10 Justinian – 2 August 9:29
Varric leaned against the bar at The Hanged Man, his ever-watchful eyes scanning the tavern’s lively crowd. The clinking of mugs, bursts of laughter, and heated murmurs filled the room. It was a normal night—until one of his more reliable contacts approached, slipping into the seat beside him with an ease that belied the weight of the information he carried.
“Evening, Tethras,” the contact began, nursing a drink Varric had silently ordered for him. “Thought you’d want to know—got something that might pique your interest.”
Varric arched a brow, leaning forward slightly. “You know me too well, Jarvik. What’ve you got?”
Jarvik leaned in, lowering his voice. “Charles Trevelyan, Bann of Ostwick. Arrived in Kirkwall last night, staying at the old Trevelyan estate in Hightown.”
That gave Varric pause. He tilted his head, his sharp mind already dissecting the implications. “Trevelyan? Isn’t that the manor that’s been gathering dust since Lady Cecile kicked the bucket? What’s the Bann of Ostwick doing in Kirkwall?”
Jarvik shrugged, clearly intrigued by the mystery himself. “That’s the thing. No one knows. Lady Cecile’s estate was never sold, just left to sit. And Trevelyan—he left his bannorn behind, no retainers or announcements. It’s odd, right? Bann like him doesn’t just up and leave his lands without a damn good reason.”
Varric hummed thoughtfully, his fingers drumming lightly against the bar. Nobles didn’t abandon their posts unless it was for something big—scandal, crisis, or desperation. His mind sifted through possibilities.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Not much. The place is cleaned up, though. Looks like they’re settling in for a stay, not just passing through. No pomp, no ceremony. Quiet as a mouse.” Jarvik downed his drink. “Figured you’d want to know. Always good to keep tabs on Hightown, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Varric said absently, his mind already running through the implications. He tossed a coin onto the bar, gesturing for Corff to get Jarvik another drink. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
As Jarvik melted back into the crowd, Varric turned the information over in his mind. The Trevelyan name stirred something faintly familiar, but nothing concrete. It was Ariana’s face that surfaced unbidden in his thoughts, and he frowned slightly. No… couldn’t be. If this Bann came here for her, why wouldn’t he send retainers? Why show up himself?
Still, it was a curious coincidence. Ariana had spoken often about her father during their conversations. A man who loved stargazing, history, and archery—a man she clearly adored. She had never mentioned his name, but Varric was no fool. Bann Charles Trevelyan’s sudden arrival in Kirkwall struck him as too convenient.
But why now?
Varric filed the information away, his gut telling him not to ignore it but to tread carefully. He had grown fond of the girl, and if this Bann was here for her, the situation could get complicated fast. Until he had more to go on, though, he decided to keep his suspicions to himself.
Lifting his mug, Varric leaned back, the chatter of the tavern washing over him as his mind worked. Kirkwall always has its surprises. Let’s see where this one leads.
~~~
The sun hung low over Kirkwall’s skyline, casting golden light on the bustling streets of Lowtown. Ariana walked briskly alongside Varric, her boots scuffing against the uneven cobblestones. A few passersby glanced her way, their expressions ranging from indifferent to mildly curious. She had grown used to the layered smells of the city—the tang of salt from the docks, the smoky undertone of distant foundries, and the mingling aromas of cooking fires and unwashed bodies. It was a far cry from the perfumed courtyards of her family’s estate, but she found she didn’t mind.
Varric led the way with his usual effortless confidence, greeting people with a nod or a word, exchanging smiles and barbs with the familiarity of a man who knew every inch of this city. Ariana kept close, her sharp eyes watching and learning. Over the past month, she’d begun to feel at home here, but she was still acutely aware of her inexperience.
“Here we are,” Varric said, stopping in front of a small shop with faded signage. He gestured toward the door. “Think you’re ready to handle this one on your own, pup?”
Ariana tilted her head, unsure. “What exactly am I handling?”
Varric chuckled, crossing his arms. “Simple delivery. Drop off the package, make sure you get the payment, and don’t let anyone hustle you.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she adjusted the satchel slung over her shoulder. “Seems straightforward enough.”
“Don’t let that fool you,” Varric said with a grin. “Nothing in Kirkwall is ever as simple as it seems. But I have faith in you, pup. Go on—I’ll be here if you need backup.”
Ariana squared her shoulders and stepped inside. The dimly lit shop smelled faintly of herbs and leather, its shelves lined with jars, trinkets, and bolts of faded fabric. The shopkeeper, a wiry man with a graying beard, looked up from his counter with a practiced wariness that melted slightly when his gaze landed on her.
“This is yours?” she asked, pulling the small parcel from her satchel and setting it on the counter.
The man nodded, his movements slow and deliberate. He opened the package and examined its contents—a small set of silver coins, polished to a mirror-like shine. After a moment, he nodded again and handed her a pouch of gold in exchange.
Ariana took the pouch and paused, feeling its weight in her hand. Her brow furrowed slightly as she shifted it, realizing it was too light. She glanced up, her gaze sharp, catching the shopkeeper’s eyes.
“This isn’t all of it,” she said evenly, her voice calm but firm.
The man blinked, feigning surprise, but when her steady expression didn’t falter, he relented with a muttered curse. Reaching beneath the counter, he produced another smaller pouch, tossing it onto the counter with a grunt.
Ariana gave him a slight nod, a knowing look in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, tucking both pouches into her satchel. She turned and walked out without another word, her steps even and confident.
Outside, Varric leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his grin widening as she approached. “How’d it go?”
She held up the pouches, a satisfied gleam in her eye. “He tried to short-change me, but I called him on it. He gave me the rest without too much fuss.”
Varric let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I knew you had it in you, pup. First lesson of Lowtown: everyone’s testing you. Glad to see you passed with flying colors.”
Ariana couldn’t help but smile as they walked back through the winding streets. Her heart still raced, but the small victory filled her with a growing sense of confidence. As Varric filled the silence with one of his many stories, she realized how much she had learned under his guidance—and how much she still had to learn.
“You’re getting the hang of this,” Varric remarked, his tone warm. “Not bad for a noble pup fresh out of her gilded cage.”
Ariana smirked, glancing his way. “Well, I’ve had a decent mentor.”
“Decent?” Varric echoed, mock offense coloring his tone. “I’m practically a legend. Don’t undersell me, pup.”
“Legend?” she shot back, arching a brow. “The kind they tell to scare kids into behaving, maybe.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Careful, pup. You keep this up, and you might hurt my feelings. A wounded dwarf is a sad sight to see.”
“Right. I’ll alert the Chantry,” she teased, her eyes glinting with humor. “I’m sure they’ve got a litany for hurt egos.”
Their banter carried on as they wove through Lowtown’s winding streets, drawing the occasional curious glance from passersby. Ariana found herself relaxing, the rhythm of their exchanges becoming as familiar as the cobbled roads beneath her feet. She’d started to understand the way Varric worked, his sharp humor masking genuine care, and she’d begun to give as good as she got.
As they turned a corner, her expression softened. “I suppose you’re right, though. I’ve learned a lot. More than I expected, really.”
“That’s the thing about this city,” Varric said, his grin widening. “Kirkwall has a way of teaching you lessons whether you want them or not. You’re adapting faster than most.”
“I don’t have much of a choice,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “But… it’s strange. I didn’t think I’d enjoy this life, but I do. At least, parts of it.”
He glanced at her sidelong. “Parts like running errands for me? Be careful, pup. If you start liking those, I’ll make you my full-time lackey.”
“You’ll have to start paying me a lot more,” she retorted, her smirk returning. “Besides, if anyone’s the lackey here, it’s you. I’ve seen the way you jump when Corff yells for another barrel of ale.”
Varric barked a laugh, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll give you that one. But don’t let it go to your head. Kirkwall doesn’t need another wiseass running around.”
“Too late,” she said with mock seriousness, folding her arms. “You’ve already corrupted me.”
As they reached the next destination, Varric paused, his expression softening slightly. “For what it’s worth, pup, you’re doing fine. More than fine. You’re smart, adaptable, and just stubborn enough to make it in this city. That’s more than I can say for most people.”
Her teasing demeanor faltered for a moment, replaced by something more vulnerable. “Thank you, Varric. For everything.”
“Don’t get sentimental on me,” he replied with a grin. “You’re paying me back in errands, remember?”
“And witty repartee,” she added, her smile returning.
“Can’t put a price on that,” he quipped, patting her shoulder as they continued on.
Ariana smiled. She was realizing she felt like she belonged—even if it was just in the fleeting, messy, chaotic rhythm of Kirkwall and the company of a certain sharp-tongued dwarf.
~~~
As time went on, Varric found himself assigning Ariana more tasks. It wasn’t just about delivering packages anymore. He had started testing her with small but meaningful errands that required a sharp mind and quick thinking.
Sometimes, he accompanied her, watching how she navigated Lowtown’s crowded streets, her instincts sharpening with every outing. Other times, he sent her out alone, observing from the shadows or waiting for her to report back. Each time, she impressed him more. She didn’t just do the job; she adapted to the situation, always looking for the smartest way to get things done.
One afternoon, he sent her to collect information from one of his informants, a cagey elf who worked as a dockhand. Varric trailed behind, keeping a low profile as she approached the man. Her tone was confident but disarming, her words calculated yet warm enough to put the elf at ease. She returned with exactly the details Varric needed, no more, no less.
“You’ve got a knack for this, pup,” he told her later, his voice laced with approval. “Not bad for someone who didn’t even know where Lowtown was two months ago.”
Ariana’s smile was small but genuine. “I’m learning from the best,” she said lightly, but the sincerity in her tone didn’t escape him.
Since hearing about Charles Trevelyan’s arrival, Varric had made sure to keep her out of Hightown, sticking to errands that kept her well within the maze of Lowtown’s streets. He needed more information before deciding what to do with that particular piece of news. For now, it was better she stayed far from prying eyes and the kind of people who might recognize her.
~~~
By the time Solace rolled around, Varric’s network had filled in more pieces of the puzzle regarding Charles Trevelyan, the elusive noble holed up in Hightown. The Bann of Ostwick was keeping a low profile, rarely leaving his inherited manor. Servants moved in and out regularly, delivering packages and carrying correspondence, but Charles himself remained a ghost—visible only in the rarest moments.
What caught Varric’s attention, though, was a whisper from one of his informants. A servant had overheard Charles asking another about news of a missing daughter. That one phrase was enough to solidify Varric’s suspicions.
It was her. It had to be.
The likelihood of another noble girl with Ariana’s background—running away and hiding in Kirkwall—was nearly nonexistent. Varric leaned back in his chair at The Hanged Man, his fingers absently drumming against the tabletop as he mulled over the information.
So, the Bann is looking for her. The question is: why?
Varric didn’t think Charles Trevelyan had come to Kirkwall with the intent to drag Ariana back by force. That didn’t match what the pup had told him about her father. If the man was truly here for that, why would he waste time with letters and questions instead of sending mercenaries to sweep the streets?
No, this felt different. The fact that Charles had come himself instead of sending retainers spoke volumes. It reeked of personal concern, not political obligation. A father looking for his daughter, not a Bann seeking to reclaim property, Varric thought grimly.
But knowing that didn’t mean he could drop his guard. The man might be desperate, but desperation could make even the kindest of people unpredictable. Varric had seen it too many times in Kirkwall to take any chances.
What made him hesitate most of all, though, was how much he cared for Ariana. She wasn’t just a runaway noble anymore; she was his pup. He’d taken her under his wing, watched her grow in confidence and skill, and seen the fire in her eyes when she talked about her newfound freedom.
The thought of her being dragged back into a fate she clearly despised filled him with a protective anger he hadn’t expected.
Varric sighed, downing the rest of his drink in one go. He’d need more information before deciding what to do. He wasn’t ready to tell Ariana about this yet—not without knowing Lord Trevelyan’s intentions. If the Bann was here to bring her back, Varric would fight tooth and nail to keep her out of that gilded cage.
He leaned forward, his expression hardening as he made his decision. “Alright, old man,” he muttered under his breath, imagining Charles Trevelyan sitting in that Hightown manor. “Let’s see what kind of father you really are.”
For now, he’d tread carefully. But one thing was certain: no one was taking his pup away. Not without a fight.
~~~
For the next couple of weeks, Varric allowed Ariana to operate more independently, not one task at a time, instead assigning her entire routes. He watched Ariana grow more confident in her role. Whether collecting information, delivering subtle messages, or running errands that required both discretion and charm, she was proving herself capable. He assigned people to shadow her when he couldn’t accompany her personally, not that she knew it. Ariana handled herself well, and the reports were always smooth—no trouble, no missteps. But Varric wasn’t the sort to take chances, not in Kirkwall and not without knowing who was looking for her.
Meanwhile, his eyes remained fixed on Hightown. The Trevelyan estate had become a subject of particular interest. His contacts confirmed what they had whispered before: Bann Charles Trevelyan had arrived alone, save for his personal guards and a handful of servants. There were no mercenaries, no sign of a grand scheme, and no indication that Charles intended to reclaim his daughter by force. The noble spent his days writing letters and rarely ventured beyond the walls of the long-abandoned manor.
Satisfied with his findings, Varric decided it was time to test the waters.
The evening had grown quiet by the time Ariana returned to The Hanged Man. Varric had been waiting for her, his suite lit by the soft glow of lanterns and the familiar clutter of maps and papers spread across the table. As she stepped in, he gestured for her to sit, a thoughtful look on his face.
“There’s something I thought you might find interesting, pup,” he began, his tone casual, though his sharp eyes betrayed his intent. “We’ve got a nobleman staying in Hightown this season. Odd timing, really. The manor he’s staying at had been empty for over a decade.”
Ariana tilted her head, her brow furrowing in curiosity. “Is it unusual to buy abandoned property?”
Varric chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “Not at all. People do it all the time. But here’s the kicker—it wasn’t sold. Turns out, the current occupant is an heir who’s come to claim it after all this time. That’s rare. Most heirs don’t bother unless there’s a reason to. And this noble? He hasn’t left the place much. Servants come and go, but he stays put. Keeps to himself.”
Her expression shifted, her intrigue evident. “So not attending any social events then? That does sound somewhat strange.”
“It gets stranger,” Varric continued, his gaze sharp as he leaned forward. “This particular noble left his bannorn unattended to come here. Now, as someone who’s been around nobles a time or two, let me tell you—that’s not normal. A man with lands and responsibilities doesn’t just up and leave without a good reason.”
Ariana’s posture stiffened, and Varric noticed the flicker of recognition in her eyes. Her hazel-green gaze, which he had come to realize shifted with her emotions, seemed darker now, like the mossy earth of a shadowed forest. Concern, longing, and unease danced across her face, and he knew she was starting to connect the dots.
He’d seen the way her eyes brightened, gleaming like polished jade when excitement took hold of her, or softened to the muted green of moss when her thoughts turned inward. Right now, they were unmistakably mossy—deep, pensive, and guarded.
“I… I assume you know which noble I mean?” Varric said, softening his tone.
“Charles Trevelyan,” she whispered, the name barely audible. Her breath caught as tears welled in her eyes. A small, hesitant smile appeared, only to falter as the weight of the revelation sank in.
Varric nodded, his voice gentler now. “From what I’ve heard, he’s been looking for someone. A daughter.”
Ariana’s hands trembled, and she quickly wiped at her eyes, her emotions a storm of relief, longing, and fear. “You said he hasn’t left the manor?” she asked, her voice shaky.
“That’s right,” Varric confirmed. “He’s stayed mostly indoors, writing letters and relying on his staff for errands. No sign of mercenaries or hired muscle. Just him and his personal guards.”
Ariana’s mind raced. Part of her ached to see her father, to hear his voice and feel the warmth of his presence. But the life she had built in Kirkwall—the freedom she had fought for—was fragile. Could she trust him not to take her back to the life she had escaped?
“I need to see him,” she said finally, her voice steady despite the tears brimming in her eyes. “But I can’t risk it if there’s any chance of being taken back. I won’t go back to Ostwick, Varric.”
Varric placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, pup. This’ll be on your terms. I’ll set it up, make sure you’ve got a way out if things go south. You’ll have nothing to worry about.”
Ariana exhaled a shaky breath, then, to Varric’s surprise, stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a sudden, heartfelt hug. “Thank you, Varric,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.
Varric froze for a brief moment, caught off guard, before letting out a soft laugh. “Alright, alright,” he said, awkwardly patting her back. “You’re lucky I’m a sucker for sentimental moments, pup.”
Pulling back, Ariana gave him a small, teary smile, her cheeks flushed. “Sorry,” she said quickly, brushing at her eyes. “I just… I wouldn’t even be here without you.”
He smirked, waving it off as if it were nothing. “Hey, what’re friends for? Now, get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll figure out how to handle this.”
She nodded, her gratitude still shining in her mossy-green eyes, before heading to her room. Varric watched her go, shaking his head with a grin. “She’s going to make me soft,” he muttered to himself.
Varric leaned back in his chair, his thoughts heavy. He had no doubt Charles Trevelyan’s intentions were genuine—he’d seen enough of the man’s movements to believe that. But Ariana’s life was her own now, and Varric would make damn sure it stayed that way.
“Don’t worry, pup,” he muttered to himself, a wry grin tugging at his lips. “You’re not going anywhere unless you want to.”
~~~
Throughout the morning, Varric set his network into motion with the precision of a master storyteller weaving his tale. Messages came and went, each one ensuring that every detail of Ariana’s meeting with her father would go smoothly. He mapped escape routes, memorized the Trevelyan household’s routines, and ensured that his people would be stationed nearby should things go sideways. It wasn’t just about making sure Ariana was safe; it was about giving her the chance to face this moment on her terms.
By midday, when Ariana returned from her errands, Varric noticed something was off. She carried out her tasks with her usual diligence, but her focus wasn’t as sharp. Her mind was elsewhere, her hazel-green eyes clouded with thoughts she hadn’t voiced.
“Alright, pup,” Varric began as she set down a stack of papers on the table. “Are you going to tell me what’s got you so distracted, or do I have to guess?”
Ariana glanced at him, startled, and then offered a sheepish smile. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, though the tension in her shoulders betrayed her.
Varric grinned, deciding a little teasing might lighten her mood. “Fine, huh? Should I start calling you Lady Trevelyan now? Or maybe just ‘My Lady’ to keep it simple?”
She shot him a mock glare, swatting his arm. “Stop it, Varric,” she muttered, though a small laugh escaped her.
“Ah, there’s the pup I know,” Varric said, leaning back with a satisfied grin.
By late afternoon, Varric’s plans were fully in place. His contacts had confirmed Charles Trevelyan’s evening routine: the Bann typically retired to his study around eight, alone but for his personal attendant. The household staff, briefed and cooperative, agreed to leave the servant’s entrance unlocked, and a few of Varric’s people were stationed nearby to ensure a clear escape if things went awry. Everything pointed to this being genuine. From what Varric could tell, Charles Trevelyan was a father searching for his daughter, not a nobleman laying a trap.
As the sun set, Varric and Ariana walked together through the well-lit streets of Hightown, the grandeur of the district a stark contrast to the shadows of Lowtown they usually called home. Ariana’s posture was tense, her hands gripping the edges of her cloak as her eyes darted toward the imposing estates.
“Relax, pup,” Varric said softly as they approached the Trevelyan manor. “You’ll be fine. He’s your father, not a dragon. Besides, I’m not going anywhere.”
They reached the servants’ entrance, where Varric stopped and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His usual grin was softer now, edged with something almost paternal.
“I’ll be right here,” he promised. “If anything feels off, you come straight back. Understood?”
Ariana nodded, swallowing hard. “Understood,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
She slipped inside, the quiet of the manor wrapping around her like a familiar, yet distant memory. The halls were both strange and comforting, the echoes of her upbringing mingling with the uncertainty of her present.
As she made her way to the study, her heart beat faster with each step. The longing to see her father, to hear his voice again, warred with the fear that he might try to take her back. But she needed to do this. She needed to know.
When she reached the study door, she paused, her hand hovering over the handle. Slowly, she pushed it open, the faint creak of the hinges breaking the silence.
Inside, Charles Trevelyan sat by the fire, a book in hand and a glass of amber liquid at his side. His once-pristine appearance was slightly disheveled, his face lined with worry. He looked older, weighed down, and yet seeing him brought a wave of bittersweet recognition.
The door creaked again as she stepped inside, and Charles looked up. His eyes widened, the book slipping from his hands as he stared at her. Relief washed over his features, followed by disbelief and a flood of emotion he couldn’t contain.
“Ariana?” he whispered, his voice thick, as if he dared not believe his eyes.
As soon as Charles realized it was truly her, he put down his drink, letting his book drop to the floor. The look on his face said everything Ariana needed to know: this wasn’t a trap. Her heart swelled with relief, and before she knew it, she had crossed the room, rushing into his arms. He rose from his chair just in time to catch her as she wrapped her arms around him, her head resting against his shoulder. They held each other tightly, as if trying to bridge the months they’d been apart.
Finally, Charles eased back, just enough to take in Ariana’s face, his eyes filled with questions and worry. “Are you alright?” he asked gently, his voice tinged with a mixture of relief and concern.
Ariana nodded, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “I’m fine, truly. I… I’ve made friends along the way.”
Charles’s brows lifted slightly, and he motioned for her to sit by the fire. “Tell me everything, Ari. I want to hear about these adventures of yours.”
She settled into the chair beside him and began recounting her journey, starting with her escape from Ostwick, finding a compassionate ship captain who had helped her, and how she’d met Varric in Kirkwall. Charles listened intently, his expression shifting between pride, admiration, and concern. It was as if he were hearing a tale of courage and defiance about a stranger, not his own daughter. When she finished, her voice softened, and she asked the question that had been burning in her heart.
“Do I… have to go back?” Her gaze met his, hopeful yet wary.
Charles let out a long sigh, his eyes clouding as he began to explain. He told her of the chaos her disappearance had caused—the fractures in the family and the fallout with the Duke and Duchess of Markham. Ariana listened, guilt tugging at her as he recounted the toll it had taken on him, the arguments with her mother, and the increasing pressure from the Deckens. She lowered her head, murmuring an apology, but Charles shook his head firmly.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Ariana,” he said, his voice steady but full of emotion. “Nothing. If anything, I should have done more to protect you from this fate.”
For a while, they spoke quietly, sharing pieces of the time they had missed in each other’s lives. But Ariana’s lingering question resurfaced, heavier this time. She looked up, her eyes full of both hope and fear. “Does this mean… I can stop hiding? That I could stay here in Kirkwall? Or even return to Ostwick someday?”
A shadow crossed Charles’s face. He took a deep breath before responding. “Ariana, you know I would never force you to do anything again. But… the Duke, Duchess, and your mother do not see things the same way. I ordered your mother to end the arrangement with the Deckens, but they refuse to let it go. They see your leaving as an insult they cannot ignore.” His voice hardened slightly. “The Duke of Markham has hired mercenaries to look for you. He’s been telling anyone who will listen that you abandoned your engagement. For now, you certainly can’t go back to Ostwick. And staying here in Kirkwall, may shield you for a time, but mercenaries would eventually search for you here.”
Ariana’s shoulders sagged slightly, understanding the risk in his words. Charles continued, “Perhaps if you stay away—at least until Frederick marries—then the Duke and Duchess will have no reason to pursue you anymore.”
At that, he remembered something and stood, walking to his desk. “Speaking of Frederick, he left this for you.” He handed her a sealed envelope, the familiar handwriting on the front bringing a bittersweet smile to her lips.
Slowly, she broke the seal and unfolded the letter. She read it carefully, her emotions shifting as Frederick’s words sank in:
Ariana,
I do not know where to begin, except to say I am sorry. Truly, deeply sorry. For not trusting you enough to share what was coming. For betraying the friendship that has always meant so much to me.
I was a coward, Ariana. I thought that by staying silent, by hoping things would work themselves out, I could avoid losing you entirely. Instead, I hurt you. I made you feel trapped in a way no friend ever should. That is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life.
You were right to leave. As much as it pains me to admit it, I understand. While I would have been happy with you—more than happy, truly—I know now that you could never feel the same. And that is not your fault. Feelings cannot be forced, and I should never have hoped that time or circumstance would change yours.
Still, I hope you find what you are looking for, Ariana. I hope you find someone who sees you for the remarkable person you are and who makes you happier than I ever could. You deserve a life free of cages, free to choose your own path and walk it as you see fit.
But I must also warn you. While I will not pursue you, and I will do my best to dissuade my parents, they are… determined. They see your departure as an insult—one they believe must be rectified. I fear they will not give up easily, and I urge you to stay far from Ostwick and Markham.
Please, Ariana, be careful. You are stronger and more capable than anyone I know, but the world is not always kind to those who defy it. Promise me you will stay safe.
Though we may never meet again, know that I will always care for you and wish for your happiness.
-Frederick
By the time she finished, tears glistened in her eyes, and a small, sad smile played on her lips. “If you ever see Frederick again,” she said softly, folding the letter carefully, “tell him I forgive him. I truly hope we see each other again someday.”
Charles nodded, a faint smile crossing his lips. They sat quietly for a moment, letting the weight of their conversation settle. Yet as they continued to talk, Charles’s pride in her shone through. His expression softened as he regarded her, the fierce determination and independence she had gained since she left Ostwick.
“Promise me you’ll write from time to time, Ari,” he said finally, his voice full of quiet concern. “Let me know that you’re safe.”
Ariana nodded, her expression serious. “I promise. My friend here in Kirkwall will make sure word reaches you.”
Charles seemed reassured, a touch of relief easing the tension in his face. “Then I’ll be content with that,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “To avoid suspicion, I’ll need to return to Ostwick soon. I’ve left the bannorn unattended long enough. But, Ariana… you’ve grown into someone far stronger than I ever gave you credit for. I know you’ll find your way.”
Ariana smiled, feeling her father’s pride bolster her resolve. “I’ll take your advice and move on from Kirkwall soon. But I’ll write as soon as I’m settled somewhere safe.”
As they said their goodbyes, her heart felt lighter. Though the path ahead was uncertain, she knew she carried her father’s support and his unwavering belief in her. It was all the reassurance she needed to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
~~~
As Ariana descended the stone steps of the Trevelyan manor, Varric straightened from where he leaned casually against the wall by the servants’ entrance. He had been keeping watch, just in case, his sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit street for any signs of trouble. When she appeared, he caught the faint smile on her lips and the brightness in her eyes—a stark contrast to the nervous, apprehensive girl who had gone inside.
“Was beginning to worry, pup,” he teased, pushing off the wall and striding toward her. “But, given the lack of shouting, screaming, or fleeing servants, I figured things went alright.”
Ariana laughed lightly, a sound Varric hadn’t heard from her in some time. “It went… better than I could have hoped,” she admitted, her voice carrying a warmth that hadn’t been there before.
Varric grinned, relieved. “Good to hear. Let’s get back to The Hanged Man before your noble instincts make you try to apologize to someone for being late.”
As they walked through the quiet streets of Hightown, Ariana’s step seemed lighter, and her demeanor more relaxed. Varric observed her carefully, his sharp eyes catching the subtle shifts in her expression. She was still carrying something heavy, though she wasn’t ready to share it yet. He decided not to press—Ariana had a way of opening up when she was ready, and pushing her never worked.
Back at The Hanged Man, Varric ordered two ales and led Ariana to their usual corner table. He leaned back in his chair as she recounted the evening. She spoke of her father’s relief at seeing her, the conversations they had shared, and his warnings about the dangers posed by the Duke and Duchess of Markham. As she spoke, Varric listened intently, the pieces of her story fitting neatly into the puzzle he’d been piecing together since the day they’d met.
But then, her tone shifted, and the flicker of sadness in her mossy-green eyes returned. “He doesn’t want me to go back,” she said softly, her hands resting on the worn wood of the table. “But he thinks… staying here might not be safe for much longer either.”
Varric raised a hand, cutting her off. “Hold up, pup. Did you just say the Duke and Duchess of Markham? The same Markham that’s practically the jewel of the Free Marches?” He leaned forward, his tone growing sharper. “You failed to mention that the people you pissed off weren’t just some minor nobles—they’re about as connected as it gets.”
Ariana winced slightly but nodded. “Yes, and they’re furious. My father said they’ve already hired mercenaries to look for me. They see my leaving as an insult they can’t ignore.”
Varric sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Great. So, we’re not just dealing with nobles nursing bruised egos; we’re dealing with nobles who have coin and clout to throw around. That means more resources, better contacts, and a whole lot harder to hide from.”
“I know,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands. “That’s why I need to leave Kirkwall. It’s too close to Ostwick, and my father thinks it’s only a matter of time before someone connects the dots.”
Varric sat back, his expression thoughtful. “He’s right about that. If they’re serious about finding you—and it sounds like they are—Kirkwall’s not going to be safe for much longer. The city’s got its secrets, but even secrets don’t stay buried forever when enough gold’s involved.”
Ariana frowned, her gaze dropping to the table. “Where could I even go?” she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “Where would they not find me?”
Varric rubbed his chin, considering his answer. “Ferelden,” he said finally. “It’s not so bad. Sure, it’s got a lot of mud and more mabari than anyone knows what to do with, but it’s a good place to disappear. Start with Lothering. Quiet little outpost village. I doubt anyone from the Free Marches would bother looking there.”
“Lothering?” Ariana repeated, her brow furrowing.
Varric nodded. “Yeah, it’s small, out of the way. Plenty of farmers, traders, and Chantry folk, but not much else. If it doesn’t suit you, you can move on to Denerim. It’s big enough to hide in, and no one there will know or care about some noble from Ostwick.”
Varric studied her for a moment, his usual smirk replaced by something more serious. “Alright, pup. But let’s make one thing clear: you’re not leaving without a solid plan. We’ll make sure you’ve got everything you need to stay ahead of these nobles and their hired goons. If they’re coming for you, we’ll make damn sure they don’t catch you.”
Ariana managed a small, grateful smile, though the sadness in her eyes remained. “Thanks, Varric.”
Varric leaned back, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Hey, don’t go getting sentimental on me now. You’re just going to Ferelden, not the Fade.”
Ariana chuckled, her spirits lifting despite the looming danger. For now, she had the beginning of a plan, a path forward, and someone she trusted at her side. It was enough.
~~~
The evening was calm, with the usual clamor of The Hanged Man muffled by the walls of Varric’s suite. Ariana lounged in a chair across from him, sipping a cup of watered-down wine while Varric polished the infamous crossbow resting across his lap.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” Ariana said, gesturing toward the crossbow. Her hazel-green eyes gleamed with curiosity. “It’s… unique. I’ve never seen anything like it. Where did you get it?”
Varric smirked without looking up, his fingers moving deftly over the well-worn wood and metal. “Ah, Bianca. She’s one of a kind, pup. You’ve got a good eye.”
“And?” Ariana prompted, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the story? How did you come by it?”
He leaned back, a roguish grin spreading across his face. “Well, since you asked… I won her in a game of Wicked Grace. Against Paragon Branka herself, no less.”
Ariana blinked, her expression incredulous. “A Paragon of the dwarves? Really?”
Varric nodded, his grin widening. “Oh, absolutely. Branka was visiting Kirkwall—incognito, of course. We had a few drinks, and one thing led to another. High stakes, a tense final round… and here she is.” He held Bianca up as if presenting evidence.
Ariana stared at him, deadpan. “That’s the story you’re going with?”
Varric chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Fine, fine. You caught me. The real story? She was a gift from a mysterious old beggar. Gave her to me in an alley one night, then vanished into thin air like some sort of divine messenger.”
Ariana crossed her arms, giving him a skeptical look. “Right. A divine messenger. In an alley. Try again.”
He sighed theatrically, scratching his chin as if in thought. “Alright, you win. I bought her off a crooked merchant in Lowtown. Came with the previous owner’s hand still wrapped around the trigger.”
That earned him a wide-eyed look of shock before Ariana shook her head, laughing despite herself. “How do you even come up with this nonsense?”
“Practice,” he shot back, his tone light. “But if you’re looking for the truth, you’ll have to keep looking. Bianca’s origins are one of those things I like to keep… flexible.”
Ariana tilted her head, studying him. “Fine. Don’t tell me. But what about her name? Bianca. That must mean something.”
At that, Varric’s grin faded into a softer, more guarded smile. His fingers stilled on the crossbow, his gaze dropping to the weapon as if seeing something far away. “Bianca…” he began, his voice quieter. “That name involves a girl and a promise.”
Ariana leaned forward, sensing the shift in his tone. “What kind of promise?”
He met her eyes, his expression unreadable but tinged with something deep and private. “It’s the one story I can’t tell, pup.”
She held his gaze for a moment, realizing that this wasn’t a joke or a diversion. This was a line she couldn’t cross. Respecting his silence, she nodded and leaned back. “Fair enough. Everyone’s allowed to keep a secret or two.”
“Glad you understand,” he replied, his grin returning, though softer than before. “Now, how about you tell me more about how you’re planning to use what I’ve taught you out there in Ferelden?”
As the conversation shifted, Ariana couldn’t help but glance at Bianca one more time, wondering about the story behind the weapon that Varric carried so closely. Whatever the truth, she knew it was something that mattered deeply to him—just as their friendship now mattered deeply to her.
~~~
Varric approached Ariana one morning, his expression a mix of satisfaction and bittersweet resolve. “Got a message from Berthold,” he announced. “He’ll be heading down to Ferelden after he picks up some goods from the docks. Sets sail the day after All Soul’s Day. He’s willing to give you passage to West Hill.”
Ariana felt a swirl of emotions—relief that the plan was coming together and a tinge of sadness knowing her time in Kirkwall was nearing its end. But it also meant she still had a few more weeks with Varric, and she was determined to make the most of them. She resolved to throw herself into her work, helping Varric wherever she could and preparing herself for the next step in her journey.
Over the following weeks, Ariana immersed herself in their shared routines. The news from Berthold had left her feeling both excited and anxious—anticipating the adventure ahead but dreading the inevitable goodbyes. Kirkwall had become more than just a place to hide; it had become a home. And leaving Varric behind felt like leaving behind part of herself.
Varric, ever the pragmatist with a hidden soft side, seemed to sense her conflicted feelings. He kept her busy with more challenging tasks, giving her opportunities to take the lead in negotiations or deliveries. Mornings often began with the two of them sitting in his suite at The Hanged Man. Varric, ever the storyteller, mapped out the day’s work with exaggerated flair, turning even mundane tasks into something exciting.
When they weren’t working, he made sure to share some of Kirkwall’s small treasures with her. He took her to a quiet overlook above the docks where the horizon stretched endlessly, ships bobbing like tiny toys in the harbor. He brought her to a tucked-away food stall in Lowtown that sold the best meat pies she’d ever tasted. It was as if he was giving her pieces of the city to carry with her when she left.
One afternoon, as Ariana wandered the bustling market on an errand, something caught her eye. A small stand of handmade trinkets displayed a cloth and leather bracelet with a silver plate engraved with the Visus constellation. Her breath caught. The sight of it brought her back to that Summerday night—the star that flickered, the decision that changed her life, and the path that had led her to this moment.
The bracelet was simple but meaningful, and as she turned it over in her hands, a thought struck her. Varric wasn’t one for frills—his style was practical, save for the necklace he always wore—but this was different. Small and unobtrusive, it could be tucked under his glove, a private reminder of their bond. Without hesitation, she bought it, her heart warm with the thought of giving it to him.
Later that evening, as they returned to The Hanged Man after another day of work, Ariana approached Varric, her hands clutching the bracelet. She hesitated briefly before holding it out to him.
“This is for you,” she said softly. Her voice carried an unexpected vulnerability as she explained, “This constellation—the Visus—it’s… special to me. The night I ran away, I saw a star in it flicker, like it was guiding me. Finding this now… it feels like it’s meant to be.”
For a moment, Varric’s usual playful demeanor gave way to something quieter, more reflective. His eyes flickered with an emotion he rarely let surface—pride, affection, and something bittersweet. He cleared his throat, slipping the bracelet under his glove. His grin returned, though softer this time. “Well, pup, you’re going to turn me into a sentimental old dwarf.” He held up his hand, wiggling his fingers. “Now I’ve got a little piece of you to keep me on the straight and narrow.”
Ariana smiled, feeling a surge of warmth and gratitude. In that small exchange, she knew that no matter where her path took her, Varric would always be a part of it. For now, though, she focused on savoring the time they had left.
As All Soul’s Day had approached, the reality of her departure became harder to ignore. Ariana found herself lingering over small tasks, savoring the routine she had built in Kirkwall. She cleaned her little room at The Hanged Man meticulously, packed and repacked her bag, and spent her evenings with Varric, soaking in every moment of his company.
Their bond had grown into something rare and profound, a friendship rooted in mutual respect and understanding. He was her mentor, her confidant, and in many ways, her family. Leaving him behind felt like leaving a piece of herself, but she knew it was necessary.
~~~
The next morning, Varric walked her down to the docks, where Berthold was waiting with his ship. As she reached for her coin pouch, Berthold held up a hand. “Not necessary,” he said with a warm smile.
Ariana smiled gratefully, and both she and Varric thanked him for his kindness. Just before she boarded, Varric pulled a small, wrapped package from his pouch and handed it to her.
“Open it,” he said with a grin, watching her intently.
Curious, Ariana unwrapped the package, revealing a simple leather choker with a pendant etched with the familiar pattern of the Visus constellation. Her breath caught as she traced the delicate lines of the constellation, its image perfectly capturing the starry guide that had led her here. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked up at Varric, a soft, grateful smile breaking through the emotion.
“Maybe this way,” Varric said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, “our journeys will always find a way to bring us back together.”
Ariana wrapped her arms around him, unable to find the right words. She’d miss him more than she ever expected, but having this pendant felt like carrying a piece of him with her, a quiet compass that would guide her wherever she went.
“Thank you, Varric,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She slipped the choker around her neck, fastening it with a reverent touch, feeling the pendant rest warmly against her skin.
Varric gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, his expression warm but steady. “Just remember to stay sharp, pup. And keep in touch. You’re family now.”
Ariana smiled, the warmth of his words settling over her like a blanket. “You’ve taught me more than you realize, Varric. I don’t think I’d even recognize myself without you.”
With one last, long hug, she stepped back, wiping away her tears. She thanked him once more and turned to board the ship, her fingers brushing the pendant as the boat pulled away. The necklace was a reminder of his guidance and friendship, filling her with the courage she needed for whatever lay ahead, knowing Varric—and the memories of Kirkwall—would always be with her.