Breathless Pride

Returning home does not bring the same relief as it did in the past, because on some level, I am aware that I had abandoned those in Thedas to the cruel fate. That I had run. I'm gloomy and guilt-ridden. I refuse to speak of what bothers me; which has my parents casting worried, searching glances, as I deal with my overwrought emotions.

Eventually, I settle down, and start thinking, instead of letting my feelings rule over me. I come to the unexpected, but obvious, once reached, conclusions.

My time in Thedas has taught me that sometimes, the inability to choose is also a choice in itself. Often, standing on the side-lines and observing the unfurling events, is much harder than taking part in them. It was the hardest of lessons, experienced on my own skin; one difficult to absorb and accept. One I do not wish to repeat ever again.

However, once I look over my actions; I know, if I had a chance to go back, and do it over again. I would have done the same. No matter my sentiments, or presumptions otherwise, it was not a wrong choice. I have preserved what was most important to me – my values. My pride. They remain intact.

Once I come to terms with it, I easily fall back into my peaceful life on Earth; enjoying the momentary break from struggles, and war, both internal and external.

Yet, after a while; the time to go back draws close, and I can't leave without some warning to my family. Reluctantly, I call up my mum, and from her uneasy looks I can discern that she is suspicious.

"Mum. There's… a chance I might now wake up this time " I tell her, trying to be as delicate as possible. Considering June's… well, everyone's deterioration, I have literally no idea how Thedas fared. I have to prepare her for the possibility.

"Why… would you say so?" She is obviously upset.

"I've been gone for over a year – hard to judge, but I expect a long time has passed.'' I reply neutrally, settling on an easier truth.

"That has never been an issue before." My mother is anything but perceptive, and I berate myself mentally for the assumption I could get away with such vagueness. I had not told them anything of the chaos, nor the rivers of blood, flowing in Thedas. Surrounded by peace as they are, they would not comprehend the horrors of war. I gladly spared them of it. Now, because of it; my words seem out of place, unexpected... frightening.

I still have no intention of acquainting my mum too closely with the reality I'm about to enter.

"My lover..." That's how I referred to June, thus far – not a captor, a jailer, but a lover I chose consciously. "Has been upset with my leaving. I suspect he will try holding me back, after all this time."

He certainly tried before, and while the words are definitely stretching the truth – a lot – they're not an outright lie. It is not June, at least not directly; who would prevent my return, but there are things I will always keep from her.

"And I do not like hurting him. I might choose to remain, this time."

She doesn't appreciate it, but nods stiffly, with pursed lips. Certainly, she can comprehend the need to soothe and care for your loved ones, even if she does not like the circumstances making me choose between one world over another.

I do not tell her that in fact, I'm more fearful for my survival than willing to placate June in such manner. But it would be unfair of me, if I just went, and died, in Thedas, without any preparation or warning for them.

A familiar darkness sweeps over me, and on the strings of golden thread I return.

I do not recognize my surroundings; basked in the ghastly green of ever-flaming veilfire; and a strange play of shadows. A cave of some sort? No, the walls are polished and even; a clear manifestation of work of thinking hands, not mindless natural phenomena.

I pull myself up from the strange stone bed, carved from marble-like material. At least it's not a shrine, I remind myself with a touch of irritation. I can feel all sorts of powerful preserving magics cast around the room, with a familiar tingle of Fen's touch to them. I can follow the intricate patterns with a light contact, but as usual; I find myself a bit dismayed at the inability to actually see them, it severely limits my comprehension.

I explore the tunnel warily. Breathing in strangely thin air; I feel something important missing from it. As if it was empty, lifeless, not unlike the atmosphere on Earth, now that I think about it. But why?

My attention is grabbed by a small alcove containing a chest, with a sealed letter on its lid. I do not waste time grabbing it, and ripping the envelope.

'Dear Fean'Na' I read from it, inscribed in the impeccable calligraphic manner of Fen's. 'Forgive me for not being able to be by your side when you wake. As you have surely guessed, the way things were going… I could not let it stand. The Evanuris were incapable of overcoming their differences, and were going to bring down Thedas along with them. I managed to seal them away, beyond the Veil. Along with them, I have sealed away the Fade as well – there was simply no other way to achieve it, otherwise.

I expect you will find the world much changed although, how precisely – I'm incapable of divining. It is impossible to foresee the long term effects the disappearance of magic from the air will have, but they will be undoubtedly, profound.

So that's what I've been missing. I take a moment to call on my power, more consciously this time; instead of simply expanding my awareness, and find it much more resistant to my manipulations, as well as tiring. What used to be responsive to the slightest pull, now forces me to draw on my private reserves much more. After making my hand glow I stop, both frustrated and irritated. It will force me into precision, and careful management. How… inconvenient.

Hopefully, it will be kinder to you now, that the cause of your misery is gone. I pray the change will ease your suffering.

I…' a crossed out section, before the writing begins anew, 'This place has been built for you, a secure sanctuary, once I stole you away from June's palace, long after you fell asleep again.

I can see your scowl – do not worry needlessly. I had done it at the very last moment, just before the ritual, so no harm had come to me or mine on your account.

I am left without much power to speak of, for the moment. The endeavour has left me entirely drained, weakened. Barely in existence, to be precise. I am forced into a regenerative slumber, and, most likely, will do so for a long time.

Should you wish to visit me, I've provided you with the instructions that lead to my shrine. I'l l not be much of a host however, my apologies.

My' another erased fragment 'friend, I am sorry to leave you in such dire, uncertain circumstances. Know that it's largely thanks to your thoughtful gift, that I've been able to achieve what I did.

I' ll remain forever in your debt.

Fen'Harel '

I feel a pang of pain at the detached, emotionless tone of his words. Nothing personal, no alluding to our bond… Is it truly broken? Are we to remain like this, distanced, with platitudes and well-phrased, remote politeness? Are debts and memories of friendship all we share, all that remains?

While neither one of us is, or have been ever, particularly expressive, I have expected, hoped for, a hint of… Something… Anything really.

It appears my actions have finally caught up with me, and the wolf had given up. Considering I've rejected him thrice, it is not particularly unwarranted, nor unreasonable. I was just selfishly hoping he wouldn't.

I take a moment, closing my eyes and calming my weeping heart, mourning the loss. Grieving over my gone love.

However, looking at his words objectively, regardless of my wounded feelings, it certainly explains a lot, though much is left unanswered. I'll have to look for the explanations myself since, obviously, Fen is unable to provide them for me.

I look through the contents of the chest, and to my gratification; I find our usual camping utilities, packed and prepared for my needs. Fen had predicted I would not be content to remain in one spot for long, and so, sought to provide for such circumstances.

Always thoughtful, and caring, my wolf. Well not mine anymore, I remind myself; struggling under another wave of pain, as my breath hitches.

His foresight is an immense help, and in the next weeks I praise my time with him all the more as all the survival skills he had taught me come in handy.

The lack of Fade proves to be as much of an irritation as the initial premises suggested. I have to skimp on my magic, unable to traverse the lands using fade step freely; forcing me instead to travel by foot. While I'm as swift as ever; I've never claimed much endurance, and it shows.

With time, I gain in strength, and I am able to venture farther away from my hideout – sanctuary Fen had created. What strikes me first is that the humans have much progressed, stepped up, as its their villages, and settlements I encounter during my travels. The second thing is the fact that I have to learn a new language, if I'm ever to communicate with anyone.

Without guidance it proves challenging. I have to resort to theft, sneaking around, and listening in on private conversations, before I gain any semblance of understanding. The books I've stolen – and what a hassle that was, gaining access to a large enough library that would contain some tomes both in Elvhen, and this new language – are marginally helpful, but I know that in order to attain true proficiency, a conversation partner will be a necessity.

Still, I shy away from making any contact with Shemlen. It's a risk I am not keen on taking, as the absence of Elvhen; any Elvhen, grates on my nerves, and tingles in warning. Finally, I decide to make my way to Fen'Harel's shrine; hoping it would shed some light on the unnerving mysteries.

I encounter some of Fen's followers, guarding the site of his rest. They refer to themselves as his Disciples, and I swallow a nervous laugh; they are reminiscent of Mythal's Sentinels. I had a decidedly rocky relationship with the organization, obviously, as my patent defiance and disrespect towards the goddess was not greeted warmly by her most faithful. Fortunately, Fen's Disciples seem a touch more reasonable in their approach, and honouring their patron, they seek wisdom and awareness above boundless, blind loyalty.

Fen would have approved. Maybe he did.

They do not skimp on sharing their knowledge, as well, and I'm glad for my somewhat impromptu trip. What I learn from them, however, has me rather forlorn, and edgy.

The picture painted before me is not a pretty one. With the disappearance of the Evanuris, – of the whole Arlathan, to be exact; the Elvhen divided after the centuries of conflict had not stopped warring one another.

Shaken after the loss of their guidance, and disturbed by the changes in magic, it became all the more frightening once they've started aging. While they were still relatively ageless in comparison with other races, for those acquainted with the idea of immortality, it was a huge blow. Cities and villages and clans, turned against one another, blaming each other for the choices made during the Twilight of Gods, as the war is called now, and for its consequences.

They have blamed Fen'Harel most of all. The Great Betrayal, they call his greatest achievement.

I cry, thinking of my kind-hearted, wise wolf. How could they disregard his efforts, his dedication, in such way? How could they not see the necessity that drove his actions? He had nearly sacrificed himself for the sake of Thedas. My heart warms when the Disciples inform me that writing to me was the last thing he had done before slipping away.

Maybe he still… No. I cannot continue driving myself against the wall in such a manner. My sanity won't survive much more. We had freed each other of any obligations towards one another, and let's keep it at that.

The lack of Fade had other, at first less evident, but growing more visible with the passage of time, effects. The Elvhen are becoming shorter, more lithe, losing in strength, with each generation. The Disciples speculate the loss of magic had such effect on their bodies. Although those bound to the gods more strongly – like the Sentinels, what remains of Elgar'nan's Justiciars, and the Disciples themselves, seem to be exempt from that trend – as well as from the binds of time.

It appears my geas, strangely; works in a similar manner, tying me strongly to the Fade, to the respiration of Thedas, even through the Veil. In fact, once the scholars surrounding me come to this conclusion, they are overcome with excitement – could this possibly be the answer to counter this effect? I look at their hopeful faces, and realize with dread that they have their children to think of. Their mortal children, born in this completely mortal, breathless world.

Unfortunately, after careful examinations, their hopes are dashed. As I had expected; though refrained from pointing out, as it would be uncouth of me to shatter the wishes of my hosts without certainty behind my speculations. The level of power that had bound me here, the combined strength of Mythals and Junes, is impossible to replicate. It was similar, in fact, to the one used to create the Veil itself – and I find myself stunned; flabbergasted yet again, by the determination of June to keep me by his side.

To distract themselves from the disappointment, and seeing my shock, the Disciples rush to explain that the Veil was created, weaved really, so that it would power itself. Therefore while the magics involved are immense, it was not as power-consuming as one would have thought. It was more of an issue of preparation, and establishing the initial push to begin it; rather than attempting a humongous spell encompassing the whole world.

Still. It nearly killed Fen during the casting, I counter in my mind. One of the oldest, most powerful gods in existence, with his influence at the Twilight's end almost as broad as Mythal's at her peak.

After this conversation, there's a moment of uncomfortable silence, as the Elvhen surrounding me are trying to come to terms with yet another failure in their search of how to preserve their children. Tactfully, I try to back out, leave them to their sorrow. I have no part in it, am an intruder, really.

One of the guardians offers to take me to the shrine. As it had been my initial goal, I gladly take the offered chance to allow them at least a small comfort. A moment of privacy.

Fen's shrine is similar to my sanctuary in architecture, though instead of a cave it's a valley, hidden among the mountains; with a barrier erected around it. I cannot see the markings, but the redhead Disciple informs me it is an illusion of another, impassable mountain for others. I hear a startled gasp behind my back as I simply walk through it, feeling Fen's magic washing over me and opening the passage in welcome.

Seeing him sleeping among the wolf statues, so deeply gone there's almost no pulse once I touch him reflexively, is disquieting. I wonder if that's how the others felt when they watched over me as I slept, for hundreds and hundreds of years. It differs from the usual Uthenara sleepers, in that I am aware his soul is still there. Although its presence is very weak.

I can feel the Veil is weak here, bleeding in more of the Fade through, and I can only applaud his choice of resting place. It will help him get through it more quickly, although, of course, it will take ages yet.

I spend the next few hours feasting my eyes on him, basking in his presence. It's comforting, the way his aura pulsates lightly around him, in a way that screams, shouts, Fen to me. I miss his low, tempered voice, so rarely agitated. I take my time, knowing that once I leave, I won't be back for a long time. Finally, with a regretful sigh, I kiss his cheek chastely, then berate myself for the instinctive yet unwarranted action, and pass through the barrier again.

I spend a couple more weeks with the Disciples. They educate me in the Shemlen language and current politics, and in turn, I tell of the wonders of Arlathan, before the fall had begun. It is sad that none of them had been born before the Twilight, that none of them can actually comprehend how much has been lost. They only see what concerns them the most, the mortality and the weakened magic being the most obvious things, and while I can't in good conscience begrudge them focusing on their immediate problems; I saw the prominence, and then decline of the entire civilization, as it plunged into the abyss.

The arrogance of the gods brought about their downfall, I had cursed Mythal with these words. Only I had never expected it would come to fruition in such a manner. I feel the guilt swelling in me, twisting my heart; I could not have known, yet it does not absolve me entirely of responsibility over what my pride had wrought.

Yet, as empires fall, another ones rise to take their place. While the Elvhen squabbled pettily, recklessly spending the remainder of their power; Shems had advanced beyond the barbarism I remembered from close to three thousand years ago. The Tevinter Empire they call it, ruled by the members of so-called magisterium – the people gifted in reaching beyond the Veil to harness magic, apparently.

It surprises me that the humans here are capable of that – Children of the Stone aren't, certainly. The most the underworlders could do was carve runes in lyrium, the crystallized Fade gathering in their tunnels.

Lyrium, the tears of Thedas. It holds magical properties, but the dangers that come along with the boost of power provided by it were far too profound to ignore. Shems got addicted, but in Elvhen, it wrought true damage, and was soon forbidden. Only Children of the Stone could handle it safely, and with good reason, I guess, as they lived so closely to it.

Even with the Fade gone from the air I wouldn't touch lyrium, unless my life literally depended on it.

There is a darker side to the Shemlen empire, one I should have really expected. Only, for some unfathomable reason, didn't. Once the humans could hold even ground against the Elvhen, they slowly subjugated all of Thedas, and… took the conquered race into slavery.

Yes, the reason I saw no Elvhen was that the entirety of the race, aside from the few lucky clans, got enslaved. Since the long-lived and dangerous servants like them are a privilege only the ruling class deserved, it was no wonder the villages away from the capital had not a one.

It makes me choke on the Tevene as I learn more of it, the remembrance of that fact. I detest restrictions on freedom of any kind; little wonder, with a history like mine, and what happens in the empire are the chains of the worst kind. I can sympathize with Elvhen's anger at the absent gods a bit more after that, although it is unquestionable that they ought to have been able defend themselves. This shifting of responsibility is not uncommon among the losers, and they have lost literally everything.

What bothered me previously, the lack of records of any history, hits them all the more with Arlathan gone. The largest libraries were there, the Universities and the scholars. They have no connections to the past, nothing to go by.

I leave the Disciples, unable to remain much longer; having grown restless, hounded by my emotions. I feel guilty and undeserving of their hospitality, considering my role in the tragedy; as well as my treatment of their god.

The time in their company made me grow lax, inattentive. Soon, I pay for my carelessness and disregard of safety measures, and wake up in a dungeon.

In the hands of slavers.

Whether they assume me a runaway, or one of the few remaining wildlings; as they refer to the still uncaptured Elvhen, matters little. I am fair enough to fetch them good coin, but only providing they break me, my spine, and my blazing independence.

Yet, soon, my oppressor learns that I'm unaffected by the pain he inflicts on me. I had learned indifference under the geas' strain, and treat this vessel of mine with detachment. If he desires to destroy my beauty, so be it. If he desires to cripple me, well. I'll cope.

In the end, he cannot reach, no, he doesn't even get close to the brink of my endurance, and he fears for my life. He is frustrated with me, I realize with a touch of dark humour. There's nothing he can hold against me to bring me to heel – I have no family, no friends, nothing precious to hold onto; aside from my weakening existence. The only thing he could threaten me with is a threat to my life – and both of us realize it is a bluff. I'm worth far too much, to actually risk me that way.

And so the situation comes to a standstill, when he takes out his frustration on my back. Whipping it until it bleeds, and I refuse to bow down, or even scream; defiant, until I lose consciousness.

But then, unexpectedly, a buyer appears; in spite of my disobedience willing to acquire me. What interests him is my literacy; apparently, the slavers had plundered and kept all of my belongings, and the book in Elvhen was a rather prominent item among the rubble. Still, he is a bit hesitant to invest in such uncertain commodity.

But the slavers are very enthusiastic that they can finally be rid of me, even if the gain is less than their original expectations. So they lower the price on the account of my stubbornness, and finally, come up with a solution that satisfies the buyer, which would prevent me from actively running away.

They break my leg.

I've little need of it as the translator, after all – and that's the role I assume in the service of my new owner, Erasthenes. Most of the Elvhen lore and wisdom was lost with the Arlathan, but the Tevinters use whatever scraps they find to further their own understanding of magic, and adjust it to the changed situation.

I suppose I ought to be grateful it was only one leg, left one, and not both of them, but, strangely enough, there's little graciousness in me when I consider the issue. The flares of pain might have something to do with it.

I submit to Erasthenes' will, partially. It chafes at my pride, but I know that closed off in the dungeon I've little chance of escaping. To appease my irritation, I take delight in making slight, deliberate errors and omissions; while ensuring they are not so glaringly obvious, and might be easily considered a mistake. Especially since none of the 'Vints even consider I might understand what I'm writing about, that I might have studied magic as well.

I remembered the words of Disciples, that the touch of power diminished greatly among the Elvhen. I take care to keep my aura wound around me tightly, and none of them are capable of sensing it; once I'm surrounded by those actually gifted, and not mere brutes. I suppose, with some effort, they would have discovered my deception, as, especially initially, it's not particularly skilful, as hidden as I would like. But it would require a suspicion on their part, and all of the magisters surrounding me are perfectly happy with their ignorance and arrogant superiority.

I consider it my luck Erasthene's has little interest in the carnal pleasures of the world, and despises them displayed in his students. I do not know whether I would have been able to stay my hand had any one of them touched me in such manner. As it is, I bear the lecherous glances with ostensible disdain and disregard.

Any violence, or betrayal of my true potential prematurely; would have undoubtedly gotten me killed.

Later on, I find other things to occupy my rebellious tendencies with; aside from my personal, private, revenge. The slaves surrounding me find me, and my determination, both astonishing, and aweing. I smile with a touch of irony as I realize there's not much of a difference in that regard between here and my times in Arlathan – again, Pride is inspiring, for some.

But this time, there's no Fen to lead these poor People, this time, they'll have to rely on themselves to kindle the rebellion. So I take a more active approach, and try to teach them the small ways in which they can support each other. All the ways in which they can retain, even now, their independence, their freedom. It raises the morale, the awareness that the magisters cannot, in fact, control everything in one's life.

Freedom is not merely confined to physical world; it is also a state of mind, and no one has the capability of chaining it.

Again, there's little nobility in my actions. I readily admit, I take great pleasure at thwarting the indoctrination efforts of the Tevinter masters, as my word spreads like a wildfire, and I can see the straightened spines, the hardy, half-hidden glares, and the glint in their eyes. I am aware that many of them will die for the illusion of freedom, for the perseverance of the flighty ideals, before a true chance appears for any of them.

At least partially, it is sympathy. There are many parallels between my situation and theirs, although from the chains of factual slavery, I can be rid at any time, and never have I been in actual danger of dying, aside from by my own hand. Well, before. But I am, was, bound to Thedas with similar disregard to my rights as a thinking, feeling being; as they are bound to their masters.

Years trickle, and I let many opportunities pass me by, unreasonably engaged in my role. Secretly, I've begun teaching the other slaves to read and write, another thing they can revel in during their quiet rebellion. I begin to feel the pressure to return, go back home again, as the geas has again loosened, weakened.

The decision is made for me, when one day, a young magister, who goes by the name Corypheus remarks on my surprisingly youthful appearance. Untouched by time, even after all the work in the archives, he says, and his eyes glint with sudden interest; he remembers me as a child, and has managed to grow into power and influence all the while. I shudder at the ominous tone, and know I cannot dawdle anymore. In fact, I bless, am incredibly grateful, for his arrogance; which has led to this unbidden warning, before they could take any closer look at me.

Swiftly, I use one of the boltholes I've arranged to escape the archives, and later, Minrathous. As I pass it in speed, this time, not skimping on my mana, I have one small regret. That I've never been able to really see a wonder that the city is in its glory. It cannot compare to the vastly superior Arlathan, built and refined over ages with applications of the most careful magics, but it does have its charm. Yet, as a slave, I barely left the confines of my workplace, and even when I did; I had to keep my head down, allowed no more but a glimpse.

The escape is not as flawless as I would have wished, as my leg soon acts up again; unused to such strain after years of sitting position, and I am once again reminded; that it was mangled beyond repair. Well, at least without skilled intervention, the mangling was permanent. But the pain had never stopped me before, and stealing a horse without any remorse, I proceed to push myself heavily, and arrive back at the Disciples enclave.

They welcome me with surprise, and curiosity, but I've little patience. I respond sketchily and dryly to their queries; asking instead for writing utensils; before leaving, I owe someone a letter. He had wrote one for me, after all.

The words do not come easily, as I scrap the first few attempts in irritation.

Dear (beloved) Fen,

I've been (lonely, sad, lost in this misplaced world) well. My trip back home had helped me regain some (barely any) of my balance, just like I hoped it would.

As you've said, the world is much changed (broken, mangled beyond repair, just like my leg). It is strange, not seeing the Arlathan etched, glimmering against the skies (unnatural and sad). The lifeless air took some getting used to, but you know me, I'm (breathless, the world without you has lost all of its spark) as resilient as they come.

The next part is even harder, as I cannot find any way to soften the blow, yet I think he should hear it from me first, and not from his people.

The Elvhen have fallen to their knees, and bend their necks before the might of the Shemlen empire (squandering the chance you had presented them with).

I have attempted to rectify the situation, teach them of what I know best – Pride – but the wisdom and perseverance are hard to come by, so I expect it will be years before my efforts come to fruition.

But the spark is there, as it ever was.

Pleasant dreams, and may our paths cross one day.

Fean'Na

I look at what I wrote, and see the missing words, more of them than those actually written. There are many more things I want to desperately include, but refrain.

I miss you.

I would do anything, anything to see you once more.

Neither I, nor the Elvhen, are deserving of your regard, but I beg you, do not give up on either.

And, of course, never forgotten, and never spoken, I love you.

But I'm doing both of us no favours, clinging onto what once was; as there's a chance we might never meet again. The truth would hurt him, since he had cared for me; maybe still does, slightly, a bit. He would feel guilty and dismayed, and I do not wish that burden upon him, my stance remains unchanged from all those years before.

While I can't help my feelings, the least I can do for him is to appease his worries, all the while – seemingly – letting him go. Absolving him of his devotion to me, which he had displayed in the past. It's not only unmerited, but also, it binds him, when both of us run a chance of meeting a misplaced arrow, or bandit's sword in this dangerous, new world. I wouldn't, can't, deny him the chance of meeting someone who would help in healing his wounds; some of which I'm responsible for. So I let it stand at that. Far more impersonal than my intentions, but truthful enough for me to accept.

I entrust it into the hands of the faithful followers of Fen's. Unwilling to trespass on his shrine anymore, but more than that; I'm distrustful of my own willpower to leave it promptly.

Instead, I determinedly make my way back to my own sanctum, and with relief, lie against the white marble.

I'm safe, and relatively unharmed. It's time for my well-deserved break.