Miriam found herself standing amid a lush, green meadow, the sun's warm rays kissing her skin. As a gentle breeze blew, she was enveloped in the intoxicating scent of wildflowers. A small green sprout suddenly sprung up from the ground next to her. She was amazed as she watched it grow into a tall plum tree with a thick trunk in a matter of seconds. The tree's branches spread out and three blooming flowers appeared, which then turned into luscious fruits. They hang at the tips of the branches, each one calling out to her with its unique promise.
One plum gave her a vision of a loving mother, braiding her hair gently as they chatted without any worries, laughing and enjoying each other's company. Another plum promised a caring husband with a cute, chubby baby on his lap, calling out to her with the coveted word "momma." The third plum showed her in Chantry robes, tending with the utmost care to the retired Templars, their grateful expressions filling her heart with warmth and contentment.
Miriam longed for them all. She stood up on her tiptoes with her arms outstretched above her head and attempted to pick the fruits, but the tree was too tall. The plums remained untouched, and while she tried desperately to grasp them, they began to wither and blacken. One by one, they fell to the ground at her feet, nothing more than the putrid remains of what could have been. With tears in her eyes, Miriam whispered to herself, "I can still have them," and tried to pick up the rotten plums, but the gooey remnants slipped right through her fingers. Devastated, she cried out, "Maker, don't take everything away from me, PLEASE!"
The girl woke up in a startle, gasping for breath as she jolted up from her bed, her own scream still ringing in her ears. Feeling a sharp pain in her head and a dull ache in her body, she slowly reached up to her swollen face to find the bandages that were wrapped tightly around her head. She winced as she felt the tender bruising that covered her skin. Looking down at her hands, she realized that they too were bandaged up. Miriam took a deep breath and tried to focus on her surroundings.
The room that she found herself in was unfamiliar and she had no recollection of how she had ended up there. It looked like some sort of infirmary with several beds lined up in a row. Large windows let in plenty of sunlight, casting a warm glow over the shelves of potions and bundles of dried herbs hanging on the wall. She noticed that the other beds were empty, and the room was quiet except for the sounds of muffled voices coming from behind the closed door.
The girl tried to remember what happened to her, but her memory was hazy, and all she could recall were flashes of violence and anguish. Miriam's fingers instinctively reached for her precious amulet, a glimmer of hope amid her confusion, but her heart skipped a beat as her hand found nothing but empty air where it should have been. Frantically, she tore through her clothes and searched her bed, but the amulet was nowhere to be found.
Just then, the door creaked open, and a middle-aged man in simple mage robes sauntered into the room. The sun glinted off his shiny bald head, giving him a slightly intimidating aura. Miriam turned to him with wild, desperate eyes.
"My amulet, have you seen my amulet?" she blurted out.
The man's expression soured slightly, hinting at annoyance. "Nice to meet you as well, Lady Trevelyan," he retorted with a smirk. "I see you are as polite as your dear mother."
Miriam recognized the man—he was the healer who had first examined her when her affliction became obvious. Perhaps he was at the Chantry to help heal her wounds, but at the moment all she cared about was her missing amulet. The girl took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm.
"Forgive my rudeness, enchanter," she pleaded. "My amulet is very precious to me, and I cannot find it. Do you happen to know where I left it? It should be somewhere around the initiate's quarters."
The mage looked at her with mild amusement. "All your personal belongings are now in the Circle's storage room," he explained curtly.
"The Circle's storage room? I don't understand," Miriam asked, feeling more confused by the second.
"Why were my belongings transported?"
The enchanter rolled his eyes impatiently. "You are now an apprentice in the Ostwick Circle of Magi," he informed her bluntly. "That's why your belongings have been transported with you."
A sudden realization hit Miriam like a bolt of lightning. All at once, the memories flooded back to her: Mother Lucia's brutal beating, the strange blue barrier that had erupted from her body, and the blinding light that had engulfed her when the Templars arrived. "This is a mistake, I am no mage!" she cried out, her voice shaking with shock and disbelief.
"Oh, trust me, I truly wish that were the case. The last thing our Circle needs is an entitled noble causing chaos," the healer lamented, his tone exasperated. "But the truth is, you used your magical powers to attack a Chantry Mother. You are one lucky girl to be here and not rotting in a dungeon, awaiting the Rite of Tranquility. Your family must have spent a pretty penny to calm the fury of the Chantry."
Miriam vehemently shook her head, her eyes widening in disbelief at the accusations thrown her way. How could she be a mage? It was impossible! She couldn't have used magic to attack Mother Lucia; she didn't even know how to wield it!
"I am not a mage," she repeated, her voice ringing with emotion. "Please, just give me back my amulet and let me go."
The healer, already weary of the conversation, muttered to himself. "Let the First Enchanter deal with this. I cannot bear this brat any longer." Turning to Miriam, he said, "Wait here. I will inform First Enchanter Lydia of your awakening, and you can discuss all your concerns with her."
Desperate, Miriam implored, "Please, could you bring me my amulet?"
With an annoyed huff, the healer snapped back, "I am not your servant girl. Retrieve it yourself after you speak with First Enchanter."
After that, he left, and Miriam collapsed back onto her bed, clutching the fabric of her robes where the amulet should have been, her hands shaking.
The girl remained alone in the quiet room, feeling a sense of anxiousness building up inside of her. Thankfully, she didn't have to wait long, as First Enchanter Lydia soon made her way to the infirmary with a poise and grace that commanded respect. Her hair, a brilliant shade of white, was woven into a beautiful braided bun that was held together by a delicate silver pin adorned with tiny flowers. The wrinkles and freckles on her face showed the marks of time, but her emerald green eyes sparkled with life and vitality, even in her advanced years.
Miriam sat upright, her eyes fixed on the woman, who approached her with the amulet in hand; its chain broken. "I was told that you were searching for this desperately," Lydia said, holding out the amulet to the girl. "It's damaged, unfortunately, but I can fix it with magic. It's an easy spell, I just need to heat the ends of the chain and fuse them."
The girl snatched the amulet from the First Enchanter's hand, clutching it to her chest. "No, I'll fix it myself," she said, her voice strained.
Lydia gazed at Miriam with an expression of sorrowful understanding etched on her face. "Don't worry about anything right now," she said, her voice soft and comforting. "Just concentrate on your healing. You still need some time to fully recover, so we can't start your training for the Harrowing just yet."
Miriam's response was laced with agitation and frustration. "I don't need the training," she protested, her voice rising in tone. "I am not a mage. Why does nobody believe me?"
Just as the girl's words reached a fever pitch, a faint blue glow began to emanate from her chest, quickly spreading outward until it enveloped her entire body. Miriam looked petrified. "Blessed Andraste, preserve me; not this again!" she cried out. "Stay away from me! This thing is dangerous," she shouted as she recoiled from the woman.
The First Enchanter remained calm, however, knowing exactly what was happening. "Miriam, don't be scared," she said gently. "It's just a barrier—a protective spell. It won't harm you or anyone else."
Miriam listened with bated breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She was terrified that she might harm another person, unable to control this strange power that seemed to reside within her.
"Listen to me carefully," continued Lydia, her voice reassuring. "Close your eyes and feel the connection with your barrier. Imagine the cord that connects you to the spell; see it as a brilliant blue line that flows between you."
Miriam did as she was told, closing her eyes and focusing all her attention on the ethereal cord. She could feel it—almost see it—stretching out from her chest, pulsing with a gentle blue light.
"Now concentrate your attention on it," Lydia instructed. "And give it the order to break."
The girl's brow furrowed, sweat forming on her temples as she focused all her energy on the cord. With all her might, she willed it to snap—to tear itself asunder. And then, suddenly, it happened. Breaking apart into a million pieces, the cord sundered, and the barrier around Miriam dissipated into thin air. She opened her eyes and let out a shuddering breath, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her chest.
First Enchanter Lydia smiled reassuringly at Miriam. "You see? You have nothing to fear. You have a gift, and we will help you control it. You are safe here," she said kindly.
Miriam stared at the Enchanter with a mixture of disbelief and fear etched on her face. "How can I be safe with these cursed powers?" she asked, her voice trembling with emotion. "I'll become a target for demons and their temptations, and everyone around me will be in danger. I don't want this 'gift', and I won't train myself to use it."
The Enchanter let out a deep sigh. "I know it's not easy to accept, Miriam," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "But every mage has to pass the Harrowing to be deemed safe from the risk of possession. And to achieve this, you will have to learn how to control your magic. If you refuse to train, the only solution left will be the Right of Tranquility."
Miriam looked back at the First Enchanter with a mixture of dejection and bitterness. "The Maker has already taken away everything I wanted in this life. At least I won't long for it if I'm Tranquil," she replied.
Lydia placed a comforting hand on Miriam's shoulder, feeling the tension in the girl's body. "You're still injured and shaken," she said softly. "Don't make any hasty decisions right now. You're supposed to be fully healed and ready for training in a couple of weeks. Let's postpone your decision until then."
With a gentle squeeze of Miriam's shoulder, Lydia exited the room, leaving the girl to ponder her choices. The idea of marriage was out of the question. Being barren made her undesirable in the eyes of potential suitors. She knew this and had come to terms with it. However, it didn't make the reality any less painful. Miriam still wanted to find purpose and meaning in her life, so she turned to serve the Maker. Her desire was to gain her parent's approval and find fulfillment in her religious duties. Yet, the curse of magic crept in, shattering her hopes and dreams in an instant.
The fear of losing control and succumbing to the whispers of the demons haunted her. Was it not better to end it all, to finally escape the pain and fear that consumed her every waking moment? The tranquility of eternal numbness seemed like a tempting alternative. The girl knew she had a choice to make, but she was paralyzed with indecision. All she could do was hope that the Maker would guide her toward the path that was meant for her.
Over the next week and a half, she found herself mostly alone, save for the healer who visited her daily. The enchanter arrived each day with health potions in tow, expertly tending to her numerous bruises with soothing balms and carefully changing her bandages.
She was given a new set of robes to wear, but she didn't bother to change out of her old, dirty Chantry ones. She also didn't care that her hair was unkempt, matted, and greasy. Lack of personal hygiene now seemed like a trivial problem that didn't deserve the energy required to fix it.
One time, a stern-faced Templar came to visit, his voice ringing out as he recited the endless rules and regulations that governed life within the Circle. Miriam listened in silence, her responses coming in weak, disinterested nods.
Every day she would venture to the kitchens to try and eat, but at the sight of food, her stomach would immediately clench in protest. She forced herself to take a few bites when she could, but it was a struggle.
Hoping to find solace in her faith, she ventured into the Circle's Chantry, but when she stood before the statue of Andraste, she found the words getting stuck in her throat. The Prophet's gaze seemed to bore into her with disappointment, and Miriam fled the prayer room without so much as a whisper of the Chant.
After that, she spent her days lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. In those quiet moments, the girl's thoughts often turned to her parents, who had yet to visit or even send a note. She thought of the retired Templars she had failed to protect, and she thought of the Maker, whom she feared now saw her as someone unworthy to be his servant.
The healer carefully unwrapped the bandages, revealing the myriad of bruises that marred Miriam's skin. With a skilled eye, he inspected the wounds, nodding in satisfaction as he took in the progress made since the last time he had tended to her. "Ah, yes," he said with a satisfied smile. "The swelling has subsided, the bones have knitted back together, and the bruises are fading. You're healing very well. I believe that by tomorrow morning, you'll be ready to leave this place and move to the apprentice quarters." Despite the mage's encouraging words, Miriam remained silent and aloof, barely acknowledging his presence. The man paused for a moment, as if remembering something, and reached into his pocket. A glint of recognition lit up his eyes as he produced a letter from within. "I almost forgot, it arrived this morning," he drawled lazily, before extending the envelope towards Miriam. The paper was of the finest quality, and the ink on the address was scrawled in elegant loops and curls.
As he prepared to leave, the healer's face contorted and his nose wrinkled in disgust. "Oh, and do us all a favor and clean yourself up, would you?" He complained, the contempt in his voice unmistakable. "The stench coming from you is unbearable. You're a noble; for Maker's sake, act like one." He grumbled as he closed the door behind him.
Miriam's cheeks flushed with embarrassment; however, her attention was quickly drawn back to the letter, which she gingerly held in her hands. The wax seal bore the insignia of the Trevelyan family, and her heart raced with anticipation as she carefully broke it open and began to read its contents.
"Miriam,
I write to you with a heavy heart and a sense of great disappointment. Your recent actions have had dire consequences for our family, and I cannot simply overlook them.
As you are well aware, the attack you made on Mother Lucia was not only unacceptable but also detrimental to our family's interests. Moreover, the rumors of your being a maleficar have spread in the wake of this incident, causing us to lose several important trading partners. Your older brother's betrothal to the noblewoman of Val Royeaux has also been brought into question.
Considering the gravity of the situation, I have no choice but to take severe action. It pains me to inform you that I have decided to publicly denounce you as my daughter. You are no longer part of the Trevelyan family. This means that you have lost all your noble privileges, as well as the right to inherit.
This decision was not taken lightly. I had such high hopes for you, and to see you throw it all away... However, I must prioritize the good of our family and our standing in society.
I hope that you will take this as an opportunity to reflect on your actions and their consequences. Perhaps one day, with enough effort and penance, you may be able to earn back some of the respect and trust that you have lost.
May the Maker watch over you.
Bann Albert Trevelyan"
Miriam held the letter in her trembling hands, her heart sinking as her fingers traced the lines on the paper. The words of denouncement echoed in her mind, ringing like a bell tolling for her soul. She couldn't help but read the letter over and over again, her mind adrift in a sea of confusion as she tried to make sense of it all. How could her father turn his back on her so easily? He didn't even bother to listen to her first.
The injustice of the situation stoked a fierce anger inside her, burning like wildfire as she railed against the unfairness of it all. Why was she being punished for defending herself, while the woman who had wronged her walked free and played the victim?
In a fit of frustration, she crumpled up the letter and hurled it to the floor. She started pacing the room, trying to find any relief from her fury. Eventually, she lay down on her bed, pressed her face into the pillow, and let out a scream.
It was a wail, a release of all the hurt and resentment she had held in. Gradually, her anger began to dissipate, replaced by a profound sadness. She didn't know what would become of her now that her own family had abandoned her. Miriam felt like a ship lost at sea, with no compass to guide her and no map to show her the way.
As she lay there, lost in her thoughts, hours slipped by unnoticed. The moon rose high in the sky, casting a silver light into the infirmary. The last sentence of her father's letter echoed in her head like a chant: "Perhaps one day, with enough effort and penance, you may be able to earn back some of the respect and trust that you have lost." A memory from her studies surfaced in her mind: a ritual in which devout servants of the Maker would pass their hands over flames, burning away their sins as an act of penance. Perhaps if she underwent a similar purification, the Maker would smile upon her and free her from the magic. It will soften Bann Albert's heart, and the Trevelyan family will welcome her back with open arms. Together, they will help her find justice for herself and the retired Templars.
Determined to make things right, Miriam rose from her bed and made her way toward the Circle's Chantry. The sound of her footsteps echoed through the empty corridor as if heralding a new beginning.
When she arrived at the Chantry, the girl took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy oak door, stepping inside the prayer room. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense and candle wax. Miriam walked with purpose, her mind focused on the task ahead as she made her way to the altar.
There, at the feet of the statue of Andraste, she found the brazier, its fire burning brightly in the center. Miriam stood before it and began to chant, "O Maker and Creator, O Lover of mankind, hearken unto Your servant who is entreating for Your grace. As the greatly merciful One, loose, remit, and pardon the sins and transgressions, whether voluntary or involuntary, whether known or unknown, whether by mistake or disobedience, that I have wrought. Deliver me from the eternal torment!"
She rolled up the sleeve of the robe on her right hand, steeling herself for what was to come. She knew that the flames in the brazier were hot—hotter than any fire she had ever felt. But she also knew that this was the only way to find redemption in the eyes of the Maker.
Slowly, she extended her hand toward the flames, feeling the heat radiating toward her skin. As she got closer, the pain intensified—a searing sensation that made her grit her teeth and clench her jaw. But she did not falter. With a steady hand, she placed her palm over the flames, feeling the fire lick at her skin.
The acrid stench of burning flesh filled the air. Tears streamed from her wide-open eyes as she moaned, the excruciating, unbearable agony coursing through her body.
In an instant, a blinding flash of light illuminated her surroundings. As the light dissipated, she felt as if her body had evaporated into nothingness, leaving her weightless and without a physical form. She could feel herself soaring upwards, propelled by an invisible force until she found herself high above the Circle Tower. As she floated there, suspended in the air, she took in the eerie view around her. The black, heavy clouds looked like they were made of smoke and ash, casting dark shadows on the landscape far below.
Gliding effortlessly through the air, she began to fly. Below her, a patchwork of war-torn lands, forests in flames, and blood-red rivers stretched to the horizon. As she drew closer to the ground, she noticed a figure standing atop a crumbling stone wall, silhouetted against the sky.
Standing tall and proud, the woman commanded attention. She towered over others with her statuesque frame, her slender form accentuated by the graceful flow of her dark blue robes, intricately adorned with golden embroidery. Her long brown locks whipped wildly in the strong winds, streaming out behind her like a banner.
As far as the eye could see, a congregation of people stretched before the woman, all races of Thedas, all walks of life, united in their devotion, their eyes fixed upon her.
In a moment of awe-inspiring grandeur, the woman raised her left hand high above her head, her tightly clenched fist exploding with a brilliant, emerald-green light that illuminated everything around her. The crowd below erupted with an ardent roar, the sound of their voices shaking the very ground beneath their feet.
With each word she spoke, her voice echoed through the air with a commanding force, stirring the hearts of all who listened. At this moment, it was clear that this woman was a force to be reckoned with, a beacon of hope for all who followed her.
As Miriam moved towards the woman, an inexplicable sensation of familiarity began to envelop her, like a warm embrace. With every breath, the pull grew stronger, beckoning her to approach the stranger. When she finally stood before the woman, her heart skipped a beat as she recognized her own features looking back at her. It was as if she was gazing into a mirror, only the reflection was somehow a decade older.
Before she could gather her thoughts, the woman's piercing eyes locked onto hers, holding her captive. And then a thunderous voice echoed through the air: "LEAD THEM OR FALL."
The words reverberated through Miriam's bones, stirring something deep within her soul.
At that moment, everything else fell away.
Miriam blinked her eyes open in confusion, as she found herself standing once again within the walls of the Circle's Chantry. The brazier that had been burning fiercely just moments before was now extinguished, leaving behind only a faint wisp of smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling.
She gazed down at her hand and winced at the sight of angry red blisters and patches of raw, scorched flesh. The fire had not been kind to her, but the girl remained resolute and unwavering, wiping her tears away with the sleeve of her left hand. The pain was nothing compared to the epiphany she had just experienced.
First Enchanter Lydia had been right all along. Her magic was not a curse, but a gift from the Maker himself. The doubts and fears that had plagued her for so long suddenly seemed small and insignificant.
Filled with a newfound sense of purpose, Miriam looked up at the statue of the Prophet. To her amazement, she could swear that Andraste was smiling down at her. The warmth and radiance that emanated from her figure were almost palpable, and Miriam felt as if she were basking in the divine presence of the Lady herself.
With a sense of awe, the girl bowed her head in reverence. She knew that the road ahead would be long and arduous, but she was no longer afraid. The Maker had chosen her for a reason, and with His guidance, she knew she was capable of achieving anything.