When you are returning from your time among the Dalish people, you decide to stop at Gladesville to enact one of your plans. The rain has still not let up, and the people of Gladesville have buried themselves in their hoods if they cannot avoid going outside. You yourself draw your sodden cloak around you, thankful that no matter how unpleasant it may become to wear, it will still keep you warm. You also wish you had a hood, as your wet hair strikes your face for the third time in as many minutes. You slide from Orundómë's back, and he wanders to beneath a tree to graze out of the rain. You are led to another canvass stretched over a set of poles. A larger version of the tents you taught them to make currently being used as a town hall.

You walk into a heated argument about what should be done this week. You suspect that the rain has caused no small number of shortened tempers. There is no reason for this discussion to be so loud, or so filled with insults. Graham has put forward a proposal to expand the farms. The building brothers countered that there are a number of things that need to be built and soon. Still more people are concerned by what they are calling a 'trade deficit' and demanding that the village produce higher value goods. You yourself had initially been hopeful of moving towards leatherworking, but as you listen and start to do some maths in your head you realise there is a problem with that plan.

There are currently not enough tanners to make the leather that is the town's primary method of making money. They cannot get more tanners because they are already struggling to feed the people who live here already. There is room on the farms for a few more workers, which would bring them up to making nearly enough food for the current residents. The extra buildings would be nice, more houses for the new people for example, but starving to death seems a little bit more pressing. The builders are already planning on building a new house every week, so that does not need your personal supervision. The food situation gets your vote.

You would like to say that your vote ends all discussion on the matter, but you have to waste time listening to people telling you things you already know to try and change your mind. You may have made an ideological stance that these people should choose their own fate, but you hate the way they do it. Regardless, you convince the doubters with your words and they begin to make plans about how they are going to resolve the developing food crisis. You do some careful maths and come to the realisation that one more field would enable them to support five more people in addition to what they already have, but that would require seven more people. Going further you realise that the hunters are not pulling their full weight for survival. They are not particularly skilled and that shows in their results.

You raise your voice to cut through the noise of the arguments that fill the 'hall'. You inform them of your conclusions and present three options to them. You tell them that the hunters could be reassigned to farming, which is a more reliable food source. The other option is to expand the farms and hire new hands. If they are willing, they could also embrace the need to buy food and expand herb production. Once you have finished speaking, they immediately descend into an argument again.

You cannot believe these people. You have presented them options to break a deadlock and end an argument, only for another to develop immediately. The hunters are in favour of expanding the herb production, perhaps because of the risk of injury. The farmers are in favour of moving hunters into farming. Ovid suggests simply expanding the farms, but he is quickly shouted down. This leads to the various factions starting to hurl insults at each other. Which in turn leads to a steady rise in the volume of this meeting. None of the neutral parties speak up or try to quell the growing argument. You feel a headache developing as the noise presses on your sensitive ears.

"ENOUGH!" You roar, your voice cutting through the noise inside and the sound of rain on the 'roof'.
The village meeting falls silent. You turn your eyes to each of them in turn.
"I cannot believe what I am witnessing." You say, "I came here and found an argument about how to proceed with the town's growth. I broke that tie to end the argument, and you immediately begin another argument. I cannot believe that I considered you ready to run your own town for even a second."
The villagers fidget and squirm beneath your gaze, but none dare speak up just yet.
Since there seems to be no objection you continue.

You sweep your eyes along the lines of the hunters. "Is your pride so fragile that you cannot accept the reality before you? You are not producing enough food to feed yourselves and depend on the others. You need perhaps five of you to maintain the current amount of leather production and all others could be spared for other tasks. Is that you move to jobs that help everyone such a harsh demand?"

Now you turn to the other group, the farmers. "Is this the best way to convince someone to aid you? Is screaming and throwing insults going to make your fellow villagers, your neighbours, more likely to help you? You need more help, this is just a fact, and yet you are treating your fellows who do produce food as though they were useless drains on the village's resources. Is respect too much to ask of you?"

You turn to address the whole village. "What you have all missed is that there is a very obvious compromise between these two options. If some hunters move to work on the herb farm, then there will be more than enough herbs to trade with the local Dalish for meat, or you could sell them in town and buy my fruits and vegetables. None of you saw this, or if you did you did not speak up to end this argument. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Am I your father? Are you children? I should not need to be putting an end to these squabbles. If you cannot be polite and argue without shouts or insults, then you should stop deciding things by vote."

You take a long searching look at the various members of Gladesville. Many of them look ashamed, their heads hanging and shoulders slumped. Some look chastised but do not seem to be taking it as hard. You do not see anyone looking defiant or stubborn. It seems your words have landed perfectly.
"Now we are going to discuss the nature of this compromise without any shouts or arguments. If there is another argument, I will simply leave you all here until next week." You tell them.
The discussion that comes about is quiet and subdued. They discuss three options before coming to an agreement.

This time the option that is selected is unanimous. As you had suggested the number of hunters will be reduced to the bare minimum. Those who had been hunters are moved to farming. They will fill up the third farm to maximum capacity and the last three hunters will start farming herbs. This will ensure they have more than enough money to buy food. Doing some careful maths reveals that they are also going to be able to hire some builders to help with the construction of new houses. The builder brothers say that they need most of the profits for building materials or a much smaller amount for labour to help them build. Given that many people still need houses it is agreed that they will be allowed to purchase the materials and hire the help with the profits.

You take some time to wander around the 'hall' talking to people. Arguments like this do not simply spring up overnight, and you would like to put an end to factionalism if you can. You speak to the old arrivals and the new. You listen to their concerns and address their worries.

The former bandits feel pressure to live up to the ideals you had discussed with them but feel themselves becoming less relevant as numbers grow. You quietly speak to them of what they might do, and you ease their worries. You remind them that this town is more than just them, and that they are hardly the sloe pillar of its existence.

The new arrivals are finding the difference to what they are used to jarring. They are farmers, mostly, and the change to hunting disturbs them. They are also concerned by its lack of reliability. You reassure them that you will always aid them if it is needed, and you tell them that Ranger will make hunting far more reliable. You gently chastise them for hypocrisy, after all farms do sometimes fail. If farms were infallible, why are they here?

When you feel you have said all that needs to be said you head back out into the rain with a sigh. You still need to find some guards for Endataurëo. Over the sound of the rain, you do not hear the conversation that breaks out behind you as you leave.

Once you have finished the business of Gladesville, you have ride into the villages to search for more people to staff Endataurëo. The most pressing need you have is for more guards. The warriors of Lanaya's clan will be leaving after next week, and you do not care to be guarded by those you cannot trust anyway. This means you are going to need to pick up some warriors to defend those who cannot defend themselves. You were fine with having a few Dalish guards when it was you and Merrill and two others, you could easily defend two people and Merrill could defend herself. You are not yet so arrogant as to believe you could defend nearly twenty people with two though.

If you are going to have guards, they are going to need to be proper warriors. The Dalish may be fine with using hunters, but you are far too experienced in war to trust to that system. The ability to use a weapon is only a small part of the warrior's skillset. You are not going to play games with the safety of those who dwell in your lands, especially with the many dangers of the forest.

Your pool of possible manpower is quite low. The Dalish have proven themselves to not be an option for the foreseeable future and Gladesville has no one willing or able to be a warrior at the present time. This means that you will once more be attempting to recruit from the local villages. You are fortunate that there are so many people looking for work or else you would have significant problems at this point.

You ride into the village of Lannerch on Orundómë's back. The usual whispers and poorly hidden gestures are replaced with people running to fetch others. It seems that you are becoming knowns as a person who hires many hands in these lands. The hushed whispers that your keen ears pick up indicate that many people think you are some kind of newly appointed lord or royal officer. You have no idea why they think that. You only recruit for several different locales, are in charge of a trade network, ride an expensive looking horse, bear expensive arms and armour and wear personal heraldry wherever you go.

By the time you have reached the village square, a number of young men and women have assembled. There are even a few guards standing about to keep order. You do not dismount, staying on horseback will allow everyone to see you. You inform the gathered crowd that you are here to recruit those willing to serve as men at arms. Many of those who had assembled leave at the declaration but quite a few remain. You are surprised to see that more than a few of them are women.

This makes you hesitate; women are not forbidden to fight among the Noldor, but it is considered unwise for them to be professional warriors. Your hesitancy is broken by a memory from soon after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears.
"Will tradition keep them as safe from Morgoth? Will it help us refill our numbers? No. We do not have walls to hide behind anymore. All who can wield a weapon must serve if we wish to survive." Kurvo had scolded you at great volume.
You had agreed then, and you have no choice but to agree now.

You are quite surprised by the turnout in this weather. You straighten up and project your voice over the sound of the rain.
"Anyone who is willing to be trained as a warrior please form an orderly line starting on the left side of my horse. I will speak to you all individually about the conditions and training offered." You swing yourself of Orundómë's back onto the left side as you speak.

The line forms with a minimum of shoving and jostling. You see a number of people leave and return with cloaks or hoods. More than a few of them are shivering but still they remain. You wait for a few minutes, as the person who has managed to get to the front of the line grows impatient, ensuring that there are no problems you need to address. When the line settles down you turn to the start of the line and begin to lay out what it is you are offering and answering their questions.

There are quite a few people who turn away from your offer, either because of 'low' pay or because they thought you were putting together a mercenary force rather than what will be closer to a noble's retinue. You also deftly turn aside more than a few people who have great claims of prowess and little to back it up. You have to prove your skill to these pretenders only once.
"When you were soiling yourself as a baby I was fighting with my left hand because my right could not be used. I know when I see a skilled warrior and you are not one." You had hissed at the youth who had the audacity to claim he was not only your better, but that you were so unskilled you could not see the gap in talent.
You have no further problems with people claiming to be more skilled than they are after that.

Eventually you manage to assemble a team of fifteen people who are both physically fit and honest. Despite your misgivings four of them end up being women. You have high hopes for the group, they seem to have significant potential as soldiers. Their first task is to march to Endataurëo in formation.

The events of the return journey are perhaps better described as a farce than anything else. You have to stop to help people untangle themselves or correct marching technique. By the end of the journey your new guards are tired, muddy and bound to each other as only shared suffering can manage. They are even in something that looks vaguely like a formation.

You cannot equip your soldiers just yet. It would cost thirty silvers per person to equip them as the cheapest option and that is more money than you have on hand right now. You can however begin to train them. You could manage to buy bows if you need to train them as archers, a few horses to learn riding if you want them to be cavalry and everything else can be simulated with sticks. Your choice of hires is proved correct when they complain loudly about training in the rain but go without any need for further prompting.

You gather your recruits in the courtyard at the centre of your complex, quietly kicking yourself for not including a training yard. You inform them that they will be learning how to ride. You have had to borrow Da'banal'ras from Merrill, as Orundómë refuses to be ridden unless it is with you. You idly wish you had more horses, but you will make do with what you have. Those who are not learning to ride are set to practice weapon drills from wooden horses or practice with some hunting bows that Ranger had lying around.

You have said it before and you will say it again, you are the greatest teacher ever to live. Those you are teaching to ride take to the skill like a duck to water, by the end of your first day each of them can ride Da'banal'ras around the courtyard entirely unsupervised. This lets you turn your attention to the weapon drills, you leave the archers largely unsupervised as it is far easier to tell when you have made a mistake with a bow than in a drill. You help your fledgling guard practice their spear and blade work. It is slow going but eventually they are more likely to hurt the enemy than themselves and you consider that a victory.

Your lack of supervision of the archers comes to your benefit in a surprising way. A few of the younger men and one of the women have gotten into some kind of argument. They decided to settle this argument by shooting at the target while galloping Da'banal'ras at full speed. To your amazement they prove quite skilled at this, and the practice quickly catches on. By the end of the week, you have a group that can only be described as people of the horse lords. Rochirrim, in Sindarin.

You do not neglect the practices that will bind the unit into a cohesive whole. You train with them, assign them rooms as a group and generally ensure that they are relying on each other as much as possible. You also make sure that you prove that you can do everything that they can do. This culminates in a round robin tournament where they are allowed to challenge you to a duel with wooden sticks. When they realise that the rules allow them to gang up on you all together, you are immensely proud of them. When you soundly defeat them all anyway, they are suitably humbled. All told you believe you have a trustworthy group of guards now.

During training you spot one woman who the others seem to defer to. She is the one who gives orders and the one who makes the plans. She is not the most skilled of the warriors, but she has the natural charisma and tactical skill an officer would need. You could leave this for later, but you think that training an officer along with their men is generally good for morale.

You walk up to her after the tournament ends. "I noticed that you came up with the plan of attack. It was a good plan, I hope your defeat has not disheartened you…"
"Anneth, uh Milord. I'm Anneth." She says, trying to straighten up despite her bruises. "I'll do better next time milord."
"I am not, legally, a lord. It would be best to call me something else. Sir, if you wish to be respectful. Tell me Anneth, can you read?" You tell her.
"A little mil… sir. I know my numbers." She replies.
"Well, we will need to fix that. I have decided that given your little showing you deserve an officer's position." You tell her, almost conversationally.
"Mil… sir. I couldn't possibly." She begins.
"Spare me the false humility please." You wave her protests away before they truly begin. "I believe you have the talent for it and it comes with a pay increase. Yes or no."
Anneth straightens up. "Yes sir."

Your week has been extremely busy, you have been riding for the vast majority of it. Your legs and back ache, and you want nothing more than to rest for the entirety of today. You are therefore less than pleased when one of your new guards comes in.
"Ah sir, there's a group of people coming down the road." The woman says. "You should probably come and have a look at this."
You give her a flat look. "Do you truly believe that they are not merchants, nor anyone else with a good reason to be here? Do I really need to see this group?"
The woman gulps a few times but nods her head shakily. With a sigh you tell her you will come.

You look at the approaching group and realise why exactly you had been called. The majority of the people approaching wear gambeson or some kind of leather 'armour' and hoods. They carry daggers, packs and some kind of very small bow on a stick.
"That's a crossbow sir. They're kind of like normal bows but more mechanical, easier to use." The guard next to you says.
"Thank you. You were right, I did want to see these people." You tell her.
She visibly relaxes. "Right, do you know them sir?"
You shake your head. "No, but I have never known armed men in hoods to be a good sign. Rouse the others and stand ready."
The woman nods and runs off.

Your guard assembles, and Merrill and Xandar join you on the wall. Merrill has her staff and Xandar is carrying a pile of bandages. As the group approaches it become clear that they are dwarves, one and all. You also catch sight of a few people in regular clothes rather than armour. The clothes are very plain and neither they nor the warriors carry any noticeable sigil. When they have approached close enough to be heard you call to them.
"Halt! Come no further! Identify yourselves and say why you come to us so heavily armed!" Your ability to project your voice so far clearly surprises Xandar and your guards.

One of the unarmoured dwarves elbows her way through the throng of now disturbed warriors. When she reaches the front of the group, she sweeps her hood from her head and give a flamboyant bow.
"My good sir! I am Ursular! I come to trade rare goods from Dwarven lands! We come armed so, due to the danger of the Deep Roads! Please let us enter that we may trade!" The dwarf woman, who lacks a beard, says.
"What have you brought!" You reply, you have no intention of letting a hostile force lie their way into your stronghold. "Show me!"

Ursular becomes noticeably uncomfortable and yells back, "Ah, this and that! Things that you can only get from Dwarven lands!"
You are becoming less and less convinced the more she talks. "Name them and provide proof or begone!"
Ursular wipes sweat from her brow and looks around nervously. "May I approach alone! I do not wish to yell my cargo out for the whole forest to hear!"
You graciously allow her to do so.
"Thank you, noble sir." She says when she is at the foot of the wall. "I bear enchanted items and a small amount of Lyrium. I heard that you might be in the market for such things."
Merrill gasps and then stands on tiptoes to whisper in your ear. "Lyrium is a strictly regulated good. Both in the Dwarven lands and in Ferelden, these people are probably smugglers."
You nod to let her know you have heard her.

"Open the gates." You tell the officer you appointed yesterday. "Enter! Know that I will meet friendship with friendship and treachery with death!"
"Mighty kind of you, your lordship." Ursular says with a smirk.
The caravan of dwarves files through the gates. You are somewhat amused to note that the guards of the caravan are equal in number to your own, though far better equipped for now. The dwarves take off their packs and remove a number of stones with various degrees of ethereal blue light. Your ears pick up a gentle soothing song, one that reminds you of home, emanating from the stones. There are also a number of those blue potions you have seen Merrill drink on occasion.

"These here are not something you are going to find anywhere else, your lordship. Finest lyrium, raw form or potion according to your lordship's preference. Runes and a number of dwarven hunting goods. All at affordable prices." Ursular says to you, bowing.
"I am not legally a lord, and there is no need for bowing." You say, examining one of the strange 'crossbows' being sold.
"Of course not your gracefulness." Ursular says obsequiously, "I'm just trying to show my respect for your esteemed personage."
"Does this kind of obnoxious flattery work on people?" You ask, genuinely curious.
"It rarely hurts o most perceptive one." The cunning smile is rather off-putting now that you look at it properly.

You turn back to the goods on offer. Merrill is examining the potions and stones carefully.
You walk over to her and, leaning down, whisper as quietly as you can, "What is all this and why do I want it?"
Merrill turns to you. "Did you say something?"
You cough awkwardly and repeat your words at a volume mortals can hear.
"Oh, it's Lyrium, it can be used to make magic more powerful or make something into a magic item." She gestures at a number of ordinary stones with blue lines traced into them. "Those runes can be added to weapons or armour to grant some kind of magical effect. The only trouble is that I don't know how to do it. Only dwarves and the Tranquil know how to do that."
Merrill returns to examining the vial in her hands.

You look at her for a few more moments, then when she does not get the hint you sigh and ask, "What is a tranquil?"
Merrill starts a little nearly dropping the vial.
"Oi, you break it you buy it." Ursular calls from where she is waiting for you.
"Sorry! Sorry!" Merrill says. "Uhhh. Tranquil are a bit of a thing, I can tell you later. We don't have any, obviously."
"I will allow it for now." You return to Ursualr. "I suppose this is the part where we haggle?"
"'Fraid not cloudscraper." Ursular says, hooking her thumbs in her belt. "Deep roads ain't safe and this trip was expensive, I ain't going lower on price even if me own grandmother were to beg me on her knees."
"Very well." You reply.

You are considering the interesting traps that are also available when one of the guards speaks up.
"Saw you had an orchard. You got any booze or preserve?" He says in a gruff voice.
"We have some dried fruits yes. Why do you ask?" You reply.
"I'll buy 'em. 4 silver each." He says.
"I will consider it." You say, making your decision on what you will buy.

After much deliberation you purchase a number of crossbows. Though more expensive than hunting bows they are more powerful and likely will serve in place of war bows in a pinch. You hand the requisite silver over to the merchant who seems disappointed.
"You don't want any of the Lyrium? It's rare stuff hard to get." Ursualr says.
"I am afraid that I simply do not have enough wealth to afford what is, in truth, a luxury." You reply.
"Oh that's quite alright milord." She says to you.
You would think it ends there but as she walks away you hear, too quiet for a human to hear, her whisper to herself. "Damn, nowhere near as much as I was hoping. I guess that's what you get for taking a risk. I guess we should chalk this up to a failed idea."

You are too busy helping the other dwarf fetch your preserved food to think too hard on those words. It is only later when you are seeing the Dwarves off at your gates that you remember them.
"Farewell milord. It was a pleasure doing business with you." Ursular lies.
"I am always happy to trade with the honest. When can I expect a return?" You tell her, truthfully.
"Oh I'm afraid we probably won't be back. Deep roads are too dangerous milord." She replies.
For how little profit she made is what she does not say. You see Merrill grimacing and you have an idea.

"Actually, before you go, something occurs to me." You say, "While I may not need Lyrium right now, I think the Dalish probably do."
Merrill perks up. "Oh yes. It is very hard to get a hold of it, the Chantry controls the supply and they're not the biggest fans of us."
"Thank you Merrill." You turn back the Ursular. "They only trade in kind, but they produce a lot of animal hides. Something I suspect that would be hard to get underground."
Ursular licks her lips and looks around. "Well, that sounds like a good market, but finding the Dalish isn't exactly easy, and that's assuming they speak to you."
You grin widely and gesture at your home. "It is fortunate then that you are at the central trading hub of the Irregular Pentagon of Trade! Dalish merchant come here every week."

Merrill giggles at the name while Ursular rolls her eyes because she has no taste. You can tell she is interested by the calculating gleam in her eyes so you continue.
"If you were to hang around for an hour or two you could likely meet them. Maybe come back another time and make it a hexagon?"
There is a moment of calculation ten Ursular extends her hand. "All right Cloudscraper, I'm in. I'll hang around and if you're as good as your word then I'll be back next month with more."
You take her hand in yours. "I assure you cassar, my word is more reliable than good steel."