18 – 22 Bloomingtide 9:41
Before Ariana could make her way into the war room, the Chantry doors opened once more, letting in a burst of chill morning air. It was Riley. Ariana froze for a moment, her breath catching as relief swept through her. After what Leliana had told her about Cullen’s fate in the dark future, she couldn’t help but imagine Riley had suffered a similar one. Seeing her now, safe and whole, was like a weight lifting off her chest.
Without a second thought, she crossed the distance between them and wrapped Riley in a tight hug. She held on longer than she usually would, letting herself savor the reassurance of her friend’s solid presence.
Riley returned the hug with easy warmth, though her tone stayed casual, as if she sensed Ariana needed the familiarity of their banter more than anything serious.
“You know,” Riley chuckled, patting her back lightly, “if you keep this up, I might start thinking you missed me.”
Ariana stepped back, her usual teasing grin already returning. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s just this one time.”
“Pretty sure it’s been two or three times now,” Riley replied with a mock-thoughtful expression, though the smirk tugging at her lips gave her away.
Ariana waved her hand dismissively, grinning. “Details.”
Riley tilted her head, her expression softening briefly as she studied Ariana’s face. “You look better,” she said, her tone gentler now. “Last I heard, Redcliffe was… a mess.”
The smile faltered on Ariana’s lips for the briefest moment, but she recovered quickly, steering the conversation to business. “How’s our progress in the Hinterlands?”
“Good. We left when the Fereldan army marched in. Figured they could handle it from there,” Riley replied with a shrug. Her smirk turned curious as she added, “So… why’d the Fereldan army finally decide to get off their asses?”
Ariana raised an eyebrow, her voice light but carrying a playful edge. “Oh, you know, just the usual. You were right, a Tevinter magister had taken over Redcliffe Castle.”
“That all?” Riley asked, her tone dry.
“Well, he also cast a time spell to get to Redcliffe before me, sent me into the future, and conscripted the mages into service for the Imperium,” Ariana added. Her smirk grew as she spoke casually, but the humor didn’t fully mask the weight she was carrying. She folded her arms and tilted her head, feigning nonchalance.
Riley blinked at her, unimpressed. “Right. So, the usual, then.”
“Precisely,” Ariana replied with a laugh. Riley always had that effect on her—taking the worst of things and making them manageable, even if only for a moment.
Riley shook her head, smirking. “Tavern in a bit?”
“Absolutely,” Ariana replied without hesitation, her grin unwavering. She didn’t need to think twice. She had always valued moments like these, and right now, sharing a drink with Riley felt like the perfect way to remind herself that not everything was on fire.
As Riley walked further into the Chantry, Ariana lingered for a moment, watching her go with a soft, content smile. The thought of sitting down with Riley by the fire, sharing stories over a pint of ale, felt like the first real break she could remember in what felt like forever. For a moment, she allowed herself to breathe, to let the weight of everything ease just a little.
She’d spent so long focused on the battles ahead, on the horrors she’d seen, but now she realized something else—these moments, however fleeting, were just as important. As she followed Riley toward the war room, Ariana felt, if only for a moment, like herself again.
~~~
Riley leaned back in her chair, her smirk widening as she sipped her drink. “So, Wolf, what’s this I hear about a certain Commander sneaking flowers into your quarters?”
“Maker help me,” Ariana muttered, dragging a hand down her face in exasperation.
Dorian perked up instantly, his charming tone dripping with mischief. “Flowers, you say? My, my, this is delicious. Do go on,” he said, turning toward Riley with exaggerated curiosity.
“Oh, you know,” Riley said, her grin wicked. “The usual—moonlit rendezvous, clandestine bouquets… jasmines and lilacs, I heard. Someone has impeccable taste.”
Before Ariana could muster a retort, Valentina leaned forward, her voice rich with amusement. “And here I thought the Commander only had eyes for strategy meetings and training drills. Did he ever get you flowers before?”
Ariana groaned, her face already warm as she buried it in her hands. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Oh, but it’s happening,” Varric cut in, leaning on the table with a wide grin. “Word is the Commander carried you back to your quarters after you rode into Haven like a bat out of hell. The soldiers are practically writing sonnets about it.”
“Excellent material for your next book, don’t you think?” Valentina added, her smirk teasing.
“I hate you all,” Ariana mumbled, her voice muffled.
“Uh-huh,” Varric said, smirking. “So… do we finally have a wedding date?”
Ariana threw her hands up. “There is no wedding date! And the flowers weren’t even from him! A soldier brought them to me.”
As her hands fell back to her lap, Dorian’s sharp eyes narrowed, zeroing in like a hawk spotting prey. He leaned forward, pointing dramatically. “Wait just a moment… what is that?”
“What’s what?” Ariana asked, confused by his sudden intensity.
“That.” Dorian gestured emphatically at her left hand. “That sparkling, suspiciously engagement-shaped ring you’re wearing.”
Ariana sighed, shaking her head. “That would be…” she began, looking around the table at the people who already knew exactly what it was, “an engagement ring…”
“Now this is a story I need to hear,” Dorian said, grabbing her wrist lightly and holding her hand up for all to see. “Is that from the Commander?”
Varric let out a bark of laughter, leaning back in his chair. “Well, Pup, looks like you’re caught.”
Riley smirked, crossing her arms. “And here I thought we’d already had enough fun at her expense today.”
Valentina, leaning her chin on her hand, grinned slyly. “Apparently, we were just getting started.”
“Alright, alright!” Ariana said, pulling her hand back and glaring at the group, though her face was redder than the wine in front of Dorian. “There’s nothing new to tell.”
“Oh, it’s all new to me,” Dorian said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “So why don’t you start from the beginning.”
“Maker save me,” Ariana muttered, glancing around at her grinning companions. She finally locked eyes with Dorian, her expression resigned. “It’s a long story, but yes, it’s from Cullen.”
The table erupted in noise, a mixture of laughter, gasps, and teasing.
“Cullen?” Dorian repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “You’ve been holding out on me, my dear. Here I didn’t think he had it in him…”
“We were engaged,” Ariana admitted, her voice almost drowned out by the commotion. “Years ago, before… well, everything.”
“And yet here you are, wearing his ring again,” Riley pointed out, her smirk practically splitting her face. “That’s not exactly subtle, Wolf.”
“Because I never stopped loving him!” Ariana blurted out before slapping a hand over her mouth.
The table went silent for a beat. Then Varric let out a low whistle. “Well, there it is. If I’d known this was going to turn into material for one of my romance serials, I’d have brought more drinks.”
Ariana groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Can we not do this right now?”
Dorian, however, looked unexpectedly thoughtful. “Well,” he said, sitting back with a grin that was less teasing and more approving, “I must say, I can’t fault your taste. The Commander does have a certain rugged charm about him. But if you’re going to rekindle old flames, my dear, you’d better keep me in the loop. I live for this sort of drama.”
“But haven’t you heard?” Valentina asked teasingly, looking at Dorian. “It would seem that our dear Wolf and the Commander were locked in her quarters for two days… alone.”
“Oh… do tell!” Dorian said excitedly. “Two days? Is he as good as I imagine he would be?”
Ariana’s face flushed a deeper shade of red if that was even possible.
Riley patted Ariana’s shoulder sympathetically. “Andraste’s knickers! It’s true then? Is that what you were doing for two days, Wolf? You’ll never live this down now.”
“You’re all insufferable,” Ariana muttered, dropping her head back into her hands as her face flushed into a deep shade of crimson that seemed impossible.
“Ah, but you love us for it,” Valentina quipped, raising her glass in a mock toast.
The banter was in full swing when the tavern door opened, and Cullen stepped inside. Ariana glanced up, her amusement fading as her cheeks quickly regained the crimson color that had finally been clearing. His gaze landed on her, and a faint, familiar smile tugged at his lips.
“Oh, this is too good,” Varric said, grinning as he noticed her reaction.
“Perfect timing,” Dorian chimed in, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, Commander?” he called out, waving cheerfully.
Ariana groaned audibly and thunked her head down onto the table, her mortification complete. The group erupted into laughter, their teasing reaching new heights as Cullen began making his way over.
Riley leaned closer, her voice low enough only Ariana could hear. “You know, Wolf, you make it far too easy for us.”
Valentina chimed in, her voice equally low but laced with amusement. “He certainly plays the part of knight in shining armor well…”
Ariana muttered something unintelligible into the table, her only solace being that Cullen likely hadn’t overheard—yet. But as his footsteps drew nearer, she knew her reprieve was about to end.
~~~
As Cullen reached the table, he was immediately met with Dorian’s trademark mischief.
“Commander,” Dorian began smoothly, his grin already promising trouble, “Perfect timing. Now we can truly get into the details! How do you feel about red and gold as a color scheme?”
“A color—for what?” Cullen asked, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion.
“Just don’t answer that,” Ariana cut in quickly, her voice muffled by her hands. “Trust me.”
Dorian waved her off with dramatic flair. “Fine, fine, I can make that decision on my own. Now, how about Denerim Palace, Commander? Or do we need something more grand? We could move it to Orlais if that’s the case.”
Cullen blinked, glancing at Ariana, who looked ready to disappear into the table. “I… don’t—what are you talking about?”
“Oh, don’t be coy,” Dorian said with mock exasperation. “We’re talking about your wedding, of course. The event of the Age! Don’t worry; I’ll handle the details.”
“Maker help me,” Cullen muttered, though a faint smile tugged at his lips. He was starting to understand why Ariana looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole.
Riley leaned in, her grin wicked. “Oh, we’re just helping Wolf here plan for all the rumors flying around Haven. You know, flowers, romantic dinners in the war room, being locked in her room for two days, the engagement ring…”
Cullen blinked. “The enga—” His mind caught up, and his gaze snapped to Ariana, who looked like she wanted to vanish. Then it clicked. “Oh.”
“Oh, and let’s not forget the infamous scandalous Hightown strolls,” Varric added with a grin, leaning back in his chair. “You remember those, don’t you, Commander?”
Ariana groaned audibly, lifting her head just enough to glare at him. “Don’t you dare.”
Cullen chuckled, settling into the seat next to Ariana. “The rumors in Kirkwall? Those are… hard to forget. Some of them were quite entertaining.” His tone turned teasing as he added, “You probably never heard the ones that stayed in the Gallows.”
That earned a round of laughter from the table, but Ariana looked positively alarmed now. Her wide eyes and deepening blush betrayed her growing mortification. “Cullen…”
“Oh, the Lowtown rumors,” he continued with feigned thoughtfulness, as though he hadn’t heard her. “Now those were even more… colorful. Something about sneaking into your room every night for vigor–”
“Cullen!” Ariana interrupted shooting him a sharp glare.
Dorian and Varric were in stitches, their laughter echoing through the tavern. “Lowtown certainly has its charms,” Dorian said between chuckles. “But I imagine the Hightown rumors had more… elegance?”
“Oh, yes,” Cullen agreed with a grin. “Hightown cared more about whether the ‘black sheep of the Trevelyan family’ might actually marry a Knight-Captain.”
“And some even suggested I’d already proposed,” he added wryly, casting a glance at Ariana. “Do you remember the time I knelt in front of you on that bench?”
Riley’s eyes widened with mock incredulity. “Wait—you knelt? In Hightown? Maker’s breath, Commander, do you know how rumors work?”
Ariana groaned again, burying her face in her hands. “See? Riley gets it. Are you ever going to let that go?”
“Not a chance,” Cullen replied, his amusement evident. “She practically leapt out of her seat as if it had caught on fire.”
“You were kneeling in front of me!” Ariana protested, finally lifting her head to glare at him, though the embarrassed grin tugging at her lips gave her away. “In Hightown. Where the rumors were already bad enough!”
“It wasn’t a proposal,” Cullen said with mock innocence, his grin widening. “I just needed to make sure you were alright. You looked so flustered I thought something was wrong.”
“Because you were kneeling!” Ariana shot back, shaking her head. “Maker’s breath, I still don’t know what you were thinking.”
The group dissolved into laughter, even Ariana finally giving in, though her cheeks remained a vivid red. Cullen leaned back in his chair, his own laugh softer but no less genuine. Watching her now—flustered, exasperated, and glowing with life—made every teasing comment worth it.
“Alright, alright,” Ariana said, holding up her hands in surrender. “Are we done embarrassing me yet?”
“Not even close,” Dorian declared, his grin wicked. “But don’t worry, dear Herald. It’s all in good fun. And really, if you didn’t want rumors, you shouldn’t have been so… interesting.”
Ariana rolled her eyes, exasperated but smiling. Cullen leaned in slightly, his voice quiet enough for only her to hear. “For what it’s worth,” he said softly, his tone warm, “I wouldn’t trade any of it. Not a single rumor.”
Ariana turned to meet his gaze, her blush softening into something more thoughtful. For a moment, the teasing and laughter faded into the background as they shared a quiet understanding. Cullen held her gaze a second longer before straightening, his focus shifting back to the group just as Dorian launched into a fresh round of wedding planning.
“Commander,” Dorian called, his grin sharp. “So, colors, what do you think of deep reds and golds?”
Cullen glanced at Ariana, smirking faintly before answering. “She would prefer blue and silver.”
Ariana blinked, clearly caught off guard. “How did you—?”
That was all it took to send the table into another uproar of laughter. Cullen simply smiled, letting the moment stretch. He might not have all the answers, but in this fleeting instance, he felt a rare certainty—one that spoke of knowing her, of being hers, in a way no rumor could ever capture.
~~~
The past few days in Haven had been a rare reprieve, a brief moment where the constant battles and tension had eased. With the mages recruited and a plan to close the Breach forming, there was, for the first time, a glimmer of hope that the end of this nightmare might be within reach. The air around the village felt lighter, and even the most hardened soldiers seemed less grim. But Ariana couldn’t shake the weight on her shoulders.
For now, most of Haven didn’t know about the dark future she had seen. And she intended to keep it that way. Let them enjoy this moment, free of the knowledge of what awaited if they failed.
Ariana herself had spent much of the past two days in her quarters, allowing herself to rest, to let the bruises and minor injuries she’d sustained in Redcliffe and the future begin to heal. Her mind, though, refused to settle. Every time she thought about the Breach, the Elder One, or the fragile alliance between templars and mages, she found herself spiraling into what-ifs. She was running out of time to stop the chaos.
This afternoon, she had attempted to distract herself with “light” reading—the writ from the Divine that granted authority to the Inquisition. It was hardly the most riveting choice, but the words had been a welcome reprieve from her own thoughts. For a while, she had managed to lose herself in the legal language, deciphering the structure of how the Inquisition had come to exist. But eventually, even that failed to keep her mind occupied.
Her thoughts had begun circling back to darker places when a knock at the door snapped her out of her reverie. “Come,” she called, closing the book and setting it aside.
The door creaked open, and Cullen stepped in, his frame filling the doorway. He paused when he saw her sitting on the bed, wrapped in her robe, the sunlight from the window catching the loose strands of her dark hair.
“If you’re busy, I can come back later,” he said, his tone uncertain.
Ariana glanced at the book and laughed. “Oh, this?” She held it up to show him the cover. “It’s the writ granting the Inquisition authority. Riveting stuff.”
Cullen chuckled softly, closing the door behind him. “You must have run out of other books in the library you broke into.”
She shrugged, smiling faintly. “I was curious how one goes about starting an Inquisition. It’s surprisingly dull.”
“It’s not meant to be exciting,” Cullen replied with a small smile, though it quickly faded. His expression grew more serious as he stepped further into the room.
Ariana immediately noticed the shift in his demeanor. “Why do I feel like I’m in trouble?” she teased, though her tone carried an edge of concern.
He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not you. It’s… we’re having problems.”
“What sort of problems?” she asked, sitting up straighter. Her tone shifted, calm and focused, as if bracing herself for whatever he was about to say.
Cullen sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “The templars and mages are struggling to coexist. The Templars don’t trust them, and the mages… well, they don’t want Templars anywhere near them. There’s tension in the air, and I fear it’s only a matter of time before it boils over.”
“What are you asking of me?” Ariana asked, her tone steady as she rested her hand on the writ she’d been reading earlier.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, his frustration slipping into his voice. “This isn’t how things are meant to be. Templars are supposed to safeguard people, to protect mages from themselves—and others from magic. Without proper oversight…” He trailed off, his frown deepening.
Ariana tilted her head, studying him carefully. “Proper oversight, or control?” she asked, her voice carrying a deliberate edge.
Cullen looked at her sharply. “Spoken like someone who hasn’t lived in a Circle,” he said, his tone sharper than he intended.
Ariana’s gaze hardened, and she straightened her posture. “You’re right—I didn’t live in a Circle. But I was in Kirkwall during the rebellion. I saw firsthand what happens when Templars let their fear spiral into unchecked control. Meredith wielded her authority like a weapon, Cullen. She turned the Gallows into a prison, not a refuge. She was as dangerous—if not more dangerous—than any blood mage I’ve ever encountered.”
Cullen’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Meredith was trying to protect Kirkwall. The city was a powder keg. Without her, it would’ve burned long before the rebellion.”
“She lit the fuse, Cullen!” Ariana shot back, her voice rising. “She hoarded power, ruled through fear, created desperation, and pitted people against each other. How is that any less dangerous than a blood mage summoning demons? Power unchecked is dangerous—no matter who wields it.”
Cullen exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And yet you ask me to trust mages—to let go of the safeguards that have kept people safe for centuries. You don’t understand the power they wield.”
“Don’t I?” Ariana’s voice softened but didn’t lose its edge. She held his gaze firmly. “You were there, Cullen. You saw what Meredith’s unchecked power did. Would you stand by her again? Would you make the same choice?”
His breath caught as her words hit home. His brows furrowed, and his gaze flicked away for a brief moment, conflicted. “I… No. I wouldn’t.”
The room fell silent, her question hanging between them like a sharp blade. Cullen finally met her eyes again, his shoulders tense. “But you weren’t at the Circle Tower in Ferelden. You didn’t see what I saw. The demons didn’t kill me, Ariana,” he said after a long pause, his voice low and strained. “They… it’s not so easy to forget.”
Ariana’s breath caught. He had never spoken about this. She had imagined, once, what it must have been like to survive what happened at Kinloch Hold. She’d assumed it was chaos, fear, maybe a desperate fight for survival. But the way he said it—the sharp edge in his voice, the way his gaze shifted as if searching for something he couldn’t find—it struck her like a blow. He had lived through something far worse than she had imagined. Yet, the man who stood before her, steadfast and resolute, bore no sign of the torment he must have endured. She had been so focused on her own pain, her own scars, that she hadn’t stopped to consider what Cullen carried beneath his calm, disciplined exterior.
Ariana’s frown deepened, concern flickering across her face. “What are you saying Cullen?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Cullen said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not the point.”
As he spoke, Ariana’s hand unconsciously drifted to her left forearm. Her fingers brushed over it, rubbing softly as if soothing an ache she couldn’t banish.
“Cullen. I don’t expect you to trust blindly. I do understand more than you think. But one mage—one man—doesn’t justify mistreating all others,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less pointed. “I’ve seen what magic can do. I know the damage it can cause.”
Cullen frowned, watching her closely. “What are you talking about?” he asked softly. “What did you see?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, her tone echoing his earlier dismissal. Her hand stilled briefly on her arm before resuming its motion. “That’s not the point.”
“It matters to me,” Cullen pressed, stepping closer. “What happened—”
“It’s not the point, Cullen,” she interrupted, her voice firmer this time. Her hand dropped to her side as she straightened, meeting his gaze again. “The point is that I’ve seen the worst of what mages can do. And I’ve also seen the best. They’re just like everyone else—some are good, some are bad. But I don’t condemn all Templars because I’ve run into one or two zealots.”
Cullen hesitated, his frustration visible, but he held back. It seemeed her words struck a chord in him, forcing him to confront his own biases and the weight of his past choices.
“If we can’t give them a chance,” Ariana said softly, her tone shifting. “If we can’t try to build something better—then what are we even fighting for?”
Cullen looked away, as if struggling to reconcile her words with his own memories. Finally, he exhaled heavily. “You’re right. We’ve seen what fear and control can do. But that doesn’t make this easy.”
“None of this is easy,” she said, a faint, tired smile tugging at her lips. “But I think we’re used to that by now.”
Cullen chuckled softly, the tension in the air easing slightly. “That we are.”
Ariana reached out, placing her hand over his. “Talk to the Rangers, Cullen,” she said. “We’ve had mages and Templars living together for years. Michael and Malcolm can help the Templars understand this new role. And Eshara and Cador can speak with the Grand Enchanter. They’ve been through so much—one a Dalish mage who’s never known Templar oversight, the other a Circle escapee—but they’ve all learned to trust each other.”
Cullen blinked, visibly surprised. “That’s… a good idea,” he said, his voice laced with both relief and something close to embarrassment. “Thank you.”
As he stood to leave, Ariana caught a flicker of something in his expression—gratitude, perhaps, or an unspoken apology for his earlier defensiveness. She reached for his hand, pulling him back for a moment. As he neared the edge of the bed again, she knelt in front of him, wrapping her arms around him “We’ll figure this out, I promise.” she said as she leaned in to kiss him.
His hands settled on her waist, steadying her. When they parted, he held her gaze for a moment before nodding “Dinner, tonight?” he asked as his hand brushed her cheek.
Ariana smiled, simply nodding her agreement. With that, Cullen turned around to leave.
When the door closed behind him, she glanced at her forearm, the ache still lingering in her mind. For now, the path forward was clear, but she couldn’t ignore the scars—both visible and unseen—that she and Cullen carried.
She just hoped that this time, they could carry them together.
~~~
Cullen stepped out of Ariana’s quarters, his thoughts a tangled mess of worry and frustration. Her words lingered, cutting deeper with every repetition. “I’ve seen what magic can do. I know the damage it can cause.” The weight in her tone had been undeniable, but it was the way she’d rubbed her left forearm—fingers tracing the same spot over and over—that haunted him. Whatever pain she carried wasn’t just emotional; it was rooted in something far more tangible.
As he walked through Haven, his gaze scanned the camp, his mind racing with questions. It wasn’t until he spotted Isabel by the training grounds, directing Rangers with her usual brisk efficiency, that he felt a faint flicker of clarity. If anyone knew what Ariana was hiding, it was Isabel.
“Isabel,” he called, his tone clipped but steady.
She turned, her green eyes narrowing slightly as she caught sight of his troubled expression. “Commander,” she replied, her voice calm but laced with curiosity. “What can I do for you?”
Cullen crossed the distance between them, his jaw tight. “I need to ask you something about Ariana.”
The faintest hint of tension flickered across Isabel’s face, though she masked it quickly. “What about her?”
“She said something earlier,” he began, his voice low. “‘One mage—one man—doesn’t justify mistreating all others. I’ve seen what magic can do. I know the damage it can cause.’” He hesitated, searching her face for any sign of recognition. “She spoke like she’s lived it. Like she knows exactly what magic can do—and not just from observation.”
Isabel’s lips pressed into a thin line, her arms crossing over her chest. “And you think I know what she meant.”
“I do,” Cullen said, his tone firm. “You’ve been with her through everything. If anyone knows what she’s hiding, it’s you.”
For a moment, Isabel’s gaze softened, but then she straightened, her posture defensive. “Do you remember the morning after you proposed?” she asked suddenly, her voice steady but pointed.
The shift caught him off guard, but the memory came rushing back—the quiet joy of that morning tempered by Isabel’s cautious words. “I do,” he said slowly, his brow furrowing. “You told me she’d been through storms most wouldn’t survive.”
“I did,” Isabel confirmed, her expression unreadable. “And I asked you if you could live with the knowledge that there were things you might never know about her—things she might never tell you.”
Cullen’s frown deepened, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “That was years ago, Isabel. Things are different now. If she’s carrying something this heavy, don’t I have a right to know?”
Isabel’s gaze hardened, her green eyes locking onto his. “Did you ever tell her about Kinloch Hold?”
The question hit him like a blow, and he froze. His breath caught, and his gaze dropped to the ground. He hadn’t—not then, not now. Even minutes ago, when Ariana had asked directly, he had deflected. He exhaled heavily, guilt twisting in his chest.
“That’s what I thought,” Isabel said, her voice quieter but no less firm. “You want answers, Cullen, but you’re not giving her the same.”
He opened his mouth to argue but stopped, her words cutting too close to the truth. She was right—he’d held his own demons close, unwilling to let Ariana shoulder his burdens. How could he expect her to do any differently?
“She was rubbing her left arm,” he said finally, his tone softer now. “Not the mark—something else. What happened to her?”
Isabel’s expression faltered, the faintest flicker of pain crossing her face. “And you think asking me will help?” she said, her voice sharper now. “Do you think dragging it into the open will make it easier for her to carry?”
“I’m not trying to push,” Cullen said, though his voice carried an edge of determination. “But she’s not fine, Isabel. I can see it.”
“She’s not,” Isabel admitted, her voice dropping. For a moment, the mask slipped, and Cullen saw the weight of her own worry for Ariana. “She hasn’t been fine for a long time. But that’s not my story to tell, and it’s not yours to force out of her.”
His frustration flared, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “And what if she never tells me? Isabel, you’re shaken just thinking about it. Whatever it is—it’s worse than I imagined, isn’t it?”
Her silence spoke volumes. Isabel turned away, her jaw tightening as though struggling to keep her composure. When she finally looked back, her gaze was steady but filled with an emotion Cullen couldn’t quite name. “It is worse,” she said quietly. “But that doesn’t mean she’s ready to share it. And it doesn’t mean you’re ready to hear it.”
Cullen took a step back, her words landing with the weight of a blow. “Why wouldn’t I be ready?”
Isabel’s gaze softened slightly, a flicker of sympathy breaking through her defenses. “Because you’re carrying your own scars, Cullen. Scars you haven’t told her about. If you want her to trust you with hers, you need to be willing to share yours.”
Her words hit home, and Cullen’s shoulders sagged. He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. He hated how right she was. He hated that his own silence had set the precedent for theirs.
“Be patient with her,” Isabel said, her voice gentler now. “She’s carrying more than you know. And I suspect… you’ll understand her better than anyone. But only if you’re willing to meet her halfway.”
Cullen nodded slowly, the knot in his chest tightening further. “I just want to protect her.”
“I know,” Isabel said softly, her voice tinged with a sadness that mirrored his own. “But sometimes, protecting someone means letting them come to you in their own time.”
She turned and walked away, her braid swaying behind her. Cullen watched her go, the weight of her words settling over him. He stood there for a long moment, the crisp Haven air biting against his skin, but it did little to quell the storm inside him.
As he made his way back toward the war room, her final words echoed in his mind. Meet her halfway.
He clenched his jaw, resolve hardening in his chest. If Ariana was carrying secrets, then so was he. If he wanted to break down the walls between them, it would mean tearing down his own first.
And yet, the questions lingered, gnawing at him. What happened to her? And when would she finally let him in?
~~~
Isabel strode into Ariana’s quarters without knocking, the door swinging open with enough force to send a faint breeze through the room. Ariana, seated cross-legged on her bed with a book resting on her knees, looked up sharply, startled by the abrupt entrance.
“Maker, Ariana,” Isabel began, her voice sharp as she shut the door firmly behind her. “What did you do?”
Ariana frowned, closing the book and setting it aside. “What are you talking about?”
“Cullen,” Isabel hissed, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. Her green eyes flashed with frustration as she stepped closer. “What did you say to him? How did you manage to bring Krieger into a conversation?”
Ariana blinked, caught off guard. “I didn’t,” she said, shaking her head firmly. “Why would I—what makes you think I did?”
Isabel’s jaw tightened, more from unease than anger. “Cullen asked me about your arm,” she said, her voice lowering. “Your arm, Ariana. He said you made some comment about mages, about knowing what magic can do, and you were rubbing it the entire time. You think he wouldn’t notice that?”
Ariana’s brows furrowed as confusion flickered across her face. “I… was?” She hesitated, her voice quieter. “He… noticed that?”
“Of course he did,” Isabel snapped, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “It’s Cullen. If it’s about you, he’ll always notice.”
Ariana opened her mouth to respond but faltered, the weight of Isabel’s words sinking in. Her frown deepened. “I wasn’t trying to bring that up,” she said after a moment, her voice defensive. “The conversation was about templars and mages—it just… happened. I didn’t think he’d pay attention to something so…”
“So significant,” Isabel finished, her tone biting. “Because it is significant, Ariana. Maker’s breath, you’re still doing it. The same thing you’ve always done—dodging, deflecting, and hoping no one connects the dots. But Cullen’s not a fool, and you’re making it impossible for him to ignore.”
Ariana stood, her posture rigid as she met Isabel’s glare head-on. “I’m not doing anything,” she retorted, her tone clipped. “Cullen knows more about me than anyone ever will. But this? This is mine, Isabel. It’s my burden, and he doesn’t need to carry it.”
“Yours?” Isabel repeated incredulously, stepping closer, her voice rising. “You’re not the only one carrying this, Ariana. The Vanguard carries this secret for you. I carry this secret for you. We all protect the knowledge of what happened like our lives depend on it. And yet here you are, carrying it into everything you do—into conversations with Cullen, into the way you move, into how you look at that arm. And you think you can just bury it forever?”
“Yes,” Ariana snapped, her voice sharp. “I’ve done it for years, and I’ll keep doing it. And don’t you dare tell me what I can or can’t carry.”
Isabel’s eyes darkened, frustration simmering beneath her usually calm exterior. “You think not talking about it means it’s gone? That burying it means you’ve won?”
“I’ve survived,” Ariana shot back, her voice rising with each word. “That’s all that matters.”
Isabel’s expression softened for a brief moment, though her voice remained steady and unyielding. “You’ve survived, yes. But you haven’t healed.”
The words struck like a blow. Ariana looked away, her jaw tightening. “I don’t need to heal,” she said quietly, though her voice carried a steel edge. “I need to fight. That’s all that matters.”
“And when the fight is over?” Isabel asked, her voice gentler now but no less insistent. “What then? What will you do when you can’t distract yourself with the next battle, the next mission? Do you think this will just disappear?”
Ariana’s hands clenched at her sides. “I can’t tell him,” she said, her voice taut with emotion. “You know what he’d do. He’d blame himself. He’d think if we hadn’t been separated during the Blight, he could’ve stopped it—that it’s his fault. And I won’t let him carry that. Not for this. Not for me.”
Isabel exhaled, her green eyes softening as she studied Ariana’s face. “And you don’t think he deserves the chance to decide that for himself? To be there for you, like you’ve been there for him?”
“No,” Ariana replied simply, her voice resolute. “Not for this. He has enough on his shoulders already. I won’t add to it.”
Isabel sighed, her frustration giving way to a weary sadness. “For what it’s worth,” she said quietly, “I think Cullen is probably the only person who would truly understand what you went through. But he can’t understand if you don’t let him in.”
Ariana didn’t reply, her gaze locked on the floor as her thoughts churned.
Isabel took a step toward the door, her hand resting on the handle. She hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder. Her voice softened, carrying a mix of resignation and hope. “Cullen loves you, Ariana. More than anything. I think he’s stronger than you give him credit for.”
With that, Isabel opened the door and slipped out, leaving Ariana alone with her storm of emotions. For a long moment, she stood motionless in the center of the room, her hands trembling faintly at her sides.
Her gaze drifted to her left forearm, the ache there so familiar it felt like part of her. She pressed her hand against it, her touch light but lingering, as though trying to soothe an old wound. Isabel’s words echoed in her mind, intertwining with her own doubts.
“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Not yet.”
But as the door clicked shut behind Isabel, doubt crept in, insistent and unrelenting. For the first time in years, she wondered if burying the past was truly enough—or if it was finally time to face it.
~~~
Cullen lay on his bed, staring at the darkened ceiling of his quarters. The steady crackle of the hearth filled the room, its faint warmth doing little to ease the chill settling in his chest. Sleep hovered just out of reach, elusive and mocking, as his thoughts churned endlessly.
Her nightmares.
The memory surfaced sharply, cutting through the haze of exhaustion. It wasn’t something he often thought about—not beyond concern for her well-being. The nightmares weren’t frequent, but the few times he’d been there to witness them, they were always the same. She’d wake suddenly, her breath quick and shallow, her eyes wide with disorientation and fear. And she’d rub her left arm as if trying to soothe some invisible pain.
At the time, he’d assumed the cause was the Blight—the horrors she had survived at such a young age. That explanation had seemed logical, obvious. But tonight, after their earlier conversation and Isabel’s pointed reminder, doubt clawed at his mind. He couldn’t ignore it anymore.
It wasn’t the Blight.
He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair, the tension in his chest tightening. Her words earlier had been deliberate, her tone laced with something he hadn’t quite been able to name. When she spoke of mages and magic—of the damage it could cause—there had been a weight behind it, one that didn’t come from secondhand stories or distant observations.
She wasn’t talking about someone else. She was talking about herself.
The realization hit him like a hammer. Cullen frowned deeply, his brow furrowing as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He thought back to the times she had redirected the subject, deflected his questions, or brushed off his concerns. At the time, he’d accepted her reluctance, assuming she would tell him when she was ready.
Now, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that he had missed something vital—that he hadn’t asked the right questions or pressed hard enough when she needed him to.
His mind replayed the memory of her rubbing her arm during their conversation earlier. What happened to her arm? It had nothing to do with the mark. This had been happening for years.
The image of her doing the same thing after waking from her nightmares resurfaced, sharper and more vivid. He’d comforted her in those moments, holding her close and whispering reassurances. But he had never pressed her to explain. Why hadn’t he seen it before?
Cullen exhaled sharply, his hands clasping together tightly. Why didn’t she tell me?
The answer came swiftly, settling heavily in his chest. She hadn’t told him because she didn’t want to burden him. Ariana had always carried so much on her own, never wanting to share the weight of her pain with anyone else. Perhaps she thought she was protecting him. Perhaps she didn’t trust herself to relive whatever haunted her.
But that didn’t make it easier to accept.
He pushed himself to his feet, pacing the small space of his quarters as his thoughts spiraled. She trusted him—he knew that. Yet there was a wall between them, built brick by brick from years of secrets, scars, and unspoken truths.
Whatever she’s hiding, it isn’t just hurting her—it’s isolating her.
The thought of her facing it alone twisted something inside him. He’d seen the strength she carried, the way she pushed forward despite everything. But no one—not even Ariana—could endure forever without breaking.
Tomorrow, they would face the Breach. The stakes had never been higher, and there was no room for distraction. But tonight, his mind and heart remained fixed on her—on the pain she carried and the truth she refused to share.
Cullen clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. I’ll find a way to help her, even if she doesn’t let me in. I won’t let her carry this alone any longer.
He returned to the bed, though sleep felt further away than ever. As he lay back down, staring at the flickering shadows cast by the fire, the ache in his chest lingered—a reminder that some battles were fought not with swords, but with patience and love.
And this was a battle he would not lose.
~~~
Ariana lay curled under the blankets in her quarters, the faint light of a candle casting long shadows across the walls. Her fingers traced absent patterns along the edge of the quilt, her thoughts spiraling into places she had long avoided. Tonight, she couldn’t push them away.
It had been years since she’d let herself truly think about Krieger. She told herself she’d buried it, locked it behind walls stronger than any fortress. But tonight, Cullen’s words and Isabel’s confrontation had shifted something. Cracks had formed, and the memories seeped through.
Her left arm ached faintly, the pain not real but remembered. She flexed her fingers, but the phantom sensation lingered. She could still feel the cold of that night, the bite of the winter air on her exposed skin, the ropes cutting into her wrists as she was bound to the post in the center of the camp.
“You think you’re strong.”
Krieger’s voice slithered through her mind, as chilling as it had been then. His calculated cruelty, his relentless determination to break her, had burned itself into her memory. She could see his piercing blue eyes, devoid of mercy, as he pressed the blade to her arm. She hadn’t made a sound. Not then. Not ever.
The cold fire of humiliation burned hotter than the frost on her skin. Dragged into the center of the camp, her dignity stripped away, she had been made a spectacle. A warning. She had refused to look away, to give him the satisfaction of seeing her falter, but it had cost her. Every night, he reopened the wounds, whispering incantations that set her blood alight, warping her body and soul with his twisted magic.
Her hand drifted unconsciously to her forearm, rubbing it gently. The scars were long gone, but the phantom pain lingered. The worst part wasn’t the memory of the physical torment or even the humiliation. It was the helplessness—the gnawing, all-consuming feeling of powerlessness. She hated how it still crept into her mind, undermining the person she had worked so hard to become.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memories to fade. But the harder she tried to push them away, the more vivid they became. The sound of her own ragged breathing, the glow of the blood magic binding her, the searing heat that left her writhing against the ropes. And worst of all, the silence that followed.
The silence that told her she was alone.
No.
Her fingers gripped the quilt tightly, her knuckles whitening. She’d refused to break then, and she wouldn’t let it break her now. She had survived. She had walked away, not him. That was her victory. Her defiance.
But Cullen’s words haunted her as much as the memory itself. “What are you talking about? What did you see?”
She’d brushed him off, deflected as she always did, but he had seen her. Truly seen her in a way no one else ever had. He had noticed the way she rubbed her arm, the way her words carried a weight she hadn’t intended to reveal. And now, he was asking questions she wasn’t sure she could answer.
Because if Cullen ever learned the truth—what Krieger had done, what she had endured—he would blame himself. He would take it on as his failure, his guilt. And he didn’t deserve that. She wouldn’t let him carry the weight of something that wasn’t his burden to bear.
It was my mistake. My burden. Not his.
Her breathing slowed as she repeated the thought like a mantra. She had survived. She had endured. And she had walked away with her dignity intact. That was all that mattered.
But a quiet voice in the back of her mind whispered a different truth.
You haven’t walked away from it, not really.
Her chest tightened as her hand moved to her forearm again, the ache still there, as if her body refused to let her forget. Survival had been her focus, her purpose for so long, that she hadn’t stopped to consider what came after. She had become the White Wolf, built the Silver Rangers, fought for mages, for innocents, for everything Krieger had sought to destroy. Yet, the ghost of his voice lingered in her mind, his presence a shadow she could never fully escape.
Ariana exhaled shakily, her thoughts shifting to Cullen. He would want to know. He would insist on knowing. And if she told him, his first instinct would be to blame himself. He’d convince himself that if they hadn’t been separated during the Blight, he could have stopped it—that it was his fault she had suffered. She couldn’t let him bear that.
But there was another fear, one she hated to admit. Cullen’s trust in mages was fragile, the scars of Kinloch Hold and Kirkwall still fresh in his mind. If he learned what Krieger had done, what he had been capable of, would it push Cullen further into that distrust? Would it undo the progress he had made—the trust he had placed in her and in their alliance?
The thought left her cold. She couldn’t take that risk.
Her hand stilled against her arm as her gaze drifted to the flickering candlelight. Tomorrow, they would face the Breach. The stakes had never been higher, and she had every intention of seeing it through. But a part of her wondered if this was it—if tomorrow would be her end.
If I fall… then none of this will matter. The thought was both freeing and suffocating. The weight of what she carried wouldn’t have to be passed on, wouldn’t hurt Cullen or anyone else. But the guilt of not telling him, of not giving him the truth before it was too late, gnawed at her.
As she lay staring at the shadows on the walls, her resolve wavered. She had survived Krieger, survived the Blight, survived every battle and betrayal that had come her way. But survival wasn’t the same as healing. And for the first time in years, she wondered if that was truly within reach.
Her eyes closed as sleep finally pulled her under, her last thought a fragile plea.
Please, let tomorrow be enough.