota after hearing about a roadster. Solid, respectable, but not the Corvette they'd imagined.

Harvest went through the whole routine that Perry recognized from every trade show he'd ever attended, the swirl-sniff-sip-consider performance that meant he was actually evaluating rather than just drinking. His second sip was longer, which in Perry's experience meant the product had passed whatever internal metric Harvest used for 'worth drinking twice.'

The others were much the same, giving credit where credit was due. The taste wasn't some sort of culinary breakthrough, but they all had to admit – it was impressive for its price range.

Commerce, unsurprisingly, had latched onto that discovery. "For the coin ye ask, the worth is plain. Craft this fine, at such a price? Aye, that's a bargain by any guild's reckoning."

All in all, it was sweet and smooth enough that nobody winced, which was the point.

"The char on the barrel adds the color and sweetness," Perry explained, translating the process into terms they'd understand. "The distillers burn the inside of the oak casks before aging."

Next came a Napa Cabernet he'd selected specifically because it would pair well with rich foods – something the dwarves would understand with their grasp on the culinary arts. "This is wine from one of our states, California, aged two years. It would cost what a skilled worker makes in a day, used for celebrations or business dinners."

Stevens worked the cork free.

The first thing that hit was the smell, because good wine usually announced itself before it ever touched a glass. This one entered the chamber like it owned the place.

War's nostrils flared before Stevens had even started pouring. "By the forge, is this truly mere wine? It strikes before the tongue can taste it, like walkin' through a vineyard at harvest."

He surprised everyone by being the most careful taster, taking a small sip first, holding it, then a larger one. "Mmm… elegant."

Law Domain had been quiet through his tasting, but his third sip gave him away. Nobody took a third sip of wine they didn't enjoy, especially when they were trying to maintain judicial neutrality. "An' this is but yer middlin' stock?" he asked, in the tone of someone recalculating everything they thought they knew.

"Upper middle," Perry admitted, because honesty worked better than inflation in these situations. "A nice bottle for a dinner party, but probably not what you'd save for something like a wedding."

Forge held his glass up to the light. "Clear as cut crystal. No dreg, no haze, not a speck to mar it. To draw liquor this clean from base stuff… that bespeaks a hand near flawless in the work."

Perry answered, "We have machines for that – centrifuges to separate components, membrane filters for the… well, filtering."

Commerce didn't have any paper out, but Perry could tell he was taking notes.

Dwarves understood wine, even if theirs was different. The tannins and fruit were familiar enough territory that they could appreciate the craftsmanship without feeling lost.

And that's when Perry decided it was time to bring out the Pappy Van Winkle.

He didn't announce it with fanfare, because fanfare was for people who needed help making their point, and twenty-three years of barrel-aging made its own arguments.

"This is bourbon whiskey from Pappy Van Winkle's Family Reserve, twenty-three years old," Perry said, setting the bottle on the table with the kind of care he'd previously reserved for important diplomatic documents and his daughter's first violin.

"Back home, this bottle would cost what a starting teacher makes in two months, and most Americans will go their entire lives without tasting it, which is probably for the best since knowing what you're missing doesn't improve anyone's happiness."

Of course, they resonated well with that. Dwarves of all people were familiar with scarcity the way only people who carved homes from finite mountains were. They understood patience that measured in decades, understood that some processes couldn't be accelerated regardless of resources, understood that waiting was sometimes the only ingredient that mattered.

Stevens poured like he was handling a nuclear core, his measurements exact enough to satisfy a laboratory technician. The color alone announced itself as different – darker, more complex, exactly like someone had figured out how to bottle the concept of time passing and decided to charge accordingly.

War was the first to lift his glass, though lifting seemed generous for the careful way he cradled it. Interestingly, he didn't drink immediately, which in Perry's experience meant either deep appreciation or deep suspicion, though in this case the reverent examination suggested the former. He held it to the light first, studying the legs that formed on the glass.

"Twenty-three years," he said quietly. There was something in the tone that suggested a recalibration on some fundamental assumptions about human patience – that, even without the lifespans of dwarves and elves, mankind had the tenacity to endure such long waits.

He took the smallest possible sip, held it longer than seemed physically comfortable, then set his glass down.

"This is a draught fit for a king."

The statement hung there. Some things were just too obvious to frame as questions. And more importantly, it served as permission for the others to reach for their glasses, which they did with varying degrees of restraint.

From one glance around the room, Perry knew that it was no exaggeration to say that everyone was enamored by the drink. Even Law Domain had abandoned any pretense of judicial neutrality, taking a second sip with his eyes closed in what could generously be called contemplation, but honestly looked a lot more like prayer.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Perry broke the silence. "We brought three more such bottles for your kingdom. One for His Majesty, one for the Council's use, and the third for wherever you determine would be most appropriate. There's also champagne, which is our version of celebratory wine with carbonation, though we'll save that tasting for another time."

"Ye age this in the charred casks as well?" Harvest asked.

"Same process, just exponentially more time and proportionally more opportunities for failure," Perry confirmed. "The master distiller tastes every barrel personally, and most don't make the cut for this label. I'd say that maybe one in a hundred is adequate, though adequate here means exceptional by any other standard."

"One in a hundred," Forge echoed. "Aye – an' ye wait near a score o' years to learn if the choice were true. If it were false, there's no hammerin' it straight after. The time's spent, the cask's lost."

That was exactly it, though Perry hadn't considered it in quite those terms, probably because he'd spent too much of his career in politics where mistakes could be spun rather than aged. The Pappy wasn't just about the whiskey itself but about the confidence to let time do what efficiency couldn't, the faith that something would justify the wait, the willingness to be wrong two decades later.

Arcane, who'd been quiet all this time, finally sprung up with a question of his own. "An' by what means do ye preserve them for so many years?"

"Just temperature control and the revolutionary patience of not touching it. The process hasn't changed substantially in two centuries, because when something works, Americans can occasionally resist improving it to death."

"Two centuries of this tradition," Mountain said slowly. "Only the same hand, wrought again an' again, till the craft stood firm. We hold the like: sacred ways passed from master to heir, where to alter a stroke would be sin upon the stone. I had not thought such tradition dwelt among humans."

And there it was, the bridge Perry had been constructing glass by glass. The Pappy wasn't trying to compete with dwarven ale any more than a violin competed with a piano; it was confidently, completely American bourbon that happened to be perfect at being itself. And now, it was something that the dwarves associated with respect.

Perry chuckled. "If that surprises you, just wait until you've seen what else we've got. What I'm about to show you represents a diverse array of our capabilities – all technological achievements developed without the use of magic."

The luxury watches came next, and Perry had deliberately saved these for after the alcohol had softened the crowd slightly. He'd chosen Omega Speedmasters – luxury enough to impress, practical enough that whoever audited his expense reports wouldn't have an aneurysm. They technically weren't American, either, but he wasn't gonna let that stop him from impressing the dwarves to the best of his ability.

Forge's eyes widened, but he was careful enough not to let his jaw hang. "Such tolerances… the parts are smaller than any jeweler o' ours could fashion, an' wrought in steel, not soft gold. To shape metal so fine, the tools themselves must be truer than aught I've seen. How in the gods' names do ye even hold a thing so small, let alone work it?"

"Specialized vices and magnification," Perry said simply, producing a jeweler's loupe.

Forge took it with steady hands, his thick fingers surprisingly delicate. The dwarf went silent after that, absorbed in study. The others might not have had Forge's extent of knowledge, but it was clear they trusted his judgment. They were in awe, that Forge was in awe.

Perry let the silence work for him. No need to oversell when the product was doing all the heavy lifting.

Only when Forge spoke again, asking about measurement tools, did Perry make the next move. He brought out their measuring tools, which consisted of basic items like tape measures and calipers. But as Dr. Anderson had once pointed out, what seemed basic to modern humanity might as well be magic to earlier societies. 'Sufficiently advanced technology,' or so the quote went.

The dwarves had enough composure to avoid ogling the devices like cavemen, but the shifted demeanors were undeniable. These were competent professionals trying to maintain dignity while, presumably, their technological framework got quietly reorganized. Perry had seen it a few times before, mostly when he visited industrializing nations – culture shock in action.

It was a bit amusing, honestly. Especially watching Commerce click the tape measure in and out with barely disguised fascination.

The calipers went to Forge, who immediately understood the device's utility from just one look.

Perry had actually spent a couple hours arguing with State about including these instead of something flashier. He'd almost regretted it, but seeing the dwarf discover standardized measurement down to thousandths of an inch vindicated every bureaucratic headache.

The laser measure, though, now that was his favorite part. It nearly knocked Forge out – perhaps literally, though Perry couldn't fully tell.

Whatever the case, he pressed forward. The advantage was his to seize, and so he transitioned to the next set of items: glassware that wasn't for wine.

The laboratory glassware might have caused a riot if Perry hadn't brought enough samples. Every single Council member wanted to hold the beakers up to the light, and there was something genuinely moving about watching nine hardened politicians marvel at consistent glass thickness like children discovering snow. Forge and Arcane ended up in a rapid technical discussion about distillation that Perry couldn't follow – mostly because it was hard to understand dwarves when they talked that fast.

Meanwhile the binoculars wouldn't leave War's hands until Law Domain physically intervened, and even then only because Law wanted to read the inscriptions on the far wall that he'd apparently been pretending to see clearly for decades.

The books, printed in Ovinnish with full-color photographs, were received about as well as Perry could've expected.

He had sequenced these deliberately, building to the high-altitude imagery that showed the region around Armstrong Base in enough detail to make Mountain's breathing go slightly irregular.

The geological surveys, with topology obtained via LiDAR and composition via hyperspectral imaging, had the dwarves turning pages with the enthusiasm of people finding an oasis in the desert.

The phonograph was the crescendo Perry had planned carefully. Classical first, Beethoven's Ninth to establish cultural sophistication and shared artistic heritage. The dwarves listened politely, appreciating the reproduction quality more than the music, though Harvest seemed to be genuinely enjoying it.

Then Perry switched to Mötley Crüe, and the Council discovered what America really sounded like.

'Kickstart My Heart' filled the chamber with a wall of sound that had probably never echoed through these formal halls before. War leaned forward with an interested grin, while Forge started unconsciously tapping his foot to the beat. Even the elderly Mountain had developed a subtle head-bob that he was trying to disguise as thoughtful nodding.

"We also have popular music of our youth," Perry mentioned, switching tracks when the previous had run its course.

He loaded up 'Last Friday Night.' The moment the first beats hit, it struck Perry that he had a front-row seat to watching American cultural imperialism play out. The Council was experiencing what Europe went through in the 1950s, what Asia hit in the '80s, what every corner of Earth eventually discovered: American pop music was infectious by design, engineered for export, optimized for getting stuck in everyone's head regardless of language or culture.

They thought they were evaluating a product, but really they were experiencing cultural colonization in real-time, the same soft power that had conquered Earth. And now, it was the dwarves' turn. By the time Health asked if Americans had more such music, Perry knew the beachhead was established. McDonald's would follow eventually; it always did.

It wasn't a shocker by this point, but the rest of the demonstration proceeded with the efficiency of a done deal. Perry showed the flashlights, which the dwarves examined with professional interest but not the shock of the initial reveals. The titanium figurines of various monsters drew appreciative nods for their high-quality craftsmanship, though Perry suspected they were being polite at this point.

He could tell they'd all made up their minds somewhere between the glassware and Katy Perry.

Law Domain cleared his throat, reasserting control.

"The Council marks these gifts as proof o' the United States' craft an' culture. By consent o' all Masters, full embassy rights are granted within Enstadt. The house wherein ye now dwell shall serve as yer seat 'til such time as an embassy o' yer own be raised – or, should it suit ye, it may stand as yer embassy henceforth."

Interesting. Perry had expected to negotiate for embassy rights, maybe trade some concessions, definitely spend another hour dancing around the obvious before anyone admitted they wanted something. Instead, Law Domain had just handed him what would have been his second or third ask, unprompted.

When the other side opened with what he'd planned to request anyway, it meant they wanted something bigger than he'd anticipated.

"The United States accepts the Council's generous offer," Perry replied, keeping his satisfaction from showing.

"Excellent." Law nodded and steepled his fingers, tone turning to business. "Now, Ambassador, yer coming falls close upon the Ovinne Mountain Campaign. Any diplomat worth the name knows well that bargains are struck for gain on either side. So I'll put it plain, as is our custom: what seeks the United States?"

Good thing dwarves had a reputation for straight dealing; it saved everyone the usual diplomatic kabuki.

"We seek to slay the Elemental Dragon."

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.