"Lady Miriam," Cullen began, his voice betraying a slight tremor. "You once mentioned having a friend from Honnleath. Could you tell me more about him?"
Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Miriam's breath hitched in her throat. Even though this was exactly the kind of opportunity she had longed for, now that it was presented to her, she felt awkward and nervous. "Well, I, um, I don't know for certain if he hails from that village," she admitted, "but he was the one who taught me 'The Little Apple Tree.' So, I would assume that he has some knowledge of it, or perhaps he has lived there at some point." A pause followed as she swallowed, her mouth suddenly parched. "The truth is," she continued, the words emerging slowly, "we've only crossed paths once, so I can't provide much information about him, but..." She grappled with the emotions surging within her, struggling to convey the profound impact of that singular encounter. Her parents and siblings never bestowed upon her their smiles or shared moments in her company, nor did they sing her songs. She had longed for their affection, but it had always eluded her. So when the boy stumbled upon her, lost and gripped by fear, and proceeded to dote on her with such earnest care and kindness, Miriam had for the first time experienced the semblance of what a loving family might be like. "He... he was a boy, not much older than me," she continued, her voice gentle, imbued with reverence. "We crossed paths in Redcliffe. My family had paused there on our journey to Denerim, and I, in my childish curiosity, became separated from my mother while chasing after a cat. Terrified and in tears, I hid behind some crates and it was then that he found me and reached out to help. He guided me to the safety of the Chantry. He comforted me, he sang me a song, and then he gave me this amulet." The mage's touch graced the old trinket nestled against her chest. "After all that, he ceased to be merely a stranger to me, he transformed into a friend, a guardian. And despite never seeing him again, he remained a steadfast presence, always protecting me, infusing me with strength through the amulet he gifted me. But why do you ask?"
Cullen diverted his gaze from the amulet, fixing his eyes upon the woman. She noted that there was a subtle shift in the way he regarded her, "Because I've just recalled a memory of aiding a young girl in Redcliffe and," he continued, his voice tinged with a quiet astonishment, "you might find this hard to believe, but I am quite certain it was you. It appears... it appears that I was the one who gave you that amulet."
A profound joy pierced her heart, bringing tears to her eyes. Her knees gave way suddenly, and she began to falter as if about to faint. Swiftly rising from his seat, Cullen reached out, gripping her elbow to steady her. A knitted brow betrayed his worry as he tenderly guided her towards his chair. Once she was seated, he released her, concern evident in his voice as he implored, "Please, Lady Miriam, compose yourself. If I knew this would upset you so, I wouldn't have mentioned it."
The mage shook her head, "Not all tears spring from sorrow, Commander. I weep because I am overjoyed," she murmured while wiping the drops away. "To finally have my suspicions confirmed, it felt... I couldn't possibly describe how happy it made me."
Clearly at a loss, Cullen regarded her with an expression that shifted from worry to perplexity.
"It might strike you as unexpected," Miriam began, trying to explain herself, "but I've had a feeling that you were the friend from my past for quite a while now. It started with me noticing certain resemblances between you and the boy who saved me, the shine of your hair in the sun, the color of your eyes... And then, when you mentioned you were from Honnleath, the very village where the song I learned from my friend originated, it only deepened my suppositions."
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, a slight tilt of his head emphasizing his question.
A sigh escaped the mage's lips, her shoulders slumping slightly as she admitted, "I longed to, yet it felt like there was always something more pressing, demanding my atten..." She stopped suddenly, her posture straightening as she corrected herself, "No, those were merely excuses I used to justify my silence." She paused for a moment of reflection before finally concluding, "I think I got caught up in that comforting hope, afraid to destroy the illusion I had woven for myself."
"Better a bitter truth than a sweet delusion," Cullen remarked calmly. "You should have had more courage, Herald."
Miriam smiled, recalling how he had encouraged her to be brave during their first encounter. "I will endeavor to abide by that."
He acknowledged her words with a nod, and then his expression turned pensive. "To be honest, I am quite baffled by the fact that our paths have crossed before."
"It is no mere coincidence," the mage began, her voice brimming with conviction. "Andraste has granted us the chance to meet once again for a reason."
"And what reason might that be?" he inquired, a quizzical look playing across his face.
"At present, the purpose eludes me, Commander," she confessed, feeling the blush take hold, "but I am certain that in due time it will be revealed to us."
"Then I suppose we shall wait and see," he replied, his countenance softening. "And please, when our conversations are private, you are welcome to address me by my given name."
"I'd be delighted!" the mage agreed enthusiastically, eager to bring more familiarity into their interactions. "You can feel free to call me by my name as well."
A smile graced his features, causing his hazel eyes to crinkle slightly at the corners. "As you wish, Miriam."
The mage's heart skipped a beat at the sound of her name on his lips. The mere act of him using it felt oddly intimate, warming her from within. She noticed Cullen's gaze once again drawn to the amulet. "To think that you still have it after all these years," he remarked, making a subtle gesture toward it.
"It is my most cherished possession, a constant reminder of the first person to show me kindness in a world that felt lonely and cold," she replied, seeking to infuse her words with the depth of gratitude and affection she held for him.
A faint pink hue graced his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't consider what I did particularly special," he humbly stated. "Any decent soul would aid someone in need."
His humility was endearing, but she yearned for him to acknowledge his own worth. Leaning in slightly, her voice filled with eagerness and sincerity, she expressed, "I spent hours weeping behind those crates. I'm certain many heard me, yet you were the only one who cared enough to try and find out who was distressed."
Cullen's gaze met hers. "I just... I simply did what I thought was right, there's not much more to it."
"But there is! There is a grace in your spirit, a kindness that sets you apart from all the others," she insisted with passion.
He shook his head, a tinge of disbelief in his expression. "For you to continue to hold me in such high regard..." He offered her a fleeting smile. "I just want you to know that your faith in the goodness within me is something I will cherish." Coming down from reaching such a tender moment, Cullen's face shifted, and she watched his eyes searching his mind for something to stave off the awkwardness, "Um... I suggest that we do not dwell too long on the past when the present demands our full attention." Following that, the conversation moved from heartfelt confessions to the practical matters of their shared responsibilities. Yet, the air between them felt lighter, as if a newfound appreciation had woven itself into the fabric of their interactions.
Over the course of the ensuing two weeks, Miriam savored the happiest period of her life to date. She carried herself with an air of unburdened delight, each step imbued with the buoyant energy of a carefree spirit. It felt almost dreamlike that every facet of her life had aligned so harmoniously, like a perfectly composed painting. The mark was barely vexing her, its occasional outbursts now feeble and easily subdued. The morning hours were filled with her engagement in the infirmary, while her afternoons found her relishing the satisfaction of instructing recruits in the art of first aid. And as day gave way to evening, her commitment to Cullen's treatment served to strengthen the bond between them.
The Commander still struggled with discomfort during each session of magic, but there was a marked improvement as he gradually gained the strength to endure the entire spell. Miriam held hope that in due course, his aversion to the arcane would lessen, making the process less arduous.
Another noteworthy development was the fact that their post-session talks grew more extensive with each passing day, covering a range of topics beyond matters relating to the Inquisition or his health. He opened up about his childhood, recounting anecdotes about his siblings and their mischievous escapades. In turn, Miriam shared cherished memories of her life in the Circle and the wisdom she had learned from her dear teacher, Lydia.
Still, certain subjects remained conspicuously untouched during their conversations. In particular, the man skillfully avoided discussing his time in the Order. His answers were either vague, such as "Few people have fond memories of the Blight", or simply offered general knowledge, like "The downfall of Kirkwall's Circle was marked by utter chaos". Recognizing the boundary he had set, Miriam refrained from pushing any further.
One evening, Cullen extended her an invitation for a game of chess. She had never played before, though she held a vague familiarity with the game's rules, as it had been a common pastime among the mages. Despite her lack of enthusiasm for the game, Miriam accepted the invitation because it was the first time she had seen him eager to engage in something seemingly frivolous. Admitting her inexperience, she warned him that she would make a poor chess partner. Yet, to her surprise, the Commander seemed unconcerned. He casually remarked that she couldn't possibly fare worse than those he'd played with before, proceeding to share stories of Leliana's tendency to cheat, Cassandra's near destruction of the board in a fit of temper, and Josephine's uncanny ability to talk him out of initiating a combination. Amused and somewhat relieved, she settled opposite him to commence the game.
Predictably, the match concluded with her enduring a resounding defeat. Still, the exchange of light-hearted banter made the experience gratifying. It appeared that Cullen enjoyed the encounter as well, as he suggested they play again on another occasion. Despite not finding chess particularly enthralling, the delight on his face was enough for her to agree to the proposal.
On the following morning, Miriam received a summons to Josephine's office. There, she was handed a scroll bearing a broken wax seal. Even in its fragmented state, she recognized the distinct Trevelyan coat of arms. Her brow furrowed, not due to the breach of the seal—she anticipated no less from Leliana—but from the stark realization that she had been estranged from her family since the day of her disinheritance. With a hint of apprehension, she carefully unfolded the parchment and began to read.
Reinstatement Decree
Be it known to all those of noble standing and faith,
Let it be proclaimed by the authority vested in us by the grace of the Maker, that the esteemed Miriam is hereby reinstated to her rightful place as a cherished member of the illustrious Trevelyan family.
After a period of contemplation and discernment, it has been resolved that Miriam shall once again be welcomed into the noble fold of the Trevelyan household. Her past shall be forgiven, her spirit embraced, and she is to be accorded all due privileges, honors, and responsibilities befitting a noble member of our Andrastian community.
We beseech all those who bear witness to this proclamation to extend to Miriam the courtesies and dignities expected of one restored to a venerable position within our family.
Let it be so written, and let all records, scrolls, and archives be updated to reflect this decree. Any who seek further clarification or guidance in this matter are invited to consult with the appointed representatives of the Trevelyan household.
In Maker's name and under the guidance of His benevolence,
Bann Trevelyan
9:41 Dragon
"Surely, this must be some form of jest," Miriam uttered, her expression one of disbelief as she turned her gaze to the Ambassador seated behind her meticulously organized desk.
"I assure you, Herald, this is an authentic document. You have indeed been reinstated as a member of the Trevelyan family," the woman replied in a composed and measured tone.
The mage's bewilderment swiftly transformed into bitterness. Her family had unceremoniously discarded her over a decade ago, choosing to ignore her existence ever since. It felt as though the old wound, which had scarred but never truly healed, was being reopened. The news unleashed a rush of resentment, hurt, and betrayal that still festered within her, despite the passing of all those years.
"By Andraste's ashes! The audacity of these people!" she began, uttering each word with a biting tone. "First, they endeavored to auction me off to the wealthiest suitor. When that plan failed, they allowed me to become an Initiate, but only so that I could restore their reputation after Uncle Roland's conversion to the Qun." She started to pace back and forth, the mark on her hand causing the burning sensation that was beginning to spread up her arm. "And when that strategy faltered, they discarded me. Cast me aside like an unwanted relic!" She halted, directing her gaze at Josephine, who regarded her with a composed countenance and a sympathetic expression. Miriam knew that the woman did not merit to witness such a vehement outpouring, yet she just couldn't help herself. "And now, after years of utter neglect, they reinstate me into the fold." The mage chuckled bitterly. "What a coincidence that this occurs just after you dispatch invitations to the nobility and spread the news of my imminent appointment as Inquisitor."
"The timing does seem to hint at ulterior motives behind their decision, but, Herald, you must also consider the benefits it will bring to the Inquisition," the Ambassador remarked.
"And what benefit might that be?" she inquired, a tinge of irritation seeping into her tone despite her attempts to rein in her foul mood.
"It would be considerably more advantageous," Josephine began, her voice as soft as the feather she held in her hand, "for us to navigate the Game and gain the favor of the nobility if our leader hailed from a noble lineage."
The mage's body tensed, a furrow appearing on her forehead. "That may be true, but you don't know my family like I do. The only reason they want me back is to exploit my status for their own gain".
"As long as their agenda doesn't interfere with our mission, I don't see the problem. In fact, I think it's a great opportunity to demonstrate the generosity of your spirit. Why don't you invite your family to your investiture as an Inquisitor?" the Ambassador suggested.
"I have no desire to see my parents, nor do I have it in my heart to forgive them," Miriam declared firmly, placing the scroll on the table with more force than necessary.
"I understand it might be difficult for you," Josephine began, her voice filled with empathy, "but as an Andrastian," she gestured to the mage's heart with a pious hand, "you should strive to show grace to those who have wronged you. Surely, you remember the words of Hessarian the Redeemed."
"I am the penitent sinner who shows compassion in the hope that compassion will be shown to him," Miriam whispered reverently.
It felt as though a frigid cascade had been poured upon her, cleansing away the anger and cooling the mark. While she couldn't forgive her family at present, she could certainly pity them. She could offer compassion to power-hungry egoists who would never know true love or friendship. If using her status could bring even a fraction of fulfillment to the void in their hearts, she was willing to permit that. This much she could muster. Taking a deep, steady breath, she spoke, "Pardon my earlier display, Josephine. You are right. However, I would appreciate it if you could extend the invitation yourself. I still..." she twitched slightly, "find the prospect of contacting my family difficult. Still, I assure you, their presence will not affect my conduct during the ceremony. You have my word."
The Antivan woman nodded and gave the mage a smile as radiant as her golden attire. "Fear not, I will take care of all the arrangements, Lady Trevelyan. May the Maker watch over you."
Miriam winced once more, the sound of her surname striking her like a blow, yet she mustered a brief and polite "And you, Ambassador" before taking her leave.
As she exited the Great Hall and descended the stairs to the courtyard, she caught sight of Hawke, Sebastian, and Fenris riding on horseback through the gate. It appeared that the Champion was finally setting out to scout the Southron Hills. Miriam observed for a moment as they moved further down the drawbridge before heading towards the Infirmary.
Approaching the ward, she spotted Lysette dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, vigorously practicing her swordplay against the dummies. Miriam couldn't help but be captivated by the sheer display of physical prowess and the finesse with which her guard executed each strike. Her sleeves were rolled up, revealing the muscular definition rippling beneath her skin. Lysette's determination seemed to permeate the air around her, her intensity was almost tangible.
Yet, amidst the sweat and exertion, there was a serene beauty in her focus, a dedication that elevated her actions beyond mere physical exercise. Miriam found herself unable to tear her eyes away. Lysette was a beautiful woman and a skilled warrior. It was truly a shame that she had fallen in love with a man who could never reciprocate her feelings.
After a while, noticing the mage standing at the edge of the field, Lysette halted her training. With a slight nod, she began walking towards Miriam. "Herald," she greeted, the corners of her mouth lifting, though the warmth didn't quite reach her eyes. It was evident the woman was still nursing a broken heart.
"Lysette," Miriam responded, "I was hoping to have a word with you. The news I've received from Josephine is quite astonishing."
Before her guard could reply, their conversation was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Ser Barris. He approached with a sharp salute to Miriam and then turned his attention to Lysette. "Recruit, the Vigil is scheduled to commence tomorrow at dawn. You are required to accompany me to the Templar quarters for the final preparations."
Lysette's expression shifted to surprise, her brows furrowing slightly at the sudden turn of events. "Already? But I thought I had more time," she murmured, her voice tinged with a hint of concern.
Sensing her friend's unease, Miriam stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on Lysette's arm. "Do not fret, my friend. You are prepared, you will prevail," she said softly, pulling the woman into a tight embrace.
"From your lips to the Bride's ears," her guard replied gratefully as she tenderly held Miriam with one arm while keeping the other at a deliberate distance owing to the unsheathed sword it firmly gripped. After a moment, Lysette withdrew, glanced briefly at Ser Barris, and with a nod, proceeded to follow the Templar toward the quarters.
As Lysette walked away, the weight of the impending task evident in her steps, Miriam clasped the amulet around her neck, closing her eyes in a silent prayer for her friend's success.
She had only managed to tend to a few patients in the infirmary when a messenger arrived, urgently summoning her to the War Room. Miriam quickly rinsed her hands, issued instructions to the other healers about managing in her absence, and hastened to the meeting. To her surprise, all the council members were already present. They exchanged greetings, yet the atmosphere was tense, and she suddenly felt a wave of nerves washing over her. Cassandra appeared grave. Cullen looked concerned and kept throwing her anxious glances. Josephine was nervously chewing on the tip of her quill, her brow furrowed, while Leliana remained as composed as ever.
"We were awaiting your arrival, Herald," the Spymaster announced in a measured tone. "I've received news from Ostwick. Just as we desired, the Carta has dealt with Mother Lucia."
"Blessed Andraste! That's marvelous news!" exclaimed Miriam, her excitement tinged with confusion as she surveyed the room. "But why do you all look so somber?"
"I told you this was a mis…" the Seeker began to murmur but was promptly interrupted by Cullen.
"Please, Cassandra, what's done is done. There's no sense in pointing fingers," he interposed.
"What is the meaning of this?" Miriam inquired, growing increasingly anxious.
"Here," said Josephine, passing a sheet of paper to the mage. "It's a copy of the announcement posted a few days ago on the Ostwick Chanter's Board."
With her hands trembling slightly, Miriam began to read.
Be it known to all faithful citizens of Ostwick, that a grievous and sorrowful event has befallen our sacred institution.
On the night past, a fierce and unrelenting fire did consume the very heart of our beloved Chantry, the Infirmary, where holy women toiled selflessly in the service of the Maker and His people. It is with heavy hearts and somber spirits that we must announce the loss of an esteemed Mother and several Sisters, who, through their unwavering devotion, sought to alleviate the suffering of the afflicted. Their selfless dedication and ultimate sacrifice shall be remembered forever.
A smile graced Miriam's lips as she read. At last, the accursed Mother Lucia and her accomplices had met their end. Death by flames might have been too noble a fate for all those sinners, but what mattered was that they would no longer torment the Kni...
Her heart stopped as her eyes fell on the next line.
Though we mourn not only the venerable women of the cloth, but all the retired Templars entrusted to their care. These noble warriors, who perished within the flames, now rest in the Maker's embrace.