Meanwhile
"Alright so what do we know?" Ranger's guttural voice distracts Xandar from his thoughts.
"Not much, I'm afraid." Xandar replies absently, looking at his sheet of notes. "We know he's Tevinter, probably a magister and maybe one of the Sidereal. That's pretty much it."
"Ya're right, that isn't much." Ranger agrees ruefully, scratching his head. "Truth be told I'm feelin' pretty out of my depth here. Sidereal's the guys from the golden city yeah?"
"In essence." Xandar supplies, idly drawing on his notes. "It's a bit more complicated than that but that's the story everyone knows them from."
"Right, so what're the odds the Chantry knows something?" Ranger askes thoughtfully.
"Very low." Xandar answeres helpfully. "The identities of the Magisters Sidereal are taboo in Tevinter Imperium, and that organisation predates the Chantry. Also, it's a well-known fact that blood mages are allergic to paper."
Ranger stares at his younger companion for several long seconds. "No they're not."
"Of course they are!" Xandar protests. "Why else would the Tevinter Imperium stage so many book burnings?"
"'Cause they're evil?" Ranger suggests. "Or they don't like what's written in 'em? So slaves don't get any ideas? There's a whole host of better answers!"
"That's just what they want you to think!" Xandar cries, leaping out of his chair. "It's a conspiracy on the part of the Imperium to conceal the very real consequences of blood magic, like the fact it makes you lose your hair and grow claws! That way they can convince ordinary innocent mages to try it 'just once' and then they've got you!"
"I see this means a lot to ya." Ranger says, buying himself time to choose a response. "Let's say I believe ya for now, 'cause I think we're way off topic."
Xandar sits down somewhat sheepishly. "Sorry, it's something I worry about, you probably don't need to, since you're not a mage."
"Let's go with that, yeah." Ranger nods, not meeting Xandar's eyes. "We still need to think about possible ways we could find out about this Sethius guy."
"Well, Tevinter's not an option." Xandar begins. "Even if they have records, which I doubt, it'd take forever to get there. It's like a month by boat, and then we'd have to go to the capital, wherever that is."
"Yeah." Ranger agrees, running a hand over his face. "Plus, it's not like we'd be welcomed with open arms. Chantry's an option."
"I already told you why they're not, but I checked just in case and they wouldn't let me in." Xandar reminds his older companion.
"I'm not talkin' about the locals." Ranger explains. "I mean the big archives up in Orlais."
"If we can't go to Tevinter how're we supposed to go to Orlais?" Xandar asks.
Ranger's response is interrupted when a second question occurs to the young mage. "Also, how do you even know about the Orlesian archives?"
"The noble I worked for used to pull from 'em." Ranger replies absently. "It's also where I go the idea for how we'd get our hands on them. Ya can put a request in to borrow documents, ya need it to be signed off on by a Revered Mother, but it can be done."
"Ok, leaving aside how long that would take to arrive, how are we going to get a Revered Mother to sign off on this request?" Xandar asks.
"That's what I'm tryin' to figure out." Ranger responds, frustrated. "It'd be easy if the kid were here, he can sweet talk the birds out of the trees."
"Well, I think we should look in the Fade." Xandar proposes, primarily to change the subject. "Solas is always talking about how much he learned there, and something like the Golden City will have been impactful enough that there's bound to be some evidence."
"Leavin' aside the fact that I'm not a mage and can't enter the Fade, Solas ain't exactly what I'd call a reputable source, plus he's off lookin' for that mirror thing." Ranger objects to Xandar's plan.
"Well, it's better than your option." Xandar insists. "Besides you can too enter the Fade, you do when you sleep."
The two men fall silent, considering both options at length.
"We could try askin' the Grey Wardens." Ranger suggests at last.
"Why would they know anything about it?" Xandar asks.
"Well it was where darkspawn came from yeah? So it's their business to know as much about it as possible." Ranger points out.
"I guess it makes sense, but I've never heard of Grey Wardens having archives." Xandar responds.
"Me neither, hell twenty years ago I'd 've said there weren't any in Ferelden. I still think the Grey Wardens are the best shot. It might be a bit of a long one, but there's no risk in askin'. Furthermore…" Ranger argues.
"Fine! We'll ask them." Xandar cries in exasperation. "Take all the fun out of research why don't you."
"I'm just tryin' to keep us both safe and make sure we actually get some results." Ranger responds defensively, sounding hurt.
"I know that." Xandar slumps forward, speaking more conciliatorily. "It just doesn't feel like research without either sneaking around or the prospect of imminent death, ideally both."
"What kind of research are ya doin'?" Ranger exclaims, shocked.
"Magic." Xandar replies simply.
"Right, that'd do it." Ranger nods sagely. "It's amazing how easy it is to forget that ya and Merrill are bombs in human form."
"I don't think Merrill would appreciate you saying that." Xandar replies, sounding unsure of himself.
"Nah, sorry. Didn't mean anythin' by it. Just easy to forget ya're both in pretty extreme danger even doin' pretty simple things." Ranger apologises earnestly.
"Don't worry, it's fine." Xandar replies. "So, Grey Wardens?"
"Right, yeah." Ranger shakes himself. "So, I guess the first question is where we'd find their base."
"Aren't they an Orlesian thing?" Xandar asks. "I've never even heard of Grey Wardens in Ferelden."
Ranger hums to himself. "Nah, I'm pretty sure they're around, they got allowed back by King Maric, Maker rest him. Same proclamation that pardoned people who fought for Orlais I think."
"Alright, so where might they be?" Xandar asks.
"Ok let's think about this logically." Ranger began, wracking his brains for useful information. "At some point the Grey Wardens had to have a base, yeah? So, they might be back there."
"I've never heard of a Grey Warden keep, actually you said they were 'allowed back' by Maric, does that mean they were here earlier?" Xandar asks.
"Ya mean ya don't know? I could've sworn everyone knew that Grey Wardens got banished as traitors sometime in Storm." Ranger says.
Xandar shrugs. "First, I've heard of it. I know there was some kind of power struggle then, but I never heard Grey Wardens were involved."
"Well, they were. I think." Ranger says. "If ya really don't know then I guess this is a dead end. I was countin' on ya knowin' the history of this stuff."
Xandar grimaces. "Sorry, I just don't."
For a moment, there is silence between the two men. Finally, a thought strikes Xandar.
"Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way." The apostate muses, slowly.
"What're ya talkin' about?" Ranger asks.
"Well, we've been thinking about where the wardens were, but what we really need is where they are." Xandar explains. "If I haven't heard of them having a base, they probably don't have one anymore, and Merrill mentioned a Blight is coming."
"I'm followin' but I'm not sure where ya're goin' with this." Ranger says.
"Well, if they don't have the manpower themselves, and they don't have the reputation for a levy, where would they go?" Xandar asks leadingly.
"I think it's pretty obvious that I don't know." Ranger replies irritably.
"They'd go to the king." Xandar explains. "Apples to oranges, they're in Denerim."
"That's not the sayin', but I think you're right." Ranger says.
The arrangements for their trip to Denerim took some time, but they had most of the week before them, so they managed to make it there.
Denerim is not Ranger's favourite place to be. In truth, he isn't much a fan of cities in general, always more comfortable in woods or wilds. There is something about a city that he finds choking, like the air is somehow tainted.
He puts such thoughts behind him, Xandar seems fine, and they need to find some trace of the Grey Wardens. It would be easier if he had an idea of where they should start.
"So, how're we going to a meeting with the king?" Xandar asks suddenly.
Ranger starts and turns to face the young man. "What on earth does that have to do with anythin'?"
"Well, we know the Grey Wardens are here to convince the king to loan them his army. Maybe they're staying at the castle or in some kind of meeting. We know they'll be in the city, but not where. Thus, we need to meet the king, as if they're not with him, he should know where they are." Xandar explains.
Ranger blinks several times in surprise. "That's very logical. Ya're not about to follow it up with a complaint about magic tree sap or flyin' rocks are ya?"
"Don't be ridiculous Ranger." Xandar replies primly. "Rocks can't fly, and tree sap isn't magic."
"I'm just gonna take this as a win." Ranger sighs, rubbing his forehead. "Right, let's go ask if we can see the king or the Grey Wardens up at the castle. Worst they can do is say no."
As Ranger had more or less suspected, the guards at the castle had no interest in their story. They were politely, yet firmly, told that if they had no official business they would not be admitted without an invitation.
"I really think that a society should have a way for people to make their voices heard in the highest halls of power." Xandar opined as the two wandered away.
"Ya've never heard of the rag courts?" Ranger asks.
"Obviously not." Xandar replies. "what's a rag court."
"I don't know the fancy term for them, but they're when anyone can come in and petition the king. They usually happen on religious feasts and the like." Ranger explains. "Usually, an excuse for a lot of begging, hence the name."
Xandar shrugs. "Fascinating as that is, it doesn't help us find the Grey Wardens. Why don't we ask that blonde man there."
"What blonde man?" Ranger asks.
"That one sitting at that table over there." Xandar points.
The blonde man in question wears scale mail, has a shield hanging on his chair, and a sword is sheathed at his side. He is drinking from a mug and clearly waiting for someone.
"I don't think walking up and askin' random people where the Grey Wardens are is going to help us any." Ranger says tiredly.
"You don't know that!" Xandar protests. "For all you know he's a Grey Warden and if we talk to him we'll accomplish our goals."
"I'm pretty sure that's a Templar shield he's got there." Ranger notes flatly.
"Maybe he's Maric's secret bastard son who was sent to the Templars to get him out of the way but chafed under their rules until the Grey Wardens recruited him!" Xandar exclaimed loudly, waving his arms around. "The only way to know is to ask him"
"This is my fault." Ranger says exhaustedly. "I knew that burst of reason and logic would come back to haunt me."
Neither Ranger nor Xandar notice Alistair spraying cheap ale from his mouth all over the empty seat across from him.
"Are you two looking for the Grey Wardens? Why?" A passer-by asks the two.
Ranger replies, "Yeah, we have questions about the darkspawn, and we want access to the Grey Warden's information."
"Well, maybe I can help with that." The man replies. "My name is Levi Dryden and I happen to be the heir to Soldier's peak."
"So ya think that this place will have records?" Ranger asks sceptically.
"Absolutely, it was the last holdout of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, I bet all their important documents are there." Levi Dryden repeats.
"And all ya want in exchange is that we help ya clear yar family name?" Ranger continues.
"That's what I said." The Dryden replies.
"Alright, I give, what's the catch." Ranger asks. "Besides the fact it's somewhere in the Frostback mountains and will take a donkey's age to get to."
"Well, there's the possibility that it might be, slightly, almost insignificantly really, haunted." The man explains nervously.
Ranger stares at him, expression completely deadpan. "Right, ya can come back home and explain this to the kid. It's officially above my paygrade now."
Big Problems in Little Towns
It has been far too long since you checked on Gladesville. It is an unfortunate consequence of the expanding responsibilities that demand ever more of your time. Still, that is no excuse to allow the state of affairs to continue. As before you embark on your journey through the Beyond, you want to check on Gladesville.
The forest is quieter than it has been in the past. Though the Persilima has had little time to work, this close to Endataurëo it had little to do. Your road now lies in a safe zone where neither spider nor Sylvan dares to go, you are hopeful that by the time the Keepers arrive for the meeting, the forest will be entirely cleared of corruption.
You pass beneath Gladesville's wooden walls, looking in decent repair considering their food problem that has likely consumed much of their time. Then again, they were in a stable position when you left them last, perhaps things have been better. They certainly seemed fine when the Teyrn was visiting.
Riding through the village, you notice that there are more houses than the last time you were here. People bustle about their daily chores, tending to the pigs and the herbs growing beneath the trees, though fewer than you would expect from the houses.
Drying racks and skinning stations provide an excuse for the absent. That many of the people of Gladesville are hunters is no surprise, yet still something about the number of absent humans feels wrong in ways you cannot describe.
Returning to your original task, finding Ophelia is not hard. Due to your own teaching, and the possession of a functioning mind, the leader of Gladesville knows that being easy to find will only aid her in her work. As such she is, much like the Keepers of the Dalish, found at the centre of the village outside the meeting hall.
The dark skinned young woman looks exhausted, but she brightens up as you approach. "Aráto, good to see you! It's been too long, how are you?"
"I am well Ophelia." You reply, leaping down from Orundómë. "I apologise again for the unexpected visit of the Teyrn and his Banns, there were concerns about the taxability of the region."
"No. No, it's fine." Ophelia protests, fighting back a yawn. "Were you ever planning on telling me that you're 'legally a lord' now?"
"I fail to see how it could possibly have been relevant." You reply. "It is only an honorary title besides."
"Sure, but it means I can officially call you 'my lord' rather than that strange foreign word." Ophelia smirks up at you.
"Do you intend to do so?" You ask.
In truth you are slightly nervous she will as, despite her terrible pronunciation, hearing Quenya warms your heart. It reminds you of home.
"Nah." Her smirk turns into an impish grin. "You already said I could call you Aráto, no backsies."
You smile beneficently, much to her confusion. "Very well. Let us speak now of other topics. How has the village faired since last I visited?"
Ophelia's grin falters. "Well, not so great. The Teyrn's visit drew a lot of people here, but we're having trouble supporting them. It's all pretty short notice and it's not like we had a surplus to begin with."
"Are you in need of aid?" You ask swiftly. "It is but an hour home and we have some stores that may assist."
Ophelia smiles up at you again, gratitude and hope on her face. "Thanks, but no thanks. Most of the people who we couldn't support left again and we're keeping it together with some extra hunting. It means a lot that you'd offer."
"I have spoken to you before of the nature of nobility and the duties of a prince." You remind her.
She chuckles. "Yeah, but it's rare that one puts their money where their mouth is."
Although part of you wants to investigate the food shortage further, you restrain yourself. Part of being a teacher is knowing when to trust the student with accomplishing their own tasks. You will trust Ophelia on this, perhaps if it is still a problem the next time you visit you will intervene.
"Is there anything else I might assist with?" You ask instead. "As much as I enjoy your company, I would hate to impose on your hospitality without doing something."
For some reason, your words make Ophelia giggle. "If I'd know the way to make you be nice to me was to finish your course I'd have worked harder."
Your pleasant expression slides off your face instantly, replaced with a mask of cold fury. "Do you claim to have been less than diligent in my lessons? Has that attitude persisted into your work?"
"No! No! I worked and continue to work very hard!" Ophelia yelps, covering her face with her hands.
You let the mask fall off and smile. "Excellent, keep up the good work."
"Oh thank Andraste, it was just a joke. Maker you're scary when you want to be." Ophelia gasps in relief.
There is an embarrassed pause as you realise that for most normal people such a reaction was probably a touch exaggerated.
"Forgive me, I am used to far more stubborn and unbending students." You explain, uncertain if you mean Elros or your brothers. "More dramatic expressions are necessary for such individuals."
"It's fine, it's fine." Ophelia says. "If you're looking for something to do, there's a couple of people moaning about needing a chantry and a school and so on."
You nod and depart, grateful for something to do other than dwell on your misstep.
Finding the people who wanted a chantry and a school was not hard. In fact, they arrived to answer your questions so fast, you wondered if they were somehow summoned by the words.
"It's been the better part of a year." One older resident argues. "I'm not getting any younger and I want to attend my weekly services, not to mention the children."
"Perhaps you could explain to me what exactly is involved in the establishment of a chantry, then I will be more able to decide how to construct one." You prompt them.
What follows is an extended description of a chantry. Largely it is nothing you do don't already know, items such as stained glass windows and elaborate golden suns can safely be discarded as superfluous.
"A living space for the Sisters, and a gathering place for religious purposes with some kind of altar. Is that correct?" You clarify.
"Well if you strip it right down to the matter, then yes." The old human reluctantly agrees. "But the other stuff is important, it's about making a space dedicated to the maker."
"Thank you." You interrupt. "Perhaps at a later date I will consult with you on the decoration, but for now I think getting the space right will be more important."
Your words seem to placate the human, and you are able to move on to the next petitioner. As you speak to each in turn, a pattern begins to emerge. While all of them discuss the building of a schoolroom and a chantry, their actual complaints seem to be more about the services provided in such buildings.
"I tell you; the children need an education in the Maker's work! I shudder to think what might happen if they aren't educated at a young age!" A concerned parent yells at you.
"I understand, and I am on your side." You soothe the angry woman. "I will do what I can to ensure that everyone receives what is necessary for a fruitful childhood."
When she is gone, you are left alone. To your frustration it seems you are going to have to get the Chantry involved in this on some level. A significant amount of concern seems to be born out of what Xandar calls 'Andrastean' perspective. A number of people concerned by the lack of Chantry services in the area.
You on the other hand, firmly believe that everyone should have the opportunity to learn things if they wish, but you are limited in what you are able to do personally.
For a short time you waver, there are a number of options that would give the people what they want while requiring relatively little from you. Almost as soon as such thoughts emerge, they are dismissed.
If you are going to do this, you are going to do it properly. Nova likely has some contacts, and you know the Chantry wants someone to keep an eye on you. So, you are going to build the most beautiful chantry and a school house filled with the best teachers that will bring students from all over Gwaren. Nobody builds like the Noldor, and among the Noldor you have a reputation to defend.
To this end, you head to the housed of the builder brothers. They have the drafting equipment you will need to plan what is likely to be several weeks of work.
The brothers are not home when you arrive, so you simply avail yourself of their equipment, a little rude perhaps but you are desperately short on time. Across paper your pern flies, sketching plans and designs. You debate using living trees as construction materials but discard that as needing too much personal involvement by you.
Stone has ever been your choice of building material, and it will serve here. Tile for the roof may seem like a cheap option, but design matters more than materials. You remember green tiles from the ruins of the Heart of the Forest, so those will blend nicely with the trees, perhaps with some cream sandstone.
So absorbed by your thoughts are you, that you do not notice when the brothers return. After what you assume, benevolently, is many attempts to get your attention they grab you by your shoulders and shake you.
Once you have recovered from your instinctive reaction and apologised for knocking the taller brother to the floor, you are able to speak to the two builders.
"These are my plans for the chantry and the school building. I was hoping the two of you would be able to direct the initial preparations while I go secure the building supplies." You finish as the two look at your diagram.
Maron and Lauron share a look over your plans, before the older of the two replies, "Are you completely barking mad?"
"What could possibly have led you to that conclusion?" You ask.
"This is more than I've ever even considered building. This thing begins by digging down to bedrock. That's the first step!" Lauron chimes in.
"Yes, if we do not the weight of stone will cause the building to slowly sink, thus we must dig deep into the ground to rest on rock." You explain.
"This thing has three stories! Three!" Maron yells. "We don't need that much space."
"In my experience people tend to expand their possessions to fill whatever space they dwell in. It matters little, I intend to make the school a world class institution, and that will mean a great many teachers."
The two brothers share a look. "If you give us manpower we can do the digging, but we can't build without you. I don't even know how these enormous arched rooves are supposed to stay up."
You are on the verge of explaining the architecture involved, when Maron glares at you. "We don't want to know either."
"Very well. I will set the search for teachers in motion while you begin the foundations." You agree.
Sending the labourers to Gladesville is much easier now that you have a road to use. Saying 'follow the road southwest' is much easier than giving directions through the woods. With that done, you turn your attention to finding Nova.
"What is necessary to get a wide variety of scholars and teachers from your organisation to staff a school and a chantry?" You ask the woman.
Nova blinks in confusion for a few moments, then replies, "Hello Nelyfinwë, I'm well, how are you?"
"We saw each other at breakfast and I am incredibly busy, now is not the time for pleasantries." You answer her unspoke rebuke.
"I'd still appreciate some warning before you burst into the room with demands." Your words finally catch up to Nova. "Wait, you want Chantry Sisters, a proper organisation?"
"Yes, I am building a school and a chantry for Gladesville, and I hope to make use of your contacts to ensure it is of the highest quality." You explain, handing the designs over for her inspection.
Nova looks at the documents for several long moments, then she looks up at you. "You can't possibly build this."
"Is that a challenge?" You ask mildly.
Nova's eyes narrow. "I'll put out feelers, but if I don't see meaningful progress in a month then I'm not calling anyone in."
"So, it is a challenge." You state.
Buying and Selling
With Nelyafinwë gone to Gladesville, Martin is once more alone to handle the trade of the week. He finds himself tensing, waiting for some last minute drama to swoop out of the trees and demand more from him.
Nothing of the sort happens.
Instead, he spies the Dalish wandering up the road at a normal pace. Merchants from Gladesville call out a greeting as they arrive. The trees rustle gently in the breeze and the bright sun lances through the clearing. Martin wonders if the sense of lightness, of the passing of some great darkness is all in his mind or if that shiny gem Anneth's been carrying around is really doing something.
He doesn't know enough about magic to be certain, but as the gates open to a normal day in his life, he is grateful for the lack of danger.
From the storerooms the barrels of matured wine are rolled out, one by one. Martin smiles as the elven workers load the barrels onto his cart.
"Ahh, it's nice to finally have some help with all of this." He observes out loud.
"Generally, 'help' means that you'd be there doing it too." Delora, his 'apprentice', snarks.
Matin turns a glare towards the elf girl, but quickly smooths it over. "If you want to go and help, then by all means don't let me stop you."
The young elf grimaces at the large, heavy barrels. "No thank you. I'm fine supervising."
"That's what I thought. Now, this'll be your last week with me. You'll drive, do the deliveries, take the money. I'll be there if anything goes wrong and I'll hold the coin purse, but other than that it's on you." Martin instructs her.
Delora nods. "Will I be doing the buying as well?"
"I don't think so." The human shook his head. "I think it might be better if you focused on just selling this week, you already know how to buy things after all."
To Martin's well concealed relief the city elf nods in agreement. Making apprentices do the grunge work is an old tradition, so he feels no guilt in shoving the long and boring task of delivering wine onto her.
That it gives her fewer chances to make off with the coin purse is something he also keeps to himself.
Eventually the elf finishes the deliveries and returns to the cart with the week's earnings.
"Excellent." Martin said, counting the silver coins carefully. "Now that that's done, it's time for the most important milestone in a young trader's life."
"Is this leading to some kind of proposal?" Delora asks flatly. "Because if it is, I'd rather date a three week old fish."
Noting her rudeness for later, Martin presses onwards. "Absolutely not! I would never! This is far more important than that!"
"If it's so important you should get to the point before you die of old age." The young elf observes.
"Listen here you! I did not drive all the way out here to be disrespected like this!" Martin yells at his 'apprentice'.
Seemingly realising she has gone too far; the elf lowers her eyes and bows her head. "I'm sorry. What are we doing."
Martin smiles brightly as his thoughts turn to the most wonderful news he has to share. "It's time to get your very own cart!"
"That's it?" Delora asks, unamused.
"That's it? That's it!?" Martin exclaims. "The cart is the most wonderful tool in your arsenal, when I first started, I had to carry all of the barrels in a handcart! Young people these days…"
The human's lecture on the glory of the humble cart lasted all the way back to Endataurëo.