8 Firstfall 9:33
As they neared the Hanged Man, Cullen’s thoughts lingered on the evening they’d just shared. He could still feel the warmth of her lips against his, the way her hand had fit so perfectly in his as they walked. But now, something seemed different. Ariana had grown quiet, her expression distant, as if lost in a maze of thoughts she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—voice.
“Ari,” he said softly, his voice gentle but edged with concern. She startled, blinking up at him as though pulled from some far-off place. “You still with me?” he teased lightly, hoping to draw her back to the present.
But before she could respond, a sharp voice cut through the noise of Lowtown like a blade. “Ariana, my dear.”
The sound of it sent a shiver down Cullen’s spine. He felt her hand still in his, not tensing in fear but shifting slightly, her fingers loosening as though preparing for something. She turned her head, and Cullen followed her gaze to the source of the voice. A woman, tall and poised, her elegance almost foreign in the gritty streets of Lowtown, stood flanked by a handful of mercenaries. Her air of authority was unmistakable, as was the resemblance between her and Ariana.
Cullen’s jaw tightened as he registered the look on Ariana’s face. Surprise, yes, but only for an instant. It was quickly replaced by something colder, sharper. Her eyes darted briefly to the mercenaries, then to the street behind them, and finally back to the woman. It wasn’t fear—it was calculation. Cullen realized she wasn’t just looking; she was assessing. Gauging the distance between her and the mercenaries. Calculating their movements, their potential weaknesses.
“Mother,” Ariana said, her voice flat and cool, though there was a distinct edge to it. She stood straighter, stepping slightly in front of Cullen, not so much to shield him but to position herself in a way that gave her a clearer view of the mercenaries. Her stance was relaxed but deliberate, and Cullen couldn’t help but notice the subtle way her weight shifted onto the balls of her feet.
Her mother smiled with a sweetness so artificial it felt like an insult. “My dear,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension, “we were so worried. Imagine my surprise when I began hearing tales of a Trevelyan running around Kirkwall. The Duke and Duchess are simply overjoyed to know their future daughter-in-law has been found.”
Cullen felt a faint flicker of tension in the air between them, though Ariana’s expression didn’t waver. She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “They were still looking? That seems like a waste of time…and money.” she replied, her tone light but laced with an undercurrent of defiance.
Lady Trevelyan’s eyes flicked to Cullen, sweeping over him as though he were little more than an afterthought. “And who might this be?” she said, her tone dismissive. “A hired escort? Or perhaps just a friend.”
Cullen straightened, meeting her gaze with an unyielding calm. He knew he didn’t look like much without his armor, just another man in simple clothes. But he also knew that if her mercenaries so much as twitched toward Ariana, he could put them down before they realized their mistake.
“Mother,” Ariana interjected smoothly, stepping forward with a deliberate grace. “This isn’t going to work out the way you think it is. I suggest you give up on this.”
The older woman’s smile faltered ever so slightly, and Cullen saw a flicker of irritation cross her face. “You’ve made quite a mess of things, my dear. Running off, shirking your responsibilities. But it’s time to stop this nonsense. These gentlemen will escort you back to Ostwick, where you belong.”
The mercenaries began to move, stepping closer to encircle them. Cullen instinctively positioned himself between Ariana and the advancing men, his muscles coiled like a spring, ready to strike. But then he noticed something—Ariana didn’t move. She didn’t step back, didn’t flinch. Instead, she shifted slightly to the side, her body angled just enough to give her a clear line of sight to the mercenaries. Her hands hung loosely at her sides, fingers twitching subtly as if anticipating the feel of a weapon that wasn’t there.
Cullen’s pulse quickened. She wasn’t afraid. She was confident—too confident. Her eyes darted back and forth between the mercenaries, not out of fear but precision, cataloging their positions, their weapons, their weaknesses. It was the look of someone who had fought her way out of worse odds and was already plotting how to do it again.
He leaned closer to her, his voice low and urgent. “Ari, what do you want to do?”
She finally glanced at him, her eyes steady and calm. “I’m not going back to Ostwick,” she said simply, her tone unyielding. There was no hesitation, no doubt. She had already made her decision.
Cullen nodded, her words solidifying his resolve. His gaze shifted to the patrol of Templars in the distance, and as if sensing his intent, Ariana followed his line of sight. She looked back at him, and to his surprise, she smiled and gave a slight nod.
That was all the confirmation he needed. Turning toward the patrol, Cullen called out, his voice ringing with authority. “You there! Templars!”
The patrol stopped and quickly approached, their armor clinking as they drew closer. The leader, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, inclined his head respectfully. “Knight-Captain?”
“These mercenaries,” Cullen said, gesturing to the group flanking Lady Trevelyan, “are harassing a citizen of Kirkwall. See to it they’re escorted to the city guard.”
The mercenaries exchanged uneasy glances, clearly weighing their chances against a patrol of Templars. Lady Trevelyan’s expression twisted into fury as she realized Cullen wasn’t just anyone. He turned back to her, his hand still protectively on Ariana’s, and said evenly, “It’s Knight-Captain Cullen, my lady.”
Her face flushed with indignation, and she stepped forward, her voice rising with anger. “You have no right! This is a family matter, and I—”
“Elara! What is the meaning of this?”
The commanding voice cut through the growing tension like a knife. Ariana’s head snapped toward the sound, and her face lit up as she saw her father, Lord Charles Trevelyan, striding toward them with his own guards in tow. His presence was imposing, his expression a mix of anger and incredulity as he approached.
Lady Trevelyan’s fury faltered, her expression shifting to shock and then something closer to dread. “Charles,” she began, her voice faltering, “I was simply—”
“You were simply causing a scene,” he interrupted, his tone sharp as his eyes swept over the group. His gaze softened slightly when he saw Ariana, his relief evident. “Ariana,” he said warmly, his voice lowering, “thank the Maker you’re safe.”
“Father,” Ariana said, her voice thick with emotion as she stepped toward him, the tension in her shoulders easing. But then, unable to hold back, she broke into a run, throwing herself into his arms.
Lord Trevelyan caught her easily, holding her tightly against him. His hand cradled the back of her head as if she might disappear if he let go. “Ariana,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with relief. “You’re safe.”
Still holding her close, he straightened and turned his sharp gaze on Elara. “Take her,” he ordered his guards, his tone commanding and unyielding. Lady Trevelyan’s protests began anew, but his grip on Ariana never wavered.
“This is not over, Charles!” Elara shouted as the guards firmly took her arms.
“No,” he said coldly, his eyes hard as he looked at her. “It is not. We will talk about this when I return.” He nodded toward the guards. “Take her away.”
The guards obeyed, guiding Lady Trevelyan down the street as she struggled against their hold. Her shouts faded into the background, drowned out by the thud of mercenaries’ boots as the Templars escorted them toward the city guard.
Lord Trevelyan held on to Ariana, his hand steadying her even as the chaos subsided. Slowly, he looked up, his eyes landing on Cullen with an intensity that felt both probing and grateful.
“Knight-Captain,” he began, his voice steady but carrying the weight of a father’s gratitude. “I owe you my thanks for protecting my daughter.”
Cullen straightened almost instinctively. “No thanks are necessary, my lord,” he said, his tone even, though his gaze flicked to Ariana in her father’s arms. He felt a mix of pride and longing, the sight of her safe softening the edges of his tension.
~~~
Cullen, seemingly satisfied that Ariana was safe, gave her a small nod and turned toward the Hanged Man. His departure felt deliberate, as if he understood this moment wasn’t his to share. She watched him for a moment, warmth lingering in her chest before turning back to her father.
Ariana’s voice softened as she addressed him, a mix of relief and lingering tension threading through her words. “You got my message?”
“I did,” Charles replied, his arms still wrapped around protectively. His voice carried the weight of a thousand unspoken fears, now eased by her presence. “I’m sorry it took me so long, my darling. I was away on business when it arrived, but Isabel found me as soon as she could—quiet as a shadow, that one.” He smiled faintly, pride and gratitude in his tone.
She felt the familiar sting of guilt bubble up. Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible. “I…am sorry, Father. For all the trouble, and the worry.”
His hands tightened slightly on her shoulders, his grip grounding her as his expression hardened—not in anger, but in firm conviction. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Ariana,” he said, his tone resolute. “I told you that years ago, and I mean it just as much now. You did what you had to do. You survived.”
The words, simple but unwavering, stirred something in her. For the first time in years, the crushing weight of guilt she carried began to lift. She met his gaze, a flicker of hope shining through her uncertainty. “Will you be staying in Kirkwall?” she asked, clutching his arm almost instinctively. They had lost so much time, and though she wouldn’t admit it outright, she wasn’t ready to let him go again.
His smile softened as he cupped her cheek briefly, the gesture both comforting and protective. “I’ll be here for the week,” he assured her. “There are things to settle with your mother before she returns to Ostwick, but yes, I’ll stay.” A knowing glint appeared in his eyes. “And there’s someone else eager to see you later.”
Ariana tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her expression. “Who?” she asked cautiously.
Charles chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ll find out soon enough.” The reassurance in his tone eased her nerves, though she was still puzzling over who it might be.
Her gaze drifted toward the Hanged Man, and she hesitated before speaking again. “Father… will you come inside with me?” she asked, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “There are… a few people I’d like you to meet.”
Charles raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her demeanor. “Lead the way,” he said simply, his smile steady and encouraging.
As they entered the Hanged Man, Ariana felt her father’s hand resting lightly on her back. The familiar din of the tavern surrounded them—the laughter, the clinking of mugs, and the hum of conversations. Her eyes immediately found Cullen, seated with Varric, Hawke, and Isabela at a table near the back. They were trying their best to appear casual, but it was clear they had been watching for her return.
Cullen’s posture straightened as his gaze settled on them, his eyes flicking briefly to Charles before returning to Ariana. She could see the tension in his jaw, though he masked it well, his hand brushing absently at his side where his sword would usually rest.
Charles, for his part, moved through the bustling tavern with an ease that surprised her. There was no hesitation in his step, no trace of discomfort at the rougher edges of the Hanged Man’s atmosphere. When they reached Corff at the bar, Charles ordered an ale and a plate of bread and cheese with casual confidence, making Ariana pause. Apparently, her father had more layers than she’d given him credit for.
She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips, the tension of the past hour finally melting into something warmer. Guiding him toward the table, she felt her heart lift at the sight of Cullen standing as they approached.
“Father,” she said, gesturing toward Cullen. “This is Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford.”
Charles extended his hand to Cullen, his expression unreadable but polite. “I believe I’ve heard of you,” he said thoughtfully. “You’re the one Ariana mentioned in her letters from Ferelden, before the Blight.”
Ariana froze, heat rushing to her cheeks. Letters? Did I mention him in letters? she thought frantically, casting a quick glance at Cullen.
Cullen, however, seemed composed, shaking Charles’s hand with a firm grip and steady voice. “It’s an honor to meet you, my lord.”
“Please, just Charles,” her father corrected, his tone warming slightly.
Then Cullen turned to Ariana, his lips quirking into a teasing grin. “Letters?”
Her face burned brighter, and she quickly looked away, muttering, “I… might’ve mentioned you once or twice.”
Charles, observing the exchange, smiled knowingly but refrained from commenting further. Instead, he nodded toward the table. “Shall we?”
As they settled in, Ariana couldn’t shake the feeling of relief that came with having her father here, his presence a quiet anchor. Cullen’s steady gaze met hers briefly, and in that moment, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time—hope.
~~~
Varric straightened in his seat, giving a slight bow of his head as he began, “My lord, I am V—”
But Charles, with an easy smile and a glint of amusement in his eyes, smoothly cut him off. “Varric Tethras, Merchant Prince of Kirkwall. Yes, I am well aware.”
There was no coldness or arrogance in his tone, just a calm assurance that he didn’t miss a detail. The effect was immediate—Varric’s mouth quirked into a grin, clearly amused at being preempted. Ariana, stifling a laugh, glanced at Hawke, who raised her eyebrows with a smirk.
Charles moved to the head of the table at Varric’s insistence, his presence naturally commanding yet approachable. Cullen quietly took the seat beside Ariana, his arm brushing against hers in a way that sent a subtle warmth through her. She tried to focus on the conversation, but her father’s ease in this setting struck her as both comforting and utterly surprising.
Conversation and laughter filled the suite as the group settled in. Charles seemed to melt into the camaraderie, as comfortable here in the bustling chaos of the Hanged Man as he would be at an ostentatious noble’s banquet. Ariana couldn’t help but marvel at him. Had he always been this adaptable? This charming? She’d grown up knowing him as a reserved but warm presence in their home, but here, he was something else entirely.
“Careful there,” Isabela teased, leaning forward, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’ll fit in too well, my lord. And the Hanged Man has a way of making you forget any decorum.”
Charles leaned back with an amused smile, unfazed by her boldness. “My dear, if I didn’t know how to leave decorum at the door, I wouldn’t be here,” he replied smoothly.
The table burst into laughter, and Isabela, clearly delighted, tilted her head with a smirk. “Is that so? Perhaps you’d care to show me just how far that lack of decorum goes, my lord.”
Ariana groaned inwardly, her face heating as she realized where this was heading. She brought a hand to her temple, trying not to think about the implications of Isabela flirting with her father. Maker, no, she thought, please, no.
Charles, however, was enjoying himself far too much. “Careful, Captain,” he replied with mock seriousness, though his tone carried just enough genuine charm to make Ariana wince. “Keep this up, and I may very well consider your offer.”
“Father!” Ariana groaned aloud this time, her voice muffled as she dropped her head to the table, her hair spilling over her arms. She desperately wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
The table roared with laughter again, and Cullen, his shoulders shaking with amusement, leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head. “If it makes you feel better,” he murmured just loud enough for her to hear, “my siblings and I endured far worse from my parents.”
Ariana peeked out from her arms, her curiosity momentarily overriding her embarrassment. “Worse?” she asked, though her voice was still muffled.
Cullen chuckled. “Let’s just say they were affectionate. Very affectionate. And not shy about it. Sometimes my sister and I wondered if they forgot we were in the same room.” His tone carried a mix of warmth and exasperation, and the table burst into laughter once again.
Ariana lifted her head slightly, her expression incredulous. “Not in noble circles, they don’t. Parents are supposed to be the picture of decorum—graceful, stoic, above reproach.” She sighed dramatically, gesturing toward her father with an exaggerated flourish. “Clearly, someone missed that lesson.”
Charles chuckled, entirely unfazed. “Decorum is overrated. I prefer honesty—and having a bit of fun at my daughter’s expense.”
Ariana groaned, dropping her head back onto the table as the group dissolved into laughter once again.
Hawke smirked. “That’s just what parents do best.”
“Especially when it’s deserved,” Isabela added with a wink, earning another round of laughter.
The teasing settled after a moment, but the warmth of Cullen’s kiss lingered. Ariana tilted her head to glance up at him, noticing the way his eyes glimmered with quiet affection. Before she could say anything, her father’s voice cut through the room, redirecting the attention.
“So, Knight-Captain Cullen,” Charles began, his tone polite but curious. “Tell me about your family. What were they like?”
Cullen straightened slightly, smiling as he met Charles’ gaze. “They were… good people. Kind. My parents loved each other deeply—probably more than their children should have been aware of.” His grin turned sheepish as laughter erupted around the table.
Hawke raised her glass, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “To embarrassing parents everywhere,” she toasted, eliciting more laughter and a half-hearted groan from Ariana.
As the conversation drifted to lighter topics, Ariana leaned closer to Cullen, her shoulder brushing his. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice soft.
“For what?” he asked, tilting his head toward her.
“For moving the conversation along,” she said, her tone wry but grateful. “I really don’t need to know what my parents do when I’m not around.”
Cullen chuckled quietly, his laughter sending a warmth through her. “Fair enough,” he replied, leaning in to press another kiss to her forehead.
The simple gesture made her heart flutter, and for a moment, she forgot about their surroundings. She turned toward him, her hand brushing against his cheek as she leaned in and kissed him softly.
The world seemed to fade away, the noise of the tavern blurring into the background. Cullen responded without hesitation, his hand finding hers and squeezing gently.
When she pulled back, reality crashed back in as she realized the table had fallen silent. Ariana’s cheeks flushed a deep red as she glanced around, noticing the smirks, knowing glances, and suppressed laughter of their friends.
The teasing erupted again, but this time, Ariana didn’t care. She glanced at Cullen, her embarrassment melting under the warmth of his gaze. Whatever teasing or gossip might come, she knew they’d face it together.