27 Firstfall – 13 Haring 9:33
The journey to Val Royeaux took Ariana fifteen days, each mile giving her ample time to dwell on the mystery of the Divine’s letter. By the time she reached the glittering capital of Orlais, her curiosity had grown into a gnawing unease. The city itself was dazzling, every street alive with music, intrigue, and the ever-present Orlesian flair for drama. Yet, despite the vibrant atmosphere, Ariana couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Even in the crowded streets, a subtle tension lingered, an ever-present reminder that nothing in Val Royeaux was as it seemed. By the time she reached her modest rented room, she knew she needed a plan. How exactly was she supposed to meet with the Divine without telling anyone? The letter had provided no instructions beyond arriving at the Grand Cathedral. But this was Val Royeaux, where appearances were everything, and every move could be a ploy.
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her famous white fur-trimmed cloak draped neatly across the chair. The cloak had served her well in the past, a recognizable symbol that had inspired both fear and respect. Perhaps it will serve me again, she thought. Her plan was so absurdly simple that it bordered on reckless. No requests, no demands. She would simply walk into the Grand Cathedral—a silent enigma wrapped in white. The idea made her stomach twist. But what other choice did she have?
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Ariana made her way to the Grand Cathedral, the weight of her cloak both familiar and imposing. Her walk through Val Royeaux did not go unnoticed. Passersby paused to glance her way, murmurs rippling through the crowd as she passed. More than once, she caught snippets of conversation wondering aloud if she was the White Wolf. She kept her hood low, obscuring her face as she continued, her steps steady despite the growing unease curling in her chest.
When she finally reached the towering cathedral doors, she hesitated. The sheer scale of the building was humbling—soaring spires and intricate carvings that seemed to pierce the heavens. The weight of history and faith pressed down on her as she pushed the doors open and stepped inside.
The interior was as awe-inspiring as the rumors suggested—soaring ceilings, intricate stained glass that caught the fading sunlight, and a pervasive, reverent silence. The sheer size of it all threatened to make her feel small, but Ariana squared her shoulders, letting her reputation cloak her as effectively as the cloak on her back. She moved with deliberate ease to one of the pews, her hood still drawn low. Kneeling, she bowed her head, though her thoughts raced.
What now? What if this doesn’t work? What if they don’t find me? Or worse… what if they do?
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, long enough for doubt to creep in. The weight of the space seemed to press harder against her, amplifying her every insecurity. This is ridiculous. What did I expect? That they’d sense my presence like some fabled hero? She resisted the urge to fidget, keeping her head bowed in feigned prayer.
Then, a shadow fell over her. She looked up to see an attendant in Chantry robes, their expression neutral but their voice low and deliberate.
“Are you the White Wolf?” they asked.
Ariana nodded once, keeping her face partially obscured. Relief and curiosity warred within her, but she remained composed. The attendant inclined their head in acknowledgment. “Follow me.”
She rose smoothly, her heart pounding faster as she trailed behind them. They weaved through grand halls, past lingering clerics and worshippers, and then into less traveled corridors. The air grew cooler, the noise of the cathedral fading into an eerie stillness. These halls were seldom used, their ornate designs cloaked in dust and silence.
Her boots echoed faintly on the stone floors, each step amplifying the tension coiled in her chest. If this is a trap, I walked right into it, she thought grimly. But her instincts told her otherwise. The Divine wouldn’t summon her just to betray her—unless it wasn’t the Divine who sent the letter.
Finally, they arrived at a modest door. The attendant stepped aside, opening it to reveal a small, windowless room. Quiet and unassuming, it was a stark contrast to the grandeur of the cathedral outside. But the figure within was anything but ordinary. Divine Justinia herself stood waiting, her serene presence radiating authority and calm.
The attendant bowed deeply and then stepped back, closing the door behind them with a soft thud. Justinia motioned for Ariana to enter.
“Thank you for coming,” the Divine said, her voice gentle yet commanding. “I have ensured we will not be disturbed.”
Ariana lowered her hood, her sharp gaze meeting the Divine’s as she stepped fully into the room. She dipped her head slightly in respect, her voice steady despite her racing thoughts. “Your Holiness.”
The Divine regarded her with quiet intensity, a faint smile touching her lips. “I trust your journey was not too taxing?”
“It was… manageable,” Ariana replied carefully, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied Justinia. Her mind raced, searching for answers. Why me? What could you possibly need of me that no one else can provide?
The Divine’s gaze didn’t waver, her calm presence filling the room. Whatever this was, Ariana realized, it wasn’t just a simple summons. It would change everything.
~~~
The Divine regarded Ariana thoughtfully, her serene expression briefly flickering with something akin to surprise. “I must admit,” Justinia began, “I had not expected the White Wolf to be a woman. But that is no unwelcome revelation.” Her lips curved into a faint smile, her tone warm and inviting. “What shall I call you?”
Ariana hesitated, her mind racing. Doesn’t sound right to stick with Wolf… do I tell her who I really am? Her hand flexed slightly at her side, a telltale sign of her inner turmoil. The weight of her name—Ariana Trevelyan—felt heavier now than it had in years. Would revealing it invite complications? Can I trust her? She glanced at the Divine, whose eyes seemed to pierce straight through her hesitation.
Justinia, sensing her uncertainty, spoke again, her tone soft but firm. “Whatever you choose to share will remain between us. You have my word. Your secrets are safe here.”
Ariana took a deep breath, her decision made. “To you, Your Holiness, I’m Ariana Trevelyan,” she said finally, meeting Justinia’s gaze. Her voice carried a steadiness she hadn’t expected.
The Divine’s smile widened, and she let out a soft chuckle. “The famous rebel daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick,” she teased lightly. “It seems the Duke and Duchess of Markham had much to say on the subject. Enough, in fact, that word reached my ears.”
Ariana groaned, her eyes rolling skyward. “Wonderful. Apparently, that is all anyone will ever say about me.”
Justinia laughed, a sound that was surprisingly warm and genuine. “It seems you’ve left quite the impression, my dear. Though not all impressions are bad.” she said motioning for Ariana to sit.
“I’m sure the Duke and Duchess would disagree,” Ariana muttered, a hint of humor in her exasperation.
The tension in the room eased slightly, and Ariana found herself relaxing. She is far more human than I expected. The image she had built of the Divine as an untouchable, lofty figure began to soften, replaced by someone who seemed approachable, even personable. It was an unexpected comfort.
After a moment of quiet, Justinia’s expression grew serious again, and Ariana straightened slightly in her seat, sensing the shift. “Ariana,” she began, “I summoned you here because there are tensions brewing, both familiar and unsettling. I believe you are well-acquainted with the conflicts between Templars and mages.”
Ariana let out a dry laugh, her voice tinged with cynicism. “Conflicts between Templars and mages? That is hardly news, Your Holiness.”
“True,” Justinia conceded, her voice calm. “But these are not merely the disagreements or power struggles of the past. There are… fractures forming. Dangerous ones. And though you operate primarily in Ferelden and parts of Orlais, I have concerns about Kirkwall.”
Ariana’s brow furrowed. “Kirkwall?” The word carried a weight she hadn’t intended, but she quickly masked it. “What concerns?”
Justinia leaned forward slightly, her tone dropping. “Rumors have reached me of the Rite of Tranquility being used far more often than it should be. I have made inquiries, sent Seekers to investigate, but they have turned up nothing.”
Ariana frowned, her mind racing. Cullen never mentioned anything about that. Could he be… no… not him. She knew the Rite was a tool often spoken of in hushed, careful tones. “And you believe these rumors?”
“I cannot ignore them,” Justinia said firmly. “There are also whispers about Knight-Commander Meredith. Her power in Kirkwall has grown significantly—far beyond what is customary for her position. I am not yet prepared to bring this to the Templar Order. But I fear what might happen if these whispers are true.”
Ariana leaned back, her expression thoughtful. “That woman who makes ogres look like sunshine?” she chuckled softly, recalling what Varric had said. She had kept her distance from the Knight-Commander during her time in Kirkwall.
The Divine raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching upward in a faint smile. “An… interesting description,” she replied with a touch of humor. “Though I suspect the Knight-Commander would not appreciate the comparison.”
“Probably not.” Ariana said dryly, though her amused smile faded quickly. “What do you want me to do?”
Justinia’s eyes met hers, unwavering. “I need you to observe and investigate the situation in Kirkwall. Focus on the use of the Rite of Tranquility, and whether it is, in fact, being overused. If the rumors are true, I may need your Rangers’ help to intercept mages destined for Kirkwall and ensure their safety.”
Ariana’s stomach twisted. Intercepting mages. The implications struck her immediately. “You realize what you’re asking?” she pressed, her tone quiet but heavy with meaning.
“I do,” Justinia replied solemnly. “But if the rumors are true, and if innocent mages are being subjected to Tranquility without cause, I cannot turn a blind eye. This must be stopped, but the Chantry cannot act directly without risking all-out war.”
“Intercepting mages isn’t exactly subtle,” she said finally, her voice sharp. “If the Templars catch wind of this…” She let the sentence hang, knowing the consequences didn’t need to be spoken aloud.
“That is why it must be you and the Rangers,” Justinia said, her voice calm but resolute. “If anyone can do this, it is you.”
Ariana’s jaw tightened, her hazel-green eyes narrowing. “The Rangers make a convenient scapegoat if this goes wrong,” she said bitterly. “The White Wolf’s reputation makes it easy for people to believe whatever story the Templars decide to spin. You’re asking us to risk everything while you keep your hands clean.”
“And if you succeed,” Justinia countered gently, “no one will know of the Chantry’s involvement, and countless lives will be spared. This is not about keeping my hands clean; it’s about ensuring the survival of those who cannot defend themselves.”
So much for keeping things simple in Kirkwall, she thought grimly. “You’re asking us to save lives by staying invisible,” she murmured, her voice laced with both frustration and reluctant understanding. “Fine. But this shadow game of yours? It only works if they don’t catch on.”
The Divine inclined her head in agreement. “And that is why I must trust you, White Wolf.”
Ariana tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing. “Why do you believe I’ll find something where your Seekers did not?”
Justinia sighed, a rare crack in her otherwise composed demeanor. “I trust the Seekers, but…” Her voice softened, tinged with regret. “Unfortunately, they are inclined to give the Templar Order the benefit of the doubt. If there’s a question about their behavior, unless it can be proven directly, they will assume any action taken is justified.”
Ariana’s brow furrowed, her expression sharpening. “Are you suggesting they might have found the use of the Rite of Tranquility justified, even in cases where it wasn’t?” The alarm in her voice was barely hidden, and she could feel her pulse quicken. …Because those institutions are accountable, Ariana… Cullen’s words from their earlier argument resurfaced, haunting her thoughts. Yet what she was hearing now seemed to suggest that accountability wasn’t working—or was being deliberately ignored.
“Perhaps.” Justinia’s voice remained calm, but her choice of words carried weight. “I am given to understand that Knight-Commander Meredith is very devout… and very persuasive.”
Ariana cradled her face in her right hand, rubbing her temples as the implications settled in. Her thoughts kept circling back to Cullen, to what Varric had said when she first returned to Kirkwall: …he’s practically become the left hand of Meredith… The idea was maddening, even as she tried to push it aside.
After a moment of heavy silence, Ariana took a deep breath, realizing she had been quiet for longer than intended. When she glanced up, she found the Divine watching her, patient but unyielding, allowing her the space to process the gravity of the situation.
“We will need resources,” Ariana said, her voice measured but resolute. “And I will need information—all of it.”
“You will have both,” Justinia promised.
Ariana gave a single nod, the weight of the task settling firmly on her shoulders. With a slight bow of respect, she pulled her hood back up, the soft fabric shadowing her face once more. “Thank you, Your Holiness,” she said formally. As she turned to leave, she paused briefly at the door, glancing back at the Divine.
“I will pray the rumors are wrong,” she said softly, though her voice carried the grim certainty that they weren’t.
“As will I,” Justinia replied, her eyes following Ariana with a mixture of hope and regret as she disappeared into the shadowed halls beyond.
~~~
Ariana walked through the winding streets of Val Royeaux, the chill of the night biting at her fingers even beneath her gloves. Her cloak billowed softly behind her, the white fur trim catching the flicker of lantern light. The city, alive with whispers of intrigue by day, was quieter now, though the occasional laughter or distant sound of music drifted through the air. She kept her hood low, her face shadowed, content to remain an enigma to those who might recognize the White Wolf.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been walking, her thoughts still preoccupied with the Divine’s words, when a voice called out behind her.
“Pardon, mademoiselle.”
Ariana stopped, her hand instinctively brushing the hilt of her dagger as she turned. A young man in fine servant’s attire stood before her, bowing deeply. “Are you the White Wolf?” he asked, his voice polite but edged with urgency.
Her hazel-green eyes narrowed beneath her hood. “That depends on who’s asking,” she replied evenly.
The servant straightened, his expression unreadable. “My master, Comte Jourdain Mignard, humbly requests your presence. He has been awaiting you.”
Ariana arched an eyebrow. “The Comte? Waiting for me? I don’t recall scheduling an audience.”
The servant inclined his head. “The Comte has… expectations. He wishes to finalize certain business matters with the White Wolf directly.”
The mention of business jogged her memory. One of the nobles Riley had mentioned—the ones demanding her personal appearance before paying. She sighed, already tired of Orlesian dramatics, but she had promised Riley she would handle this. “Very well,” she said, motioning for him to lead the way. “Show me to your master.”
The servant led her through a maze of gilded streets, finally arriving at an elegant estate. The grandeur of the place didn’t surprise her; if anything, it fit her mental picture of the kind of man who would summon her like this. She was ushered into a grand salon, where Comte Mignard waited, a glass of wine in hand.
The Comte turned as she entered, his sharp gaze appraising her. He was a tall man in his late forties, with neatly combed silver hair and the kind of effortless arrogance that seemed bred into Orlesian nobility. His expression shifted from polite curiosity to obvious intrigue as he took in the figure beneath the white cloak.
“The White Wolf,” he said, his voice smooth and velvety. “And a woman, no less. I must admit, I had my doubts about whether you would come—or whether you were even real.”
Ariana lowered her hood, her expression calm but sharp. “I was under the impression you had business to settle,” she said, her voice steady. “Shall we get to it?”
The Comte smiled, swirling the wine in his glass. “Of course. But first…” His gaze lingered on her, a mixture of admiration and skepticism. “Forgive me, but your reputation precedes you, and I find myself wondering if you truly are the White Wolf. You must understand—words can be cheap. Actions, however…” He gestured lazily with his free hand.
Ariana’s eyes narrowed. “And how, exactly, would you like me to prove it?”
The Comte’s smile widened, his expression one of amusement. “A duel,” he said simply. “One of my chevaliers. If you are who they say you are, you will win. And should you succeed, I will be satisfied.”
Ariana stared at him for a moment, incredulous. “You want me to fight your chevalier… to prove that I am who I say I am.”
“Precisely,” the Comte said, as though it were the most reasonable request in the world. “A simple test of skill.”
She shook her head, a small laugh escaping her. “Fine. But you may want to find a new chevalier after this.”
The Comte clapped his hands, and a large man clad in finely crafted armor stepped forward. His stance was disciplined, his movements measured. Clearly trained—likely in the same rigorous style as Templars. Ariana assessed him quickly, her mind already strategizing.
As the duel began, Ariana chose an unarmed stance, relying on her speed and agility. She dodged the chevalier’s strikes with fluid precision, each movement calculated to wear him down. His strength and training were impressive, but his heavy armor slowed him just enough for her to gain the upper hand.
In a swift, decisive move, she disarmed him, knocking his sword to the ground. Before he could recover, she swept his legs out from under him, sending him sprawling. She planted a boot lightly on his chest, her breathing steady. “Satisfied?” she asked, her voice cool.
The Comte clapped, clearly delighted. “Magnifique!” he exclaimed, rising from his seat. “You are everything they say and more, White Wolf. My apologies for doubting you.”
Ariana stepped back, offering the chevalier a hand up. He accepted grudgingly, his pride visibly bruised, but he bowed in respect before retreating.
The Comte approached her, his smile as smooth as his words. “You must stay for dinner,” he said, his tone leaving little room for argument. “It would be an honor to host someone of your… caliber.”
Ariana hesitated but nodded, knowing it would be unwise to refuse outright. “Very well,” she said. “But no more tests.”
The Comte laughed heartily. “Of course not, my dear. You’ve already proven yourself.”
As she followed him toward the dining hall, Ariana couldn’t help but feel the weight of the Divine’s task pressing more heavily on her shoulders. This was only the beginning.
~~~
Dinner was served in a lavish dining hall, every detail exuding wealth and elegance. The table was adorned with silver candelabras and fine porcelain, the food an array of decadent dishes that looked more like art than sustenance. Ariana sat across from the Comte, her posture poised yet relaxed. Despite her outward calm, her mind was already calculating how best to cut the evening short.
The Comte watched her with an appraising gaze, his smile warm yet calculating. “Tell me, White Wolf,” he began, swirling his wine idly in his glass, “how does a woman of such… remarkable beauty come to be such a skilled mercenary?”
Ariana took a sip of her own wine, her expression neutral. “Circumstances take you to strange places sometimes,” she replied smoothly. “Life has a way of teaching you what you need to survive.”
The Comte nodded thoughtfully, his expression turning wistful. “Indeed, life is full of unexpected twists. Perhaps circumstances have brought you here for a reason.”
Ariana raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued despite herself. “Oh? And what reason might that be?”
The Comte set his glass down, leaning forward slightly, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. “You see, my dear, my mistress recently departed Val Royeaux. A mutual decision, of course—amicable, really. But it has left me with a great deal of leisure time… and no one to share it with.”
Ariana’s stomach tightened, though her expression remained composed. She could already see where this was headed, but she let him continue, her calm demeanor giving nothing away.
“I find myself wondering,” he said, his tone smooth, his gaze lingering on her, “if perhaps circumstances have brought you to me. You are… captivating, my dear. A woman of your talents and allure could be… well, quite treasured. And, of course, I would be a most generous benefactor in return.”
The insinuation hung in the air, the Comte’s words wrapped in Orlesian charm but unmistakable in their intent. Ariana was taken aback, though she hid it well, her lips curling into a polite smile as her mind raced. How do I leave this without making it more work than it needs to be?
She set her wineglass down delicately, meeting his gaze with calm composure. “That is… a tempting offer,” she said carefully, her tone polite but noncommittal. “But I’m afraid my duties will take me far from Val Royeaux for quite some time. The White Wolf rarely stays in one place.”
The Comte’s expression shifted to one of feigned disappointment, his hand pressing lightly to his chest in classic Orlesian dramatics. “Ah, how tragic,” he said with a theatrical sigh. “To meet such a fascinating woman, only to have her slip through my fingers. But, of course, I understand. Duty calls, as it always does.”
Ariana inclined her head slightly, offering a polite smile. “I appreciate your understanding, Comte.”
He waved a hand dismissively, his tone light once more. “Think nothing of it, my dear. Should you ever find yourself in Val Royeaux again, do not hesitate to call upon me. My door is always open to such… distinguished company.”
“Of course,” Ariana said, rising gracefully from her seat. “Thank you for your hospitality, Comte. It has been… enlightening.”
The Comte rose as well, bowing slightly as an aide retrieved her cloak. “The pleasure was all mine, White Wolf. May your travels be safe—and perhaps fate will see fit to bring us together again.”
Ariana gave a faint smile, wrapping her cloak around her shoulders. “Good evening, Comte,” she said, her tone cool but polite. With that, she turned and exited the dining hall, her steps measured as she left the estate behind.
As soon as she was outside, the cool night air hit her, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She pulled her hood up, her mind already pushing the encounter aside. There were far more pressing matters to deal with than the whims of an Orlesian nobles
~~~
Ariana walked briskly through the cobblestone streets of Val Royeaux, the cool morning air tinged with the faint scent of roses and fresh bread. Despite the beauty around her, her thoughts were sour. Dealing with Orlesian nobility was always a test of patience, and today was no exception. She pulled her cloak tighter, muttering under her breath, “If I don’t handle this, Riley will never let me hear the end of it.”
Her first destination was Le Masque du Lion, an exclusive establishment known for hosting Orlais’ most influential figures. The decor was an intricate tapestry of golds and deep reds, the air humming with hushed conversations and veiled intrigue. Lord Etienne de Grosbois awaited her in a private room, his gold-rimmed goblet nearly tipping onto his elaborately embroidered vest as she entered. His graying hair was slicked back, though a few rebellious strands curled at his temples.
“Madame White Wolf,” he began, his tone dripping with condescension, “I confess myself puzzled. I paid handsomely for your services, and yet this is the first I lay eyes upon you. Am I not worthy of your esteemed attention?”
Ariana folded her hands neatly in her lap, her expression unreadable save for the faintest hint of a smile. “Lord de Grosbois,” she replied, her voice smooth but firm, “your patronage is, of course, highly valued. However, the nature of my work requires that I delegate to those best suited for each task. Rest assured, your job—retrieving the artifacts lost in the Emerald Graves—has been assigned to my most skilled Rangers. Their success is all but guaranteed.”
His lips tightened, but he nodded, mollified. “I trust your reputation will hold, then. Those artifacts are irreplaceable, and I expect results.”
“You shall have them,” Ariana said with finality, her gaze unwavering.
The meeting concluded with the necessary assurances, and Ariana excused herself. As she stepped back into the bustling streets of Val Royeaux, the cool air felt refreshing against her skin. Yet her work was far from over.
Her next meeting took her outside the city, to the sprawling estate of Viscount Emile D’Ormont. The estate, with its pristine gardens and marble columns, exuded a lazy grandeur befitting its owner. The viscount received her in a sunlit parlor, lounging on an ornate chaise with a goblet of wine in hand. His easy smirk and relaxed posture belied the sharpness in his eyes as he regarded her.
“My needs are not very exciting, I fear,” he drawled, eyes glinting with mischief. “An escort from Val Royeaux to Halamshiral in a month’s time. Surely the White Wolf can spare a moment of her schedule for a simple task?”
Ariana’s smile grew a touch warmer, though her voice lost none of its precision. “Your safety, Viscount, is paramount. You will be accompanied by Rangers who excel in both discretion and combat. I will see to it personally that they are briefed on your journey.”
D’Ormont chuckled. “Ah, I am fortunate indeed to have such protection. Perhaps I’ll even catch a glimpse of the White Wolf in action.”
She inclined her head slightly. “Perhaps.”
With the pleasantries concluded, Ariana rose, her posture regal yet fluid. “Viscount, it has been a pleasure. You have my word that your trust in the Silver Rangers is not misplaced.”
He offered a shallow bow as she left, his smirk lingering. Once outside, Ariana allowed herself a quiet breath of relief. The games of Orlesian nobility were as tedious as they were dangerous, but at least they were done, for now.
A short walk brought her to the docks, where the ship bound for Jader waited. The cold evening air smelled of brine and wood smoke, a welcome reprieve from the cloying perfumes of the salons and estates. Ariana ascended the gangplank, her mind already shifting from the demands of the nobles to the weightier matter of her meeting with the Divine.
Justinia’s request echoed in her thoughts: observe and investigate the situation in Kirkwall. The Divine’s eyes had been steady, her voice gentle but unyielding. She meant what she had said to when they parted ways. She could only hope the rumors weren’t true because if they were she couldn’t even imagine what that would mean for her life there.
Ariana leaned against the ship’s rail as it pulled away from the dock, the faint lights of Val Royeaux dwindling behind her. Relief warred with unease. She was eager to return to Redcliffe, to the familiar walls of the manor and the steady presence of her Rangers. Yet the Divine’s words lingered, casting long shadows over her thoughts.
The ship cut through the dark waters, carrying her away from Orlais and toward a future fraught with uncertainty. Ariana’s grip tightened on the rail. The weight of duty pressed heavily on her shoulders, but her resolve was steadfast. Whatever awaited her in Kirkwall, she would face it as she always did—with precision, determination, and the quiet strength of a wolf in the shadows.