Dragon Age: Final Hour
Chapter 2: Meaning of "Pride"

A soft drizzle had fallen over the world over the past few hours. Fen'Harel looked out of the cave he and Felassan were taking shelter in. The rain fell as a fine mist only inches from where he stood. Sharp, fresh scents hung over the world which only rain could bring out in the plant life. He breathed deep of the scents and closed his eyes.

Behind him, Felassan tended the fire, keeping the flames alive with wood. "I wasn't expecting rain," the boy mumbled more to himself than to Fen'Harel. "A lot of the wood got wet and we're running low on supplies." The sound of him going through the bag followed. "Master," he spoke up, addressing Fen'Harel rather than just muttering to himself.

"Hmm," Fen'Harel grunted in response. He closed his eyes, listening to both the boy and the gentle patter of the rain against stone and earth.

"We need more supplies and I don't mean just meat, we've been out of that since before Mythal summoned you. I believe there is a town close to here, isn't there?"

"There is," was Fen'Harel's only reply.

"Do we have time to stop by there?"

"Yes." Fen'Harel turned from the cave entrance and moved over to the fire. The warm washed over him in sharp contrast to the chill of the day. "Night will be upon us soon, try to get some rest, Felassan." He settled by the fire and watched the flames flicker and dance. Embers crackled up towards the ceiling before they flickered out and floated back down.

Several long moments passed where Fen'Harel watched the fire start to die away. Across the fire, Felassan murmured in his sleep. The boy deserved better than a life of service especially one which bound him to Fen'Harel. But Felassan had chosen this life and nothing Fen'Harel did or said would free him from it, well short of making the boy tranquil or outright killing him. Neither of which sat well with Fen'Harel.

Fen'Harel removed his traveling cloak and placed it over his shoulders as a makeshift blanket. He watched the fire a moment longer before he closed his eyes. When he next opened his eyes the cave was tinted green with the feeling of the Fade.

Old memories whispered around Fen'Harel as he sat up. He took a deep breath and listened for several long moments. One memory showed a young couple taking shelter in this cave during a rain storm while another showed a small group of shemlen doing the same but just for a night and not because of rain.

He shook his head and stood. For once Fen'Harel wasn't here to see the past memories of those who had stopped within this very cave. He focused on what lay beyond the memories and let himself be pulled from the cave and into the Fade proper. The memories still whispered to him as if calling for him to return and explore them deeper.

With some effort, Fen'Harel turned away from the memories and set off through the familiar paths of the Fade. There was a spirit here he wanted to speak with. He had been unable to find her the last several times he had searched. Perhaps tonight he could find her.

This night it felt as if the Fade was pointing him towards his closest friend instead of towards the dreams of the People. Sure enough he soon came upon her. Her figure was glowing a soft shade of purple against the aura of the Fade. One delicate hand reached towards fresh blossoms of a tree within this particular memory.

Fen'Harel approached her, watching as her fingers traced the leaves with an almost calculated grace.

"I knew you would come, Solas." The name was one only she called him. It had been this way since the day he had first found her, the rarest of all spirits in the Fade: a spirit of Wisdom.

"Aneth ara," Fen'Harel greeted her with a bow of his head. He stopped beside her and inspected the tree. The reflection of the tree showed it in early spring, years younger than one he'd passed several times on his journey.

"I'm sorry, I don't have the answer to the question you first sought from me," she told him.

The words were unexpected and drew him from his thought. He turned his gaze on her. It had been many years since he had thought on that question or to seek that answer. He hadn't given up on it, just not thought on it.

"If there was an answer to be had easily we would have found it by now, ma folan," he stated. He turned his gaze back on the tree. There was always a reason he found her in the places of the Fade he did. Sometimes it was related to an event and others it was just because she was seeking a memory long lost to time. This time he doubted it was the memory.

"It's ancient now," she started, "but I like this memory, when the tree was young with few worries, fears, and scars."

A shiver raced down his spin at the feeling of her wisplike hand on his injured shoulder. So he was a tree now. He smiled with amusement at the comparison, but refrained from speaking. There was more to what she was trying to tell him than this.

"The years of war twisted her mind, her thoughts are dark, cold, cut from all life and joy. Withering until nothing remains but pride, hunger." Her glowing eyes were locked on his face while her finger traced the length of the wound. "Her pride has consumed her. Her hunger for battle and strife will devour far more."

Fen'Harel frowned. "Falon," he started, "are you telling me she's going to escape? Mythal was certain she couldn't."

The spirit of wisdom tilted her head to one side. A soft note, which sounded close to laughter, escaped her. "You are wiser than most, Solas, but still need to learn to see sometimes."

His eyes narrowed a little at this. See what? Andruil had been locked away. Only Bor'assan knew of her location and yet he couldn't get through the eluvian and into the place where she'd been sealed. Well, not without the passphrase to reactive that eluvian he couldn't. And the only way to get the phrase was from Mythal herself. Despite having been there, he didn't know the passphrase, nor did he want to.

Solas? His eyes closed. She had called him "pride" since their first meeting. At first he had wondered if it was her hoping he wouldn't twist her into a demon of pride. Now he wondered if it was more a quip on him than anything else.

"You've called me 'solas' since the day we first met," he started, watching his phrasing.

"You are solas. Pride of the People, for individual thought, and freedom of will. The pride to stand tall and take back what is lost, to rebel. Yet, to never stand so tall as to look down upon those around you." She looked at the tree. "All need a piece of pride or one is forever bowed in shame. You are those pieces. You are what makes a beaten and battered slave hold their head high in defiance. Thus, you are Solas."

The words were meant in another way but they only made Fen'Harel close his eyes and take a deep breath. It hurt then to be such a pride when he was never close to the People he had always fought to protect. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. In this moment he realized just how alone he really was. The others as well. All of them were forever apart from the People, forever alone.

"Na'din u, uth nan mien'harel." Her soft voice whispered to Fen'Harel as he was drawn away from the Fade and towards the waking world.

His eyes snapped open to the embers of last night's fire. The parting words of his friend echoed in his ears. Never, in all the years he had known her, had she said such words to him.

A soft murmur came from Felassan. The boy turned in his sleep so he was now on his back, mouth a little open and hand off to one side.

For a moment Fen'Harel looked at him before he stood. His feet were silent against the cold stone. He knelt beside the boy and moved his hand so it rested inches above Felassan's forehead. How easy it would be to remove the boy from the contract binding him to Fen'Harel. How simple to remove the vallaslin. To make the boy free again.

His hand shook a little. It wasn't what Felassan wanted. And without the boy, Fen'Harel knew he would be utterly alone. Fen'Harel withdrew his hand. It was selfish of him, but, for the first time, perhaps he could have another to travel alongside him. A friend outside of the Fade and the others. But could the child ever view him as more than just Fen'Harel? He didn't know and that scared him a little.

He moved away from Felassan. "Coward." His voice was horse and soft. That was what he was: a coward. Right then he couldn't even enact on his own beliefs and free the boy just because he feared being alone. "Na'din u, uth nan mien'harel," he whispered the words she had uttered to him under his breath. What a joke.

The soft, fresh air of predawn roused Fen'Harel as he stepped out of the cave. He couldn't return to sleep and he couldn't stand the thought of just sitting to wait for the dawn.

Wet grasses felt cool against his bare feet. The ground was still moist with from the rain hours ago. Fresh scents of the forest filled the air. He paused and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of the air. He savored the fresh smell of the early hours.

As Fen'Harel felt himself relax, he started to shift his form. He padded forward, slowly at first, then his claws dug into the wet earth. He took off across the field and towards he nearby forest. The grasses brushed his fur, leaving behind water. But it didn't penetrate his thick, white coat. Wind pinned his ears to his head. The cool air raced through his fur.

The half jaw he wore around his neck tapped against his chest with each long stride he took. It was the only item which didn't vanish when he went into his wolf form. The shadows of the forest washed over Fen'Harel as he raced into the cover of the trees. He raced through the trees, weaving his way through the trunks as he climbed a small hill.

He slowed as he approached the top. He stop just at the edge of the small cliff, flanks heaving as he breathed hard from the run. A breeze pulled at his fur and eased through his lungs. Another scent came to him over the rain and fresh forest. Ram! His ears perked and fur prickled down his spin. The urge to give chase rushed through him. Ram would also provide something to eat other than stale bread. His mouth watered at the thought. Besides the boy also needed something more than bread to eat when he woke.

Without another thought, Fen'Harel padded back into the forest. He kept himself low, knowing his fur could give him away. Soft movement caught his eye. Fen'Harel paused, one paw raised. Sure enough a ram appeared and glanced around before it bowed its head to the damp foliage.

The sight of the ram made Fen'Harel narrow his eyes a little. He lowered himself further to the ground. One paw was placed carefully on the damp ground before him followed by another. His muscles were tense and tail lifted so it wouldn't drag on the ground. He drew himself closer, silent as death itself. When he had come to the edge of the cover, he rolled his shoulders and moved back on his hunches. He was only just close enough to leap on his prey.

A growl rumbled deep in Fen'Harel's throat. He sprung. The ram lifted its head and stared at him. By the time it realized what was happening, it was too late. Fen'Harel clamped down hard on the ram's neck. He dragged it down with him. His teeth sank deeper into the ram's soft throat. The ram struggled against the hold, legs flaying. Its dark eyes were wild with fear and panic.

Fen'Harel ripped out the ram's throat. Blood splattered against the nearby rocks. It dripped from his muzzle to the twitching ram. Then the ram was still, lifeless. The warm blood smelled good. He moved in. Then shook himself. This ram should be cooked for him and Felassan. Besides, Fen'Harel had eaten raw ram several times before in his wolf form. It always made him feel sick upon returning to an elf.

He grasped the ram in his jaws and started the long process of dragging it back to the cave.

The sky was tinged with the color of the rising sun by the time Fen'Harel arrived back at the cave. He shifted back to his natural form only once the blood had been cleaned from his white fur.

"Master?" Felassan had roused when Fen'Harel dropped the ram by the remains of last night's fire. The boy sat up and rubbed his eyes. The moment his hands dropped his eyes went wide. "Where'd that come from?"

"I killed it," obviously, he added the last part to himself as he walked over to the pack and started to look for the skinning knife within it. "Get fresh wood for the fire," he told the boy. "We need to smoke the meat today before the rain comes."

"Yes, Master!" Felassan leapt to his feet and raced out of the cave without pause. There had been undeniable joy in the boy's voice. Joy that Fen'Harel couldn't blame him for having.

Most of the day was spent by the time the ram had been cleaned and prepared for being smoked. Fen'Harel had set aside some meat for the two of them to eat while they smoked the rest to preserve it. The horns and leather had been set aside for when they next visited a city. It would make them some coin to help pay for the others supplies they needed.

"If you could hunt, why didn't you before now?" Felassan asked as he looked up from the meat he'd been savoring. "I'm just curious, master," he added, looking a little worried.

Fen'Harel gave the boy a small smile. "I would rather you ask questions, how else are you going to learn anything?"

The boy flushed a little. Then he nodded. "So why?"

"I was more focused on the meeting with Mythal," Fen'Harel replied.

"Oh."

There was a long moment of silence in which the two of them ate.

"Can I ask why you helped me?" the boy asked. "I mean I did pray for one of the Gods to come and save me but I never thought it would be you and you asked for nothing in return."

"Killing the slavers was its own reward," stated Fen'Harel. "To answer your question: I don't like or approve of slavery."

"Is that why you didn't approve when I decided to bind myself as high priest?"

"Partially." Fen'Harel finished his meal. "I don't like enslavement or when someone willing gives up their free will by binding themselves to another."

"Is that why you don't have the same rituals as Mythal or the others?" the boy asked.

Fen'Harel didn't reply to this. He bowed his head. In all honesty he only knew a little about what the others did. Mythal had told him point blank about vir'abelasan and what she intended with it. It was why Abelas had taken the name he had. His stomach churned at the thought. Abelas was loyal to Mythal even without the effects the well had on him. Still, he had submitted himself completely to Mythal just to prove his undying loyalty to her. There was no doubt in Fen'Harel's mind that Abelas would do anything for Mythal. The man's belief was powerful and strong.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Felassan frown. The boy tilted his head to one side in a silent question.

"Wrap the meat," Fen'Harel instructed the boy instead of reply. "I'll see to the camp."

"Oh, okay." The boy sounded disappointed but did as Fen'Harel instructed.

There were just some questions the answer was far from simple. A part of Fen'Harel wondered what the others did do for those who chose to follow them and another part of him feared such answers.

Elven phrases used:
Aneth ara – informal or friendly greeting. Translated to "My safe place"
Ma falon – my friend
Na'din u, uth nan mien'harel – "you're not alone, eternal spirit of rebellion" my own mixing for words to get this.
vir'abelasan – basically the "Well of Sorrows" or just refers to it.

(Author's Note: Hmm, Felassan isn't a character option for this site. That is depressing. Please keep in mind Felassan is young here compared to what we see in Masked Empire and is extremely young by elvish standards at this time.

I am going through editing the chapters during the time between updates, that is why this one has changed and chapter 1 was made smoother.)