Last Minute Lessons
There are many ways to describe your week. Busy is one, hectic another, perhaps more reflective of the work involved. Still another is challenging. All of these indicate that you have very little time even for yourself, let alone others.
Quite aside from events of note, you are overseeing stores, counting and recounting stocks, briefing and comforting. All of this is on top of the usual conflict resolution, managing of tasks and assorted duties attendant to your station.
As a result you admit to losing track of Merrill, and are somewhat surprised to find her returning late after dinner to the halls.
"Merrill." you greet her. "I had thought that you would be at your clan when I did not see you at dinner."
"I was." The elf says tiredly. "Something came up and I had to leave."
"Nothing serious I hope?" You ask.
"Depends what you mean by serious, but it doesn't require you to do anything if that's what you're asking." She snaps.
"Well, even if that is so, I hope that it has not caused any harm to your clan." You state carefully.
Merrill flashes a smile. "Thanks. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just tired, and cross."
"Have you eaten?" You ask. "The cooks have put out the fires and gone to bed, but I suspect I could whip something up over a campfire if you wish."
An expression of mixed glee and relief slowly creeps over Merrills face.
"That'd be really good actually." She says shakily, then sniffs. "Sorry for the tears, I'm just, not great at emotion management right now."
"I do not believe tears need apology." You reply. "I will begin preparation immediately."
The two of you head to the kitchens, where you manage to get a small fire going in one of the pits. There is little complex that you can make, but what you do make is hot and filling for all its simplicity. Merrill accepts it gratefully.
"This is exactly what I needed." She breathes quietly. "I was worried I'd go to bed hungry."
"Valar forbid that such a thing happen under my roof." You reply, only partly jesting.
Merrill finishes her food and sighs contentedly, then yawns. "Oh dear. I think I should head to bed."
A thought strikes you and you interrupt her progress to her room. "One thing Merrill. I believe it best if we continue our lessons this week. Can you find some time?"
Merrill frowns. "I don't know. I'm tired. Evenings I guess?"
"We shall speak of it in the morning." You pause, giving her a considering look. "Afternoon rather."
Merrill gives you a flat look. "You're not funny. Good night."
You actually do not get to see Merrill until lunch. This has less to do with how late she rises and more to do with the many demands upon your time. Ultimately the two of you agree to meet up after dinner in the days going forward.
That very evening when you agree you fall to discussing what you will be studying in the time available.
"I am loathe to leave our lesson on songs of power incomplete." You lead with.
Merrill nods. "True I suppose, but with the Blight and all it feels like we should be focusing in on magic, especially with the magic designed to combat it."
"I do not believe there is much I could teach you on the matter, unfortunately." You point out.
"Actually, I find that your unusual perspective is often revealing of things I've taken for granted." Merrill replies excitedly. "Oh. Or I could teach you about how to use the spells I invented!"
"There is only one small problem with that plan." You remind her. "I cannot cast spells."
Merrill deflates slightly. "Oh. Yes, right. Well, knowing the theory is probably still helpful?"
You chuckle and shake your head.
"No, I will not leave your understanding of songs of power incomplete." You decide. "There is great risk in wielding them carelessly, and great benefit in weidling them well."
Merrill nods slowly. "I suppose that makes sense. Feels kind of wrong, but I guess that's just me letting the pressure get to me."
"There is no shame in desiring to be ready." You offer her as a comfort. "It is a natural and useful instinct. Unfortunately, we never have enough time."
Merrill aims a blow at you, slow even by her people's standards. You dodge it without effort and she rolls her eyes.
"I get it, I'm not some wet behind the ears kid who's disappointed not to get her favourite toy." She says with emotion you cannot quite identify. "I get that we have to focus, I'm just complaining for the sake of it."
"Cease at once then." You reply, cautiously jesting. "Complaints are forbidden, as they create work I must deal with."
Merrill's expression complicates further. You recognise some of it, annoyance, some good humour and a little bit of relief, but that is not all of it. It does remind you of expressions you have sometimes seen humans make, but that does not help identify it.
"Let's just get to the lesson." She says, shaking her head. "Where were we again?"
"From memory we had just been working on the basics of how to sing." You state. "Let us begin by reviewing that."
Whatever else one might say about Merrill, she is an incredibly diligent student. Not only has she made sure to keep up with her exercises in her own time, she has even gone so far as to look into why they are important. It lets you begin the conversation with a brisk discussion of the connection between music and power, an important keystone of songs of power in general.
"So it's about invoking the original song right?" Merrill asks.
"In part, but that is perhaps over-emphasising the role of the Song of the Ainur." You reply. "It was the All Father who first proposed the use of music, and it is, as I have explained previously, a more pure form of communication."
"Ok, that I get, but why not just use words?" Merrill asks.
"We do." You reply. "Words of power are used, though they are rather more difficult to create and wield. The power of song is the very complexity that makes them difficult. Compare a drum to a harp. Certainly the drum can be surprisingly versatile, but the number of notes it can produce is dwarfed by the many strings of the harp."
"Then there's the metaphorical elements of creation inherent to the use of song." Merrill mutters, writing down. "So it's about how much power you can channel at once. Then the better you can sing the more precise the instrument? Like a harp that's been tuned well?"
"Partly, but it is also about doing things properly." You explain. "Songs of power are still songs. Singing poorly is a detriment to them by their nature."
With that established, you begin to cover how to push power through the song. Many different aspects are discussed, all in the kind of exhausting detail that you and Merrill both enjoy.
"So, what's the difference between the 'tide' and the 'swell' then?" Merrill asks.
"They are theories, or perhaps methods, of how songs function." You answer. "Nanwë, or tide is focused on pouring power out into the world. In this theory power is carried by the song to fill a void in the world, shaped by that which carries it."
"Sort of like pushing power." Merrill says in realisation. "So swell would be the opposite? Taking from your environment and moving stuff around?"
"Not quite." You correct. "In Palo, the first song plays still, and so when you use a song of power you tap briefly into that power and let it flow into your own song thereby causing its power to 'swell'. Hence the name."
Merrill taps a pen on her chin. "Ok, so where do we go from here?"
"Well, I think the best thing to do now is to allow you to attempt a song of your own, while I am here to supervise." You say.
Merrill's expression twists in conflicting emotions. She is clearly excited, but your previous warnings on the danger have successfully made her cautious of the art.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" She asks, hoping that you will say it is. "I mean, if it's dangerous…"
"It is dangerous if done recklessly or without thought." You reply. "I am here to ensure that doing so is as safe as possible."
"Then let's do it!" Merrill exclaims, stars in her eyes.
The two of you spend some time planning what she is going to do before she does it. After some debate you agree to stay away from anything 'destructive', which unfortunately rules out any of the three elements. Simple and easy to conjure they may be but they are also powerful and therefore destructive.
In the end you agree that the complex, but reasonably safe task of creating an image is the goal. You do not expect her to reach such heights in a single session, but it is a useful goal to have. Even a flash of light would be sufficient progress in your mind.
"The part that makes this complex is that you must shape the image with your words while you sing the notes for light, movement, colour and so forth." You explain to her. "This is only made worse by the need to have the two parts form a harmony, singing words off beat will only cause horrible malformed images, if you create any at all."
"So what you're saying is that I need to write the song before I sing?" Merrill asks.
You smile proudly, doing so is a lesson that many an eldarin child (yourself included) had to learn the hard way. "Exactly.
Merrill is of the opinion that something simple and stylised would be the best. She actually ends up drawing a rough sketch of what she wants to make (a red ball rolling in place) before she begins writing.
The words she puts to paper are simplistic, and they are in Thedaslta rather than an eldarin tongue which is causing no small amount of dissonance. The musical progression she lands on is likewise simplistic, but all of that is good for a first attempt.
Well in truth, it is something akin to her third or fourth, but it is still early in her learning journey.
Merrill begins her song carefully, which proves ineffective. However, she does not make the classic mistake of leaping straight to full power, but rather slowly increases her power and intensity. Still, to no avail.
"Mind your diction." You remind her. "The words cannot shape the image if they cannot be understood."
"I still don't understand how saying what I mean shapes the image." Merrill pants.
"Speech shapes thought, thought shapes action." You repeat.
"That explains nothing." Merrill protests.
"Do not worry so much about the why, focus on the how." You remind her. "It is a skill you are mastering, not a spell you are studying. You can investigate the links between words and song when you can consistently perform with both."
Merrill grits her teeth and throws herself back into the challenge. Again and again she attempts the song, resting at your insistence but refusing to stop until she has mastered it.
Eventually, for just a moment, a red blur appears in the air beside her.
"Congratulations Merrill." You state. "You have successfully sung an image into existence."
"It wasn't a ball though." Merrill manages to gasp out.
"Perhaps, but you are exhausted and further attempts risk injuring you. We can continue this another day." You declare.
Merill nods shakily, and that is where you end your lesson for the day. Unfortunately even the rest of the week is not enough time to get her creating the image completely, but it is enough to get an image consistently. It is good progress.
A Once Again Neglected Hobby
With all the work you have before you, you sadly lack the time to read a book this week. You try to conceal your disappointment from people when you realise this fact.
A cry echoes through the halls of Endataurëo. "Nai umbar na lyenna ar illi inyolya!"
For some reason you feel as though your mother would disapprove.
Buying and Selling
Overnight the entire hall of Endataurëo went from placid routine to a hive of activity. Nobody seems quite sure of what's happening exactly. The boss had a great big meeting with several of the more important people including the two merchants. Both of whom had emerged with frowns on their faces.
"He's asking a lot." Delora mutters without any real heat.
"True." Martin agrees. "Understandable though."
"Yeah." The elf shudders and swallows.
Delora likes to believe that she knows the rougher side of life. Elves can have a hard time of things, and she's dealt with racism, discrimination and blatant targeting by authorities.
There really was something different about the phrase 'as of 4 o'clock yesterday, we are at war' though.
Martin likewise doesn't really know what to think. He's older than Delora sure, old enough to have vague memories of the last occupation, but nothing concrete. Most of the fighting took place a long way from his home while he was quite young. Now, they're going to be fighting something worse and he just can't process it.
"Do you reckon we should tell the others?" Delora asks suddenly.
Martin frowns. "I don't know, it seems kind of hush hush doesn't it?"
"He didn't say we can't." Delora points out.
"He didn't tell us to either." Martin counters.
The two discuss the matter at some length but are unable to come to an agreement. Perhaps because neither of them were thinking about it too deeply. Or, maybe they were desperately trying to keep the argument from ending and returning to thoughts of the Blight.
Nobody, not even them, knows.
Martin does not find himself in much of a mood for conversation on the long ride to Denerim. Long used to the bumps and rattling of the cart on the road, he finds nothing to distract him from his thoughts.
That a Blight was coming was not exactly a surprise. He's known about it for some time now, though he is still unsure if he should thank the boss for it or curse him. Still, now that it's here…
It still doesn't feel quite real, but it feels more real than it did before.
"It's too big for someone like me." Martin mutters to himself. "Business for lords and knights. That's what it is."
Yet he isn't going to be able to sit this out at home. He'd have to be with them, ferrying food and supplies, buying from locals and setting up long wagon trains.
The merchant sighs.
He could leave. Just go, and never come back. He'd have the money from the sale of the goods in the wagon. He could just go.
For a moment the thought sits in his mind, then he yells out loud, "What are you thinking man!"
His wife. His daughters. They were still with the boss. He couldn't leave without them, he wasn't that kind of contemptible coward.
Of course, the girls probably don't want to leave. They're happy with their wages and Faith's thriving as a steward. His angels are also not in any danger… Unless the Blight beats Ferelden.
He can't run can he?
Delora hates feeling afraid.
The creeping dread that stalks you all day, the powerlessness that comes with it. She hates every single aspect of it. Whether the mundane fear of embarrassment or the very real fear of the oncoming Blight, she hates all of it.
So she's not in the best of moods right now. She snaps at people trying to help her, and gets more than a few odd looks as she goes about her rounds. Frankly, she's worried that someone's going to make a comment that she should smile, at which point she will break her fist on their face, even if it is the king himself.
A Blight is coming. She's going to have to help fight it. Well, help the people who are going to fight it.
Frankly that makes it worse. She's not even going to be the one who fights, if everything goes wrong she'll be helpless.
There's the fear again. Why can't she just stop thinking about the giant oncoming rush of monsters out of stories and legends?
"Oi, move it elf, you're holding up the queue!" Someone berates her from behind.
She turns to glare at him fiercely, fully prepared to spend the next ten minutes screaming abuse at him.
"We're unloading here!" Yells back her customer. "Clean out your blasted eyes and go a different way! Do you think you can just throw your weight around 'cause my supplier's an elf? Huh?"
It's stupid that it's comforting. Really, it doesn't change anything, and the gesture itself isn't even particularly nice. But it makes her feel a little less alone, and weirdly that helps.
Doesn't stop her joining in the screaming match, but at least she's having something adjacent to fun.