3 Solace 9:34 – 18 Wintermarch 9:35
Winter arrived swiftly, its chill sweeping through Kirkwall like an uninvited guest. With it came a reminder of the city’s relentless, unforgiving nature. Yet, in the shadows of the Gallows and beneath the watchful eyes of the Templars, life continued—each day a delicate balance of danger and defiance.
Riley’s arrival had proven fortuitous. With Meredith’s increasing scrutiny, Ariana had been forced to limit her visits to the warehouse, leaving her unable to oversee the Rangers as often. Riley, ever resourceful, stepped into the role with ease. She coordinated their operations, ensuring mages were safely escorted out of Kirkwall, and kept Ariana informed of every detail.
Despite the added distance from the Rangers’ day-to-day, Ariana refused to let herself grow idle. She split her mornings between training sessions with Cullen and Riley. Cullen joined her several times a week, their sparring sessions a blend of fierce competition and quiet moments of connection. On the days Cullen couldn’t make it, Riley filled the gap with her usual bluntness and relentless focus. Together, they worked to keep Ariana sharp, both physically and mentally. Occasionally, she brought Linnea, Lamberto, or Valentina along, though they took care not to draw too much attention. Riley’s presence became a comforting routine, her blunt humor and unflinching loyalty anchoring Ariana through the tumult.
Meanwhile, Riley had also carved out her own space in Kirkwall’s social scene. She became a regular at the Hanged Man, her sharp wit earning her a fast friendship with Isabela. One night, Riley and Isabela had challenged each other to a game of Wicked Grace, each escalating the stakes with increasingly outrageous dares. By the end, the whole tavern had gathered around their table, roaring with laughter as Isabela recounted a wildly embellished tale of her latest sea voyage, and Riley raised her glass, calling it ‘complete horseshit, but damn good entertainment.’ The two women seemed to click instantly, their laughter echoing through the tavern. If Ariana didn’t know better, she might have suspected Isabela harbored a bit of a crush on Riley—not that Riley appeared to notice.
When the weight of secrecy grew too heavy, Ariana found solace in accompanying Hawke on excursions beyond Kirkwall’s walls. Whether tracking slavers on the Wounded Coast or facing rogue blood mages, these outings allowed Ariana to shed her carefully crafted mask. Among Hawke and her companions, she could simply be herself—a warrior in the fight for justice. No one questioned her presence when Hawke led the charge, and Ariana cherished these rare moments of freedom. It was during one of those outings on the Wounded Coast, amidst the jagged cliffs and crashing waves, Ariana and Hawke had cornered a group of slavers. Ariana’s daggers gleamed in the moonlight as she disarmed one with fluid precision. ‘Remind me to bring you along on more of these,’ Hawke had remarked, her blade held steady at the throat of the slaver leader. ‘You’re making me look good.’
Within the city, rumors about Ariana and Cullen continued to swirl. Their relationship had become the subject of relentless gossip, particularly in Hightown. The latest tale suggested they had a love child after Ariana was seen with Emma in the market. Far from offended, they had both learned to laugh it off, finding humor in the absurdity of Kirkwall’s whispers. These moments offered a welcome respite from the ever-present darkness.
Still, Ariana’s concern for her Michael remained at the forefront of her mind. His disillusionment with the Templar Order was becoming more evident with each passing day. The dark circles under his eyes and his weary demeanor spoke volumes. She could see the weight in his every movement, the way he lingered at the edges of the room during their rare family dinners, his silence speaking louder than words. ‘The Order’s supposed to protect,’ he had muttered one night, his voice thick with frustration. ‘But all I see is fear.’ Though he continued to follow Ariana’s advice to act discreetly, the strain was taking its toll. Ariana longed to ease his burdens, but she knew she couldn’t afford to be careless. Trust had to be earned, and the stakes were too high.
Today, however, was a day for celebration. A day where they all could hopefully forget about the troubles that surrounded them. Satinalia had arrived, and the Trevelyan estate buzzed with energy as Isabel took charge of preparations. The formal dining room had been transformed into a festive haven, and Ariana ensured that no one was excluded. Hawke and her companions were invited, along with Ariana’s own inner circle. For the first time, their groups would gather under one roof.
Ariana also made certain the Rangers stationed throughout Kirkwall weren’t forgotten. She organized deliveries of food, ale, and wine to every outpost, ensuring that even those on duty could enjoy a proper feast. It was a small gesture, but one that filled her with pride.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over Hightown, the estate came alive with laughter and conversation. The festive spirit was contagious, momentarily easing the tension that clung to Kirkwall like a second skin. For once, Ariana allowed herself to relax.
There was something comforting about holidays like this, a rare pause in the chaos. As Ariana watched her friends and allies gather around the table, she felt a fleeting sense of peace. She knew it wouldn’t last—Kirkwall’s shadows were never far, and Meredith’s grip would tighten again soon enough. But for tonight, Ariana chose to embrace the joy and let herself believe, if only for a moment, that this fragile harmony could endure.
~~~
The formal dining room gleamed with the soft light of candles, their golden glow dancing over the array of polished silverware and the feast Isabel had poured her heart into preparing. The table was a spectacle: succulent Feast Day Fish, roasted meats adorned with sprigs of rosemary, bowls of steaming vegetables, and crusty loaves of bread still warm from the oven. The scent of spiced wine lingered in the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of honey-glazed fruit.
Ariana stood at the head of the table, her hands lightly resting on the back of her chair, taking in the scene with a contented smile. The warmth of laughter and conversation filled the room, momentarily dissolving the tension that clung to Kirkwall like a second skin.
“I must say, Ariana,” Sebastian began, entering with his usual composed stride, “you’ve truly outdone yourself. This feast is a marvel.”
“Careful, Vael,” Varric interjected, already seated and swirling a glass of wine. “You’re going to give her a bigger head than she already has.”
Ariana laughed, shaking her head. “If anyone deserves credit, it’s Isabel. I just told her how many of you were coming and stepped aside.”
“Stepped aside?” Isabela chimed in from the corner. Her smirk was as sharp as ever. “Darling, you probably ran faster than a Qunari at the sight of a Tevinter diplomat.”
“That may have happened,” Ariana admitted with a chuckle.
“Well, you’ve certainly gathered an interesting crowd,” Riley added, leaning casually against the doorframe with a tankard in hand. “Quite the mix of charm and chaos. Just how you like it.”
“Speaking of chaos,” Isabela’s eyes locked onto Michael as he entered, her smirk widening like a cat spotting a canary. “And who’s this?”
Michael froze mid-step, caught off guard. “I’m… Michael. Ariana’s brother.”
“Brother, hmm?” Isabela purred, leaning on the table to get a better look. “Tell me, Michael, does the Templar Order encourage workouts, or are you just naturally built like a granite statue?”
Michael’s ears turned an impressive shade of red as he stumbled over his response. “I… I don’t think—”
“Isabela,” Aveline’s voice cut through, exasperation evident as she entered. “Can you go one evening without making someone uncomfortable?”
“Of course not,” Varric chimed in, grinning. “It’s tradition.”
Ariana smirked, her eyes flicking to Michael, whose discomfort was all too apparent. “Oh, let her have her fun, Aveline,” she said, her tone light and teasing. “Michael could probably stand to let his guard down. Might as well be with Isabela.”
Michael turned to glare at her, his cheeks flushed. “Really, Ari?”
Ariana shrugged, her smirk widening. “You need the practice. And she’s an expert.”
Isabela’s laughter rang out, rich and full of delight. “See? Even your sister knows a little harmless flirting won’t kill you.” She leaned in closer, her grin wicked. “Unless you’re afraid of me, Templar.”
Michael muttered something under his breath, his eyes darting between Isabela and Ariana, who looked far too pleased with herself.
“Maker save him,” Riley said, raising her glass. “He’s outnumbered.”
Varric chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, kid. Isabela’s all talk… most of the time.”
Isabela shot him a mock glare. “I’ll remember that, Varric.”
Michael sank into his chair, clearly wishing the floor would swallow him whole.
Fenris, watching the exchange with a mixture of skepticism and amusement, muttered, “This is what you call fun?”
“For some of us, yes,” Hawke replied, nudging him with her elbow. “Besides, it’s harmless… mostly.”
“Mostly?” Fenris repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Let’s just say you’ll know when to intervene,” Varric replied with a wink.
As the laughter swelled, Merrill tilted her head, her wide eyes darting between Isabela and Michael. “Is this normal? Do all humans flirt this much during Satinalia?”
“It’s not flirting,” Hawke quipped, pouring more wine. “It’s… festive banter.”
“Depends on the wine,” Varric added with a grin.
“Or the company,” Isabela said, her tone suggestive.
“Maker save us,” Riley muttered, shaking her head but laughing nonetheless.
“Speaking of company,” Varric turned his gaze to Cullen, his grin taking on a mischievous edge. “Knight-Captain, how does it feel to be the most talked-about man in Hightown?”
Cullen rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched with reluctant amusement. “It’s… an adjustment. But the rumor about Ariana and me having a love child? That’s a bit much, even for Kirkwall.”
“Emma, right?” Hawke teased, her grin wicked. “You know, I can see the resemblance.”
The room erupted into laughter, and Ariana groaned, her cheeks turning pink. “You’re all terrible.”
“That’s why you love us,” Isabela quipped, raising her glass. “To scandal and mischief. May we never run out of either.”
“To scandal and mischief,” the group echoed, their voices blending with the clinking of glasses.
As the laughter subsided, Sebastian leaned toward Ariana, his expression thoughtful. “Forgive the interruption, but… are we not distantly related? I recall the Trevelyans and Vaels sharing some branches of the family tree.”
Ariana blinked, caught off guard. “I think you’re right,” she mused, tapping her chin. “The records do mention ties to Starkhaven… distant, but they’re there.”
“Well, that makes things interesting,” Varric said, leaning forward with a gleam in his eye. “So, this is one of those noble gatherings where everyone’s second cousins, huh?”
Ariana laughed, shaking her head. “Shall we start sketching out the family tree, then?”
“I’ll bring the parchment,” Varric replied, his grin infectious.
As the evening unfolded, the wine flowed freely, and the conversation ebbed and flowed like a well-rehearsed symphony. Ariana found herself basking in the rare warmth of friendship, the weight of Kirkwall’s shadows momentarily forgotten. Tonight, they weren’t warriors or fugitives. They were simply friends, sharing the joy and mischief of Satinalia.
~~~
As winter set in, the quiet of Kirkwall had grown almost stifling, its weight pressing against Ariana’s chest like a vice. Winter’s chill had settled over the city, the icy wind sweeping through the streets and rattling the windows of her estate. Yet, the cold wasn’t what gnawed at her—it was the stillness. A stillness that felt more like a cage with every passing day.
The White Wolf, once a symbol of defiance, had been reduced to a memory, her presence swallowed by the shadows of Kirkwall. The Silver Rangers operated cautiously, their movements measured and deliberate. There were no grand rescues or bold displays of rebellion, only quiet efforts to usher mages to safety and maintain their network. Riley had taken the reins at the warehouse, and though Ariana trusted her implicitly, she felt the loss keenly. Each day away from the Rangers was a day spent unraveling a piece of herself.
One morning, Ariana sat in the kitchen, the pale light of dawn spilling through the frost-lined windows. Her coffee grew cold in her hands as her thoughts drifted. The estate was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the hearth. Yet the silence only seemed to amplify the dissonance within her.
Isabel entered, her sharp green eyes instantly taking in the scene. She crossed her arms, leaning casually against the counter. “You’ve been staring out that window for nearly an hour,” she said, her voice cutting through the quiet. “What’s on your mind, child?”
Ariana blinked, startled from her reverie. Her fingers tightened around the mug as she stared into its dark contents. “I’ve been thinking… maybe this life isn’t for me anymore,” she admitted softly.
Isabel arched an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. “You’ve been restless for weeks,” she said, her tone measured. “Why now?”
Ariana exhaled slowly, her gaze returning to the frost-dappled glass. “I miss who I was, Isabel. I miss being the White Wolf. Walking into a town and being recognized—not because of some noble title, but because people believed in me.” Her voice grew quieter, tinged with longing. “Here, I’m just Ariana Trevelyan, some Hightown noble who flits between dinner parties. I’ve buried myself so deep in this charade I barely recognize myself anymore.”
Isabel’s gaze softened slightly, though her tone remained firm. “You’re not just some noble, Ariana. You’ve built something here—a life with people who care about you. Cullen, Michael, Emma. Does that mean nothing to you?”
“It means everything,” Ariana whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “But it’s not enough to drown out the restlessness. I miss the freedom, the certainty of knowing exactly who I was and what I stood for. Out there…” She gestured vaguely toward the window. “Out there, I was a symbol. People looked to me for hope, for strength. Here, I’m suffocating, hiding in plain sight.”
Isabel approached, her expression a mixture of sympathy and practicality. “And Cullen?” she asked gently. “Where does he fit in all this?”
Ariana hesitated, her grip tightening on the mug. “He fits,” she said softly, her words tinged with guilt. “But his life is here, tied to the Order and Kirkwall. If the White Wolf were to return, she’d have to leave this city. And I don’t know if I could ask him to follow.”
“Would you even want him to?” Isabel pressed, her gaze searching.
Ariana’s fingers tightened around the mug as her thoughts wandered, unbidden, to a dream she’d carried in the quiet corners of her mind. “I don’t know if he’d want to,” she murmured, her voice heavy with longing. “But I’d want him to follow me more than anything. I imagine us back in Ferelden, at the Ranger manor outside Redcliffe. A life away from all of this.” Her gaze grew distant, her voice softer. “We’d train together in the mornings, oversee the recruits, and spend our evenings by the fire, with Emma laughing at us for being so hopelessly mundane. Or taking the occasional job, traveling where we’re needed. Our very own adventures.”
Her lips quirked into a faint smile, though her eyes betrayed the ache beneath her words. “It sounds… perfect, but would it be enough for him? Could he leave the Order behind? Leave Kirkwall?”
Isabel’s expression softened, though her voice remained firm. “And what if he would? What if he’s waiting for you to ask?”
Ariana let out a shaky breath, her fingers brushing absently against the rim of her mug. “Then I’d have to be sure,” she said quietly. “Because once I ask, there’s no turning back. I’d have to give him all of me—the truth, the lies, the shadows. And I’m not sure I’m ready for him to see everything.”
The silence between them stretched, filled only by the faint crackle of the hearth. Finally, Isabel spoke, her voice gentle but unwavering. “You can’t keep living in what-ifs, child. One day, you’ll have to choose. And when that day comes, you’ll need to trust him.”
Ariana swallowed hard, her gaze returning to the frost-lined window. The fantasy of Ferelden felt fragile, like a snowflake melting against her palm. “One day,” she echoed softly, her breath misting against the glass. “But not today.”
For now, the dream would remain just that—a dream. But the longing lingered, a quiet reminder of the life she could have if only she dared to reach for it.
The room fell silent, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire. Finally, Isabel moved closer, placing a steadying hand on Ariana’s shoulder. “You’ve never been one to settle, child. But if you keep letting this pull at you, you’ll lose everything you’ve built here. You need to decide—what matters more? The life you had or the one you have now?”
Ariana closed her eyes, the weight of the question settling heavily in her chest. “I don’t know how to choose,” she murmured. “I don’t know if I can.”
Isabel’s hand squeezed her shoulder gently before she stepped back. “You don’t have to decide today. But you can’t live between two worlds forever. It’ll tear you apart.”
As Isabel left the room, Ariana remained by the window, her gaze distant. The frost on the glass seemed to mirror her own fractured self, a fragile balance between two identities. Somewhere beyond the walls of Kirkwall, the White Wolf waited—untamed, unyielding, and unwilling to be forgotten.
But Ariana Trevelyan sat in silence, caught between who she was and who she had to be. For now, the quiet held her captive.
~~~
Cullen’s birthday was a quiet affair this year, a deliberate choice by Ariana to shield him from the constant pressures of Kirkwall. She had planned a simple day, just the two of them, far removed from the noise and intrigue that seemed to follow them. The afternoon was spent walking along the docks, the crisp winter air mingling with the salt of the sea. The distant calls of gulls punctuated the rhythmic lapping of waves against the piers.
Yet Cullen couldn’t shake the feeling that something was troubling her. As they walked, her gaze continually drifted toward the horizon, her shoulders subtly tensing as though weighed down by unseen chains. She smiled when he spoke, but the warmth didn’t quite reach her eyes, and her responses were more absent than engaged.
Cullen watched her, his hazel eyes tracing every subtle shift in her posture, every flicker of emotion that crossed her face. He saw a fleeting look of sadness, a hint of frustration, and a touch of fear. She clutched her cloak tightly, her fingers absently toying with the fabric as if trying to ground herself.
“Ari,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the gentle murmur of the sea. “Are you alright?”
Ariana blinked, seemingly startled out of her reverie. She turned to him, her lips curving into a practiced smile, but Cullen could see through it. It was a mask—beautifully crafted, but a mask nonetheless. “Yes, of course,” she replied too quickly. “I’m fine.”
He raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “You’re lying, love,” he said gently, though his words were laced with concern.
Her smile faltered, and for a moment, the mask cracked. She chuckled softly, but the sound lacked its usual brightness. “I don’t want you to worry,” she admitted, her tone light but unconvincing. “It’s nothing worth talking about.”
Cullen stopped walking and gently caught her hand, pulling her to face him. His grip was firm but comforting, his eyes searching hers. “You know better than that,” he said, his voice low but steady. “If something’s weighing on you, don’t carry it alone. Not with me.”
Ariana hesitated, her gaze dropping to where his hand enveloped hers. Her fingers tightened slightly, seeking reassurance. “I’ve just… been thinking too much lately,” she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
Cullen frowned, his concern deepening. He tilted her chin up with his free hand, coaxing her to meet his gaze. “Ari, whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that, right?”
She stared into his eyes for a long moment, as if torn between what she was truly thinking and what she wanted to say. Finally, she exhaled, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I know,” she whispered. “Thank you, Cullen.”
His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles, his smile faint but steady. “You don’t have to tell me everything now,” he said. “But promise me you won’t keep it locked away.”
Ariana nodded, leaning into him slightly, letting out a soft sigh. “I promise,” she murmured.
They resumed their walk, but Cullen couldn’t shake the feeling that her thoughts lingered elsewhere. The way she kept glancing toward the horizon, her movements slower, more deliberate—it all pointed to a restlessness he hadn’t seen in her before.
After a time, she hesitated, looking down at their joined hands. “It’s hard to explain,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “I’ve been thinking about who I am… what I’m supposed to be doing. I love being here with you, Cullen. I love you more than anything. But sometimes…” Her words trailed off, the unspoken conflict hanging in the air.
“Sometimes, you feel like something’s missing,” Cullen finished for her, his tone more understanding than accusatory.
Ariana blinked, clearly startled by how precisely he’d captured what she couldn’t quite articulate. “Yes,” she said softly, her voice almost breaking. “It’s not about you. Maker, it’s not about you. It’s about this city. It’s about me. About who I was before… and who I’ve become.”
Cullen’s brow furrowed as her words struck a chord. He thought back to the days before she found him, before he knew she was alive. You’d have hated this place, Ariana, he’d once told himself. You’d have hated me for staying. He had been so certain then, and now he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been right. Kirkwall wasn’t her, not the woman he’d fallen in love with. She was meant for more—meant for a freedom Kirkwall didn’t provide.
“You’ve changed, Ari,” he said gently. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve lost who you are.”
She shook her head, frustration creeping into her tone. “There’s Kirkwall,” she said, her voice gaining an edge. “It’s hard to watch, to be here, to sit idly by and do nothing. This city is… suffocating. Meredith’s grip is choking the life out of it, and no one can breathe. Not the mages, not the people. And I…” She paused, her voice faltering. “I don’t know how to just sit by and let it happen.”
Cullen studied her closely, his hazel eyes filled with quiet determination. “You’re not sitting idly by, Ari,” he said quietly. “You’ve stood up to her before—just by being yourself. By staying strong, even when she tries to push you down.”
Ariana let out a humorless laugh, her gaze dropping again. “That helps no one except me… us…”
“You helped me find myself when I was lost,” Cullen said simply, his voice steady. “You’re stronger than you realize. You don’t have to have all the answers, not now. But whatever you’re searching for, I’ll stand with you.”
She exhaled shakily, her grip on his hand tightening. “I don’t deserve you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Cullen’s hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. “You deserve everything good in this world,” he said firmly. “And I’ll remind you of that every day if I have to.”
Ariana’s lips curved into a faint, genuine smile, though it carried a weight Cullen couldn’t quite name. She leaned into his touch, her eyes drifting closed for a moment, her posture softening as if his hand on her cheek was the only thing anchoring her. For that brief instant, the tension in her seemed to ease, and Cullen found himself silently hoping she could hold on to the fragile peace he saw in her expression.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Cullen didn’t respond immediately, but the quiet look he gave her spoke volumes. Whatever storm she faced, he’d weather it with her, one step at a time.
~~~
The courtyard of the Trevelyan estate was quiet, lit only by the pale glow of the moon and the faint flicker of lanterns hung along the stone walls. Ariana sat on the edge of the fountain, her cloak pulled tightly around her against the chill. The stillness of the night was a welcome reprieve from the ceaseless noise in her mind.
When Michael approached from the shadows of the archway, she could hear the weariness in his steps before she saw it in his slouched shoulders. The weight of another day in the Gallows clung to him like a shroud. He moved as though the oppressive stone halls still clutched at him. Ariana’s gaze softened at the sight of him.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked, her voice quiet but warm.
Michael let out a humorless chuckle as he sank down beside her. “Sleep doesn’t come easy when you spend your days in that place,” he admitted, his tone heavy.
Ariana tilted her head, studying the tension in his posture. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”
He nodded, his hands clasping tightly together, knuckles white. “You’ve no idea. The punishments… the fear. It’s everywhere. Even the mages who try to follow the rules and do everything they’re told are still treated like criminals. They look at me like I’m the executioner, no matter what I do.”
The anguish in his voice struck her deeply. She reached out, her hand resting lightly on his arm. “You’re not like the others, Michael. They’ll see that in time.”
“Will they?” His bitterness cut like a blade. His gaze stayed fixed on the ground, his voice quieter now. “Because I’m starting to think it doesn’t matter. It’s not just the mages. Even some of the Templars… they’re uneasy. Meredith’s grip is tightening, and everyone can feel it. It’s suffocating.”
Ariana’s heart ached at the quiet despair in his tone. She wanted to reassure him, to offer a solution, but the truth was a tangled knot she couldn’t yet unravel. “You’re doing what you can,” she said softly. “Small acts of kindness—they matter.”
Michael let out a heavy sigh, his hands rubbing over his face. “It’s not enough, Ari. Not anymore.”
The weight of his words settled heavily between them. Ariana’s doubts echoed his, a constant reminder of the fragility of hope in a city like Kirkwall. The quiet was broken only by the gentle trickle of water from the fountain.
Michael finally turned to her, his expression more serious than she’d ever seen. “Can I trust you?” he asked, his voice low but steady.
Ariana blinked, startled by the sudden intensity of his question. “Of course,” she replied without hesitation, her brow furrowing in concern. “With anything.”
Michael hesitated, his blue eyes searching hers. “I’ve heard rumors,” he said carefully. “About a… mage underground. People helping mages escape the Gallows. They say there are safehouses and routes out of the city. Have you… heard anything about that?”
Ariana’s heart skipped a beat. Her thoughts raced, but her face betrayed nothing. “Rumors like that are dangerous,” she said cautiously. “What are you planning, Michael?”
His frustration boiled over, and he exhaled sharply. “I don’t know,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But I can’t keep watching without doing something. Every day, I see their fear, their despair. It’s eating away at me.”
Ariana felt a mix of hope, fear, and a faint relief she hadn’t realized she craved. She couldn’t afford to rush this, but the seed of potential in his words was undeniable. “You need to be careful,” she said gently, her grip on his arm tightening slightly. “If Meredith even suspects you’re questioning her authority…”
“I know,” he interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended. He softened immediately, shaking his head. “I know, Ari. But I can’t just sit by and watch anymore.”
She nodded, the weight of his words pressing against her own burdens. “Whatever you decide,” she said carefully, her tone firm but laced with affection, “you won’t be alone. You know that, right?”
Michael met her gaze, gratitude flickering in his tired eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I just… I need to figure out what the right thing is.”
Ariana stayed seated as he rose to leave, her gaze following him until the shadows swallowed his form. She sat in silence, her thoughts a maelstrom of possibilities. Michael is closer than I thought, she realized, her chest tightening. She had kept him at arm’s length for so long, afraid of what he might uncover about her life, the Rangers, and the White Wolf. But now… now she saw a flicker of something she could nurture—a chance to bring him into her world, if only gradually.
Her lips pressed into a thin line as determination steadied her. She needed to tread carefully to ensure that Michael’s heart and resolve were in the right place before taking the risk. She would start small, connecting him discreetly with trusted Rangers. Linnea, perhaps. If he proved himself, maybe then the veil could be lifted just enough.
The thought brought a strange sense of relief. One less secret, she thought. One less person I have to hide from. Yet, it also brought a fresh wave of responsibility. If Michael faltered, hesitated, or made a mistake, the fallout could be catastrophic—for her, the Rangers, and everything they’d built.
The White Wolf stirred within her, restless but ready. Ariana exhaled slowly, her breath forming soft clouds in the cool night air. Michael doesn’t know it yet, she thought, her resolve solidifying, but he’s already part of something bigger. And when the time comes, I’ll make sure he’s ready.
~~~
The soft light of early morning filtered through the windows as Isabel moved efficiently around the kitchen, the quiet clatter of pots and pans blending with the comforting aroma of fresh bread and simmering porridge. Ariana sat at the kitchen table, her fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of tea, her thoughts preoccupied with the conversation she’d had with Michael the night before.
The stillness of the moment was interrupted by the sound of Riley’s boots echoing in the hallway. Ariana glanced up as Riley entered, her red hair still slightly tousled from sleep but her green eyes sharp and alert, as always.
“Morning, Wolf,” Riley greeted, her voice casual but warm as she grabbed a mug and poured herself a cup of tea. She leaned against the counter, studying Ariana for a moment. “You look like you didn’t sleep much. Thinking about your brother?”
Ariana offered a faint smile, appreciating Riley’s uncanny ability to cut straight to the heart of things. “You always did have a knack for reading me.”
“It’s part of my charm,” Riley said with a smirk as she settled into the chair across from her. “So, what’s on your mind?”
Ariana hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup, the weight of her thoughts evident in her posture. “I need your help,” she said at last, quiet but resolute. “And yes, it’s about Michael.”
Riley’s eyebrow arched slightly as she leaned forward. “Go on.”
“Last night, he mentioned hearing rumors about the mage underground,” Ariana explained, her voice steady but tinged with unease. “He’s struggling with what he’s seeing in the Gallows. I think he wants to do something, but he doesn’t know what. Not yet.”
Riley’s sharp gaze stayed fixed on her. She sipped her tea slowly, her expression unreadable. “You’re thinking of pulling him in, aren’t you?”
“Not directly,” Ariana clarified quickly, her grip tightening on the cup. “Not yet. He’s not ready, and I can’t risk exposing too much. But I need to know where he stands—if he’s willing to act, and how far he’s willing to go.”
Riley nodded slowly, her smirk fading into a more contemplative look. “So, what’s the plan?”
“I need Linnea or Lamberto to make contact with him,” Ariana said. “Subtle hints, nothing overt. Just… see how he reacts. If he asks questions or shows interest, we’ll know he’s open to more.”
Riley tilted her head, weighing the idea. “And if he doesn’t bite?”
Ariana’s gaze turned serious, her voice firm. “Then we leave it alone. I won’t push him into something he’s not ready for. But if he does respond… we take it slow. One step at a time.”
Setting her mug down, Riley crossed her arms, a faint grin tugging at her lips. “You’re playing it smart, Wolf. Careful. I like it. But Linnea or Lamberto will have to tread lightly. If Michael even suspects this is coming from you…”
“I know,” Ariana interrupted, her voice quieter but no less determined. “That’s why it has to come from them. He can’t connect it to me—not yet.”
Riley’s gaze softened slightly as she studied her friend. “You trust him, don’t you?”
Ariana hesitated, her eyes dropping to her tea. “I want to,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But trust alone isn’t enough. Not with what’s at stake. I won’t risk you, or Linnea, or anyone else for this.”
Riley’s expression remained steady, her confidence unwavering. “We’ve faced worse, Wolf. And from what I’ve seen, your brother’s got a good heart. He’ll come through.”
Ariana exhaled, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. “Thank you, Riley. This… this could change everything. For him, for us.”
Riley grinned, her tone lightening. “You know me. I love a challenge. And if your brother’s anything like you, he’ll rise to the occasion.”
Ariana couldn’t help but smile faintly at that. “Let’s hope so,” she murmured, though her mind was already contemplating the possibilities. If Michael proved his resolve, he could be more than an ally—he could be a bridge to something greater. But if he faltered…
The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, one she quickly pushed aside. She had no room for doubt, not now. Michael’s resolve would be tested soon enough.
The two women sat in companionable silence for a moment, the quiet hum of the kitchen settling around them like a cocoon. But for Ariana, the stillness was fleeting. The White Wolf within her stirred, restless and watchful. Michael doesn’t know it yet, she thought, her determination hardening. But I’ll make sure he’s ready for what’s to come.