Ok, so I totally forgot to post this last week, there was no reason, just got caught up in other things I guess. As an apology, this update sees the return of the 'bonus scene'. It's a little bit of an odd duck, and I worry it won't come back at any point in the future, but I like it.
Dinner with the Teyrn. No not that one!
An invitation to dinner with a higher noble is not one spurned lightly. One that aims to celebrate you for great deeds is one that requires dire need before it goes unheeded. Thus, you find yourself saddling Orundómë for a long ride to the Cousland's seat of power in Highever.
The journey takes the better part of three days, with you stopping off to visit your neighbours as you ride north. You have little time for pleasantries, merely greeting them and maybe stopping for a meal if you were already planning on eating.
Those you have met before are understanding, and those you have not barely care for your existence. Most of the Banns whose castles you stop at out of politeness never even meet you personally. They merely have their staff take a message you doubt the Bann will ever hear.
Such things do not matter much to you, yet it is still a relief when you arrive in Highever and are greeted at the gate.
"Welcome m'lord. We were told to expect you, though you're a touch early." The gate sergeant greets you. "We're to take you and your entourage up to the castle sharpish. Are they coming soon, or will they be delayed."
Your lip quirks in amusement. "I am afraid that I prefer to travel alone, it is faster."
The grizzled soldier blinks once in confusion, but masters it swiftly. "Very good, m'lord, if you'll leave your horse with our groom, I'll take you up to the castle personal."
"You have my thanks warrior." You reply, feeling more at home then you have in a while.
The silence on the way to the castle gives you much time to reflect on when exactly you became more comfortable with the rough respect of soldiers than the endless platitudes of courtiers. Such thoughts lead nowhere pleasant, and you are glad when the sight of the old Teyrn puts an end to them.
He rises when you arrive. "Welcome, lord Russandol. I am pleased to see that you made it so soon."
Your pride does not allow a full bow as etiquette demands, but you incline your head towards him. He grins and returns with a slightly shallower head tilt. Then he turns away and gestures for you to follow him.
"I must say I was most surprised when I looked into the tall red cloaked warrior who saved my Teyrnin and found out that there was a recently elevated lord of exactly that description." He says as you walk through the corridors.
"I have been reliably informed that I am a terrible busybody." You reply jokingly.
The Teyrn laughs as he leads you into a small dining hall with many people inside. "May I introduce you to my wife, Eleanor."
Eleanor is a severe looking woman with grey hair, she extends her hand towards you. "Pleased to meet you lord Russandol."
You are somewhat thrown off by the gesture, as it would be more normal among the Noldor to bow. Somewhat awkwardly you clasp her wrist like you might a fellow warrior. This results in some, admittedly well hidden, amusement on the part of everyone around you.
"The usual protocol is to kiss it." She explains.
You bite back your feeling of shame and reply. "Thank you for clarifying, I feared insulting you if you placed great stock in your skill as a warrior."
This results in some polite laughter and respectful looks. You doubt anyone believes you knew the correct protocol, but they appreciate your ability to save face.
From there you are introduced to the Teyrn's son and daughter, Fergus and Fiona, as well as Fergus' wife and child.
"You're really tall, lord Russandol! How'd you get so big?" The child asks awestruck.
"The secret is healthy eating, all your vegetables, plenty of exercise," You begin. "And pure concentrated spite! I would never permit Kanafinwë to grow up taller than me!"
Your jest has the child giggling wildly, and the adults in the room smiling.
"Shall we eat now?" Eleanor asks. "Surely our guest is hungry after his long journey."
"Excellent idea mother." Fergus says.
There is only one table and a notable absence of other nobles in the room, so much of the usual hierarchy is dispensed with.
"I hope you don't mind us having a smaller gathering." The Teyrn says. "We did not wish to have too large an affair in case you had other things to do. I know how busy a new lord can be."
"It is of no concern." You reply. "Spending time with your family is already more than I expected."
Your words seem to please the Teyrn, who raises a glass in toast. "To lord Russandol, saviour of Highever!"
The table raises their glasses then taps them against each other. You tap yours against your neighbours', the Teyrn and his son. After everyone has drained their glasses, the Teyrn turns to you.
"Lord Russandol, perhaps you could tell me how you came to be in the area of Soldier's Peak." He asks.
"In truth it is a rather dull tale." You reply. "I was approached by Levi Dryden while I was investigating the Black City for connections to the darkspawn."
"That is a rather unusual avenue of investigation, what brought it about?" The eldest Cousland asks.
"I believe that it is best to track things of that nature back to their origin." You explain. "The darkspawn may be numberless but if they could be cut off at the source, perhaps they might yet be overcome."
"I see." The Teyrn replies, looking tired. "I am sorry, do continue your tale."
From there you launch into the tale in full. Though you do not consider it to be an event of much note, it would be remiss not to give a tale worth listening to. So, you regale them with the slow unfolding of the mystery of the events at the Peak. The battle with Dryden and the confrontation with Avernus.
"Then Levi volunteered to remain on watch while I rode to acquire reinforcements. It was mere fortune you were in the area, else I would have sought elsewhere." You finish your tale.
"Truly it sounds quite the adventure." Fiona contributes.
"I confess, it did not feel much like one." You reply. "Though such events sound dramatic, I rarely felt in any true danger. In fact, my loss of composure when facing Avernus is rather embarrassing in hindsight."
"And on that note, I believe it is time for dinner." Eleanor says, ringing a bell.
Dinner is perfectly acceptable for this sort of occasion. The food is made well, and there is plenty for all, but it is hardly the kind of extravagance you would typically see at human feasts. In truth it makes you rather more comfortable.
You attempt to draw conversation towards matters of the realm and affairs of that nature, but the Teryn and his son do not go into much detail on such matters. Instead, you find yourself talking of your own actions in the forest more often than not. You suspect they are attempting to gain your measure.
"Is it true that you took a large body of elves from the Alienage in Denerim?" Fergus asks.
"True in word, but hardly in spirit." You reply. "I offered employment to a large section of largely unemployed persons, and they took that offer. To say I 'took' them adds a rather sinister undertone to the affair that was entirely absent."
"I am curious," The Teyrn interject, "What do you have them doing?"
"Nothing in specific." You reply. "They are largely working in whatever capacity was available at the time. Farmers, blacksmiths, those who had a desirable craft such as healing or weaving continue to perform that craft."
"I see, they work with humans then?" The Teyrn asks.
"I see no reason they should not." You reply.
Fergus nods. "Truly, we feel much the same way. So many nobles allow ancient prejudices to blind them. Elves are not so different from humans after all."
"To my eyes they are barely distinguishable." You agree.
You speak of other matters. The Teyrn and you commiserate over the difficulties of getting a half decent road complete. The price of food is discussed intensely. Fergus asks about your growing retinue and how you go about training it.
Sadly, due to your distance from them, you do not get much of an opportunity to speak with the rest of the Teyrn's family during dinner. They do occasionally make comment, but are just as often drawn into their own conversations that you cannot join in.
Dinner comes to an end with what you believe to be a largely positive if somewhat disinterested impression. You hardly think you have made a strong ally but you certainly have not made an enemy.
"Would you care for drinks?" The Teyrn asks. "We have a rather nice sitting room, and there's a new wine I've been meaning to try."
"No way. I'm taking Fergus out back to spar." Fiona says, grimacing.
Fergus shakes his head but smiles tolerantly. You empathise deeply, little siblings can be a trial.
"Oren's a bit bored, so I'm going to take him off to play. Don't let us keep you." Fergus' wife contributes. "Do you want to come lord Russandol?"
Fergus looks at his wife with shock and concern. The wife responds with a level gaze, likely communicating that she wants to take your measure. Fergus shifts uneasily.
A spark of an idea lights in his eyes. "If you prefer you could join Fiona and I in sparring, I'd be fascinated to see how you fight. Father says you have quite the talent."
Fiona perks up next to him, clearly eager for that outcome. You glance at the Teyrn, but he is smiling indulgently at his children. It seems, contrary to your expectations, you actually have a choice in the matter.
There are two equally good options. You could speak with the Teyrn and his wife, it would give more opportunities to connect with nobility and make a good impression. Given how you have been treated so far, you doubt you have made much of an impression.
On the other hand, you could also achieve that goal by spending time with the children. They are likely to influence the opinion of their father somewhat, and you are much more likely to impress in a spar. However, silver your tongue, you need to beware looking like a social climber.
In the end, you decide to go out for a spar with Fergus and Fiona. There are a number of practical reasons you could offer for this decision, but if you are being truly honest, the main one is that it sounds more interesting than polite small talk over drinks.
The two young nobles lead you to a small, paved square near their house. There's a forge on one end, a number of targets and training dummies at the other. After a short argument Fergus sends Fiona off to fetch the wooden practice blades.
When he returns, they introduce you to a strange game to decide who will face who first. The game is called 'Rock, Knife, Parchment' and it rather reminds you of a similar game from your own childhood. The games are just similar enough to be confusing, but different enough that you lose immediately. So, you end up sparring last.
Your first match is against Fiona, who lost to her elder brother. She proves a tricky opponent. She wields a shield and sword in a classic combo but makes excellent use of her shield to disorient and distract. Frankly, you consider her a decently talented foe.
You still defeat her obviously.
Fergus fights much like his sister, but with a great deal more experience, and a greater focus on his blade. He prefers to use his shield to move your defences aside to grant himself the opportunity for a decisive strike. Still, it is nothing you have not seen before, and he too is defeated.
"You're quite the swordsman." He says, resting briefly.
"Where'd you learn?" Fiona asks.
You shrug. "Here and there. I lacked a dedicated teacher, and I confess that I was self-taught for a significant portion of my early training. From there it has been mostly experience that refined my skills to what you see today."
The girl narrows her eyes at you, a glint of challenge within them. "Any tips?"
You pause in thought. "I do not wish to give offence, but I have noticed that you tend to overcommit to your shield attacks, it leaves you open to ripostes…"
Thus, a pattern emerges. The two siblings spar with each other briefly, then they each attempt to defeat you. You fend them off until you make or find an opening, then explain what you did and how they can avoid it in future. Each time, Fergus takes it in good spirit, but Fiona becomes more and more competitive.
After three or so repetitions of this sequence of events, while you are facing the elder brother, your ears alert you to the whistling of a blade behind you. You spring into a side roll immediately, and the blade passes through the air where you stood.
Fergus leaps back putting up his blade in a clear sign to stop.
"Fiona!" He barks.
"What?" Fiona asks, irritated.
"You attacked our guest from behind! He could have been hurt!" Fergus yells.
"I aimed at his chainmail, it might have bruised but nothing worse. We're using wooden swords remember?" Fiona argues. "Besides, I figured it might be more fair if we fought him together."
Fergus looks ready to continue berating his sister, but you step in. "I would not have you offended on my behalf. If the two of you wish to face me together, I welcome the challenge."
Fergus looks from his sister to you. "If you're sure."
You nod, and the spar resumes.
It is plain to everyone here that this will be the last time the three of you cross swords today, as such both of the young nobles put their all into trying to defeat you. Your blade becomes a streak of brown as you ward off attacks from two weapons and two shields at once.
The two quickly find a rhythm together and with cooperation begin to drive you back. They have yet to hit you, but it looks like this is going to be more a question of who will make a mistake first. Neither of the humans has realised it yet, but that favours you significantly more than them.
What ends up happening is a sudden loud crack as something wizzes past your ear. Your practice blade has broken about an inch from the tip, shortening the weapon. Fergus once more backs off, too cautious to continue, but Fiona continues, believing she has seen an opportunity.
She has not.
Even with a broken weapon you manage to prevail, and you spend a great deal of time discussing how to work with others and the relative advantages of fighting with and without a shield. Fiona even pesters some tips on fighting with a broken weapon out of you, though it is not something you have much experience with.
As evening falls, you disarm the concerns of the Teyrn about his daughter's behaviour, as you were never in real danger even if she did disobey safety procedures. When you leave, you have made a slight impression on the nobles, but you believe you have picked up a new rival in Fiona.
On the long ride home, you are left with nothing to distract you from your thoughts. Once again, you find yourself dwelling on the question you had avoided until now. When did you become more comfortable with the tools and methods of war than those of diplomacy?
It was one thing when you had preferred the rough respect of soldiers. You know that humans have a propensity for insincere flattery, and it is no surprise that you prefer the practical respect of those with no time for such things. Yet, now you must also contend with your preference for sparring over drinks.
In Eldamar you had whiled away many an evening sitting around, wine in hand, discussing matters of the realm. When had such a task become something to be avoided? You shudder, rubbing your right wrist absently. Has the War of the Jewels left you a husk who knows only battle?
When Fiona had attacked you from behind, a younger you would have been horrified, yet your first reaction was approval. Coming at the foe from unexpected angles and making use of any advantage to overcome great odds has become a trait you admire, even if it steps upon the bounds of courtesy or flirts with dishonour.
What have you become?
There is no answer forthcoming, only the steady beat of Orundómë's hooves upon the road.
Buying and Selling.
Martin is nursing a headache. He'd gotten sucked into a drinking contest/card game the previous night and was really regretting his choices this morning.
"How're you feeling human?" Delora asks brightly.
"Why are you here elf?" Martin groaned as her words sent spikes of pain through his skull.
"Well, I heard you were under the weather and thought that as you apprentice, it was my job to come and cheer you up!" The elf taunts.
"Well, the best thing for that is if you go away and let me recover." Martin growls into his hands.
"What? But then what would I do with the marching band I hired specially just for you?" Delora continues, smirking.
Martin groans in combined frustration and pain. His 'apprentice' chuckles. There's a loud thump of something hitting a table, and the human squeezes his eyes shut in pain.
"Well, I've got a job to do, try not to waste too much time with my totally fun, super special high pitched impressionist." The elf cackles, walking away.
After the door close, Martin opens his eyes. A potion bottle filled with a muddy brown liquid sits on the table across from him. A note has been placed by its side, reading: 'Herbal Hangover Remedy'.
With no better options Martin drains the bottle. It tastes awful, strong overtones of clashing herbal flavours with a tangy aftertaste that clings to his tonsils. Immediately after drinking it he runs to the well for some water to wash it down.
Several minutes he manages to make it to the courtyard where the carts are being loaded. The sun makes him squint, but he can see Delora overseeing the labourers.
He walks over and says, "Thanks for that. It helped."
The elf shrugs. "Mihnowen made it, I just brought it along."
"That elf healer?" Martin says, surprised. "Amazing, it's one of the best I've had."
"I think she stumbled across it by accident one day. Never really asked too much about it." Delora replies.
"Ok great." Martin replies, trailing off.
The two stood in awkward silence for a while. Despite their hopes the loading did not require either of their attention so provided no opportunity to break the oppressive atmosphere.
Eventually Martin asks, "So, I noticed you don't usually join in the drinking."
"I do!" Delora protests. "I just prefer spending time with people from the Alienage. I grew up with them, and I've got tonnes of friends."
"Right. Right, didn't mean anything by it." Martin reassures her. "Just thought I'd let you know that you could probably drop by sometime. If you want."
Delora looks away. "Well, I'm pretty busy. Tell me when the next get together is and I'll see if I have time."
"Should be one the evening we get back." Martin informs her.
Their nascent conversation is ended by the sudden need for both of them to get involved in the loading process. Typical really.
"So, we're looking to purchase your sheep and employ you to take care of them." Delora says.
The shepherd grunts unintelligibly.
"Was that a yes?" The elf asks uncertainly.
The shepherd grunts again.
"I don't understand you." Delora says, gritting her teeth in frustration.
"Arr, yaar gunnar nud tah coom tah mah hos, wehl hammer ahout thar dehtails thair." The old man says.
Delora blinks twice, trying to decode what she's just heard. For several moments she tries to unpick what the man had said, to no avail.
"Could you perhaps nod or shake your head?" She asks finally.
The shepherd rolls his eyes and gestures for her to follow him. He leads her to his house, a small wood building with a hand made fence and thatched roof.
Negotiations prove difficult, due largely to the strange accent of the shepherd. In the end Delora establishes that he is looking to relieve himself of the financial burden of the sheep, while maintaining a livelihood. At least that's what she thinks he said based on what the villagers who directed her here, with much less thick accents, claimed.
"I understand your caution." Delora says in her best 'posh' voice. "But look, I reckon that lord Nelya whatever his name's unpronounceable is a pretty good boss. If he treats us elves alright you can bet he'll deal you straight."
"Troosten ah ailv haint hezactly soonrahs, ah got ar chundeshion." The shepherd replies.
It is a sign of the difficulties the elf is having that she doesn't even realise the insult to her people before the shepherd is speaking again.
The man puts down a pair of dirty glasses and a bottle of clear liquid. "Ehf yaar whanna knoo thar karaktoor ahve ah mahn yaarv ghut tah dhrenk weth hem."
While Delora attempts to muddle through his words he pours them each a glass of the drink. At his signal and prompting Delora tips the glass into her mouth.
It is a strange experience, it burns and freezes and tastes strangely of wood and boots. Delora coughs and sputters after the first sip, only to realise that her host has finished his entire glass and is offering her a refill.
The next morning Delora groans as Martin gleefully extols the virtues of high pitched whistle competitions. It is only after he has handed her the hangover remedy that she finds out she successfully recruited the shepherd.