Apologies for the slight delay in updating. I'm on Prac right now, which means I get home quite late and it's easy to miss updating in that context.
Logging the Wood
This week sees you overseeing your newly recruited labourers at their task of logging the requisite number of trees. Already, having hired people with experience in the matter is proving its worth. To prevent the kind of bottlenecks that were common last week, the team split in two, half to cut down the trees and the other half to convert them into usable lumber.
Behind the woodcutters come the farmers. This group has a rather less interesting duty. They have to measure the quality of the soil, decide what might grow well here, clear stumps, rocks and all the various debris from their future fields. Then comes the administrative parts, which you might be able to aid with if you have the time.
You look over the two groups and you can already tell how your week is likely to go. The woodcutters who are handling the conversion of raw wood into usable lumber are lounging about 'waiting' for the inputs they require. These are being delayed by the woodcutters who are cutting the trees taking additional time with their safety precautions.
Nothing they are doing is inherently sabotage, or even delaying tactics. However, you know for a fact they could be moving faster. You will likely need to give them personal attention in order to discern legitimate practice from pointless stalling.
On the other hand, the farmers, though they are currently idle, will likely not need oversight. Most feel a degree of ownership for the farms they are going to be working on, and most are used to only being able to eat what they can grow. Admittedly, they are all young and inexperienced and you will likely be able to speed their work along if you have the time, but you can leave them alone safely.
With a sigh you scan across your workers one last time before you head off to do the oft maligned, but tragically always necessary duty of the overseer. In hindsight, it might have been a good idea to pick up someone you could delegate this task to, but unfortunately you decided against doing so.
Frankly you do not envy anyone who attempts to write a tale of this period of your life. It looks to be the kind of incredibly dull chapter that a wise author would simply skip.
The Division of the Elvhen
When Merrill left, she'd been expecting someone to challenge her, to demand she explain herself. No one had, when she said she was going to the Alienage in Denerim, they merely wished her well. Some of the city elves had looked at her suspiciously, but that was merely residual prejudice at play.
Now she rides along the road her teacher made, and she ponders why she feels so guilty.
It isn't because of her conversation with Lanaya. Admittedly, she feels terrible about how it ended; she hadn't meant for it to come out like that. She'd thought about demanding or begging Nelyafinwë to teach her how to talk to people, but he'd been so worried about what Xandar was getting up to, she decided not to distract him.
Yet, even as she draws ever closer to the capital of Ferelden, she can't escape the gnawing feeling that she's doing something wrong. The urge to check over her shoulder for someone following her.
She doesn't really need to wonder where that's coming from. She's lived her whole life being told, and believing whole heartedly, that those in the Alienages weren't true elves. That they had been the ones to surrender to human tyranny, to choose safety over their heritage.
Frankly, the way they'd reacted to her when she'd visited hadn't helped. They had been suspicious, untrusting and generally had gone out of their way to make sure she knew she was unwelcome. It stung, especially since she was trying to reach out in the spirit of her teacher.
See, it has nothing to do with her argument with Lanaya, she did it earlier too…
The Dalish slumps in the saddle, sighing heavily. She doesn't even believe herself.
Truth be told, she's not entirely lying, she doesn't think of other elves as beneath her people anymore. It'd be hard too when a being from a world where the Elvhen empire never fell swept to her aid because they were 'kin' despite how far her people had fallen. Merrill might not be perfect, but she does aim for 'not a hypocrite' as something of a minimum.
But Lanaya's part of the reason she's doing this. She needs to prove, not just to Lanaya but also to herself, that the Dalish can reach out. That outsiders don't have to be the enemy, that the divisions of old can be healed. Most importantly, she needs to prove it can be done without Nelyafinwë.
"Back again?" The Hahren of the Alienage, Valendrian she thinks, asks. "I'm not changing my mind. No recruiting."
"I'm not here to recruit anyone." Merrill says quietly. "My clan isn't looking for new members right now. I just want to help."
The old elf massages his brow. "Look, suppose I take you at your word. Didn't you get the message last time? We don't want your help; we don't trust you."
"I know." Merrill says quietly. "That doesn't matter. I can help, I've got magic, I've got knowledge and most importantly, I'm here. Maybe you don't trust me yet, that's fine. I'll prove you can."
The Hahren gives her a searching look, then sighs. "Listen young one, I'm sure you mean well, but you must see this is futile. Why do you care so much?"
"Because we're all connected." Merrill says softly. "We're kin, distant kin, but kin nonetheless. I wouldn't leave my mother, or my father, or any of my family in a place like this if I could do something about it, and I can. So, please, how can I help?"
Valendrian sighs once more. "You're a stubborn girl, I'll give you that much. Fine. What can you do?"
"Um, well I'm a mage and a healer?" Merrill winces and continues more firmly. "You remember what I tried to do last time."
"And you expect things to go differently this time around?" Valendrian asks sceptically.
"All I need is one person willing to take a risk, then people will realise that there's nothing to be afraid of?" Merrill says, cursing the way her voice wavers.
"Really?" The Hahren asks.
Merrill takes several breaths and forces her voice to be steady. "Yes. Really."
It doesn't come out with Nelyafinwë's unwavering confidence, but it doesn't sound like a question, so Merrill counts that as a win.
Of course, it is easy to say she only needs one person but quite another to find said person. One of the problems she has with healing in particular is that it is primarily reactive. There are people who are injured, but anything serious enough to require treatment is something they are unwilling to risk magic on. As for those whose injuries are annoying but not debilitating, they prefer to simply leave them unattended.
She does find some success among the braver children. Those who are not being clutched behind skirts whenever their mothers catch sight of her tattoos that is. Such children tend to be running around wildly and are thus likely to injure herself.
Merrill sees one such child falling to the ground, having outpaced her own balance, and hurries to her side. The child is crying, but a quick examination shows that the fall has only resulted in a small bruise, barely a discolouration on their skin.
Merrill says. "Easy da'len, it's ok. I can make the pain go away."
Her hand begins to glow with green light when an impact knocks it away.
The child's mother scoops the young girl out of Merrill's arms and lurches backwards.
"Don't you dare use your savage enchantments on my girl! I won't let you take her!" The distressed woman shrieks.
Merrill, thoroughly fed up with her lack of success so far, snaps back. "It's healing magic you idiot! What do you think mages do exactly?"
The woman backs away, glaring at Merrill the whole time. Almost immediately, Merrill regrets her hasty response. As frustrating as this is, there's no benefit to alienating anyone.
"Wait." The Dalish calls to the woman.
Said woman does stop, if only to check that the child is ok.
"There's a small bruise on the left knee." Merrill explains quickly. "You can use a cold cloth on it if it's still hurting when you get back."
The city elf glances back at Merrill, and sniffs. "I knew that already."
Still, she seems somewhat less tense. Perhaps the advice, unneeded though it may have been, convinced her that Merrill really did mean well.
"I don't understand people." The Dalish mutters to herself. "If I wanted to hurt them, I could have just started a fire and barricaded the only entrance with stone."
"I suggest keeping that quiet if you don't want to be run out by a mob." Valdendrian's voice surprises her.
"Ah!" Merrill yelps. "Ah, I mean, sorry. I forgot you were there."
There's a moment of silence before Merrill fully absorbs what the hahren had said.
"I wouldn't actually do it!" She hurries to explain. "It's just the best way to cause damage, I mean, I've used similar things on hunts and the like, I don't go around killing people…"
The Hahren sighs. "You haven't spent much time outside your clan have you? Most mages live in the circle, you don't exactly see them wandering around the city. Only thing most people know about them is that they can get possessed and sometimes just explode randomly."
"It's not random." Merrill says quietly. "You'd have to channel at least double the amount of mana that your body can handle and even then, you're much more likely to pass out unless it's a volatile mix."
Valendrian chooses to ignore her muttered complaint. "If you really want to help, it might be a good idea to drop the 'mage' angle. Are you trained in normal healing?"
"Yes." Merrill says suspiciously. "But why are you helping me, I thought you had 'too much experience with liars' or something like that."
"Well," The hahren says slowly. "I suppose I don't see the harm in helping a little. Besides, I'm starting to suspect that you wouldn't be able to conceal an agenda to save your life."
Merrill's face flushes.
There is a desire within Merrill, part of it is her role as a keeper and sharer of knowledge, part of it is the frustrated anger at the people around her, but she feels a lecture coming on. It would be entitled 'Mages only explode EXCEPTIONALLY rarely', and it would correct all the terrible beliefs the city elves have about mages.
Merrill just holds herself still for a time, focusing on her breathing. The emotions of her new state are volatile, but that proves as useful as detrimental. As quickly as they come, they go just as fast. As she refuses to act on her anger, she can feel it draining away.
More rationally, she acknowledges that a lecture, as satisfying as it would be, would not serve her purpose. It would be something she did for herself, not for the elves of the Alienage. She has to remember why she's here, which is to put her money where her mouth is.
And prove Lanaya's big dumb face wrong.
"Yeah. You're right. If magic's making people uncomfortable, I'm pretty good without it." She smiles faintly. "Even us Dalish get a little uncomfortable when an apprentice attempts healing magic age nine."
Valendrian chuckles softly. "It's an adorable image though."
Merrill carefully does not think about a tiny barefaced child tottering with a full sized staff and nearly setting herself on fire. "It's not usually. So, healing. Where's the patients?"
"They usually stay in their homes or come and see me or a healer." He replies. "Most healers are outsiders, but sometimes there's just no choice."
"Did we steal your only healer?" Merrill asks concerned. "Is that a problem? We can bring her back if it is."
Valendrian laughs. "Minhowen is her own woman, free to come and go as she pleases. We do have others too, so there's no need to worry."
Merrill blushes and scowls at the Hahren. "Well sorry for being concerned."
The old elf shakes his head. "Let's go visit the sick, see what you can do."
He suddenly pauses, peering at Merrill's face.
"What?" Merrill asks defensively.
"I'm just wondering if a mask would be more or less intimidating." The Hahren answers bluntly.
Scowling Merrill pushes past him. "Just show me the patients."
The first person they see attempts to scream and run away, but Valendrian calms them down. Merrill does a standard check-up, which seems to relax them further still. Truth be told there doesn't seem to be anything particularly complicated. The patient had a fever, but it broke recently and they are almost certainly out of danger. She recommends a few of her home remedies and moves on.
"Very efficient." Valendrian compliments her.
Merrill shrugs. "There wasn't much to do. The healer they've been seeing did all the hard work."
She misses the Harhen smiling. "As you say."
"While we're on the topic, where do you get your water?" Merrill asks. "There's some pretty nasty diseases you can get from contaminated water, and I doubt the humans care much about avoiding doing so."
"A few different places." Valendrian says evasively. "What should we be looking for?"
"Sewage, still water, things in the wells." Merrill lists absently. "If you're using wells, double check that there's no sewage nearby, it can seep through the ground."
"Noted." Valendrian says, sounding ill.
They go through the entirety of the Alienage, door to door just to be safe. Most of the time nobody is injured, but Merrill insists on checking. She attends to several moderate injuries, cleaning and binding them effectively. Her knowledge of cheap alternatives to more expensive herbs is welcomed widely.
Illnesses prove slightly more complicated, but aside from the colds and flus that she can do little about, there are few of any severity. Most of those she only serves as a second voice for, explaining treatments in more detail or simply providing more affordable alternatives.
After a few hours of this pattern, Merrill is surprised when someone comes to her complaining of various aches and pains. Still, committed to her duty she diagnoses them as best she can, her gut says it's something dietary. This leads into a half hour discussion of what the person eats and how they might acquire the nutrients they lack.
Merrill admits that most of this knowledge is something she picked up from Nelyafinwë. When he discussed supplies he was always worrying about people having certain varieties of foods, complaining endlessly about the lack of 'proper travel rations'. It is enough that she manages to spot the deficiencies and knows a few places they can pick up a cheap option.
How her teacher had known that a certain kind of tree bark could be chewed to supply that particular requirement is mystery to her.
The Book of Xandar
You have returned from your trip to Gladesville, and all your other tasks are complete. Now you intend to head over to the Sabrae, since Merrill mentioned that they were having trouble with their older members.
When you arrive at the stables, you are surprised to see Xandar walking towards the gates.
"Xandar!" You call out. "Where are you bound?"
The human starts, before looking to you with a grin. "Teacher! It's good to see you. I'm heading off to visit the Dalish."
Your heart skips a beat. "I do not think that is a good idea, the Keeper has all but cut off contact and I fear for your safety if you visit them."
"Really? Merrill didn't mention anything about that." The human mutters to himself.
"She feels responsible I suspect. The Keeper is an old friend of hers." You explain.
"So, she decided to leave her clan?" Xandar asks.
You feel rather foolish. "Ah, you spoke of the Sabrae. No, they have not cut off contact, it is the closer clan that has done so."
"Oh good. I didn't really want to talk to them anyway." Xandar nods to himself.
"I myself am also planning to visit the Sabrae. Come, I will give you a ride." You inform your student.
"Oh, thank you teacher!" Xandar exclaims with another of his bizarre arm movements.
Orundómë does not like Xandar for some reason. He allows the human to mount him after you ask him to, but you can tell the horse is glaring at Xandar the whole time. The most you get out of the horse is that he 'does not appreciate that one's stubbornness', or the horse equivalent anyway.
With that minor distraction out of the way, you and Xandar travel towards the Sabrae. After a few minutes of silence, you decide it is worth engaging him in conversation.
"Tell me Xandar, why are you seeking the Sabrae in particular?" You ask.
"Um." Xandar, uncharacteristically, hesitates to answer. "Well, that is. I'm kind of writing a book."
"A book? What on?" You ask.
"Ah, well, I was kind of hoping it would be a surprise." Xandar mutters.
"Well, if you do not wish to tell me, then you do not need to. It was mere curiosity on my part." You reassure the human.
Xandar is silent for a minute, then he says, "It's about you."
"A book on me?" You ask, amused. "I must say I would not have thought that subject particularly interesting to most in this land."
"You're not mad?" He asks nervously.
You laugh. "Young Xandar, if I grew wrathful with all who have written of my life, you would be at the end of a very long line of bards."
Some of whom would definitely deserve it.
Behind you, Xandar relaxes. "Really? I haven't heard any songs about you."
"They are unlikely to reach this land, but I assure you, if ever you meet a Sinda they will know several rather unflattering examples." You remark lightly. "Tell me then, what do you intend to write about me?"
"I'm not quite sure yet." Xandar admits. "I'm still researching. I've been talking to people around Endataurëo, but Merrill mentioned you did a bunch of things at her clan before you came there, so I thought I'd talk to them."
"I would have thought that Merrill would be able to answer any question you had on that time." You remark. "She was there for most if not all of it."
"True, but I want to get lots of people's views on the matter." Xandar admits. "I was planning to get a wide base of opinions and views so that I could come and interview you last, that way it'd be the least, um, biased."
"A worthy goal." You say. "Perhaps I can aid you."
"Really?" Xandar asks. "Without biasing the results?"
"That will be something of a challenge, but one I am certain I am capable of meeting." You assert. "I am on reasonable terms with the Keeper and excellent terms with most of the clan. I am sure I will be able to assist you in speaking to anyone you wish."
"Thanks teacher!" Xandar smiles at you.
You wince as a thought occurs to you. "It will need to wait a time, admittedly. I have some urgent business I need to attend to."
"I'm sure that won't be a problem at all." Xandar replies, undettered.
The two of you depart Endataurëo, bound for the Sabrae clan.
Buying and Selling
Martin walks north. Away from the forest, roads had quickly turned to dirt trails made more by constant travel than human artifice. Still, they were preferable to forcing his way through underbrush. Even if a single day of rain would turn them into calf deep mud that would make walking a chore at the best of times.
It's been two days since he left Endataurëo, and he's already missing the amenities of the place. Just having to cook for himself eats up more time than he remembers, not to mention the prices at the inns. Internally, the merchant grumbles at the bandits masquerading as honest businessmen.
Fortunately, it hasn't rained yet. Still, as Martin looks up at the sky, he doubts his luck will hold much longer. The clouds are dark, and winter is coming so rain is to be expected. In fact, now that he thinks about it, he might press on a little further before he stops to eat and rest, just in case.
His prediction proves true. The next two and a half days are miserable affairs. Martin huddles down in his cloak and fights for every step against the mud. Even when the clouds pass and the sun returns the sucking mud remains. At least he no longer needs to fight the wind or shield his face from the driving wind.
On a good road, with fair weather, a man can travel from the northmost part of Ferelden to the southmost, or vice versa, in just under a week. Thanks to the roads, the weather, and the traffic close to the capital, Martin has only reached Denerim after five days. Halfway to his destination.
There would be more foul weather as he went further north. An early snow caught him, dusting his shoulders and head white. The snow swiftly melted away, but it was a sobering reminder that winter was almost upon them. Yet, after just under a week and a half, Martin finally arrives at a familiar village.
Asking the locals for directions leads him to his brother's house. The human takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.
There is a short delay, then the door swings open.
"Hello, Aaron." Martin says.
"Martin. Is something wrong?" His brother replies.
"No. I just wanted to visit. See mother." The merchant explains hesitantly.
"Right. Right." Aaron says, glancing around. "Well, come on in. Leave your shoes at the door. Elina will have my head if you track mud into her house."
"You found a girl then?" Martin asks.
"Yeah."
As Martin pulls off his mud caked boots, he takes a moment to really look at his brother. Time has not been kind to the farmer. His face is weathered in the way that only many seasons of hard work can cause. He hasn't put on much weight, but there's a definite looseness to his face.
"I suppose you'll want to see mother first." Aaron says suddenly.
Martin hops on one foot, dropping the last boot behind him. "I'll trust you to know how best to handle this. I'd have sent a message, but well, there's no post where I live right now."
"Tell me about it." Aaron grumbles. "Impossible to get anything to read out here. We have to go into town to find paper. No idea how I'm gonna teach the kids their letters."
"You can use bark from a tree and some charcoal." Martin supplies. "Or if you've got some roof repairs, you can grab a slate and use chalk."
"Yeah?" Aaron says. "Sounds like you've had it a bit rough yourself."
"Yeah. Managed to get a steady job recently, but before then it was all iterant work. No way to raise a family." Martin says.
Aaron opens a door to reveal two women sewing by a fire. There's a cot in the corner where a babe sleeps, and a toddler is babbling happily between them, banging a pair of wooden toys together.
The two women look up to the door, and the elder of the two breaks into a wide smile.
"Martin!" The merchant's mother exclaims.