2 August – 12 August 9:29
The journey to West Hill would take two to three days, depending on the weather, and Ariana once again found herself enjoying Berthold’s company. The gentle sway of the ship and the endless expanse of sea provided a calming backdrop as they talked. She shared stories of her time in Kirkwall, speaking of her friendship with Varric and the sense of independence she had started to find there. As before, she kept certain details vague, mindful of Varric’s penchant for discretion.
Berthold, in turn, regaled her with tales of his recent voyages. “You wouldn’t believe it,” he said, leaning casually against the ship’s railing, his eyes on the horizon. “Three months ago, I docked in Cumberland, and there was this merchant peddling ‘dragon teeth.’ Claimed they were talismans of protection, guaranteed to ward off everything from storms to, I don’t know, bad hair days. Turned out they were just carved chicken bones. The man sold out before the guards even got wind of it.”
Ariana laughed, shaking her head. “And people actually believed him?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised, my lady,” Berthold said with a grin. “Folk’ll believe anything if it comes with a good story. Kind of like your friend Varric, I imagine.”
“Varric would’ve at least made it entertaining,” she replied, her tone light. “And probably worth the coin.”
Berthold chuckled, nodding in agreement. “True enough. That dwarf could sell snow to a man in the Frostbacks.”
As they sailed closer to West Hill, Berthold offered her what little he knew about the port. “Not much to say about West Hill, really,” he admitted. “It’s small, mostly a waypoint for traders heading to Redcliffe or Denerim. You’ll find a few decent taverns near the docks, though, and the road south isn’t too dangerous—at least as long as you stay clear of the forests at night.”
When he saw her thoughtful expression, Berthold hesitated before adding, “I wish I could introduce you to someone like Varric down there, but Ferelden’s not exactly crawling with merchant princes. Still…” He gave her an encouraging smile. “You’re not the same girl I dropped off in Kirkwall. You’ve grown a lot. I think you’ll be just fine.”
The early morning light was breaking over the horizon when they finally reached West Hill. The air was cooler here, tinged with the earthy scent of the Ferelden coast. As they docked, Ariana felt a mix of anticipation and unease—another step into the unknown, this time without the safety net of Varric’s presence.
As they disembarked, Berthold turned to her, his expression warm but serious. “Take care of yourself, alright? I’m usually in West Hill about once a month. If you need anything—or if you want to get word to Varric—leave it with the dockmaster here. I’ll make sure it gets to him.”
Ariana hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a quick but heartfelt hug. “Thank you, Berthold. For everything. And for leading me to Varric. I don’t think I can ever repay you for that.”
Berthold patted her back, a bit surprised but not displeased. “Ah, now, none of that. You’ve done the hard part yourself. You’ll do fine, I know it.”
As she stepped away, Ariana gave him one last grateful smile before turning toward the unfamiliar streets of West Hill. With her satchel slung over her shoulder and the lessons she’d learned in Kirkwall fresh in her mind, she felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
~~~
West Hill truly was more waypoint than settlement, a fortress-turned-town with stout stone walls and hardy residents. Ariana’s first impression was of a place both practical and resolute, its people focused on the business of trade and travel. She found a few merchants easily enough and managed to replenish her supplies, though she marveled at how well Varric had already equipped her pack. Every item was chosen for utility, and she smiled faintly at the care he had taken to prepare her.
The locals she spoke with were friendly and eager to share advice. They recommended a route through Crestwood, a quiet village that offered a good place to rest before heading to the docks at Lake Calenhad. From there, they explained, she could find a small but reputable tavern called The Spoiled Princess, which served travelers heading toward the Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold. However, they cautioned her that the road south from the Lake Calenhad docks was sparse, with few settlements before Lothering. “You’ll want to be ready to camp in the wilderness,” one merchant warned, his expression serious.
Ariana thanked them and spent the rest of the day exploring the modest marketplace, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling town. She secured a simple room at a local tavern for the night, its worn wooden beams and smoky hearth offering a sense of comfort. The room itself was small but clean, its single bed and modest furnishings a welcome respite before the long journey that awaited her. As she lay in bed, her thoughts wandered to the path ahead, to Crestwood, and beyond that, to the mysterious Kinloch Hold looming in her mind like a mythic beacon.
The next morning, Ariana set off early, her pack slung over her shoulder as the road stretched out before her. The journey to Crestwood would take about two days from what she had learned. It was mostly solitary, winding through rolling fields and sparse woodlands. The occasional traveler passed her by—merchants and farmers bound for West Hill—and she exchanged polite nods and brief words of greeting. The road was peaceful, and the sun shone brightly, but Ariana remained alert, her daggers close at hand. Kirkwall had taught her to be cautious, even in the quietest of places.
As she walked, she couldn’t help but reflect on how vastly different Ferelden felt from the Free Marches. She had grown up surrounded by bustling estates, orderly gardens, and towering cityscapes. Here, there was nothing but open sky and endless fields stretching as far as the eye could see. The air was crisp and carried the faint scent of wildflowers and freshly tilled earth, a stark contrast to the salty winds of Kirkwall and the perfumed courtyards of her family’s estate.
It’s so… open, she thought, marveling at the sheer expanse of the horizon. Back home, her world had always felt confined, hemmed in by walls both literal and figurative. Even in Kirkwall, with its towering black cliffs and labyrinthine streets, there had been a sense of structure. Here, the landscape felt untamed, almost limitless. It was beautiful in its simplicity, but it also unsettled her. The wide-open spaces made her feel small, exposed, as though she were walking under a watchful sky.
The villages she passed through were similarly quaint, their simple homes built of wood and stone, surrounded by small farms and pastures. She noticed how the people worked side by side, their lives seemingly unhurried and focused on the land. The contrast to the bustling, chaotic energy of Kirkwall couldn’t have been more striking. For all its danger and corruption, the city had been alive with movement, its people driven by ambition, desperation, or both. Here, everything seemed slower, quieter. Ariana wasn’t sure yet if she found it comforting or alien.
On the first night, she found herself faced with a challenge she had never encountered before: camping under the open sky. Growing up, she had always been surrounded by walls—her family’s estate, Kirkwall’s towering stone structures. Even when she had traveled with her family, they had stayed in comfortable inns, or other noble estates. The idea of sleeping alone, without shelter or guards, was both thrilling and unnerving.
She chose a spot on a gentle hill, its crest offering a clear view of the stars above. With trembling hands, she unpacked the bedroll Varric had included in her kit and fumbled with the small flint and steel to start a fire. It took her longer than she cared to admit, but when the fire finally caught, a triumphant smile spread across her face. I did it, she thought, a small spark of pride warming her alongside the flames.
As the night deepened, Ariana sat by the fire, her knees tucked to her chest, staring up at the vast expanse of stars. They felt brighter and more numerous here than she had ever seen in Kirkwall or Ostwick, their light unblemished by city smoke or lanterns. The Visus constellation shone prominently, its familiar shape grounding her in this unfamiliar world. She traced its outline with her finger, whispering its name as though it might grant her strength for the road ahead.
Lying back on her bedroll, she marveled at how strange yet comforting the experience was. The night air was cool against her skin, the sounds of crickets and rustling leaves surrounding her. There were no walls, no ceilings, no constraints—just the endless sky above and the gentle sway of the grass around her. It felt freeing in a way she hadn’t expected, as though the open world was welcoming her, encouraging her to keep going.
This isn’t so bad, she mused as she stared at the stars. For all her nervousness, there was something profoundly soothing about being out here alone, relying only on herself. It was as though the world itself was cradling her, whispering that she could handle whatever came next.
When sleep finally claimed her, it was peaceful, dreamless, and deep. She felt truly untethered—free to rest, free to dream, free to forge ahead on her own terms.
~~~
By the time Ariana reached Crestwood, her legs ached, and her supplies were slightly diminished. The village, nestled along the edge of a winding lake, was as quaint as the locals in West Hill had described. Narrow streets flanked by simple stone and timber homes bustled with quiet activity, while the laughter of children echoed faintly in the crisp afternoon air. The shimmering lake nearby, its surface dotted with fishing boats, immediately caught her eye. Beyond it, the imposing structure of a dam and the weathered remnants of an old fort stood out against the landscape.
Curiosity tugged at her as she observed the dam, a marvel of stonework and ingenuity that seemed out of place in such an unassuming village. She made her way closer, finding a path that led to a better view. The dam stretched across the lake’s outlet, its sturdy construction weathered by time but still solid. Water spilled through controlled channels, cascading down into the valley below with a constant roar. Crestwood’s entire existence seemed intertwined with this dam—a lifeline and a symbol of resilience.
Beyond the dam, her eyes traced the silhouette of Caer Bronach, the old fort perched on a rise overlooking the lake. Its once-formidable walls bore the scars of abandonment, yet its commanding presence lingered. Ariana wondered about its history—who had lived and fought there, what battles it had seen, and why it had been left to decay. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it might have been like to stand there as a defender, watching over the lake and the village below.
The quiet hum of Crestwood drew her back from her thoughts, and she turned toward the tavern near the village center. Its wooden sign swayed gently in the breeze, and the scent of roasted meat wafted out, beckoning her inside.
The interior was warm and inviting, with a roaring fire crackling in the hearth. Wooden beams, darkened by age, stretched overhead, and the scent of stew and freshly baked bread filled the air. Locals sat at scattered tables, speaking in low, familiar tones. It was humble, unpretentious, and utterly different from the bustling energy of Kirkwall or the rigid formality of her childhood in Ostwick.
After securing a room for the night, Ariana sat at a small table and allowed herself to savor a meal of hearty stew, fresh bread, and cider. She listened to the villagers’ conversations—simple talk of fishing, harvests, and the occasional trouble with wolves in the hills. It was a far cry from the politics and intrigue of Kirkwall, yet there was something soothing in its simplicity.
Later, as she settled into her room, her thoughts lingered on the dam and the fort. Crestwood seemed like a place where history slept, its scars visible but unspoken. In its quiet way, it reminded her of herself—a place defined by what had come before but still standing, still enduring.
As she lay in the modest but comfortable bed, the realization struck her like a sudden gust of wind. Kinloch Hold. That’s where Michael is stationed.
Her heart skipped a beat. Michael—her older brother, the one who had always tried to run around after her trying to keep her out of trouble when they were kids. The one who had chosen his own path by joining the Templar Order, defying their mother’s expectations. Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner? Should she try to see him?
The thought filled her with equal parts excitement and dread. If anyone would understand her decision to run, it would be Michael. But then again, he had chosen the Chantry, which was another path of their obligations. She had chosen to run from all obligations… What if he didn’t understand? What if his loyalty to the family and the Chantry outweighed his understanding of her choices?
I have time to think about it, she told herself, trying to push the uncertainty aside. A couple of days, at least. I’ll decide by the time I reach The Spoiled Princess.
With the thought lingering, she allowed herself to drift off to sleep. As dreams claimed her, she saw images of the dam, the fort, and Kinloch Hold rising above the lake—a path both uncertain and promising stretched before her.
~~~
Ariana awoke in her small room at the Crestwood tavern to the soft light of dawn filtering through the simple wooden shutters. Rather than setting out immediately, she decided to take a day to explore the village and its surroundings. There was something about Crestwood that intrigued her—its combination of serene beauty and hints of a storied past.
She made her way to Caer Bronach, the old fort perched on the hill overlooking the village. The climb was steeper than she had expected, but when she reached the top, the view took her breath away. The lake stretched out before her, shimmering in the morning light, and the entirety of Crestwood lay nestled in its shadow. She wandered through the fort’s weathered ruins, running her fingers along the moss-covered stone walls and imagining the stories they held.
The fort’s strategic position made it clear why it had once been so important. She could picture the defenders stationed here, watching over the lake and the dam, protecting the village below. Despite its current state of abandonment, it still felt alive with echoes of the past. Ariana found herself lingering, taking in the quiet majesty of the place as the wind rustled through the grasses growing between the stones.
After exploring the fort, she descended back toward the dam. The closer she got, the more impressive it appeared. The sound of rushing water filled her ears, and she paused on the path to marvel at its construction. It was a feat of engineering she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around—a symbol of both resilience and survival. The dam had clearly withstood the test of time, much like the people of Crestwood themselves.
As the sun dipped lower, she returned to the village, stopping by a small marketplace to replenish her supplies. She exchanged polite conversation with the merchants, finding them straightforward and unpretentious. They reminded her of the people she had encountered in Lowtown—not as hardened, perhaps, but with the same practical air of those who knew how to endure life’s challenges.
That evening, back at the tavern, Ariana allowed herself one last quiet meal by the fire. Her thoughts drifted to the road ahead—to Lake Calenhad, The Spoiled Princess, and the possibility of crossing paths with her brother.
The next morning, Ariana set out southwest from Crestwood, her pack secured and her spirits steady. The locals had told her the journey to the Lake Calenhad Docks would take two days if she kept a steady pace. She followed the well-trodden road, which wound through rolling fields and patches of forest.
The air was crisp, the scent of earth and greenery filling her lungs as she walked. This was the longest stretch of uninterrupted travel she had undertaken since leaving Ostwick, and she found herself thinking back to how her journey had begun. She smirked at the memory of boarding Berthold’s ship, expecting her path to be defined by sea travel and bustling cities. Now, here she was, trekking through the Ferelden countryside, surrounded by nothing but open land and endless sky.
I suppose this is where the real adventure begins, she thought with a chuckle, adjusting the straps of her pack.
The first night, she camped again beneath the stars, her fire crackling softly as she sat cross-legged on her bedroll. She stared at the constellations, tracing their shapes and feeling a familiar comfort in their presence.
By the afternoon of the second day, Ariana caught sight of the shimmering expanse of Lake Calenhad. The docks came into view shortly after, bustling with activity as boats unloaded their cargo and passengers disembarked. She paused at the edge of the road, taking in the scene.
Among the crowd, she spotted a few figures in familiar armor—Templars. Her breath caught for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she considered her options. So much for avoiding Michael entirely, she thought, a flicker of nervousness running through her. Still, she reminded herself that she had resolved not to seek him out. If their paths crossed by chance, she hoped he wouldn’t turn her in, but there was no sense in tempting fate.
Carefully keeping her distance from the Templars, she approached The Spoiled Princess, a modest but well-kept tavern near the docks. Its wooden sign swung gently in the breeze, and the sound of laughter and conversation drifted from within. She stepped inside, scanning the room before heading to the bar.
“What can I get you?” the tavernkeep, Gilbert, asked, his tone brisk but not unfriendly.
“Just some bread and cheese, please,” Ariana replied, keeping her voice calm.
Gilbert returned a moment later with her order, along with a small goblet of wine. She discreetly counted out 30 coppers from her pouch and handed them over before choosing a seat in a quiet corner of the room. As she ate, she kept her back to the wall, her eyes scanning the room as Varric had taught her.
The Templars remained near the door, engaged in their own conversation and paying her no mind. Ariana allowed herself to relax slightly, though she remained vigilant. Her journey had been long, and she was sore and weary from the road, but she felt a flicker of satisfaction knowing she was one step closer to the life she was trying to build for herself.
Just a few days here, she thought, finishing the last of her meal. Enough to rest, resupply, and decide my next move.
~~~
Unbeknownst to Ariana, someone had been watching her closely since the moment she stepped into The Spoiled Princess. Seated quietly at a table near the door, Ser Cullen Rutherford, an off-duty Templar, had a practiced eye for anyone who looked out of place. From the instant she walked in, he noticed something unusual about her demeanor.
She moved with a confidence that was subtly at odds with her circumstances. Her dark brown hair, pulled back into a loose braid, was slightly disheveled from travel but still carried an air of care. Her attire was practical—well-suited to the road—but far too fine to belong to an ordinary traveler. The leather of her boots and the detailing on her belt hinted at wealth, yet they bore the marks of days, perhaps weeks, on the road.
Cullen’s eyes narrowed slightly as he observed the way she surveyed the room. She wasn’t just looking around; she was assessing, her gaze lingering on the Templars by the door, the barmaid refilling mugs, and the men hunched over their dice games in the corner. Her posture was relaxed but ready, her movements deliberate. To most, she might appear unremarkable—a tired traveler seeking food and rest. But Cullen had spent years honing his instincts, and this girl didn’t fit the mold of anyone who simply stumbled into a tavern.
Her eyes caught his attention next. Her eyes, a vibrant mixture of green hues and flecks of gold, held secrets untold, beckoning anyone who dared to look closer. He couldn’t place her age exactly—late teens, perhaps—but those eyes told a story of someone who had seen more than their share of the world. They flicked briefly toward his table before returning to the room, missing nothing.
He noted her pack, set down beside her chair with a care that spoke of experience. It wasn’t just tossed aside like most travelers would do. No, she placed it where it could be reached quickly. The small details painted a picture, one that Cullen found increasingly intriguing: a girl of noble bearing, on the road alone, carrying herself like someone who had learned vigilance the hard way.
And yet, there was an unguarded moment as she sat back, sighing softly. Her shoulders relaxed slightly as if the weight of the journey had momentarily slipped from her. It wasn’t weakness, Cullen realized, but resilience—someone holding herself together because she had no other choice.
Cullen’s curiosity deepened as he continued to observe her. A runaway? he wondered. But there was something more to her than that. Her wariness, in particular, caught his attention. Her gaze lingered on the Templars stationed by the door—not too long, but just enough for him to notice. It wasn’t the casual glance of a traveler unfamiliar with the Order’s presence. No, this was different. Her shoulders tensed ever so slightly, and her posture shifted, her body angling subtly away from them, as though she were instinctively trying to avoid drawing their attention. The movement was small, almost imperceptible, but Cullen’s trained eyes caught it.
She’s wary of Templars, he realized. And that was enough to set his thoughts racing. Was she a mage on the run? It would explain her caution, the deliberate way she scanned her surroundings, and the telltale guardedness in her eyes. Her refined movements and confident bearing spoke of a noble upbringing, but the way she carried herself now—always alert, always calculating—suggested someone who had been living outside of their comfort zone for some time.
Fortunately, Cullen was out of uniform, his civilian clothes blending him into the room. He leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze linger just enough to study her without being overt. The Templar in him needed to question her, to understand why she seemed so out of place. The man in him simply wanted to know her story.
Cullen leaned back in his chair, watching her carefully. If she is a mage, she’s done well to stay under the radar. There were no outward signs of magic—no nervous twitches, no hurried movements—but that only made him more intrigued. Most young mages would falter under scrutiny, but she moved with a calculated confidence, as though she’d been coached.
He tapped his mug softly against the table, the sound deliberate but light enough not to draw attention from anyone but her. Ariana’s eyes flicked toward him, a brief flash of confusion crossing her face before her expression smoothed. No panic, no recognition—just mild curiosity. That, more than anything, confirmed his suspicion: she wasn’t accustomed to seeing Templars or their like, at least not enough to fear them outright.
Rising to his feet, Cullen straightened his tunic and approached her table with a measured, friendly stride. He smiled, adding just the right amount of charm to his tone. “Mind if I join you?”
~~~
Ariana held the stranger’s gaze for a moment before nodding and motioning for him to sit. She couldn’t help but notice how striking he was—short, curly blond hair that seemed effortlessly tousled, hazel eyes that held a quiet intensity, and a broad, well-built frame that suggested strength and discipline. Despite herself, her gaze flickered downward for a brief moment, and she realized with embarrassment that she had bitten her lip. Get a grip, Ariana, she scolded herself. He’s just a man, not the Maker come to life.
His disarming smile and easy manner threw her off for a moment, but she quickly composed herself, gesturing to the seat across from her. “If you wish,” she said simply, her tone calm and neutral.
As he sat, he gave her a friendly smile, his eyes studying her with a subtle curiosity. “I haven’t seen you around here before,” he said, his tone warm and conversational, as though it were the most casual observation in the world.
“Just passing through,” she replied, keeping her voice measured, then turned the question back on him. “Are you from around here?”
“Cullen,” he introduced himself, offering only his first name and skillfully sidestepping her question. “And you?”
She hesitated. Something about his response—or lack thereof—set her on edge. He hadn’t answered her question directly, instead giving her his name and deftly steering the conversation back to her. The maneuver was smooth, practiced. Clever, she thought. And probably hiding something.
“Ryss,” she said finally. Her smile was polite, but her tone carried an edge of suspicion.
Cullen inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her answer. His gaze lingered, not in an intrusive way but with a kind of quiet curiosity. She could feel him assessing her, trying to piece her together, and it only made her more cautious. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down now—not when she was this close to leaving Kirkwall behind for good.
Cullen leaned back slightly, adopting a more relaxed posture, though his mind was anything but. “I’m from Lothering,” he offered casually. “Passing through on merchant business.”
Ariana’s lips twitched, almost forming a smirk, though she caught herself in time. Merchant? The word felt foreign coming from someone like him, with his clean, upright bearing and sharp, deliberate movements. No merchant she had ever met carried himself like that. Soldier, maybe. Or something close.
She continued to nod politely, keeping her face neutral, but the realization dawned on her like a warning bell: Templar. Her stomach tightened. If she had any lingering doubt, it faded as she noticed the subtle way his gaze shifted over her—calculated, observant. He wasn’t just chatting with a stranger; he was assessing her, picking up on the same cues she worked so hard to hide.
Don’t panic. He doesn’t know anything yet, she reminded herself. She’d been careful not to use her first name or reveal too much, but if this man had even the faintest connection to Michael, her cover could crumble faster than she could react.
Deciding to pivot the conversation, she leaned forward slightly, her tone soft but pointed. “So,” she said, her hazel-green eyes meeting his with quiet insistence, “what is it that you really do? Because I’ve met plenty of travelers and merchants, and you… don’t quite seem like any of them.”
Cullen’s easy smile faltered for just a moment, a flicker of hesitation passing over his face before he quickly recovered. She had him cornered, and they both knew it. He couldn’t exactly come out and say he was a Templar—not without tipping his hand entirely. But he also couldn’t let the question hang unanswered.
~~~
Cullen sighed inwardly, recognizing he had to tread carefully. The sharpness in her gaze told him she wasn’t someone who could be easily deceived. “Alright,” he said, his voice dropping slightly as he leaned forward, offering a faint smile. “You caught me. I wasn’t entirely honest.”
He paused, as if weighing his words, then continued. “I do some work on the side—security, mostly. Mercenary work, if you want to put a name to it. Not always the kind of thing people look kindly on, so I tend to avoid leading with that.” He glanced at her, his expression contrite but with a touch of charm. “I didn’t want to ruin the chance to strike up a conversation. After all, it’s not every day someone like you walks into a place like this.”
Cullen let the compliment hang, watching her reaction closely. It wasn’t entirely untrue—she was striking, not just in appearance but in the way she carried herself. Still, he was testing her, gauging whether flattery would lower her guard.
Ariana tilted her head slightly, her hazel-green eyes narrowing in playful skepticism. “Mercenary work, you say?” she replied, her tone almost teasing. “I suppose that explains why you don’t quite look like the merchants I’ve met.”
He chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed air. “It’s honest work, even if it doesn’t come with much prestige. Keeps me on the move, at least.”
She studied him for a moment, her lips twitching into a small, knowing smile. “Alright, I’ll forgive you—for now. But only because you’ve managed to make this conversation interesting.”
Cullen grinned, the tension easing between them. “I’ll take what I can get.” He allowed a moment of silence to settle, then leaned forward again, his expression turning thoughtful. “But since we’re being honest, what about you? You don’t exactly blend into a place like this. And if I’m not mistaken, that accent isn’t Ferelden.”
Ariana tensed ever so slightly, though her composure remained intact. Her mind raced, sifting through Varric’s lessons. Simple enough to satisfy, or complicated enough to be interesting. She took a measured breath, meeting his gaze with just the right touch of vulnerability. “If you must know,” she began softly, “I’m running from family obligations. Nothing scandalous, just… expectations I didn’t want to live up to. I’m looking for a fresh start, somewhere I can make my own decisions for once.”
Her words were careful, deliberate, but the subtle tremor in her voice gave them an authenticity Cullen found difficult to doubt. He nodded, leaning back slightly as he considered her answer. “I can understand that,” he said, his tone sincere. “Sometimes, the hardest thing is figuring out who you are apart from what everyone else wants you to be.”
Ariana’s eyes flickered with surprise, her defenses momentarily softening at his empathy. “Exactly,” she murmured, her voice almost wistful. She quickly recovered, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not easy, though. Starting over.”
“No, it’s not,” Cullen agreed, his gaze steady. “But it’s brave.” His words were simple, but they carried weight, and Ariana seemed to warm to him as she heard them.
Their conversation carried on, the initial wariness between them giving way to a cautious camaraderie. Cullen found himself genuinely captivated by her—her wit, her poise, the way she carefully chose her words without seeming guarded. She was unlike anyone he had encountered, and the more they talked, the more his curiosity grew.
But amidst the ease of their exchange, Cullen’s original purpose remained. He still wasn’t certain of who—or what—she was. Her grace and caution hinted at someone accustomed to maneuvering within noble circles, yet she carried herself with the practiced vigilance of someone on the run. Not a typical mage, he thought, but the possibility lingered at the back of his mind. For now, though, he chose to let the conversation unfold, knowing that the truth, whatever it was, would eventually reveal itself.
As he listened, his initial calculation began to waver. Protectiveness crept into his thoughts, unbidden but undeniable. Whatever she was running from, he found himself wishing to keep it far from her, to ensure she stayed safe. It was a surprising and uncomfortable feeling, one he wasn’t sure what to do with—but for now, he simply listened, letting the evening pass with the quiet intrigue that only she seemed capable of stirring.
~~~
Ariana wasn’t sure when the conversation had shifted from polite exchanges to something deeper. It had started simply enough—Cullen pointing out the safest routes through Ferelden, Ariana sharing what little she knew about the area from Berthold. But as the hours passed, their topics expanded, covering everything from local myths to far-off tales of adventure.
Ariana shared one of Berthold’s more colorful stories about a pirate who claimed to have found a cave filled with lyrium, only to lose it after a tidal wave swept his ship away. Cullen chuckled at the absurdity, leaning forward slightly as he replied, “Sounds like the kind of tale people tell after one too many pints. But who knows? Ferelden has its share of hidden treasures.”
He went on to recount a story of his own—a rumor about an abandoned village in the Bannorn where the wind carried strange whispers through the trees. “Superstition, probably,” he said with a grin. “But it kept the local merchants from using the road nearby for months.”
They fell into a rhythm, trading stories, neither fully realizing how much of their guard had slipped. Cullen’s anecdotes, while careful not to reveal his Templar affiliation, often carried a sense of duty and discipline that Ariana couldn’t ignore. And yet, there was something undeniably warm about him—a charm she found herself drawn to despite her better judgment.
At one point, as Cullen laughed at her incredulous reaction to one of his tales, Ariana caught herself staring. Maker, he’s handsome, she thought, her gaze lingering on the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The realization jolted her, and she quickly looked away, chastising herself. Stop it. This isn’t safe. She forced herself to focus on her drink, pretending she hadn’t just entertained the thought.
But as they continued talking, Ariana couldn’t help but feel comfortable in his presence—a rare feeling since she’d left Kirkwall. There was something steady about Cullen, something she couldn’t quite place but trusted instinctively. It was a dangerous thought, she knew, but it lingered nonetheless.
The spell was broken when Gilbert cleared his throat, pulling them both back to reality. Ariana glanced around, startled to find the tavern nearly empty. She exchanged an embarrassed smile with Cullen, who seemed just as surprised.
Gilbert approached, and Ariana realized she still needed to secure a room. “Do you have any rooms available?” she asked.
The tavernkeep nodded. “Two silver a night.”
She reached for her pouch, handing over the coins with ease. Cullen watched her, his initial suspicions softening. A runaway mage would have been far more cautious about spending, and her demeanor didn’t carry the telltale edge of someone hiding from the Circle. While she was clearly running from something, Cullen was increasingly convinced it wasn’t the Order.
Rising from his seat, Cullen gave her a respectful nod. “Goodnight, Ryss,” he said, his tone genuine. “If you’re still here in a couple of days, I’d like to see you again.”
Ariana couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. “You know where to find me,” she replied softly.
As he left, Ariana felt a strange mix of relief and reluctance. She reminded herself of the risks—Templars frequented this place, and staying too long could draw unwanted attention. Yet, as she climbed the stairs to her room, she found herself hoping she’d have just one more evening like this before she moved on. Just one more, she thought, though she knew better than to make such promises to herself.
~~~
Ariana spent the next two days settling into a rhythm at The Spoiled Princess, letting herself recover from the journey and acclimate to the peacefulness of Lake Calenhad. Each morning, she strolled along the lake’s edge, marveling at the stillness of the water and the way the sunlight danced across its surface. It was nothing like the bustling chaos of Kirkwall or the carefully manicured beauty of Ostwick’s courtyards. It was untamed, vast, and utterly serene.
But her thoughts kept drifting back to Cullen. There was a comfort in his presence that she couldn’t shake, an unexpected connection that made her feel safe yet unsettled. It was dangerous, this feeling—this pull toward someone she barely knew. He’s handsome, kind, and easy to talk to, she admitted to herself, biting the inside of her cheek. But then she’d remind herself of the risk. What if he’s not who he says he is? What if he’s been hired to find me?
The thought made her stomach twist, yet it was impossible to reconcile with the Cullen she had spoken to. He had been so genuine, so disarming, that she couldn’t bring herself to believe he meant her harm. Still, caution whispered at the edges of her mind.
On the third evening, as the sun dipped low and painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson, Ariana returned to the tavern, half-hoping she’d find him there again. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of the lake, and she tried to keep her expectations in check. But as soon as she stepped inside, her eyes landed on him, seated at the same corner table as before. He looked up, his face breaking into a warm smile when he saw her.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked, echoing their first meeting.
He couldn’t help but smile. “Not at all.”
They fell into conversation as easily as before, their words weaving through stories and anecdotes, each feeling the same unspoken ease that had drawn them together. Ariana found herself sharing more of Berthold’s tales, this time about a merchant who claimed to have bartered with a spirit for eternal good luck—a story that earned a hearty laugh from Cullen.
“I’ll have to remember that one,” he said, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Though I’m not sure I’d take my chances with a spirit, even for good luck.”
Their banter flowed naturally, but as the evening deepened, Ariana’s curiosity sharpened. “You mentioned you’re a mercenary,” she said, her tone casual but her gaze searching. “Have you ever been hired to track someone down?”
Cullen’s easy demeanor faltered for a split second, his mind scrambling for a response that wouldn’t give away his true identity. “That’s not really my line of work,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “I deal more with… protecting assets, ensuring goods make it where they’re supposed to go.”
Ariana nodded, but she wasn’t entirely convinced. Something about the way he deflected made her wary, though she knew better than to press. “I see,” she said simply, keeping her expression neutral.
As their conversation moved on, she found herself asking another question, this one slipping out before she could stop herself. “Do you have anyone waiting for you back home?”
The question startled her as much as it did him. She immediately regretted it, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. Why did I ask that? It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. She bit the inside of her cheek, berating herself for letting her curiosity get the better of her.
Cullen tilted his head slightly, a flicker of surprise in his eyes before his expression softened. “No,” he said after a moment. “No one waiting for me.” He hesitated, then added with a small smile, “And you?”
Ariana’s lips quirked into a faint, almost wistful smile. “No,” she replied quietly. “Not anymore.”
The silence that followed was comfortable, though heavy with unspoken thoughts. Ariana chastised herself again for the fleeting thrill she felt at his answer. This can’t go anywhere. I can’t let it. Yet, despite her better judgment, she was drawn to him.
As the tavern began to empty, Cullen leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet but steady. “I’d like to show you something,” he said, his hazel eyes meeting hers. “Down by the shore tomorrow morning, if you’re willing.”
Ariana hesitated, but only for a moment. “Alright,” she said, her voice soft. “I’ll meet you at the docks.”
Their parting smiles lingered, and as she made her way upstairs to her room, she couldn’t shake the feeling that tomorrow would bring something she wasn’t entirely ready for—something that both excited and terrified her in equal measure.