28 -30 Drakonis 9:41
The Inquisition’s leadership had agreed to keep their suspicions about Lord Seeker Lucius quiet for now. Ariana had supported the decision, though it weighed on her. The stakes were already high enough without adding public fear to the equation. She couldn’t shake the memory of Lucius’s detached words, the way his gaze seemed devoid of humanity.
After the meeting, Ariana had wandered through Haven, her restless thoughts tugging her in no particular direction. Her steps carried her to the Chantry’s lower levels, where the air grew cooler, the stone walls oppressive and quiet. She had no real destination in mind, but the solitude offered her a chance to think.
Josephine had watched her go, her sharp instincts piqued by Ariana’s unusual mood. The ambassador had been deep in correspondence, but something about Ariana’s gait—deliberate yet aimless—compelled her to follow at a discreet distance. She found Ariana in the dungeon, kneeling before a locked gate, her fingers deftly working a set of lockpicks.
“Lockpicking seems a curious skill for a noble to possess,” Josephine said, her tone light but curious.
Ariana didn’t startle, though a wry smirk tugged at her lips. “How else are you supposed to get into a dungeon full of books?”
Josephine blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “I… can’t say I’ve encountered such a situation before.”
“Neither have I,” Ariana admitted with a soft chuckle as the lock clicked open. She stood smoothly, tucking her tools away. “But I couldn’t let this one go untested.”
Josephine followed her inside, her gaze sweeping over the shelves of aged tomes and scrolls. “Surely there’s a key somewhere in the Chantry.”
“Probably,” Ariana replied breezily, already leafing through a book. “But where’s the fun in that?”
Josephine’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I imagine there’s some fascinating history in here.” She trailed a finger along the spines, her tone shifting to something more measured. “Lady Trevelyan, if I may, I’d like to discuss a matter concerning your family.”
Ariana paused, glancing at Josephine with a raised brow. “A bit sudden, but I suppose it’s time someone made an honest woman of me.”
Josephine flushed faintly, though she composed herself quickly. “Very amusing. But this is serious.”
Setting the book aside, Ariana leaned against the table, a playful glint in her eye. “All right, Lady Montilyet. What’s on your mind?”
Josephine straightened, her ambassadorial tone returning. “Your parents. I’d like to write to them, requesting their formal support for the Inquisition. Do you believe they would align themselves with us?”
The question gave Ariana pause. Her teasing smile faltered, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “I believe they would.” She hesitated, then added, “I’ll include a personal letter with your formal request. Just… let’s avoid inviting them to Haven.”
Josephine tilted her head, her curiosity plain. “Do you not wish to see them?”
Ariana exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting to the shelves but unfocused. “It’s not that. I love my parents dearly—it’s just… there are complications.”
Josephine regarded her thoughtfully. “Complications?”
Ariana hesitated, her thoughts drifting back to Kirkwall. She remembered the months leading up to everything falling apart. For once, her mother had been softer, more supportive, and they’d connected over something entirely hers: her engagement to Cullen. Ariana had allowed herself to believe in a future that felt right, even magical.
But the memories turned sharp, unease threading through them. She knew Cullen had noticed the ring was back on her finger—he always noticed. Yet he hadn’t mentioned it, and she hadn’t asked. The thought of initiating that conversation felt like stepping into uncertain ground, every word potentially setting off something she wasn’t ready to face.
Elara, on the other hand, would never hesitate. If invited to Haven, her mother would confront Cullen directly, forcing a conversation Ariana wasn’t ready for.
Her lips pressed into a thin line before she finally turned to Josephine. “Let’s just say it’s better for everyone if they stay in Ostwick. My mother has a talent for… making things more complicated.”
Josephine’s expression softened, though her curiosity lingered. Before she could press further, Ariana pushed off the table and offered her hand with exaggerated formality. “Come on. Let’s find a bottle of wine. You look like you could use a break from all those letters.”
Josephine chuckled softly, accepting the offer. Together, they left the dungeon and made their way to the tavern. The rest of the evening passed in a blur of wine and stories. Ariana regaled Josephine with tales of her travels, spinning humor and candor into each one. Yet, for all the laughter, Ariana carefully steered the conversation away from her family—and from Cullen.
Some knots, she decided, were not untagled. For now.
~~~
The war room was dim, the flickering lantern light casting shadows over maps and reports spread across the table. Cullen leaned over the edge, scanning a list of troop movements with practiced efficiency. Despite the focus he forced into the task, his thoughts lingered elsewhere—on the rumors Cassandra had mentioned earlier, on Ariana’s return to Haven, and on the ever-present weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders.
The soft creak of the door brought him out of his thoughts. Cassandra entered, her expression set with the kind of intensity that made Cullen straighten instinctively. She closed the door firmly behind her and turned toward him, her posture unyielding.
“Seeker,” he said, his tone cautious. “What brings you here?”
Cassandra didn’t answer immediately, instead crossing the room with deliberate steps until she stood across from him. Her sharp eyes locked onto his, and Cullen felt a twinge of unease. This wasn’t the kind of visit that ended with a simple report.
“There’s a matter we need to discuss,” she said firmly, her voice brooking no argument.
Her tone gave him pause. Cassandra didn’t mince words, but the weight behind them suggested this wasn’t about logistics or troop movements. He gestured toward the table. “If it concerns the Inquisition’s forces—”
“It does not,” she interrupted, her gaze narrowing. She crossed her arms, stepping closer. “This is about you. And the Herald.”
Cullen stiffened, his expression immediately guarded. “What about her?”
Cassandra’s eyes bore into his. “There were whispers in Kirkwall,” she began, her tone even but pointed. “Rumors among the templars of a Knight-Captain in love with a noblewoman. A love story, they called it, amidst the chaos of the city. At the time, I dismissed it as idle gossip. But now…”
Cullen clenched his jaw, his mind racing. He could deny the rumors, brush them off as idle gossip, but Cassandra had clearly done her research. She always did. He met her gaze evenly. “Rumors,” he said carefully, “are rarely reliable.”
Cassandra continued, undeterred. “I also came across records—your formal request to the White Spire for permission to marry. There was no name listed, but it wasn’t difficult to connect the pieces once I saw her.” She hesitated, her voice softening slightly. “And now I see that the Herald wears a ring.”
Her words hit him like a blow, though he kept his expression neutral. So, she has seen it. Cullen exhaled slowly, the weight of the truth pressing down on him. “I didn’t think she still wore it,” he admitted softly, almost to himself.
Cassandra’s sharp gaze narrowed. “Then it’s true.”
He didn’t answer immediately, his thoughts drifting to the Divine’s words: Your betrothed will need you in the days to come. The truth he’d tried to bury resurfaced, unrelenting. “Yes,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with the admission. “It’s true.”
Cassandra’s expression tightened. “Then you understand why I must ask. Can you remain objective, Commander? Can you do your duty, even if it means sending her to her death?”
Cullen looked away, his hands tightening on the edge of the table. The memories came unbidden—the Qunari uprising in Kirkwall, the chaos in the streets, and the sight of Ariana bleeding and barely standing. His voice, when he spoke, was low and strained. “During the Qunari uprising. I found her in the street—injured, bleeding. She tried to tell me she was fine but then she collapsed before she could even explain what happened.”
Cassandra’s brow furrowed, her silence urging him to continue.
“I carried her to the Circle,” Cullen said, his jaw tightening. “She didn’t want to go, but didn’t have the energy to fight—too stubborn to admit how badly she was hurt. The healers said she might not survive the night.” His voice faltered, the weight of the memory pressing down on him. “She did, but… I realized then that I could never keep her as safe as I wanted. Not Ariana.”
Cassandra’s eyes softened, though her tone remained measured. “And now?”
“Now,” Cullen said, meeting her gaze, “I know she’ll throw herself into danger whether I object or not. She’ll do what she always does: try to save the world.” He exhaled, his voice steady but laced with quiet resignation. “The best I can do is give her every possible advantage. Troops, resources, strategies. Whatever she needs to succeed. That’s how I keep her safe.”
Cassandra studied him for a long moment, her sharp features softening. “I see,” she said finally, her voice quieter. “That cannot be easy.”
Cullen chuckled softly, the sound bitter. “You have no idea.”
A faint smile flickered across Cassandra’s lips, though it quickly faded. “It is not my place to judge your feelings, Commander. But your honesty… it speaks well of you. I only hope it does not hinder you when the time comes to act.”
“It won’t,” Cullen said firmly, though the conviction in his voice didn’t quite reach his heart. “I’ll do what’s necessary.”
Cassandra nodded, though her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. “See that you do. The Inquisition needs you at your best, Commander.”
As the door closed behind her, Cullen leaned heavily against the table, his thoughts drifting to Ariana. The Divine’s words echoed in his mind once more: Your betrothed will need you in the days to come.
He whispered the words aloud, barely realizing it, before straightening. Whatever lay ahead, he would be ready to stand by her. Even if it meant sending her into the fire.
~~~
The following morning, Ariana focused on the final details for Emma’s birthday celebration. The courtyard bustled with activity as crates were unloaded and supplies organized. Stepping into the lively scene, she immediately spotted Isabel overseeing a delivery. Her sharp eyes scanned the chaos like a hawk, her presence commanding yet effortless.
“Ah, there you are,” Ariana said as she approached, her voice low to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. She glanced around, ensuring no curious ears lingered. “Have you heard from Harritt? Is it ready?”
Isabel nodded, folding her arms. “He sent word this morning. It’s done.”
“Good.” A faint smile tugged at Ariana’s lips. “I want to see it for myself. What about Cullen? Did you speak with him?”
Isabel tilted her head, feigning sudden forgetfulness, though the mischievous glint in her eyes gave her away. “Was I supposed to speak with the Commander? I thought you were handling that.”
Ariana narrowed her eyes. “Isabel, there’s no need for this.”
“You two need to talk,” Isabel insisted, her tone softening but no less resolute.
“We have been talking,” Ariana countered, exasperation creeping into her voice. “Just… maybe not in the way you’d like.”
Isabel smiled knowingly, offering a slight shrug. “Do you still love him?”
Ariana sighed, giving her a pointed look before brushing past the question entirely. “Fine. I’ll handle it. In the meantime, make sure Elliot and the other Rangers are ready for the mock battle. It needs to be fun, not terrifying.”
“Of course,” Isabel replied, a small, satisfied smirk tugging at her lips.
Leaving the courtyard, Ariana set off toward Harritt’s forge, her steps brisk and purposeful. Yet Isabel’s words lingered, tugging at the edges of her thoughts like an unwelcome guest.
Before she could dwell too long, Josephine appeared from a side path, her call breaking the quiet rhythm of Ariana’s footsteps. “Herald! A moment, please.”
Ariana stopped and turned, her brow lifting slightly. “What can I do for you this morning, Lady Montilyet?”
Josephine approached, holding out a neatly sealed envelope. “An invitation has arrived for you. The First Enchanter of Montsimmard has requested a meeting with you in Val Royeaux.”
Ariana arched a brow, taking the envelope and breaking the seal. She scanned the elegantly penned words, her expression remaining neutral, though her mind was already turning. “So… you’re telling me I need to return to Val Royeaux to attend a party?”
“Well, not a party per se,” Josephine replied carefully, though her tone carried the faintest hint of amusement. “It could be an excellent opportunity to secure valuable allies for the Inquisition.”
Ariana handed the invitation back, her lips curving into a wry smile. “Very well, I’ll go. But, Lady Montilyet, as I often remind Isabel—please refrain from committing me to any balls or elaborate social gatherings in your efforts to secure alliances.”
Josephine chuckled softly, inclining her head. “Of course, Herald. I’ll do my utmost to keep your schedule… manageable.”
“Good,” Ariana said, satisfied, before continuing on her way. Josephine, relieved, turned back toward her office, though her expression lingered with a hint of thoughtful curiosity.
By the time Ariana reached Harritt’s forge, her thoughts had begun to settle. She realized she was growing more accustomed to this new life—the duties, the responsibilities, the title. It was still overwhelming, but it no longer made her want to retreat.
As she waited for Harritt, she found herself reflecting on the title itself: Herald. She still didn’t believe it. She didn’t see herself as holy or chosen. But over time, she had come to understand what the title meant to others. It gave them hope, something to hold onto in a world that felt increasingly unsteady.
Maybe that’s all it needs to be, she thought, her resolve hardening. A symbol. A myth. Like the White Wolf. If it helps me protect them, then I can live with it.
The thought steadied her, though Isabel’s question refused to leave her mind. Do you still love him? Of course she loved Cullen. She always had. But did she deserve him?
Her gaze dropped to the engagement ring on her finger, catching the faint glint of sunlight reflecting off the sapphire. She still wore it, despite her doubts. Not because she felt certain of their future, but because she wanted to believe in it. She wanted that life with him more than anything. She just didn’t know if she could be the one to ask for it. Not yet.
Shaking the thought away, she focused on the task at hand. Emma’s celebration was her priority today. Whatever uncertainties she had about Cullen or her role in the Inquisition could wait. For now, she was determined to make Emma’s day unforgettable.
~~~
Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen noticed Ariana approaching, a small bundle clutched in her hands. Her pace was deliberate, yet there was a hesitation in her stride, a subtle uncertainty that tugged at his attention. He straightened, setting aside the report he’d been reviewing, and turned to face her.
“Commander,” she greeted, her tone steady, but there was a faint edge of nervousness that caught him off guard.
“Ariana,” he replied, curiosity evident in his voice. “I was just about to find you. Isabel mentioned you needed something?”
“Did she now?” Ariana’s grip on the bundle tightened slightly. Her composure wavered for just a moment before she recovered. “Yes, well… she forgot to ask for your help with something.”
Cullen raised an eyebrow, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And sent you to deliver the message?”
“Yes,” she replied quickly—too quickly. The flustered note in her voice betrayed her, and Cullen found himself amused by the rare sight of Ariana out of her element.
“I see,” he said, leaning back slightly, the grin on his face widening. He couldn’t help but enjoy this unexpected glimpse of vulnerability. “Well then, what can I do for Isabel?”
Ariana exhaled, her frustration barely concealed. “Here,” she said, thrusting the bundle toward him. “You’ll need this. Follow me.”
Cullen accepted the bundle, bemused, and trailed after her as she led him toward her quarters. As they walked, his eyes fell to her hands, where her fingers flexed nervously against the edge of her coat. That’s when he saw it—the ring. The sapphire glinted in the light, unmistakable against the smooth curve of her finger. His breath caught, the sight anchoring him mid-step.
He’d noticed it missing from her necklace, Cassandra had confirmed she was wearing it, but seeing it here, on her hand, felt like a quiet declaration he didn’t know how to interpret. A mix of hope and doubt surged within him, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral.
They entered her quarters, and Ariana motioned for him to set the bundle on the table. She hesitated, clearly searching for the right words, her gaze flicking to him briefly before settling elsewhere. Cullen crossed his arms, waiting patiently, though the flicker of unease in her eyes stirred something protective within him.
“As you may recall,” she began, her voice steadying, “Emma’s birthday is tomorrow.”
He nodded, still unsure where this was going.
“Isabel tells me that…” She faltered again, her words catching in her throat. Cullen noted the frustration building behind her calm façade as she visibly steeled herself. “Emma has decided she would like to join the Inquisition under your command.”
Cullen blinked, caught between surprise and amusement. “She mentioned something about that the other day.”
“She did?” Ariana’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though the tension didn’t entirely leave her. She shook her head, her tone lightening. “Apparently, she’s far more enamored with warriors than rogues. Or maybe it’s just you.”
Cullen chuckled, opening the bundle. Inside was a set of miniature armor and a wooden sword, crafted with care and adorned with Inquisition insignias. He ran his fingers over the polished edges, his expression softening.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice quieter now.
“Harritt,” Ariana replied. “It wasn’t easy. I had to source lighter materials and convince him to fashion something in her size. But I think it’s perfect.”
Cullen studied the armor for a moment, his fingers brushing the craftsmanship. The thought behind the gift struck him more than the gift itself. “She’s going to love this,” he said finally. “It’s remarkable.”
“Isabel said she’s been following you during your rounds,” Ariana said with a faint smile. “Apparently, you’re her new role model—or still the only one she cares about.”
Cullen shook his head with a soft laugh. “I don’t know about that. She asks a lot of questions—and occasionally corrects me on tactics she’s read about.”
Ariana laughed, the unease in her posture beginning to ebb. “That sounds about right. She’s smarter than most people would think.”
Cullen smiled, but his gaze drifted briefly back to her hand, where the ring rested, steady and certain. It was such a small thing, yet it carried so much weight. He wanted to ask—wanted to know why she wore it again, what it meant now—but the words caught in his throat. The fear of disrupting this fragile peace between them kept him silent.
Cullen smiled. “Probably. I doubt there’s much I could teach her that she hasn’t already learned from you.”
Ariana’s smile faltered slightly, and her voice softened. “If she’s learned anything, I assure you it wasn’t from me. She hasn’t been very interested in what I do for years. She blames me. She’s not wrong. Too smart for her own good, maybe… It’s your footsteps she’d prefer to follow in, and I’ll do what I can to give her that.”
Cullen froze, the words hitting him harder than he expected. He studied Ariana, noting the way her gaze lowered as though she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. A pang of guilt tugged at him. *Blames her?* His chest tightened at the thought of Emma feeling resentment toward Ariana—a resentment she didn’t deserve.
“She shouldn’t blame you,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve done everything you could for her. You’ve given her a home, a family… stability. Things most children would only dream of.”
Ariana shook her head, her tone quiet but insistent. “You don’t see it, Cullen. It’s not enough. I took her away from you, and she knows it.”
His brow furrowed, her words stirring memories he’d tried to push aside—years spent wondering about the life they might have had, and the child who was never truly his but who he’d loved as if she were. “Ariana, you didn’t take her away. You made the choices you had to, for her. For all of us.”
For a moment, the weight of unspoken emotions lingered between them. Cullen wanted to say more, to tell her that Emma didn’t see her as anything less than a hero, even if she didn’t realize it yet. But the words refused to form.
“You’ll present it to her tomorrow, then? As her ‘Commander’? She’d love that,” Ariana said, pulling him from his thoughts.
Cullen nodded, forcing himself to focus on her words. “I’d be honored. Though I suspect she’ll have more questions for me than any of my recruits.”
“Probably,” Ariana said with a laugh. “Some of the Rangers are arranging a mock battle as well. For both of you. You will win, of course.”
Cullen raised an eyebrow, his grin growing. “Will I? Should I even bother asking how this is supposed to play out?”
Ariana’s grin widened. “Oh, don’t worry, Commander. It’s all carefully orchestrated. Emma will have her victory, and you’ll leave with your dignity intact. Mostly.”
Cullen chuckled, shaking his head. “Somehow, I’m not reassured.”
“Trust me,” she said lightly. “It’ll be the highlight of her day.”
As they left her quarters, Cullen’s thoughts lingered on the ring and the quiet weight it carried. He resolved to speak with Emma soon, to assure her of the truth. And perhaps, in time, he would find the courage to ask Ariana about the ring—not to question her choice, but to understand the path they were still navigating together. For now, though, he let it rest. Tomorrow was for Emma, and he would make sure it was as special as Ariana had envisioned.
~~~
The crisp morning air carried a rare sense of excitement in Haven. The training grounds bustled with life, recruits standing a little straighter, their movements sharper under the Commander’s watchful eye. Yet Cullen’s attention strayed from the recruits to the edges of the gathering, where he caught sight of Ariana.
She stood leaning casually against the stone wall, arms crossed, her posture deceptively relaxed. Yet Cullen knew her well enough to recognize the vigilance in her gaze, the way she seemed to take in everything while deliberately keeping herself apart. It was unlike her to linger in the background, and that subtle withdrawal gnawed at him, a reminder of her words the day before: She blames me. She’s not wrong.
He exhaled quietly, the thought leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. If Emma harbored resentment, it should have been directed at him, not Ariana. He had been the one who hadn’t been there, the one who’d failed to hold everything together. The fact that Ariana seemed to accept and shoulder Emma’s misplaced feelings of blame only deepened Cullen’s guilt.
The sound of Isabel’s voice pulled his focus back to the present. Emma bounded onto the training grounds, her excitement palpable as she darted toward him. Cullen knelt, the bundle of miniature armor and weapons in hand.
“Good morning, Recruit Emma,” he said, his tone formal but warm.
“Good morning, Commander!” she replied, her grin wide enough to rival the rising sun.
Cullen smiled as he began the small ceremony, presenting the wooden sword and shield with all the gravity he would offer a full-fledged soldier. The crowd cheered as Emma was outfitted in her miniature armor, her confidence growing with every buckle and strap. Watching her beaming face, Cullen felt a pang of pride—and a flicker of discomfort as he glanced toward Ariana again.
She still hadn’t moved from the shadows of the training grounds, but her expression had shifted. The faint smirk she usually wore was gone, replaced by something quieter, harder to place. Disappointment? Hurt? The thought twisted in Cullen’s chest.
The Rangers’ mock battle began, drawing laughter from the crowd as they charged onto the field with theatrical flair. Emma’s eyes lit up as the Rangers declared Haven “under attack,” and she took her role as Haven’s defender with earnest determination. Cullen coached her through the mock battle, his own amusement growing as the “invading” Rangers fell dramatically before her wooden sword.
Then, one of the Rangers seized Ariana, dragging her into the center of the field with a triumphant cry. “We’ve captured the Herald of Andraste!” the Ranger bellowed.
Emma whirled around, her face alight with determination. “Commander! We have to save her!”
Cullen hesitated for a moment, his thoughts flashing briefly to Kirkwall and the battles they’d fought there. But Ariana’s exaggerated mock glare at her captor eased the knot in his chest. She seemed comfortable enough, so he nodded. “I’m not sure the Herald needs saving, Recruit,” he teased. “She’s been saving all of us.”
Emma was undeterred. “We still have to get her back!” she insisted, charging forward with her wooden sword raised high.
Ariana’s playful smirk returned as she played along, her mock struggles earning cheers and laughter from the crowd. Emma’s triumphant “rescue” was met with applause, the little girl beaming as she stood beside the Commander.
But then came her next words.
“I think you’re the strongest in the whole Inquisition, Commander. You’d definitely beat the White Wolf in a fight.”
The crowd fell silent for a beat before erupting into laughter and murmurs. Cullen’s gaze flicked to Ariana, who raised an eyebrow, her expression caught between amusement and something quieter—perhaps disappointment, or hurt.
Cullen chuckled softly, trying to lighten the moment. “I’m not so certain of that, Recruit Emma. I happen to know she’s quite formidable.”
Emma nodded emphatically. “You’re both strong, but you’re stronger, Commander. I’m sure of it!”
Ariana raised a brow, her voice smooth but edged with playful defiance. “I’d say we’re evenly matched, wouldn’t you, Commander?”
Before Cullen could respond, the crowd seized on the moment, their voices swelling into a chant: “Match! Match! Match!”
His gaze shifted to Ariana, torn between amusement and apprehension. She stood there, the glint of mischief in her eyes unmistakable. “I’m not sure this is—”
“Yes!” Emma said excitedly, cutting him off. “You should, so you can prove it!”
Ariana shrugged playfully. “You heard the birthday girl, Commander,” she said, her tone teasing yet challenging. “Besides, we wouldn’t want to disappoint the crowd.”
Cullen sighed, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“Maybe,” Ariana admitted, stepping into the center of the grounds. “But I do hope you’re ready, Commander. Wouldn’t want your newest recruit to lose faith in you.”
Despite his initial hesitation, Cullen couldn’t help but smile. Ariana had an uncanny ability to draw people in, to make even the most mundane moments feel significant. Straightening, he rolled his shoulders, meeting her gaze with a grin that mirrored her own. “All right, then. Let’s give them a show.”
The cheers of the crowd rose around them as Cullen stepped forward, wooden sword in hand. And for a moment, the weight of his responsibilities, of his guilt and unease, faded into the background. In that fleeting space of time, it wasn’t about the Inquisition or the Breach. It was just them—Emma’s laughter, Ariana’s playful defiance, and a sense of normalcy that felt all too rare.
~~~
The sparring ground held its breath, the crowd’s murmurs fading as Cullen and Ariana faced each other. The air between them crackled with anticipation, and Cullen couldn’t help but feel a flicker of unease. Ariana moved with her usual confidence, shedding her coat and handing it off to a Ranger with an almost theatrical ease. Yet there was no mistaking the fire in her hazel-green eyes—a fire he had rarely seen unleashed during their sparring in Kirkwall.
As the Ranger stepped aside with the coat, Ariana’s hands went to her left hand. Cullen’s eyes instinctively followed the movement as she slid the ring from her finger. The act was deliberate, protective.
She paused briefly, securing the ring onto the leather cord around her neck with careful precision, before tucking it beneath her shirt. The gesture was pragmatic, yet the care she took was unmistakable. Cullen’s chest tightened. It wasn’t the absence of the ring on her hand that caught him—it was the clarity of its presence, safeguarded, even in the middle of a sparring match.
The realization stayed with him as she stepped into position. She wasn’t setting it aside out of hesitation or doubt; she was ensuring it wouldn’t be damaged. That understanding was a quiet reassurance—but it also stirred a new thought. If she takes it off her necklace again… He stopped himself, resolving to pay closer attention in the days to come.
Someone offered her a training sword, but she raised a hand, declining with a smirk that bordered on insolent. She stepped forward unarmed, her stance loose but deliberate. The crowd murmured in surprise, a few laughs rippling through at her brazen gesture.
“You’re making this too easy for me, Herald,” Cullen said, his voice steady but not without warmth. He needed to focus now—on the match, on her—and not on the weight of the ring she carried.
Ariana tilted her head, her smirk widening. “Let’s find out, shall we?”
“Just… don’t hold back this time,” Cullen said teasingly, the words carrying more meaning than he let on. He needed to see her fully, to understand the true strength of the woman before him—not just the skilled fighter he had known in Kirkwall, but the White Wolf whose name carried weight across Thedas.
Her grin sharpened. “As you wish, Commander.”
Cullen struck first, a calculated swing to gauge her reflexes. She ducked with ease, her movements fluid as water, pivoting on her heel to evade his follow-up strike. The crowd’s murmurs swelled with excitement, and Cullen pressed forward, raising his shield, but she was already slipping past it.
Her unarmed style was more unpredictable than he’d expected. She darted and wove like a shadow, her movements impossible to predict. At one point, she leapt onto a barrel, using it as a springboard to evade his shield bash. The landing was so smooth it earned an audible gasp from the onlookers.
“She’s quick,” a recruit whispered.
Valentina, standing at the edge of the crowd, grinned. “You have no idea.”
Cullen found himself grinning despite his growing frustration. She was holding nothing back, and it showed. Her movements were honed, efficient—each dodge and feint calculated to make him overcommit, to leave himself exposed. She was every bit the White Wolf he’d heard about in whispers and reports, a legend in her own right.
When she darted in and caught the edge of his shield, yanking it free with startling precision, he couldn’t help but laugh despite himself. “You should really stop letting me do that,” she teased, stepping back.
“Noted,” he replied, shaking his head as he retrieved his balance.
The rhythm of their duel ebbed and flowed, the crowd’s cheers swelling as the tension built. Cullen knew he couldn’t match her speed, but his strength and reach gave him an advantage he pressed whenever he could. Yet she adapted with every strike, her agility never faltering.
When she twisted his arm and forced him to one knee, he felt the wooden sword slip from his grip. “Do you yield, Commander?” she asked, triumphant and breathless.
He raised his hands slowly, her hold on his arm just loose enough to give him an opening. Seizing it, he shifted his weight and flipped her over his shoulder, sending her to the ground with a soft thud. Laughter spilled from her lips as she lay on her back, her grin unbroken.
“I should have seen that coming,” she admitted, still laughing.
Cullen extended his hand, his lips curving into a smile. “You should have.”
Her hand was warm in his as he helped her up, the strength of her grip grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. For a moment, the noise of the crowd faded, and he found himself caught in her gaze. There was a question there, unspoken yet heavy, one he wasn’t ready to answer.
The crowd’s cheers broke the moment, pulling them both back. Cullen stepped away, nodding to compose himself. “That was…” Varric’s voice rang out, cutting through the din. “Probably the most exciting thing to happen in Haven all month. Call it a draw?”
The crowd laughed, echoing the sentiment. Ariana smirked, brushing the dust from her trousers. “Evenly matched, it is.”
Cullen chuckled, shaking his head. “Until next time, Herald.”
As the crowd began to disperse, Emma darted over, her face flushed with excitement. “That was amazing! I knew you would win, Commander. I just knew you were stronger!”
The words hit Cullen like a blow, though Emma’s admiration was unmistakably genuine. His gaze flicked to Ariana, who had approached with her usual composure. Yet he saw the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, quickly masked with a faint smile.
Kneeling to Emma’s level, Cullen chose his words carefully. “Ariana is stronger in ways you might not see yet, Emma. She’s been protecting you for as long as you can remember. You should never doubt that.”
Emma tilted her head, her youthful certainty undeterred. “I guess… But you’re still stronger.”
Ariana placed a hand on Emma’s shoulder, her smile warm but edged with something else. “She’s right, Commander. We both know I’d lose against you in a fight.” Her tone was light, but the words carried a weight that unsettled him.
Cullen watched her walk away with Emma, her laugh echoing faintly as they joined the others. We both know I’d lose against you in a fight. The words replayed in his mind, not as a jest but as a quiet echo of the past—a memory of the Gallows, of a battle neither of them had truly won.
As the training grounds emptied, Cullen tightened his grip on the shield in his hand. Ariana had faced the weight of the world for so long, and it had worn on her in ways he was only now beginning to see. She had stood against impossible odds, shouldered unbearable burdens—and still, she diminished herself.
Tomorrow, he resolved, he would find a way to bridge the gap between Emma and Ariana. And soon, he would remind Ariana of what she meant to him—not as the Herald, or the White Wolf, but as the woman he had loved for nearly twelve years.
And he would not hold back. Not this time.