Xandar was immensely excited to have the chance to help the Maker's prophet. That he was going to be striking a blow against those who betrayed Him was only making the excitement more potent. His teacher, Merrill was also here. Her lessons were always interesting and useful, there was no one he'd rather have helping.
"Alright, so according to Nelyafinwë the Veil works on a three tiered defence." She says, pouring over some notes.
"Like a castle?" Xandar asked her.
"More like a well built wall. There is a 'cladding' to prevent physical egress, and an internal structure that attacks any non-physical matter. Finally, there is some kind of entity that actively hunts those who enter it." Merrill explains.

Xandar didn't understand most of that, but the idea of having several layers of defence and defenders is logical. "So, what are we going to do then?"
Merrill sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. "I don't know. My best idea is some kind of spell that targets nonphysical entities. That doesn't stop possessions though, just reinforces the veil that's already there."
"Why not make one of those, activity entires then?" Xandar asks.
"Active entities." Merrill corrects, clearly not really listening.
"There are good and bad spirits, so if we got one that was good, it would protect us like they're supposed to, right?" Xandar continued his pitch, used to people ignoring him.
Merrill shakes her head. "Bringing a spirit from the Beyond turns them into a demon."
"But I thought…" Xandar began.
"Xandar, it's very complicated. We've mostly given you the simple version, and Nelyafinwë knows a different kind of spirit than the ones that live here. So it won't work. I'm sorry." Merrill says kindly.

Xandar supposes that makes sense, the prophet probably spent his time with the Maker's personal messengers and servants. Does that mean that all spirits are in rebellion against the maker? Thoughts for another time.
"It's a shame there isn't some way to guard from telepathy or something. Demons don't usually leave the fade when they possess people." Xandar observes sadly.
Merrill suddenly perks up. "Wait, no. You're on to something." She starts scrabbling through her papers. "There are wards against dreams. If we adapt those, we should be able to prevent anyone from entering the Beyond, even in sleep. It won't stop possession from being possible, just remove the opportunity."
Xandar does his best to help, but most of the actual spell work is Merrill's.

After the busy first day of your week, you take two days to just do nothing. Well, nothing for you. You still oversee the goings on of your orchards and the production of next week's wine. You welcome Martin back, with the weapons you had asked him to buy and glowing reviews for your wine from his customers. You oversee the use of those weapons in the first 'live' drills. But other than those few, small, meaningless tasks you do nothing. You relax, take long walks through the forest, resist the temptation to sneak some of the wine out of your barrels and other holiday activities. Then after half a week has passed, you swing onto Orundómë's back and set a course for Gladesville.

You ride along your newly constructed road, when you had returned last week a journey of hours had been reduced to little more than an hour. Orundómë exalts in the freedom to really show his speed, thanks to the lack of obstacles in your path. It is an exhilarating ride that has you laughing loud enough to startle birds. You lean over his neck, encouraging him on. He is only too happy to oblige, and even your Eldar eyes struggle to see the scenery that blurs past. Needless to say, you make it to Gladesville in record time.

You come to a halt outside the gates of Gladesville. There is only a single guard on the walls, one of the hunters you think, and you have to let yourself in. You come into the centre of town, waving at the builders who are hard at work on their third house. As you are speaking with the various villagers who are going about their daily business you consider what to do here. You would like to expand their fields. Two more should bring them to producing enough food to eliminate their deficit, even with the added people. Unfortunately, that sounds like a lot of work, and this is supposed to be your week of rest.

As part of your efforts to delegate, you had considered getting a leader for Gladesville. It is not the first time you had thought of such an idea, but you had thought the voting system would take the place of a leader. Since the people of Gladesville have proven that they are far too easily divided on simple matters, it seems they will need a leader after all.

You ask around about who people think would make a good leader. The answers you get should not surprise you, but they do.
"Eh? Ain't you the leader?" One says.
"Oh, do you need an assistant? I think Stevron can read." One woman informs you.
"Ya really think anyone else could fill those enormous boats you call boots?" Graham snarks at you.
You end up waiting for evening when people have finished their work for the day. You manage to convince them to have some kind of open air communal dinner. When they have all assembled, and have finished eating, you call for their attention.

"Citizens of Gladesville, you attention please." Your voice cuts through the noise of conversation, and your height makes you stand out even without a platform.
"I appreciate that you are all busy people and have had a long day, so I will be brief." You pause a moment, allowing the last of the chatting to die away.
"I hope it will come as no surprise to you all to discover that I am not human." That line gets more laughter than you expected.

Once the laughter has died down, you continue. "What may surprise you to discover is that I firmly believe that every people should govern themselves. Elves should rule elves. Humans should rule humans. Dwarves, dwarves and so on. I have come to see that you have a leader, someone who can make the choices others cannot. Yet when I ask who you would like as a leader, you answer me. So let me say this now. I do not understand you. I do not understand your problems, I cannot lead you. I will protect you; I will be your ally, your friend or any number of things the Noldor have been to the Atani in the past. But not your leader."

You take one last pause, letting the reactions of the villagers pass you by. Some are glad, some are furious, others are fervently disagreeing with you. You do not heed them, they do not understand the gulf that exists between you and them. When they have settled down you propose your solution.

Your initial plan had been to let them elect a leader. You did have some reservations about their seeming inability to agree, but it was how they had been deciding things thus far. Even when the town had proven to be largely considering you as its leader, you were still willing to let them vote for a leader. Here, as you survey the crowd, people are already gathered in distinct groups. You can already tell that a vote is not going to result in the person best for the job, it will result in whoever is the most popular. Your every lesson, everything you were ever taught about ruling, screams against it. You cannot place the fate of the village in the hands of someone not ready to bear it.

With a heavy heart, you speak again. "With this in mind I have decided to select someone to lead you in my place. Those who are interested please form an orderly line over there."
You gesture to a part of the village somewhat out of the way. "I will make my decision once I have spoken to all the candidates. None need fear they will be passed over because they are further back in line. So, no pushing."
You let your eyes rest on each member in turn, trying to convey your seriousness. You know humans can become irrational at the prospect of gaining power, and you do not want anyone hurt.

You are fortunate that you are so gifted in leadership yourself because the candidates that present themselves are awful. Ovid suggests himself, despite being unable to go ten minutes without starting a fight. A former butcher tries to ingratiate himself with you but is clearly angling for power simply to have it. You ruthlessly cross off candidate after candidate, each with their own flaws. You had hoped to find among the villagers someone with potential. Someone who only lacked the training needed to step up and lead. In hindsight it was a foolish hope. If such a person were present, they would have amassed a following by now.

Eventually you settle on three candidates, each of whom you give a more in depth interview. You lead the three candidates to the house under construction.
"I will interview you all, one by one, inside. Please wait out here, we will not be long."
You then step inside, bringing your first candidate with you. You cast a brief spell to prevent eavesdropping, one Kurvo had developed out of paranoia. Then you sit on the floor and begin the process.

Your first interview is with Graham. The old man who had interrogated you when the new people had first arrived.
"Why do you want to lead the village?" You ask
"Someone has to." He grunts.
"What unique skills or perspectives do you bring to the table?" You continue.
"I know a dumb idea when I see it, and I'm not afraid to tell someone to shut up." He says.

"Excellent, now I have a quick morality question for you. The Teyrn rides in here and says that I have been convicted of treason. He demands that the village accept a leader of his choice or be destroyed. What do you do?" You look him in the eyes.
"Let him. I ain't fighting your wars for you." He grunts.
"Thank you. Please wait outside and send in Tanya." You say.

Tanya is a middle aged woman. She has blonde hair and green eyes and a brusque manner.
"Why do you want to lead the village?" You want to keep the questions the same for each candidate.
"I am a firm believer in upward mobility and would like to increase my prospects in life. I believe that when people have the chance to advance, they are the most motivated." The woman replies, as though it was obvious.
"Interesting. What unique skills or perspectives do you bring to the table?" You press.
She shrugs. "A comprehensive world view based on opportunity, free trade and freedom from serfdom."

"Excellent, now I have a quick morality question for you. The Teyrn rides in here and says that I have been convicted of treason. He demands that the village accept a leader of his choice or be destroyed. What do you do?" You inquire.
"I would cede my position initially and do my best to ingratiate myself with the new ruler. I would seek to return to my position unofficially in this manner." She responds, far too quickly for your tastes.
You conceal your concern. "Thank you. Please wait outside and send in Ophelia."

Ophelia is like someone attempted to make a female you using only stories told by drunkards. She is tall, for a human woman, and has red hair. She even has some of the energy and enthusiasm for rule you do. She is just nowhere near as attractive, or wise, or well spoken as you.
"So I'm happy for this opportunity. I really think that we're building something special and I want to see it get bigger." She gushes as soon as she steps in.
"Thank you for answering my first question without me asking it." You say, keeping your tone polite. "What unique skills or perspectives do you have."
"Huh?" She looks at you confused.
"What can you do that other's cannot?" You clarify.
"Oh! Yeah, Nothing." She says proudly.

"I see. I have a quick morality question for you. The Teyrn rides in here and says that I have been convicted of treason. He demands that the village accept a leader of his choice or be destroyed. What do you do?" You ask, still keeping your scepticism from your voice.
"I would fight them. They're obviously lying, and they want to put an end to our village. Where we came from the boss was mean. He had all the grain but when people were hungry he wouldn't share. I don't want to go back to that." She says, completely earnest.
"Thank you. Please wait outside while I make my decision." You tell her.

You have a tough decision before you. Each of the candidates has something to recommend them. Graham is well respected and would slot into the role as a village elder with barely a missed step. That is also why you are wary of picking him, he will do exactly what every other village elder does and no more. Tanya is a more tempting option. She is ambitious and likely to be efficient. It is that very ambition that makes you cautious of her. Humanity's weakness has always been power and giving power to someone who displays that weakness seems unwise. Ophelia is young, and naive, but she has a passion that you suspect will make her a good student.

With your choice made you step outside, letting the spell fall.
"Thank you all for volunteering. I have decided that Ophelia is the best candidate. Please go about the rest of your evening." You inform them.
Graham takes your decision in stride, walking off without a word. Tanya takes a moment to look at you, her eyes calculating, then she too leaves. Ophelia is practically vibrating on the spot in a manner that reminds you of Merrill.
"Follow me." You tell her, walking towards Orundómë
"Where are we going?" Ophelia asks, jogging beside you to keep up.
"We are going to my home, you will spend the rest of the week at Endataurëo with me. I am going to teach you the craft of leadership." You say, leaping onto your horse's back.
You are not sure what her yell is, but it is definitely excited.

You rouse your new, hopefully temporary, student from her sleep just before dawn.
"Time for our lesson to begin." You tell the bedraggled creature that answers her door.
"Yeah. Ok." The girl responds, yawning.
You lead her to the dining hall, where breakfast will be served.
"I do not know much of the laws of hospitality in your land, but in my home a host does not eat until every guest is seated. If no one can find them, the host will search himself until he does so." Ophelia is clearly not following your logic, though she is nodding as if she did.
"The point of this custom is that the host has a responsibility to his guests. He must ensure they are safe and fed. Doing do before he himself eats is symbolic of the importance he places on this duty." You explain.

Ophelia is now at least following what you mean, though she is clearly wondering what this has to do with leading. As you speak to her, you recall your grandfather teaching you the same things you are now teaching Ophelia.
"As with hosting, so it is with leading. You have a duty to those who follow you, to see them fed and safe. Many will tell you that this is done to maintain your power, but this is wrong. You should do it because it is the role of a leader. It is your duty." Your words carry with them, to you at least, the echo of Finwë's voice.
Ophelia reflects quietly upon your words as the first of your staff arrive for breakfast.

You are a proponent of teaching by example. As such you have Ophelia follow you as you go through the various tasks you have every day. She is with you when you discuss whether or not you should keep wine back or sell it all with Martin. She shadows you as you inspect the fields. She hears you talk with the housekeepers, making sure there are no problems. You explain your logic behind each decision and list all the various possibilities and factors you consider. You quiz her on morality, justice and the differences between them. Every morning she rises before the sun and collapses into bed well after it sets.

By the end of the week you take her back to Gladesville. She pauses outside the gate.
"I'm not ready." She says quietly, mostly to herself.
"No one ever is." You answer, causing her to start. "The only thing you can do is your best. Honest failure is nothing unforgivable."
Ophelia swallows a few times, nodding. "You're not coming with me?"
You smile. "You are the leader now, you must be able to stand on your own authority, not mine."
Ophelia nods again, gathers her resolve, and walks through the gate.

You have had a nice week so far. It has been a week of rest, a few minor adventures aside. As such you are certain that it will not last. Thus, on the evening of the sixth day, when one of your guards, Mitski you think, tells you of strange lights in the sky you are unsurprised. You follow her to the wall and look where she is pointing. Gouts of yellow fire bloom briefly in the sky before ceasing. Despite appearing to touch the treetops the forest does not catch alight. It is this that tells you what you are dealing with.
"A dragon." You say, voice colder than the winds of Himring.

You guards are understandably concerned by the news and you sleep fitfully that night. You wake many times, expecting to hear the dread news of a dragon attack. Nothing happens, night gives way to day and your guard report that the sightings decreased over time. No one noticed them moving further off, so it is likely still in the area. You barely have to think very long. You had not seen the bulk of the dragon against the stars, so it must be young. You have to strike now before it becomes a problem.

On the way to the stables, you catch sight of Ranger. Abruptly reminded of the harsh lesson you had learned with the werewolves, you turn back to consult with Merrill.
"There's a dragon in the area?" Merrill does not sound panicked, more curious.
"Yes. I take it from your tone that is not as big of a deal as I feared." You reply.
"Oh, they're dangerous, don't get me wrong. They're just really rare. I kind of want to study one." She muses.

"Can they talk?" You ask. "More importantly, would you describe them as evil?"
Merrill blinks in confusion, turning to meet your eyes. Then she glances away, and back to you, then away again.
You are on the verge of saying something when she finally gathers the courage to answer.
"Ah no. I don't think so. You hear stories sometimes, but nothing reputable." She says.
"Excellent. Then I will go kill it or drive it off." You say, striding away.
"Wait what?" Merrill says to your retreating back.
"You heard me." You call over your shoulder.

You have fetched your war bow and arrows from your room and are on the way to the stables. Nearly forgetting them is another reason you are grateful you took the time to talk to Merrill. You run into your companions who have gathered around Orudndómë.
"What are you all doing here?" You ask, trying to get past to place your saddlebags on your horse.
Merrill straightens up and faces you, only to shrink down again and glance away.
Ranger barks a laugh out and picks up for her. "Lil' lady heard ya were off to hunt a dragon. She was pretty insistent that we don't let ya go alone, or at all."
Xandar nods furiously. "I for one would love to help you cast down one of the false gods of the Imperium."

You sigh. "I appreciate your enthusiasm and understand your concern. This is not the first dragon I have slain though, and the beasts I faced were creatures of fierce and terrible cunning. I can handle this myself."
"Sounds a might arrogant of ya, if ya ask me." Ranger comments.
"Only because you lack the context to understand my confidence." You reply.
"How 'bout ya explain it then." He rebuts.
You grit your teeth. "I did, you simply do not believe me."
"Stop! This isn't helping." Merrill cries out.
She turns to face you, looking up with eyes determined. "You said you were doing too much, that you needed our help. Dragons are dangerous, I've never heard of anyone hunting them alone outside stories. You asked us to help you, let us help."

Your eyes dart from one person to the next. Each of your friends are determined, unwilling to let you ride out alone. You can hardly deny them this, you would do the same for them after all.
"Very well. Let us depart then." You tell them.
There is a moment's hesitation when they all glance at each other.
"Who're ya talkin' to?" Ranger asks.
"All of you, obviously. I doubt it would be possible to prevent those I did not choose from simply following anyway." You say, finally sneaking past them to place your saddlebags on Orundómë.

There is a moment's pause, then the others all scatter to gather their equipment. Amateurs. You make use of the time to secure the two horses your guards use for practice. There is a more pressing need to use them to travel, they may not be as fast as Orundómë but they are faster than walking. Eventually, the others return. Ranger has gathered two of the crossbows and enough arrows to wipe out Gladesville twice. Merrill is dressed in the heavier robes you first saw her in, complete with bizarre fur pauldrons. Xandar has anointed his face with candlewax, which is weird, but you have no time to address that.

When you reach the area, the dragon was sighted in Ranger flops off his horse.
"What do ya got against saddles kid?" He groans, stretching out.
"Focus. Where is the dragon." You reply.
"Alright. Gimme a mo'." He waves you off.
The aggravation of waiting for him to start quickly pays off. While the swathes of burnt ground are easy to spot, figuring out which one is more recent is well beyond your expertise. Ranger reads the signs on the ground, as well as checking the tops of trees for damage, leading your group inexorably to the lair of the beast.

As you draw closer, you begin to recognise landmarks. You are clearly not the only one, as Xandar draws a breath in.
"It seems your cave is the lair of a dragon." You comment to your student.
In truth you are glad to make this discovery. It explains a number of the signs you had seen there, as well as why other animals avoided it.
"To think, I was living in the lair of an idol for months." Xandar replies, awed and angered in equal measure.
That is more concerning. Why would a dragon abandon its lair for months at a time? Where has it been? These are the questions that haunt you as you approach the cave.

Ranger sneaks ahead to scout out the cave. The dragon seems to be keeping a nocturnal schedule. It is asleep, and Ranger leads you all up to see inside. The beast in question is much like other dragons you have seen. Dark green scales on the back, dull blues on the belly. The neck of the creature is long and serpentine, and the head is far smaller than most of the ones you have seen in the past. You and the others pause for a moment, planning your approach.

There is little discussion in your mind about the plan. You might want to take the majority of the risk, but dragons should never be taken lightly.
"Here is the plan. Merrill, you will cast flame weapon on Ranger and I." You begin to outline your idea.
"Don't dragons breathe fire? Won't they be immune to it." Merrill asks.
You shrug. "Perhaps, it will still give us bright lights to distract and blind it. It may also not be immune, either way it will cost us little."
Merrill nods, and you continue with the plan. "Ranger and I will fire our weapons at the beast, Merrill you cast spells. Xandar, you do not know any combat spells yes?"
"I do not, I'll heal anyone who gets hurt though!" Xandar says.

"Hopefully it will not come to that. In the meantime, you can load Ranger's crossbows for him. Once the dragon is aware of us, I will move in to engage it at close range while everyone else keeps up the fire. Xandar, prioritise saving lives, but if the injuries are minor keep loading. Any questions?" You finish describing your plan.
A number of negatives from your companions proceed a comment from Ranger. "Us four slayin' a dragon. It's like somthin' out of a song."
"I hope not." You reply. "In my experience songs are only written when something goes wrong."

Merrill casts flame weapons and yours and Ranger's arrowheads burst into flames when laid on your bows. You take Merrill to the other side of the cave entrance and wait until Ranger gives you a signal that he is ready. With a deep breath you sight the dragon, picking your target. You are going to try to take out its left eye, the one Ranger cannot see. You pull the shaft back until the fletching tickles your cheek. In response Ranger raises his own crossbow.

You fumble. It is a small thing, normally meaningless. Unfortunately, this time you do it just as you release the arrow. Your fingers snatch at the shaft as it speeds forward, sending it flying off the bow at an odd angle. The string strikes your thumb with a snap and the Dragon wakes. Your arrow streaks through Ranger's vision as he looses his bolt, causing him to squint as the bright flames threaten to blind him.

Whether due to expansion from the heat or faulty craftsmanship the bolt catches in the crossbow. There is another mighty crack as the limbs of the bow shatter the shaft. Wooden splinters fly up in a cloud, ignited by Merrill's spell. Ranger takes the burning shards straight to his face. He falls back with a cry. The dragon now leaps to its feet, a roar to challenge the sound of shattering wood echoing from the cavern. Xandar is rushing to heal Ranger as you cast your bow aside. You reach for your sword, calling upon the mystical shield of your people. You are going to have to get the beasts attention and take its breath on yourself.

Behind you, Merrill chants.
"Oh Mythal, guard us from evil!"
You have never heard her chant when casting before, her spells seem largely internal.
"Oh Dirtahmen, reveal to me the secrets of ice!"
As you step forward, you feel an immense upswell of energy behind you. You wish you could turn to face Merrill, but you dare not take your eyes off the dragon.
"Elgar'nan! Hear me! Grant me vengeance! Let death take those who harm my people!"
The dragon's mouth yawns like a red chasm. The air between you shimmers as heat gathers in its throat. You catch a glimpse of the yellow fire bubbling forth.

A shard of ice as tall as you erupts from the ground. Thrusting itself through the air, it pierces the dragon's mouth. Its angle carries it deep into the creatures skull. Steam billows through the air as fire meets ice, tinted red by the blood of the beast. The creature's death shriek is distorted and muffled by the object in its mouth. In all too short a time, the beast's strength ends. It collapses forward, shattering the weakened ice. You turn to face Merrill.
"I did it." She says weakly, swaying as she leans on her staff. "It's all… Connected."
Then she too collapses, unable to stand any longer. Xandar examines her, but she is not hurt, merely tired.
Ranger, his burned face healed, turns to you. "Worthy of a song?"
You slump to the ground. "Perhaps a short one."