Now that you're capable of reading it's time to do some research. If experience has taught you anything, it's that understanding geography is the key to understanding the world. While this camp might not have quite the view of Thrangodrim it is a much more pleasant place to study. You are going to need a map though. You begin your search with Paivel.
"A map?" The old Dalish's surprisingly deep voice is coloured by disbelief, "What do you need a map for?"
"What do we need maps for all the time?" You have to admit that your command of the language is not what you would like it to be, but it will serve for now.
"That is not the point. What do YOU need a map for?" He presses his question with greater force this time.
"I want to know the ground. For the hunt and the travel. I am not from here." You are deeply unamused, and your tone carries that feeling.
"For hunting and travelling, mind your verb tenses. We'd also say land rather than ground in this context. That aside, I suppose it makes sense you'd want a map then. Very well. Come with me, I will show you the map. Do not touch it and no, you may not take it away." His reply is an interesting mix of aggravated and concerned. You note his corrections and that you really need to speak to the keeper to come to a better understanding of the local attitude.
According to the map you're in the Brecilian Forest. To the southwest is an area called the Kokari Wilds, which is largely uninhabited. To the north and west seems to be the largest areas of civilisation, though there are some villages and a city marked to the south and east as well. There seems to be another Dalish camp marked as well, It's in a shaded area with question marks for a label.
"I have questions." You say.
"Ask." Is the curt reply.
"What is Orlais and the Free marches? Which is most important city? Where is most knowing?" to your embarrassment you couldn't recall the noun form of know.
"THE most important city is Denerim, it's the capital of Ferelden." You take note of the word as Paivel continues as if he were teaching the clan children. "Orlais and the Fee Marches are countries like Ferelden and the place with the most KNOWLEDGE would depend on what you seek but Denerim would be a good place to start." The clear emphasis placed on certain words are obviously meant to correct you, though laden with unnecessary annoyance. As you so often do when speaking to him you find yourself swallowing your own pride and temper to remain silent. It once more pays off as despite his short temper and your annoyance, Paivel has once again provided you with vital information. You make sure to thank him before you leave.
Dressed, not in the drab colours you use for hunting, but in the proud red of your house you set forth to scout the area around the camp. As you set off you notice that a few of the hunters have left camp heading in a suspiciously similar direction to you. You, however, are determined to not let them ruin your enjoyment of this moment. The great green trees, the half-light created by their branches, the sound of the birds and the cool breeze on your face could not be corrupted by mere spies. You feel more at home here than you ever have in the camp. Freed from the responsibility of looking out for your companions that accompanies hunting you can finally take a moment to truly enjoy it. The sense of true freedom it brings is something you have missed more than you have missed the chance to simply enjoy nature. You stride away from camp, humming a nonsense tune quietly to yourself, as you contemplate how best to carry out this scouting expedition. The great trees are a tempting prospect, you should be able to see the lay of the land from up there.
You haven't climbed a tree since you were a child. You'd love to be able to kick off your shoes and leave your armour behind to just enjoy the feeling of ascending to the very top. Unfortunately, the presence of the spies means you have to leave armour and boots on lest they steal them, which detracts from your enjoyment somewhat. Nevertheless, you climb the tree without too much difficulty. From the topmost branch you can see all the way into the distant horizon. The river stretches from north to south, fed by many other smaller rivers. The camp sits at a natural bend of the river and is therefore defended on three sides. The forest extends northeast as far as your eyes can see but to the west gives way to hill country. To the far southeast you can just see the sun glinting off the sea and if you strain your ears you can almost hear the distant cries of the gulls. The feeling of the sun on your face and sight of the sea fills your heart with deep longing; for home, for Valinor. You could stare into the east, at the sea, for hours but the rustling of your uninvited companions draws you from your reverie. An idea comes to you and you don't try to prevent the cruel smile that stretches across your face.
Moving through the trees is not as hard as some might think, at least when they're this close. It helps that you don't have far to go. Dropping down behind the spies you school your face into studied innocence and say
"Oh. Didn't know you were here. Good, please show to a good place." Their looks of shock and confusion are only made worse by your light and friendly tone.
The spies attempt to communicate in quick glances but you refuse to give them any time to think
"Something bad? Can help?" Pretending to be innocently concerned almost causes you to burst out into laughter.
After the spies awkwardly claiming that they were just thinking of where to take you they hesitantly lead you deeper into the woods.
As the land around you becomes more twisted and corrupt you worry that you've made a mistake. Your companions don't seem quite so worried as you, though you wonder if that's because they don't know what this might mean. Your fears of dark magic and the corruption of Morgoth are proved to be baseless when you stop in a shadowy clearing. The dark shadows make the trees take on a sinister cast and the air presses against you like a thick blanket of malice. Yet there are no orcs lurking in the shadows, nor does the heady feeling of dark magic cling to the land. No this is most likely the site of some great calamity or slaughter. The air of the Havens had felt much like this when all had been done. Your companions are talking, likely explaining what exactly happened here, but you understand only every third word. Something in the clearing shifts and a sense of anticipation fills you as the air seems to buzz faintly.
Your eyes grow heavy and your vision doubles. As you blink rapidly to try and clear away this feeling you see glimpses of something. Flashes of sliver and brightly coloured banners. Your struggle to remain awake and alert is ultimately resolved by the sound of a horn. A flash of green and you are on your feet, sword leaping to your hand. The horns call you to battle as lines of warriors clad in glittering steel stretch to the horizon. You're vaguely aware of the forest on your right but your focus is on the hosts before you. Standing on a hill on the far flank of the armies your eyes sweep across the battle lines taking in details in seconds. On your left is the host flying the green banner, its entwined snakes bearing heads vaguely resembling a dragon. To your right is a more diverse force, beneath red banners stand a motley collection of Dalish and Atani. Their identities are easily discerned due to their open faced helmets, many made of leather to match the rest of their armour. The green host, meanwhile, is clad largely in steel with full face helmets. Though the red is clad in a scattering of different armours, some in plate armour not out of place on a prince of Lindon, most have donned leather that serves as armour only by virtue of not being nothing. Ranks on both sides are packed tight and there is a preference for polearms among them that you find curious. Several small clumps of cloth robed individuals, bearing staves akin to those of the keeper and Merrill, can be seen among the host in red. The green host has individuals clad in silks and looking more akin to rich merchants standing on hills that overlook the battle. Their staves are of a noticeably different design, more akin to a sign of office than a wooden mace. Both groups are surrounded by prisoners who kneel in chains.
As you sheathe your sword you suddenly realise that your appearance has changed significantly. White light burns through your skin, as though your body was but a curtain through which the sunlight may be seen. Examining yourself further you find a white-gold flame dancing in your breast encaged by chains. The chains are of blackest ink, words perhaps, but so overlaid on each other that none can be clearly read.
The sound of horns signalling the start of battle draws you from your examination of yourself. You are surprised to realise that the lines of men have not begun to move. It is soon made clear why, those who do not wear armour have begun to slit the throats of their prisoners. As the familiar cloyingly sweet sensation of dark magic begins to soak the land foul creatures begin to appear. Some seem as though they are composed of black oil, others like magma, still others take on some mockery of the forms of the Children of Eru, and yet more might be a troll if a troll had deformed further than it already was. These creatures increase in number steadily, raging and thrashing as though bound by invisible chains. Your cries and yells to stop, to think of what they do, go unheeded. You can only watch in horror as the horns sound again and the monstrous creatures surge forth to do battle, not with each other but with the lines of warriors. You curse the keenness of your eyes as you see moments of heroism, of brotherhood, swept away beneath an unfeeling tide of horror. No act of courage or sacrifice seems to halt the creatures; but they do die, slowly. Finally, the last of the creatures, some of which seem to have once been those who called them in the first place, vanishes. Towards the end they had done as much damage to their own forces as to the enemy but both hosts remain on the field. You must acknowledge their courage even as you question their wisdom. The damage is not evenly spread though. The host of red has been gutted and as the lines clash at last they stand for but moments. Though they do not run they are too few, too ill equipped and thus they die far too quickly. The surviving summoners throw great gouts of fire and spikes of ice into any dense formation in between sending spells of greater subtlety against their opposites. Yet in this too numbers tell and as the vison fades you see the last red banner fall.
You startle to your feet as though awoken from deep slumber. The faces of your companions are twisted in fear as they stare at you. You look around you but see nothing, no remnants of battle or sensation of dark power. Staring at your hands you see only the flesh that you have always had. Yet if you focus your vision is still doubled and you can see the battle begin anew. You spend some time reassuring your companions that you are in fact still yourself and simply had a sudden attack of drowsiness and a particularly disturbing dream. Surprisingly they seem contrite about leading you here, you make a note to find out what a 'Mage' is. You resolve to return here when you have more time to figure out what it is and what it could mean. And maybe make sure none of those creatures return.
As tempting as the prospect of teaching some proper elven lore is you decide that, given the hunters' prior performance you should continue hunting. The week you've spent with them is certainly not enough time to teach them to stay out of trouble and it would sit ill with you if they should run into trouble you could have prevented. So, you squeeze into your drab clothes, wait until Auriel has gathered her party and set out for another week of hunting.
The hunts are an unmitigated disaster. It is an ill omen when the first day sees neither hide nor hair of prey. The second day compounds the problem when a number of hunters including Auriel take sick suddenly, leaving each group to either hunt in smaller groups or bring some of the older children along. You have taken the lead of your group on the third day, and you decide to show a few youths the basics of hunting. Naturally this is when the true calamity arrives. You lead your hunting party through the woods, ears peeled and eyes sharp to prevent any ambush when you finally spy something worth hunting. A small warren of rabbits is grazing in a small clearing. A few motions have your group dispersing to surround the clearing, you quickly lose sight of them, which was your first mistake. After five minutes you give the whistle that signals your companions to loose or throw.
Several things happen all at once. First your whistle disturbs the rabbits and sends them running for the safety of their warren, which is much closer than you'd thought. There is a loud cry and an audible snap as one of the young apprentices you'd brought along falls from a tree. Why he'd thought climbing a tree to hunt rabbits was a good idea will forever be a mystery to you. Another member, the youngest of the fully fledged hunters, has decided to charge towards the fleeing rabbits and runs straight into an arrow. He falls with a scream, clutching at the shaft that has struck him in the torso. As if to taunt you he hist the ground just as the rabbits disappear into the safety of their holes. Panic, ever your most insidious enemy, has spread throughout the remainder of the party and they're yelling and running about without clear purpose. For a brief moment you fear this is the Doom of Mandos come again. It's unclear how hurt either of the hunters are and you have no time to find out. Fortunately for your hunting party, your mother did not raise a son given to hesitation.
You spring to treat the wounded immediately. With torso wounds every second can count and you have the most experience with treating them.
"Find the fall! Move out of way!" Your barked orders cut through the panic that has seized the rest of the party.
They don't exactly jump to carry out your commands, but space is cleared and people start to move with purpose.
"No move the fall! Wait! I come soon!" The last thing you need is a well-meaning but ignorant hunter worsening the fallen Dalish's injuries.
With your old foe vanquished by decisive leadership once more, you turn your attention to the arrow wound you need to treat. The wound is bad, the arrow has pierced between two of the lower ribs. The hunter is gasping rapidly but softly. Best guess is that the arrow had pierced the lung on one side only, probably deflected off the rib losing most of its speed. He's not drowning in his own blood, which is good, but his lung is collapsing. You don't know if you can treat this. Such a wound requires great skill or risks disaster, and that is in the best of circumstances which these are not. You're just going to have to try, even insufficient skill is better than nothing.
Quendi memory is a strange and poorly understood topic. It could be said that it is perfect and that quendi never forget, but that isn't true; you cannot recall what you ate for breakfast ten years ago for instance. It could be said that they have memories just like the Atani, but this is also untrue; you can clearly remember every pore and hair on your father's face five centuries ago. The memory that comes to you as you begin to quietly call on your power while grabbing whatever tools you can get your hands on is very detailed, but you had all but forgotten it prior to this moment.
"Brother, have you seen Elrond?" Kano doesn't even give you time to finish what you're reading before speaking. His concern is causing him to raise his voice beyond the bounds of politeness.
"I have not seen your pity project since this morning Kano." Why he thought either of the sons of Ëarendil would ever come to you unless forced was a mystery. "Have you asked Elros?"
"He's avoiding me again." Your brother's voice grows quiet as he speaks, likely he feels ashamed by the child's fear and anger. "And do not pretend you care nothing for the boys Nelyo. I am not the one who has ensured they are provided with the finest tutors we have. They are as much your pity project as mine."
With a heavy sigh, you put aside the reports filled with nothing but ill news. "I will go speak to my warriors and ask them to search for our wayward ward."
Your brother's expression lightens somewhat. True joy hasn't deigned to touch either of you in some time, but diminished worries are better than nothing.
You find Elrond quite by accident, you had decided to stop by the house of healing since you were already in the area and there he was. Small hands were busy tending to a warrior who had taken an orc blade between his ribs.
"You should not set off without first informing someone of your destination child." You scold him, your tone stern.
"Then I am a prisoner? I thought Maglor said we were guests." The boy's hostility is understandable, but it makes both of your lives more difficult than they need to be.
"Do not put words in my mouth child. Were you to come to harm Kano would be devastated. A few words spare him unneeded concern, me his complaining and you my company." You keep your tone stern.
Sullen silence descends upon the hall as you watch the child treating the warrior. Several minutes pass before the child Elrond speaks once more "If you're not going to help then leave."
Well if that is his desire, "How may I be of aid?"
The look of surprise on his face is something you will cherish for years to come. Did he think you a heartless monster who throws warriors away like Morgoth? Under his instruction you managed to get the warrior back on his feet before the sun sets. You can't help but be reminded of that old saying 'the hands of the king are the hands of a healer.' You idly wonder which of you that saying would apply to, the abandoned prince of no kingdom or the once king who gave up his crown.
The phantom sensation of small hands on your own fades slowly as you stare at the swiftly healing hunter. You have succeeded beyond your wildest hopes, the hunter is healed. He will be able to walk inside the hour. You are not the only one taken aback by your success, awed whispers and glances follow you all the way to the Dalish who fell from a tree. Splinting his broken leg is a simple matter, and you're soon on your way back to camp. Sadly you do not have the breadth of vocabulary to describe his stupidity, but your companions are more than willing to fill in for you.
When you return to the camp there's quite the commotion. Returning without any food and with an injured member would be bad enough but soon the story of the arrow wound starts to spread. You start to get whispers and glances here too. You are going to find out what mage means. In fact, you're going to do it tomorrow. This week has clearly been cursed by something or someone and you're not going out again. You are clearly not the only person who has had quite enough of this week as most of your party seem to be relieved to not need to go out again. You notice a few of them seem to be dragging the youths aside for training, but you're not sure what they can do in a few days that they haven't managed in several years.
You spend the next few days diving headfirst into learning this language. Mage proves to be a harder word to understand than you expected since it has no translation in Quenya. You do discover that a mage is someone who has the capacity to access 'the Beyond' to a greater degree than normal people. They use this power to perform 'magic' which is another incredibly long and confusing topic to understand. You also have to spend time researching the 'Beyond' which is its own set of problems.
You're not satisfied with your progress; you did get bogged down in the discussion of mages and made little progress to discovering the nature of the 'Beyond'. Fortunately, that conversation ended up needing a great number of new words and some obscure grammar in order to understand it all.
This week proves to have been a hard week for the entire camp. No one is upset about your lack of success in hunting since no other party had any. Further your rescue of the injured has you as something of a local hero. You're quickly included in just about any event you are seen to take interest in. You rarely seem to eat alone anymore, and you find people call out to you in greeting as you go about your day. By far the greatest change is in your hunting party. Before you were simply someone with a plan and skills, who was heeded much as an elder would be. Now you are their leader. When you say you're not hunting anymore they obey without complaint. The youth whose life you saved looks at you with hero worship and has doubled his training, he doesn't think you've noticed but you have. What you find most surprising is that Auriel comes to visit you after she has recovered from her illness.
She stares at you for an uncomfortably long time before she speaks, "You saved my brother. Thank you."
"I was leader. My job." Honestly everyone is making more of this than necessary, you said you'd bring them all back alive and if history has proven anything it's that you keep your word.
Auriel's face brightens into a smile and she spends the next half an hour talking about the new training regime that is being put together for new hunters. It's going to take a while to come into effect but it has had a promising start. Frankly you're just glad she didn't promise to repay you or something of that nature. Those promises never end well.