Cullen's face was covered in a blend of sweat and ash that clung to his skin like a second, oppressive layer. A persistent throb emanated from his left arm, a relentless reminder of the beastly blow that had smashed his shield against him. The dull ache radiated through his bones, yet he scarcely noticed the discomfort. Despite their hard-won victory, the atmosphere in the War Room, where the members of the Inquisition Council had gathered with Solas, was tense. An achievement worthy of celebration crumbled under the weight of recent calamities. A colossal dragon, bearing a disquieting resemblance to the Archdemon, had ruthlessly ravaged their ranks, exacting a grievous toll upon both the Templars and the Inquisition's forces. This, combined with the disconcerting actions of the Herald, cast a dark shadow over any inkling of relief.

"What were you thinking!?" Cassandra exclaimed, punctuating each word with fervent intensity. Her usual brash temper was now exuberated by the adrenaline still coursing through her veins after the intense battle. Pacing back and forth, her armor boots leaving dirty marks and ashen stains on the floor of the chamber, she scratched at the tender red burns that marred her cheek. The healing potion had soothed the worst of the injury, but the scar would be a lasting reminder of the ordeal they barely survived.

"It seemed like the right thing to do at the moment," Miriam replied, her voice barely above the whisper. She clutched her amulet tightly as if seeking solace in its presence. Emerald veins crisscrossed through her pallid skin, a mesmerizing and unsettling sight. This affliction was no longer limited to her hands, as it had been before; her entire form had become a canvas for a labyrinthine network of these vibrant green lines, akin to the intricate web spun by a spider.

"Unfurling the Breach and letting a swarm of demons get through! Did this notion truly strike you as the right thing to do?!" The Seeker's voice reverberated with a mix of incredulity and anger as she stopped in her tracks, whirling around to face the mage with an intensity that matched the blazing fires of their recent adversary.

"Not that I am approving of the reckless gamble performed by the Herald," Cullen interjected, a sense of reluctant admission creeping into his voice. "Yet, were it not for her, we'd all be naught but charred remains, and the Breach would still be in the sky."

Miriam turned her gaze toward him, her eyes filled with profound gratitude, ready to express her appreciation, but her words were preempted by Cassandra. "She played with forces beyond her ken. We cannot ignore that fact, no matter the outcome. Besides," the Seeker gestured towards the mage with a sweeping motion, her tone heavy with concern. "Look at her, the mark has spread."

Miriam's eyes shifted from Cullen’s face to her outstretched palms, regarding the peculiar sight with concern. "I admit, this is not a comforting development." Her voice tinged with a forced cheerfulness that couldn't quite conceal her unease as she continued, "But at least I am not drained and on the verge of oblivion like I usually am after using the mark."

"Do you know the cause for this sudden change?" Leliana inquired, her tone measured and analytical. Her mind was undoubtedly working, seeking to unravel the mystery behind the transformation that had manifested in their comrade.

Miriam's response came out hesitant, her voice carrying a subtle undercurrent of discomfort, "I am not sure, maybe…" she began, but then she trailed off, her sentence left hanging in the air, unfinished. She shook her head, as though making a conscious decision to withhold the rest of her thoughts.

Unperturbed by the lack of a reply from the mage, Leliana turned her attention to Solas, her request clear and direct. "I think we will all appreciate it if you could offer us some insight into the situation."

The elf let out a heavy sigh, the weariness of this day evident as he leaned on his singed staff. "During my journeys in the Fade, I witnessed powerful darkspawn mages capable of exerting control over other blighted creatures through the taint.” He continued, offering his insight, "Given that the dragon that attacked us succumbed to the Blight's corruption, I would venture to say that a darkspawn of considerable prowess had commanded the monster during its assault on us. And that this very same darkspawn mage also possesses one half of an ancient elven artifact known as the Orb of Destruction, a relic crafted to harness immense magical power.” Everyone in the War Room exchanged perplexed glances. "I believe my explanation must start with the revelation that the mark on Miriam's hand is another half of this elven artifact," the elf replied, his words slow and deliberate.

"That can’t be!" Miriam's voice erupted as a sudden interruption. "This mark," she proclaimed, lifting her left hand before her, "was bestowed upon me by Andraste herself, in the very realm of the Fade where she delivered me from peril!” Her palm ignited, a vibrant blaze of emerald flames casting a menacing radiance that enveloped the room. “A heathen like you," she pressed on, her gaze unwaveringly defiant as it bore into the elf, "doesn’t know what he is talking about."

"Please, Herald," Josephine implored, her voice adopting a soothing and diplomatic cadence, "this is unbecoming. Let us not entangle matters of faith in this." Her eyes shifted between Miriam and Solas, silently beseeching for a reason to prevail amidst the mounting tension.

Miriam, however, remained stubbornly fixated on the elven mage, "As there is but one world, one life, one death, there is but one god, and He is our Maker. They are sinners, who have given their love to false gods!" she proclaimed with an almost maniacal zealotry, while the flames in her palm swirled and contorted, expanding in size with each passing moment.

Everyone in the War Room instinctively took a step back from her, and Cullen observed Cassandra's subtle adjustment of her stance, her posture indicating her readiness to use Templar's abilities to extinguish the woman's magic. His instincts screamed at him to reach for his sword, to let the Seeker silence the mage, but he remembered his promise to himself. He would face his fears head-on, and now was the moment to make good on that promise. With purposeful steps, he advanced toward Miriam and raised his voice with authority. "Herald, cease this display at once!"

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Her gaze wavered as she locked eyes with him. For a moment, it appeared as though she might defy him, her fingers crackling with magic, but then, with a visible struggle, she slowly lowered her hand, causing the emerald flames to relent, their brilliance waning until they dissolved entirely. Her eyes, however, remained locked onto Cullen's, though they were now clouded with uncertainty. "Commander..." Miriam started, her voice heavy with confusion. "I... I don't know what has come over me, I swear it."

Cullen sighed inwardly, a sense of relief washing over him as he observed her willingness to heed rather than oppose. Closing the distance with a gentle step, his countenance softened. "It was a long and stressful day for all of us," he acknowledged, his tone compassionate yet firm. "I understand that tensions run high, but you must keep the magic of the mark under control."

Miriam's shoulders sagged, her demeanor heavy with resignation. "Yes, of course, you are right," she conceded. Her attention shifted towards Solas, her voice now tinged with regret. "I offer my sincere apologies for the outburst. My words were beneath me," she admitted, her tone contrite. "I lost control over my emotions all too swiftly. I will endeavor to do better."

The elf regarded her with a condescending look. "Your apology is acknowledged," he replied tersely, wasting no time on further discussion of the matter. "Now, if you let me continue," he cleared his throat, his expression shifting to one of stern focus. "During our battle with the dragon, for a moment, I felt an echo, a distant resonance of the second half of the Orb coming from the creature." His gaze shifted to Miriam as he continued, "And then our Herald performed her infamous feat of using the demons of the Fade as a weapon." He paused for emphasis before delivering the key insight. "This led me to conclude that her portion of the Orb resonated with the part of the artifact that belonged to the mage controlling the dragon. When the monster drew near Miriam, a momentary connection between her and the darkspawn was established. This event, in turn, granted her greater mastery over her share of the relic."

"Pray, enlighten us," Leliana inquired, her tone as frigid as a winter's gust. "Why has this revelation about the Orb of Destruction only surfaced now? And how do you possess such extensive knowledge of it?"

"If you must know, I gleaned information about the artifact from the spirits within the Fade. Before our encounter with the dragon, I believed that the other portion of the Orb had perished in the explosion," Solas responded, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. "Besides, contemplate what would happen to the elves should humans become aware of our relic's involvement in the events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I could not allow the peril of another Exalted March simply to provide you with this morsel of information."

While Cullen thought that the nature of the Herald's mark was hardly something one could dismiss as a mere ‘morsel of information’, he also grasped the weight of the potential repercussions if this knowledge were to spread. Within the Circles, many problems festered, but racism was not among them. Sadly, the same could not be said for the rest of Thedas.

"So, if I understand you correctly," Cassandra began, her arms crossed and the rhythmic tap of her soiled mail-clad boot resonating impatiently upon the floor. "One part of this Orb is the mark on Miriam's hand, and the other part belongs to some powerful darkspawn that, through the taint, compelled the dragon to attack us. And, to compound matters, the explosion at the Conclave is somehow entwined with all of this."

"That is the essence of it," Solas acknowledged with a calm and measured tone, then turned to Miriam. "I would also like to emphasize that the Orb was not meant for humans. Neither your body nor your mind possess the strength to wield it. Only time will reveal the full toll you shall pay for using the artifact."

There was a hint of somber inevitability in the elf's words, something that Cullen didn't quite appreciate, but surprisingly, Miriam's face lit up at what he said. "Elves are also the Maker's children. Andraste, in her boundless wisdom, bestowed upon me this portion of their relic to close the Breach and exact vengeance for the fallen at the Conclave," she proclaimed, her voice infused with newfound hope. "The adverse effects the mark imposes upon me are but trials to test my resolve. Our Lady wishes to ensure that I continually prove myself deserving of her gift."

Solas shot Miriam an irritated glance, his eyes rolling ever so slightly, but he refrained from offering a contradiction.

"Pardon the interruption," Josephine interjected, her gaze fixed with a quizzical intensity upon the elf. "You previously said that you believed the dragon was under the control of a powerful darkspawn mage. How could such a thing happen? Darkspawn are known to be mindless entities, slaves to the Archdemon's will, devoid of independent consciousness."

Before Solas could respond, Cullen contributed his knowledge to the discussion. "In truth," he began, "that isn't always the case. Hawke once faced a mage darkspawn who possessed both his own consciousness and the ability to control the Grey Wardens through the taint. I'm not privy to all the details, but after a harrowing battle, she managed to vanquish the creature. It's a pity that she is currently missing, she might have held more insights about such monsters."

Just as he mentioned the Champion, the War Room's door was flung open with a resounding slam. A disheveled and frantic-looking Lysette burst into the room, her voice urgent as she blurted out, "Forgive my abrupt intrusion, but Hawke and Fenris have just arrived at the gates!"

With a unanimous impulse, the entire assembly within the War Room surged forth from the Chantry and dashed towards the gates, their boots echoing with hurried cadence against the frozen terrain of the village. Approaching the looming gates, they were met with a scene that cut through the somberness of recent events.

Under the bright moonlight, Brother Sebastian embraced Hawke with a fervor that bordered on desperation. His tears fell freely, mixing with the snowflakes that landed on his cheeks, as Hawke, no less moved by the reunion, returned the hug with equal intensity. Fenris stood nearby, wearing a rare but genuine smile. Despite being coated in snow and appearing gaunt and soiled, the Champion and her friend showed no visible signs of injury.

The Brother’s voice quivered as he finally spoke. "Hawke, I feared I might lose you," he murmured, his voice scarcely more than a hushed breath. "You, vexing woman, never subject me to such torment again."

In response, Hawke tightened her grip on him, her arms wrapping around his frame with a heartfelt squeeze, “Not even the cursed Void be keepin' us apart, me heart!" she announced, her eyes shining with tears.

Cullen, his heart now lightened by their safe return, released a sigh of relief. "Thank the Maker, you both made it back unharmed. But what in the Void happened in Redcliffe?"

Fenris's brow furrowed, his countenance growing grim, "I fear that you may not like the answer."

Sebastian, at last, released Hawke from his embrace but retained a hand on her shoulder, as if afraid to let go again.

Hawke, now facing the assembled group, wore an uncharacteristically solemn expression. "Aye, me crew, I be tellin' ye, the news be as foul as a stormy sea, it be."