The Third and First
From the moment you arrive in Endataurëo you can tell something is wrong. There is a weight to the air and all the guards are on edge. You are met in the courtyard by Martin and Faith who are worried.
"Sir. Merrill and Ranger have been gone an awful long time." Faith wails.
Martin looks more relieved. "They went out to look for some herbs or something. But they never came back. It's been a whole week sir."
"Oh Knowledge~ I have something of yours." The taunting voice dances on the wind, inaudible until you realised it was there.
"Come and get them"
"Joy." You growl.
You turn to storm out of the gates, intending to see the creature rent down to its base components. A call from a sentry interrupts your mounting fury.
"Strangers approaching. Looks like a gaggle of Chantry Sisters." Anneth calls from a tower.
You pause, rage bubbling beneath your skin. The Chantry has not proven itself to be a friend to you in your few interactions thus far. As much as you need to rescue your friends, perhaps you should take care of this first. Your rage and fear howl in protest, a storm that demands action, that demands restitution…
That demands blood! The shock of your sword striking bone, the fading light in a Sinda's eye, the bright red on your hands, on your armour, on your brother's face.
With a jolt you snap out of your memory, your breath coming in ragged pants. You wave off the various members of your staff who are looking at you in concern.
"I am fine. It was but a memory." You assure them.
While Martin and Faith fret, you reassess. You are calmer now, your anger gone from a fierce storm to a tempered blade. You cannot dismiss these people without giving offence and causing problems. You will greet them now, then you will hunt down Joy.
"Faith, inform the staff that we will be having guests. Martin, I leave this week's trade in your hands. Anneth, open the gate!" You give your commands, and order reasserts itself.
The women who enter your courtyard are severe in appearance. Dark haired and eyed yet pale skinned, they might pass for an ugly Noldo if they tried. Their garb has small suns embroidered in gold for decoration and a pallete of yellow, red, white, pale pink and orange, clearly evoking some unknown meaning that eludes you. From their ranks a particularly stern looking woman steps forth. With her long grey streaked hair pinned back in a bun, she narrows her hard eyes into a glare.
"I am Elder Elsbeth. I have come to inspect the premise, as ruled by the Knight-Lieutenant. Where is the apostate?" She states imperiously.
"Welcome to Endataurëo." You calmly reply, the cold of your eyes contrasting your tone. "I am Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol, your host. I was under the impression that this inspection would be a joint venture?"
Elsbeth scoffs. "Then you thought wrong. Stop wasting my time and bring out the apostate. The sooner you do so, the sooner I can leave."
Despite your desire to be contrary, you send someone to fetch Xandar. The woman may be rude, but she has a point. While she is waiting the others of her entourage disperse to interrogate your staff.
"Is it not reckless to come without Templar guards?" You ask conversationally.
"Hardly, if we were not to return, then I have left instructions to assume the worst and come in force. Mother Eliza has co-signed the order." Elsbeth replies coldly.
"Then do mind the spiders on your way out." You observe as Xandar arrives.
Xandar's interrogation is very much a repeat of the earlier one. It reveals no new information and frankly you do not think enough time has passed for any flaws in his training to reveal themselves. Elder Elsbeth seems satisfied with the results and gathers her followers.
"Elder! Elder!" One of them calls eagerly. "I have uncovered evidence of heresy! This elf has been claiming that the Maker isn't real!"
The Elder's eyes turn to you. "Do you have an answer to this accusation? Or any defence at all?"
The words slip out almost without conscious direction.
"You have clearly misinterpreted what I said, further I would note that my words cannot be heresy, as I do not follow your religion."
This elicits a gasp from the various functionaries and companions of the elder.
"Whether your words are heresy or not is pedantry, and I will not dignify it by engaging with that claim," The elder sniffs, "How can your words possibly be misinterpreted?"
After burying your anger deep within your heart, you reply, "Because I did not say the Maker is not real. I have never denied the being's existence."
"He's lying!" The insect masquerading as a human shrieks.
The elder waves her down, and she asks you, "Then what did you say?"
"I contended that it is entirely possible that the being I call Eru Illúvatar and the Maker may be different individuals," You explain, "Assuming I have correctly identified the conversation she is misinterpreting."
Elder Elspeth narrows her eyes at you and considers your words for several moments.
"Who is the Eru, and what relationship does he have with the Maker? Why would you even believe them to be identical beings?"
Her narrowed eyes then sharpen into a fierce glare.
"Oh, and do be sure to explain how this is not heresy as well."
You cannot believe you are wasting your time with this conversation, but as Moryo used to say: 'If you are already involved in the situation, may as well impress everyone involved.'
You quickly search through your memories and construct an argument that will not shame your ancestors.
"Very well, to begin with can we establish that, according to your religion, the Maker is the being that created everything?" You ask.
"That is correct, though you clearly know little of the matter," The Elder states haughtily.
You ignore her provocation as largely irrelevant, and say, "I was taught as a child that the Eru Illúvatar created the Valar and allowed them to aid him in the creation of the world."
"Is this going somewhere?" Elspeth asks, "I will not tolerate you wasting my time."
"There is no reason I am aware of that the Maker cannot be Eru," You state bluntly.
"Blasphemy!" The crowd hisses.
"The maker needed no help in creating the world," Elspeth agrees.
"Did I say Eru needed help? I said he created beings he allowed to help," You point out.
The woman's glare intensifies somehow as she says, "Are you saying that spirits helped Eru create the world?"
"No!" You exclaim in surprise, "Those pale shadows of existence are no Valar. A spirit would scatter in the mere wake of their passing!"
Elspeth starts, clearly taken aback by your vehemence.
"They said you claimed the Maker wasn't a god!" Your original accuser interrupts once more.
Elder Elspeth visibly recovers her composure, and says, "Yes, do explain that to me. I find it hard to believe it could be anything but heresy."
You turn first to the chantry woman who has now spoken uncalled upon three times.
"If you interrupt my conversation one more time, I will have you gagged," You say, then turn back to the Elder before any of the outraged women can speak, "As for the Maker not being a god, that is simply a lack of information on my part."
"Explain. Now," Elspeth growls, "Before I call the Templars on this place and consider it my daily charity."
You meet her glare unafraid, and say, "I have never seen the Maker, and I know humans often mistake Valar for gods. Until I meet this Maker, I cannot say if he is Eru under a different name, or a Valar."
"So you do say he isn't a god!" Elspeth hisses triumphantly.
"Are you listening to the words I say, or are you just imagining a conversation between us?" You reply, irritation bleeding into your voice, "I have said nothing of the Maker beyond my own ignorance on the matter. All else is explanations for why I do not simply agree with the first thing said of him."
There is a long silence. You can clearly see the Elder's thoughts racing for some loophole in your argument she can use, and you fear you will need to use your right to appeal to the King for arbitration. Before you can speak again though, the Elder nods.
"I know you are a heretic, but since I cannot prove it, I have no choice but to leave it at this." She speaks through gritted teeth.
She turns away when another chantry woman speaks, "Elder, surely you cannot be serious?"
The Elder turns to reprimand the woman, but her follower's next words calm her.
"If this poor Elf is ignorant of the Maker, then surely it is our duty to enlighten him," The woman smirks cruelly.
Elspeth perks up and nods once more, "Yes, that is very true."
You grit your teeth, seeing the wily insect's game.
Frankly, every second this conversation continues is a second that you could have spent more productively. Perhaps if lives were not in danger, you might argue back, or as your pride demands, throw them out personally. You tamp down that urge. One religious fanatic is much the same as another, so you see no point in negotiating who stays.
"If you must leave someone, choose swiftly. You used up your allotted hospitality, and every moment you are here stretches my patience yet further," You proclaim.
The Elder smirks at you and turns to the shrill-voiced woman who accused you of heresy, the one you threatened to gag.
"Dear sister Nova," She says in the most sickeningly sweet voice you have ever heard, "Would you be so kind as to guide this ignorant child on his path to holiness?"
"Oh Elder, you honour me," The harridan responds in the same tone, "I will be only too glad to correct its misguided beliefs."
You roll your eyes, "If you are quite done congratulating yourselves…"
The women turn to continue provoking you.
Before they can, you roar at the top of your lungs, "Get out of my house!"
You cannot compare to Kano when it comes to volume. That does not stop you from trying. The windows shake and the younger sisters cringe backwards in fear, hands clutching their ears in pain. To her credit the Elder stands her ground, but it matters little.
"Very well," She replies coolly, "We will return in a month to see how you have progressed. Come sisters, we have others who need us."
As the women begin to file out of the door, you begin planning your next steps.
You still need to assign tasks to Anneth and her warriors, lest they grow soft and bored, you also need to arm yourself. Perhaps you can combine those tasks…
"Lead me to my room," The irritant interrupts your train of thought.
Jarred by the sudden change of topic, you reflexively reply, "Excuse me?"
The human who dares profane the title of sister smirks at you, "My room? I will be staying here for at least a month, and I do expect to be given quarters in accordance with my station."
You wave her off, saying, "There are plenty of rooms, choose one that is not in use."
You are trying to return to your plans when her voice drags you out of them again.
"Is this the level of hospitality your halls offer? How disgraceful. It seems that I will need to add etiquette lessons to your education," The woman sniffs.
"Go away." You command.
Drawing herself up to her full height the girl reaches up to poke your chest. "Now you listen here. I am the Chantry's official representative here and I will not be spoken to in this manner. Now, you are going to show me to my room and I will have a bath. Then we will begin your education."
You raise a single eyebrow. "No."
The woman tries to draw herself up again, but you speak before she has a chance to.
"I am going to give you a lesson in power. Right now, you are here in a place where the only law is my word. I am usually a fair ruler and I intend to show you the hospitality you are due, but right now, I am busy with matters of life and death. So, you have a choice: You can stop distracting me and go find a room that is to your liking, or I can call my warriors and have them drag you to a cellar. Which will it be?"
Looming over the small woman, you can see the fear creep into her eyes. You suspect there will be consequences later on, but right now you cannot bring yourself to care.
"I'll ask a servant to lead me to a room," The girl mutters defiantly.
"A wise choice," You say, dismissing her.
As the group of so called 'sisters' vanish into the trees you turn to Endataurëo.
"Anneth, accompany me." You command your officer as you walk away.
The woman scurries to catch up to you, her chainmail jingling. You are pleased to note that your warriors have picked up on your habit of dressing in armour as much as possible.
"You wanted me, sir?" Anneth asks.
"Yes." You reply, striding into a storeroom. "Merrill and Ranger have been captured by a spirit. I will be departing shortly to rescue them. While I prepare I wish to speak to you of your duties."
"Are we coming with you, sir?" She inquires. "I can have the others ready to ride in twenty minutes, two hours if you want the ones from Gladesville."
"No." You state flatly. "Against a lone spirit, numbers will be more a hinderance than a help. If you were mages I would consider it, no I speak of more general duties."
"Are we doing something wrong?" The officer tentatively asks.
"No. It is more that I am not making good use of your talents." You explain, checking over the contents of the quiver you have found. "You and your warriors are trained and armed, yet you do nothing but train."
"We guard Gladesville!" Anneth snaps defensively.
"True, but hardly a glamorous or entertaining post. Has there even been any trouble?" You ask.
"A few spiders, but it's usually quiet." The warrior admits.
"Exactly." You are satisfied with this quiver and sling it over your shoulder. "As such I have decided to give you some duties to take up. You can organise who takes them however you wish, but do not expect people to be active for twenty four hours straight."
Anneth looks nervous, but her tone is steady as she asks, "What are our new duties to be?"
You had given this some thought on your way here. It had been the need to integrate the Chasind that had spurred it actually. You tell her that she and her warriors will take up new roles.
"Do you know what a ranger is?" Nelyafinwë asked.
Anneth shakes her head.
"It is a warrior tasked with scouting an area and eliminating any threats they can and slowing those they cannot." Nelyafinwë explains, weighing a shield in his hands as he spoke. "You and your command are to undertake these duties."
Anneth bows in acknowledgement. When her leader turned to leave she called after him.
"Wait. Is that it?"
The elf turned back and replies. "By their nature Rangers require a great deal of independence and initiative. It is up to you to decide where you go and who you fight."
"But I'm not ready!" She cries as he turns away again.
The elf halts his turn and looks her in the eye. For a moment she saw a cloud of rage in his eyes that shook her to the core, then it was gone and she saw the compassion that drew her to follow him in the first place.
"No one ever is." He says softly.
The armoury door closes with a sense of grim finality. Anneth stares at the wood in shock. What is she to do now?
Buying and Selling
Martin stared at the gates, still swinging slightly on their hinges after Nelyafinwë swept out of them.
"Well, that happened." Faith commented.
It was hard to think of something to say. Their lord? Employer? The elf who owned the house, had seemed more akin to a force of nature than a living creature.
Eventually the man settles on saying, "I pity whoever that 'Joy' is."
Rather than dwelling on the danger and possible death that the only reason any of them had a home was venturing into, Martin turns his attention to his task for the week. Nelyafinwë was leaving the 'purse strings' in his hands more often lately, and he wanted to show him his best effort. If he returns
When he returns.
Martin set out for Denerim. With the riders of Endataurëo now committed to 'ranging' the forest, Martin wants them to have the best armour possible. Thus, when his sales of wine are done for the week, he steels his resolve and begins the long journey to Denerim.
It is rare that Martin travels so far afield for his job. Most of the armour he had bought had been in the local area too. Unfortunately, just as there was a shortage of food thanks to the Teyrn, now there was beginning to be a shortage of good steel.
Blacksmiths were working on 'priority orders' in double shifts, and carts of armour and weapons were being taken into fortresses. If Martin had ever doubted his employer's words about an oncoming war, he no longer did so.
Denerim was in a much better state. The city was thriving from the trade and even the Alienage elves seemed content. As the trader searched for well-priced light armour, he could not help but wonder if that would last when war came.
In the end Martin picked up a few suits of light chainmail backed by thickly padded cloth. He loaded them onto the hand cart and bemoaned the weight as he began the journey back. Despite his moaning, he was grateful. If war was coming, he would like to have the people between him and the inevitable looters.
The Fury of Fëanor
""I'm coming with you."
You turn to face Xandar. He has his staff and his robes, and he looks at you with an expression that is a complex mixture of determination, fear and an earnest desire to help. If he was expecting you to refuse him, he is wrong.
"Acceptable," You reply, striding away.
Xandar hesitates a few moments, then races to catch up to you.
"How are we going to find them?" He asks.
"Joy, the spirit you met in the spider body, has been taunting me for most of the week. I know he is somewhere in this forest, and as he is a spirit of the Beyond, he has a magical signature you can track," You inform your student.
"That's why you want me along isn't it?" Xandar asks.
"That is why only mages were allowed on this mission, you are coming because you want to." You reply as the gates open before you.
You would be a hypocrite if you prevented someone from rescuing those they care for.
Xandar had never seen his teacher like this. The elf's face was set like stone, and his eyes were cold in a way he had not believed possible. Every stride and action seemed at once slow and deliberate yet filled with a deep well of fury just looking for a target. It terrified him, and he wondered what Nelyafinwë would do when they actually found the spirit, and if he might accidentally make himself that target.
His teacher stops and gives an annoyed huff, "I cannot find anything in this forest. It all feels the same to me. Have you better luck?"
Caught off guard, Xandar just shook his head. Then, realising what the question had been, he corrected himself.
"I haven't actually started looking, sorry," He babbled nervously, "I was distracted, sorry."
Cold eyes met the mage's nervous gaze. "Then start looking."
Sensing magic generically wasn't what Xandar needed to do. Fortunately, looking for a specific magic spell was a diagnostic ritual Merrill had made sure to teach him, a relatively safe spell and easy for learning control. He quickly found an active magic signature, laid out almost like a trail for him to find.
"I've got something. It's not natural, but it seems far too easy, like someone wants me to find it," He reports to his teacher.
"Joy wants me to find it. It is taunting me, trying to lead me into a trap," The tall elf replies, not unkindly but coldly.
Xandar shudders at the thought. "What do we do now?"
"Turn its own trap on it," Nelyafinwë states, "Rather than wait for Joy to spring it on his terms, we spring it on ours and entrap him instead."
The trail leads them to a seemingly empty clearing of the forest, and it quickly solidifies into something more complex and thorough.
"We're here," Xandar says, "I think it's some kind of spell or illusion that it's trapped the two in."
"It seems our foe has grown in strength since our last meeting," His teacher observed.
"Maybe he just doesn't want to try something that didn't work last time?" Xandar suggests, optimistically.
"Perhaps," Nelyafinwë replies, eyes becoming distant and unfocused.
"What are you doing?" Xandar asks.
"Attempting to put an end to this spell," The Elf replies, "Now hush, I am concentrating."
You sag back after a third attempt to seize control of the energies of the spell fails.
"It seems Joy's command of magic exceeds my own by too great a margin," You confess, annoyed at your failure, "Our only option seems to be to enter the spell."
"Is that safe?" Xandar asks.
"Unlikely, but as I said, we have no choice," You state.
Xandar swallows and takes several deep breaths. "Ok. I can do this. I can do this."
You look at him once more, and gently you tell him, "If you wish to turn back, none will hold it against you. You have already helped more than enough."
Xandar looks at you startled, hotly arguing, "No! I'm not leaving Merrill! I don't care if it's scary, how could I possibly leave her in danger after everything she's done for me!"
You could not prevent your smile even if you wanted to. "I should not have doubted your courage. I am proud to count you among my friends."
Xandar's smile as you enter the spell would be blinding if you were looking at it.
Within the spell is another world entirely. It looks to be Endataurëo at a glance, but there are minute differences: It lacks the comforting pulse of Eldar magics, and there are far too many butterflies to be natural. Furthermore, there is something to the construction - subtly off, as though someone has copied the work without understanding its base nature.
You pass through the gates and the outer courtyard, and soon your target makes itself known.
"Welcome, Knowledge," Joy's voice echoes through the halls, as you enter the central complex, "I'm so glad you could make it."
"Your invitation was most insistent," You reply guardedly, "Where are you? It is rude not to greet one's host."
Joy laughs, a hollow and lifeless sound. It has gone from a fake laugh to something that would only be made if someone has never heard a laugh before.
"Where were these manners when we first met?" The spirit mocks, "If I had known that taking hostages would have you on your best behaviour, I would have done it sooner."
Its words cause you drop the pretence, and you angrily shout, "If you do not tell me where they are, I will start tearing this illusion down until I find you!"
"The central courtyard. Killjoy," Is the petulant response.
You enter the central courtyard. The trees, bushes and flowers have been replaced by a tangled web of chains, in which Merrill and Ranger hang. Standing before them is something wrong. Joy was shallow but understandable, this thing is Joy but twisted and warped until it cannibalized itself to stay alive. It is worse than any Orc, and the closest thing you can compare it to is the creature that possessed Merrill.
"Welcome again Knowledge," The thing says, its words flavoured with cruel madness, "I want to play a game with you!"
No words, no games. This creature dies here and now. The only thing it has done with its grandstanding is give you time to draw your sword. The world around you fades away, the demon's words become meaningless, and the environment around you reduces to a series of slopes and platforms.
Your first blow misses the creature. It is faster than you anticipated. You see its hand curling, feel its will unfurling. You dare not give it time to slay the hostages; you press your attack more fiercely, and this time your blow to its hand connects. Unfortunately, it is tough enough to endure the strike and it springs back, trying to gain ground.
Onwards you press. Each step precise and measured, even as your stride eats ground at a rate most would envy. Golden tendrils of ecstasy snake towards the back of your head. Your blade meets them, and the strands part like paper.
Harder you press your opponent, your blade a silver streak as you ward off the snaking attacks of your foe. Your vision blurs a moment, and instinct sees you throw yourself aside, an attack from the demon slashing through the space you just inhabited. You would have sworn it was further away than that though.
With the realisation that all is not as it seems, you extend your senses further, sinking deeper into the realm of absolute focus the sword brings you. A low, long leap carries you closer to the creature. Your eyes blur, and now it is behind you. A blow you are too slow to dodge bounces off chainmail, and your return blow marks your foe for the second time.
The demon bellows in pain, and you press your advantage. The wounds you have inflicted smoke slightly, and you leverage that weakness. A net of steel directs your foe into a blocking stance, but weakened by the pain of its wounds, the arm it uses cannot hold you back. It is a classic mistake to assume that 'weaker than humans' means weak, a mistake you fully exploit.
As the creature grows more desperate it becomes more inventive, spreading an illusion that makes it appear to be in multiple places. Unable to afford assuming a defensive stance, you let instinct guide you, and whether guided by fate or your senses, you soon find the real one.
Believing its trick useless, the demon changes tactics again, and you hear voices scream and cry for help. Flickering images of family in the corner of your eyes. You must ignore them - you dare not cease your attack.
It is all you can do to not falter.
Perhaps being so close to success makes the creature overconfident. Perhaps it is simply not as prepared for the exertion of extended duels as you are. Perhaps Eru has arranged things to your advantage. Whatever the reason, even as Findekáno's agonized scream threatens to distract you, you get your chance.
The gap in the creature's defense is minute. A slight misalignment of its guard when the demon believes itself beyond your range. It is wrong; your range is longer than most realise, and you close the distance within moments. A flash of silver. A perfect lunge. The demon screams.
The creature collapses onto its back. The illusion around you collapses. The creature extends its hand in supplication. More words you do not heed. You do not bargain with its twisted ilk. You do not gamble with your friends' lives. Your next blow takes its head.
Merrill and Ranger lie on the ground, moaning slightly. Xandar is by their side, a faint green light of healing magic surrounding them. You rush over, sword sliding back into its sheathe.
"Are they well? Can I help?" You ask quickly.
Xandar looks up at you. For a moment there is confusion in his face, then he shakes his head.
"They are fine, teacher," He says soothingly, "I don't know what those vines did, but they aren't hurt physically."
Your thoughts reach out tentatively. Their bodies may be fine but their minds…
At the first brush you are worried; your friends' thoughts are muddied and slow, and for a moment you fear the worst. Then slowly they begin to stir, and the muddiness reveals itself to be mere disorientation from unconsciousness. You hear Merrill grumble something about 'five more minutes.'
You cannot help yourself. You start to laugh. It begins as a near hysterical giggle and grows until the sounds of your mirth fill the entire glade. You had done it. You had feared that in saving the Chasind you had doomed your friends. For the first time in five hundred years, you have done good untainted by loss.
You feel as though a great weight has lifted from your shoulders - one you were so accustomed to that you had all but forgotten it was there. Colours seem brighter, the air feels crisper. The tight knot of pride and shame within uncoils ever so slightly.
It reminds you of nothing quite so much as the days before the exile, of the light of the two trees and the innocence of youth. You feel as though you could run for days, an energy you had not noticed slipping away returned. You feel, in a word, young.
This is hardly the time to be revelling in this feeling of renewal; you need to get these two back to Endataurëo.
"I will take Ranger, you take Merrill," You tell your student.
"Yes teacher," Xandar replies.
As the two of you hoist the slowly waking pair onto your shoulders, Xandar comments, "It'd be really great if we had a horse right now."
Oh, for Mandos' sake...
After only a heartbeat's pause, you reply, "Well, that would have been dangerous, we needed to leave the road."
At first you think you got away without Xandar noticing.
"Hold on, teacher," You hear him say.
Eru above, why does the universe hate you?
"You ride off road all the time. It's just a little slower."
"Xandar, that is enough," You try half-heartedly.
"You forgot, didn't you?" Xandar says.
"Not exactly," You admit.
In truth, it was more that you were so mono-focused on rescuing Merrill and Ranger that you did not consider anything else until after the task was complete. You are your father's son after all. Xandar is at least a loyal enough student to not tease you on the matter.
Not quite so loyal as to not complain all the way home about having to carry Merrill, though. If you were a more vindictive quendi, you would inform her that Xandar thinks she is heavy and let him suffer her wrath.
Merrill awakes in her room in Endataurëo. At first, she thinks she is trapped in another delusion. She reaches out with her new senses, wracks her brain for spells to disrupt the illusion, but nothing works, and slowly she comes to realize that the pleasant fog clouding her thoughts has gone. Cautiously she begins to hope.
She creeps out of her room on silent feet. The corridors are empty, and she pads her way towards the dining hall. As she approaches, she hears the sound of cheerful laughter, and the smell of delicious food makes her stomach growl.
She hesitates at the great door, uncertain if she capable of facing another great delusion. Then the grumbling of her stomach and dryness of her throat steady her, for the illusions had so far been free of such sensations. Taking one last deep breath, she opens the door.
The hall is as she remembers it, but the contents have changed. There seem to be fewer warriors than normal, and there is a Chantry sister glaring at the Noldo who owns the hall. Merrill notes this almost absently, her eyes drawn to said Noldo.
Nelyafinwë has always been both beautiful and strange. Not quite Elven or Human in appearance, not to mention his height and garb. Now though, these traits seem even more exaggerated. Perhaps it is because of the lightness of his expression, but his eyes seem kindled with some inner light and he is relaxed in a way she has never seen.
He spots her and her breath catches. This is the point in a delusion where there would be some grand pronouncement of, well... It's embarrassing to even think. So when Nelyafinwë calls out her name, she tenses.
"Welcome back Merrill. I am glad to see you unharmed," he says, smiling at her.
For a moment Merrill stares, then another voice jolts her out of her state of indecision.
"What kept ya lass?" Ranger calls, "I've been up near half an hour."
"Merrill was likely more affected due to her sensitivity to Fade energy," Nelyafinwë notes, pouring her a glass of wine.
Relief washes over her - she isn't in a delusion. Her teacher is acting normal and not like something out of a bad romance novel.
Any lingering doubt is quickly dispelled by her next words.
"Yes, that's exactly it, I definitely wasn't dissolving into a paranoid wreck trying to figure out if this was another delusion."
The elf laughs nervously as everyone stares at her. No more delusion based charisma either. Yay.
Smoothing over Merrill's gaffe is no great challenge. Everyone, except Nova, is glad to have her back. Soothing her own emotions is somewhat harder, but is soon done and Merrill is glad. All in all, you are very happy with how things have gone. You rescued your friends; nothing can take that away from you.
Sometime during the proceedings, you are sitting back as Merrill argues with Xandar about what to do with the Chantry woman, a smile on your face. The joy that has possessed you needs an outlet, and this hall is far too silent for your tastes. Quietly, so as not to disturb the conversation, you begin to sing.
!Warning! Gratuitous poetry that pleases nobody besides the author. Please proceed to the next set of ! to skip.
Á hlarë i róma línga
Á cenë i mehtarí rála
'Apairë!' te lirë
'Vanwa lumë'
Noldorintar Ñolofinwë
hánorya anro, Nelyafinwë
Asta envinyatanë
Umbar i cottor itúlië
Á lirë 'Apairë! Apairë!'
'Alcarinqua apairë'
Noldorin túrë
itúrië lumë
Hear the horns ringing,
See the warriors returning!
'Victory!' they sing,
Darkness has passed.
The king of the Noldor Ñolofinwë,
and his brother's son Nelyafinwë,
Division healed,
Doom has come for the enemy.
Sing victory, victory,
glorious victory,
Noldorin Might,
Has defeated darkness.
!We now return to your regularly scheduled story!
As your song finishes, you realise your attempt to avoid notice has failed. All your friends are looking at you.
"My apologies, I had not intended to interrupt your conversation," You say.
"Nah, don't worry about it," Ranger dismisses, "Bloody catchy song. What's it about?"
"Oh, can you teach it to me?" Merrill asks, eyes bright.
It is a very pleasant evening, and for the first time in far too long, your hall is filled with song.
Loyal and True
Having gathered four other horsemen, Anneth rode along the trade road. She would have prefered more honestly, but they do not have enough armour for everyone. So, she had chosen the ones who had not been to Gladesville last night and rode out with them.
"So, what are we doing, boss lady?" Simion, a young man who could never finish an apprenticeship, asked.
Anneth swallowed, fighting to keep her hands from jittering and said, "We are scouting the trade route to make sure it is safe for traders."
"Don't the beasties avoid the road fer sum reason?" Simion continued.
They did, but Anneth did not want to admit that she chose this route because she was scared that she would make a mistake. She'd take them on a proper mission next time, she promised herself.
Their conversation was interrupted by one of the other riders. "What's that in the trees?"
Anneth turned, catching a glimpse of movement in the underbrush.
"I've got it!" Simion cried, urging his horse into the forest.
"Ya damn fool. Git back here!" One of the older riders pelted after him.
Anneth raced after them, cursing to herself. Things were already going wrong!
A sickly grey and yellow blur slammed into Simion, dismounting him and tossing both rider and horse to the ground. Screams of man and animal mixed together, and Anneth had to pull back sharply or risk being taken out by a spider of her own. Ahead of her she saw the other rider drive the beast off Simion with a lance.
Wound roll Critical Reduced to Major by armour 49= Head Injury.
Simion lay still, bright red blood pooling beneath his head. The group of horsemen milled about in confusion, unsure what to do. Anneth heard calls for a healer, but she knew no one here had those skills. Then a hissing announced more spiders emerging from the woods. She wasn't ready. She didn't know…
Yet at that moment lucidity descended upon her mind, and the fruits of her training snapped into place.
"Dismount! Form a shield wall! Form around Simion!" She roared at the top of her lungs.
The horses were scared, and they were in forest that would impede movement if they stayed mounted. With the major advantage of being mounted removed, they had a far better chance on foot.
Never in drill had they formed up so swiftly, their formation less of a circle and more of a rough square with only four troops. From the shadow of the trees rushed the shapes of spiders. Vaguely, Anneth recalled impaling one with her spear, her mind focused on other thoughts. Were the others alright? How many foes were there?
With her attention divided, it was no surprise when she lost her lance. A great arachnid body carried her to the ground as she fought to draw her sword. A blade struck the beast from her right, and she slipped out from underneath. With blade in hand she returned the favour, slaying a second spider.
"Erskine, take Simion back home. The rest of us will ride on to track down those spiders," Anneth orders.
"Are you mad!?" Stewart, a lanky blonde with greasy hair, cries, "We need to take him back for medical attention!"
"That is what Erskine will be doing." Anneth replies sharply.
"What if we get jumped again?" Erskine, a dark bearded bear of a man, rumbles, "It'd be safer if we all go back."
"The roads are almost always safe," The officer hisses through gritted teeth.
"There's no way three of us can take on all those spiders!" Stewart protests, "There must have been hundreds of the bastards!"
"Stewart, that's not true and you know it," Anneth tries to reason.
"'E's got a point Annie," The last rider, a middle aged woman named Carrie, opines, "'O knows 'ow many o' those things there are. We can't do it with only three."
Anneth looked at Erskine, hoping for some support, but the man just shook his head.
"We're all in agreement," Stewart crows, "You're the only one who doesn't see that we have to turn back."
Anneth freezes. Her heart is thundering in her chest. This is the first time anyone has seriously questioned her orders.
Trying to conceal her nerves, Anneth speaks, "I know it looks scary, but I promise it's not that bad."
The others look at her sceptically, but she presses on, "We're sending Simion back with Erskine 'cause he's the best rider. Anything tries to jump him he can juke it."
Carrie speaks up, "Still don't address tha problem wit' tha spiders."
"We're not going to blindly charge them," Anneth explains, "We're meant to be scouts. We need to know where the nest is. This many spiders working together will only become a bigger problem the longer we leave them alone."
Her logic has succeeded in getting the others to start looking at each other and shuffling nervously. Inspired, she takes a leaf out of the boss's book.
"I get you're all scared. Hell, I am too," She admits shakily, "But this is why we get paid big money, why we were given knight stuff."
The woman takes a long shaky breath, and continues, "So we could fight things other people can't. We've got a responsibility, a duty. To our friends, to our boss. We need to know where these spiders nest, kill them if we can. If we don't, then who will?"
Erskine walks over to Simion and carefully lifts the injured man onto his saddle. Stewart looks at him in surprise, seemingly about to protest.
He is stopped by Carrie asking a question, "We're jus' looking?"
Anneth nods. The woman shrugs.
"Sounds fair," The horse lord then swings herself back into the saddle, "They went that way, yeah?
The three of them rode after the spiders. They tried to track the swarm, but the arachnids had taken to the trees and there were few tracks they managed to find. Undeterred they rode through the woods methodically, scouring it section by section. Unfortunately, by this point they were racing against the setting sun.
They found nothing. The three riders turned back in the fading light of twilight, finding their way back to the main road without trouble as they set off for home.
Carrie attempts to raise her companions' spirits, saying, "'Spose it's good to know that tha nest weren't that close to tha road."
"That just makes me wonder what the hell they were doing there," Stewart replies waspishly.
"Don't fight you two," Anneth sighs tiredly, "We're so close to home, and we're all tired and annoyed."
The two other riders fall silent. They arrive home to find that Nelyafinwë and the others have returned. Xandar is already healing Simion.
Between magic and various healing mumbo jumbo that nobody except the boss and the Elf girl understands, Simion is likely to make a full recovery.
"You should make sure he takes tomorrow off," The apostate comes off as adorably earnest, despite his attempts at being strict and firm, "He's probably fine now, but head injuries can be troublesome."
Well, it could have been worse.