Miriam, accompanied by the Inquisition forces, journeyed towards Haven atop a trusty steed. The horse exuded a quiet strength, its muscles rippling beneath its sleek coat while its warm breath mingled with the crisp mountain air. The village loomed closer, the Frostback Mountains outlining their imposing silhouettes against the wintery sky as the rhythmic clatter of hooves echoed through the desolate terrain.
Reflecting upon her first mission as the Herald of Andraste, she couldn't deny that, all things considered, it had yielded favorable outcomes. The perils that once plagued the Crossroads were quelled, the suffering of refugees alleviated, and Mother Giselle had pledged her unwavering support.
Yet, amid these triumphs, one lingering setback persisted like stubborn thorn. Lysette, still nursing the resentment of an unjust reprimand for a transgression not of her own making, revealed her bitterness through curt exchanges and terse conversations that lacked the warmth of camaraderie.
Miriam couldn't help but feel the weight of guilt, knowing that her actions had caused her guard to be disciplined. Nevertheless, a steadfast conviction rooted itself within her being, unyielding in the face of remorse. To her, those actions were not born of reckless disobedience but rather guided by a divine hand—a beckoning from the Maker's Bride herself. Why else would Andraste aid her in vanquishing the bandits and restoring the Revered Mother to health?
However, mindful of her pledge to Commander Cullen, the mage vowed to exercise caution in the future, to ensure each step was weighed and measured before taken.
The enchanter's eyes wandered to the man riding in front of her, her thoughts swirling with concern. For more than a week there has been an air of perpetual weariness about him. Always lost in his thoughts, he rarely emerged from the depths of his contemplation. Dark, haunting circles had etched themselves beneath his eyes, betraying the toll of sleepless nights, and his short temper, like a smoldering ember, flickered to life at the slightest provocation. It was as though some hidden force tugged at his very essence, leaving him drained and restless.
The mage, attuned to the telltale signs of suffering, couldn't help but draw parallels to the tormented Templars of the Ostwick Circle. Could the scarcity of lyrium be at play here? She had witnessed the debilitating effects of its absence far too many times to dismiss her suspicions outright. Seeking understanding, Miriam urged her horse forward with a gentle nudge of her heels, its powerful form gracefully carrying her closer to Cullen. Drawing alongside the troubled Commander, the enchanter spoke with caution, her voice hushed to preserve the intimacy of their conversation.
"May I have a moment of your time?" the mage inquired, her words carrying a soft urgency.
The man, previously consumed by his thoughts, raised his gaze to meet her searching eyes. "Of course,” he responded, his voice wearied.
"It's apparent to me that you're going through a difficult time," she began, her tone infused with genuine empathy. "Is there anything I can do to be of service?"
His eyes widened briefly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he composed himself. "Thank you for your concern, but I assure you, it's nothing you need to worry about," he uttered, his words carrying a veneer of politeness. Yet, behind that facade, there lingered a palpable strain, an unspoken plea for the silence that resonated in his pained expression. It was a rebuff that discouraged her from any further attempts to delve deeper into the subject.
This rejection struck her with a disheartening blow. Despite her commitment to the organization, she wasn't deemed trustworthy enough to share her comrade’s burden.
Miriam thought that perhaps, for trust to take root and flourish, she should provide some meaningful proof of her loyalty to the cause.
"Perchance you are unaware, but I maintain a correspondence with the First Enchanter of my Circle. I find myself compelled to make a request from her that requires the Inquisition's assistance," she spoke enthusiastically, steering the conversation in a different direction.
Cullen, responded with a measured tone, his eyes fixed intently upon the mage. "I am well aware of your ongoing exchange with Enchanter Lydia. I am also privy to the contents of each missive that traverses between our base and your Circle," he declared, eliciting a bewildered expression from the enchanter. "Every message that crosses the borders of our camp falls under the scrutinizing gaze of the Left Hand's vigilant agents. Your correspondence, in particular, undergoes a thorough examination by Leliana herself, who assumes personal responsibility for ensuring the integrity of the letters you dispatch and receive."
A moment of contemplative silence embraced Miriam, as she digested this information. While she was accustomed to having little privacy in the way of correspondence in the Circle as the Templars vetted it, they had never so bluntly and outright confessed that it was being done. Her mind raced through all the letters she had written, trying to remember if she had divulged any sensitive details. As she skimmed the messages in her mind, her heart’s pattern hastened fretting over what bits of information Leliana had shared with him and the others. With nothing of consequence aside from speaking of her true feeling regarding her role within the Inquisition, she attempted to calm herself lest she says something that would hinder her chances of gaining his trust. "I do appreciate your honesty, though I cannot claim to relish such intrusive oversight.” He raised an eyebrow at the slight distaste in her tone. She knew he was gauging her reaction, so she endeavored to remain civil. “Still, I understand the necessity that compels you to enact these measures." A wistful smile tugged at the corners of her lips, "Thank the Maker, I have refrained from revealing any embarrassing moments to dear Lydia."
The Commander's countenance softened, his features relaxing as he beheld the enchanter's reaction. "I am glad that you have taken this revelation in good spirit. Now, pray tell, what is this request you alluded to?"
"I would like my phylactery to be delivered from the Circle to the Inquisition," the woman spoke, her voice steady yet laced with a touch of agitation. "I believe it could prove to be a valuable asset in the face of an emergency." Upon seeing the furrowed brow and worried expression on Cullen’s face, she hastened to allay any concerns that may have arisen. "Please, do not worry," she assured, her tone resolute. "I have no intention of embarking on another solitary endeavor. My desire is simply to offer everyone a measure of peace, knowing that I shall forever remain within reach should necessity demand my presence.”
The Commander, with a discreet nod, bestowed his approval upon the proposal. "To be utterly candid, I had already been contemplating the transfer of your phylactery into our custody. Still, the fact that it was your own suggestion, and thus a sign of your commitment, is undeniably reassuring. I shall have a word with Josephine. She possesses the finesse to orchestrate the delivery."
Gratitude welled up within Miriam, "Thank you, considering the rather limited state of my Circle finances, I would not want to burden them with this request."
"Rest assured, the Inquisition shall handle all the expenses," the man stated firmly.
Pleased that her suggestion had elicited the desired response, her visage brightened with a touch of delight. With small acts of loyalty like this, she hoped to stoke the flames of camaraderie within the ranks of the Inquisition.
When they reached Haven, the dying embers of the sun caressed the snowy expanse, suffusing the quaint settlement with a melancholic roseate hue. The village had swelled in size since their departure to the Hinterlands, its boundaries stretching far beyond what she remembered. Makeshift tents and hastily constructed huts sprawled across the landscape, a testament to the settlement's struggle to accommodate the surge of recruits. It was an outcome borne from the tidings of Mother Giselle's alliance with the Inquisition. The very presence of the Revered Mother stirred a profound awakening among the dispossessed, who converged upon the banner of her cause with an untamed passion.
Miriam, still riding alongside the Commander noticed his gaze sweeping across the multitude before him, a weariness etched upon his countenance, yet an unmistakable fervor flickering in his eyes. In his mind, she supposed, he was already devising plans for the training and organization of the nascent army before him. Not having the knowledge of what that involved, considering the number of souls under his command, it had to be extremely stressful to be chiefly responsible for their lives. She admired his dedication and hard work having seen him straining his eyes in candlelight into the twilight hours on more than one occasion.
Upon reaching the stables, Miriam dismounted from her steed with measured slowness, her body thrumming with the protest of fatigued muscles and weary limbs acquired through the lengthy journey. The arduous trek had exacted its toll, leaving behind a cacophony of discomfort within her lithe frame. Cullen was swiftly intercepted by Knight-Captain Rylen, his trusted second-in-command assuming his duties in his absence. The urgency of his presence was demanded at the training field, a call that left no room for delay or respite. Solas hastened back to his secluded cabin as if wearied by the constant company of others. The Right Hand, too, seemed eager for a taste of solitude. With solemn brevity she informed Miriam that the meeting with the rest of the Inquisition council would take place tomorrow at the morning bells, granting her the freedom to seek respite until then.
With a nod of acknowledgment, the enchanter trudged towards her cabin. She dragged her travel-worn satchel in tow as if it were an anchor, while the ever-silent Lysette followed in her wake.
The short distance that separated the enchanter from her humble abode became an arduous journey that took hours to complete, for every step she took was hindered by a constant stream of fervent souls yearning to see the Herald of Andraste. Some, their spirits broken and weary, craved her presence for a mere uplifting word. Others, afflicted with physical ailments, sought the caress of her healing spells. Fortunately, most of the faithful showed a semblance of decorum, and the few who did not were swiftly and firmly chastised by Lysette.
When, at last, mustering the few remnants of her strength, the mage sealed the door of the hut behind her, the moon was already soaring high above the celestial canvas. Exhaustion clung to her like a vice, as she braced her hands and arms out against the door. She hung her head and let out a heavy sigh in an attempt to unburden herself from the day. Unable to muster the energy to eat or tend to the contents of her weathered travel bag, she draped her cloak upon the rusted hook on the wall, cast off the shackles of her shoes, and succumbed to the embrace of the bed. A languid sigh of relief escaped her lips as the warm blankets embraced her.
After relishing a few precious moments of respite, Miriam turned her head, only to discover Lysette still lingering by the door, her face marked by intense scrutiny that furrowed her brow. Her lips were parting and closing repeatedly as if caught in a battle between voicing her thoughts or remaining silent.
Miriam propped herself up, wanting to ask what happened. However, before she could utter a thing, Lysette's words came forth, "Is it because I am but a lowly Templar recruit?" she blurted out.
Confusion creased the mage's brow as she regarded the woman before her. "I beg your pardon?"
"Do you not trust me because I lack the stature of a fully-fledged Knight?" the guard attempted to clarify her train of thought, her voice revealing a touch of vulnerability.
"What leads you to believe that I do not trust you?" Miriam inquired, genuine bewilderment tinging her words.
"With all due respect, Lady Herald, you abandoned me at the village and ventured forth to find Mother Giselle alone. It seemed to imply that you either lacked faith in my abilities or deemed me unworthy of your trust," she voiced her grievance, her tone carrying a mix of frustration and wounded pride.
Miriam's face softened as realization began to paint her features. "Ah, dearest Lysette, do not mistake my intentions," she tenderly placated her guardian. "My solitary departure was guided by a stirring deep within, a conviction that Andraste herself yearned for me to be the one finding Mother Giselle. Never did I harbor desires to undermine your station or cast doubt upon your loyalty."
Lysette's eyes, filled with a veil of skepticism, met Miriam's gaze. “If the will of Andraste was behind your decision then why didn’t you tell me so?" she began, her words punctuated by disappointment. "Together we could have forged a united front to sway Corporal Vale's judgment, beseeched him to grant you passage alongside our comrades. And in the face of failure, I would have willingly journeyed by your side. Yet, you chose to keep me in the dark."
Miriam was struck by an unforeseen revelation. The notion that Lysette could have been a collaborator, a kindred spirit in her endeavor, didn’t even cross her mind. And to think that all this while, she had been convinced that Lysette's bitterness stemmed solely from the reprimands she received from the Corporal. A few days ago she was wounded by the fact that Cullen sought solace in silence, building walls where bridges should have been erected. It turns out she was guilty of the same transgression as well.
"You speak the truth," Miriam confessed, her voice marked by regret. "In my arrogance, I failed to recognize our shared purpose. Blinded by my assumptions, I foolishly believed you wouldn’t approve of such rash action as my protector." Her gaze shifted downward for a moment as if seeking solace in the patterns etched upon the wooden floor. "To think that I dismissed the possibility of your understanding... It was a misjudgment. For that, I offer my sincerest apologies." With a delicate sigh, she raised her eyes once more, meeting Lysette's gaze with newfound humility, and declared, "From this moment forth, I pledge to confide in you as a true companion!" As a gesture of her earnestness, she extended her hand towards her guard, offering it as a symbol of reconciliation.
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The woman, though visibly affected by Miriam's words, regarded her with caution. The walls of skepticism remained intact, for trust once fractured is not easily repaired. Yet, beneath the wariness that lingered in her eyes, there flickered a spark of willingness to forgive. "I appreciate that you acknowledge your error," she responded, her voice carrying a touch of cautious optimism. "I hope your actions will match your words."
Slowly, tentatively, Lysette extended her own hand, meeting the mage halfway. Their palms touched, bridging the gap between them, a physical embodiment of their shared commitment to rebuild what had been fractured.
As the world stirred from its slumber, a gentle, golden radiance spilled across the rugged peaks of the mountains, signaling the dawn of a new day. Mischievous shadows danced playfully over the modest cottages that lined the streets, while smoke twirled from chimneys, gracefully ascending into the tranquil morning air. Miriam, accompanied by her loyal guardian, embarked on her journey towards the Chantry an hour before the morning bells.
Having learned from the previous day's experiences, they opted to navigate the village while its inhabitants peacefully slumbered. A tinge of guilt tugged at the mage's heart as they tiptoed past closed doors and shuttered windows. It was her duty to interact with the people, to listen to their woes, and to provide comfort during their time of need. Sensing Miriam's unease, Lysette offered reassurance that after the forthcoming meeting, she would have ample opportunity to fully embrace her role as the Herald.
Finally, they approached the Chantry, its weathered walls bathed in the gentle hues of the awakening sun. With determination, the enchanter pushed open the imposing doors, revealing a hall illuminated by the flickering glow of countless candles. Sebastian was already there, immersed in the meticulous preparations for the morning service. Though men were not ordained as true priests, they contributed to the spiritual guidance of Thedas alongside their female counterparts, ensuring that crucial duties were fulfilled to sustain the material lives of the faithful. Hence, it often fell upon Brother Sebastian to organize the details of the services led by the Mothers. His countenance brightened with a warm smile as he turned to greet the newcomers.
"Lady Herald, Lysette, it brings me joy to behold your presence," Sebastian welcomed them graciously. "Alas, you have arrived a tad early for the service, but should you desire, I would be grateful for your aid in the preparations."
Before Miriam could respond, her guard nudged her towards the War Room, her voice brimming with excitement. "Certainly, Brother. I shall gladly assist you. Lady Miriam, however, is engaged in a matter of utmost importance and cannot join us."
"There is still time before other members of the council arrive, I can lend my assistance," the mage interjected, her perplexity evident.
"Do you not recall the pressing need to prepare the documents for the impending meeting?" Lysette insisted, maintaining direct eye contact. There was a peculiar glint in the woman's eyes, almost as if she were silently pleading for something.
Miriam suddenly noticed a telltale flush spreading across her guard's face. Oh, no, could it be that Lysette held an affection for Brother Sebastian? Such a passion would be ill-fated, for everyone in Haven knew that Hawke was his... what, exactly? A friend? No, she had professed her love for him so many times it was almost ludicrous. A lover, then? Not likely, the man had willingly embraced the vow of chastity, a matter of great contention among many in the village. Regardless of their connection, Miriam was certain that the Champion of Kirkwall would not welcome a rival for Sebastian's attention.
She had no time to reply or bid the man farewell, for Lysette, in her fervent desire for solitude with the Brother, swung open the door to the War Room and shoved the mage inside, promptly sealing the entrance behind her. Spurred on by her companion's unexpected and formidable push, Miriam sprinted into the chamber, only to trip over a crack in the worn stone floor. Fortunately, her tottering trajectory was abruptly halted by the presence of a massive table prominently placed in the center of the room. Immovable in its weight, the substantial furniture was unaffected by the collision, a fortunate occurrence considering its customary array of parchments, maps, and quills. Relieved to have escaped a full-blown fall, the mage steadied herself, her breath caught between gratitude for the resilient table and mild annoyance at being pushed around by her guard. With a moment to compose herself, she straightened her posture, smoothed down the fabric of her robe, and adjusted her disheveled hair.
As her eyes swept across the orchestrated chaos that defined the War Room she was surprised to see Commander Cullen standing by the window with a report in his hand. "That was quite the spirited entrance," he remarked, a discernible hint of mirth permeating his voice. "Considering the early hour, it warms my heart to witness such unbridled enthusiasm."
Miriam’s cheeks flushed with a tinge of embarrassment. "My exuberant arrival owes its existence to Lysette. The woman's fervor to secure a private moment with Brother Sebastian was so great that she practically propelled me into the chamber," she lamented.
Cullen's mood seemed to brighten even further, an irrepressible twinkle dancing in his eyes. "It appears that we shall bear witness to yet another duel for the Brother’s favor."
Shocked at the turn of events and the Commander's seemingly lighthearted approach, she regarded him with disbelief, "Surely, you cannot condone such a foolish matter escalating into violence."
The man's response came with a hint of reassurance. "Oh, fear not, only training weapons will be permitted, and the duel lasts until the first strike finds its mark. This is not the first time such an event will unfold. In Kirkwall, Hawke engaged in duels almost every month. Besides, the loser is tasked with performing a charitable deed predetermined by Brother Sebastian himself. I recall an Orlesian Chevalier who succumbed to the Champion's prowess—the resulting donation to the Chantry allowed Sebastian to feed the homeless throughout the entire winter."
Perplexed, she inquired further, her voice laced with bewilderment, "So, you mean to tell me that Sebastian is fully aware of these peculiar proceedings?"
The Commander chuckled warmly, his amusement evident. "He was the one to conceive this idea. The man professed that if the Maker blessed him with both good looks and the companionship of a passionate, powerful woman, then he ought to employ those gifts for the greater good."
Pondering his words, she acknowledged with a touch of bemusement, "Well, though it all seems rather unconventional if no harm befalls anyone and charitable acts are accomplished, I suppose there is some merit to this unique arrangement."
Cullen's countenance shifted, a fleeting moment of remembrance crossing his features. "There has been something I've been meaning to inquire about for quite some time now," he began, his voice carrying a touch of curiosity. "It is regarding the tune you sang for the ailing infant at the Crossroads. How did you come to be acquainted with it?"
Her surprise was evident as she responded, "You mean 'The Little Apple Tree'?" The notion that he remembered and displayed interest in a simple children's melody caught her off guard.
The man nodded, his agreement accompanied by a slight quirk of his brow. "Indeed, that song hails from my village. I was surprised to discover that anyone outside Honnleath is familiar with it. Please, indulge my curiosity."
Miriam's heart swelled with a sense of nostalgia, her fingers instinctively curling around the amulet she wore. It was a cherished memento, one that encapsulated a precious memory. "A dear friend of mine once entertained me with it when I was a child. Even now, decades later, that modest tune lingers in my mind "she confessed. She knew how foolish it was to consider someone she'd only met once, and whose name remained a mystery, a friend, but she couldn't help but give that title to the brave boy who had saved her on that fateful day.
Cullen's expression softened as he listened, and a bittersweet smile played upon his lips. "I see. You know, my younger sister adored this song. Whenever she was on the verge of tears or feeling grumpy, my mother would begin singing it, and without fail, Rosalie would brighten up."
The mage’s curiosity was piqued by the sudden mention of his personal life. "You have siblings?" she gently prompted.
The man's gaze shifted, his eyes growing distant as he lost himself in his memories.
"Well," he began, a hint of sadness in his tone, "I have two younger siblings, Branson and Rosalie. And then there is Mia, my older sister, a steadfast protector who has always been my shield against life's trials. However, fate has seen fit to place a chasm between us, and it has been many years since our paths last crossed."
Sensing the longing and the ache in his voice, an empathy stirred within Miriam, compelling her to offer a comforting gesture. She reached out and placed a hand on Cullen's arm. However, to her surprise, he seemed startled by her touch, his body tensing for a moment.
Realizing that she had unintentionally crossed a boundary, she swiftly retracted her hand, a contrite expression playing upon her face. "Pardon me Commander, I had no intention of alarming you," she murmured.
The man quickly regained his composure, meeting her gaze with a calm demeanor. "No need for apologies," he reassured her, his voice firm yet tinged with a trace of vulnerability. "It’s simply that I’m not used to receiving such a warm gesture from a...”
Miriam grasped her left hand concealing the glow emanating from it. How could she have been so forward considering his previous reaction to her magic. She looked down squeezing her eyes shut as she reprimanded herself for such thoughtlessness. Seeing the change in her demeanor, he seemed to understand her thoughts. “The reason lies not in your identity as a mage or the powers you possess, but in your essence as a woman.” Her head shot up in confusion as a fleeing hint of mortification reddened his face, “I- um, what I mean to say is that it caught me off guard."
It took her a moment until her eyes widened at her understanding of the problem. The enchanter found herself exaggerating her nodding awkwardly, attempting to convey her respect for his choice, "I must admit my oversight. I should have recognized that like Brother Sebastian you have taken a vow of chastity."
"I-I have not taken such vows," he stammered, his voice wavering with a touch of annoyance, "It is not a matter of chastity, but rather... Maker's breath! Can we speak about something else?"
“Yes, of course,” she responded, eager to diffuse the tension. Her gaze fixated upon the man's countenance, etched with profound creases, and instead of another discourse, she contemplated extending her aid in managing the influx of recruits that had flocked to their cause. "With the Inquisition witnessing the arrival of so many newcomers, I can well imagine how the weight of your responsibilities has swelled," she empathized, her voice carrying a genuine concern. "I stand ready and willing to offer my healing abilities to the cause."
Her words seemed to succeed in dispersing the air of unease that had settled between them. Cullen's face brightened with an idea, his countenance visibly easing into a more relaxed state. “There is indeed something you can do to bolster our forces. We don’t have that many skilled healers in the organization, and your expertise can make a difference. I propose that you impart classes of first aid to our soldiers. Teach them the basic skills of tending to wounds and providing immediate care in the field. This knowledge can save lives when healers like yourself cannot be present."
Miriam's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "That is an excellent suggestion, Commander! By empowering the soldiers with the tools to care for themselves and their comrades, we can significantly improve their chances of survival. I will prepare a comprehensive guide that covers the essentials of first aid and some basic recipes for healing potions."
The man offered a grateful smile. "Excellent, I think it will help to ensure that our soldiers are equipped not only for combat but also for the aftermath. Please keep me updated on the progress and any requirements you may have."
"Understood. Grant me a mere week, and I shall be primed to embark upon this endeavor," she declared.
In the midst of a momentary hush, Cullen's eyes took on a pensive expression. "What about the demands of your role? Doesn't the responsibility of being the Herald of Andraste burden you?"
As he inquired, a solemn expression graced the enchanter's face. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, her gaze turning introspective. "Indeed, the demands of my position are substantial," she replied, her voice carrying a mixture of weariness and determination. "Being the Herald of Andraste means carrying the hopes and expectations of countless believers. It requires tending to the faithful, offering solace and reassurance in times of despair. It's a responsibility that I take to heart." She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "The emotional toll can be overwhelming at times. But it is in those moments that I seek refuge in the teachings of Andraste, it is through the lens of her revered doctrine that I find solace and meaning, for I fervently believe that I tread the path carved by the Maker's hand. There are moments of doubt and weariness, of course," she admitted, her voice carrying a touch of vulnerability. "In those instances, I reiterate the importance of the task at hand and the impact it can have on the lives of so many. And with that reminder, I gather my resolve and press on." The enchanter's eyes met Cullen's. "I also lean on the support of those around me," she added, her voice laced with deep sincerity. "Their camaraderie encourages me on this arduous journey".
He inclined his head, his countenance mirroring comprehension. "As long as you stay on the righteous path, rest assured, I will remain by your side.”
As her lips curved into a smile, the tender touch of sunlight seeped through the window, releasing a cascade of shimmering brilliance that elegantly twirled around the Commander's strands of golden hair. A swell of fondness surged within the mage, whisking her away to a bygone time at the Redcliffe Fair, where the young boy extended his benevolent palm to her in earnest aid.
The resonant chimes of morning bells reverberating through the halls of the Chantry shattered Miriam's reverie. She blinked several times as if awakening from a trance, only to be greeted by the creaking of the entrance door. Turning around, she beheld the members of the Inquisition council stepping into the War Room.
With polite greetings exchanged, they assumed their designated places around the table, ready to commence the meeting.
With poised grace, Josephine initiated the gathering by recounting hers and Leliana’s triumphs, their talents masterfully employed to sway the clerics besides those who held the recommendations of Brother Sebastian and Mother Giselle. Persuasion, coercion, and the artful exchange of favors were deftly utilized, leaving a diverse tapestry of outcomes in their wake. Some were swayed by reason, their convictions reevaluated in the face of compelling arguments. Others, their darker inclinations laid bare, succumbed to blackmail, their loyalty assured through veiled threats and whispered secrets.
Judging by the compiled roster of names, it was clear that the Chantry's stance on the heretical nature of the Inquisition would soon be poised for a shift. The discord within the clergy, as various factions begin to cling to their differing opinions, will be enough to upset the fragile balance that has held until now.
Leliana added that not all of the clergy were eager to embrace the change, though. Among the dissenters, one figure stood tall as a bastion of denial, her fervor unwavering in her rejection of the notion that Miriam was the anointed Herald of Andraste. It was, of course, Mother Lucia who spared no effort in disseminating far and wide the tale of her alleged assault at the hands of the mage. Unrelenting in her determination, she sought to remind all who would listen that this so-called Herald had dared to masquerade as a Chantry Sister while her very soul was tainted by the tendrils of magic.
At this news, Miriam's delicate fingers clenched with such intensity that her knuckles turned as pale as freshly fallen snow. It was a visceral reaction, a manifestation of the turmoil churning within her. She long resolved to speak with the Inquisition council about Lucia's crimes once the Breach had been sealed. With the closing of that otherworldly tear, her tenuous position as the Herald would be fortified, rendering her testimony more palatable to their minds. Her life experience showed that nothing short of this momentous feat would compel them to believe her.
A decade of being silenced, of having her voice muted in the face of apathy and skepticism, had left her jaded. Her hopes for vindication, once a flickering ember, now seemed but a fading wisp of smoke. Yet the audacity of Lucia to continue to spin her wretched lies had ignited a dormant fire within. The enchanter harbored no illusions, she knew that once again it would be her word against the word of the esteemed Mother. However, she refused to falter in her resolve.
As she prepared to speak her truth, she beseeched the Maker, her plea a silent prayer. May He guide her words, may they find fertile ground in the hearts of those around her, and may this time, someone, anyone, finally believe her.