17 Wintermarch 9:36 – 3 Drakonis 9:37
The following morning, Ariana led Frederick to the warehouse, the sound of their boots echoing faintly in the quiet streets of Lowtown. She had decided it was time he saw the full extent of the Rangers’ operations. Though Frederick had already been assisting their efforts from Markham, she needed him to grasp the scope of what they were fighting for.
The warehouse bustled with quiet efficiency, the air thick with the scent of parchment, ink, and the faint tang of salt from the nearby harbor. Linnea and Michael were bent over a table strewn with maps and coded notes, their voices low as they discussed routes and strategies. Ariana’s gaze lingered on them for a moment, her keen eyes catching the subtle way Linnea’s hand brushed against Michael’s as she pointed to something on the map.
It was a small, almost imperceptible gesture, but Michael didn’t pull away. In fact, he leaned closer, their shoulders nearly touching as they exchanged a glance. The exchange was quick, their attention returning to the task at hand, but it was enough for Ariana to notice.
A faint smile tugged at her lips, though she kept her tone light as she approached. “Good to know there’s always a Trevelyan here when I don’t make it,” she quipped.
Michael straightened, his expression shifting from focus to surprise as he noticed Frederick trailing behind her. “Frederick Decken? It’s been… years.”
The moment passed, but Ariana’s mind filed the interaction away. Something was growing there, quiet and unspoken, but unmistakable.
Frederick’s grin was immediate, his stride confident as he approached. “Michael Trevelyan—the younger sibling who never knew when to stay out of trouble. Or was it your sister dragging you into it?”
Michael laughed, the sound uncharacteristically warm. “More the latter, I’d say.”
Ariana smirked, crossing her arms. “Oh, I’m sure I’m entirely to blame.”
“Entirely,” Linnea interjected dryly, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone. She turned to Frederick, her sharp green eyes assessing. “So, you’re the contact in Markham. Good to meet you.”
Frederick offered a small bow, his tone light. “The pleasure’s mine.”
“More nobles now?” Valentina’s voice rang out as she strode in, her sharp eyes flicking from Ariana to Frederick. “Trying to build your own court, Wolf?”
Ariana rolled her eyes, her smirk playful. “I’m expanding the network. Nobility does have its uses, you know.”
Valentina raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the table. “So, where are your illustrious connections, then?”
Ariana feigned offense, placing a hand over her chest. “I introduced you to King Alistair, didn’t I?”
Frederick and Michael turned to her in unison, their disbelief evident. “You’ve met King Alistair?”
Valentina smirked, cutting in before Ariana could answer. “It was more Bann Teagan’s doing than hers.”
“Details,” Ariana said with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, we’ve got work to do. Fred, updates from Markham?”
Frederick’s expression grew serious. “The Knight-Commander remains sympathetic, but the Markham Circle is stretched thin. They can’t take in more mages without drawing suspicion. Meanwhile, the city-states are growing restless about Meredith’s hold over Kirkwall. Delegates are talking, but Meredith keeps stalling discussions about appointing a new Viscount. Tensions are rising.”
“Any other allies we can turn to?” Ariana asked, her gaze flicking to Michael. “What about Kinloch Hold?”
Michael shook his head. “Greagoir’s a good man, but he won’t openly defy the Order unless there’s significant pressure. He values stability too much to take the risk.”
Linnea frowned, crossing her arms. “If the Circles won’t help, we need another plan. We can’t keep hiding mages forever. We need something sustainable.”
“What about the defected Templars?” Valentina suggested. “If mages knew we had Templars among us, it might make them feel safer staying under Ranger protection.”
The room fell into a contemplative silence before Ariana nodded slowly. “It’s not ideal,” she admitted, “but it’s better than the alternative. We’ll offer the mages a choice: they can stay hidden until we find a Circle willing to take them, or they can go to the Ranger manor for a more semi-permanent solution. At the manor, they’ll still be protected and guided by Templars, but without the restrictions of a Circle. Either way, they’ll need to understand the risks.”
She glanced around the room, her expression resolute. “And we’ll need Malcolm’s help to organize the Templars at the manor. It has to feel like a refuge, not another cage.”
The group exchanged somber nods, each considering the gravity of the plan. It wasn’t perfect, but it gave the mages a semblance of choice—and for now, that had to be enough.
Frederick leaned against the edge of the table, his expression thoughtful. “It’s a precarious solution, but it’s something.”
Michael nodded, determination in his voice. “We’ll work every connection we have—every Circle, every city, every sympathetic Knight-Commander. This can’t continue.”
As the discussion wound down, Ariana glanced at Frederick, who gave her a small, knowing smile. It was a silent reassurance—a reminder that, even in this fight, she wasn’t alone.
The Rangers’ mission was far from over, but for now, they had a direction, and Ariana had the steadfast support of the people who mattered most.
~~~
As weeks turned into months, the shadows Ariana lived in became more familiar, even as they grew more constricting. The Silver Rangers continued their work, uncovering more about Meredith’s oppressive hold on Kirkwall. Yet the Divine’s orders remained unchanged: Stay invisible. Act subtly. Avoid drawing attention. Ariana had grown to despise those words, even as she begrudgingly obeyed them. The small victory of convincing the Divine to quietly find sympathetic Circles felt hollow when balanced against the weight of what still needed to be done.
The White Wolf’s presence had faded to the edges of the Rangers’ operations, resurfacing only when absolutely necessary—usually during the most dangerous missions, such as intercepting mage transports bound for Kirkwall. These rare interventions were executed with the precision she demanded: no casualties, no unnecessary risks, and the mages always spirited away before the Templars could regroup. Yet, every ambush came with its own cost.
The White Wolf’s actions inevitably found their way into Cullen’s reports. Each mention—no matter how small—stung like an arrow lodged in her chest. The tone of his notes, his frustration at the Rangers’ involvement, was impossible to ignore. Cullen’s belief that mercenaries were little more than opportunistic brigands had only deepened with each report. Though he had long since stopped pressing her for information about the White Wolf, the chasm of secrecy between them grew wider with every word she didn’t say.
Ariana hoped it would all end soon. That the Chantry would act. That Meredith’s reign over Kirkwall would crumble. That she would never have to tell Cullen the truth and risk everything they had built together. But even that hope was tinged with a restless ache she couldn’t silence.
It wasn’t that she was unhappy—far from it. She loved Cullen with a ferocity that sometimes frightened her. His presence in her life was like a beacon, filling her world with warmth and light, a love she had never thought herself capable of. She was certain their lives were intertwined, woven together by something greater than fate. And yet, the restlessness lingered, the quiet whisper of the White Wolf in the back of her mind, questioning whether she could ever truly leave behind the shadows she had lived in for so long.
Her life in Kirkwall was something she cherished. It was home now in every sense of the word. Emma had grown up here, surrounded by the love of not one but three parents—herself, Isabel, and Cullen. And Cullen adored Emma as if she were his own. He had stepped into that role so seamlessly that sometimes Ariana found herself watching him with Emma, her heart swelling with an emotion so profound it was almost overwhelming.
From the doorway of the library, Ariana watched as Cullen sat on the couch, Emma tucked under his arm as he read to her from an old Fereldan storybook. His voice was low and steady, weaving the tale of a hero’s journey through battles and friendships, triumphs and losses. Emma’s small head leaned against his chest, her eyes fluttering closed as she drifted to sleep.
Ariana’s chest tightened at the sight. This was everything she had ever wanted, everything she had dared to dream of when the world had felt like it was collapsing around her. This was her family. And yet, even now, the whispers of the White Wolf intruded.
Could this really last?
She imagined a life beyond Kirkwall—far from the suffocating weight of secrets and half-truths. A life where she didn’t have to choose between being Ariana Trevelyan and the White Wolf. A life with Cullen and Emma, free of shadows, in the rolling hills of Ferelden. The fantasy was almost cruel in its perfection.
Cullen’s voice brought her back to the present. His tone softened as he reached the end of the tale, his words becoming a lullaby of sorts. Emma’s breathing grew even, her small hand clutching his tunic as she slept.
Ariana stepped forward quietly, kneeling beside them. Cullen glanced at her, a warm smile on his face as he leaned down to press a kiss to her temple. “She’s out,” he whispered.
Ariana brushed a strand of hair from Emma’s face, her fingers trembling slightly. “You’re good with her,” she murmured. “Better than I ever could’ve imagined.”
Cullen’s expression softened further, his hazel eyes searching hers. “We’re a family,” he said simply. “That’s all that matters.”
The weight of his words settled over her, grounding her in the moment. No matter the lies she carried or the burdens she bore, this was her anchor. This was what she fought for. But the thought that she might have to give up the White Wolf to keep it—her Rangers, her purpose—sent a pang of guilt through her chest.
As she sat by the window, the restlessness returned. She stared out toward the courtyard, her reflection in the glass superimposed over the serene image.
The White Wolf had been a part of her for so long, a symbol of hope and rebellion, a purpose she couldn’t imagine abandoning. But as the secrets piled up and the distance between her and Cullen grew, she couldn’t ignore the truth: the shadows might not be able to coexist with the life she wanted.
Ariana’s thoughts drifted to the early days of the Rangers, when their purpose had felt as clear as the stars above them. She could almost hear the crackle of the campfire, feel the warmth of camaraderie as Riley teased her over a burnt stew. “You’ve turned us into Rangers,” Riley had said, her voice full of conviction. “You’ve given us a purpose, Ari. A name people respect.”
Back then, every decision had been a step forward, a spark of hope in a world still reeling from the Blight. Escorting refugees to safety, defending villages from bandits, clearing darkspawn from the forests of West Hill—each act had built their reputation and solidified their purpose. She remembered Bann Teagan’s words, the first time someone had called them “Rangers.” The pride she felt had been overwhelming.
Now, the Silver Rangers operated in the shadows, their victories unspoken, their purpose muted under the Divine’s orders. Stay invisible. Act subtly. The mantra grated against her soul, a cruel echo of the life she had fought so hard to leave behind. She wasn’t a noblewoman hiding behind gilded walls—she was a fighter, a protector. How could she abandon the identity she had built, the family she had forged in fire and blood?
For the first time, Ariana allowed herself to think the unthinkable. Could I walk away? Could I give it all up—for them? For him?
The answer didn’t come easily. But as she looked back at Cullen and Emma, their peaceful forms illuminated by the soft glow of the firelight, she knew one thing for certain: they were her family. She would protect them, no matter the cost. But the quiet fear lingered, unspoken: what would remain of Ariana Trevelyan if she let the White Wolf fade into the shadows?
~~~
The warehouse was alive with activity, the hum of conversation and the rustling of maps creating a constant undercurrent of sound. Ariana stood near the center table, her eyes scanning the latest reports Linnea had compiled. She didn’t even flinch when the door swung open, the familiar voices of Varric and Hawke breaking the rhythm of the room.
“Pup,” Varric called, striding in with his usual swagger, Bianca resting comfortably against his back. “You’ll want to hear this one.”
Hawke followed close behind, her daggers at her sides, her expression unusually serious. “We just came from Orsino’s office,” she said without preamble. “He’s concerned about a group of mages and Templars that have been meeting in secret… sound familiar?”
Ariana straightened, her gaze sharpening. “The group we were looking for?”
“Seems like it.” Hawke said dryly.
“Well… shit,” Ariana sighed before continuing, “That answers the question about them being a liability. So what does Orsino know about them?”
“Nothing other than that,” Hawke admitted. “But he caught wind of a meeting happening tonight in Hightown. He asked us to investigate, and we’re heading there now. We came to get you.”
Ariana nodded, her decision already made. “Give me a moment to gear up. Linnea, stay here and keep things running. I’ll send word if we need backup.”
Linnea inclined her head, her expression calm but her eyes reflecting a flicker of concern. “Be careful,” she said simply.
Ariana retrieved her daggers, adjusting her bracers as she joined Hawke and Varric near the door. “Let’s go,” she said, her tone steady.
As they reached Hightown, they found a group of mages and Templars congregating in a shadowed square. The tension in the air was palpable, and Ariana could see the unease in the way the mages shifted on their feet.
When they approached, Hawke raised her hands in a gesture of peace. “We’re not here to fight. Let’s talk.”
But the leader of the group, a young mage with sharp eyes and a defensive posture, pointed his staff at them. “The Champion! We know you’re spying for Orsino!” he snapped.
Hawke’s hands tightened on her daggers, her voice steady but laced with frustration. “Orsino wants to help you. That’s why we’re here.”
The mage didn’t waver, his tone desperate. “Go! We’ll handle this.”
The inevitability of what came next settled over them like a stormcloud. No matter how many times Hawke and Ariana pleaded for them to listen, the mages and Templars refused to stand down.
When the dust settled, Ariana wiped her blades clean, her chest heavy with frustration. “Well… that’s not how I hoped this would go.”
Ariana’s jaw clenched as she wiped her daggers clean. Fools. Every last one of them. The words echoed in her mind, a sharp edge to her growing fury. Do they think this chaos will change anything? She glanced at the fallen mages and Templars, her grip tightening on the hilt of her blade. This isn’t rebellion—it’s madness. And now, every life saved feels further out of reach.
Varric shrugged, his tone grim. “Sometimes all you can do is try. Let’s see if we can find anything that tells us what they’re planning.”
“Here,” Hawke said, picking up a note from the fallen leader. “Gardibali’s Warehouse.”
Ariana groaned, slipping her daggers back into their sheaths. “All the way back to the Docks? Really? Is this how your days usually go?”
“Some more than others,” Hawke quipped, her tone wry.
When they arrived at Gardibali’s Warehouse, the situation was no better. The group barely had time to enter before they were attacked. Mages and Templars alike fell upon them with desperation in their eyes, forcing Ariana and the others to fight once more.
Ariana’s blades flashed as she deflected a spell aimed at Varric. “Stand down!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. But her words fell on deaf ears.
The battle ended with more bodies left on the ground. Ariana’s shoulders slumped as she wiped blood from her face. Each death weighed on her, more than the last.
From behind a stack of crates, a Templar emerged, hands raised in surrender. “I told them not to do it, I swear!”
“And you are…?” Ariana asked, her tone edged with exhaustion.
“This would be Ser Keran,” Hawke interjected, her annoyance clear. “Didn’t I save your life?”
Keran flinched, guilt flashing across his face. “If I knew you were the one they were talking about, I’d have warned you! I don’t hold with kidnapping—not after what I went through.”
“Kidnapping?” Varric raised an eyebrow.
Keran’s gaze dropped to the ground. “They said someone was spying, and we needed a hostage to ensure our safety.” His voice trembled. “We just got word—they took some girl from the Grey Wardens.”
Hawke froze, her eyes widening in disbelief before narrowing into a storm of fury. Her hand clenched tightly around the hilt of her dagger, the leather creaking under the strain. “You bastards kidnapped my sister?” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.
As Keran spoke, his voice trembled with a mixture of fear and shame. “All we wanted was a chance. Meredith’s madness… it’s killing us. She’s paranoid, seeing threats everywhere. We just wanted someone sane to lead.”
Ariana stepped closer, her hand brushing Hawke’s arm, a silent gesture of support. “Where is she, Keran?” she asked, her tone sharp but measured.
Keran flinched at the weight of Hawke’s glare. “The Wounded Coast. Some ruins they’ve been using as a base.”
Hawke’s breathing quickened, her knuckles whitening as she gripped her weapons. “If she’s hurt…”
“She won’t be,” Ariana said firmly, her voice cutting through the rising tension. “We’ll get her back, Hawke. I promise.”
Keran pleaded with them not to tell Meredith, his voice cracking as he explained the dire consequences. Meredith would execute every Templar involved and call for the Right of Annulment.
Varric’s voice was sharp. “As a general rule, I don’t trust anyone who uses my friends against me.”
“But I won’t risk the lives of every mage in the tower just to turn him in,” Ariana said. She met Hawke’s gaze, her tone brooking no argument. “Let him go. We’ve got more important things to deal with.”
Hawke nodded reluctantly, her anger simmering beneath the surface. “Let’s go. We don’t have time to waste.”
As they left the warehouse, Ariana glanced up at the dark sky, the faint outline of Hightown’s towers looming against the moonlight. She knew Isabel would be worried when she didn’t come home, and Cullen… she clenched her jaw, pushing the thought aside.
She’d promised him dinner tonight, a rare moment stolen from the chaos. The weight of another broken promise settled heavily in her chest. She could almost hear Cullen’s steady voice in her mind, his quiet concern veiled by the warmth of his hazel eyes. He wouldn’t say it, but she knew the missed dinner would deepen the growing chasm between them.
But there was no other choice. Not when Bethany’s life was at stake. She would have to face the consequences tomorrow, just as she always did. For now, there was no room for hesitation.
~~~
Ariana wasn’t exactly sure what time it was when they reached the Wounded Coast, but exhaustion clung to her like a shroud. Dawn wasn’t far off—the sky had started to lighten, and a faint chill settled over the rocky terrain. With every step, she felt the weight of the night pressing down on her. She couldn’t shake the thought of Cullen waiting at home, the concern he’d carry when she didn’t show.
The fights blurred together—another skirmish, another group of misguided mages and Templars. No one even tried reasoning anymore; there was no point. Each clash left Ariana more drained, her mind spiraling into a storm of doubts. Was this what the White Wolf had come to? Fighting battles she couldn’t even explain to herself? No. It wasn’t the White Wolf, it was Ariana Trevelyan fighting this battle.
The ruins loomed ahead, the familiar architecture sparking memories of the times she had come here with Cullen. The thought of him brought both comfort and a pang of guilt that deepened with every breath.
They found Bethany almost immediately, immobilized by some unseen spell. The sight of her sister in such a vulnerable state made Hawke tense, but her calm demeanor didn’t waver. Ariana couldn’t help but admire how steady Hawke seemed, even now. Despite everything, she could still command the room without letting her emotions control her. Ariana wished she could do the same, but tonight, the cracks in her resolve were widening.
Several figures emerged from behind the pillars—mages and Templars, among them Ser Thrask. His expression was solemn, regret etched into every line of his face.
“I suppose it was too much to hope you wouldn’t come,” Thrask said, addressing Hawke. “Though I can’t understand why you side with Meredith now. You showed me we could stand up to her.”
Ariana’s patience snapped. The exhaustion, the frustration, the sheer stupidity of this entire situation boiled over. “What in the Fade… we’re not siding with Meredith,” she snapped, her voice harsher than she intended. “We’re here because you idiots kidnapped Hawke’s sister.”
“Easy, Pup,” Varric murmured, his voice calm, a grounding presence as he shot her a sidelong glance. He could see the storm in her eyes, the way her hands tightened into fists at her sides.
She raised her hands in surrender, taking a deep breath to steady herself. But her anger simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over. These people had been her hope—a faint chance to fix the Gallows without spilling more blood. Now, their reckless actions jeopardized everything. She had believed they could make a difference, but tonight, all she saw were broken people clinging to desperation.
“Please, Champion,” Thrask said, his voice a quiet plea. “I have nothing but respect for you. It’s Meredith we must see gone.”
Ariana muttered under her breath, “On that, we agree.”
“I will not negotiate until you release Bethany,” Hawke demanded, her tone sharp but measured, her gaze unwavering.
“No harm will come to your sister,” Thrask assured her. “We will release her as soon as I have your word to support us.”
“That’s negotiating…” Ariana whispered to herself as she rubbed her temples.
Before Hawke could answer, the mage beside Thrask stepped forward, her eyes blazing. “No! The girl dies. Then the Champion.”
“Have you all lost your minds?” Varric interjected, his tone edged with disbelief.
Thrask blocked her path. “Stand down, Grace! We will not kill an innocent to achieve our ends. It gains us nothing to become Meredith.”
“Meredith! What do I care for Meredith?” Grace spat, her voice dripping with venom. “I’m here for the Champion!”
“I’ve been wondering when you’d come back to bite me in the ass,” Hawke replied, her tone icy but controlled.
Ariana marveled at how Hawke kept her composure, even now. The anger that burned in her own chest felt like a fire she couldn’t douse, but Hawke stood steady, her voice never wavering. How did she do it? How did she bear the weight without breaking?
Grace’s fury exploded, and before anyone could react, she unleashed blood magic, cutting down Thrask and turning on Hawke. Her remaining allies followed, forcing Ariana and the others into yet another fight.
When the dust settled, only Alain remained standing. His trembling voice broke the silence, explaining that he could free Bethany from the blood magic spell, but only by using blood magic himself. Ariana felt numb as she walked away, watching him work from a distance. Barely processing the quiet reunion between Hawke and Bethany.
Ariana sat heavily against a nearby rock, her hands moving almost mechanically as she wiped her daggers clean. Her gaze remained fixed on the blood-streaked blades, her mind a tempest. How many more will die for this pointless crusade? The memory of each fallen figure clawed at her resolve. Years of work, years of sacrifice… and it all feels like sand slipping through my fingers.
Then Samson’s voice cut through the air, dragging her from her daze.
“They’re meeting in here, Ser Cullen—”
Ariana flinched at the name, dread tightening her chest. The sound of his footsteps drew closer, each one echoing like a drumbeat in her head.
“Oh, I guess you didn’t get on so well with these mages as you thought,” Samson said, his tone casual as he surveyed the aftermath.
“Champion,” Cullen said, his voice carrying authority. “Samson never said you were involved in this.”
Cullen’s gaze swept the scene, his eyes narrowing as he took in the bloodied remnants of the fight. “I trust you were here to stop these traitors, not join them?”
Ariana, still sitting on a nearby rock, couldn’t hold her tongue. “All these ‘traitors’ wanted was to relieve Meredith of command,” she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm and exhaustion.
Cullen’s eyes widened as he stepped toward her. “Ariana? What are you—” He cut himself off, clearly restraining his emotions, and turned back to Hawke. “Put the mage to questioning,” he ordered the Templars.
“What?” Ariana stood, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
Hawke raised a hand, her gesture firm yet gentle, urging Ariana to stand down. “Let me handle this,” she said softly.
“The boy stood up to his elders when they would have killed an innocent hostage,” Hawke argued, her voice steady but pleading.
Cullen’s tone was colder than Ariana had ever heard. “You mean he was one of them, save for a convenient last-minute change of heart.”
The words struck Ariana like a blow. This wasn’t the Cullen she knew. His voice, his demeanor—it was as though the Gallows had twisted him into someone unrecognizable. The storm inside her broke free.
Without a word, she turned to leave, but a Templar stepped into her path. “Ser Cullen—”
Before he could finish, Ariana moved with fluid precision, disarming him and sweeping his legs out from under him. She didn’t even spare him a glance as she kept walking, her steps steady, her resolve unshaken.
She didn’t stop to see their reactions. The weight of the night pressed down on her, the disappointment, the fury, the loss. Cullen’s tone, his words… And for the first time in a long time, she felt truly lost.
~~~
Cullen’s eyes narrowed as Ariana began walking away from the ruins, her steps heavy but determined. A nearby Templar stepped forward, moving to block her path.
“Ser, Cull—” the Templar began, but Ariana moved with the speed of a coiled viper. In one fluid motion, she disarmed him, swept his legs out from under him, and sent him sprawling to the ground. Before anyone could react, she continued walking, her boots crunching against the gravel as if nothing had happened.
Cullen opened his mouth to order the Templar to stand down, but the scene unfolded too quickly. The younger knight groaned, propping himself up on one elbow, clearly dazed. Cullen’s chest tightened as he watched the swift precision of her movements. She was relentless, capable, and utterly infuriating. Maker, Ari… must you always do this? Pride and frustration warred within him, but he shoved both aside for now. “Get up,” he barked at the Templar, his voice sharp. “And don’t follow her.”
“Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered under his breath.
“Can’t say I didn’t see that coming,” Varric remarked from the side, his tone dry but not without sympathy.
“Secure the area. Arrest anyone still alive,” he ordered, his voice steady but cold. The Templars saluted and moved to obey, but Cullen lingered, his gaze falling on Hawke and Varric, who were quietly assessing the scene.
When the Templars had dispersed, Cullen approached Hawke and Varric, his expression dark. “What in Andraste’s name happened here?”
Hawke crossed her arms, her tone calm but firm. “We were investigating Orsino’s lead on a mage-templar group. It didn’t take long to find them, but things… spiraled. We tried talking to them, but they weren’t interested in reason.”
Varric nodded, his usual levity absent. “Pup held her ground, tried her best to keep it from turning into a bloodbath. But you could see it was eating at her. Every fight, every person we had to take down—it chipped away at her.”
Cullen’s brow furrowed, unease tightening his chest. “She shouldn’t have been here at all.”
Hawke raised an eyebrow. “She came because we asked her to. She thought we could stop this group from doing more damage. And she was right—up until it all went sideways.”
“And now she’s walking away covered in blood,” Cullen said, his voice strained as his eyes followed the path Ariana had taken. “Maker’s breath…” Cullen exhaled sharply, turning on his heel. “Stay here. I’ll find her.”
The trail wasn’t difficult to follow; Ariana’s footprints in the soft dirt led him away from the ruins. His heart pounded with every step, anger and worry battling for dominance. What were you thinking, Ari? he thought. Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?
He found her sitting against a jagged rock, her knees drawn up, her head tilted back against the stone. Her armor—a combination of light brown leather and blue cloth—was stained with blood, the dark streaks stark against the lighter fabric. Her arms were smeared with it, dried patches flaking under the faint breeze. She didn’t look up as he approached, and his chest tightened at the sight of her. His frustration simmered beneath the surface, but as he took in her exhausted form, the sharp edges of his anger dulled. She wasn’t just defying him—she was unraveling before his eyes.
“Ariana,” he called as he approached, his voice a mix of relief and frustration.
She glanced up at him, her eyes dulling to the mossy tone they usually did when she seemed particularly defeated. “Cullen,” she acknowledged flatly, her tone devoid of emotion.
He slowed as he got closer, his gaze scanning her for injuries. “You’re covered in blood,” he said, his voice rough with concern. “Are you hurt?”
She blinked, then glanced down at herself as if noticing the stains for the first time. “It’s not my blood,” she said quietly. She hesitated, her fingers brushing over a particularly dark patch on her forearm. “At least… it’s probably mostly not my blood.”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?” he snapped. “I’ve been up all night looking for you, sending patrols, coordinating with Aveline, worried out of my mind, and then I find you here, in the middle of… this.” He gestured vaguely toward the ruins. “What were you thinking?”
Ariana sighed, her gaze drifting to the horizon. “I was thinking about how many people died tonight,” she said softly. “And for what? No one listened, Cullen. Not the mages, not the Templars.” Her voice cracked, her frustration raw. “It was all pointless.”
“It wasn’t pointless,” Cullen insisted, his tone softening as he knelt beside her. “You stopped them from causing more harm.”
“And at what cost?” she shot back, her voice suddenly sharp. Ariana’s fingers curled into her palms as she spoke, the weight of the night pressing heavily on her chest. “They were just trying to survive, Cullen. And I…” Her voice faltered. “I don’t know how much of myself I can lose to keep doing this.”
Her hazel-green eyes locked onto his, brimming with exhaustion and anger. “Do you even think of them as people, Cullen? Or are they just… threats to you?”
Her words hit him like a physical blow. He recoiled slightly, his breath catching as he stared at her. “Ari…” he began, his voice low, but she shook her head, cutting him off.
“Do you?” she pressed, her voice breaking. “Because I can’t tell anymore. You… you talk about justice and doing what’s right, but all I see is fear and control. These mages… they’re terrified. They’re desperate. And tonight, I felt like I was killing pieces of myself just to get through it.”
Cullen’s throat tightened, guilt and sorrow flooding through him. He had always known the weight she carried, but seeing it now, hearing her pain laid bare—it was almost too much. “I don’t see them as threats,” he said finally, his voice rough. “I see them as people, Ari. People I’ve failed to protect.”
Her expression didn’t soften, but her gaze wavered. “Then why does it feel like nothing changes? Why does everyone just want to keep fighting.” she whispered.
“Because change takes time,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “And time is something too many don’t have. But I swear to you, Ari—I’ll fight for it. For them. For you.”
She let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of the night was finally catching up to her. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, without a word, she leaned into him, her head resting against his chest. Cullen wrapped his arms around her, his grip firm and protective, only to realize she was trembling—not from exhaustion, but from barely contained fury.
It wasn’t the weariness of a woman who had seen too much bloodshed. It was the quaking rage of someone teetering on the edge of losing control. Her breaths came sharp and uneven, and he could feel the tension coiled in every muscle as though she might spring back into action at the slightest provocation.
Maker’s breath, he thought, his heart tightening. This wasn’t despair—this was fury, simmering just beneath her calm exterior, threatening to erupt. He tightened his hold on her, his own emotions warring between frustration and a deep, aching worry.
“Ari,” he murmured, his voice gentle but laced with concern. “I’m here.”
Her lips pressed together, and she didn’t answer. But her trembling began to subside, her breathing slowing as if his words had given her just enough tether to hold herself together a little longer. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “For worrying you.”
Cullen squeezed tightened his hold on her. “Just… come home,” he said, his voice almost pleading.
Ariana hesitated and for a moment, she looked as though she might argue. But then she nodded, her resolve softening. “Alright,” she whispered.
Cullen exhaled in relief, standing and offering her his hand. When she took it, he helped her to her feet, steadying her as they began the journey back together. He kept his arm around her, not caring who might see. For now, all that mattered was that she was safe. Together, they would face whatever came next.