Miriam stood before the meager looking-glass in her cabin, her pallid face peering back at her from beneath short, choppy locks. The mark had been subdued since they stabilized the Breach and the green engorged veins that had once crept with alarming abandon all over her body had now receded to a mere few, clustered around a narrow emerald gash upon her palm.
She made a minute adjustment to the collar of her cloak and smoothed out the wrinkles in her robes, fussing over her appearance for the momentous meeting that lay ahead.
Through the slightly ajar window, the bright rays of the sun and the sounds of the bustling life outside came in, bringing a vibrant energy to the room. The clatter of steel-shod boots and the raucous shouts of soldiers drilling in the field filled the air. They mingled with the muted voices of merchants hawking their wares and the rhythmic clack of workmen's tools. She could hear the ringing of the bells, their ethereal melody carried by the wind from the nearby Chantry, rising above the sounds of the village, touching the hearts of all who heard them.
Miriam took a deep breath and tried to steady her nerves. This was a crucial day, and she knew that she had to be at her best.
Upon having fulfilled their duty to secure the Breach, she and Solas fell into a deep slumber that rendered them incapacitated for three consecutive days. In the meantime, they were granted shelter in the infirmary. Yet even after several days of rest, while the elf was able to recover his stamina, she remained in dire need of convalescence. Thus, Miriam was assigned a modest cabin, where she languished for a full week under the begrudging supervision of a skilled, if ill-tempered, healer by the name of Adan, who seemed to fancy himself an alchemist above all else. She suspected that he had used her condition as a pretext to experiment with his latest concoctions, for the remedies she had ingested were most peculiar indeed. She didn't mind so much, though, as they proved highly effective not only in restoring her physical well-being but in replenishing her mana as well. She made a mental note to ask him for the recipe, should the opportunity arise.
During her period of seclusion, Solas visited her to assess the state of her mark and to keep her abreast of the world's events, which marched forward even during her recovery. With a writ from the Divine Justinia, the Right Hand had proclaimed the rebirth of the Inquisition, naming Miriam as the Herald of Andraste, a fact that spread far and wide. The remaining Chantry clergy, however, refused to support the nascent organization, denouncing its members as heretics. Despite this, people flocked to join their ranks, eager to aid in the restoration of order.
Commander Cullen also graced her with a visit, presenting her with maps of the village and offering explanations as to the locations of important landmarks and how to proceed in the event of an enemy attack.
Finally, after much time spent in recovery, Adan deemed her strong enough to take on the weighty mantle of the Herald of Andraste. And so early this morning, a messenger arrived to inform her that she had been summoned to formally introduce herself to the prominent members of the newly formed organization. He also revealed that when the afternoon bells tolled, the Commander himself would escort her for that purpose to the Chantry, where one of the chambers had been designated as the War Room for the Inquisition.
Deciding that she was presentable enough, Miriam made her way out of the cabin, feeling a slight chill as the crisp, cold air enveloped her frame. As she awaited Cullen's arrival, she sensed the inquisitive glances of the Haven's inhabitants fixed upon her. Gradually, folks began to approach the mage, imploring for her holy blessing. One elven woman even fell to her knees, uttering, "Bless me with your infinite grace, oh Herald of Andraste."
Startled, Miriam rushed to her side, trying to lift the female to her feet. "You should not kneel before me, for I am only an instrument in divine hands, nothing more. Your reverence should be reserved for the Maker and his Bride."
Yet the elf did not seem to heed her words, remaining prostrate before the enchanter and refusing to rise. Before long, a crowd had gathered around her, grasping at her clothes in an effort to capture her attention. "Please, good folk, unhand me," she beseeched, striving to navigate her way back to her cabin through the dense throng.
"You are the Herald of Andraste! Your blessing will deliver us from evil!" cried one villager.
"Your mere presence gives us hope!" shouted another.
Miriam felt overwhelmed by their adoration and the weight of their expectations. "I am but a humble servant of the Maker," she insisted.
Despite her best efforts to quell the crowd, they swarmed around her like a frenzied horde of bees. Miriam felt her hair being yanked, her arms pulled in every direction, and for a moment, it seemed as if the mob might swallow her whole, until a stern masculine voice cut through the cacophony, commanding their attention.
"Everyone, calm yourselves!" he bellowed. "The Herald of Andraste is here to serve you, but she cannot do so if you do not show her the respect she deserves as a fellow child of the Maker."
Miriam looked up to see Cullen making his way towards her, his broad shoulders parting the crowd like a ship through a stormy sea. The worshipers were no match for his imposing stature, and he pushed them aside with ease until he stood before her.
With a sense of relief flooding through her, the mage watched as the people around her began to quiet down. "This ill-treatment of the Herald will not be tolerated ever again. Now get on with your day!" The man commanded, his voice grave and unyielding. Like leaves scattering in the wind, the multitudes quickly dispersed, leaving Miriam and the Commander alone.
She took a deep breath, her heart racing from the ordeal. The frigid mountain air filled her lungs, and for a moment, she closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face. "Indeed, it is true what they say, that there is nothing more dreadful than the fury or fondness of the crowd," she murmured.
She opened her eyes to see Cullen gazing at her with concern etched on his face. "Are you unharmed? That was a rather tumultuous scene."
Miriam nodded. "I am fine, Commander. Thank you for your timely intervention. I don't know what would have happened had you not come to my rescue."
"It is my duty to protect the people of Haven, you included," he replied. "However, we must tread with caution in the future. The masses can be hazardous when agitated."
"You are right. I cannot overlook their fervor." After a brief pause, she added, "Could one of the Templars be assigned to guard me?"
The Commander appeared momentarily surprised by her request. "I must confess, that is an unexpected appeal. Most of the mages harbor animosity towards the Templars as a matter of principle, so I was about to offer one of our soldiers for the position."
"Why would I hate my protectors?" Miriam queried, her brows furrowed in confusion. "During my time in the Circle, it gave me great solace to know that someone was always by my side to shield me from the dangers of the world and the demons that may lurk within the Fade. Would you not find such a company comforting?"
The man chuckled wryly. "How strange it is that I have never felt that my presence was considered a comfort. Rather, it has always been regarded as either a nuisance, a fright, or an insult."
"You are a Templar!" Miriam exclaimed with delight.
Cullen's countenance darkened slightly. "I was a Knight once, but I have since left the Order," he replied somberly.
"I see," she acknowledged briefly, sensing that this topic was a sore point for him.
"I will make arrangements for Lysette to be your bodyguard. Although she is not a full-fledged Templar, as a recruit, she has undergone rigorous training and is an honest and dependable woman," he offered.
"Thank you, I will feel safer with her by my side," the mage replied gratefully.
A small smile graced his lips as he gestured towards the path leading to the Chantry. "You are most welcome. Shall we proceed?"
Miriam nodded in assent, and together they made their way towards their destination.
As they traversed the well-worn paths of Haven in uneasy silence, she deemed it a fitting moment to seek forgiveness for the unsolicited use of her magic during their battle at the rift. She knew full well that her intentions had been pure and that she had only sought to protect and heal the man, but the suddenness of her actions had clearly unsettled him. It was not a promising start for their budding relationship as members of the same organization.
"I must apologize to you, Commander," she began, her voice faltering slightly. "I realize now that my use of magic upon you during the battle must have been startling, and for that, I am sorry. I had no ill intention, but I comprehend your disquiet at experiencing sorcery from a woman suspected of such heinous crimes."
He did not immediately respond, but the tension in his body seemed to ease somewhat at her words. "Your apology is accepted, Lady Miriam," he finally said, his voice low and guarded. "Perhaps my initial reaction was somewhat... excessive. But you must understand that my relationship with magic is complicated and strenuous, born out of years of fighting against those who would wield it for darker purposes."
Relieved at his forgiveness, she proclaimed, "I vow to obtain your permission before ever a spark of my spell ventures in your direction."
"That would be appreciated, Herald," he replied, his tone conveying a sense of satisfaction.
At that moment, the wind whistled through her hair, and she brushed it from her face with a gentle hand. Miriam could not shake the feeling of unfamiliarity with her new hairstyle. Her locks were her pride and joy, the very embodiment of her womanhood in a frame that was otherwise bereft of overtly feminine traits. It was frivolous, of course, to mourn over such an insignificant matter when the lives of so many were lost each day in the war. Yet try as she might, she could not help but feel some resentment toward the unwanted haircut.
Her inner musings must have been evident on her face as Cullen cleared his throat, signaling his desire to speak.
"I also feel compelled to extend my apologies." His voice was contrite as he continued, "Lady Cassandra did instruct me to shear off your locks for the sake of convenience, but I confess that I paid little heed to her commands. In retrospect, it is conceivable that I erred in cutting it so drastically short. Having spent considerable time amidst soldiers, I had grown forgetful of the cherished significance that women often attach to their hair."
"It shall grow back, fret not," she uttered in a gentle tone. "Though I fear my current appearance lacks certain femininity…. I sure hope that I wouldn't be mistaken for a man," she murmured, her lips barely moving as if afraid to give voice to her anxieties.
Cullen, however, appeared to be oblivious to her apprehension. "Your worries are needless," he replied. "Your figure is far too delicate, too fragile, to warrant such confusion. Perhaps if one were to catch a glimpse of you, they may take you for an adolescent boy, but surely not a man."
She let out a bewildered expression, her eyes wide open in disbelief at his words. "I beg your pardon?" she asked, her voice laced with confusion and a hint of indignation.
As the realization of his blunder dawned upon him, a flush of shame stained his cheeks crimson, and he stumbled over his words in a hasty attempt to rectify the situation. "I mean...what I was attempting to convey is that...."
A sigh escaped the mage's lips, her heart unable to harbor ire towards the man before her, as the remorse etched upon his face dispelled any notion of malice. "I thank you for your efforts to console me. Why don't we direct our attention to the more pressing concerns at hand?" Her lips curled into a small smile, and with a gesture towards the looming entrance of the Chantry, she urged them forward.
Cullen, looking grateful for the shift in discourse, nodded his agreement. "Indeed, let us do just that." And with a mutual understanding, they proceeded down the hallway and into the War Room, leaving the weight of their previous awkwardness behind them.
As the heavy wooden door creaked open, they were immediately greeted by the dim light of the room. A musty smell of old books and incense filled the air, suffocating in its intensity. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with dusty tomes and copies of the Chant of Light, their spines worn and frayed from years of use. The low, flat ceiling seemed to press down upon them, making the room feel even more claustrophobic.
The only source of light came from a few flickering candles, casting dancing shadows across the walls and creating an eerie atmosphere. In the center of the room, a large wooden table dominated the space. It was cluttered with papers and maps, with ink bottles and quills scattered haphazardly about. Miriam's eyes were drawn to the four women gathered around the table, each one a study in contrasts.
One of them was immediately recognizable as the Seeker, her imposing presence unmistakable. Another brought back memories of the time she fell out of the Fade, a haunting memory that sent a shiver down her spine. The other two were strangers to her. One was a muscular woman in armor, whose frame looked even more imposing than that of the formidable Right Hand. Her face was covered in scars, and she wore an eye patch that only added to her fearsome appearance. The other woman was a refined lady in extravagant golden attire, with frills and laces that seemed out of place in such a quaint place as Haven.
To her surprise, their arrival went unacknowledged as all attention was fixed on the heated discussion unfolding before them. The Seeker stood with arms crossed, her brow furrowed in consternation, as she faced off against the woman with the eye patch. "How can I regard you as part of the Inquisition when your convictions are so fickle?" Cassandra challenged. "In Kirkwall, I implored you to assist the Conclave, but you refused me time and time again, stating that you don't give a damn about this war. And yet here you are, seemingly eager to lend a hand. How can I trust that you won't change your mind again?"
The target of the Right Hand's inquiries scratched her head, the visible jagged scars between the short, spiky strands of raven-black hair bearing testament to her turbulent past. With her one remaining eye, she regarded Cassandra with an air of indifference. "Me opinion hasn't changed," she asserted. "I still don't give a rat's arse about a bunch of blokes in skirts and their bleedin' war. But ye know me man. He be wantin' to help this Herald of Andraste close the blasted Breach and avenge the Divine. And so, here I be, doin' the foolish things one does for love."
Cassandra regarded her with exasperation. "Does your entire life revolve around Brother Sebastian? Do you not feel that your obsession with that man is excessive?"
The woman's response was sharp. "Be we not cut from the same cloth, lass? At least I'll be dedicatin' me life to a true man, not some bloke who left us all behind just to get some alone time with his missus Andraste."
The Seeker's anger flared, her indignation palpable. "Do not dare to utter blasphemy in my presence!" she snarled, slamming her fist onto the table.
A golden-clad lady intervened with a soothing voice, "Lady Hawke, I implore you to refrain from any disrespectful remarks towards the Maker if you truly wish to become part of the Inquisition council. Besides, I am sure that Brother Sebastian would not approve of such behavior either." She then turned to the Right Hand, "And Lady Cassandra, please consider that we are in dire need of allies. The Champion of Kirkwall is a well-renowned figure that could bring some legitimacy to our cause."
"Josephine speaks the truth," Cullen interjected. "Lady Hawke is a skilled warrior in her own right, but when combined with the likes of Fenris and Sebastian, they become a truly formidable team. Their addition to our military forces would be a valuable one. Besides, having a member of the Chantry openly join our cause would be a significant step forward. The Brother's reputation among the clergy would aid our efforts tremendously."
"Ugh, very well," Cassandra relented with a lackluster tone. "If that is what you all desire, let it be so."
As the tension gradually dissipated and an oppressive stillness settled over the chamber, Miriam's gaze roved from one countenance to the next, and she was beset by a sudden, inexplicable doubt as to whether she was truly present in their minds. Amid so many illustrious figures, she felt diminished and inconsequential, her hands fidgeting nervously as she sought to exude an air of composure. Yet she found herself unable to stifle her agitation, her fingers picking restlessly at her nails. She all but, jumped out of her skin when the Seeker held out a hand for her to approach the table saying, "Let's get straight to it. Currently, the Inquisition is without a leader, and the council, of which you are a member in your role as the Herald of Andraste, is responsible for making all decisions. As you are well acquainted with me and Commander Cullen, I shall spare you the tedium of our introductions and go straight to the remaining members of our governing body." With a gesture towards the woman adorned in resplendent golden attire, she continued, "This is Josephine Cherette Montilyet, the ambassador and chief diplomat of the Inquisition."
Josephine executed an elegant curtsey, her movements graceful and fluid. "I am looking forward to working with you, my Lady."
Then, the Seeker directed her attention to the hooded woman with fiery red hair and icy, unyielding eyes. "You have already met once, but allow me to introduce her formally. This is the Left Hand of the Divine, Leliana. She serves as our spymaster."
Leliana's expression shifted slightly at the mention of her title. "Cassandra," she said sharply, "there's no need to announce my creed so openly."
The Right Hand opened her mouth to retort, but before she could utter a word, she was interrupted by Hawke, "Ye be the Herald of Andraste, aye? I was hopin' for someone with a bit more mettle. I could snap ye in two with me two pinkies, lass," she commented, regarding Miriam with interest, her eyes flicking up and down as if sizing her up.
Cullen chuckled at her irreverent remark, his eyes crinkling at the corners with mirth. "It is nigh impossible to envision a soul that you could not effortlessly break in twain, Hawke"
The warrior laughed a deep and throaty sound that filled the room with a sense of vitality and energy. "Aye, that be true enough." She gave Miriam a broad smile that revealed a missing tooth. "I be Marian Hawke, the finest warrior in all of Kirkwall. But ye can call me Hawke," she proclaimed with a confident air. Cassandra's eyes rolled in a gesture of annoyance, but she refrained from any comment.
Miriam cast a fleeting gaze upon each individual in the War Room, and then, with a flourish, executed the finest curtsey that her limbs could muster. With a clear and unwavering voice, she declared, "It shall be my greatest privilege to work with each and every one of you."
"Now, let us discuss our next course of action," the Right Hand spoke in a businesslike tone. "Solas has concluded that we might be able to close the Breach if we channel sufficient power into the mark on the Herald's hand. This means we must seek assistance from either the rebel mages or the Order."
Leliana, her countenance animated, pointed her finger at a map of Orlais. "I have received intriguing information that Grand Enchanter Fiona was recently sighted in Val Royeaux."
Josephine's expression registered surprise. "But why would the leader of the rebellion abandon her charges in Redcliffe and travel alone so far?" she wondered aloud.
"That is precisely what makes this development so interesting, especially considering that Lord Seeker Lucius is also present at the capital."
Cassandra's expression turned grim as she spoke, "Lucius was once moderate in his views about the freedom of mages. He supported the Divine's Conclave, and many Seekers believed he would compromise to end the war. But now, his opinions have taken a sudden and inexplicable turn. He openly advocates for the Templars to establish themselves as a power in their own right, and many of the Knights are eager to listen. I can't shake the feeling that there is something more going on."
Miriam, buoyed by her faith in her role as the Herald of Andraste, offered a hopeful suggestion. "Perhaps I could reason with him and bring him back to the right path. Surely he cannot abandon his vows to protect the people of Thedas?"
"Or, we could approach the mages, their power…" Leliana ventured, but the Commander silenced her with a stern expression. "Will doom us all. You cannot combat the inferno with fire, Leliana. The Templars have devoted their entire lives to extinguishing the dangers of magic, we must rely on their expertise."
The Left Hand's countenance grew steely, her eyes narrowing. "Pray tell, do you speak as the Commander of the Inquisition or as a former Knight?" she challenged.
"I speak as one who possesses common sense," he retorted with a hint of vexation.
The air grew taut with tension once more, and again it was Josephine who endeavored to diffuse it. "Regrettably, neither the Grand Enchanter nor the Lord Seeker can be approached. We remain deemed heretics by the majority of the populace and the ruling powers. At the moment, we are denied entry to Orlais due to this very fact. We must first rally the clergy to our cause before we may petition to lift the ban."
"Aye, me man can lend a hand with that. Me hearty knows some Mothers and Sisters, and he'll be sure to sweet-talk 'em into joinin' our crew." Hawke proffered.
Leliana nodded in agreement, adding, "And whilst we await Brother Sebastian's efforts to bear fruit, we ought to vanquish the apostates and renegade Templars at the Crossroads. We have stabilized the region surrounding the refugee camp in the village, but until we eradicate those miscreants for good, our progress will be fleeting."
Cassandra, visibly agitated, clenched and unclenched her fist and said, "Let us waste no more time then. I propose that Hawke, accompanied by Fenris, lead a unit to subdue the mages, while myself and Commander Cullen, lead our troops to vanquish the renegade Templars. Leliana, I entrust you with the responsibility of overseeing Haven in our absence."
A wry smile crossed Hawke's lips as she responded, "Fenris be chompin' at the bit to unleash his fury on them apostates! 'Tis been a fair while since he's had such a chance!"
Cassandra continued, her voice resolute. "Josephine, I request that you lend your aid to Brother Sebastian in his efforts to win over the Chantry clergy. Your persuasiveness will prove invaluable in this endeavor."
The ambassador smiled enigmatically; it was obvious that her mind was already racing with ideas. "Do not fret," she replied. "I will lend my personal touch to his letters to make them all the more convincing."
As the others turned to each other, discussing their plans of action, a look of confusion crossed Miriam's face. "And what about me?" she asked, uncertain of her role in this mission.
The Right Hand of the Divine fixed her gaze upon the mage, her expression thoughtful. "We cannot afford to send our only means of closing the Breach into the heat of battle," she explained. "You and Solas shall tend to our wounded soldiers and civilians at the camp at Crossroads. Rest assured, Corporal Vale shall find you other tasks to occupy your time."
Miriam's eyes shone with eagerness at the prospect of helping those in need. "I am at my best when I serve others," she declared. "It will also be a chance for me to sway their hearts, to show them that Andraste has bestowed upon me this gift so that I may bring peace to the Maker's children."
Cassandra, looking pleased with the outcome, concluded, "Well, if all of us are in agreement, then tomorrow morning we shall march to Hinterlands."
For days, the Inquisition forces had journeyed through the winding roads of the countryside, enduring the harsh elements and treacherous terrain. Finally, they reached the outskirts of the village of Crossroads, and as they gazed upon the scene that lay before them, Miriam was struck by the signs of destruction that surrounded her.
The buildings were in disrepair, their once-sturdy walls now crumbling and worn. Makeshift tents and huts dotted the landscape, with smoke rising from the fires that had been lit to cook the meager meals of the refugees who had sought asylum there. The pitiful cries of children and the moaning of the wounded could be heard from every corner of the village, and it was as if the very air was suffused with the scent of suffering. She could feel her heart ache for the people who had been forced to endure such hardship.
As the members of the Inquisition arrived at the village, they split off for their respective missions, leaving Miriam, Solas, and Lysette under the command of Corporal Vale. Together with her guard, she was quickly assigned to aid Mother Giselle in her toilsome endeavors of tending to the dispossessed, whereas the elf was summoned to enlist himself among a paltry band of huntsmen, tasked with the pursuit of untamed rams for their hides and flesh.
In light of the atrocities committed by the frenzied apostates in the region, she was strictly forbidden from exercising her magical abilities. It was feared that the populace, already traumatized by the harrowing events, would not receive magic kindly. Hence, she devoted her days to gathering medicinal herbs and concocting curatives in tandem with Giselle, laboring tirelessly to relieve the sufferings of the sick and injured. Occasionally, the Mother would implore her to employ her talents in aiding the womenfolk, whether it be by sewing blankets from scraps of fabric salvaged from the rubble or lending a hand in food preparation. However, more often than not, her duty remained unchanging. Despite the grueling nature of her work, Miriam found solace in knowing that her toil was a beacon of hope for those who had lost everything. This realization served as a wellspring of strength that sustained her through even the most arduous of days.
Solas, on the other hand, seemed to thrive in the company of the hunters. His lithe form moved with grace and fluidity as he stalked his prey through the wild, his sharp senses honed by years of living in the wilderness. Although he was not a skilled hunter by any means, he seemed to relish the challenge of tracking and catching the elusive rams.
As the days stretched on, all of them labored unceasingly at their respective duties, each contributing their share to the aid of the beleaguered denizens of Crossroads.
Mother Giselle remained wary of the so-called Herald of Andraste, but with every callus that formed on Miriam's palms from gathering herbs, with every pricked finger as she sewed blankets, the Mother's attitude toward her seemed to soften. Though still regarded with a measure of circumspection, the mage detected a glimmer of recognition for her tireless efforts, which overjoyed her. In the mage's eyes, Mother Giselle epitomized the ideal of a true servant of the Maker. Her devotion was unwavering, choosing to remain amid the war-torn region when other Chantry clergy fled to safety. She was wise and composed, possessing a knack for uttering just the right words to calm even the most agitated of spirits. Moreover, she was unfailingly compassionate, always extending a helping hand to those in need, regardless of their background, be it mage, elf, or dwarf. Miriam bitterly mused how different her life might have been had every Mother followed Giselle's example, but she did not indulge in such fancies for long, knowing them to be fruitless what-ifs.
As she toiled alongside Lysette, boiling bandages in the cauldron for disinfection, Corporal Vale approached them with a somber expression. "Have you seen Mother Giselle?" he asked. "One of the elders requires the last rites. It won't be long now."
Miriam felt a tinge of sadness, but she knew all too well that no potion or spell could prevent death from the ravages of time.
"We're running low on elfroot, and with none left in the vicinity, she decided to venture closer to the east road, where nobody collects it," the other woman explained.
Vale's expression darkened even further. "Nobody collects it there because that area is rife with bandits. It's perilous. I've warned her numerous times, but the woman is too stubborn to heed my counsel."
Determined to bring Mother Giselle back, Miriam spoke up. "I know precisely where she is. It's not far, we've been there before. I shall retrieve her immediately and ensure she returns safely to camp."
"Not an option," the Corporal, retorted, perceiving her eager disposition. "I am bound by strict orders to ensure your safety. Once the patrol returns, I shall dispatch men to comb the surroundings for her."
"Sir, then allow me to accompany them!" She insisted, her voice resonating with an imploring tone.
"You are to abide by my decision, mage. Continue with your assigned duties," Vale replied with an air of sternness.
Miriam saluted him, a mixture of frustration and determination pulsating within her as she watched him stride away.
The enchanter persisted in her tasks for a time, yet her heart throbbed with apprehension for Giselle's well-being. A peculiar compulsion arose within her, urging her to become the one who found her. Despite knowing that disobeying orders was demifying, she knew to trust her instincts.
Stealing a glance at Lysette, who was engrossed in conversation with several fellow Templars, preparing for the changing of the patrol, Miriam quietly slipped into the woods. She tucked her marked hand into her robe to hide its light and like a specter, glided from tree to tree for cover, looking about every so often to ensure her clandestine endeavor remained unseen by prying eyes.
As Miriam scanned the surroundings with a wary eye, her attention was drawn to an elderly woman, crouched low in the grass, busily gathering herbs in a large basket. The crimson robes that adorned her stood out in stark contrast to the lush green landscape that surrounded her. The mage couldn't help but feel that something was amiss, as the area seemed far too quiet for her liking.
"Mother Giselle!" She called out to the woman, who, upon hearing her name, beamed and ascended to meet her, "What brings you here, my child?"
Miriam's query to Giselle was cut short by a volley of arrows that descended upon them, piercing the air with their ominous whistle. In a flurry of movement, the mage raised an arc of protection to shelter them both, yet not before two arrows had found their mark, one piercing her midriff and the other penetrating the Mother's breast.
With a cry of agony, Giselle crumpled to the ground, clutching at her wound, while Miriam sank to her knees at her side, her own affliction throbbing with excruciating force as her blood oozed out, leaving her reeling and faint.
The bandits, a motley crew of at least a dozen, had the two women cornered. The man laughed cruelly, their weapons glinting in the sun as they took aim at the pair. "Look at this wench. You think you can stop us with your little magic trick?" Taunted one of them, while another chimed in, "Hand over your valuables, and perhaps we'll be merciful enough to let you live."
However, she was not so easily beguiled by their deceitful overtures. Undeterred, she strove to conjure a mending enchantment to staunch the hemorrhage and soothe the anguish wracking Mother Giselle. Yet the exertion was overwhelming, her mind grappling to sustain both the defensive barrier and the curative incantation at once. Her sight grew dim, and beads of sweat trickled down her brow. Giselle was slipping away, her respiration growing feeble and spasmodic, each inhalation a struggle. Miriam herself felt her vigor wane, her very life force draining away with every crimson drop that fled her veins. Her mind whirled like a maelstrom, beset by a desperate yearning to elude this infernal snare. Almost as though sensing her despair, a thought alighted on her consciousness, a tempting prospect to abandon the old Mother and make her escape. She could deploy her Fade Step to outstrip the bandits and preserve her own life.
The very thought, with its venomous fangs, sank deep into her soul, wrenching it with a violent blow that left her spirit bleeding. The notion that she, the Herald of Andraste, could even entertain such a cowardly idea was a bitter pill to swallow. The memory of the adulating crowds in Haven hailing her as the savior of Thedas only served to intensify her shame. How could she, who had been entrusted with a divine mission, crumble under the weight of fear and consider abandoning an innocent woman to her fate?
A tempestuous torrent of fury swept through her, a scorching flame that kindled her mark to burn with an emerald radiance. The brigands quailed, taken aback by the unforeseen eruption of her might. Yet Miriam paid no heed to their quivering forms, for she was possessed by a fervent anger, kindled by her own failings and misgivings, that eclipsed all else. "How dare you!" she hissed, her voice shaking with indignation as she spoke the words aloud. "How could you even conceive of abandoning her? You are the Herald of Andraste! You cannot falter now!"
Her self-reproaches were a balm to her wounded spirit, a rallying cry that renewed her resolve. "Endure, Mother," she muttered through clenched teeth. "I will not let you perish. It is not yet your hour to cross the Veil."
Miriam's hands trembled with the intensity of her focus as she bent over Giselle's wounded body, determined to heal her once again. She invested all her might in the mending of the wound. With every fiber of her essence, she implored the flesh to unite and reweave until it pushed out the projectile, leaving behind nothing but a minuscule pink blemish. Upon completion of her task, Giselle's weak and wheezy voice beseeched her. "My dear, you're hurt," she croaked, anxiety written plainly on her features as she beheld blood continuing to gush forth from the mage's midriff.
Miriam returned her gaze to the elder woman with crazed, manic eyes, sensing the mana drain from her body as it flowed to her mark. "Worry not, Mother, though I am but flesh, the light of Andraste is ever present within me. I shall endure."
She thrust her aglow hand skyward, the light strengthening with each fleeting moment. And bellowed, "O Andraste, grant me strength. So all will know that I am Yours, and none shall stand before us!"
In a deafening eruption, her mark detonated with a viridescent glow, releasing an onslaught of otherworldly energy that swept across the terrain like a surging tide. The bandits, caught unaware by the sheer might of her power, were flung aside as if they were nothing but straw.
Miriam sensed her body slump to the earth as she crumpled from complete exhaustion. Her eyes shuttered closed, and she knew no more. The last sounds she discerned were Giselle's worried voice and the groans of pain from the brigands, but they all appeared distant, as if within a dream.