Your destination is once again the heart of the forest. This time you have more than sufficient supplies and a mount to outrun pursuit if it proves to be necessary. Merrill is now skilled enough to keep up, so you have nothing to fear. The thick forest may make riding an inefficient choice in the long run; but Orundómë is sure footed enough for a burst of speed, or so he claims, Da'banal'ras is from is heard so she should keep up. You spend a short time figuring out how you will be managing your quiver, eventually you settle for wearing it on your left hip and just accepting that you have to learn to shoot left handed in the same manner as you wield your sword. With all these preparations done you begin your journey in earnest. You immediately get lost. You travel for a whole day in the wrong direction. You realise only because that lack of werewolves makes you suspicious enough to quickly climb a tree and get a proper look at the stars. You're not entirely sure why you somehow got it into your head that you needed to be travelling south but the detour ends up adding two days to your travel time.

You are fortunate in your detour in the woods. It could have been completely useless but halfway through your first day of travel, before you had even realised there was a problem, you heard a voice.
"Ancestors curse these thrice damned, completely inaccurate human maps. Where the hell are we?" A deep female voice echoed through the forest.
As you approach the sound you see a group of casallië. They are dressed in a combination of rough sturdy clothes and more flamboyant expensive garments. That and the enormous packs a number of them are carrying indicates that these are traders of some description. The one who is loudly cursing her map is a tall and thin, for a casar. She has dark skin and curly hair that has started to turn grey. Based on the map she is holding and her manner of dress you assume that she is the leader of the caravan. You note that she is entirely bare of hair on her chin, which proves that Findaráto was indeed jesting about casallië women being as bearded as their men.
To the sound of cursing you emerge from the gloom of the forest and introduce yourself. "Fair greetings noble folk. I am Nelyafinwë of the Noldor. Where are you headed?"
It costs you nothing to aid these folks and their kind have long memories for offences, perceived or real. The leader of the caravan jumps a little in surprise, whirling to face you.
"Bloody hell! Where did you come from human? You some kind of knight?" She blusters at you.
You bury your annoyance and maintain your 'helpful Noldo prince' face. "I am no human. I am a Noldo as I mentioned. I came from the forest, guided by the sounds of cursing. I do not know what you mean by a knight, but you have not answered my question."
The leader flushes further still. "Right. Obviously. We heard there were some Dalsih around here that were trading some easily carried furniture and wanted to get in on that. Ah right, where are my manners I am Balarika. Fine dwarven wares at an affordable price."
She bows in your direction as she finishes. You make note that yes, the dwarves of this realm are indeed very similar to the casallië you know from Arda. After some deliberation on your part you decide to extend an offer to guide the caravan back to the Dalish clan.

The leader is sceptical. "How do we know you aren't trying to scam us."
You have no need to respond because Merrill speaks up. "I am the first to the Keeper of the clan you're looking for. We just came from them. It's only a day's journey away."
Merrill's answer seems to calm the dwarf down. She quickly agrees to follow you back to the Dalish camp and starts yelling at her companions to get ready. Based on their grumbling you would wager they are less pleased about having to travel again than their employer is.

You make good time back the way you came. You realise that you had been travelling the wrong way on the way back. Fortunately, bringing the trading group back will handily conceal this fact from everyone except Merrill. Merrill had not noticed you were going the wrong way either so you will have a promise of mutual shame if she should decide to reveal your blunder to others. During your journey Balarika spends most of her time attempting to sell you things. Among her offers are 'fine' clothes that look like your mother's first attempts at weaving. A number of rather well carved stone game pieces, that are apparently 'rare luxuries' that carry a price that could pay for a good suit of armour. She also offers something she calls 'marital aids' that make Merrill blush and stutter; they disgust you too, but you have a much better façade of calm. You do find the way she hurries to convince the merchant that the two of you are not 'like that' deeply amusing though. When you reach the Dalish camp you are not sure which of you is more grateful to be free of the casar's forceful personality more.
Despite your distaste for her personality, the merchant does offer you payment for guiding her and her caravan safely to the clan.

You give your reward due consideration. There is a scroll labelled 'basic rune crafting' that sounds interesting. You think rune crafting is how the local peoples create enchanted items. The only reason you do not choose that scroll is that you have no skill in craftsmanship. Instead, you decide to use the favour you have gained for a lesson in the trade customs of this world. You have some goods to trade, thanks to the generosity of your followers, and knowledge that could be valuable, if you know how the local will value what you have you can ensure that you are not being cheated when you trade.

When you begin your lessons, you do so with high hopes. Balarika, despite her forceful salesmanship, seems to know what she is talking about. You quickly pick up a number of useful tips on how to tell when someone is trying to price gouge you. A few careful questions have you getting a decent feel for how knowledge is valued. Not very much as it turns out. Innovation is not considered to be valuable in and of itself. You do uncover the possibility of partnering with a merchant to have them sell the results of your ideas though. Unfortunately, that is all you learn as your questions have given Balarika the wrong idea. She gets it into her head that you need to be taught the basics of trade. You do not, you have run an entire kingdom and you know how to buy and sell. Your 'teacher's' forceful personality has her ignoring your requests to return to the topic or protestations that you do indeed know what money is. If you ever hear someone say that you "don't need to pretend to understand something to impress me" again you are going to visit some truly spectacular violence on them.

It is not all ill news. Merrill seems to be having fun, so someone is getting something from your suffering at least. You do manage to escape Balarika's clutches before you fall asleep from her 'lessons' and spend some time with the rest of her caravan. They have some more advice on what prices are good for what goods. Unfortunately, you do not have time to get into specifics of where has the best prices and the reasons why that is so. You do learn a rather catchy dwarf song about digging a hole that makes you laugh, so it is not a total waste of time. You cannot spend too much time with the dwarves though, you have to head on to the heart of the forest, besides if you actually return to the Dalish camp there will be awkward conversations as you leave again. You depart the caravan before they enter the camp and return to your journey.

You would think that excitement would be the end of your worries but two days after your blunder you notice Orundómë is nervous. Once you take the time to determine what exactly is the cause, you discover that you're being shadowed by a party of werewolves. You fail to get a count of their numbers, and in fact you see neither hide nor hair of them. The only reason you know they are there is Orundómë's assurances that he does smell wolves and that something has been following you for some time now. This presents a number of challenges; there is the obvious problem of being shadowed by an unknown, possibly growing, number of werewolves but there is also the fact that they are hiding at all. The nauro of your memories do not make plans, they are animals driven mad by dark sorcery. You are willing to accept that there might be some kind of orcish cunning to them, but even orcs would not hesitate to attack a Noldo alone. This raises a question, are these creatures intelligent? This is a new world and you have assumed much of their nature based on your experiences in Arda. Magic in this land seems to be of such vastly different nature that werewolves as you understand them may not even be possible. What are you going to do?

You turn your plan over in your mind a few times. You are taking a great risk attempting to speak to creatures that, even if they are not creatures of Morgoth, have no reason to trust you. Perhaps you should simply try to slip by them. As you think this you hear the sound of a branch snapping loudly. Merrill's horse is not as sure footed as Orundómë and does not take well to the forest. With that as a consideration it seems obvious that you do not stand a chance of slipping by the wolves. If you could not do so with veteran hunters by your side, then your odds have hardly improved. Your left hand brushes against your arrows and phantom pain shoots up your arm. Staring at your left hand you realise that you cannot leave things as they now stand. There is a question you must have answered. If you have shed innocent blood a fourth time…
Your throat seizes up and fear, or possibly grief, floods you; you force it back and turn to Merrill. "Do you know any spells for combat?"
Merrill seems taken aback for a few moments, but quickly rallies. "Yes. I know Arcane bolt obviously. I'm also good at fire, I can cast flaming weapons to make your sword, well, be on fire obviously. And…"
You raise your hand, and she trails off. When you lower it again she says, "Sorry. I babble when I'm nervous. Are we in danger?"
You sigh. "I do not know. Be ready, I am going to do something reckless."
If she protests you do not notice. You step away from the horses and your student raising your hands in the air. Taking a deep breath in you stretch out your awareness and face the direction of the wolves.

"I do not know if you can understand me. In truth I know not if you are even capable of speech. If you are more than creatures of the darkest powers, then I would treat with you. To let the violence between us be ended." You entreat the silent trees.
No response comes, for a moment you consider taking that as your answer; that you were right, and these were mindless monsters you faced. Your left hand twinges again. You must be certain. With hands made steady only by sheer force of will, you unstring your bow. Then you draw your sword. You hesitate for a moment, and you swear you can feel the wolves tense, ready to pounce. Then you cast your sword away. It hits the dirt with a dull clank and terror grips your heart.
An effort of great will sees your voice remain steady as you say, "Behold, I am unarmed. This is no trick or trap. If you wish me dead there is little I can do to stop you."
The silence is only a few seconds long, but it feels like an eternity. Every instinct screams at you to run for your sword, growing louder each second.
Then a guttural voice emerges from the woods. "You say this is no trap. But you bring a Dalish mage with you. Should we attack, she will kill us."
You do not allow your body to sag in relief, you keep your posture straight as you reply, "Yet I would die before she could do so. Do you believe me willing to die for such pathetic gains?"
This time you can hear, faintly, conversation between some of the wolves in the forest.
They seem to come to a decision quickly because the voice returns. "We will treat with you."
From the tree line emerges a brown specimen of the humanoid wolf-creatures. Werewolves is the name of their species you suppose. It has a dark scar across its left eye and is larger than most of the others you have seen.
You bow slightly and say, "I am Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol. Prince of the Noldor. Whom do I have the honour of addressing?"
The creature snarls. "I am Swiftrunner. You say you want the violence to end. Why should we offer you peace? You have killed many of us."
You incline your head and speak apologetically. "I beg your forgiveness. I have had ill experience with others of your kind and leapt to conclusions. The only defence I can offer is that many of them gave me no other choice. I cannot bring the dead back to life, nor can you. Thus, making peace, if only to prevent further death, is the only true path to honour the fallen. I will not harm any of you and I will seek to prevent others from doing so, as far as reasonable. In return you will grant me safe passage to and from the Dalish ruins at the heart of the forest."
Swiftrunner gowls. "You are a Dalish pawn! You seek to kill Witherfang."
"Witherfang? Is that your leader?" You ask.
The snarls and growls grow in intensity.
"I mean no harm to this Witherfang. Until the moment you mentioned them, I did not even know that they existed. I am certainly nobody's pawn. I will admit to a friendship with the Sabrae clan, and that Merrill over there is my student, but I have no interest in fighting their wars. Even if I were to do so I would not come in the night as an assassin but with an army to face you in open battle." You declare to Swiftrunner.
"So you offer no proof of your innocence save that you are too 'honourable' to be an assassin? Perhaps you would also like to say that you cannot be accused of plotting to kill Witherfang as she still lives." Swiftrunner glares at you
Having your word doubted cause a flare of anger to rise. You are true to your word, and you have proved that many times. That these creatures have no way of knowing so is the only thing that prevents a scornful outburst. You breathe deeply to calm your temper and prepare to wield your silver tongue once more

For a moment you consider explaining that your methods are more a matter of ability than honour. You also consider the option of negotiating some kind of escort as you search the ruins. As you consider your anger continues to build. You have dealt with several versions of this conversation ever since Ñolofinwë arrived in Arda. Even as Morgoth's forces knocked on the gates of their fortresses, the peoples of Arda struggled with each other. It often felt like you were the only one who remembered that there was another, much more pressing, enemy to fight. It is this anger, built over centuries, that decides your words as it breaks the control you have maintained since you gave up your crown.
"What do you want me to say?" You begin, your voice quiet, "If you have decided that my word cannot be trusted why treat with me?
You do not let Swiftrunner speak, you have heard enough, it is now his turn to listen. "I have come here, a journey that has taken me the better part of the week, to seek knowledge long lost." Your voice begins to climb in volume. "I have never heard of Witherfang and in truth I care nothing for them. I fought your people in the past believing that you were as others of your kind. Foul spirits and dark magic woven into the shape of a beast. I struck without knowledge, and it has come back to haunt me. Here I stand, ready to make amends, to learn and what do you do?"
Your voice starts to ring through the clearing like thunder. "THE EXACT SAME THING! You leap to conclusions. You judge based on what you have known rather than what is before you. Do you not see? This is the weakness that evil has ever used to sustain itself. When we should unite against it, when all is on the line, we turn aside those who might help for slights long passed."
One of the wolves prepares to speak up, presumably to say something about how your interaction with them was last week missing the point entirely. You speak over him with the practice of drowning out Kano's voice. If you are to salvage this so far hostile interaction you need to make your offer before they have too long to consider what you have said so far.
"I say enough! Let this clinging to ignorance be at an end! I offer, here and now, the hand of friendship. Let all grudges be at an end. I ask you, Swiftrunner and all who are here with him, will you join me in seeking knowledge? For it is knowledge that separates us from beasts. A beast or dark creature does not ask why it exists, nor does it seek to understand the world around it. I have come to seek knowledge of the world that once was, but there is no reason I cannot also learn of the world as it is. I ask again, will you join me?" The fire is now spent from your voice, your last question comes out like you were asking them to join you on a stroll.
There is silence in the forest after you stop speaking. The birds do not sing, even the wind seems to have stilled. There is shifting among the werewolves and Swiftrunner stands, chest heaving as he stares at you.
"Knowledge is what separates us from beasts?" He says, sounding contemplative. "Aye, that is so."
He looks you in the eye. "We will be accompanying you while you search the ruins."
You smile, "Excellent, I trust that there will be no objections should I choose to ask you questions of your people?"
You think the wolf smiles but given his wolf snout he may very well be snarling. "You may ask."
As you head off into the forest with your escort one of the wolves chooses to speak up, "So… What is a Noldor anyway?"