17-19 Firstfall 9:33
Cullen paced his quarters that night, the quiet hum of the Gallows doing little to settle the restlessness in his chest. The conversation with Ariana replayed in his mind like a broken refrain, her words carrying a weight he hadn’t fully anticipated.
Her defense of the Silver Rangers had been fierce—almost personal. He had expected some disagreement, given her independent streak, but this went deeper. There was conviction in her voice, a fire that hinted at something beyond mere opinion. Was it really just based on one encounter? Or had those mercenaries meant far more to her than she let on?
He ran a hand over his face, his thoughts drifting back to the night outside The Hanged Man. That had been the first time he’d seen her truly tested in Kirkwall, and she had surprised him. No, shocked him. When her mother had arrived with mercenaries in tow, Cullen had expected panic, the kind of fear he’d seen from her before—like the day Michael had found her in Ferelden. Then, she had run, her instincts clearly shaped by fear.
But outside the Hanged Man, there had been no panic. No hesitation. She had stood her ground, her expression a mask of cold defiance. Her gaze wasn’t fearful; it was calculating. He recognized that look—it was the same one he wore in battle. She had assessed the mercenaries with precision, noting their positions, their weapons, their weaknesses.
Cullen shuddered slightly at the memory. Where had she learned that? He had taught her some of it, sure, back when they trained together near Lake Calenhad, but this… This was something else. This was someone who had survived the unthinkable.
The Blight.
Seventeen years old, alone, in the middle of Ferelden, with darkspawn crawling over the land. He had heard stories of hardened soldiers who hadn’t made it through the Fifth Blight, men and women who had fallen to despair or worse. And yet, she had survived. By all rights, it should have been impossible.
Cullen stopped pacing, his hands resting on the edge of the desk. He knew better than to press her for details—whatever memories she carried from those years were likely dark and painful. Still, he felt a gnawing need to understand. Who was she now? What had those years carved into her?
Did she even need his protection anymore?
The thought unsettled him, though he quickly brushed it aside. Whether she needed him or not wasn’t the point. He wanted to be there for her, to protect her, even if she didn’t ask for it. But how could he protect someone whose strength he couldn’t fully comprehend?
Maybe she could use a sparring partner again…
The idea came suddenly but settled quickly. Sparring had been their connection once, a way to prepare her for the dangers of the traveling alone, yes, but also something that brought them closer. Training her had been a privilege, and those mornings near Lake Calenhad had been some of the brightest moments during the darkest times.
It would also ease his mind to see how she fought now. If she was still as fast as she had been, she’d provide a challenge unlike any of the recruits or Templars he trained. And perhaps, selfishly, he wanted to see her in that element again—to remind himself of how far they had come since those days.
Yes, he decided, that would be his way in. He would offer to train with her again. Not to undermine her strength but to honor it, to learn more about the person she had become. And, if he was honest, it was as much for him as it was for her.
Cullen glanced at the pendant resting against his chest, the one Ariana had given him all those years ago. It had been his anchor through so many trials, a reminder of her resilience, her light.
Tomorrow, he would ask her. Whether it was for her sake or his, he wasn’t entirely sure. But he would ask. And maybe, just maybe, it would bring them closer to understanding each other.
~~~
Ariana sat in the kitchen that morning, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her tea cup. The warmth of the mug did little to ease the lingering ache in her chest. She couldn’t shake the weight of the conversation from the night before, the sting of Cullen’s words still fresh in her mind. She had known he wouldn’t fully understand the Rangers, but the depth of his distrust had caught her off guard. And the way he had spoken of the White Wolf…
She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly.
“So, it didn’t go well, then?” Isabel’s voice broke through her thoughts, calm but perceptive.
Ariana glanced up, startled by the interruption, but the concern in Isabel’s gaze softened her. “No,” she admitted, her voice quieter than she intended. “Not really. He seems to dislike mercenaries in general, but the White Wolf… He made it clear he doesn’t trust them. He thinks I’m hiding something. That I can’t be trusted.”
Isabel set down the loaf of bread she’d been slicing and leaned against the counter, her expression thoughtful. “Well, to be fair, you are hiding something,” she said gently. “You’re hiding yourself.”
Ariana winced at the truth in her words. “I never meant to hide,” she began, the sadness in her tone betraying her defenses. “The White Wolf became more than just a name. It became a symbol, and symbols… they matter.” She paused, her thoughts drifting. “A lot of people in Ferelden know that Ariana Trevelyan leads the Rangers. The White Wolf didn’t always exist.”
Isabel nodded, her tone soft as she asked, “So, what are you going to do?”
Before Ariana could answer, a knock echoed from the front door, followed by the sound of it opening. She and Isabel exchanged a glance of confusion—Ariana hadn’t been expecting anyone.
Moments later, Cullen appeared in the doorway. He wasn’t in his usual armor; instead, he wore a simple training outfit, a pack slung over his shoulder.
“Cullen,” Ariana said, standing as a smile formed on her lips. Relief flooded through her at the sight of him, her heart lifting despite her earlier frustration. “I wasn’t expecting you. What are you doing here?”
“I hope I’m not intruding,” Cullen began, stepping into the room. His tone was hesitant, almost uncertain, and Ariana tilted her head slightly, curiosity piqued.
“You’re not,” she replied, her voice warm. “Is something wrong?”
“Not wrong, exactly,” Cullen said, shifting his weight as if unsure how to proceed. “I came to ask a favor.”
“A favor?” Ariana’s brows knit together, her curiosity deepening. “Of course, anything.”
“I was wondering if you’d consider…” Cullen hesitated, his voice growing quieter. “Becoming my sparring partner again.”
Ariana blinked, surprised by the request. Of all the things she’d expected, this hadn’t even crossed her mind. She studied him for a moment, noting the slight awkwardness in his posture, the way he scratched the back of his neck like he always did when he was nervous.
Her smile widened, her brow arching playfully. “You want me to train with you?”
Cullen nodded, though he still looked unsure of himself. “Since becoming Knight-Captain, I’ve had little time—and no suitable partners—to keep my own skills sharp. My duties keep me behind a desk more than I’d like, and it wouldn’t exactly be proper to spar with the Templars under my command.”
The corner of Ariana’s mouth quirked upward as a familiar memory surfaced. “So, you need me to keep you sharp?” she teased, echoing the words she had once said to him during their training days near Lake Calenhad.
Cullen chuckled, the sound easing some of the tension in the room. “Something like that,” he admitted. “So… what do you say?”
Ariana hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Very well,” she said, standing. “Let me get changed, and I’ll meet you in the courtyard.”
As she left the kitchen, she felt a flicker of excitement stir within her. She hadn’t sparred with Cullen in years, but the prospect of it brought a rush of fond memories—their early mornings by the lake, the sound of blades clashing, the quiet camaraderie they had shared. Perhaps this was a chance to reconnect with those moments, to remind themselves of who they had been before the world grew heavier.
~~~
When Ariana came down a few minutes later, she was a sight Cullen couldn’t have prepared for. Her outfit was strikingly simple yet undeniably commanding—a fitted leather bodice, sleeveless, with intricate stitching that hinted at Elven craftsmanship. The trousers she wore hugged her form, accentuating the clear definition of her muscles, honed and sculpted through years of rigorous training. Her dual belts held an array of pouches and sheaths, though today she carried only the wooden training sword Cullen had handed her. She rolled her neck casually, the faint crack audible in the quiet courtyard, before fixing him with a teasing smirk.
“Well, Knight-Captain, what is it you need from me? What did you have in mind for today?” Ariana’s voice was light, playful, but her eyes held a glimmer of challenge.
Cullen cleared his throat, still somewhat taken aback by her appearance. She was beautiful, of course, but it was the strength in her presence that struck him most. This wasn’t the same girl he’d trained by Lake Calenhad all those years ago. Her athletic build had always been evident, but now… now her movements spoke of refined skill, each motion controlled and purposeful.
“I was thinking we could start with some basics,” he said, handing her the training sword. “It’s been a long time, after all.”
Ariana nodded, taking the sword and giving it a few experimental swings. “Very well,” she said, her smirk growing wider. “But I won’t go easy on you.”
The sparring began simply enough. Cullen tested her defenses with basic strikes, and she responded with swift parries, her movements fluid and precise. At first, he held back, his strikes measured to reacquaint her with the rhythm of combat. But as the minutes passed, it became clear that she didn’t need to reacquaint herself with anything. Her footwork was impeccable, her dodges almost too fluid, and her counters sharp and deliberate.
Cullen increased the pace, his strikes coming faster, heavier. But Ariana adapted effortlessly, her speed outmatching his strength. She ducked under a sweeping blow, her movements like water flowing around him, and retaliated with a quick jab that would have caught him had he not blocked just in time.
“You’ve improved,” he said, breathless but impressed. His tone held no small measure of respect.
“You’re stronger than I remember,” Ariana replied, her voice steady despite the exertion. “But strength alone won’t win this.”
Their sparring intensified. Cullen’s strength drove her back several steps, but she used the momentum to spin out of his reach, her agility allowing her to regain the advantage. Her strikes were quick, calculated, and always aimed to exploit an opening. Cullen found himself wondering who had trained her to this level. Her skills were far beyond what he had taught her. It was clear her time surviving the Blight had forged her into a formidable fighter, but this… this level of precision and strategy couldn’t be self-taught.
She moved like a shadow, her attacks swift and unpredictable. It was almost as if she could read his intentions before he acted. Each time he pressed forward, she slipped past his defenses, her wooden blade tapping his side or wrist with disconcerting ease. He gritted his teeth, pushing himself harder, determined to break through her defenses.
Then, something shifted. Her movements faltered for the briefest of moments, her stance loosening as she hesitated mid-step. It was subtle, but Cullen’s trained eye caught it immediately. He didn’t waste the opportunity. With a quick, decisive strike, he knocked her sword from her hand and used his momentum to sweep her legs out from under her.
Ariana hit the ground with a soft thud, and before she could recover, Cullen pinned her down, his forearm resting firmly but gently across her collarbone. Their faces were inches apart, both of them breathing heavily from the exertion.
“Got you,” Cullen said, a small, triumphant smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Ariana laughed, her voice rich and unrestrained. “Alright, you win this round,” she admitted, though her grin betrayed no real defeat. She lay there for a moment, her eyes meeting his, and Cullen found himself caught in the intensity of her gaze. There was something there—something unspoken yet undeniable.
Before he could dwell on it, Ariana reached up, her hands curling around the back of his neck. Without warning, she pulled him down and kissed him, her lips warm and insistent against his. For a moment, Cullen froze, his mind blanking under the weight of the sudden, electrifying contact. But then he responded, his lips moving against hers with a fervor that surprised even him.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their eyes locked in a silent exchange. Cullen helped her to her feet, his hand lingering on hers for just a moment longer than necessary.
“Breakfast is ready,” Isabel’s voice called from the doorway, her tone laced with amusement. Cullen and Ariana turned to see her standing there, one eyebrow raised in a knowing expression.
Ariana’s cheeks flushed, but she quickly composed herself, brushing the dust off her trousers. “Perfect timing, as always,” she quipped, shooting Isabel a playful glare.
Cullen chuckled, his own face slightly red as he grabbed their training swords and followed Ariana back into the house. As they walked, his thoughts lingered on the match, on the way she had moved, on the moment she had hesitated. There was so much he still didn’t know about her, so many questions left unanswered. But one thing was clear—he wanted to know more. About her past, her present, and perhaps, their future.
~~~
The next day, Ariana found herself in The Hanged Man. Frustrated. She leaned back in her chair, massaging her temples as she tried to process the situation. “I need a valid reason to go to Ferelden, Varric. I need a job,” she said, her tone clipped with frustration. The conversation with Cullen still weighed on her. His reaction to the mere idea of mercenaries made it clear—he wasn’t ready to hear the truth. And if she wasn’t ready to tell him, she had to find another way to justify her trip.
Varric leaned back, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. “And you think Cullen’s going to buy that I, of all people, specifically need you to go to Ferelden for… my business dealings? Come on, pup, you’ve heard yourself, right?”
“Varric, I’m not here for your commentary; I need solutions,” she snapped, though there was no real heat in her voice. “There has to be something.”
He sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “There is something: just tell him the truth. It’s a novel concept.”
Ariana shot him a glare, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “You didn’t see his reaction the other night, Varric. I can’t. At least not yet. Maybe… eventually. If I can show him the Rangers aren’t just any mercenary group.”
“And by the time you do, he’ll be upset because you lied to him,” Varric pointed out, his voice level but firm. “Ever think about that, pup?”
“Ugh!” Ariana groaned, letting her head fall dramatically onto the table.
The moment was interrupted by a hesitant voice from the doorway. “Excuse me, Ser Varric Tethras?”
Varric’s expression darkened, his tone wary. “Who’s asking?”
The young man in the doorway shifted awkwardly, barely older than seventeen. “I… I have a message for the White Wolf, Ser. My orders were to deliver it here.”
Ariana froze, her mind racing. The words sounded louder than they should have, echoing in her ears. She turned to glance at the open door, her heart sinking at the potential exposure. “Come in and close the door,” she said firmly, gesturing for him to hurry. She couldn’t afford for anyone else at the Hanged Man to overhear. The door creaked shut behind him as the messenger stepped inside.
“Whose ‘orders’ are you under?” Ariana asked, her tone sharper than she intended.
The boy shifted nervously, unsure whether he should answer. “Uh… my lieutenant, m’lady,” he stammered.
Ariana sighed, dragging a hand over her face. “Maker… I told her to send a message, not a person,” she muttered to herself, irritation flickering across her features.
“You mean Lieutenant Riley?” she asked, watching his reaction.
The boy blinked, surprise flashing across his face before he nodded quickly.
“What’s your name, kid?” Varric cut in, his tone more casual but no less curious.
“Elliot, sir,” the boy replied.
Ariana tilted her head, studying him. “Tell me, Elliot… are you a messenger, or a new recruit?” She already had a strong suspicion but needed him to confirm it.
Elliot’s mouth opened and closed, his words tumbling out in an incoherent mess as he tried to find the right answer. Ariana sighed and held up a hand to stop him. The realization hit her—he didn’t even know who she was.
“Elliot,” she said, her voice gentler now, “you can give me the message first, then answer my question. I’m Wolf. And judging by the fact you’re here, I’m guessing you work for me, right?”
The boy’s eyes widened, and he straightened immediately, his right fist flying to his chest in a salute. “I apologize, my l—”
“Take a breath and sit down,” Ariana interrupted, cutting off the formalities before they could spiral further. She gestured to the chair across from her, trying to ease the nervous tension radiating off him.
Elliot hesitated but eventually obeyed, sitting stiffly at the table. Varric leaned back, watching the exchange with interest, while Ariana reached for her glass of water, taking a long sip to steady herself.
“Alright, Elliot,” she said, her tone calm and measured. “Let’s hear it.”
~~~
Ariana leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table as Elliot nervously fumbled with a folded piece of parchment. Finally, he placed it on the table in front of her. She glanced at Varric, who gave her a small nod of encouragement, then unfolded the message.
Elliot cleared his throat. “Lieutenant Riley said to tell you… uh… we need you back, my lady. There’s been… complications.”
Ariana’s brow furrowed as she read the parchment, Riley’s familiar scrawl jumping out at her. “Complications?” she echoed, her tone sharper than she intended. She quickly softened it, glancing up at Elliot. “Go on.”
“Um… the nobles in Orlais,” Elliot continued, visibly relieved she wasn’t angry. “They’re refusing to work with us unless they meet with… the White Wolf directly. Lieutenant Riley says they won’t listen to anyone else.”
Ariana sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. Of course, Orlesian nobles would make things difficult.
“That’s not all,” Elliot added hesitantly, clearly uncomfortable. “We… we also got a message from the Chantry. They’re asking to meet with you as well.”
Ariana froze, her eyes snapping up to meet his. “The Chantry?” she repeated, her voice laced with disbelief.
“Yes, my lady,” Elliot confirmed, nodding quickly. “Lieutenant Riley said it seemed… important.”
Varric, who had been quietly observing, leaned forward. “The Chantry, huh? That’s not the kind of request you ignore, pup. Any idea what they want?”
Ariana shook her head, her mind racing. “No, but I can’t imagine it’s anything good. The Chantry doesn’t usually reach out to mercenary companies unless they’re looking for something… or someone.”
She sat back in her chair, running a hand through her hair as she mulled over the situation. The nobles in Orlais were one thing, but the Chantry? That was a completely different level of complication.
“So, what’s the plan?” Varric asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
Ariana let out a slow breath, folding the parchment back up and setting it aside. “I’ll go back. I don’t have much of a choice, do I? If the nobles won’t cooperate and the Chantry is involved, I need to know what’s happening.”
“Any idea what you’ll tell Cullen?” Varric pressed, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look.
Ariana hesitated, glancing at Elliot, who was still sitting stiffly across from her. “I’ll figure it out,” she said finally, her voice firm. “One step at a time.”
Varric raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, he turned to Elliot. “Alright, kid. You’ve done your part. Go grab yourself something to eat. Tell Corff it’s on me.”
Elliot blinked in surprise, then nodded quickly. “Thank you, Ser Tethras. My lady.” He stood, saluting Ariana once more before scurrying out of the room.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Varric turned back to Ariana. “You know this is only going to get messier, right?”
“I know,” she said, her voice heavy with resignation. Ariana leaned back in her chair, staring at the folded parchment as though it carried the weight of the entire world. “Varric, now I really need those reliable methods of communication.”
Varric, arms crossed, leaned against the edge of the table, his expression thoughtful. “I figured as much, pup. I’ll start asking around.”
“Find me someone who trains messenger birds,” Ariana continued, rubbing her temples as if trying to ward off the incoming headache. “The kind that can handle long distances—Ferelden to Orlais, Orlais to Kirkwall. I’ll…” She trailed off, exhaling a sharp breath. “I’ll sort out the rest… hopefully without piling on too many lies.”
Varric gave her a pointed look, his tone half-serious, half-teasing. “Pup, you already have enough to coordinate, adding a pile of lies to that mix might make even the best messenger birds quit.”
She managed a weak smile, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood. “Noted. But the truth… it’s just not something I’m ready to share. Not yet.”
“Fair enough,” Varric conceded, straightening up. “I’ll get on it. But pup,” he added, his tone softening, “don’t wait too long to figure out how much of yourself you’re willing to keep hidden. Lies have a way of catching up with you.”
Ariana nodded, her eyes drifting back to the letter. “I know,” she whispered.
~~~
Ariana headed back to the estate, her thoughts swirling as she began pulling together what she needed for the journey. The act of packing should have been a distraction, but it only deepened her anxiety. What would she say to Cullen? She knew she couldn’t avoid the truth forever, but she wasn’t ready for him to know everything yet—not after the tense exchange they’d had about mercenaries just the other night.
Isabel appeared in the doorway, her calm presence immediately grounding Ariana. “I’m sorry I have to leave you handling everything so soon, Isabel,” Ariana said, glancing up briefly. Her voice held a note of guilt. “But I need to go. I cannot ignore this message from the Chantry.”
“It’s alright, child,” Isabel replied, stepping further into the room and leaning lightly against the bedpost. “I can handle things here, do not worry about that. But…” Her green eyes studied Ariana intently. “What are you going to tell Cullen?”
Ariana hesitated, a tunic held tightly in her hands. She exhaled, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I do not know,” she admitted, her voice low. “I have been trying to figure that out since I got the letter. I cannot tell him the truth, not yet. Not after the other night.”
Isabel considered this for a moment before speaking carefully. “You cannot lie to him either, not outright. That would only make things worse.”
Ariana’s brows furrowed in frustration. “Then what should I say? I need an explanation that will make sense.”
“The Chantry did send for you,” Isabel pointed out gently, her tone pragmatic. “That part is true. And you are a Trevelyan—one of the most prominent noble families in Ostwick. The connection is clear enough for him to believe.”
Ariana blinked, the idea taking shape in her mind. “So… I tell him that the Chantry in Orlais sent for me because of my family?”
Isabel nodded. “Precisely. The Trevelyans have ties to the Chantry, do they not? If he asks why they want you specifically, it is a logical explanation. He does not need to know everything right now.”
Ariana gave her a thoughtful look, her tension easing slightly. “That could work,” she said slowly. “It is not a lie, and it explains why I need to leave.”
Isabel placed a hand on her shoulder, her expression firm but kind. “He cares for you, Ariana. Be honest where you can, but you are not wrong to hold back for now. Timing matters, especially with men like him.”
Ariana smiled faintly. “Thank you, Isabel. You are right.” She turned her attention back to her trunk, her resolve firming. “This will have to do.”
Isabel gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before stepping back toward the door. “You’ll handle it, child. And when you do, you’ll see it is not as frightening as you think.”
Ariana watched her leave, the weight on her chest lifting just enough. She still had until tonight to fully gather her thoughts, but Isabel’s suggestion felt like a lifeline. It was not the full truth, but it was close enough for now—and that was something she could work with.
~~~
The walk to the ruins was quiet, the faint hum of Kirkwall in the distance blending with the steady crash of waves below the cliffs. Ariana and Cullen walked side by side, the tension between them subtle but undeniable. It was as though the argument from the other night still lingered, a specter they were both trying to leave behind but hadn’t entirely banished. Yet, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable; it felt more like unspoken words waiting for the right moment.
When they reached the ruins, they found a spot along the cliffs, a ledge with a clear view of the ships gliding into the harbor. Ariana settled herself down, folding her arms around her knees as she watched the sea. Cullen sat beside her, his gaze flickering between her and the horizon.
“Did you know these ruins predate the Tevinter Imperium?” Ariana began, her tone light, as though testing the waters. “There are hints they might have been Elvhen once, though most of the markings are too faded to tell.”
Cullen gave her a small smile, recognizing the attempt to steer the conversation away from anything too serious. “You and your ruins,” he teased softly. “Do you ever stop trying to uncover every secret buried beneath the stone?”
Ariana shrugged, the corners of her lips lifting slightly. “There is always something to learn if you look closely enough,” she said. Her tone was easy, but Cullen could see her fingers toying with the edge of her cloak, a nervous gesture he’d come to recognize.
They sat in silence for a while, watching the ships drifting in and out of the harbor. Ariana spoke intermittently, pointing out small details about the ruins or the ships, her voice carrying an almost forced cheerfulness. Cullen listened, offering the occasional nod or hum of acknowledgment, but his gaze remained fixed on her. He knew her well enough to tell when she was stalling.
“Ari,” he said eventually, his voice low but insistent. “What is it?”
Ariana stiffened slightly, her fingers pausing their restless motion. She let out a slow breath, her eyes still fixed on the horizon. “I… need to travel to Orlais,” she said at last, the words carefully measured.
Cullen tilted his head, studying her. “To Orlais?” he repeated. “Why?”
“The Chantry sent for me,” she explained, her voice steady despite the unease she felt. “I received a letter. It seems… they want to speak with me.”
“About what?” Cullen asked, his brow furrowing. There was no suspicion in his tone, only curiosity and concern.
Ariana hesitated, the weight of his gaze pressing on her. “I am not entirely sure,” she admitted honestly. “They did not provide many details in the letter.”
Cullen’s frown deepened. “That seems strange. Why would they summon you without telling you why?”
She shrugged lightly, as if to brush off the concern. “The Trevelyans have always had ties to the Chantry,” she said. “It might have something to do with that. I… I do not have enough details yet to say for certain.”
It wasn’t a lie, and that gave her some relief. Cullen seemed to consider her words carefully, his expression softening slightly. “How long will you be gone?” he asked after a pause.
“Not long,” Ariana replied, though she wasn’t entirely sure herself. “Just long enough to find out what they want and address it.”
Cullen nodded slowly, his gaze shifting back to the sea. “If the Chantry summoned you, it must be important. But Ari…” He turned back to her, his eyes meeting hers. “Be careful. Orlais is… complicated. If you need anything, you’ll let me know?”
Ariana felt a pang of guilt but managed a small smile. “Of course,” she said. “Thank you, Cullen.”
The conversation lapsed into quiet again, the sound of the waves filling the space between them. Ariana felt a flicker of relief that he hadn’t pressed further, though the lingering weight of the unspoken truths tugged at her. For now, she told herself, this was enough.
A new thought tugged at Ariana’s mind. She would need to speak with Varric before she left. If Cullen saw him while she was away—and given their proximity in Kirkwall, it was inevitable—she couldn’t risk him accidentally mentioning anything that didn’t align with what she’d just told Cullen. She made a mental note to remind Varric of the Chantry story, ensuring they stayed on the same page. It was exhausting, keeping her lives separate like this, and the web of half-truths was only growing more complicated, but for now, it felt like the only option.