She stepped out of the chantry and into the garden. She needed some air. During the night she had experienced a terrible nightmare, like nothing she had ever had before. She had awoken in a panic, bathed in a cold sweat. For the rest of the night, she had tried desperately to force the images and the despair from her mind and heart but had not succeeded. As the dawn light grew, she forced herself to dress. Each act, each movement seemed to be taking place in water and required more effort than she seemed to have. Finally, she made her way to the garden. She went to the garden every morning, to tend the flowers and to be filled with the light and beauty of the Maker's world, but today she found no such solace. A terror had settled in to the core of her being like a deep chill no amount of light or warmth could touch.
The day was beautiful, perfect in fact, but she found no joy in it. There was only a heavy sadness, all she could think was how all this would be destroyed by the Blight, all she saw would soon be desolate and lifeless, diseased and corrupted. The light only revealed to her all that would be lost, the laughter of the sorrow to come, death or worse awaited them all, and nothing could be done. It was too much to bear. How could the Maker allow such a thing? How could this be the Maker's will? He loved his children and she knew in her heart this to be so, but then how could he allow such suffering to his people and such destruction of this world?
All would fall to the Blight, they could flee but eventually it would find them. Nothing could stand against it, except the Grey Wardens and they were all gone. The regent had declared them traitors, said that they had betrayed the king and Ferelden. While the chantry supported the crown, she also knew that few believed the story. But it did not matter, they were all dead anyway.
She had tended to all those as best she could, refugees, survivors of the battle. She could do little but listen and offer comfort, but to so many none was to be had. She heard their stories, of monsters, powerful, unrelenting, unstoppable, tearing though villages and people, without mercy, destroying all, even poisoning the very earth itself. 'What...' they had asked '...could stand against such a force?' She had no answer.
She looked out over the garden, flowers, trees, even the small birds, all were doomed but they didn't know it. They were like so many who would not know or understand the danger till it was too late. So many were like them, doomed to die and there was nothing anyone could do. Despair, heavy and thick enveloped her, the very air seemed full of it. She wanted to cry but knew it would not help. It would not make her feel any better, nothing would.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the rose bush in the corner of the garden. At least it had escaped the Blight, it was dead. It had died months earlier, nothing remained but a dark mass of twisted, brittle branches. They had been planning on digging it up and planting a new one, but had not. She looked to it. It seemed there was something on it. A bird, perhaps, had become caught in its gnarled thorny vines. She would try to free it. A bird had a chance to escape, at least for a while. She would not leave it trapped to watch its own death and the destruction of its home.
But as he approached she realized, it was not a bird but a... rose. A perfect, beautiful, fully-bloomed rose, growing from the bush. She stared in amazement. There was no other leaf on the bush, no other bud, nothing to indicate any life at all, but there it was. It had somehow blossomed from this dead bush. She stared at it and felt herself being filled with hope. If this, this beauty, could come from such death and decay, then perhaps there was hope even in this darkest of situations. If this could happen against all odds, all thought and opinion, all reason and experience, then did that not also mean that you could no longer assume that any situation was truly hopeless?
She had allowed herself to succumb to despair. She had failed the Maker by not trusting in him. She had not kept faith in him and believed. She would not make such a mistake again. She knelt down in prayer. Thanking the Maker for this sign, for restoring her faith, for all of the Maker's blessings. She stood and looked over the garden, its beauty now reached her and she was no longer afraid. There was hope, there was always hope. She turned to leave.
She thought to take a last look, just to make sure the rose was, in fact, real, but... no. Whether it was real or a... vision, it did not matter. But then perhaps she should take the rose with her, as a reminder of the Maker's love, but... again no. It had served its purpose, it had restored her faith. In a sense she would always carry that rose with her. She would leave it for another to find. Perhaps it would mean something to someone else, restore their faith or give them some measure of solace or comfort. Perhaps the Maker had another purpose for it to fulfill, she hoped so.
She must go to the tavern. Many there still needed help and she must do what she could, but she thought there must be more she could do. She had... skills. Skills that could be useful in fighting darkspawn and defeating a Blight, no? But she had learned her lesson. She would trust in the Maker to show her the path he wished for her to walk. She would wait and watch for some sign, some indication of what she was to do. It would come. She was sure of it in fact.