3 Bloomingtide – 8 Justinian 9:29
Ariana sat on the deck, her arms wrapped loosely around her knees as the ship gently swayed beneath her. The sun blazed brightly above, its warmth cutting through the cool sea breeze, and the endless expanse of water stretched out before her, glinting like molten silver. The rhythm of the waves and the creaking of the ship’s timbers were soothing, lulling her into a rare moment of calm. She hadn’t slept the night before, her thoughts racing too fast to allow rest. But now, exhaustion tugged at her, though her nervous energy kept her upright.
This was her first time at sea, her first time leaving Ostwick entirely. The world ahead was unknown—terrifying and exhilarating all at once. Just a few hours into the journey, she had experienced things she’d only read about in books: the salty tang of the air, the way the ship danced over the waves, and the strange but comforting camaraderie among the sailors. Every moment felt like a chapter in an adventure she hadn’t expected to start so soon.
A shadow fell across her, and she glanced up to see Berthold, the ship’s captain, standing nearby. He leaned casually against the railing, his weathered face softened by a small, knowing smile.
“Kirkwall can be a dangerous place, my lady,” he said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, almost fatherly. “I hope someone’s waiting for you there.”
Ariana stiffened, her mind racing. Did he know who she was? Had she given herself away somehow? She turned to him, her face a mask of polite confusion.
“Not to worry,” Berthold assured her, raising a hand as if to dispel her fears. “Your secret’s safe with me. I’ve carried enough passengers over the years to recognize when someone’s running from something—or someone. I imagine whatever you’re leaving behind is worth braving the dangers ahead?”
Ariana hesitated, his words cutting closer to the truth than she was comfortable with. After a moment, she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… don’t know. It’s a life I don’t want. A cage.”
Berthold’s expression softened. “I did always think, for all the grumbling we common folk do about our lot in life, you nobles can have it worse sometimes. From what I see, your lives are often decided for you before you even take your first breath. Can’t say I’d trade places with you, even for all the coin in Thedas.”
Ariana blinked, surprised. “You wouldn’t?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not a chance. Life as a trader isn’t always easy, sure. The storms, the pirates, the stingy customers. But there’s nothing like the open sea, or the thrill of a good bargain. Meeting folks from all over—the good, the bad, and the downright strange. No one decides where I go or what I do. I can’t imagine giving that up.”
“What’s life as a trader like?” she asked, the innocence in her question betraying just how little she knew of the world beyond her gilded cage. She felt a flicker of genuine curiosity, trying to picture what a new life might look like.
Berthold’s face lit up as he launched into tales of his travels. “Oh, where to start? Dwarves are some of my favorite folk to trade with, though Maker knows they’ll haggle you down to the last copper. You’d think they were trying to save Orzammar itself with how fiercely they guard their coin.” He chuckled. “I remember one dwarf in particular—Branvar, from Kal-Sharok. Spent three hours arguing over the price of a single crate of ale, only to decide at the end that he wanted twice as much. Still, sharp as they come, those dwarves. Always good for a laugh once the deal’s struck.”
Ariana couldn’t help but smile at the mental image of a stubborn dwarf haggling Berthold into the ground. “And what about the sea? Do you ever get tired of it?”
“Never,” Berthold said with a wistful smile, leaning against the railing. “There’s a freedom out here you can’t find anywhere else. Sure, it’s not without its dangers—storms that’ll make you question every life choice, and pirates that’ll have you reaching for your sword before they even board. But every sunset out here is different, and every port holds a new story. There’s nothing like it.”
He glanced at her, his expression turning thoughtful. “Kirkwall, though—that’s a city unlike any other. Chaotic, dangerous, but alive in a way few places are. Should take us about three days to get there if the weather holds. I take it you’ve never been?”
Ariana shook her head. “No. I’ve read about it, though. They say it’s a city where people go to get lost.”
“That it is,” Berthold agreed, his gaze distant. “Some find opportunity, others find trouble. The question is, which one are you looking for?”
She didn’t answer immediately, her thoughts drifting to the unknown future waiting for her. Finally, she said, “I’m not sure yet. But I think I’ll find out soon enough.”
Berthold nodded, satisfied with her answer. “Well, you’ve got some time to think it over. In the meantime, get some rest. You look like you’ve been up all night.”
Ariana smiled faintly, watching as he moved off to oversee his crew. She leaned back against the railing, her gaze returning to the horizon. The sun was beginning to dip lower, casting the sea in shades of gold and crimson. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt the faintest hint of hope. The road—or rather, the sea—ahead was uncertain, but for now, that uncertainty meant freedom.
~~~
The soft rocking of the ship and the distant cries of gulls woke Ariana from a restless sleep. She blinked against the sunlight streaming through the small cabin’s porthole, momentarily disoriented. Then the events of the past day rushed back to her, and her stomach fluttered with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.
After dressing quickly, she made her way up to the deck. The morning air was warm and salty, the horizon stretching endlessly before her. The sea was a deep, vibrant blue, and the ship moved steadily through the gentle waves. The crew bustled about, adjusting sails and hauling ropes, their movements a practiced dance.
Berthold stood near the helm, overseeing the activity with a calm, steady presence. Ariana hesitated before approaching, unsure if she would be in the way, but her curiosity got the better of her. She had spent her life surrounded by books and lessons, yet nothing had prepared her for this—a life lived so freely, so far from the rigid structure of noble obligations.
“Good morning,” she said softly, stepping up beside him.
Berthold glanced down at her and smiled, his weathered face kind. “Morning, my lady,” he replied, his voice tinged with amusement. “You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep much,” she admitted, her gaze drifting over the deck. “I wanted to… learn more. About the ship, the crew, how everything works.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her eagerness. “Well, then,” he said, motioning to the bustling activity around them. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” Ariana said earnestly, her eyes bright with curiosity. “What are they doing? How does it all work? What types of jobs are there on a ship like this?”
Berthold chuckled, shaking his head. “Everything, she says. Alright, let’s start with the basics.” He gestured toward the crew hauling ropes at the bow. “Those men are adjusting the sails to catch the wind better. It’s all about balance—too much sail, and we’re at the mercy of the wind; too little, and we’re not going anywhere.”
He then pointed to a younger sailor scrubbing the deck. “Not the most glamorous job, but every ship needs someone to keep her clean. A filthy deck makes for a dangerous one.”
Ariana nodded, taking it all in. “And what about navigating? How do you know where we’re going?”
“Ah, now that’s my job,” Berthold said with a grin, tapping the helm affectionately. “Between Ostwick and Kirkwall, we don’t stray too far from shore. The coastline is our guide during the day. At night, the stars take over. A good captain knows both by heart.”
Her questions continued as they moved around the ship, Berthold patiently answering each one. He found her innocence both endearing and amusing. It was clear she had lived a sheltered life, her world confined to the walls of noble estates and the pages of books. Yet there was a spark in her, a hunger for knowledge and experience that reminded him of his younger self.
As they stopped near the rigging, Berthold crossed his arms and regarded her thoughtfully. “How old are you, anyway?” he asked, his tone casual but curious.
“Sixteen,” she replied without hesitation, glancing up at him. “Why?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Sixteen and running off to find your way in the world. Brave… or foolish. We’ll see which one soon enough.” He leaned back against the railing. “Do you have any skills? Anything useful out here in the real world?”
“I can ride a horse,” she said quickly, then paused. “And I can fight. My father taught me how to use daggers and a bow.”
Berthold tilted his head, intrigued. “That’s more than most nobles can say. Though I doubt you’ll find much use for horseback riding aboard a ship.” He smirked, his tone teasing but not unkind.
Ariana smiled faintly, acknowledging the truth in his words. “What about you?” she asked. “How did you become a trader?”
Berthold’s expression softened as he considered her question. “Wasn’t much of a choice, really. My father was a sailor, and his father before him. Grew up on the water, learned the trade as soon as I could hold a rope. Took over my own ship when I was barely older than you are now.”
“Do you ever regret it?” she asked, her voice quiet.
“Not for a second,” he replied firmly.
His words struck a chord in her, echoing her own desire for freedom. She didn’t say anything, but her expression must have given her away, because Berthold added, “Whatever you’re running from, my lady, I hope you find what you’re looking for. Kirkwall’s no easy place, but it’s a place to start.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the wind tugging at her hair and the salty air filling her lungs. Ariana felt a flicker of hope. She didn’t know what lay ahead, but at least now, she wasn’t alone.
~~~
The next morning, Ariana woke to the gentle sway of the ship, the rhythmic creaks of its timbers lulling her into a rare moment of calm. The exhaustion of the last few days had finally caught up with her, granting her a deep, dreamless sleep. As she stretched and rose, the smell of salt air and the faint cry of gulls greeted her, drawing her toward the deck.
Berthold was already there, standing at the helm, his hands steady on the wheel. He turned as she approached, his usual friendly grin lighting his weathered face. “Good morning. We should be in Kirkwall by nightfall.”
Ariana nodded, the nerves in her stomach tightening at the thought. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft as she leaned on the railing, gazing out over the endless expanse of blue.
Berthold joined her a moment later, gesturing out toward the horizon. “First time on the sea?”
“It is,” she admitted, smiling faintly. “I never realized how vast it was.”
He chuckled. “Aye, it can make you feel small, but that’s not always a bad thing. Keeps a person humble.”
As the ship cut through the calm waters, Berthold began to speak of the Free Marches, filling the air with stories of cities and ports, of bustling markets and treacherous waters. His voice carried the weight of years spent on the sea, and Ariana listened intently, eager to soak up every word.
“Kirkwall is… unique,” he said, hesitating slightly as though searching for the right word. “It’s an old place, built on dark roots—quite literally. The city’s a fortress in all but name, carved from quarries and foundries where slaves once toiled for the Tevinter Imperium. Its black stone walls stretch up for miles, visible even from far off, and its cliffs bear the scars of an ugly history.”
Ariana frowned slightly. “I’ve only read some stories about its history.”
“Aye,” Berthold said grimly. “Kirkwall’s past isn’t one it’s keen to forget. Those cliffs? They’re etched with carvings of the Old Gods—remnants of Tevinter’s rule. The Chantry’s been working for years to erase them, but the stone remembers.”
The weight of his words settled over her, and she glanced out at the horizon, wondering what kind of place she was sailing toward. Berthold continued, his tone lighter now as he offered practical advice about the city.
“Traders can be ruthless there,” he warned, “but you seem sharp enough to avoid the worst of it. Just remember—never show all your coin and keep your wits about you in Lowtown. It’s a dangerous place for anyone, especially a young girl traveling alone.”
“I’ll be careful,” Ariana assured him, grateful for his guidance. Despite her nerves, she felt a flicker of determination. Kirkwall might be a city of shadows, but it was also a place where people could disappear, start anew.
As the afternoon passed, Berthold shared more stories, regaling her with tales of stubborn dwarven merchants and cunning Rivaini sailors. His anecdotes painted a picture of a world far broader than she had ever imagined, and she found herself smiling, her spirits lifting with each passing hour.
When the sun began to dip toward the horizon, casting a golden glow over the water, Berthold offered her one final piece of advice. “When we reach port, you might want to try The Hanged Man in Lowtown. The proprietors are good folk—trustworthy, and they have a way of keeping trouble out. You look like you could use a few steady people around.”
Ariana smiled, her gratitude genuine. “Thank you, Berthold. You’ve been more help than I could have hoped for.”
Berthold chuckled, waving her thanks away. “You remind me of my niece—headstrong, with a good head on her shoulders. Can’t help but feel a bit responsible.”
Ariana met his gaze, sensing the sincerity in his words, and returned his smile. “Then I’m glad to have met you, Berthold. I hope to meet more people like you on my journey.”
He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Now that I think of it, if you do head to The Hanged Man, ask after a man named Varric Tethras. Dwarven fellow—good sort, and well-connected. If you’re looking to keep a low profile, he might just be able to help you.”
“Varric Tethras,” Ariana repeated, her eyes brightening. “I’ll remember that.”
As the ship sailed closer to Kirkwall, the city’s imposing outline began to emerge against the reddening sky. The towering black walls rose like sentinels from the cliffs, and the massive bronze statues of the Twins of Kirkwall flanked the channel leading to the city’s interior. The sight was both awe-inspiring and foreboding, a reminder of the power that had shaped this place and the darkness that lingered in its stones.
A chill ran through Ariana as she took in the crude carvings of the Old Gods, half-effaced by the Chantry’s efforts but still watching over those who entered. The weight of the city’s history pressed down on her, but she lifted her chin, determination flaring within her. Whatever awaited her in Kirkwall, she would face it head-on.
Berthold placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Remember what I told you, and trust your instincts. Kirkwall is a hard place, but I think you’re ready enough for it.”
Ariana nodded, gripping the railing as the ship passed between the Twins of Kirkwall. The city loomed ahead, its shadow stretching over the water like a dark promise. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for whatever lay beyond those black walls.
~~~
The ship docked with a groan of wood against stone, the salty air mingling with the earthy scent of the city’s docks. Ariana’s first impression of Kirkwall was its sheer scale—the black stone walls looming above her, casting deep shadows over the bustling port. The clang of iron, the shouts of dockworkers, and the distant hum of the city created a cacophony that was both overwhelming and exhilarating.
As Berthold oversaw the unloading of his cargo, he turned to Ariana with a small smile. “Well, this is it. Welcome to Kirkwall.”
Ariana returned his smile, feeling a mixture of gratitude and trepidation. “Thank you, Berthold. For everything,” she said sincerely. “Could I trouble you for one last favor? How do I get to The Hanged Man from here?”
Berthold chuckled, clearly pleased that she had taken his advice to heart. “A wise question, lass. Lowtown can chew you up and spit you out if you don’t know your way. Pay attention now,” he said, gesturing toward the labyrinthine streets that stretched beyond the docks. “You’ll want to follow the main road there”—he pointed—“but once you reach the stairs leading to Lowtown, keep your head down and your eyes forward. No eye contact. If anyone thinks you’re lost, they’ll try to take advantage. Act like you belong, and most folks will leave you be.”
Ariana nodded, her nerves tingling. “Got it. Anything else?”
“It’s getting dark,” Berthold added, his tone shifting to one of caution. “This time of day, the Docks can be dangerous. Watch your pack—pickpockets are quick here. And if you do get lost…” He hesitated. “Look for someone in Templar armor. They’re not all saints, but they’re more likely to help than anyone else. Assuming you’re not a mage, of course,” he added with a wink, lightening the mood.
Ariana laughed softly, though she couldn’t help but feel slight unease at his warning. “Thank you again, Berthold. Truly.”
He gave her a kind smile and clasped her shoulder briefly. “Take care, Ryss. And remember—trust your instincts.”
With that, Ariana turned and made her way into the city, clutching her pack tightly. The streets were as chaotic as Berthold had described, filled with shouting merchants, scurrying workers, and the occasional flash of steel glinting in the torchlight. She kept her head down, moving purposefully as she navigated the maze-like alleys leading to Lowtown.
After a few wrong turns and tense moments, Ariana finally reached the wide, weathered steps into Lowtown. The air grew heavier as she descended, the stone walls around her radiating heat and grime. The streets below were narrower, dirtier, and far more crowded than the Docks. Lowtown buzzed with life, but it was a chaotic, unwelcoming kind of life—hawkers shouting over one another, drunks stumbling out of taverns, and shadowy figures lurking in doorways.
She kept Berthold’s advice in mind, avoiding eye contact and moving with as much confidence as she could muster. Finally, she spotted a weathered wooden sign hanging above a heavy door—The Hanged Man. Relief washed over her as she pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The tavern was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of spilled ale and wood smoke. The hum of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter filled the room, giving it a rowdy but strangely welcoming atmosphere. Ariana scanned the room, unsure where to begin.
~~~
Varric Tethras leaned back in his chair, casually swirling the ale in his mug as his sharp eyes scanned the dimly lit room of The Hanged Man. The usual crowd filled the tavern—mercenaries nursing cheap drinks, traders boasting loudly, and the occasional cutpurse lurking in the shadows. But tonight, he was on the lookout for something—or rather, someone—different.
Berthold’s message had been vague: Dropped off a young lady in Kirkwall, in need of discretion and guidance. Thought of you, Varric. That was all the trader had sent, but it was enough to pique the dwarf’s curiosity.
When the door swung open and she stepped inside, Varric spotted her immediately. She didn’t blend in with the crowd. No, this one moved with a deliberate elegance that marked her as someone out of place. Her clothing, though practical, carried an understated refinement that was rare in Lowtown, and the way she carried herself—shoulders back, chin slightly raised—screamed noble upbringing. Varric smirked. Well, well, Berthold, you didn’t mention I’d be babysitting a noble pup.
She hesitated in the doorway, her gaze darting around the room before heading toward the bar. Varric didn’t move, simply watching as she approached the tavernkeep.
“I… I’d like something to eat, please,” she said, her voice steady but with a hint of uncertainty.
The tavernkeep raised an eyebrow, his tone brusque. “What’ll it be?”
“I… I’m not sure,” she replied, glancing around as if hoping for guidance.
Varric decided to intervene, his voice cutting across the tavern with practiced ease. “Corff, get the girl some bread and cheese from my stock.” Motioning to the tavernkeep.
The young woman turned toward him, her hazel-green eyes meeting his. There was a mixture of relief and wariness in her expression, but also a spark of curiosity. Good, Varric thought. She’s got some fire in her.
Corff, used to Varric’s antics, simply nodded and moved to fulfill the order. Varric waved her over. “Come on, pup. Join me at my table. Let’s talk.”
Ariana followed him, a small smile forming as realization dawned. “You must be Varric,” she said, the smile growing as she remembered Berthold’s advice. “Thank you. I suppose Berthold gave you some warning I would be here?”
Varric chuckled, motioning her to sit across from him. “Oh, I would have noticed you regardless, but yes, he may have put in a good word. Figured I’d be expecting someone, but I did not expect a noble pup like you.”
Ariana hesitated, her eyes dropping to the table. “It is a long story,” she began, unsure how much to disclose.
Varric waved his hand dismissively. “Trust me, everyone in this place has a story. You’ll have to get used to sharing bits of yours. If you do not, that is how they get you,” he said with a grin. “Just keep it simple enough to satisfy, or complicated enough to be interesting.”
She could not help but smile at his words, something about his presence putting her at ease. Berthold had told her she could trust him, and, though she had no reason to, she felt like she could. After a moment, she began to speak, telling him of her life in Ostwick, her family’s expectations, and her desire for freedom, though she kept certain details guarded.
Varric listened with rapt attention, only occasionally interjecting with a witty comment or a word of encouragement. His easygoing manner and knack for storytelling softened the weight of her confession, and for the first time in days, she felt a sense of relief in sharing her burden.
When she finally finished, Varric nodded thoughtfully. “Well, pup, I’ve heard worse reasons for running away,” he said, a wry smile on his lips. “For now, you’re safe here. Corff,” he called to the bartender, “prepare an extra room. Our guest will be staying with us for a while.”
Ariana looked at him, surprise evident in her eyes. “Thank you, Varric. I do not know how to repay your kindness.”
He gave her a shrug, his grin widening. “Consider it a favor to Berthold. Besides, Lowtown could always use one more pup with a good head on her shoulders. Stick around—I think you’ll find the city grows on you.”
She smiled, gratitude evident in her expression. “Well, then, thank you. I hope I don’t disappoint.”
Varric leaned forward, his grin turning mischievous. “Oh, I’m counting on you to keep things interesting. Welcome to Kirkwall. Stick close, and you might just survive the week.”
As the two shared a meal, the tension in Ariana’s chest began to ease.
~~~
The morning light filtered through the grime-streaked windows of The Hanged Man as Varric called Ariana over to his table, a mischievous grin on his face.
“Up and at ’em, pup. You’re coming with me today,” he announced, standing up and slinging a satchel over his shoulder.
Ariana looked at him, slightly surprised. “Is this… work?”
Varric chuckled. “You could call it that. Let’s just say I have a few errands to run, and it’s time you got a proper tour of the city. People will think twice about bothering you if they see you with me. Besides, you’ll learn the best way to get around Kirkwall without looking like a fresh target.”
As they made their way through Lowtown’s narrow, crowded streets, Ariana’s curiosity got the better of her. She glanced at Varric, noticing the effortless way he navigated, greeting people with a nod here, a word there, and, occasionally, a small exchange—a whispered word or a piece of parchment passed discreetly into his hand. He seemed to know everyone, and everyone seemed to respect him.
“So, Varric,” she ventured, “who exactly are you? What is it that you do?”
Varric’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Me? Oh, I’m just the merchant prince of Kirkwall, pup. Running businesses, collecting goods, delivering orders… all the usual things merchants do.”
Ariana’s brow rose, catching his playful tone. “Really? Because it looks like more than just ‘delivering goods’ from where I stand.”
He laughed, unfazed. “You know, you have the right instincts, I’ll give you that. Well, like any good merchant prince, I dabble here and there. Let’s call it a mix of business and… strategic information gathering.”
Throughout the day, Varric continued to share bits and pieces about himself, though she noticed he varied his answers—a blend of fact and flourish. She refrained from pressing him, but it became clear that his “business” was anything but typical. He collected information, delivered messages, and, occasionally, simply exchanged quiet nods with people in shadowed corners.
At one point, Varric led her into a quieter alley where the din of the market faded to a low murmur. A hooded figure leaned casually against a crumbling wall, their posture relaxed but their eyes sharp. Varric greeted the figure with a grin and a casual, “Morning, friend.”
Ariana stepped back, keeping to the shadows as Varric began speaking in hushed tones. She couldn’t make out most of their conversation, but a few words floated to her ears: “shipment,” “Deep Roads,” and “payment due.” The hooded figure handed Varric a small, sealed pouch, which he pocketed without a second glance. They parted with a nod, the figure disappearing into the crowd as if they’d never been there.
When Varric rejoined her, Ariana crossed her arms, her brow furrowed. “Strategic information gathering, huh?”
“Like I said,” Varric replied with a wink, “a merchant prince’s work is never done.”
As the day wore on, Varric continued to weave through Lowtown, stopping here and there to chat with merchants, exchange coin, or collect small parcels. Each interaction seemed to tell a story, and Ariana found herself both fascinated and wary of the threads he was weaving.
Between errands, Varric filled the time with stories about the city.
“Kirkwall’s not just a city,” he explained as they paused at a bustling market stall. “It’s a chessboard. Every alley, every corner has its players—some pawns, some queens, and a hell of a lot of rooks just waiting to take you down if you’re not careful.”
He gestured to the towering black walls that loomed over the district. “These walls? They’ve seen centuries of blood, sweat, and tears. Slaves built this city, you know. That kind of history doesn’t just go away. It soaks into the stones, leaves its mark.”
Ariana listened intently, the weight of his words settling over her. “And you? Where do you fit in this… chessboard?”
Varric smirked. “Oh, I’m just a humble storyteller, spinning tales and keeping my ear to the ground. Nothing more, nothing less.”
By the time they returned to The Hanged Man, Ariana felt both exhausted and invigorated. The day had given her a glimpse of Kirkwall’s complexity, its dangers and its opportunities. She’d also seen a glimpse of Varric’s world, a world where information was currency and trust was earned carefully. For now, she decided she would work for him, learn what she could, and save some coin for her future journey.
Varric clapped her on the back as they entered the tavern. “Not bad for your first day, pup. You might just survive this city yet.”
Ariana smiled, her confidence bolstered by his words. She had a long way to go, but she felt like she might be able to carve out a place for herself in this chaotic, unpredictable world.
~~~
As the days passed, Varric found himself increasingly impressed by the determination of his new charge. More than once, he had stumbled upon her training in the quiet courtyard near The Hanged Man. She moved with the deliberate precision of someone who knew what they were doing but was still rough around the edges. Her strikes were sharp, her dodges nimble, and her footwork steady, but there was something about the rhythm of her movements—something hesitant, almost careful.
This morning was no different. Standing in the shadow of an old stone wall, he watched from a distance as Ariana worked through a sequence of strikes and parries with her daggers. Her breathing was steady, her brow furrowed in concentration. She repeated the sequence, adjusting her form slightly each time, muttering under her breath when she wasn’t satisfied. Varric chuckled quietly, shaking his head. “A perfectionist, too,” he murmured.
Varric leaned against the wall, Bianca resting on his shoulder, as a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. She was good—better than most street thugs in Lowtown—but there was a finesse she hadn’t quite mastered yet. Still, for someone her age, her instincts were strong. Stronger than he’d expected.
“You know,” he called out, breaking the quiet, “you’ve got decent moves, but you telegraph your strikes a little too much.”
Ariana froze mid-swing, startled by the interruption. She turned to see him leaning casually, his grin as infuriating as ever. “You’ve been watching me?” she asked, a mix of annoyance and embarrassment coloring her tone.
“Not the first time, pup,” he admitted with a shrug. “You’re consistent, I’ll give you that.”
Ariana sighed, lowering her daggers. “Well, don’t hold back then. Tell me what I’m doing wrong.”
Varric chuckled, strolling toward her. “It’s not so much wrong as it is… careful. Controlled. Let me guess—you’ve only ever sparred with someone who wasn’t trying to take your head off.”
She tilted her head, her hazel-green eyes narrowing slightly. “My father taught me,” she said, a hint of pride in her voice. “He’s a skilled duelist and an excellent archer. But… I guess our sparring sessions weren’t exactly brutal.”
“Figures,” Varric said, nodding. “A father’s sparring sessions are more about teaching discipline than testing limits. You’ve got the basics down, and it shows. But if you’re up against someone who doesn’t follow the rules, you’re going to need to get a little meaner.”
Ariana smirked faintly, crossing her arms. “And you’re offering to teach me how to fight dirty, I assume?”
“I’m offering to teach you how to fight smart,” he corrected, his grin widening. “You’ve got instincts, pup. And you’ve got talent. But there’s a difference between surviving a fight and winning one.”
She considered his words, her gaze drifting back to her daggers. “Alright,” she said finally. “Show me what you mean.”
Varric raised an eyebrow, amused by her willingness. “Lesson one: never let anyone get close enough to grab you. You’ve got daggers—use your reach. Lesson two…” He stepped closer, leaning in conspiratorially. “The next time someone underestimates you, make them regret it.”
Her smile grew, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. She hadn’t just run away to survive—she had run to find herself. And maybe, with Varric’s help, she could achieve that.
~~~
Varric had always been a good judge of character, and something about Ariana made him think she could handle herself—or at least learn to. Over the next several weeks, he made a habit of bringing her along as he went about his business in Kirkwall. At first, she followed quietly, her wide eyes taking in the chaos of Lowtown, the crowded markets, and the labyrinthine alleys. But as the days passed, she began to find her footing.
Ariana shadowed Varric through the bustling streets, her steps quick and deliberate as she struggled to keep pace with his relaxed but efficient stride. He moved like he owned the place, which, in many ways, he did. Everywhere they went, people greeted him. Ariana stayed close, her eyes darting around as she tried to take in the unfamiliar sights and sounds without looking too much like a lost pup.
“Rule number one,” Varric said as they turned a corner into a dimly lit alley. “Always look like you belong, even if you don’t. People here can smell fear—or wealth. Either one makes you a target.”
“I don’t feel like I belong,” Ariana admitted, her voice low.
“Fake it,” Varric said with a grin, glancing over his shoulder at her. “You’re already doing better than most nobles would. And besides, you’re with me. That helps.”
As they moved deeper into Lowtown, he handed her a small, sealed letter. “Take this to the smith on the next street over—look for a shop with a green awning. Hand it to the old dwarf there and wait for his reply.”
Ariana hesitated. “You’re not coming with me?”
Varric shook his head. “Consider it a test, pup. Let’s see if you can navigate on your own. Just remember—head up, shoulders back, and keep your eyes forward. You’re not lost; you’re on a mission.”
She nodded, clutching the letter tightly as she set off. The streets were crowded, and the noise was overwhelming—shouting merchants, clanging hammers, the hum of conversations in a dozen different languages. But she followed Varric’s advice, keeping her stride steady and purposeful. When she found the shop, a grizzled dwarf with a thick beard and an appraising gaze greeted her.
“You’re the one Varric sent?” he asked, his tone gruff but not unkind.
“Yes,” Ariana replied, handing him the letter.
The dwarf took it, his eyes scanning her briefly before breaking the seal. After reading the contents, he nodded and handed her a small package wrapped in rough burlap. “Give him this and tell him the usual price.”
Ariana tucked the package into her satchel and made her way back to Varric, her heart pounding with the thrill of having completed her first task alone.
“Well?” he asked when she returned, raising an eyebrow.
“Here,” she said, handing him the package. “The usual price.”
Varric grinned. “Not bad, pup. Not bad at all.”
~~~
Within a month, Ariana had started to feel more at home in Kirkwall. The city’s gritty streets and towering stone walls no longer felt as suffocating, though they still carried a weight of history and hardship she was only beginning to understand. The Lowtown air was thick with the scent of damp stone and cooking fires, the alleys alive with the hum of countless lives overlapping in the chaos of survival. It was a far cry from the manicured gardens and polished halls of her family’s estate, but she found a strange comfort in the unpredictability of it all.
She still missed her father terribly. Nights spent stargazing or afternoons lost in conversation with him about history or swordplay felt like a distant dream, one she feared she’d never return to. But in the quiet moments, when the ache of homesickness faded, she found herself smiling more. Varric’s sharp wit and unshakable confidence were infectious, and she often found herself laughing at his jokes, even when they were at her expense.
Her room at The Hanged Man was small and plain, but it was hers, and for the first time in her life, she felt truly free. The chipped walls and creaky floorboards bore no resemblance to the opulence of her childhood, but the simplicity of it all gave her a sense of ownership over her life that she had never known. She didn’t need to worry about perfect posture, proper diction, or embroidered gowns—no one cared here. And for that, she was grateful.
Varric, for his part, watched her progress with a mix of amusement and pride. She was still green, still learning, but she was adapting—and fast. She picked up on the city’s unspoken rules with surprising ease, learning to navigate Lowtown’s winding streets and forge her own path among its denizens. Varric wouldn’t admit it to her, but he had grown fond of the pup. She reminded him of himself, in a way—scrappy and determined, with more grit than sense sometimes. It made him want to keep her close, to teach her how to survive Kirkwall’s cruelty without losing herself in it.
As they walked back to the Hanged Man one night, Varric looked over to her and said “Don’t get too comfortable,” he warned, his tone light but tinged with seriousness. “Kirkwall has a way of breaking people, both literally and figuratively”
Ariana smiled, raising her mug in a mock toast. “Good thing I have you then,” she replied, her voice filled with playful confidence.
Varric rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his grin. “Don’t get cocky, pup. You’re still a long way from being dangerous.”
She laughed, the sound genuine and bright. “I know. I’ve learned more in the past month than I ever did in years of etiquette lessons.”
Varric chuckled, raising his own mug. “Now that’s a low bar,” he teased. “But I’ll give you this—you’ve got potential. And potential, in this city, is worth more than coin if you know how to use it.”
Ariana’s expression softened, and she nodded thoughtfully. “I’m starting to see that. And… thank you, Varric. For everything. I know I haven’t said it much, but you’ve made this bearable.”
Varric waved her gratitude away with a dismissive hand, though there was a hint of warmth in his eyes. “Don’t mention it, pup. Just try not to get yourself killed. I’m not exactly running a charity here.”
She grinned, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. For all the city’s hardships, for all its dangers and shadows, she felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time—hope. And as the night wore on, the sound of laughter and clinking mugs filling the tavern, she began to believe that Kirkwall might just be a place where she could rebuild herself, piece by piece.
~~~
The firelight danced across Ariana’s face as she sat in Varric’s suite at the Hanged Man, her posture relaxed but her eyes distant. Varric leaned back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, his sharp gaze never leaving her. She’d been unusually quiet tonight, and that alone piqued his curiosity. Pup wasn’t the type to sulk, which meant something was weighing on her.
“It was always one or the other,” she said suddenly, her voice low but steady. “Join the Chantry or marry well. No room for much else.”
Varric raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Let me guess—neither option screamed ‘freedom.’”
Ariana huffed a quiet laugh, the sound laced with bitterness. “Not even close. My father understood, though. He taught me things—things that weren’t expected of a noblewoman.”
Varric watched her closely, noting the flicker of warmth in her eyes as she spoke of her father. He’d heard variations of this story before—noble girl, too smart or stubborn to fit her gilded cage. But there was something different about Ariana. She wasn’t just rebelling for rebellion’s sake. She was searching for something.
“Like wielding a bow instead of embroidery?” he offered, smirking.
She nodded, her expression softening as she leaned forward slightly. “Exactly. History, dueling, stargazing. He encouraged my curiosity, even when it annoyed my mother.”
Varric chuckled, already piecing together the dynamic. “And I bet she wanted you quoting the Chant and perfecting your curtsy.”
Ariana snorted, and Varric felt a flicker of satisfaction at drawing out that sound. “You’ve met women like her.”
“Plenty,” he replied easily. “They’d love Hightown. Polished, pious, and perpetually poised.”
Her smile faded slightly, and Varric noticed the tension creeping back into her shoulders. “She never understood me, or why I couldn’t just… fit the mold. For her, the Chantry was an ideal. For me, it was just another imperfect institution.”
Varric hummed thoughtfully, swirling his drink again as he mulled over her words. She had the kind of insight that came from looking past the pretty façade of things—a rare quality, especially in someone her age. It explained a lot: her defiance, her independence, the sharp edge to her humor. She wasn’t just running from something; she was running toward something better.
“So, you ran,” he said, his tone casual but laced with understanding.
“I had to,” she said simply, her gaze steady. “I couldn’t live a life that wasn’t mine.”
Varric leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, pup, sounds like you’ve been fighting battles long before you got here.”
Ariana’s lips curved into a faint smile, and for a moment, the tension between them eased. “Maybe. But I have a feeling Kirkwall’s battles will be different.”
He chuckled, the sound low and steady. “Stick with me, and you’ll do just fine. This city doesn’t play fair, but something tells me you don’t fold easy.”
As she smiled back, Varric felt a spark of pride—not in her decision to run, but in the person she was becoming. There was steel in her, forged by her past but tempered by her curiosity and kindness. She reminded him of someone who’d been knocked down but always got back up, stronger each time. And Maker knew, Kirkwall needed people like that.