Brush Fire
You watch as the rangers ride out bright and early on the first day of the week. Between Anneth's experience and yours, it is clear that Lanaya is up to something. You would order patrols doubled if you had the warriors to do so. Since you do not, you have simply put your infantry on high alert, armoured and with weapons close to hand.
For your part, you intend to ride a slow patrol between Endataurëo and Gladesville. You doubt you will catch any plots, but it will force the enemy to watch you. If you are needed, you will be mounted and ready to respond.
If the Dalish choose to ambush you, they will discover just how unprepared for this fight they are. You hope this is all a false alarm, but it is a faint hope.
Huran glares at the fire, brand extended. The damn thing is taking too long to light.
"Come on." He moans.
"Settle." Diya barks. "Haste makes waste."
"Who died and put you in charge?" Huran sneers.
"You did when you took your brand out of the fire without lighting it." The elven woman sneers back.
"Enough both of you." Enoras snapps. "We can't be fighting amongst ourselves. Remember why we're here."
Huran turns back to the fire. Their plan was to burn the outsider's crops, proving his promise of protection a lie and depriving him of his greatest advantage.
"There's something unnatural about those fields I tell you." Enoras mutters. "They make too much food, and they never seem to be fallow."
"The hell do you know about farming?" Diya asks disbelieving.
"I've seen them on the edges of the forests!" Enoras protests. "I know how they work, just not enough to actually make one."
Before their argument can get out of hand Huran hears a steady thumping.
"Quiet!" He hisses. "Horses!"
The small group of elves falls silent as the sounds of hoofbeats grow louder. Slowly they grow slower, until at last they stop entirely.
Still the elves remain still, barely daring to breathe.
"Are they gone?" Alysn asks.
"Hello there. What are you lot doing so far off the road?" A woman asks.
The elves whirled to see a group of humans in red cloaks and armour. At this point no weapons are drawn, but the cloaks have been tucked behind their sheathes. The one who spoke was a woman, who stands at the front.
"Who's asking?" Diya asks belligerently.
"Anneth. Captain of the rangers." The woman says with a bright smile. "We usually run escorts for the merchants that pass through. Are you lost?"
"No." Enoras says, shaking his head. "We're on clan business, we'll find our own way."
It takes a few moments to realise what he's trying to do, but immediately after they do the group begins to chorus agreement.
The human raises an eyebrow. "If you say so. Still, there's dangerous folk about these parts. We should probably escort you anyway. Where are you bound?"
Huran meets Enoras' eyes. Then he swings his brand at the woman.
Against steel armour and shields their wooden clubs can do little. In fact, if the rangers had drawn their swords the fight would likely have lasted seconds. As it was, the humans fought back with fists, pommels and sheathed blades.
It took nearly ten minutes, but eventually all seven of the elves were being bound by the humans.
"This changes nothing!" Huran yells. "You think we are the only ones willing to do what is necessary? Even now, like a shower of sparks our brothers are falling upon your lands!"
The rangers share a glance, then continued tying up the elves with a shrug.
"Dammit, it won't light." Estine hisses.
"Give me that!" Arlden snaps, snatching the flint and steel away from his companion.
The two Dalish elves had broken off from the rest of the group to attack the human village. They thought that they could start a fire by that big barn and it would consume all their food. Perhaps it would even spread to the rest of the village.
Unfortunately, they were the youngest of the group and were neither particularly patient, nor skilled at lighting fires.
"You're doing it wrong!" Estine says, reaching for the flint.
"No I'm not, you're getting in the way." Arlden replies, holding the flint out of her reach.
"Well, well, well, what's all this then?" A voice interrupts the pair.
The two elves turn to see a pair of heavily armoured humans looking down at them. They look at each other, and immediately begin to run away.
They are faster than their pursuers, especially since the humans are in heavy armour. The two elves laugh, confident in their escape, until they see something in the distance.
The gate is closed.
Two more humans are approaching from another direction.
It takes some time for the elves to be caught, and they have to be violently subdued, but nobody is hurt more than large bruises or the occasional cut. Almost all such injuries are sustained by the Dalish.
You arrive in Gladesville, the rangers and their prisoners in tow. The group proceeds to the central square, where the guards are keeping the pair they caught trying to start a fire by the storehouse.
The rangers join their prisoners to the two already present and you take a moment to examine the group before you. Most of them dress like the Dalish, but few have the tattoos that characterise the race. You are not the best with mortal ages, but you are willing to bet that most are too young. Those tattoos that are present do seem to be relatively new.
Immediately upon seeing each other, the prisoners all start yelling at once. Among the shouts of incoherent rage you can hear accusations, and threats against you and your guards. Even Kano would have struggled to make his voice heard over the cacophony. So you do not.
It is amazing the silence the sound of metal on metal can bring. All you had done was scrape and arm over your torso, and suddenly the prisoners are silent.
"What am I to do with you all?" You ask.
You cast your eyes over the kneeling youths once more. Most attempt to meet your eyes defiantly; but the gaze of the Firstborn is not a light thing to bear, and they quickly rethink their decision. Some simply refuse to look at you at all.
You could imprison them. It would be well within your rights as a noble and governor of these lands. Debatably legal too, though your search through Denerim's library had found no case law regarding illegal imprisonment so it is impossible to be completely certain. A week is not a harsh punishment and could serve as an object lesson to the youths.
Yet, the murky nature of the laws on the matter and the complicating factor of the Dalish's unique status within the kingdom stays the order. Even the lesson is one they are unlikely to take, given their clear dismissal of you as an outsider. So too would a simple reprimand be seen as weakness.
With a sigh you turn to Anneth. "Ride to Lanaya, bearing my banner. Do not enter the camp, merely relay my message to the Keeper."
Anneth straightens herself up and raises a hand to her forehead. "Sir. What message sir?"
"A number of children have been caught attempting vandalism within my lands. I would appreciate it if their parents could come and collect them." You state.
Anneth takes a few moments to memorise the message before repeating it back to you. Then she strides to her horse, accompanied by a pair of her warriors, and rides away.
Briefly you consider sending word to Marethari, then shrug. You can inform Merrill of it later, she can carry word if necessary.
Anneth rides along the road, Simion and Erskine flanking her.
"Is this smart?" Erskine asks. "We're only three and the Dalish are who even knows how many."
"We are not looking for a fight, merely delivering a message." Anneth reminds the man.
"Given they've already tried to set us on fire one, not to mention the way they were following us around, isn't it likely they'll want to fight us?" Simion asks.
Anneth sighs. She knows, intellectually, that it is a good thing that her subordinates are keeping their wits about them, but being questioned still makes her feel like they don't trust her.
"We'll stick to the road. We've got horses, they don't. If it comes to it, we'll run." She explains.
"Unless one of their arrows hits our horses." Erskine grumbles.
Anneth glares at the older man. "Given that our options are to risk death in a possible fight by bringing too few or risking death in a certain fight by bringing an army, I would appreciate it if you stopped complaining about things I cannot change."
The two men fall silent at her rebuke, and the trip to the larger of the Dalish clans has nothing else noteworthy happen.
When the three riders catch sight of the elven pickets they pull to a stop.
Anneth calls out. "Hark the watchmen!"
There's a long silence before the reply comes. "Who goes?"
"Anneth, captain of the Brecilian rangers. I bear a message from Lord Nelyafinwë of the Brecilian Forest for Lanaya, Keeper of your clan." Anneth answers.
"The Keeper has no business with humans!" The voice sneers back. "Be on your way!"
"If you are a warrior then you must know I cannot do that." Anneth calls. "If you will not send for your Keeper than I must remain until I speak to someone who will."
"I've got a quiver of reasons why you can't do that." The voice responds, to obvious laughter.
Anneth's hands tighten into fists. Behind her she can feel her companions shifting, poised to bolt.
The officer takes a deep breath and asks, "Then am I to take this as a declaration of war then?"
This time there is no mocking reply.
Buoyed by the realisation that this is the right track to take, Anneth continues. "Youths of your clan were caught attempting to burn crops, barns and houses on my lord's land. If you now refuse to treat with us, we must assume that this is a declaration of war by your Keeper."
At a gesture, the two men behind her turn their horses and start trotting away, in case the Dalish decide to silence the witnesses. Not that it would change anything, Nelyafinwë would take their lack of return as a declaration of war. However, it might make the Dalish think twice about attacking and, personally, she'd rather live.
"Wait!" A new voice calls. "I shall fetch the Keeper."
It takes Lanaya a full day to arrive, and she arrives heavily escorted. You count a full dozen of what are presumably her best warriors. Most notably, she comes without any of the parents of the individuals you have in custody.
Unless all of the children are descended from warriors, which you suppose is possible.
"Welcome Lanaya. You seem to have misplaced some of your people." You greet the elf.
Lanaya glares at you. "Spare me the pointless taunting. What do you want?"
"Ideally, I would want them to not attempt this again. Perhaps their parents should give them a stern talking to." You reply, somewhat confused by the question. "What they did was dangerous, both to themselves and others."
"Done." Lanaya says shortly. "Release them now."
You shrug. "Sure."
Your warriors untie the youths, and they are quickly brought within the perimeter of Lanaya's guards. The group then begins to back away cautiously.
"Before you go." You say, causing the Keeper to glare at you.
"We have paid your ransom; we have no further business." Lanya says shortly.
"There was no ransom to pay." You point out. "I am not in the habit of holding children from their parents."
With Elrond and Elros it had been an excuse exception, definitely an exception. It was merely the fact you never saw Ëarandil or Elwing again that resulted in you having to raise the pair.
"Then what do you want?" Lanaya hisses.
There is a war within your mind. A part of you, a significant part, suggests an ultimatum. This attempt has you on edge, and you do not trust the hostility shown by Lanaya. Nor do you believe that she is not planning her own attack upon your people.
Yet, despite that, another part of you warns against haste. For the moment there is a chance at reconciliation. Swords are still in sheathes, and it is still possible for words to win. Perhaps it is a futile gesture, but you want to ensure that you have exhausted every possible avenue before you commit to violence.
"I want a great many things." You answer. "Few of which you could give me. Instead, I shall settle for knowing what will satisfy you. What must be done to end this hostility between us?"
Lanaya looks at you in utter disbelief. "After everything you have done, you have the audacity to ask that?"
"What have I done?" You ask, irritation creeping into your voice. "I have extended a hand of friendship to kin long separated. I have done all that I can to meet you on your own terms. From where I stand, I have done you no ill, yet we are apparently enemies."
Lanaya flinches at your words, and you press in once more. "What must be done to bury this feud? Surely there is some common ground we can meet on."
Your words hang in the air, Lanaya's knuckles whitening on her staff. The tattoos around her eyes stretch as she glares at you.
"Pretty words. I've heard them before." She snarls. "What next? Are you going to convince me to let you in?"
"Where do people get the idea that I am a spirit from?" You say exasperated. "I am not a spirit, a demon, abomination or any such being. This body is mine and no other's, it has been mine since the day it was made."
You would say it was yours since you were born, but you are reasonably sure that this is in fact a replacement body. Even the constitution of the Eldar is unlikely to survive crushing walls of earth and the fire of Arda's core.
"Perhaps you are not yourself a spirit but you certainly have no compunctions using them to extend your life!" Lanaya spits.
You give her a look, communicating how mad her words sound. "I have never needed, nor wanted to extend my life. I was born in days before the sun, and I watched centuries pass and I did nothing to make it happen. It is simply my nature, as it could be yours."
"A likely story." Lanaya replies more uncertainly.
"Indeed, it is the kind of story that is so unbelievable that one would have to be mad to claim it falsely." You reply with a roll of your eyes.
"Perhaps you are mad, I have heard it can happen when you deal in blood magic." Lanaya says.
With a sigh, you pull back your sleeves. Chainmail bunches by your elbows, clinking strangely.
Spreading your arms so that their undersides might be seen easily by the Keeper you ask, "If I deal in blood magic, where are my scars? Where is the fear in my followers? Where are the mysterious disappearances in the forest?"
You meet her eyes. "I have never dealt in dark magic. I do not need it."
"Nice try." Lanaya exclaims. "But Merrill already gave the game away. You stole Zathrien's work!"
You laugh. "That shadow of an elf? What could I possibly learn from him?"
"The secret to extending his life." Lanaya states confidently.
You shake your head and sigh. "Zathrien bound his life in the spell that created the werewolves, I believe I already told you this. In order to extend the lives of the Dalish, they would need to have every member be a mage. Go to the Sabrae, ask them and they will tell you, this is for all. It is Merrill's work, not Zathrien's."
"You're lying." Lanaya says quietly.
"Name a single lie I have told you in the past." You challenge the elf.
The Keeper does not answer you, simply walking away with her companions.
A Pair of Redheads
With judgement rendered, and the rangers off to ensure it happens, you are able to spend some time inspecting Gladesville. Ophelia likely wants to speak to you about what just happened, but you have been wound like a spring anticipating an ambush. A short break to unwind is not too much to ask for.
You walk around the town, side stepping pigs as you go. As far as human run villages go, you have definitely seen worse. The buildings are all new, but it is clear that Maron and Lauron are continuing to provide quality construction for the village even after you have left expansion in Ophelia's hands.
There is an order to the village that makes travel easy. The roads may be only packed dirt, but they are clearly marked and straight. The number of people has not increased significantly since your last visit, but it is clear that several initiatives in farming and animal husbandry ensure that the village is in no danger of starving.
In fact, you think that you can see the beginnings of a culture and style emerging among the people. There is an understandable leaning towards cloths and dyes that can be found in the forest, and a preference for naturalistic shapes. It is not yet anything truly unique, but that they are being adopted uniformly is a hopeful sign for the villagers going forward. You are sure Ophelia is happy.
With a sigh you turn away from your contemplation of the village and begin to return to said woman. Ophelia is likely growing impatient waiting for you to speak to her. You doubt that she has magically managed to avoid the inevitable swelling of ego that all humans undergo after gaining even the slightest amount of power.
The red haired woman is waiting just outside her house, pacing back and forth. The moment she sees you she rushes over.
"What's going on? Why were elves attacking us? What were the Dalish doing among them?" She asks in quick succession.
"Peace." You reply, raising a hand in a calming gesture. "You concern does you credit, but it is unneeded at this juncture."
Ophelia sniffs disdainfully. "Perhaps, but I still think I deserve to know what is going on."
"On that matter we are in agreement." You reply. "I merely wished to reassure you that matters are well in hand, and no immediate action is required."
The human leader deflates somewhat. "That's good, I was kind of worried. But that doesn't get you out of this! You still need to tell me what is going on."
"Matters are still somewhat unclear even to me, but it seems a number of young Dalish elves have gotten it into their heads to attempt to drive us off. I cannot be certain if Keeper Lanaya has sanctioned these actions or not, but I am increasing readiness just in case." You explain.
"Ok, so what should I do?" Ophelia asks. "I could probably have people throw together some kind of keep…"
"I would advise you do nothing for now." You reply.
"Nothing!" She exclaims.
"Yes. Sometimes acting in haste is worse than not acting." You state. "I believe this to be one of those times. I will be sending more warriors to guard you, so it is not that nothing is being done, merely that you need to do nothing."
Ophelia twists her fingers together nervously. "Ok. I don't like it, but I trust you. I'll let people know what's happening and why there's going to be more warriors but I won't interrupt life just yet."
You incline your head. "I believe that to be a wise course of action."
The human huffs good humouredly. "You would. So, what brings you here?"
"I hope to speak with you, of course." You inform your former student. "I am certain I have heard a saying about leadership among your kind. Something about crowns being heavy."
"Heavy is the head that wears the crown." Ophelia supplies. "I'm not a queen though."
"So too am I not a master hunter." You reply. "Yet, that does not mean that I cannot struggle when I must hunt. Nor does it mean that I am somehow impervious to the exhaustion of the task."
"I know this is just how you are; but just for me could you please say that in normal words?" Ophelia groans, rubbing her face.
You laugh. "I am concerned for you and wish to hear of your troubles and tribulations."
"I think I've been doing pretty well. Not that I mean to ay that I couldn't do better or that you can't help, but I thought I could be trusted to take care of things on my own." Ophelia trails off, clearly struggling with how to express herself.
"It is not that I am offering my help necessarily, though it remains yours if you wish for it. Rather, I am expressing an interest in your wellbeing. Before our followers we must be strong, but among ourselves we need not maintain such masks." You explain calmly. "If you wish to complain, or boast, or speak of any matters of leadership you could not with another. Well, I am your teacher, and would be proud to listen."
The red haired woman looks up at you for a few seconds, then she makes a sound somewhere between a cough and a gasp, hiding her face in her hands. A few more sounds emerge, her shoulders shaking before you realise that she is laughing.
"Ok. Dad." Ophelia snorts. "I'll tell you all about how I'm handling myself."
You raise an eyebrow. "I am hardly your father, merely a concerned teacher."
"Whatever you say." Ophelia responds cheekily.
You giver her a warning glare, then lean against a nearby house as she starts to speak.
"Well, firstly I have to say that this is a much more boring job than I was expecting." Ophelia begins. "There's so much that just needs to be done every day that requires next to no thought, just repetition."
"That is very much a part of life." You reply mildly. "A vast majority of all people's time is taken up by routine. That is what the word means."
"Hey, you asked." Ophelia replies.
"Apologies." You say. "My words were not meant as criticism, if that is how they came across, merely an observation."
"Yeah, well if you want to hear my problems don't just interrupt me while I'm talking about them." Ophelia grumbles half-heartedly. "Beyond that, I have to say I wasn't expecting people to blame me for things that aren't really my fault. I mean, I can't control the weather, but if a storm blows in and I'm not ready for it suddenly it's my fault."
There is such a thing as preparations for feasible problems, such as a storm, but you choose to assume that was merely a poorly chosen example.
"I've got to say though, there's something about little kids saying that they want to grow up to be just like you that really tugs at the heartstrings." Ophelia smiles gently at a memory. "Makes it all feel worthwhile."
"I confess it is not an experience I share. So, I cannot say that I know the feeling." You admit.
"Really?" Ophelia asks. "I'd have thought you'd get it a lot, what with your whole… thing."
The corner of your lip quirks. "It is partly that I am so divorced from the day to day lives of people that few children feel bold enough to speak to me. Primarily, it is that I lack children, and my brothers would cut out their tongues before admitting I influence them in any way."
"Really?" Ophelia frowns. "I don't really have any siblings, but that sounds bad."
"Ah, ah, ah." You reply with a smile, wagging your finger. "You are not distracting me so easily, young one. We are speaking of you, not of me."
Ophelia flushes. "You're not that much older than me."
"A mere thousand years is no great length time in to an Ainur, but I believe it is a not inconsiderable amount for a human." You observe lightly.
"There's no way you're a thousand years old." Ophelia replies with a roll of her eyes. "I'll buy you're like, a really well preserved thirty, but nobody lives a thousand years."
"I believe I said you would not distract me so easily." You prod, uninterested in an argument about your age. "We are speaking of your joys, fears and struggles with your role."
Ophelia rolls her eyes again. "You're the one who brought it up.
You are uncertain at what age humans start their irrational defiance of those older than them, but it seems to be upon Ophelia. You simply stare at the young woman, knowing any response will only serve to derail the conversation further.
Eventually she sighs and says, "I'm not really sure what to talk about. I don't like being blamed for things, but it's not like people are demanding that I step down or they'll attack me or something."
"How goes matters of law?" You suggest. "Have there been issues with order? With so many people coming, surely there have been difficulties."
Ophelia nods slowly. "Well, mostly we're getting by without too many troubles. Brawls and arguments are the main thing, but most people break those up. Nobody's really pressed anything on that front for a while. We're small enough that murders haven't been a problem. Theft's usually the big one."
You sigh. "Such things are always difficult to judge. Rarely does anyone have any evidence that the possession they have stolen was truly theirs."
"Well, it helps that it's a small town." Ophelia says with a grin. "Usually, most people know roughly what others have, at least enough that it's not been an issue. Truthfully, my main role is to show up at their house with one of the guards and glare sternly at them until they give it back."
"Is that all that happens?" You ask. "Or is there a further punishment to dissuade such actions?"
"Depends." Ophelia admits. "I've had a sort of impromptu stocks made in the square, and if I think it's needed, I'll throw someone in there for a day or two with a sign around their neck."
You nod. "Leveraging social pressure to disincentivise behaviour can work. Are their further ramifications?"
"I just said that's all I do, didn't I?" Ophelia says, confused.
"What I meant was, does the revelation of their neighbours as thieves cause people to treat them differently, thereby extending the punishment beyond what is intended?" You explain.
Ophelia pauses, eyes widening. "I don't know. I've never thought to look into it."
You place a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Do not be distressed. It is an easy thing to overlook, and I am certain that it has not yet done any true damage. You simply must keep an eye on the consequences of your punishments. The last thing we need is to drive people into a corner where the only way out is what they were originally punished for."
"Right, right." Ophelia takes several deep breaths, before nervously saying. "Are you sure? I mean, what if…"
"Peace, Ophelia." You reassure her. "This is not a city, with enough people that one can safely be cut from society entirely. The worst it will be at this point is hurtful gossip and social isolation. Hardly ideal, but nothing that can't be fixed."
"How?" Ophelia asks.
"Lead by example." You state calmly. "If one who has offended once is being isolated, invite them to your house. Lead, and others will follow."
"Okay, okay." Ophelia breathes.
You glance at the sun. "As much as I would like to continue this conversation, my time grows short. Before I leave, we should discuss the Dalish situation, and what I plan to do, and what you must look out for."
"I thought we already did that." Ophelia jests.
"True, but I wish to ensure that we are both clear on the details of the matter." You state.