20 Drakonis 9:34
Ariana’s heart raced as she navigated the streets of Hightown, the weight of the chaos pressing down on her. The screams, the clash of steel, the guttural shouts of the Qunari—it was a cacophony of destruction that seemed endless. But in the midst of the turmoil, her focus remained razor-sharp. Find survivors. Avoid the main force. And Cullen… She pushed the thought aside for now. Worry wouldn’t help. Don’t think, Ariana. Act. Krieger’s words as steadfast as ever in her mind. He wasn’t wrong.
As she moved, she kept to the shadows, dispatching lone Qunari when necessary but avoiding larger groups. Her daggers flashed in the dim light, precise and efficient. She had to conserve her strength—there were too many of them to take head-on. In the distance, she saw a large force moving toward Viscount’s Keep, their disciplined march unmistakable even in the chaos. The sight made her blood run cold. They’re making a play for the city’s heart.
She pressed on, descending toward Lowtown, where the chaos seemed to thrum like a living beast. The narrow alleys and crowded streets were a dangerous labyrinth, but Ariana knew them well. As she rounded a corner, she caught sight of Valentina ahead, flanked by a small group of the most proficient recruits. Relief washed over her as she approached them.
“Wolf,” Valentina greeted, her voice calm but tense despite the chaos. “We were on our way to find you.”
“Good,” Ariana replied briskly, her eyes scanning the group. “Where are the others?”
“The newest recruits are holding position at the warehouse,” Linnea’s voice answered from above, as she dropped down from a nearby rooftop with Lamberto close behind.
Ariana nodded, wasting no time. “I need to know where the Qunari are concentrating their forces and where we can make the most impact,” she said quickly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Avoid detection, save what innocents you can but… we still need to stick to the shadows as best as possible.”
Linnea hesitated, her expression flickering with frustration. “We should have seen this coming. I should have seen it. I thought we had more time—”
“We all did,” Ariana cut her off gently but firmly. “There’s no point dwelling on what we missed. We act now.”
Linnea nodded, her jaw tightening as she pushed the guilt aside. “Understood.”
“Relay a message to Hawke,” Ariana continued, turning to her. “The Qunari are marching on the Viscount’s Keep. She needs to know immediately.”
Lamberto frowned. “The Keep? Are they after the Viscount?”
“Probably a good guess,” Ariana replied curtly. Then, softening slightly, she turned to Valentina. “Find Cullen. Confirm he’s safe, but do not engage unless he’s overwhelmed. If you see no other choice, help him, but do not draw attention.”
The Rangers acknowledged her commands with a unified, “Understood, Wolf,” before melting into the chaos like shadows.
Ariana took a steadying breath and pressed on toward Lowtown. The carnage was no less intense here, but she moved with purpose, rescuing whoever she could while staying clear of large Qunari groups. Her daggers worked quickly, cutting through binds to free captives and holding off the occasional skirmish.
Her heart skipped a beat when she spotted familiar figures in the distance—Hawke, Varric, Merrill, and Anders, their weapons drawn and faces set with determination. Relief flickered through her as she ran to meet them, calling out over the din.
“Hawke!” she shouted.
Hawke turned, her blade glinting in the dim light, and nodded sharply. “Ariana.”
They closed the distance quickly, Hawke’s voice sharp and businesslike. “The Qunari are staging a full-scale assault.”
“I know,” Ariana replied, her voice tight. “They were moving toward the Viscount’s Keep. Their numbers are significant.”
Varric, his crossbow cocked and ready, gave her a grim look. “Then you know things are getting worse by the second. The guard’s scattered, and the Templars aren’t exactly swarming to help.”
“Anders, Merrill, and I have been focusing on evacuating the streets,” Hawke added, wiping sweat from her brow. “But we need to regroup. If they’re targeting the Keep, they’re making a play for control of the city.”
Ariana’s mind raced, her thoughts flickering between the Keep, the Rangers, and the Gallows. Cullen… But now wasn’t the time to let her mind wander. She turned her attention back to Hawke. “We need a coordinated effort,” she said, scanning the group. “Where do you need me?”
Hawke paused, considering for only a moment before gesturing toward the docks. “We’ve heard reports of skirmishes there. It’s close to your Rangers’ warehouse. If the Qunari get a foothold there, they’ll control all incoming supplies.”
Ariana nodded sharply. “Understood.”
She exchanged a quick glance with Varric, who gave her a nod of encouragement, and then turned to make her way toward the docks. The battle wasn’t over—not by a long shot—and Ariana knew the decisions they made in the next few hours could determine the fate of Kirkwall.
~~~
Hawke smirked, brushing the dirt from her gloves turning to Ariana before leaving. “And if the White Wolf and her Rangers don’t mind handling the rest of the city, then we’ll make our way to Hightown.”
Ariana raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a dry smile. “Oh, just save the rest of the city, then? Simple enough.” She shook her head but gave Hawke a knowing glance. “Leave it to us.”
As they prepared to part ways, Ariana turned back one last time. “Oh, and Hawke, Varric… don’t go dying on me. I’ll pull you back from the Fade and kill you myself if you do.”
Varric chuckled, a rare flicker of lightness in the dire moment. “Don’t worry, Pup. I’ve survived worse.”
Ariana watched as the group disappeared into the chaos before turning her focus back to the task at hand. She pulled the horn from her belt and sounded it—a distinct, sharp call designed to rally Rangers in the area. The sharp, resonant tone echoed through the narrow streets, cutting through the noise of battle like a beacon. But she knew the risk: the sound could draw not just allies, but Qunari as well.
Her hand stayed on her weapon, her sharp eyes scanning the surrounding streets. Soon enough, Rangers began to converge on her position, moving efficiently through the alleys and shadows of Lowtown. Ariana gave quick, clear orders, dividing them into squads to secure key areas and evacuate civilians.
As she moved toward the Alienage, Lamberto and his squad fell into step with her, their presence a reassuring weight at her side. Together, they swept the area, engaging pockets of Qunari and ensuring the safety of the residents. The fighting was brutal but swift; the Rangers moved with the discipline of seasoned warriors, cutting through the chaos with precision.
Just as they were finishing up, Valentina approached, her face pale but her voice steady. “Wolf, Knight-Captain Cullen is at the docks. He and a small force of Templars are holding the position, trying to keep the Qunari from advancing toward the Gallows. But…” She hesitated, her eyes flicking to Ariana’s for permission to continue. “They won’t last much longer.”
Ariana’s chest tightened, her mind racing through the implications. Cullen… Maker, what would I do if I lost him now? The thought threatened to paralyze her, but she shoved it down, focusing instead on the task before her. “Valentina, Lamberto, with me. Linnea, take the remaining Rangers and keep scouting,” she ordered, her voice firm. “Save as many innocents as you can. I will handle the docks.”
Linnea hesitated, her expression flickering with concern. “What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice low, wondering if Ariana was prepared to expose the White Wolf to Cullen.
“We’re going to make sure the Qunari don’t overwhelm them and take the Gallows,” Ariana replied sharply. “The city will be lost if they do.”
Linnea opened her mouth as if to protest, but thought better of it. She straightened and saluted crisply. “By your order, Wolf,” she said before disappearing back into the shadows with the remaining Rangers.
Without another word, Ariana led Valentina and Lamberto through the winding streets of Lowtown, her steps quick and purposeful. As they neared the docks, she motioned for her companions to split off and flank the enemy forces, positioning themselves on either side of the battlefield.
Ambushes aren’t won from the ground.
Ariana leapt onto the nearest rooftop, her movements swift and deliberate. From this vantage point, she could see everything—the Qunari pressing against the Templars’ crumbling line, the chaos of battle threatening to spill further into the city. Her eyes fixed on Cullen at the center, his sword rising and falling in a blur of steel. He was holding the line, barely. Her pulse quickened. Hold on, Cullen. Just hold on.
Suddenly, she saw a group of Qunari breaking toward Cullen’s position while he was already engaged in another fight. Don’t hesitate. Hesitation is death. With a controlled breath, she dropped silently into the fray, her blades flashing. Her first target fell in seconds, her blade slicing across his throat before his axe could drop. The second lunged, and she sidestepped smoothly, her twin daggers plunging into his side in one fluid motion. The third swung a heavy blade; she ducked beneath it, rolling behind him and driving her blade into his exposed back.
She felt Cullen’s eyes on her as she moved, a flicker of recognition in his gaze. Their eyes locked for a brief second, and the weight of his unspoken questions pressed against her. If he knew, what would he say? Could he ever understand? But now wasn’t the time to dwell. He turned back to the fight, his movements more decisive, as though her presence had bolstered him.
“Behind you!” Cullen’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding.
Don’t think, Ariana. Act.
Ariana spun, her daggers catching the Qunari mid-strike. The force of the blow rattled her arms, but she pushed through, sidestepping to deliver a swift counter that sent her opponent crumpling to the ground. She glanced back at Cullen, nodding her thanks before falling into rhythm with him, their strikes synchronizing effortlessly. They moved as if they had always fought together, her speed complementing his strength.
Focus, Ariana.
The fight surged on, the Qunari relentless, their brutal force threatening to overwhelm the defense. Ariana stayed in motion, her strikes swift and precise.
Lamberto’s voice cut through the din. “Templars! Hold the line! Push them back away from the docks!”
The Templars rallied, their efforts renewed by the Rangers’ intervention. But the Qunari pressed harder, determined to break through. Ariana’s blades flashed as she wove through the chaos, intercepting enemies wherever the line threatened to falter. She could feel the strain in her muscles, the burn of exertion, but she couldn’t stop. Not now.
You don’t fight to survive, Ariana. You fight to win.
Then she felt it. A shift in the weight behind her, too quick to fully react. The sharp, cold bite of steel pierced through her side, the force of the Qunari’s blade driving her forward. Her breath caught, the pain radiating like fire as she stumbled, barely managing to stay upright.
What’s the point of speed if you can’t predict your enemy’s next move?
The reprimand seared through her thoughts as she gritted her teeth, forcing herself to twist sharply and drive her dagger into the Qunari’s neck. He fell, his weapon still embedded in her side, but she refused to falter. Her hand brushed the wound briefly, her fingers coming away slick with blood.
You’re too important to lose the thought of Krieger’s voice for the first time was soft, almost regretful.
No one noticed. Cullen had turned to rally the Templars, his focus on regrouping their forces. Ariana bit down on the pain, removing the weapon from her side, forcing her steps to remain steady. The blood soaking her cloak and armor was indistinguishable from the surrounding carnage, and her movements gave no sign of weakness. She couldn’t afford for anyone to see, to ask questions. She had to keep moving. She was the White Wolf, and she had to endure.
The battle pressed on, but the tide was beginning to turn. The Rangers and Templars fought as one, driving the Qunari back step by step. Ariana moved with them, her blades carving a path through the chaos, her focus unyielding.
For now, the line held. That was all that mattered.
~~~
Cullen’s arm burned with fatigue as he raised his blade again, his shield battered from repeated blows. It felt like hours since the battle had begun, and the relentless tide of Qunari showed no sign of stopping. He gritted his teeth, the thought of retreat flickering in his mind. But retreat meant giving up the docks, and the Gallows—and the city. No, it all depended on this position holding, there was no retreat. His thoughts shifted to Hightown, to Ariana. Maker, let her be safe.
He barely had time to process the image of her face before a hulking Qunari charged him head-on. Cullen braced himself, lifting his shield, when a flicker of movement on his left caught his attention. Another Qunari was closing in from the side, weapon raised high. Too late.
A shadow dropped between him and the attacker, moving with deadly precision. A cloaked figure landed with lethal grace, steel flashing in the moonlight. The first Qunari’s advance was cut short as the figure’s blade struck true, dropping him in a single, precise movement. The second swung wildly, but the figure sidestepped with ease, delivering a swift counterstrike that sent him crumpling to the ground.
Cullen blinked, trying to process the scene. The cloaked figure—wearing a white fur-trimmed cloak, a mask concealing the lower half of their face—moved like liquid fire. Their strikes were deliberate, calculated, and brutal. More Qunari rushed forward, but the figure intercepted, weaving through the chaos with practiced ease.
“Behind you!” Cullen shouted as another Qunari advanced, blade aimed for the figure’s back.
The figure didn’t hesitate. Pivoting on their heel, they parried the incoming strike and turned it into a fluid counterattack that left their opponent on the ground. They glanced back briefly, their masked face unreadable, they nodded their thanks before returning to the fray.
Cullen snapped out of his daze, raising his own blade to engage the Qunari pressing in on his side. Whatever else was happening, there was no time to question it now. He moved closer to the cloaked figure, his instincts guiding him to their side. Without a word exchanged, they fell into a rhythm, fighting back-to-back against the Qunari horde.
Suddenly, another figure joined the fray, calling out with a commanding voice. “Templars! Hold the line! Push them back!” It was a man in dark armor—Cullen vaguely recognized him as one of the figures he had seen arrive on the docks a few months back when he first saw the White Wolf.
The Templars rallied at the call, bolstered by the arrival of reinforcements. The Rangers moved with brutal efficiency, their attacks coordinated and precise. Cullen couldn’t help but notice how the cloaked figure directed the fight with subtle gestures—motions that the others responded to without hesitation. Whoever this White Wolf was, they commanded the battlefield.
Finally, the last of the attackers fell. Silence descended over the docks, broken only by the sound of heavy breathing and the distant echoes of battle from other parts of the city. Cullen turned, lowering his weapon, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on the cloaked figure. He’d heard stories, whispers about the White Wolf, but to see them here again—and fighting with such ruthless efficiency—was something else entirely.
“You’re the White Wolf,” Cullen said, his voice low but tinged with disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
The figure froze for a moment before Valentina stepped forward, her expression composed but unreadable. “The White Wolf fights where the people need them,” she said smoothly, her tone neutral. “Tonight, you needed them.”
Cullen’s eyes flicked back to the cloaked figure, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “Why are you in Kirkwall?” he demanded, his tone sharp.
The figure gave no reply. Instead, they raised a gloved hand, gesturing toward the fallen Qunari as if to say, Your city is still standing because of us. With deliberate care, they inclined their head in a slight, deliberate bow. The meaning was clear: You’re welcome.
Before Cullen could respond, the figure turned and disappeared into the shadows, their white cloak vanishing into the night.
Cullen stepped forward instinctively, but Lamberto and Valentina moved to block his path, their postures firm but not overtly hostile. “That’s far enough, Knight-Captain,” Lamberto said evenly.
“I have questions,” Cullen pressed, his frustration bleeding into his voice. “Kirkwall isn’t a battlefield for mercenaries to play hero.”
Valentina’s eyes hardened slightly. “The White Wolf isn’t here to asnwer your questions and they aren’t playing, neither are we. We saved your position. Perhaps you should focus on keeping it.”
Cullen’s gaze flicked to her, recognition dawning. “I’ve seen you before. At the docks. Weren’t you supposed to be in Starkhaven?”
Valentina smirked faintly. “Who says we weren’t. Maybe we were just leaving when the chaos broke out.”
Cullen’s brows furrowed, his frustration mounting. “If you’re truly with the Crows, then why do you answer to the White Wolf?”
Her smirk widened slightly, but her eyes remained unreadable. “You think you know everything about us?”
Before Cullen could retort, the other Templars began to gather around, their exhaustion giving way to murmurs of awe. “The White Wolf,” one of them whispered, eyes wide. “They saved us.”
“Andraste’s grace, did you see them fight?” another added. “Like something out of the stories.”
Cullen’s grip tightened on his blade, the praise grating against his nerves. “Back to your posts,” he ordered sharply. “The docks still need defending.”
As the Templars dispersed, Cullen turned back to Lamberto and Valentina. “This isn’t over.”
Lamberto smirked faintly. “It never is.”
Without another word, the two Rangers melted into the shadows, leaving Cullen standing alone amidst the wreckage of the battlefield. His thoughts churned as he scanned the darkened alleys, frustration warring with a begrudging sense of respect. The White Wolf… The name echoed in his mind, heavy with unanswered questions.
For now, those questions would have to wait. His priority was clear. He needed to find Ariana and make sure she was safe. Letting out a steadying breath, he turned and began making his way toward Hightown, the memory of the White Wolf’s silent, calculating movements etched into his mind.
~~~
Cullen’s thoughts churned with equal parts frustration and urgency. The battle had drained him, but the memory of Ariana’s face kept him moving. She had been on his mind through every strike, every parry. She wasn’t trained for this—or was she? The thought lingered, unbidden. He found himself reminded of that day on the Wounded Coast, the slavers that had ambushed them, and the way she had cut through them with lethal efficiency. He hadn’t expected that—not from her. He had known she was capable, but the precision and ruthlessness she displayed that day hinted at a far deeper training than he’d understood.
Even so, the memory offered little comfort. A few slavers in the wilderness were a far cry from the organized fury of the Qunari. He couldn’t shake the nagging fear that she might overestimate herself, or worse, underestimate the sheer brutality of her enemy.
The image of her estate flashed in his mind—the warm halls, the steadfast presence of Isabel and Emma. He clung to that thought like a lifeline, hoping against hope that the battle hadn’t reached that far yet. The idea of something happening to her—or to any of them—pushed him forward, his pace quickening.
The White Wolf… The name echoed in his thoughts as his boots struck against the cobblestones. The rumors surrounding this enigmatic figure had spread across Kirkwall, equal parts alarming and intriguing. They fought with the precision of someone who had seen years of battle, someone unflinching in the face of chaos. Yet… there was something unsettlingly familiar about the way they moved, the way they carried themselves. He couldn’t place it, but none of that mattered now.
All he cared about was Ariana. He had to make sure she was safe, that nothing in this chaos had reached her. He needed to see her, to hold her, to know for certain she was all right.
As Cullen passed through Lowtown, the remnants of the Qunari assault were everywhere. Bodies littered the streets—Templars, Qunari, and civilians alike. Smoke curled into the night sky, its acrid scent stinging his nostrils. The air was heavy with death and the muffled cries of those tending to the wounded. He forced himself to keep moving, his boots splashing through shallow puddles of blood as he climbed the stairs toward Hightown.
The higher he climbed, the quieter the streets became, though the tension in the air was palpable. Hightown was far from untouched—broken glass and splintered wood scattered the pristine stone streets, signs of the battle that had reached even here. A few city guards lingered, dragging debris to clear paths, but they seemed as lost as anyone else.
Cullen’s heart pounded as he turned the final corner, the familiar silhouette of Ariana’s estate coming into view. The grand stone walls stood tall, the windows glowing faintly with the warm light of the hearths inside. Relief washed over him, though it didn’t fully quell the anxiety gnawing at his chest.
He quickened his pace, stepping up to the door and knocking firmly. For a moment, there was no response, and the silence only fueled his unease. Then, the sound of hurried footsteps reached his ears, followed by the door creaking open to reveal Isabel.
“Cullen,” she said, her voice a mixture of relief and surprise. “You’re alive.”
“I could say the same for you,” Cullen replied, his eyes scanning the entryway behind her. “Ariana—”
“She’s fine,” Isabel interrupted, stepping aside to let him in. “But she’s not here.”
Cullen’s brows furrowed, his heart sinking. “Not here? Where is she?”
Isabel hesitated, glancing toward the stairs. “She went out earlier… She was looking for our staff that weren’t home. She would have headed for the Alienage most likely, but she hasn’t returned yet.”
Cullen’s fists clenched at his sides, his thoughts racing. “She’s out there? Alone? Does she realize what’s happening in the city?”
“She knows,” Isabel said, her voice firm. “But you know Ariana—she’s not one to sit idly by when people need her.”
Cullen’s frustration flared, but he tamped it down. Maker save me, does she have to be so stubborn? “Did she say where she was going after the Alienage?”
Isabel shook her head. “No. Just that she’d be back as soon as she could.”
Cullen exhaled sharply, his mind already calculating his next move. “If she comes back, keep her here. Don’t let her leave again.”
“And where will you be?” Isabel asked, crossing her arms.
“Finding her,” Cullen replied simply, stepping back toward the door. “She shouldn’t be out there.”
“She’s not helpless, Cullen,” Isabel called after him. “You give her too little credit.”
He paused, turning back to face her. “She’s not helpless, but she’s not invincible either. Neither am I. Someone else just saved me from being overrun.” he hated having to admit that, but it was the truth. And if he and his Templars had needed saving, what chance did Ariana have alone.
Isabel’s expression shifted to confusion, though her concern remained clear. Before she could respond, Cullen turned and stepped out into the night again, the heavy weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. His heart tugged in two directions—toward the search for Ariana and the responsibilities pulling him back to the Gallows. But for now, one thought overpowered the rest: Find her.
The battle had ended at the docks, but Cullen knew the night was far from over. However, despite his distrust for mercenaries, for better or worse he knew that there appeared to be Silver Rangers currently defending the city. To what end he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter now. All that mattered was finding her.
~~~
Ariana slipped into the warehouse, her steps measured, her breaths shallow as the adrenaline of the battle ebbed, leaving a gnawing ache in its place. The dim light inside cast long shadows over the Rangers gathered there, their faces a mix of exhaustion and relief. She pulled off her blood-soaked cloak and discarded it without ceremony, along with her gloves and weapons—each piece a symbol of the White Wolf she could no longer afford to be in this moment.
Linnea’s sharp eyes immediately caught the dark stain spreading across Ariana’s side. “Wolf, you’re hurt,” she said, stepping toward her, her tone more commanding than concerned.
“It’s nothing,” Ariana replied quickly, her voice steady but quieter than usual. She unwound the sash from her waist with a practiced motion, pressing it tightly against her side as a makeshift bandage to stem the bleeding. She tied it off with a wince, her movements efficient despite the sharp sting that flared with each motion.
But as the adrenaline faded further, a deeper pain began to settle in, sharper and more insistent with every breath. She leaned briefly against the edge of the nearest table, her free hand pressing against her side. A sharp, stabbing sensation spread from her ribs, stealing the breath from her lungs. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to straighten, but the movement sent another spike of pain radiating through her torso.
Her mind raced, piecing it together. The blade had run her through cleanly, but the force of the strike—it must have cracked or broken her ribs. She exhaled slowly, trying to manage her breathing, but even that came in shallow, halting gasps.
Linnea’s frown deepened as she stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the growing crimson against the fabric. “That doesn’t make it nothing,” she said, her tone sharper now.
“I’ve had worse,” Ariana said, brushing past her with a dismissive wave, though her hand instinctively tightened against her ribs, her fingers trembling slightly. Each step sent jolts of pain coursing through her side, her body betraying the injury she was determined to hide. She couldn’t afford weakness. Not here, not now.
But as she moved deeper into the warehouse, the realization settled heavily in her mind: she wasn’t just bleeding. The fight had left her more broken than she’d thought. And if she didn’t find a way to manage it soon, her strength wouldn’t hold out much longer.
Linnea frowned, her gaze fixed on the spreading crimson against the fabric. “That doesn’t make it nothing.”
Her hazel-green eyes scanned the room, taking stock of the Rangers, ignoring Linnea’s protest. “We need to take stock first. Is everyone accounted for? Any casualties?”
Valentina stepped forward, her expression both respectful and worried. “Everyone’s back. No losses, just a few minor injuries.”
Relief flickered across Ariana’s face, but she refused to let it linger. “Good. That’s what matters.”
Linnea crossed her arms, her expression hardening as she followed Ariana’s movements. “And what about you? You’re bleeding all over the floor.”
Ariana stepped toward the map table, but the motion sent a sharp jolt of pain through her ribs, sharper than before. Her breath hitched, and she felt an oppressive tightness settling in her chest. She clenched her jaw, forcing her posture to remain steady. “I’ll deal with it later. Right now, I need to get back to Hightown.”
Valentina and Lamberto exchanged concerned glances, and Valentina stepped closer, her voice firm but hesitant. “Wolf, you’re in no condition to go anywhere right now. Let us—”
“No.” Ariana’s voice cut through the room like a blade. She turned to face them, her expression firm despite the pallor creeping into her features. Her stance was authoritative, a leader unwilling to entertain further argument. “Cullen might already be looking for me. If he finds me here, it’s over. For all of us.”
Valentina opened her mouth to argue, but Ariana silenced her with a raised hand, her tone softening slightly. “I’ve discarded the cloak, gloves, and my weapons. He won’t recognize me. It’ll be fine.” Her eyes swept over the group, the faintest hint of gratitude breaking through her exhaustion. “You’ve done enough tonight. Rest. Regroup. And keep to the shadows.”
She moved toward the door, her steps careful but deliberate. Every movement was a reminder of the wound she couldn’t afford to dwell on, but her focus was already ahead—on the estate, on getting back before Cullen realized she had been out.
The Rangers watched in tense silence as she left, Valentina’s hand twitching as if to reach for her, but ultimately staying at her side. Linnea muttered something under her breath, though she didn’t move to stop Ariana either.
The cold night air hit Ariana like a wall as she stepped outside. Each step toward Hightown felt heavier than the last, the pain a constant companion beneath the makeshift bandage. Her mind raced, each thought tangled with the next. Just get home. Just make it back before anyone sees.
But as she disappeared into the shadows, one thought pressed harder than the rest: How long can I keep this up?
~~~
Ariana moved swiftly through the streets, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Each step sent a jolt of pain through her side, her makeshift bandage doing little to stem the bleeding. The wound throbbed relentlessly, her ribs protesting every movement, but she forced herself onward. Her discarded cloak and gloves back at the warehouse left her in plain armor, dirtied and bloodstained, blending her into the aftermath of the battle. To any casual observer, she was just another survivor staggering home.
As she neared the stairs towards Hightown, the faint echoes of chaos from Lowtown lingered in the distance, a reminder that the city’s respite was temporary at best. Ariana’s focus was singular: get home before Cullen returns. He couldn’t find her like this—not bloodied, wounded, and barely holding herself together. Not now. Not ever.
She rounded a corner, her heart stuttering as she saw a familiar figure ahead. Relief warred with dread. Cullen. His armor was battered, his sword sheathed at his side, but his determined stride betrayed no sign of exhaustion. She had hoped to avoid him, to slip into the estate unnoticed, but it was too late. He hadn’t seen her yet.
“Cullen,” she called, forcing her voice to sound steadier than she felt.
His head snapped toward her, his sharp gaze locking onto her. Relief flashed across his face, quickly replaced by frustration as he closed the distance between them. “Ariana! What were you thinking, being out here alone?”
“I wasn’t alone,” she countered, her tone defensive, though her voice wavered slightly. She forced herself to stand straighter, every movement deliberate to hide her pain. “I was looking for our staff. Some of them were out in the Alienage when this started. I couldn’t leave them.”
Cullen exhaled sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Did you find them?”
“I did,” she said with a small nod. “Most of them. The ones I could.”
Before she could say more, he reached out and pulled her into a tight embrace. The sudden pressure against her ribs sent a sharp, searing pain shooting through her chest. She bit down a gasp, but the flinch was unavoidable, her body stiffening in his arms.
Cullen immediately stepped back, concern replacing his frustration. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Broken ribs, maybe. Breathing hurts, but I’m fine.”
His eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping over her with the same precision he brought to combat. “Broken ribs aren’t nothing,” he muttered, his tone edged with frustration. His gaze dropped lower, catching the dark stain seeping through her armor at her side. The blood stood out against the dirt and grime, vivid and damning. His heart sank.
“Ariana.” His voice was low, almost disbelieving, as he gently took hold of her wrist and moved her hand away. The blood soaked through the makeshift bandage and continued to flow, pooling against the leather. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s—” she started, her voice faltering as she caught sight of the extent of the wound. She swallowed hard, her deflection failing her at last. “Alright… perhaps not nothing.”
Her knees buckled as the words left her lips, her strength finally giving out. Cullen moved instinctively, catching her before she could hit the ground. Her weight sagged against him, her head resting briefly on his chest as her eyes fluttered shut. “Ariana! Stay with me,” he urged, his voice tight with panic.
He shifted, lifting her into his arms with practiced ease. Her head leaned slightly against his shoulder. His jaw tightened, his mind racing. “Hold on,” he murmured, his voice both a plea and a command. “I’m taking you to the Circle.”
She stirred weakly, her fingers grasping at his collar. “No… the Circle,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible. “I can’t… go there.”
“You can,” Cullen said firmly, his arms tightening around her as he lifted her effortlessly. “And you will. You need a healer, Ariana. Don’t argue with me now.”
Her protests faded into incoherence, the last of her strength slipping away. Cullen’s jaw tightened as he adjusted his hold, his strides quickening. The looming spires of the Gallows came into view, their oppressive shadow a stark reminder of what awaited them both. But in this moment, the fear of what might come later paled in comparison to the fear gripping his heart now.
Her head rested against his shoulder, her blood staining his armor. Every step felt heavier, every breath of hers he couldn’t hear tightening the knot in his chest. His prayers were silent but fervent: Maker, let her live. Let her fight another day.
The battle at the docks had ended, but for Cullen, the night’s true fight had just begun.