Chapter 1—Aftermath
It all started the night after Alistair was named successor to the throne. Miriam had given up everything to put him there; she'd greased the palms of half of the lands meet, earnestly working her way up to the trust of the other half. She killed Loghain and imprisoned the treacherous Arnora, and had finally placed the crown on Alistair's head with her own hands, and helped him make his speech to the Landsmeet.
She sat with the entire team around her, talking about the successes of the day, and of the plans for the next few days, when Alistair opened the door and walked in, a grave look on his face.
"Miriam, we need to talk. About us."
Miriam tried to talk him out of it, pleading with him with love and tears in her eyes, and although it was obvious that his own words hurt him beyond measure, when he turned and left the room, he was no longer with her; he could no longer allow himself to be.
"It is my duty, Miriam. I am so sorry, but it is my duty."
Miriam sat there, in front of all of her companions, trembling. As the door shut the room was completely silent, and they could all hear the crystalline sound of her heart breaking. It was Zevran who had reached over silently and placed a hand on her shoulder, cautiously looking at her, not daring to speak.
She stood, wordlessly, and left the room, and was not seen again by anyone, until three nights later, at the camp.
The arch-demon was slain exactly a week after that.
Miriam had walked around the hall after Alistair's coronation, speaking to her companions in turn. After saying her final farewells she left the castle with two of her companions and her dog, and disappeared from Ferelden entirely.
Rumors circulated around the statue erected in her honor at the heart of Denerim; gossips stood and glanced up at the stone likeness of her and felt her eyes upon them, but nobody knew what had become of the elfin Grey Warden who had saved everyone.
Alistair was a good king, and he was kind to his people. He married Arnora, despite her past attempts to betray Miriam. He did not love her, but the people did, and she was a smart woman, who knew what she was doing; he would often go on trips, and he knew he could leave her in charge of the castle while he was away.
As the months passed, Alistair left the castle more often. He made visits to surrounding nations, Grey Warden bases, the Circle Tower, Orzammar, and sometimes the Dalish encampments. The more time passed, however, the more he'd leave for no reason at all; he'd take hunting trips or just ride around Ferelden, taking little more than a small ensemble of guards with him.
Even when he wasn't doing it consciously, he was hoping to find her again. Her smile, her laugh, her body; every little thing about her plagued his mind constantly. He still loved her. There was no denying it. When he made love to his wife, he could only think of making love to her. When he looked at his sword, he saw her reflection. He'd see her in crowds. Every elf he glanced at turned into Miriam.
So he searched. Even when he'd given up hope of finding her, he traveled instinctively, looking. Always looking.
This time it was a hunting trip. He took with him a group of four guards, Wynne, his closest advisor, and Oghren, who had taken over as General of Ferelden's royal armies since Miriam disappeared. He kissed Arnora goodbye on the cheek, not looking at her. She smiled and waved him off, her hand clutching her stomach; she was swollen with child.
They traveled southwest, heading down to Ostagar. Alistair planned to stop there and pay his respects to Duncan and Cailain, and the others who had fallen there, before going into the wilds to hunt darkspawn and other beasts.
The traveling was slow; it was late winter, and although it had warmed up in recent days, on the second morning of travel they found the land covered in a thin sheet of beautiful white snow.
They reached Ostagar the next day. The snow hadn't melted, but they found their way through the ruins of Ostagar with little problem. Alistair stepped away from his group for a bit, kneeling down where the king's camp had once stood; the last place he had ever seen Duncan. The first place he had ever seen Miriam.
He felt tears well up in his eyes; the only two people he'd ever loved, aside from Eamon, were lost; it was almost a year since he'd seen Miriam, nearly two since Duncan passed. He did not want the others to see him crying, however; he knew that he must keep his kingly image up. He looked away, eyes down, but instead of letting the flawless snow blur, his eyes alighted on a disturbed area nearby. He stood up and examined it carefully. Someone else had been here; there were clear boot prints leading to the edge of the ruin, and an area on the ancient stone railing where someone had cleared the snow, presumably to lean on it while they gazed over the valley of Ostagar's battle. Alistair immediately called his group over.
"What do you think of this? There should be nobody here, and it can't be a scavenger. This place is under guard at all times, right?" He demanded.
"It is curious indeed. Could it be a Chasind? The wilds are so close…they could have snuck in." Wynne proposed, curiously examining the prints.
"No, they're careful never to leave any sign of where they've been. They use special markers to cover their trails; I've seen them before." A possibility then entered his mind that chilled him to the bone.
Could…could it be…Morrigan? She used to live so close…could she be here with…with that child? He prayed it was not so; he never wanted to see her again, as per the promise she made when…it…was conceived.
Oghren spat, and grunted.
"We'll just ask the guardsmen if they've permitted anyone in lately. If they didn't…we could always just follow them and find out who it was." Alistair nodded.
"Good idea. They're camped just down the way."
They all marched down to the guards' post; A group of tents for about twenty men, at the base of a huge statue dedicated to everyone who had dies at Ostagar as a result of the Blight and Loghain's treachery.
"Welcome, travelers! Are you here for—" A guard began, but another quickly cut him off, stepping in front of him to address the group.
"Please, shut up you bumbling idiot! Can't you see these are no regular travelers? This is King Alistair! Ten thousand apologies for him, you majesty; he simply did not recognize you. Welcome back to Ostagar. What can I help you with?" Alistair smiled, chuckling.
"Please, it's fine." The guards bowed. "Can you tell me if there have been any permitted visitors of late? I have seen boot-prints in the snow around the ruins, but they are not the guardsmen's plate boots' prints."
"Oh, err…No, your highness. The only visitor of late has been you milord. Anyone else we would have known about; we have men on duty at all hours."
"Thank you. I appreciate it; keep your guard up." Alistair replied, and the two guardsmen saluted and walked off. Oghren scoffed.
"Those two nug-sniffers wouldn't know an intruder if they were standing on top of them! Looks like we're off on a man-hunt now." Wynne nodded.
"If going after this…intruder is what you wish, I'll have the men bring around the horses." Alistair nodded, and walked back to the prints, following their path back into the wilds, and pondering who was waiting at the end of them.