If the Dwarves were ever to have a King, which they certainly do not, it would be the Carrig.

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Chosen from among all Dwarves over 350 years old, by tradition, the Candidate for Carrig is selected and must face the 70 ancient men and women of the Council of Elders or Eldrâræsine, not a task for the feint of heart because the older a Dwarf gets, the more irrasible and pertinacious he or she becomes. 

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Thus, it was to the surprise of everyone that 'young' Dyrwyn Bleddson was not only successfully Chosen by the Föntalam but received a unanimious vote from theEldrâræsine!

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But, you see, behind his pleasant countenance, his quite and steady voice, his thoughtful and amiable eyes, there is still a Dwarf and Dwarves, it is said, are hard as they stone they mine. Added to this, 'Young Dyrwyn' is a very intelligent man and has something not common among Dwarves, especially the older ones; he has patience. 

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Sat in Council, he will quietly and patiently wait while the ten of his privy council argue over points that theEldrâræsine have already spent perhaps months quibbling over. He will sit, he will wait for one or more blustering Dwarves to take a long-overdue breath and he will quietly make his point. Usually, the arguing Dwarves will agree with his carefully thought out and logical solution, it's always good because he has used the time they were arguing to meticulously formulate it. 

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He never raises his voice, he never thumps the stone table, he never looks like anything but your favourite, though slightly eccentric uncle. Yet, in Dwarven society, this works because a voice of reason is what all sides in the argument want so they can stop worrying about satupid, irritating matters and get on with things that are really important, like sorting their tools or admiring that wonderous piece they forged back before their hands started to tremble