The Wolf Pack

By and large you have allowed Solas to see to his warriors on his own. Partly out of respect, partly out of being busy. Today, however, that is going to change. Regardless of their loyalties, you are their host and your mother did not raise any of her sons to be rude to their guests.

Terrifying memories of motherly wrath aside, it is also a good time to take the measure of the forces Solas has brought, and their general capabilities. Do they have mages, what does their equipment look like, how do they supply themselves, and other matters of that nature.

You have to admit, their camp has come surprisingly far in the short time they have been here. Wooden structures have been erected, and the whole affair seems surprisingly orderly.

Asking after the person in charge of the camp does not direct you to Solas, as you expected, but to the female elf that had stood at his right when you reunited.

"Lord Russandol." She gives a perfunctory bow. "Welcome. I am Isewen. Solas is currently out working on something."

"I see." You reply. "I take it that is why I was directed to you when I asked after the person in charge of the camp?"

The elf's cheeks redden slightly. "Not entirely. While Solas is our leader, I do my best to manage the day to day administrative tasks. Is there a problem?"

"I believe that is my question to you." You reply. "I am the host, and so it falls to me to ensure that you are receiving all that you need."

Isewen blinks a few times, but then shakes her head. "We're good, thank you my lord."

"Are you certain?" You press. "Do you have enough food? Water? Clothing?"

"Yes we do." She nods. "We came ready for winter, the stream's not too far away and there's a surprisingly brisk trading scene."

"Glad to hear it." You state, glancing over the buildings, solidly constructed but nothing special. "If it is not too intrusive a question, where do you acquire funds to engage in trade?"

Isewen hesitates. "I'm not sure if I should tell you…"

You shrug. "Understandable. However, are you aware that many of the Dalish clans prefer barter? You can, situationally, get a better deal with goods than money. Unfortunately this requires resources not readily found in the forest."

"It might have been mentioned." The elf says cautiously. "I'll double check with procurement."

"You have a procurement division?" You ask. "Might I be introduced to them? I have spent far too long without someone to fill that role."

Isewen glares at you. "I'm not letting you poach our logistics division!"

"I had no intention of doing so, though I understand why my words might have led to that conclusion." You reassure her. "In truth I have largely set up my own logistics to be as self-sufficient as possible, with various parts each with their own head. However, I have not spoken to someone in the business in a while, and I miss having someone to bounce ideas off."

"Ah. Well, that's different." Isewen coughs nervously. "I suppose you can speak to them, but I'll be sticking with you to make sure you're not snooping unnecessarily."

You raise an eyebrow at her. "You are aware that Solas and I are allies correct? I am attempting to understand his workings only in so far as I can assist in furthering them."

"For now." Isewen says plainly.

You give her a questioning look. She meets it with a blank face and does not elaborate.

"Very well, I have no interest in an argument. Let us see your procurement division." You state.

"This way." The elf says, gesturing for you to go ahead of her.

The logistics and procurement division proves to be a busy place. There is a large storehouse made of wood and fabric, a hybrid between a tent and a more permanent structure. After a brief examination it meets with your approval. It is quick to assemble but also reasonably durable.

It is not the only thing you examine on your walk.

You note the people you pass, what weapons and armour they bear or keep nearby. Swords are common, though not universal, as expected. Of all the arms in this world they are perplexingly the most common.

Or perhaps you only believe that because the land is at peace and they are the easiest to carry in day to day tasks. Though you would have thought the ever versatile axe to be the preference in such situations.

You will say this much, what weapons beyond side arms they have and whatever armour they bear is not kept close. It strikes you as odd, to be so relatively defenceless, but then you have long been hunted by Morgoth's forces so your understanding of 'prepared' might be overtuned.

Still, even the hosts of Gondolin had kept barrels of arrows at hand, and racks of shields in public places.

"In here, Lord Russandol." Isewen gestures with her head into a small building beside the storeroom.

"Thank you for your guidance." You reply politely, stooping to enter the dark room.

This room is more familiar to you. There are shelves and cupboards covered in papers. Too many papers by your eye, but you do not know what they contain yet so it would be foolish to assume. There are a number of tables surrounded by chairs, covered in writing implements.

There is only one person in here in the moment, but you recognise the signs of a large number of people entering and leaving swiftly.

It is the paper on the floor, and the poor sole occupant picking them up with the look of one who is fighting a losing battle.

"Lord Russsandol this is Sevren, he is the head of our procurement division. The others will be here soon I'm sure." Isewen states with a warning note in her voice.

"Isewen! Sorry, this place is a complete mess. The others are busy dealing with, well, everything. Six weeks! Really. I can't work with these timetables!"

"War comes as it wills, rarely does it do us the courtesy of waiting until we are ready." You state gravely.

Then a thought strikes you, and with a lighter tone you continue, "Often when we believe it has it proves that we were not so ready as we thought."

"Lord Russandol?" The elf asks, stunned, then shakes himself and bows. "My lord! Welcome, what can I do for you?"

"There is no need to stand upon ceremony." You wave one of your hands. "Stand up, there is no need to call me by my title. I have some questions about your preparations so that we can better coordinate going forward."

Suddenly an elf bursts in. "Sevren! How many arrows do we need per archer?"

Reflexively you answer. "Three quivers per archer should be the minimum, there is no maximum, make as many as you can store. It can be useful to entrust the responsibility of the quivers to the archers, let them make their own shafts, and focus on building a reserve."

There is a momentary silence. Isewen glaring in suspicion and Sevren looking like he doesn't know whether to overrule you or not.

The elf at the door chews her lip then asks, "How many arrows in a quiver?"

"Around two dozen, but it can vary depending on the archer." You respond.

"Right." She nods. "Thanks."

The door shuts, ushering in another silence. Isewen clearly suspects you of something, but she isn't certain what. Further, you would wager that she knows your advice is sound, she seems to be at least somewhat experienced.

Sevren coughs and asks, "Wouldn't having each archer make their own arrows mean they don't all have the same amount? The lazy not filling their quivers while the industrious have more than they can store?"

You shrug. "That would be a matter of knowing your warriors to a certain extent. Regular inspections can help, but I did say that entrusting them with the responsibility can help, not that it will. It depends on where you pull your archers from. Those who practice in their own time will often make their own arrows as a matter of course."

"I see." Sevren mutters quietly. "I don't suppose I could prevail upon your experience in such matters elsewhere?"

"I would be willing, but I do not wish to come across as attempting to usurp your authority." You reply.

"No, no." Sevren says, waving his hands in front of himself. "I'm a former merchant, so this is my first time doing this sort of thing. I mean, I can learn but I think with your help I can smooth out the learning curve you know."

You glance at Isewen who grimaces, but reluctantly nods.

It is adorable that she thinks you were asking for permission.

You and Sevren take to looking over the supply situation, which includes access to their records of their supplies. As you go over the reports you provide him with information that will aid him.

The first place you look at is food. It is perhaps the most important part of supply, and it is simultaneously the simplest and the most complicated. Acquiring food is something most adults know how to do, however acquiring it in the quantities for an army is not as easy as it seems.

"So, how much food do you typically use per person?" You ask, glancing over the record of total food stored.

"Hard to be sure of numbers." Sevren admits. "I've been running off old rules of thumb for caravans. It's something like two pounds of supplies [1] per person per day."

You nod, quickly searching for previous records of food supplies. "The exact numbers depends on what is being eaten and in what ratios. You must also take care to think of morale and nutrition. One can survive on waybread alone, but it is not exactly a pleasant experience. So too can bread alone serve, but you will likely find it weakens your troops unduly."

You find the previous record of food supplies and compare it to the current one.

"As you can see, you can figure out what you are currently using based on these." You explain, pointing to the relevant sections. "If you know how much you are bringing in, and how much you had you can work backwards for how much was used. Of course, you could also just ask your cooks."

"Appoint dedicated cooks." Sevren mutters to himself.

"Of course, if you do not have dedicated cooks then you can simply record how much is being dished out to units." You continue calmly.

Sevren nods. Meanwhile you do the maths in your head. Based on what they are eating, you find Solas' estimate roughly correct. They have around one hundred and fifty two individual, counting Solas.

"How do you acquire food?" You ask.

"We buy it mainly." Sevren replies. "Some trading, and a few supporters send us what they can spare but that is rarely much."

You nod slowly, that too is useful information. "That will not be an option forever. You will want to think about what happens when war makes doing so impossible. Generally there are three approaches, which are best used together. Storage, forage and production."

"Storage I get, but what about the other two?" Sevren asks.

"Forage is polite talk for barging into people's homes and taking what they have." Isewen states flatly. "Often stripping what's in the fields too."

"No!" You cry in horror. "What madness possesses you to think so? Forage is exactly as it is named. Wild places often have food in the form of berries, roots and animals. It is not always enough alone, whether due to supply or knowledge, and that is why it is best used in conjunction with others."

Isewen blinks at you. "What are you talking about? That's not, what?"

You shake your head. "I cannot recommend what Isewen suggests. It will harm the third part. If you wish to act at length in a war, you will need a source of production. This can be a farm, or a curated set of forests to hunt from. It depends on how much you need and what your options are. For my part, I have a number of farms at Endataurëo for example, while the Chasind warriors are all hunters."

"I see." Sevren says, nodding and writing notes. "How much should we carry?"

"That depends on what you have available, and how much you need." You reply. "In general as much as possible, but in specific you must think about how long you expect to be gone, how much it will slow you to carry it." You explain. "In part this is something learned by experience. Now, how do you source your weapons?"

Much in the same way as they source their food as it turns out. Though here they have the advantage that a friendly blacksmith can contribute weapons or armour at substantially less personal cost than a farmer can provide food. Still, much of what they have is bought.

Not that there is any shame in that, most of yours are acquired in the same way, but it does leave the question, "How do you get funding for all these purchases?"

"A couple of ways." Sevren says. "We take on mercenary and adventurer work sometimes, watch the town notices for things we can achieve. Plus we make a surprising amount as a merchant convoy."

"Truly?" You ask.

"Yes. Not by trading but by escorting people where we're going." Sevren explains. "I do keep out an eye for things that are undercosted, but we can't always guarantee we're going somewhere with cash."

"I see, so in essence you are a mercenary company." You state.

"Mostly." His grin slowly turns into a frown. "But sometimes Solas just goes places without telling anyone and comes back with money. Not always, and it's not always a lot. But it happens. Nobody knows where it's coming from."

Neither do you. It could be anything from selling his unique talents as a mage to some kind of powerful backer.

Your mind darts to June in his prison and Solas' knowledge of it. You wonder what other secrets the elf is keeping.

Lesson Time

You take several long, calming breaths. However tempting it is to strangle the Mad Hermit, you will refrain. He had not intended to start the fire, he was just skittish and in an unfamiliar setting. He would settle down.

Or else.

Happy thoughts. Calming thoughts. Do not succumb to the urge to murder the irritating human. There is always more where they came from, and if you start murdering them for being annoying there will be no end to it.

"Nelyafinwë? Are you alright?" Merrill's voice breaks you from your thoughts.

"I am, managing, Merrill." You inform your student. "I find dealing with certain individuals tiresome, but that is hardly new."

Merrill laughs hollowly. "Yeah. I get that."

The two of you sigh together.

"How do you do it?" Merrill asks. "How do you keep it together when people are just, just refusing to listen! When they blabber on and on and somehow manage to say nothing."

"Gritted teeth, clenched fists." You list, adopting what you have heard humans call the 'thousand yard stare'. "Internal cursing, reaching a state of such transcendental rage that ordinary emotions are incapable of affecting me."

The corner of Merrill's lip is twitching. "Stop it. I'm being serious."

"Unspeakable violence, committed suddenly and without warning." You continue to list without emotion. "Screaming incoherently into the eternal abyss where none can hear me. Whining incessantly to anyone who listens."

"Nelyfinwë." Merrill gasps, fighting to keep her laughter down.

"Then at last, I came to realise that the person I was talking to was a literal baby and that really all I was achieving was making myself look foolish." You nod sagely. "But enough about my childhood."

Merrill's laughter finally escapes her. The howls she descends into are perhaps excessive for the relatively tame humour you indulged in, but perhaps it is her emotional volatility at play.

When the laughter fades, you continue more seriously. "Without jest, I can only say that I have a great deal of practice in restraining my rage. Even so, I am hardly perfect at doing so. You yourself were witness to one of my more embarrassing lapses of control."

"Which one?" Merrill asks teasingly.

"During Xandar's trial, when I managed to get myself arrested." You remind her.

Merrill giggles. "Oh yes. That came out of nowhere."

You smile ruefully. "As much as I have counted many humans among my friends over the years, I have to admit I have found an equal number to be extremely annoying. The humans of this land more so than most."

Merrill's expression sours. "Yeah, they can be… pretty anti elf."

"While I cannot say that is a non-factor." You admit begrudgingly. "It is not what I mean. The humans of this land are stubborn, hidebound and… I suppose they have inherited all the worst traits of my people, while retaining their own."

"What do you mean?" Merrill asks cautiously.

"I suppose it is due to their long standing position of dominance." You muse slowly. "But much of our pride, our deep rooted division, our relentless insistence that we knew the correct way and that all others were folly… Plus their usual endless power games and short sighted thinking."

Merrill thinks on your words for a long time, then she sits down on the floor, knees drawn up to her chest. "It's not just humans."

You sink down to her level and place your hand on her shoulder.

When she meets your gaze you speak gently. "Merrill. I do not have all the answers. The reason I appear calmer than you now are is because I am centuries if not millenia older than you. Even still, I make mistakes, I fail. Remember, I am in many ways a great failure. I lost my war, I lost my friends and I lost my family."

Merrill's head sinks into her knees, so you continue, "I am not saying this to say it is impossible to succeed, but to remind you. Despite my age, my power, the tutelage of the Ainur themselves, I still fail, I am still lost sometimes. You are eight and twenty, it is natural to lack answers. The only thing that you must remember, is that no failure is permanent. Not if you learn from it, and try again."

"Didn't you just say you're a failure?" Merrill asks, trying for teasing and not quite managing it.

"Well, when you pick a fight with an ancient spirit of darkness with the stakes being the fate of the world, then the saying does not apply." You admit. "I am, however, hoping that is an exceptional circumstance rather than the norm."

Merrill snorts weakly and looks up. "Do you have time for a lesson?"

You rise to your feet. "I will make time. Come."

The two of you find a room where it is unlikely that sudden surges of power will disturb anyone and you each find a chair. Merrill seems to be slowly recovering some of her enthusiasm, and she fidgets in her seat in anticipation.

"Did you have anything in particular that you wished to learn today, Merrill?" You ask.

The nadëo begins to shake her head, but pauses. "Actually, I was kind of wondering if we could focus on leading and stuff? Is that ok with you?"

You smile at her and say, "Of course it is. What did you wish to learn?"

"Well, I've got this problem." She begins slowly, clearly choosing her words with care. "There's two camps in the clan. Half of them want me to do something and the other half want me to do the opposite. It's all wrapped up in tradition and there's not precedent. What should I do? Or no, how can I keep them from going at each other?"

You give the matter serious thought. Options are presented rapidly, however you find that each lacks something. Usually this is information, but sometimes it is because the situation leans on the culture or traditions of your home.

Eventually you shake your head. "I cannot tell you."

"What?" Merrill asks. "But I thought…"

"Without knowing the situation involved? Without understanding the traditions and tensions at play? I cannot navigate such a situation." You inform her. "Nor do I think you would benefit from having the answer provided for you. If I judge your intentions correct, I do not believe you wish me to either."

Merril also shakes her head. "No. I don't, I guess I just don't really know how to make everyone see sense."

"If you ever find out, be sure to inform me." You jest wryly. "If you desire, I can walk through the whole situation commenting upon it, but doing so would likely consume most if not all of our time."

Merrill grimaces. "No. Not if it's that complicated. I mean, I guess I knew it was, but I don't really feel comfortable talking about it with an outsider. Not that I think you're an outsider!"

"Peace Merrill, I take your meaning." You laugh. "Let us speak of other matters. I hear that you defeated Lanaya with a song of Power. Come, tell me of it, I would hear the tale."

Merrill tells you all that transpired, and your good mood evaporates.

It is only your knowledge that doing so would be counterproductive that prevents you from springing upon Merrill and physically shaking the foolishness from her head. As it is, you can tell from the way her expression shifts from proud to afraid that you have not suppressed your annoyance as well as you hoped.

"Forgive me, Merrill." You state, taking care to calm yourself. "I do not wish to come across as unduly harsh, but that was incredibly foolish."

"Well, it's not like I had a lot of choice!" Merrill exclaims hotly.

"Perhaps." You allow. "But that does not change the fact that what you did was reckless in the extreme. If a warrior dropped their shield to impale their foe, perhaps they took the only path to victory, but that does not mean it was not a gamble."

Merrill takes several calming breaths herself. "Ok. Fine, let's say I accept that. It doesn't change the fact that it worked."

"Merrill, I fear that you are not understanding the magnitude of the risk you took." You state. "Remember what happened when you experimented with this on your own time?"

Merrill flinches. "Yes."

The look of hurt on her face is not what you were aiming for so you say, "Merrill, this is nowhere close to a mistake of this magnitude, but it was a fate you risked nonetheless."

Merrill nods slowly.

"Songs of Power invest much of yourself into shifting the very foundations of the world." You continue quietly. "It is not something done lightly, they are powerful and exhausting. We, incarnates that is, are not made to withstand the power, and we can exhaust ourselves easily. That is not even covering the fact you affected friend and foe alike."

"You use them." Merrill mutters grumpily.

"I do, and I am many centuries older than you." You remind her. "Further, I rarely use them in battle because I am not a bard. There is a reason my people forge blades and wield them in battle. Or did you not think it strange that I describe armies of warriors rather than bards."

"Fine, I get it. I won't use songs in battle anymore." Merrill grumbles.

You blink in confusion. "That is not what I am saying."

Merrill looks up at you with wide eyes.

"I said I would make time for a lesson, and I shall." You state. "We are going to cover songs of power so that you will be able to avoid being in this position a second time."

You are not sure why Merrill feels the need to turn her head to hide her tears. Though you are also unsure why she is weeping. Still, you have a lesson to get to, so once she has composed herself you begin.

"The primary matter to work on, insofar as I see things, is your control." You state firmly. "It is best if you do not pour too much of yourself into a song, or into anything for that matter."

"I get it." Merrill grumbles under her breath. "You've hammered that point in enough."

"Be grateful I did not make you heed the tale of Míriel." You note dryly. "Were my father here he would have much harsher words for you than I."

Merrill rolls her eyes.

"You're a paragon of patience." She replies sarcastically. "The lesson?"

You let Merrill see a flash of your amusement before you speak. "There are a number of control exercises. We shall begin with the simplest and move forward from there."

"Really? That's it?" Merrill asks. "It feels like it should be, grander."

"I believe we have discussed running and crawling in the past." You point out dryly. "Further, the purpose of these is as much to establish what you know as what you do not. Besides, the basics are the most important part of any art. They are the foundation on which all else is built."

Merrill frowns at first, but slowly nods. "Yeah, I think I get what you're talking about. It's like getting a new First to cycle mana for the first time."

You furiously restrain your curiosity and say, "If that is something done with new students. In this case, we shall begin with breathing exercises."

You begin walking through several breathing exercises. Merrill finds more than a few of them mildly ridiculous, and several others quite challenging but such is the way with new exercises.

"I don't really feel any different." She says after you finish the latest of the set.

"It will require a great deal of repetition on your part for these changes to become permanent. Think of learning to swing a staff or shoot a bow." You reply distractedly. "Do not fear, I am marking your progress and how well you perform."

"And?" Merrill asks excitedly.

"Entirely within expectations." You inform her.

Merrill turns her head slightly and asks suspiciously. "What does that mean exactly?"

"It means that you are performing like someone with an average level of talent who is largely self taught." You reply. "Which is what you are. You might, perhaps, fall within the upper bounds of those who fall under such categories but not to the extent that it would impact your training meaningfully."

Merrill glares at you. "Are you saying I'm not very good at this."

"Hardly." You reply. "Average talent is just so, average. The vast majority of people are average, even those who grow to great heights. It is merely a matter of time investment and maximum potential."

"Ok, but like, how good am I compared to you when you started?" Merrill asks pointedly.

"Do not compare yourself to the Sons of Fëanor." You reply calmly. "It is not a fair comparison, not to anyone."

"So you were better." Merrill states.

"I have no particular talent in song." You correct her. "However, due to the nature of my lineage what is 'no particular talent' to me is talent indeed to many. Hence why you should not compare yourself to Fëanor's sons."

Merrill is not happy with your response but she does settle enough for you to move on to the next set of exercises. Here you busy yourself with the allocation of energy and how it moves into and through song.

"You must remember that the power of song comes from without as much as within." You say over her extended note. "Do your best to feel the difference, what comes from you and what comes from without, lest you misjudge how much you have left."

Merrill is unable to respond verbally due to holding her note, but you do note the signs of focus in her expression. She is, as you have observed before, a very good student in some ways. Perhaps a little overeager and reckless, but then she is very young indeed.

By the time you end the lesson Merrill is quite exhausted, but she has not collapsed. This itself is a useful lesson in how far she can push herself. You leave her with some basic exercises to reduce the physical risk and stress once more that she should not wield songs of power without supervision.

You are confident she has learned a great deal this week.