Dragon Age: Light of the Maker

08. THE LONELY WORM-ROADS

CHAPTER VIII: THE LONELY WORM-ROADS
☼ QUEEN MIRYAM ☼
"Great heroes beyond counting raised
Oak and iron 'gainst chains of north-men
And walked the lonely worm-roads evermore.
Mighty of arm and warmest of heart,
Rendered to dust. Bitter is sorrow,
Ate raw and often, poison that weakens and does not kill."
- Andraste 1:2

Miryam woke to the door being burst open, the wailing of two insolent children, and the hollering of her disgruntled brother. Her eyelids fluttered open, finding Florian standing red with anger, holding Eilonwy in one arm and Fritz in the other. He stood over Miryam, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Would you be so inclined as to explain to me why I woke up with these two little shite-heads digging through my things?" he demanded.

Miryam sat up, silver curls spilling over her shoulder. Lys followed suit, crawling out of the bed with a sigh to retrieve her children. "What did I tell you two about wandering off into trouble before breakfast?" she grumbled, ushering them out of Florian's grasp and onto the bed.

Alistair snorted as he jolted awake. "Whozzat - oh. Miri. And... oh, dear Maker, please tell me that's not who I think it is."

"In all his glory," Miryam muttered as she scrambled her way around Lys and the children to get out of the bed.

"Oh, like you're some hotshot now," Florian shot back at Alistair. "I don't know why all of you react to me like I was some tantrum-throwing insubordinate child. I wasn't even that bad."

"Yes, you were," the three said in unison.

Miryam ran her hands through her hair, recovering from a night's rest. "Come with me, Florian. We should talk." She sent a small smile over her shoulder at Lys, a subtle acknowledgment of all she had done for her the night prior, before striding out of the room, followed by her younger brother. She pretended she didn't notice him stick his tongue out at the children.

Hair disheveled, gown wrinkled, cheeks puffy with morning gloom, she led him through the corridors to the room she had been learning to adjust to having to herself over the past week or so. There were many things in this new life that were unbearable without Cailan, but she'd found the smallest things he'd contributed to were the worst to contend to. An empty chair at the dinner table, an empty left side of the bed, only one cup of tea on the breakfast platter brought in by the servants every morn.

Florian glanced around the room they entered, sizing it up.

"So this is where you've been camped up in all these years," he observed, picking up one of the trinkets on the vanity to get a closer look. It was a dragon statuette, crafted from gold, a gift from Leliana for Miryam's twenty-seventh name-day. That'd been three years ago, now. Leliana knew Miryam held no strong connotation with her family, but the red-headed bard had still found it fitting to gift her with the Mottiere's sigil. Florian set the statuette back down and nodded his head. "Not bad. Doesn't compare to Salmont's palace, though."

Salmont had been Miryam's girlhood home. Raised by two prestigious, masterfully cunning Orlesian nobles, the youngest daughter of four, her upbringing had been anything but modest. Duke Estienne Mottiere and Duchess Coralie Mottiere were the rulers of Salmont, a piece of Orlais crafted just for them and their long line of lords and ladies. When Miryam displayed signs of being a mage, her family had tried to hide it for a time - until a freak accident ending in the curtains catching fire and a servant quitting her job on the spot landed Miryam in the White Spire.

There had been more to it, of course. Her eldest sister, Genevieve, was quite the player in the Grand Game.

Miryam tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and took a seat in one of the cushioned recliners. She leaned back, stringing her arm lazily across the arm of the chair. "How is everyone?" she asked, more out of obligation than genuine concern. Her relationship with her family was anything but loving, which was often the case when it came to Orlesian families.