An Urgent Request
It is late in the day, maybe an hour or two past noon when a Dalish elf pounds into Endataurëo. It is no one you recognise, and you can only guess they are not one of the Nandëo[1] due to some instinctive feeling rather than any concrete evidence.
"Nelyafinwë." He gasps. "I need to speak to Nelyafinwë."
Fortunately for him, you are already on your way, having heard the challenge of your guards, and now being within ear shot. Soon the elf notices you and turns to look you in the eyes.
"Keeper Marethari sent me." He says, obviously trying to steady his breathing. "It's urgent, I don't know what it is, she just said that you need to come as soon as possible."
You curse internally. The Hahren! You sprint towards the stables and spring upon Orundómë and ride towards the Sabrae clan at full speed.
It takes nearly a full six hours to reach the Sabrae clan on horseback and with your roads. On foot, you could manage it in a day or two, but that had been before your roads, so it is hard to say how long it would take now. The important part is that you are on perilously little time. Counting the time the messenger took to get here a full day after the message was sent is the absolute soonest you can get to the Sabrae, and who knows what might happen in that time.
The trees blur green as you thunder past them. Your ears are filled with the sounds of hoofbeats drumming out their rapid rhythm against stone. Yet, something is wrong, some instinct perks up, looking for something that is out of place.
However not even the keen ears of the elves can notice the silence of birds about them when another, closer sound, drowns out birdsong. Elven eyes cannot spy glints of metal in the tree line when they are focused on the road ahead of them.
Perhaps the glints and subtle wrongness alerts your subconscious, but with your thoughts consumed with worry for the Hahren, you will only realise the clues were there in hindsight.
In the moment, your only warning is the snap-scrape of a longbow loosing.
The arrow smashes into your shoulder like a thunderbolt. Your body flinches back reflexively, and your head turns away from the shrapnel that flies up. Light flares along the lines etched into your helm, and it suddenly appears upon your head. Wood splinters deflect harmlessly from the supernaturally durable iron.
Despite this, your grip on Orundómë wavers for a moment. The sudden movement, combined with the gallop putting your seat at risk.
Fortunately, this is not your first time being struck at a charge. You know better than to overcorrect your weight and maintain your calm as you regain your seat. A warning whinny from Orundómë gives you just enough warning to pull the steed aside before he smashes into a barrier.
The past few seconds of desperate action make the sudden stop feel almost statuesque in its stillness. Your sword comes to your hand without conscious direction as your mind races.
An ambush? Several possibilities race past, but you are prompted by the Dalish who arrived earlier. Lanaya. She knew that you would take this route, it was the fastest way to the Sabrae. Was the messenger true or had you been led into a trap deliberately?
"Lanaya!" You roar. "What is the meaning of this!"
You give slightly better odds than not that Lanaya is not even here, but given the unprofessionalism with which her warriors conduct themselves, you suspect they would likely reveal themselves to mock you for a wrong guess. That would let you fight them more effectively.
Assuming you even want to fight them.
"You know perfectly well what the meaning of this is!" Lanaya calls back.
"Are you still convinced that I am some monster copying the desperate work of a half mad mortal?" You challenge her. "I thought you wiser than that."
You half expect your words to be answered with arrows, but only silence answers you. Straining your ears and eyes, you start to slowly map out likely places where the Dalish lurk. Admittedly, it seems they have either improved or spent a great deal of time preparing, as for now you only know where they are not.
"I do not know what you are." The admission comes back to you. "I do not know what is going on, but I do know that something is going wrong, and I know you're involved. If you have nothing to hide, then put down your sword. I can study you, speak to Merrill without your influence."
There, one of the Dalish has adjusted themselves, the tip of a bow stuck out of what looks like a bush. Illusion magic. Obvious in hindsight, given Lanaya's involvement.
Now the only question is what you want to do with this information.
A mad plan occurs to you. You could cooperate, drop your sword and throw yourself on Lanaya's mercy. It has advantages, it would draw everyone's attention to her. What is the worse she can do to you, kill you? Torture you?
You restrain a slightly hysterical giggle at the thought of Lanaya attempting and failing to match Morgoth's easy menace.
It would be a drastic action, but at this point drastic action are perhaps the only thing you have left. Still, you do not do so, you glance around the ambush once more, weighing your options again.
There is a chance, however slim, that the note you received was genuine. If that is the case, then Marethari might need your aid with the Hahren. Not showing up might cost you all the work you have invested so far.
With a sigh you make your choice. You are simply going to leave.
The barrier that you have pulled up beside is a fallen tree. The branches have been carved into crude stakes pointed in random directions. Given that you are right next to it, you doubt you can get enough speed out of Orundómë in time to jump over it. Fortunately, you and he have long practice in riding 'off road'.
No words are needed, not that Orundómë truly understands either Quenya or Thedaslta. Partly through thought, partly through subtle signals with your knees, the black steed begins to gather himself and slowly turn.
You admit, his performance is masterful. The way he paws at the ground and shuffles around, it genuinely looks like he is being restless. Never one to allow a good idea pass you by, you make a show of fighting to control him, taking advantage of the Thedesian assumption that a horse is controlled with the hands.
The long silence of your response has begun to put Lanaya on edge, and she calls out, "If you do not throw your sword down by the count of three, then we will loose!"
You flash a grin at the sound of her voice, and a nudge sends Orundómë thundering towards the trees.
"Loose!" Lanaya thunders.
You do not need to hear the cracking buzz of bows being loosed to act, though hear them you do. You throw yourself to the right, left arm encircling Orundómë's neck, left leg clinging to his back.
Arrows flash above you, through the air where you once were. Orundómë whinnies a warning as the trees rush towards you. Realising that as you are you will be struck from your steed, you make a snap judgement. Rather than trying to pull yourself back up, you throw your weight into gravity.
Your left arm screams in pain at the demand you place on it, but it holds. Acting as a pivot, your weight swings you around Orundómë's neck until you hang briefly beneath him.
With speed and grace as only an Eldar possesses, you catch his back with your leg, and flip yourself to the side and up. Landing safely back upon his back, you lean down until all you can see of the world is a window between your horse's ears.
Lanaya and her warriors have no hope of catching you. They may know where you are going, but none of their mounts can match yours, even with the road to aid them.
Though that assumes they have steeds, which you doubt also.
The world fades back to green and the line between horse and elda fades away. Do you guide Orundómë between the trees, or are you moving to compensate for him doing so? It matters little, so long as you make it to the Sabrae with all haste.
Despite losing the advantage of the road, you find yourself at the Sabrae before two hours have passed. Orundómë's flanks are soaked with sweat, and white foam gathers at the corners of his mouth. The great chest heaves rapidly as you slide from his back.
Taking the time to see him to the other horses for rest is a delay that tears at you, but loyal service deserves reward. You would not leave him to suffer no matter how much of a hurry you are in.
Marethari is in her Aravel and emerges with a frown after several seconds of incessant pounding on her door.
"Did you send an urgent message requesting my assistance?" You ask before she can complain.
"No?" She replies, confused. "I told you I would need two weeks and I meant it. Right now I'm working on the theory and I have no plans for experiments without you."
You sigh, partly in relief, partly in annoyance. "Then I fear we have a problem. For I received just such a message, and on my journey here I was ambushed by Keeper Lanaya and her clan."
Marethari's eyes widen and very briefly glance towards your sword at your side.
"Oh." She says weakly. "What are we going to do about that?"
There are a number of reactions you have to suppress. The incoherent laughter is mostly caused by the release of tension from realising that the Sabrae are not in danger, with just a hint of disbelief at your survival. The urge to shake Marethari and demand she explain why she thinks you would know is just frustration at the situation.
"I cannot say that I have an answer on the tip of my tongue." You say instead. "For some reason, I did not spend the time I was flying to your aid considering what to do about Lanaya."
Marethari gives you a flat look. "Alight, I get it. There's no need to get snippy with me."
You wince, your words had come dangerously close to sarcasm. Before you reply you takes some time to hold yourself still, to allow your breath to slow and your heart to calm. Once you are on a more even emotional keel, you incline your head slightly.
"I apologise for any perceived rudeness, the ambush has thrown me into something of a state, as I am sure you can imagine." You say.
Marethari pauses, then nods. "Yes, I can. I also apologise, I should have been more considerate of your state."
"Then let us put it behind us." You state. "You are correct that the time has come to do something about Lanaya."
"Like what?" Marethari asks warily.
"I am not planning on assaulting her tribe and putting her people to the sword if that is what you are asking." You reply, unamused.
Perhaps it is reasonable to assume that you would default to such a solution, but that does not mean you are pleased when people assume you are a barely restrained murderer.
"I, what? No, that's not what I meant … Why was that your first thought?" Marethari asks suspiciously.
You raise an eyebrow. "Merrill did not tell you? Odd. It matters little, it would be an assumption those of my home would make of me."
"I see…" Marethari replies.
You ignore her clear suspicions as you consider your options. Assassination briefly tempts you, but you reject it. You have not spent a month reflecting on your mistakes only to rush to repeat them at the first opportunity. Anger demands Lanaya's blood, but there are other options that can be exhausted first.
"I suppose Merrill could probably work out some kind of curse." You muse aloud.
There would be a certain irony in using the tool Zathrien wielded against his clan. Then again, doing so might be correctly interpreted as an insult and only harden resistance against you.
"No, I suppose it will have to be some kind of diplomatic consequence." You sigh.
It feels like not enough. Significant parts of you are demanding action, that you do something to resolve the situation. Then again, Thingol had banned Quenya as his vengeance and it had proven a most effective choice. A shame the elves of this land do not have enough command of their language to do the same.
"Tell me Marethari, is there anything you can do?" You ask. "Some kind of formal protest to that council you created?"
The Keeper frowns. "Maybe? I don't know. There isn't really a precedent for this, at all. If one of my clan had a problem with Lanaya then I would bring it up with her at the next Arlathvhen."
"That seems wildly ineffective." You note dryly.
Marethari glares. "It is extremely rare for two clans to be in the same area at all, and rarer still for us to interact as much as we have. You cannot blame us for not accounting for an elf prince from another world crashing into the forest and forcing us together more than ever expected!"
You say nothing, allowing Marethari to calm down.
When she has done so you speak. "Very well, if there is no precedent, then I shall do what I can. I implore you to consider your options carefully. Starting tomorrow I will be acting against Lanaya, I hope I can count on your support."
Marethari's face shows indecision. "I do not know, she is a Keeper. It is unprecedented for clans to interfere with each other like this."
"It is also unprecedented for an elf prince from another world to crash into the forest and force two clans together more than ever expected." You reply calmly. "You cannot hide behind tradition any longer Marethari. You are immortal now, you are going to face things that are unprecedented. Further, your people are starting to come together. It might not have occurred to you yet, but that will not be a future Keeper's problem. It will be yours. You must start making choices."
"And I must choose you or Lanaya?" Marethari says defensively.
"Choose me, choose Lanaya, choose neutrality. It matters not." You answer her fiercely. "What matters is that you make a choice. The time for delay has passed, the hour is at hand. Whatever you do, Lanaya and I are now on a course to collide, and you must decide if you are getting involved and if so, where."
"Not exactly the best ultimatum I have heard." Marethari says tiredly.
"It is not an ultimatum." You correct her quietly. "It is a warning. Choose, or your choice will be made for you."
The Keeper takes a long breath and turns her face up to the sky. Under her breath you hear her mutter a prayer for guidance to the uncaring winds, then she meets your gaze once more.
"Let me fetch some warriors. We shall escort you home, then tomorrow we can plan our response." She says quietly.
You bow in gratitude. "On the morrow then."
Buying and Selling
It was amazing the things you can get used to. The two new arrivals had reminded Martin that he lived in a fortress that he would have considered a palace not too long ago. Now that he has seen the homes of nobility, he recognises that the place is relatively sparse, even for a regular noble home. Still beautiful though.
"Delora, why do you think Nelyafinwë doesn't have as many, well, things as other nobles?" Martin asks idly.
"Gee, I wonder why that is?" The elf asks sarcastically. "Maybe it's because he's trying to equip and train a hundred troops using nothing but the profits of a moderately successful wine business?"
"There's no need to be rude, I was just wondering." Martin says defensively. "Besides, I don't know how much armour and weapons cost."
"Around twenty to sixty initially and ten per week in maintenance." Delora recites dully. "Though the maintenance tends to come in chunks all at once, it only averages out to ten a week."
Martin blinks a few times in surprise. "How on earth do you know that?"
"We don't, I mean city elves don't have the luxury of guards who'll protect us." Delora grumbles. "If we want to keep ourselves safe, we have to arm ourselves. 'Course, the price means we can barely scrape much together at the best of times."
"Really?" Martin asks. "I'd have thought with the notorious crime rates you'd have the city watch around pretty much all the time."
Delora barks a bitter laugh. "When they're there they aren't there to help. Most of the time, long as the crime doesn't leave the alienage, they don't care."
Unsure of what to say, Martin returns to his work. Delora does the same, perhaps with a little bit more vicious anger than a barrel of wine really calls for.
Needless to say, the trip to Denerim is a quiet one. Delora is frustrated by the continuing refusal of the wine to mature on top of their discussion. Martin on the other hand, is solely thinking about their conversation.
He isn't exactly used to the idea that the city guard protects people. He's not really a city boy, and the gossip he's heard when drifting through them has always highlighted the watch as corrupt or incompetent. He's joined in his share of hue and cries, and the idea of people dealing with criminals themselves isn't new.
None of the villages he's lived in has ever looked at the price of weapons and armour. Not that individuals didn't own a spear or a bow. Wolves were very much a thing.
He supposes that outlying villages can rely on Ferelden's army, stout walls and the fact that most people know each other. Most crimes he's witnessed he knew the culprit's name, parents and the fact that they were a known troublemaker. He supposes he'd always assumed Alienages would be the same.
Then again, he's never actually been to an Alienage. Maybe he should change that.
The Alienage looks terrible. Martin's seen some 'work in progress' houses in the past. He's also helped fix his share of disasters. That isn't why he thinks the Alienage looks terrible. The problem is nobody's trying to fix things. There's no 'don't step here' signs, some of the buildings don't even have improvised fixes, just being left to rot.
It reeks of people who've given up.
"What're you doing here human." Someone sneers at him.
"What?" Martin asks, surprised. "What did you say?"
"You heard me." The elf sneers at him.
Martin doesn't really know how to respond. His silence seems to encourage the elf.
"Humans coming around here, thinking they're so much better than us. What's the matter human? Not so brave without guards to hide behind?" The elf slurs, moving towards Martin.
"Oi! Shove off you sodding drunk!" Delora yells. "Go harass someone else."
"When did you become a human lover, Delora?" The male elf sneers.
"Do you want me to knock out another tooth Lewen?" His partner snarls. "Get moving!"
The elf slinks away muttering darkly. Delora whirls and glares fiercely at Martin.
"What in the Maker's name are you doing here you idiot!?" She screams.
"I'm just, you know, sightseeing." Martin replies defensively. "It's not like I need to get your permission before I go places."
"You do when what you're doing is wandering into the Alienage unguarded!" Delora yells. "I was born here and even I don't want to spend time here. You're a human!"
"What does that have to do with anything?" Martin snaps. "Should I avoid places where elves live? Am I not welcome in my own home because it's owned by an elf?"
"That's not what this is about, and you know it!" Delora snarls. "The Alienage is dangerous, especially for humans!"
"Weren't you complaining about how the only reason a guard would ever come here is if a human is hurt?" Martin asks harshly. "Why on earth would it be dangerous?"
"Gee, I wonder why? It's almost like angry people aren't particularly rational or something." Delora sneers. "Don't you think we've suffered enough without humans poking and prodding at us like we're animals in a zoo?"
"You're always going on about how I don't understand anything about what an elf's life is like. Well I'm here to change it and now you're screeching that I shouldn't be! Which is it? Do you want people to understand you or not?" Martin yells back.
Delora's fists clench and she leans towards him. Then she pauses to look around and curses under her breath.
"We've got work to do." She says shortly. "Let's go."
Their time in the city is spent in silent hostility. It does not make for the most pleasant work environment.
Eventually, on the long road back to Endataurëo, Martin's anger finally starts to cool. He still thinks that Delora was wrong, and that she behaved terribly. However, if they're going to work together, they can't let this fester any further.
He ends up having to wait a few days to do so, as Delora avoids him for the rest of the week.
[1] To clarify, Nelyo considers elves who've regained immortality Nandëo and others Dalish elves. Or at least that's what I'm settling on now. If I've used it differently in the past consider it RETCONNED!