11 – 15 Firstfall 9:33
A couple of nights later, Cullen was summoned to the Trevelyan estate. Though the note had been simple and polite, he couldn’t shake the faint unease that had lingered since he read it. Charles’s request seemed innocuous enough, but Cullen’s mind churned with possibilities. Perhaps this was just an invitation for dinner, he reasoned. Yet as he approached the grand estate, he found his thoughts drifting back to Ariana, to the way she smiled when she spoke of her father, to the quiet strength that seemed to run in her family. Would Charles approve of him? Would he see a simple Templar as someone unworthy of his daughter?
By the time Isabel led him into the library, Cullen had managed to steel himself—mostly. Still, the room’s quiet atmosphere and Charles’s composed demeanor as he turned to greet him did little to settle his nerves.
“Ah, Knight-Captain, thank you for coming,” Charles said, his voice friendly yet carrying an undertone of seriousness that made Cullen straighten instinctively.
“Of course, my lord,” Cullen replied, his tone guarded as his gaze flickered briefly around the room. Ariana wasn’t here. That detail alone made his heart sink slightly. He had half-expected her presence to soften whatever this meeting was meant to be, but the absence only heightened his worry. Some part of him had anticipated this—the moment a noble father would look him over and find him lacking.
“My daughter seems quite taken with you,” Charles began, his words carefully measured. Cullen stood at attention, his hands clasped behind his back as Charles continued. “I’m aware you met her in Ferelden before the Blight. I imagine you’ve never experienced what being involved with a noble family might entail.”
Cullen’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. The statement wasn’t entirely inaccurate, but it grated against his pride nonetheless. “Not directly, my lord,” he replied, keeping his words neutral and concise.
“Please, just Charles is fine,” the older man said, his tone taking on a more reassuring note. “You’ve likely noticed that every noble is afforded their dalliances, but we do our best to keep such matters quiet—shadows and whispers, nothing more. However, if the rumors circulating Kirkwall are anything to go by…” His gaze flicked to Cullen, his smirk faint but pointed. “Your relationship with my daughter appears to be far more public. And, if I may say, rather vividly imagined.”
Cullen felt his breath hitch for a moment, a mix of emotions stirring within him. That Charles was aware of the rumors was one thing. That he’d grouped what Cullen shared with Ariana among “dalliances” was another entirely. Cullen’s hands tightened at his sides, but he forced himself to stay composed. Still, his voice carried an edge when he responded.
“Tell me, Knight-Captain,” Charles continued, leaning forward slightly, “what are your intentions with my daughter?”
The question hung in the air, more curious than accusatory, yet it bore a weight Cullen couldn’t ignore. He held Charles’s gaze for a long moment before answering, his voice steady but filled with conviction.
“She is no dalliance, Charles,” Cullen said firmly. “Ariana deserves more than I can ever give her—I know that. But I will give her everything I have, for as long as I am able. I will stand with her against anything and anyone who would threaten her, her freedom, or her happiness.”
Charles regarded him silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he smiled—a genuine, warm expression that took Cullen slightly by surprise.
“Well said,” Charles remarked, rising from his chair with a satisfied air. He picked up a folded letter from the desk and extended it to Cullen. “Then you have my blessing. I’ll be content knowing she has someone like you by her side.”
Cullen stared at him, momentarily stunned, before reaching out to take the letter. Charles placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm but not heavy. “Goodnight, Knight-Captain,” he said simply before making his way out of the library, leaving Cullen alone.
For a moment, Cullen remained where he was, the weight of the letter in his hand grounding him as his emotions churned. Relief, gratitude, and a faint sense of disbelief swirled within him. Slowly, he unfolded the letter, his breath catching as he recognized Ariana’s handwriting:
Father,
I’m sorry. Please don’t be disappointed. I couldn’t bear it, but I also can’t bear to remain here.
I don’t yet know where I belong, but I know it’s not as Frederick’s wife, as the next Duchess of Markham.
I know life isn’t a fairy tale, but I think that there’s still more to it than this. I need to find the adventure that I know is somewhere out there waiting for me. With any luck, maybe I’ll even find my knight in shining armor who will come to my rescue when I need him…
You have always supported me in the past, and I’m sorry I have to do this, but I know you can’t support me this time even if you were willing.
I hope you can forgive me, Father.
I love you.
Ariana
Cullen’s lips curved into a soft smile as he read the words, his chest tightening at the line that stood out above all the rest: “Maybe I’ll even find my knight in shining armor who will come to my rescue when I need him…”
He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as a wave of warmth spread through him. Her knight in shining armor… The thought was almost too much to believe, yet here he was. Whatever twists of fate had brought them together, he would ensure that nothing—not rumors, not titles, not the expectations of others—would ever take her from him again.
Still holding the letter, Cullen leaned back in his chair, a quiet resolve settling over him. He would defend her against anything and anyone. Because she wasn’t just anyone. She was his, and he would be hers for as long as she allowed it.
~~~
The rest of the week passed quietly, with Ariana splitting her time between her father, Cullen, and the familiar comfort of the Hanged Man.
Much of her time at the estate was spent alongside Isabel and Charles, assessing the state of the house. They worked to determine which furniture needed replacing, organizing cleaning efforts, and ensuring the house was properly stocked. Ariana had one specific request that she made clear to both her father and Isabel: “Please, hire as many of the staff as you can from the Alienage. Elves aren’t treated well in Kirkwall, and… we can’t fix that for everyone, but…” Her voice trailed off, the weight of her words lingering in the air.
Charles smiled, pride evident in his eyes as he nodded in agreement. “Of course, my dear. It’s a fine idea.”
Isabel, already jotting down a list of tasks, gave a supportive nod. “We’ve enough room in the servants’ quarters to make that work easily.”
Ariana felt a sense of relief, knowing her home could provide even a small haven in a city as harsh as Kirkwall.
When her father’s time in the city came to an end, Ariana found it harder than she expected to see him go. She thanked him profusely for everything he had done, but guilt lingered in her voice as she apologized again for the rift her departure had caused with her mother.
Charles, however, shook his head, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Ariana, that rift was there long before you ever left. Your mother and I… we’ve always seen the world differently. You bear no blame for that.”
His words were comforting, though she couldn’t entirely quiet her lingering guilt.
Cullen had started visiting the estate whenever his duties allowed, and Ariana found herself looking forward to those moments more and more each time. She had the courtyard arranged with comfortable seating, transforming it into an ideal place for their stargazing escapades. No more moonlit trysts in Hightown, she teased herself. The thought made her smile. It was a subtle way of creating a space for them, one that felt uniquely theirs.
Despite everything seeming to fall into place, Ariana couldn’t shake a growing unease. It had been over a month since she’d left Ferelden, and she was honestly surprised Riley hadn’t sent a search party after her. She knew she’d need to return soon, at least temporarily, but the thought of explaining her absence weighed heavily on her.
No one but Varric knew about the Silver Rangers. How would she explain such an extended disappearance, especially to Cullen? He had made his thoughts on mercenaries clear that first night. Yet the idea of keeping such a secret from him felt wrong, but the risk of revealing it loomed large in her mind. What if he changed his mind about her, what if he couldn’t respect her for who she was now.
Maybe… I need to find out how he’d feel about it, without revealing too much just yet, she thought, considering her next steps carefully. Then I can decide what to do.
~~~
After her father left, the estate felt quieter, heavier somehow, even with Isabel and Emma filling the space. That night, after Isabel prepared dinner, Ariana asked her to sit with her. She couldn’t keep carrying everything alone. If Isabel was managing her life in so many other ways, it only made sense to confide in her. And not just about the logistics of running the estate—about everything. Ariana needed someone to know, someone to share the weight of her past, the truth about the blight, Krieger… all of it.
As happy as she often felt now—here, with friends, with Cullen—the darkness still lingered. The nightmares were unrelenting. She needed someone to see her fully and not turn away.
“Isabel…” Ariana began, her voice soft, trailing off as she watched Isabel holding Emma on her lap, gently brushing the little girl’s hair. The sight was grounding, comforting, yet it made her own hesitation even harder to push past. “I… can I trust you?”
Isabel’s brow furrowed slightly as she looked up, her kind eyes meeting Ariana’s. “Of course,” she said simply, but her tone carried an undercurrent of concern. She set Emma on her feet with a small kiss on the head and motioned for her to fetch her doll from the corner.
Ariana hesitated, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “Do you… work for me, or my father?” she asked softly. There was no accusation in her tone, only an earnest need to know where Isabel’s ultimate loyalty lay. She wouldn’t blame her if it was with Charles—he was the one who brought her here, after all.
Isabel tilted her head, a knowing smile forming on her lips. She reached across the table to gently place her hand over Ariana’s. “My loyalty is first and foremost to you, my Lady. Always.” Her voice was steady and warm, filled with maternal affection. “To you, my child.”
Ariana’s lip quivered slightly, the tension she’d been holding in her shoulders easing at Isabel’s reassurance. “I need someone to know… everything,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly on the last word. “Someone who understands the whole story. I—I can’t keep it all inside anymore.”
Isabel’s gaze softened, and she squeezed Ariana’s hand, her own resolve clear. She could see how much Ariana had been carrying. “Then you’ll tell me, my lady,” she said gently. “But not tonight on an empty stomach. Finish your dinner. I’ll make you some tea—and perhaps fetch a bottle of wine from the cellar.” Her voice had a calming rhythm, her practical nature shining through as she rose to her feet, Emma now dozing against her shoulder.
Isabel’s touch was light as she passed Ariana, her presence so steady that Ariana already felt a small weight lift, knowing she wouldn’t have to do this alone anymore. As she watched Isabel leave to tuck Emma into bed, Ariana allowed herself a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
This was right. Isabel had been there at the start, helping her escape when no one else would have dared. If anyone could handle the full truth of who she had become—and who she used to be—it was Isabel. She wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t pity. She would understand.
~~~
Isabel wasn’t gone long. When she returned, she carried two bottles of wine and a pair of glasses. She moved with a calm deliberation, placing the glasses on the table and pouring a glass for Ariana first before filling her own. Her presence alone was steadying, grounding in a way Ariana hadn’t realized she needed.
“Now, my child,” Isabel said softly, sitting beside her and covering Ariana’s hand with her own. “Why don’t you start from the beginning? What happened when you left the manor?”
Her tone was gentle, free of judgment, but her words made it clear—she wanted to know everything. Ariana smiled faintly, despite the heaviness of the conversation she was about to have. She felt a flicker of relief knowing someone finally wanted to understand.
Taking a slow sip of wine, Ariana began. She detailed her first steps away from the manor—the naive realization that leaving on foot wouldn’t get her far, and the desperate decision to board the first boat she could find. She spoke of finding Berthold and how pure luck had brought her to him. His ship had been her salvation in more ways than one.
Isabel listened intently, her only interruptions coming as slight nods or a squeeze of Ariana’s hand. Her attention never wavered, her eyes focused entirely on Ariana as she unfolded her story.
Ariana continued, recounting her arrival in Kirkwall and meeting Varric. She described the months spent learning from him, unraveling the tangled web of his dealings and the intricacies of his spy network. When she reached the part about seeing her father in Kirkwall and his urging her to run further, she hesitated, unsure if Isabel already knew.
Isabel nodded knowingly. “Your father told me.” She said. “When he came back to Ostwick, I could see how torn he was, but he was certain it was the best choice for you.”
Encouraged by Isabel’s understanding, Ariana pressed on, describing her flight to Ferelden. Her voice softened as she spoke of meeting Cullen, her words growing lighter as she recounted the night at the Spoiled Princess. Isabel laughed at the awkward charm of their first conversation, clearly amused.
“Seems like a good man, that one,” Isabel said when Ariana mentioned Cullen helping her escape her brother. “And it sounds like he’s cared for you for a very long time.”
Ariana’s face softened, a rare, unguarded smile touching her lips. “And I for him…”
Eventually, the story turned darker again. She spoke of the letter from Varric about the Blight, how she and Cullen had tried to warn people. She described the chaos in the aftermath of the Battle of Ostagar and how it marked the beginning of the end for them—for that version of them, at least. Barely a month later, they were separated, and she lost him.
Her voice faltered as she described the months she spent running, alone, trying to stay a step ahead of the Blight and the darkspawn while still searching for Cullen. The tension in her words grew, and Isabel could see the weight of those months pressing down on her even now.
Finally, Ariana paused, her grip tightening around her wine glass. “I was cornered,” she said, her voice quieter, her gaze distant. “I was certain it was the end. I’d been fighting for hours, endless waves of darkspawn, and I was so exhausted. Then suddenly, a group of warriors charged in… They saved my life.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “It was the Crimson Blades.”
At first, the words seemed a relief—salvation in the form of a mercenary company. But Isabel didn’t miss the hesitation, the way Ariana’s tone shifted. It was subtle, but unmistakable. Whatever had happened with the Crimson Blades was not the blessing it initially appeared to be.
Isabel leaned forward slightly, her hand still resting over Ariana’s, steady and encouraging. She didn’t push, waiting for Ariana to find the words. But in her heart, she knew—this was where Ariana’s story would take a much darker turn, darker than even the Blight.
~~~
Ariana took another sip of wine before setting the glass down, her fingers tracing its rim absentmindedly. “I traveled with them for a little over a year. It seemed like the smart thing to do,” she began, her voice measured but distant. “They weren’t a large company—about forty of them, including… Krieger… their leader.” Her words faltered, the name catching in her throat. Isabel’s hand tightened around hers, sensing the storm beneath her calm facade.
She went on to explain how Krieger had an unprecendented mastery with blades. How his motions were so effortless and fluid. She spoke about him with a quiet yet hesitant admiration. She spoke of how Krieger had believed in her, believed that she could be more than she was. That with the right training she would become unstoppable. She spoked of how she wouldn’t have survived or become who she is today without him.
“Not many people know what I’m about to tell you. At least not many still around.” Ariana’s gaze fell to the wine in her glass, her eyes hollowing as though she could see the memories swirling in its depths. She paused, taking a deep breath, her lips pressing into a thin line as if she needed to force the words free.
Isabel didn’t rush her. She sat still, her hand unwavering, but her own heart began to race. Whatever Ariana was about to reveal was something Isabel knew she had carried alone for far too long.
Slowly, Ariana began to recount the story. She spoke of how it started, the insidious way Krieger’s manipulations had crept into her life. The way his obsession slowly manifested itself until it finally snapped. She described what it felt like to endure it, the suffocating powerlessness, the helplessness that had once made her believe she’d never escape. Her words were clinical, dispassionate, almost detached, as though she were narrating someone else’s story. But Isabel could feel the weight behind each word, the pain Ariana refused to let herself feel. When she mentioned Riley and the others—how, without their intervention, she wasn’t sure she’d be here—her voice cracked for the first time, though she swallowed it down quickly.
Isabel’s hand flew to her mouth, unable to stifle the sobs that threatened to spill. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the anguish of hearing such a story from someone she cared for so deeply slicing through her. She felt an angry, helpless rage simmering beneath her grief, but she didn’t interrupt, letting Ariana continue.
Ariana kept her eyes fixed on the glass in front of her, her voice bitter and distant. “He didn’t leave significant marks. No significant scars.” Her hand brushed over her forearm as though tracing invisible wounds. “He knew exactly how to make it hurt without showing a single sign.”
Isabel rose abruptly, her body trembling with the effort to contain her emotions. She couldn’t stay seated—couldn’t sit idle after hearing what she had. Her voice was cold, sharp as a blade. “Is he dead?”
Ariana’s lips twisted into a grim smile. “I didn’t kill him myself,” she said, her tone carrying a dark satisfaction. “But I did leave him crippled. Figured I’d let the darkspawn or anything else do the rest. I hope he suffered.” The edge in her voice made it clear she meant every word.
For a moment, Isabel couldn’t speak. She turned away, taking a deep breath before looking back at Ariana. She walked back to the table and knelt beside Ariana, pulling her into an embrace.
Ariana stiffened at first, unused to such vulnerability, but Isabel didn’t let go. “You’ve been holding this in for too long, my child,” she murmured, stroking her hair gently. “You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”
Ariana remained silent, her head resting against Isabel’s shoulder. The warmth of Isabel’s embrace and the quiet understanding in her words began to chip away at the wall Ariana had built around her pain. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to relax, to lean into the care of someone else. She didn’t cry, not yet, but Isabel knew it was only a matter of time. Ariana’s armor had finally begun to crack.
~~~
Ariana wasn’t sure how long she sat there, letting Isabel’s arms encircle her in quiet comfort. She understood what Isabel meant, what she was gently urging her toward. But Ariana knew there would be no tears for this—not now, not ever. In her mind, crying over what Krieger had done would mean giving him power over her, a victory she refused to allow.
As Isabel slowly released her, Ariana exhaled softly, straightening in her seat. “I’m sorry, Isabel,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with guilt. “I’m sorry you have to carry this with me. But don’t feel sorry for me. I made my mistakes, and I own them.”
Isabel’s heart ached at her words, a sorrow she wished Ariana would let herself share. “You should never have had to pay that price, my child. None of this was your fault—it was the fault of a madman.”
Ariana motioned for Isabel to return to her seat at the table, determination flickering in her hazel-green eyes. “Come. Sit,” she urged. “It’s time to finish the story.”
She offered Isabel a faint smile as they settled back into their chairs. “I promise, that’s the worst of it. After that point…” Ariana hesitated, her smile firming with resolve. “I haven’t regretted a thing.”
She began detailing how the fifteen who left with her that night became the foundation of the Silver Rangers, a company born from necessity but forged with purpose. Ariana’s voice grew lighter as she recounted their growth, their victories, and their mission to do good in a world so often weighed down by darkness. How they began helping Ferelden rebuild. They might be mercenaries by definition, but she was proud of what they had built—of the hope they carried with them wherever they went.
When Ariana explained the origins of the “White Wolf” moniker, Isabel’s eyes lit with amusement. The story, equal parts accidental and endearing, brought the first genuine smile to her face since the night began.
Isabel leaned back in her chair, shaking her head with a warm laugh. “Riley’s right about you—you are a softie.”
Ariana shrugged, her lips curling in a mischievous grin. “It made that boy happy,” she said, her tone light but fond. “That’s all that mattered.”
As the tale neared its conclusion, Isabel’s curiosity deepened. She leaned forward, her questions flowing naturally. “And the Rangers—how do you keep it all running? The funding, the contracts? You’re here in Kirkwall now—how do you manage everything?”
Ariana tilted her head, her hazel-green eyes narrowing with a meaningful glance that said more than words could. It didn’t take Isabel long to piece it together.
“Oh,” Isabel said, realization dawning in her expression. She paused, thinking through the implications of what Ariana’s subtle request might mean. “I see.”
“I can’t stay in Kirkwall permanently,” Ariana admitted, her voice softening with regret. “I’ll need to travel between Ferelden, Kirkwall, and Orlais more often now. Riley is good—great, even—at managing the tactical side of things. She’s a brilliant leader in the field. But contracts? Finances? The day-to-day operation?” Ariana shook her head. “That’s not her. And she shouldn’t have to carry that burden.”
Isabel chuckled, the sound light and reassuring. For the first time that evening, the weight in the air seemed to lift. “Very well,” she said, her tone practical but warm. “Get some rest tonight. In the morning, we’ll go over everything. You’ll tell me exactly what I need to know to help.”
Standing, Isabel reached over to give Ariana’s hand a firm squeeze before bending to kiss her forehead, an unmistakably maternal gesture. “Goodnight, my child.”
Ariana smiled up at her, the warmth of the moment settling into her chest. She finally felt as though she could feel her past and her present were coming back together. As if both sides of her could maybe become one now.