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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight	By : Serena_Hawke-Theirin Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 13108 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother
She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh,
And life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no
Ain't even grey, but she buries her baby

The sharp knife of a short life, oh well
I've had just enough time

~The Band Perry

Gabrielle had been silent since they left the cave that morning and headed back out into the cliffs toward Southron Hills. They still hadn’t found a real road as they walked the small, winding paths through the rock, but the apostate hardly noticed. She just couldn’t stop turning the dream she had the previous evening over in her head.

The man she saw looked like her father…the same ebony hair, the same aquamarine eyes, the same height and build, the same understanding smile she had seen the man give her mother hundreds of times. It had to be her father, but, then again, it couldn’t be.

Malcolm had never called her Gabs, not once, in her entire life. The only one who had ever called her that was Bethany. And the voice…that was certainly not his voice. Then there were the words he spoke. Gabrielle’s father would never say anything of the sort. It sounded more like something her sister would say, but she couldn’t recall Bethany ever saying those exact words. Then there was the feel of the entire thing…so real, so close, yet far away. It seemed more a vision than an actual dream. But why? What did it mean? What could it mean?

“What’s wrong with you today, Gabs?” Bethany asked, interrupting her sister’s introspection.

Gabrielle shook her thoughts away. “Nothing, Bethie. I’m just tired.”

The younger woman scrutinized her sibling with narrowed lids. “There’s more to it than that.”

The older apostate presented a halfhearted smile. “Don’t worry about it, Bethie. I’m fine. I’m always fine. You know that.”

“And every time you say that,” her sister proclaimed. “It means the exact opposite.”

“I don’t know,” Gabrielle countered with a grimace. “I guess I’m wondering why we haven’t encountered any darkspawn today. It’s weird. I mean, you can hear them all around us, but we haven’t seen even one.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. It was something Gabrielle was considering when she was attempting to drive away the thoughts of her strange dream. She would have told Bethany about her vision, but somehow, it felt wrong to reveal it to anyone.

“Hawke,” Aveline called out from a few yards away.

After a shrug of apology to Bethany, Gabrielle jogged ahead to Aveline’s position, grateful to the warrior for providing an excuse to evade her sister’s line of questioning. Gabrielle knew her younger sibling would drag it out of her eventually if she continued asking her about it.

“What is it, Aveline?”

The redheaded woman pointed to a path leading up to a large, flat outcropping to their right. “I’m thinking we should head up there so we can get a better view of our position and scout for nearby enemies.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Gabrielle agreed.

She beckoned to the others to follow as she fell in step behind the warrior. So far that day, they had been lucky enough not to run into anything more than a couple of wolves, which Aveline, Carver and Gabrielle readily dispatched. A glance over her shoulder prompted the apostate to waggle her head with dismay. What a ragtag bunch they all were. She, Aveline, and Carver could hold their own well enough, but the others were a bit of a liability in a battle.

Leandra had no martial skill whatsoever and served as more of a distraction to Gabrielle than anything else. During a fight, the apostate had to constantly keep an eye on her mother to make sure the woman didn’t get hurt. Bethany was an excellent healer, and Gabrielle couldn’t think of anyone she would want around more in the aftermath of a battle, but her offensive magic spells left a lot to be desired. The younger apostate could throw a winter’s grasp well enough, but it never did a lot of damage. Bethany had always been hesitant about killing anything, anyway. It just wasn’t in her nature to harm another creature, and that shined through in her casting. Then there was Aveline’s husband, Wesley. Gabrielle was certain he was a capable warrior, but the injuries he sustained when they first met and his worsening illness kept him from the fight.

Stubborn ass, Gabrielle muttered under her breath upon observing the templar in the far rear.

The sickly grey, maculated skin, the blackish-blue hue of his lips, the violent shaking…Gabrielle had seen it before and knew exactly what it meant. At first, she tried to convince herself his symptoms were from a combination of blood loss and the frigid Ferelden air, but by the time they left the cave that morning, she knew better. Wesley had contracted the darkspawn taint.

If the templar had allowed Bethany to heal him instead of being so hung up on the evils of magic, he may have had a chance at survival. As it stood, Gabrielle was sure he wouldn’t last through to the next morning. Ending his suffering would have been kinder than allowing him to continue to deteriorate under the taint, but the apostate wouldn’t dare broach that subject with Aveline.

When they reached their destination and everyone was safely and solidly atop the plateau, Gabrielle removed her waterskin from her belt and swallowed the last few drops within. The sun overhead felt good as it warmed her skin against the cool breeze blowing around her. It seemed true spring might come early in Ferelden for a change.

Aveline addressed the others. “We should be relatively safe in this position for now. Everyone rest up while I scout ahead.”

Carver immediately removed the pack from his shoulders and threw it on the ground at his feet to utilize it as a makeshift seat. After settling himself on it, he took out his waterskin, uncorked it, and groaned loudly when he found it empty.

“Sooner or later we’re going to have to find a stream or something. I’m out of water.”

“So am I,” Bethany said as she checked Leandra’s pouch. “As is mother.”

“Me too,” Gabrielle concurred before trying to squeeze any bit of moisture she could from her own waterskin. “Hopefully, Aveline can locate something from up here.”

“She better,” Carver griped. “Otherwise we won’t make it through the rest of the day.”

Not in the mood to listen to Carver’s oncoming tirade of complaints, Gabrielle made her way to the other side of the ridge to join Aveline. As she approached the edge, she observed a wide path to the right leading down into a narrow valley surrounded by more cliffs. There were no streams or lakes to be found, just more of the same rock walls they had been trekking through for days. Beyond that was the burgeoning of what Gabrielle assumed was Southron Hills. Scattered along the foothills, she made out what looked to be a forest which had been burned, the trunks still smoldering from a recent fire.

“See anything?” the mage asked, but Aveline just ignored the question.

The redhead seemed to be concentrating on something she couldn’t see near the bottom of the newly discovered path. With hands on her hips, the warrior scanned the area below through lids narrowed against the morning sun. After a few moments, her head jerked toward Gabrielle.

“Run,” she ordered as she spun on the ball of her left foot to go back the way they came.

Gabrielle turned to follow when the ground below began to rumble and quake, throwing her off-kilter. As she tried to regain her balance, her foot slipped on some loose stones, sending her leg over the side of the rise. When the bottom of her rib cage caught the edge of the cliff, she had the wind knocked out of her. The pain was excruciating as her legs dangled over the side of the rock. She shut her eyes for only a moment to hold back the sting of tears forming in them. When she opened them, her heart nearly stopped upon seeing the horns of a massive ogre bounding up the trail on the other side of the plateau.

While Aveline was still running toward it, Carver charged the beast, but it quickly knocked him flat. Gabrielle dug her fingers into the dirt then threw her right leg up and back onto solid ground. As she scrambled to find her feet, she saw Bethany slam her staff onto the ground to charge its magic.

“Bethie!” she cried out to her sister who was within feet of the creature. “Stop!”

As the ogre reached down to grab Carver, Bethany threw a winter’s grasp at it, which glanced off the beast’s shoulder. The oversized darkspawn turned its attention to the young apostate who was attempting to lead it away from her twin. She only managed a few steps before it thrust its arm forward and snatched her up by the waist.

Gabrielle willed her short legs to move faster as she raced toward the beast, but they simply wouldn’t comply. How was she ever going to make it in time to save her sister? Then, just as the creature lifted the girl in the air, Aveline thrust her sword into its side.

Thank the Maker. Maybe that will buy me enough time.

Gabrielle half expected the ogre to drop Bethany and focus on Aveline, but it didn’t. Instead, it used its free hand to land a hard fist to the warrior’s shoulder and let out a guttural roar. The creature turned its face to the young woman in its grip, and in an instant, tightened its fingers to snap her spine like a twig. The sound of the break echoed throughout the cliffs as Gabrielle skidded to a halt.

“No!” she screamed.

Time slowed to a crawl in Gabrielle’s vision as Carver sliced the blade of his greatsword across the back of the ogre’s thighs. It howled in pain then furiously slammed its prize into the ground twice and hurtled the girl’s body several feet to its right like an angry child with a rag doll. Carver rolled out the beast’s way, prompting it to take a charging stance.

Rage filled Gabrielle as she called forth a grease spell. As much as she hated her brother at times, she wasn’t about to let that thing take another member of her family. She threw out her palms and doused the creature in thick, viscous liquid, taking care not to hit her sibling with it.

“Hey! Jackass!” she bellowed, her words echoing through the cliffs as she grew a massive fireball between her hands. “Over here.”

The creature had just enough time to turn toward Gabrielle before she launched the flame spell at its head with the aid of force magic. Within seconds, the beast’s skin was burning and smoldering and the acrid stench of roasting darkspawn permeated the air. The ogre cried out in agony as it began reeling and lurching about.

Aveline used the tip of her longsword to help pull herself to her feet. Once she was at her full height, she gripped the hilt of her blade like a spear and launched it toward the addled creature. The sword hit its mark when it embedded in the hollow of the beast’s throat. It lumbered back a few steps, pawing at the blade, before finally crashing to the ground in a fiery, smoking heap.

As Gabrielle made her way to where her mother was cradling Bethany on her lap, she suddenly became aware of the aching in her legs from the pounding they took against the side of the cliff. She seethed in pain as she limped her way toward Leandra. The blood trail on the ground and the pool of crimson beneath the two women relayed the grim truth of the situation. Bethany was gone.

The apostate stood over her baby sister for several moments, just staring down at the lifeless body of the kindest person she ever knew. The only thing she could hear beyond the pounding of her own heart in her ears was her mother’s muffled cries. Gabrielle was in complete shock as she looked into her sister’s dead, brown eyes. She took in the rest of Bethany’s face…the rivulets of blood still trickling from her lips and nose, the smoothness of her pallid skin against the crimson, the expression of shock and terror. It was too much.

Gabrielle took a step back then turned her head in time to begin retching onto the dirt next to her worn brown boot. She felt a hand grip her shoulder as she continued to dry heave.

“I’m sorry, Hawke, but we have to go,” she heard Aveline’s voice from somewhere far away. “I saw a bevy of spawn on the other side down below. That fight would have drawn their attention.”

The mage turned to Leandra who rocked gently back and forth as she held onto her daughter for dear life. The older woman’s shoulders rose and fell with her uneven breathing, and the lines of her face were deeper than Gabrielle had ever seen them. Leandra let out a guttural cry.

“Mother, please,” the apostate finally managed through her own tears. “You heard Aveline. They’ll be upon us any second. Bethany wouldn’t want her sacrifice to have been in vain.”

Leandra jerked her head toward her eldest child, her face contorted with enmity and grief. “She should have never been in a position to sacrifice herself in the first place. It was your responsibility, Gabrielle. She was your responsibility. You should have been there instead of traipsing off. This is your fault. Your sister is dead and it’s all your fault!”

Those words were like a knife plunged straight into Gabrielle’s heart. For most of her life, ever since she was barely more than five, her younger brother and sister had been put in her charge. She learned to change nappies and feed them goat’s milk whenever her father would leave to find work while her mother was confined to her bed by the blues. She learned to scramble eggs to feed herself and the twins when they were old enough for solid food. When they were big enough to venture outside, Gabrielle was tasked with keeping them out of trouble and ensuring their safety. The twins were always Gabrielle’s responsibility. Mother was right. Bethany was dead and it was her fault.

“I’m sorry, Mother” the apostate whispered.

Leandra shook her head and brushed Bethany’s dark hair back away from her forehead. “Sorry isn’t going to bring your sister back,” she choked. “Just as it didn’t bring your father back.”

Gabrielle blanched from her mother’s accusation, just as she always did, but it was much worse this time with her sister lying on the ground near her feet. Leandra was right on both counts, of course, but it was beyond cruel for her to bring up Father at that moment. As Ser Wesley said a prayer over Bethany to commend her body to the Maker, Gabrielle recalled the words her sister said the day her father died three years before.

“I know what you’re thinking, Gabs. This wasn’t your fault. It was nobody’s fault. Father tried, I tried. There was nothing that could be done.”

The apostate knew in her heart her sister was only trying to make her feel better that day. Would she believe the same now that Gabrielle failed her too? The truth was, Gabrielle could put the blame on no one but herself. She knew the danger of those cliffs, the creatures which had been roaming among them, following them for days. She should have never left her family’s side. Not even for a moment.

“We have to find something to carry her on,” Leandra croaked. “We can’t just leave her here for those monsters.”

“There’s no time,” Aveline insisted. “Even if we could find a way to do it, carrying a dead body will only slow us down.”

“How can you be so cold?” the other woman questioned.

I’m sorry, mistress, but your daughter is gone,” Aveline replied, her tone a bit gentler. “It’s a hard truth, but our lives are more valuable than her corpse.”

Leandra opened her mouth to argue with the warrior, but Aveline held up a hand to silence her. The pounding of footsteps and the growls of dozens of beasts began to grow louder. The redhead unsheathed her sword.

“Dammit!” she cursed. “We’re too late.” She looked to Gabrielle and then to Carver. “Prepare for battle,” she ordered before addressing the other two. “Hide!”

All at once, over the rise, on both sides of the plateau, hurlocks and genlocks began pouring in. Within moments, they found themselves surrounded. Gabrielle pulled her staff from her back then transferred it to her left hand. She called a ball of flame to her right and took a battle stance.

They were going to die. There was no doubt in her mind of that fact, but she wasn’t about to go out without taking as many of the creatures with her as she could. A hurlock bounded toward her, blade drawn to run her through. The spell contained in her palm grew hotter, brighter.

“Bring it, you bastard,” she taunted the beast with a sneer.

Before Gabrielle could release the flame, a tremendous roar reverberated throughout the cliffs from somewhere above. The confused darkspawn stopped in their tracks and began searching the sky for the source of the sound. Gabrielle looked to the top of the cliff on her left in time to see an enormous dragon as it abandoned its perch and dove toward the creatures below.

The sleek black talons of its hands opened and snatched the hurlock that had been advancing on Gabrielle. The beast was as big as a house, leaving them all in shadow as it soared high into the atmosphere, the iridescent red scales along its side glinting with varying shades of dark pink and purple in the midday sun.

Once aloft several hundred feet, the dragon flipped midair and turned loose the hurlock which plummeted to the ground below. When it descended the second time, it spread its expansive jaws and delivered a steady torrent of silver-white flame from its mouth to saturate the spawn with fire as it sailed across the battleground.

Within minutes, every tainted creature was ablaze. The behemoth alit in the midst of the chaos and used its expansive tail to begin sweeping the darkspawn from the ground like balls of dust with a broom. Screams of the beasts and the stench of burning rotted meat pervaded the atmosphere as one creature after another fell in great, smoldering heaps.

Satisfied that all the darkspawn had been exterminated, the dragon finally turned its attention to the humans. The massive beast took a step toward Gabrielle and lowered its head to stare her straight in the eyes. There was something almost human about those cat-like golden orbs. There was also something ancient, older than the very rocks around them.

The mage gulped back the bile trying to escape her throat. She experienced both fear and unbridled power unlike any she had ever known in that moment as she gazed into the abyss that surely awaited her with the swipe of the creature’s talons. She attempted to call her magic, to fight her inevitable doom, but found her gift somehow blocked from her. How was that even possible?

The dragon lifted its head then rose to its full, towering height. Suddenly, its wings were bathed in a bright, golden glow. The light, retaining the shape of wings, began to swirl around the beast’s body. The creature appeared to shrink into itself as the lambency surrounding it revolved faster. Within the incandescence, the dragon began to morph into the shape of what looked to be a crouched woman with a pair of large horns atop her head.

As the light faded, the image of the woman became clearer until the beast disappeared. She rose from her bow and began sauntering toward them, her hips swaying like a seductress luring her prey. What at first looked to be horns was actually silver hair pulled up and back into thick spikes bound tightly by maroon leather bands. The remainder of her tresses cascaded loosely about her shoulders, ruffling in a zephyr no one else present could feel.

On her brow was a bronzed crown that jutted into points above her head and at the bridge of her nose then curved around her hairline to form prongs at the hollows of her cheeks. Her fair skin was smooth except for the fine lines etched around her eyes and the corners of her mouth, divulging a woman of years she tried to hide with dark makeup at her lids and lips

On her body, she wore tight leather armor the same color of the dragon’s scales with silver studs along the bodice and gorget. The chestpiece was sleeveless and cut low enough to reveal a pair of ample, alabaster breasts, mimicking an evening gown more than armor. Pauldrons of long, black raven’s feathers adorned her shoulders, adding to the effect. The heavy plate cowters at her elbows appeared to form tiny dragon wings covering vambraces and rebraces made of the same strong metal, and the fingers of the long anodized gauntlets she wore simulated sharp steel talons.

Her legs bore greaves made of the same material as that covering her arms and continued up to just past the middle of her thighs. The tops of her thighs were bound in black leather which formed to her figure like a second skin. From her waist, beneath her leather top, flowed a silken loincloth of the same hue as her chestpiece. It formed a v shape in the front and spilled out into a long wide train in the back which billowed out behind her in the breeze she seemed to be creating.

She stopped several feet ahead of them, shifted her weight to her right leg, and put a hand to her hip.

“Well, well” she spoke in a deep, throaty voice. “It appears I have visitors.”

Gabrielle took a step forward. Her knees were trembling, but she knew she couldn’t allow the woman to see her fear. To counterbalance her anxiety, the apostate folded her arms over her chest and lifted her brow in a bored expression.

“Nice trick,” she huffed. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

The left corner of the woman’s mouth turned into a smirk. “Trust me dear girl, I am impressive enough with or without your approval,” She took two more strides toward the small woman. “By the pounding of your heart, I would say my sudden presence affected you more than you wish me to believe.” She turned to face away from Gabrielle. “I will tell you, if it is your wish to flee the darkspawn, you should know you are heading in the wrong direction.” She peered at the young apostate from over her shoulder. “It is a state of affairs you know quite well, is it not, lass?”

Gabrielle swallowed past a huge lump. Her heart was thundered like a spring storm. How in the Maker’s name did this woman know? The apostate’s eyes widened when she finally realized who the strange woman was. The legend of Flemeth was even older than that of the Woman in Black.

“You’re the Witch of the Wilds,” Gabrielle breathed.

The woman whirled gracefully around, her loincloth floating about her like the petals of a lotus flower caught in the wind. Her grin broadened. The gesture didn’t reach her raptor-like eyes.

“You are visibly impressed now, I see,” she cackled. “Your father had much the same look about him on his last visit to the Wilds.”

Gabrielle’s brow furrowed with confusion. “My father?”

“I thought that might garner your attention,” she taunted. “He became lost in the dark and came to my doorstep. I offered him a deal in exchange for my help to lead him out of the Wilds.” She took another stride forward until she was towering over Gabrielle with a malevolent smirk. “I will offer you the same. I will lead your group to Gwaren in exchange for your oath. It is but a trifle I ask of you. A small task that will take you no time at all.”

The apostate eyed the ancient woman with suspicion. She learned from her father long ago that nothing good ever came out of making deals with witches. On the other hand, she had to wonder if a deal he made with this witch had something to do with his death.

Her eyes trailed to the remaining members of her family. Mother and Carver were all that was left. They were out of food and water, and there was no telling how long it would be before they found the necessities they so desperately needed. They were her responsibility and she wouldn’t let them perish to starvation or to the darkspawn. She would do whatever was necessary to ensure their survival. She took a deep breath.

“I give you my word,” she conceded. “If you lead my family and I to the shores of Gwaren, I will do whatever you require of me.”

“Gabby!” Carver seethed. “She’s a witch. You can’t trust her.”

“Shut the fuck up, Carver,” she retorted. “We need help, and unless you can turn into a dragon and take on all these darkspawn by yourself, you’ll let me do what needs to be done.

Flemeth watched the siblings with curiosity as they argued, but she did not interrupt. When she was satisfied the argument was at an end, she focused her gaze on Gabrielle alone. Her lids narrowed as she appeared to stare into the recesses of a distant future. Her timeless, golden eyes danced with omens untold and untellable. Within them, Gabrielle swore she recognized a flash of the vision of her father she had the previous evening.

After what felt like an eternity, the ancient woman took Gabrielle’s hand. The cold, sharp, armored claws of the witch’s gauntlet pried her fingers open before laying a silver necklace with a large amulet in her palm. In the center of the piece was a sizable amethyst with red smoke that appeared to swirl about within. It was ice cold to the touch and the entire object tingled with ancient magic. The feel of it in her palm made Gabrielle sick to her stomach, so she quickly shoved into a small pouch on her belt and cinched it closed.

“You will deliver that amulet to a Dalish Keeper named Marethari. She will wait for you outside the city of Kirkwall. Do as she asks with it, and your debt will be considered paid.”

“You’d go through all that just to have an amulet delivered?” Carver questioned. “There has to be more to it than that.”

Gabrielle threatened him silently with a murderous glare. His mouth was going to get them all in trouble, if not killed outright. He wasn’t a mage. Maybe he couldn’t feel the tremendous draw of the Fade around the woman.

Or maybe he’s just an idiot.

He obviously didn’t consider the fact that Flemeth didn’t need to be told where they were headed or of their ultimate destination. The only other person who even knew Gabrielle intended to lead them to Kirkwall was Bethany. Carver didn’t even challenge the witch’s mention of their father. He questioned none of it. He was simply too caught up on pretending he was in charge to consider anything beyond his frail pride.

“I have,” the witch replied with what seemed a wistful smile. “An appointment to keep.”

Her eyes moved from Gabrielle to the templar lying on the nearby ground. “Before I take you anywhere, however, there is another matter.”

Gabrielle already knew of what the witch spoke. The darkspawn taint was ravaging Wesley’s body and taking him along put all their lives in danger. It was a sad truth, but he was dying and there wasn’t anything anyone could do to stop it. Aveline stepped between Flemeth and her husband.

“No,” she exclaimed. “You will not touch him.”

“The curse of the darkspawn is within his blood already,” the ancient woman told her. “You saw it at Ostagar among your men. You have known it to be true since the first sign.”

“She’s right, Aveline” Wesley croaked. “I can feel the corruption inside me. All that blood. I knew when it happened.”

Aveline’s face contorted in anguish. “I know,” she whispered. She turned pleading green eyes to the witch. “Isn’t there anything that can be done for him…besides…”

“He could become a Grey Warden,” Flemeth informed her. “But I fear I have neither the power nor inclination to perform that task.”

“Then there’s no hope,” Aveline sighed as her head and shoulders drooped. “All the Wardens died at Ostagar with the king.”

“Not all of them,” Gabrielle argued. “There were some in Lothering the day it was attacked.”

“Headed in the opposite direction, lass,” the witch reminded her. “They are too far beyond your reach now.”

Wesley struggled to sit up. “Aveline, listen to me.”

She waggled her head as she knelt at her husband’s side. Fresh tears began staining her cheeks. Gabrielle felt her own eyes stinging at the sight of such a strong woman facing such a difficult deed.

“You can’t ask me this,” she refused. “I won’t…I can’t.”

“Please, love,” he begged. “The corruption is a slow death. I can’t bear it.”

Aveline caressed his cheek and gazed adoringly into his eyes. Gabrielle crouched at the templars other side and pulled her father’s old dagger from its sheath at her belt.

“I’ll do it,” she offered in a low voice.

The redhead nodded then turned her face. The young mage exhaled a long, uneven breath before placing the point of the dagger above Wesley’s heart. He wrapped his own fingers around hers.

“Thank you,” he breathed before guiding her hands forward to help plunge the blade into his chest.

As much as she despised templars, Gabrielle couldn’t help but allow her tears to flow freely when Wesley gasped his final breath. They had all already lost too much, and their journey was only beginning. How much more would be taken from them? Aveline swiped at her eyes and cheeks and sniffled.

“Let’s go,” she told the others.

The redhead stood then turned to amble away, unable to look into her husband’s lifeless eyes any longer. Gabrielle closed the templars lids to give the illusion he was only sleeping. She choked back a sob.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered before rising to her feet.

She approached Aveline, unsure of what she would say to the other woman. What could she say to possibly make it any better? They were both feeling the loss of a loved one. She knew by her own experience that there were no words to soothe a wound so freshly made. Still, she felt she should say something. Before she could speak, however, Flemeth interjected with an ancient and timeless voice.

“Your journey has only begun, lass.” She turned on her heel and walked toward the path on the other side of the plateau. “It gets no easier from here.”

I have to admit that when I heard this story from Gabs and Aveline, I was very upset about the way Leandra treated Gabs. My sister had the weight of the world on her shoulders already and to add Bethany’s death and the death of our father on top of the overwhelming mountain of responsibility she carried was just cruel. Gabs struggled with that guilt for years and, although we discussed it many times, I’m not entirely sure she ever truly let it go.

One of my deepest regrets in life is that I never got the chance to meet Bethany. I have gotten to know her very well over the years through the stories Gabs has told me about her. We have mused about her living here in the palace and who she might have married. We have discussed it so many times that I can almost picture her walking down one of the halls with Gabs. The two of them complaining about their husbands and making plans to take the children out to the gardens for a picnic. It is hard to fathom how anyone could miss someone they never met, but I find myself, on occasion, doing just that.

The descriptions Solona and Alistair gave about Flemeth never matched the woman Gabs described to me. I believe that the old witch wanted to seem more approachable and simple to the two Wardens because she wanted them to trust her to a point. With Gabs, there was no need for the facade because she knew my sister would have no real choice than to do as she asked. In retrospect, I’m not sure which side of the old woman I would have been more disturbed by.

-G
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The True Tale Of The Fifth Blight