Miriam stood in the corner of the Grand Hall, her gaze fixed upon the entrance to the pathway leading to her quarters. Her fingers moved with rhythmic tension, clenching and unclenching as she struggled to summon the courage needed to open the heavy wooden door. For several days now, she had resolved to face the world once more and resume her duties. The weight of grief and guilt lingered, ebbing and flowing like waves, yet in those moments when despair threatened to overwhelm her, Cullen's unwavering support became her lifeline, pulling her from the depths towards the warmth of the sun above. She dared to hope that her life was inching back towards normalcy, save for the fact that crossing the threshold of her chamber seemed like an impossible challenge. The thought of stepping anywhere near her quarters, the very place where her dear friend had met her tragic end, filled her with an overwhelming dread.

The mage drew in a deep breath, her lips moving in quiet prayer as her hand hesitated over the handle. The sole purpose driving her to confront that threshold once more was the letter Lysette had entrusted to her for Brother Sebastian. Despite her acceptance of portraying the Templar's passing as a tragic epilepsy accident, she remained steadfast in her belief that failing to deliver the note personally would be a profound disservice to the Knight's memory, a sin she did not wish to commit.

As the cold metal of the doorknob made contact with her skin, her legs seemed to turn to lead, anchoring her to the spot as if she were glued to the floor. A heavy, suffocating sensation began to well up within her chest, creeping steadily through her body. Her breath quickened, cold beads of sweat forming on her brow as the sounds of the Grand Hall melded into an eerie cacophony, echoing around her like a haunting refrain: ‘Know that you bear the burden of responsibility for what is about to happen’. Images flooded before her mind's eye, and she found herself once more at the scene: Lysette stood resplendent in the glory of the sun, her hands spread wide before she disappeared into the void. "No!" Miriam wailed, rushing forward, only to collide with the door with a resounding thud, stumbling backward in shock and confusion. Gasps and whispers made her turn around, her gaze meeting the wide eyes of everyone in the hall. Murmurs floated among the crowd, with some of the ladies discreetly whispering behind their fans. The weight of their scrutiny pressed down on the mage, amplifying her distress.

Just as the chatter grew louder and the stares of the onlookers' became unbearable, a door beside her swung open. Josephine stepped out, her presence commanding immediate attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, I must apologize for this disruption," she said with practiced poise, her voice carrying effortlessly through the hall. "Please continue with your evening." With a gentle but firm grip, Josephine took Miriam by the arm, steering her away from the curious eyes and through the door she had just exited. Once inside her office, she closed the door behind them, muffling the noise from the hall. "Take a moment to breathe," the Ambassador said softly, guiding her to a chair beside her desk. "Please, have a seat."

Miriam sank heavily into the chair. She adjusted her mask, which was fit slightly askew after her inadvertent collision with the door, and closed her eyes, seeking a moment of respite. Josephine's seat creaked softly as she settled behind her desk. The quiet stretched, and for that, the mage was profoundly grateful. It allowed her to gather the fractured pieces of her composure, each breath an effort towards calm.

After a while, when she felt more centered, the mage opened her eyes and found herself meeting the Antivan’s compassionate gaze. The depth of understanding and kindness she saw there was a surprise. She had never been close to the Ambassador, her knowledge of the woman was limited to the fact that she was of noble blood and a friend of Leliana’s—a fact that had been enough to foster mistrust. This revelation, however, infused her with a glimmer of hope, suggesting that perhaps her previous assessment had been mistaken. "Thank you.”

Josephine offered a warm, reassuring smile. "There's no need for gratitude, Inquisitor. You've endured so much of late." Her gaze darted briefly to the mage's burned hands. " It's only natural to feel overwhelmed."

"It has been... trying," she admitted, her voice faltering. "I thought I could endure, to enter my chamber again, but..."

The Antivan leaned forward slightly, her expression earnest. "It's normal to take things one step at a time."

Miriam nodded, the burden of her recent failure still a heavy shroud around her, but slightly less suffocating in the light of Josephine’s understanding. "I know," she whispered, "but I can't ignore it for much longer. There is a task I must undertake, for Lysette."

Josephine's gentle gaze held a hint of inquiry as she spoke, "If it’s a task in which I could be of assistance with, you have only to ask."

"Lysette... she left a letter for Brother Sebastian," the mage confessed cautiously. "It's on the desk in my quarters. Even though we agreed to conceal the truth about her passing, I still feel compelled to personally deliver it to the Brother."

To her astonishment, Josephine's expression didn't betray any surprise. Instead, she calmly replied, "I know of what you speak. The letter is no longer in your quarters, it's in Leliana's possession."

Fury surged within Miriam, a torrent of anger igniting like a flame within her. The mark on her hand began to pulsate, its emerald veins glowing with an ethereal light. "Andraste, preserve me, the audacity of this woman! Does her meddling know no bounds? Was it not enough to conscript my friend as her agent? Now she lays claim to the letter as well? No! Lysette entrusted that missive to me, it is her final will!"

"Please, Inquisitor," Josephine urged gently as if one would a hostile animal. "I am sure Leliana has her reasons, and we must trust in her judgment."

Miriam shook her head fervently. "Reasons or not, it's not her decision to make. Lysette wanted Brother Sebastian to have that letter, and I won't stand by while it's kept from him."

The Antivan gave the glowing mark a slightly weary look, shifting uncomfortably. "I just ask you to remember that Leliana is your ally, and I would appreciate it if you approached any disagreements you have with her diplomatically."

Miriam drew in a deep breath, a silent command to the magic swirling within her to subside, its radiant light gradually dimming. "The woman is just... infuriating."

Josephine regarded her with compassion, her gaze softening. "I understand your frustration, but perhaps there is a reason why Leliana has taken possession of the letter. She may have insights or concerns that we are not aware of."

Miriam shook her head, her determination unwavering. "I must confront her and reclaim it. It is the least I can offer to honor my dear friend," she declared, rising from her seat. "Thank you for your assistance and for bringing this matter to my attention."

Josephine offered a slight smile in return. "You are most welcome," she replied softly. "And before you depart, considering that your birthday is nearly upon us… I had hoped to arrange a party with our esteemed guests to strengthen the Inquisition's connections."

Miriam's eyes widened in surprise as she recalled that her birthday loomed just two days hence. The tumult of recent events had consumed her entirely, and the notion of her birthday had vanished into the shadows of her mind. The mere thought of being thrust into the public eye, however, unsettled her deeply, stirring an unease that gnawed at her very soul. "I would rather not celebrate it at all," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "I am aware of the potential benefits of such an event, but I am not ready for it."

Josephine looked at her with a knowing look. "I understand," she replied quietly, her words carrying a reassuring tone. "Then I shall draft a formal statement that, in light of the recent passing of the Inquisitor's guard, all scheduled celebrations in her honor will be canceled to respect her mourning period."

The mage felt a wave of relief wash over her. With another expression of gratitude, she bid Josephine farewell and made her way out of the office.

Once Miriam arrived at the rookery, she quickly found the red-haired woman standing amidst the rows of ravens, her gaze fixed upon the scrolls that she held in her hand. "Leliana," she began, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions churning within her. "I must speak with you." Leliana turned to face her, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. The mage squared her shoulders. "It's about Lysette's letter to Brother Sebastian."

The Spymaster's expression turned impassive, though a flicker of curiosity still danced in her eyes. "Ah, I see," she murmured. “And what of it?"

Miriam's jaw tightened. "You know what of it," she retorted, her voice tinged with accusation. "That letter was meant for the Brother, not for your collection of secrets."

Leliana looked at her calmly. "The only person who would benefit from the delivery of this note would be you," she observed evenly. "You aim to assuage your guilt, but have you considered what Sebastian would feel after reading those ridiculous lines?"

The mage’s anger flared. “You had no right to open it," she snapped, her voice laced with indignation. The magic of the mark begged to break free, yet she exerted all her control to keep it at bay.

"You honestly expected me not to?" The Spymaster chuckled, a glint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Be grateful that I intervened, for the revelation would only deepen his disdain for Lysette and exacerbate matters further. Her ‘last will’ is nothing but a cascade of lunacy and barbs aimed directly at Hawke."

Miriam recoiled in disbelief. "You lie!"

Leliana calmly placed the scrolls she held onto the table, and then reached into one of the drawers, retrieving a folded note covered in dirt. Miriam's heart clenched as she gazed upon the paper, instantly recognizing it. "Confirm it for yourself," the Spymaster urged, her voice carrying a hint of challenge.

The mage reached out to accept the note. Should she commit this transgression and verify its contents, or should she ignore Leliana's words and deliver it to the Brother without opening it? For a few agonizing moments, she wrestled with indecision. Yet, ultimately, the fear of inadvertently catalyzing yet another tragedy proved too overwhelming. With cautious deliberation, Miriam carefully unfolded the parchment, her eyes tracing the familiar handwriting:

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

My dearest Sebastian,

As I pen these final words, know that my heart overflows with love for you. I have cherished every moment we spent together, every glance that you granted me, every inadvertent touch of your hand that ignited my soul.

I know you could never forgive me for the choices I have made, which is why I want to part from this world. But I do not despair, my love, for you may hate me now, but in death, our souls shall be united once more. I promise to await you at the Maker's side, where we shall bask in His eternal light together.

As for Hawke, know that what I did was not born out of malice, but rather out of a deep-seated belief that you deserve far better than she could ever offer. Your spirit, pure and noble, deserves to be untainted by the disgusting essence of that wretched thing. Let her rot in the Void, for she is undeserving of the love and devotion you have bestowed upon her.

Yours always and forever,

Lysette

Leliana watched silently, her expression that of satisfaction, as Miriam grappled with the truth laid bare before her. With each passing moment, the reality of the situation sank in, leaving the mage to confront the painful realization that the Spymaster was right. "So I pose the question once more," the woman started. "What purpose would Sebastian reading this letter serve? Would it not only inflict further pain upon him? Would it not deepen his animosity toward your friend? And let us not forget the potential consequences of revealing the depths of the Knight’s obsession. Would it not tarnish her memory, ensuring she is remembered not as a tragic victim of circumstance but as a woman consumed by lust for a married man?"

Miriam didn't reply; her thoughts were a turbulent sea of emotions. She had nothing to say and no argument to oppose Leliana's reasoning. Lysette... no, she resolved to remember only the good in her friend. But what should she do? She couldn't let the letter reach Sebastian. Keeping it herself was unbearable, a constant reminder of her friend's death, and letting Leliana keep it would be like spitting on Lysette’s grave. The mark on her hand prickled and throbbed, pulling her focus away from her thoughts. Perhaps it was from restraining its magic, or maybe... A sudden realization dawned upon the mage, illuminating her path. It was a sign from His Bride, guiding her to decide the letter's fate. Feeling a sense of relief wash over her, Miriam carefully folded the paper and held it delicately between her fingers, pinching the corner. "O Flames, swift messengers of heat, carry this letter to Andraste's seat," she intoned, summoning the emerald fires. The paper ignited, shining brightly for a brief moment before disintegrating into ash that fell to the floor. She watched the ashes scatter, the discomfort from the mark fading away as a profound sense of peace settled within her. The burden of the letter was gone, and with it, a part of her anguish over the Templar’s death. She turned to the Spymaster, who observed her with a mixture of curiosity and respect. "It is done," Miriam said quietly. "Now the letter is in divine hands. Let us honor Lysette's memory with the love and respect she deserves, not the pain and anger she left behind."

"You made the right choice. I must say, I am almost impressed." Miriam nodded in acknowledgment and turned to leave, not wishing to speak or linger in the Spymaster’s company more than was strictly necessary. As she took her first step away, Leliana's voice called after her. "I hope you understand now, Inquisitor. Even when my actions seem deplorable at first, there is always a good reason behind them. I do what must be done for the greater good, for the success of our mission."

The mage paused, her back still turned to the Spymaster. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," she muttered and resumed her way out of the Rookery.

The evening shadows stretched long over Skyhold, casting an intricate dance of light and darkness across the fortress. The air was cool and carried the faint scent of rain, a promise of the night to come. As she approached Cullen's office, the soft glow of twilight illuminated the doorway, creating a serene yet somber atmosphere.

Pushing open the door, she was met with an unexpected stillness in the empty room. For a moment, confusion clouded her mind, but then she recalled Cullen's words from that morning. He had mentioned needing to discuss matters with Rylen and had warned her he would be late. With a soft sigh, Miriam moved towards the box standing near his desk. Inside were the reports she had to look through, brought here because her quarters were no longer a sanctuary for work or rest. Gathering a few of the documents, she climbed the ladder with practiced ease and settled onto the bed. The reports spread out before her. Despite the hole in the roof, she found the place cozy, a small haven within the larger, more imposing structure of Skyhold. Cullen’s bed, though simple and only recently used by her, already offered a sense of comfort and familiarity that her lavish bed never could.

The mage adjusted her position, propping herself up with a pillow, and removed her mask, placing it on a small table nearby. She began to read through the documents, the quiet of the evening enveloping her, broken only by the occasional rustle of parchment as she turned a page.

However, her thoughts soon wandered to Cullen and all he had done for her lately. Her hand instinctively went to the amulet resting on her chest, the cool metal a comforting presence against her skin. Could she have endured it all without him? Cullen, with his unwavering strength and boundless compassion, had been her rock through the storm. Her hero, her selfless betrothed, who showered her with care and support, who loved her so deeply. His sacrifices loomed large in her mind—the nights spent by her side, the soothing words when her anxiety peaked, the thoughtful gestures that spoke volumes of his love. She remembered the way he had held her during the darkest moments, his steady presence a beacon of hope and stability. Cullen had given so much of himself, often putting her needs above his own, and Miriam was acutely aware of the depth of his commitment.

Lost in reverie, the mage found herself yearning to express her gratitude and show her hero just how much he meant to her. Yet, as she pondered the depths of her emotions, she realized the inadequacy of words alone. She longed to find a way to convey the extent of her feelings, to repay his boundless kindness with a gesture he would find equally profound. Suddenly, a notion sprouted in her mind like a blooming flower. What if a symbol of romantic love, such as a kiss on the lips, could become such a gesture? It could serve as an emblem of her attunement to his desires and yearnings. After all, he had been the one to initiate their first kiss and extend the invitation to share a bed. Surely, his heart lamented her lack of initiative. This realization stirred a sense of urgency within the mage, compelling her to take action as soon as possible. And so she resolved that upon her betrothed's return, she would greet him with a fervent kiss.

As time dragged on and evening surrendered to the night, her resolve wavered, however, gnawed at by doubts. She had only kissed twice in her life, and both times she had stood there as a passive participant. What if the kiss she intended to offer him was clumsy and unpleasing? She knew nothing of passionate embraces; why had she suddenly convinced herself it was a good idea to attempt one now?

The faint creak of the office door opening pierced her thoughts, sending a jolt through her heart. "Miriam, are you up there?" Cullen’s familiar voice echoed through the silence.

A tumult of apprehension and nervousness surged within the mage making her drop her reports. They fluttered in all directions onto the floor and bed. Trying to quietly neaten them, she quickly responded, "Yes, I've been waiting for you."

With hurried motions, she set aside the reports on the table beside her mask and rose from the bed, her heart hammering in her chest. She smoothed down her robes, adjusted her hair, and took a deep breath to steady herself. No, she could do this. She would offer him the most heartfelt kiss she could muster, praying that the sincerity of her affection would compensate for her lack of skill.

As Cullen ascended the ladder to join her, Miriam's nerves reached a crescendo, rendering her senses heightened yet muddled. Her breathing was rapidly getting away from her as she willed her body to control itself. His words washed over her like a distant melody, their meaning obscured by the fog of her anticipation.

As he moved towards the rack to divest himself of his cumbersome armor, the mage realized that the longer she hesitated, the more her nerves threatened to overwhelm her. With a surge of determination, she reached out and grasped Cullen's arm, turning him around to face her. As he looked at her, perplexed, she swiftly leaned in, her heart pounding like an Avvar war drum. But just as her lips were poised to meet his, the midnight bells tolled, startling her already heightened nerves. She jolted, and her intended kiss veered off course, landing instead as a clumsy peck on the tip of his nose. The mage stumbled back, the moment unraveling in an instant of absurdity. Cullen's eyes widened, his eyebrows arching in bewilderment. “Miriam?”

The mage’s cheeks burned with a fierce, mortifying heat. She stammered, her words a disjointed cascade. “The bells... I didn’t mean to... I mean, I did, but not on the nose! The lips, I wanted to ki—”

But before she could complete her confession, she felt Cullen's hand as it cupped her cheek; his touch was a gentle command that silenced her. His eyes, clouded with surprise just a moment before, now burned with an intensity that stole her breath away. In a swift, decisive motion, he closed the space between them, his lips capturing hers with a searing fervor. This was nothing like the tender and almost chaste kiss they had shared in his office. This was like a wildfire, hungry and hot, his lips moving with fierce intensity, exploring and demanding, as if expressing everything he had held back before. His hand moved from her cheek to cradle her neck, the other curling around her waist, pressing her so close to the steel of his armor that it was uncomfortable. Yet the discomfort was overshadowed by an unfamiliar sensation as she suddenly felt the genuine wish to reciprocate, not as a means to show her gratitude or initiative but out of her own desire. The mage melted into his embrace, her hands enveloping his form, fingers tangling in the soft fabric of his tabard as she kissed him back, losing herself in the moment, her previous doubts and nerves vanishing. The world around her seemed to blur, leaving only the sensation of Cullen's lips against hers and his arms holding her as if he would never let go.

When they finally pulled away, her breathing came in short gasps, her swollen lips slightly parted, and her eyes were wide with blissful wonder. It was as if a legion of butterflies had been unleashed within her, their frenzied dance a testament to the divine response to her fervent supplications to feel passion for her betrothed. Yet Cullen seemed to have misinterpreted her silent awe as an expression of shock and a harbinger of regret. His muscles tensed, and his features darkened with the weight of his perceived transgression. "Forgive me. I got carried away." He began to withdraw, loosening his hold, as if to extricate himself from her embrace.

Miriam shook her head vehemently, her hands clutching his to keep him close. "No, no," she uttered hurriedly. “I…” A smile imbued with pure and innocent joy graced her face, and she bit her lip to hold in a soft giggle.

Cullen paused, his gaze probing hers for confirmation, and as he beheld the sincerity and excitement in her eyes, a slow, tentative smile spread across his face. “So, you are not upset?”

Buoyed by the surge of emotions coursing through her, the mage felt emboldened to speak her truth. “Not at all, in fact, I find myself wanting more..."

Cullen's cheeks ignited with a sudden blush, and he stammered, his words faltering as he struggled to regain his composure. "I am honored, and I would... I would be pleased to oblige. Don't mistake my hesitation. I, too, yearn for more. However, I….I feel it would be… um, proper to await our wedding."

Miriam regarded him with a quizzical expression, her brow furrowing in bemusement. "Why should we wait for our union to share another kiss?"

"Oh, you speak of further kisses, not... not in a sense of..." Cullen's voice trailed off, the crimson hue on his cheeks deepening almost to the shade of a beet.

"Sense of what?" the mage prompted, tilting her head inquisitively.

He cleared his throat. "Nothing, nothing. Forgive me, um... of course.” His tone became tinged with a hint of bashfulness. “We could kiss more if you wish."

Miriam's face lit up with excitement. Her arms and hand found their natural resting place on and around his shoulders. Her eyes flickered to the scar on his lip before meeting his gaze again. Still feeling shy, but unwilling to relinquish the high of his attention, she asked softly, "Might we indulge right now?"

Cullen laughed equally as quiet, lost in the intimacy her whisper created. A gleam of joy lit his amber eyes as he leaned in once more towards her lips, murmuring against them, "Your wish is my command."