22 Guardian – 1 Drakonis 9:41
Ariana woke slowly, her mind sluggish and her body heavy with exhaustion. Her eyelids fluttered open, and the dim light of the room gradually came into focus. Everything felt unfamiliar—strange yet comforting in a way she couldn’t place. She blinked again, her gaze settling on a figure by her bedside.
“Isabel?” she croaked, her voice raw and unsteady, the effort of speaking scraping against her throat.
Isabel turned sharply, her face breaking into a mixture of relief and concern. “Ari, thank the Maker,” she murmured, stepping closer. But before she could say more, the door opened, and an elf girl carrying a box entered.
The girl froze mid-step, her eyes widening as she noticed Ariana stirring. The box slipped from her grasp, clattering noisily to the floor. “I-I didn’t know you were awake!” she stammered, her hands fluttering helplessly. “I swear, I didn’t mean to—”
Ariana raised her hand weakly, trying to reassure her. “It’s… fine,” she managed, though her voice was barely above a whisper.
But instead of calming, the girl dropped to her knees abruptly, her voice trembling. “I beg your forgiveness and your blessing! I’m just a humble servant—please, I didn’t mean to disturb you!”
Ariana blinked, utterly baffled. Her gaze flicked to Isabel, who met her with a resigned sigh and an expression that clearly said, We have a lot to talk about.
The girl scrambled to her feet, eyes darting nervously. “Seeker Pentaghast requests your presence in the Chantry,” she said in a rush, her words tumbling over each other. “With Chancellor Roderick. She said to come at once.” Without waiting for a response, she bolted out the door, the sound of her retreating footsteps echoing in the hall.
“Well, that was… strange,” Ariana muttered, her brow furrowing.
Isabel stepped closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. Without warning, she pulled Ariana into a tight embrace. “Maker’s breath, it’s good to see you awake,” she said softly, her voice thick with relief.
Ariana returned the hug, letting herself sink into the familiar comfort of Isabel’s presence. “How long?” she asked as they pulled apart. “How long was I out this time?”
“Four days,” Isabel said, her tone careful. “Since you closed the Breach. Or, tried to.”
“Tried?” Ariana’s heart sank. “So it’s still open?”
“It’s… contained, for now,” Isabel admitted, her sigh heavy. Her eyes flicked to Ariana’s left hand, where the faint glow of the mark pulsed softly. “But it’s stopped growing, and the mark seems… stable. For now.”
Ariana frowned, staring down at her hand. The mark had brought her nothing but pain and confusion, a constant reminder of everything she had failed to prevent. Her thoughts spiraled, but one concern quickly broke through the haze. “Where’s Emma?” she asked, panic rising in her voice. She shouldn’t be here. Not in Haven. Not in this chaos.
Isabel’s expression softened, her lips curving into an unexpected smile. “She’s safe. With Cullen.”
Ariana’s breath caught at the name. “Cullen?” she echoed, quickly remembering that she had found him. He was alive.
“He’s been looking after her,” Isabel continued, her smile growing. “He’s been reading to her, taking her along on his rounds. You’d think she’d it was her birthday every day the way she lights up around him.”
Ariana swallowed hard, her chest tightening. The image of Cullen and Emma together was both comforting and painful. “What did he tell her about his absence?” she asked, her voice quieter now.
“That it was duty that kept him away,” Isabel said, chuckling softly. “Though I’d say he’s doing everything he can to make up for it now. And Emma… she adores him.”
Ariana nodded, her emotions a tangled mess. She was relieved—grateful, even—but the thought of Cullen with Emma, filling the void he’d left behind, brought an ache she couldn’t quite name. Her fingers reached for the ring on her necklace, finding comfort in it still being there.
Isabel’s keen eyes caught the motion, but she said nothing. Instead, she placed a gentle hand on Ariana’s shoulder. “You should meet Seeker Pentaghast,” she said, gesturing toward the door. “And… don’t be alarmed when you step outside.”
Ariana tilted her head, puzzled, but Isabel offered no further explanation. With a resigned sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Her muscles protested the movement, and her body felt heavier than it should, but she forced herself to push through the discomfort. Quickly dressing, she followed Isabel to the door.
The moment she stepped outside, she froze. Soldiers and townsfolk alike lined the path, their eyes fixed on her with reverence. Some saluted; others knelt, bowing their heads in awe. Whispers rippled through the crowd:
“That’s her… the Herald of Andraste.”
Her jaw tightened, her unease growing with every passing second. Herald? What in the Void is going on? She forced a neutral expression, offering polite nods as she walked past, but the attention made her skin crawl. She caught snippets of desperate pleas and fervent blessings, and it was all she could do not to run back inside.
By the time she reached the Chantry doors, her patience was paper-thin. She walked through the main hall, raised voices echoed from within the room at the end, sharp and heated. She recognized them instantly—Chancellor Roderick and Cassandra.
“…this is madness!” Roderick was shouting. “We must take control of this situation before it spirals further out of hand!”
“Control?” Cassandra’s voice was sharp as steel. “You mean by blaming the one person who might actually save us?”
Ariana sighed, bracing herself. This is going to be fun. With a steadying breath, she pushed the doors open and stepped inside.
~~~
As soon as Ariana stepped into the War Room, Chancellor Roderick’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. “Chain her! I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”
Ariana stopped mid-step, her hands twitching at her sides as she resisted the urge to reach for daggers that weren’t there. “Still a prisoner, I see,” she said, her tone dry but laced with defiance.
“Disregard that and leave us,” Cassandra barked at the two Templars flanking Roderick. They exchanged uneasy glances but obeyed, saluting before exiting the room.
“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” Roderick said, his words dripping with disdain.
Cassandra crossed her arms, unyielding. “The Breach is stable, but it remains a threat. I will not ignore it.”
Ariana stepped forward, her voice cutting through the tension. “Am I still a suspect? After nearly dying to close it?”
“You absolutely are—” Roderick began, his face reddening, but Cassandra cut him off sharply.
“Not,” Cassandra said firmly. “The Herald did what she could to close the Breach. I heard the voices in the Temple. Most Holy called out to her.”
“But someone caused the explosion,” Leliana interjected smoothly, stepping into the conversation. “Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they perished with the others—or perhaps they have allies who yet live.” Her sharp gaze flicked to Roderick, her words deliberate and biting.
The Chancellor recoiled slightly, his confidence faltering. “I am a suspect?” he asked, his tone incredulous.
“You and many others,” Leliana said, her calm delivery laced with the weight of her scrutiny.
“But not the pris—” Roderick started again, only for Ariana to interrupt, her patience fraying.
“It’s Lady Ariana Trevelyan to you, Chancellor,” she snapped, her voice precise and icy. “Daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick. My family’s support of the Chantry is no secret. I’d suggest you begin showing the respect due to my station—or at least some manners.”
Roderick’s face flushed with indignation, his anger barely contained. “This is not for you to decide!” he spat, turning back to Cassandra.
Without a word, Cassandra slammed a heavy tome onto the table, the sound reverberating through the chamber like a hammer on an anvil. The insignia of the Watchful Eye—Visus—adorned its cover.
“Do you know what this is, Chancellor?” Cassandra demanded, her voice tight with restrained fury. “A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, find those responsible, and restore order.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with finality. Roderick stared at her, his face a mask of alarm and barely contained rage, before turning on his heel and storming out of the room.
Ariana watched him go, her expression carefully neutral, though her mind raced. An Inquisition. The Inquisition. A spark of something stirred within her, something she hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t hope—it was resolve. She had studied the Inquisition of Old, admired their boldness in the face of chaos. And Visus had guided her through her darkest moments. The memory of Cullen placing the book in her hands for her seventeenth birthday flickered in her mind—how he’d smiled and said, “ I thought these might interest you.” Seeing it now felt like fate pulling her back toward something inevitable.
As the doors closed, Ariana turned to Cassandra, arching an eyebrow. “So, you’ve changed your mind about me then?”
Cassandra met her gaze, her shoulders softening slightly. “I was wrong,” she admitted, her words slow but sincere. “Perhaps I still am. But I cannot deny that you were exactly what we needed when we needed it.”
The admission caught Ariana off guard, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. How often does Cassandra Pentaghast admit she’s wrong? The weight of it surprised her, and she felt an unexpected flicker of respect for the Seeker.
“So… an Inquisition,” Ariana said slowly, the weight of the word settling over her. “As in, the Inquisition of Old?”
“It was the Divine’s directive,” Leliana said, her voice quieter now but no less resolute. “To find those who will stand with us against the chaos. But this is not like the Inquisition of old. We have no leader, no army, and now no support from the Chantry.”
“We have no choice,” Cassandra said, her voice firm. “We must act now—with you at our side,” she added, her gaze steady on Ariana.
Ariana blinked, surprised by the earnestness in Cassandra’s tone. Just weeks ago, she had been leading the Silver Rangers with clear purpose. Now, everything was upended. She thought of Kirkwall, of the Breach, of the people who whispered “Herald” and looked to her as if she could save them. The White Wolf didn’t falter. If this was her path, so be it.
“I’ll do it,” she said finally, her voice steady despite the weight of her decision. “If you are truly trying to restore order. One last time. You have my support—and that of any Silver Rangers who remain.”
Cassandra’s lips twitched into a brief, genuine smile. She extended her hand, and Ariana hesitated only for a moment before clasping it.
“Then the Inquisition is reborn,” Cassandra said, her tone resolute.
Ariana glanced at the others in the room, the weight of their gazes pressing down on her. This is a new path, she thought. Let’s hope it doesn’t end like the last one.
~~~
Cullen stepped into the War Room alongside Josephine, his gaze instinctively drawn to Ariana. She stood near the table, deep in conversation with Leliana. Her posture was straight, her movements deliberate, but Cullen could see the tension lingering beneath the surface.
“You seem to know quite a bit about the Inquisition’s history,” Leliana remarked, her tone more curious than accusatory.
Ariana offered a faint smile, though there was a wistful undertone to it. “My father and I used to spend hours poring over old texts and stories. Legends, myths, history—he made it all come alive. It was our way of finding peace in… everything else.” Her gaze momentarily drifted, a flicker of warmth breaking through the exhaustion on her face.
Cullen felt a small, unexpected pang in his chest. The way she spoke about her father brought back memories of the times he’d seen that same spark of passion in her before. That spark, buried under years of pain and responsibility, was something he hadn’t realized he missed until now.
“I could hear Chancellor Roderick from across Haven as he left the Chantry,” Cullen said, his smirk faint but deliberate as he glanced toward Cassandra. “I take it he was not pleased?”
“Bureaucrats,” Cassandra muttered with a visible grimace, her frustration clear.
Ariana chuckled softly, the sound cutting through the tension like a cool breeze. Leliana, ever perceptive, seized the moment and gestured gracefully toward Josephine. “I don’t believe you’ve met Lady Montilyet, our ambassador. And… I believe you know Commander Cullen, our military leader.”
Ariana chuckled softly, the sound lightening the atmosphere for a brief moment. Leliana, seizing the opportunity, gestured to Josephine. “I don’t believe you’ve met Lady Montilyet yet, Lady Trevelyan.”
Ariana turned toward Josephine, inclining her head politely. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”
Josephine smiled warmly. “You are the talk of Haven, Herald.” she interrupted.
Ariana’s posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, but Cullen caught it. The easy humor in her expression faded as quickly as it had come. “Herald?” she repeated, her tone guarded. She forced a polite smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just Ariana, or Wolf will do. Lady Trevelyan if we’re being formal, but please, not Herald.” Her words came faster, sharper. “I’ve sufficient titles already. I don’t need to add more. Besides, no one’s actually explained why I’m suddenly Andraste’s chosen.”
“There was a woman in the rift behind you,” Leliana said gently, her voice measured. “Many believe it was Andraste herself.”
“Maker help me…” Ariana muttered under her breath, lowering her gaze. Her hand drifted to her hair, fingers threading through it in a rare moment of visible frustration. She exhaled slowly, her voice low and tinged with exasperation. “And what proof do they have beyond a vision none of us understand?”
Josephine stepped forward, her tone soothing. “It is not proof they seek, Lady Trevelyan. It is hope. The people are frightened, and they see you as a sign of salvation.”
Ariana’s jaw tightened as she looked away. Cullen’s attention lingered on her. To most in the room, she might have seemed merely irritable, her sarcasm a shield. But to him, it was more than that. She was uncomfortable in ways she couldn’t yet voice, and her movements betrayed it.
She rubbed her left ring finger with her right hand, the motion subtle but deliberate. It might have looked like idle fidgeting, but Cullen knew better. Ariana rarely fidgeted. When she did, it was usually the hem of her cloak or the edge of her sleeve. This movement was focused, almost meditative.
Cullen watched her for a moment, and then watched as her hand slid up to her chest, grasping something underneath her scarf. She had removed the ring. Likely, attached it to her necklace. But why?
“I should leave you to it,” Ariana said suddenly, straightening as though bracing herself. Her voice was steady, but Cullen could hear the undercurrent of weariness. “The Inquisition’s leaders have work to do, and I…” She hesitated, exhaling a soft laugh that carried more self-deprecation than humor. “I need to go tell the Rangers what I just signed them up for. For the third time.”
Leliana gave her a small nod, but Cullen took a step forward. “Ariana.” His voice was quiet but firm, and she turned to meet his gaze.
For a moment, the world seemed to fade around them. Cullen opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. What could he say now? That she didn’t have to carry this weight alone? That she could still rely on him after all this time?
Her eyes searched his face, and he saw something in them—a flicker of trust, of longing—before she forced a smile and nodded. “I’ll be fine, Commander.”
I can’t let you carry this alone. Not this time.
~~~
The doors of the Chantry shut behind Ariana with a quiet thud, the sound swallowed by the biting mountain air. She lingered for a moment, the chill sinking into her bones, but it did little to smother the fire of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Guilt, frustration, and doubt churned beneath the surface, clawing at her composure.
Riley might actually kill me this time.
The thought was fleeting, a desperate attempt to stave off the heaviness pressing on her chest. She exhaled slowly, watching her breath curl and vanish in the frigid air.
“Wolf!”
The voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, sharp and unmistakable. Her head snapped toward it, and relief surged through her like a tide. Riley stood a few paces away, her frame solid and unyielding as ever. Ariana didn’t think—she moved, crossing the distance between them in a heartbeat and pulling Riley into a fierce embrace.
“I thought you were dead,” she murmured, her voice breaking enough to betray the raw edge of her emotions.
Riley stiffened briefly but returned the hug, her tone carefully neutral. “What would make you think that?”
Ariana stepped back, straightening her posture, though the vulnerability lingered in her gaze. “Because I woke up with this on my hand,” she said, holding up her marked palm, the faint green glow pulsing ominously, “and without you in sight. I assumed the worst.”
“Well, someone had to keep the demons off your back while you napped,” Riley quipped, her smirk faint but deliberate. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Despite herself, Ariana let out a quiet laugh. “Maker’s breath, remind me why I keep you around?”
“Because I’m the only one who’ll tell you when you’re being a damn fool.”
The banter carried them toward the tavern, but the levity felt fragile, like glass threatening to shatter. As they settled at a table, the flickering firelight illuminated the lines of exhaustion etched into their faces.
Isabel joined them, her expression grim as they reviewed the numbers. The list was stark and merciless.
“Eighty-seven Rangers gone,” Ariana murmured, her voice hollow. She stared into her glass as though it might offer answers.
“Fifty at the Temple,” Riley confirmed, her voice low but steady. “The rest holding the line while you tried to close the Breach.”
The words cut deep, and Ariana clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the glass. Eighty-seven. The number echoed in her mind, heavy and unforgiving. She had never lost so many in one mission—not even close. The Rangers were supposed to protect, to endure, to survive. This wasn’t survival.
Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to speak, her voice low but firm. “Isabel, arrange proper funerals for those we can recover. Riley, send scouts to retrieve any personal effects for their families.”
Isabel hesitated, her tone careful but questioning. “Are those our priorities right now?”
“They deserve better,” Ariana said sharply. “They gave their lives for this.”
Riley’s gaze hardened, her arms crossing over her chest. “And what about the rest of us?” she asked, her tone cutting. “Are we going home after this, or are we signing up for more suicide missions?”
Ariana’s silence spoke volumes. Riley leaned back in her chair, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered. “You signed us up, didn’t you?”
Ariana met her gaze head-on, her expression steady but weary. “The Inquisition needs us.”
Riley’s fist hit the table with a dull thud, drawing glances from nearby patrons. “Damn it, Wolf! We just lost nearly a hundred people. Eighty-seven Rangers who trusted you to bring them home.” Her voice rose, thick with anger and grief. “This isn’t like our other jobs. It’s not just another contract or favor to the Divine. This… this is madness.”
Ariana’s chair scraped loudly as she stood, her composure fraying. “Yes, it’s madness,” she snapped, her voice sharp. “But turning our backs now would make every one of those deaths meaningless. I didn’t ask for this mark, Riley, and I sure as hell didn’t ask to lose them. But if we don’t fight this, we lose everything. Kirkwall taught me that.”
The name hung heavily in the air, silencing Riley for a moment. The weight of Ariana’s words settled like stones between them, each one sharp and unyielding.
Finally, Ariana drew a steadying breath, her tone softening but losing none of its resolve. “I won’t force anyone to stay. Put it to the Rangers. Those who want to leave can go home. But I’m seeing this through.”
As she turned toward the door, her steps faltered briefly. Cullen stood just beyond the threshold, his gaze meeting hers. He hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, but the tension in the air held him in place.
“Sorry,” Ariana muttered as she brushed past him, her walls snapping back into place.
At the door, she paused, gesturing to her makeshift gear. “And someone get me my armor. I’m done with this nonsense.” Her voice carried a faint note of humor, but her stride was steady as she disappeared into the night.
The door swung shut, leaving Riley, Isabel, and Cullen in tense silence.
“She’s going to get us all killed,” Riley muttered darkly, her voice low.
Cullen’s gaze lingered on the door, his thoughts a quiet storm. No, she’ll break herself before she lets that happen.
~~~
Over the next few days, the Inquisition’s leaders busied themselves with the monumental task of beginning preparations: sending out communications, organizing their ranks, and gathering allies. Haven buzzed with activity as soldiers, scholars, and scouts worked tirelessly under the leadership of Cassandra, Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine.
Meanwhile, Isabel and Riley dedicated their efforts to the funeral preparations—a task that initially drew some confused glances from other members of the Inquisition. Riley had posed a single question to all the remaining Silver Rangers: would they stay and ally with the Inquisition, or return home to continue regular Ranger business? To the surprise of nearly everyone except Riley and Isabel, every single Ranger chose to stay. Not a single soul even hesitated. To a man, they reaffirmed their commitment to the White Wolf and their shared mission.
Isabel took charge of arranging the funeral, selecting a quiet area near the lake just outside Haven’s walls. Together, the Rangers built pyres and prepared their fallen comrades with care and reverence. On the night of the funeral, all surviving Rangers gathered by the lakeshore, led by Ariana. The flames of the pyres reflected in their solemn expressions as they paid their respects to the eighty-seven who had fallen. This was not just a goodbye to comrades—it was a testament to their unity and their belief in their cause.
The scene had a ripple effect. Soldiers and townsfolk began approaching Isabel and Riley, asking if they could organize funerals for their own lost loved ones. Isabel readily agreed, helping wherever she could. This simple act—caring for the dead and honoring their sacrifices—created a wave of respect throughout Haven. Slowly but surely, those who had doubted the Rangers began to see them in a new light. These weren’t just mercenaries or hired swords. They were a force of people who cared deeply, who fought for more than gold or glory.
Even Cullen, who had long harbored a natural distrust of mercenaries, found himself rethinking his stance as he observed the Rangers. Their loyalty, discipline, and compassion for their fallen comrades was undeniable. She was right all along, he thought, unable to deny the evidence in front of him. These were not brigands; they were heroes in their own right. They answered to her, and she had molded them into a reflection of herself. They shared her values.
That night, Haven was alive with a rare and much-needed celebration of life. The Rangers and the people of Haven, honored their fallen by telling stories, laughing through tears, and toasting to their memories. It was a bittersweet gathering—a moment of unity amidst the chaos.
Cullen, however, took a walk to clear his thoughts. His steps were instinctive, leading him along the lake. His breath misted in the cold air, and the faint sound of laughter and music drifted from the village square. The thoughts of the past week lingered. The Conclave, the attempt to seal the breach, all those lost, the war… but more than anything his thoughts keep drifting to Ariana.
She had been quieter since the funeral. The strength she showed in front of the Rangers was still there, but Cullen had seen the cracks beneath her armor. She was carrying something heavier than grief, and it gnawed at him.
As he rounded the corner near the front gates, he spotted her perched atop the wall near one of the Mabari statues, her silhouette illuminated by the faint light of the moon. She leaned against the stone, her figure still and quiet, but her hand moved absently, fingers brushing the ring on her necklace.
The ring, Cullen thought, his chest tightening. She had been wearing it at the Conclave, yet now it hung from her neck. Why had she taken it off? His mind spiraled with possibilities, each more unsettling than the last.
Hiding in plain sight again, he thought, smiling briefly at the memory.
“Is Andraste’s Herald finding more comfort in Andraste’s Mabari tonight?” he called softly, his voice carrying just enough warmth to break through the stillness.
Ariana flinched, startled. “Cullen,” she said, her voice soft but strained. “I didn’t hear you.”
He stepped closer, his boots crunching in the snow. “You’ve been spending a lot of time up here,” he remarked gently. “It’s becoming a habit.”
“Mabaris are reliable companions, I hear,” she replied, her attempt at humor faltering as she looked away.
The vulnerability in her posture tugged at something deep in Cullen’s chest. In Kirkwall, she would have met him with a sharp grin, deflecting his concern with ease. Now, there was no deflection, only the weight of her grief pressing down on her.
“Why don’t you come down here and talk about it?” he offered gently, his tone leaving no room for pretense. He knew she’d been crying and didn’t want her to feel ashamed of it.
Her fingers stilled against the ring, and for a moment, he thought she might refuse. But then she sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion, and pushed herself off the ledge. She landed softly on the snow-covered stairs, her movements as fluid as ever, but Cullen couldn’t stop himself from stepping forward, his hand brushing her arm.
“Maker’s breath, Ariana,” he muttered. “One of these days—”
“I could break an ankle,” she interrupted, her lips quirking into a faint smile. “I know.”
Cullen chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. “You could at least pretend to be careful.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” she teased, though her voice lacked its usual spark.
Cullen chuckled, shaking his head in defeat. “Walk with me?” he finally asked after a few moments, offering his arm.
Ariana didn’t say anything. She simply nodded once, taking his arm and falling into step beside him.
As they walked, silence stretched between them. “They’re dead because of me,” she said finally, motioning to the parchment in her hand. Her voice barely above a whisper.
Cullen’s gaze snapped back to her, his brow furrowing. “You can’t believe that,” he said firmly.
She laughed bitterly, a sound that made his chest ache. “Fifty Rangers at the Temple, gone. Thirty-seven more holding the line while I—” She faltered, gesturing toward her glowing hand. “While I failed to close the Breach.”
“They followed you because they believed in you,” Cullen countered, keeping his tone steady. “They chose to stand with you, knowing the risks.”
As they reached the edge of the settlement Ariana stepped toward the ledge, crouching down looking out to the lake.
“Many of them were your men…” her voice trailed off knowing what the implication was. Ariana hesitated for a moment before handing him the parchment without a word.
“My–” Cullen’s mind raced with what she meant. Cullen unrolled the parchment, his eyes scanning the names, his heart sinking as he recognized several. The defectors from Kirkwall. He knelt down next to her trying to meet her gaze “They were still with you? They stayed with the Rangers?”
Ariana nodded, but couldn’t meet his gaze, and Cullen could see the guilt she was carrying, the tears that were gathering in her eyes. “I needed Templars at the Conclave. Or so I told myself. If I was going to try to maintain order between mages and Templars.”
Cullen had known Templars had defected when the transports were intercepted, but he assumed they had simply left everything about the Order behind. He never imagined that they had not only joined the Rangers but remained with them all these years.
“Those men joined the Rangers because they wanted to help people,” Her shoulders tensed, and she took a shaky breath. “And now they’re gone.” Her voice broke, her arms wrapping tightly around herself. “How many more, Cullen? How many more will die because of me?”
He leaned in closer to her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. “They didn’t die because of you,” he said softly. “They died fighting for something they believed in. You gave them that purpose, Ari.”
She shook her head, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s not enough.”
Cullen’s jaw tightened, his eyes searching hers. “It will never feel like enough,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it.”
Her gaze met his, and for a moment, he saw the cracks in her walls, the pain she tried so hard to hide. She pressed her lips together tightly, shaking her head as though trying to force the emotions away. Then the tears came, silent and unbidden, slipping down her cheeks and a small, broken sound escaped her.
Cullen didn’t hesitate. He pulled her into his arms, his hold firm but gentle. She stiffened briefly, but then her defenses crumbled, and she clung to him, her fingers gripping his tunic as though he were her lifeline.
“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. “You’re not alone, Ari. You’ll never be alone.”
Her sobs wracked her body, but Cullen held her tighter, his hand cradling the back of her head. He didn’t offer empty reassurances or promises. He simply stayed, letting her lean on him, letting her know without words that he wouldn’t leave her side.
When her sobs finally began to slow, Cullen felt her weight settle against him, her breathing still uneven but steadier now. She let out a long, trembling exhale, her grip on his tunic loosening slightly but not letting go entirely. “Will you stay a while?” she whispered.
Your betrothed will need you in the days to come.
Cullen brushed a stray tear from her cheek, his touch lingering for a moment. “As long as you need me,” he said softly, the weight of the word carrying everything he couldn’t yet say.
Ariana’s fingers tightened briefly against his tunic again at his words, and for a moment, she looked up at him. Her gaze was still tearful, but there was something else there too—an unspoken plea. Cullen didn’t press, though the intensity of her gaze left his breath catching. Instead, he offered her a small, reassuring smile and stayed where he was, letting her rest against him.
They sat in silence for a while, the cold forgotten as the warmth of their shared grief and resolve surrounded them. For now, that was enough.
~~~
Sleep eluded Ariana that night, her mind a tempest of grief, guilt, and tangled emotions. Having Cullen near again after so long brought everything rushing back to the surface. Years had passed since they last spoke, yet the moment she saw him, it was as if no time had passed. The ease with which they had fought together by the rift—the silent understanding, the synchronization in every move—had been effortless, natural. Slipping into his arms had been just as natural.
But now, when everything felt fragile and uncertain, she didn’t know if she deserved the solace she found in him. And yet… just hours ago, she had collapsed into his arms, and he had held her. Not as a Commander comforting the Herald of Andraste, but as Cullen. As the man who had once been hers. “As long as you need me,” he had said. Did he still mean it?
She reached for the other side of the bed as if hoping to find him there, only to withdraw her hand sharply. The emptiness was unbearable. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to admit the truth: she would not find peace unless he was there to hold her.
Unbidden, memories surged—stolen moments in Kirkwall, quiet nights filled with laughter and confessions, the warmth of his hand against hers, the way his gaze could silence every storm within her. She had always hoped they would get another chance, and here he was. He had been looking for her, writing a letter she didn’t get until she thought it was too late. His letter said he wanted to mend what was broken. But could they?
Her chest tightened, and she shifted restlessly beneath the blanket, her hand brushing against her ring. She had seen Cullen glance at her hand earlier, searching for it. He’d tried not to let it show, but she had caught the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. Did he still expect her to wear the ring? Did he want her to?
Ariana’s gaze fell to her left hand, studying it in the moonlight. The mark didn’t seem to affect anything else, and for now, it was stable. She hesitated only a moment before reaching for her necklace, unclasping it and sliding the ring from its cord. Slowly, she slipped it back onto her finger.
I vowed to find him, to get him back, she thought. And I did. He’s alive, safe, and here. I can’t waste time anymore, letting years pass by in doubt. Not after the Conclave. Not after all we’ve lost.
But was she being selfish? The Inquisition, the Breach, the mark—it was all bigger than them. Her desires felt petty compared to the weight of the world. And yet, if there was even a chance… If I’m going to risk everything, why not this too?
The next morning arrived too soon. Ariana rose, exhaustion hidden behind practiced composure, though the shadows beneath her eyes betrayed her sleepless night. She adjusted her coat with mechanical precision, pushing through the heaviness weighing her down. She hadn’t yet finished buckling her boots when a messenger arrived, summoning her to the Chantry.
The walk through Haven was brisk, the cold air biting against her skin. Snow crunched beneath her boots as she approached the War Room. Cassandra was already waiting at the steps, her posture tense.
“Does it trouble you?” Cassandra asked, her sharp eyes flicking to Ariana’s hand, which brushed against her coat absently.
“Not really,” Ariana replied, glancing at the faint green glow of the mark. “The pain is gone, at least. Now it just… tingles.”
“Well, the mark—and the Breach—are stable for now,” Cassandra responded. “Solas believes that with enough power, a second attempt to seal it will succeed. The same power used to open the Breach in the first place.”
Ariana raised an eyebrow. “What harm could there be in throwing even more power at something we barely understand?”
To her surprise, Cassandra chuckled softly. “Hold on to that humor. You’ll need it.”
As they entered the War Room, the other leaders were already gathered—Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine. Ariana’s gaze darted briefly to Cullen, and she couldn’t help the faint smile that crossed her lips. He had been there for her when she needed him most, letting her break down without judgment. The memory left her both comforted and aching.
“I believe you’ve met everyone here, albeit briefly,” Cassandra began. Her tone was businesslike, though camaraderie lingered beneath her words. “Commander Cullen will oversee the Inquisition’s forces, Lady Josephine Montilyet is our ambassador and chief diplomat, and Leliana serves as spymaster.”
Ariana smirked, leaning lightly against the doorway. “Quite the collection of titles,” she remarked. “And here I thought I had enough of my own.”
Cullen’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. “And now you can add ‘Herald of Andraste’ to your list,” he said, his tone teasing.
Her smirk softened into something more guarded. “You too, then?”
“I think you’ll find you can’t avoid it,” he replied simply, though his tone carried a reassuring note.
Before she could respond, Leliana’s sharp voice cut in. “Let’s focus on what comes next, shall we?”
The meeting quickly devolved into bickering. Cullen and Leliana were at odds, their arguments punctuated by Cassandra’s attempts to mediate. Ariana stood at the edge of the room, her arms crossed as frustration boiled beneath her calm exterior.
“Magic is what created the Breach,” Cassandra said firmly. “We need magic to close it.”
“Or pouring more magic into it could destroy us all,” Cullen countered, his voice edged with tension.
Ariana raised a hand lightly, cutting into the rising tension. “Much as I enjoy watching all of you debate my fate, I’d prefer if we reached a decision without the bickering.”
Josephine interjected smoothly, her diplomatic tone easing the edges of the conversation. “Unfortunately, neither the mages nor Templars are willing to speak with us. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition—” her gaze shifted to Ariana, “and you, specifically.”
Ariana sighed, her wry humor surfacing despite the frustration. “That didn’t take long.”
Josephine nodded gravely. “It limits our options. Approaching either group is currently out of the question.”
“There may be another way,” Leliana said. “A Chantry cleric, Mother Giselle, has requested to speak with you. She is well-regarded and could help sway those who might otherwise turn against us.”
Ariana glanced at the spymaster, her expression skeptical. “And why would a Chantry cleric help someone they’ve branded a heretic?”
“She is… different from most,” Leliana replied with a faint smile. “Her assistance could prove invaluable.”
Ariana straightened, brushing imaginary dust from her coat. “Very well. I’ll speak with her. Let’s hope she’s as reasonable as you say.”
“You’ll find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe,” Leliana added.
At the doorway, Ariana paused, glancing back with a wry grin. “Try not to tear each other apart while I’m gone. I’d hate to return and find the Breach isn’t the only mess I need to clean up.”
Her remark drew a chuckle from Leliana and a faint smirk from Josephine. Cullen let out a resigned sigh, while Cassandra merely shook her head, muttering under her breath as Ariana strode out the door.
~~~
Cullen had thought himself prepared for anything when Ariana stepped into the War Room, but the sight of her made his breath catch. She was clad in a new set of armor—sleek yet practical, the dark leather intricately stitched with subtle embroidery that caught the light just enough to draw the eye. The blue and red accents complemented her figure without compromising functionality, and the cloak draped over her shoulders gave her a regal, commanding air. She moved with practiced confidence, her head held high, her gaze sharp and unwavering.
But it wasn’t just the armor that caught his attention. The scarf she often wore was gone, leaving her necklace—and the familiar pendant engraved with the Visus constellation—clearly visible against her skin. Cullen’s chest tightened as his the ring was no longer next to it. It was gone.
The realization hit him harder than he expected. Where is it? he wondered. His mind raced with possibilities, but the gloves she wore made it impossible to tell if the ring had returned to its rightful place on her finger. She had been wearing it when he found her at the Temple. He couldn’t stop himself from hoping, foolish as it might be, that she had put it back on. But what would that even mean? Did she still believe in what they had? Did she still want what they had promised each other so long ago?
As the others spoke, Cullen struggled to stay focused. Words swirled around him—strategies, alliances, supplies—but his thoughts remained fixed on Ariana. Every glance he stole toward her made his heart ache. You need to focus, he told himself, clenching his jaw. Yet the gnawing distraction lingered.
When Ariana finally left the War Room, Cullen forced himself to stay behind. He picked up a report, but the words blurred on the page. Cassandra was speaking, her tone clipped as she debated with Leliana, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Minutes passed, yet the weight in his chest only grew heavier. Finally, unable to resist any longer, he excused himself, ignoring Leliana’s raised eyebrow as he stepped out into main hall.
Once outside, he scanned the courtyard, his breath visible in the icy air. He spotted her near the edge of Haven, the fur-lined edges of her cloak brushing the snow as she walked. Cullen ran after her, hesitating for a moment, unsure of what to say, but the thought of her walking away, of losing this chance, pushed him forward.
“Ariana,” he called, his voice steadier than he felt.
She turned, her expression softening as she saw him. “Cullen,” she greeted, her tone light but tinged with curiosity. “Was there something you needed?”
For a moment, Cullen could see the weariness in her stride, the faint shadows beneath her eyes—he saw it all. She hadn’t slept. She was carrying everything: the weight of the Breach, the loss of her people, the accusations of heresy. She carried it as if it all rested solely on her shoulders. He wished more than anything that she would let him help. Let him bear this burden with her.
He approached slowly, his hands instinctively gripping the edges of his coat. “I just… please be careful,” he said, though even he could hear the awkwardness in his tone. “Reports indicate the Hinterlands are… unstable right now.”
Ariana raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Luckily I live there, so I think I’ll manage. Was that all?”
Cullen faltered, his gaze flickering to her necklace again. The absence of the ring gnawed at him, but he forced himself to look away. “I—” He cleared his throat, his mind scrambling for a better excuse. “While you’re in the Hinterlands, see if you can find Horsemaster Dennet. We could use better horses for the Inquisition.”
Her lips curved into a knowing smile, and she stepped closer, tilting her head slightly. “Horses for the Inquisition?” she repeated, her voice teasing but gentle.
Cullen opened his mouth to reply, but the words caught in his throat. The intensity of her gaze, the way she seemed to see right through him, left him momentarily frozen. Before he could compose himself, Ariana leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek.
“Anything for you,” she murmured, her breath warm against his skin. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, her cloak billowing slightly in the wind.
Cullen stood there, rooted to the spot, his hand absently brushing the spot where her lips had touched. The ache in his chest eased slightly, replaced by a fragile, flickering hope. Maybe it isn’t foolish after all, he thought, watching her disappear into the distance.