Wolf's Call
In the light of the morning, you find that the concerns that haunted you last night much lessened. There are many problems facing you, but nothing you cannot handle. Dealing with June, storming this 'haunted castle' and fighting back the spiders are all manageable. You might have to cut out some of the other activities you would like to indulge in, but it is nothing you cannot manage.
Firstly, you will address June. Merrill is correct. Solas has the highest chance of helping, especially since his knowledge of the Beyond seems to exceed Merrill's. If nothing else, his 'friends' may be able to tell you something of the tower's construction.
Solas rises at a similar hour to you, and it is thus very little strain to find him. He spends most of his time examining Endataurëo or talking to the Dalish and city elves. In this case, you find him on the way from where the city elves are quartered to breakfast.
"Solas, excellent, I was hoping to have words with you today." You call out as a greeting.
"I am always glad to be of assistance." Solas replies mildly, inclining his head in your direction. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"
After a moment's pause to think, you inform him, "I fear that we do not have the time for the discussion I wish at this juncture, would you care to meet me in my study after breakfast?"
Solas raises an eyebrow. "I suppose I can find the time."
After breakfast has come and gone, the two of you convene in your study. You sit behind your desk and Solas takes up a high backed chair across from you.
"Last week, you may remember that Merrill and I went to the Beyond to investigate a mysterious call I have been experiencing for some time." You begin, condensing many weeks of investigation for your audience. "The origin was a dark tower which we suspect to be prison for whatever dwells within."
Solas' face stills, his expression deliberately blank. "I assume you want my assistance in understanding the nature of this tower."
"Unnecessary." You wave off his offer, seemingly uncaring. "We have already entered and spoken to the creature within. Some kind of elven seeming being, calling itself June."
"What have you done?" Solas asks, voice cold and deadly.
You meet the gaze of the elf before you, trying to see through the frigid mask he wears, to no avail.
"Nothing." You admit. "After speaking to him, we determined that he was the source of the call and withdrew as he attacked us. Then he redoubled his call."
Solas' expression foes from the blankness of one concealing his thoughts from a foe to his usual studied indifference.
"What call? I confess I have heard nothing in the Beyond." He asks.
"As I have mentioned before, I hail from a different world, and his call is aimed at those beyond the circles of this world. He intends to seek those who are banished to the Void to aid his escape." You finish your explanation. "I hoped to secure your aid in preventing the call from reaching anyone."
Solas thinks a time, then replies, "Is that truly necessary? I was under the impression that your 'world' was destroyed, or at least beyond reach."
"It is not what is within my world I fear, but what lies within the Void between worlds." You remind him. "Should his call succeed, he shall deliver untold suffering unto himself and all the world."
The echoes of Doom in your voice catch Solas' attention, and he focuses on you with renewed intensity.
"Heavy words indeed." He states. "What lies in this 'void' you fear so much?"
"Morgoth, the Enemy of the World." You state.
Solas may lack the cultural knowledge of whom you speak, but he clearly recognises the tone you use.
"I suppose this Morgoth also goes by the name of 'the Dread Wolf'?" He asks, feigning disinterest.
You spring from your seat, the chair clattering to the ground behind you. "I tire of these assumptions of yours. I do not hail from this world, understand Perequendi, if Morgoth had walked upon this land, he would not be accounted as a god."
You allow part of your nature, usually hidden, to shine through, filling the room with the glory of the Noldor and the Light of Valinor. Fear flashes briefly across Solas' face, before he reaches for his staff, expression determined.
Your voice booms out, rattling the windows. "He would be remembered as the father of all Blights, the creator of all darkness. He is not a trickster or an unreliable friend. He is the enemy of all that is free, for he brooks nothing that he does not control and would have all that lives bow in supplication or be destroyed."
Rage fades, and with it the otherworldly light you command. Solas is clearly taken aback as your shoulders slump and voice becomes tired.
"I need your help. This is more important that whatever dislike you bear for me. Morgoth may not hear the call, but I cannot risk him doing so." You admit, pride stinging.
Solas looks from you to the staff he holds across himself. His contemplative gaze indicates racing thoughts on such a normally stone faced individual.
"I suppose I could have a look." He eventually says, putting his staff away smoothly.
Solas needs no directions to the tower in question. He strides through the Beyond without stopping, passing by every obstacle with the ease of one with great skill. When the tower comes into view he pauses and begins casting spells.
At first you wait eagerly, but it slowly becomes clear that this will be no swift process, and you settle down to wait.
Spell after spell is cast, Solas seemingly untiring, though if the Beyond is the source of his power, you suppose there is no need to call on whatever is within him. Eventually he rests his staff on the ground and massages his temples with his other hand.
"What madness lies upon you, June?" He asks in Elvhen, tiredly.
Before you have the chance to reply, he turns back to you.
"It will take me some time to discern what he is doing and stop it; you may leave if you wish." He informs you.
You leap to your feet and loom over the elf.
"Never!" You hiss furiously. "Never do you hear me! I will not simply crawl away and leave the fate of all who dwell in this land to a single unsupervised stranger. I am here, and I intend to ensure that this is finished as soon as possible."
"And what exactly can you do?" Solas asks, frustrated.
"Perhaps you would find it useful to have a test subject who has heard the call and continues to now." You observe bitterly. "As it happens, I have been sitting here doing nothing while you perform magic I do not understand."
Much to your frustration, if Solas notices the rebuke in your words he does not react to it. Instead, he rubs his head in thought, eyes flitting between you and the tower.
"A good point." He says slowly. "It opens many possibilities for investigation, and if all else fails trial and error will serve."
Solas is exceptionally lucky that you were brought up to be a polite elf, you have some truly cutting sarcasm regarding his behaviour that you are forcing yourself not to utter.
"I am glad that I can be of some assistance." You manage instead. "What do I need to do."
Solas narrows his eyes and chews his lip. "I think it would be best if you take a seat, I'll examine you and ask some questions as I go."
With a shrug, you take a seat and Solas gets to work. In the Beyond it is more difficult than usual to be certain what 'mana' is being used for, but you assume the faint traces you notice are diagnostic spells of some kind.
Something about the work he is performing causes Solas to relax somewhat, and when he speaks, it is not the questions you were expecting."
"Tell me more of your encounter with June." He begins. "What was he doing? What did he have in the room?"
You close your eyes and cast your mind back to the room, trying to visualise all that was within when you entered.
"There was a forge, reasonably well equipped as I understand such things. A mirror which served as a…" You pause to translate palantír into Thedaslta. "Far-gazer device. When we arrived, he was working on a black sphere that he wanted to use to find a 'wolf' that continues to elude his vision."
As your eyes open, you catch a glimpse of a smirk flashing across Solas' face. It is gone as quickly as it arrived, leaving you to wonder if you truly saw it at all.
"Aside from that there were numerous odds and ends, without time to study them I cannot be certain of any of their purposes." You conclude.
"It was a long shot at best." Solas says. "Still, it is safe to say that if he chooses to look he will notice our presence."
"I doubt he spends much of his time with his eyes on the base of his tower." You reply, drawing on your own experience with palantíri. "It is the blindness caused by the ability to see beyond the horizon, to miss what is within plain view."
Solas chuckles quietly. "True enough, besides which his prison holds firm. Even if he knows we are here there is nothing he can do. Returning to my questions, how would you describe this call?"
Between your prior investigations of the matter, and the calls persistence, you would think that you have a good idea of what the call is. Yet, despite the time spent on the task, you have rarely stopped to consider its nature.
"It is not a sound, nor is it an urge or a longing." You say, thinking aloud as much as you are explaining. "If I had to describe it I would liken it to the experience of someone trying to reach into my mind politely."
Solas gives you a look of mixed emotion. There is definitely curiosity there, but before you can unpack it further, he adopts a flat expression.
"For those of us who are not telepathic?" He asks leadingly.
One of these days you will no longer be surprised by the differences between your people and the elves of this land. It seems that day has yet to arrive.
"Imagine a, tug is the best word I suppose, on your mind." You explain haltingly. "It is not insistent or demanding, more a notification that someone is there and wants to speak to you."
Solas scowls in frustration. "That doesn't help. Can you put it any other way?"
You raise an eyebrow at him. "Can you describe colour to the blind?"
Solas sighs. "I will have to make do I suppose."
Solas continues to cast spells, the nature of which you understand only when their effects become noticeable. One attempts to dampen your emotions, only to be fought off by your mental defences. Another causes rather interesting patterns to appear in your vision.
After several such failed attempts, he gets his first success.
"I no longer hear the call." You report dutifully.
"Really?" Solas asks, surprised. "I had thought it would be harder."
Solas turns his diagnostic spells upon the tower. After a short time, he clicks his tongue in disappointment.
"I've blocked the receiver not the transmitter." He says in a tone that suggests he is kicking himself. "A good start but one that requires more work."
With a gesture, the 'mana' clinging to you fades away, and the call returns.
"Inform me if anything I do reduces the strength of the call you sense." Solas tells you, before returning to his experiments.
You wait for a time, how long you cannot say. Sometimes the call will wax, other times it wanes. Whenever either happens you inform Solas and he will adjust what he is doing.
Eventually Solas lowers arms that have been raised for a long time, exhaustion written on his face.
"I have done all I can, how stands the call?" He asks.
You examine the sensation with care, comparing it to this morning. "It is much weakened, yet still present."
Solas grimaces. "For now, I think we will need to hope that is enough. Perhaps later I might return to challenge him as an equal, but for now I have done all I can."
"An equal?" You ask.
For a moment it looks as though Solas will answer, then he shakes his head.
"It is a personal matter." He states firmly. "Suffice it to say that I am not as strong as I could be."
Ever more your suspicions of the elf mount. First his reaction to June's prison being entered, then all that has transpired within the beyond. A theory begins to swell within your mind.
"While we are on the subject, I have a question for you." Solas remarks. "While I was studying you I took the liberty of investigating your spirit tags, and…"
"Spirit tags?" You ask, remembering Merrill mentioning something along those lines.
"It's a term for the parts of your soul that tell you what you are." Solas replies quickly, clearly irritated by the interruption. "I have never seen any like yours, so tell me; what are you?"
Your patience snaps. "How many times must I answer your question, Solas? I have told you, I am an Elda, a Noldo and the eldest son of Fëanáro. This answer has never changed no matter how many times you have asked."
"I will keep asking until you give me an answer that makes sense!" Solas snaps back. "You list these titles as though they mean anything, but they don't!"
"The Eldar are the 'elves' of Arda. Tall, wise and immortal, specifically they are the ones who heeded the invitation of the Valar to sail to Aman. The Noldor are the second largest of the group that made it all the way." You spit. "Arda is a world much like this one but in a different place within the void. Should I continue?"
Solas has regained control of himself and speaks calmingly. "Ok, thank you but you must understand that is all rather hard to believe. Other worlds don't exist, unless you're talking about the Fade, could you provide proof?"
Contrary to what Solas expects, you do not calm down. In fact, your rage only mounts further. He has challenged you again and again, always refusing to accept the answers you gave him. Now he has the gall to act as though you are the one who is being unreasonable?
"Proof?" You hiss. "You want proof. Very well. You shall behold Maedhros the Tall unveiled!"
Fury has not yet dampened your wits to the point you do not realise the danger before you. Should Solas decide you are a spirit, or something else equally dangerous, he will attack. It is best if you remove that as an option, even if doing so will put Solas on his guard.
Cold rage sharpens your will, clears your mind and when your will seizes the 'mana' about you, it is helpless to resist. A circle of 'normality' encompasses you and Solas, bizarre landscapes replaced with grass and roots such that one could imagine a tree just out of sight.
Solas starts, for a moment feeling fear at this sudden change of the situation. With speed that you would find admirable if you were calmer, he rallies and pushes back against you. Demonstrating a great understanding of the mechanics of 'mana' he fights you not by trying to shape it in defiance of your will, but to contest that will directly.
For heartbeats that seem like years his will contests yours. His mastery of mana is immense, clearly understanding how it should move and flow. For your part you have no comparable knowledge, only the iron will of your family and the dogged resistance of fury.
Slowly, agonisingly so, Solas loses the contest. The mana solidifies into something concrete, the scents of forest starting to creep into your nose, the sound of birds faintly sounding in the distance. After one final heave briefly turns the grass about you purple, Solas slumps, sweat pouring from his brow.
"So, this is it?" He asks. "You lure me into the Fade and kill me here? Do you think you are the first to try?"
"I wonder if you have ever heeded my words?" You ask in frustration. "I promised that I would show you Noldorin Túrin Afantanë[1]. I am a Noldo of my word. Behold!"
A blare of trumpets sound as you let the Light of Valinor blaze forth. In this world of metaphor it becomes literal light, as beautiful as the Trees of your memory. You know from stories how it must seem to Solas, how your height now seems so unmissable, how your eyes seem as though they reflect a light long lost.
Solas stares, surprise finally cracking that impenetrable mask of his. Fear, shock and desperate hope war for control of his expression. Your moment to strike has come.
"You would know what I am? I am The Third in Line of House Finwë, The Well Formed, The Copper Topped. My eyes beheld the glory of Laurelin and Telperion in days before the sun. I was high king of the Noldor in elder days. I was the one who was saved from Thrangodrim and surrendered the crown for peace." You proclaim.
"I am a Child of the Stars. A Skilled One. I hail from Arda, sung into existence by the One and the Ainur. I have not crossed the void and dared doom and death to have my words questioned and intentions suspected by some apostate who cannot accept information that does not match his preconceived notions of reality!" You bellow.
"Then stop lying!" Solas roars back. "You give me answers that are impossible! Other worlds do not exist!"
"Then what was June trying to do? Whence did his voice reach? It cannot be this world for you could not hear it." You reply. "You know that I am nothing that you recognise, that I appeared from the Beyond and that my magic is not that of this world. The evidence exists, you refuse to accept it because you believe the conclusion impossible."
"I believe the evidence; I simply believe there is a simpler explanation." Solas argues.
"Endataurëo was created by magic despite the fact that such things are 'impossible'. Merrill rescued from possession despite the fact that, again, such things are 'impossible'. How many impossible things must occur before you admit that you do not understand what is possible?" You ask.
In the Light of Valinor, with the illusions of the physical world cast aside, before your inquiries, Solas does something you do not expect. He laughs.
The elf collapses to the ground, holding his stomach as his laughter comes in gales. You blink, uncertain of what to do, as the apostate struggles to get his breath under control.
Eventually he regains control, struggling to his feet leaning on his staff. "I must seem quite the stubborn fool. I certainly feel quite foolish."
Cautiously, hand close to your sword and spell on your lips, you relax your control of the mana around you.
When no attack comes, you cautiously respond, "So you believe me now."
"I…" Solas begins, then pauses. "I cannot say I do. But I acknowledge that I have begun with my conclusion and have sought evidence to prove it. I have not looked at the evidence and drawn forth a conclusion. For that, at least, I feel most foolish."
You relax slowly. "What is your new conclusion, in light of this evidence."
Solas grin brightly. "That you're a complete anomaly and I have no idea what you are."
Frustration rises once more, but before you can reply, Solas speaks again. "But I think I have an idea of who you are, and I think that you are a person I can trust."
Solas extends his hand towards you. Carefully you extend your own and clasp his in the manner you have seen among humans in this land.
"Though I would like an explanation of all of, that, later. For now, I am tired, and I would like to rest." Solas says, withdrawing his hand.
"I too could use some rest." You admit, the Light veiled once more.
Brother and Sister
Your time with Solas has taken the better part of the morning but considering the time venturing into the Beyond has taken in the past, you consider this acceptable. Solas leaves you once inside the gates, and you let him go, business concluded for now.
You are about to start assembling for the march to reinforce Anneth, when the sound of hooves interrupts you.
Turning to look out of the gates, you see Xandar astride Calaternén with a woman with swarthy skin and keen eyes in a chantry robe. The woman rides Dal'banal'ras and appears to be struggling to remain astride.
The two reach you and Xandar introduces you. "Sister Tiania, this is my teacher. Teacher, this is Sister Tiania who I told you about."
Despite having many questions, your mother would travel across the void to strangle you if you were rude to a young woman. "Greetings Sister Tiania, I am Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol, lord of Brecilian Forest."
"A pleasure to meet you." The woman answers distractedly, staring up at you. "I wasn't aware the forest had a lord."
"It is largely an honorary title." You explain, then turn to Xandar. "I thought you were waiting until I agreed to see her before you brought her here."
Xandar blinks in confusion. "But you agreed to see her last night, after Ranger finished explaining about the guy who wants you to storm a castle for him."
You search your memory, and you do find an exhaustion fogged memory of Xandar rambling about his new friend, and you nodding in response.
"I suppose I did." You muse aloud. "Well, it is good to meet a friend of Xandar's, I am told you have some questions for me."
To her credit, the Sister looks uncomfortable. "Well, I don't mean to intrude…"
"I am hardly going to make you ride all the way back, when you have already travelled so far." You reassure her. "Unless I have my distances wrong, you must have been riding through parts of the night to be here so soon."
"Uh, thanks." She mutters. "Was the saddle thing a prank or does everyone here really ride without anything on the horse."
"It is no prank." You reply seriously. "I see no need for such crude tools."
Tiania nods absently, then shakes herself violently. She finally stops staring at you and slaps her face several times.
"Forgive me. Staring like that is entirely unbecoming of a Sister of my rank." She states firmly, carefully not looking at you. "I am pleased to meet you, my lord. Thank you for taking the time to speak to me."
"There is no need for titles or honorifics." You wave off her apology and deference simultaneously. "Call me by my name. As for my time, it is hardly your fault I agreed to see you at a time when I was busy with other matters."
"Of course, Russandol." Tiania replies cautiously, watching as closely as she can in case you take offence. "I shall get to my questions as quickly as possible."
When you do not respond, she does just that. "Xandar tells me you do not believe in the Maker, is that true?"
"Not exactly, the Maker may exist, or he may not, it simply makes no difference to me." You explain briefly.
"I see." Tiania's thoughts race, clearly changing her questions on the fly. "Tell me, how does a mage of your standing remain independent of the Circle?"
"I am not a mage." You correct her.
Tiania reels mentally from your response. "Might I ask why Xandar calls you his teacher then, if you cannot teach him."
The answers to that particular question are numerous indeed, but before you can answer them, there is one question of your own that needs answering.
Sister Tiania's actions are most likely a result of the effects your physical appearance has on certain humans. In most cases, you would likely have given them no further thought. Yet, in this world there are humans who can perceive realities beyond the physical world. Given the Chantry's role in controlling mages, it is not impossible that this woman can see what you truly are.
There is a simple way to discern the truth of the matter without saying a word. Very carefully you allow the smallest fragment of the Light of Valinor shine. It will not be enough for an ordinary human to sense anything, but should she have some sensitivity to it there will be a sign.
With a twinkle in your eyes that is dismissed by most humans as a trick of the light, you meet Tiania's gaze.
"That is a subject that will take some time to discuss, would you care to come inside and take a seat for the conversation?" You ask.
The woman's eyes drop from yours and she fights to keep a blush at bay. Her reactions not significantly different before even the restrained Light.
After several deep breaths to calm herself, she replies, "That sounds nice. Please, lead the way."
It seems that you worried for nothing, she is merely struck by your appearance, rather than making use of some supernatural sense. It makes sense you suppose, there is no shortage of strange magic in Endataurëo that she would likely be just as interested in if she possessed such a sense.
"Now you wished to know why Xandar refers to me as his teacher, is that correct?" You ask, Tiania once she has settled into a comfortable chair.
Tiania focuses gamely on an imaginary spot by your ear. "That is correct, given your inability to teach him magic."
"There are a number of different reasons, as is usually the case with such things." You explain, attention entirely on the woman. "Part of the matter is born of Xandar's personality. I found him when he had nobody and swore to aid him."
Tiania flinches slightly as you continue, "As such he feels a debt, which manifested in the bestowing of ever more ridiculous titles, Teacher was the only one I was willing to accept that he was willing to use."
Tiania's surprise is obvious, and she replies, "Surely you could have him call you 'my lord' or something similar?"
You grin wryly. "At the time we met, I was not yet a lord of Ferelden, as such I believed such a title would be an insult to any nobility I might meet."
The Sister frowns. "Surely there is more to it than that. What are those other reasons you mentioned?"
"Certainly. I may not teach Xandar magic as you understand it, but I have always felt that studying such matters in isolation is a recipe for disaster." You explain with a smile. "As such, I teach him things that help him expand his knowledge more generally."
"I'm not sure I'm following. While knowledge is always helpful, surely teaching him to control his powers is paramount." Tiania argues, finally managing to meet your gaze unflinchingly.
"Hardly, if one is to understand magic, one must understand what one is doing. To that end, an understanding of the world is not merely helpful, it is 'paramount'." You see Tiania still does not understand, so you continue, "As an example, I have taught Xandar much of mundane medicine to support his studies of magical healing."
"It's really helpful!" Xandar interjects. "It's much easier to fix something if I know what's wrong and why that's bad."
"I see." Tiania replies thoughtfully. "There's still the matter of, Xandars, um, thoughts on you."
"Are you referring to his insistence that I am some kind of divine messenger?" You ask, eyebrow raised questioningly.
Tiania is taken aback, but nods.
You begin to answer, but then a thought occurs to you. "Xandar, would you go fetch Merrill for me? I think Tiania would like to speak to her."
"Yes, teacher!" Xandar exclaims, practically running to the door.
When Xandar is safely out of earshot, you say, "That is the final reason he refers to me as teacher. While I disagree with his belief, as the One most certainly has not sent me to deliver any kind of message, I see no harm in using that belief to ensure that he learns what he must to control himself."
"Is that not manipulative?" Tiania asks, frowning.
"Not truly." You explain. "I make no secret of the fact that he is wrong, he simply does not accept it. As such, I can do nothing to dissuade him, but his belief means he heeds my words. If I choose to give him good advice and he takes it as divine commands, then I cannot stop him."
Tiania nods slowly. "I see where you're coming from, and I'm sure it's a hard place to be, being considered someone akin to Andraste, skirting the line of heresy."
There is a sense of resignation as you begin your response. You have found yourself having this conversation many times since you arrived in this land. Until now you had considered humans' obsession with religion an amusing diversion, yet of late it has been a constant irritant.
"It has more to do with the fact he believes I am something that I am not." You answer her unstated accusation. "I have no fear of heresy, as I am not part of your religion."
"Yes, you mentioned something about that when I arrived. You don't see a reason why the Maker's existence should impact your life, is that correct?" Tiania says leaning forward. "Could you explain your position there in more detail?"
With a sigh, you settle back for a long conversation. "I do not suppose I can convince you to ask your sister in faith Nova, could I? I have already had this and variants of this argument with her."
"As much as it gladdens me to hear that you have an advisor for spiritual matters, this visit is mostly to let me get a read on you." Tiania replies apologetically. "It is better to hear your beliefs from your own lips."
"I fail to see how knowing what I believe about your Maker will inform you about my character." You say. "Such things are best known by deeds, not by words."
Tiania seems genuinely shocked by your words. For a time, you can clearly see her considering you in a new light, but what conclusions she draws are a mystery to you.
"I beg your indulgence in this matter, my lord. I assure you I can derive more from such a conversation than you might think." She says respectfully.
"Did I not already tell you to call me by my name? I am not some child playing at power who must be endlessly placated lest they lash out in wrath." You reply, frustration bleeding into your voice. "It is a simple request, one that I can easily grant."
Tiania bows her head. "Thank you, Russandol. I appreciate it."
"I shall begin with the chain of logic I explained to your compatriot Elspeth when she visited." You explain. "I was taught as a child that Eru Illúvatar created the world with the aid of the Valar. While the Maker may be another term for the All Father, it is equally possible that humans mistook a Valar for the one and worship him."
"That does not explain Andraste, nor her visions." Tiania points out. "Her accounts clearly explain that the Maker is just that, the maker of the world. Thus it must follow that this Eru of yours is the Maker and you do in fact worship him."
"My people do not worship Eru." You correct idly. "On Andraste, I cannot speak as I have never heard her words. Yet, your compatriot gave me an explanation of your beliefs and I must confess they concern me."
"Tiania remains silent, allowing you to continue speaking. "Never in my life have I heard any account of the One demanding to be worshiped. For such things are unnecessary, as all things act according to his design, and in doing so proclaim his glory."
You meet Tiania's eyes. "But there was a Valar who did demand worship, one who demanded the world kneel to him. He Who Arises in Might, he was once called but I now know him as Morgoth, Enemy of the World. A creature who took the creative powers granted him by the one and used them to create twisted mockeries of life."
"I see." TIania replies. "Many people struggle with the Darkspawn, and if there is a figure of your own mythology with parallels I can understand it being difficult to accept the Maker…"
"Morgoth was no myth. I met him, I spoke to him when we still called him Melkor. He set my father against my uncle, slew my grandfather and chained me by my wrist to a mountaintop." You interrupt, voice ice cold with rage. "I heard the screams of his victims; I fought his armies. I was there when his fortress fell and the slaves within were released."
Tiania is taken aback, but cautiously says, "Well, it's always a tragedy when a tyrant mobilises religion to justify their crimes, but the Chantry is not this Morgoth."
"Morgoth's words snuck into your head and made you think they were your own thoughts. His conflict with the other Valar sank the continent of Beleriand." You recite, emotionlessly. "Men worshipped him as a god, and it was never enough for him. It is not your Chantry that concerns me, it is your Maker."
Tiania falls silent, thinking on your words. For your part, your thoughts are far away, in the choking ash of Thrangodrim, the dark pits of Angband, on blood, oaths, death, and sorrow.
Sister Tiania's voice interrupts your brooding. "I understand that you are concerned, but you must see that it is better for Xandar to be watched by expert mages and guarded by templars."
"There is nothing a Templar can do that I cannot, and I am sworn to Xandar's defence even should all the hosts of Morgoth storm this forest." You reply. "Further, this building is shielded from the Beyond by some mechanism of Merrills, vastly reducing the dangers of possession. This place is safer than the Circle and has the advantage of being a place Xandar wants to be."
Tiania spends some time searching for deceit or falsehoods. Eventually, she either decides you are telling the truth or that she will never be able to be certain if you are lying.
"Thank you for your time, Russandol." The Sister says. "Unfortunately, I am very busy and, as much as I'd like to continue our conversation, I do need to return to my duties. It was good to meet you."
"It was no trouble." You return her farewell. "It was good to meet you also. I hope you have a safe trip back."
The Sister leaves with Xandar, who is happily asking her questions about squirrels and their role in lyrium production.
[1] A lord of the Noldor unveiled (lit. not veiled/cloaked)