Spreading Tongues
Your conversation with Marethari comes to an end. The Keeper apologises, but her duties compel her. You are quick to reassure her that you understand and inform her of your intentions to aid her people in practicing their fluency in their newly rediscovered tongue.
It is by and large a performance of politeness. Marethari is obviously not truly seeking forgiveness for prioritising her duties, just as you are informing her of your intentions rather than asking permission. It is a comforting sign after Lanaya's hostility to be extended the trust of an ally.
Thus you move through the camp, thinking about how best to practice with the people of this clan. Those you see are all busy, either training, working or caring for children. There is certainly conversation, people chatting as they work or stopping in the 'streets' to chat with friends of neighbours.
You suppose it is possible to insert yourself into those conversations, to make them into lessons, but you suspect doing so would be rather unwelcome. Most humans, and the Dalish are still closer to them then your own people, do not welcome lessons in the midst of their day, bizarre as that sounds.
It might still work though, and you give it serious consideration.
After a few moments of thought, you laugh quietly at yourself.
"Nelyafinwë, natyë aut yára[1]." You say to yourself.
There is a group who are likely to be free at this moment. A group who would benefit most from fluency practice, who you also owe for both their assistance in learning Thedas' tongue, and for their mockery of your early efforts.
You walk through the Dalish camp to the area where you know the children spend much of their day in play. You are unsure why they have so little time dedicated to lessons, but assume it is more human-adjacent strangeness.
The children of the camp are playing some kind of chasing game involving three sticks and a ball. The rules seem rather fluid, to be generous, and to your great fortune an argument is developing.
"You're out!" One child asserts.
"Nuh uh!" Another rebuts.
"Children." Your voice carries through the brewing argument. "Why do you argue?"
"Gorthon got out but he won't leave the field." The first child argues, immediately appealing to you as an authority figure.
"No!" Gorthon, presumably, yells. "Ferion's making up rules to make sure he wins."
You spend some time unpicking exactly what went wrong. Specifically, every child was trying to make up rules to benefit themselves and everybody could tell.
"Now, apologise to each other." You finish your discussion with them.
As the two reluctantly do so, you address the group. "I have an activity if people are interested in."
At first only a few children seem interested, but your next words change that. "I am looking for people to practice a secret language with."
The words secret language have their usual hypnotic effect on children and you are now swamped with volunteers.
It quickly becomes clear that they do not remember you, though some vaguely think they have seen you before you have been around without speaking to them enough that it does not register that you are the stranger who they laughed at for his poor language.
Using the words they already understand, you are able to leverage one of the braver children into attempting to have a conversation in Elvhen. When one of her peers laugh at her stumbling attempts, you are quick to reprimand them.
"Do you wish to take her place?" You ask sternly, eyes boring into the youth's. "Do you believe you would do better? If so, please, come up and speak."
That child backs down. It will take a few more incidents of a similar nature to ensure that the whole group is working without any issues, but before long they are caught up in the spirit of the matter.
You break them up with words to string into sentences and you walk about correcting and helping where possible. Some struggle more than others, but you do not overly concern yourself with them being correct, often encouraging them even if the language is itself poor. You want them to gain enough confidence to start using their native tongue in everyday life, from there they will create a new 'correct' way to speak.
After an hour, they are clearly growing tired and restless, so you dismiss them back to your play. With the remaining time you have, you decide to create a song that will help the children learn their grammar.
As much as you are trying to encourage fluency and allowing less than ideal grammar you know from experience that certain portions of grammar allow the expression of more complex ideas. You had personally found it very frustrating when trying to say something complex that you did not know the grammar for.
That leaves you with the challenge of making a song for the children. This leaves you in something of a unique position. Usually, you can simply force those you are teaching to learn the songs you make, but in this case that seems unwise. As a result, the song needs to be sufficiently 'catchy' to ensure that the children sing it even without an external pressure to do so.
Then there is the question of if it should be in said song. Obviously, there is the temptation to include as much information as possible, but if you wish to use it as a memory aid, then it needs to be reasonably short. Shorter songs are much easier to remember, and children are less likely to confuse the lyrics.
Admittedly this is more Káno's area of expertise than yours, but there are very few Princes of the Noldor who do not know something of the art of song crafting.
Ultimately, you decide that you want to include the very basics of grammar. Verb tenses, basic agreement, everything needed for young children to speak. This leaves gaps in their understanding, but most children will never have those explained anyway, merely picking it up as they age.
Your complaints with the Dalish education system aside, simplicity is your ally in this matter. As the writing of the song begins, you find yourself having to fight against your desire to have the song evolve. In order to be memorable, a song should have relatively simple melody, usually one that is quite repetitive.
Unfortunately, while that kind of music is memorable, it is not much fun to listen to. Since you also need to this to spread amongst the children, you need to make it as interesting as possible. Which brings you to the task of making a simple, repetitive melody that is also entertaining enough to spread from child to child.
It is a challenge that you are not truly equipped for. That said, it is unlikely that the greatest bards of the Noldor would be better equipped. Eldarin music takes much from the Ainur and tends towards the complex end of the musical spectrum. That such songs allow bards to show off is (according to bards) unrelated to this phenomenon.
Once the song is complete, you have to share it with the children. Fortunately, this is much easier. Simply singing the song as you watch over their play eventually sees someone coming over to ask what you what you are singing. From there you offer to teach them, which the child accepts.
From there your work is more or less finished. You teach one or two more children the song, and for a short time it is something of a fashion upon the playground. Unfortunately, despite your best efforts, it lacks much in the way of staying power. By the time you are leaving, they have already moved on from it as 'old and boring'.
Still, you consider your work a qualified success. The song is frustratingly memorable and things learned young tend to stick. It might take time for the children to connect it with the grammar they are learning, and longer still to get that grammar instinctive, they will at least not forget it.
Merrill's Maniacal Magic
Merrill cackles as she writes down her latest masterpiece. Yes, if she increases the power then she will create something that should allow even a single mage to kill hundreds of darkspawn.
"Yes" She cries as the spell swells. "More power!"
The spell explodes, causing Merrill's magic shell to flare and shatter. The elven mage flinches back and covers her eyes, the action coming far too late yet still reflexive. For several minutes she stands waiting for the ringing in her ears and blinding whiteness to fade. The few times it hasn't a healing spell has saved her hearing and sight, but that proves unnecessary this time.
Merrill sighs angrily and sinks down into a seat. What had seemed so clear to her last week, has now proven to be frustratingly elusive. Ainur know she's taken to cackling like the stereotypical blood mage to vent her frustration with this spell. The parts don't seem to line up right, and it's frustrating.
"What am I missing?" She asks herself.
The theory is simple, apply a lightning by a medium similar to how creation magic is distributed about the body, targeted using the lessons learned from Nelyafinwë's frankly bizarre biology. The problem is that lighting resists dispersal, it wants to concentrate.
"Perhaps it would be best to start from the beginning." Merrill admits to herself.
It burns to begin from the very basics of spell construction, like she's abandoning all her previous work, even if she knows that's not true. Unfortunately, a whole morning trying to replicate her wild success from last week has gotten her nowhere and she needs this in a few days. So, she swallows her pride and starts again.
The first thing to establish was the process of dispersing elemental energy. It's not a normal process in that branch of magic, and it's what keep causing the explosions. Merrill's reasonably sure that targeting works, she's tested it extensively with healing spells, so there's no need to revisit that.
The first place to start with her experiments is ice. Largely considered the 'safest' element, though such things are extremely relative, it is a good base to start with. Immediately this starts causing problems. Ice, being a solid, does not disperse easily. Certainly, she can make a large number of very small shards, even infuse the very air with cold energy, but that just recreates the existing spell Blizzard.
Rather than growing disheartened, Merrill is inspired by this realisation and begins an examination of the 'Blizzard like spells'. On the surface it seems to reveal nothing she doesn't already know. Ice disperses without much trouble, but fire prefers to manifest as a cohesive whole, and lightning tends to flow in a manner reminiscent of water, if much more chaotic.
It is a close detailed examination of the differences that provides the revelation. Blizzard manifest not ice but cold. Inferno and Tempest both manifest lighting and fire as discrete entities. The secret is not to disperse the actual material in question, but rather the energies that they consist of[2].
Her experiments begin with fire. It takes many experiments and causes no small amount of her notes to burn to ash. Frustrating as it is to rewrite them, she eventually manages to create a field of nothing but heat energy. Admittedly, she had to do so by removing anything even remotely flammable from the area, as it tends to catch on fire in the field.
Confidently she moves on to lighting, only to be immediately punished for her hubris. Lightning is the most unpredictable element, sometimes relatively calm and steady at other times wild and chaotic, striking at seemingly random. It also proves stubbornly resistant to dispersal.
The energy of lightning wants to concentrate. It fights every attempt to spread it out evenly, and demands to concentrate into a bolt that can strike at something. It takes Merrill a whole day of wrestling with the damn thing to get even semi consistent results.
This leaves her with just one day before she needs to depart to meet with the Circle to present the results of her research to her peers, and she has to focus on a single avenue of research.
Merrill resists the urge to try and improve the spell's power or area. It is especially tempting to expand the range. Images of mages single handedly destroying whole units and turning the tide of battle dance teasingly in her mind.
The Dalish First shakes off the temptation. She has learned the folly of ambition that outstrips ability. If this spell is as likely to explode in the face of the mage as be cast successfully it is a useless spell. She will take the less glamorous, but potentially more useful option.
Maybe when the spell is stable, she will be able to add on that element. Though doing so might destabilise the spell again…
No, she can't get distracted. Stabilising the lightning spell. There are a few different approaches, she could obviously practice the spell, improving her control. That would be a distraction, it would improve her ability to cast an unstable spell, not the stability of the spell.
"Everything's connected." Merrill mutters to herself.
Why does lightning want to concentrate? How would she even find that out? Merrill wracks her brain for answers to the question but finds nothing springing to mind.
Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Merrill returns to basic principles.
If you don't understand how something works, the only way to find out is to practice. At first Merrill attempts to simply brute force her understanding, attempting to manipulate lightning in a variety of different ways. This returns no notable progress, merely a confirmation that she has no idea how lightning works.
Merrill pauses, thinking on her approach. Lightning is something she barely understands at the best of times, studying it means studying something very dangerous with no clear concept of what angle of investigation is best. There has to be a better way.
Several minutes of thought see her striking upon something. She had noted that there was something about lightning that reminded her of water, if more chaotic. What was it that made that connection.
Merrill hesitates, this could be a waste of time. Maybe, if she studies how water moves she could realise something about lightning, but more likely not. Can she afford to take that risk?
Does she have a better idea?
The first thing she rules out is the idea that water acts the same when exposed to magic. Incidentally, making water is harder than making ice for some reason. From there several experiments conclusively prove that lightning is not, in fact, water.
It is as she's feeling frustrated, like this whole avenue of investigation is a waste of time that she gets her lead. A droplet of water has left a trail along the table, shaped vaguely like a lightning bolt.
Repeated experiments actually show that water tends to follow the path water had previously. It isn't a hard rule, but it is common enough to be noteworthy. Sure enough, experiments prove the same is roughly true of lightning. Admittedly, lightning has a greater tendency to wander, but it's enough that Merrill thinks she knows how to make lightning dispersal more effective.
She knows that water follows channels, and while she doesn't know what in the air is forming these 'lightning channels' they must exist. Thus, in order to ensure that lightning disperses neatly, she needs to add an initial step to the spell, something that can act like a 'lightning pool' that brings the lightning evenly to the whole area.
This sounds easy. Merrill begins confident that in an hour or two the problem will be solved.
It is not easy.
Merrill spends the bulk of what is left of her time trying to get the initial conditions right. Imagining a smooth plane results in absolute chaos, something like a bowl causes a ring of lightning. So many mental constructs fail, again and again.
Fortunately, before she runs out of time she finally thinks of what she is doing wrong. She is assuming that similar effects are born of similar causes. This is not necessarily true. Water and ice are the same thing but not similar in any way. She needs to stop attempting to apply principles that don't fit.
For most people this would be the end, fortunately Merrill is a mage and she has the ultimate shortcut. Magic.
Finding a spell that makes the concept of 'the perfect environment for a cloud of lightning' is a tedious task, but one that has plenty of precedent. Incorporating it into the existing spell is a challenge, but not one she can't overcome.
When she drags herself into the saddle to ride out to meet Nelyafinwë, she is bleary eyed and exhausted, but successful.
Buying and Selling
Martin walks away from where Xandar has been talking to him. Delora glances at him as she supervises the loading their carts.
"What did the madman want?" She asks brusquely.
"Clothes mostly." Martin replies. "He's doing that thing Merrill did. Wants something red with stars on it."
"What's that about?" The elf asks, confused now.
Martin shrugs. "Something to do with Nelyafinwë, he gets all the warriors red cloaks and paints white stars on the shields."
"That's not his device though." Delora points out, having seen the flags that hang about Endataurëo.
Martin shrugs again. "I don't know what goes through his head."
The elf nods. An awkward silence falls over the pair. Despite, or perhaps because of, their conversation the previous week they find it hard to find something to talk about. Delora rubbed her arm, wishing that something would fall just to give her something to do.
"How were your folks?" Martin asks suddenly.
"What?" The elf asks, startled from her thoughts.
"You were in Denerim, so I figured you'd have visited your family." Martin explains sheepishly. "Sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."
"No, no I did. I just wasn't really listening." Delora hurries to clarify. "They're alright. Not much has changed since I last visited. Mother's still affectionate enough to make a Sister blush, didn't get to see Father, but he's doing alright."
"Right. Right. Good to hear." Martin says, trailing off awkwardly.
"How about yours?" Delora tries.
"Mother lives with my brother since Father passed away." Martin says. "He's got a farm somewhere up north."
"You should visit her." Delora says sharply, to cover her internal embarrassment.
Martin looks at the carts. "That's probably a good idea."
The thought of visiting family sticks with Martin as he goes about the task of tending to the Dalish merchants and travelling with his cart. It is a long way to his brother's farm, they're up in Highever, it's a journey of sixty miles or so as the crow flies. That's not something he can just knock out during his weekly duties.
These thoughts cast a cloud over his dealing, which most of those he deals with regularly notice. Despite his best efforts he is unable to shake the black mood. He doesn't want to take a break from work. He's not, strictly speaking, incapable of doing so, but he feels like he'd be abandoning important work.
By the time he and Delora are discussing how to go about purchasing this week's supplies, the elf is clearly becoming irritated.
"Why on earth are you moping!" She exclaims suddenly, in the midst of their discussion.
"Sorry. I'm just thinking about what we were talking about earlier." Martin says, shaking himself. "It's been getting me down, I'll try to stop."
"What about visiting your family is getting you down?" Delora asks fiercely. "Do you hate them or something?"
"No!" Martin exclaims. "It's just they live up in Highever, so I can't reach them and still do my work."
"So, take a few weeks off!" Delora shouts back. "It's not like it's the end of the world."
"How can I just abandon everyone when there's danger on the horizon!" Martin yells. "I'm not just going to abandon you all when I'm needed the most."
The two fall silent, anger expended. An awkward silence falls upon the pair of merchants.
"I can cover your work." Delora says at last. "Just take time off and go see your family. It might be the last chance you get."
"Delora…" Martin begins, only to trail off.
"You don't think I can do it?" Delora asks angrily. "Don't you trust me?"
"I." Martin sighs. "I'll take a few weeks off starting next week. Thanks Delora."
Delora turns away from him. "I don't care what you do, human."
Martin doesn't mention that he can clearly see the tips of her ears turning red.
Any plans of holidays or breaks will have to wait for now, there's work to do. The two merchants attend to their usual duties. Trading produce of Endataurëo for meat from the Dalish, who are out in fewer numbers than usual, then coordinating the sale of everything they didn't need immediately is a challenge even in ideal conditions.
After the two complete their deliveries of wine to their customers, and take on the reservations for the next batch, they have to buy a number of items. Weapons is the easy one, though expensive they are at least common. It is the second item on their list that gave them trouble.
"So, what's the difference between a signal horn and a signal trumpet?" Delora asks.
"I don't know." Martin admits. "I think it's that one's made of horn and the other's made of metal?"
"Ok, so which one should we get?" Delora replies.
"Well, metal's more durable…" Martin trails off, looking at the dizzying array of musical instruments in front of them.
The two bite their lips, trying to parse the sheer number of things they do not understand about this situation.
"One of each?" Delora suggests after a while.
"Probably safest." Martin agrees. "Now all we've got to do is figure out which of these are those things."
They spend the better part of the rest of the day finding someone who will help them without trying to fleece them. It might seem hypocritical, but the two curse merchants more than once in the process of acquiring the necessary items.
Visits of State
You meet Merrill at her clan. She looks like she spent the better part of the week 'burning the candle at both ends' as the locals call it.
"Do you wish to return home?" You ask. "It would allow you to rest, I hardly need you as I visit my peers amidst the nobility."
"No." Merrill yawns widely. "If I go home, I'm going to keep trying to finish this spell. I'll come with you, then I can sleep while you're making nice with the nobility."
The Dalish mage yawns once more. "Plus, if I go alone, you'll make me take an escort again."
You incline your head in acknowledgement. "Very well. Be warned, should you fall from your saddle I shall tie you to it, so that it may not happen again."
Merrill nods, yawning yet again.
The ride promises to be a long one. You will need to loop northward to head for the Circle, which extends that journey by a day or two. Hence why you have spent maybe two days at most dealing with the Sabrae's problems and Ranger's hunting trip.
Fortunately, Merrill does not end up needing to be tied to her saddle. You spend the journey meeting with local nobility, the knights who rule a town or a set of fields, or the minor nobility that controls too much land to be a mere knight, but is subordinate to a Bann.
Your confusion on the matter leads to a rather interesting discussion about the history of Ferelden. Apparently, Orlais who used to rule over Ferelden have a much more granular nobility. Knights serve barons, who in theory serve counts which roughly correspond to Banns and so forth.
The rule of Orlais is culturally held as a dark time in the history of Ferelden, and as a result they flinch away from the societal structure used by the kingdom. Thus, they have created the Bann system, but left a rather large gap in the lower nobility. A gap filled chaotically by each Bann. In this case, the Wynnes favour allowing their knights to take over the role.
Despite how interesting you find the discussion, you are unable to dig into the administrative consequences of this improvised system. Despite what your conversation partners think, this is not because Merrill is falling asleep during your conversation. You are, however, on a tight deadline.
Your goal is to visit as many people as is practical, which in this case probably means two. You do need to spend the majority of the week travelling. You will, naturally greet those you pass by, but you are unlikely to stop and spend much time with them.
In this matter, you are aided by your preference for travelling unescorted. It is much harder for someone to notice you bypassing them and take offence when it is simply two people travelling.
This leads you to the main question of who you are going to be visiting. There are a number of equally worthwhile options. There are the two Banns you have already made friendly contact with. Visiting them would be more a matter of maintaining and improving relations, pretty much exactly what you were thinking of when you planned this out.
There is another, more risky option. There is tension between yourself and the Bann of Whitecliffe, whose name you could remember if you wished to. Not only have you had personal conflicts, your title is one that he once considered his own. You vaguely recall an invitation from his wife that smelt too much like a trap for you to accept. That might be worth investigating.
Finally, there is the option of stopping at Denerim. The ultimate goal of stopping there would be to speak briefly to the Harhen of the Alienage, and speak to your theoretical overlord Teyrn Loghaine. You might even get a chance to see the king while you are there.
The main downside of that is the fact that speaking to them is not fulfilling the primary goal of establishing yourself among the body of Ferelden's nobility. Higher nobility tends to move in somewhat separate circles, though obviously interplay between higher and lower nobility is inevitable.
Merrill snores loudly and falls from the saddle as you choose your destination.
It might be argued that the best thing you can do is to visit your immediate neighbours. That you are fundamentally a local power and that it is most logical to make relationships with those who are local to you. You reject this logic.
You want to stay on good terms with the Teyrn, for a number of reasons, more importantly visiting Denerim gives a number of secondary benefits. You could meet King Cailan, fortune permitting, and you will have the chance to speak to Harhen Valendrian while the interminable human power games take place.
With your decision made that leaves you with very little to do on the long journey north. Given you have little interest in dallying, and nothing to entertain yourself but a fast horse…
[1] Nelyafinwë, you are an old fool (old is last for emphasis)
[2] The author is aware of the fact that lightning and fire are both essentially electrical/heat energy, Merrill is not and magic is affected by perception.