Pride, Wolf and Rebellion

Elvhen

The Petitioner's Chamber was unspoiled, surprisingly, and there were few signs of its antiquity. The varnish was tattered on the walls and the place was coated in thick dust, but the ceiling towered as proudly as the terrace before them and ancient murals lined the walls depicting Elvhen figures on...griffons.

Fen'Asha walked the Chamber, gazing up at the murals. It wasn't long before she felt the air change, like dozens of eyes were peering at her at once. She raised her hand, signaling to the others.

A hooded figure stood on the terrace above and his hand was also raised. He met Fen'Asha's gaze, his vallaslin identical to hers.

She looked around and saw that she was surrounded by a dozen or more archers, arrows pointed at her, indicating her position on the lower ground.

"You are unlike the other invaders," said the hooded figure. He looked her over.

She bowed her head slightly, fingers tightening on her staff.

"You stumble down our paths at the side of one of our own," continued the figure. "And you bear the mark of magic. Familiar..."

The Anchor responded, ripping through her palm with green fury. She clenched her fist.

"How can this be?" said the hooded figure. "What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?" His voice rang through the chamber.

"They are my enemies," said Fen'Asha. "And yours."

The hooded elf creased his brow and waved at the archers. They lowered their bows, unset their arrows.

Fen'Asha scanned the area, spotting some of the elves as they ducked back into the shadowy alcoves. She kept her grip tight on the staff nevertheless.

"I am Abelas," he said. "We are sentinels, tasked with standing against those who would trespass on sacred ground."

Fen'Asha nodded and introduced herself.

"We wake only to fight," continued Abelas. "Our numbers are cut down with each invasion, with each trespass. But I know what you seek. You wish to drink from the Vir'Abelasan."

"What is the Vir'Abelasan?" asked Fen'Asha.

"It is not for you," said Abelas. "It is not for any of you. It is a path, walked only by those who have toiled in Mythal's favour."

"You are ancient elves..." ventured Fen'Asha.

Abelas nodded, pacing the area on the terrace.

"From before the Tevinter destroyed Arlathan?" she asked.

"The shemlen were not responsible," said Abelas. "We warred on ourselves. By the time the doors to this sanctuary closed, our time was at an end. Now, we wake only when called. The world is more and more foreign..."

Fen'Asha sighed. This was unexpected. The pattern on Abelas' face was her own, her vallaslin. It was her mother's. The same.

Silence lingered in the Chamber and Abelas shuffled. Both parties seemed uncertain.

"Solas?" said Fen'Asha after the moment lingered.

"What shall I say?" Solas replied. "Shall I sway his intentions from a millennia of service by virtue of shared blood? He lacks the power..."

"We've lost everything," broke Fen'Asha. "Our people...they need you..."

"Our people?" sneered Abelas.

Fen'Asha gulped at the familiar words, the familiar inflection.

"You are not my people," said Abelas. "And to make matters worse, you have invaded our sanctum as readily as the shemlen."