Cullen stood there, gasping for breath in the aftermath of the skirmish. His countenance was a visage of sweat and blood, the latter mercifully not his own; only a few bruises and scratches adorned him, easily remedied by a healing potion. His gaze surveyed the Grand Hall, a witness to the aftermath of the peculiar conflict. The Harlequins' erratic conduct defied explanation; he had seen soldiers succumb to madness in battle, losing touch with reality. Yet, the simultaneous unraveling of so many, abandoning their objectives and leaving blatant openings in their defense, was an unprecedented spectacle.

Cassandra drew near, her face marred by bruises yet lacking any significant injury. "Did you sensed it, the Inquisitor’s spell?" she inquired, her voice muted as she sheathed her sword.

Cullen nodded slowly. “Though my Templar abilities have forsaken me, I can still feel magic when it’s wielded directly upon me.”

The Seeker's gaze was somber. "No, I am not alluding to the barriers she had cast upon us. She unleashed another spell afterward," she winced uncomfortably. "It felt potent, unnatural."

Cullen raised a skeptical brow, "Isn't that how all magic feels?"

"Well, to some extent, I suppose," Cassandra murmured. "But this one was more pronounced than usual. It's as if... ughh," she grumbled in frustration. "I can't even describe it to you. I have never felt anything like it."

He came closer, his voice now a muted cadence. "Have you considered that it might have something to do with the Harlequins' sudden descent into madness?"

"It could be," she paused, "but it would have to be the mark that allowed her to orchestrate such a feat because even maleficars can't affect so many people and so strongly at once."

A shiver traced its icy path down Cullen's spine, his mind recoiling at the mere mention of blood magic and Miriam in the same sentence. "She would never consort with demons!" He said more intensely than intended.

Cassandra gave him a long, hard look. "Of course she wouldn't. She is the Herald of Andraste. I am merely suggesting that the only way for her to accomplish this was to tap into the power of her mark in a way she hadn't attempted before."

"Lady Trevelyan, are you in good health?" Their discourse was abruptly halted by Gaspard's resonant voice. Cullen's gaze swiftly shifted to Miriam; he chastised himself inwardly, ensnared by the conversation with Cassandra, he neglected to ensure her well-being. The Grand Duke, Josephine, and Leliana stood beside the mage, who appeared detached, standing in the puddle of blood, her countenance deathly pale, her lips so blue they seemed black. Cullen rushed to her side, frantically scanning her form for any indication of injury that could account for such a profusion of blood. Yet all he discerned was her left palm, entirely obscured by the crimson stain.

Cullen reached Miriam just as she finally responded, her gaze meeting his with a dissonant expression. Her eyes bore the traces of tears, yet the corners of her lips were turned up in a smile. "It is done," she said, her voice almost melodic.

Cullen shot her a puzzled look, but before he could express his confusion, Cassandra approached hastily, her tone tinged with concern. "Inquisitor, what happened to your mark?" She inquired, her eyes scrutinizing the dimly glowing hand soaked in blood.

Miriam's gaze shifted to the Seeker, and she calmly asserted, "All is well. The Maker revealed to me His will, and I, in servitude, delivered it."

Cassandra's brow knitted in consternation. "What do you mean?"

Miriam's eyes held steady on the Seeker as she calmly unfolded her revelation. "In the realm of dreams and visions, His voice echoed, resonating within the depths of my soul. Through pain, He guided me, using me as a conduit for His divine will as I forced the Harlequins to obey His command." She lifted her palm. "Sadly, my body is proving too feeble a vessel for this new power the Maker has given me, so it strains under its weight." She then turned to the Grand Duke, her words hanging in the air like a decree. "But this holds no consequence, for at last, the anointed ruler of His design may ascend the throne of Orlais."

At Miriam’s latest declaration, Gaspard's eyes gleamed. "Please reiterate it for all to bear witness!" He proclaimed, his voice resonating with an air of authority. The gathering throng stirred in anticipation as the Duke positioned his hand behind her back, urging the mage forward into the midst of the injured nobles and soldiers.

“Your Grace, the Inquisitor requires respite," Cullen interjected, attempting to intervene, keenly aware of the strain evident in Miriam's fragile form.

"Commander, we need this.” Josephine quickly stepped in to halt his attempt. “The Grand Duke is consolidating power, and the Herald’s role is crucial in solidifying his claim among the faithful. It's a delicate dance in the political arena at the moment. Let Gaspard play his hand now, and once the stage is set, I will ensure the Inquisitor gets the rest and healing she needs." With those words, the Ambassador hastily made her way toward Miriam and Gaspard.

Cullen let out a long, heavy sigh, running a hand over his disheveled, sweat-soaked hair. The mission, a triumph with the Grand Duke saved and no casualties on their side should have brought joy. Yet, the discovery that Miriam could hear the voice of the Maker, combined with her disconcerting newfound abilities and the toll they exacted on her body overshadowed his sense of accomplishment.

"I do believe her," Leliana declared with conviction. Cullen turned to her in surprise; the Spymaster was the last person he expected to readily accept Miriam's assertions. "Once, a long time ago, the Maker spoke to me as well," she disclosed, her countenance bearing a rare expression of nostalgia. "I was laughed at, ridiculed, and belittled by all in whom I confided about it, and yet my conviction endured. The Maker bestowed His light upon me to guide the Grey Wardens through the darkness of the Fifth Blight." As she spoke, Leliana's gaze locked onto Cullen's, and for a fleeting moment, he glimpsed the same young, innocent, and radiant girl who had rescued him at Kinloch. "Without His guidance, we would never have reached the Circle in time to rescue you," she concluded in a hushed whisper. Cullen swallowed hard, uncertain of the fitting response to the Spymaster's revelation. Tales of the clergy and devout who claimed communion with the Maker were not unheard of, but such declarations were often unverified and met with skepticism. It was baffling, to say the least, that the Inquisition was harboring not one but two women who received direct guidance from Him. Yet, if the Maker were to speak with His children, it seemed reasonable for Him to choose such devout souls as Leliana and Miriam. "Besides," the Spymaster continued, her customary frigid demeanor swiftly settling into place, "His guidance has yielded nothing but good on this mission. The Harlequins, in their frenzied assault on the nobles, ensured that we suffered no losses in this battle. Moreover, the aristocrats of Orlais, having now tasted the bitter sting of pain and loss at the hands of the agents of the Elder One, will be more inclined to take an interest in our mission. They are nothing if not vengeful."

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"It is true," Cassandra affirmed, "but I remain concerned about the extent of the power the Inquisitor wields and the toll it takes on her. Initially, she struggled to maintain control over it, and now, while she appears to have mastered the mark, the bleeding it has caused..." The Seeker gestured towards the disconcertingly large puddle of blood, "She could succumb to it one of these days if this continues." The palpable anxiety in her voice mirrored his thoughts.

"Speak to her, Cullen," Leliana addressed him once again, her tone firm. "Encourage her to seek help from Solas. He is a fellow mage and an expert on these matters. If anyone could assist her, it's him."

"She is not particularly fond of him lately, nor is he of her," he responded, his brow furrowing.

"The elf has always offered his aid when she required assistance. I am confident that wouldn't change. And if anyone could persuade her to consult him, it would be you," the Spymaster insisted.

"As soon as we get back to Skyhold, I will try," he said, his expression a mixture of determination and concern. "I hope she will listen."

"I am sure she will," Leliana replied with a confidence that he wished he could share.

To Cullen's vexation, they found themselves compelled to remain at the Winter Palace for an entire week. Their days were consumed by discussions delving into the intricate nuances of their alliance and the anticipated involvement of the new Emperor in the Inquisition’s future operations, both within the confines of Orlais and beyond. Gaspard, true to form, eagerly offered not only his expertise and men, but his own presence for any forthcoming military endeavors.

While Cullen respected a ruler who did not shy away from direct engagement in conflict, he could not shake the suspicion that there might be some other motivation for Gaspard's eagerness to become so personally involved with the Inquisition. Since the very moment Miriam announced him as the ‘anointed ruler of His design’, he became inexorably attached to her. He pulled her to every conceivable event, ensuring that every soul in Val Royeaux, if not the entirety of Orlais, knew that the Herald of Andraste herself had blessed his rule with the Maker’s guidance.

The Emperor showed a seemingly genuine fascination with the mark that adorned Miriam’s palm, particularly intrigued by the power it possessed—how frequently and potently she could summon its abilities, and whether she held command over them at will or awaited directives from the Maker. Miriam, eagerly sharing the details of the divine blessing bestowed upon her, inadvertently steered their meetings into a dialogue solely between she and Gaspard. This tendency, to his increasing annoyance, was only getting worse. It wasn't Gaspard's curiosity that irked him, for as the Commander, he comprehended the imperative need to understand one's forces and those of allies. Rather, it was the manner in which the Emperor scrutinized the mage, a gaze familiar to him—a warrior appraising the finest weapon he had ever seen.

Miriam, meanwhile, immersed herself in singing the praises of the Emperor's reign, which began with the public execution of the former monarch's occult advisors and Briala on the charges of conspiring with the Elder One. Of course, there was no tangible evidence linking them to the assault during the peace talks, but the mere presence of a blood mage among the attackers was enough to implicate the apostates in Celene's court, while the attempted food poisoning by an elven servant was used to condemn Briala.

Before the hanging, Miriam delivered a fervent address to the crowd, seamlessly blending divine reverence with political undertones as she praised the virtues of the newly crowned Emperor. She spoke of justice, order, and the need to purge heretics for the greater good of Orlais. With her impassioned speech, the execution became a ritual homage, not only to the Maker, but also to the Emperor's vision of a renewed and purified Empire.

As the day of departure finally unfolded, the Winter Palace buzzed with activity. The Inquisition council members, dressed in travel attire, gathered in the courtyard to bid farewell to the Emperor and his entourage.

Gaspard, adorned in luxurious but practical robes, approached the Inquisition council with a dignified presence. "Esteemed members of the Inquisition," he began, his voice resonating with authority. "I insist that you travel in the comfort befitting your status as one of my honored allies. Carriages have been prepared for your journey. I cannot allow such distinguished guests to endure the rigors of travel on horseback."

The Ambassador, appreciating Gaspard's gesture, stepped forward and replied with gratitude, "Your Majesty, we are truly honored by your generosity."

The man smiled and proceeded to exchange parting words with each member of the council. When the Emperor finally reached Miriam, Cullen couldn't help but observe the interaction with keen interest.

"Lady Trevelyan, though the paths we tread may temporarily diverge, know that our hearts remain united in service to the Maker," he declared with a solemn expression on his face.

Miriam smiled warmly. "Your Majesty, I shall eagerly await our reunion. May the Maker guide you in your endeavors, and may your efforts bring His light to Orlais and beyond."

Gaspard gracefully took the mage's hand and placed a reverent kiss upon it. Her cheeks flushed, a reaction not lost on Cullen, who observed the exchange with a subtle tightening of his jaw. The sooner they depart from this place, the better.

When the carriages pulled away from the Winter Palace, he found himself in the company of Miriam and Cassandra, who shared the opposite side of the cab. Another carriage, carrying Leliana and Josephine, trailed closely behind them.

As the journey unfolded, the lively chatter among the group gradually dwindled. Miriam, succumbing to the rhythmic motion, slipped into a peaceful slumber, her head finding a comfortable rest on the Seeker's shoulder. Cassandra, focused and seemingly unfazed, supported her fellow companion while engrossed in a book, the title of which remained elusive, hidden beneath a plain cover. Given Cassandra's inclinations, he thought it was likely to be a tome related to swordplay or perhaps a religious text.

The Seeker's silent absorption in her reading coupled with Miriam's serene rest, created an atmosphere of quiet companionship amidst the gentle rocking of the carriage, and he soon found himself drifting away.

Standing among the fragrant blossoms of his family's apple orchard at Honnleath, he savored the delicate scent of blooming flowers that filled the air. His feet were grounded on the lush grass, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the scene. Somewhere in the distance, the familiar laughter of his siblings intertwined with the warm cadence of his parents' voices. Miriam was beside him, her delicate fingers intertwined with his.

"I wish I could turn back time," he confessed, his voice steeped in the somber notes of melancholy.

"I am afraid I cannot aid you in such a quest," the mage murmured, her words carrying a whisper of sympathy. "Yet, as I stand here with you, I am compelled to wonder, are there any other yearnings that stir within the depths of your heart?"

Cullen turned to her and gently brushed the stray strands of hair from her face with his free hand. Caught in a silent reverie, his eyes descended to linger on the allure of her lips. There was an undeniable magnetic force, an invisible thread pulling him towards her. Succumbing to the fervor of desire, he yielded, leaning in with an inevitability as palpable as fate itself.

The sudden jolt of the carriage over a rough patch of road jerked him awake from the dream, his eyes fluttering open to the reality of the cab's motion. As he regained his bearings, his gaze instinctively sought out Miriam, who was also stirred from slumber by the abrupt movement.

As their eyes locked, he could feel a flush creep up his cheeks, and his heart quickened its pace. He cleared his throat, attempting to dispel the lingering haze of the dream. "I...uh, we hit a bump," he stammered, the only thing that came to his mind.

Miriam's lips curled into a smile. "It seems our dreams couldn't quite withstand the reality of the road."

A nervous chuckle escaped Cullen as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Indeed.”

The carriage continued its journey, and in the quiet moments that followed, he grappled with the revelation that his affections, the very emotions he believed himself no longer capable of, had once again become entwined with a mage.