Please, please review. I really want to know what people think of this story. And I love reading reviews; they mean more than you guys know.

Dragon Age: Final Hour
Chapter 9: A High Priest

Felassan blinked as he and the sentinel of Mythal stepped into the Temple of Fen'Harel. Unlike with the entrance into eluvian in the Temple of Mythal, it was dark here. Fires flickered into life on either side of the eluvian but the rest of the room lay in shadow.

"This is where I leave you," stated the sentinel of Mythal. "I must return to my duty and help rid Mythal's Temple of invaders."

"Thanks for everything," Felassan bowed his head to her.

The weight of his master increased as the sentinel of Mythal released him. "See if the others who serve your master are around," she told him before she backed through the eluvian.

Felassan swallowed and turned his gaze on the dark room. The others who served Fen'Harel? But his master had told him he had "freed" all who served him centuries ago when Fen'Harel took to a more nomadic lifestyle. Perhaps like with those who served Mythal they would have stayed even after their god had left.

With this thought in mind, Felassan picked his way forward. It was hard to keep his master's feet from dragging on the ground. Harder still was just being able to see where he was going. The firelight close to the eluvian did little to aid him the further he moved from it.

A thin sliver of light spilled into the room as a door opened. "Who's there?" someone called as the door was pushed open further. A small child came into view. Her face already marked with the vallaslin, marking her as a slave or sentinel of Fen'Harel.

The girl stopped when the light fell over Felassan and Fen'Harel. Her eyes grew wide with shock. But her gaze wasn't on Felassan at all, she was staring at Fen'Harel.

"Mamae!" she shouted. "Come quick, it's Fen'Harel, he's hurt!"

At the girl's shout several footsteps raced through the hall beyond the door. The next moment three more elvhen had appeared, all of them wore robes and armor similar to what Abelas and the sentinels of Mythal wore, but in different colors than hers. And all of them had the same vallaslin that Felassan had. There was now no doubt in his mind that these people were the sentinels of Fen'Harel and they had ignored Fen'Harel's wishes.

A moment passed where the sentinels stared at Felassan before they turned their eyes to Fen'Harel. A gasp sounded from a woman and she raced into the room. "We must get him to his quarters," she told Felassan as she took Fen'Harel's other arm.

The other sentinels joined them when they reached the door. Soon they were carrying the unconscious god through the halls at a quick pace. Felassan barely paid attention to the halls. His mind was racing with questions and with herbs he might need to help Fen'Harel. He wasn't certain what could be done to help Fen'Harel at all right now because he didn't understand what had happened himself; neither did the other priests who had passed their knowledge on since Fen'Harel had first become known at the God of Rebellion or, as many preferred to call him, the God of Freedom.

Soon they entered spacious quarts that wouldn't have looked out of place for the ruler of the empire. What Felassan noted; however, was nothing was placed such that it looked important outside of the bed. Most of what dominated the room's items was gifts that had been given to Fen'Harel over the many long centuries of his life.

The sentinels placed Fen'Harel on the bed and backed away. There was a long moment were worried whispers filled the room. The sentinels didn't know what to do any more than Felassan did.

"I need these herbs," he started after several long moments of thought. Most of what he listed off were simple healing herbs. Right then, all he could think on where restoratives and poultices used for the ill. Nothing else seemed like it would be effective with whatever was wrong with Fen'Harel.

There was a moment of pause before a few of them left to gather what Felassan would need. While they were gone, Felassan tried to see what was wrong with Fen'Harel. There were a few minor injuries other than the one Andruil had given him which was still healing well. Other than this all he could see was that his master was exhausted. Whatever had been pulled from him had left him weaker than before. But the effects really weren't that clear to Felassan outside of exhaustion.

Soon the others arrived back with what Felassan had asked for. "Ma serannas," Felassan said with a smile to them before he started to mix the herbs together.

It felt as if all eyes were on him as Felassan worked. He tried to ignore them as he ground the herbs into a poultice while others were mixed together for Fen'Harel to drink when he awoke. The more he worked, the easier it became to focus and ignore the fact all of the sentinels of Fen'Harel were still watching him.

He moved to Fen'Harel once the poultices were ready.

"You are the high priest then?" the woman asked in a low breath.

Felassan glanced at her, frowning. "I am," he stated. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just been many, many centuries since Fen'Harel found a dreamer to be the high priest," the woman explained.

"And was willing to take them as such," added another of the sentinels.

This made sense. After all Felassan had gathered that much from conversations with Fen'Harel. No matter how short those conversations were.

He turned back to his work. By the time Felassan was done, some of the color had returned to Fen'Harel's face and his breathing had deepened, easing into one of sleep rather than being ragged and harsh as it had been before.

While he had worked, many of the sentinels had left. Two remained near the door. But neither of them had offered to help Felassan, which he again wasn't too shocked about. The tending of a God while they were asleep or unconscious was left solely to the high priest. At least that was what Abelas had told him.

Felassan stood. Since Fen'Harel was now out of danger he felt it was safe to leave. Granted his master most likely had only been in danger of falling into uthenera to heal. It was the way the Gods healed when no one was around to tend to their wounds or they had been dealt a mortal blow. At least that was both what he had gathered from the previous high priests of Fen'Harel and from what little Abelas had taught him.

To Felassan's shock the sentinels hadn't left the area, only Fen'Harel's chambers. They were waiting just outside and seemed to have multiplied since he had seen them last. He blinked and glanced around. There weren't as many sentinels as Mythal had but he also knew his master wasn't anything like Mythal either. Most people didn't tend to come to a God of Rebellion.

"Please tell us what happened," the woman from earlier stepped forward, her eyes wide with worry.

Felassan glanced around. A part of him wanted to tell them he could later. His eyes felt heavy with exhaustion. He could barely remember the last time he had slept more than a few hours. The race to Mythal's Temple and then the training before the battle had left little time to sleep. But they deserved to know what had happened to the God they served.

"All right."

There was a long moment of silence while Felassan gathered his thoughts. Then he started to tell them all that had happened, starting when they had first set out for the Temple of Mythal to warn her and ending when they had stepped through the eluvian here. He avoided most about what had happened with Andruil, not certain how they would take Fen'Harel's action at trapping a fellow god.

By the end of the story, the others looked uneasy.

"Does this mean there is will be war between all the Gods and Andruil?" asked the woman. "To take another God's life," – she shuddered – "I didn't think it was possible."

"Nor did I," Felassan confessed. "If I hadn't seen it happen with my own eyes I don't think I would believe it either." But, the question was, could a god really die? Perhaps Mythal was still out there, somewhere, and still alive. "And I don't know if it will be or not," he confessed.

Wars had raged for centuries between the nine gods. Whatever unity they once had was long gone. Or so Felassan believed. Most of the gods weren't even too attentive when it came down to the people who worshiped them. He had prayed to each in turn, but only Fen'Harel had answered him.

Felassan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was thinking too much on this. The last day felt as if it had aged him a century when he was still the boy he had been the day before that.

"Is it all right if I get some rest?" he asked, looking at the sentinels around him. "I need a clear mind to check on Fen'Harel later," he confessed.

The woman gave him a gentle smile. "Of course it's all right, da'len. It sounds like you've been through a lot." She gestured for him to follow.

The moment they were in a room and the woman pointed Felassan to a bed, he collapsed on the soft sheets. He didn't even notice how soft it was compared to the floor he was used to sleeping on. He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

*~ The Past ~*

Cold rain trickled in through the gapes in the wooden shelter the slaves shared with the harts and halla. Felassan shivered and pulled his legs tighter to his body. It had been pure chance that the one of their current masters had decided to let them share this structure at all.

"Great Protector, guide us from this hell," someone whispered nearby in prayer to Mythal.

It was all in vain. None of the gods ever replied to any slave's plea for aid or freedom. Even prayers for a quick death had gone unanswered by Falon'Din. Prayers for knowledge where never given fruit from Dirthamen. Ones for vengeance and justice or protection where just unlikely to be answered from either Elgar'nan or Mythal. The other four gods were just as silent. No one tried to pray to Fen'Harel, the God of Rebellion for fear His price would be too high.

Felassan closed his eyes and curled himself into a tighter ball. No price would be too high. Even if the God of Rebellion asked for Felassan's life as payment or eternal service. Being enslaved to even a cruel god would have better than this at least.

"Please," Felassan whispered, "if you can hear me, please, help me, Great Fen'Harel." He poured all of his will into those words. All of his desire to search out his mother after they had been torn apart. Every last fiber of his being was placed into each word. "I would give up even the hope to find my mother," he continued, whispering each word, "to just be free of these masters and never feel the weight of a wipe against my back again. So, please, even if I must serve you, please help me, Great Fen'Harel."

Just like with the other gods, there was no answer. He sighed and opened his eyes. So much for that. Granted he shouldn't have been so much of a fool as to believe Fen'Harel would care anymore than the other gods did.

At some point Felassan must have drifted into an uneasy sleep.

A shriek tore Felassan awake. His eyes snapped open to fire raging around the camp.

In an instant Felassan was sitting up, his eyes locked on the scene before him. Screams echoed up through the night as they were consumed by the fire or by something else entirely.

Despite the heat from the fire, Felassan shivered. There was power crackling through the air, unlike anything he had ever felt before. His heart raced with fear and excitement. The other slaves had moved back, cowering against the walls, eyes as wild with fear as the animals'.

"Fen'Harel," Felassan whispered the name of the god as he felt himself smile. He had answered after all. Fen'Harel, the God of Rebellion, had come because Felassan had prayed for him to.

The screams died down, flames flickering up towards the night. Even they seemed to be easing down. Then a part appeared in the fire and a lone figure stepped through. The power radiated from him, but he wasn't what Felassan had expected to see. All stories of Fen'Harel pointed to Him as appearing only as wolf within dreams. The ones told of the waking world never describe Him.

If there hadn't been the power coming off of this man, Felassan would have passed him over as normal noble by the finery he wore. His skin was pale and his eyes seemed to give off a faint glow in the night. They were a pale, gray-blue and were locked on Felassan. His features were narrow, sharp and intense. It felt almost like his face had been sculpted to mimic that of a wolf. His hood was down from the fitting, showing a piece of a wolf's jaw on his head. He had no hair which only added to the feeling of power about him rather than taking away from it.

"It was you then," he stated. His voice was light, almost peaceful sounding. In the same moment his voice was filled with a deep wisdom. A wisdom which could only come from many, many centuries of life.

Fen'Harel, for he could be no one else, lifted his hand. The shackles binding Felassan and the other slaves vanished.

"You are free. Use that freedom well." With those words Fen'Harel turned. With a gesture the fire died down to embers before he strode off.

For a long moment Felassan stared after him, ignoring the whispering of the others behind him. Just like that Fen'Harel had left, without asking for payment or anything. It went against everything that Felassan had heard about the god.

Without knowing why, Felassan leapt to his feet and raced after the god. Something pulled him to follow and he didn't know what it was. Perhaps a piece of him knew that Fen'Harel could help him more or perhaps he just wanted to know more about the God of Rebellion, the truth about him rather than just what stories had told him.

*~ X ~*

The halls of the Temple of Fen'Harel were very different from those Felassan had seen in Mythal's Temple. It was darker here, but not in the sense that one would have if it was a dungeon or place to free. Rather it felt like a study, kept in silence. It was a place where the veil was both thin and not in the sense that demons or spirits would push through.

Felassan had woken to find that Fen'Harel was still fine, still sleeping. So he had gone off to explore the temple. He kept away from the sentinels. It felt good to be alone and it gave him time to think on all that had happened since the day Fen'Harel had saved him.

Soon Felassan found himself deep within the temple. Fire flickered in the torches which lined the halls and cast an eerie light over the pasty colored walls. The odd thing about these walls were they were smooth. Felassan moved deeper into this and found a long hall. Here the walls were painted with images he had never even imagined before in his life.

Each step echoed through the room as he walked, eyes wide in awe. The images were dark and filled with blood or sorrow. They depicted battles from many centuries ago against all odds. The ealieriest of the images showed three people glowing with lights: blue, yellow, and green, standing against a tide of darkness. As it progress more joined the battle until there were nine in all.

This was the war against the three Forgotten: Anaris, Geldauran, and Daern'thal. The battles had raged for centuries until, at long last, Fen'Harel had come up with an idea to trick the Forgotten Ones and seal away in the abyss, thus serving the Fade from the physical world with the veil. This part Felassan knew was just another measure to ensure the Forgotten remained locked away from the physical world.

From what he remembered of his mother's tales, there was a great golden city in the Fade which marked the rise of their gods and the entrance into the prison of the Forgotten. All their darkness and taint was held back by the magic of the gods.

Felassan stopped at the end of the images. His eyes locked on the second to last one. It showed the city within the Fade. The nine Gods stood there, each wielding the full force of their power to finish the seal Fen'Harel had started.

As legend went, Fen'Harel tricked the Forgotten into believing he had betrayed his fellow gods and it was this which had lulled them into trusting him. Fen'Harel had then used this trust to trick them once more, trapping them for all eternity. If it was possible for the Forgotten to ever be free of their prison, Felassan wondered if they would take out their rage on Fen'Harel for all he had done to them.

"High Priest Felassan," a soft voice tore Felassan from the images.

He turned to see the woman for the other day looking at him. Her eyes were weary as she glanced at the images as if she didn't want to be here. This was part of their history, a part of it none should ever forget. So why she was so frightened about being down here, Felassan didn't know or really understand.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Fen'Harel is awake and asking for you," she told him.

(Author's Note: All right a little here over my ideas of the Forgotten. It is my belief that taint in the darkspawn comes from the Abyss. Why? What is described to be happening to Andruil is very similar to the effects the taint has on people. Whether it be just the outright taint or that from the read lyruim.

Okay, so I just needed to search a little harder to find the timeline. By the timeline I have Solas being well over eighty centuries old (8000 years) come the events of Inquisition. Also, I have noticed there are a lot of inconsistencies when it comes down to Arlathan. I think it has something to do with it being so long ago and so much information having been destroyed by time, the humans, and even the elves. What I am going with is mainly what is said by Abelas and Solas during Inquisition.

The next chapter is the events told from Fen'Harel's point of view rather than Felassan's (so dreams in some cases) but I wanted Felassan to get his two cents in.

Also for any of you wondering, this story isn't going to end as quickly as you may or may not think. I have around forty-five chapters planned at this moment (give or take right now depending on chapters to come).

Thank you for the reviews guys.)