You find yourself once again planning on expanding your growing industry. Hardly surprising, given the expense of maintaining armour and weapons. You are keenly aware that the weapons your warriors wield will need maintenance sooner or later. Unless you can pick up a reliable source of metal, and a blacksmith to use it, you are going to be paying through the nose for those repairs eventually. You have Wesley once again measuring out space across from your most recent orchard.
"Shouldn't we just make it the same size as the other side, so we can get the double effects again?" He asks.

"You are assuming that the optical illusion caused by the walls is the same on this side. Which we do not know for certain. This time, pay attention to your measuring, not to thoughts of your sweetheart." You reprimand him.
Wesley's eyes begin to slip out of focus and his face takes on a dreamy expression.
"Stop!" You bark, startling him out of his daydream. "What did I just say."
"Sorry boss." The man says, rubbing his hands through his sandy hair. "It's just hard not to. You know because…"
"Yes, you have told me. In detail. Repeatedly." You interrupt. "I swear, if you were not as skilled as you are…"
"You'd most likely kill me in the morning?" He prompts with a grin.

"No! I would probably dismiss it or punish you for not paying attention to your work." You say in a horrified tone. "Why is that the first thing you thought of?"
"Sorry, boss." Wesley laughs. "It's something my teacher used to say to me, it's just a joke."
You let out a relieved breath out. You do not think you have given off the impression you would kill someone for a slight mistake, but who truly understands how humans think.
"As long as you continue to complete work to a satisfactory standard then we will have no problems." You reassure the farmer.

The blonde man lets out a chuckle. "That's what I like about you boss. You're always so understanding."
As he turns back to his work you reply. "It is less that I understand and more that you are hardly the worst lovesick fool I have had to endure."
"Oh? Sounds like there's a story there, boss. Care to share?" Wesley requests, amusement still tinging his words.
"If it will keep your focus on your work and not your beloved." You acquiesce. "What you must understand about this tale, is that my brother was a great bard with a very loud voice…"

As you relay the tale of the hellish years in which Kano had wooed the elf maid who would one day be his wife, Wesley focuses on measuring out your new orchard.
"…I can still recall every single word of that infernal song. If you asked me to sing it, I probably could." You finish the tale as Wesley finishes his work.
Straightening up the man replies, "Well now that you mention it, I wouldn't mind having a love song written by a great bard to sing for my sun, the light of my heart, greatest person who ever lived and…"
"Out of the question." You cut him off before he can hit his stride. "Aside from the fact that the song is both very personal to the lady in question and in another language, teaching it to someone would go against my personal goal to go the rest of my life without hearing it again."

Wesley dusts his hands off, shrugging. "Righto, boss. This is all measured out. Didn't daydream even once. Anyone ever tell you you're a hell of a storyteller?"
"It is very much a part of my people's culture to tell stories." You inform him. "A leader who cannot, would be considered ill prepared if not outright unsuitable for his position."
"Huh." Wesley looks contemplative for a moment then turns back to the future field. "You want my help getting this ready for planting?"
"I see no reason to refuse it." You reply. "Come, we will begin with an examination of what we must do. 'Cut once, measure twice' as your people say."

The two of you investigate the area you intend to plant at some length. As the inspection progresses Wesley grows ever more concerned as he looks over the plants currently growing in this area. When you grasp one and pull it out without any notable effort his frown deepens. He stoops down and picks up a handful of soil, sifting through it. Your eyes are drawn to the streaks of grey and yellow in the brown earth. You grimace as you realise what is concerning your most skilled farmer.
"Sand." He says, clenching his fist and opening it to see the pile crumbling. "This soil is probably around fifty percent sand. It's garbage for most things and it'll be terrible for anything we grow here."

You bite back a savage curse. "This will put us behind schedule."
You get a disbelieving look from the farmer. "Behind schedule? We're going to have to walk all around the base finding how far it goes. We may only have half as much harable land as we thought."
"It is arable land." You correct. "Why would we lose it? Sandy soil requires some care to grow things as well as regular soil, but it is perfectly doable."
Wesley takes several moments to stare at you in confusion. "Look, I thought you were crazy when you talked about some plants making the soil better. It worked out so I'll admit you know your stuff. That's not going to help this time, we can't plant anything here."
"Of course not." You agree. "But there is no reason we cannot place manure and kitchen scraps in the ground to have the same effect."

The mortal famer stares at you for several moment.
"Alright fine, but I don't see why we can't just move to another field entirely." he grumbles.
You think it should be obvious, but you sigh and begin to explain. "Wesley, how much time do you have until you need to be back in the fields?"
He glances up at the sun and grimaces. "Not long, we'll have to do it tomorrow."
"During which time we will need to examine the soil to find the extent of the sand." You attempt to prompt the man.
"Yeah, what's your point?" Wesley does not get the hint.
"We are not going to have enough time this week." You tell him outright. "We will be clearing the field in the time I have scheduled to recruit the farmers. We would lose this whole week's work."
Understanding blooms in Wesley's eyes. "Ah, yeah. Good point. Perhaps we can find something that grows in this soil?"

It is tempting to try to find something that will grow in sandy soil, you think you have heard of a root vegetable that does so, but you decide against it. Given Wesley's reaction to it, you suspect that the only people who would be able to attest to something growing in sandy soil would be those who live somewhere using such land for farming is unavoidable. As far as you can tell the lands near you have largely grown wheat. As a result, you suspect you would have to travel far indeed find those who farm on sandy soil. This leaves the obvious decision to improve the soil quality as the only viable option, as you do not want to spend another week getting this orchard ready.

Creating a mixture of items that will enable the soil to sustain what you want to plant is easy. Creating the right mixture is far less so.
"Remember this will need to be repeated frequently. It provides what sand lacks but will be consumed in doing so." You stress to Wesley.
The human nods, watching as Orundómë leads his herd to 'contribute' to the mix of wood shavings, fire ash and kitchen scraps. "I've heard of people using cows and pigs to make their fields better, but never for this particular problem."
"There are things that sandy soil lacks that do not come from animal leavings. That is what the wood and ash add. Some kitchen scraps also contain them." You explain.

The farmer seems interested as his workers begin to mix the foul smelling products together. "What is it do you think? Is it magic?"
You shrug, someone had asked Yavana once. Nobody had understood the answer. There were several words she used that had no match in either Quenya or Sindarin. Even the ones that were understandable were less than helpful.
"I know not why it works, merely that it does. It is no more magic than anything done with great skill. Certainly not magic as you understand it." You answer the mortal.
He gives you a sceptical glance. "As I understand it? Isn't magic magic?"
"If you want an explanation, it would be best to ask Merrill." You tell him.

Wesley grimaces. "Isn't that a bit much, can't you just tell me?"
"I could but there is a benefit to making people ask Merrill that I feel outweighs my desire to explain the entire world to everyone I meet." You inform him.
He waits for several moments, then prompts you. "And that is?"
You smirk in his direction. "It tells me who really wants to know the answer and who is merely asking out of idle curiosity."
Wesley grunts. "Seems a bit unfair to me."
You shrug once more. "It is neither a simple topic, nor one that is easy to address. The discussion of it has caused several people to question everything they know about the world."

When you and Wesley leave to attend to your other duties during the day you notice a glimmer of determination in his eyes. Later in the week Merrill will approach you.
"Um, so Wesley came and asked me about 'types of magic'." She begins nervously.
"Oh? He actually went to speak to you. I am surprised, and somewhat impressed." You reply.
Merrill glares at you. "You could have warned me. Anyway, I explained it to him."
"My apologies, I confess I did not believe he would do so. How did he take it?" You ask.
"Well, I didn't mention the coming from another world bit, but he mostly just seemed confused." Merrill replies.
"Well, I suppose not everyone can understand the nuances of magic." You observe.

You have finished you work on expanding the fields and the day has come to an end. You and your staff have all gathered in the dining hall for dinner. You continue to be impressed by the things that your housekeepers manage with fruit and what meat you trade for with the Dalish. There are all sorts of interesting combinations they come up with. You are quite enjoying the way tonight's meal pairs with the wine you have been keeping back from the last few trades. You are idly considering whether or not you should see if you can find a bard somewhere while talking to Ranger about his plans for dealing with the endless troubles that having so many hunters in a small area brings.

You are pulled from your thoughts as one of your staff stands up, red faced and swaying slightly. You recognise it as one of your warriors.
"Hey, sir! I've got a question." He yells out across the table.
You fix him with a reproving gaze. "I am always willing to answer questions, I must ask that you comport yourself with more decorum though."
Something about your words causes the table to fall silent.
The warrior ducks his head. "Right, yeah, sorry sir. So, what I want to know is, why don't you worship the Maker?"
"Why does anyone not worship a god? In general, my people do not pray or worship. I act in the manner in which I was raised." You explain.

"Yeah, but like, you talked to those Eynor and they told you the Maker was real. So, why not worship him?" The warrior presses.
"The Ainur," You stress the correct pronunciation, "Revealed the existence of an omnipotent, presumably omniscient, creator. This may very well be the Maker, but not necessarily."
"Ok, fine. I don't really want to get into the argument about whether or not it's the Maker. Even though it obviously is." That is not how you would go about avoiding an argument. "But you don't worship that Eru guy either. So, what's up with that?"
"As far as I am aware, Eru has never demanded worship. He expects his children to act in a moral manner, but beyond that their lives are their own." It actually may be more complicated than that, but those are questions for the Ainur. You have never cared one way or another.

The hall has erupted into murmurs. Those who heard your story understand what is going on, but the others do not.
"What's he talkin' about, kid?" Ranger asks. "I get that ya don't worship the Maker, but who's Eroo."
"Eru." You correct once more. "I relayed to a group of those interested the tale of the creation of the world as I learned it. Eru is the name we give to the being whose power was behind creation."
"Not the one who created it?" Ranger asks.
"If you wanted to know the full story, you should have come to the discussion." You do not want, nor do you have the time, to relay the Ainulindalë a second time.

"Actually, on that topic, I never got to ask my questions last time." Merrill brings up.
"I too have many questions!" Xandar has raised his hand up in the air.
"I have another question." The warrior who started the whole affair slurs.
"Enough!" Your voice cuts through the steadily growing chaos. "If you have a question, raise your hand and I will choose who I will address. For those of you who are confused, Ainur are incredibly powerful beings who helped create the world and Eru is the one who created them. Ask the others for the details after I have finished addressing their questions."
You survey the forest of hands that have raised and choose one.

You consider choosing various members of your staff. You do not, because you had spoken to them last time. Merrill and Xandar have both been waiting weeks to ask you questions on the matter, and you should give them a turn. You rule Merill out, you will be speaking to her tomorrow and if it is a problem she can ask you then. You point at your other student and Xandar stands up to speak.
"Thank you teacher!" He yells enthusiastically. "I have so many questions!"
"I know, that is why I picked you." You tell him. "Please keep your volume at a conversational level."

"Yes teacher." He says at a more normal volume. "I want to know, is Eru the Maker?"
You thought you had already addressed this question, so you try to be a clear as possible. "I do not know enough about the Maker to say for certain. It is certainly possible, to the best of my knowledge he has never given himself a name, so the changed name means nothing. It is also possible that he is a very powerful member of the Ainur. The humans of my home often mistook the Valar for gods."
"The Valar?" Xandar asks.
"The highest rank of the Ainur, the most powerful and the ones that wield authority among their peers." You clarify.

Xandar moves on to his next question. "While we're on that topic, what happened to Morgoth? Is he still around?"
That is a thorny question, you do not want to panic them with the slight possibility that he might follow you here. "Morgoth was imprisoned by the Valar, he should not be a problem for anyone here."
Merrill suddenly speaks out. "Wait a minute! You said that you fought a war against Morgoth! And for that matter you thought he'd found you in the Beyond before!"
"Merrill. Do not talk out of turn." You reprimand the elf, you cannot have the session descend into chaos.
While Merrill is glowering at you, Xandar repeats her accusations as questions. "Did you fight a war against Morgoth? Do you think he could come here?"

You run a hand down your face. "Yes. No. In that order."
"Why though?" Xandar presses.
"Why did I fight him or why can he not come here? On the first, it was because he killed my grandfather, and stole items precious to my father. If that were no enough, his actions over the course of our conflict would have earned him my enmity anew. As for the second, if he tried to come here, which is unlikely give his obsession with my homeland, the Veil would stop him." For a time not the most sensitive to social nuance Xandar gathers from your tone that you have no desire to speak of Morgoth.

"What happened to the Ainur? I've never seen any." He changes the subject
"They are in a place called the blessed realm, or Valinor. Getting there is impossible without both knowing the way and having their permission."
Merrill goes to speak. "Isn't that…"
"What did I just say about talking out of turn." You snap at her.
For a long moment the two of you stare at each other. Merrill's eyes burn with curiosity as your words reveal more details of the past you have told her. Your eyes are filled with a stern reprimand for speaking out of turn and sharing things you would rather remain unknown.

"How do I get there?" Xandar asks, heedless of your silent conversation with Merrill.
"You cannot." You reply, looking away from Merrill.
"Why not?" He asks.
"Because you do not know the way." You explain.
"But can't you tell me." He presses.
"Xandar. It is not something I can explain to someone. I can tell you to 'sail west' but that will not tell you what you need to know. Valinor is barred to all those not already there, except those who the Valar invite. I cannot tell you the way, and if you do not know the way you cannot go."
His expression is so hurt that you sigh and tell him. "If I ever end up returning myself, you can come with me."

Xandar perks up and beams happily. Many of the Noldor would be scandalised by your offer, but you are not worried about having to take him to Valinor. Even if it comes up before he dies it would be an excellent way to keep your promise to help him.
The man himself continues his questions. "If Eru is the Maker, why did he leave?"
You give him a flat stare. "Assuming that the Maker is not an Ainur then he has not left."
"How can you be certain?" You become aware that every human eye in the room has focused on you with renewed intensity.
"Because if he had we could not have this conversation." You reply.
"What do you mean by that?" You are not sure if Xandar or one of the others asked that question.

When you were a child the story of Aulë's attempt to create life had been the source of knowledge of what the Secret Fire is. You do not think you have the time for the full tale, unfortunately.
"It is because of the Secret Fire. I have already explained this to Xandar and Merril, but for the benefit of the others in the audience I will reiterate." You begin e a much shorter lecture than the full tale of the creation of the casallië. "The secret fire is what makes a person a person rather than a puppet to someone else's will. The secret fire is possessed by Eru alone and it dwells with him always. If he had left, it would have left with him, and you would never ask any questions."

A silence settles over the hall for several moments as the audience takes in what you have said. After a while, Xandar speaks again.
"Can you prove this secret fire exists?" Is his tentative question.
"I could, but that would be a violation of the natural order so egregious I would not be surprised if I were struck dead on the spot." You reply.
Xandar's eyes have narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"
You sigh. "I have told you already that the Secret Fire prevents you from being dominated by the will of another. The best way to prove it would be to attempt to do so, which would be wrong on a level so fundamental I would not be surprised if I was struck dead by Eru on the spot."

The silence that falls on the hall is less contemplative and more terrified. You vaguely recall that blood magic can control people, and the staff likely fear that you are a closet blood mage.
"What about blood magic?" Never one to pay attention to subtext, Xandar presses on with his questions.
"The secret fire can prevent direct control, but not if you agree to it. My assumption is that blood magic either makes the control appealing or refusing painful. That is how people are usually controlled." You explain.
"Is there any other way you could prove that the secret fire exists?" Xandar presses, clearly invested.

You think for a moment, stumbling across a half decent argument more by chance than design. "I suppose the best evidence, short of direct proof, is the existence of identical twins."
"What does that have to do with this?" Xandar asks.
"Why are identical twins different people?" You ask.
"Because they look alike, they're not exactly the same all the way down." He responds.
"Actually they are. Twins often share a bond deeper than that of any others. Among my people it is said they even share a soul, though that is hyperbole." You would know, Pityo had outlived his twin by a full half an hour, not to mention the distinct fates of Elros and Elrond. "Physically identical in every way and so close some believe they have one soul, there is no reason they should be different. Yet they are. Therefore, there must be some part of their souls that marks them as individuals. That part is the Secret Fire."

You survey the hall; it seems that your argument has not been completely successful. Xandar looks like he is thinking on it at length and most of the staff look either lost or disbelieving. You return to your meal.
"I think that is enough questions for tonight. We all have work tomorrow and I am certain that if I gave Merrill a turn we would be here until sunup." You proclaim.
There is some laughter from the others and Merrill takes the jab in good spirits. You finish your food and head to bed. As you depart you notice that Merrill sitting on her own after everyone else has left. A quick search of your memory notes that you have not seen her much outside of meals this past week. Perhaps it would be best to speak to her tomorrow, who knows what might be concerning her. You add 'speak to Merrill' to your mental list of tasks for tomorrow.