Fragile Alliance
Anneth was shocked that you did not reprimand Merrill, nor did you support her requests that Merrill not embark upon this course. For all that you are proud of how the young officer has grown, the truth remains. You cannot reprimand Merrill for taking a course of action you would in her place.
Instead, you spend time negotiating how many warriors will be accompanying Merrill. The elf is under the impression that zero was an option.
It was not.
Ultimately, she is convinced that a retinue of five heavy infantry is both easily spared from guarding Endataurëo and will not impinge upon the honour of any individuals. That second half might be wrong, but frankly you could not care less.
The preparations are made, and everyone retires. Night passes all too swiftly, and breakfast finds all within your hall quiet and ill humoured. The tension of waiting for the Dalish to act is getting to everyone.
Merrill and her escort depart first, followed by Martin and Delora. Taking this as your cue, you retire to your room to prepare for the day to come.
Undertunic, hose and gambeson slide on with ease. The vaguely comical process of sliding chainmail over your head is accomplished with the ease of practice. Your sword belts over the mail, and your cloak completes your garb.
You pause before donning your helmet, staring at what is, in all honesty, the only difference between your battle attire and daily attire.
"Cé merël rainë, á ferya an ohta.[1]" You whisper.
The weight of the helmet settling on your head is so familiar you almost do not notice it.
Due primarily to proximity, a small clearing has become an unofficial gathering point for the leaders of the four forces involved in this operation. Anneth is more than happy to lead you there, where Velkind and Auriel are already arguing. Sir Vivian Ferelden's representative, a knight who is so unimportant you think you are the only one who remembers her name, watches the two with an expression you can only describe as 'desperately hoping it is not her job to deal with this'.
"You cannot take half the forest, you do not have enough warriors!" Auriel snaps.
"Elf is having less warriors than mighty Chasind, and yet she thinks to take more than a half of forest?" Velkind asks incredulously. "I am thinking that elf is wanting more of the glory and loot."
"There will be neither glory nor loot to be had if all do their duty as expected of them." You interrupt the argument. "Nor are we attempting to form a single battle line across the entire forest. We do not have the numbers to do so."
The two commanders turn to face you, a mixture of contrition and annoyance on their faces.
"Surely you knew this already." You state. "This week should be largely the same as the last."
"Brightstar. We are knowing as you are saying, but we are also knowing that Chasind can be doing more. Enemy are few and weak, we are not needing to go in as many as sent! We can take more of forest and claim glory for clan and kin!" Velking explains.
"I've been trying to explain to the idiot shemlen that this isn't one of those pitched battles they love so much." Auriel retorts hotly. "But he's refusing to do what I tell him, as though I do not know how best to counter the tactics I have trained in my whole life!"
Unsurprisingly this reignites the argument, and you need to step in once more.
"I understand your concern Velkind." You say calmly. "However, as Auriel has explained, the Dalish favour ambush and guerrilla tactics. It would be unwise to divide our forces any further. Auriel, though your advice is valued, I remind you that you are not in command of this operation, and you cannot give orders to any but your own command. Am I understood?"
Your words do not have the effect you hoped, neither of the two commanders look like your words have convinced them. However, after a moment that lasts far too long, their respect for you wins out over their hurt feelings.
Now you can turn your attention to where you are going to go.
"Has there been any reports of Dalish activity?" You ask the assembled leaders of your alliance.
Ser Vivian, in an act of uncharacteristic relevance, answers. "No."
Anneth also answers, seemingly completely ignorant of the fact that Ser Vivian spoke. "There's been a couple of attempts at hunting here and there, but best we can tell they've pulled back to less contested hunting grounds."
"We should being on attack!" Velkind says, striking an open palm with his other fist. "We are having movement, we should keep on!"
"The last thing I wish is to force this standoff into a decisive battle." You reply. "Whoever won the field would still have lost the war."
You tune out the discussion on who would win such a fight, as it is irrelevant, and no one seems to be seriously advocating for the option. The very uncertainty that makes the debate possible does a better job or dissuading Velkind than anything you could say.
Your thoughts bend instead to how you will organise your own forces. The fundamental question at play is whether to keep your cavalry as a reserve or to split them up to act as messengers.
On the one hand, your understanding of the Dalish way of war leads you to expect a slow grinding guerilla war. They should strike at exposed positions and wear down your forces over the course of several weeks or months. To that end you should keep the cavalry ready to ride them down.
On the other hand, such a small reserve and wide spread of forces could encourage the Dalish to concentrate their forces into a single point and to essentially achieve local superiority, potentially breaking through the line to surround and isolate your forces. To deal with that, you need a large reserve and the ability to carefully monitor the developing situation, which means dividing your riders up as messengers.
You debate the options internally. Slowly, as you consider the choices you start to lean towards the second. While a war of attrition is the kind of thing the Dalish are best skilled at, the nature of the engagement restricts them. They cannot afford to take the time that wearing down your forces with their access to food restricted as it is.
With decision made, all that remains is the tedious business of arranging who will go where. You end up pulling around a quarter of the Chasind and Dalish forces into the reserve. Everything else should be left as a deterrent and holding force until the reserve can arrive.
Now all that is left is to hope the Dalish do not notice and spread their attacks out onto multiple points on your line.
What you had expected from this operation was a long pause. The tense waiting that takes up so much time of real war and always seems to mysteriously disappear from the songs. Kano can talk about pacing all he wants, but you know the value of good tension building.
You are barely even begun with your musing on the relationship between reality and history when the sound of hooves reaches you. For a moment you think you have zoned out and missed the passing of time, but a glance at the sun confirms that it has barely been an hour since your troops finished assembling.
One of your rangers thunders into the clearing, causing the warriors who had just been getting comfortable to scramble to their feet, grabbing weapons and tightening armour.
"Sir! Dalish warriors, must be nearly a hundred of them approaching the glade with the stream!" The rider pants out.
"Very well." You raise your voice now. "We move in ten minutes, get ready to march."
The march through the forest is tense. The rider was sent the moment the Dalish were spotted so he has no idea what has happened when they arrived. You can only hope that you are marching to assist rather than avenge.
What you arrive to is a tense stand-off. Lanaya's Dalish have lined up on one side of the clearing, Sabrae warriors on the other. It is extremely fortunate that the elves in question were Sabrae rather than Chasind, or you would likely have arrived to violence already in progress.
"How dare you side with a shem'len!" Yells the leader of Lanaya's Dalish. "You betray our own people! We swore never to kneel to the shem again!"
The leader of the Sabrae warriors, Tamlen because of course it is, looks swayed by the argument. In fact, you would be surprised if he does not choose to stay out of whatever is about to happen. He has always been the leader of the Sabrae's opposition to you.
Surprisingly, despite the relatively large force, around one hundred and ten warriors by your count, you are pleased to see that you outnumber them. Further, that tunnel vision that has so characterised Lanaya's warriors is present in full and they have not yet noticed the march of your reinforcements, nor have they seen you.
You have the initiative.
You lean over to your seconds in command. The nature of this fragile alliance means that you have two, one for the Dalish and one for the Chasind. In short, quick whispers, you divide the forces to each cover half of the clearing. They protest both your giving away the initiative by entering the clearing, and your instructions to take prisoners as much as possible, but they obey, eventually.
For your part, you quickly work your way behind Tamlen's forces. Whether they will join you or not is a mystery to you, but their presence means that you do not need to cover the area with your own soldiers. Further, when you emerge from their ranks, the opposition's watch on their flanks will go from 'terrible' to non-existent.
You have faith in your ability to sway hearts and minds, but you have never claimed dominance over the wills of others. As such, there is a chance that this turns to battle despite your best intentions. Should the worst come to pass you will serve as an excellent distraction and hopefully be in easy striking distance of the leaders.
"Surely you realise, that if we work together, if we strike now, we can seize this imposter and drag him before the Keepers where he can be judged for his crimes!" Lanaya's leader exclaims.
Well, that sounds like an invitation to you.
"Out of morbid curiosity, what crimes do I stand accused of exactly?" You ask mildly, stepping out of the crowd of Sabrae warriors.
Honestly, the momentary silence followed by angry yelling of the crowd speaks very poorly of the discipline of Lanaya's warriors. It takes several long minutes of shouting from several different individuals to silence the mob. It is useful information, first that there are no signal horns or war drums, and second that there appears to be no single commander.
Given that you know where Lanaya is right now, that does not exactly surprise you.
"You have lied to the Dalish!" The male elf who had been speaking to Tamlen cries.
"You've tampered with forbidden magic!" Cries another elf.
"You're starving the clan, trying to wipe us out!" One female elf yells.
"I have not done either of the first two, and the third is a misreading of my intentions and actions." You reply calmly, resting a hand on the hilt of your sword.
"A likely story." The first elf sneers. "You claim to have brought back the Dalish immortality, and you deny us access to our hunting grounds. Your 'actions' speak for themselves."
"I have made no such claim. The work of the rediscovery was entirely Merrill's doing, and I am not even capable of magic besides." You rebut with affected disinterest. "While your hunting grounds are not wholly denied to you, merely restricted in access. If you wish to change that, then all that is required is that hostilities between our people cease."
"Don't listen to him!" The female yells over the murmurs. "Remember what Lanaya said, remember Zathrien!"
"And yet, where is Lanaya?" You ask. "I am here, willing to speak, to answer the charges laid against me. Has Lanaya been willing to face me? Has she come with you to seize your hunting grounds anew? I ask you again, where is your Keeper!?"
Your words do not have their intended effect. Instead of realising the point you were making, that Lanaya could have solved this problem by simply speaking to you, they instead leap to another conclusion.
"It's a trap!" One elf cries.
"He's set an ambush for Lanaya! We have to go help her!" Another yells.
You are frankly staggered by the leaps of logic. Surely, the logical conclusion would be the truth, that the trap is set for them."
"Wait!" The first elf cries. "We can seize him as a hostage, then go on to rescue Lanaya. Brothers of the Sabrae, the time is now! Join us!"
You glance at Tamlen, who shrugs. "The Keeper's behind you in this, but I'm not sticking my neck out for you. Shouldn't have come alone."
"I was mainly wondering if you were planning on assisting Lanaya's clan." You reply.
He shakes his head. "I don't trust you, hell I'd happily sell you out for a pair of stones, but I won't turn my back on my clan."
"Get him!" Several of Lanaya's elves yell.
The warriors approach in fits and starts. There is no unity of purpose or command, and you even see several turning on each other in order to impede their progress towards you. It is a somewhat novel experience.
With a sigh, you take a single deep breath and roar, "Take them alive!"
At the signal your warriors spring almost as one from the tree line. Chasind hurl stones and sticks and follow it up with a wild charge, brandishing clubs. From the other side of the clearing, Dalish arrows fill the air. Largely, those seem aimed at arms, and fleshy areas, but not all.
The disunity of command reveals itself immediately. Some of Lanya's warriors turn to face their respective sides, though they cannot get into any kind of unified formation. Others, however, continue their headlong charge towards you. Presumably they hope to hold you hostage.
They meet your blade.
The first Dalish takes a stab through his leg and goes to ground screaming. Then you flick the blade high, sheering through an arm, leaving yet warrior curled up on the ground in pain, but breathing. For now.
As it began, so it continues. You cut, pommel and shove your way through the lines, aiming for anyone who seems to be getting a handle on the situation and exerting some form of control. Dalish iron is deflected by Noldorin chain, and no leather lasts against Kurvo's work. Your tally for the day is grim, but it is decisive.
After several minute of chaotic combat, you start to hear cries of surrender. They begin on the side of the Dalish, as Lanaya's warriors cry for mercy. When those cries are honoured, then more follow. When the first weapon hits the ground the Chasind side, it starts an avalanche of similar actions.
When the fighting finally dies down, you are swift to order healers forward and divide the duties of tending to the injured and guarding the prisoners up. Here Tamlen proves helpful, springing forward to offer his own assistance.
It is extremely fortunate that this was a Sabrae clearing. Several of their healers were nearby, and it does not take long for Xandar to arrive to lend his own magical talents to the endeavour.
Sheer surprise and fury had carried your side well. Four Chasind lie dead, but that is the sum total of those who have fallen. Serious injuries, there are two, a Chasind who requires medical attention but will recover, and a Dalish who has lost an eye and an ear but will live.
For the enemy's count, fifteen warriors now lie dead. To your shame, one of those is the warrior whose army you took early in the fight. He bled out before the healers could reach him.
Near one hundred of Lanaya's warriors are injured to varying degrees of severity, from minor scratches and bruises to serious injuries. You think as many as two dozen will likely never fight again, at least not without serious retraining.
That leaves you with some hundred and ten prisoners that you need to find food, shelter and guards for. You heave a sigh of frustration. Orcs never gave you this problem.
The Fallen Hahren
After matters have finally stabilised enough that you are willing to leave everything up to someone else, Auriel pulls you aside.
"Hey big guy. The Keeper was expecting you last week and you didn't show." She says.
You nod. "I am aware, unfortunately, given the sheer volume of delicate tasks that needed to be done last week I thought it best for both of us if I did not press the matter."
Auriel glares at you. "I hate that I can't be mad at you over this. Whatever, she's kind of been a bit… out of it since. I'm worried. Go see her."
"While I will of course do so, what is stopping you from enquiring as to her health if you are concerned?" You ask.
The elf gives you a flat look. "Well, I'm not sure how it works in 'not technically an elf' land, but here when your superior gives you an order like 'go and make sure another clan doesn't accidentally start a war with Ferelden' you have to do it."
A number of irritated and rude responses spring to the tip of your tongue but you hold them back. You were somewhat in the wrong after all.
"I shall be sure to inform you of the state of your Keeper at the next possible opportunity then." You say instead.
For some reason, Auriel does not find that reassuring.
You find Keeper Marethari in her aravel, slumped over a desk in the darkness. She wakes with a start when you knock on the doorframe.
"Nelyafinwë." She says blearily. "Oh good, I was expecting you last week."
"I thought it wise to leave the matter a short time, to ensure we both had the leisure to treat the matter with the seriousness it deserves." You reply, looking around at the dishevelled room. "Has there been a problem?"
Marethari shakes her head. "No…"
Her words are interrupted by a large, long yawn.
"No." She repeats, shaking her head. "I had an idea that I wanted to try with the extra time and well, it's gone better than I had hoped."
"I see, should I apologise for your current state then?" You ask jokingly.
The Keeper blinks in confusion for a moment then shakes her head with a snort. "No, it's been a lot of work, and what with everything it's meant a lot of late nights and less time doing things like cleaning."
You nod. "I see, so tell me, what is have you done that was worth all this effort?"
"My first thought was something simple, merely an evolution of the communication spell I mentioned. It would have allowed us to speak to the Hahren through the mirror, like an Evanuri of old but much less sophisticated." The Keeper explains.
Then her face splits into a wide grin. "That was when I had my idea, I mentioned that there is a pocket realm inside the mirrors, essentially a miniature Beyond. I believe I also mentioned that the purpose of the original spell was to duel and theoretically capture spirits. A few tweaks and some experimentation and I can now happily report that we are capable of visiting the pocket dimension."
You frown. "I must confess that I do not see how that is an improvement over speaking to them at a remove. Surely all it will do is put us in danger."
"Well, with the communication method all we can do is speak to them. If we want them to improve, we need their cooperation. It'd be like seeing a priest. But this way, we're going to be touching their minds directly, like we were entering their dreams in the Beyond." Marethari explains. "If there's an external influence we can clear it directly, and if there isn't, well they can't just not talk to us."
For a moment you are silent, and Marethari clearly bites back nervousness. Then you speak.
"There are many who would say that what you are doing is reckless, council caution and simply speak to the Hahren via the mirror." You say. "However, they are not here. Let us go."
Marethari whirls, hand extending towards one of the mirrors on the wall, only to suddenly hesitate. For several moments she does not speak.
"All of this, and now I hesitate." She whispers, almost to herself. "I dare not risk him, yet I cannot sacrifice another when I have done all just to see him again."
You can see the hesitation in the Nandëo's eyes, so you walk past her and snatch a mirror at random.
"This one." You state.
Marethari's eyes flash with relief, resignation and gratitude all at once. She raises a hand, tattoos burning with green light. Mana twists around the pair of you, and the rapidly becoming familiar sensation of leaving your body overtakes you.
There is no impact, though your mind insists there should be something. One moment you stand in an aravel of wood, with clothing and paper strewn all about, the next you stand in an octagonal stone room, with high vaulted ceilings. Doors, leaf shaped and wooden, face in eight directions, one in each wall.
In the centre of the room is a circular mosaic, depicting a highly stylised hunt. White halla flee from black wolves adorned with red markings akin to the Vallaslin. In the centre of this mosaic sits a Nandëo. A female, older than Marethari. Her eyes are closed and she appears to be in some form of meditation.
Marethari gasps beside you. You turn to look at her, and she blushes slightly.
"Sorry." She whispers. "I forgot what you look like in the Beyond."
You glance down to note your skin shining bright and the flame encaged in black chains. "Ah, yes. I suppose I have grown used to entering the Beyond physically and had forgotten my appearance."
"No matter." Marethari dismisses the topic. "What are we going to do about Shilya?"
"I suppose the logical beginning would be to speak to her." You suggest.
Marethari gives you a flat look, which you respond to with a shrug. She did ask.
Rolling her eyes the Keeper walks past you, calling out, "Shilya? Can you understand me?"
The Hahren blinks rapidly, slowly stirring. When she sees the Keeper she smiles distantly.
"Oh, Marethari. It's you." She says dreamily. "I'm glad to see you."
You frown, something about this is wrong, though you cannot be certain what.
"Are you feeling alright?" Marethari asks, clearly picking up on the wrongness herself. "You don't sound right."
"Oh yes." Shilya replies, with a smile that's just a hair too wide. "I was really cold, I feel better now."
Marethari shares a glance with you, her tattoos starting to glow faintly. You gather yourself as best you can, and really wish that this metaphor, soul extension, pocket dimension or whatever it is had given you a sword.
"Shilya, do you remember what happened?" Marethari asks cautiously.
Finally you realise what has bothered you, beyond the strange behaviour of the Nandëo. There are no candles, no windows, no light sources at all, so why can you see? Even your eyes need at least starlight to see by, yet you can see everything as clear as day.
"Huh? What happened?" Shilya asks, tilting her head and frowning.
Now the room begins to darken, shadows coalescing in the corners.
"Oh, that's right." Shilya says, with menace growing in her voice. "It was so cold, and I just wanted to be warm."
The shadows turn sharp and jagged and rush across the floor towards Marethari.
"Give me your warmth!" Shilya shrieks, form dissolving into darkness.
Fast as the shadows are, they are not faster than the light that bursts forth to encompass the pair of you. In this realm made of metaphor the light of Valinor comes as very literal physical light. To your surprise, it actually seems easier to call it forth in this realm than in the physical world.
Quickly, you dismiss such musing to dash forward. Strictly speaking there is no reason why the light would diminish with distance, but you do not want to take the risk. This proves a wise move, for even as you reach Marethari, the shadows grow darker and thicker. Sheer pressure slowly drives the light back until it is a roughly spherical point surrounding you and the Keeper.
"Give it to me!" The shadows shriek in distorted tones. "Give me your warmth, give me your light! Give it back!"
"You can't want this Shilya!" Marethari calls back. "I know you don't. Don't you remember how we used to sit beneath the heart tree and talk about life? Don't you remember your daughter? She's desperately trying to keep the weavers together but she can't, she's not ready! She needs you!"
Knives and axes of darkness slam against the outside of your light accompanied by a wordless shriek. Gritted teeth and unbending will push them back, but the effort is telling against you.
"Words do not seem to be having their desired effect." You force out. "Perhaps it is time to consider alternate options."
Marethari glances around at the light that surrounds you both. "Can you do something about this? It seems to hate… whatever this is."
"Yes." You wince as pressure briefly redoubles before relaxing. "I do not know if enough of her remains to withstand it though. The light is not gentle."
Of course, you could also simply banish the wraith. You know how and it has nowhere to run this time.
"No." Marethari sates fiercely. "She's in here, she has to be. We'll just have to keep trying."
You wince as what feels like the weight of an entire ocean presses against you.
"You want to talk to it?" You gasp out. "It is no longer your friend, it is a heartless shadow that exists only to prolong its own existence. It cannot be reasoned with!"
"Fen'harel take you, Nelyafinwë! I am the Keeper of my clan!" Marethari snarls back. "I do not abandon them, I do not leave them to the mercies of outsiders and I will not abandon my friend when there is something I could do to help them. Now if you're not going to help me, shut up!"
"This is madness!" You reply.
"She's my friend!" Marethari screams.
You could pulse the light, build the pressure in the hope of stripping away the darkness that pushes against you. As the weight swells again, like an inexorable wave, you are tempted. It would be so easy to simply take this away from Marethari…
A bright smile crosses Astaldo's face. "I will always come when you need me Russandol. I know you would do the same for me."
"Fine. Fine!" You exclaim. "Let us embrace the madness, try to talk the wraith out of being a wraith. When this proves futile, I will hold this over you for all eternity!"
Unshed tears glimmer in Marethari's eyes as she nods.
"Wraith!" You call.
"Her name is Shilya." Marethari supplies.
"Shilya!" You glare at Marethari as the weight of the wraith's power redoubles. "Hear me!"
Shilya shrieks. The high pitched noise stabs into your ears rattling your non-existent teeth. The sound lingers in your mind, shredding at your thoughts. Internally you wince, but you fight through the pain to continue.
"I know you are afraid." You cry. "I know that the world ceased to make sense, and that you have more than enough reason to hate me. Yet you must listen, this is not who you truly are!"
The wraith screams again and presses its darkness down on you. Even for you, this is proving too much. Briefly, you toy with the idea of giving up, of simply dragging yourself and the Keeper out at once. Yet, your stubbornness has well and truly dug itself in, and you persist.
"The cold you feel, it is the winds of Mandos." You pause, recalling the name of the elven god of the dead. "Falon'din, they are trying to call you home."
The pressure lessens slightly, possibly due to you breaking through, but more likely simply in preparation for another wave. Still, you take the opportunity to get as much of your argument done as possible.
"The warmth you seek will not satisfy." You exclaim, speaking quickly. "For a moment, it will, but the winds will not have gone anywhere, you will need to seek more, and more. Is that what you want? To endlessly consume the lives of friend, family, lover in an endless quest to regain what is lost forever?"
There is a moment of calm as you finish speaking, then the darkness slams into you with a force redoubled. You gasp as though struck in the stomach and strain yourself to hold it back. The screams of the wraith make your eyes water.
Marethari quickly realises that you are in no state to continue talking and takes up the torch. "Shilya! Please, you have to listen to me!"
Whatever her next words are they are lost in the great shriek that the wraith lets out. Your ears ring, your mind fuzzing as you pour all your attention into remaining conscious and holding the darkness back. When you finally return to the conversation, Marethari is still speaking.
"Don't you remember, the day you got married?" She asks shakily. "You came to my door, you were so nervous. I had no idea how to respond to you and we ended up nearly sending each other into a panic?"
The wraith's next shriek is less piercing, which would be a good sign if it weren't for the fact that only one in three of its shrieks carry that fell magic it wields. For your part you just brace yourself as much as possible for the inevitable stabbing pain.
Marethari smiles quietly to herself. "Sarel ended up coming to look for us and he ended up dragging us both to Mahariel, who just laughed at us, and calmed the whole thing down."
The shriek you had been anticipating comes at last. Fortunately, your bracing seems to have paid off, as it is less difficult to resist, despite being timed with another surge of the darkness. Still, you can feel you reserves dwindling, and you cannot keep this up much longer.
"Marethari," you manage through gritted teeth, "we are running out of time."
The Keeper falls silent for a long moment, wasting the time you are very much running out of. Eventually, after a time that may as well have been an eternity based on how it felt, she speaks.
"Please Shilya." She almost whispers. "If you're in there, I need a sign, a hint, anything. I need this to work. Please, Sarel's in here somewhere. I can't… I can't kill him."
A brief period of calm comes upon you. The shadows withdraw slightly, looking almost like an elf again.
"If not for me, then for Aethn." Marethari continues. "He's in the same state you are, and he needs help. Please."
There is another horrible scream, and the shadows rush out to fill the room once more. You brace, but they do not strike at you. After several seconds of rushing wind and shadow, the elf kneels in the centre of the room once more.
Marethari's eyes widen, and she goes to rush to her friend. You throw out an arm to hold her back.
"She is still a wraith." You state coldly. "She is merely quiescent for now."
Shilya looks up at her keeper. "Please. Make the cold go away. Please."
The world shifts and the two of you sit in Marethari's aravel once more.
The Keeper breathes a sigh of relief. "Well, I suppose we have a test subject now."
You say nothing, collapsing backwards in your chair from exhaustion.
"I blame Astaldo for this." You complain to the ceiling.
You do not think that comment required the gales of hysterical laughter Marethari responds with.
[1] If you want peace, prepare for war/battle