14 – 28 Drakonis 9:41
The following morning, the Chantry square seethed with unrest. Mages and Templars faced off like predators circling each other, their shouts a discordant symphony of anger and fear. Ariana arrived as Cullen stood between them, his presence commanding despite the tension in his shoulders.
“Enough!” His voice cut through the uproar like a blade, silencing even the most heated arguments. But Ariana could see the strain in his stance, the faint telltale signs of a man carrying more weight than one person should.
Hovering nearby, Chancellor Roderick looked every inch the self-satisfied vulture, his tone oily and sanctimonious. “This is precisely why proper authority is needed. The Inquisition lacks the legitimacy to manage such… disorder.”
Cullen turned to him, his patience visibly thinning. “Proper authority? Who, you? Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the Conclave?”
Roderick’s face turned a mottled red. “The rebel Inquisition and its so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’? I think not.”
Ariana stepped forward, her smile as sharp as her daggers. “We’re not so bad. About as functional as any young family.” Her quip earned the faintest twitch of a smile from Cullen, though Roderick’s expression remained stony.
“How many families are on the verge of splitting into open warfare with themselves?” Roderick snapped.
Ariana chuckled. “I take it you’ve never spent much time around nobility, Chancellor.” She folded her arms, her tone light but with an undercurrent of challenge. “If you had, you’d know the answer is quite a high number.”
Cullen stifled a laugh, meeting her gaze with a flicker of amusement.
“So far, Chancellor, you’re the only one insisting we can’t work together,” Ariana continued, her words steady and edged with subtle daring.
“We might, if your Inquisition would recognize the Chantry’s authority,” Roderick replied self-righteously.
Ariana tilted her head, her tone turning sharp. “Right, because Chantry authority worked so well last time… Remind me, Commander”—she glanced at Cullen, one brow arched—“why are you allowing the Chancellor to stay?”
Roderick bristled, his voice cracking like a whip. “Clearly your Templar knows where to draw the line… unlike you.”
Her irritation flared, her words cutting and deliberate. “My Templar,” she said, her voice cold and biting, “is the Commander of the Inquisition. And he is the only one here trying to maintain order—something you seem determined to undermine at every turn.”
Cullen blinked at her vehemence but stepped forward, a steady presence at her side.
Ariana wasn’t finished. She turned her full attention to Roderick, her gaze unrelenting. “You should be grateful he’s the one in charge and not me. He’s far more patient than I would ever be.”
Roderick’s mouth opened and closed before he managed, “You should accept trial in Val Royeaux for your part in this. If you are truly innocent, the Chantry will establish it so.”
Cullen, his tone low and steely, cut in. “Or will be happy to use someone as a scapegoat. I will not risk that.”
Ariana stilled, the words striking deeper than she expected. I, not we. It wasn’t a mistake, she realized. It was deliberate—an unspoken promise wrapped in steel. For all the distance and unspoken pain between them, Cullen’s resolve to protect her was unshaken.
Her chest tightened, not with guilt this time, but with something warmer, something that almost scared her more. She didn’t deserve the lengths he’d go to, not after everything she’d hidden from him. Yet he stood there, unyielding, his focus on her as if the rest of the square had disappeared.
Roderick spluttered, taken aback. “You think no one cares about the truth? We all grieve Justinia’s loss!”
Cullen scoffed, his words laced with cold disbelief. “But you won’t grieve if the Herald of Andraste is swept under the carpet.”
He turned to Ariana, his voice softening, the words meant more for her than Roderick. “He’s toothless. But he’s a preview of what you’ll face in Val Royeaux. Be careful.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the chaos around them faded. She caught the quiet gratitude in his expression, and her lips curved into a faint smirk. “Don’t let anyone riot while we’re gone.”
Cullen straightened, his tone turning brisk again. “I’ll keep the peace here while you meet with the Chantry. The walls will still be standing when you return. I hope.”
As he turned to leave, Ariana reached for his arm, stopping him mid-step. She moved closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper, meant only for him. “I don’t much care about the walls. I’d prefer you were still standing.”
Cullen hesitated, his expression softening. For a heartbeat, he seemed to weigh a response before offering her a faint, genuine smile. “I’ll do my best.”
He inclined his head and strode back toward the restless crowd, his voice rising again to bring order to the fray.
Ariana watched him go, her thoughts lingering. He wasn’t just the steadfast Commander of the Inquisition. He was hers. And no one—not a sanctimonious Chancellor, not the Chantry, not even the Maker Himself—would ever convince her he was anything less than the man Thedas needed. Now she just needed to convince him of that.
~~~
Ariana, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas arrived in Val Royeaux just over a week after leaving Haven. The city’s gleaming towers reflected the late morning sun, their beauty dulled by the undercurrent of unease that seemed to saturate the air. The streets bustled with activity, but the furtive glances and hurried whispers set Ariana’s teeth on edge.
As they passed through the gates, a couple recoiled at the sight of them, murmuring behind their hands before scurrying away.
“Well, that’s a reaction I don’t encounter often,” Ariana quipped, forcing a wry smile. She tried to brush it off, but the memory of their distrust lingered, gnawing at her confidence.
“Just a guess, Seeker,” Varric drawled, his tone dry as parchment, “but I think they’ve figured out who we are.”
Cassandra didn’t dignify him with a full response, her sharp gaze scanning the streets. “Your skills of observation never fail to astound me, Varric.”
The light banter dissipated as they reached the market gates. An Inquisition scout hurried forward, her expression tight with worry. She offered a quick salute before speaking in a hushed tone. “Lady Herald, the Chantry mothers await you inside… but so do a great many templars.”
“Templars?” Cassandra’s brows knit together, suspicion flickering in her voice. “What are they doing here?”
The scout hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. “People believe the templars will protect them—from the Inquisition. They’ve gathered on the other side of the market. I think that’s where they intend to meet you.”
Varric folded his arms. “Think they’re here to burn the heretics at the stake? You know, tidy things up?”
Cassandra shook her head, her tone low with disbelief. “I know Lord Seeker Lucius. I cannot imagine him coming to the Chantry’s aid—not after everything.”
Ariana squared her shoulders, the easy confidence in her voice masking her own apprehension. “Only one way to find out.”
Cassandra hesitated, her gaze flicking to Ariana. “Perhaps Leliana and Cullen were right. This may be too dangerous.”
“Or,” Ariana countered, her voice firm, “this is the opportunity we need to bring the templars to our side.” She turned to the scout. “Return to Haven. If we’re delayed, let the others know.”
The scout nodded, disappearing into the crowd as the group pushed through the gates and into the market.
The square was a cacophony of voices, tension crackling like a storm about to break. At the center, a makeshift stage held Revered Mother Hevara, her shrill voice slicing through the noise.
“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me! Together, we mourn our Divine, her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer? Wonder no more! Behold the so-called Herald of Andraste, claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet!”
Ariana clenched her jaw, irritation bubbling beneath her composure. “Well, this is off to a promising start,” she muttered under her breath.
She stepped forward, her voice clear and resolute. “We came in peace, simply to talk—and this is how you welcome us? I implore you, let us sit down together and address the real threat.”
Cassandra’s voice followed, cutting through the crowd’s murmurs. “It is true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this chaos before it consumes us all!”
Hevara sneered, gesturing grandly. “It is already too late! The templars have returned to the Chantry! They will stand against this ‘Inquisition,’ and the people will be safe once more!”
A group of templars approached the stage, but as they reached Hevara, one struck her across the face. The crowd gasped as the Revered Mother stumbled, clutching her cheek.
Ariana’s hand twitched toward her dagger, her eyes narrowing. “What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded.
A man stepped forward, his demeanor calm yet cold. “Her claim to authority is an insult. Much like your own.”
Cassandra stiffened. “Lord Seeker Lucius, we must speak—”
“You will not address me,” Lucius snapped, his words sharp as a blade. “You, who dare raise a heretical movement and present this… puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should all be ashamed.”
His words struck Ariana like a blow, but it wasn’t the insult that unsettled her. There was something about him—the precise disdain in his tone, the way his gaze pierced through her—that scratched at the edges of her memory. She couldn’t place it, but the sensation crept over her skin like a chill.
Lucius continued, his voice rising. “You, who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.”
Ariana stepped forward, her frustration boiling over. “If you’re not here to help the Chantry, why are you here? To give speeches?”
Lucius’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “I came to see what frightens old women so. And to laugh.”
Her fists tightened at her sides, but it wasn’t just anger she felt—it was something deeper, a prickling unease she couldn’t shake. That mocking smile, the coldness in his eyes. It stirred something distant and dark in her mind, a memory just out of reach.
Lucius turned to leave, but a templar hesitated, stepping forward. “But, Lord Seeker… what if the Herald really was sent by the Maker? What if—”
“You are called to a higher purpose! Do not question!” Lucius barked, silencing the templar with a glare. “I will make the templar order a power that stands alone against the void. We deserve recognition. Independence! Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection. We march!”
As the templars disappeared into the streets, Varric broke the stunned silence. “Well, that was… illuminating. Did anyone else get chills?”
Cassandra’s face was a mask of disbelief. “Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?”
Ariana didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes lingered on the empty stage, her thoughts tangled in frustration and unease. That feeling gnawed at her—the sense that she should know something vital, something her mind refused to unlock. Why does he seem so familiar?
~~~
Ariana wove through the bustling market, her thoughts still tangled in the aftermath of their encounter with Lucius. A familiar tension pressed against her ribs, but her expression remained calm. She needed something—anything—to anchor her thoughts and quiet the unease gnawing at her edges.
The hum of activity around her provided a momentary distraction until a merchant waved to catch her attention. Ariana hesitated, instinctively wary, but curiosity pushed her feet forward.
“You’re with the Inquisition, aren’t you?” The woman’s voice was tentative, her words laced with both hope and uncertainty. “I’d like to help. I don’t have much, but I can offer supplies—food, maybe some tools. I’ve never been part of anything like this before, but if you’re going to seal the sky…” She trailed off, her wide eyes searching Ariana’s face for reassurance. “Well, I want to help.”
Before Ariana could respond, Cassandra stepped forward, her sharp gaze betraying her surprise. “You want to aid the Inquisition?”
The merchant nodded firmly, despite her trembling hands. “Yes. I’ve heard the stories, and… I want to do something that matters.”
Ariana tilted her head, the merchant’s words catching her off guard. Her lips parted, but the right response didn’t come. Was this really her decision to make? After all, she wasn’t leading the Inquisition—was she? Deflecting, she turned to Cassandra. “What do you think?”
Cassandra’s brow arched, her expression unreadable but not unkind. “I think the woman is asking you, not me.”
“She’s only being polite,” Ariana started, but the merchant interrupted with quiet urgency.
“Well, you are the—”
“The Herald of Andraste,” Cassandra finished, her tone steady and matter-of-fact. She crossed her arms, her gaze meeting Ariana’s. “Yes, I understand. Haven is a mess, but we won’t turn away aid. The decision is yours, Herald.”
Ariana blinked, the title landing like an unexpected blow. For a moment, her composure faltered. Herald. The word settled over her, as heavy as it was fragile. She wasn’t a stranger to being believed in—she’d been the White Wolf for years, a legend whispered among those who sought hope and protection, a figure to stand for all who needed her.
But this? This wasn’t belief in her skill or her ability to lead. This was belief in something divine. Something holy. And that… that was a different kind of weight entirely.
She forced a faint smile, nodding to the merchant. “Head to Haven. We need good people.”
The woman’s tense expression softened, gratitude lighting her features. “I don’t know if I’m that, but I’ll do what I can. Thank you.”
As the merchant disappeared into the crowd, Ariana lingered, her eyes following her retreating figure. Warmth flickered briefly in her chest, mingling with a deeper unease. She hadn’t chosen this role, hadn’t asked for the weight of their belief—but it was there all the same, pressing against her doubts and demanding she rise to meet it.
She exhaled slowly, her hands curling into fists at her sides as if grounding herself. They believe in me, she thought, her mind circling back to the White Wolf. But this isn’t the same. It wasn’t the weight of leadership or the risk of failing people who relied on her. It was the expectation of something more—something she wasn’t sure she even believed in herself.
~~~
The group was preparing to leave the market when an arrow thudded into the cobblestone at Ariana’s feet, the shaft quivering slightly. She crouched to retrieve it, pulling free a note tied neatly to the shaft. The parchment unfurled to reveal a crude sketch of a location and cryptic instructions to search for “red things” in the market, the docks, and around the café. At the bottom was an unfamiliar signature: Friends of Red Jenny.
“What is this?” Ariana muttered, passing the note to Varric.
He studied it, a grin spreading across his face. “Ooh, a scavenger hunt. This could be fun—or it could be a trap. Probably a trap. But we’re going to do it either way, aren’t we?”
Ariana chuckled, folding the note and tucking it into her pouch. “What do you think?”
“Predictable,” Varric quipped, his tone teasing.
The search took them across the city, chasing clues tucked in obscure corners. Three separate notes revealed fragments of the puzzle: a location, a time, and a key. By the time they pieced it all together, Ariana was already scanning the map for the meeting coordinates.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” she asked with a shrug, her casual tone belied by the spark of mischief in her eyes.
Varric grinned. “We’ll get ambushed.”
Cassandra sighed audibly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re aware this could very well be a trap, and yet you still intend to walk straight into it?”
Ariana’s grin was unapologetic. “It’s more fun that way.”
Solas shook his head, though there was a faint glimmer of amusement in his expression. Cassandra, however, looked thoroughly unimpressed. Her sharp glare suggested she was reconsidering every decision that had led her to this moment. Finally, with a deep sigh, she folded her arms.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But do not expect me to indulge this madness again.”
“Oh, come on, Seeker,” Varric said, his grin widening. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Firmly rooted in common sense,” Cassandra retorted, her tone as dry as the Waking Sea in a drought.
Ariana laughed, glancing around the bustling market. “Well, seems like all we have left to do is wait for tonight. Anyone else hungry?”
Varric smirked. “You just want to eat so you can daydream about the trouble we’re about to get into.”
“Maybe,” Ariana replied breezily, her confidence as unshakable as ever. Beneath it, though, a faint unease curled at the edge of her thoughts. Whatever lay ahead, she would face it—as she always did. One step at a time.
~~~
That night, the group followed the cryptic directions from the notes to an abandoned manor on the outskirts of Val Royeaux. Ariana stared at the empty structure, her instincts prickling with unease. “This feels like a terrible idea.”
Varric smirked. “So, business as usual?”
Rolling her eyes, Ariana cautiously pushed the door open. She barely had a moment to step inside before a fireball streaked toward her. She sidestepped it instinctively, the blast sending a wave of heat over her shoulder. Another fireball followed, this one missing by a wide margin and scorching the wall behind her.
The source? An Orlesian nobleman, flanked by guards, who looked absurdly self-satisfied for someone whose aim was that atrocious.
“Herald of Andraste!” the nobleman declared with theatrical flair. “How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably!”
Ariana froze mid-step, glancing back at Varric and Cassandra. Both shrugged, equally baffled.
“Who are you, exactly?” she asked, her tone laced with confusion.
The noble puffed out his chest, clearly affronted. “You don’t fool me! I’m too important for this to be an accident! My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere!”
Before Ariana could attempt to decipher that nonsense, one of the guards behind the noble suddenly crumpled to the ground, an arrow protruding from his neck. An elf stepped into view, her bow already nocking another arrow.
“Just say ‘What!’” the elf called out cheerfully, her tone far too casual for the situation.
“What is the—” the noble began, but his words were cut short by her next arrow, which silenced him permanently. He collapsed in an unceremonious heap.
Ariana blinked, her mind struggling to catch up. “What in the Maker’s name is going on here?”
The elf didn’t respond immediately, muttering instead about rich nobles and their constant scheming before moving to loot the noble’s pockets with an air of practiced nonchalance.
Finally, she looked up at Ariana and tilted her head. “It’s alright, innit? You’re her, you glow?”
“Yes?” Ariana replied cautiously. “Some believe I’m the Herald of Andraste. But who are you, and what is this about?”
“No idea. Don’t know this idiot from manners,” the elf said, nudging the noble’s body with her foot. “My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.”
“Your people? Elves?” Ariana asked, still grappling for clarity.
“No, people-people,” the elf replied as though it were obvious. “Name’s Sera. This is cover. Get ‘round it. For the reinforcements. Don’t worry. Someone tipped me their equipment shed. They’ve got no breeches.” She grinned, clearly pleased with herself.
Ariana tilted her head slightly. “I… what?”
Before Sera could elaborate, reinforcements poured into the courtyard, weapons drawn.
“Why didn’t you take their weapons?” Ariana yelled mid-fight, dodging a clumsy swing.
“Because no breeches!” Sera cackled, loosing arrows with unnerving accuracy and laughing as though she’d just heard the funniest joke in Thedas.
The guards were poorly trained, and the group dispatched them quickly. Ariana found herself glancing at Sera repeatedly, trying to decide if the elf was an eccentric genius or completely unhinged. Possibly both.
When the last guard fell, Sera turned to Ariana with a wide grin. “So, Herald of Andraste, you’re a strange one. I’d like to join.”
Ariana pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly. “Could we take a few moments for sense to reassert itself? Who are you people?”
“I’m not ‘people,’ but I get what you want. It’s like this,” Sera began, launching into a tangled explanation about the “Friends of Red Jenny.” Ariana tried to follow, piecing together that it was a loose network of common folk—servants, merchants, and others—dedicated to disrupting the powerful. Their methods, much like Sera herself, were wildly unconventional.
“Here in your face, I’m Sera,” the elf concluded. “So, do you need people or not? I want to get everything back to normal. Like you?”
Ariana sighed, recognizing the potential value of such a network but already anticipating the headaches it would bring. “Alright, Sera. I can use you and your… ‘friends.’”
“Yes!” Sera cheered. “Get in good before you’re too big to like. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be. Plus extra breeches, because I have all these—you have merchants who buy that pish, yeah? Got to be worth something. Anyway, Haven. See you there, Herald. This will be grand.”
With that, Sera bounded off, disappearing through a gate. Ariana stared after her in stunned silence.
Varric approached, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “So, pup… did sense reassert itself yet?”
Ariana shot him a flat look. “Not even a little. Let’s just get back to Haven. I don’t know what’s happening anymore.”
Varric chuckled as they turned to leave, his amusement only growing. “Welcome to the Inquisition, kid. It only gets weirder from here.”
~~~
As they prepared to leave Val Royeaux the following morning, Ariana caught sight of an elf weaving purposefully through the bustling square. Her robes, marked with mage insignias, drew more than a few curious glances. Ariana straightened instinctively, her gaze narrowing as the elf raised a hand in greeting.
“If I might have a moment of your time?” the elf called, her voice steady but carrying a quiet intensity.
Cassandra immediately stiffened, her sharp gaze snapping to the figure. “Grand Enchanter Fiona,” she said, her tone surprised but wary.
Solas tilted his head, curiosity flickering across his otherwise calm demeanor. “The leader of the mage rebellion. It seems… bold for you to walk so openly here, in the heart of Val Royeaux.”
Fiona inclined her head faintly, her poise unshaken. “Boldness often serves us well,” she replied. Her gaze shifted to Ariana, assessing but not unkind. “I heard of this gathering and wished to see the fabled Herald of Andraste for myself. If it’s aid with the Breach you seek, perhaps my people are the wiser choice.”
Ariana blinked, taken aback by the elf’s directness. “I’m surprised the leader of the mages wasn’t at the Conclave,” she said, her tone more curious than accusatory.
Cassandra, however, was less restrained. “You were expected to be there,” she said sharply. “Yet somehow, you avoided death.”
Fiona’s brow arched slightly, her composure unbroken. “As did the Lord Seeker,” she countered smoothly, meeting Cassandra’s sharp gaze with her own. “And yet, I notice you’re not questioning him with the same vigor, Seeker Pentaghast.”
Cassandra’s jaw tightened, but she remained silent. Fiona’s tone softened slightly, and for the first time, her calm facade cracked, revealing unmistakable sadness. “I lost many friends that day. People I cared for deeply. It sickens me to think the templars may get away with it. I hope you won’t allow that to happen.”
“You believe the templars were responsible?” Ariana asked, frowning. The accusation wasn’t new, but there was a weight to Fiona’s words that was difficult to dismiss.
“Why wouldn’t she?” Cassandra challenged, her voice cutting. “Lucius himself seems—”
“Unconcerned,” Fiona finished bitterly. “You saw him. Do you truly believe he grieves for the Divine? For the templars lost at the Conclave? No. Lord Seeker Lucius sees only what he can gain. And if the deaths of the Divine and his fellows furthered his goals, I’ve no doubt he would embrace it.”
Ariana felt a chill crawl up her spine. Not because Fiona’s accusations seemed outrageous, but because they mirrored her own suspicions. Lucius’s behavior in Val Royeaux had unsettled her in a way she couldn’t shake. His apathy hadn’t felt incidental; it had felt deliberate. Calculated.
“And you believe the mages will help us?” Ariana asked carefully, watching Fiona closely. Trust didn’t come easily, least of all with someone as politically entangled as the Grand Enchanter.
Fiona inclined her head. “Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe. Meet with the mages. An alliance could serve us both.”
She turned her attention fully to Ariana, bowing slightly. “I hope to see you there. Au revoir, my lady Herald.”
Fiona disappeared into the crowd with a calm swiftness that left a strange stillness in her wake. The sounds of the bustling square returned gradually, like distant thunder rolling closer.
“Well,” Ariana said after a long pause, her voice wry but subdued. “That was unexpected.”
Cassandra remained tense, her expression hard. “Come,” she said curtly. “Let us return to Haven.”
As they passed through the gates of Val Royeaux, Ariana’s thoughts churned, Fiona’s words clinging to her like shadows. The Grand Enchanter’s calm assertions had only reinforced the unease that had gnawed at her since their encounter with Lucius. How could the Lord Seeker be so indifferent? The Divine was dead. A great many templars had died. And yet, Lucius seemed as unaffected as if he’d lost nothing at all.
Her gaze shifted to Cassandra, whose silence seemed heavier than usual. Ariana could read the tension in the Seeker’s posture, the flickers of doubt that Cassandra worked so hard to keep buried. If even Cassandra had her reservations, what hope was there for finding aid with either the templars or the mages?
One thing was becoming increasingly clear: whatever awaited them in Redcliffe, it would not be simple.
~~~
As Ariana and Cassandra entered the Chantry upon their return to Haven, Cullen’s sharp eyes immediately sought her out. At first glance, she appeared composed—her stride confident, her expression calm. But to Cullen, the tension in her shoulders and the subtle stiffness in her movements told a different story. Something weighed on her, and it was more than just the weariness of travel.
“It’s good you’ve returned. We heard of your encounter,” Josephine began, stepping forward with her usual grace, though her tone carried a thread of concern.
“You heard?” Cassandra asked, her surprise evident.
Leliana’s voice was cool and efficient. “My agents in the city sent word. It seems your meeting with the Lord Seeker did not go unnoticed.”
Cullen frowned, crossing his arms. “It’s a shame the templars have abandoned not only Val Royeaux but their senses as well.”
Ariana remained silent, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her gaze distant. Though her posture was steady, Cullen noticed the subtle movements that betrayed her: the rhythmic tapping of her fingers against her sleeve, the slight tightness in her jaw. He stepped closer, his concern overriding the conversation around them.
“Ariana,” he said softly, his tone cutting through the noise. “Are you alright?”
Her eyes snapped to his, startled, as though pulled from a distant thought. “I’m fine,” she replied quickly, though the hollowness in her voice belied her words. “At least now we know the mages are willing to speak with us. That’s something.”
Josephine nodded, her calm optimism shining through. “Indeed, this gives us an opening to approach both the templars and the mages.”
Ariana’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Does it?” she asked skeptically. “Because I’m not sure anything about the Lord Seeker suggested we have an opening there.”
Cassandra’s frown deepened. “Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.”
Cullen’s gaze shifted between them, his unease growing. “How well did you know him?” Ariana asked, her tone sharper now, as though trying to dissect something.
Cassandra hesitated, her brows knitting together. “I was not his confidant, if that’s what you mean. He took over after Lord Seeker Lambert’s death, two years ago. He was reserved, pragmatic. Never one for theatrics or grandstanding. This…this is not the man I knew.”
Ariana nodded faintly, though Cullen could see she was far from satisfied. Her gaze remained fixed on Cassandra, and her posture shifted ever so slightly, as though bracing herself against the weight of her thoughts.
They began walking toward the war room, but Ariana’s steps slowed, her attention clearly elsewhere. Leliana’s voice cut through the silence.
“The Lord Seeker has taken the Order somewhere, but to what end? My reports have been troubling.”
Cullen’s jaw tightened, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “We must look into it. Not everyone in the Order will support him. There may still be templars who can be reasoned with.”
Josephine’s tone was measured but cautious. “Or the Herald could go to Redcliffe. The mages may be the more viable option.”
Cullen stopped abruptly, turning to face them. “You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse. Desperate mages—”
“No,” Ariana interrupted, her voice quiet but insistent. “Not necessarily.” She trailed off, her expression distant, her eyes fixed ahead as though seeing something no one else could. “There’s just something about the Lord Seeker… his actions, his words… they’re familiar, but I can’t place why.”
Cullen stepped closer, his brow furrowed in concern. “What are you saying, Ariana?”
She shook her head, clearly unsettled. “I don’t know. It’s just… an uneasy feeling I can’t shake. Something is wrong.”
Her words sent a cold ripple through Cullen, but before he could respond, Ariana suddenly stopped in her tracks. Her expression changed—her eyes darted as though piecing together a puzzle. Then, almost in a whisper, she said, “Maker… That’s it.”
Cullen’s chest tightened, alarm flashing in his eyes. “What is?”
Her hand gripped his arm, her voice firm and urgent. “Meredith.”
The name hit him like a physical blow. His breath caught, and memories he had worked so hard to bury came rushing back. “What about Meredith?” he asked, his voice low and wary.
“The look in Lucius’s eyes—distant, frenzied. His words. ‘The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.’ It’s not arrogance, Cullen. It’s detachment. Madness. I saw that same look in Meredith’s eyes. Heard it in her voice—when she threatened me at the Viscount’s Keep, when she ordered you…” Her voice softened as their eyes met. “When she ordered you to kill Hawke.”
Cullen’s stomach twisted, nausea rising with the memory. He shook his head slowly, his voice tight. “What you’re implying—it isn’t possible. That artifact was destroyed.”
“Red lyrium?” Cassandra asked grimly, her tone heavy with unease.
“Or demons,” Ariana replied. “But yes. From the moment we saw him, I couldn’t shake the familiarity. It’s madness, Cullen. He’s being guided by something else, something that has a hold on him.”
“Demons?” Leliana echoed, her brows knitting together. Her confusion was plain, though not dismissive.
Ariana turned to her, then back to Cullen. “I only heard about what happened from Hawke and Varric. I didn’t see it myself…” She trailed off, the unspoken request clear in her gaze.
Cullen’s throat tightened as the memories of Wilmod and the others surfaced, unbidden and unwelcome. He sighed heavily. “I’ve seen it before,” he admitted reluctantly. “Non-mages aren’t immune. All it takes is a willing host and blood magic for possession.” His gaze locked with hers, heavy with concern. “But we have no proof.”
“I know,” she said softly, her frustration evident. “But I can’t ignore it.”
He studied her, his chest tight with worry. The thought of her walking into Redcliffe, into the heart of the mage rebellion, filled him with dread. And now, the templars—once his own sanctuary—were no longer a safer option. That realization settled heavily in his gut.
“I don’t like this,” he said quietly. “If you go to Redcliffe, you’re putting yourself at risk. If Lucius is as dangerous as you suspect, the templars aren’t any safer.”
Her gaze softened, though her resolve remained unshaken. “I know you’re worried,” she said gently. “But we don’t have the luxury of choosing what’s safe, Cullen. Not anymore.”
He nodded reluctantly, though the unease in his chest refused to fade. He had spent years trying to protect her in the only ways he knew how. Now, watching her step willingly into danger, he felt powerless.