28 Harvestmere – 8 Firstfall 9:33
The days had settled into an easy rhythm, a new chapter in their lives that felt both familiar and uncharted. Ariana could barely recognize herself in this new freedom. Gone were the shadows she had once cloaked herself in, the constant vigilance, the fear of being dragged back to Ostwick, into another life she didn’t choose. Whatever chains had once bound her to the past had long since rusted and broken. She was finally free to breathe, to explore, to live—and with Cullen beside her, she felt more alive than ever.
Cullen, too, seemed changed. The rigid schedule that had once defined his life had fallen by the wayside. His visits to the Chantry grew less frequent, his time instead devoted to their shared exploration of Kirkwall and its surroundings. His armor, once a second skin, now seemed more like a relic. When they were together, he shed it as often as duty allowed, preferring the closeness it afforded them. In these moments, she could see the Cullen she had always known—the man beneath the weight of his title and the shadows of the Gallows.
Today was one of those rare days when they ventured far from the city, and Ariana couldn’t help the spark of excitement in her voice as she proposed their destination. “So, I heard there’s an ancient altar to Mythal atop Sundermount…” Her playful smile turned inviting. “Care to join me?”
Cullen chuckled, a warmth in his expression she never tired of seeing. “Sundermount? I believe there’s a Dalish clan settled nearby.”
“Even better,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with anticipation as she slipped her hand into his. Together, they began the climb.
At the base of the mountain, the path led them directly into the Dalish camp, where they were soon approached by a tall, older elf with silvery-white hair. She carried herself with calm authority, her gaze assessing. “Andaran atish’an,” the woman greeted, her tone polite but cautious. “I am Keeper Marethari. What brings you to our camp?”
Ariana immediately noted the subtle movements of the Dalish rangers, positioning themselves with quiet precision. Their bows were lowered but ready, their loyalty to the Keeper evident. She inclined her head respectfully. “En’an’sal’en sul mar arla,” she replied in careful Elvish, her tone reverent. “I do not mean to intrude, Keeper. I seek only passage to the mountain’s summit.”
Marethari’s eyes narrowed slightly, surprise flickering across her face. “You speak our tongue,” she observed. “You know our ways?”
“I have crossed paths with other Dalish clans in my travels,” Ariana replied earnestly. “I have learned much from them, and I hope to learn more still. I mean no harm to you or your people.”
The Keeper’s expression softened, though her curiosity remained. “What is it you seek at the summit?”
“Knowledge and understanding of the Elvhen,” Ariana answered, her voice clear. “I wish to preserve what remains of the old ways, for the good of all who walk this world.”
Marethari’s gaze lingered on her, measuring her sincerity. “And if we were to deny you this passage?”
Ariana’s response was immediate, her tone steady. “Then we shall leave without disturbing you further.”
The Keeper studied her for a long moment, then nodded, a faint smile gracing her lips. She raised a hand, signaling her rangers to stand down. “You are not what I expected, child,” she said with quiet approval. “Very well. You have our blessing to continue. May Mythal watch over you.”
“Ma serannas, Keeper,” Ariana replied, bowing her head deeply before taking Cullen’s hand again. As they left the camp, she felt the weight of the rangers’ watchful eyes ease from her shoulders.
They had walked some distance before Cullen broke the silence. “That was… remarkable,” he began, his voice filled with admiration. “How did you…?” He trailed off, shaking his head as though at a loss for words. “You’re incredible.”
Ariana’s cheeks flushed faintly, and she laughed softly. “I didn’t do anything special. They just needed reassurance that we meant no harm.”
Cullen’s gaze lingered on her, a mixture of pride and wonder in his eyes. “Where did you learn Elvish?”
“Books. And from a few Dalish I met in Ferelden and Orlais,” she replied casually, though a flicker of pride danced in her voice.
When they reached the summit, the ancient altar rose before them, weathered but majestic. Ariana’s breath caught as she stepped closer, her hands brushing over the intricate carvings. Symbols of Mythal intertwined with depictions of natural beauty—branches, rivers, and stars. She traced the markings, speaking aloud her interpretations, losing herself in the discovery. Cullen, as always, watched her, captivated.
The dark, unyielding look he’d carried in his eyes days ago seemed far away now. As he stood there, the weight he had borne for so long felt lighter. She had brought him back to this—to wonder, to joy, to himself.
When she turned toward the sea, her silhouette framed by the glowing horizon, she looked back at him, her eyes warm and full of gratitude. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she said softly.
“You brought me here,” he replied, his voice quiet but steady, “in more ways than one.”
As they sat among the ruins, sharing a simple meal and watching the stars, Cullen felt the peace of the moment settle deep within him.
~~~
Late that evening, Ariana returned to the Hanged Man, the familiar haze of tavern smoke and clamor settling around her like an old, worn cloak. The noise was almost comforting, a chaotic rhythm she could navigate without effort. As she made her way through the crowd, her gaze landed on the door to Varric’s suite, which was firmly shut.
Pausing, she turned to Corff at the bar. “Is Varric in?”
Corff opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, a smooth, sultry voice cut through the din, sharp as a blade. “Who’s asking?”
Ariana turned, eyebrow arching as she took in the woman standing a few feet away. She looked like she’d raided a treasure chest and decided to wear half of it as armor—but only half. Ariana resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She really should have used the other half too. The woman’s posture was loose, casual, but there was something sharp coiled beneath it, like a dagger hidden in silk.
“And you are?” Ariana asked, her tone calm but edged with challenge.
The woman’s lips curved into a grin, though her eyes gleamed with a hint of warning. “Someone who makes it her business to know who’s sniffing around my friends.” In one fluid motion, she pulled a dagger from her belt and drove it into the counter between them, the blade wobbling slightly as it settled into the wood.
Ariana’s gaze flicked to the dagger, unimpressed. She brushed it aside with the back of her hand, not even sparing it a proper glance. “Is this butter knife supposed to intimidate me?” Her voice was dry, her smirk faint but sharp. “Because after everything I’ve been through, this hardly even registers.”
Her words hung in the air for a moment, drawing a ripple of amusement from the barkeep and a few nearby patrons. The woman’s grin widened, but the glint in her eyes turned more dangerous.
“You’ve got a sharp tongue,” she said, her tone deceptively light. “Careful you don’t cut yourself with it.”
Ariana leaned in slightly, her smirk never faltering. “And you’ve got an overinflated sense of authority,” she shot back. “Careful you don’t choke on it.”
Corff cleared his throat, clearly wanting to intervene, but before he could, the woman grabbed for Ariana’s arm. Ariana reacted instantly, sidestepping the attempt and shoving her attacker back against the bar with enough force to rattle the bottles behind it.
“Looking for a fight, sweetheart?” the woman asked, her tone dangerous now, her stance shifting from playful to poised.
Ariana sighed, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeve. “Not particularly,” she said coolly. “But I’d be happy to put you in your place if that’s what it’ll take for you to let me through.”
The woman lunged, her dagger flashing in a quick, calculated jab. Ariana sidestepped smoothly, her movements as fluid as water, and caught the woman’s wrist with practiced ease. Twisting sharply, she forced the blade to clatter to the floor and used the momentum to throw her off balance.
“Maybe keep your toys to yourself,” Ariana muttered, shoving her opponent back and stepping toward the stairs.
The woman recovered quickly, her grin wild with newfound respect. “Not just a pretty face—fast too,” she said, retrieving her blade with a flourish.
Ariana turned just in time to see the woman rush toward her again. Bracing herself, she caught her wrist mid-swing and pinned it behind her with a growl. “Enough,” she said, her tone low and commanding. With a shove, she sent the woman stumbling back—straight through the door to Varric’s suite.
Inside, Varric and Hawke looked up from their conversation, both raising their eyebrows at the sight of Isabela sprawled on the floor.
“Mind telling me why I’m getting ambushed on my way here?” Ariana asked, crossing her arms and glaring at Varric.
Hawke let out a laugh, glancing at Varric with amusement. “Well, looks like you’ve got quite the skilled friend here.”
Varric chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Pup, meet Isabela. She has this habit of… vetting strangers.” His grin widened. “You passed, by the way.”
Dusting herself off, Isabela rose to her feet with a wicked grin, her gaze lingering on Ariana. “Just doing my due diligence,” she said, her tone smooth and unapologetic. “And I have to say, you’re full of surprises.”
Ariana shot Varric a tired look. “Next time, maybe warn me about your ‘vetting’ process. Or at least tell her to leave the butter knives at home.”
“I’ll take it under advisement,” Varric replied, his tone utterly unapologetic. “You’ve been gone a few years, Pup. There are bound to be some new faces.”
Isabela held up her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, truce.” She turned back to Ariana, her grin mischievous. “But we’ll have to spar properly sometime—without the surprise element.”
Ariana smirked, tilting her head. “Anytime,” she replied, her voice calm but laced with quiet confidence.
Hawke raised her glass, her laughter bubbling over again. “Oh, this should be fun.”
Isabela’s eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity sparking behind them. “Alright, I’ve got to know—who is she?”
Without missing a beat, Hawke replied, her grin playful, “Varric’s adopted daughter.”
Varric groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Really, Hawke? Do you have to?”
Isabela’s grin widened, her amusement unmistakable. “Oh, this just got interesting. Varric has a daughter?”
Ariana chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Adopted,” she said, her voice teasing.
“Oh, now this I need details of,” Isabela purred, tossing her dagger into the air and catching it effortlessly.
~~~
Ariana stretched her shoulders and neck, then gave Varric and Hawke an amused look. “Well, I was just coming to see if there was anything interesting I should know… other than a vetting process you forgot to tell me about.”
Varric and Hawke exchanged glances, an unspoken agreement passing between them, and Ariana knew immediately that she was walking into a trap.
Hawke grinned, leaning back. “Well, from the looks of it, your days have been far more interesting than ours. Rumors swirling all around about you and a certain Templar—exploring the Wounded Coast, sneaking around ruins, stargazing in Hightown…” She cast an innocent glance at Varric. “Quite the adventures, don’t you think?”
Varric sighed, casting an exasperated glance between Hawke and Ariana, like a father watching his daughter get into mischief he wished he hadn’t overheard “I’m too sober for this.”
Ariana shook her head, stifling a laugh, and was just about to retort when Isabela joined them, eyes sparkling with her usual intrigue.
“You and a Templar? Darling, that’s prime gossip material.” She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. “Which Templar? Do tell.” Isabela said, sliding into a chair next to Ariana with a grin.
Ariana laughed, brushing them off. “Nothing to say—sounds like Hawke already knows everything.” She raised an eyebrow at Varric, as if daring him to disagree, but he only huffed, looking put-upon.
The group, however, wasn’t so easily deterred. They leaned in, and Isabela in particular seemed especially eager, her grin widening. “Oh, come on, which Templar?” she pressed, feigning innocent curiosity.
Ariana shook her head, laughing softly. “It’s not what you think—”
“Knight-Captain Cullen,” Varric said begrudgingly, cutting her off. “She’s been gallivanting around Kirkwall with him for days.”
Isabela’s eyebrows shot up, her grin widening. “Oh, this just keeps getting better. Gorgeous man, that one. Can’t believe I never managed to bed him…yet. So, you’re the one…” She winked, clearly relishing the moment, drawing laughter from Hawke and a slightly deeper sigh from Varric, who looked like he was struggling not to cover his ears.
Varric groaned audibly, covering his face with one hand. “I don’t need to hear this.”
Hawke, however, looked thoroughly entertained. Raising her glass, she grinned. “So, Varric, how does it feel knowing your daughter has caught the eye of Kirkwall’s most brooding Templar?”
Ariana choked on a laugh, throwing her hands up in mock protest. “We’re just friends.” though her tone lacked the necessary conviction
Varric rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at his mouth. “If I had known bringing her to Kirkwall would lead to… this, I might have thought twice.”
“You didn’t bring me here,” Ariana corrected, feigning offense. “I brought myself—twice, I’ll remind you.”
“Right, my mistake,” Varric said dryly, lowering his hand to reveal a faint smirk. “Maybe I should send you back to Ferelden…”
Hawke and Isabela laughed, clearly enjoying the banter. Isabela leaned forward again, her grin downright predatory. “So, Ariana, tell me—what’s it like being the infamous noble who’s got the Gallows’ golden boy wrapped around her finger?”
Ariana froze, something in their words finally clicking. “Wait… you mean to say these are rumors outside this room?” she asked, brows furrowing in confusion. “What exactly are people saying?”
The room fell quiet for a moment before the trio exchanged glances. Varric raised an eyebrow, his expression equal parts amused and incredulous. “You mean to tell me you haven’t heard? You two are practically the talk of Kirkwall.”
“What?” Ariana’s voice rose slightly, her eyes wide. “Why? What are people saying?”
Hawke leaned in, grinning like a cat with cream. “Oh, let’s see… everything from ‘the Knight-Captain’s mysterious lady friend’ to whispers about ‘moonlit trysts’ and ‘clandestine meetings in Hightown gardens.’” She paused, clearly savoring the moment before delivering the final blow. “And, of course, the real kicker: ‘The black sheep of the Trevelyan family stealing the heart of the Gallows’ finest.’” She punctuated the list with a playful waggle of her eyebrows.
Isabela nearly doubled over with laughter, adding, “And don’t forget ‘the lady rogue who’s secretly been taming the Templar lion.’ Of course, that’s nothing compared to the Lowtown whispers. They’re far more vivid. Word is, the Knight-Captain sneaks into your room nightly for… let’s call it ‘vigorous strategy sessions.’” She paused, her grin turning wicked. “Apparently, they think you’ve got him so enchanted that he’s ready to toss his vows for you. Some say you’re even plotting to run away together. Dramatic, right?”
Ariana’s cheeks flushed a deep red, half in embarrassment, half in disbelief. “Maker’s breath…all we did was walk around Kirkwall! And…wait…” Her voice faltered as realization struck. “Black sheep?”
Varric smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, yeah. That part’s been particularly popular. Apparently, Trevelyan’s missing daughter has resurfaced—but instead of gracefully rejoining noble society, she’s out gallivanting with Templars and lurking in Lowtown. Scandalous, really.”
“I…” Ariana’s words failed her as she buried her face in her hands, groaning. “This can’t be happening.”
Hawke patted her shoulder with mock sympathy. “Oh, it’s happening. And honestly, it’s one of the more entertaining scandals Kirkwall’s had in a while. You’re famous, Ariana.”
“Infamous, more like,” Isabela teased, grinning. “I mean, ‘black sheep,’ Ariana? That’s practically poetic.”
Ariana peeked through her fingers, glaring at the trio. “Wasn’t it your job to make sure people didn’t find ‘Ariana Trevelyan’?”
Varric chuckled, his tone more serious but no less amused. “Don’t look at me, Pup.” Varric spread his hands in mock innocence. “Only so much I can do when you’re gallivanting around with a certain Knight-Captain.”
Ariana groaned, rubbing her temples. “And here I thought we’d been discreet.” Her mind raced, a storm of emotions swirling within. The idea of being labeled the ‘black sheep’ of her family stung more than she wanted to admit. She’d worked so hard to carve out her own path, but the thought of being dismissed as some scandalous footnote in noble gossip made her chest tighten.
“Darling,” Isabela purred, her grin practically glowing. “It’s not about what you’ve done—it’s about what people think you’ve done. And let’s just say the rumors have some very good material this time.”
Ariana let out a resigned laugh, shaking her head. “Just… here’s hoping no one is looking for me anymore…”
Isabela leaned closer, her grin softening slightly. “Hey, look at it this way. At least they’re saying you’re the one taming him. Not the other way around.”
Ariana groaned again, her hands covering her face as the others burst into laughter. Deep down, though, a small part of her couldn’t help but find the absurdity of it all somewhat… amusing. Yet, another part of her worried. What if these rumors reached Ostwick? Her family had likely heard enough whispers by now to know she hadn’t disappeared entirely. What if they came looking for her? What if the wrong people started digging? The idea made her stomach churn, though she forced herself to push the thought aside. And yet, despite her embarrassment, another part of her felt a certain flush at the thought of him sneaking into her room at night. She couldn’t deny the warmth that thought brought, or how it stirred memories of their quiet moments together—moments where his presence had felt grounding, safe. She shook her head, trying to suppress a smile as she wondered just how far these rumors might go.
~~~
The next evening, when Ariana met Cullen in Hightown, she couldn’t stop glancing around, eyes flitting from one passerby to another as if searching for something—or someone. This new restlessness didn’t escape Cullen’s notice.
“Ari, is everything alright?” he asked, giving her a curious look.
“What? Yes…no…well maybe, probably…it’s fine,” she stammered, clearly struggling to find her words.
Cullen wasn’t sure he had ever seen her like this. He’d seen her afraid, he’d seen her panic even, but this? This was new. Sensing her tension, he gently took her arm and guided her off to the side. “You seem… a little high-strung,” he said, his tone kind but firm. “And that answer? It told me nothing… and yet everything.”
She gave him a look he hadn’t quite seen before—something between embarrassment, concern, and perhaps even a hint of…was that bashfulness? He wasn’t sure he knew this expression on her. It was almost endearing.
“Ari…” he said, his voice softening as he guided her to sit on a nearby bench. He knelt down in front of her, reaching out for her hands. “Talk to me.”
But she suddenly leaped up from the bench, looking genuinely alarmed. “You… you really should get up, maybe right now.”
Cullen blinked in surprise, torn between worry and a strong urge to laugh at her sudden outburst. “Alright,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “either you need to sit down, or I’ll need to hold you here myself. I’m just warning you.”
She sighed, exasperated, then plopped back down on the bench. “Fine, fine, I’ll sit. But you need to sit too. Or stand. Anything, just… please, no more kneeling.”
Amused and a little bewildered, he sat down beside her, watching her eyes fixate on the ground. “Alright, I’m sitting. Now, care to tell me what has you so… on edge?”
She took a deep breath, her gaze still either straight ahead or down at the cobblestones. “Tell me something…” she began, her voice hesitant. She cast a quick glance around them, then looked back at Cullen, struggling to keep her tone casual. “Were you… aware of all those rumors going around?”
Cullen’s eyes softened as he caught on. “Rumors?”
“Yes. You and I… we’re apparently Kirkwall’s latest ‘scandal.’”
“Oh.” His eyebrows lifted, he was somewhat amused and surprised at her reaction. “So you’ve heard.”
Cullen’s lips curved into a barely-contained smile as he caught sight of the frustration rising in Ariana’s expression. “Wait—you knew?” she demanded, her tone tinged with exasperation.
“I may have… heard a thing or two,” he admitted, struggling to keep his voice light. He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, feeling both guilty and amused. “Kirkwall’s Hightown folk do like to talk. As do idle Templars in the Gallows…”
Ariana groaned, crossing her arms as she narrowed her eyes at him. “And you didn’t think to mention it?”
He chuckled softly, leaning in closer as if to shield their words from invisible eavesdroppers. “I figured you’d hear eventually,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Though, in truth, I didn’t think you’d be so… unsettled by it.”
“Unsettled?” she scoffed, though her voice held a trace of unease beneath the bravado. “Have you heard them? You’re not just anyone. Not just another Templar, Cullen. You’re the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall and I…” she paused almost as if trying to avoid the words “I’m the ‘black sheep of the Trevelyan family’”. Her gaze shifted, a flicker of doubt shadowing her expression. “Kirkwall is all politics… Templars are no exception. There are even rumors that you’re planning to leave the Order for me. I have nothing left to lose. I was never planning to rejoin high society. But you? You… shouldn’t be seen with someone like me.”
She left the statement hanging between them, her eyes searching his face, hoping to see a hint of reassurance in his response.
Cullen heart tightened at her admission. She was worried about him. Cullen’s expression softened, and he reached over, his fingers brushing hers in a subtle gesture. “Ari,” he murmured, “I don’t care what they say. I’d walk through Hightown in broad daylight hand in hand with you if that’s what you wanted.”
Ariana’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, and she looked away, trying to mask her embarrassment. Cullen’s laughter grew louder as he saw her reaction, a mix of shock and amusement lighting up his face.
“Oh, Maker, that’s it, isn’t it?” he asked, chuckling as he pieced together her earlier skittishness. “You were worried that someone might see us and think… I was proposing?”
She huffed, folding her arms, but couldn’t help the small, sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “Well, maybe… yes,” she admitted reluctantly, her eyes flicking around to ensure no prying eyes were on them. “With everything Hawke, Isabela, and Varric hinted at last night, I—well, I thought it might look a little… compromising, you kneeling down during one of our ‘moonlit trysts’…”
Cullen had been telling the truth when he said he didn’t care. He didn’t disagree with what she was saying, it could complicate some things but he really didn’t think anything of it. He was not, in fact, planning to leave the Order and he didn’t think Meredith would be one to pay any mind to rumors. But it did twist something inside him for her to think she wasn’t good enough for him.
Cullen’s gaze softened into something more innocent, though his grin betrayed him. “Would you rather I just stand at a respectable distance at all times? Perhaps I should wear full armor to appear as official as possible, just to quash these rumors?”
She laughed, elbowing him lightly. “I am pretty sure the armor makes it all the more scandalous, from the rumors I heard. Besides, I like you much better without the armor. But I just… it would be better for you if no one gets ideas about us being… well, anything more than just friends.”
He leaned in closer, his voice low and warm, his tone dropping into something both sincere and teasing. “Ari, I think anyone who’s seen us together in the last few weeks knows better than that.” As he spoke, he gently pulled her toward him, his hand lingering on the small of her back.
Her breath caught at the sudden closeness. She looked up at him, feeling a mix of excitement and uncertainty. “What are you saying, Cullen?” she whispered, searching his eyes.
Until now, neither of them had ever admitted out loud that they were anything more than friends, and there had been a time when Cullen had tried to convince himself of that as well. But he had realized long ago that he was hers if she wanted him. That there would never be anyone else for him.
Cullen’s gaze softened, and a hint of a smile touched his lips. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending we’re ‘just friends,’” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I haven’t denied the rumors for a reason, Ari. Let them think what they will.”
Ariana seemed surprised at his words, as if she hadn’t expected it. For a few moments she held his gaze as if trying to find the truth of his words, or maybe discern their meaning. He hadn’t been denying anything because, deep down, he didn’t want to. He would much prefer the rumors were true. All of them.
Suddenly, without hesitation, she leaned forward and kissed him.
Cullen froze, utterly unprepared for the moment. Ariana’s lips pressed to his, tentative but undeniably real. For an instant, his mind went blank, as though the years of doubt, longing, and self-recrimination had simply evaporated. Then the dam inside him broke, and he moved instinctively, pulling her closer, his other hand gently cupping her face as he returned the kiss.
The world around them disappeared. The quiet hum of Hightown, the murmur of passing nobles—none of it mattered. All that existed was her warmth against him, her presence anchoring him in a way that nothing else ever had.
She wasn’t just anyone. She never had been. From the first moment they met, Ariana had been a force in his life—unexpected, overwhelming, and impossible to ignore. She had been there when he was just a young Templar who wanted to make a difference, believing in the Templar Order with the fervor of a farm boy chasing a dream. She had been there when the Blight threatened everything, reminding him of the strength that came from standing for what was right. And now, after all this time, she was here again, kissing him in a way that shattered the last of his carefully constructed walls.
As the kiss deepened, Cullen’s thoughts surged and tumbled, unbidden memories and emotions flooding him. He remembered the nights they had sat together by the ruins in Ferelden, her laughter lightening the oppressive weight of the Blight. He remembered the way she had looked at him—like he was someone worth knowing, someone she trusted. He remembered the many nights she fell asleep on his should as they watched the stars. He remembered the last time he saw her before he thought her lost to him forever.
And yet, here she was, in his arms, defying all the doubts that had plagued him since.
Maker, she’s worth it. She’s always been worth it. But even as the thought came, it was chased by the old, gnawing fear: that he wasn’t enough for her. She wasn’t just Ariana; she was Lady Ariana Ryss Trevelyan, a noble raised in the splendor of ballrooms and estates, someone who had fled a world of expectations he could barely fathom. And him? He was just Cullen Rutherford, a Templar who had given up everything to serve a cause he wasn’t even sure he believed in anymore.
What could I possibly give her?
Yet as her fingers lightly brushed his neck, grounding him in the moment, the doubt began to ebb. She had chosen him. She had searched for him, crossed nations and years to find him again. Surely that had to mean something. You’re not just anyone. Not just another Templar, Cullen. You’re the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall her words repeated in his mind. She believed in him. She still saw in him more than he saw in himself.
When they finally broke apart, her face was close, her breath mingling with his as she looked up at him. Her eyes shimmered with emotion, a mix of uncertainty and something deeper—something that mirrored the feelings churning in his chest. Cullen struggled to speak, to say something that could capture even a fraction of what he was feeling, but words seemed inadequate.
She smiled then, small and tentative, and it was enough to steal the breath from his lungs. “I—” she started, but he shook his head gently, his hand still resting against her face.
“Ari, I—I’ve wanted this for so long. You have no idea.” he said, his voice rough but steady.
Her smile softened, her fingers brushing against his chest as she whispered, “I think I might. Probably as long as I’ve wanted it.”
For a moment, Cullen allowed himself to believe it—that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment, that she wouldn’t regret this, wouldn’t turn away when she realized how flawed he truly was. Because right now, holding her close, he didn’t feel like just a Templar or a farm boy or a man burdened by too many regrets. He felt like hers. And she felt like his. Like they were always meant to be.
You both have found your home.
~~~
As they walked through the winding streets of Kirkwall, the echoes of their kiss lingered between them, a warm, unspoken presence that neither seemed entirely ready to address. Cullen glanced over at Ariana, catching the slight furrow in her brow and the way her fingers occasionally fidgeted at her side. She seemed lost in thought, her usual confidence replaced by a quiet, almost shy demeanor that he wasn’t used to seeing in her.
It wasn’t hard to see why. Their kiss had shifted something—something neither of them had dared to acknowledge before. Cullen felt a certainty blooming within him, a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in years. But Ariana, he could tell, was still sorting through it all. She’d faced dangers that would make most warriors tremble, yet here, in this fragile, unfamiliar space, she seemed uncertain. Vulnerable.
He found it endearing, this side of her she rarely revealed. In that moment he realized just how much the Blight had stolen from her. It had made her strong, yes, but it had also forced her into a life of survival, taking from her those simpler moments most people took for granted—moments of safety, of care, of love.
Finally, she broke the silence, her voice tentative but curious. “So, Cullen…” She paused, glancing at him before quickly looking away. “I heard only some of them… are they all as scandalous as they sound?”
He chuckled, his amusement evident as he considered her question. Here she was, bold enough to challenge darkspawn and evade an arranged marriage, yet the mere mention of gossip seemed to throw her off balance. “Some more than others,” he replied, his tone playful but reassuring. “Depends on where they started. Lowtown certainly is more concerned about the details of what happens when I sneak into your room every night…”
Her eyes widened slightly, her lips parting as if to respond, but she stayed silent. Cullen continued, his grin softening as he added, “Hightown’s rumors, though, are more… dignified. They’re already wondering if a noblewoman like you, black sheep or not, would marry a Knight-Captain.”
Ariana stopped mid-step, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. Her gaze dropped to the ground, and she bit her lip, clearly trying to process his words. Cullen could see the embarrassment—and perhaps something else—in her expression, and it sent a rush of warmth through him. She looked so unguarded, so unlike the Ariana he’d first met, always sharp and poised, ready for whatever the world might throw her way.
“Not quite what you expected to hear, is it?” he teased gently, leaning in slightly to meet her gaze. “You could say we’re the talk of Kirkwall.”
She looked up at him, her lips quirking into a reluctant smile. “I suppose I should have known better,” she admitted with a soft laugh. “But still…details… sneaking into my room?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, and Cullen couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him at her mix of scandal and… Is that curiosity?
He reached for her hand, brushing his fingers against hers in a way that felt both tentative and sure. “Ari,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, “it’s just talk. What matters is that I’m here, with you.”
She nodded slightly, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. “And…” she began hesitantly, her words faltering as she glanced down at the ground. “You’re sure you don’t… regret this?”
Her voice was so quiet, so unsure, that it made his heart ache. Without a second thought, Cullen stopped walking and turned to face her fully. Gently, he took her hand in his and wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her close.
“The only thing I would ever regret,” he said softly, his gaze locking onto hers, “is not having you at my side.”
For a moment, she simply stared at him, her eyes shimmering with something he couldn’t quite name. Then, with a small, almost shy smile, she leaned in, and he met her halfway, their lips finding each other once more. The world fading around them, the clamor of Kirkwall’s streets nothing more than a distant hum. In her touch, in her closeness, he found everything he had been missing.
As the kiss ended, Cullen rested his forehead against hers, his hand gently brushing her cheek. “Ari,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “you mean more to me than I could ever put into words.”
Her fingers tightened slightly on his arm, her expression soft but resolute. “Then don’t,” she whispered back. “Just stay with me.”
And with that, they continued toward the Hanged Man, their steps unhurried, their hearts lighter than they had been in years. For the first time, Cullen felt that he wasn’t just moving forward—he was moving toward something. Someone.