14 Wintermarch – 20 Drakonis 9:34
Over the next few months, Valentina, Lamberto, and Linnea executed their roles with precision and care. Recruiting, training, and gathering information became the lifeblood of the Rangers’ operations, each task carried out in the shadows of Kirkwall’s chaotic streets. Their new base, the warehouse near the docks, provided the perfect cover—a fortress hidden in plain sight.
Ariana’s voice echoed through the warehouse during one of their first meetings, her tone firm but calm. “If you are caught,” she told the gathered recruits, her gaze sweeping across their faces, “you’re not Rangers. You’re free agents working for yourselves. No one here will acknowledge you.”
There were murmurs of agreement, though unease lingered in the air. To Ariana, it was essential to strike a balance between pragmatism and reassurance. “That said,” she continued, her voice softening, “I promise you this: if you ever get into trouble, I will come for you. Hawke will come for you. We won’t leave you behind.”
The tension eased slightly, though the weight of the task ahead was evident in their expressions.
She paced slowly, her boots clicking against the warehouse floor. “No heroics, ever,” she added, her tone sharpening again. “It is hard—I know it is—to see someone dragged off in chains. But we cannot openly oppose the Templars. Not yet. We have to be smarter, or we lose everything.”
The recruits nodded, though Ariana could see the conflict in their eyes. They had sworn their loyalty to her, to the Rangers’ mission, but loyalty didn’t make the task any easier. For some, the restraint she demanded felt like a betrayal of the cause they had signed up for. For others, it was a sobering reminder of the dangers they faced.
Hawke and Varric had been invaluable in connecting the Rangers to the Mage Underground. Through them, Ariana had gained access to hidden networks and crucial contacts—people who had spent years working in secrecy to protect mages from the Templars’ reach. Trust came slowly, but with Hawke’s reputation and Varric’s silver tongue, introductions were made, and the groundwork was laid.
Still, Hawke couldn’t help but voice her frustrations one evening at the Hanged Man. “We’re dancing around the problem, Ariana,” she said, leaning across the table. “The mages need more than whispers and hiding places. They need to be saved.”
Ariana sighed, nursing her drink. “You think I don’t want to save them all? But we can’t. Not like this.”
“We could do more,” Hawke pressed. “We should do more.”
Ariana set her glass down, her gaze meeting Hawke’s directly. “What would you have us do, Hawke? Break into the Gallows and free all the mages? Are you prepared for that? Are they prepared for that?”
Hawke hesitated, her jaw tightening. “If it comes to that… yes.”
Valentina, seated nearby, raised a skeptical brow. “And then what? Meredith will hunt every last one of them down. The mages, us, anyone who so much as looks like they helped.”
“We can’t stop her with a prison break,” Linnea added, her tone calm but firm. “Not without losing everything we’re building here.”
“So what’s the plan then?” Hawke shot back, frustration bubbling beneath her words. “We just keep sneaking a handful of mages out at a time while Meredith makes more Tranquil every day? How long before there’s no one left to save?”
Ariana exhaled, leaning back in her chair. “We don’t have the numbers yet. Not for a full-scale fight. Not for the kind of war you’re talking about.”
“And we are preparing for that war,” Valentina interjected, her voice steady. “Every recruit, every mage we save, every piece of information we gather—it all leads to the same place. But we can’t rush it.”
Hawke shook her head, but Varric, who had been quietly nursing his drink, finally spoke up. “She’s right, Hawke. If you want this to work, we have to play the long game. And believe me, I hate waiting as much as the next dwarf, but we don’t have the luxury of charging in crossbows blazing.”
Hawke’s shoulders sagged slightly, the fight draining from her posture. “I just… I hate this. Watching it happen, knowing we can do more.”
“So do I,” Ariana said quietly. “But if we fight too soon, we lose. And if it comes to that, if we do need to fight…” She paused, her gaze sweeping across the table, resting on each of them in turn. “The full force of the Silver Rangers will stand with the mages. We’ll fight for them, and for anyone else who cannot fight for themselves.”
The words settled heavily over the group, a quiet promise that they all understood. The lines had been drawn, even if the battle hadn’t begun yet. For now, their only weapon was patience.
Varric broke the silence with a wry smile, raising his glass. “Here’s to patience. Not exactly my favorite thing, but it gets the job done.”
Ariana smirked, lifting her glass. “To patience.”
The group joined the toast, the clinking of glasses briefly cutting through the somber air. In the distance, the sounds of Lowtown’s chaos echoed faintly, a reminder of the city they were trying to save—one step, one life at a time.
~~~
A few days later, Ariana met Linnea in one of the smaller rooms off the main floor of the warehouse. It was quieter there, away from the hum of training and the murmur of scouts exchanging updates. Ariana leaned against the edge of a battered table, arms crossed, her expression calm but expectant.
“What do we know about Cullen?” Ariana asked, her voice low but steady. “How much does he seem to know about what’s happening?”
Linnea shifted her weight, her tone measured as she replied, “As best as I can tell, he’s not directly involved. He hasn’t attended any of the more… questionable raids or interrogations. And the people I’ve spoken to don’t recall seeing him in situations where Tranquility was being administered.”
Ariana nodded, though her brows furrowed slightly. “But he’s not completely unaware.”
“No,” Linnea admitted. “From what I’ve pieced together, he knows it’s happening. When it’s reported to him, it’s usually framed as a necessary action—mages too dangerous, too unstable, or caught dabbling in blood magic. He doesn’t seem to question it too much.”
Ariana’s jaw tightened as she processed the information. It was both a relief and a frustration. Cullen wasn’t actively part of the atrocities, but his acceptance of them—however justified they might seem to him—meant there was little chance of swaying him while he remained under Meredith’s influence.
“Anything else?” Ariana asked, her voice soft but tinged with an edge.
Linnea hesitated for a moment before continuing. “There’s something else. Not about Cullen or the Templars, but it could become a bigger problem for us. The Qunari.”
Ariana straightened, her attention sharpening. “What about them?”
“There have been more confrontations,” Linnea said, her expression darkening. “Merchants in Lowtown are reporting stolen shipments, sailors are complaining about dock interference, and there have been skirmishes in the alleys near the Qunari compound. It’s not just petty disputes anymore—the Arishok is getting… anxious.”
Ariana frowned, rubbing her temples as she considered the implications. “Do we know what’s pushing him? Or what he’s waiting for?”
Linnea shook her head. “Not yet. But he’s been more visible, and his people are growing restless. If something doesn’t change soon, they may decide to force the issue.”
“Force the issue?” Ariana repeated, her tone skeptical but wary.
Linnea nodded. “If they’re holding out for something—a solution, a negotiation—and it doesn’t come? They won’t stay passive forever. And if the Arishok loses his patience, it won’t just be the docks that feel it. It’ll be the whole city.”
Ariana exhaled heavily, the weight of Linnea’s report settling over her. “Do you think they’ll target us?”
“I don’t think they’ve noticed us,” Linnea replied. “But if Kirkwall descends into chaos, it’ll affect everyone—including us. It’s something to keep an eye on.”
Ariana nodded slowly, her mind already racing with possibilities. The Qunari were a force she couldn’t afford to underestimate, and if their growing tension turned into action, it could throw everything off balance. The Rangers were barely holding their own against the Templars’ vigilance—another front, especially one as volatile as the Qunari, could be disastrous.
“Keep me updated,” Ariana said firmly. “I want to know if the situation changes. And see if you can get someone closer to the docks to keep watch.”
Linnea nodded. “Already done. We’ve got a few people embedded with the merchant caravans, keeping their ears open.”
“Good,” Ariana said, her expression hardening. “We’ve got enough problems as it is. The last thing we need is a war with the Qunari on top of everything else. I’ll talk to Hawke, see what she knows.”
As Linnea left to continue her work, Ariana remained in the quiet room, her thoughts heavy. Between Cullen’s precarious position, the Templars’ actions, and now the brewing tension with the Qunari, Kirkwall felt like a city sitting atop a powder keg. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that the spark was coming sooner than any of them were prepared for.
~~~
Ariana’s boots echoed against the polished stone streets of Hightown, the gilded façade of Kirkwall’s wealth a stark contrast to the shadows she had just left behind in Lowtown. Her thoughts churned with Linnea’s warning about the Qunari, a tension simmering in her chest. Whatever the Arishok sought, Ariana suspected it would mean trouble for everyone in the city—mages or not.
Arriving at Hawke’s estate, she knocked sharply and was ushered inside by the household staff. The warmth of the home, filled with signs of life and personality, was a welcome reprieve from the cold unease in her mind.
“Well, well, what brings Lady Ariana Trevelyan to my humble estate?” Hawke teased as she appeared at the top of the stairs, descending with an easy, confident grace.
Ariana couldn’t help but chuckle, the tension momentarily lifting. “Right, yes, it’s very quaint. You should be jealous of mine,” she replied, her sarcasm sharpened by exhaustion.
“Oh, absolutely. The unmatched splendor of a noblewoman’s estate. How do you even bear it?” Hawke deadpanned, gesturing dramatically.
Their banter carried them into the sitting room, where Hawke poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Ariana. It was a familiar ritual, one that hinted at the ease of their friendship. Yet, as Ariana swirled the wine in her glass, her focus drifted back to the unease sitting heavy in her chest.
“What do you know about the Arishok?” she asked, her voice cutting through the warmth of the moment. “I’m hearing rumors he’s looking for something and seems to be getting restless.”
Hawke’s sigh was long and heavy, her shoulders sinking under the weight of what she knew. “Unfortunately, I know more than I’d like,” she admitted. “If your spymaster is reporting this, it’s worse than I thought. Let me start from the beginning.”
Ariana leaned forward slightly, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass as Hawke began to speak.
“They arrived in 9:31,” Hawke explained, her tone measured. “The Qunari. They came for one reason: a stolen relic called the Tome of Koslun. According to their leader, they can’t return home without it. They’ve been looking for it ever since.”
Ariana frowned. Four years of waiting in this city, observing its dysfunction, its corruption—what toll had that taken on them? She could see the frustration on Hawke’s face, her usual bravado replaced with a rare seriousness.
“The Tome,” Ariana repeated softly. “Do we know what it is? Why it’s so important?”
“Not exactly,” Hawke admitted. “But whatever it is, it’s sacred to them. Without it, they’re stuck here, and Kirkwall is… well, let’s just say it’s not to their taste.”
Ariana nodded, but her thoughts were already racing. The Qunari’s code, the Qun, demanded discipline and order. Kirkwall was chaos incarnate. How much longer could they endure this city’s rot before something gave?
“They’ve had their share of grievances here,” Hawke continued, her expression darkening. “I’ve had to step in more than once to keep things from boiling over. There was the matter of saar-qamek, for example.”
“Saar-qamek?” Ariana asked, unfamiliar with the term.
“It’s a formula for a poisonous gas,” Hawke clarified, her tone darkening. “The Qunari use it sparingly, as a weapon of war. Someone in Kirkwall stole it thinking it was the formula for gaatlok—an ambitious merchant trying to sell it to the highest bidder. By the time I tracked it down, it was too late. It had already been released in a side alley in Lowtown.”
Ariana’s eyes widened, a wave of unease washing over her. “It was released? What happened? How many—”
“Not as many as you’d think,” Hawke interrupted. “But still too many. The Qunari killed the ones responsible, but it was chaos. People choking, dying, and all because someone decided they could profit from selling the Qunari’s weapons.” Hawke’s voice carried a bitter edge as she took a sip of her wine.
Ariana swallowed hard, her mind reeling with the implications. “I didn’t hear about this.”
“It happened while you were gone,” Hawke said softly, “It was over quickly, and the city moved on. As it always does. But it was… bad. Really bad.”
Ariana closed her eyes for a moment, imagining the scene: the narrow, crowded streets of Lowtown filled with people gasping for breath, collapsing as the poisonous mist spread. She felt the weight of her absence keenly, even if it was irrational.
“And the Qunari?” she asked, her voice tight.
“They were furious,” Hawke admitted. “But I think they blamed the thieves more than the city itself. At least that’s what I told myself when I gave the formula back to them. They’re… restrained, but only because they’re focused on the Tome. That restraint won’t last forever.”
Ariana nodded grimly, her thoughts churning. The Qunari had already endured so many provocations—how much more would it take to push them over the edge?
“Then there was the Qunari delegation,” Hawke continued, her voice growing colder. “A group of Qunari went missing when they were on their way to meet with the Viscount. They were ambushed and killed.”
Ariana’s breath caught. “By who?”
“A Templar,” Hawke said grimly. “He bore the Grand Cleric’s seal.”
Ariana’s jaw clenched. The implications were staggering. “A Templar? And the Qunari know?”
“They do,” Hawke confirmed. “The Arishok didn’t retaliate, but I could see it in his eyes—he wanted to. I think the only reason he held back was because it wasn’t part of their mission. They’re here for the Tome, and until they have it, they’ll endure.”
Endure. The word felt like a warning. The Arishok’s restraint was commendable, but Ariana doubted it was limitless.
“And then there’s Seamus,” Hawke said, taking a long sip of her wine before continuing. “The Viscount’s son. He converted to the Qun not long ago. He believed in what they stood for—order, fairness. It cost him his life.”
Ariana’s eyes widened. “Seamus was killed because of his beliefs?”
“Because of Mother Petrice,” Hawke corrected, her voice laced with disdain. “She orchestrated it. A senseless death to stoke hatred against the Qunari. The Viscount is furious, but he’s powerless to do anything. The city is on edge, and the Qunari are angrier than ever.”
Ariana exhaled slowly, the weight of these revelations pressing down on her. Each piece of the puzzle painted a picture of a city teetering on the edge of chaos. And then Hawke dropped the final blow.
“There’s one more thing,” she said, her tone resigned. “I know where the Tome of Koslun is. Or rather, was. I know who has it.”
Ariana leaned forward, her gaze sharp. “Who?”
Hawke hesitated, then said, “Isabela.”
Ariana stared at her, disbelief flashing across her face. “Isabela? You’re saying she has the Tome?”
“She’s the one that stole it,” Hawke admitted, her voice heavy with frustration. “And now she’s gone.”
“Gone?” Ariana’s voice rose. “You’re saying she took the Tome of Koslun and disappeared? And you’re just telling me this now?”
“And… I recently helped her acquire a ship,” Hawke replied, ignoring the accusatory tone. “She could be anywhere by now.”
“This isn’t good, Hawke.” Ariana’s voice was sharp, her mind racing. “You’re telling me we have nothing to offer the Arishok to make him leave?”
“We don’t,” Hawke said bluntly. “And I didn’t tell you because it had nothing to do with the mages.”
“And yet it could threaten our entire operation if this city falls to chaos! I don’t think a Qunari invasion is what the Divine had in mind when she asked us to save the mages.” Ariana shot back, standing abruptly and pacing the room. The tension in her chest had hardened into something sharp and unyielding. She turned to Hawke, her voice low and cold. “We’re sitting on a powder keg, Hawke. If the Arishok loses patience, it won’t just be about the their relic anymore.”
“I know,” Hawke said quietly, her tone lacking its usual defiance.
Ariana stared at her, frustration and fear warring within her. This wasn’t just another problem to solve. This was a storm, brewing just beyond the horizon, and she had the sinking feeling it was about to break.
~~~
Over those same months, Cullen and Ariana settled into a rhythm of sparring in the mornings, their sessions becoming a steady fixture in Cullen’s week. It was a simple routine: he would arrive at the estate shortly after sunrise, dressed in his training gear, and find Ariana already waiting for him in the courtyard, her twin daggers glinting faintly in the dawn light.
The first few sessions were straightforward, almost nostalgic. They began with drills—blocks, parries, dodges—much like their training days near Lake Calenhad. Yet as the weeks passed, Cullen couldn’t shake the growing suspicion that she was holding back. Her movements were precise, but her attacks lacked full force. Her speed—while impressive—felt measured, like she was pulling her strikes just short of their true potential.
Today was no different. Their blades clashed in a swift series of strikes and counters, Ariana’s agility matching Cullen’s strength. She dodged his heavier blows with ease, her footwork almost too fluid, like a dance she’d rehearsed countless times. Yet something about the rhythm felt off.
“You’re holding back,” Cullen said abruptly, breaking their flow as he stepped back and lowered his blade.
Ariana arched a brow, wiping a bead of sweat from her temple. “I’m not holding back,” she replied evenly, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze.
“You are,” Cullen insisted, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve always been faster than me, which doesn’t explain why I’ve landed multiple hits while you’ve barely landed any.”
Her smirk faded, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then she stepped forward, her blades at her sides. “I’m not pulling my punches,” she said quietly. “Maybe you’re still just better trained than I am. Strength has its advantages, and speed doesn’t win forever.”
Cullen exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on his sword. “That’s not it, and you know it. I asked you to spar with me because I need a real challenge, not someone pulling their punches.”
He studied her closely, the tension between them palpable. There was more to her words than she was letting on, and he knew it. She was faster, more precise than anyone he’d sparred with in years, yet she kept losing to him. She was letting him win.
“Ariana,” Cullen said, his voice softening. “If this is about me—about protecting my pride—don’t. I watched you fight those slavers. The person sparring with me isn’t that person. I want to see what you can really do.”
Ariana’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she looked as though she might say something more. But instead, she raised her daggers, her stance shifting back into readiness.
“Come on, Knight-Captain,” she said, her tone lighter now. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”
Cullen hesitated for a beat, then raised his sword. They resumed their sparring, but his mind lingered on her earlier response. She was deflecting, hiding something. The realization gnawed at him, though he knew better than to push her too far. Not yet.
Their session ended with a swift disarm—Ariana’s daggers sent skittering across the courtyard stones as Cullen managed to pin her against the stone wall. His breath came in short bursts, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
“You’ve improved,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “But you’re still holding back.”
Ariana smirked, her eyes meeting his. “As are you.”
He held her for a moment longer and he thought through her words. Was he holding back as well? He was winning their matches but was he really committing to his strikes?
Cullen stepped back, releasing her, and they both lowered their weapons. The morning sun had risen higher, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Despite the physical exhaustion, there was a lightness in their shared silence, a mutual respect that words couldn’t quite capture.
As they sheathed their blades and gathered their things, Cullen couldn’t help but glance at her, his thoughts swirling with questions. There was so much he still didn’t know about the woman she had become. But if their sparring sessions had taught him anything, it was this: Ariana Trevelyan was not someone who would break easily. She carried her secrets like armor, and for now, he would respect that.
But he would also be ready when she decided to share them.
~~~
“It has been over two months since you returned, Ariana,” Isabel said one evening, her tone sharper than usual. They were sitting in the library, where Ariana had been poring over correspondence from Ferelden. “Two months, and you haven’t told him. You have multiple squads of Rangers training and operating within the city. The White Wolf is running operations in Kirkwall.”
Ariana didn’t look up from the letter in her hands, though the tension in her jaw betrayed her unease. “And what exactly do you propose I tell him, Isabel?” she replied coolly. “That the Divine herself sent me to investigate Kirkwall? That Knight-Commander Meredith is under suspicion? You know as well as I do that’s exactly what I cannot do.”
Isabel stepped closer, her frustration mounting. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Ariana, and you’re both going to get hurt. Cullen cares for you, deeply. And I—” She hesitated, her voice softening. “I care for him too. You’re letting fear hold you back.”
Ariana finally looked up, her hazel-green eyes hardening as she met Isabel’s gaze. “And what happens when I tell him everything?” she asked. “What if he decides I’m no better than any other mercenary? Worse—what if he turns me in? If he is truly loyal to Meredith, do you think he could ignore this?”
Isabel folded her arms, her voice firm but gentle. “I think Cullen is loyal to what he believes is right, not Meredith. You of all people should know that.”
Ariana’s shoulders slumped slightly as the weight of Isabel’s words settled over her. She had spent months agonizing over this. When she first returned to Kirkwall and sought Varric’s help to find Cullen, it had been Varric who told her how quickly Cullen had risen through the ranks since arriving in the city—how he had become Meredith’s trusted Knight-Captain. At the time, the news had both relieved and unsettled her.
Now, after months of operating in Kirkwall, she had seen firsthand how dangerous the Templars under Meredith’s command could be. Even though Linnea’s reports suggested Cullen wasn’t directly involved, it was clear he wasn’t entirely unaware of the growing abuse of the Rite of Tranquility. He justified it when it was reported to him, didn’t question it too much. Could he really be blind to what Meredith was doing, or was he choosing not to see it?
Her fingers tightened slightly around the edges of the letter she was holding. Maybe Isabel’s right. Maybe I am protecting myself more than him, she thought, but she immediately shoved the idea aside. She had too much to lose if she was wrong.
“You’ve heard Hawke,” she said finally. “Even she’s struggling to hold back, and she doesn’t have the same stakes I do. The more we learn, the more the lines between friend and enemy blur.”
“That doesn’t make them meaningless,” Isabel countered, her voice firm. “Hawke knows where she stands. Do you?”
“Yes,” Ariana shot back, her tone angrier than she intended. “I’ll stand with the mages—and that is exactly the problem.”
The words hung in the air, raw and unvarnished. Ariana took a deep breath, regaining her composure. She raised her hands slightly in acknowledgment, as if trying to smooth the sharp edges of her outburst.
Her gaze dropped for a moment, her voice quieter when she continued. “I’ll tell him, Isabel. But not yet. Not until I know exactly what we’re dealing with. I have to be sure.”
“You mean until you can justify it to yourself,” Isabel said, her tone softening but still carrying an edge. “You’re not protecting him by waiting—you’re protecting yourself. Admit it.”
Ariana’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she said nothing. Isabel’s words had struck at a fear she refused to name: the fear that Cullen wouldn’t stand by her when the truth came out. That her choices—everything she had built—would drive him away. And if that happened… the thought twisted her stomach into knots.
Isabel sighed, leaning against the desk and crossing her arms. “For your sake, and his, you’d better hope you find that information soon, child,” she said. “Because this city has a way of chewing up secrets—and the people who keep them.”
The sound of steel clashing and shouts suddenly carried through the air, reverberating through the stone walls of Hightown. It wasn’t the muffled raucousness of a brawl spilling out from a tavern; it was different—chaotic, large, and brutal. The unmistakable sounds of a battle.
Ariana froze, her ears straining to confirm what she thought she’d heard. Isabel turned her head sharply toward the noise, her sharp retort fading into silence. “What in the Maker’s name…?”
Ariana stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor as she ran out of the room. “Stay here,” she commanded, her voice tight.
She ran upstairs to one of the balconies, gripping the railing as she scanned the streets below. Her stomach clenched at the sight that met her eyes. Qunari. Dozens of them, heavily armed and swarming the streets of Hightown. They dragged people from buildings, cutting down anyone who resisted. Blood stained the cobblestones, and the screams of panicked citizens punctuated the air. The chaos rippled outward like wildfire, threatening to engulf everything.
Maker… this is no random attack, Ariana thought, her chest tightening with urgency. Linnea’s warning from days earlier and the conversation with Hawke all echoed in her mind: The Arishok is getting anxious. If something doesn’t change, they may force the issue. They had seen it coming, but they were too late.
She ran back into her room, already putting on her armor with practiced efficiency. She fastened the white fur-trimmed cloak of the White Wolf, tied a mask over the lower half of her face, and secured her weapons with a grim determination. The image staring back at her in the mirror wasn’t Ariana Trevelyan—it was the White Wolf, the leader of the Silver Rangers, a force sworn to protect the innocent.
“Isabel!” Ariana called as she descended the stairs.
She found Isabel in the kitchen, her face pale but her expression steady as she tried to calm the household staff. Emma clung to Isabel’s side, her wide eyes filled with fear.
“Get yourselves and all the staff into the cellar and lock the door,” Ariana ordered, her voice firm and steady despite the turmoil.
Isabel turned to her, her expression shifting from fear to resolve. “Ari, what is happening? The staff—some of them are out on errands—”
“I don’t know yet,” Ariana admitted, her voice clipped as she moved to the backdoor. “The Qunari are in the streets, attacking anyone they can reach. It’s chaos out there. Go. Gather whoever is left here and get them to safety.”
Isabel met Ariana’s gaze, her expression shifting from fear to resolve. “You can’t go alone—”
“I can and I will,” Ariana interrupted sharply. “I need to find Hawke and Varric. The Rangers will need orders. This isn’t just Hightown—if it’s reached here, Lowtown and the docks are probably already overrun.” She placed a hand on Isabel’s shoulder, her grip firm but reassuring. “I’ll find everyone, but I need you to protect them. Now.”
“Ari?” Emma’s voice wavered. “Come back?”
Ariana crouched down to Emma’s level, placing a hand on the child’s shoulder. “Of course,” she said gently, though her heart twisted at the lie. “But you need to stay with your mom, all right? She’ll keep you safe.”
Emma nodded reluctantly, clutching at Isabel’s skirts.
Isabel hesitated but eventually nodded. She turned to gather the staff, ushering them toward the cellar. Ariana paused long enough to see them moving, then slipped out the back door into the chill of the evening.
The sounds of battle grew louder as she navigated the shadows of the alleys, her heart pounding with urgency. Linnea had warned her. Hawke had hoped to contain this. But the signs had been there, and they had seen it too late. Now the city was burning, and the Qunari had become the fire consuming it.
Her steps quickened as she headed toward the Hanged Man. Hawke and Varric would be her first stop. From there, she would organize the Rangers. Her thoughts raced, calculating strategies, prioritizing tasks, but beneath the tactical focus was a single, desperate prayer:
Maker, keep them safe. Hawke, Varric, Isabel, Emma—the Rangers, everyone. Cullen… She didn’t have time for fear, but it simmered beneath her resolve, a constant reminder of how much was at stake.
The chaos of the city loomed ahead, but Ariana’s resolve was unshaken. Whatever was coming, she would face it. For Kirkwall. For her people. And for the chance to make it through the night alive.