Varric's Version: Flemeth's Rescue
So you might have heard that Hawke's a refugee from Ferelden – our very own Champion fled here with the darkspawn on her heels. It's what makes her tale so inspiring - a self-made woman who rose from nothing to the highest echelons of power. But behind such power, there's always a story – and having heard it straight from the horses' proverbial mouth, this one's too good not to share.
Hawke's family lost everything in the Blight, abandoning their home and all their possessions to flee from the horde. They wouldn't have made it out alive without her – or without the help of a certain woman of myth.
Flemeth. Asha'bellanar as the Dalish call her – the Witch of the Wilds, once beloved of Conobar. Famed in Ferelden in particular, but as much of a legend here for her beauty, malice and utter insanity. What you don't know about the Witch is her ability to take the form of a high dragon. This is how her and our Champion first met.
Her brother lay dead, stricken down as he tried to protect their mother. Hawke's blades dripped with the black ichor of darkspawn blood, an ogre felled beneath her – a story for another time – and it seemed they might make it. But the horde was unrelenting, and the vicious snarls of the darkspawn turned their weary heads. It seemed their fight had been all for naught.
The sky erupted with a piercing scream, cowering all but Hawke to the ground, and down swooped the dragon, fire in its breath lambasting hurlocks and genlocks alike. It snatched them in its jaws and claws, crushing and screaming, leaving nothing but cinders as it landed – and turned to our Champion as though looking for a tastier morsel.
The sky filled with light and pulled with unnatural wind, and before Hawke's eyes, the dragon became a curvaceous, scantily clad woman. A mage – a witch as her newly found friend in Aveline, yes the one and the same – advanced upon them. Hawke drew her blades, knowing it was certain death, but unwilling to let this abomination take her family while she still drew breath.
Being the powerful witch she was, Flemeth would have nothing of it and the maleficar roared back to life, mighty wings blocking out the blighted sky. Hawke's family fell back to safety behind Aveline's shield, and the nimble Champion darted amidst the dragon's feet. Blood flew, but Hawke stayed vigilant – daughter of a mage or no, she would not bow out and lose the people she loved. She had already lost too much.
In a brilliant stroke of devilish dexterity, Hawke was able to get her belt off, and loop it around the snout of the dragon, reeling Flemeth to the ground. Roar quenched, the witch writhed and seethed with rage, but Hawke held fast as she was flicked through the air – until finally, Flemeth lessened once more. The woman knelt before Hawke, the belt a leash around her slender neck.
"You are more than you appear to be," the white-haired witch said, dark eyes upon the Champion.
"The same could be said of anyone," Hawke replied.
They reached a compromise that day on the cliff – passage to the coast for the Champion and her family, in exchange for the Wild Witch's life. In protection of her word, Flemeth gave Hawke an amulet to bestow upon the Dalish residing on Sundermount. And being the honourable person she is, the Champion made the deal – and joined her family upon the dragon's back, winged away from the Blight and to freedom on the docks of Gwaren.