Dwarven Deals

Your plans for the week have been lain out. Despite your deep desire to speak to Ranger while he recovers, the unfortunate truth is that you simply do not have the time. Nova is preparing for departure after receiving a letter, which demands your immediate attention. From there, you have to ride out to inspect the Chasind, hire more staff and consult with Duncan.

Fate also, it seems, has little interest in giving you time to regret this. A messenger pelts in from the walls. Breathlessly she explains that a small party of dwarves has managed to avoid the rangers' patrols and is approaching the walls unannounced.

When you arrive at the walls yourself, your keener eyes are able to make out more details, aided by the fact that they are now much closer. It is not the large party that would indicate Ursular's arrival, but rather a small group of approximately four individuals.

Most of the dwarves in question are armed and armoured in a manner that you recognise from Ursular's guards. Light leather clothing, with little to no metal on it, long knives and crossbows. There is one person who wears no head covering, and more cloth than leather. You think they also bear a shortsword rather than a dagger, but the distinction among dwarves is less obvious than among elves.

None of the group bear any identifying marks, and those with head coverings also bear masks. which would have made you suspicious at the best of times, but after Beleriand, well 'I know you not, I trust you not'[1].

"Those who are off duty are to arm themselves and have the non-combatants withdraw into the hall." You command.

The warrior nods, and before too long you hear the sound of a horn blowing. The sound makes you smile slightly, until you recall why such a sound is being made.

Soon, the walls are manned by a score and three heavy infantry. A little less than half of them have no armour, but it is certainly enough to hold the walls against even twice that number. With grim satisfaction you take a last glance around the perimeter of the wall as the dwarves arrive within a stone's throw of the wall.

"Halt!" You cry. "Who goes?"

The dwarves pull up short, a pair of the masked individuals glancing nervously at each other. The more 'well dressed' one steps forward, a wide insincere smile on his beardless face.

"Greetings, is this the domain of Lord Nelyafinwë Russandol?" He calls back. "We are here to engage in trade discussions."

"You have not answered my question, dwarf." You challenge again.

"Ah, forgive me." He yells up. "I am Azeral, these are my bodyguards. I represent the organisation that has been supplying you with Lyrium and armour. I believe you work with… Ursa?"

"If you are truly Ursular's comrades, how is it that you do not even remember her name?" You reply, wishing you had some archers on hand.

"We are not comrades, merely members of the same organisation." Azeral yells again. "I understand your suspicions, but my voice is growing tired from shouting. Perhaps I might be permitted to enter alone for negotiations?"

You turn the proposal over in your head a few times, seeking ways it might be a trap. Ultimately, you cannot think of anything that is at once practical, likely and dangerous to you from what you have seen. Tentatively you agree.

The dwarf makes a show of courtesy when the two of you meet. "I thank you most effusively for agreeing to speak to me. I happen to have a proposal that I think will be much to our mutual advantage."

"That proposal being?" You ask neutrally.

"Ah, well, as I'm sure you know, us dwarves live under ground. But, wood is still in high demand among our people. I thought to myself: Ursa, I mean Ursular, has been doing well with this forest lord of hers, why not ask him for some."

"If you wish to purchase wood, I must disappoint you. I see not benefit to cutting down trees for profit, and I have none to sell." You reply.

"Ahh, not to worry." Azeral says, a glint of greed in his eye. "I hear you're in the market for high quality dwarven armour. It just so happens that I have a 'connection'. If you agree to supply, oh, twenty units of wood a week, I can get you a suit in exchange."

"That is a trade at significantly above market value." You note. "Is this legal?"

A minute moment of panic flashes across the dwarf's face.

"Oh absolutely. Entirely above board." He says, smiling.

"You are lying." You state, warriors griping weapons around you.

"No! No! No!" The dwarf exclaims, waving his hands. "Stone as my witness, it's all legal on the surface. No human laws being broken."

"What of dwarven laws?" You ask cautiously.

"Nothing you need to worry about." Azeral asserts.

You turn the offer over in your head for a few long moments. There is a part of you, born in Eldamar, that demand the dwarf's incarceration, that no crime can be allowed to go unpunished. The part of you that burns with righteous anger would see no exceptions to laws, even those not of your own lands.

In truth you are surprised you are even still capable of feeling so.

That ember of righteous anger is swiftly snuffed out by cold pragmatism forged by Beleriand. It will benefit you immensely to have more high quality armour, even if the sale of trees of all things to facilitate it is something of an, uncomfortable, subject. However, you have done far worse for far less worthy reasons.

On that note, you could use the space to expand your fields. It would sit much better with you if all you were selling was the by-products of other matters. Yes, you can live with this compromise. Now it is merely a matter of haggling.

"There is one small matter I would address before we continue discussions." You state idly, as though unconcerned with the matter at hand. "How long do you envision this arrangement lasting?"

Azeral purses his beardless lips. "I could never dictate terms to so august a personage as yourself. How long do you wish the deal to last?"

As negotiating tactics go it is not the worst. You still dislike it, for many reasons.

"Well, I suppose I should leave such things to you." You reply, as though uncaring. "Though obviously with the upcoming disruption to supply it cannot possibly span beyond the next four months."

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, what upcoming disruption." The dwarf asks, eyes sharp.

"I am afraid I am bound by oath not to speak of the matter." You state. "All that is necessary for this transaction is that you know that I cannot continue to supply beyond four months."

The dwarf's eyes unfocus as he calculates. You can hear him whispering numbers under his breath, unaware you can hear him.

"At twenty units that's still more than I hoped." He mutters, before saying loudly. "Well, if you cannot, you cannot. Though it will cut into my profits greatly. Can I not convince you to raise the number of trees?"

"I am the guardian of this forest." You reply. "If anything, I should be arguing you down."

A glint of pleasure appears in the dwarf's eye as the haggling begins.

"My lord." The dwarf begins. "You cannot possibly expect me to profit at a measly twenty units, for only four weeks! I would need double at minimum if I were to make this worth my while."

"That is quite the risk you have taken." You note calmly. "If your margins are so slim that you cannot acquire armour at less than double its base cost."

Azeral smooths the front of his clothing. "Well, it is dwarven armour, finding a smith capable of making it, let alone of the quality a person of your obvious standards would demand, is a challenge."

"It is enough to make me wonder if you are even capable of fulfilling you end of the bargain." You state, resting your chin in your hand.

"I'm sorry?" The dwarf asks, surprised.

"Well, any merchant worth the name knows that any venture, however profitable, must be weighed against the risk of the venture." You explain. "It is no good making all the money in the world, if you are slain returning home."

"I did not know you were that familiar with merchants." The dwarfs says with a strained smile.

"My brother was rather gifted at such matters, and prone to rants besides." You comment distractedly. "As such, I know for a fact that you are either a terrible merchant to offer something that is so difficult for you to acquire, or you are an excellent merchant and you are lying to me."

"If your brother was a merchant, than surely you must know hyperbole is not uncommon in haggling." The dwarf replies. "I do not mean to say that I literally require forty units to afford a single suit of armour."

"Then you are willing to accept the cost of the armour in question?" You ask. "I believe fifteen units of wood sell for sixty silver on the surface, which is approximately the cost of the armour in question."

"That certainly sounds reasonable to me." The dwarf says, concealing his triumph.

"Excellent." You reply, springing your trap. "Then the only question remaining is what you are actually paying for the armour in question. After all, you clearly have no care for the laws that make the sale of such things expensive."

You hear Azeral muttering something under his breath about 'knowing this was too good to be true'.

You eventually come to an agreement on what exactly this will cost you.

You are magnanimous in victory, if only to ensure that you make no enemies unnecessarily. Despite the fact that you are almost certain that the armour in question is obtained underhandedly if not outright stolen, you agree to a relatively reasonable price, that of a regular quality suit on the surface.

In exchange, you build in a certain amount of leeway into the delivery times. You have ten weeks to assemble one hundred and fifty units of wood. That gives you time to recruit additional staff, plan out a system and generally take your time to do this right. You consider it a victory, even with the cost.

"Alright, I guess I can live with this." Azeral sighs. "Should have taken the point about having a brother in the business as a warning."

"I hardly have his talent for these matters." You demure. "I am merely experienced rather than truly talented."

The dwarf gives you a strange look then sighs again. "Sure. Well, guess I'd better get going if we want to make the Deep Roads before dark."

"Will you not stay the night?" You ask. "Refresh yourself and depart come morning?"

"I hadn't thought that merchants would be welcome in such, lofty accommodations." The dwarf says slowly. "I would not wish to give offense."

Externally you remain polite, if somewhat distant. Internally, you seethe with rage, is hospitality a lost art amongst the humans of Thedas? Is the only reason any of the humans in Beleriand had any manners at all due to the influence of the Eldar?

"If I cannot offer a bed to sleep in and a warm meal for the journey, then it is I who have given offense." You inform the dwarf. "I am hardly offering more than the merest hospitality."

"Well, I wouldn't say no to having some time to rest." Azeral says. "As long as it's not an imposition?"

"Of course not." You reply distractedly.

Your thoughts are on gifts for the four, they are not close nor are they of any particular importance, so supplies for the journey is more than sufficient. You will need to organise the matter and speak to the staff of the additional numbers for dinner. These thoughts also remind you that you need to make something for Nova.

During said dinner you pay careful attention to the dwarves. They have been sat among the warriors, for many reasons. At first, they were awkward, obviously looking about to take their cues from those around them, they soon realise that no one here is being held to any kind of etiquette and relax.

You spend some time speaking to Azeral, sharing tales of Moryo. It had begun as a perfunctory exchange for proprietary's sake, but you soon find yourself lost in the fond memories of elder days.

The dwarf is laughing as you finish the tale of Moryo's 'chore distribution scheme'. "That's quite a story, how old was he?"

"Some three or four years." You answer absently.

"Seems a bit young for something that complex." He says cheerily.

The tips of your ears heat slightly as you realise that you had unthinkingly given your answer in the years of the trees, rather than of the sun. Still, dwarven children do not age as Eldarin youths do. Claiming your brother was twenty five would lead to them making false assumptions.

"He was a precocious child." You say instead. "When he grew, he was always very fond of dwarves. Something about his nature made him feel at ease among them."

"Really? I've never heard of an elf by that name." The dwarf muses, drinking from his wine.

"It was in a land far away." You reply. "Perhaps you could tell me what the life of a dwarf is like in this land, that I might share it with him when we meet again."

"Well, I'm not sure how 'dwarven' my experience will be…" Azeral mutters, face red.

"That is simply a risk I will have to take." You answer.

It is an interesting tale to hear.

Strained Farewells

With the dwarves dealt with, you return to your original task, bidding farewell to Nova. Admittedly, you have to make one relatively significant stop on your way to do so. Given you intend to be gone for most of the week, you need to prepare her gift. It would not do to be a poor host[2].

With gift in hand, you head towards the room where Nova has been staying. You knock on the door and wait for a response. There is a few moments pause, then the sound of someone hitting the ground, loud cursing, and finally a rather dishevelled looking Sister Nova opens the door.

Her belongings are scattered around the room. A bag with what must been a dozen copies of the robes she wears sits in the middle of the room, on its side. A pair of shoes sits in the corner, ones you recognise as the work of your local cobblers. You had not realised she had acquired a spare pair.

"What're you doing here? Come to gloat?" The woman asks hostilely.

"Hardly, I came to give you my farewells, especially since I shall be leaving tomorrow, and will likely miss your actual departure." You explain calmly.

"Fine. Goodbye." Nova says, closing the door in your face.

With a sigh you knock again.

Once more the door swings open, revealing Nova glaring at you. "What is it now?"

"I wondered if you would like an escort to wherever it is you are going." You ask. "Another option may be to accompany Delora and Martin as they go about their business, the go to Denerim somewhat regularly as I understand it."

"What are you talking about?" Nova asks in confusion.

"While I do my uttermost to ensure that my roads are safe, I have only so many warriors with which to do so. Further, I cannot extend that guarantee to everyone on my borders. As such, I thought it prudent to extend an offer of escort to you." You explain patiently. "A woman travelling alone and unarmed is at far more risk than Xandar or I would be."

"I don't want anything from you. I'm not accepting any deals. I'm just leaving." Nova says firmly. "Is that everything? Can I get back to my packing now?"

You incline your head graciously. "Very well, if you change your mind, please speak to Anneth for an escort, or of course Delora and Martin if you choose to accompany them. Might I know your destination?"

"Denerim." Nova says shortly.

"Excellent. I assume you will be going by way of Brecilbay?" When she nods, you continue. "Those roads should be well watched, I would not fear even without an escort. I take it that your desire for no aid from me extends to letters of introduction?"

"I am a Sister of the Chantry." Nova replies. "We have our own networks, and I am more than capable of making this journey alone."

"Of course, I meant no offence." You say. "Then the laws of hospitality demand only one last matter."

You extend your gift out to her.

"What is this?" She asks. "I already said I don't want anything from you."

"I understand that you do not wish to be indebted to me, but this is a gift." You explain.

"I'm not accepting anything of yours." Nova hisses.

You cannot prevent yourself from rolling your eyes. "It is a gift. It is given freely and without expectation of reciprocation. I care not if you discard it by the wayside as you leave, so long as you take it."

"Why? What's so important about it?" She asks suspiciously.

"Do hosts among your people not give their guests gifts?" You ask, eyebrow raised. "Truly I weep for your culture."

Cautiously, Nova extends her hand and takes the roughly wrapped lump of cloth. The Sister of the Chantry's eyes widen slightly when she feels what is inside. Carefully she unwraps the package and stares at the contents.

"Bread?" She asks, staring at the two flat loaves within in confusion.

"Lelyëa Massa. Travelling Bread in your tongue." You explain. "It is somewhat tasteless, but those two loaves should be more than enough food for travel up to almost a month. They also keep essentially forever."

You had considered painting a mural with a scene from her religion. However, given your artistic skills, you doubted that the results would be pleasant, or welcome. Food for the journey is traditional, and useful. It was extremely common in Beleriand for a reason, and you see it as a safe choice.

"How do I know they're not poisoned." Nova asks, glaring up at you.

With a roll of your eyes, you reach over and tear a chunk from the nearest loaf. Efficient chews and a swift swallow get it out of your mouth as fast as possible. It is not unpleasant tasting, in truth it has almost no taste at all, but that makes it somehow more unnerving to eat.

As the bread enters your stomach you feel decidedly overfull, adding the incredibly filling traveling food to your breakfast is a rather unpleasant sensation.

"There, it is not poisoned." You state, with no small amount of irritation. "Besides which, I already said you could cast it aside if you wished. There is no need to concern yourself with space, as you can see they are very compact."

The sister glances from your gift back to you several times. You can see her thoughts racing.

"Why?" She asks guardedly. "What does this gain you? Whatever you have said, whatever you have done, it is no secret that we are not exactly friends."

You shrug. "It is a custom among my people."

"So, you say." She replies warily.

"How many times must we have this discussion?" You ask tiredly. "What have I done that stirs your ire so? I had thought that we came to an understanding, yet here once more I am met by suspicion. Is it so hard to believe that I would give a guest a gift as they depart."

"Of course it is!" Nova cries. "Your every action is completely inexplicable! First you manipulate and confuse me into questioning my faith, then you seek me out to make peace. Fine, but then the chantry, and the letter! Why would you do any of it!"

"I already explained why I built the chantry." You reply. "As I have made it clear as to why I sought you out. As for manipulating you? I spoke what I believe to be true, nothing more. The letter was an extended hand, much as I spoke of when we 'made peace' as you call it."

"We are enemies!" The sister protests.

"No, we are not." You state emphatically. "If we were enemies, I would not welcome you into my hall. I disliked you when you arrived, and you may continue to dislike me, but my world view allows for people to dislike each other without being enemies."

"You aren't human!" She exclaims desperately.

"True, nor are you a Noldo." You agree calmly. "However, Merrill is not a Noldo either, nor are Ranger and Xandar. Many are the men I have called friend over the years, and unlike many of my kin, my faith in them was always rewarded. That we are different is not a cause for enmity."

Nova slumps, fight draining out of her. "Why are you like this?"

You point to your family's banner hanging on a wall. "Do you see that banner? It represents my family, my home. I cannot yet return, for many reasons, but that does not mean I cannot carry it with me. In what I say, what I do, in the way I treat people, I carry with me my family and my home."

You pick up your gift from where it has fallen and press it into Nova's hands. "In my words and deeds, I carry Eldamar with me always. Even its customs."

Nova looks at the loaves you have given her, then back up at you. "What are you?"

"What am I?" You ask, torn between amusement and annoyance. "Have I not answered this question before?"

"I… No… Just…" Nova shakes herself and meets your gaze once more. "This time, no games. No double talk. What are you?"

"Well, I am a Noldo, a Calaquendi, an Elda and a Quendi." You list. "Though I have already said as much."

"I said no games." Nova says through gritted teeth.

"It is not that I am playing games, rather that your question is too nonspecific for a clear answer." You explain calmly. "Just as if I were to ask what you are, you might answer, A woman of Ferelden, from Thedas, who is human."

Nova pauses, falling silent for a time, before she speaks once more. "If you asked what I am, I would answer that I am a Sister of the Chantry."

You raise an eyebrow. "And if you dwelt in a land that knew not the Chantry, where such a title might mean something other than what you meant when you spoke it?"

Nova thrusts her chin forward defiantly. "Even so, I am proud of who I am."

You shake your head slowly, chuckling slightly.

"Very well." You state. "Recall though, whose idea this was."

You pull yourself up to your full height, raising your shoulders to emphasise the cloak upon your back.

"I am Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol, eldest son of Fëanaro son of Finwë; who was high king in elder days." You state, voice filling the room despite not raising your voice. "I was the lord of Himring and the March of Maedhros which surrounded it. A Prince of the Noldor, through blood and deed."

As you speak, the Light of Valinor begins to seep beyond your control, not filling the room but certainly casting your visage in an otherworldly light to the eyes of the one you speak to. Nova stares wide eyed, fear clouding her expression.

With a sigh, you corral the Light once more, allow your shoulders to slump and mitigate your height somewhat.

"I am a scion of house Finwë, the cloak upon my back the mark of my sons of Fëanor. I could claim many more titles." You state quietly. "None of which would mean aught to you."

For a time, Nova says nothing, clearly too stunned to react. You watch as she collects herself hastily. You are unsurprised when her first reaction is hostility.

"You cannot expect me to believe that you are some kind of, of foreign prince, third in line to the kingship!" She blusters. "It's ridiculous, no one would allow their direct heir to do the things you do."

You sigh. "That is why I do not introduce myself as such. I know that none will believe me. Humans will hear my words as a bid to claim power I do not possess. Such is your nature."

"No!" Nova exclaims. "You do not get to play the noble prince, unwilling to start fights by claiming his rightful title to people who don't understand!"

That sounds like an oddly specific archetype, what songs and tales are present in Thedas? A topic for another time perhaps.

"I return to the question of why you ask questions if you are not going to believe the answers?" You ask rhetorically.

"You're a spirit, admit it!" Nova hisses.

"I am not." You reply calmly. "Your Circle, and Templars have already verified as much."

"You can't just be an elf!" Nova exclaims. "That Light, your whole, everything!"

"I am not an elf as you understand it." You agree mildly. "I am of the Eldar, those who accepted Oromë's invitation to seek the Blessed Realm in the west. More importantly I am a Calaquendi, descended from those who succeeded on that journey. The elves you know are Moriquendi at best, if not something less than even the Avari."

Confusion overwhelms Nova's anger. "What?"

You shrug. "It is a complicated matter, for the history of my people extends far beyond the mere millennia of yours. To explain the vast complexities would require not only more time than we have, but for you to accept that what you understand of the world is wrong, and I believe we have just seen that you are unwilling to do so."

Nova stands silent, her mind racing.

"Sadly, I must be away now, for I have much to do." You state, before she recovers. "I apologise once more for our initial meeting, and hope you have enjoyed your stay in my hall. Namárië, Sister Nova."

The Sister says nothing as you leave the room. She will not speak to you again before she leaves Endataurëo.

[1] Alistan lé, nán necestel. Lit. I not know you, I am without trust. A saying that became more popular among elves during the middle of the First Age.

[2] Duncan does not count, he was rude first.