Miriam sat quietly beside Cullen's bed, her fingers lightly tracing the edges of the weathered amulet resting on her chest. Through a crack in the roof, the setting sun cast its faint rays onto the mage's mask resting on the small table to her right, illuminating it for a fleeting moment. The Commander himself lay unconscious, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, untouched by the soft light filtering through.

As she waited in the dimly lit room, Miriam's ears caught snippets of activity beyond the confines of their sanctuary. She could hear the muffled shuffling of feet and the hushed exchange of voices drifting in from the outside. Among them, she recognized the firm yet gentle tones of Lysette, stationed at the entrance to the office, redirecting messengers to Rylen, Cullen's steadfast second-in-command. The bustle of the fortress continued unabated, a stark contrast to the quiet vigil the mage maintained by her friend’s side.

Almost a day had passed since one of Leliana's agents informed her that he had lost consciousness and had been delivered to his quarters. She recalled the frantic tempo of her footsteps as she hurried into his office, her heart drumming a worried cadence within her chest. There, amidst the ambiance of looming bookshelves and flickering candlelight stood Leliana, calm and composed as always.

The Spymaster's words resonated in Miriam's mind, echoing the news that one of the healers had already assessed the Commander's condition: exhaustion and stress exacerbating withdrawal symptoms. Miriam understood all too well the toll their duties could exact, particularly on someone as dedicated as Cullen. However, she was taken aback to learn that his recent distress stemmed not from his workload, but from a meeting with his family who had just arrived at Skyhold. Apparently, Cullen had requested Leliana’s assistance in locating and bringing his kin to the fortress, expressing concerns for their safety amidst the war with the Elder One. The Spymaster, with a nonchalant demeanor, also noted that the Commander had forgone sleep and sustenance for three days prior to his siblings' arrival, emphasizing his need for rest and care. Learning that Miriam would be happy to take care of it, Leliana gave her a satisfied nod and quickly left to resume her duties.

With a heavy heart, the mage glanced at Cullen’s countenance, which once again began to twist as if he were in pain. Miriam couldn't shake off the guilt that gnawed at her. If only she hadn't acted like a frightened bird around him, if only she had been more attentive and present, Cullen would have confided in her about his struggles regarding the impending reunion with his estranged family. The mere thought of how much stress he must have been under was enough to make her heart ache. In a moment of vulnerability, when he told her why he wanted nothing to do with the Templar's life, he hinted that his leniency towards a mage had played a part in the downfall of the Circle, where he served alongside his brother-in-law, who perished in the uprising. He never revealed whether this was the reason for his drift from his family, but Miriam had enough of a discerning mind to connect the dots and form a bleak tableau.

A pang of sympathy seized her as she imagined the inner turmoil he must have endured while awaiting the arrival of his loved ones. While she fretted over the uncertain future of their relationship, he bore the weight of anxiety alone, grappling with the specter of the survivor's guilt once more. She, consumed by her own worries, had failed to notice his silent suffering. What a woefully self-absorbed friend she had been!

With a determined shake of her head, Miriam pushed aside her self-recriminations and focused her attention on easing Cullen's discomfort. Though no dire ailment afflicted him, the overwrought state of his nervous system demanded attention. With a wave of her hand, she cast a healing spell, channeling her magic to relieve the strain. She watched as the tension melted from his face, his features softening into a peaceful expression.

As she concluded her incantation, she gently reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, her touch light and tender. Silently, she made a solemn vow to herself—to mend their relationship, to bridge the distance his confession had sown. Even though the fabric of their bond might be altered forever, she refused to let the uneasiness between them continue to fester. From now on, they would weather this storm together, just as they always had.

As she continued to watch over him, her mind wandered back to all they had been through. From their fateful encounter as kids and the battles fought side by side to the quiet moments of solace shared amidst the prayers. She couldn't deny the depth of her affection for him, nor could she ignore the fervent desire within her to see him happy. With every fiber of her being, she longed to bring him joy. For in her eyes, he was deserving of happiness, unlike anyone else she knew. Perhaps she should entertain the idea of accepting his proposal. Surely, such a decision would lift his spirits, offering him solace and assurance in these trying times. And yet, she couldn't shake the nagging fear that their union would just cause him more heartache. Lost in her thoughts, she whispered to herself, "Maker, this uncertainty is a torment. Show me the path I must take."

Suddenly, pain pierced her left hand, and her mark erupted with a gush of crimson, staining her palm scarlet. Startled, Miriam clutched her hand tightly, trying to stem the flow of blood, but it only seemed to exacerbate it. Then, without warning, a burst of emerald flame surged from the mark and engulfed her arms, the fiery tendrils licking at the silk of her robes. Miriam tried desperately to rein in her magic, but to her shock, it refused to obey.

Terrified and overwhelmed, she staggered to her feet, her heart pounding in her chest. In the blink of an eye, the flames spread across the fabric, sending plumes of acrid smoke into the air. The once elegant folds of the garment twisted and contorted as the inferno voraciously consumed them. With frantic urgency, the mage rushed to the ledge, calling out desperately to Lysette, who stood sentinel at the entrance to the office. "Lysette! Lysette, please!" she cried out, her voice strained with panic, punctuated by a frantic cough that seized her body as the smoke invaded her lungs. "Help me!"

With a sense of urgency, the Templar dashed into the room, her eyes wide with alarm at the sight before her. "Merciful Andraste! What's going on?" she exclaimed as she climbed up the ladder.

"I can’t…I can’t control…the flames!" Miriam gasped between coughs, her fingers clawing at the emerald tongues of fire in a futile attempt to quell them. And while their scorching heat didn’t sear her skin, each gasp for air felt like shards of glass scraping against her lungs, her chest heaving with exertion and fear.

As soon as the Knight was up, she unleashed her Templar abilities, wielding the power to neutralize the magic of the mark. The air crackled with energy, casting a brilliant glow that illuminated the chamber with golden light.

As Miriam’s connection to the Fade was briskly severed, the tendrils of green flames vanished, as though extinguished by a sudden gust of wind. The sharp sting of pain also disappeared, and the trickle of blood from the mark began to subside. The breaking of the ethereal threads that bound her to the realm of the spirits, however, left her feeling nauseous and disoriented. Her head spinning, she sank to her knees, exhausted and trembling from the ordeal.

"Are you alright?" Lysette asked, her voice filled with concern as she knelt beside Miriam, her expression etched with worry.

The mage nodded weakly, her words catching in her throat as she struggled to find her voice. "I... I think so," she managed to whisper, her arms instinctively wrapping around herself as she hunched her shoulders, attempting to shield her exposed form. The robes gifted by His Majesty were reduced to ashes, leaving her clad only in wisps of the charred fabric of her shift. Even her ribbon and boots had succumbed to the merciless flames, leaving behind nothing but blackened remnants. All that remained relatively intact was her amulet, its weathered, soot-covered surface hot against her skin. "Could you give me something to cover myself up?"

The Knight's eyes widened in surprise as if she had just realized the mage's undignified state. She hurriedly retrieved Cullen’s cloak from a nearby chest, moving to drape it around Miriam's shoulders. "Here, wrap yourself in this. We'll find you proper attire as soon as possible."

Miriam nodded silently as she pulled the cloak tightly around herself. The fabric enveloped her like a protective shield, its comforting weight offering reassurance in the wake of the harrowing experience. As she buried her face into the plush fur that lined the garment, a familiar musky scent enveloped her senses. It was an earthy aroma intermingling with the faint tang of sweat and a subtle hint of elfroot. At that moment, it felt as if Cullen himself was holding her close. She glanced worriedly to see if her friend was alright, her heart skipping a beat until she saw the reassuring sight of the Commander still sleeping peacefully in his bed, his features serene despite the tumult that had unfolded around him.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

With a steadying breath, Miriam turned back to meet Lysette's gaze with a grateful smile. "Thank you, I don't know what I would have done without you."

The Templar cast upon her a long, penetrating look before murmuring with a trace of bitterness, "I am not one to forsake a friend in need, unlike some." Miriam felt the sting of the remark. Shortly after their dispute over Brother Sebastian’s refusal to accept Hawke’s demise, Lysette extended an olive branch, and Miriam eagerly accepted, hoping to move past the disagreement. Yet, from time to time, the Knight would slip in cutting remarks such as these, making the mage wonder if the issue was truly resolved. Before she could utter a response, however, Lysette pressed on, changing the subject. "To see you lose mastery over the mark's flames so suddenly and completely is profoundly troubling."

Miriam's brow furrowed deeply, echoing the reservations of the Knight. "It is indeed worrisome..."

Lysette's gaze remained steady. "What exactly happened?"

The mage paused, her thoughts drifting back to the moment. "I had cast a healing spell over the Commander, and then I was thinking about some personal matters. Nothing out of the ordi…" Her voice trailed off as a sudden realization struck her.

"What is it?" the Templar inquired, her tone edged with concern.

Miriam's breath caught in her throat, and a wave of heat washed over her, causing her to break into sweat. "This is it," she whispered, almost to herself. "This is the revelation I've been desperate for since the day he confessed his feelings."

Lysette regarded her with a puzzled expression, her brow knit in perplexity. "I don’t understand. What are you talking about?"

“Just before my mark began to bleed and the fiery chaos that followed, I was thinking about the proposal from the Commander,” the mage confessed, her words pouring forth with a fervent urgency. "I was imploring the Maker to show me the way. And that's exactly what He did!" she exclaimed, her voice infused with a sense of awe that enveloped her being.

The Knight’s tone was marked by genuine bewilderment, "I fail to grasp the connection."

"The flames consumed the robes His Majesty had given me," Miriam explained, her conviction growing stronger with each word she was uttering. "Yet, the amulet gifted by the Commander, though damaged, endured." She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the lingering warmth of the trinket against her skin. "It's a sign," she declared. "The Maker has shown me the path I must follow."

Lysette's expression turned dubious. "It could indeed be interpreted as a sign, but one must also consider that metal tends to withstand fire better than cloth..."

Miriam shot her a fierce glare. "Nonsense! You've witnessed firsthand how my flames dealt with Red Templars and Wardens clad in full armor.” Struggling to her trembling feet, defiance surged within her, infusing her with a newfound energy she had not thought possible. “The mere fact that the amulet remained almost unscathed upon me is a divine proclamation, a confirmation that my destiny should intertwine with the Commander's!"

Lysette held out a supporting hand, helping the mage steady herself as she led her back to the chair next to Cullen's bed. "You are right. I shouldn't have doubted the revelations bestowed upon the Herald of Andraste."

Carefully lowering herself into the seat, Miriam nodded in acknowledgment. "I understand, and I forgive your skepticism," she replied graciously. "Please go and fetch some clothes and shoes from my quarters. It would be prudent to change here rather than traverse the fortress adorned in nothing but the Commander's cloak."

With a reassuring nod, Lysette hurried off to fulfill the mage's request, leaving her once again alone with Cullen. Miriam relaxed in the chair, her muscles uncoiling as tension ebbed away. She felt as if the somber clouds enveloping her had been parted by the Maker’s benevolent hand, His radiant and glorious light piercing through the gloom and illuminating the path ahead with divine clarity. Lost in her reverie, she barely noticed when Cullen stirred, his eyelids fluttering open to reveal tired yet lucid eyes. With bated breath, the mage watched the flicker of recognition in his gaze, the dawning realization of his surroundings. His voice, hoarse from disuse, cut through the stillness of the room. "Miriam? But I was with Mia just a moment ago…I don’t remember…" he murmured, confusion evident in his tone.

She leaned in closer to him, her fingers curling around the edges of the cloak, drawing it tighter around her to ensure that every inch of her body remained veiled. Though it was probably not the most opportune time, she couldn't help the fervor that gripped her after His revelation, and all she longed for at that moment was to share the good news that was dancing on the tip of her tongue. Yet, before she did so, she felt compelled to shed some light on the events that had taken place. "You collapsed mid-conversation with your sister," she uttered hastily. "Mia's cries for help alerted one of Leliana's agents, who happened to be passing by, and then you were brought back to your quarters for respite."

Cullen reached out a hand to rub his face, the movement slow and deliberate. "By the Lady, I must have given her quite a scare," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper tinged with remorse. "Wait. Why are you wearing my cloak?" he asked in astonishment as he took in her form wrapped in the cloth that belonged to him. As he inhaled sharply, pushing himself into a seated position, a flicker of concern flashed across his features. His senses seemed to be on high alert, likely triggered by the scent of burned residue lingering in the air. "And why is your face covered in ashes? What happened? Are you unharmed?"

A radiant smile danced upon the mage's lips. "Fear not, Cullen," she commenced, her voice quivering with excitement. "I bear no injury. What you behold is but the consequence of the Maker's will manifesting through the flames of the mark. He has unveiled unto me a revelation, decreeing my destiny!" Her patient’s brow furrowed in confusion. Miriam straightened her back, leaning forward ever so slightly. At the remarkable change in her whole countenance from that day when he had proposed, his gaze moved about her form unable to focus on a single feature. With a trembling breath, his eyes widened expectantly as she spoke the words she knew he so wanted to hear, “I accept your proposal!”

A myriad of emotions flickered across Cullen's face in rapid succession. Shock registered first as if he struggled to comprehend the enormity of her declaration. Then, as realization dawned, joy blossomed in his gaze like a sunrise, warming away the chill of uncertainty that had gripped him moments before. His lips parted, but no words came, his mind seemingly unable to reconcile the sudden turn of events.

For an interminable moment, silence draped itself over the scene like a shroud, its weight palpable in the stillness that enveloped them. Then, with unexpected vigor, he pushed himself off the bed to kneel before her, though his height meant they were eye-to-eye, and gently pulled her into a tight embrace. "Am I still in the Fade?" he questioned, his voice thick with emotion. "If so, then, Maker, grant me the indulgence to stay within this dream a little longer."

Miriam's heart swelled with tenderness, a surge of sentiment that overwhelmed any concern for propriety. With a sudden abandon, she released the cloak, allowing her hands, still marked with ash and dried blood, to reach out and envelop the Commander. "This is no Fade, for I desperately hope to never enter it physically again," she declared, her voice ringing with certainty. Closing her eyes, the vision of the boy from the market, her hero, entered her mind. The comfort that the memory had brought her, along with his gift from all those years ago, suddenly brought forth clarity like no other. If this had been the Maker’s will all along, how had she not put the pieces together sooner? As she fondly fixated on the boy, he slowly grew into a man; the same one that held her. Miriam’s fingertips clutched harder at the fabric of his shirt, whispering, "Let us become a family. Together, under His divine grace, we shall find our own happiness."

“But is it what you want?” he inquired, his words hesitant.

She paused for a moment to think on his phrasing, for she was quite certain she had just delivered to him her answer. Pulling back but still holding on to his forearms, she tilted her head in question, “What do you mean?”

“This all just happened, and while I’m pleased that the Maker has given His blessing, I fear you’re only saying yes because of it,” he expressed, his smile waning gradually.

As she witnessed its retreat, Miriam felt her gaze stare out into a nameless void in deep thought. Was this what she wanted? Peeling away the layers of her most recent revelation, she tried to imagine what would’ve happened had the Maker not given her such a clear sign. Would she have just kept toiling on, hoping for outside forces to intervene in helping make her decision? Or would she have come to accept his proposal naturally?

Breaking away from her thoughts, a resolve settled in her unmasked eyes. Observing Cullen gazing back into them, unafraid and undeterred by their crimson hue, sparked yet another revelation. “It is my choice. I think when you first posed the question, I assumed it would change things between us, but I see now that my affection had always been there. I honestly believe that having had no one care for me as you have done time and time again, that it is a foreign notion for me to even fathom. Not to mention, I’m… lacking in many areas, as you are aware. I just pray I can make up for it in other ways… to make you happy.”

He sighed contently. “I do not find you deficient in any way. I only ask for your companionship and patience. This is all very new to me too, and I’m still not sure I deserve it.”

“Nor I. Maybe we can find out together?” They shared a smile. “At least the Maker approves, even if we don’t feel deserving of it yet.”

“Perhaps, in time,” he guided Miriam back to him, pressing a kiss into her hair.

Reveling in his warmth, she melted into him, “Yes, in time.”