Magical Medicine

Merrill can't help but feel personally responsible for Ranger's condition. She'd been here when he'd been brought back, but any attempts to rouse her from her somewhat maniacal study of her accidental creation had been met with instant dismissal. If she'd just listened…

But there is no point lamenting actions that she can't change. Merrill picks up her staff and sets a course for Ranger's room, where he's convalescing to save room in the 'halls of healing'. It might be too late to be able to cure Ranger's wounds, but hopefully she can do something to help him recover quicker.

Naturally, it is only once she has reached the human's room that she realises what she's doing. A Dalish going into a human's room like this would already be enough to raise some eyebrows, but everything about the whole situation probably looks incredibly suspicious to an outside observer.

After only a few minutes of largely baseless shamed panic, Merrill straightens herself out. This is more important than the nagging sense that she's doing something illicit. It's about making right things that she's let go wrong.

She knocks on the door.

"Come in." Ranger says.

Merrill opens the door with a slightly forced smile. "Hi Ranger. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got attacked by a bear." The human hunter replies, deadpan.

"Ah. Right." Merrill chews her lip nervously, worrying she's upset him.

Ranger sighs. "What do ya want, girlie?"

"Don't call me that." Merrill snaps, then takes a deep breath to calm down. "I'm here to see if I can do anything to help you recover."

"Thought there wasn't anythin' magic could do at this point." Ranger observes quietly.

"Well, I'm pretty good at creation magic, and I'm a researcher at heart." Merrill argues. "It might be nothing, but I want to at least try."

"Sure, girlie, do what ya want." The human says tiredly.

Merrill begins with an examination of the wounds. Pretty much as she feared, most of them are largely internal. Several broken ribs, possible muscle tearing. No signs of something like a concussion and any internal bleeding has definitely stopped by now. Still, these are all things that are hard to treat with magic at the best of times.

Healing the ribs in particular risks them either incorporating the measures used to help them heal straight into the structure, or otherwise warping the bone. Even the recently made discoveries of spirit tags and everything about the soul/body interfaces add nothing to her understanding of these relatively basic injuries.

Still, Merrill isn't one to give up easily, and she tries a few spells she's been working on since she found out Ranger was injured. She's a little more cautious than she would be if she knew more, but that's probably for the best. Her experience with the elves in Denerim is some help too.

"How's that?" She asks. "Feeling better?"

Ranger makes a few experimental movements, then shakes his head. "It's better when I don't move, don't hurt so much. But I can tell that's it. If I try to do anythin' I get spikes, same way but different degree ya know."

Merrill's head hangs. "I'm sorry. I wanted to help but there's only so much that can be done now. If only I'd come earlier I could have helped more, now you're in bed for a month and there's nothing I can do."

"Easy girlie. I'm not dead, and that's worth more than most realise. Thought I was a goner when that bear came out of nowhere." Ranger sighs. "That elf saved my life I guess."

"Is there anything I can do." Merrill asks, scrubbing surreptitiously at her wet eyes.

"Ya could hang around and chat if ya like? Don't get much company 'round here." Ranger grunts.

Merrill stares at the human, lying there in his bed. There are no gifts from well-wishers, nobody lining up outside to visit. For the first time, she looks at the human and sees the white hair, the lined gaze.

In this hall dwells those who took a risk for a better life, young men and women almost solely. Some of the elves are older, but they are insular and unwilling to interact with those outside their race. Nelyafinwë might actually be closest to Ranger, age wise, but he is busy almost constantly.

For the first time, Merrill realises Ranger is lonely.

Silently, the elf mage sinks down into one of the nearby chairs. She searches for something to talk about, feeling rather out of her depth.

"So. What's been happenin'." Ranger asks.

Merrill jumps on the topic eagerly. "Oh, lots. Nova's leaving this week, I think I saw one of the Dalish celebrating."

"Shame. Was useful havin' a proper Sister around to talk to." Ranger says.

The elf blinks in surprise. "I didn't realise she was offering, um, services? I don't know what it's called by the Chantry. It's when a priest talks people through their issues, helps them improve in living a life that pleases the gods."

"Dunno." Ranger says. "I mean, I never used any of, whatever that's called, but the idea that if I needed to she was there was nice…"

Merrill begins to giggle as the human trails off. After a few minutes Ranger gives a quiet chuff of laughter.

"We're really bad at this." Merrill says, still giggling.

"I spent the better part of a decade as a wolf, what's your excuse?" Ranger asks dryly.

"I read too many books." Merrill replies primly.

"How's that figure?" Ranger asks.

"Well, if you spend too much time reading when you're young, while everyone else is making friends and learning how to talk to people, you're learning what fire's made of or something." Merrill says.

After a short pause, Ranger replies, "That's rough."

Merrill tries to laugh and sigh at the same time. "It's not something I regret, or a great opportunity I feel I missed out on. It's just, I don't know. I can't make friends that easily but I can create literal magic no one's ever seen before. It feels like a fair trade."

"How's that work anyway?" Ranger asks. "Dunno much about magic, beyond what the Chantry says."

Merrill tilts her head to the side. "Are you asking me to explain how to make spells, or just everything about magic?"

"Sure, why not." Ranger says, attempting to shrug, only to hiss in pain.

"Try not to move too much, you might not be feeling it but you're still heavily injured." Merrill chides absently. "Are you sure? It's a long story."

Ranger gives himself a look. "I'm not goin' anywhere."

"If you're sure." Merrill takes a deep breath. "Well…"

Time passes as Merrill explains magic. From the first principles of its relation to the Fade, all the way to the intricacies of spell creation. It is not a simple topic, and it isn't really something Ranger is good at. She often has to go back and re-explain something she covered earlier when it comes up again.

Despite that, it is Merrill's passion and her talent, which shows in how she speaks of the matter. Even if the old human doesn't entirely understand the conversation, he still enjoys listening to her talk about it. There is just something about someone who loves what they do talking about it that entrances people. This is no different.

Still, nothing lasts forever, no matter how much we might wish it to. Ranger grows quieter and more distant as Merrill spoke. Eventually even the socially oblivious elf notices.

"So really, even just calling them spells is kind of inaccurate. Since they're just patterns of mana usage there's no real difference between a 'spell' and any other kind of magic. Still there's a practical difference…" Merrill trails off. "Ranger, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine girlie." Ranger replies distractedly.

"I've been babbling about some pretty niche stuff, and you haven't said anything." The elf bites her lip. "Are you sure you're alright? If you're bored we can talk about something else."

There's silence for a while, then Ranger says. "I think I'm losin' my touch."

For a moment Merrill sits in silence, at a complete loss as to what to say. She feels out of her depth, conversations about feelings are as far out of her wheelhouse as complicated discussions of technical magic are for Ranger.

"What do you mean?" She asks, then immediately follows up, "I mean, why do you think you're losing your touch."

"You mean aside from the fact that both time I've been trusted with some kind of ambush or tracking recently I've nearly gotten everyone killed?" Ranger asks dryly.

Merrill winces, she'd forgotten about the darkspawn incident. "Well, everyone gets unlucky sometimes…"

"It's not just that girlie." The human sighs. "I'm old, I'm not as fast as I used to be, my eyes aren't as keen, the hearin' in my left ear's going… All that mean that I don't bounce back from things the way the kid does. I don't have the tools I used to."

"Well. I suppose…" Merrill trails off. "Maybe you're not quite as, um, spry? As you used to be, but you still know more about hunting then I ever will, and I'm Dalish."

Ranger doesn't laugh at her joke. "I hadn't realised 'till now how much I depended on being a werewolf. Doesn't matter if you're slightly hard of hearing when your baseline's a wolf, and scent would warn me of things I didn't see or hear."

"Are you saying that you wish you were still a werewolf?" Merrill asks, concerned.

"Nah." Ranger sighs. "I just. I guess I thought I still had it, but in the end, I don't. I just thought I did 'cause a magic curse made me better at it than I should be."

"I, I think you're wrong." Merrill says shakily. "I've seen lots of hunters, and none of them know as much about this forest as you. You've probably forgotten more about hunting then Tamlen knows, and he's the best hunter of the clan!"

Though she would die before she let Auriel say that. That girl was too competitive for her own good and didn't understand that best hunter and best warrior are in fact different titles.

"Sure, but what use is that knowledge if I can't use it." Ranger snarls. "What good am I if I can't hunt! It's the only thing I'm any good at!"

Merrill doesn't respond immediately. She feels as though what she says might be the difference in what Ranger might do after he gets out. Though another part of her believes that might just be arrogance on her part. Still, she wants to choose her words with care.

"Among the Dalish, our oldest members, our Hahren, are the keepers of our lore." She says slowly. "They're the ones who teach us how to be who we are, what it means to be Dalish. They're as respected as Keepers, if not more so. I know humans don't really have the same thing, but just because you can't use your knowledge doesn't make it useless. You can be a teacher, a guide, help people know what it means to be a hunter."

"Maybe." Ranger says tiredly. "Don't feel like much of a comfort."

Hesitantly, Merrill reaches out and pats the human on the shoulder. "Well, I don't think you should let it get you down too much. Remember that time we got captured by Joy."

"Remindin' me of another time I got us in trouble don't seem like much help girlie." Ranger grumbles.

"Well, I don't think that one was your fault. It was mine." Merrill explains. "I'm the mage, the next in line to be Keeper of my clan. It's supposed to be my job to guide my people to safety, and to warn of spirits and magical dangers."

"You're young. You'll learn." Ranger grumbles, but with less heat this time.

"Maybe, but I say you're too old to be making the same mistake twice." Merrill counters. "Even if it seems hopeless now, I know that you'll find a way in the end. It's just hard to see that right now."

Ranger grunts. Merrill, her ability with words taxed to its limit, finds herself unable to continue the conversation any further. Yet, she is unwilling to leave Ranger just yet.

The two would sit in companionable silence until Merrill went to fetch Ranger some dinner.

Charming Chasind

It has been some time since you have visited the Chasind, your attention has been largely consumed by the creation of Gladesville's chantry. As a result, you are quite worried about what might have happened. The tensions between the clans were, and likely still are, quite severe. You can only hope they have not turned into outright hostilities.

You ride into the village of Velkind's clan, finding it surprisingly empty. There are some people, mostly women, caring for very young children, weaving and sewing, but nowhere close to the full complement of the village.

You call out to a few of the women, but most of them do not understand you. It takes a few minutes to find someone you can communicate with, and even that is with great difficulty.

"Brightstar! Being welcoming!" The young woman says waving at you.

"Greetings, young one. I seek your leader, where is he?" You ask.

"Ah, Brightstar! Being slow please. Understanding no fast." The woman says, distressed.

Slowly and carefully enunciating each word, you ask, "Where is Velkind?"

"Velkind is being with Cosikis." The woman says seriously. "Is being training."

You bite back a sigh of frustration. "Where is this training?"

The directions you get are somewhat garbled, and it takes multiple requests for repetition before you are comfortable even attempting to find this training. However, it turns out that while the directions were hard to understand, they easily get you close enough to hear the sounds of shouting in Chasind.

You follow the sound until you come into view of a large clearing. So large, in fact, that is seems unnatural. Careful examination shows places where trees once stood, indicating that this is in fact at least partially an artificial clearing.

In this clearing is a human in the most bizarre clothes you have seen. Bright colours, wide sleeves and incredibly tight hose. Your first thought is 'who hated this man enough to make him wear that?', your second is realisation that this must by Cocycus, the Tevinter trainer sir Avan found.

The Chasind warriors are lined up in the clearing along clan lines. They are hurling insults (you assume) at each other, and generally spear rattling at each other. Velkind is prancing in front of his warriors, and a young man with feathers on his hat is being held back by his grey bearded companions.

Cocycus seems to be trying to calm the situation, though he is being ignored. It speaks well of him that he is doing something, and you are disinclined to blame him for this situation. The words are clearly in Chasind, and you suspect this might have crept up on him.

You ride silently toward the middle of the groups. As you pass, Chasind fall silent when they notice you. Some turn when Orundómë pushes them aside, anger in their eyes, only to freeze when they realise who it is. By the time you reach the two leaders, they are the only people who have not noticed you.

You urge Orundómë between them, and Velkind at last falls silent.

"Do not cease on my account." You say coldly. "I would not have you feel as though you must hide things from me."

"Brightstar, it is not. You are misunderstanding, we are training yes?" Velkind says, looking at his opposite.

The young man howls at the top of his lungs in Chasind, though you recognise Velkind's name.

The Chasind chief laughs awkwardly. "He is being young, is very ah, fire blood is saying, yes?"

"This training." You ask, voice still cold. "Would it be under the instruction of Cocycus?"

"Yes!" Velkind says, puffing up in glee. "Is fancy man of iron training method!"

"Is this true?" You ask Cocycus.

"Who asks?" The Tevinter man asks, his accent making his words harder to understand than usual.

"I am Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol, lord of this forest, and your employer." You state flatly.

"Ah, it is marvellous to finally make your acquaintance!" The man says, bowing flamboyantly. "I assure you, you will find no finer trainer of men or winner of wars than I!"

"Is this a training exercise?" You interrupt him again as he takes a deep breath. "Yes or no."

"The sheer nerve!" Cocycus cries. "I would never countenance such a waste of time and energy! The two were clearly attempting to duel, though why they did not simply get it over with three days ago I will never know."

You turn back to Velkind, fury simmering in your gaze. The human swallows nervously. Your brows draw together in fury.

"Since you seem averse to Cocycus' training, you will instead attempt mine." You state.

You glance up at the sun. "With a force this large, I could reach my home in an hour. You will march there. You have one hour to do so. The longer it takes you to reach Endataurëo, the worse the consequences will be."

The entire clearing falls silent as you fix the position of the sun in your mind. When you are confident you will be able to guess the time to the nearest five minutes, you look back at the Chasind.

"Your time starts now." You state mildly.

There is a long moment of hesitation, the Chasind leaders looking at each other uncertainly. You suppose they are waiting for orders, and that is not something that will contribute to this 'team building exercise'.

"What are you waiting for?" You ask calmly. "Get your men together and get marching."

There's a slight delay while your words are translated for those who do not understand you. Velkind takes advantage of the delay to get his men together. Ultimately, it does not matter as he has more warriors to gather, so the two groups depart together.

"I must say, this seems like something of a waste of time." Cocycus says to you. "While I am all for endurance training, I see only tragedy ahead in this course of action. The only true path to settle this is with honourable combat."

You shake your head. "In these matters every drop of blood shed is another grudge to be settled, every slight is burned into memory passed on from father to son. The only way out of it is to break the cycle, and make them see each other as they are."

"Ah, how little you understand the hearts of men." Cocycus shakes their head. "Such a competition will only fan the flames, not smother them."

"It is not a competition." You reply. "The time stops when the last Chasind enters the clearing around my hall."

The Tevinter adventurer smiles. "Oh hoh hoh! And they must continue until they manage it in an hour? Truly a challenge for the ages."

"I was thinking something more direct. Shared suffering builds camaraderie more than anything else." You state.

The Chasind are slow. Their warriors lack the discipline that makes formation marching truly effective, and they are unused to traversing the terrain. You can see how their loose, flexibly coordinated formations would serve them well in swamps and possibly even this forest though.

More than that, their enmity is getting in the way. Under your watchful eye none attempt sabotage, but there are frequent shouting matches that only get broken up when someone realises they are falling behind.

They arrive at Endataurëo a full hour behind schedule.

You slide off of Orundómë's back and walk among the Chasind. First you grab one of Velkind's warriors and you pull him to a point in the clearing. Then you bring someone from the other clan to stand next to him. When the two glare at each other, you cuff both of their ears.

This process repeats until both clans are entirely intermixed. You then remount Orundómë and address them.

"Since you could not make it here in anything close to reasonable amounts of time, here is your challenge." You gesture to the large amount of stone left here from the original ruin. "Each of you is to take a pack and fill it with these. Then you will march back home in this formation. Remember your place, as I will not be guiding you to it a second time. Yes, you will be wearing the packs while you get into formation."

"Brightstar! This is too much!" Velkind protests. "They are… Do you knowing what they to do? They are enemy, we are needing vengeance for all their bad doing!"

You walk up to him, expression cold. "I had a friend, Fingon was his name. He saved my life. I loved him more than any other."

The Chasind who understand you are looking confused.

"Humans killed him." You wrap your hand in Velkind's clothes and pull him onto tiptoes, leaning down to stare into his eyes. "Should I take MY vengeance?"

The Chasind leader's face goes deathly pale. He shakes his head wildly.

"This feud ends today." You proclaim. "I will work you until you hate me more than any human, until you would give anything just for the chance to stop training. I care not what it takes, there will be an end to the feud if I have to keep you here until sunrise three days hence."

Your speech puts an end to objections, and packs are filled with rocks. Finding their places again and the march back to the clearing is extremely taxing on the humans. It takes a great deal of time, you have to repeat the task several times, but slowly you see tension draining. People begin to extend hands, share tips and maintain formation even without prompting, anything to finish the marches back to Endataurëo in under an hour.

It is not a cure, but it is a beginning. The only question is how to maintain it going forward.

Beneath your merciless gaze the Chasind march back and forth, slightly faster each time. You are confident they will manage the march in under an hour before sunset.

"If this extends into the night, they're going to start making more mistakes." Cocycus says seriously. "It would be a grave failing should I allow the soldiers I teach to become too tired or injured to fight."

"I understand your concern." You reply. "I am confident they will be ready by sundown."

The dark skinned human shakes his head. "Such a thing seems like it is merely avoiding the problem. I still say they should be allowed to duel each other, get that bad blood out."

"Are you familiar with blood feuds?" You ask.

Cocycus grins. "Of course! Why, if I had a copper piece for every time some hotblood has sworn vengeance against me I'd have two silver!"

You shake your head. "Not the vengeance of an individual, a house. A feud of one family against another."

"Bah! Magister business." Cocycus scoffs. "Nothing good can come of it."

You turn to look at the human, studying his expression. His garb is colourful, flamboyant and, you suspect, a distraction. Beneath his façade of flamboyant irreverence, you suspect there is something more to the man. There must be, if he is to fulfill the role you wish for him.

"Tell me of yourself Cocycus." You say, ignoring the groans as the Chasind realise they have to gather more rocks.

"Ah, my favourite subject!" Cocycus crows. "Let me tell you of the time I fought a three headed lion in the distant lands of Rivain. It was a dark and stormy night…"

The tale is rather overblown. Maglor would critique it as emphasising all the wrong elements, but you care little for the skill of his storytelling.

"Why was the lion out in a storm?" You ask. "Most predators, and animals in general, will only brave such weather in dire circumstances."

"It is not for me to say why such beasts do as they do." Cocycus glares at you. "I merely know that it was there. May I continue my tale?"

You nod, and the tale continues. A few more attempted questions reveal that, unlike many storytellers you know, Cocycus does not much care for his audience engaging with him. In fact, the more you listen and interrupt, the more familiar his manner becomes.

Eventually the patience of the human snaps and he yells at you, "Do you want to hear my story or not! If you only seek to question my accomplishments, then employer or not I shall have my satisfaction!"

"Will you be silent and let me tell my story!?" Moryo roared, dragging you down to his eye level.

As the image of your brother overlays the human, you are unable to prevent yourself from bursting into laughter. This causes Cocycus' face to flush red, which makes him look more like your brother only increasing your laughter.

"That is it!" The human cries. "A duel sir!"

Your laughter dies down, and you meet the human's eyes. You see the injured pride, and mentally chide yourself for your lapse in control. If he is as much like Moryo as you think, talking him down will likely take longer than simply winning the duel would.

"To first blood only." You state firmly.

"Prepare to be defeated!" Cocycus gestures flamboyantly.

You slip off Orundómë once more, draw your sword and take a deceptively open stance. "The first move is yours."

Cocycus draws his blade and pauses. Calculation flashes across his face, and you can see him measuring distance and, most importantly, your height.

You can see the moment he realises the trap set before him. Given your reach, the chainmail you are wearing, and the fact you have given him the first move, he has to enter your range to strike. When he does so, you have a wide range of defensive options, and there is little chance of getting an early hit, and a great risk of a return strike.

Suddenly, the human moves. Rapid long skips along the ground close the distance surprisingly quickly, and from his greatest range his blade lunges forth. You will grant that the human is fast for his species, perhaps faster than some elves.

He is not faster than you.

Your forearm sweeps up and across, blade scraping across chainmail as it is deflected above your shoulder. Your own blade lashes out, scratching the human's arm.

You disengage, putting distance between the two of you, blade extended to show the blood on the edge.

"I believe this is my victory." You say calmly.

The human looks at the blood on your blade, chest heaving disproportionately to his exertion thus far. Frustration and anger flashes briefly across his face, and you fear that he will continue the duel.

Your fears prove unfounded when he nods his head. "Yes. It is."

The man shakes himself and continues bombastically. "But do not count me out just yet! Though today has been your victory, next time it shall be I who emerges triumphant!"

You lean on your sword, considering the man before you. You had not spoken to him before, but these events have allowed you to take his measure.

"As the victor, I believe I have the right to make a demand." You say, Cocycus nods cautiously. "You will ensure that the blood feud between the tribes is broken up, that much is part of your employment. My demand is that it be done in a manner that does not involve duelling or bloodletting of any kind."

Cocycus sighs. "Such is reasonable, though I fail to see why."

"The hate of such matters is a poisonous thing." You say, mind back in Aman as Noldor forged swords to slay Noldor. "It consumes you, binds you to it. Every loss, every slight becomes justification for further vengeance. A cycle of hatred."

The human looks at you consideringly, but nods.