16 – 18 Bloomingtide 9:41
In Haven, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen stood around the war room table, the air tense with unspoken concerns. The arrival of a scout interrupted their deliberations.
“The Herald has been spotted in the pass,” the scout reported. “She’s alone.”
Cullen’s posture stiffened immediately, his eyes narrowing. “Alone?” he repeated, his voice sharp.
The scout nodded. “Yes, Commander. What few reports we’ve received indicate she’s been riding faster than most scouts, barely stopping along the way.”
The three exchanged uneasy glances.
“Is something amiss?” Cullen pressed, his tone more forceful.
“We’re not certain, sir. The only reports we’ve had are from messenger birds stating she left Redcliffe. Her party stayed behind to escort the mages. She was already a day ahead of them when they sent the last message,” the scout explained.
“How far is she now?” Leliana asked, her expression unreadable, though her voice betrayed her own growing concern.
“Not far,” the scout replied. “She should reach Haven within the hour.”
Leliana nodded, dismissing the scout with a murmured thanks before turning to Josephine and Cullen. “The journey from Redcliffe to Haven typically takes four or five days. Our reports said she left two days ago.”
“Which means she’s ridden hard the entire way,” Josephine concluded, her brows knitting in worry. “Likely hasn’t slept much, if at all.”
“Could something have gone wrong?” Leliana asked quietly, voicing the question they all silently shared.
Cullen barely heard her. His thoughts were already spiraling. Why is she alone? Why isn’t her party with her? Is she injured? What could have happened to make her ride like this?
He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus. If she were seriously hurt, she wouldn’t be able to keep this pace. She wouldn’t make it here. It was a thin reassurance, one that did little to ease the tightness in his chest.
Without a word, Cullen turned on his heel and strode out of the war room, the faint clinking of his armor the only sound in the quiet hall.
“Where are you going?” Leliana called after him.
“To meet her,” Cullen replied curtly, not breaking stride.
He made his way to the gates, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation. The road stretched out before him, winding into the distant mountains. He could see no movement yet, but he stood firm, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
The minutes dragged on, each one feeling longer than the last. Why is she riding alone? What could have happened in Redcliffe?
Memories of their last conversation in the war room came rushing back to him. The words he’d spoken—their unintended sting—echoed in his mind. I won’t allow us to lose the only means we have of closing the rifts. The hurt in her eyes, her sharp retort, her deliberate distance before she left…
Cullen’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was angry, if her relentless pace was fueled by more than just urgency. He had seen her resolve, her fire, but never like this.
His hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he continued to watch the road. Whatever had happened, whatever burden she carried, he would be the first to hear it.
And Maker help anyone who had dared to harm her.
~~~
Ariana’s horse galloped through the pass as the guards opened the gates without hesitation, allowing her to ride straight through. The sound of hoofbeats echoed through Haven.
As her horse slowed near the training grounds. She barely waited for it to stop before dismounting, her boots crunching against the snow. Grabbing the reins, she thrust them into the hands of a startled soldier. “Take care of him,” she said tersely, not even glancing at who it was.
And then she turned towards Cullen, her eyes finding his.
Cullen stood near the stairs by the gate, his arms were crossed. He watched her as she held his gaze, he could see her breaths were heavy, ragged and her expression was one of relief mixed with worry or disbelief.
His heart clenched at the sight of her. There was a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before. She took a few tentative steps towards him before she broke out into a sprint.
Cullen barely had time to react before she threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him as though he might disappear if she let go. Her face buried in his shoulder, and she whispered, “You’re alive…”
Her voice was quiet, but the intensity of her relief sent a ripple of silence through the training grounds. Soldiers and workers paused, exchanging curious glances.
Cullen’s arms came up instinctively, steadying her as she trembled against him. “Of course, I’m alive,” he said softly, his thoughts a mixture of confusion and concern. “Ari, what’s—”
She tightened her grip, cutting him off. Cullen could sense that whatever this was, whatever had happened it had pushed her to a breaking point.
He tried to set her down gently, but her body stiffened. A soft, broken sound escaped her lips, and his worry deepened.
“Ari…” Cullen murmured, his tone both firm and tender. “Come. Walk with me.”
She shook her head against his shoulder, her hands clutching his armor as though it were the only thing keeping her upright.
Cullen sighed quietly, his resolve hardening. Sliding his arms under her legs, he lifted her. Ariana didn’t protest, instead wrapping her legs around him. Her weight was nothing compared to the heaviness of her distress. He held her close, ignoring the whispers and stares of the onlookers. Let them talk. Right now, all that mattered was her.
As Cullen carried her toward her quarters, Isabel appeared, her expression shifting from surprise to quiet understanding. Without a word, she moved ahead to open the door for him.
“Thank you,” Cullen said simply, nodding to Isabel as he stepped inside.
Isabel lingered just long enough to ensure everything was in order before turning back toward the gates. When curious soldiers approached her, she raised a hand to silence them. “It’s fine,” she said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. “She’s back. That’s all you need to know. Now get back to work.”
Inside Ariana’s quarters, Cullen kicked the door shut behind him. She still clung to him, her face pressed against his neck. He crossed the room to her bed and sat down, settling her on his lap with her legs draped on either side of him, her arms still tight around his neck.
“Ari,” he said gently, his hand moving to stroke her hair in a soothing rhythm. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“For what?” he asked, his concern deepening.
“For leaving the way I did. For failing. For everything that could happen… will happen if I fail,” she choked out. Her words were fragmented, her emotions too raw to form coherent sentences.
Cullen’s brows furrowed as he tried to piece together her meaning. “You mean when you left for Redcliffe?”
She nodded against him, her grip loosening slightly. Slowly, he pulled back just enough to see her face. Her eyes were red and swollen, her expression haunted.
His heart ached at the sight of her. “Ari…” he said softly, his voice filled with both worry and resolve. “Whatever it is, I’m here.”
She held his gaze for a moment, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. But in that moment, some of the weight she carried seemed to lift.
Cullen gently brushed his hand against Ariana’s cheek, his voice soft and steady. “Come, let’s get you out of these clothes and settled. You can tell me everything when you’re ready.” His fingers lingered for just a moment, their warmth grounding him as much as it seemed to ground her. All that mattered now was easing the storm in her eyes.
Ariana didn’t respond with words. Instead, she undid the clasp of her cloak with one hand, letting it fall to the floor beside the bed. One by one, she began removing her layers—the sash, gloves, coat, and vest—each discarded with methodical precision. Cullen watched her closely, his worry deepening as he noticed the subtle tremor in her hands, the way her fingers fumbled for just a moment before finding their rhythm. Her breaths were shallow, uneven, as though she were trying to will herself to stay in control.
She didn’t move from his lap, and he didn’t ask her to. He let her work through the motions, hoping the familiar routine might steady her thoughts. When she reached for the clasps of his armor, her movements slowed, deliberate but almost automatic. Cullen sat still, allowing her to continue, though his heart ached at the quiet desperation in her expression.
Piece by piece, his armor joined her discarded clothing on the floor—the pauldron, gloves, chest plate—all undone by her careful, trembling hands. Her touch lingered briefly on the belt holding his sword, her fingers brushing the hilt before setting it aside with the same measured care. She leaned into him as she worked, her breaths gradually evening out, though the tension in her body hadn’t fully eased.
When she finished, she buried her face against his shoulder again, silent but holding onto him as though he were the only thing tethering her to the world. Cullen hesitated, then spoke in a gentle, slightly playful tone. “Do you know how scandalous the rumors will be by morning…?”
Ariana let out a small, soft laugh—a sound so brief and faint that it almost broke Cullen’s heart. But it was enough to ease the tightness in his chest, even if just for a moment. At least she was still with him, still fighting her way back.
“You don’t have to apologize for the other day, Ari,” Cullen said, his hands resting lightly on her waist. “It wasn’t anything worth thinking about. I know you well enough to know you were… being you.” He chuckled softly, trying to coax her further from the dark place her mind had taken her.
But instead of laughing, she pulled back just enough to look at him. Her hazel-green eyes, glassy with unshed tears, locked onto his, her vulnerability laid bare. “But what if that had been the last time I ever saw you?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Cullen’s breath caught in his throat. Her words carried a weight that struck him harder than he expected. “What do you mean?” he asked gently, tilting his head to study her face, searching for answers in her expression.
“Because it happened,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And despite knowing it was a lost cause, you laid siege to Redcliffe Castle… and lost.”
Her words hit him like a blow. Cullen’s mind raced, trying to piece together what she was saying. What is she talking about? He hadn’t ordered any siege of Redcliffe. He hadn’t done anything to warrant the haunted look in her eyes.
“Ari,” he said cautiously, his tone low and soothing, “what are you saying?”
She didn’t answer, but he could feel her trembling against him, her breaths hitching unevenly. Cullen tightened his arms around her, his own heart racing now. He needed to pull her out of this spiral before it consumed her completely.
Without hesitation, he shifted his grip, one arm securing her waist, the other supporting her legs, and he moved. In a smooth, deliberate motion, he lowered her onto the bed, leaning over her as she lay beneath him.
Her breath caught, startled by the sudden movement, her wide eyes meeting his. For a moment, she froze, her expression a mixture of confusion and surprise. Cullen held her gaze, letting her see the depth of his care, his steady presence grounding her.
“I am right here with you, Ari,” Cullen said firmly, his voice low but resolute. “Since you left for Redcliffe, nothing has happened here. I’ve spent most days between the training grounds and the war room, reading reports. I have not ordered a siege of Redcliffe Castle or anything else for that matter.”
Her breathing slowed, her chest rising and falling beneath him. Cullen stayed still, unwilling to move until he saw the tension in her face begin to soften. Slowly, Ariana nodded, the glassy sheen in her eyes replaced by something steadier.
But just as Cullen began to relax, she moved suddenly, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. It was desperate, fierce, and full of emotions too raw to name. Cullen froze for only a moment before responding, his lips meeting hers with equal intensity.
For all his concern, for all the questions still unanswered, Cullen couldn’t deny the relief flooding through him. She was here, alive, in his arms. And right now, that was enough. All that mattered was her, and the fragile trust she placed in him to pull her back from the brink.
~~~
Cullen’s lips lingered on hers, soft yet filled with unspoken emotions. Then, almost as suddenly as it had started, he pulled back slightly. His breath was warm against her skin as he brushed a thumb across her cheek, his free hand cradling her face with a tenderness that made her heart ache.
“Ari…” His voice was low, hesitant, as if he couldn’t find the words he needed.
Ariana leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before meeting his again. She kissed him once more, her hands slipping beneath the edge of his tunic, seeking the warmth of his skin. “I need you,” she whispered, her voice raw and pleading, every word laced with longing.
Cullen caught her hand, his grip firm but not unkind, and she froze. “Ariana,” he began, his tone faltering. “This…” He stopped, the weight of his unspoken words hanging between them.
The hesitation in his eyes sent Ariana’s mind spiraling. Had she been wrong? Her chest tightened, a hollow ache spreading through her as doubt crept in. Maybe he doesn’t want this anymore.
Her thoughts raced through every moment since that night in Kirkwall—the night she had said goodbye. She hadn’t meant to leave him like that, hadn’t meant to hide. Now she knew he had been searching for her, for years. Could he be tired of waiting? Could he have finally moved on? She tried to blink back the tears welling in her eyes, but one escaped, tracing a cold line down her cheek.
Ariana’s gaze flickered to his, searching for something—anything—that might reassure her. But the uncertainty she saw only deepened her fears. She started to turn away, unable to bear the weight of her doubt.
Then Cullen’s lips found hers again. The kiss was softer this time, tentative, as though he were unsure of her reaction, but it carried no less passion. His hesitation melted the moment she responded, meeting him with equal fervor.
Cullen’s hand released her wrist and instead found hers, intertwining their fingers. The calloused warmth of his touch steadied her, and she realized with a jolt that he wasn’t stopping her—he was reaching for her, too. His fingers brushed against her ring, and his gaze dropped to their joined hands.
His breath hitched audibly. Ariana felt her chest tighten, not with doubt this time, but with a faint, trembling hope. He hasn’t forgotten.
When his gaze lifted again, there was something unspoken in his eyes. An unasked question. His lips met hers, the kiss tender but full of promises she didn’t need words to understand. She clung to him, her free hand tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. The way he kissed her, the way he held her, spoke louder than any words could. He needed her just as much as she needed him. Every touch, every kiss, was a silent apology, a desperate plea for reassurance.
“Cullen,” she murmured against his lips, her voice breaking slightly as her fingers traced his jawline. “I’m sorry, for everything.”
Her words undid him. He pulled back just far enough to see her face, to take in the vulnerability etched into every line of her expression. Her hazel-green eyes glistened with unshed tears, her lips slightly parted, as though the weight of everything she carried would spill out if she spoke again.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked softly, his voice a low rumble that seemed to ground her. His hands framed her face, his thumbs brushing the dampness beneath her eyes. “I don’t want this if it’s not—”
Her breath caught, and for a moment, neither of them moved. His words hung in the air, unfinished but heavy with meaning. If it’s not forever. If it’s not us.
“If it’s not real?” Ariana finished for him, her voice trembling but steady. She searched his eyes, her own gaze vulnerable, raw with emotion. “Cullen, it is. I swear to you, it is.”
He exhaled sharply, his own composure fracturing as he kissed her again, deeper this time. Whatever hesitation he’d felt dissolved beneath the weight of her need, her whispered pleas, the way her body pressed against his as though seeking solace in his presence.
Her fingers skimmed the edge of his tunic, sliding the fabric up until Cullen pulled away only long enough to take it off. Her touch was light, reverent, like she was memorizing the feel of him beneath her hands. “I thought I lost you,” she admitted in a shaky breath. “Cullen. I can’t—” Her voice cracked, and she buried her face against his neck, her tears warm against his skin.
“You haven’t lost me,” he murmured, his lips brushing her temple. His voice was firm, steady—a promise. “You’ll never lose me.”
Her tears came freely now, but they weren’t from sadness. They were from the overwhelming relief, the unburdening of everything she had held back for so long. She kissed him again, her hands roaming across his shoulders, his chest, reveling in the memories of so many other nights. Their kisses grew more urgent, more desperate. Each touch, each whispered word carried the weight of everything left unsaid—the years of separation, the doubts, the fears. Cullen’s hands roamed her back, grounding her even as her own hands tugged at his belt.
Cullen’s hands moved with deliberate care, brushing against her arms and shoulders as he grasped the hem of her tunic. He paused briefly, his eyes searching hers for permission. When she gave a small nod, he began to lift the fabric, tugging it gently over her head, and tossing it to the floor without a second thought.
As the soft light fell across her bare skin, Cullen’s gaze dropped to her torso. His fingers, brushing lightly against her side to steady her, suddenly froze. His breath hitched.
Cullen’s gaze dropped to where his fingers rested, and his entire body tensed. The scar stood out starkly against her sun-kissed skin, a mark of his own blade from that night in Kirkwall. His stomach churned as the memory surged forward—the chaos of the battle, the way she had twisted away too late, the blood on his sword.
His hand trembled as he brushed his fingertips over the scar, his expression twisting with guilt and something deeper—grief. “Maker…” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I did this.”
Ariana placed her hand over his, stilling his movement. “Cullen,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the weight of the moment. “It wasn’t your fault.”
He looked up at her, his amber eyes searching hers for absolution. “I could have killed you,” he murmured, the words heavy with regret.
“You didn’t,” she replied firmly, her fingers tightening around his. “And I’ve never blamed you for it. We were both fighting a battle I chose for us. Because I was too afraid to tell you the truth. If anyone is to blame, it’s me.”
His brow furrowed, his gaze dropping to the scar again. “But this… it never should have happened.”
Ariana cupped his face with her free hand, guiding his attention back to her. “We can’t change the past,” she said gently, her thumb brushing against his cheek. “But we’re here now. Together.”
For a moment, he didn’t move, his hand still resting against her side, as if grounding himself in the reality of her presence. Then, with infinite care, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the scar. The gesture was achingly tender, an unspoken apology and vow all in one.
Ariana’s breath caught, her fingers tightening in his hair as tears welled in her eyes. She let out a shaky exhale, her heart swelling with a mix of relief and longing. “I love you,” she whispered, the words slipping free before she could second-guess them.
Her whispered confession hung between them like a fragile thread.
Cullen lifted his head to meet her gaze, his golden eyes shining with a depth of emotion she hadn’t seen in years. “And I love you,” he replied, his voice steady and certain, as though the words alone could erase every doubt and regret between them.
The words seemed to unravel something in him, and he kissed her again, this time with a fervor that set her skin alight. His hands moved with purpose, peeling away the barriers between them until there was nothing left but bare skin and the raw intensity of their connection.
Every touch was deliberate, every kiss a promise. He worshipped her with his hands, his lips, his voice—soft murmurs of her name and words of love that sent shivers through her. And she gave herself to him completely, her body arching beneath his, her hands roaming his back, his shoulders, the muscles taut beneath her fingertips.
The hours stretched and blurred as they moved together, their bodies finding a rhythm that felt both instinctive and timeless. Ariana had never known anything like it—the way he held her, the way he seemed to know exactly what she needed before she did.
Cullen’s touch was unyielding yet tender, his every movement a balance of strength and care. She felt as though he were holding her together, anchoring her to something solid even as the rest of the world threatened to fall away.
As her voice broke on his name, raw and trembling with emotion, he kissed her deeply, as if to capture the sound and hold it close. When his own restraint finally shattered, his forehead rested against hers, and he murmured her name like a solemn vow. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him just as tightly, anchoring him as he had steadied her.
By the time the first rays of dawn crept through the window, they lay tangled together beneath the covers, their bodies pressed close as their breathing slowed. Ariana rested her head against Cullen’s chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns along his skin as his hand brushed through her hair. Ariana couldn’t help but think of the nights they’d spent together before everything fell apart. The quiet mornings in Kirkwall, stolen moments between the chaos.
Every moment spent in his arms felt like coming home—a home she had lost but never stopped yearning for. Now, with his heart beating steadily beneath her cheek, the world felt right again. No war, no shadows, just the two of them, tangled together as if nothing had ever come between them.
“Are you alright?” Cullen asked softly as he pressed a kiss against her forehead.
“Always,” she murmured, her voice soft and filled with a quiet vulnerability. “Whenever, I’m here with you… always.”
Cullen’s arms tightened around her, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “You’re safe now, Ari.” he said, his voice rough but steady. “Whatever happened, I’m here with you.”
Ariana smiled faintly, her eyes drifting closed as the warmth of his embrace lulled her into a rare, peaceful sleep. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt whole again—cherished, protected, and utterly loved. And as the morning light crept across the bed, she knew she was never letting him go again.
~~~
Ariana stirred awake, feeling the warmth of Cullen’s arms around her—a sensation she hadn’t felt in years. His hand rested over hers, his fingers brushing against her ring as though grounding her even in sleep. For a moment, the weight of the world lifted, and she felt safe. Secure. As if everything would be alright. A soft smile crossed her lips as she nestled closer to him, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling her back to sleep.
For years, she had pushed the memory of this feeling aside—safety, warmth, the quiet assurance of his presence. Yet now, here it was, as familiar as if no time had passed at all. How had she lived without it?
Later, she was pulled back to wakefulness by the sound of Cullen shifting, trying to get out of bed. Without opening her eyes, she tightened her hold on him, not ready to let him go.
He chuckled softly. “There’s still a lot of work to do, you know?” His tone was teasing, but she could hear the familiar edge of duty in his voice.
“And you have an army of soldiers to do it,” she mumbled sleepily, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Take all the Rangers in Haven too…”
“Ari, I—” Cullen began, trying again to sit up, but she shifted, turning toward him and settling herself against his shoulder. Her arm wrapped around him as she drifted off again, her steady breaths brushing against his neck.
Cullen sighed, smiling to himself. “Maker, you’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured, though he made no further attempt to move. Before long, he too fell back asleep.
Later that morning, Isabel quietly entered Ariana’s quarters, carrying a pot of coffee. The sight of them both still asleep brought a smile to her face. Setting the pot down gently on the table, she left without a word, carefully closing the door behind her.
It was the smell of coffee that finally coaxed Ariana awake. Her senses stirred as she blinked against the sunlight streaming into the room. Glancing over, she saw Cullen was still asleep, his features soft and peaceful in a way she rarely got to see.
Climbing out of bed carefully so as not to disturb him, she looked around at the scattered clothes and armor on the floor. Finding her robe draped over a chair, she slipped it on and poured herself a cup of coffee. Settling into the chair by the fire, she let her gaze linger on Cullen for a moment. For the first time in days, she allowed herself to breathe. He’s here. He’s safe. We still have a chance.
She picked up a book from the small stack on the table and began to read. It wasn’t long before she heard Cullen stir behind her.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice still heavy with sleep.
Ariana looked up from her book, a smile lighting her face. “Good morning. You’re awake…”
Cullen chuckled softly. “Were you waiting for me to be?”
“Not really,” she replied, a playful glint in her eye. “Though I do try to be quiet when you’re still asleep.”
The words left her mouth naturally, as if they were an everyday occurrence. It wasn’t until she saw Cullen’s amused smile that she realized how unguarded the comment was. It had been years since she’d had reason to think like that, yet this morning, it felt second nature again.
He laughed lightly, shaking his head. “I suppose old habits die hard.”
Getting out of bed, Cullen reached for the coffee she poured for him, settling across from her. As he sat down, he watched her over the rim of his cup, thinking how easily they had fallen back into this rhythm. It felt both comforting and fragile, as though it might shatter if either of them spoke too loudly.
For a while, they sat in companionable silence. But Cullen’s worry, ever-present beneath the surface, gnawed at him. Setting his cup down, he broke the quiet.
“Ari,” he began, his tone cautious but firm, “what happened in Redcliffe?”
The question startled her, breaking the peace of the morning. The night before, she had allowed herself to let go of what she’d seen, losing herself in the safety of his arms. Now, with the question laid bare before her, the memories rushed back, jagged and raw.
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before turning to look at him again. Her hands trembled slightly as she set her coffee down, fingers curling tightly around the edge of the chair. Finally, Ariana began to speak, quietly at first, testing the words in her mouth to see if she could relive it without breaking down.
She told him everything. What happened when they arrived at Redcliffe Castle, how their plan seemed flawless at first, the Venatori scouts, Alexius’s attempt to erase her from time, and Dorian’s counterspell that had sent them into a horrific future. She described the fate of the Templar Order, the horrors of red lyrium, the devastation of Haven, Leliana’s transformation, and—finally—how she had learned of his own tragic end in that dark timeline.
Cullen stood, closing the distance between them and crouching in front of her. His hands covered hers, his grip tightening whenever her voice faltered. He listened without interruption, his fingers brushing against hers as though silently offering her strength.
When she finished, her voice faltered. “I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.”
“You are not alone in this, Ari,” Cullen said, his voice steady and resolute. “If that future comes for us, it will find me standing in its way.”
Ariana smiled despite everything, simply nodding. He’s safe. I haven’t lost him. I won’t lose him.
The sunlight filtering through the room felt warmer now, a quiet promise of what they could still fight for together.
~~~
The rest of the morning passed in easy conversation, some of it touching on the dark future Ariana had seen. With each passing moment, she seemed more herself—calm, collected, her sharp mind piecing together every detail of what had happened and what needed to be done. Cullen couldn’t help but admire her resilience, though his focus remained on ensuring she didn’t carry it alone.
A sudden knock at the door startled them both. Ariana stood, opening it while keeping Cullen out of sight. A soldier stood on the other side, his posture straight but his expression faintly nervous as he held out a small bouquet of jasmines and lilacs.
“From the Commander, my Lady,” the soldier said softly, bowing his head slightly before walking away.
Ariana closed the door, turning back toward Cullen with an amused look as she held up the flowers. “It seems you got me flowers,” she said, her tone playful and knowing, a teasing glint in her eye.
Cullen raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback. “What?”
Her grin widened, her voice laced with mock accusation. “Weren’t you supposed to tell me if there was anything important I needed to know? Like the sudden appearance of romantic gestures?”
“Maker help me,” he muttered, shaking his head with a laugh. Though, if he were honest, that soldier was about to get a promotion. The sight of Ariana’s unguarded smile, the way her laughter lit up the room, made everything worthwhile. How long has it been since she smiled like that?
“Do you like them?” Cullen asked, watching as she leaned in to breathe in their delicate fragrance.
She looked up at him, her smile soft but teasing. “Why? Are you saying you did send them?”
Cullen laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Unfortunately, I can’t take credit this time. But I won’t begrudge the soldiers for getting you flowers—especially if they make you happy.”
Ariana chuckled, setting the bouquet down carefully on the table. “I’ll have to thank whoever it was later. But for now…” Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she turned back to him. “I’m keeping them.”
“As you should,” he said warmly, leaning back in his chair. He couldn’t help but feel a quiet pride that his men—his army—had taken it upon themselves to make her feel cared for. It struck him then: for once, he could truly give her everything she deserved. Not just his love, but the support of an entire force dedicated to ensuring her well-being. The thought filled him with a sense of certainty he hadn’t felt in years. Maybe, just maybe, he could be exactly the man she needed.
Cullen allowed Ariana to set the pace of their day. They talked, read, and even played a few hands of cards. Ariana was playful, her wit sharp as ever, and Cullen found himself grinning more than he had in months. Watching her now, laughing softly at a particularly terrible hand of cards, he realized just how rare it was to see her like this—unguarded, at peace. The weight of her burdens seemed lighter, if only for a time.
When Ariana’s gaze drifted to the small chessboard on the table, Cullen caught the slight curve of her lips before she even spoke.
“Chess?” she asked, her tone light, though he could hear the teasing challenge beneath it. She began setting up the pieces without waiting for a response. “One of these days, Cullen, I’m going to win.”
He chuckled softly, crossing the room to join her. “Maker knows, Ari, I’d love to see it. But today won’t be that day.”
Her smirk widened, and he couldn’t help but smile in return. There was something so effortlessly familiar about this—a glimpse of the afternoons they’d spent together in Kirkwall, tucked away in fleeting moments of normalcy amid the chaos. How often had they sat like this, the board between them, her head bent in concentration as she plotted her next move? It had always been the same—her bold, reckless strategies clashing against his measured precision.
Yet, watching her now, Cullen felt a pang of regret. He should have fought harder to hold on to this, to her. He should never have let her leave that night in Kirkwall, should have stopped her instead of letting anger and pride get in the way. But at least she was here now. His again, as she had always been.
Your betrothed will need you in the days to come. The Divine’s words echoed in his mind again. Had she known something was going to go wrong? Had she expected the Conclave to fail? And why had she brought Ariana, what role had she expected her to play?
“You know,” Ariana said, breaking through his thoughts as she moved her first pawn, “just once, I’d like to see you actually struggle.”
The game began as it always did: her bold opening moves setting an aggressive pace while Cullen carefully picked apart her strategy. She leaned forward in concentration, her chin resting on her hand as she studied the board, her eyes flicking between pieces. She wasn’t bad—far from it. Her intuition was sharp, and she could think several moves ahead. But Cullen had spent years honing his craft, and his patient, methodical approach outmatched her impulsive daring every time.
Still, she didn’t let frustration show. “How is it,” she said after losing yet another piece, “that you make it look so easy?”
“You know the answer to that,” Cullen replied, moving his knight into position with almost lazy precision. “You have Mia to thank for this. Or rather Mia’s stuck-up grin whenever she won.”
Ariana shook her head, but she was smiling. She made her next move—a surprisingly clever feint—but Cullen countered it within seconds. Her brow furrowed, and he could tell she was replaying the sequence in her head, trying to figure out where she had gone wrong.
It reminded him of the early days in Kirkwall, how fiercely she had thrown herself into every game, even knowing she would lose. She never gave up, though, and that determination was one of the many things he admired about her. Even now, as the game inevitably turned in his favor, she didn’t look defeated. If anything, she seemed amused, as though the act of challenging him was more enjoyable than the thought of winning.
When he finally declared, “Checkmate,” her expression shifted briefly to mock irritation before she laughed, leaning back with a groan.
“One day,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll find a way to beat you.”
“Perhaps,” Cullen said, his tone teasing, though his smile softened. “But not today.”
The warmth in his voice silenced her playful retort, and for a moment, they simply held each other’s gaze.
As the evening settled in, they found themselves back on the bed, Ariana propped against Cullen’s shoulder with a blanket draped loosely around them. He held an old, well-worn book in his hands, his deep voice filling the quiet room as he read aloud.
She closed her eyes, letting the cadence of his words wash over her. The sound was soothing, grounding, a balm against the weight of everything she had seen. His hand rested lightly against her shoulder, a steadying presence she hadn’t realized how much she needed.
When Cullen glanced down, he noticed her breathing had evened out. Her head rested against him, her body relaxed, her expression unguarded in a way he had rarely seen since he found her again. He paused, savoring the moment.
Carefully, he set the book aside and adjusted the blanket to cover her more fully. His fingers brushed against her hair, a quiet gesture of affection, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss against her temple.
“Rest, Ari,” he murmured. “Tomorrow can wait.”
With her warmth against him and her steady breathing filling the quiet space, Cullen closed his eyes. The weight of the future hadn’t vanished, but for the first time in years, it felt bearable. She was here—safe, loved, and his. And that, for tonight, was enough.
~~~
Cassandra, Dorian, and Solas arrived at Haven the following day, leading the remnants of the mage rebellion. The group was a somber sight, the mages walking in silence, their faces marked by exhaustion and uncertainty.
Without hesitation, Cassandra headed for the Chantry. Inside, Leliana and Josephine were deep in conversation over a growing pile of reports.
“Welcome back, Seeker,” Leliana greeted, though her expression was grim. She gestured to the reports in front of them. “We’ve received troubling intelligence, but I suspect you have news of your own.”
Cassandra nodded curtly, her sharp gaze sweeping the room. “Where is Commander Cullen?”
“With the Herald,” Josephine replied, her tone careful. “She returned a few days ago, but… she was not herself. Whatever happened in Redcliffe left its mark.”
“And the Commander has been with her,” Leliana added softly. “He’s worried, understandably so. She arrived in quite a state.”
Cassandra’s frown deepened. From Dorian’s accounts during their journey, she had an idea why. The dark future they had witnessed was no mere nightmare—it was a vision of despair, and Ariana had borne its weight alone. “Have they spoken of what happened?”
“Not publicly,” Leliana said. “Whatever transpired there must have been harrowing.”
Josephine sighed. “I only hope the Commander has been able to help her. We need her steady. The Inquisition needs her steady.”
Before the conversation could continue, the Chantry doors opened, and Cullen and Ariana entered together.
The room fell silent. Ariana’s composure seemed restored, though there was a quiet fire in her eyes—a new intensity that hadn’t been there before. She moved with deliberate grace, her gaze sharp. Cullen walked beside her, his protective presence grounding, though his watchful demeanor suggested he remained attuned to her unspoken emotions.
To everyone’s surprise, Ariana stepped forward and pulled Cassandra and Leliana into a warm embrace. Both women froze, momentarily stunned.
“Thank you,” Ariana said softly, her voice steady but brimming with emotion. “In Redcliffe, you sacrificed everything so I could return.”
Cassandra and Leliana exchanged uncertain glances, unaccustomed to such gestures from the Herald. But in her words, they heard the depth of her gratitude.
“Of course I did,” Leliana quipped, breaking the tension. “One small life for a second chance at history? I’ve always loved a bargain.”
Cassandra pulled back slightly, her gaze searching. “What happened?”
Ariana hesitated, taking a steadying breath before she began to recount the events of the dark future. Her voice remained calm, though her words carried the weight of what she had seen: the assassination of Empress Celene, the chaos in Orlais, the rise of the Elder One, and the devastation of Thedas. She described the corrupted templars, the Breach spreading unchecked, and the ultimate downfall of the Inquisition.
She faltered when speaking of the fates of those in the room—Cassandra’s defiance, Leliana’s capture, Cullen’s tragic end. As her voice wavered, Cullen moved slightly closer, his hand resting lightly against the small of her back. The touch was steady, grounding, and she drew strength from it. With a deep breath, she finished with quiet determination. “It was real. And I won’t let it happen again.”
The room was silent as her words settled over them. Leliana’s jaw tightened, and Josephine looked pale, but Cassandra spoke first. “You’ve carried this well. Better than most would.”
“I don’t feel like I have,” Ariana admitted quietly. “But we don’t have the luxury of dwelling on it. The mages are here. The Elder One is still out there. The Breach remains open. We need to act.”
Cullen crossed his arms, his tone measured but firm. “Now that the mages are here, what is their place in Haven? How do we ensure this doesn’t become another disaster?”
Ariana met his gaze evenly. “I recruited them as allies, not prisoners. They’ve agreed to work alongside the Templars. Together—not as captors and captives, but as equals.”
“There’s risk in that,” Cullen said, his expression serious. “I understand their desperation, but that desperation led to Redcliffe.”
“They’re not prisoners, Cullen,” Ariana said firmly. “And we’re not building another Circle. Respect is non-negotiable. If there are issues, we’ll address them—individually.”
He held her gaze for a long moment before nodding. “If that’s your decision, I’ll ensure it’s upheld.”
“Thank you,” Ariana said softly, her voice carrying both relief and resolve.
Cassandra’s expression remained firm. “While I may not completely agree with the decision, I support it. The sole purpose of the Herald’s mission was to secure the mages’ aid, and that was accomplished. We need them for the fight ahead.”
Dorian chose that moment to step into view from behind a pillar, his usual grin firmly in place. “The voice of pragmatism speaks! How delightfully refreshing.”
Ariana quirked an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Is hiding behind pillars a habit of yours?”
Dorian shrugged, his grin widening. “I do like to make a fashionable entrance.”
She chuckled softly, shaking her head.
“Closing the Breach is all that matters,” Cassandra interjected, bringing the conversation back to its somber focus.
“Dorian and I got a taste of the consequences if we fail,” Ariana said, her tone losing its lightness. “I would prefer not to see that a second time.”
Leliana stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “We should look into what you saw in this… ‘dark future.’ The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army? The Elder One himself?”
“One battle at a time,” Cullen said firmly, his leadership instincts taking over. “It’s going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the war room.”
He turned to Ariana, his expression softening. “Join us. None of this means anything without you, after all.”
Ariana smirked faintly. “And here I’d hoped to sit out the assault on the Breach. Take a nap. Maybe go for a walk…”
Cullen chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “What is it they say? No rest for the wicked?”
“I’ll skip the war council,” Dorian interjected, waving a hand dismissively, “but I would like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”
“You’re… staying?” Ariana asked, a soft smile touching her lips.
“Oh, didn’t I mention? The South is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces,” Dorian replied with exaggerated cheer, placing a hand dramatically over his heart.
“There’s no black sheep I’d rather be stranded in time with,” Ariana quipped, laughing softly.
“Excellent choice! But let’s not get stranded again anytime soon, yes?” Dorian retorted, flashing a grin.
Cullen watched their banter with a small, amused smile. He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of gratitude for Dorian. During their time together, Ariana had explained her connection with him—their shared understanding of rebellion against obligation. Their camaraderie was natural, built on mutual respect and wit. “Besides, he’s far more interested in you than me,” she’d teased Cullen, a comment that had left him both relieved and quietly amused.
“I’ll begin preparations to march on the summit,” Cullen said, bowing his head slightly to Ariana. “Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory.”
Ariana nodded, her resolve steeling once more. The dark future she had seen would not come to pass—not while she had the strength to prevent it.