Returning to his Roots

"Magic is made to serve man, not to rule over him," The severe-looking old woman proclaims from the chantry steps.

Xandar knows this part by heart. There was a time when he thought he could recite the whole Chant of Light. It turned out that he only knew a single canticle, but he'd only been seven at the time.

Truthfully the apostate had never expected to attend any of these sermons/lectures again. Given that his existence was literally illegal, walking into a Chantry seemed unwise. Yet thanks to his incredibly wise teacher, he was once again able to walk into Chantry establishments without fear.

"Many act as though mages were diseased, afflicted by some pox or plague that must see them shunned for the safety of others. This is a wildly incorrect view," The lecturer continues, oblivious to Xandar's thoughts.

Sister Tiania, for that was the name of the lecturer, was from Antiva. Xandar had missed her introduction, slipping into the back at the last minute to avoid any unpleasant encounters with 'overzealous' templars. So far, she seemed very sensible. Even if she had only said two sentences.

"What mages are is blessed. The Maker has given them a calling unlike any other," The visiting Sister continued, her thick accent making the crowd work to understand her words, "It is a dangerous calling, one that calls for eternal vigilance, but a noble one nonetheless."

Many in Thedas are unaware of these little sessions the Chantry likes to run. Technically they are a part of the schooling system, but that's mostly an administration thing. Anyone can come and listen to whoever is giving the talk, though they are often asked to make some kind of donation.

Xandar had heard, from someone he was not thinking about, that these events mostly ended up being used to spread knowledge among the Chantry's archivists. Still, he and the-person-that-would-not-be-mentioned-even-in-his-thoughts had always enjoyed them when he was a child, and he hoped that by attending this one on magic he might discover something about his own abilities.

"It is important to understand exactly what magic is, before we continue this discussion," A pair of assistants unroll an enormous tapestry and hang it on the wall, "Magic comes from the Fade and maintains the ability to resolve into anything it is directed to."

"You may be wondering what a talk on theology is doing touching on the mechanics of the Fade. I assure you, whatever my Elder says, I have not lost my mind yet," The Sister jokes, getting a few scattered laughs, "It is important to remember that the Fade is the Maker's realm."

As Tiania continues to talk, Xandar relaxes. There is a comforting familiarity to the whole process and the Antivan is a good lecturer. So far there has been relatively little of direct use to him, the talk seems to be more on the role of magic within the Chanty's theology.

"Come along Xandar, we don't want to be late!" Sister Summer cajoled him.

"I'm really excited!" Xandar yelled, waving his hands all about like his favourite Sister.

"I know you are, but if we don't hurry, we'll be late." The young blonde laughed.

"Ok Sister!" Xandar yelled, running past her to reach the talk.

"Today we will be discussing Magic and its place in the world." The stern faced lecturer began as the two slipped into the back of the room.

Sitting in Sister Summer's lap, young Xandar stared up at the lecturer unheeding of the two warm arms encircling him.

He was equally unaware of the conflicted expression on Sister Summer's face.

Now that he thinks about it, Xandar has a number of problems with the talk, actually. For one, it doesn't mention how the dream fairy steals your thoughts while you sleep if you're not wearing your salt rock, which is such a basic oversight he's frankly offended. There are other larger problems but listing them would mean not listening to the talk.

Fortunately, the talk is starting to reach its end. Xandar needs to decide how he's going to be approaching getting the information that he wants.

As the lecture begins to wrap up, Xandar starts to plan out his next move. He's tempted to simply hang around and talk to people after the talk; it has been a very long time since he was last in a group of people with a shared interest in theology, and he likes the odds of finding someone with useful ideas on magic.

He is on the verge of following the crowd of people making their way to a local tavern, when he notices a young initiate leaving a door open. Struck by a sudden thought, Xandar ducks through the side gate and enters the Chantry proper.

Walking into a chantry feels like coming home for Xandar. He is cautious of the feeling, knowing what he now knows about the grim amphibian conspiracy at the heart of it, but the feeling is there. Xandar's robes get more than a few disapproving glances, but nobody tries to stop him.

Fortunately for the young apostate, Sister Tiania is easy to find. She has stopped to talk to one of the other Sisters about her lecture, which is heartening for Xandar. If he had to convince her to take time out of her day to talk to him, he would be doomed to failure.

The young man hovers awkwardly near the conversation, not quite sure how to join in without being rude, but fortunately, the woman Tiania is talking to spots him, and graciously steps away. The Antivan turns to Xandar and smiles at him.

"Hello young man, how can I help you?" She asks calmly.

"Hi, I was listening to your talk, and I was hoping that maybe I might be able to talk to you about magic a little bit?" He says, stumbling over his words in his haste, "About what it can do and stuff?"

"Of course. I am always happy to discuss my studies with anyone who's interested," Sister Tiania replies.

"Ok, so what's a demon?" Xandar asks.

Tiania tilts her head in thought, then raises an eyebrow. "A malevolent resident of the Fade. Why do you ask?"

"No, no, sorry. I meant more like, what really IS a demon. What's it made of? Why does it act the way it does? How does it possess mages?" Xandar quickly clarifies.

"Ah, I'm afraid you're asking the wrong person," The Antivan admits, "That's really a question for a Circle mage, rather than a Sister."

Xandar looks down, feeling foolish. "Yes, right. Sorry, um... Okay, so you can't cure diseases with creation magic, but medicines can. Is it possible to make medicine with creation that can cure disease?"

Sister Tiania gives Xandar a contemplative look. "As fascinating a research question as that sounds, it is once again the kind of thing only a Circle mage would know."

Xandar flounders; he hadn't expected his questions to be so off-mark. He's desperately wracking his brain for something to keep the conversation going when Sister Tiania speaks again.

"Would you mind accompanying me on a short walk?" She asks innocently. "We're not going to leave the village, just take a walk along the outskirts."

"Yes?" Xandar responds reflexively, caught off guard by the sudden question.

"Excellent, come along," The Antivan says, taking Xandar's arm and leading him away.

For a while the two simply walk through the village, Xandar trying to ask useful questions and failing. Sister Tiania is very sympathetic, never snapping at him or losing her temper.

After a while she stops walking and turns to Xandar. "Are you an apostate?"

Xandar is startled and looks around him. Without noticing he's been steered away from town. There is no one nearby to hear them, but he can see a pair of guards leaning against a wall not too far away.

The Sister saw him looking and speaks soothingly, "There is no need for fear. I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to. Please, you can trust me."

"No, it's fine. I mean I am sort of, but I got an official dispensation, as long as I stay with my teachers and…" Xandar trails off, unsure of what to say.

"I see," Sister Tiania says calmly, "I don't mean to pry, but it seems to me that if you're asking a random lecturer about magic, they're not doing a very good job of teaching you."

"It's not like that," Xandar replies, "They're the best! They always take time to teach me even though they're both really busy. I just want to learn more. I can't do anything else to help, and if I ask for extra lessons then they have less time for other commitments."

The Antivan grimaces. "I see. I'm sorry, I can't help you. I only know magic in a theoretical sense, I'm a theologian by training. If you want to learn more, the best way is to join a Circle."

"I'm not going back," Xandar mutters defiantly, "Never again."

Tiania smiles sadly. "Just think about it, please."

For a long moment, the two are silent.

"I probably need to head back," The Antivan sister says, "Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?"

Xandar stares at the Sister, trying to find a way to phrase this. He doesn't want to come across as creepy, and he knows he's not the best at reading social cues. After seconds of fidgeting turn into minutes of awkward silence, he decides that he'll just ask and not care about the potential consequences.

"I was wondering, uh that is to say I want to know." The young apostate trips over his words, not quite sure how to phrase what he wants to ask. 'I don't mean to offend but are you. No that doesn't work."

A few more moments of tongue tied fumbling pass. A gentle hand touches Xandar's cheek. He looks at Sister Tiania who smiles at him.

"I won't be offended. You can ask me anything." She says consolingly. "The worst that will happen is I will say no."

Feeling a little foolish, Xandar asks quietly, "Are you going to be in the area much longer?"

The woman brings her hand away from his face and rests her chin on it. "Well, that depends on what you mean I suppose. I don't think I'll stay in this village much longer. I'm on something of a speaking tour at the moment. I'll be following the main road to Gwaren, then back to Denerim on the other side of the forest. After that? I don't know for certain yet."

"Oh, that's good." Xandar says, "You see, I was hoping that maybe, if it's not too much trouble, maybe I could meet you again and we could talk about theology?"

As Sister Tiania raises an eyebrow, Xandar rushes to explain himself. "It's just that neither of my teacher's really believe in the Maker, even though Nelyafinwe is definitely a prophet of some kind, so I don't really get to talk about it much, and since I'm an apostate…"

Sister Tiania begins to giggle, and Xandar trail off, face flushing.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laughed." Tiania apologises. "It's rather endearing actually; I don't know if anyone's ever asked to come with me just to talk theology."

"Sorry, I don't actually mean I'll be coming with you." Xandar quickly corrects. "I live in the forest. So, I should be able to visit your talks at the other villages. I could even borrow Merrill's horse and make it to Gwaren, maybe."

Sister Tiania chews her lips thoughtfully. "While I have no objections to speaking to you, I don't think it would be fair of me to let you take up all my time after my lectures again. Other people have questions I need to answer. I'm sorry."

Xandar sags a little, but nods. "I understand, you're really busy and I bet lots of people want to talk to you. I've got my teachers, so I'll be fine. You should take care of people who don't have someone like them."

The Chantry woman looks at Xandar for a while. The apostate wonders why she isn't speaking, and what she's thinking. Does she need to go, or is she worried?

Finally, the Sister sighs, and shakes her head. "I usually give my lectures around midday. If you come during the morning, I can put some time aside to talk to you."

"Really?" Xandar asks excitedly. "I wouldn't want to take you away from your duties…"

"I have no higher duty than caring for the Maker's children." Tiania says, nodding firmly. "I will find time to talk to you, though you may need to wait a while."

Xandar's throat constricts a little, but he chokes out, "I, I, thank you. How can I possibly repay you?"

Tiania smiles graciously. "Perhaps you can tell me about this 'prophet' who teaches you. I'd be interested to hear what he's been telling you."

"Don't you have to go?" Xandar asks. "It's not really a short subject."

"Well, I do need to get my itinerary so I can tell you where to find me, don't I?" Tiania teases him. "You can give me a summary while we walk back to the chantry."

"Well, the first sign was the way he looks in the Fade." Xandar begins, happy to talk about one of his favourite subjects. "It's the brightest light I've ever seen, so pure and white…"

As the two walked Xandar told her all he had learned from the strange elf he called his teacher. About the Ainur, and the Maker who never abandoned anyone. He complained that the prophet kept insisting that he wasn't one and how poorly the Chantry treated him. Tiania listened carefully, taking careful note of all that he said.

It was good to talk to an Andrastean again, even if she was part of an amphibian conspiracy.

Remember to Practice

Positive thinking is a fad that has never had much sway over you. Thus, you are more than happy to call last week's training what it was, a complete failure. A painfully embarrassing failure at that. Obviously inviting Wesley's 'beloved darlingest angel etcetera' to sing of love was going to backfire.

You put such thoughts behind you. You may not believe in positive thinking but dwelling on mistakes can be harmful. This is a new week, and you have a new chance to train her to your standards.

Yet, you hesitate. As much as you would like a singer in your halls, can you afford the investment of time? There are many things that need your personal attention, be it your farmers or warriors. Even if you are content with them for now, at some point you will need to start thinking about improving their quality.

You sigh. There simply are not enough hours in a day for everything you want to do. You can only train one speciality at a time, so whatever you decide to do you are sacrificing the opportunity to do anything else. You sink into a nearby chair to consider where you will start.

As much as you want a singer, it is ultimately a luxury you cannot afford at the moment. Are you frustrated by your failure to teach Crowsfoot? Absolutely. Is there a part of you screaming that you should continue her lessons until she is a singer to be proud of? Yes. Are you going to listen to that part of you? No.

Part of being a leader, one that most of your brothers never learned, is the art of self-control. To do what is best for the group, rather than what you want to do. What is most important to Endataurëo is the farmers.

You gather the group together after the evening meal. It is strange to realise that you only have fifteen farmers. The vineyards that supply your vintners create an illusion of having far more than that. Fifteen is a good number, one you can easily teach, especially with Wesley's help.

"Thank you everyone for attending this class," You begin, "I appreciate that you have all worked hard, and likely wish nothing more than your beds after such a fine meal."

There are some pleased murmurs and a general undercurrent of receptiveness, so you press on. "I hope to use this session, and others like them, to help you all to improve your skills at your craft."

Raising your hand to head off any protests or excuses, you continue, "Your work has thus far been perfectly acceptable, but I firmly believe that with some training and practice you can all become exceptional."

The group seems to relax, and even take on a hint of eagerness. You smile, pleased to see that you have not yet lost your inspiring charisma.

"With that said, I make no pretence of knowing all there is to know about farming. Thus, I also wish for this time to be one to discuss possible innovations or changes," You explain, causing the crowd to grow nervous once more, "Thus, I invite Wesley, who is by far the most skilled at this role to stand at the front here, to explain in greater detail."

Wesley needs a little bit more coaxing to actually stand at the front, and once there he is almost overcome with crippling stage fright. Fortunately, you are there to support him, smoothing over errors and keeping his speech flowing coherently.

Between Wesley's knowledge of farming and your understanding of the theory, you manage to put together quite a regime to improve your farmers.

Wesley's expertise lies in ensuring that each farm yields the highest number of crops. This has to do with correct crop rotations, careful consideration of planting. You contribute a more complete understanding of fertilisers and the requirements for crop rotations. The lesson is going well until someone raises a hand, not with a question but a suggestion.

"If we've got such good soil, why don't we try growing that fancy stuff that nobles love?" Mary asks. "It'd be worth good money."

It is not a bad suggestion in itself, being a supplier to the nobles of the area would also give you an introduction to their society. Thus, you decide to simply listen to the conversation as it develops, which would prove to be a mistake.

"With how our fields are pretty much all done as far as the land around us all used up there's no point growing something more expensive." William protests. "If we're going to keep growing, we're going to need more food."

"Have you heard Martin moaning about how expensive soldiers are?" Mary counters. "We need the extra money way more than we need food."

"We can sell excess food, you moron." William exclaims, growing heated as the argument continues. "There's no need for us to change what we're doing."

"Perhaps we should all take a moment to calm down, take a step back and consider this like rational adults." Wesley proposes futilely.

"Oh, I'm a moron, am I? I know we can sell excess food! The problem is how much we sell it for, you want to crash the price by flooding the area with excess production?" Mary yells back at William, rising to her feet.

William jumps out of his own chair, and yells back, "There's an enormous food crisis and everyone around us is in desperate need of basic food stuffs and you want to grow truffles or caviar or whatever it is nobles eat? Maybe you're not a moron but you sure are sounding heartless!"

Wesley tries once more to call the meeting to order, but he is shouted down by Mary.

"You're really taking his side here?" She screams. "I'm not heartless, I'm just trying to make the best decision for all of us! You're the one who's started throwing around accusations because your idea is stupid!"

The two continue to yell at each other, Wesley seems incapable of reigning them in. You judge that all arguments with any actual merit have been laid out. Any that were not already covered are unlikely to be revealed if this continues. The time has come for you to intervene.

You raise a hand over a table and slam it down with all your might. The loud sound is amplified by the small room, and everybody starts in place. As eyes turn to you, you adopt the most disappointed and stern expression you can.

"I cannot believe what I have been hearing." You state coldly. "I brought us here to learn from each other, not to descend into childish arguments."

The two humans look suitably shamed, and you continue. "Now both of you will apologise for the hurtful things you have said."

The two glare at each other defiantly.

Unwilling to indulge their egos, you deliver an ultimatum. "Either you apologise, or you can be sent to your rooms to reflect on your behaviour."

"You can't do that! We're not children!" The two chorus.

"If you do not wish to be treated like children, you must cease acting like children." You reply, unmoved by their words.

One begrudging apology later, you call for a vote for which idea those assembled prefer. You would normally make a decision, but you do not wish to cause friction by acting as an outsider. With Wesley abstaining, you receive four votes for more expensive crops, nine for more crops generally and two votes for an extra day off.

Selling

Martin eyes the weekly costs with trepidation. He knew soldiers were expensive intellectually, but he was only now coming to terms with the sheer magnitude of their cost. He almost felt bad for the times he'd complained about taxes. Perhaps he would've if the nobles had been more like Nelyafinwë.

Martin slaps his cheeks gently. This isn't the time to bemoan the state of Ferelden, he needed to focus on his job. The Dalish traders have arrived early this week and as much as it wreaks havoc on his mental stability, they need to be spoken to.

He takes a calming breath, "Alright, just relax. They're just here because the new road makes the trip faster. Just don't think about what that means, and you'll be fine."

It hasn't helped much, but it's better than nothing.

The selling process is going smoothly. Martin counts the coin he's made so far, and it's looking like a profitable week. He'd been given permission to sell all the food, and instructions to sell all the wine for the week. Assuming there were no terrible price fluctuations, they would be making at least two gold after paying all costs.

Since Martin is in a good mood, the universe just has to ruin it.

"Is the boss in?" One of the 'rangers' asks, "We've got that Ursular lass coming down the road."

Martin groans. "Really? I'd thought she'd died or moved to a more profitable location."

The warrior just shrugs, obviously pleased that it's not his problem to deal with. "The boss in?"

"He's off with that new elf," Martin grumbles, "I suppose I'll have to deal with the crook."

His comment gets him a raised eyebrow, and Martin bemoans the fact that he's apparently the only person who managed to figure out that the dwarf smuggling illegal goods is, in fact, a criminal.

The dwarves file into Endataurëo's courtyard. The look tired in a way that would have inspired sympathy if they also didn't look one wrong word away from murder.

"Where's cloudscraper?" Ursular asks brusquely.

"He's out," Martin replies equally shortly, "You deal with me."

The dwarf woman eyes him for a bit, then shrugs. "Whatever, I got the usual. What're ya in the mood for?"

Martin examined every item the dwarven woman had brought with her. There were hunting supplies, traps and crossbows. Gladesville could use them, given the troubles he's heard they're having with their food supply, and the increasing demand for leather in the area.

"You buyin' or lookin'?" Ursular asked.

"I am examining the goods you are selling." Martin snapped at her. "If you had any manners, you'd understand that!"

The dwarf smirks at him and tilts her head at her merchandise. "Examine away, but I'm gone at sunset. This empty sky's givin' me the chills."

Biting his tongue so as to not prolong the conversation Martin turns back to the goods on sale. Faintly glowing and easily spotted is Lyrium, rare and valuable and used in magic. That's as far as his knowledge of the subject goes.

"Isn't selling Lyrium illegal in Ferelden?" He asked neutrally.

Ursular widens her eyes and gasps unconvincingly. "What? Nobody told me that! Lighten up surfacer. You want the singing rock and you ain't goin' through the Chantry, that's fer certain."

They were definitely getting overcharged here. Grumbling Martin turned to the last set of goods. Whatever it was, it was wrapped in cloth.

"What's under there?" He asked.

Ursular glanced at the piled goods under the sheet. "Well, I heard you were in the market for somethin' special. So I thought, since we're such good friends, I'd look inta it for you."

With a flourish she pulls the sheet off of the pile, revealing shining steal plate armour lying beneath.

"Got a mate in the smith caste to 'lose' a few of these from some noble's order. They're top quality, best HA you'll find in the land, no question."

Martin looked over the goods, nodded, and made his decision.

"We'll take all of it."

Six gold lighter and with the best armour he's ever seen Martin takes a moment to enjoy his success. He only has one task left this week, and it is one he's been looking forward to.

Martin rides back on his new cart, his new mule pulling it along. In the back of the vehicle is a pile of weapons and shields.