It appears I owe everyone an apology. It wasn't my intention to disappear for the last six odd weeks. It just sort of happened. Hopefully it will spare you the terrible cliffhanger that main quest readers got left with two weeks ago.
Searching for a Noldo
The kid had pulled him aside and asked him to look into the rumours of this other 'Noldo'. He'd never seen the kid look so pained, like it physically hurt to be asking for help. Then again, kid was worried that it was one of his brothers out there, so it's understandable.
Frankly, Ranger's having trouble imagining another kid, let alone another six.
Still, he knows how important family is, so he'd volunteered to go have a look around. That's why he's here in Cadwall Crossing, apparently this is the last place the elf was seen. Fought some Templars nearby or something.
He's already had a look around the village, and there's no craters or piles of bodies like he'd expect if the kid ever got into a serious fight. Could be he's overestimating the kid, or the kid's an anomaly in the family. Ranger doubts it, if the kid's happy letting someone else investigate, he'll wager that the kid's brothers (the mini-kids? kidettes? Sounds more like his children than his brothers) are as good in a scrap as the kid.
So here he is, coming into the village to chinwag with the other greybeards and generally gossip like fishmongers. Ranger hides his smile in his beard, secretly he's looking forward to spending time with people more his age than the youngsters or whatever the hell the kid is.
He walks into the village and asks about for a tavern or something. If there's one thing you can count on being in every village, it's a chantry, but any village worth the name will also have a tavern. Even if the tavern is the house of the one guy with a still.
That's pretty much what Cadwall Crossing has, a one room affair with a single barrel being rationed carefully among people. Most of the folks sitting around at this time are old men and women. Most of them are doing something small and mindless, but since they're even older than Ranger is, nobody expects much work from them.
Ranger grins to himself and takes a seat across from the most bored looking couple and asks a question.
"I'm doin' alrigh' sonny." The woman answers him. "Keepin' body 'n' soul together 'n' that's all I c'n ask."
"We make do wit' what we ha'." The old man agrees. "Got us a pair a young'uns who look after us. Ain't much more ta ask for."
"Glad to hear it. World's gone to such a state that ya can't always count on the youths to take care of their elders. Glad ya don't have that problem." Ranger agrees and complains in the same breath.
"Tell me 'bout it." The old man grumbles. "Back in the day young'uns were good Maker fearin' type, never talked back or were rude to their elders."
"Andraste knows tat ifn I'd spoken ta an elder way these kids do, ma'd've given me a proper hidin', she would." A man from the next table over adds.
If there's one thing Ranger knows about being old, it's that the fastest way to bond with strangers at his age is complaining about being old, the youth and gushing about your children and grandchildren. The latter's a bittersweet experience these days, but that endears him more to the other greybeards.
To be completely honest, Ranger loses himself in the conversation. It's just good to meet new people and talk just for the sake of talking. Probably would have ended up being a serious problem, if this weren't a small town. A Templar chase is big news and will likely be the most interesting event in town for several more months.
"Ya know, we had a mage come through here." A bearded man says sagely, wrinkles deepening as he grins. "Pretty young thing, neva woulda know she were a mage ta look at her."
"Ah, but Ol' Willum, saw right through 'er 'e did." An old woman says proudly.
"Shame she curseded him. Didn't stop 'im callin' the Templars." The first man adds.
"Really?" Ranger asks, widening his eyes. "Did she have a Noldo with her?"
"A Noldo?" the old woman asks.
"Yeah, a Noldo." Ranger says, embellishing with the ease of long practice. "They're an abomination, but worse. They look beautiful on the surface, like an elf the height of a tree. But deep down they're monsters, almost impossible to kill, deadly swift. They can even talk like men, make ya think they're normal."
"Oh aye." The old man who started nods. "She 'ad one a those. Pretty enough ya mighta thought 'e was a she."
"I heard the Templars kilt it." The old woman says. "That Knight-Corporal they got up in the chantry's talkin' all about it."
"Rubbish." The first old man says grimly. "My son's farm's where it happened, and 'e says that the Noldo ran off inta the night after killin' near the whole squad tha' chased 'im."
"I 'eard that 'e vanished inta the woods, and they ain't never found 'im." Another man agrees.
Ranger listens to all the options being presented to him. Each sounds like a potential lead, but not all seem equal. The Templar in the chantry is right out. Ranger's been around enough soldiers after a battle to know that pretty much everything he says will be a boast. So he's out.
Charging into the forest to search randomly definitely seems like a mistake. The odds of him stumbling on the trail out of sheer happenstance are simply too low. He'd need to start at the farm anyway and track the elf from there.
Well, what Ranger guesses he's thinking is that his only option is to head to the farm and see what he can figure out from there.
Of course, it's not quite as simple or direct as that. Firstly, a great way to make sure that everyone in town knows an outsider's nosing about the recent events is to leave as soon as he has the information. So he has to spend the next hour or so speaking with the 'elders' about their grandkids and how things were better back in their day. Which they were, but he already knew that.
The good news is that, being one of the old gossips, no one thinks it's strange that he asks lots of questions about the farm. Where is it? Is the owner taking visitors? Things like that.
It's mid-afternoon when he manages to make his way out to the farm. The owner, Peter, is more than happy to show him the battlefield. It took place in a pasture for sheep, or rather what used to be a pasture.
The battle churned the ground to mud in a surprisingly large area. The elf must have been leading the Templars around the field, trying to keep them from ganging up on him. The week or so since the fight has left the ground dried and hardened, but the dust is still faintly tinted a dark red.
The old man thanks the famer, and takes a walk around the pasture, eyes glued firmly to the ground.
A few circuits are required to get an idea of what he's working with. At first glance it looks pretty grim. The unfortunate truth about tracking people is that they rarely leave an unbroken trail, and pitched battles tend to destroy any meaningful signs.
Fortunately, this is not the first time he's tried something like this. He's tracked too many failed hunts to think he can find a perfect trail. What he can do is work with the elements that remain to piece together an overview of events.
On the far side of the pasture, there's several deep imprints in the ground, as though several heavily armoured men had vaulted the fence. After that there's enough of a trail to give a vague idea of their numbers. Six, at least, possibly more.
From there it quickly becomes clear that there isn't much that can be said with certainty. Near half the field is churned and destroyed, implying that the battle ranged far, and likely fast if the kid's any indication of how these 'Noldor' fight.
Still, some basic logic can indicate how things likely went, elf would have been backing up, probably hugging the fence to warn him of what's coming up to his rear. That means the fight would have ended close to where he entered.
There a much clearer picture emerges. The mud has a bunch of waves, large dips with sharp peaks. Kind of like a couple of people were rolling in it. Then there's the footprints in a rough circle at one end. Must be where the elf met his end.
Ranger shakes his head and sighs. Looks like the town folks were right about the elf having bit it.
He turns his head watching as the five pairs of prints head towards the village, two of them deeper like someone was leaning on them.
Hang on. Five?
The mud squelches as he pulls his foot out of it. He glares at the kid who, despite wearing armour, is standing atop the muck without sinking.
Ranger double checks, triple checks. Goes over the tracks several more times, just to make sure. There's no doubt about it, the Templars came here with at least six, and left with no more than five.
"Hey, Peter." He calls out. "What happened to the bodies? They bury the Templars properly?"
The farmer starts, but shakes his head. "Dun worry 'bout it. None a tha templars died. Tha elf got a paupers grave up at the chantry. One of tha Templars kept a watch on them tha whole way through."
Ranger makes the shortest amount of polite conversation and passes the famer a silver coin for his trouble. Then he pelts towards the village at a sprint. At first anyway, his sprint quickly becomes a jog.
"Gettin' out of shape." He grumbles to himself.
He reaches the chantry with all speed and manages to pant out a question about the injured Templars.
"Well Knight-Corporal Simon's leg had to be amputated, so he's waiting for an escort. The other one left despite our protests that he needed time to heal." The Sister who runs the small chantry sniffs. "What a rude boy he was."
"Which way did he go?" Ranger asks.
The sister shrugs. "Back to the Circle I assume, he left last night while we were asleep."
Ranger thanks the woman and pelts out the door. The elf can't have gotten very far, not on foot. If he was trying to leave, he'd need to head in the direction of the Chantry, at least for a time, just in case someone was following him. The road wasn't used often enough to have completely covered his trail.
He searches the road, following it in the direction of the Circle. At first when he doesn't find anything he thinks nothing of it. After all, there is a great deal of traffic near the gates, and it is understandable that the trail might have been confused. However, it is approaching ten minutes of walking and he has still not seen any tracks.
Realisation strikes like a thunderbolt, and Ranger strikes his forehead. "Idiot. Ya're an idiot. He's not leavin' tracks in dust if he didn't in mud."
The old man wastes more time than he will ever be comfortable admitting in self-recrimination. When his temper evens and he is able to once more turn his thoughts towards the task at hand, he stops to do so.
"Right, so what're the possibilities?" Ranger asks himself. "Maybe he didn't go this way."
If the elf thought he'd gotten away, then maybe he wouldn't have bothered. He could have just gone wherever. So the real question is if he thinks the elf believed he got away clean.
"Well, if this elf's related to the kid, maybe he thinks like him." Ranger reasons. "So, what would the kid do?"
Honestly, the kid probably would have won the fight with the Templars. Well, maybe. He doesn't really know how long the elf had been running and fighting. That might not have been the first group of Templars he'd had to fight off. So, the real question is, if the kid was in this situation, would he have assumed he got away?
Well, the kid's kind of arrogant, so yes, but the kid's also a stickler for doing things the 'right way', so no.
"I guess the question is if he's more arrogant than he is careful." Ranger muses.
In this context? Where he's been run to ground by the Templars, had to pull a switcheroo with a dead body to get a break? He thinks the kid would lean careful. Which means playing the Templar until he was sure he was safe.
"He'd have to leave in this direction." Ranger decides at last. "If he ran into someone at the gates out for a late stroll, he'd have to kill them. Too risky, also what if someone checks on the injured and he gets dobbed in."
He'd have to spend at least an hour on the road for safety. He could spend longer, but if he's as arrogant in the kid, he'll probably get impatient. An hour is the shortest span of a 'long time'.
If he's wrong, he'll almost certainly end up losing time as he'll need to check every road at least an hour along. That's two hours a road, and with the sun past its highest point, he's running short on time. Every day that passes the chances he loses the elf gets higher.
So how confident in his guess is he?
"Could really use a dog right now." Ranger sighs to himself as he jogs along the road.
He very nearly misses the sign. He'd nearly forgotten that the elf would be taller than him, and thus have longer strides. Still, when he remembers, he actually ends up overcompensating. Apparently, this elf is shorter than the kid, because he reckons Nelya-whatever-his-name-is-unpronounceable would have gone another five to ten minutes before turning off.
But there, at the edge of the road, almost too small to see is a branch that's been crushed. Crushed by a boot.
Further in, there's more of a trail. Bushes with snapped branches, threads snagged on thorns. Only one every minute or so, but deer leave even less of a trail than that.
Ranger follows the trail until he arrives at a different road, this one heading north.
"Got ya." He grins to himself, jogging along towards the nearby post station, a sign hanging outside reading 'horses for hire'.
The Mage and the Woodsman
When you return from Gladesville, you find Lilian and Brandon wandering through the hall you have nicknamed 'the hall of art'. By sheer coincidence, a large number of the largest mosaics ended up in this hall. Your personal suspicion is that originally this hall had some kind of history upon its walls, and the weight of that shaped the current form of the room.
Still, you admit it is quite a sight to see.
The humans seem to agree, given the way they are staring up at a mosaic taller than they are, mouths agape. A quick glance shows that it seems to be a scene of a huge wolf or hound snarling at seven golden figures, a woman's body on the ground with red blood flowing freely.
You wince at the sight; it is not exactly a mystery what that could be referring to. Many would be surprised that it is even present. Unfortunately, given the way you created Endataurëo, most of the art is a merging of events and tales you remember and things that were here before. Most tend towards the abstract, but those that are more concrete range from scenes of utter beauty to things such as this.
You approach the two humans and ask, "Are you enjoying your time in my halls?"
The two humans start, turning rapidly around to see who has spoken. When they realise it is you, they grow more tense not less.
"Uhh, yes. That is to say, it's quite beautiful." Brandon says.
Lilian nods, glancing back at the mosaic once more.
You smile kindly. "Would you like a tour?"
"A tour, m'lord?" Brandon asks.
"I am afraid my command of your language is not sufficient to offer synonyms. A tour is when a person guides you around a place showing you all there is to see of it." You explain calmly.
"We know what a tour is, we're just surprised you'd do it personally." Lilian interjects. "I mean, you must have better things to do."
You turn your head towards the mosaic yourself. "I am the host, and it falls to me to ensure the comfort of all my guests. Do you wish a tour?"
The two paramours share a glance before Lilian nods. "If it's not too much trouble."
"Not at all." You reassure her. "We shall begin here since you seemed so taken with the mosaics. This is the Hall of Art, named such for what I hope are obvious reasons."
Lilian nods, but points to the mosaic they were looking at. "I don't mean to interrupt, but we were wondering how you make something this big. I mean, it's taller than you are."
You nod. "So it is, in my experience there are two ways to create something like this. The first is to get an artist, or several artists, to construct it over a period of time. This can be done separately, or a scaffold can be used to build it into the wall itself, though that is a somewhat precarious process."
Brandon eyes the mosaic with a new appreciation. "So, each little stone has to be put in by hand?"
"Absolutely." You nod. "Creating a picture from dots is an artform that requires the instinct of an artist, it cannot simply be carved into a master like a wood print."
"Then what's the other way?" Lilian asks.
You share a secretive smile with the two. "You can do what I did and cheat with magic."
The two humans laugh at your jest, some of the tension draining out of them.
"Which mage made this one?" Lilian asks eagerly. "How'd they even do it?"
"I must confess, that this art was my work." You reply.
The mage's eyes widen. "I didn't know you were a mage."
"I am not." You inform her. "I am incapable of taking the energy you call mana within myself. However, being unable to do that, and being unable to manipulate it is another thing entirely."
"Really?" Lilian asks in surprise, peering closer at the artwork. "How'd you make it so permanent? I don't see any Lyrium."
"You would have to ask Merrill for a technical explanation, but in essence I used arts roughly analogous to the Templar's powers to enforce a sense of 'reality' upon the mana. This transformed it from the raw potentiality native to the Beyond into actual materials." You explain.
Lilian looks like she has more questions but Brandon speaks up. "As the only person here who doesn't understand magic at all, can I ask that we do something other than discuss the finer nuances of enchantment?"
"Certainly." You say, turning towards the next activity. "As I said, you should ask Merrill for a more detailed answer to your questions."
A brief tour of the various amenities your hall offers ensues. You begin with the obvious, the library (sadly empty), the study halls, the sparring hall, the forge[1]. Essentially everything that one might want to do to relax. Well, except for hunting, but if they cannot find the forest on their own, you doubt anything you could say could help them.
After the brief overview of those more obvious areas, you lead the pair to the hall of music. There are instruments on the wall, nothing complicated like a flute or a string instrument, but there are some basic drums and other percussion instruments.
"This of course is the hall of music." You indicate the room with a wide sweep of your arm. "You will note the lack of mosaics, this is for acoustic reasons mostly. However I hope you will agree that the overall effects are not notably impacted."
The hall is something of a misnomer. The room is semicircular and built to maximise the volume and more importantly the quality of whomever is singing at the head. Of course, there are comfortable chairs and a large fireplace cleverly grated behind a seemingly solid panel.
The two humans look around, vaguely appreciative but mostly confused.
"Why do you have an entire hall devoted to music?" Lilian asks carefully. "Is it sort of a joint purpose thing where you have all your performance things here and the names just poetic?"
"No." You reply. "There is another hall for poetry and the like."
You can visibly see the two humans biting back comments. You are even reasonably sure you know what they are. So you decide to address them, rather than letting the humans stew in their annoyance.
"I know it may seem like a waste of space to you." The two humans faces contort into expressions of guilt and contrition. "That is admittedly partially the point. Space is the only truly scare resource in my homeland, and having the room for separate halls is partially a statement of wealth."
Strangely the two look shocked at your words, were they expecting you to pretend it was not a factor? Your people are better about this sort of thing than humans, but the fact remains that most Eldar do not even have one hall for entertainment, let alone two. It is the same reason you have bright plumes on your helmet and wear a circlet with your robes. It shows who the prince is without saying anything.
"The more important reason is that if I had my way, there would someone be playing in here at all hours of the day." You continue. "Music is the highest form of expression, and even if it is merely someone quietly singing to themselves, I would have this hall filled with it eternally."
"The highest form of expression?" Brandon asks incredulously. "What on earth are you talking about?"
You have an extremely disappointed sigh. "I will never understand why the people of this land despise song so. Tell me Brandon, what is the purpose of speech?"
Brandon looks like a deer that has just discovered the existence of the sun. "Uh… To talk? It's speech, what else is it for."
How deeply you miss the intellect of the average Noldo. They would have at least had an answer.
"Is it fair to say that speech serves to communicate your thoughts to other people?" You ask to a pair of hesitant nods. "Good, then in that respect speech is inferior to song. A speech can tell someone how you feel but a song makes them feel it. It does so much more than mere words, music transports the listen to the same place as the singer and for a single moment true understanding is achieved!"
"I guess it can…" Lilian says carefully. "But isn't that subjective? Like a good speech can make people feel things too, and a song might not land with some people."
You stare at Lilian for a long moment as understanding at last dawns. The answer to why Thedas does not love song as Arda does.
All of their singers are terrible.
"I could spend the next hour explaining with words why I am correct." You state calmly. "However, I shall instead sing a single song and you shall understand."
There are a number of extremely moving songs you could sing, but you choose none of them. In order to make your point, this song must come from your heart.
So you sing of silver glass and white shores. The city of Tirion gleaming in the sunlight. The brush of green grass against your legs. You sing of rest, of an end to war and to the knowledge that at long last no lives rest on your shoulders.
The song swells with your longing for Eldamar. It tells of your mother, waiting still for her sons' return. It carries with it your shaky hope that maybe, just maybe, if you do well enough in this new land one day, one day you might go home.
When the song ends, the two humans are openly weeping. It takes some time for them to calm enough to speak.
Naturally the first thing they ask, in unison is, "Can you do that with a love song?"
You cannot prevent the reflexive wince at the question. The reaction causes the human to shift towards more defensive body language. If you are to retain the positive atmosphere you have been building, you will need to explain yourself.
"Forgive me, it is certainly possible to create love songs that are as moving as what I just sung." You inform the pair. "However, take it from one with far too much experience of the matter that doing so is not quite so, improvisational as what I just showed you."
Lilian's expression turns from caution to concern. "Was there someone you loved, m'lord?"
"You may refer to me by my name in private. It is likely to be easier than using my title" You reply absently. "As for love, not as such. Though I have dear friends and a large family, I never found the time to pursue something more romantic."
"But didn't you say you have lots of experience in this m', lord Russandol?" Brandon says hesitantly.
"I have a great deal of experience with love songs." You stress the last word. "Due to my brother mostly."
"Your brother?" Lilian asks cautiously.
"I suppose I should tell you the story properly." You take a seat and gesture for them to do the same. "My brother, Kanafinwë Macalaurë, better known as Maglor, was one of the greatest bards of our people."
"In your completely unbiased opinion." Lilian says with a forced kind of steadiness.
You shrug. "I acknowledge his technical achievements, but it was not I who bestowed the title upon him. That is neither here nor there, what is relevant is that he is famously loud voiced. It is what the name Kanafinwë means, the loud voiced Finwë. Further, unlike myself he very much had time for romance."
You raise your eyes to the ceiling and sigh. "I know no fewer than one hundred different iterations of the first song he sung his lady love. This would not be the last song he wrote for her."
The two humans are snickering nervously, so you smile indulgently and continue. "After what must have been centuries, the lady finally accepted his suit. Finally, I was greeted by merciful silence."
You allow a moment for the two to gather themselves, then deliver the punchline as despairingly as possible. "Then another of my brothers, Kurvofinwë Atarinkë came home, eyes shining, talking of the 'most beautiful elf maid in all Eldamar'."
The two humans dissolve into proper gales of laughter as you sink your head into your hands. Admittedly, you were rather fond of both your brother's wives, they were extremely different yet at the same time, both pleasant people. Still, to this day you cannot hear either brother's singing without feeling an instinctive panic.
At least Moryo had the guts to sing a love song entirely off the cuff. It might have gotten him slapped, but they worked it out in the end. Besides it had been funny.
"I fear I have spoken far too much these past hours. Tell me of yourselves, I know what brought you to me, but nothing much of your lives prior." You gesture to the humans.
Caught up in the atmosphere at last, there is no hesitance when Brandon speaks. "I don't think my life'll be very interesting to you, lord Russandol. I'm just a hunter, taught by my da 'fore he passed."
"Oh?" You ask. "What are your typical prey?"
The human looks a bit off put, but he pushes on. "Rabbits in snares generally, birds if I can get 'em, but they're a bit finicky."
You nod. "Birds can be quite hard to hit on the wing. Turko used to use a lure to draw them down in order to have someone hit them. I think Kurvo proposed some kind of adhesive trap, but I am not an expert in such matters."
"You're a hunter m'lord?" Brandon asks.
"Russandol." You remind him. "And yes, though Turko, another of my brothers, was the expert on the matter."
You allow the man to draw you into a conversation about hunting for a time. He is excited to hear that Ranger is an expert he can spend some time with, though he has not yet returned from his search for the elf.
You hope that is good news.
Lilian proves more reticent in her description of life in the Circle, not helped by the lack of common ground between you and her. You do manage to drag out a confession that all mages of the Circle undergo mandatory combat training. Something about Ferelden making it a condition of their presence that they can call mages to war.
All in all, you have a rather successful few hours speaking to the pair. By the end of it, you have a much better idea what they are capable of and they have finally stopped calling you m'lord.
Thank Yavanna, your urge to correct their pronunciation was growing out of hand.
[1] In order those are Nelyo's, Kano's, Moryo's and Kurvo's hobby areas. Nelyo enjoys reading, Kano likes to learn random skills, Moryo likes wrestling or any form of contact sport, and Kurvo is a workaholic. Turko obviously spends his free time in the wild and the Twins prank people. For obvious reasons, Nelyo is not introducing the 'prank room' to his guests. Though he has one he studiously pretends not to know about