12 Wintermarch 9:38 – 28 Haring 9:40
The routine after Varric left was a comfort Ariana hadn’t expected. Life at the manor resumed with a familiar rhythm, one that allowed her to slip back into her role as the White Wolf with startling ease. Yet, no matter how seamlessly she led the Silver Rangers, there were moments when the weight of what she had lost threatened to crush her.
Isabel, ever the steady presence, managed the household effortlessly, relieving Riley of many day-to-day concerns. Emma flourished in the manor’s lively environment, darting between Rangers, her laughter echoing in the halls. She fashioned imaginary adventures for herself, always insisting the Rangers play their parts as knights or heroes. But Ariana couldn’t help but notice the wistful tone in Emma’s voice whenever she asked about Cullen.
“Will he come back someday?” Emma had asked just days earlier, her wide eyes full of hope that Ariana couldn’t bear to extinguish.
“He’s busy, cub,” Ariana had replied softly. “But you know Cullen. He always keeps his promises.”
The words felt hollow even as she said them. It wasn’t just Emma who still waited for him.
One evening, the kitchen was filled with the warm glow of candlelight and the soft hum of activity. Ariana perched on the counter, absently turning a cloth in her hands as Isabel finished drying the last of the dishes. The rhythmic sounds of their nightly routine grounded her, but tonight the usual comfort was absent.
“Isabel…” Ariana’s voice was tentative, barely above a whisper.
Isabel set the dish she was drying aside, turning her full attention to her. “What is it, child?” she asked gently, noting the uncharacteristic hesitation in Ariana’s tone.
Ariana drew a deep breath, her fingers twisting the cloth tighter. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions.
Isabel frowned. “For what? What are you apologizing for now?”
“For everything,” Ariana confessed, her gaze dropping to her lap. “For dragging you and Emma into my chaos. For Cullen…” Her voice broke as she continued. “I see the way Emma looks when she asks about him. I feel like I’ve taken him away from her. I should have listened to you all those years ago.”
Isabel’s expression softened as she crossed the kitchen, setting the towel down. She stood in front of Ariana, her voice steady and firm. “No,” she said. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“But if I’d told him sooner—” Ariana began, only for Isabel to cut her off.
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Isabel said gently but firmly. “You said it yourself, Ariana. He wasn’t ready to stand against the Order or Meredith. Even if you’d told him, even if he’d known everything, the path you’re on… it would have still led to this.”
Ariana’s hands trembled as she gripped the cloth tightly. “But we were planning our wedding,” she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet agony. “He had the ring made. He asked my father to petition the Order. I thought—I thought we had a chance.”
Ariana let out a soft, bittersweet laugh, catching Isabel’s questioning look. “I’m just remembering,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with a mix of fondness and sorrow. “When we were planning the wedding, Cullen couldn’t understand why there needed to be twenty-seven flavors of cake. He actually looked offended by it.” Her lips curved faintly. “He said he didn’t care if the cake was made of stone, as long as I was there.”
Isabel chuckled at the memory, “That does sound like Cullen. That man can be practical to a fault.”
Ariana reached for her ring, looking at it “Do you know why he chose the star?”
Isabel smiled softly, shaking her head, just letting Ariana continue.
“He asked if I would follow the star I had been following, just one more time…” her words trailed off, lost in the memory of the night he proposed.
“And, do you want to follow it again?” Isabel asked softly.
“More than anything,” Ariana sighed “But I think it’s too late now.”
Isabel reached out, resting her hands over Ariana’s. “You still have a chance. I don’t believe this story is over.”
Ariana’s head snapped up, tears brimming in her eyes. “How can you say that? After everything?”
“Because I know him,” Isabel said simply. “And I know that he loved you more than anything. Truly. And I saw the way you looked at him—like he was your world. That doesn’t just vanish because of a war or a lie.”
Ariana shook her head, the tears finally spilling over. “I couldn’t even tell him the truth,” she whispered. “And now I don’t even know if he ever thinks of me. If… if he even cares about any of it anymore.”
Isabel’s gaze fell to the small pendant around Ariana’s neck, the leather cord holding both the constellation charm and Cullen’s engagement ring. The sight of it, so close to Ariana’s heart, brought a bittersweet smile to Isabel’s lips. “Do you think he made that ring for you because it didn’t matter to him?” she asked gently. “He loved you, Ariana. He still does. And I’d wager he’s thought about you every day since you left.”
Ariana’s sobs broke free then, unrestrained and raw. Isabel pulled her into an embrace, holding her tightly as the weight of years of guilt and heartbreak poured out.
Later that night, as the house grew quiet, Ariana sat alone in her room. She reached for the leather choker she always wore, her fingers brushing the small pendant of the Visus constellation and the engagement ring hanging from the cord. Slowly, she lifted it, holding the ring in her palm as her tears threatened to return.
She whispered into the stillness, “If you’re out there, Cullen, I hope you’re safe. I hope… I hope you remember us.”
Happy birthday…
And for the first time since that night in Kirkwall, she allowed herself to believe he might be thinking the same thing.
~~~
As the months passed, it started to become clear that Kirkwall had been only the beginning. Something they had all expected, yet had hoped they had been wrong. The soft morning light streamed through the windows of the library, casting long shadows across the map-strewn table where she sat with Michael and Linnea. Both wore expressions that mirrored her own—a mix of exhaustion and determination. Reports had been flooding in for weeks now, and each one seemed worse than the last.
Michael leaned forward, his hand resting on the edge of the table as he spoke. “The Circles are falling, Ariana. Starkhaven, Ansburg, Markham—all of them have reported riots or outright destruction. Mages are fleeing in droves, and some are even banding together to fight back.”
Linnea nodded, her brow furrowed. “We’ve had requests for aid from at least three groups of mages in the past fortnight alone. They’re desperate, asking for protection, for someone to get them out before the Templars arrive.”
Michael shifted, a note of hesitation creeping into his voice. “And it’s not just mages. Rangers in the field have reported Templars approaching them, asking to join us. They say they’ve had enough of the Order and want to fight for something better. Some of the Rangers here were already Templars before joining. It’s… becoming a trend.”
Ariana sat back, her fingers steepled as she absorbed their words. The weight of it pressed heavily on her chest, but her expression remained calm. She had to be. They were looking to her for guidance, for answers she wasn’t entirely sure she had.
After a moment, she asked, “What about Kirkwall? Have we had any word?”
Michael glanced at Linnea before replying. “Still holding, according to all reports. It’s one of the few Circles that hasn’t fallen yet. At least not any more than it had before…”
Ariana’s gaze dropped for a moment, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. She exhaled softly. Still holding. It didn’t take much imagination to picture Cullen in the middle of it all, trying to hold Kirkwall together with sheer will. He had always been unrelenting in his duty.
“Good,” she said at last, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions within her. “For now, anyway.”
Linnea studied her for a moment, but said nothing. Instead, she shifted the conversation back to the reports. “What do you want us to do about the mages requesting aid?”
“We’ll take on the jobs that make sense,” Ariana replied, her tone measured. “But we can’t stretch ourselves too thin. If we try to save everyone, we’ll end up saving no one.” She paused, her mind already moving to the next steps. “I’ll reach out to Bann Teagan. If anyone knows the best path for helping these mages, it’ll be him. He’s been a consistent ally, and with King Alistair still absent, he’s our best option.”
Michael frowned slightly. “And the Templars who want to join us? What do we do about them?”
“We vet them carefully,” Ariana said without hesitation. “Riley and Malcolm can handle that. They know what to look for, and I trust their judgment. But make sure every single one is questioned thoroughly. No exceptions.”
Linnea exchanged a glance with Michael before speaking again. “There’s something else. Aveline and Donnic—they’ve been working in Denerim for a while now, haven’t they? Maybe they’ve heard things. They might know more about what’s happening in the capital or have information we don’t.”
Ariana nodded thoughtfully. “Good idea. Send a message to Aveline. Let her know what we’re seeing and ask if she has any insight. She’s someone we can trust, and Donnic has always been resourceful. They might have heard something useful.”
The room fell silent for a moment as they processed the conversation, the weight of the decisions they faced settling heavily over them. Ariana leaned forward again, her gaze sharp as she addressed them both.
“We’re walking a fine line,” she said. “We have to be careful, but we can’t let that stop us from doing what we’ve always done—protecting those who can’t protect themselves. This is exactly why the Rangers exist. We’re not just a safe haven. We’re a force for change. Let’s make sure we act like it.”
Michael and Linnea nodded in unison, their determination mirroring her own. As they left the room to carry out their orders, Ariana couldn’t help to notice how their hands brushed briefly. She smiled, shaking her head. It was amusing that they were trying to hide it. For her part, Ariana was just happy they were finding comfort in each other.
She sat back in her chair, her gaze drifting to the map on the table. It was dotted with markers—each one representing a Circle in turmoil, a town needing aid, or a battle yet to be fought.
Her fingers brushed against the pendant at her neck, her thoughts briefly drifting to Cullen. Still holding, she thought again. Her heart ached with the memory of him, the way he had looked at her that last day in Kirkwall, the words they had thrown at each other cutting deeper than any blade. But then… he had dropped his weapons, he had crossed the distance to tend to her injury. And when she kissed him, he had returned it. He had held her still despite it all. Was he thinking about her too?
She shook the thought away, focusing instead on the tasks ahead. There was no room for distraction now. The Rangers depended on her, and the world around them was unraveling faster than she could sew it back together. But if there was one thing she was certain of, it was this: they would face it together. Someday.
~~~
The room was quiet except for the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. Valentina sat at the head of the long table, her fingers steepled as she studied the parchment in front of her. Riley leaned against the far wall, her arms crossed, her expression tight with frustration. Michael paced the length of the room, his boots echoing faintly on the wooden floor, while Linnea sat with one leg crossed over the other, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as if the answers were hidden among the beams.
“We can’t tell her,” Michael said, his voice low but firm, breaking the silence.
“And why not?” Riley shot back, her tone sharp. “She’s our leader. She has a right to know.”
Michael stopped pacing, turning to face her. “You’ve seen how much she’s carrying already. Do you really want to add this to it? That Kirkwall’s Circle has fallen? That he’s disappeared?”
Riley pushed off the wall, stepping toward the table. “She’ll find out eventually. Better it comes from us than some report or rumor.”
Linnea sighed, her eyes finally dropping from the ceiling to the table. “Do we even know what happened to him? Cullen’s name wasn’t on the casualty list.”
Valentina tapped the parchment in front of her. “No, but that’s part of the problem. He’s missing, not dead. And knowing Ariana…” She let the sentence hang, the weight of it settling over the group.
“She’ll go looking for him,” Michael finished, his voice heavy. “And Maker knows what she’ll find—or if she’ll even find him at all.”
“Exactly,” Valentina said. “She’s barely allowed herself to grieve what happened in Kirkwall. If she thinks there’s a chance to find him…”
“She’ll chase it,” Riley admitted, her voice softer now. “But does that mean we keep this from her? Is that who we are?”
Silence fell again, each of them grappling with the weight of the decision.
Linnea finally spoke, her voice measured. “We don’t have all the information. Right now, all we know is that the Circle has fallen and that Cullen isn’t accounted for. Maybe we wait. If more details come in, we can reevaluate.”
Michael frowned, resuming his pacing. “And if she finds out we knew and didn’t tell her? How do we explain that?”
“She’ll be angry,” Valentina admitted, “but she’ll understand why we waited. At least, I hope she will.”
Riley ran a hand through her hair, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re all acting like she’s some fragile thing that’s going to shatter the moment she hears his name. This is Ariana. She’s faced worse than this.”
Michael stopped pacing again, his gaze locking with hers. “I know who she is, Riley. But she’s also human. And Cullen… he’s not just anyone to her.”
Valentina leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. “The question isn’t whether she can handle it. The question is whether telling her now serves any purpose. What can she do with this information?”
“She could prepare,” Riley argued. “If Cullen is missing, there’s a chance he’s in danger. She’d want to help him, just like she’d help any of us.”
“And that’s the problem,” Michael said quietly. “She wouldn’t just help him. She’d drop everything. The Rangers, the mages we’re protecting—all of it. She’d risk it all for him.”
The room fell silent again, the weight of the decision pressing down on them.
Finally, Valentina exhaled, standing and smoothing the creases from her tunic. “We wait,” she said, her voice calm but decisive. “Until we know more, we don’t burden her with this. If something concrete comes up, we’ll tell her. Agreed?”
Michael nodded reluctantly, though his expression was troubled. Linnea gave a small nod, her face impassive.
Riley hesitated, her jaw tight. “Fine,” she said at last, though the word was laced with frustration. “But if she finds out we kept this from her, it’s on all of us.”
Valentina’s gaze swept over the group, her eyes lingering on each of them. “We’re in agreement, then. This stays between us for now.”
Before Valentina could fully extinguish the last lantern, Linnea’s voice cut through the heavy silence.
“There’s… something else,” she said hesitantly, her gaze shifting to the side as if unsure whether to speak.
All eyes turned to her, the tension in the room coiling tighter.
Linnea hesitated before pulling a folded letter from her satchel and setting it on the table. The seal of Bann Teagan was unmistakable, the edges of the parchment slightly worn. “This came with the last set of reports,” she explained. “It’s from Cullen. He sent it to Bann Teagan, asking him to pass it along… to Ariana.”
Michael’s eyes widened, and Riley stepped closer, her brows knitting together. “What does it say?”
Valentina unfolded the letter carefully, her sharp eyes scanning the contents. As she read, her expression hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line.
“It’s a request,” she said flatly, “for information on Ariana’s whereabouts. He wanted Teagan to deliver this along with another document.” She pulled out a second parchment, its official seal still intact. “Approval from the White Spire for their marriage.”
Riley let out a low whistle, her frustration replaced by a mix of disbelief and unease. “And Teagan just… sent this along without a word?”
“He’s missing now, Riley,” Linnea reminded her softly. “Teagan likely didn’t think it would reach Cullen at this point. But it still complicates things.”
Michael ran a hand through his hair, his pacing starting anew. “So, he was still looking for her. Even after everything…” His voice trailed off, and for a moment, his frustration gave way to something closer to guilt.
“And now he’s gone,” Riley said quietly, her earlier fire subdued. “He wanted to find her, to explain himself—and we’re keeping this from her.”
Valentina carefully refolded the letters, her movements deliberate. “Which only reinforces my point. We wait. If we tell her now, she’ll chase this lead. And what will she find? Nothing but more pain.”
Linnea frowned, her fingers tapping lightly against the table. “But if she ever learns we had these…”
“She won’t,” Valentina said firmly. “Not unless we’re sure telling her will help. Until then, we keep this to ourselves.”
The others exchanged uneasy glances, but none of them voiced further objections.
As they filed out, Michael lingered once more, his hand brushing briefly over the back of one of the chairs. “We’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured to Valentina, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the dying fire.
“I know,” she replied softly, her gaze fixed on the flickering embers. “But right now, it’s the only game we’ve got.”
Riley paused by the door, her sharp gaze cutting through the room. “Linnea,” she said quietly, but with the weight of a command. “Start looking for him. Quietly. If Ariana can’t go after him, we’ll do it for her.”
Linnea nodded once, her expression solemn. “Understood.”
The room dimmed as the final lantern was extinguished, leaving them in shadows. And in that darkness, the weight of their secrets loomed heavier than ever.
~~~
Ariana found peace in her day-to-day life, rediscovering the joy of adventure and reconnecting with the Rangers. After years spent away from most of them, it was refreshing to immerse herself in their camaraderie again. Many of the newer recruits had never even met her before now. Yet one familiar face remained a pleasant surprise—Elliot. No longer the nervous, wide-eyed kid she’d escorted from Kirkwall all those years ago, he now carried himself with the confidence of a seasoned Ranger. Still, his unwavering admiration for the White Wolf hadn’t faded.
The sun hung low in the sky as Ariana sparred with Elliot in the courtyard, their movements quick and calculated. She ducked under his swing, spinning gracefully as her wooden sword struck his side. He stumbled back, wincing but grinning despite the sting.
“Come on, Elliot,” Ariana said, her tone teasing but encouraging. “You’ve got to stop telegraphing your swings like that. I can see them coming from a mile away.”
Elliot huffed, adjusting his grip on the training sword. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one fighting you.”
“Problems with Orlesian nobles again, Wolf,” Riley’s voice carried across the courtyard as she approached, cutting through the moment.
Ariana glanced up, breathing heavily from exertion. She tossed her training sword to Elliot, who caught it with a slight fumble. “What is it this time?” she asked, grabbing a nearby cloth to wipe her face.
Riley smirked, folding her arms as she leaned casually against a post. “They hired us to retrieve a stolen artifact. Now they’re claiming the one we returned is a forgery.”
Ariana rolled her eyes, draping the cloth around her neck. “And… could it be?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No,” Riley replied firmly. “It’s a magical artifact, and both our mage and theirs verified it was authentic.”
Ariana began walking toward the manor, Riley falling into step beside her. Elliot trailed behind, still catching his breath but grinning faintly, as though sparring with the White Wolf was an achievement in itself.
“Do we think it was stolen again after delivery?” Ariana asked, her mind already sifting through possibilities.
“Unlikely,” Riley said with a shrug. “This feels more like posturing. They’re Orlesians, after all.”
Ariana let out a resigned sigh. “And you’re telling me this because…?” she asked, glancing at Riley with a knowing look. “They want the White Wolf to investigate?”
Riley’s smirk widened. “It’s in Val Royeaux, and, well, let’s face it—you’re better at dealing with those kinds of nobles. They insist on your presence.”
Ariana groaned. “Val Royeaux. Maker’s breath, when was the last time I was even there?”
“Seven years ago,” Riley said without missing a beat. “Almost to the day. You came back on 26 Haring 9:33.”
Ariana stopped mid-step, raising an eyebrow at Riley. “Why do you know that so precisely?”
Riley shrugged, her expression teasing. “Because that’s the day everything changed. You came back with the Divine’s request, and then you left for Kirkwall… And, well, we know how that ended.”
Ariana’s playful demeanor shifted slightly, the weight of those memories flickering across her face. “Fair enough,” she said after a pause, shaking off the moment with a faint smirk. “But wait… does that mean we missed Elliot’s seventh anniversary as a Ranger?”
Riley grinned mischievously. “We only celebrate the big milestones, Wolf. Sorry, kid, you’ll have to wait another three years for a party.”
Elliot laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Honestly, I didn’t even realize it had been seven years. Feels like yesterday I was tripping over my own sword during drills.”
“And now you’re getting tossed around by me during sparring,” Ariana teased, throwing a grin over her shoulder. “That’s what I call progress.”
Elliot’s smile wavered slightly, his gaze flicking to her and then away as though her teasing—her attention—was both exhilarating and overwhelming. “I wouldn’t call it progress exactly,” he muttered.
Riley caught the exchange and smirked knowingly. “Don’t let her fool you, Elliot,” she said, her tone mock-serious. “The Wolf only fights fair when she’s bored. If you ever win, it’s because she let you.”
“I do not!” Ariana protested, feigning offense. “I’m just giving him the chance to feel like he’s improving, Riley. It’s called mentorship. Look it up.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Riley shot back, her grin widening. “Funny, I thought it was called humoring the pup.“
Elliot chuckled, adjusting his sword belt—a gesture Riley didn’t miss. She glanced at Ariana, who seemed blissfully unaware of how flustered Elliot always became around her. “I’m standing right here, you know,” Elliot said, shaking his head. “You two are relentless.”
Ariana shot him a playful wink, her grin widening. “Welcome to the Rangers, Elliot. Thick skin is a requirement.”
Elliot rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin tugging at his lips. As they reached the manor, Ariana glanced at Riley. “Fine, I’ll go to Val Royeaux. But if this turns out to be another waste of time, you’re cleaning the stables for a month.”
“Deal,” Riley said with a mock salute, though the triumphant glint in her eyes suggested she had already won.
~~~
As she had so many years ago, Ariana set off for Val Royeaux. But this time, she didn’t travel alone. Elliot, eager for his first job outside Ferelden, had practically volunteered before she could even consider anyone else. His boundless energy was both endearing and exhausting, a stark contrast to the calm, calculating presence of Eshara. One of the Rangers’ most skilled mages, Eshara’s expertise was indispensable for a job centered on a magical artifact.
The journey felt shorter with their company, the miles passing with the rhythm of hoofbeats and the hum of conversation. Though the winter chill bit at their faces, Ariana found herself quietly grateful for the distraction her companions provided.
Elliot, perched on his saddle with a grin, gazed at the snow-covered fields stretching out around them. “I still can’t believe I get to go to Val Royeaux. I’ve read about it my entire life. The spires, the markets, the nobility—it all sounds so… grand.”
Eshara snorted, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “It’s loud, crowded, and pretentious. You’ll see soon enough.”
“Come on, Eshara,” Elliot replied, undeterred. “You have to admit, it’s probably one of the most impressive cities in Thedas.”
Ariana chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You’d best temper your expectations, Elliot. The Orlesian court is a world of masks and intrigue. There’s beauty, sure, but there’s also danger beneath all the glamour.”
Elliot’s excitement dimmed only slightly, though his admiration for Ariana only seemed to grow. “Have you been there often, Wolf?”
“Not often,” Ariana replied, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “The last time I was in Val Royeaux was seven years ago, though it feels like another lifetime now.”
Elliot’s expression turned thoughtful, though he didn’t press further. Eshara, however, smirked. “You mean before Kirkwall turned your world upside down?”
Ariana shot her a sidelong glance but didn’t argue. “Something like that,” she admitted quietly, her tone laced with the weight of memory.
She remembered it all too well—the grandeur of the Grand Cathedral, its white spires piercing the heavens like a challenge to the Maker himself. The echo of her footsteps against the stone as she’d followed the attendants into that small, forgotten, windowless room.
“I need you to observe and investigate the situation in Kirkwall.,” the Divine had said, her voice grave yet steady. “Focus on the use of the Rite of Tranquility, and whether it is, in fact, being overused. If the rumors are true, I may need your Rangers’ help to intercept mages destined for Kirkwall and ensure their safety.”
It had been the first time she had been asked to step into a life of shadows and secrets. And it had been the moment everything changed. It was the moment she had to start lying to the man she loved.
She shook the thoughts away, her expression smoothing as the spires of Val Royeaux came into view, gleaming against the pale winter sky.
“Look at that,” Elliot breathed, his voice full of awe as he leaned forward eagerly in his saddle.
Eshara rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “It’s just a city. Overbuilt and overpraised.”
“To you, maybe,” Elliot shot back, his gaze lingering on the intricate carvings adorning the city gates. “But to me, it’s… a lot.”
Ariana couldn’t help but smile at their exchange. Despite Eshara’s feigned indifference, even she couldn’t entirely hide her appreciation for the city’s grandeur as they passed through its gates.
They found lodging at a modest tavern—modest by Orlesian standards, which meant it was far grander than most Fereldan establishments. Elliot’s awe persisted as he marveled at the delicate chandeliers and painted ceilings, while Eshara muttered about unnecessary extravagance.
“Do all Orlesians live like this?” Elliot asked, running a hand along the velvet-lined banister leading to their rooms.
“Hardly,” Ariana replied, her tone dry. “Most Orlesians don’t even set foot in a place like this. You’re seeing the ‘acceptable face’ of Val Royeaux.”
Eshara snorted. “Acceptable or not, it’s too shiny for my taste.”
“Don’t let her ruin your fun,” Ariana added with a faint smile. “But don’t get too comfortable, either. This city has a way of turning on you when you least expect it.”
Elliot nodded, his admiration tinged with a trace of caution now. “Understood.”
Later that evening, as the sun set and the city’s golden light reflected off its snow-dusted rooftops, Ariana stood in her room, preparing to meet their client. She’d exchanged her traveling clothes for something more suitable—simple yet elegant, with the cloak of the White Wolf draped over her shoulders.
As she adjusted the pendant around her neck, her fingers brushed the engagement ring hanging beside it. A flicker of hesitation crossed her face before she steeled herself. Not now, she thought. Focus on the task at hand.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She opened it to find a messenger bowing politely. “Message for you, my lady,” he said before disappearing back down the hall.
“Well, that was fast,” she muttered, unfolding the neatly written note. The words were precise and unembellished: Come to the Summer Bazaar. We will discuss the artifact there.
Ariana tucked the note into her belt and grabbed her gloves. She glanced once more at the pendant and ring before pulling on her cloak. Why is it always cold here? she mused, shaking her head as she stepped out into the bustling streets of Val Royeaux.
~~~
The Summer Bazaar buzzed with life, the cold doing little to deter the crowds. Merchants called out, their stalls a chaotic tapestry of vibrant colors and wares, and the scent of roasted chestnuts and fresh bread lingered in the air. Ariana moved through it with practiced ease, her cloak drawn tightly around her. The press of bodies and noise didn’t faze her, but something about the summons she’d received earlier had set her on edge.
As she paused near a jewelry vendor’s stall, a figure in formal attire stepped into her path.
“Are you the White Wolf?” the aide asked, their voice polite but clipped, their gaze sharp.
Ariana nodded slowly, already wary.
“Follow me,” they said, offering no further explanation.
She hesitated, her eyes narrowing slightly, but fell into step behind them as they wound through the narrow streets. The lively chatter of the Bazaar faded into the background, replaced by the hollow sound of her boots on cobblestones. Her instincts prickled as they approached a modest, nondescript building tucked away from the bustling square.
The aide opened the door and gestured for her to enter. “The room at the end of the hallway.”
Ariana crossed the threshold, her tension mounting. This feels too familiar, she thought, her mind flicking back to a similar summons years ago. Pushing the memory aside, she stepped into the corridor, her steps careful, deliberate. The faint scent of wax polish and aged wood lingered in the air, the only sound the soft rustle of her cloak.
Reaching the final door, she paused, her hand hovering over the handle. A part of her wanted to turn back, but curiosity—or perhaps defiance—drove her forward. She pushed the door open.
Her breath caught.
Seated at the table, her serene presence as commanding as ever, was Divine Justinia. The weight of her gaze was like a physical force, and for a moment, Ariana felt rooted to the spot.
“Hello again, White Wolf,” the Divine said, her tone calm and measured.
Ariana’s pulse quickened, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “Not this again,” she muttered, forcing a laugh that was anything but genuine.
Justinia remained composed, her expression betraying no reaction.
“What do you want from me this time?” Ariana demanded, her voice sharp, almost cutting. Reverence, respect—those were things she’d left behind long ago.
The Divine folded her hands neatly on the table, her calm unwavering. “I understand your hesitation, child.”
“Oh, do you?” Ariana snapped, her anger bubbling to the surface. She stepped forward, the intensity of her glare unrelenting. “Were you there the night the Chantry in Kirkwall exploded? Were you there when Meredith invoked the Right of Annulment, slaughtering innocent mages because of something she caused? Did you stand by and watch as she became corrupted by red lyrium, while the Chantry turned a blind eye?”
Justinia’s silence invited her to continue, and she did, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to lose everything because of someone else’s inaction? Because I do. You left us to rot in that cursed city. You failed us.”
The Divine’s expression softened, though she didn’t speak. Her silence, so steady and unflinching, felt like an indictment in itself.
Ariana’s breath hitched, her fists clenching tighter. “I’m not here to play your games. If you want spies who’ll report without acting, find someone else. I’m done being your puppet.”
“Please, Lady Trevelyan,” Justinia said gently, gesturing to the chair across from her. “Sit.”
For a long moment, Ariana didn’t move. Her thoughts were a storm of defiance, bitterness, and exhaustion. But curiosity won out, as it always did. When will I learn? With stiff, deliberate movements, she sat, her posture rigid and her arms folded across her chest.
“I do understand your anger,” the Divine began, her voice softer now, almost sorrowful. “You are right to feel betrayed. We feared intervention would lead to war and failed to see that inaction would lead us down the same path. For that, I am deeply sorry.”
Ariana’s jaw tightened, her nails digging into her palms as the tension in the room thickened. “Sorry doesn’t bring back the people we lost,” she said, her voice low, trembling with the weight of unshed tears. “I sacrificed everything—my life, my family, my future—and for what? To watch Kirkwall burn while you stayed silent?”
She leaned forward, her tone gaining an edge. “And the Order—your precious Templar Order—they’re no better. Corrupt, self-serving, blind to their own failings. You’ve trained them so well they don’t even question the orders they’re given, no matter how wrong they are.”
Her words hung heavy in the air, the weight of years of pain and frustration filling the space between them. For the first time, Ariana noticed the faint flicker of regret in the Divine’s eyes.
“Knight-Commander Cullen seems to be a good sort,” Justinia said after a pause, her voice carefully measured.
The mention of his name was like a blow to the chest. Ariana’s heart twisted painfully, the memory of him—of their last moments together—rushing back like a tidal wave. She forced her expression to remain neutral, but the ache in her chest betrayed her.
“Cullen is a good man, and that just makes my point,” Ariana said, her voice almost hopeful. “He cares, he genuinely believed in the ideals of the Order. He believed in protecting people.” She paused, sighing with resignation. “But he was so well trained by the Order that he never considered taking action against Meredith until it was too late. Even he felt there was nothing he could do. I think he didn’t believe the Order would support him relieving Meredith of command.”
As the words left her mouth, she suddenly realized with startling clarity why Cullen hadn’t acted. Maybe he had been right. Maybe he couldn’t have stopped it.
“Aren’t you engaged to him?” Justinia asked, her tone neutral but her eyes watchful, gauging every flicker of Ariana’s expression.
The single word hit her like a stone, shattering her composure. Ariana’s breath caught, and for a moment, her carefully constructed walls threatened to crumble. She hadn’t allowed herself to think of it that way—not for years. To her, it was something past, something broken beyond repair.
But… wasn’t it true? They had never formally ended their engagement. The last thing she had done was kiss him, and he had kissed her back. The thought surged to the surface before she could stop it, the ache in her chest sharpening.
“You don’t know anything about what happened,” she said sharply, her voice trembling just enough to betray her. She looked away, her gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the window as if the answer might lie there.
The Divine, ever composed, leaned forward slightly. “Forgive me, child, but it seems relevant. You speak of him with such conviction, despite your anger. I wonder if perhaps your feelings are more…complicated than you allow yourself to admit.”
Ariana stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. “Enough,” she said, her voice brittle but resolute. “Why am I here?”
The Divine regarded her for a moment, her serene demeanor unwavering despite Ariana’s outburst. “Because Thedas needs the White Wolf again,” she said softly, her tone calm but carrying an undeniable weight.
Ariana stared at her, the words hanging in the air like a challenge. Her pulse still raced, her emotions still raw, but the fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by something quieter, heavier—resignation, perhaps. Or the faint glimmer of hope she hadn’t yet acknowledged.
~~~
The room had been quiet, the crackle of the hearth the only sound between them.
“On 15 Guardian, a Divine Conclave will be held at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It will bring together the leaders of both the mages and the Templars. We have forty-seven days, Lady Trevelyan, to prepare for what may be the only chance for peace.” Justinia’s tone had been gentle yet resolute, her words carrying the weight of an unspoken urgency.
Ariana’s brow furrowed, skepticism flashing in her hazel-green eyes. “And what does that have to do with me?”
“This time, I need the White Wolf and the Silver Rangers to act not as shadows, but as guardians—a neutral force to maintain peace and prevent violence during the Conclave.”
Ariana scoffed, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair. “That sounds like the Seekers’ job.”
The Divine inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the point with her usual measured grace. “It is. Or rather, it would have been. Most of the Seekers have abandoned the Chantry along with the Templar Order.”
Ariana leaned forward, her arms resting on the table. “So what you’re saying is that you don’t have enough Seekers to secure the Conclave.”
“That is correct,” Justinia admitted without hesitation. “You have the numbers, but more importantly, you have the trust of those who would otherwise not listen. You are not bound to the Chantry, nor the Order. Your neutrality gives you strength in this matter, Lady Trevelyan. That is why I ask this of you.”
Ariana shook her head slowly, a faint, humorless smile curling her lips. “You don’t leave much room to say no, do you, Your Holiness?”
“I leave you all the room you need,” the Divine replied softly but firmly. “But the reality remains: I need the White Wolf and the Silver Rangers to be the force that ensures peace at the Conclave. Without you, the risks of open conflict are far too great.”
Ariana’s jaw tightened, her gaze sharp as she processed the request. “Because the Rangers are neutral, we’re somehow supposed to convince both sides to hold hands and play nice?”
“Not just the Rangers,” Justinia said, her calm tone unshaken. “You.”
Ariana raised an eyebrow, incredulity flickering across her face. “Me?”
The Divine’s expression remained composed. “You inspire trust, Lady Trevelyan. You inspire fear. Both are invaluable when emotions run high, as they surely will at the Conclave.”
“Fear,” Ariana repeated dryly. “That’s your selling point?”
“It is one of them,” Justinia admitted, her tone steady. “But more importantly, you represent what this Conclave seeks to create: a force not beholden to the Chantry or the Order. A true mediator. That is why I need you by my side, standing as a symbol of impartiality and strength.”
Ariana shook her head, letting out a mirthless laugh. “You want me standing in front of a room full of people who’d sooner string me up if they knew half of what I’ve done.”
“Yes,” the Divine replied, her voice unwavering. “Because you are proof that those who have walked in the shadows can still fight for the light. You are what Thedas needs to see—a figure who cannot be swayed by politics or tradition.”
Ariana’s fingers drummed against the table, her mind a storm of conflicting thoughts. And if it all goes wrong? The question gnawed at her. She had seen what happened when fragile truces shattered—Kirkwall’s ruins were a testament to that. She thought of Cullen then, his absence like a wound that refused to heal. The thought that he might have been right, that his inaction wasn’t weakness but wisdom, only deepened her guilt.
Finally, she let out a long sigh, her voice quieter but no less firm. “I’ll take it to them. But don’t mistake this for agreement, Your Holiness. I’ve seen what happens when you try to hold a broken system together. It doesn’t end well.”
The Divine’s faint smile returned, her gratitude almost imperceptible but present. “And yet, here you are, willing to try again.”
Ariana stood, the weight of the Divine’s words settling heavily on her shoulders. “The Temple of Sacred Ashes, then?”
“Yes,” Justinia confirmed with a small nod. She reached into her robes and produced a sealed letter bearing the official crest of the Chantry. Handing it to Ariana, she said, “Show this to anyone who questions your presence or my intentions. It will serve as proof of my words.”
Justinia rose as well, her gaze never leaving Ariana’s. “I will be at Haven until the time of the Conclave. You will find refuge there if you choose to come.”
Ariana brushed the imaginary dust from her cloak as she shifted the Divine’s letter into her coat pocket. “So, to summarize: you’re asking me to be a figurehead, a mediator, a guard, and a backup plan if this whole thing falls apart. Did I miss anything?”
Justinia’s faint smile returned, calm and unshaken. “That is a practical way to view it, yes.”
Ariana let out a short breath, her tone dry but less biting. “Well, it’s good to know I’m still your go-to when you need someone to wade into chaos.”
“You have always been someone who steps forward when others cannot,” Justinia replied gently. “It is why I ask this of you now.”
Ariana paused, her gaze sharpening as she studied the Divine. The room felt colder, heavy with the weight of what had been said—and what hadn’t. “You have a knack for making it sound like I have a choice when we both know I don’t,” she said quietly, her voice carrying an edge of resignation.
“You do have a choice, child,” Justinia replied, her tone unwavering. “I would not have summoned you if I did not trust you to make the right one.”
Ariana huffed softly, shaking her head. “You really know how to make a girl feel indispensable.”
“Only because you are,” Justinia said, her voice steady.
Ariana allowed herself a faint smirk, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll take this to the Rangers. See who volunteers.” Her voice grew quieter, the sarcasm slipping away entirely. “But if this goes wrong… If it turns into another Kirkwall…” She shook her head, trailing off as she glanced toward the door.
The Divine inclined her head. “Then I trust you will do what is necessary, as you always have.”
Ariana’s lips pressed into a thin line, her grip tightening on the edge of her cloak. “No pressure, right?” she muttered under her breath as she turned to leave.
“Ariana,” the Divine called softly, halting her at the door. “Thedas needs you now more than ever. And whether or not you believe it, I do as well.”
The Summer Bazaar buzzed with life, the cold doing little to deter the crowds. Merchants called out, their stalls a chaotic tapestry of vibrant colors and wares, and the scent of roasted chestnuts and fresh bread lingered in the air. Ariana moved through it with practiced ease, her cloak drawn tightly around her. Despite the liveliness around her, the meeting with the Divine lingered heavily in her thoughts, her steps purposeful yet laden with the weight of what she’d been asked to do.
The Divine’s words echoed in her mind: You are what Thedas needs to see—a figure who cannot be swayed by politics or tradition.
She shook her head, her grip tightening on the letter tucked safely in her coat pocket. She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more—the enormity of the task or how easily Justinia had unraveled her defenses. The Divine’s calm certainty had cut through her anger, leaving her with a truth she couldn’t deny: she would step forward. She always did.