10 – 13 Bloomingtide 9:34
Ariana didn’t like the situation they were in. Meredith’s growing control gnawed at her, but what unsettled her more was the possibility that Kira could somehow be dragged into it. She hardly knew her older sister—their lives had been separated when Ariana was only three years old, the day Kira was sent to the Ostwick Circle. Ariana’s memories of her were fragmented at best: glimpses of a shy smile, a gentle voice, and the faintest echo of laughter. When Kira was permitted rare visits to Ostwick, Ariana had been too young to truly know her, and even then, Kira’s time with the family had been brief, tightly supervised.
Yet family was family, and Kira’s safety mattered. The thought of Meredith setting her sights on Kira sent a chill down Ariana’s spine. Kira wouldn’t survive in Kirkwall—not under Meredith’s gaze. Gentle and compliant as she was, Kira might escape Meredith’s notice for a time, but all it would take was one mistake, one accusation. And if Meredith ever deemed her a threat, or worse, found an excuse to make her Tranquil…
No. Ariana’s fingers curled into fists at the thought. I won’t let that happen.
Maybe her father and Frederick could help. A preemptive transfer—somewhere far from Meredith’s grasp—might be the answer. But even that carried its risks. There was no perfect solution, and that knowledge weighed heavily on her.
Restless and unable to sleep, Ariana rose before dawn and headed to the Rangers’ warehouse in Lowtown. It had been too long since she’d kept a proper training routine, and she could feel it in her body—the lingering stiffness from the injuries she’d sustained during the Qunari uprising. They were mostly healed now, but her movements didn’t flow as easily as they once had. If the White Wolf was to remain sharp, she couldn’t allow herself to slacken.
Arriving at the warehouse, she was surprised to find Valentina already there, seated on a crate and sharpening a blade.
“Wolf,” Valentina greeted, looking up. “Didn’t think I’d see you here this early. Or at all.” Her tone carried a playful edge.
Ariana smirked. “Could say the same about you.”
Valentina shrugged. “Old habits. What brings you here? Thought you’d be enjoying that Hightown comfort.”
Ariana rolled her eyes. “You up for a few rounds?” she asked, stretching her arms out and rolling her neck. “I could use it.”
Valentina chuckled, setting her blade aside. “Should I go easy on you?” she teased, the challenge in her tone evident. “You’ve been living that noble life for a while now…”
“Oh, I see,” Ariana replied, her voice light but her eyes narrowing slightly. “You think you can take me, then?”
“Just being honest, Wolf,” Valentina said, stepping into the open training area.
Ariana’s smirk turned sharper. “Good. Don’t take it easy. Ever.”
Valentina nodded, her stance shifting as she raised her hands. “Alright, Wolf. Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”
The first clash came fast, Valentina launching a series of quick strikes aimed to test Ariana’s reflexes. Ariana dodged and countered, her movements sharp but lacking the fluidity she once had. The stiffness in her side protested with every twist and turn, a constant reminder of the wounds that had yet to fully fade.
Don’t think, Ariana. Act.
Her body moved instinctively, catching Valentina’s wrist mid-strike and twisting it away, but the effort sent a sharp ache through her ribs. She gritted her teeth, refusing to let it slow her.
Valentina smirked as she stepped back, circling her. “You’re slower than I remember.”
“And you’re more talkative,” Ariana shot back, though her tone was strained as she moved to close the distance again.
First rule: speed over strength. You’re not going to overpower anyone. You’re fast. Use that.
The sparring intensified, each round pushing them both harder. Valentina’s strikes were calculated, designed to exploit any opening Ariana left. Ariana’s counters were precise, but each successful block or strike cost her more energy than it should have.
In one round, Valentina feinted left and swept low, knocking Ariana off balance. Ariana hit the ground with a soft grunt but rolled quickly to her feet, her jaw tightening as she reset her stance.
Potential is worthless without effort.
The words stung, pushing her harder even as her muscles screamed in protest. By the final round, sweat clung to both of them, their breathing labored. Ariana managed to land a decisive strike, spinning behind Valentina and pinning her arm behind her back.
Every misstep, every sluggish block, felt like proof she was slipping. The White Wolf wasn’t supposed to falter. If she couldn’t even hold her own against Valentina, how could she protect Kira? How could she lead the Rangers?
You don’t fight to survive. You fight to win.
“Yield,” Ariana demanded, her voice steady despite the burn in her muscles.
Valentina laughed breathlessly. “Alright, alright. Yield.”
Ariana released her, stepping back and placing her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. Valentina turned to face her, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Still got it,” she admitted. “Barely.”
Ariana chuckled weakly, shaking her head. “That was harder than it should’ve been.”
Valentina nodded, her expression shifting to something more serious. “You’ve been out of practice, Wolf. Might want to change that.”
Ariana straightened, her jaw tightening. “I will,” she said firmly, a flicker of resolve in her eyes. She couldn’t afford to falter—not now, not with everything at stake.
“Good,” Valentina replied, clapping her on the shoulder. “Because next time, I won’t let you win.”
“Is that what that was?” Ariana quipped, though she appreciated Valentina’s push more than she’d admit.
“Leaving so soon?” Valentina asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“You know us nobles,” Ariana began with a confident smile. “Always something that needs our attention.”
With that, Ariana stepped out into the crisp morning air, the ache in her muscles a familiar burn—a welcome one. But it did little to soothe the unease gnawing at her. Meredith’s machinations, Michael’s transfer, and the looming threat of Kira—it all felt like a storm on the horizon, one she wasn’t ready for.
She paused at the edge of the street, watching as the first rays of sunlight began to creep over the rooftops. Potential is worthless without effort. The thought lingered, but another followed, softer, quieter.
And survival means nothing if I fail the people who need me.
~~~
After her morning training session, Ariana’s stomach reminded her of another urgent priority: breakfast. The thought of heading to the Hanged Man crossed her mind almost immediately. It had been weeks since she’d last seen Varric, and she needed to catch him up on everything, especially Meredith’s latest power play. The familiar chaos of the tavern’s patrons and its perpetually dim lighting felt like an odd comfort amidst the tension brewing in her life.
When Ariana arrived at Varric’s suite, she found him seated at his desk, surrounded by scattered papers and ink-stained quills. His expression lit up as he glanced up from his writing, his signature smirk sliding into place. “Pup,” he greeted, leaning back in his chair. “You look like you’ve wrestled an ogre and lost. What’s going on?”
“Nothing good,” Ariana replied, dropping heavily into the chair across from him. She exhaled deeply, running a hand through her hair. “Meredith found Michael and had him transferred to Kirkwall.”
Varric’s smirk faltered, replaced by a knowing look. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “That’s not a good sign,” he said. “What’s her angle?”
Ariana shook her head, frustration and worry flickering across her face. “Leverage. Intimidation. I don’t know. But it’s Michael. He doesn’t deserve to get caught up in this.”
Varric let out a low whistle, the gravity of the situation settling over him. “Good thing you’re still living in the shadows, Pup. But if she’s pulling family into this, she’s playing the long game.”
Ariana sighed, nodding slightly. “That’s what I’m worried about. She’s setting the pieces, but I don’t know what the endgame is yet.”
They spent the next hour catching up, Varric filling her in on Hawke’s latest escapades while Ariana shared updates on Ranger operations. She mentioned the few mages Hawke had sent her way recently, grateful for the help, though her mind kept straying back to Meredith and Kira. Varric, sensing her distraction, kept the mood light with his usual humor, though his sharp eyes hinted at deeper concern.
“You’re playing with fire,” he said finally, his tone serious despite the easy smile that lingered. “And Meredith doesn’t lose gracefully.”
Ariana leaned back in her chair, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Good thing I’m not planning to let her win.”
Varric chuckled softly, but his gaze remained steady. “Careful, Pup. If she’s dragging family into this, she’s ready to up the stakes.”
Ariana hesitated, her gaze dropping momentarily before she met his eyes again. “I’ll handle it,” she said firmly, though the unease in her chest didn’t ease. She hesitated for a beat before speaking again. “But I’ll need your help, Varric.”
The smirk faded from his face, replaced by quiet curiosity. “What kind of help?”
“I need you to reach out to Frederick and my father,” she said, her voice lower now. “If Meredith found Michael, she could easily turn her sights on Kira next. I won’t let her get anywhere near Kirkwall. We need to move her first.”
Varric tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “You want me to put out feelers, see if we can make her… vanish?”
“Exactly,” Ariana replied. “If Frederick’s Knight-Commander friend is willing to transfer her somewhere quiet—off the books—that’s ideal. And if both Circles lose the paperwork, even better.”
Varric nodded slowly. “I’ll see what I can dig up,” he said, his tone serious. “You know I’ve got people everywhere.”
“Good,” Ariana said softly, her gratitude clear. “If Kira becomes a target—”
“She won’t,” Varric cut in, his voice firm. “We’ll handle it, Pup.”
“Thanks, Varric,” Ariana said genuinely. One thing she knew was that she could always count on him.
~~~
The night air carried a gentle coolness, a refreshing contrast to the lingering warmth of the summer day. The stars stretched across the dark expanse above, gleaming like scattered jewels. Ariana sat on the stone bench in the courtyard, her eyes drawn upward. The stillness of the evening, broken only by the occasional murmur of the wind through the trees, offered a rare and soothing reprieve from the tension of the past few days.
She heard the soft sound of footsteps behind her, and then Michael’s voice broke the silence. “I see this is still a habit of yours.”
Ariana turned toward him, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she straightened. “It is. The stars calm me,” she replied, her tone light as she motioned for him to sit beside her.
Michael settled next to her, his movements deliberate and unhurried. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet between them not unwelcome.
“You’d probably think I’m crazy if I ever told you about the night I ran away,” Ariana said with a quiet chuckle, her gaze still on the stars.
Michael looked at her, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Probably,” he said, his tone carrying a teasing warmth. “Though I think much of what you’ve done sounds crazy.”
Ariana laughed softly, leaning back against the bench. “Fair point.”
Michael took a deep breath, his expression shifting to something more somber. “Ari… I wanted to apologize.”
She turned her head to look at him, her brows furrowing slightly in confusion. “For what, Michael?”
“For how I treated you… back before the Blight,” he said, his voice quiet and laden with regret. His gaze dropped to the stone beneath his feet. “For dragging you to the Circle and having you thrown in a cell. For trying to take you again after you came to warn us about the Battle of Ostagar. I remember how I reacted when I saw you and Cullen standing there together. And for how I spoke to you back then.”
Ariana reached out, placing her hands over his. Her voice was gentle as she said, “It’s alright, Michael. You were doing what you thought was best.”
“Maybe,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “But it wasn’t fair to you.” His voice dropped further, filled with quiet remorse. “Over the years, I’ve come to realize I was… unfair. Hypocritical, even.” He glanced at her, his blue eyes sincere. “I joined the Templars to escape that life of nobility. The politics, the expectations, the endless rules that told you what you could and couldn’t be. And yet, I expected you to stay, to shoulder the weight I had cast off.”
Ariana didn’t reply right away. Instead, she pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was alive,” she said softly. “Getting to Lake Calenhad wasn’t easy during the Blight. I actually… almost got myself killed trying to go back there.”
Michael pulled back slightly, his eyes wide. “I didn’t know. I’m so—”
“It’s alright,” Ariana interrupted gently. She smiled faintly, her hands still on his shoulders. “How about we both agree we made mistakes back then? I made a lot of them. We’ve probably both paid for our mistakes more than enough. I don’t think we need to hold on to them.”
Michael looked at her, his expression softening as a small smile broke through. “Start over?” he asked, his tone light but hopeful.
“Start over,” Ariana confirmed, standing and offering her hand to him. Michael took it, letting her pull him to his feet.
As Ariana pulled Michael to his feet, a thought lingered in her mind, quiet but insistent. Meredith’s schemes, as twisted as they were, had unintentionally given her a chance to rebuild something she thought she’d lost with Michael. Despite everything, they were here, together, and she wouldn’t let Meredith tear that apart again.
And Kira… Kira had always been a ghost, a faint presence on the edges of her childhood memories. But maybe, just maybe, if she could keep Kira safe, she’d finally have a chance to know her—to gain the sister she’d always imagined but never truly had.
The thought brought a flicker of hope amidst the storm brewing within her. Protecting Kira wasn’t just about defying Meredith; it was about reclaiming something she’d never thought possible.
“Come,” she said, her tone brightening as she turned toward the house. “There’s someone you need to meet.”
Michael raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in his expression as he followed her inside.
~~~
As they stepped into the kitchen, Ariana’s gaze immediately fell on Cullen. He was seated on the bench, Emma perched comfortably on his lap, her tiny hands gripping the amulet that always hung around his neck. The sight tugged at something deep within her, drawing a soft smile despite the tension lingering in her chest.
“Well, I see someone’s already found her favorite Templar,” Ariana teased as she walked closer, her tone light but tinged with warmth.
Cullen glanced up, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smile. “Yes, I’ve already been ordered to the library,” he said, his voice carrying a soft humor. “But I managed to negotiate a delay until after dinner.”
Ariana gestured for Michael to follow her. “Emma,” she said gently, her tone softening as she addressed the little girl, “meet your uncle Michael.”
Emma turned at the sound of her name, her wide eyes landing on Michael with innocent curiosity. Without hesitation, she reached for the shiny clasp of his Templar insignia, her tiny hands signaling her desire to be picked up.
Michael hesitated briefly, confusion flickering across his face before he obliged, lifting her carefully into his arms. Emma immediately busied herself with his buttons, her small fingers tugging at them with focused determination.
“Ari…” Michael began, his voice low and uncertain as his gaze shifted between her and Cullen. “Is she… are you…” He trailed off, motioning vaguely between them as if trying to piece together an answer.
Ariana exchanged a glance with Cullen, her cheeks already beginning to flush. She opened her mouth to respond, but Isabel appeared from the pantry, her calm voice cutting through the moment.
“She’s my daughter, Michael,” Isabel said matter-of-factly, setting down a plate on the counter.
“Thank you, Isabel,” Ariana muttered, her tone dry as her blush deepened.
Cullen’s chuckle broke the brief silence, his hazel eyes dancing with quiet amusement. That knowing smile—one that seemed to hint at someday—only made Ariana more flustered. She groaned softly and retreated to the table, dropping her face into her folded arms.
“Go ahead, laugh it up,” she mumbled, her voice muffled.
Isabel shook her head, her tone carrying a hint of exasperated fondness as she set out more dishes. “Alright, enough fussing. Sit. Dinner’s nearly ready.”
Michael eased into the chair across from Ariana, Emma still nestled in his lap, content to fidget with his insignia. His faint smile faded as his eyes flicked back to his sister. “Ari,” he began cautiously, “if she’s Isabel’s… then how am I—”
The lightness in the room seemed to evaporate. Ariana straightened, her expression cooling as she cut him off with a single word. “Mark.”
The name hung in the air like a bitter curse. Michael’s jaw tightened, his face reddening as his hands stilled against Emma’s small frame. “Entitled bastard,” he spat, the venom in his voice barely restrained. “I hope he never comes to visit. I’ll kill him.”
Ariana let out a dry laugh, though her gaze dropped to the table. “I don’t worry about it anymore,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t visit. I doubt he even cares that he has a daughter.” Her voice softened slightly, her fingers tracing the grain of the wood. “Besides, Father forbade the entire family from coming to Kirkwall unless I specifically invite them. He’s the one who brought Isabel and Emma here, knowing they’d be safer and happier.”
Michael’s shoulders eased, though the anger in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate. He glanced down at Emma, her innocent curiosity a stark contrast to the weight of their conversation. His expression softened as she gave up on the buttons and patted his chest with a satisfied grin.
“She is very cute,” he said quietly, his voice losing its earlier edge.
Ariana’s lips curved into a faint smile, the heaviness in her chest lifting slightly. “Welcome to being an uncle.”
Across the table, Cullen had been silent, but Ariana caught the subtle way his hand tightened around the edge of the bench. His eyes flicked briefly to hers, filled with a quiet but fierce protectiveness that sent a rush of warmth through her. Beneath the calm exterior, she could see the storm of thoughts stirring behind those hazel eyes.
When his hand brushed against hers under the table, she gave a gentle squeeze in return, the silent exchange grounding her. His steady presence felt like an anchor, and she was grateful for it, even if the moment was fleeting.
For a brief moment, Ariana let herself breathe, her thoughts drifting to Kira. Mark’s selfishness had cost him nothing, yet its shadow loomed over the people she cared about. A bitter thought flickered through her mind before she could stop it: If only Mark had been the one to turn out a mage. She pushed it away, ashamed but unable to deny the fleeting wish. Maybe, just maybe, saving Kira could give her the chance to have a sister—someone she could protect before Meredith’s machinations reached her.
Cullen’s quiet strength, Michael’s rediscovered loyalty, and Isabel’s steady presence reminded her that not all bonds could be shattered by the past. Some were reforged, stronger than ever.
And perhaps, she thought as her gaze flicked between them, there was hope for the future after all.
~~~
When Isabel returned with the wine and the final dishes, the mood shifted into something lighter, warmer. They all settled at the table together—Cullen, Michael, Isabel, Emma, and Ariana—a small but oddly complete gathering. For the first time in a long while, Ariana felt the weight of their collective lives ease, even if only for an evening.
The food was delicious, the wine flowed generously, and conversation came easily. Michael shared stories from his time as a Templar, carefully choosing the lighter ones that wouldn’t dredge up painful memories. Isabel chimed in with anecdotes of Emma’s latest adventures around the estate, making them all laugh as Emma gleefully babbled about “helping” Isabel in the garden and “defeating” imaginary monsters.
Ariana watched it all, a soft smile playing on her lips as she leaned back in her chair, her glass of wine cradled loosely in her hand. Despite the circumstances surrounding Michael’s arrival and the looming threat of Meredith, she liked having him here. She hadn’t said it earlier in the courtyard, but she regretted so much about their interactions back in Ferelden. She hadn’t been kind to him then, and even months ago, on the road, she’d kept her distance. Now, though, there was a chance to start fresh.
Yet, beneath the warmth of the evening, a quiet isolation stirred. Her love for Cullen, her gratitude for Isabel and Emma, and the newfound connection with Michael—they were all precious to her. But they weren’t the whole of who she was. The White Wolf was missing. The longer she stayed in Hightown, wrapped in the guise of a noblewoman, the more she felt herself fading.
Her gaze drifted to Cullen as he laughed softly at something Isabel said. His hazel eyes were warm and content, and her heart swelled with love for him. But even with him beside her, she felt untethered. She needed purpose, needed the fight again. Varric’s suggestion to join Hawke had sparked something in her—a reminder that she wasn’t meant to sit idly by.
As the evening wound down and Isabel began clearing the table, Michael was the first to rise, stretching languidly. “I think I’ll turn in,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Too much wine, and I’m no good tomorrow. And my Knight-Captain doesn’t let anything slide.” he teased, earning a chuckle from Cullen and Ariana.
Isabel smirked, already stacking the empty plates. “Your room’s ready, as expected,” she said, her tone brisk but fond. “Go get some rest, child. You’ve earned it.”
Michael gave a small nod before glancing at Ariana. “Good night, Ari,” he said, his tone softer. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
Ariana smiled, her affection for him evident. “Good night, Michael.”
As he disappeared down the hall, Isabel continued clearing the table, her efficient movements filling the quiet space. Cullen began to rise, his hand brushing against the back of his chair as he prepared to leave. Ariana touched his arm gently. “Stay,” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet vulnerability that made him pause. “Please.”
Cullen’s eyes searched hers for a moment before he nodded. “Of course,” he replied, his voice low.
Isabel arched an eyebrow but said nothing, simply watching as Ariana led Cullen upstairs to her room. Once inside, the air shifted, the tension of the day giving way to a more intimate stillness. Cullen wrapped his arms around her, holding her close without saying a word. She let herself lean into him, the weight of her thoughts momentarily eased by his steady presence.
They shared little conversation, both content to let the quiet speak for them. That night, as they lay entwined beneath the covers, Ariana felt a flicker of peace.
~~~
Ariana tightened the straps on her practice gear, her twin daggers gleaming faintly in the soft morning light. Cullen stood across from her, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted his grip on his practice sword. The crisp air carried the faint scent of salt from the harbor, and the gentle hum of the waking city seemed far removed from the quiet tension between them.
“You’re sure about this?” Cullen asked, his voice calm but tinged with concern as his hazel eyes scanned her figure. His gaze lingered briefly on the area around her ribs, where he knew she still felt the phantom ache of past injuries.
“I’m sure,” Ariana replied with a faint smirk, gripping her daggers loosely. “I need to stretch these muscles. Sitting idle isn’t helping them heal.”
Cullen frowned, his jaw tightening slightly. “You could just stick to stretches, Ariana. You’re still recovering.” His tone was measured, but the protective undercurrent was unmistakable.
Ariana arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You’re not going to let me break, Knight-Captain,” she said lightly. “And if you are, we can always stop.”
Cullen sighed, lowering his sword slightly. “Fine,” he said, though his tone was reluctant. “But we’ll stick to the basics. No sudden movements, no overexertion. Just focus on your form.”
Ariana inclined her head, stepping into a ready stance. “Very well.”
They began slowly, Cullen testing her reflexes with light, deliberate strikes. Ariana moved carefully, her daggers flashing as she deflected each blow. The movements were smooth, but her body reminded her of its limits with every twist and turn. The muscles around her ribs protested faintly, but she pushed through, focusing on her breathing to steady herself.
“Your stance is off,” Cullen said, stepping back briefly to observe her. “Shift your weight to your left leg. It’ll take the pressure off your ribs.”
Ariana adjusted, nodding slightly as she met his gaze. “Better?”
“Better,” Cullen confirmed, circling her with a cautious precision that spoke volumes about his restraint. His strikes were slow and measured, designed to test her balance rather than push her endurance.
Ariana held her hand up, pausing their session to get some water. She held his gaze for a moment before stepping closer, her tone shifting to something more serious. “I need your help.”
Cullen straightened, his brow furrowing slightly. “With what?”
“Kira,” Ariana said, her voice steady but edged with worry. “I’m afraid Meredith will target her next.”
Cullen’s frown deepened, but he said nothing, waiting for her to continue.
“Frederick has a Knight-Commander friend in Markham,” she explained. “If we can get Kira transferred there quietly, it’ll keep her out of Meredith’s reach. But I’ll need you to keep an eye on transfer orders—make sure nothing slips past us.”
Cullen considered her words, his hazel eyes narrowing in thought. “You really think Meredith would go after your sister?”
“I know she would,” Ariana said firmly. “If she thought it would give her leverage over me, she wouldn’t hesitate.”
Cullen exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he gave a small nod. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll keep watch. If anything comes up, you’ll be the first to know.”
Relief flickered across Ariana’s face, and she offered him a faint but genuine smile. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice filled with sincerity.
Cullen returned her smile, his tone lightening slightly. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Next time,” he said, his smirk returning, “don’t wait until we’re sparring to tell me what’s on your mind.”
Ariana laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Deal.”
They resumed sparring, the rhythm steady and deliberate. Cullen’s strikes remained light, focusing on her form and stance rather than speed or strength. Ariana matched his pace, her movements gradually becoming more fluid. Each deflection and counterstrike stretched her muscles, easing some of the stiffness she’d carried for weeks.
“Better,” Cullen said after a particularly clean parry. “You’re moving more naturally now.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Ariana quipped, though the faint sheen of sweat on her brow betrayed her effort.
The faint creak of the courtyard doors caught her attention, and she glanced up mid-motion, her breathing steady but quickened. Michael stood at the edge of the courtyard, his expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity as he watched them.
Ariana paused, lowering her daggers as Cullen stepped back, his own gaze shifting toward Michael.
“Michael,” she said, her tone light but edged with curiosity. “Didn’t expect you up this early.”
Michael crossed his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t expect to find you out here sparring,” he replied, his eyes flicking to her daggers. “The last time I saw you train, you could barely hold a wooden sword. Father was just humoring you back then.”
Ariana chuckled softly, wiping the sweat from her brow. “I guess I’ve had some practice since then.”
Michael shook his head, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “I’d say so. You’re a far cry from the little girl who used to run off with the wooden sword to go find imaginary dragons with Frederick.”
Ariana laughed more genuinely than she had in a while “Maker… I didn’t even remember that.” she said suddenly smiling at the memory. She turned to look at Cullen, reaching for his hand “Come on. Let’s get breakfast before Isabel starts wondering if we’ve run off.”
Cullen set the practice sword aside, his gaze lingering on Ariana for a moment before taking her hand. Michael trailed slightly behind, his eyes flicking between the two of them. The weight of the sparring session hung lightly in the air, a subtle but poignant reminder of how much had changed—and how much had stayed the same.
As they stepped into the warmth of the kitchen, the scent of freshly baked bread and brewed tea greeted them, promising a brief reprieve from the weight of their thoughts.