As the new week dawns, you greet it with a determined expression. You are standing in the courtyard, looking into the sky. You are nearly ready to move through the veil and you will be completing the last step of preparation today. Today's task is to figure out how to conceal your spirit's nature from the defences of the veil. You close your eyes to the physical world and open them in the Beyond. You do not need to examine the Veil any further, you are here to examine your own soul. Specifically, you are looking for the markers that the Veil uses to judge whether something is meant to pass through it or not.
Your time of literal soul searching is enlightening in more ways than one. You are well aware that everything you see is in some way a metaphor for its reality, and as such you learn much of yourself. The black chains that wrap around the fire in your breast for example, they are made of words. The words seem to be the many different obligations you have, from the Oath of Fëanáro to the promise you made to Wesley last week. The fire itself is obviously meant to be the Flame Imperishable which explains why the chains circle it but do not bind it. There are other interesting metaphors, your clothes reflecting your commitments to ruling and war for instance.
It is something of a revelation to realise that you are wearing a necklace of rings, a ring you have seen on Findékano and others with symbols you associate with your brothers seem to indicate that each represents a friend or loved one. You discover that there are four with shapes like the tattoos of the Dalish and one shaped like a wolf among them. You do not need to think hard to realise what those represent.
"Do I truly consider them friends?" You ask the green tinged silence.
You would not have said so, Merrill perhaps, but Lanaya? Marethari? Auriel?
The silence has no answers for you, and you find that you cannot answer your own question.
Never one to allow personal concerns to distract you from the task at hand, you focus back on the reason you came here in the first place. There are two primary 'markers' the veil searches for. One is what you have tentatively named 'immortality', represented in metaphor as a white gold glow around your eyes. The other is something inherent to Quendi nature, a certain potency of soul. Spirits share both of these markers and are thus caught almost accidentally by the barrier. If you are to pass through the veil you are going to need to find a way to conceal both of these markers.
The good news is that you will not need to alter your own soul in any way. You could no more remove those two parts of yourself than you could remove your own existence. This is also the primary challenge as they are so much a part of you that concealing them is going to be quite the challenge. After thinking at length on the nature of the Veil and the methods currently used to pass through the Veil, you come to a decision.
You debate with yourself as to the best option. Concealing yourself as Findaráto did is a tempting option, it is familiar and proven to work. Therein lies the trap though, it did not work. Findaráto was by far your better in weavings of power, and it was still not enough to turn the lidless eye. It is fear of the unknown that would have you choose his path, you have long left behind such weaknesses. Your best guess as to the reason you are not trapped within the Beyond entirely is the Light of Valinor. It is in that light that you shall place your faith.
To increase the potency of the Light of Valinor is no easy thing. You barely understand what it is, let alone how to manipulate it. Your one hope of success is that you were born in Valinor, and the light has been with you always. As a result you have a natural grasp of it, much as a child has an intuitive grasp of language. You hesitate at the precipice of your attempt. You have no plan beyond pouring your power into the sensation you associate with the Light of Valinor. With a single deep breath you steel your heart, and take the plunge.
Your power flows without pause. It is a strange sensation, nothing like calling upon the light of your people for all that they are very similar in nature. The world around you resists your efforts, dragging or clawing at your soul. The howling laughter of demons is carried to you. You tune them out and force yourself on. How long have you been doing this? It feels like an age. Your spirit is growing heavy, and you start to feel faint. You are reminded of the stories of your grandmother. She who put so much of her power in your father that her spirit fled to Mandos, never to walk again among the living. Once it would have been enough to make you stop, once.
You pour yet more of your power into the Light of Valinor, focusing on all that you associate with that land. The warmth of the sun, the joy of learning a new skill, the love of friends and comrades. You recall the embrace of your mother, the fierce fire of your father, the two trees and lazy days in their light. All these memories colour your power, your desire and eventually you get a response.
The Light of Valinor does not grow with a roar, or a sudden rush of power. It is a small, quiet feeling; as though a friend long forgotten has returned, and with their return brought a rush of fond memories. The light that suffuses your skin in the Beyond grows so bright you can barely see what is around you, and you swear you hear chirping birds in the distance. You have done it, the Light of Valinor has become so great that it all but obscures your spirit. The demons have fallen silent, those who thought themselves concealed from you have fled. Your grin threatens to outmatch your skin with its glow. You are about to test to see if it has worked when you pause. All other steps have been completed; you do not necessarily need to test this. If the initial indicators show that this plan is in fact working as you expect, you could make your escape now.
You are sorely tempted to simply make your attempt to leave the Beyond now. You are going to need to test the area anyway and you feel amazing after your success. However, unlike your brothers, you are capable of a modicum of self-restraint. You do not want to throw yourself deep into the Veil without having plenty of time and an exit strategy planned. Instead, you will simply test to see if you are still recognised by the Veil.
You extend your hand towards the barrier, and it is immediately stopped by the outer skin. Fortunately, you have already addressed this problem. At your command the outer layer of the Veil parts and you insert your hand into the magical barrier. If moving your hand through the veil had been comparable to thrusting it into an onrushing stream of ice cold water, it is now much more like trailing it through thick mud.
There is still resistance, the Veil does not much care for things moving through it even if it is not supposed to stop them specifically. The greatest difference is the absence of the pain you felt when you did this with Merrill. You are once again tempted to take the risk and attempt to find your way through the Veil, but your patience shows its benefits again. The longer you leave your hand in the Veil the greater the pressure you feel on it grows; it seems that the Veil is trying to force you out of it.
You remove your hand from the Veil and open your eyes. You stand up from your chair in the study and walk out. You walk outside to have a look at the sun. Several hours have passed and it is near noon. You should head down to the kitchen to get yourself some lunch.
You approach Ranger sometime after lunch, perhaps an hour past noon. You know Merrill wants to ask a large number of questions, but you do not wish to neglect someone who wishes to be friends with you.
The old hunter notices your approach and greets you with a grin. "Finally found some time in ya busy shchdule?"
"It is pronounced schedule, and yes. I apologise for the delay but as you can tell I have much to do and little time in which to do it." You reply.
"Ya sure do love ta keep busy. Ya runnin' from somthin'?" Ranger asks.
"I despise idleness." You say, not denying his accusation.
Your response causes him to chuckle. "Well tha' settles it. Come on, if we hurry we'll make it before sunset."
Ranger leads you to one of the local villages, or more specifically to its tavern. Ranger brings two tankards of the local ale to the table you have chosen.
"Sweet Andraste. Did ya have ta choose the one right in the bloody corner?" He exclaims as he places the overfilled tankards down with a thump.
"I prefer privacy and a wall to my back in such establishments." You say, cautiously taking one of the drinks yourself.
It tastes awful. You have had water from puddles that tasted better, the only thing you have even smelt that was worse was the shoe cleaner orcs drink. Ranger, in contrast, seems to be enjoying himself immensely.
"Ahhhh. I've missed this." He says slamming his half-finished tankard down on the table. "Ain't this much better than runnin' about with ya head cut off?"
Your sceptical expression sets him to laughing again.
Rather than drinking again Ranger leans forward and says earnestly, "Now ya probably are wonderin' why I dragged ya all the way here. Now 'twern't just 'cause you need a break, though ya do and I wouldn't be doin' my duty ta let a youngster work himself to death. More than tha' I figgered I'd take ya here ta ask ya about yourself. Ya talk and act like a noble and yer also the size of a Qunari but ya look like an elf, 'cept the ears. So, what's yer story?"
You are looking at your drink, wondering whether it would be better to drink it in a single gulp or just pour it out somewhere when no one is watching, as he says this. His words decide you on the matter, and you tip the tankard back and drink it all down. You barely even taste it and slam the tankard down on the table, with a heavy sigh.
"It is a long story." You warn him.
"We got time. Bar's open 'till midnight." He replies.
"Very well." You say, and once you have looked around to ensure no one is listening to you, you once again relay your tale.
"I am not from this land. I hail from a world called Arda, one of the Quendi. The best way to think of us is as people related to elves to the same degree as humans but in the other direction. I myself was banished here for a number of reasons that I do not wish to discuss."
You did not consider lying to Ranger, he wishes to be friends and friends should not keep secrets such as this from each other. He has shared his own painful past; you will return the courtesy.
Ranger seems to be entirely too amused by what you have said. "Right, an' the noble thing?"
You shrug. "I was the eldest son of Fëanáro, who was king of the Noldor. I myself ruled briefly before circumstances forced my abdication. Though in truth most of the Noldor speak as I do."
Ranger chuckles again. "Alright. Pull the other one."
"I have not lied to you." You tell him. "When have I ever not been true to my word?"
Ranger continues to chuckle. "Alright yer highness. If ya don't want ta talk about it I won't press. Yer buying the next round though."
You roll your eyes and stand up to purchase more of the swill this alleged tavern sells. You decide to try their wine to see if it is better. It costs more than seven times the amount that the ales does. It is not better.
With your new drinks you pick a new conversation topic.
"So, tell me." You say, pushing the sour vinegar that passes for wine to the side, "It has been some time since your curse was broken. Have you given any thought to what you will do in the future?"
Ranger looks into his now half full tankard for a long moment, then he says, "Truth be told I don't rightly know. I always figgered I'd go back ta what I was doin' before. But there ain't anythin' ta go back ta. House's still there, had a look few weeks back. But goin' back, ta an empty place, jus' livin' till I die. Tha' ain't no life."
"You are welcome to remain at Endataurëo, we have more than enough room and you take care of your own food." You tell the old man.
"I don't want ta sound like I ain't grateful fer the offer, but tha' ain't exactly what I mean. I don't want ta jus' hang around, not doin' nothin'. I guess I jus' feel like I ain't got no purpose." Ranger says, draining his tankard down to the bottom, somehow.
You meet your sometimes teacher, sometimes friends eyes and say, "If purpose is what you seek, then I have more than even one of your enviable talents can manage alone."
Ranger scoffs. "Yeah? Like what?"
"Well to begin with the people of Glensville could both use a teacher and a primary huntsman, either role you could fill easily. You could seek to complete your mastery of your craft by working with the Dalish guards. I will soon have need of someone to teach the arts of scouting and woodcraft to those who I will recruit for the task. You could also take over the curating of hunting in this forest, so many depend on it for survival now that I worry the prey will all dry up. I can continue if you wish?" You count on your fingers as you list possible tasks for the third best hunter you have ever met.
Ranger is staring at you in wonder. "Andraste's holy bosom. How long have ya been thinking about this?"
You shrug. "It is impossible to say, I have been aware of these tasks for some time. I have not offered the work to you for I assumed that you had your own plans and did not wish to force my designs upon you."
Ranger continues to stare at you for another moment and then he huffs. "Now tha' jus' goes to prove you ain't a prince, they don't much care for other's wishes."
"The princes of humanity are an insult to the title. With very few exceptions." You proclaim.
Your words cause Ranger to once more burst into laughter. "Right! That they are! I'm gonna go get more booze, ya want more o' the wine?"
You lean forward, expression serious. "I would rather be punched in the face. I have eaten better tasting boots."
Ranger now doubles over, his laughter growing in intensity and volume. "Ah! Kid! Oh my sides. Yer too funny kid."
Ranger does buy himself more alcoholic beverages, he also gets you one. Some kind of powerful spirit made from a local vegetable. It is sone of the most potent things you have ever drank. It also tastes awful.
The rest of your evening passes in good cheer. Ranger drinks his terrible beer and laughs often, while you enjoy the company and the atmosphere. Though there is one event of note.
"You signed me up for what?" You ask Ranger.
"Come on kid. Ya need ta live a little. A drinkin' competition is jus' what ya need." Ranger says with an enormous grin on his face.
He leads you over to a long table where a number of filled mugs are being placed down. Around the table several humans, all men, have gathered.
"This is a waste of my time. Not to mention I have no desire to drink this tavern's bath water." You complain.
"If ya can't handle it boy, jus' bow out." A dark haired man with a thin face drawls at you.
Your eyes narrow at him, who is he to challenge you? "Very well. I will take part in this after all, and I am going to win."
Shortly after that decision is made the last of the drinks is placed down.
"Alright everyone, we want a nice clean contest. No spilling, no pausing. You stop or you throw up you're out. Say you give up, you're out." The tavern keeper proclaims the rules. "With that said, Drink!"
As one, the assembled competitors raise their glasses and drain them.
The alleged beer is the worst thing you have ever tasted. You fight down a gag as it slides down your throat. When you lower the mug and are handed another you almost refuse to drink from it. Then you see the thin faced man smirking at you, and your resolve firms. The second one is worse than the first, but you manage it and reach for a third.
As the drink count starts to mount, people start to drop off. Ranger bows out early, pleading old age. You glare at him as he stumbles back to your table. Then you return to what is really important, proving a point to a stranger. By the tenth drink you are draining the tankards straight down your throat to try and avoid the taste, with limited success. More and more people are dropping off now, and by the fifteenth it is just you and the thin faced man.
"Yer makin' a mistake kid." He slurs at you as the tavern keeper fetches a new barrel. "Ya need ta pace tha drinks ou' yeh."
When the tavern keeper returns with the new keg, you make a decision. You cannot stand this much longer. You grab the mallet from his hand and broach the cask yourself. Then you start pouring it into your mouth. The taste is almost overwhelming but the thought of ending this sooner keeps you going. You feel as though you are about to vomit when you reach the end, but the cask is now empty.
The thin faced man stares open mouthed for a moment. "Righ'. I can' do tha', 'joy yer hangover."
As the tavern erupts into drunken cheering and laughter you are handed your prize. A free barrel of beer.
"May I borrow your mallet?" You ask the tavern keeper.
"Sure, you gonna share with everyone?" He asks as he hands the tool over.
Your smile would cut glass if it were a knife. "I will certainly be doing the world a favour."
One smashed cask later you consign the abomination to the flames, much to the distress of some of the locals. Others seem to find the whole thing a good laugh though, and the site of your vengeance is quickly turned into a bonfire.
"Andrasse's l, l, fu, hic, ing left t, hic. Wha's ya stommak made a?" Ranger slurs at you, the drinks catching up with him quickly.
"My people are far hardier than your own." You reply.
"Bu' yer sa skiiinyyy" He slurs and sways.
"And I will outlive everyone in this room by many years. I think it is time to take you home." You tell your clearly drunk friend.
Ranger found this whole event very amusing. You find yourself unable to stop him walking into several trees on the way home. It all evens out in the end.
You awaken the next morning with a plan. You have every intention of improving the trade route you have begun. You need more staff, and the trade route will ensure that you have the supplies to support them. Your initial plan is to expand your orchards. Then you sit down to actually plan it out. No matter how often you try to find some way to fit the necessary work into your schedule, you cannot. It seems that your ambitions have outstripped your capabilities at last. You will need more staff to effectively expand your current production facilities.
Disappointed by the lack of ability to meaningfully expand production you decide to instead use the time you had planned for the expansion to plan an improvement to your trade network. You need to create a path or road that will help attract new traders and make the current trader's lives easier. You get out your sketch of the local area, marking down the terrain as you remember it. Then you begin to plan out your road.
Due both to a desire to preserve as much of the forest as possible and the fact that there is relatively little traffic, you quickly decide that a single road is all that will be necessary. It will need to be wide enough for two wagons to pass each other. You are also going to need to get the other members of the irregular pentagon trade involved in construction. You simply do not have enough men yourself; you would spend most of the next month building the road if you tried to do it alone. You are not sure if the road needs to extend all the way to the Sabrae, it would make their lives easier but it would also be a lot of extra work. You decide that you will raise the possibility the next time they come around to trade. What they do from there will be their choice.
The question of what kind of road you will make is one that weighs on you, a dirt road would be easiest to make, but it would require frequent maintenance. You could also make one out of wood. Slightly more durable and needing less maintenance, and you have the materials on hand. Relatively fragile and in danger of rotting in the long term though. You could also try to make a proper stone road. It would be very durable and need the least maintenance. You are unsure where you would get the materials and it would take a very long time to finish.
You decide on stone roads almost immediately. You personally would not count anything else as a road, considering the other options only because you have seen men use them. You even realise that you do not need to secure a regular source of stone. You can use the same method you used to make Endataurëo to turn an ordinary pebble into a road-worthy flagstone. The only thing necessary for the others to do will be to clear the stretches of the road, level them and lay the flagstones. A great deal of work to be sure, but hardly beyond their abilities. You once again seek Orundómë, so that the journey does not take you the better part of the week, and set off to convince your partners of your idea.
You are met with no success. The people of Gladesville are open to the idea, but when you arrive you are drawn into a conversation about their lack of manpower. They spend their time dealing with that and thus are of no help with your road project. Lanaya's clan have no interest in laying down infrastructure that they will one day leave behind them. When you talk to the Sabrae clan, they tell you that they are already set up for travel through the forest. They also have no roads to their other trade partners so they see limited benefit to building a road. As for the human villages, building roads is a prerogative of the nobility, so while they would like to help you would need to talk to their nobles.