A dream, a vision, a glimpse of the past reaching forward
In a splendid golden castle a beautiful noble born woman was dreaming a terrible dream. A violent and horrifying nightmare of the end of All Things. This was especially tragic, because from this poor woman's perspective All Things had only really just begun. She was rather enjoying All Things.
In her unrestful sleep she tossed and turned, her body drenched in a fearful sweat. Dark and dreadful images haunted her as her eyes flickered back and forth behind their lids. A pained expression as grim as a funeral shroud was painted across her lovely face, but slowly gave way to furrowed brows. Shuddering and whipping her head this way and that, she awoke less frightened than she had been a moment before. Shaking her head in confusion, she ran her hands through her long tangled blonde hair.
The things she had seen turned her stomach. Betrayal, war, death. Could the peaceful kingdom they had all built together truly fall so easily, and the bonds of friendship be so easily broken? It had been awful, but then - what could it have meant when her vision changed at the end? When she saw things happen differently, and then differently in another way yet again? She had been so frightened, certain that her dream was a portent of the very worst outcome imaginable, but then in her very last moments before waking it had shifted and fractured into three distinct different versions of the same story. Was the future she had seen set in stone or were these glimpses of what only might come to be?
Her dream had appeared to be such a devastating and ruinous warning until the end. Even the better outcomes she had seen weren't ideal, but maybe the absolute worst could be avoided. Straightening her robes and hair so that she looked at least somewhat presentable, she strode to her door and out into the hall. She would tell only her dearest friend about this - her dream had been about him and his descendants after all, it was only right to seek his insight. He was clever, he would be able to help her make sense of it all and would surely know the best course of action.
Distracted by the memory of the visions she had seen, the golden haired dreamer marched obliviously to her destination. She did not bother to silence her footsteps or smother her scent or cover her brilliant hair. If she had the ears of a wolf, she might have heard the near silent beating of dark wings in the dark night, when birds should rightfully be sleeping. Alas, she didn't know that these particular birds circled overhead, following her with their keen eyes and keener sense of suspicion. They knew she could be up to nothing good leaving her chambers at such a late hour, for they knew her all too well.
They were after all her husband's eyes and ears. And so she also did not know that as his jealous eyes watched her and heard every whispered word of the conversation that followed, that in his own wing of their golden castle he raged with the fury of a terrible storm and swore to thwart their friend if it was the last thing he ever did.