Alright, announcement time. There's going to be another pause in updates. Sadly I've been doing exams for the last few weeks and as a result we've eaten up my entire backlog. So it'll take me a bit to get the original version up to speed, and in that time I might do an interlude, if people want to vote for what they would like to see. I'll consider everything across platforms, so drop a review or comment or whatever the local version is if there's something you'd like to see from this tale. Any character is available, and I will do as many as 3, though bear in mind they will likely be short.
King's Gambit
Maeglin dealt with for now, you take some time to bathe and make yourself presentable. Then you head to the castle and present yourself. Fortunately, you brought your invitations and the certificate that proves your nobility, as the gate guards are especially suspicious today.
Once your words are proven true, there is no small amount of bowing and apologising. A servant is brought to see you to a room where yet another servant summons you to see Loghaine.
You enter some kind of antechamber, where Loghaine and his Banns are gathered, each dressed for war. When you are announced the Teyrn turns to face you.
"You came. Good." He says. "You'll be with me, I'm with the king and I expect you to be at my right the whole time."
The lack of complaints from the Banns is interesting, but you will simply have to assume that they were forewarned.
"You honour me." You incline your head. "I do not believe I have done anything worthy of such recognition."
"Then you're smarter than most." Loghaine snorts. "No, you're there because you're an expert on this matter. You know the king's planning to face the Blight head on."
"It has been mentioned." You reply dryly.
"Good. Time's almost here. We're making concrete plans and we don't have time to waste convincing the others to listen. Hence, you sit next to me."
You nod slowly. "Very well, but I must once more caution you that my experience is likely to be sharply distinct. The character of Darkness under Morgoth was broadly similar but different in detail to the Blight. I would not lead you astray with poor advice, however well meant."
Loghaine raises an eyebrow. "Noted. Now does anyone else have something they want to raise before we go in?"
The Banns raise various points of protocol or discuss their preferred options for the campaign to come. Largely it is pointless glory seeking, but you make sure to listen. Broadly speaking, each Bann is convinced that they command collectively the best of Ferelden's troops, and each individually claims theirs are the best of that group.
Except Lydia who says she has the 'greatest number of the greatest troops'. You dearly hope the wink she sent your way as she said that was not flirting, she is much too young for you.
At last, everything is ready and the Banns enter a great chamber. Through the door you see a large chamber with elevated platforms on either side but Loghaine leads you away before you can do more than glace at the people within. The two of you enter twisting side passages and emerge in an antechamber where Queen Anora is fussing over her husband's expensive clothing.
"Honestly, you have to be more careful. Everyone's eyes are going to be on us and we have to look perfect." She scolds the smiling man.
"Of course my dear, and thank you." He says, raising her head and kissing her. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
While you do not want to interrupt their moment, Loghaine has no such hesitance.
He strides forward and says, "Everything ready?"
The two separate and Queen Anora rolls her eyes. "Yes father, we were just doing final inspections."
Loghaine grunts, and you studiously remain at his right and one step behind as the party emerges into the hall. The hall is smaller than you thought, its high ceiling leading you to assume more volume than present. A blue carpet runs up the centre of the otherwise bare stone and banners bearing two red lions rampant on quartered gold hang everywhere.
Banns and arls and all the nobility of the realm are assembled. Loghaine and his banns are not the only ones in armour, but just as many have come in full court dress. The most impractical garments you have ever seen clash horribly with each other. You have no idea who is out of date and who has the latest fashions, but you know with certainty that both are present.
"My lords!" Cailan booms, voice easily filling the room. "I have called you here to discuss a matter vital to the security of the realm."
He pauses and you can see Anora about to speak when a voice calls out from the assembled nobility, "What's that elf doing there?"
Loghaine snarls, but his daughter speaks before he can. "Perhaps Arl Howe, if you waited for your king to finish speaking, you might find out."
Suitably chastened the Arl makes no further comment as Cailan, in a moment of clear improvisation proclaims. "Now is not the time for us to turn one against the other. My lords, my ladies, a Blight is upon us!"
The reaction to the news is muted. You assume that many have been told in private and still more have figured it out themselves. Still, some clearly did not know and they provide a suitable level of disbelieving chatter.
"The king speaks truly." Duncan says, emerging from a side door too promptly to be anything but planned. "The Fifth Blight is upon us. It is time for the kingdoms of the world to unite in defence of all life."
If the previous reaction was subdued, this one is exaggerated.
Even for one such as you it is hard to follow the extremely heated arguments that ensue. Something about the neighbouring polity of Orlais, presumably related to their recent occupation. Unfortunately, the nobles of Ferelden reveal their lack of rhetorical training by the manner they leave much of their argument implied and you struggle to understand details beyond 'they attacked us and we hate them'.
It takes an extreme effort of will not to groan and rub your face. You just finished dealing with this from the Chasind!
Eventually the queen calms the furore by stressing that the nobles have been called to decide what Ferelden will do. Duncan takes the floor to explain his plans, which involve treaties, diplomacy and stalling tactics. It is nothing brilliant, but it is a solid plan.
Then Loghaine introduces you and it is your turn to give advice.
Truth be told, you see much potential in Duncan's plan. It is hardly perfect, but you do not understand the darkspawn as well as Morgoth, and even then your 'perfect' plans had some rather glaring flaws.
Fingon's dead eyes stared up at you from the pile of the dead, and all about the sounds of wailing elves suffused the air. That day tears unnumbered were shed, and the words of Mandos dominated your thoughts.
Supporting his words would not be the worst use of your time or this platform you have been granted.
After only a heartbeat's consideration, you discard that option. This will be your first introduction to many of these nobles, and you do not want to appear to be some mouthpiece. Worse still, you can already see the scepticism among the nobility. Thought Loghaine's support has quelled it for now, many doubt that an elf has anything to add.
Best to keep this as non-controversial as possible and avoid tarring anyone by association.
"Very well." You state, voice filling the room. "I will begin by briefly highlighting my experience with these matters. My family has long fought the creatures of darkness that you call darkspawn, though I must warn you that there are regional variations, and I may not know all the tricks of the local examples."
The atmosphere in the hall can be best described as impatient. Fortunately, unlike many in the audience, you know how to get to the point and they will not be long languishing in their uncertainty.
You allow a pause to take a deep breath and continue. "The key facts of the matter are as follows. The darkness lacks much in the way of discipline and tactics, and will often defer any fight they do not believe they have an overwhelming advantage in. This changes when directed by greater powers, who can direct them on in the face of even the sternest defences."
Ducan seems a little uncertain, which might indicate greater courage on the part of the darkspawn, or perhaps that in the absence of your people the darkness has lost its fear of the light. Either way, you note it as a potential difference to account for in future, before continuing.
"I have travelled into the south and spoken to those who dwell there. People are disappearing, and the Chasind are fighting a war with the Blight already. It is beyond doubt that some leader has arisen amongst the darkness, for they have begun to lay traps for those who investigate them…" You begin.
"Why should we care?" A voice calls out, interrupting you. "A bunch of savages dying in a swamp is no concern of ours."
Your eyes pick out the speaker from the crowd with ease, it is the one named Arl Howe. He is smirking in a manner that you would describe as unpleasant. Internally you sigh, the stench of human political machinations suddenly hanging thick over the proceedings.
"While an argument about the need to care for your fellow man regardless of political differences could be made, it is relevant to the matter at hand as I was about to explain…" You begin.
"Our fellow man?" Another voice calls out. "What are you trying to say?"
"Nothing, I am merely not a human so it would be grammatically incorrect to include myself in the group. That has little to no effect on the matter at hand, I am trying to stress the numbers…" You attempt to continue.
"Which raises the question of what you're doing here, elf." Arl Howe sneers. "You are, as you just said, not one of us. How do we know you aren't trying to feed us false information to kill us all?"
The sheer stupidity of that question stuns you into a moment's silence. During that time Arl Howe starts making some speech about the 'dangers of trusting outsiders' and something about the king and Orlais.
"Are you a fool?" Your voice cuts through his speech much as his has yours. "The Blight is the enemy of ALL that lives! It will not spare the elves, nor the dwarves, not men or ents or any possible race you could imagine! Now above all it is time for old grudges to be put aside, for all that lives to unite in common cause against the one true Enemy of the World!"
For a moment silence descends upon the hall. You dare to hope that your point has finally landed, in what would be a first. Yet, Arl Howe's eyes slip towards Loghaine.
Whatever he was looking for, he seems to have found as he proclaims, "You see! He admits it, this is clearly a thinly veiled attempt to convince us to kneel to the Orlesians once more."
The king stands up calling for order as all the nobles start arguing. For a moment you stand there staring at the chaos, taken aback by the sheer absurdity of human politics.
Finally, you step back, allowing yourself to fade from the perceptions of the human nobles. In truth, it is not hard, they are, rather appropriately, suffering from rather severe tunnel vision. The argument is breaking down along factional lines as the king steps in to quell the debate.
You could possibly quiet the argument. You have the volume and potentially the sheer presence to cow the opposing voices. That would be an action with far too much risk for your taste. Instead, you are simply going to withdraw from this battlefield.
The end of the First Age was a terrible time that you would not choose to live through a second time, but it has taught you the value of strategic withdrawal. You will allow these humans to exhaust themselves in their pointless dramatics, while you will speak to those who will actually listen to you.
In truth, watching the events that unfold after that Arl starts speaking is very informative. It does not take long to realise that Loghaine is leading some kind of isolationist faction, while the king leads a coalition that advocate stopping the Blight by any means. The reasons vary, some see opportunity in connecting with outsiders, some seem to genuinely fear the Blight, the king seems to believe he lives in a story. Currently the king's faction is significantly weakened by the absence of the Arl of Redcliffe and Loghaine's bipartisan popularity. His daughter, the queen, supports both sides in turn as she deems most advantageous.
It is all very human. Not that the Noldor did not have their own disunity, but at least it was never born of a desire to improve the individual at the expense of the whole. You have more respect for Loghaine, who seems to have a genuine hatred of the Orlesians, than Arl Howe, who seems to only be interested in what Arl Howe can get.
That does not mean you have forgiven him for causing this.
Eventually the arguments wrap up, at least for now. The whole group moves towards some kind of feast, and entertainment. This will be a pattern that repeats for around a week, but you have no intention of remaining that long.
As everyone moves towards the feasting hall, you take advantage of your proximity to Loghaine to have a short exchange with him.
"I do not appreciate being used as a pawn in your games, human." You hiss quietly to him. "The next time you ask for my aid, it had best be to fight the Blight directly, or this will be the last time you receive it."
The Teyrn attempts to respond, but there is a long line of people who do not consider you one who are happy to interrupt and demand Logaine pay attention to them rather than you. For your part, you vanish into the crowd, seeking those who will listen to you.
"Lord Russandol it is good to see you again." Teyrn Cousland says. "Fiona has been absolutely chomping at the bit to have another sparring session with you."
"The stars shine upon the hour of our meeting, Teyrn Cousland." You reply. "I will see if I have any time to set aside for your daughter, but I fear that my business in the city has taken up much of the time I had available for this meeting."
You appreciate the old man's actions, merely by speaking to you so familiarly, already a number of nobles are paying more attention to you.
"A shame, a shame." The Teyrn says. "Speaking of which, I was wondering what you were trying to say about the Blight, it is just impossible to get any firsthand intelligence on them, and it seems you have some."
"I can confirm that." Bann Lydia adds, suddenly joining the conversation. "The Teyrn's looked into it, and it seems like he's worked with some kind of elven version of the Grey Wardens."
"Something akin to the legion of the dead then?" Asks a noble who has not introduced himself.
"I am afraid I am unfamiliar with that organisation." You reply.
"They're a dwarf thing. Warriors sworn to a suicide mission fighting the Blight in the Deep Roads, or something like that anyway." The noble explains. "Heard some of the dwarves we trade with considering joining them or selling to them. I don't know, it was all very dwarfish."
For a moment you are tempted to correct them, but ultimately you decide to leave it. The distinction is present but not significant to this conversation. If it will get people to heed your words you will consider that a victory.
"It is not a perfect analogy, but close enough." You state. "As for intelligence, I have a great deal. First of all, I must caution you as to the blood of the foe, it is a toxic substance as well as magic to some degree. They use it in their weapons to create items of deceptive power."
"How does that work exactly?" Bann Lydia asks.
"Well, the details are beyond me, but in essence the blood reinforces even as it corrupts. It makes their blades rusty and ill kept, but they will cut and pierce more than mere iron should allow." You explain.
You continue with a discussion of the blood's toxic properties, including a brief discussion on what you believe to be its part in the creation of darkspawn. The nobles listen to you seriously, and you notice several others joining in merely to know what is happening.
Bann Lydia's presence is a great aid, as it ensures that people from both of the main factions in Ferelden's court pay attention.
"The most important thing to keep in mind is that there is functionally no end to the darkspawn." You explain as the conversation moves to tactics. "Normal considerations of attrition, of the deterrence of positions that will cost too much to storm, simply do not apply. If faced with a fort they can take at a cost of thousands, they will storm it. If they must kill hundreds to force a river crossing, they will do so. It can be used to your advantage, but I speak from experience when I say that all that lives tires."
Even Yavanna's tree herders, for all their might could be overwhelmed by orcs, eventually. Admittedly the number of orcs per Ent was prohibitive, but the forests they protected had not been safe from Morgoth. Some of the last positions in Beleriand to fall, yes, but they had still fallen.
You even find time to spar with Fiona once more, and a few other noble sons and daughters. Overall, you think that many have heard your words, and most of them have taken them seriously. It has been very successful, even if you must leave before the summit is over.
Buying and Selling
Nothing much changes in the days following their visit to the Alienage. As much as it seemed like a momentous thing, something that would mark a notable change in their relationship, the week that follows is much the same as the one that went before.
Despite their personal interactions, product still needs to be transported, orders still need to be fulfilled. Delora inspects wine to see if it has matured, and Martin interacts with villagers who are looking for specific kinds of product or have a complaint.
"I don't care what your wife bought from us, we are in no way responsible for her decisions." He tells the irate farmer. "Take it up with her."
"Yer the ones sellin' filth! It's a sin and a disgrace!" The man roars back red in the face, looming over Martin.
The merchant eyes flick past the man briefly before returning. "Listen, we just procure the goods we're asked to. Now, if you can't behave reasonably, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"Leave?" The man sputters. "By what right do you have to ask me to leave? Are you the lord of this land?"
The two warriors who had been approaching now choose to make themselves known. "Everything good over here? Hearing a lot of yelling."
As the angry farmer is escorted out of Endataurëo, Delora pops out of the cellar grimacing at his retreating back.
"Can't say I blame the woman, he seems unpleasant." She says.
Martin can't say why he feels the need to defend the man, but he does. "We're not exactly seeing him at his best, it wouldn't be fair to judge him based on that outburst."
Delora raises an eyebrow at him. "Nah, that sounds hard. I'm just going to go ahead and judge him."
Martin shakes his head as the elf laughs nervously. A somewhat awkward silence falls over the pair.
"Hey." Delora says at last. "Where'd you grow up anyway? What was it like?"
"Where'd this come from?" Martin asks.
Delora glares at him and snaps, "Are you going to answer the question or not?"
"Easy there, I'm happy to talk about it, but you know, if you're just making conversation…" Martin trails off.
"No, its…" Delora trails off, and kicks at the ground. "Doesn't matter."
"No, no. Look, it's just that I don't really think where I grew up is that interesting or anything." Martin scrambles to say. "I'm happy to talk about it, I just didn't really think it'd be something you were interested in."
Delora glares at him again. "Well, I am ok, so spit it out."
Martin pauses for a while, planning out what to say and letting his elven companion regain her composure. On reflection, it kind of makes sense she'd want to know about how he grew up, considering Alienages are alien to him, presumably it works the other way around.
"I guess it's probably a bit of a surprise that I was born on a farm." He says at last. "We owned a small bit of land, but not enough for a whole family so we also used to work on the rented fields with serfs."
"Rented fields? And what do you mean enough land for a whole family?" Delora asks.
For a moment Martin just stares at the elf, then he hits his head. "Right. City girl, forgot this wasn't obvious. So, basically there's two kinds of farmer. You can own your own land, or you can work on someone else's, usually the local lord's. When you own your own land you get to keep all the produce, so most people grow food, but we didn't have enough land to grow food for six."
"But what about taxes?" Delora frowns. "And six, I thought you only had one brother?"
Martin smile sadly. "Elves aren't the only group who don't always live to adulthood. As for taxes, depends. Usually, most lords accept a portion of your harvest, but some of the worse ones demand coin. That can be rough, especially if you don't grow something that's worth much."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to…" Delora says.
Martin smiles at her. "It's alright. It's just life. So, I guess I should mention what I used to do as a kid."
Surprisingly Delora doesn't have any snarky comment about the mundane topic and she doesn't seem to begrudge Martin the time it takes to pull together his childhood memories into a coherent story. He guesses she's really serious about this, whatever it is.
"So, I grew up on a farm. Obviously." He chuckles slightly awkwardly. "I guess, I should start with explaining what that's like. So, get up with the sun, head out to chores. Usually it's stuff like feed the animals, change their water, collect eggs or milk cows. It kind of depends on what you have."
"I thought you were talking about your childhood, not farming generally." Delora interrupts. "Did you have chickens or cows?"
Martin blinks a few times, then shakes his head with a laugh. "Chickens, and sometimes a pig if we were doing well. Pigs and chickens eat pretty much anything. Cows need pasture, so only lords had those."
"Do they get serfs to milk those cows?" Delora asks.
Martin nods. "Never seen a lord on an actual farm."
"What about the boss man?" Delora asks. "He checks in on the farms here."
Martin pauses in thought for a few moments before answering, "That's a little different. First of all, orchards are kind of more 'lordly' I guess? Orlesians own a lot of vineyards and they tend to inspect those. But yeah, sometimes a noble will do inspections, but that's not farm work, not really. Still, the boss does visit more than most. And knows a lot about the subject for someone who, by his own admission, has never worked on one."
"Alright, so you've taken care of animals, that's what, an hour?" She asks.
Martin shrugs. "Depends on how many animals. It's weird how quick it all adds up with even something like ten of the things. After that you eat, then it's weeding and watering and all sorts of gathering, collecting. A lot of your time is actually repair, maintenance and getting ready for winter."
Their conversation slowly drifts into the impact of winter on farmers and farming communities as the cart wheels roll off stone and onto dirt.
The Other Eldest Son
Maeglin, eldest son of Eöl stands at his window, looking out over the city of Denerim. Maedhros the Tall, the living legend had stormed into his office and all but conscripted him to fight Morgoth once more.
That would be bad enough on its own, he has no desire to return to that monster's 'tender' care. Worse still, he would be fighting with and for humans. Humans! Those wretched, low born thieves clinging once more to their betters' skirts even as they destroy all he holds dear!
With a snarl he turns away from the window.
"What do I care for this endeavour! Leave the humans to their fate! It is all they deserve!" He sneers to himself.
"For the first time I am glad she has passed." Maedhros spat with greater venom than any accusation he had made yet. "That she might be spared the knowledge of what the son she died to save became!"
Rage drains out of Maeglin, and he feels numb and empty once more. He wants to dismiss those words, much as he dismissed all the other hypocritical, ignorant assertions he had thrown around. If it had been anyone else, he probably would have.
But it was Maedhros, son of Fëanor.
"I used to get into all sorts of contests with Tyelkorm… I mean Celegorm." His mother said, bright and free in a way that was growing increasingly rare. "He was always up for any kind of contest, a terrible loser though. Always would throw a tantrum and Russ… Maedhros would have to come and tell him to stop."
"I bet you always won!" Meaglin replied, being hushed by his mother for his volume. "Sorry."
He didn't know why father didn't like these stories, they were the best. Well, maybe not as good as the stories of the white city, but really good!
"I didn't always win." Mother said with a fond smile. "And I can't say I was always a better sport. But my big brother was always there to pull me in if I got too defensive, just like Tyel… Celegorm had Maedhros."
The story continued long into the morning, of Celegorm the proud and angry and Maedhros the tall and fair, best friend of his uncle who he had never met.
Maeglin scrubbed furious tears from his eyes. So what if Turgon was also his uncle, so what if he'd loved the city of Gondolin in the years of his youth. It's not like he meant for it to be destroyed! He was to be its king!
Besides, Maedhros was a kinslayer and his mother had still loved him. Or considered him friend, at least.
'Maedhros fought Morgoth, refused to surrender on the peak of Thangorodrim and yielded a crown for peace.' His conscience whispered. 'He paid for his crimes, and pays for them still.'
The night was long, and Maeglin did not sleep much. He argued with himself back and forth. In the morning, the neighbours were most displeased to be woken with a shout.
"Fine! Fine! I'll help the miserable mortals! Just leave me alone!"
Maeglin stormed out of his house early that morning in a foul mood, an old faded blue cloak wrapped around his shoulders.