You sigh as you feel your awareness return to the surface, your sleep had been deep. All around you a breeze stirs the air, very softly brushing your skin, your hair. Making the long grass sway into you and the leaves in the trees rattle in applause at its wonders. Nearby, a stream trickles, singing notes to you that soothe and relax the difficulty of dreaming and waking away.
"Awake are we? Good."
The same voice you'd just escaped from greets your awakening, as mysterious, intimidating as it was within your dream. Alarmed, you jolt upward, search for the one who watches you. She is seated on a boulder nearby, legs crossed thoughtfully as her golden eyes pierce your soul. The eyes of a cat, watching the mouse she is toying with fondly. An old woman, she looks far too lively, graceful, for all her years. Confident, bold, in control, you feel far outmatched somehow. She is pleased by this.
"Call me Flemeth if the urge so entices you." She voices an answer to your unspoken question.
You know that name, you have heard it. In stories regarded with awe, respect. In voices riddled with caution, fear.
"Why are you here?" The sound of your own voice cutting through the surrounding peace nearly startles you.
"That's always the question isn't." A statement, not an inquiry. "He are you here? What do you want?... Is an old woman never allowed to merely be curious?"
You are unsure how to answer, or even if you should. She was here. It was best you entertained whatever she had come for, and be done with it. Eventually, so long as you kept her appeased, she'd take her leave for far more important endeavors in her personal conquests. At least, you hoped. She laughs, snarls more like.
"That's right, curiousity. I wonder just where you'll lead."
Your brow furrows in utter confusion, and again she is pleased. Still a toy to sate her need to play vicious games.
"What if I told you that you were more than you appeared? That you could be... important." The smirk that curls her lips is hungry, eager to continue the game. "Would it go to your head? Give you visions of grandeur?"
You say nothing. You aren't liking where this is going, or how she is baiting you.
"Well, importance is relative. Just because you are important does not mean you are good. And just because you are good does not mean you are important. To be both is something of an an impressive feat."
"What is it you are trying to tell me?"
Your voice is low, respectful. But your spirit is growing impatient. She is taken back by your sudden boldness. It does not upset her, but thrills her further yet.
"Straight to the point, I see. You want to bypass the riddles, the myseries. The potential in words that are not yet defined, their meaning still unclear... Very well. There are many more awaiting you. And whatever you find that I tell you will still be a game of guessing until the time is right. Getting to the point isn't always getting answers." She laughs again.
You frown, "Alright then. I'll take what I can get."
"Ah. Such a good child. Taking what is offered, seeking more, but never expecting everything. Keep that trait, and you will not be left wanting."
You do not give her the pleasure of a reaction, just await for her to truly begin patiently. If she has not already. She scoffs.
"You are aware of the most recent Blight, how it descended upon Ferelden. You know of the 'Warden' who slew the Archdemon at its head, do you not?"
You give a nod. Another smirk crosses her face.
"I doubt you truly know of all that *that* entails."
Your expression betrays you, offering up your confusion for her entertainment. She loves it.
"Know this. In the subtlety of the struggle between the Heavens and the Void, so much has been forgotten by the peoples. Lost in the years as they passed. Even few in the Chantry still truly believe in agents and all that they really are. They have forgotten to follow those graced with divine power, and instead chase those without who claim ghosts of better understanding. And the majority of us slip into legend, myth, and superstition. We are spoken of in their Chants, but the feeling that accompanies them is hollow. So we continue our purpose in secret. And the world, now complex and strange, continues on."
Some of your dream comes back to you now. The story of The Maker and The Destroyer. Growing up, as you heard recitings of the Chants around you uttered from people you had come across, all spoke of The Maker. But none had ever mentioned The Destroyer or his purpose. Evidence to support her words. If she were not spinning wild tales by which to befuddle you and amuse herself.
"The Blight was not blind destruction, as so many are convinced. The hordes were directed, the Darkspawn had purpose. And they fell upon Ferelden for a reason."
You wait for her to continue, but she laughs.
"Why simply tell you when I could *show* you."
Everything around you spins, changes, takes another form. Had you been standing, you would have collapsed in the unsteady torrent. Your guts twist, this is unnatural, unreal. But before your focus can ponder out how this could be happening, her voice seizes your attention once more. Everything stills into place around the both of you.
"I shall show you the past of recent events. Give you words of potential that may aid you in the times to come, if you listen. Take heed, I'm usually not so generous. And you'll not get a chance to discover such imperative knowledge again."
You look about, trying to determine where you've been taken.
"The wilds surrounding Loathering," she decipher for you, "Just after the death of King Cailan."
You look to see a group of women, and two men. One laying motionless upon the ground, all color bled from him. Not far, a great beast presses to the earth, dead. An ogre. You turn your gaze back to the survivors, watching as a mother cries, and her daughters soothe. And listening to the encouragement to move onward offered by woman of red hair, and a man of Templar make. Eventually they lift from the dust and step away, one pausing to look back one final time.
"The hordes were sent to destroy her," Flemeth tells you as the woman peers back, "This was the first time I encountered the Champion. You know of her, yes?"
Her voice seemed more of a warning that you had better know of this woman. You give a nod of affirmation. You have heard many tales of the Champion and all her great adventures. It meant little to you until now, she had not affected your life much. You study her now that there is a face to be placed with the title.
Hair white as fresh linen, her eyes were liquid silver. Her skin pale just as the rest of her. The stature she held was tall, mighty. You can tell from her form that she is definitively strong and capable. She boasted the armor of a warrior, a great sword at her back. So this was the identity of the one who had started *the war*. You think this, for now...