I had many tutors through my youth.
There was Aldous the archivist, with whom I spent long dull hours learning the tiresome details of accounts and penmanship and history. He never seemed to linger on the interesting parts, the battles and campaigns, saying that they were unsuitable for children to hear of. It always seemed rather odd to me. After all, I would someday be the commander of my brother's forces, when he became Teryn, why should I not know of battle and glory?
I was far more fond of my second tutor, Ser Gilmore, with whom I spent the morning hours learning the arts of sword, shield and riding. He also, after a great deal of pleading, spent some time teaching me to fight with knives and fists, though these lessons were always in the stables, where my mother couldn't glance out the window to see. He was much younger than Aldous, and much easier to get along with. From him I also learned the details of battle that Aldous brushed over, and of tactics and strategy and even a bit of logistics, though the last felt far too much like mathematics to be interesting.
My most memorable tutor, however, was different, we had no regular lessons, and I spent only a period of months with him in the later half of my fourteenth year. Unlike my other instructors, he did not serve my father as such, but was instead hired solely for the purpose of teaching me.
His name was Theron, and he was an elf.
I met Theron for the first and last time early one morning. He did not come to the castle, but instead we rode out to him. It was my father's custom to ride out on occasion and see to the state of the castle and town himself, and when I was called I thought merely that he meant for me to join him, as I sometimes did. On those occasions he spent a great deal of time asking questions of my studies, and explaining the workings of the terynir. He explained to me, for instance of how the Banns, though important, were a secondary consideration to the Arls, who controlled the best castles and fortresses. And how the Arls in their turn were second to the freeholders, without who's spear-men and tithes the nobles were without power. I listened attentively, as I always did when my father spoke. For at that time I was in awe of my father, and hung on his every word without any question.
On that morning however, we rode in silence, my father and I and Ser Gilmore, out the gates and down the road through the town. Already the smell of baking bread and the clink of smiths filled the air. We moved through the town and down, past the outer gates and towards the north road. Long before we reached that however, my father turned aside to the north, into the forested hills that separated the Bannorn from the sea. I was, by this point, quite excited. Usually these rides stayed close to the town itself, and never far from the roads and the nearby freeholds. To venture into the northern hills, even with my father and Ser Gilmore seemed a grand adventure and thrilling.
I was quite surprised when we came to a stop at the top of a small rise to see a group of people standing in the clearing below. There was a wagon, not large at all, with a strange horned creature to draw it, and more of the creatures grazing idly not far away. Near it were several women who looked like a mother and her daughters. But all of that I saw on my second look. The first thing I saw when we came over the rise was a man, small and thin, but ropy rather than scrawny, with cords of muscle showing plainly on the bared flesh of his upper arms. He had bright hair and deeply tanned skin, and his face had curling patterns of bright blue etched across it. He was dressed, as were the others in the clearing, in a vest and thong skirt of leather, with thick boots of the same. He also wore thick bracers of boiled hide, while the others wore only finger baring gloves. He wore a curious harness across his chest and shoulders and hips, covered in small pouches and straps. On his back was a long bow of pale blue wood and a quiver of arrows, and at his side was something I instantly recognized, not from my lessons with Aldous, or even with Ser Gilmore, but from the tales told by the soldiers when they were a bit gone in the wine.
It was a dar'misu, the thick, curving blade that was tool and weapon to the Dalish folk. Like the bow it was blue, of the ironbark wood that only the Dalish knew the working of. My father dismounted and dropped the reigns, trusting his horse to stand as it had been trained. I moved to join him, but he made a gesture to hold, and so I waited with Ser Gilmore while my father walked down the hill and spoke with the elf.
The women remained back by the cart, although the eldest, whom I took to be the man's wife, watched Ser Gilmore and myself, with her hand near her own bow. Presently, My father turned half back towards me and gestured for me to come. I dismounted and left my horse as had my father and moved to join him as quickly as was was decent. If merely journeying in the forest was exiting, to meet a dalish, one of the wild folk who had preyed upon the freeholds of the region for years before my father rode out and stopped them was a real adventure, something I could tell the other squires and other castle children about to make them green with envy.
When I stood a pace behind and to the side of my father, I stopped and, as my father had treated this man like an equal, gave a small bow to the elf. He did not bow back, instead looking me over frankly, and I took the opportunity to do the same to him. He was much shorter than my father, or any of the men I knew, and looked oddly thin. This close, I could see the elaborate patterns died into the stiff leather of his vest and gloves, and the intricate detail of his tattoos became apparent. There were other colors, mixed with the blue, reds and greens and silver and gold, and the markings didn't stop at his face, but swirled their way down his neck and under his clothing. His eyes were bright blue, and stood out against the dark skin of his face, and his hair was pulled back in a short, high tail.
What he saw of me in those short moments I don't know, he never told me, but he turned back to my father and nodded, and they began to speak of goods and weights and numbers. It became clear to me after a short while that this man was meant to be my teacher, though in what I had little idea. I had already learned to fight and some rudiments of hunting and travel. I supposed then that this elf was to be my teacher in harder forms of the later two, and in truth he did that well. The haggling went on for some time, long enough that I began to lose interest in following it particularly closely. Instead, my mind wandered, and I risked a glance at the cart and the women around it. The cart itself was odd, with high wheels and a high bottom. It was long and narrow, I thought perhaps to better fit between the trees. I'd heard stories of the Landships of the Dalish, but this looked nothing like I'd imagined. I would later learn that Aravels were something entirely different, and that the wagon that day was for carting trade goods, rather than as a living space.
The women were just as strange to me as Theron seemed. Unlike him, they wore veils of some thick cloth across face and hair, leaving only their eyes to be seen. Later, Theron would explain that many among his people chose to keep their faces from human sight, as an attempt to avoid the quickening. I once asked him why he did not, and he laughed for several minutes before replying ôwhy would I hide my face, you are only shemlenö. Later still, I began to understand that he did not lack the fear of the quickening, but rather that he refused to appear afraid before humans. Even by the high standards I came to know among the Dalefolk, Theron was a prideful man.
In time, my father and Theron came to an agreement, a fee of a large measure of salt, no small weight of good red steel, a small bag of gold, a large quantiry of good silk thread and a number of needles, though theron held back one caveat. Once they had sworn to honor the deal, over clasped wrists in the manner of Theron's folk, Theron turned to me.
ôWhen you disobey, I send you back to your castle with a mark on your flesh to remember, shemlen girl. On this, you give your word.ö He held out his hand. I looked to my father for guidance, but his face was unreadable, he obviously intended me to make this decision for myself.
ôI...I will not disobey.ö I said, and clasped the elf's wrist. His fingers, which had looked so tiny when I thought of them alongside Ser Gilmore's massive paws clamped down like a vise on my arm, and I bit my cheek until blood welled to keep from screaming.
ôDone. Dirthamen keep it, Elgar'nan, strike the breaker.ö
Theron stared into my eyes for a long time, his fingers not loosening on my wrist. My father laid a hand on my shoulder, offering a faint squeeze, and I heard him leaving, followed shortly by the sound of hooves retreating, and the cart following away, presumably to gather the fee for my lessons. But I refused to look away, and stared back at Theron.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he released my arm and stepped back, gesturing with his head at the horned creatures Among the many things I learned the following months, one was that the Dalish do not point, seeing it as crude and ill mannered. Instead they gesture with head and neck, or in great exasperation with flattened palm. The horns were long, twisting things, twining out from the animals brow in a wide arc. ôPerhaps you'll do, shemlen girl. Now, you learn to ride.ö
The idea here being to blend the human noble and dalish elf origins. Anyone familiar with Shaman's crossing will probably be familiar with this, it's what started this idea rattling about in my head, and I drew on the first parts of it rather heavily when writing this.
as for where to go with it, my thought is that the girl essentially falls into the dalish culture, being isolated with only a dalish, and a proud one, as companion and mentor. When she comes back, she doesn't really fit among the humans anymore, and grows up as the slightly odd daughter of the Teyrn. Then cannon rolls arround, and the story follows through the same general plot.
Nothing really elaborate, other than a different history for the character, leading to different possible reactions. Possibly recruiting more characters, that right of conscription would be damn useful in getting enough numbers together to do things like brave the Trenches, etc. writing responses to questions your companions pose "is this a promise we will not keep" (Sten disapproves) shifted to "same question" "I intend to keep it".
Simple stuff.
thoughts? Comments? Screams of derision?
There was Aldous the archivist, with whom I spent long dull hours learning the tiresome details of accounts and penmanship and history. He never seemed to linger on the interesting parts, the battles and campaigns, saying that they were unsuitable for children to hear of. It always seemed rather odd to me. After all, I would someday be the commander of my brother's forces, when he became Teryn, why should I not know of battle and glory?
I was far more fond of my second tutor, Ser Gilmore, with whom I spent the morning hours learning the arts of sword, shield and riding. He also, after a great deal of pleading, spent some time teaching me to fight with knives and fists, though these lessons were always in the stables, where my mother couldn't glance out the window to see. He was much younger than Aldous, and much easier to get along with. From him I also learned the details of battle that Aldous brushed over, and of tactics and strategy and even a bit of logistics, though the last felt far too much like mathematics to be interesting.
My most memorable tutor, however, was different, we had no regular lessons, and I spent only a period of months with him in the later half of my fourteenth year. Unlike my other instructors, he did not serve my father as such, but was instead hired solely for the purpose of teaching me.
His name was Theron, and he was an elf.
I met Theron for the first and last time early one morning. He did not come to the castle, but instead we rode out to him. It was my father's custom to ride out on occasion and see to the state of the castle and town himself, and when I was called I thought merely that he meant for me to join him, as I sometimes did. On those occasions he spent a great deal of time asking questions of my studies, and explaining the workings of the terynir. He explained to me, for instance of how the Banns, though important, were a secondary consideration to the Arls, who controlled the best castles and fortresses. And how the Arls in their turn were second to the freeholders, without who's spear-men and tithes the nobles were without power. I listened attentively, as I always did when my father spoke. For at that time I was in awe of my father, and hung on his every word without any question.
On that morning however, we rode in silence, my father and I and Ser Gilmore, out the gates and down the road through the town. Already the smell of baking bread and the clink of smiths filled the air. We moved through the town and down, past the outer gates and towards the north road. Long before we reached that however, my father turned aside to the north, into the forested hills that separated the Bannorn from the sea. I was, by this point, quite excited. Usually these rides stayed close to the town itself, and never far from the roads and the nearby freeholds. To venture into the northern hills, even with my father and Ser Gilmore seemed a grand adventure and thrilling.
I was quite surprised when we came to a stop at the top of a small rise to see a group of people standing in the clearing below. There was a wagon, not large at all, with a strange horned creature to draw it, and more of the creatures grazing idly not far away. Near it were several women who looked like a mother and her daughters. But all of that I saw on my second look. The first thing I saw when we came over the rise was a man, small and thin, but ropy rather than scrawny, with cords of muscle showing plainly on the bared flesh of his upper arms. He had bright hair and deeply tanned skin, and his face had curling patterns of bright blue etched across it. He was dressed, as were the others in the clearing, in a vest and thong skirt of leather, with thick boots of the same. He also wore thick bracers of boiled hide, while the others wore only finger baring gloves. He wore a curious harness across his chest and shoulders and hips, covered in small pouches and straps. On his back was a long bow of pale blue wood and a quiver of arrows, and at his side was something I instantly recognized, not from my lessons with Aldous, or even with Ser Gilmore, but from the tales told by the soldiers when they were a bit gone in the wine.
It was a dar'misu, the thick, curving blade that was tool and weapon to the Dalish folk. Like the bow it was blue, of the ironbark wood that only the Dalish knew the working of. My father dismounted and dropped the reigns, trusting his horse to stand as it had been trained. I moved to join him, but he made a gesture to hold, and so I waited with Ser Gilmore while my father walked down the hill and spoke with the elf.
The women remained back by the cart, although the eldest, whom I took to be the man's wife, watched Ser Gilmore and myself, with her hand near her own bow. Presently, My father turned half back towards me and gestured for me to come. I dismounted and left my horse as had my father and moved to join him as quickly as was was decent. If merely journeying in the forest was exiting, to meet a dalish, one of the wild folk who had preyed upon the freeholds of the region for years before my father rode out and stopped them was a real adventure, something I could tell the other squires and other castle children about to make them green with envy.
When I stood a pace behind and to the side of my father, I stopped and, as my father had treated this man like an equal, gave a small bow to the elf. He did not bow back, instead looking me over frankly, and I took the opportunity to do the same to him. He was much shorter than my father, or any of the men I knew, and looked oddly thin. This close, I could see the elaborate patterns died into the stiff leather of his vest and gloves, and the intricate detail of his tattoos became apparent. There were other colors, mixed with the blue, reds and greens and silver and gold, and the markings didn't stop at his face, but swirled their way down his neck and under his clothing. His eyes were bright blue, and stood out against the dark skin of his face, and his hair was pulled back in a short, high tail.
What he saw of me in those short moments I don't know, he never told me, but he turned back to my father and nodded, and they began to speak of goods and weights and numbers. It became clear to me after a short while that this man was meant to be my teacher, though in what I had little idea. I had already learned to fight and some rudiments of hunting and travel. I supposed then that this elf was to be my teacher in harder forms of the later two, and in truth he did that well. The haggling went on for some time, long enough that I began to lose interest in following it particularly closely. Instead, my mind wandered, and I risked a glance at the cart and the women around it. The cart itself was odd, with high wheels and a high bottom. It was long and narrow, I thought perhaps to better fit between the trees. I'd heard stories of the Landships of the Dalish, but this looked nothing like I'd imagined. I would later learn that Aravels were something entirely different, and that the wagon that day was for carting trade goods, rather than as a living space.
The women were just as strange to me as Theron seemed. Unlike him, they wore veils of some thick cloth across face and hair, leaving only their eyes to be seen. Later, Theron would explain that many among his people chose to keep their faces from human sight, as an attempt to avoid the quickening. I once asked him why he did not, and he laughed for several minutes before replying ôwhy would I hide my face, you are only shemlenö. Later still, I began to understand that he did not lack the fear of the quickening, but rather that he refused to appear afraid before humans. Even by the high standards I came to know among the Dalefolk, Theron was a prideful man.
In time, my father and Theron came to an agreement, a fee of a large measure of salt, no small weight of good red steel, a small bag of gold, a large quantiry of good silk thread and a number of needles, though theron held back one caveat. Once they had sworn to honor the deal, over clasped wrists in the manner of Theron's folk, Theron turned to me.
ôWhen you disobey, I send you back to your castle with a mark on your flesh to remember, shemlen girl. On this, you give your word.ö He held out his hand. I looked to my father for guidance, but his face was unreadable, he obviously intended me to make this decision for myself.
ôI...I will not disobey.ö I said, and clasped the elf's wrist. His fingers, which had looked so tiny when I thought of them alongside Ser Gilmore's massive paws clamped down like a vise on my arm, and I bit my cheek until blood welled to keep from screaming.
ôDone. Dirthamen keep it, Elgar'nan, strike the breaker.ö
Theron stared into my eyes for a long time, his fingers not loosening on my wrist. My father laid a hand on my shoulder, offering a faint squeeze, and I heard him leaving, followed shortly by the sound of hooves retreating, and the cart following away, presumably to gather the fee for my lessons. But I refused to look away, and stared back at Theron.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he released my arm and stepped back, gesturing with his head at the horned creatures Among the many things I learned the following months, one was that the Dalish do not point, seeing it as crude and ill mannered. Instead they gesture with head and neck, or in great exasperation with flattened palm. The horns were long, twisting things, twining out from the animals brow in a wide arc. ôPerhaps you'll do, shemlen girl. Now, you learn to ride.ö
The idea here being to blend the human noble and dalish elf origins. Anyone familiar with Shaman's crossing will probably be familiar with this, it's what started this idea rattling about in my head, and I drew on the first parts of it rather heavily when writing this.
as for where to go with it, my thought is that the girl essentially falls into the dalish culture, being isolated with only a dalish, and a proud one, as companion and mentor. When she comes back, she doesn't really fit among the humans anymore, and grows up as the slightly odd daughter of the Teyrn. Then cannon rolls arround, and the story follows through the same general plot.
Nothing really elaborate, other than a different history for the character, leading to different possible reactions. Possibly recruiting more characters, that right of conscription would be damn useful in getting enough numbers together to do things like brave the Trenches, etc. writing responses to questions your companions pose "is this a promise we will not keep" (Sten disapproves) shifted to "same question" "I intend to keep it".
Simple stuff.
thoughts? Comments? Screams of derision?