13 – 14 August 9:29
The next morning, Cullen found her waiting by the docks, her gaze focused on the lake as the early morning light reflected off its surface. She looked calm, even peaceful, her guarded expression from their first meeting replaced by a quiet confidence. The sight stirred something in him, a strange mixture of admiration and protectiveness.
“Ready to go?” he asked, approaching her with a smile.
She turned to him, her hazel-green eyes catching the light, and for a moment, Cullen felt as if the world had stilled. Her smile was faint but genuine, and she nodded. “Lead the way.”
They walked south along the lake’s edge, their conversation flowing naturally. Cullen found himself laughing more than he had in years, her wit and curiosity pulling him into topics he hadn’t thought about in ages. When they reached the fallen trees blocking the path, Cullen instinctively stepped forward, intending to help her, but stopped when she effortlessly vaulted over the branches. He paused, watching her, a flicker of surprise and admiration crossing his face.
She moved with precision, her steps quick and balanced, her form almost graceful. Not a mage, he thought again, still trying to piece together the mystery of who she was. But she wasn’t just anyone, either—there was a refinement to her movements, but also a strength and resourcefulness he couldn’t ignore. It made him even more curious, and he realized that he wasn’t here to investigate her anymore. He was here because he wanted to be.
The ruins appeared as they rounded a bend in the path. Small and overgrown, they were more remnants than a structure, but her face lit up the moment she saw them. She quickened her pace, her excitement infectious as she hurried toward the crumbling stone.
Cullen leaned against a crumbled pillar, watching as she moved through the ruins with an energy that was contagious. Her fingers traced faded symbols on the ancient stone, her voice rising and falling as she mused aloud, alternating between speaking to him and losing herself in her thoughts.
“See this here?” she said, pointing to a partially eroded carving. “It’s Elven, or at least inspired by it. But this curve—it’s more human in style. Maybe adapted for trade or… or diplomacy?” She tilted her head, her hazel-green eyes alight with fascination. “It’s like a blend of cultures, like they tried to preserve the old but couldn’t resist making it their own.”
She moved to another section, crouching to examine a jagged pattern etched into the base of a stone. “And this… it looks like it might be Fen’Harel again. But why here? It’s so far removed from most Elvhenan sites.”
He found himself unable to look away, caught in the way her voice shifted between excitement and wonder, her focus so intense that she seemed to forget the world around her. The dim light filtering through the canopy above made her features even more striking, the way her dark hair framed her face, the faint flush of her cheeks from the exertion of their walk.
And then, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
Ariana froze mid-thought, her fingers still hovering over the stone. She turned her head, startled, her expression somewhere between confusion and curiosity. Her cheeks flushed faintly, and a soft laugh escaped her lips as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I… me? Why?”
Cullen’s heart stuttered as her eyes met his, wide and earnest. He felt heat rise in his face but pressed on. “The way you see things,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “The way you dive into something most people wouldn’t give a second glance… you don’t just notice the details. You make sense of them, piece them together like a story waiting to be told.”
Her lips parted slightly, her expression shifting to something softer, something almost vulnerable. “I… I guess I just never thought about it that way,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I’ve always loved history. My father used to tell me stories about the past, and I suppose I just…” She gestured vaguely to the ruins around them. “I want to understand it. To preserve it, somehow.”
He smiled, his chest tightening as he took a step closer, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the stone she’d been examining. “You don’t just preserve it, Ryss. You bring it to life.”
Her blush deepened, and she looked away, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. “You’re giving me far too much credit, Cullen.”
“No,” he said simply, shaking his head. “I’m not.”
Her eyes flicked back to his, and for a moment, the ruins and the lake seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them. She opened her mouth as if to respond but hesitated, her words caught somewhere between her heart and her mind. Instead, she smiled again—small, soft, and genuine—before turning back to the carvings, her fingers gently brushing over the ancient stone as if grounding herself.
Cullen stayed where he was, watching her, feeling the weight of the moment settle in his chest. Within only a couple of days she had managed to carve a place into his thoughts. And as he stood there, he knew he was meant to be here. With her.
~~~
As they walked back toward The Spoiled Princess, their conversation turned lighter, filled with laughter and stories. Cullen told her about the strange and amusing things he’d witnessed during his time in Lake Calenhad, carefully avoiding anything that might hint at his Templar duties. She told him about her travels, though she kept much of her personal history vague. Despite the missing details, Cullen found himself enchanted by the way she spoke, the subtle humor in her words, and the way her eyes lit up when she laughed.
But as they neared the docks, a voice shattered the quiet peace. “Ser! Ser Cullen!”
Cullen froze. He turned to see a fellow Templar hurrying toward him, armor clinking with each step. His stomach dropped, and when he glanced back at her, the color had drained from her face. Her wide eyes locked on his, and in an instant, the unspoken truth hung heavy between them.
“You’re… a Templar,” she whispered, her voice trembling. Her expression shifted from shock to fear, and then to anger. “I knew it. I knew something was off.”
Cullen stepped toward her, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Ryss—”
“I need to go. I’m sorry. If he hasn’t seen me, please don’t tell him about me.” she pleaded with him and in an instant, she turned and bolted, sprinting toward the ruins.
She didn’t wait for an explanation. Her survival instincts kicked in, and she turned, sprinting toward the ruins they had just left. Cullen cursed under his breath and gave chase, his training taking over. He knew the paths well, and within moments, he found a shortcut, cutting ahead of her and blocking her path.
“Ryss, stop!” he shouted, his voice firm but desperate.
She skidded to a halt, her breath coming in sharp gasps. “Stay away from me!” she cried, her voice breaking. She tried to dart around him, but his reflexes were faster. Grabbing her arm, he pulled her back, wrapping his arms around her to prevent her escape. She struggled fiercely, her fear giving her strength, but Cullen held firm.
He held her firmly but gently, his voice soft as he pleaded, “Please, just stop and talk to me. Why are you so afraid of me now?” He hesitated, then asked point-blank, “Are you… are you a mage?”
“Let me go!” she demanded, her voice choked with tears. “I am no mage, I swear it. Please, just let me go!”
Cullen’s grip loosened slightly as her words sank in. He didn’t want to believe she was lying, and the raw desperation in her voice only deepened his confusion. “Then what are you running from?” he asked gently.
Before she could answer, the sound of footsteps behind them made them both turn. Two Templars emerged from the trees, one of them wearing the commanding presence of a senior knight. Cullen’s stomach sank further as he recognized the man.
“Ser Cullen,” the Knight-Templar said, his stern gaze shifting between Cullen and Ariana. “What’s going on here? Have you apprehended an apostate?”
Ariana’s entire body tensed, and Cullen felt her tremble in his arms. His mind raced, trying to find a way to protect her. But before he could respond, the Knight-Templar’s expression changed, his eyes widening as recognition dawned.
“Ariana?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Cullen’s head snapped toward her, his heart sinking as her name passed the man’s lips. “Ariana? Who is… you know her?” he asked, his voice tight with disbelief.
Ariana closed her eyes, her tears spilling over as she whispered, “Michael…”
Cullen’s eyes widened as the pieces clicked into place. Her accent, her mannerisms, her guardedness—it all made sense. He remembered Michael mentioning his youngest sister going missing a few months back, though he hadn’t given it much thought at the time. Realization struck him with a wave of guilt, and he cursed himself silently for the lies he’d told her, for unknowingly pushing her into this position.
~~~
Ariana’s heart raced, but she forced herself to stand her ground, her eyes locked on Michael. He looked much older than she remembered, his face harder, the weight of his Templar vows evident in his every movement. Despite the armor, despite the authority he carried, this was still her brother. And if she could reason with anyone, surely it was him.
“Michael,” she said, her voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside her. “Is it too much to hope you’ll forget you ever saw me?” Her gaze flicked around, taking in the positions of the Templars, calculating. The odds were bleak, but she wasn’t ready to give up yet.
Michael’s expression darkened, a flash of anger passing through his eyes. “Forget? Do you think this is some childish prank, Ariana? You’ve been missing for months! Do you have any idea the damage you’ve done? The shame you’ve brought to our family?”
Ariana stiffened, her jaw tightening as his words hit her. “Shame?” she shot back, her voice cold and sharp. “What shame? I did what I had to do because no one else would stand up for me. I refused to be a pawn, Michael, and I won’t apologize for that.”
Michael shook his head, his frustration spilling over. “You don’t understand what you’ve done. Mother has been beside herself with worry—”
“Mother?” Ariana interrupted, her tone cutting. “She doesn’t care about me, Michael. She cares about appearances, about her precious reputation. What’s she worried about? That the Duchess of Markham won’t invite her to the next ball? That her social standing might take a hit because her youngest daughter dared to want a life of her own?”
Michael flinched at her words, but his resolve didn’t waver. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retorted, his voice clipped. “Mother is worried about you. We all are. And you running off like this has only made things worse. The Duke and Duchess feel humiliated. They’ve hired mercenaries to find you, Ariana. This isn’t just about family pride—it’s about safety. You think you’re free out here? You’re a target.”
Ariana took a step closer, her hands balled into fists. “I’ve already spoken to Father,” she said, her voice steady but laced with frustration. “He told me to run. He’s trying to end the engagement, Michael. He understands why I did this. Why can’t you?”
Michael’s expression shifted, surprise flickering across his face before hardening again. “Father wouldn’t go against the family’s obligations.”
“He has!” Ariana insisted, her voice rising. “You think he wants me dragged back to that gilded cage? He’s done everything he can to fix this mess without me losing the life I’ve fought so hard for. Even Frederick understands, Michael! I have a letter from him, apologizing for everything. He doesn’t want this engagement any more than I do.”
Michael’s jaw tightened, his disbelief evident. “Frederick has always been a fool. This isn’t about him, or Father. It’s about you. You made this mess, and now you’ll face the consequences.”
Ariana’s temper flared. “How dare you?” she snapped, her voice trembling with anger. “You have no right to lecture me about family obligations. You ran away from them yourself. You joined the Templars to escape Mother’s control, and now you’d drag me back into it? You’re a hypocrite, Michael!”
His face darkened, the hurt and frustration evident as he barked back, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I joined the Templars because it was my duty—”
“You joined because it was your way out!” Ariana interrupted, her voice sharp with accusation. “Don’t pretend otherwise. You wanted freedom, just like I do. The difference is I won’t condemn someone else to the life I escaped from.”
Michael’s lips thinned into a hard line. He turned to the Templar standing beside him and gave a curt nod. “Take her. We’ll bring her to the Circle until transport to Ostwick can be arranged.”
Ariana’s heart sank as the Templar stepped forward. “No,” she said, her voice shaking with defiance. “You’re not taking me anywhere.”
She turned, making a desperate move to run, but Michael and the other Templar, Hadley, were faster. They caught her arms, their grips firm as she struggled. “Let me go!” she shouted, her voice raw with frustration and fear.
Michael’s expression was unreadable as he looked at her, his voice flat and emotionless. “This is for your own good, Ariana.”
Her eyes burned with tears as she glared at him, her voice breaking. “You’re wrong, Michael. You’re so wrong.”
Michael didn’t respond, his face set with cold determination as he and Hadley began dragging her toward the road. As she fought against their hold, she cast one last desperate glance toward Cullen, hoping for some sign of help, of understanding. But his face was a mask of conflict, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade as he stood frozen in place.
~~~
Cullen’s hand had gone to the hilt of his blade before he’d even realized it, his grip firm as his mind warred with itself. He wasn’t about to fight or kill his fellow Templars—that was ridiculous. He wasn’t prepared for something like that, and yet… the instinct to protect her had surged through him, pure and unbidden. He tightened his jaw, the weight of guilt pressing heavily against his chest. What am I doing?
He had chased her, cornered her, and for what? She wasn’t a mage; he knew that much now. The look of betrayal in her eyes haunted him, cutting deeper than he’d expected. And for the first time in a long time, Cullen felt unsure of his purpose. She wasn’t a criminal. She wasn’t a threat. She was… what is she? A girl on the run from her own life, yes, but to him, she was more than that. She had been a friend in a moment he hadn’t realized he needed one. She had trusted him, even if only a little, and he had broken that trust.
The anger that simmered in his chest wasn’t directed at her—it never could be. No, his fury was reserved for the others. For her family, for her brother Michael, who dragged her away as though she were some piece of property to be returned. For himself. Mostly for myself. If he had been honest with her from the beginning, if he had told her who he was, maybe she would have confided in him. Maybe she wouldn’t have bolted. Maybe she wouldn’t be looking at him now as if he had betrayed her in the worst way imaginable.
Maker, what am I supposed to do? he thought, his mind racing. His fingers flexed against the hilt of his sword, itching for some kind of action, but what could he do? He couldn’t draw his blade on Michael and Hadley—not over this. He wasn’t even sure what he was protecting her from anymore. She wasn’t a mage. She wasn’t a criminal. And yet… every fiber of his being told him she needed him.
He felt trapped, as though the weight of nobility’s games had been thrust on him. This wasn’t about justice or duty; it was about control. Nobles and their imagined problems, he thought bitterly, his anger rising. It wasn’t enough that they dictated every aspect of their own lives—they had to drag everyone else into their messes too. And now, because of her family’s expectations, he was standing here, torn between his training and his conscience.
He looked at her again, her face turned away, her body taut with resistance even as Michael and Hadley restrained her. The image of her earlier that day, exploring the ruins, came unbidden to his mind. She had been happy, free in a way that he doubted she had been in years, if ever. Her hazel-green eyes had sparkled with curiosity and excitement as she traced the faded symbols, her movements unguarded and her laughter genuine. She had trusted him enough to let him see that part of her, to drop her guard entirely. And now… he had destroyed it.
The guilt twisted in his gut, sharp and unforgiving. I have to fix this, he thought, his resolve hardening. I have to help her.
As Michael barked orders to Hadley, Cullen’s voice cut through the tense air, firm but not confrontational. “Ser Michael,” he began, stepping forward, his tone carefully measured. “With respect, I don’t believe this is the right way to handle this.”
Michael turned to him, his expression a mixture of irritation and surprise. “What are you saying, Cullen? She’s my sister. This is a family matter.”
“And yet you’re treating her like a fugitive,” Cullen replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. “She’s not a mage. She’s not a criminal. She’s your family. Perhaps she deserves to be treated as such.”
Michael’s jaw clenched, his grip on Ariana’s arm tightening slightly. “This isn’t about what she deserves. It’s about what’s right for the family.”
Cullen’s gaze flicked to Ariana, who was staring at him with a mixture of hope and disbelief. He felt his chest tighten. He had to tread carefully, but he couldn’t let this continue. Not like this. “And what’s right for her?” he asked softly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
Michael hesitated, his grip loosening ever so slightly. But before he could respond, Ariana spoke, her voice shaking with emotion. “Michael, please. Just let me go. I’m not asking for much—just my freedom.”
Her words hung in the air, raw and pleading. Cullen swallowed hard, his resolve solidifying. He wasn’t sure how he would do it, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he couldn’t let her down. Not again.
~~~
He watched as Michael and Hadley dragged Ariana away, her protests growing quieter with each step. His mind raced, guilt gnawing at him. He couldn’t draw his weapon here, not against fellow Templars. Not over this. He had no authority, no grounds, and yet the instinct to protect her was overwhelming him.
I’ll find another way, he resolved silently. Fighting them outright would only make things worse. Ariana wasn’t a mage. The Templars had no legitimate right to detain her, but he needed to be smart about this. Michael’s position and authority complicated everything, and Cullen knew that helping her escape now would only draw more suspicion.
Cullen entered The Spoiled Princess, his frustration barely hidden beneath the composed facade he wore out of habit. As he approached the bar, Gilbert, the tavernkeep, looked up from cleaning a mug, his brows furrowing slightly at the sight of him.
“I need to collect Ryss’ belongings,” Cullen began, his tone calm but resolute. “She’s been… detained by her brother, but she’ll want her things when she’s released.”
Gilbert paused, confusion flashing across his face. “Detained? By her brother?” He set the mug down, leaning against the counter. “Who’s her brother, then?”
Cullen hesitated for a moment before answering. “Ser Michael Trevelyan. A Templar stationed at Kinloch Hold.”
Recognition flickered in Gilbert’s expression, followed by a deepening concern. “She’s nobility, then? That explains the way she carried herself, but detained by her own brother?” He tilted his head slightly. “Is she…?” He trailed off, leaving the question hanging, but Cullen understood what he was asking.
“No,” Cullen said firmly, shaking his head. “She’s not a mage. It’s a complicated, unnecessary matter of runaway nobility.” His voice carried a note of bitterness that surprised even him, though he quickly masked it.
Gilbert exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Runaway nobility, huh? Well, that’s a new one for me.” He disappeared into a back room and returned moments later with Ariana’s pack. As he handed it over, his expression softened. “She seemed like a good lass. I hope she’ll be alright.”
Cullen accepted the pack, slinging it over his shoulder. “She will be,” he said, his voice quieter this time. But even as the words left his mouth, doubt gnawed at him. He hoped he was right.
Gilbert studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. “You’ve got the look of someone who means to help her. Just… be careful, Ser Cullen. Nobility and family disputes rarely end well for anyone caught in the middle.”
Cullen met his gaze, appreciating the innkeeper’s insight. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I’ll do what I can.”
As he turned to leave, Ariana’s pack weighing heavily on his shoulder, Cullen felt the weight of his decision settling in. He had no clear plan yet, but he knew one thing for certain—he wouldn’t let Ariana face this alone. Not if he could help it.
~~~
Cullen entered Knight-Commander Greagoir’s office with a measured stride, masking his inner turmoil with an air of professional curiosity. He had rehearsed this conversation in his head, determined to ask the right questions without raising suspicion. Greagoir sat at his desk, a stack of reports spread before him, but he looked up as Cullen approached.
“Ser Cullen,” Greagoir greeted, his tone neutral but slightly distracted. “What brings you here?”
“I heard Ser Michael brought someone in earlier,” Cullen began casually, standing at attention but keeping his tone light. “His sister, I believe? I was just curious—Trevelyan is a noble name, isn’t it? From Ostwick?”
Greagoir nodded, setting down his quill. “Yes, the Trevelyans are well known throughout the Free Marches, particularly for their Chantry ties. Their family is quite respected, especially within the noble and religious circles. It’s wise to keep them as allies.”
Cullen hid his surprise behind a thoughtful expression. He knew very little about noble families—his upbringing in Honnleath had been far removed from such matters. But the mention of Chantry ties piqued his interest. “I see,” he said, pausing as if to consider. “I’ve not had much reason to learn about the nobility. Do they often involve themselves in matters with the Templar Order?”
“Not directly,” Greagoir replied, leaning back in his chair. “But their influence cannot be ignored. They’re close to the Chantry, and families like theirs can make things… difficult if they feel slighted. It’s better to accommodate them when possible. Hence why I agreed to hold Ser Michael’s sister. A small favor for such a family could prove beneficial.”
Cullen tilted his head, feigning ignorance. “I understand the importance of maintaining good relations, but if she isn’t a mage… are we even allowed to hold civilians?”
Greagoir’s expression hardened slightly, though his tone remained composed. “Technically, no,” he admitted. “But this is not a typical case. The Trevelyans are a family of stature. Their gratitude would far outweigh any concern over procedural details. I trust you understand the practicality of such decisions.”
Cullen nodded, forcing himself to appear agreeable. “Of course, Knight-Commander. I’m still learning the nuances of these situations. Thank you for clarifying.”
Greagoir gave a curt nod, clearly satisfied with Cullen’s apparent deference, and returned to his reports. Cullen took this as his cue to leave, inclining his head respectfully before stepping out of the office.
As he walked through the halls, Cullen’s mind churned with frustration. Greagoir’s explanation hadn’t surprised him, but it had cemented his belief that this wasn’t about justice or duty—it was about appeasing noble families and maintaining political alliances. Ariana’s detention was wrong, no matter how much Greagoir tried to justify it.
She doesn’t belong here, Cullen thought bitterly. She’s not a mage, and yet they’re holding her like she’s an apostate.
The questions he had asked had been enough for now. Pushing further would only draw attention to himself. For now, he had the information he needed, and his resolve to help Ariana solidified even more. She had trusted him once, and though he’d failed her then, he wouldn’t fail her again.
~~~
Cullen spent most of his shift combing for answers. Each question he asked was carefully worded, masked under the guise of curiosity about protocol or logistics. He avoided asking directly about Ariana—mentioning Michael instead—and leaned into the pretense of ignorance. It wasn’t until well into the night, when the Templar barracks had settled into a hushed calm, that he learned where she was being kept.
One of the lower-level guards, eager to share the monotony of his post, confirmed it “Michael’s sister? Yeah, she’s in one of the temporary cells downstairs. Not much trouble, that one. Pretty quiet. I figure she’s just waiting for her noble family to sort things out.”
The words grated on Cullen. Not much trouble. She wasn’t trouble at all. She was frightened and trapped. He nodded absently at the guard’s comments, excusing himself with a muttered remark about needing to check something before his shift ended.
When the halls grew quiet, Cullen made his way to the lower levels, his steps deliberate and soundless. The air was cooler here, the faint smell of damp stone and torch smoke lingering in the narrow corridors. He passed the occasional guard, offering a curt nod when necessary, but most were either inattentive or asleep in their posts.
Reaching the holding cells, Cullen slowed, his hand brushing the set of keys on his belt. These cells were meant for temporary stays—mages awaiting transfer between Circles or individuals detained for minor offenses. They weren’t designed for someone like Ariana. The thought tightened his jaw as he found her cell, pausing for a moment before unlocking the door.
Inside, the dim light cast long shadows across the small room. Ariana sat slumped in the corner, her knees drawn up to her chest and her head resting on them. She was asleep, though her posture spoke more of exhaustion than rest. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and her face, even in sleep, carried traces of tension.
Cullen knelt beside her, his voice low and soft. “Ryss,” he whispered.
Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, confusion clouded her face. But as recognition dawned, her expression shifted to one of hurt and wary disbelief. She stiffened, drawing her knees closer to her chest.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice hoarse, the strain of the past hours evident.
Cullen exhaled slowly, his regret palpable. “I’m here to get you out,” he said firmly, though his voice faltered slightly. “I should have stopped them earlier. I should’ve helped you before this.”
She stared at him, her eyes sharp and searching, emotions swirling behind the muted green of her gaze. “Why now?” she asked, her tone cutting, her voice barely above a whisper. The weight of betrayal clung to every word.
“Because it’s wrong,” Cullen replied, his voice steady but laced with guilt. “You don’t belong here. You’re not a mage, and this—this isn’t justice. It’s family politics, and it’s not what we’re supposed to stand for.” He paused, his gaze earnest. “I made a mistake, Ryss. I should have let you go, as you asked. But I couldn’t. I’m sorry. Let me help you now.”
Her gaze softened slightly, though wariness lingered. “And what happens when Michael finds out? Or the Knight-Commander?” she asked, her voice trembling just enough to betray her vulnerability.
Cullen straightened, his resolve hardening. “It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “They’ll have no reason to suspect anything until we’re long gone. I’ll deal with the consequences. But right now, I need to get you out of here.”
For a moment, she said nothing, her eyes locked on his as she weighed his words. Hurt and suspicion warred with the faint flicker of trust that lingered between them. Finally, she stood slowly, slinging her pack over her shoulder. Her hesitation was evident as she extended her hand—not in trust, but in necessity.
“Will you get in trouble?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly, her gaze dropping as though bracing for the worst. Then she looked up again, her concern clear. “I don’t want this to ruin your life.”
Her words struck him like a blow. He froze, her concern taking him completely off guard. How can she care about my future, he thought, when hers is the one hanging by a thread?
“I’ll handle it,” Cullen interrupted, his voice firm but softer now. “It’s not your burden to carry. Let me worry about that.”
She studied him, her eyes flickering with doubt and resolve. Then she gave a small nod. “Alright. Let’s go.”
Together, they slipped into the silent corridor, their steps careful and deliberate. Cullen’s grip tightened on the hilt of his blade as they moved, his body tense with readiness. He glanced at Ariana, her expression set with determination despite the fear that lingered in her eyes. Even now, she cares about what happens to me. She shouldn’t. But I’ll get her out of here, he vowed silently. No matter what it takes.
~~~
Cullen guided Ariana out of the Circle and onto a small boat, the silence between them thick with tension. He kept glancing at her, hoping for some acknowledgment, but her expression was a mask—cool, unreadable, and distant. His mind churned with everything he wanted to say, but none of it felt right. He wanted to apologize, to explain why he had approached her that night in The Spoiled Princess. But confessing that it had started as an attempt to determine if she was a mage felt like it would only make things worse.
By the time they reached the docks, she stepped out of the boat with quick, purposeful movements, putting as much distance between them as she could. Cullen secured the boat and followed her. “Ryss,” he called out, but she didn’t stop, her pace only quickening.
Without looking back, she replied, “While I thank you for the rescue, it’s best if we part ways now.” Her voice carried an unmistakable mix of pain and anger.
Determined, Cullen caught up to her, reaching out to grab her wrist. She pulled her arm back immediately, whirling around to face him, her hazel-green eyes flashing with fury. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped, her voice sharp. “You’ve done enough.”
He held up his hands in a placating gesture, his voice softer. “Please, just give me a chance to explain.”
She hesitated, her emotions a whirlwind as she weighed her options. Every instinct screamed at her to turn and walk away, to put as much distance between them as possible. And yet, there was something about his voice, about the look in his eyes, that made her pause. He had a way of disarming her that she couldn’t quite fight, and she hated that she felt compelled to listen.
“Fine,” she said, her tone resigned but edged with irritation. “But let’s have this conversation somewhere less… conspicuous.”
They walked away from the docks, passing The Spoiled Princess in strained silence until they found a secluded spot within the trees. There, they settled on a fallen log, the silver light of the moon illuminating her face in soft shadows. Cullen was struck again by how beautiful she was, even when her expression was guarded and her shoulders stiff with distrust.
But tonight, he wasn’t the smooth-talking man she had met in the tavern. Words failed him, his thoughts tangled as he struggled to begin. He felt her gaze on him, expectant and sharp, and he knew he couldn’t delay any longer.
After a few false starts, he took a deep breath and began. “When I first saw you in The Spoiled Princess, I thought… well, I thought you might be a runaway mage,” he admitted, his voice quiet but steady. “Your demeanor, the way you carried yourself—it raised some flags for me. And, yes, I approached you with that in mind. But that changed, Ryss. That changed the moment we started talking.”
He looked at her, hoping to find understanding in her expression, but she remained silent, her features unreadable. Pressing on, he confessed, “I should’ve told you the truth that night, but… I didn’t want to lose the chance to know you. I’ve never been as comfortable talking to someone as I am with you. I never wanted to lie, but I didn’t know how to fix it once I started.”
Determined to prove his honesty, he unraveled the small lies he’d told her. He shared that he was born in Honnleath, not Lothering, and that he was the second oldest of four siblings. He explained how he’d begun training as a Templar at thirteen and had only been stationed at Kinloch for just over a year.
As he shared these details, apologizing and confessing, he watched her expression slowly soften. Her guardedness began to slip away, her lips curving into a faint smile as he told her stories from his childhood and his family. The anger in her eyes faded as she listened, and he found her nodding, even laughing lightly at a few of his recollections.
“I didn’t chase you that day because I thought you were a mage,” he said, his voice faltering. “I chased you because I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to lose this… whatever this is between us.”
Ariana studied him, her gaze softening as his sincerity became undeniable. She could still feel the sting of betrayal, but she also saw the guilt in his eyes and the honesty in his words. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she sighed, her voice gentler now. “If I hadn’t panicked… none of this would have happened,” she admitted. “Maybe Michael wouldn’t have noticed me, and we could’ve just walked away.”
The tension between them eased, the anger in her eyes fading as she allowed herself to believe him. Cullen, emboldened by her response, smiled faintly, though his heart ached with the knowledge that she couldn’t stay.
“So… what happens now?” he asked, his voice tentative. “Where will you go?”
Ariana sighed softly, her gaze drifting to the dark line of trees beyond them. “My journey needs to continue. There aren’t many places left to hide around here, so… I’ll probably head toward Lothering.” She looked back at Cullen, catching the glimmer of disappointment in his eyes, and her heart clenched in response. She knew she felt the same way.
Silence stretched between them for a moment before Ariana, sensing that this might be her last chance, decided to share more of herself with him. “You know, I’m the youngest of four,” she began, her voice soft. “In my family, that means something specific. The youngest child is usually promised to the Chantry. The oldest becomes the head of the family, the rest are married off to secure alliances. Simple, straightforward… or so it’s supposed to be.”
Cullen tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “But… it didn’t work out that way for your family?”
She shook her head, a faint, bittersweet smile crossing her lips. “No. My eldest brother, Mark, is the heir, of course. He’ll take over as Bann, married well, will carry on the name. But then there’s my sister Kira… she’s a mage. When her magic manifested, they sent her to the Circle. That meant she couldn’t secure alliances through marriage. And Michael…” Her voice trailed off, her expression darkening. “Michael ran off and joined the Templars. I suppose you already know how that turned out.”
Cullen frowned, his brows knitting together as he listened intently. “And that left you.”
“Yes,” she said with a quiet nod. “That left me. By all rights, I should have been free. Michael joining the templars met our commitment to the Chantry. Kira’s condition wasn’t mine to bear. But my mother…” Her smile twisted bitterly. “My mother would never allow that. To her, I’m not a person—I’m a tool. A means to restore what she thinks we’ve lost. She’s less worried about me than she is about her standing. She’s probably more upset about the rumors that will spread about her not raising a proper daughter.”
Cullen’s chest tightened as he watched her speak. There was a vulnerability in her words, a mixture of frustration and sorrow that he hadn’t seen in her before. She was opening up to him, sharing pieces of herself that she likely kept hidden from everyone else. And in that moment, he realized just how much she had endured to carve out her own path.
She met his gaze, her voice quieter now. “I thought if I ran far enough, I could escape it all. The expectations, the obligations, the endless weight of what my family wanted from me. But… no matter how far I go, it seems to follow.”
Cullen reached out, his hand brushing lightly against her arm, grounding her in the moment. “You’re not running anymore,” he said softly. “You’re choosing. That’s something they’ll never understand, and that’s their loss. Not yours.”
Ariana looked at him, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For saying that. For everything.”
Her time in Kirkwall with Varric had been wonderful—she’d felt safe, happy, even at home. But what she felt with Cullen was something else entirely—something unexpected, powerful, and deeply unsettling in the best way. In just a few days, he had awakened emotions she hadn’t known existed, feelings she couldn’t ignore. Being with him felt different, like a part of her had finally found the place it belonged.
Swallowing, she wrestled with her urge to stay. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish I could stay close…” Her words trailed off but some part of her hope he understood the implication.
Cullen’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought about asking her to stay. But he knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to her, and it wasn’t realistic. “You’re unlike anyone I have ever met. I will miss you,” he said simply, his voice laced with regret.
Ariana hesitated, a thought crossing her mind—Crestwood. It was only a couple of days away on foot, far enough from Kinloch Hold but close enough that she could maybe see him from time to time. But she didn’t voice it. Not yet. She wasn’t certain what her next step should be, only that she had to keep moving forward. Perhaps, if she could find a way, she would come back.
“For now,” she said, meeting his gaze, “I have to say goodbye. But… I hope our paths cross again someday. Maybe even soon.” She leaned closer, her hand resting on his arm, and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Cullen. For everything.”
Cullen’s chest tightened as he held her arm, his fingers lingering there, trying to hold onto the moment for as long as he could. As she pulled away, he released her with a slow nod, unable to find the right words to say goodbye.
Ariana turned and began walking away, her silhouette fading into the night as she disappeared into the trees. Cullen watched her go, his heart heavy with resignation. He had known her only a few days, and yet he knew now that he would remember her for the rest of his life.