The intrepid party crossed the threshold of the tunnel entrance that descended into the depths of the subterranean cavern. With the Rift being the only remaining danger, and the narrow nature of the passage, it was deemed unnecessary to call in additional Inquisition forces for this particular mission. The vanguard was led by Fenris and Hawke, who was not only familiar with the labyrinthine path but who had also uncovered the existence of the Rift in the first place. Following in their wake were Miriam and Solas, conjuring orbs of ethereal light. The radiant glow emanating from these spheres acted as a beacon, pushing back the encroaching darkness and giving the party comforting warmth. Lysette stood resolutely at Miriam's flank, her shield gleaming with meticulously polished steel. Completing the procession, Cassandra brandished her sword with an iron grip, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
As they ventured further into the maw of the tunnel, the air grew cool and damp, clinging to their skin and assaulting their senses with the putrid mustiness of the surrounding atmosphere. The echoes of their footsteps merged with the distant drip of water, creating an eerie symphony that resonated through the passage. They passed by remnants of past expeditions, abandoned equipment, and faded markings on the walls, evidence of Carta’s members who had ventured here before them.
Miriam's heart brimmed with excitement as her eyes beheld the clusters of deep mushrooms strewn across the floor, their vibrant azure hues standing boldly against the surrounding darkness. These subterranean fungi served as one of the crucial components for the coveted regeneration potion. The notion of passing by such a fortuitous opportunity seemed almost sacrilegious, prompting her to propose the idea of collecting them on their return journey.
To her surprise, however, the rest of the party did not share her enthusiasm, save for Hawke. A gleam of recognition lit up the Champion's eyes as she nodded in agreement. "Aye, them mushrooms be fit for mixin' in me tonics as well. With one o' me concoctions, ye'll possess the power to unleash the fury of the seven seas!" A momentary pause followed before she added mischievously, "But I must warn ye that on the morrow it has a nasty tendency to send yer bowels into a stormy frenzy. If ye value yer trousers stayin' dry, keep this knowledge close to yer heart. Ain't that right, Fenris?" Her words dripped with playful mischief, punctuated by a sly wink directed at the elf.
The man responded with a gruff growl, his voice laced with a touch of irritation. "Would you like me to pluck out your remaining eye?"
Undeterred, the woman laughed heartily in response, her deep voice echoing against the rugged walls of the tunnel.
Her cheer abruptly ended as an ominous crawling sound reached their ears. From the shadows emerged the grotesque and predatory forms of giant spiders, their many eyes glinting in the dark. Instantly, the group's formation tightened, their bodies coiling in readiness to meet the threat.
With practiced precision Miriam's hands danced through the arcane gestures, as she swiftly cast her protective barriers upon the warriors, ethereal energies enveloping their frames in a shield. The task demanded every ounce of her strength, but she remained steadfast, rooted in place, and determined to maintain her concentration. Her mana flowed out, coursing along the ethereal cords that tethered her to the barriers, ensuring their stability amidst the chaos that surrounded them. As the monstrous abominations closed in, their snarls and slavering jaws heralding their bloodthirsty intent, a surge of crackling energy erupted from Solas, an electric storm unleashed upon their foes. Bolts of lightning arced through the air, leaping from one vile creature to another, momentarily stunning them in a dazzling display of power. Seizing the opportunity Hawke charged forward with a war cry, slamming into the horde head-on. Her maul swung in wide arcs and the spiders, their spindly legs buckling under the force of her blows, were tossed aside like rag dolls.
One of the monsters lunged at Cassandra's back but was met by the barrier, the resonating impact causing the spider to recoil, its fangs gnashing in frustration. With a swift and fluid motion, the Seeker pivoted on her heel, her eyes ablaze with fury. Without hesitation, she launched a ferocious counterattack, her sword becoming an extension of her body. The blade sang its deadly melody as it cleaved through the flesh of the monster, carving a path of swift retribution. The creature, caught in the whirlwind of the Seeker's onslaught, faltered and crumpled under the weight of her skill, its existence having been snuffed out.
Miriam, wholly dedicated to the task of upholding the barriers, found her attention utterly consumed by the demanding duty at hand. Her focus was so intense, her senses so enveloped in the intricacies of magic, that she failed to perceive the encroaching danger lurking in the shadows. Stealthily, one of the monsters crept closer and lunged, its attack aimed squarely at her vulnerable form. Yet, Lysette, ever watchful, leaped forward with unparalleled swiftness. Her shield held high she interposed herself between the mage and the creature. The clash of their collision was resounding, causing the woman to be propelled backward and collide with Miriam. Caught off guard the enchanter was abruptly jolted from her trance. The delicate strands of incantations that bound her barriers snapped and the ethereal protection dissipated into nothingness. As if sensing the opportunity granted by the failed enchantment, another spider, quick as lightning, vaulted above Lysette, who even from the ground held her shield up using her body to block Miriam from harm. From their backs, the two scrambled backwards as the creature continued its assault. With their other companions occupied, the Templar took hit after hit, and while her resolve held strong, her strength waned. The spider was unnaturally fast not giving the women an opening to counterattack. Miriam's eyes widened in terror as she witnessed Lysette's shield falter and fall to the wayside, no longer able to repel the venomous onslaught, “Herald, go!” the Templar commanded as she shoved her charge away, forcefully separating them to draw the monstrous creature's attention solely upon herself. The wicked jaws instantly found their mark in the unprotected flesh of Lysette’s neck, puncturing her defenseless skin with a savage bite. A cry of startled anguish escaped the woman’s lips as she crumpled to the ground, her body seized by violent convulsions, crimson streams flowing forth from the wound.
Hurrying to their rescue Fenris sprang into action. His movements were fluid and deadly as he descended upon the monstrous assailants. With a swing of his weapon, he sent the spiders tumbling, their grotesque forms writhing in agonizing torment, bearing deep gashes inflicted by his skilled hand. Meanwhile, Solas unleashed a fireball that descended upon the remaining creatures with unrelenting fury. In its searing wake, several of the loathsome spiders were reduced to ashes, while the survivors, their courage shattered, scrambled away, fleeing from the overwhelming might array against them.
Miriam's heart sank as she knelt beside the ailing Lysette whose form writhed in torment, contorted by agonizing spasms. She knew that the standard healing potions she carried in her arsenal would prove futile against the poison that had infiltrated the warrior's bloodstream. The situation demanded another solution, one that only a potent healing spell could provide. Time was of the essence, and Miriam's hands moved with a desperate swiftness as she reached for her sash, fingers fumbling until they closed around a vial of lyrium. Hurriedly she uncorked it and consumed its contents, feeling the energizing rush of the mana returning to her body. Her gaze shifted toward Cassandra, her eyes brimming with intensity. "Hold her in place," she commanded, her voice steady despite the tremor of anxiety within. The Seeker obeyed without question, her grip firm yet gentle as she cradled the convulsing warrior, ensuring she remained still for the impending healing ritual.
Miriam took a deep breath and centered herself. With a resolute determination etched into her features, she laid her hands on the wound. Closing her eyes, she shut out her surroundings. Drawing upon the power of her connection to the Fade, she summoned forth a surge of healing energy. The enchanter’s magic delicately wove through the raw edges of the wound, mending and knitting together torn tissue, while also purging the insidious poison from every cell.
Beneath the gentle ministrations of Miriam's spell, Lysette's shallow breaths began to steady, her spasm ceased and she fell into a deep slumber. As the last vestiges of her magic dissipated, the enchanter opened her eyes and gazed upon her work with a mix of relief and satisfaction. The deep gash that marred her guard’s neck had now been sealed, replaced by a thick, rugged scar.
Cassandra carefully released her hold on Lysette's weakened form, rising from the ground with her gaze fixed upon Hawke. With measured steps, she closed the distance between them, her eyes ablaze with righteous indignation.
"You told us that aside from the Rift, there was no danger," she seethed, her voice laced with restrained fury. "And yet, here we are, facing a peril we were ill-prepared for."
Hawke, unflinchingly defiant, met Cassandra's accusatory gaze without a hint of remorse. "Aye, an' there weren't any danger when we first stumbled upon this tunnel, ye see. It's been days gone by since that time, it has. Do ye reckon I be standin' watch at the entrance day and night, makin' sure no scurvy threats dare cross our path?"
The Seeker's nostrils flared with barely contained frustration. "I expect you to exercise caution and foresight before our arrival. Miriam is our only hope in sealing the Breach. We cannot afford to take unnecessary risks."
Hawke rolled her eyes dismissively, "Spare me the theatrics, will ye? Besides, I be bettin' me last tit that Andraste be keepin' a spare Herald stashed away in some flamin' hidey-hole o' hers."
Cassandra's temper flared, her restraint on the edge of snapping as she raised her clenched fist, prepared to strike the Champion. However, before the blow could land, Fenris, his intricate tattoos glowing with a fierce intensity, stepped between them. His intense glare bore into the Seeker, a silent warning that spoke volumes.
Miriam shook her head with a weary sigh. This was not the time nor the place for their heated argument. "Please, calm down," she implored, her tone carrying a gentle authority. "All of you. We must focus on the task at hand. Lysette is safe, but she needs time to recover. Let us not waste precious moments bickering amongst ourselves when we still have a mission to accomplish."
The tension eased slightly, though the undercurrents of frustration and discord remained palpable.
"The Herald speaks the truth," Solas interjected. "I can sense the proximity of the Rift. It is close by." He paused, as if attuning his senses, then continued, "The tear is small, limiting the entrance of powerful demons. We may encounter wraiths, perhaps a terror demon, but nothing more formidable than that."
Miriam imbued with newfound resolve, rose to her feet, her eyes sparkling with determination. "If that is the case, then I propose Fenris remains by Lysette's side, safeguarding her as she regains consciousness. Meanwhile, the rest of us shall venture further to confront and close the Rift."
"I will keep her safe." The elven warrior announced as he stepped beside the form of her guard lying on the ground.
Miriam directed a grateful smile toward the man. "Thank you. I trust that she will be in capable hands with you."
Cassandra regarded Solas with a mix of caution and hope. "I pray that your senses are indeed accurate and that we do not find ourselves facing a pride demon."
The elven mage met her gaze with confidence. "Fear not. They have rarely failed me."
With the plan set and roles assigned, the Seeker gestured for Hawke to take the lead, her gaze piercing as she directed a final reproachful look toward the woman.
The remainder of their mission unfolded with unexpected ease as if the Maker had finally chosen to favor their endeavors. Solas' keen senses had proven accurate, and the small Rift welcomed them with only a handful of wraiths accompanied by a solitary shade. The seasoned warriors and mages swiftly rose to the challenge. Blades met ethereal forms, spells crackled through the air, and the wraiths dissipated under the onslaught. The shade, too, succumbed without offering too much resistance.
Miriam, invigorated by the resounding victory, embraced the challenge of sealing the Rift without any assistance from Solas. Bathed in a radiant emerald glow, the mark on her hand pulsed with untamed energy as she extended her hand toward the tear. Embracing its power, she intertwined the delicate strands of the Veil, weaving them together until a resounding crackle reverberated through the air as the Rift succumbed to the force of her magic and sealed shut. In that moment of triumph, the elven mage approached her. His normally inscrutable expression softened, replaced by a rare gleam of contentment. He reached out and gently patted her shoulder in silent approval.
Their mission accomplished, the group retraced their steps with renewed purpose, hastening their return to their comrades. Lysette, though still weakened, had regained consciousness, her strong spirit shining through her pale countenance as she greeted them. Before departing, Miriam and Hawke lingered for a while, seizing the opportunity to gather the deep mushrooms they had previously stumbled upon. With the fungi collected, the group was ready to head back to the camp established near the entrance to the tunnel.
Under the canopy of towering trees, the soft glow of a dying campfire flickered at the Inquisition encampment nestled amidst the Hinterlands. The scene was hushed, save for the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze and the occasional nocturnal sounds of the forest. Inside one of the tents, Lysette sat cross-legged on a padded mat, a faint glow from a magical orb cascading over her weary features, accentuating the slight pallor of her skin. Miriam, knelt beside the woman, her eyes focused and filled with empathy. With practiced care, she opened a small, weathered satchel at her side, its contents revealing an assortment of fragrant leaves, delicate vials of elixirs, neatly rolled bandages, and the sturdy mortar and pestle that had notably witnessed countless uses. Lysette's eyes remained fixed on the mage as she deftly selected a handful of leaves, placed them in the mortar and began to grind them. As their essence was released into the air, the soothing scent of the herbs mingled harmoniously with the earthy aroma of the surrounding forest, enveloping the duo in a comforting and serene atmosphere. When the crushed herbs formed a paste, Miriam's nimble fingers applied it with a gentle touch to Lysette's wound, her movements precise and tender. "If administered regularly, this remedy shall aid in diminishing the prominence of the scar, though I fear it shall still remain noticeable," she offered with a note of caution.
"I hold little concern for its visibility," the woman replied, her gaze briefly glancing at the marred hand of the mage, adorned with burn scars. "If the Herald of Andraste herself bears such marks, why should I fret over mine?"
"Because you are a young woman who has yet to embark on the path of matrimony. Your charms are still sought after," the mage explained, completing the application of the remedy before rubbing her hands together to cleanse any residual remnants.
A flicker of curiosity crossed Lysette's face as she met the enchanter’s gaze. "But are we not in the same predicament?"
Miriam let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "I am not burdened by such concerns. Mages are forbidden from marrying, and even if we were not, I do not believe anyone would find me of particular interest."
"Why not? You possess your own unique appeal,” the woman countered, her voice filled with conviction. "And I don’t believe the Chantry will refuse to bless the Herald of Andraste’s union."
"I'll be happy enough if they just acknowledge that I am the Herald." The enchanter sighed, tucked her tools into her satchel and placed it next to her bedroll. "With any luck, by the time we return to Haven, the ban on our presence in Orlais will have already been lifted. I cannot wait to finally meet with the Lord Seeker and secure the aid of the Templars."
Lysette's countenance grew somber, "I joined the Order with the belief that it would provide an opportunity to uphold the Chantry's laws and help the mages during this troubled time. But it has become a mere shadow of its former self." Her words dripped with disillusionment as she continued to voice her concerns. "Once, we stood as protectors of all people, shielding them from the dangers of magic. But now, it seems we are more preoccupied with posturing and grasping for power rather than fulfilling our purpose."
Miriam placed her hand gently on her guard’s shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze. "Surely, there must be a reason why the valiant Knights of our Lady remain passive in the face of this magical calamity. We shall uncover the truth, I promise you." The enchanter gently withdrew her hand and reached towards the magical orb that provided their only source of light, “But now we should rest, for tomorrow's journey will demand our full wits."
She whispered an incantation and the orb's light gradually faded, leaving the tent cloaked in shadows. Silence filled the air, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as the two companions settled into their beds.
The untamed wilderness of the Hinterlands loomed as the party prepared for their way back to Haven. Suddenly, a gust of wind heralded the arrival of a raven, its ebony feathers glistening under the dappled sunlight. The majestic bird landed gracefully on Cassandra's outstretched arm, bearing a sealed message from Josephine.
Intrigued the group gathered inside the sanctuary of Cassandra's spacious tent, its fabric billowing gently in the breeze. Their eyes were fixated on the delicate parchment clutched tightly within the Seeker's hands, their anticipation tangible. The woman cleared her throat and began to read aloud, "Our efforts to sow discord among the clerics had bared fruit. Although the Chantry doesn’t officially recognize Miriam as the Herald of Andraste, they are now willing to give the Inquisition a chance to prove itself. The branding of heretics and the banishment are no more, which marks a significant shift in our standing. While tension still lingers within the halls of the Grand Cathedral, the Chantry could now be counted as our potential political ally."
Excitement surged through the tent, however, Cassandra's serious expression cautioned the group that there was more to the message, "However, there are further developments. Both Lord Seeker Lucius and Grand Enchanter Fiona had abandoned the capital. Declaring the Chantry unworthy of the Order's protection, Lucius took his Templars to billet themselves at Therinfal Redoubt. Meanwhile, Fiona had left in the company of a Tevinter magister, journeying to Redcliffe Village to reunite with the rebels." A low growl escaped Fenris' lips, his usually impassive face etched with a mixture of anger and concern. The Seeker's voice pierced through the tension as she continued to read, "Adding to the intrigue, the Lord Seeker himself had extended a personal invitation for the Herald to convene at his fortress. It is clear that the landscape of power is shifting. Please, let us know your thoughts on how we should proceed."
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Perched on a stool beside Cassandra, Miriam was the first to offer her opinion at the conclusion of the message, "The Lord Seeker's invitation is unexpected, yet it presents an opportunity to forge an alliance with the Order. We should not let it slip away.”
Fenris, his expression etched with a mix of concern and suspicion, brought a hand to his chin as he contemplated the unfolding situation. "While the Lord Seeker's offer bears weight, I cannot ignore the fact that Fiona, the mages' leader, has departed in the company of a Tevinter magister. History has shown us that no good comes from entangling with those bastards. I propose for Cassandra and Miriam to venture to Therinfal Redoubt while I and Hawke will investigate what happens at Redcliffe."
The Champion nodded in agreement, a spark of excitement gleaming in her eyes. " We be but a stone's throw from the village. Let's turn our bows towards that lively place and see what adventures be unfoldin' there. It be more thrillin' than sittin' through this mind-numbin' gabfest with the Seeker scallywag, if ye ask me!"
For once, even Cassandra found herself in alignment with Hawke's perspective, her voice brimming with cautious agreement. "Investigate, yes, but do not plunge headlong into this without consulting the rest of us. We must proceed with care and deliberation." She turned her gaze towards the elf, her eyes holding a silent plea. "Fenris, I trust you to rein her in.”
The elven warrior, his tone measured and tinged with a touch of wry amusement, responded, "She is a woman of her own choices, but rest assured, I shall strive to strike a balance between her fervor and the wisdom of the situation."
“Why do I feel that I will regret this decision?” The Seeker mumbled as she shifted her attention back to Miriam, "We are not far from Therinfal, but it would be wise to seek the presence of Commander Cullen for our meeting with Lord Lucius. As the former Knight-Commander of the Order, his insights and experience would undoubtedly be valuable. It would be prudent to wait for him to join us before proceeding."
The enchanter, her thoughts racing, ran a hand through her tousled hair, "Although I am eager to attend this meeting, I agree that Commander Cullen's involvement is crucial. It will also grant Lysette ample time to fully recover from her injuries." She paused for a moment "What about you, Solas? Would you come with us to meet the Lord Seeker?"
The man met her gaze, his expression composed yet guarded, "Bringing an apostate with you might send the wrong message to the Templars, wouldn't you agree?"
A flicker of concern crossed Cassandra’s face as she considered his words. "Yes, I share his reservations. It would be better for Solas to accompany Hawke instead. His presence with us could complicate matters and undermine our mission.”
The elven mage gave a curt nod in agreement.
As Miriam contemplated the implications of Solas's apostate status, she realized that the time would come when she would have to address this issue directly. All the mages belonged in the Circle, under the protection of the Templars and Solas was no exception. Yet, with the chaos of the Breach in the sky, the death of the Divine, and the absence of functioning Circles, the conversation surrounding this subject seemed futile. For now, they had a pressing mission to focus on.
***
As Miriam busied herself preparing for her first aid classes for the soldiers, the days blurred into nights and before she knew it, Commander Cullen arrived in the Hinterlands with a contingent of Inquisition forces. With haste, they sent a raven bearing a message to Lord Seeker, notifying him of their intent to honor his invitation. The wheels were set in motion, and their path led them toward the Southron Hills, where the Templars awaited their arrival at the formidable fortress of Therinfal Redoubt.
The journey to the fortress was a tense one, filled with an air of anxious silence. Miriam sensed that she was not the only one feeling the weight of the impending meeting with the Knights. Commander Cullen appeared even more drained than she had last seen him. Each time she thought he couldn't possibly look more worn out, he managed to surprise her. It was not lost on her that he often prioritized the needs of his soldiers over his own well-being. Was he sacrificing his own lyrium dose for their sake? She sighed, her thoughts mingling with a thread of hope. With the establishment of the new mine, the lyrium shortage in the Inquisition would hopefully become a thing of the past. Surely, the improved access to the precious mineral would extinguish Cullen's suffering and allow him to regain his strength.
After several days on the road, they finally reached Therinfal. An awe-inspiring fortress nestled in the rugged landscape, stood as a formidable bastion, rising defiantly against the horizon. Its imposing silhouette commanded respect and admiration, evoking a sense of both grandeur and trepidation. Its towering ramparts, crowned with battlements and parapets, stood as a testament to the craftsmanship of a bygone era. Weathered by time and the harsh winds the rough-hewn walls seemed to bear the weight of history, their very stones whispering forgotten tales of valor and strife. As they approached the formidable gates, their eyes were met with the sight of a stern and steadfast Templar standing sentinel. Clad in his resplendent armor and exuding an aura of confidence he raised a gauntleted hand in a gesture that demanded their attention. His deep voice carried with it the weight of authority as he addressed them, his words echoing through the cavernous entrance. "Halt! State your purpose and the nature of your visit to Therinfal Redoubt."
Cassandra stepped forward, her posture displaying confidence. "We come in the name of the Inquisition," she declared, her voice clear and unwavering. "We have an audience with Lord Seeker Lucius, for he holds matters of great importance to discuss with the Herald of Andraste." She gestured towards Miriam who fought to project an aura befitting her esteemed status, despite the nervous fluttering in her chest.
The Knight regarded the group with a discerning gaze, his sharp eyes scanning each face as if searching for hidden motives. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded, a tacit acknowledgment of their legitimacy. "Very well. You may proceed. The Lord Seeker awaits your arrival at the Grand Hall."
With a well-practiced motion, he signaled for the gates to be opened, the grinding of metal against metal breaking the silence. As the gates slowly rose, revealing the vast expanse beyond, Miriam could not help but feel a sense of trepidation mingled with anticipation. Each step brought her closer to her encounter with Lucius, the figure that held the keys to power within the Templar Order.
In the sun-drenched courtyard, the group was greeted by a formidable Knight, his presence commanding and his armor polished to a reflective sheen. With a curt nod, he introduced himself as Ser Barris and declared that he would be the one to escort them to the presence of the Lord Seeker. As they began to follow Barris through the labyrinthine corridors of Therinfal Redoubt, a disquieting sensation settled upon Miriam. The atmosphere grew heavier with each step, and the once confident stride in her gait faltered slightly. Shadows danced along the walls, casting eerie shapes that seemed to taunt her from the corners of her vision. Yet, it was not just the gloom that sent shivers down her spine; it was the palpable sense of foreboding that seemed to permeate the air. Their journey through the fortress was full off encounters with other Templars, but there was something markedly different about them. Their expressions haunted, their eyes inflamed and bloodshot, their gazes heavy with hostility.
Cassandra, her brows furrowing in deep concern, leaned closer to the mage, her voice a barely audible whisper, "The lyrium coursing through these Knights, it feels... off."
Miriam's fingers instinctively clenched around her amulet and she moved closer to Lysette, their shoulders touching as they started to walk side by side.
Finally, after traversing the labyrinthine corridors and ascending countless stairs, they arrived at the Grand Hall, its massive doors standing tall before them. The weathered wooden panels, aged by the weight of time, groaned with reluctance as Ser Barris exerted his strength to swing them open. The doors yielded with a resounding creak, unveiling a breathtaking sight within. Soaring arches reached towards the heavens, their graceful curves etching intricate patterns against the expanse of the ceiling. Marble pillars, sturdy and regal, stood as sentinels, their surfaces kissed by the soft glow of candlelight that danced in ethereal hues. Every detail was meticulously crafted, every surface polished. At the heart of this resplendent setting stood Lord Seeker Lucius, flanked by a retinue of high-ranking Templars, their armor glimmering like stars in the flickering torchlight.
Miriam, her gaze taking in the Grand Hall, couldn't help but feel the dissonance between the opulent surroundings and the unease that pervaded the atmosphere. The Templars appeared hauntingly hollow. Their gaunt features seemed etched with lines of suppressed anger, their eyes burning with a fervor that teetered on the edge of control.
It was then that Lord Seeker Lucius turned his piercing gaze upon the mage, and her heart skipped a beat. Never before had anyone looked at her with such intensity, such hunger. His eyes bore into hers, threatening to devour her whole, leaving her trembling and speechless in his presence. The weight of his scrutiny was suffocating, rendering her momentarily voiceless. A smile spread across Lucius's face, as he made his way towards her. The gesture, though seemingly friendly, was more akin to a predator toying with its prey, relishing the anticipation of the chase. With a tone dripping in calculated charm, he addressed her, "Look who has finally graced us with her presence! If it isn’t the Herald of Andraste herself."
Miriam involuntarily took a step back into the strong unmoving arm of the Commander, who had also closed ranks protectively close on her opposite side. Unlike before, her grazing touch didn’t register to him as his mind worked the situation. His amber eyes were lowered as he looked about from under his brow, though he didn’t move his head. The soft creak of his hand on the worn leather grip of his sword signaled that he was on high alert.
The Right Hand took it upon herself to break the silence and address the situation. Her voice, though polite, carried a hint of underlying tension. "We were pleased to receive your invitation, Lord Seeker. The Inquisition humbly requests the assistance of the Templar Order in dealing with the looming threat of the Breach," she spoke with measured words, attempting to maintain a sense of diplomacy.
Lucius's eyes narrowed with an expression of annoyance as he shifted his attention towards the female Seeker, a subtle disdain lingering in his gaze. It was as though he deemed her presence an unwelcome intrusion, disrupting his intended interaction with the enchanter. With an air of haughty impatience, he retorted, his voice laced with an undercurrent of condescension, "Ah, always the one for directness, aren't you, Cassandra? Allow me, at the very least, to extend a proper greeting to the esteemed Herald." With measured steps, he closed the distance between the mage and himself, extending his hand in a gesture of greeting, his body bending ever so slightly in a bow.
Miriam's hand trembled as she reluctantly reached out, her palm meeting his in a hesitant clasp. As her delicate fingertips brushed against the rough leather of Lucius's gauntlet, a blinding flash of light consumed her senses. Just as suddenly as it began, the brilliant luminosity ceased, leaving her disoriented and breathless. As her vision gradually cleared, she found herself seated upon a simple, weathered wooden bench. The once-majestic grand hall and the enigmatic Lord Seeker were replaced by the humbler surroundings of a refugee camp nestled at the Crossroads. In her arms, she held an ailing baby, while a concerned mother stood anxiously beside them. How had she ended up here? Her mind, in a whirlwind of confusion, struggled to piece together the suddenly fragmented memories of recent events.
As the baby extended his plump, rosy hands and emitted endearing sounds, Miriam's perplexity momentarily dissipated. The sweet scent of infancy filled her nostrils, drawing her into an embrace of tender affection. Why did some lowly peasant have a child, while the Herald of Andraste remained bereft of maternal bliss? Surely, she would make a far superior mother, far more deserving than this wench who had carelessly allowed her baby to fall ill.
With a jolt of horrified self-awareness, she abruptly released her grasp on the babe, returning him to the arms of his rightful mother. A soft, seductive whisper brushed against her ear, caressing her senses. "Let me get to know you." A searing pain suddenly tore through her head as if her very consciousness was being torn asunder. Squeezing her eyes shut, Miriam clutched the wooden bench with desperate hands, trying in vain to keep her balance amidst the storm of emotions and fragmented memories that assaulted her mind.
As the mage tumbled downward, her descent was abruptly interrupted by a jarring impact against the unforgiving stone floor. Dazed she struggled to regain her bearings, only to be met with the sound of a voice that carried a note of familiarity. "My dear, it seems your mastery over fire spells is a total fiasco. You couldn't even light a simple candle with that feeble flame of yours," the voice chided. When her vision gradually cleared, she found herself lying on the floor of one of the training chambers within the Ostwick Circle. The familiar surroundings of the mage's haven enveloped her, stirring memories of countless hours spent honing her magical abilities. Yet, it was the countenance of the elderly woman before her that seized her attention. The woman's expression brimmed with concern, etching lines of care onto her face. Her silver hair was elegantly woven into a braided bun, held in place by a delicate silver pin adorned with intricate floral motifs.
"Lydia? Could it truly be you?" Miriam inquired incredulously as she slowly stood up.
The woman chuckled. "It seems my spell had a more potent effect than I had intended. Who else could I possibly be?"
"First Enchanter, I... I apologize. I must have drifted off into my own thoughts. But…there is something amiss, something I can't quite grasp…" she trailed off, her voice filled with a mix of confusion and unease. Her fingers found their way to her temples, gently massaging in an attempt to alleviate the dull ache that lingered there.
"The only thing amiss, my dear, is your control over offensive magic. The Harrowing looms ever closer, and yet you remain unprepared." Lydia replied with a hint of exasperation.
Confusion clouded Miriam's features. "The Harrowing? But I have already undergone it, haven't I?" A flicker of doubt crept into her mind, casting shadows upon her memories. Her gaze instinctively shifted to the palm of her left hand, a fleeting feeling that something significant should have resided there appeared, but the memory eluded her grasp like a wisp of smoke.
Lydia's patience wore thin, her frustration seeping into her voice. "You most certainly did not, and it is high time you gathered yourself and focused. Now, try to create flames once more. Just like that." Raising her hands above her head, Lydia began to mold and shape a ball of fire between her palms. With each deliberate movement, the sphere grew in size, transforming into a vibrant, full-fledged fireball. Confidence emanated from her mentor as she effortlessly controlled the element.
“Look at you, old hag, boasting about your abilities. What use do you have for them?" Her words spilled forth involuntarily, her own voice startling her with its venomous tone. "I don't need your pathetic spells. I am the chosen of the Maker, and that surpasses anything you could ever hope to achieve." Horror washed over her, and she quickly clasped her hand over her mouth, attempting to stifle any further insults that threatened to escape. What had come over her? She didn't mean any of it... or did she? She looked at Lydia's hurt expression as her hands fell to her sides, the flickering flames of the spell dissipating into nothingness.
Miriam’s mouth started to open once more as if driven by an unseen force. Panic surged within her, and in a desperate attempt to regain control, she sank her teeth into her palm. The sharp sting of pain momentarily broke through the fog, bringing a flicker of clarity. Yet, the insidious whisper echoed through her mind once again, its voice growing stronger, more persuasive. "Why are you fighting me? I am only trying to help you, to give voice to your innermost thoughts and reveal your greatness to the world.”
No! She refused to succumb to the treacherous allure of the voice, the lies it spun to deceive her. Deep within her core, she clung to the love and respect she held for Lydia, the trust forged over countless shared moments. Jealousy may have also been there, but it was a fleeting emotion—a ripple in the vast ocean of their bond.
With a surge of inner strength, she pushed against the whispered lies, the distorted reflections of her feelings. As if angered by her resistance, the voice hissed, striking with a renewed vigor. Another wave of searing pain lanced through her skull, and her vision blurred, merging the familiar walls of the Circle's chamber with the presence of the First Enchanter. Everything dissolved into a disorienting haze of white, obliterating the boundaries of her surroundings.
Gasping for air, Miriam's hand slipped from her mouth, revealing the distinct imprint of her own teeth etched upon her skin. She clutched her throbbing head with both hands, a guttural moan escaping her lips. Fragments of thoughts, memories, and desires clashed and jumbled together in a chaotic cacophony that threatened to consume her sanity. It was as if the very fabric of her identity was unraveling, her sense of self slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.
In the midst of the tumultuous storm that raged within her mind, Miriam's senses caught a glimpse of a spectral presence, a young boy emerging from the ethereal haze. His form seemed both familiar and yet distant, his hand extended in a rhythmic motion as if inviting her to join in a dance. The faint strains of a melody accompanied his presence, growing in intensity with each passing moment. As the cheery tune permeated the chaotic symphony within her, whispers that had plagued her began to recede, their power waning in the face of this newfound melody. The pain in her head subsided, replaced by a soothing calm that washed over her like a gentle breeze on a summer's day.
The words of the song became clearer, resonating within her being. "A-ah, little apple, red, ripe, and sweet. A-ah, little apple, a tasty little treat." Tears welled up in Miriam's eyes as she extended her trembling hand toward the apparition of the child. "Oh, brave boy, help me once again, I beg of you." And then, as if in response to her plea, a deep, radiant gush of emerald light appeared on the palm of her outstretched hand. With a sudden burst of energy, the light transformed into cascading green flames, erupting from the mark in a blinding display of viridescent power.
In an instant, the suffocating white fog dissipated, replaced by the warm embrace of the sun-drenched courtyard of the Redcliffe Chantry. The pain that had ravaged her evaporated, leaving behind a renewed sense of clarity and resolve.
With a sense of revelation, Miriam realized that the sinister whispers, the malicious influence that had manipulated her, were nothing more than the machinations of yet another demon seeking to possess her. This monster, however, was unlike anything she had ever encountered before, possessing an eerie power that tested her resolve to the limit. Still, with her mind sharpened and her spirit aflame, she knew she had the strength to defy its insidious grasp.
A child’s voice, filled with boundless joy, echoed through the air. "Come on, join in! I promise it'll be fun!" She turned her gaze and there he was, the boy who had saved her on that fateful day. He danced with unbridled enthusiasm, leaping and twirling, his hands clasping in rhythm as he resumed his singing “Under the blue sky, the sun shines down so bright. And on my little apple tree, the fruit is just right.”
Tears flowed freely from Miriam's eyes, cascading down her cheeks in an unbridled release of emotion. She studied the boy's face, drinking in every detail—the curls of his blond hair, the warmth in his light brown eyes, and the ever-present smile that graced his lips. Over the passing years, his features had gradually faded from her memory, until she could no longer conjure his image with clarity. Yet, here, in this precious moment, she beheld him once again, resurrected from the depths of her recollections. All the torment and trials she had endured, all the darkness she had faced, paled in comparison to the overwhelming joy of seeing him anew. She took a step closer, the distance between them shrinking, and reached out a hand, her fingers yearning to touch his face. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice quivering. "Thank you for being my savior, my guiding light in the midst of darkness."
He ceased his dance and regarded her with a hint of embarrassment in his eyes. "Well, that's the duty of a Templar, is it not? To save the innocent." His tone gently reproachful he continued, "You promised me that you would be brave and cease your tears."
She hastily wiped her tear-stained cheeks with the flowing sleeves of her robes. "Yes, forgive me. I ought to keep my promise and display courage."
A smile of warmth and reassurance curved his lips. "That's better. Do not fret, your mother will come for you."
She shook her head, a touch of sadness tinting her features. "No, she won’t. She is too preoccupied with revelries. Instead, a servant will be dispatched. But it matters not," she continued her fingers gently grazing his cheek. "I cannot fathom why I neglected to inquire at that time, but pray to tell, what is your name?"
"It is Cullen," he eagerly replied, his enthusiasm apparent.
"Cullen..." Miriam echoed softly, a surprising lack of astonishment coloring her expression. This was the realm of her own mind after all, it was only natural that she would yearn for her friend to be him. If it were true, it would mean that her valiant protector had not only survived the ravages of war and avoided the peril of the Breach, but also that he was now at her side. Even for the Herald of Andraste, it seemed too much to ask for.
Reluctantly releasing her touch, she took a few steps backward, placing a distance between them. “I shall safeguard this precious memory, the demon will not tarnish it with his presence," she declared, her right hand closing firmly around the amulet adorning her neck. Then, with her left hand uplifted, she directed her gaze skyward. "Let us see how the holy flames shall test you, vile creature!"
The moment seemed to hang suspended, frozen in time, as her marked palm ignited in a brilliant hue of verdant fire. The emerald flames rapidly consumed her entire being, spiraling around her in an untamed frenzy. A tempest of green inferno whirled and twirled, forming a swirling vortex of Veilfire that erupted in a resounding explosion, engulfing everything in its path.