Clan Lavellan, inner forests of Ferelden, 9:41 Dragon
Flemeth walked with slow, measured steps through the wild woods of the Ferelden kingdom. Most of the time, she was not fully aware of the elven goddess's essence within her, for the two of them had long since become one. Yet over the past year, the endless sorrows of the divine spirit had begun to stir, shaken awake by the rising of the Dread Wolf.
Solas, the warrior chosen by the Protector of the Elves, had abandoned his millennia-long slumber… and ever since, she felt her time in this world drawing to its end. A premonition, perhaps?
Flemeth had once been nothing more than a betrayed woman weeping in the dark, yearning for justice. Then, when all hope seemed lost, the wisp of an ancient being had appeared before her and granted her everything she had wished for… and more. Since that moment, she had carried Mythal across the ages, in pursuit of the justice denied to them both. Mythal had come to her seeking retribution, one that would make the very heavens shudder.
And the heavens were weeping… the Veil was wounded… and the imminent danger of the end lurked within the deepest shadows.
Fen'Harel had awakened.
And Flemeth feared him.
Mythal, still, mourned him.
Perhaps she would never stop.
But her mourning was not weakness, it was the memory of having loved a man incapable of yielding, and yet bound all the same. It was the remembrance of shattered hopes when her great warrior had turned his back on her. It was something the old witch would never fully understand, and perhaps it was better that way; to grasp the bonds that tied spiritual entities demanded an emotional toll far greater than anything mortals could fathom. For both women, Flemeth and Mythal, knew all too well the bitter, imperishable taste of betrayal. At times (only at times), the ancestral memories of the Great Mythal were so powerful that they prickled along Flemeth's skin, sharing ancient recollections, immortal treasures, of the times when she had loved the Great Wolf, and he had loved her. That love had burned like a wildfire spiralling out of control… until it was subdued. Until she lost him. Until only a frozen mist remained... A Dread Wolf. For Solas, her once-chosen, had turned away from her. He had learned to bite, even the hand that had shaped him. He had learned the teachings of others through submission, not her own. Like Falon'din's pitiless lesson:
Ruthlessness was mercy upon ourselves.
And long, long ago, he had indeed become cruel.
The timeless resentment of the Great Wolf would soon howl again, and its call would drag the night toward this place as well. The Breach itself was the luminous witness to that suspended howl, a Slow Arrow in mid-flight, heralding change. For though no one yet knew it, they stood at the edge of a precipice. And that was why she was here tonight, nudging history forward.
The Witch of the Wilds kept cordial relations with many elven clans; she had aided several more than once. But with the Lavellan Clan, the situation was… different. Their Keeper, Deshanna, was a benevolent woman, one who chose dialogue before cruelty. Flemeth knew perfectly well how thin the line was between naiveté and hope… And Deshanna… was undoubtedly naive. Malleable. A pawn in her game. And that was necessary, for Elentari was a vessel of power.
A fire crackled not far ahead. Flemeth stepped over gnarled roots and fallen branches until the forest opened before her. A circular clearing, ringed by aravels, revealed elves with painted faces eating by the fire. Their garments were simple yet vibrant. Hunters lingered in the shadows, dressed in dark furs and armed with blades of ironbark—wood that only the Dalish still knew how to shape. These swords were nearly as hard as steel, yet weighed only a fraction of it. It was but the faint echo of a glorious past, one that would not save them from the calamities to come. The ancient elvhen had known both the splendour and the horror of Elvhenan. But the elves who lived now walked the world as it truly was. They understood it in ways the ancients never could…
… in ways Solas never would.
And in that truth lay the strength of the new children of Mythal, whom she hoped would one day surpass all that had once existed and been broken. It was not a prophecy of the elven goddess, it was the hopeful wish of a mother for her distant children, loved no less than those who had come before. And Flemeth, within her chest, carried that same maternal heat, alongside the fire of vengeance. For if the union of Solas and Mythal had been an uncontrollable wildfire, the union of Flemeth and Mythal would be a volcanic eruption destined to reshape the very foundations of the world. For they would grant justice.
A figure stepped into the center of the clearing. A woman with long platinum-blonde hair, grey eyes circled by the intricate blood-red strokes of Mythal's mark. Her clothing was more elaborate than the others', and a heavy fur cloak draped her shoulders. Around her neck hung a polished ironbark amulet etched with glowing runes. Deshanna.
- Asha'bellanar… your presence honors us deeply, though I admit it is unexpected. I was not informed you were here. - murmured the elven mage, bowing her head.
Flemeth let out a sharp laugh and replied:
- Tell me how marvelous can magic be when it decides to play games with information? Asking it for clarity is like asking a cat for directions. You're fortunate if it tells you where to go… but if it is the wolf who guides you… oh, then… you must be clever as a fox and strong as the dragon…
The witch always entertained herself that way, speaking as though she were a mad crone, yet hiding far more meaning between her ramblings than anyone suspected. And Deshanna was a woman who had learned to hear those fractured whispers; years of "lessons" had trained her ear.
- Asha'bellanar… have you brought news of Elentari? - The Woman of Many Years had warned the Keeper long ago to shield the starlight from the wolf's jaws. She had told her that the outsider girl, whom Deshanna loved as her own blood, would be the haloed glow of the moon, bringing both light and shadow. - Tell me my girl is safe! - the elven mage begged. - I regret so much sending her to that cursed Conclave. She was torn from my hands…
- Regret is something I know well, Deshanna. - Asha'bellanar answered. - Do not cling to it, nor keep it so close that it poisons your soul. When regret visits you again, remember me. And tread carefully. No path is darker than the one walked with closed eyes.
As always, understanding the Woman of Many Years was difficult. The Dalish knew she was a vengeful, sometimes capricious being; they sought her guidance only in desperation. Yet Asha'bellanar always seemed unusually invested in this clan—her unannounced arrivals, her scattered teachings. Because of this, the Keeper memorized every word she said, as she always did.
The old witch spoke:
- To your question, I say this: no, I have not come bearing news of the Queen of Stars. Her radiance grows stronger from afar, where the Great Protector has set her hopes.
> Yet to your daughter, I say this: when you are in love, you are so deeply lost within it that you cannot imagine anything could ever go wrong. And before you know it, you have been betrayed. Love is a treacherous game… she should be cautious of whom she gives her attention.
> As for you… You must not hold sorrow for Elentari. Your sorrows must hold the desire to save your clan.
- What? - The Lavellan Keeper stiffened at the prophecy of doom for her people, even as she treasured the warning meant for her daughter's heart. She longed to see her again, to tell her. - Has darkness found us?
- We stand at the brink of change. The world trembles at the inevitable fall into the abyss. Wait for that moment, and when it comes… do not hesitate to jump. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.
- I don't understand, Asha'bellanar…
- It is time to leave the kingdom of Ferelden. Go to Wycome. There is a valley near the city, a discreet place. Take your clan there and perhaps… they will survive.
- No. I will not abandon her. I will not leave my girl.
- The Queen of Stars is no longer a child. She walks her own path. It is dangerous… but I trust you've taught her the lessons I entrusted to you. - And with those words, the old witch vanished, taking the shape of a dark crow.
A sharp pain pierced Deshanna's heart. Yet she had trusted the witch before, and all had gone well… If the woman said it was time to leave, then she must.
That night, Deshanna dreamed. She witnessed a vision, a reverberation of the Great Mythal's magic. She saw the circular spiral of her thoughts and felt her beloved daughter treading a winding path, looping back to the same point again and again. And then she understood: Elentari was destined to close the past. Each person received their fate, and her daughter's was tied to what had been, to what was lost, and now awakened fractured, wounded, and cruel. She saw that the gift her child carried would allow her to bind many lives together, stitching wounds and sealing cracks. But echoing ceaselessly through the shadows of the abyss came the howls of wolves... old, deep lamentations of defeat and failure. The wolves howled and reached toward her daughter's light… The shadows grew vast, threatening to swallow Elentari whole…
And then, woven among the lupine wails, a phrase carved itself into her mind:
"Cry havoc in the moonlight, let the fire of vengeance burn, the cause is clear."
And Deshanna felt fear.