AN:A bit of bad new I'm afraid. Due to how this chapter ended up splitting, there is no chapter for two weeks. I am sorry about that, but sometimes there isn't a good way to split the updates into three chapters.
Xandar is going to Gladesville. He chose to accompany Martin, who is delivering food to the warriors currently stationed there. The young mage is hoping to speak with the midwife at Gladesville. This might surprise those who know him as he has no interest in midwifery. As others have pointed out to him though, such individuals are often the only healer available, and they have a deep reserve of medicinal lore. Xandar had thought at first that he would not be able to go to Gladesville. After all, he had been there when his teacher has said that he intended to leave the village alone. Yet, when he had raised this concern with the elf, man, prophet, whatever he was he had had a surprising reply.
"Why are you under the impression that you cannot go to Gladesville?" Even sitting Nelyafinwë was an intimidatingly tall figure, easily capable of meeting most men's eyes.
"Well, you did say that you would not be intervening for an entire month." Xandar replied.
"I did, and I will not. You are not me. You are free to come and go as you please." The teacher informed the student.
"That seems kind of different from what you said last week." Xandar points out.
"As I informed Ophelia at the time, I am not abandoning them. We remain allies and friends. I would not deny my aid to a friend, even if I were too busy to visit them in person. If you wish to visit Gladesville, you may do so." The strange being declared.
After a moment, Xandar turned to leave. A voice interrupted him, bringing his attention back to his teacher.
"One last thing before you leave." Nelyafinwë said, one corner of his lip curling upwards. "My grandfather once shared a piece of wisdom that I suspect will serve you well in future. 'When in negotiations, listen to what is said. Not what you hear.'"
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean." The human mage confessed.
"It means, when dealing with people especially when coming to an agreement, always pay attention to the exact words they use. I will not be returning to Gladesville for a month. I said nothing about you." The probably former noble remarked. "Do tell me how the village is doing when you return."
Xandar's reminiscing is broken by his group's arrival to the village in question. Taking a short time to greet the guards and ask after their wellbeing, he assumed his teacher would want to know that too, he wandered around the village. If anyone were to confront him, he would say he was looking for the midwife. In reality he was taking the chance to inspect the village as his teacher had asked him to. It seems unchanged from the last time he was here, then again it has only been a week. After a short inspection he does actually go to the midwife, who is less than thrilled to see him.
"Well? What do you want?" The old midwife barks at him when he arrives. "Get on with it!"
Xandar flails about for a moment, caught off guard by her unexpected vitriol.
After a few moments of panic, he calms enough to say, "I'm Xandar, are you Antarra?"
"Yes, yes now what do you want? I'm not getting any younger you know." The woman replies harshly.
"Ah, I was hoping you could teach me something of your trade, you see." Xandar begins.
"Out of the question. The last thing an expecting mother wants is some man with more ego than sense making everything worse." The midwife sneers.
"Actually I was told you had experience with other kinds of healing too? Something about the period after childbirth being particularly dangerous or something." He tried no to sound too nervous.
The old woman gives him a long measuring look.
After a few moments she speaks again. "What do you wanna learn for? This job ain't for the faint hearted."
Xandar perks up, glad to be on more familiar ground. "Well actually it's a twofold exercise! I'm learning creation magic, and it helps if you understand what you're doing. So, by studying healing I get to learn both magic and healing, which is good since magic can't treat disease."
Antarra gives him a long flat stare. When Xandar does not seem to be affected by her 'village elder's disdain for the youth' she lets out a sigh.
"If only to keep you from learning something stupid from that silly elf girl, I suppose I can show you a few things." She says, sounding both defeated and irritated.
"Not that one! The one with the white flowers you moron!" Antarra shrieks. "If you add Deathroot to this mix you're going to kill your patient."
"Sorry teacher." Xandar answers, chastised.
Antarra had proven to be a difficult teacher to learn from. In the fine tradition of her profession, she viewed the role of an 'apprentice' as being mostly free labour for their master. Unfortunately, Xandar had little experience in the work of a healer slash apothecary, and he kept making mistakes. That Antarra had a tendency to set a task then wander off to do something else did not help either.
"We're going to have to start this whole batch again. Honestly, what kind of fool has been teaching you so far." Antarra grumbled.
"My teachers aren't fools." Xandar replied. "They don't know much about healing true, but their advice is still useful."
"Really? Prove it." The midwife challenged smugly.
She was far less smug when Xandar demonstrated his bandaging technique.
"Not bad. Hardly great, but I've seen worse." The woman said thoughtfully. "How's your stitching?"
"Merrill says I have a steady hand and a 'chilling disregard for my patient's feelings'." Xandar proclaimed proudly.
Antarrra laughed loudly. "Perhaps you're not a complete waste of time after all. Come on, I'll walk you through the next one."
True to her word, the aged midwife took her time to explain the concoction Xandar had been working on in more detail. It was far less theoretical than Merrill's lessons. Far fewer precise measurements and a lot more 'about this much'. It reminded the young mage of Nelyafinwë's lessons on binding wounds, in that it was clearly born out of long experience rather than any theoretical grounding. It helped him get a better grasp on what each herb contributed to a mixture, though not as much as a more detailed lesson might. What he found most useful about Antarra's lesson was her anecdotes.
"Let me tell you kid, the sooner you learn to listen to your elders the happier your life will be." Antarra lectures between instructions. "I knew a boy when I was your age. Kind of like that Nelyofinwe character. Real 'I know everything' kind of person. He had all these grand ideas about learning to read and becoming a lord. Got into a drunken fight one night, split his head open and died in the mud. If he'd listened to his parents and stayed away from the kind of 'smart' people that meet in taverns, he'd still be alive."
"That sounds more like a story about why you shouldn't drink. Not that I'm saying you're wrong." Xandar is quickly learning that outright disagreeing with Antarra is a fraught endeavour.
The old woman looks at Xandar as though he were an idiot, and for a moment the spiteful energy that drives her drains away.
"You'd think that, but that's not the point. He wasn't drunk, he wasn't even involved at first. Drunks don't care though; they'll fight anyone when they're in the mood. His parents warned him that going to the tavern every night was dangerous, he assumed they thought he was drinking. So, he ignored them." The old woman's gaze seemed as though it were fixed on something far distant in time. "His parents knew better; 'cause they'd seen more of life. That's the problem with young people, they think that hearing the words will grant them the wisdom."
Xandar allowed a few moments to pass, thinking on what she had said. He wondered if she had been close to the young man, a sibling? A lover? A friend? A tactful person would likely have left such a personal question on such a sensitive topic unasked.
"So how did you know them? Were you friends or something?" Xandar asked.
The midwife's expression suggests that her already low opinion of Xandar has fallen still further. "Never you mind. Get back to stirring! Don't think I'm going to let you slack off just because you aren't completely useless."
Xandar replied, unperturbed. "I'm stirring! I can do both! I want to know how you knew the boy in the story."
"That's none of your business boy!" Antarra snapped at him.
Despite his protests, Xandar would get no further stories from the old midwife for some time. Eventually though, as he slaved over the hot and heavy cauldron, the woman began another story.
"I did some work for a lord once. His wife was in labour and her usual attendants weren't available for some reason. The whole thing was pretty routine, as these things go. Of course, the lord would hear none of it, hovering over my shoulder shrieking and demanding this or that. Honestly, he was more dangerous to his wife than the child was. They're all like that, nobles. They all think they know everything there is to know, or that they can order the world to conform to their whims." She grumbled as she chopped up a root to add to the potion
"So, you should always be aware of the limits of your knowledge? That just because you're good at something doesn't mean you're good at everything?" Xandar asked, long accustomed to such stories containing some kind of lesson.
The midwife scoffed. "No, it means that an idiot man was fretting over nothing and making my life harder. There ain't a deeper meaning to this, it's just a story about a dumb noble. Pay attention boy."
Xandar stirred and thought. He disagreed, there was something in the old woman's stories that she didn't seem to realise. Or perhaps she did but felt that explaining the lesson would be counterproductive.
"Boy! What did I say about the Deathroot!" Antarra roared.
By the time Xandar returns to Endataurëo, he never wants to see another cauldron in his life.
Your second farm has hit full stride now. The workers have adjusted to their schedules and have stopped looking vaguely incredulous at the resulting product. You yourself are surprised, you had expected to gain twenty units of food from their field, yet you have ended up with thirty. Humans of this land are gifted in farming food evidently. You should have realised this earlier, but the presence of Wesley and his superior skill had thrown off your calculations. It will not be a mistake you make a second time, this much you promise yourself. With that accounting finished you speak to Martin about the arrangements for feeding your warriors stationed at Gladesville, as well as seeing their pay to them.
You still think it would have been an interesting experiment to mix the wine with the herbs. You know that spiced wines are something enjoyed by many and you are interested in how the herbs you have would have mixed with the alcohol. Was Martin correct that there was no good reason to spoil guaranteed purchases? Yes, absolutely. Did Merrill's concern for the potential ramifications of mixing medicinal herbs with alcohol ring true? Again, yes. You still want to try it though. As it is you content yourself with selling the wine and herbs separately. You send them away with Martin, rather than competing with Gladesville.
The shields, and the now expected red paint, are delivered to the armoury by Martin. You would really rather have the full sets of armour but, given a choice between a weapon and a shield and no shield you, will take the former. After the shields are stored safely, you take an inventory of the armoury. You look at the weapons stored in wool and leather, covered in oil wherever there is metal. So far, they do not need to be maintained, but they are also not being used. You curse under your breath. Leading the hosts of the Noldor had been far easier than building one up from scratch. Despite the fact that your inspection reveals nothing missing or in need of repair, you leave your inspection thoroughly unsatisfied.
Xandar and Ranger wanted to take advantage of the last day of Lannerch's festival. They wanted to acquire some 'treats' to celebrate something or other. You would have allowed such a thing to pass unremarked on usually. They had not even told you where they were going directly, you had simply overheard them discussing their plans at breakfast. Even when the sun begins to set, and they have not returned you are still unbothered. You yourself have stayed out with Ranger past nightfall, after all. Yet, as one of your guards hurtles into your room to report Ranger returning alone and at great speed, you find yourself much more concerned.
You meet Ranger just inside the walls.
"What is happening? Where is Xandar?" Your words are brief, but your tone is not angry.
"Gimme a minute." Ranger's chest heaves.
Your impatience almost gets the better of you, but Ranger is a friend and an old man besides. He must have all but sprinted the entire way back, he will need time to recover.
"We were in town, when a bunch o' templars showed up. Said they'd been looking for him. Mentioned something about 'the captain' not being able to save him this time. They took him." Ranger huffs out.
Your vision narrows, everything beyond Ranger fading into the background "Where."
"In one o' the barns, I think. They didn't want to risk moving him in the dark. That, or they want to make an example of him tomorrow. I didn't hang around to find out which." The old man says
You are moving before you even consciously register the fact. Orundómë rushes from the stables, called more by your need than any deliberate action on your part. You leap onto his back and thunder from your base in a swirl of dust. Your heart pounds in your ears as your own words repeat in your head.
"I will help you, my words hear thou Eru Ilúvatar." You whisper.
As the lord of horses hurtles through the growing shadows you lean over his neck, your oath driving you on.
Lannerch was closing their gates when you arrived.
"Callin' it close there yar lordshipness." The gate guard had chuckled.
You had moved past him with as much haste as you dared. You need to find your student, and time grows short. You have moved far too fast, stubbornly rushing in without a plan, you do not even know what a Templar looks like. Though as you ride around you soon find an answer. Near one of the town bars is a group of men in full plate armour, with face concealing helms. They wear none of the sigils you recognise, and the sword with flames around it is pressed into their armour rather than worn as a surcoat. Circumstantial evidence suggests these are your targets.
You slide from your horse's back somewhat back from the barn. You turn your focus towards the group, trusting in the poor senses of humans to conceal you.
"This isn't right Joel. I get he's an apostate but it's not like he broke out from a circle or performed blood magic. Our duty is clear, we take him to a circle and be done with it." One of the Templars snaps at his compatriot.
"He's already ducked us once! I'm not showing mercy because of who his father is. He hangs tomorrow, everybody needs to see what happens when you cross the Templars." The one who was addressed, Joel you suppose, replies.
The argument continues in typical fashion for such things. Mostly repeating the same basic point in slightly different language. You have a chance here, the guards are distracted enough that you might be able to sneak past, or to give you the advantage if you attack them directly. Your hand rests upon your sword as you decide what you are going to do. As your hand comes to rest on the hilt of your blade, your palm throbs in phantom pain. You do not need the reminder. No matter how sorely tempted you are to simply charge forth and slay all those between yourself and your wayward pupil, you are not going to do so. More than enough blood has been spilt in the name of your oaths.
Despite this resolve, removing your hand from the hilt of your sword is harder than you would have thought. Though you know what is right, your fears rear their heads. You have heard little positive about these servants of the chantry and what you overhear indicates a high chance of being met with steel whatever you do. Despite the reservations you have with doing so, you straighten up and put on your best smile. You wrap your cloak around you to cover your sword and armour. Then you approach these 'Templars'. Whatever happens, you will not be the first to draw sword. That much honour at least, you still possess.
These warriors quickly prove a cut above those of the Dalish clans. Even before you speak you can tell that you have been noticed. You perform a swift headcount. Half a dozen warriors in plate face you and the two who were arguing have fallen silent.
"Greetings gentlemen!" You call out brightly. "You appear to have something of mine."
There is a noticeable increase in tension among the Templars.
"I'm sorry sir." The one named Joel says tightly. "This building has been temporarily requisitioned to hold an apostate. It will be vacated tomorrow."
"I was not speaking of the building. You have one of my people held within. I would like him back." You reply, your tone still pleasant.
The two lead Templars glance at each other, when you are addressed once more it is by the one you do not yet know the name of.
"I think there has been a mistake here. We did take someone into custody, but they are not an elf. Even if they were, we still have ultimate authority over the mages in Ferelden." He says, somewhere between conciliatory and firm.
"Oh? What of the keepers among the Dalish? They are allowed to practice magic beyond your watch, are they not?" You inquire pleasantly.
More shuffling, the tension in your audience continuing to rise.
"Sir, that is not relevant right now. Please step aside or I will have to place you under arrest." The still unnamed leader says.
"Oh but it is, Xandar the alleged apostate is a student of the Dalish keepers." You counter. "As a result, he should surely fall under their jurisdiction."
There's a few mutters from the nameless Templars. The one you have been speaking too is silent for a moment.
"That is a very bold claim to make. The Dalish do not so easily take to outsiders, and you lack their distinctive tattoos." He eventually says.
"While I am no Dalish myself, there are some staying beneath my roof. If you doubt my words, I am more than happy to take you to meet them." You offer.
It is hard to tell with the face concealing helmet, but you think he is considering your offer. At this moment Joel, thus far silent, interrupts.
"What utter hogwash!" He snarls. "This is a trick, he's obviously trying to get the apostate free! I say we throw him in there with his precious apostate and they can die together at dawn!"
You cannot prevent the laugh that escapes you. It is not a pleasant sound, low and laced with bitterness.
"A trick?" You no longer even attempt to conceal the wrath that has burnt in your chest since you heard of this matter. "This is no trick Fool!. Make no mistake, If I wanted him free, I could see it done, now!"
You cast back your cloak to reveal your sword and armour as the light of the Eldar spills forth. You notice one of the templars drinking a slightly glowing blue vial and feel the fade energy around you snap into a pattern of reinforcing reality.
When the light of the Eldar does not fade, you can see the fear begin to take hold among them. In the moment of hesitation their fear creates, you allow the light to fade and your cloak to cover your sword once more.
Your tone return to its former pleasantness. "But I have no particular desire for this to end in bloodshed. I believe that mages are confined for the safety of themselves and others. Is Dalish training sufficient to allow Xandar to return home?"
Joel swells up in rage when a hand comes down on his shoulder.
"We are willing to investigate this claim in further detail. You understand that we cannot simply allow him to go unsupervised even with 'Dalish' involvement." The more reasonable templar says, tone unyielding.
You smile widely. "I am sure we can find a compromise all will be satisfied with."
The negotiations begin with an introduction on your part. "I am Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol Maedhros. You may call me whichever you prefer. I am loosely affiliated with the Sabrae clan."
"I am Knight-Lieutenant Weskar. I serve the Templar Order, obviously. Now what exactly do you want from us?" The finally identified Weskar asks.
"Ultimately, I simply wish to have my friend allowed to dwell in my house once more. I see no reason to confine one who is no danger, and I believe that Xandar would find the environment of the circle more harmful than helpful." You do not mention his distaste for the Chantry yet, it seems unwise.
"Naturally we cannot allow a group of mages to operate without supervision. If you are to remain independent of the circle you will need an escort of Templars." Knight-Lieutenant Weskar states.
"Unacceptable. You would have me house, feed and care for those who will be a knife held to the throat of all who dwell within Endataurëo? I will not allow you to turn my house into another prison." You counter. "Perhaps some kind of overseer could be selected to ensure his training remains in line with Circle approved doctrine."
Weskar considers your proposal for a moment.
He shakes his head. "I am afraid that is not a long term option. There is both too high a risk of something going wrong and too little meaningful oversight."
There is a long moment of silence as the two of you consider what compromise you might reach.
Weskar finally breaks the silence. "The fundamental problem is how little we know of Dalish training. Under the treaty they have with Ferelden they are free to practice magic, but they are not approved by the Circle."
You nod, seeing what he is implying. "So if there was some kind of presentation to the circle, regarding how the Dalish train their mages, it would be a comfort to them?"
Weskar nods. "It would also assuage my superiors if we knew more about such a large group of mages beyond our control."
"I hope you do not intend to have me betray those who have shown me nothing but kindness since I arrived in this land." You reply, voice skirting the edge of dangerous chill.
Weskar meets your gaze for a long moment, then nods. "If you can bring the Dalish teachers with you, they will be asked questions about their training. They can answer for themselves. There will be no attempt to take secret information, merely routine questions any in the circle would be asked if they took an apprentice."
You consider for several moments. It is obvious that this man needs to be able to convince his superiors that his decision was better than simply fighting it out. Being able to claim knowledge of the Dalish would be quite the prize. You would like to speak to Merrill first, but you doubt they will allow you to leave and return.
"As long as you understand that I cannot guarantee that his teacher will answer any specific question, I have no problem with this compromise."
The two of you shake hands.
With negotiations finished, you are led to Xandar. Your newest student is asleep on a pile of hay, manacled at his arms and legs. He is awoken by the Templar who is unlocking his restraints.
"Are you hurt?" You ask, as the human blearily tries to rub his eyes.
Xandar jerks around, only kept in place by the Templar's grasp on his wrists. "Teacher!? What are you doing here?"
"Retrieving a young man who has stayed out well past curfew." You jest dryly.
Xandar's eyes widen, and he looks at the Templar then back to you. "You came for me?"
"Of course I came." You say, almost offended. "I swore to aid you, and I shall."
"And, and you just made them let me go? How?" Xandar asks, disbelieving.
"I spoke to them and convinced them that you were already being taught sufficiently. As such, they agreed to let you go, pending investigation into your teachers."
"Pending… What does that mean?" Xandar asks, clearly afraid.
"It means that next week we are going to be riding for three days to speak to the Circle about how we teach you. We will likely have to spend three days of the week following returning, so if you have anything you want to do, do so before we leave." You inform the man.
The conversation ends there. Xandar is tired and in no state for long conversation. Later, as you are riding back to Endataurëo, Xandar speaks again.
"Thank you." He whispers behind you.
You roll your eyes. "Do not thank me for doing what should be expected."
If Xandar's arms tighten around you in a manner akin to a hug, you choose not to call attention to it.