Joint Training
You return from your time among the Chasind and assemble your warriors. A small group will be left behind to guard Gladesville and Endataurëo. The ten warriors who do not yet have armour can man the walls reasonably safely, now that the forest is largely pacified. The rest will accompany you to the Teryn's exercise.
It had been something of a surprise to receive the notification that Loghain is conducting exercises with his vassals at the end of this week. You accepted the notification and thought long and hard. Ultimately, you see only benefits and no problems with joining.
It will allow the nobility to see you acting in a manner consistent with your words and give you a great deal of information on the troop composition of those you will be fighting beside. The training it will give to your warriors in acting as part of a host is almost an afterthought, as useful as that is.
Anneth is prevented from leaving on her ranging and told to get her warriors together. Paloma is walked through how to organise a march column, with your stern gaze backing her authority over the more experienced warriors. A whispered bit of advice to talk to them later helps too.
When the thirty or so warriors are lined up in march column, you cannot help but smile. Though their numbers are few, in their uniform red cloaks and shields they look like a professional force. The banner of your house flaps at the head of the column, the rangers taking a rearward position.
You lift the spare signal horn you had taken from storage and blow the 'advance' signal. It fills you with pride when, as one, the infantry begin to march.
At first the march is silent but, since a silent march would be boring and dispiriting, you lead them in a song. From there a few local songs are bandied about among the humans, to limited success.
Still, the exercise keeps people from becoming too bored or falling out of time. There are also periods of simple chatting, but you restrict that somewhat, as chatting tends to encourage formations to dissolve.
After a full day's march you arrive at the practice ground on the edge of the forest. Your group is the last to arrive, and you see the banners of all the Banns flapping in the wind, with shields bearing a veritable riot of colours hanging beneath them. Hundreds of tents stretch across the flat plane, and people bustle everywhere.
"Amazing." One of the warriors mutters.
You hide your smile. There are maybe two thousand people here, even assuming that most of them are warriors it is not particularly impressive. It is about what you expect from the Teyrnin.
After getting your warriors settled in their own campsite, you head to the large pavilion in the colours of Loghain. You are permitted entry and see the Banns gathered around a table, with the Teyrn at the head.
Loghain turns to see who entered, and nods at you. "You came. Good."
"It would be a shameful display to speak of combating the Blight wherever it appears, and then not taking any actions to prove my willingness." You say.
The Teyrn grunts. "How many men did you bring?"
"A mere thirty three I fear." You confess. "They are fully equipped and acceptably trained, and include fifteen light cavalry among their number."
Bann Lydia raises an eyebrow. "That isn't bad for a landed knight."
"Technically speaking, I am of a higher rank than a mere knight." You observe.
"Technically speaking, you're not required to bring any warriors at all." Loghain interrupts. "Thirty is fine. If you want to increase numbers fast, buy some Mabari."
You hide your flinch. "I will keep your advice in mind going forward."
Loghain grunts again. "Sit. We're dividing commands."
"Why is a mere knight being granted a seat, let alone a command!?" Bann Bittershelf protests.
"He's not a knight and an experienced mercenary." Bann Lydia observes.
"I have found him an insightful example of his species, and Teyrn Cousland speaks highly of him." Bann Manegold agrees.
"I said he gets a seat, and he gets a seat." Loghain growls. "Don't let old grudges colour your decisions Matthias."
The Bann of Whitecliff inclines his head, but glares at you as he sits.
"The plan's simple. Today we do joint drills until sundown. Time to examine everyone's troops and see what can be improved. Tomorrow a wargame, to go until sundown the day after. Clear?" Loghain asks.
Everyone nods, and he continues. "What commands is everyone taking then?"
"I'll take opposing command." Bann Lydia says immediately.
"I shall assist you in whatever capacity you deem necessary." Bann Manegold says shortly after.
"I want the cavalry." Bann Bittershelf adds, glaring at you.
"I can fill almost any role but have most experience with infantry." You state calmly.
"Good. Matthias, you have the horse, Russandol you can have a wing, pick your favourite." Loghain says shortly.
"I favour the centre personally." You say cautiously. "Though I understand that such a position is usually reserved for the overall commander."
"Centre's fine." Loghain grunts. "Easier to keep an eye on you."
You are slightly taken aback; you were aware that Loghain was likely using this wargame to judge you but had assumed that he would not admit as such to your face. You are soon brought out of your shock as the minutiae of the wargame begin to be discussed. Rules, positions, logistics, and other matters of that nature.
The warriors are to be issued with wooden weapons with paint. Depending on the armour a soldier is wearing they can take a certain number of hits, most get one, padded armour two, chainmail three and plate four. Shields do not count as hits. There will be a small contingent of referees making sure the rules are followed, drawn mainly from Loghain's personal retinue.
After areas for casualties to go to watch are established and all other details finalised, you all depart to watch the troops drill in the fading sunlight and organise the distribution of wooden weapons. As soon as that is done, as the sun sets, the two teams separate to discuss strategy over dinner.
"If I know Lydia, and I do, she's going to take a strong defensive position and rely on Frank and the cavalry to whittle us down and force us to fight on her terms." Loghain states calmly.
"Right, so what are we doing? We going to win the cavalry skirmish? Maybe pull out the old 'mounted infantry' trick?" The Bann of Whitecliffe asks.
"No." Loghain says flatly. "We aren't playing her game. We're going to bring her to battle on our terms. If we win the cavalry engagement, good, if not, I've brought some siege engines. We start assembling them in range of her formation and she'll have to come down and stop us."
"Forgive me if I seem ignorant." You interject. "But are we not starting at some distance? If Bann Lydia does choose to take a defensive posture, that will give the cavalry ample time to harass and harry our forces."
"Correct." Loghain sys approvingly. "That's why we're marching in two columns. I'll take one through the forest, you take the other down the main road. Lydia's scouts will see you coming and assume you're everything, especially if Matthias is screening you."
"It seems a great risk." You observe. "What if your forces are held up by the forest?"
"Wait until I show up." Loghain states dryly. "I'm not fool enough to assume that I'll get a surprise attack in, just that I can use the trees to avoid the cavalry."
Though you are not completely convinced by the plan, you accept it. There are certainly worse options to take.
The next day dawns bright and clear, an excellent day for a battle, even a faux one. The process of dividing into groups, first for the teams and then for the march is tedious. Absently you note Anneth and your cavalry ending up on the other team, which you believe to be something of a faux pas. Still, you think it is for the best, given Bann Bittershelf's enmity with you.
The march towards Lydia is reasonably speedy. The warriors of Gwarren Teyrnin are well disciplined and quite experienced. As a result, you have to do next to nothing on the march. Normally, you would be in close contact with your scouts, but Bann Bittershelf is attempting to pretend you do not exist.
Thus you are taken completely by surprise when a thunder of hooves announces the approaching cavalry. Since you have keener ears than a human, you have just enough time to get your warriors into a formation before the cavalry reach you.
Whoops and cries ring out as padded arrows and wooden javelins come thudding into your forces. Most bounce of shields or hit heavily armour warriors, but despite that you notice the referees tapping the shoulders of several of your warriors.
Your own archers send volleys at the enemy, to little avail. You spot several of your own riders who take great pride in targeting you directly. As you lack a shield you take two hits, which is enough to leave you with only one remaining.
Salvation arrives when Bann Bittershelf arrives with your side's cavalry. You can see that they have taken severe losses but, not wanting to be caught between foot and horse, the enemy cavalry withdraws.
This marks the last of major enemy harassment. Casualties are light, though you do lose a small portion of your own force, but the greater part of the cavalry were 'slain' in the melee that preceded it. Despite this, you still manage to arrive at the hill where Bann Lydia has drawn up her forces.
True to Loghain's prediction, the rules force her off the hill when she spies the construction of siege engines. Given that her forces currently hold the advantage in a conventional fight she is more than happy to engage.
You take the centre, leading from the front as is the way of your people. Despite knowing intellectually that no one is in danger, you still cannot help the thrill of fear and excitement that overtakes you as both sides yell battle cries and charge.
Your blade is a brown and red blur striking to the left and right as you lead your force into battle. You had feared that the need to hit foes several times would throw off your rhythm, but it is not so different from a troll or Balrog.
First one warrior goes down, then another. Several actually attempt to keep fighting after taking the required number of hits to be considered a 'casualty' but the referees are quick to call out bonus casualties as a penalty whenever they see it happen.
You are somewhere in the count of thirty when you realise that no one is approaching you. Despite the fact that nobody has been hurt and there is no true danger there is still a reluctance to be made a casualty among the foe, likely due to pride.
This gives you an opportunity you had not expected in this particular circumstance. A chance for a rout exists. The enemy is hanging back, looking about themselves for someone else to take the first step forward, you might be able to break them.
As you begin to look around for a signaller, your right hand brushes against the spare horn at your waist. Reminded of both the horn and your right hand you bring it to your lips and blow the signal for charge once more as you leap towards the enemy.
The warriors under your command surge forward with a battle cry even as you send two more foes to the casualty area. Between the reinvigoration of your warriors and their hesitancy to face you, the centre begins to make a sensible retreat.
However, much like a real battle, this sensible, controlled retreat offers the chance for a capitalisation. Your legs enable you to easily outpace the men falling back, and the movement inevitably causes their line to fragment slightly. As you jam yourself like a lever into every small gap you can see, your warriors begin to pelt forward to take advantage.
Some warriors stop to face you, others try to flee faster, officers are desperately trying to reassert command. You make sure to target them first.
Eventually, you and a small knot of your warriors actually break through the line to the other side. Usually this would give you a chance to turn to crash into the rear of your foes, but you spy a greater opportunity on the horizon.
Bann Lydia and her bodyguard are rushing to reinforce the centre, hoping to steady the line. Lydia and her guards are mounted, but some of the warriors with you have spears. By the rules, if she wants to engage infantry with spears she has to dismount.
The Bann looks from you to the rapidly collapsing centre. You know that if they aren't reinforced you will be able to roll up both flanks from the inside, she knows it too. With gritted teeth, she and her guard swing from their saddles to confront you on foot.
The horns signal your side's victory ten minutes later. Enemy commander captured.
Teyrn Loghain
From his position on a small hill, Loghain Mac Tir watches as the elf with the unpronounceable name tears through Lydia's centre.
"Imagine if this wasn't on tourney rules." One of his guards marvels.
Personally, Loghain has his doubts that this would even work without the rules. People tended to be bolder without the risk of death, and however skilled the elf was, a real fight would always carry the risk of someone slipping through his guard in the chaos.
Then again, an argument could be made that those same factors made the fact that he was causing a genuine rout was more notable.
"Worth keeping an eye one." He agrees shortly.
He notes that the guard who made the comment seems a little embarrassed. Something to keep in mind, he'd meant to make the man feel important for being acknowledged. Might need to review the profiles of his guard to remind himself why that one prefers not to be noticed.
When the judges blow the end of battle signal the Teyrn raises an eyebrow. He'd been planning on committing his reserves to the break, but the battle shouldn't be over yet. What on earth had happened?
The soldiers were celebrating wildly. Both sides had acquitted themselves well, especially the opposing cavalry. The only group who're looking angry are Lydia's centre. They're getting a lot of mockery for routing in a wargame. Interestingly, the elf's coming to their defence, not punching down.
A good sign. Elf knows his leadership.
"Are you going to give Matty a dressing down?" Lydia's question pulls him from his contemplation.
"No." Loghain replies. "The shame will be enough of a lesson for now. Besides, we're not going to be able to use cavalry when the Blight arrives."
"So, it's true? There's a Blight coming?" Lydia asks.
"Yes." Loghain answers.
"Well." Lydia sighs. "Fuck."
The Teyrn grunts. "The elf captured you. Explain."
"Not a lot to explain." Lydia says calmly, used to his terseness. "Didn't have much of a reserve other than me 'n the lads, he had spears so we had to dismount."
"Could you have gone around in a real battle?" Loghain asks.
"Maybe." The Bann of Land's End muses. "I'd be worried about being hit from behind though. Nothing worse than trapped cavalry."
Loghain strokes his chin thoughtfully. "What are your thoughts on the elf?"
Lydia is silent for a long time, thinking hard.
"He's the best swordsman I've ever seen." She says at last. "It's not just talent, there's real experience there. He's not just used to battle, he's used to fighting outnumbered."
"Most people with experience don't leave one hand empty." Loghain points out.
Lydia nods. "I think there's something wrong with it. He almost never uses it, often doing things one handed that are usually done with two."
Loghain nods slowly, looking at the elf who is eating one handed. "As a commander?"
"Hard to say." Lydia shrugs. "He's got the instincts, and the experience but this wasn't a good test of it. Don't think I missed that he's used to leading the centre either. That's a high command position."
Loghain nods. "Yes. He claims to have fought large swarms of darkspawn before, Cailan thinks he's some kind of foreign Grey Warden."
"Is he?" Lydia asks, observing the elf more carefully now.
"The Wardens say he isn't." Though Loghain doubted it, but he has long suspected they have ulterior motives.
"It might explain where he picked up his experience." Lydia observes. "He looks awfully young."
"He's probably older than he looks." Loghain says.
He'd probably still started young. In fact, Loghain wouldn't be particularly surprised if he'd been thrust into a command position too young, unprepared. He spoke of the darkspawn like someone who's learned the lessons of war the hard way.
What does this mean for him? The more he speaks with the elf, and notes what he's going about doing, the more convinced he is that the strange male knows what he's talking about. But still, an endless horde? That seems unlikely.
But the elf is used to being outnumbered, has a keen instinct for the ebb and flow of battle and doesn't seem prone to exaggeration. Actually, seems to prefer understatement if anything.
"Doubt it. Bastard wasn't even out of breath after five minutes of intense combat, through my lines and all my guards." Lydia grumbles. "I miss being young."
Then there was that.
"Cailan's considering reaching out to Orlais for help with the Blight." Loghain changes the subject.
"What!?" Lydia exclaims. "How could he? After everything we did to throw them out of the country he wants to just invite them back?"
"I agree, we don't need Orlesian help with the Blight." Strangely, the oft repeated words seem to ring a bit hollow now.
You will begin killing at dawn and by sunset you will have barely made a dent in their numbers…
Joint Training
You finally extract yourself from the mess you got yourself into by defending your opponents from the centre. Why their comrades chose to accuse them of cowardice is a mystery to you, they were hardly withdrawing due to fear. Perhaps you do not understand humans as well as you thought.
After the surprise victory on the first day, it was decided to dedicate the second day to equal parts celebration and drilling. Loghain wisely chose to make the drills competitive, with the best performing units receiving prizes. It has created something of a festival atmosphere which should be generating feelings of camaraderie.
With one last glare at some of the louder voices, you turn your attention to the task you intend to accomplish today. After the decision not to attempt a second melee[1] you had decided that this was the ideal time to make up with Bann Bittershelf.
This is not a desire born of some sudden regret or a desire for the man's company. From what you have seen of him earlier and now, you believe him to be the worst kind of human noble. Rather, your decision is, as so many are these days, born of pure pragmatism.
If he is a trusted commander of Loghain, then you will have to work with him. It is wisest to bury any disagreement for the sake of victory against the Blight. No matter how much you wish that, just once, it was someone else who would compromise for the greater good.
You find the Bann leaning against a pillar near a table of food and drink. He has some kind of wine in his hand and is bragging to a pair of knights from somewhere. Your heraldry is not sufficiently advanced in this land to identify which knight serves which Bann as you might have done in Arda.
"I knocked him right out of the saddle on the first pass, bet he wished he hadn't challenged me after that." The human chuckles.
The pair he is speaking to laugh politely, though you do not join in. Bann Bittershelf notices your approach and raises an eyebrow.
"What brings you here, elf?" He asks defensively.
"I came to deliver my compliments on your performance during the 'melee'." You reply warmly.
"Listen here you…" The human snarls.
"What? Oh no, no, no, no." You say quickly, waving your hands in front of you. "I did not mean that as an insult, I was not even thinking of how it might be seen as one. I merely thought that it was very impressive how you kept your command together after the unfortunate mauling it took."
"You don't say." Bann Bittershelf says cautiously.
"Indeed." You state confidently. "Anyone can be unfortunate, choose the wrong tactic or miss a foe's trick. It is a person's ability to recover from those mistakes that shows their true character, and I was impressed by yours."
Most of what you have said is even true. You are merely using the word impressed instead of surprised. Frankly, you thought his command mistakes early were damning and would not have thought it even slightly strange if he had quit the field to spare his ego afterwards.
Still, as grandfather used to say, 'there is nothing the proud fear more than being found wanting. Give a proud elf an excuse for his failings, and he shall remember it always.'
"Uh. Thank you." Bann Bittershelf says, beginning to puff up once more. "I'm glad I could show you how a real noble fights."
It takes all your self-discipline not to laugh in his face. Any Noldo who performed as poorly as he had would have been drilling until he dropped, it was disgraceful.
"On that note, I was hoping for some insights into the cavalry fight from you." You say instead. "I missed most of it and have relatively little experience in the matter."
Another thing the proud love is the opportunity to show that they know more than those they dislike.
You tolerate the Bann's banal insights, and oft repeated truisms. You provide an appreciative audience for his boasting, withholding your criticisms and doubts as to the veracity of his tale. When the man is in the best mood you believe him capable of, you bring up the matter you truly wish to discuss.
"I must say, I had feared that our earlier interaction would have left a lingering feeling of ill will." You say.
"Well, it certainly was quite a thing to threaten one of your betters." The man sniffs.
If you do not wish to be threatened, do not sneak into people's homes and attempt to make off with their property, you think.
"Well, I am willing to say that I acted in a manner unbecoming of my station." You say with an apologetic smile. "I thought to extend an apology in the interests of putting an end to any enmity between us. Whatever may have happened in the past we now share common cause."
"I suppose I could be persuaded…" The Bann admits grudgingly.
"Surely you see that it is wise to put aside childish grudges of times that have passed. We face many external foes who would gladly seize on internal division between us. I am hardly asking to be your friend, but I have no desire to be your enemy. Lest we pass our feud from father to son until both our lines are ended, I offer peace." You extend your hand invitingly.
Bann Bittershelf looks at the hand for a long time, then sighs.
"You're a silver tongued devil and no mistake." He grumbles but reaches out to clasp your hand. "I shall not make the first move to open hostilities, but I am watching you."
"I assure you, I have no interest in causing any conflict between us." You reassure him.
After all, he no longer has anything you want.
When you return home, you find a note from your informants on your desk. It contains news of the Teyrn planning some kind of joint training exercise for all his Banns.
You chuckle as you place the note in the fire.
[1] As in the old sense of a practice battle, a precursor to jousting though much more dangerous.