Amidst the crowded training grounds of Haven, with the relentless winter cold seeping through the layers of her attire, Miriam found herself instructing a group of Inquisition soldiers in the art of first aid.
Her hands moved with precision as she demonstrated the proper techniques for bandaging wounds and applying healing salves. Her voice, tempered by experience and empathy, carried through the frigid air, falling upon the attentive ears of the soldiers who gathered before her. Each of her words was laden with the weight of responsibility, for in these lessons, lives could be saved or lost.
However, despite her determined focus on teaching, her thoughts kept drifting back to her last encounter with the Commander. The grip of his hands on her throat and the seething rage that had emanated from his gaze was fresh in her mind. It wasn't his fault, she knew, and yet the revelation of such deep hatred in a man she had held in high esteem had shaken her.
Could he really be the same bright and kind soul who had saved her that fateful day? The question had never really left Miriam's mind, but she had gradually lost the will to ask him about it. After Cullen's admission that he had given up lyrium and his request for her aid, there had always seemed to be more pressing matters at hand—discussions about which remedies were effective, which weren't, or which symptoms were worsening.
For a while, it appeared that her non-magical treatments were making progress, but as the days stretched on, it became increasingly evident that he was less than forthcoming about the true state of his mental well-being. They both knew that only healing spells held any promise of relief for his troubled mind, but Cullen's steadfast aversion to magic had become all too apparent, and she hesitated to push the matter further, fearing that he might refuse her help altogether. Had the Commander been any other patient, she would have maintained a stern and professional demeanor, but her emotions for the man clouded her judgment and led her to show leniency, a lapse that nearly cost her life.
Everything unfolded with lightning speed during that customary evening checkup two days ago. As she entered Cullen's tent, she discovered him writhing on the ground, consumed by convulsions and gripped by delirium. She rushed to his side, but the moment her hand touched him, his eyes snapped open, and he lunged at her with an astonishing burst of strength. Panic surged through her as his grip closed around her throat. Her vision blurred, and her thoughts turned hazy, rendering her powerless to summon her magic. Lysette, as was her custom, waited patiently outside, but when the sounds of the struggle reached her ears, she reacted with remarkable swiftness. Bursting into the tent like a force of nature, she wasted no time, delivering a swift and resolute blow with the hilt of her sword to Cullen's head. Her intervention was nothing short of a lifesaver, as the Commander was knocked unconscious, allowing Miriam to draw in gasping breaths.
Confronted with the uncomfortable incident, she knew it was her duty to report it to Cassandra and Leliana. After careful consideration, both concluded that prudence dictated she should avoid close contact with Cullen until their mission was completed. Though Miriam harbored reservations about their decision, she could still discern the reasoning behind it.
The mage continued to craft potions and salves for the Commander, ensuring he received the necessary treatment. However, she refrained from personally delivering them, instead assigning another healer, accompanied by a guard, to check on his condition. This arrangement allowed her to provide her aid while maintaining the necessary distance, as dictated by the circumstances.
The situation was undeniably frustrating, but she continually reminded herself that it was only a temporary arrangement that would last for a few more days. Soon, they would seal the Breach and she could finally engage in a candid conversation with the man about the inclusion of magic in his treatment. She remembered his words about the complexity of his relationship with the arcane, and she felt a deep empathy for his inner turmoil, but if he was truly committed to overcoming his condition, he would have to set his reservations aside.
As the evening grew darker and the day's lessons drew to a close, she made her way back to her cabin, accompanied by her faithful guard, Lysette. Along the way, Miriam took moments to bless the people who approached her, offering soothing healing for the sick among them. While time-consuming and draining, these small acts of kindness were the part of her duties that she enjoyed the most.
When they finally reached her humble but welcoming retreat, they were greeted by a faint aroma of herbs lingering in the air. The hut bore the unmistakable mark of a healer's abode, with shelves filled with various vials, bandages, and books on restorative magic. The mage carefully placed her healer's tools in a neat arrangement on a nearby table, ensuring they were ready for any potential emergencies. Lysette hung her sword on a peg by the door, her expression thoughtful. After that, both of them set about their evening routines. Miriam carefully organized her medical supplies, ensuring everything was in its rightful place, while the Templar tended to the fire in silence. They changed into comfortable attire and prepared a simple meal of bread, cheese, and some salted meat.
As the night settled in, they both climbed into their respective beds, ready to embrace sleep's welcome embrace. Just as the tranquility of the night began to wash over Miriam, Lysette shifted restlessly. Her troubled eyes were fixed on the mage.
"Herald," she began hesitantly, "there's something I need to confess. I can't bear the weight of it any longer."
Miriam turned to face her, concern etched on her features. " You can tell me anything. What's troubling you?"
The Templar swallowed hard, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of her blanket. "It concerns Brother Sebastian," she confessed, her words shrouded in the hushed intimacy of the night. "I have never spoken of this before, but the truth is, I am in love with him." In the dim moonlight, Miriam could discern a shadowed expression, one that spoke of turmoil and self-reproach. "When I first learned of Hawke's disappearance, I felt... happiness, and even more disturbing, for a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to envision a future where she never returned, a future where I might have a chance with her man. And now, whenever I gaze upon Sebastian, the relentless guilt gnaws at my very soul."
A heavy silence hung in the air as Miriam studied Lysette's conflicted expression, her heart heavy with understanding. She was well aware of the depth of despair that had gripped the Brother following Hawke's disappearance. The man had grown emaciated, his appetite diminished, and his sleep elusive as he devoted every waking moment to fervent prayers and desperate yearnings to venture out alone in search of his missing friends. Thankfully, such impulsive decisions were always intercepted by the vigilant watch of Mother Giselle.
With a gentle sigh, Miriam reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Lysette's shoulder. "We can't control our feelings, but we can control our actions. If you truly care for Brother Sebastian, be there for him in his time of need. Support him, and let your actions speak louder than your momentary dark thoughts."
"Miriam," she whispered, her voice trembling with uncertainty, "I make every effort to be by his side, to alleviate his suffering in any way I can. Yet, the feeling persists, a nagging sensation that my efforts fall short and that I ought to do more. The trouble is, I am uncertain about what that 'more' entails."
The mage gently squeezed her companion's shoulder, her touch conveying reassurance. "Until we succeed in closing the Breach," she suggested, her tone infused with fervor, "Pray to the Maker. Pray with all your heart and soul, beseech Him to reunite Hawke with Brother Sebastian. Let your plea be sincere and unwavering." Her voice took on a resolute tone as she continued, "And once the Breach is sealed, if Hawke remains missing, I promise you this, we will embark on a quest to find her. You have my word on this."
The Templar clasped Miriam's hand in her own, her palms damp with sweat. "Thank you," she uttered, her voice filled with profound gratitude. "You are a true friend."
A moment of hesitation lingered as if Lysette were gathering the courage for her next request. Eventually, she spoke, her words laced with a hint of vulnerability. "Would you be willing to pray with me? Right now?"
Miriam's smile radiated warmth as she responded, "Of course. For where two pray as His faithful followers, He is there, among them."
As the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon, casting a pallid hue upon the land, the Inquisition finally stood prepared to confront the Breach. Miriam found herself amidst a small assembly of esteemed companions, including Cassandra, Solas, Cullen, and Lysette, all encircled by the stalwart Inquisition soldiers and Templars. The weight of their mission, the magnitude of it all, hung heavy in the early morning air.
Mother Giselle, clad in the vestments of her faith, stepped forward to bless the gathered forces with the fervor of Andraste's divine flame. Her voice, resonant with devotion, rang out through the solemn silence as she recited the prayer known to all who stood there,
"Blessed are they who stand before
The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.
Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.
Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.
In their blood the Maker's will is written."
The assembled, their heads bowed in reverence, their souls united in a singular purpose, raised their voices as one,
"Maker, shall be our shield,
Guarding us from the abyss,
Andraste, shall be our sword,
Striking down the shadows of doubt,
Her fire shall be our guide,
Leading us through the darkest of nights."
With the final words of the prayer, Mother Giselle concluded her blessing, and a solemn hush descended upon the area. "Inquisition, Templars, follow my lead!" bellowed the Commander, his words cutting through the stillness. Without hesitation, their assembled forces began to march, ascending the rugged path that led to the Breach looming high above.
The echoes of boots against the rocky terrain reverberated through the desolate remnants of the once-hallowed Temple of the Sacred Ashes. As they drew nearer to the Breach, Miriam couldn't ignore the unsettling sensation that pierced her very soul—an unpleasant chill that seemed to emanate from the very heart of the portal itself.
In her marked palm, a vibrant green flame blazed with an intensity that defied its ethereal nature. It danced like restless emerald serpents around her hand, as if trembling nervously in the face of the impending confrontation. Tension gripped her, leaving her mouth dry and her body awash in the surge of adrenaline. The memories of her previous attempt to mend the Veil clawed at her from within, pricking her conscience like a thorn. The painful recollections of failure haunted her; the attempt had nearly cost her everything. The thought of experiencing such agony again filled her with dread. Doubt crept in with every step, eroding her confidence. She questioned whether she was truly ready, whether she could bear the strain. She had gained some control over her powers since her previous attempt, but it still left her utterly drained and vulnerable.
Desperately, Miriam turned her gaze to her comrades, seeking solace and strength in their presence. She scanned their resolute faces, each etched with grim determination and a glimmer of hope. They placed their faith in her, trusting her to mend the gap once and for all. Her spirit swelled, nourished by the strength of the Inquisition and the camaraderie they all shared.
After navigating the twisted labyrinth of the Temple ruins, they finally arrived at the ominous precipice of the Breach. Commander Cullen swiftly issued orders, positioning the soldiers strategically in anticipation of potential demon attacks. Meanwhile, Cassandra took charge of instructing and organizing the Knights, preparing them for the task at hand.
Solas, wearing a grave expression, approached Miriam. "Mages would have been far better suited to this task. However, you have chosen to secure the help of the Templars, so we will have to make do with that decision," he said in a polite yet tinged with a barely concealed disdain tone. "The Knights will suppress the Breach's magic, reducing its power to that of a mere Rift. Only then will I give you the order to close it. Do not attempt it prematurely. Is that understood?"
The mage nodded in agreement, her heart pounding in her chest, and stepped forward, approaching the undulating emerald tongues of the Breach.
The portal appeared serene, moving in a slow, cyclical dance reminiscent of the ethereal beauty of the northern lights gracing the night sky. However, Miriam couldn't shake the feeling that this tranquil facade was a mere guise. The Veil itself seemed to be stretched taut, on the precipice of rupture, as if it could explode into chaos at any given moment.
An intrusive, thought wormed its way into her mind, whispering that the portal was biding its time, waiting for the power that would unshackle it from the bonds of oblivion, awakening it from its slumber. She shook her head vigorously, dispelling the unsettling notion before it could take root in her consciousness.
With everyone in position, Miriam heard Cassandra's commanding voice instructing the Templars to focus their efforts on the Breach. The clanking of armored Knights raising their blades resounded in the air, and in the next instant, a dazzling and overwhelming surge of holy energy suffused the surroundings. Though she wasn't the target of their attack, the sheer magnitude of the force deployed in the area caused the mana coursing through her veins to dwindle to almost nothing. It was a searing sensation, as if she were drying up from within. She could hear Solas' growl, a clear indication that he, too, was feeling the impact of this holy power.
Finally, the elven voice signaled it was her moment to intervene. Miriam extended her hand toward the Breach, and in response, an ethereal cord emerged, forging a connection between her and the Rift's heart. The emerald tongues of the Breach momentarily froze, as if taken aback by her audacious intrusion. The mage focused all her concentration on the pulsating energy gathering in her palm, determined to assert her will over the Rift. The portal's fiery essence stirred once more, resisting her efforts and fighting back against her attempts at control. The battle for dominance had begun in earnest. Miriam's breaths grew shallower and more ragged with each passing moment, her body rapidly succumbing to the draining ordeal. She pleaded with Andraste for the strength to secede, beads of sweat cascading down her face like torrential rain as she pushed herself to her limits. In response to her determination, the flame of the Breach began to falter, dimming in intensity. It was working. She was winning. All she had to do was endure a little longer!
Suddenly, a sharp screech cleaved through the air, accompanied by a formidable gust of wind that assailed Miriam from behind.
"Maker preserve us! A Dragon!" Cassandra shouted, her voice quivering slightly.
Turning around in disbelief, Miriam's eyes widened in horror as she beheld the monstrous black dragon descending from the sky. The creature's form was a grotesque sight, with most of its scales replaced by swollen, uneven flesh oozing with a noxious slime. Cullen swiftly unsheathed his sword and assumed a determined fighting stance.
"Templars, Herald, concentrate on the Breach," he bellowed above the chaos. "We will hold him back!"
Miriam's world turned into a chaotic maelstrom of fire and screams, with the acrid scent of burning flesh filling the air around her. She strained to maintain her focus on the Breach as the battle raged on, the sounds of clashing steel and the deafening roars of the monster mingling with the desperate shouts of her comrades.
The Templars fell one by one to the relentless onslaught of the blighted creature. Their valiant efforts to contain the Breach were gradually eroded by the relentless fury of the dragon's fiery assault. Flames danced menacingly at the fringes of her vision, and the oppressive heat of the encroaching inferno bore down upon her, suffocating and unrelenting. In a fleeting moment of respite, she felt Solas cast a protective barrier around her, but it proved futile, shattered with contemptuous ease by the dragon's tail.
Then, a formidable gust of wind unleashed by the monster's colossal wings struck the mage, hurling her to the ground. The connection she had so desperately fought to maintain with the Breach was abruptly severed, leaving her gasping for breath, disoriented, and overwhelmed. With her mana depleted and the mark on her hand dormant and extinguished, she was completely helpless. The forces of the Inquisition seemed on the brink of defeat, and a sense of desperation threatened to engulf the mage. It was inconceivable to her that their journey, fraught with sacrifice and determination, would conclude in this nightmarish fashion. The bitterness of imminent failure seeped into her thoughts. Why would Andraste permit them to perish in such a manner? Had her faith not proven strong enough?
Amid the chaos, the dragon's grotesque head turned, and Miriam found herself locking eyes with the abomination. In that moment of eye contact, an eerie connection formed between them, as if their minds had become entwined. Beneath the lifeless black void of the dragon's tainted consciousness, she touched the mind of another being, someone ancient and corrupted, exuding formidable power. At the contact, the dormant green flames on her palm burst back to life and a torrent of foreign and disjointed memories and feelings infused her mind.
The presence within dragon appeared to recognize her intrusion and responded with a violent surge of magic. It was as though a door had slammed shut in her face, forcibly ejecting her from the creature's mind, but it was too late, something had irrevocably changed within her.
Miriam's left hand quivered and her fingers engulfed in emerald flames involuntarily outstretched towards the Breach. An ethereal cord manifested, forming a connection to the portal once again. However, this time, it was not she who poured power into the Rift; it was the Breach itself that surged energy into her mark. Horror gripped the mage as she contemplated the implications of being inundated with the very essence of the Fade. What if she lost control? What if she became a conduit for the destructive force that had torn the Veil asunder?
She clenched her fingers into a fist, feeling the bones in her hand creaking from the strain as she tried to sever the connection. Suddenly, a profound stirring coursed through her, imbuing her ego with renewed vigor. No, she thought, she could accomplish this. Andraste had chosen her as the vessel for this power!
As Miriam allowed the walls of her mental defenses to crumble and fall, a potent surge of raw Fade force flowed into her through the mark. It began with a prickling sensation around the wound, like being pinched by countless needles. Then, it evolved into spasms, with tremors coursing through her entire frame. The force spread in waves, each bringing a sharp pain that somehow intertwined with pleasure. It was a dichotomy of sensations, where anguish and ecstasy danced together as the overwhelming power merged with her body. The verdant hue flowed through her veins anew, causing them to swell and pulsate, yet this time, she felt no fear in its presence. The mage let herself embrace the power, to become one with it, and the feeling was intoxicating. She had never felt so invulnerable, so omnipotent in her life.
Time seemed to slow down as Miriam rose to her feet, her gaze fixated on the approaching dragon as it prepared to unleash its deadly infernal breath upon her. She noticed Lysette darting before her, shield held high in an attempt to protect her.
A smile curled upon the mage's lips, for she knew she required no assistance to deal with this pesky creature. With a confident step away from the Breach, she unclenched her fingers, opening her palm away from herself and the rift spread wide open, a green explosion of energy scattering throughout the entire valley, bathing the surroundings in an eerie emerald light. Hordes of demons surged forth from the pulsating portal, filling the air with their malevolent presence.
"Maker, what have you done!?" the Knight shouted to her, her voice laden with disbelief and horror.
Miriam cast a detached gaze upon the woman, her lips sealed in silence. Who was she to challenge the judgment of the Herald?
A whirlpool of various demons descended upon the dragon, striking it directly in the chest. The creatures swarmed around the colossal beast, attempting to rip it apart. Amusement danced in the mage's eyes as she watched a group of Despair demons attempt to gouge out the dragon's eye. The massive creature screeched, writhing in convulsions as it desperately tried to dislodge the attackers. Yet, the demons swarmed like a relentless horde of bees, undeterred by the dragon's efforts. With a final, desperate maneuver, the dragon launched itself into the air, wriggling and contorting like a snake in its attempt to escape the ceaseless assault. The demons, determined and relentless, followed suit, swarming around the airborne monster until they all disappeared behind the mountains.
"Miriam! Close the Breach!" Cullen's shout rang out like a thunderclap, snapping the mage out of her megalomaniacal state. She swiftly turned to face the wide-open Rift. With a determined clench of her hand into a fist, the Breach slammed shut in an instant.
An eerie silence descended upon the battlefield, broken only by the agonized moans of the injured and the crackling of dying flames. The mage surveyed the desolate, blood-soaked, and ash-covered landscape, her gaze sweeping across the faces of the survivors. They stared back at her with a palpable mixture of horror and awe, their eyes filled with questions she couldn't yet answer.
Excitement still coursed through her, but now it was intertwined with a gnawing fear. The enormity of what she had just done and the power she had harnessed sent shivers down her spine. Miriam's hands trembled as she gazed at them, her thick emerald veins pulsating with an otherworldly energy. What had she become?