A/N: A new story for Grim Tales, if you liked the Viscountess story, it is being continued in Viscountess Amell. This story deals with an OC I created for my first DA story Chant of Darkness. Without further ado, here is Flemeth's Son.

Flemeth's Son: A Tale of Loss

Blood.

Osen Elderson could taste it, between his teeth under his fingernails. Blood rich in Lyrium, blood spilled from his Mother's murderers.

Templar blood.

Osen's home had become a battleground. The Templars had come to capture a young apostate, a fourteen year old boy living with the village healer, her adopted son.

Him.

She had told him to run, to hide in the woods and wait for her to return, she had thought she would reason with the Templars.

Tara Elderson, the village healer, she had never harmed anyone, her potions and poultices had healed the sick and weary for years. She had loved all, she had taught her son to do so as well, but something was always amiss. The animals in the wood feared him. The Dalish elves that moved through these woods went out of their way to avoid him.

He had never known why…until tonight.

And Mama…his beloved Mother, she had been wrong.

Templars could not be reasoned with, not over something like this.

Not over him.

IOI

The Templars had dragged her from their home. He had been in hiding watching from what he thought was a safe distance.

He had heard the knight-lieutenants angry rant.

"Where is the apostate?"

He is not an apostate. He is my son," his Mama had cried.

"He will be confined, he is dangerous."

He is good; he knows healing spells that is it."

"The demons will not care. They will feast on his soul."

"They will not," Mother had whimpered, "They fear him."

"What was that?"

Tara Elderson fell silent.

The Knight-Lieutenant struck her.

She fell sobbing to the ground.

"Where is the apostate?!"

"I don't know!"

The Templar had drawn his sword.

"Last chance woman." He growled.

The woman sobbed, praying to Andraste for deliverance.

One of the knights kicked her again and again.

Osen felt fury. He wanted to jump down there, let the bastards have him, if that is what it took.

He would go to their bloody circle!

They just had to stop hurting her!

IOI

"I fear she might be possessed Lieutenant," one of the Templars said, "A thrall of the apostate."

"It is possible," the man replied, "We must do what we can to save her soul."

Tara Elderson said nothing, she felt this as right. It was a good sacrifice.

She had come to love Osen; she had loved him since the day his birth mother had brought him to her.

She still feared the woman, but it wasn't fear that motivated her.

Osen, her little bird, her baby Wren, she loved him.

Andraste had died to preserve what she believed in.

Tara Elderson believed in her son.

Osen would survive.

He would make his mark on the world.

"Ready the pyre," the knight-lieutenant shouted.

Tara lowered her head.

The Maker's will be done.

IOI

He ran.

He had to reach her, he had to surrender himself.

They had to let her go! They had to!

Fire blazed bright!

It illuminated the Eldersons' small hut.

His Mother wailed, lashed to the stake.

The Templars stood back, watching as she burned. The Lieutenant said a prayer over the woman they had consigned to the flames.

Osen looked on in horror.

All his life his Mother had spoken of the good of the Chantry. The peace and forgiveness offered by the followers of Andraste.

In this moment…Osen knew those words to be a lie!

He knew what it was to feel rage!

He knew what it was to hate!

They would pay!

"Apostate," he heard one of the Templar's shout they ran towards him.

He growled low…a feral sound in the back of his throat.

He felt something snap.

He began to change.

It wasn't the demons, oh no, the demons of the fade avoided him. This…this was something different.

"Surrender mage!" another shouted, "You shall be…ANDRASTE'S BLOOD!"

"ABOMINATION!" the knight-lieutenant shouted.

No…he…he wasn't an abomination.

He…he was something else…

…Something worse.

"Kill it," the lieutenant shouted, "FOR ANDRASTE! KILL THE BEAST!"

Osen breathed fire; it consumed the fool as he leapt onto another.

He tore the man's armor with his claws.

Osen Elderson had become a young drake, a male dragon….

And he hungered for vengeance!

IOI

The change ended when the screaming finally stopped.

The drake vanished, and in its place lay a sobbing young boy.

Osen…he…he had never hurt anything or anyone before this. It…it felt like it had happened in a dream to someone else, the taste of the blood in his mouth, the slick feeling on his hands.

It…it was terrifying.

Osen found himself lying in a pool of Templar blood, gasping and crying. Mother was gone, the flames having consumed her. The Templars who had burned her were also dead, ripped to pieces by him…the drake…by…whatever it was that he had become.

"What am I," he whispered.

He rose from the blood, he shrieked to the sky, demanding that the Maker reveal what he desired!

"WHAT IN ANDRASTE'S NAME AM I?"

"You are my son."

The statement was spoken in low tones, but radiated with dark power.

Osen spun.

An old woman stood before him, she was dressed in a strange suit of armor, it appeared ancient, but at the same time ageless. Her face was marked with age, her hair white, but her amber colored eyes sparkled with life, and vast cruelty. Her white hair was pulled up into long braids giving her the appearance of having horns.

She smiled wickedly down upon the beaten boy.

"Hello my little Osen," she smirked, "Tis been a long, long time."

He gasped…him…he could feel the magic boiling in her, it…it felt dark…malevolent, but at the same time…familiar.

It…it felt like… his own magic?

No! It…it was not possible!

"Who…who are you?" he whimpered.

The woman cackled.

"Names are pretty but useless things dear boy," she replied, "I have had soooo many. The Dalish folk call me the woman of many years. In Highever I'm called Conobar's Bane. Your sister calls me an old hag who talks too much."

The woman cackled again.

"Though if I had to choose," she said tapping her chin lightly, "I think I prefer to be called Flemeth that will do."

Osen's eyes widened.

The witch of the wilds!

"You dear heart," Flemeth purred menacingly, "May call me Mother."

Osen felt like had been punched in the stomach.

Flemeth the witch of the wilds, the monster of myth, was here and…and she was claiming him as her son!

No! There was no such thing! He wasn't…he could not be!

Flemeth sneered at him.

"If you are done sniveling in the dirt dear boy, tis time that I revealed what I expect of you, as my son."

"YOU ARE NOT MY MOTHER!" He rose with an angry snarl.

She grinned at his show of temper.

"MY MOTHER ID DEAD!" he said pointing at the pyre burning before them.

She looked blandly at the burning corpse, her head tilted slightly.

"A useful pawn," she shrugged, "She kept you safe enough while I tended to raising your sister. Tis a shame that you were not born a girl; I could have used another daughter."

She smiled conspiratorially at him.

"My lovely Morrigan is too rebellious for her own good, and dear Yavana is too caught up in her work to be of much use. You little Osen, you will serve me well."

The boy was shocked, on the verge of tears.

"I'm not your son," he murmured, "I can't be a witch."

Flemeth laughed at that.

"Tis true, male witches are rare, but not totally unknown. I have produced male children before, but they have typically been devoid of magic. You…dear boy are an oddity," her expression turned thoughtful.

"When I seduced your father years ago, I never expected to produce a male witch. Poor witless Andreas, he thought he would find power outside of Tevinter, what he found…was me."

Osen looked shocked, he…he had no memory of his father.

"My father…he…he is in Tevinter?" Osen asked.

Flemeth smirked.

"So you believe me now?"

"No."

"Not that it matters much," Flemeth shrugged, "Andreas has returned to his house, back to his seat as Magister. He knows nothing of you, and would likely not care, even if he did."

Osen glared at her, he did not know what to believe, but this…this woman claiming to be Flemeth…she knew things he desired.

He would know them, and figure out himself later if she was lying.

"I sent your mother spells from time to time," she informed him, "Things that you would find useful in your service to me."

"I'm not your slave!"

"You are unique," she said, "None of my children before you have had the ability to become dragons, not when so young anyway. You…were name for a man I…knew…long ago; you honor him with your uniqueness."

He did not know how to respond to that, she looked at him like he was some kind of tool.

"You are a commodity," she said pacing before him, "You serve a purpose, when that purpose is exhausted you will be discarded that is simply the way it will be."

"I'm my own person!"

"We shall see." she smirked, "Serve me well, and you will be rewarded, powers that you have never dreamed of."

"I don't want your powers!" he said hotly.

She slapped him, hard across the face, sending him sprawling. The metal gauntlet she wore broke his nose.

He looked up at her, snarling in defiance!

He began to change.

Flemeth sneered.

"That trick won't work on me dear boy," she said, "I'm a much bigger dragon than you."

The words shook him back to his senses. He reverted to human form.

In that one moment, he realized that it was true.

His…his whole life had been a lie.

Mother had been a slave of this creature.

No matter how much she had claimed to love him, she was simply a pawn in Flemeth's games.

She had been frightened of what Flemeth would do to her if she did not care for him.

There had been no love there.

Tara Elderson had lied to him his entire life.

He had been a fool.

IOI

Flemeth smirked at him.

"You are starting to see the truth," she said, "Good."

Tears ran down his face, but not of pain, it was simple disbelief.

"You…you are telling me that I'm a witch?"

"Yes."

"That…that I'm a thing," he continued, "Something that Fereldan Mother's scared their children with stories of at night?"

"Quite true," the witch replied.

"You say I'm a monster?"

"You're my son," Flemeth shrugged, "Tis the same thing."

IOI

Osen did the only thing he could think of, the thing he should have done from the very beginning, when his mother, his real mother had told him to go and hide.

He ran.

Flemeth did not pursue.

"There is nowhere to run Osen," she shouted after him, "You will serve my will no matter where you flee. You cannot escape. You are mine!"

He did not respond. He did not want to do anything right now but run…run from Flemeth, run from the Templars, run from the lie that had been his life.

He simply had to run.

IOI

He ran all night, only collapsing as the sun first began to rise over the Brecilian Forest. Mother had always warned him not to go so deep into this place, but now he knew the truth.

The spirits, the werewolves, and other monsters that lived here would not harm him.

They were afraid of him, or at least what he was.

They would not harm a witch of the wilds.

He lay panting, exhausted and in pain.

He could not return home, the Templars would find him if he did, not that he had anything left in the village to return to.

Osen's eyes blazed with hatred. Tara Elderson had lived only to help people, and the villagers had betrayed her, over him.

One day…they would regret that!

For now…he had nothing, he had fledgling magics, and no mother to advise him.

He could go back he supposed beg Flemeth's forgiveness.

No, he would not do that.

He would find his own way.

He would be free.

He rose, searching for food and water would come first, and then he would find his way in this world.

He would leave his past here; leave it to burn away with his mother.

He would need many things, but first thing was first, after food and water.

He would need a new name.

Flemeth had named him for someone she had known…he would cast that away. He wanted nothing the harpy had to offer him.

Plus, the Templars knew that Osen Elderson was an apostate, he needed a new name if he was to survive their wrath.

He thought back to what Flemeth had said.

Andreas, his father's name was Andreas.

That would do for now.

Andreas nodded, pleased with the sound of it. Perhaps he would seek his father out in Tevinter, claim his Magister birthright, but it wasn't enough.

The chantry's lapdogs had murdered his mother. He wanted them to suffer, not just the Templars but the chantry itself.

He wanted to see every chantry in Thedas consumed in flames.

Let them burn as his mother had burned.

Andreas smiled.

He wanted to seize the Divine by the throat; she would die knowing that her precious church was in flames because her zealots had murdered an innocent healer.

He wanted her to die with Tara Elderson's name on her lips. He wanted her to know that she had died at the hands of her son, her little bird.

Her little Wren.

Wren?

Andreas' smile widened, he liked the sound of it.

It would honor his mother's memory, but at the same time he would claim it as his own.

It would be a name whispered in the darkest corridors of the chantry.

The shadow of their doom, the great avenger, he would bring death to the liars that Andraste had put on her throne.

It might take decades, but that did not matter.

He would be avenged.

All of Thedas would know his name, he was Andreas Wren, and he was the Son of Flemeth.

If he had to be a monster, so be it.

Andreas Wren fled into the wilderness.

A monster…he would be.

A/N: Wren's tale continues in my story Chant of Darkness, it takes place post DA 2 if anyone is curious.