11 – 27 Justinian 9:41
The early morning mist of the Frostback Mountains clung to the air as Ariana rode alongside her companions. The rhythmic clop of hooves and the occasional call of birds filled the silence, peaceful enough to belie the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind. The crisp air bit at her skin, the chill seeping past her cloak as her gaze wandered over the snow-dusted peaks.
Cassandra rode ahead, her posture stiff and unyielding, while Dorian and Iron Bull flanked Ariana, their banter filling the space between moments of quiet. But no amount of conversation could distract Ariana from the heavy knot twisting in her chest.
“Now that you’ve acquired this magnificent fortress,” Dorian mused, his tone light and theatrical as always, “I’m thinking… a Skyhold wedding. Far more extravagant than Denerim, don’t you agree? Oh, the possibilities. Flower garlands draped from the battlements, a ceremonial sword dance—”
Ariana groaned, though the faint tug of a smile softened her expression. “What happened to Denerim Palace?”
“Darling,” Dorian said with mock exasperation, “why settle for a palace when you have a fortress carved into the side of a mountain? Grand halls, breathtaking views, the kind of acoustics that make bards weep. I’m envisioning silks in deep green and gold to match your eyes, and Cullen, of course, in ceremonial armor polished to an impossible gleam.”
“Dorian,” Ariana interrupted, smirking, “if you start designing table settings, I’ll send you back to Minrathous.”
“Please, as if I’d settle for anything less than Orlesian crystal,” he quipped, undeterred. “And let’s not forget the guest list. Champion of Kirkwall must have a front-row seat, and Varric will demand to give a toast. Perhaps the Hero of Ferelden can be persuaded to grace us with their presence. Oh, and we simply must have a dragon or two. For flair.”
She couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped her. “Maker’s breath, why do I let you do this to me?”
“Because I’m delightful,” Dorian replied smoothly, his grin widening. But then his gaze lingered on her, the teasing edge fading just slightly. “You’re awfully quiet today, darling. Something on your mind?”
Ariana hesitated, her fingers tightening on the reins. She glanced at the ground, the hoofbeats of her horse punctuating her pause. “Just… Varric,” she said finally, her voice quieter than usual.
Dorian’s eyebrows lifted, his expression softening with understanding. “Ah, yes. The infamous quarreling family dynamic. Well, take it from me—every family has its rough patches. The key is to balance shouting matches with a healthy dose of wine. Or cake.”
Her lips twitched upward, though the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’ve clearly got it all figured out.”
“Of course I do,” he replied with mock sincerity, gesturing grandly. “And when we get back, we’ll stage an elaborate reconciliation. You and Varric can bond over fine whiskey, and he can read you that dreadful draft he’s been working on.”
This time, the smile that broke through was genuine, even if it was fleeting. “Thanks, Dorian.”
“Anytime,” he said, giving her an approving nod. “Now, back to the important matter of cake…”
The day stretched long, the sun dipping behind the peaks by the time they made camp. Cassandra barely said a word as she helped set up tents before retreating to her own, choosing a spot slightly away from the others. Ariana watched her go, the tension in her shoulders as clear as the stars beginning to peek through the darkening sky. She’d seen that look before—the weight of guilt and self-recrimination that Cassandra carried far too easily.
Dorian wandered off shortly after, claiming he needed to “commune with the stars.” Which left Ariana sitting by the fire, the warmth flickering against her skin as she stared into the flames. She poked absently at the logs with a stick, her thoughts drifting back to Skyhold. To Varric, to Cullen, to the laughter in the tavern last night.
And then, of course, to Cullen.
The ghost of his touch lingered on her skin, and for a moment, the ache in her chest softened. She could still feel the heat of his breath against her neck, the way his hands had roamed over her body with a reverence that made her feel both untouchable and completely undone. It had been a perfect reprieve—one she hadn’t known she needed until it had taken her breath away.
But the memory of his amber eyes watching her as she left Skyhold that morning brought the ache back tenfold. She hated leaving him like that, knowing he’d spend the next two weeks worrying, unable to follow. And Varric… The silence between them felt heavier than ever now. It wasn’t anger anymore. It was something closer to regret.
“You’re brooding, Boss,” came a familiar voice, breaking her reverie.
Ariana glanced up to see Iron Bull plop onto a log across from her, his massive frame stretching out comfortably. He grinned at her, his sharp teeth catching the firelight. “So, I gotta ask—did I ever stand a chance?”
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
“You know,” he said, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “You and me. Great sex. No strings. That kind of thing.”
Ariana burst out laughing, the sound cutting through the tension like a blade. “Not really.”
Bull mock-sighed, leaning forward. “Figures. You and the Commander, huh?”
She smirked. “You sound disappointed.”
“Disappointed? Nah. Just curious,” he said, grinning wider. “How long’s that been going on?”
She tilted her head, considering the question. “We’ve known each other since just before the Blight. But we’ve only been… involved since 9:33…”
Bull let out a low whistle. “Oh, so only eight years, huh? Real casual.”
Ariana chuckled softly, her gaze dropping to the fire. “It wasn’t all eight years. We didn’t see each other for almost four of them.”
“Why’s that?” he asked, his tone still light but laced with curiosity.
Her fingers tightened around the stick she held, her eyes fixed on the dancing flames. “Opposite sides of a war, I sided with the mages…” she said quietly.
Bull’s grin faded, his expression softening as he nodded. “Ah. That explains a lot.” He leaned back, crossing his arms. “Well, looks like it worked out in the end.”
“It did,” she said, though her voice was quieter now.
For a moment, the silence between them stretched, the crackle of the fire filling the space. But then Bull’s grin returned, and he leaned forward with a mischievous glint in his eye. “But hey, if it ever doesn’t work out, or if he doesn’t keep you satisfied…”
Ariana raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning. “Oh, I’m definitely satisfied.”
Bull froze for half a beat, then barked out a laugh, his grin turning wicked. “Now that’s a statement. The Commander’s got skills, huh?”
She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’m not one to kiss and tell.”
“Please. You’re absolutely the type to kiss and tell,” Bull countered, pointing a finger at her. “So, come on. On a scale from one to ‘stamina of a Qunari,’ how’s the man holding up?”
Ariana rolled her eyes, though her smile lingered. “Let’s just say the sun was rising by the time we got any sleep.”
Bull blinked, his grin widening as a deep laugh rumbled from his chest. “Now that’s impressive. Didn’t think he had it in him.”
“Don’t underestimate him, Bull,” she said, her smirk turning sly. “He’s full of surprises.”
“I’ll say,” Bull replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Man deserves a medal—and probably a nap.”
She laughed softly, the tension in her chest easing slightly. “I’ll be sure to pass that along.”
“Do that. And hey, offer’s still open if he ever slips up.”
Ariana shook her head, waving him off. “Goodnight, Bull.”
He winked, rising to his feet. “Goodnight, Boss.”
As he wandered off to his tent, Ariana leaned back, the firelight flickering against her features. The banter had helped, easing the weight she carried just enough. But as she stared into the flames, her thoughts turned back to Skyhold, to Varric, and the laughter they hadn’t shared in far too long.
She sighed, tucking her knees to her chest. “I need to fix this,” she whispered to herself, the words swallowed by the crackling fire.
~~~
Cullen stood at the head of the war room table, the weight of leadership pressing heavily on his shoulders as he sifted through the latest reports. Leliana stood to his left, her sharp eyes scanning a dispatch as Josephine read a list of visiting nobles aloud. The tension in the room was palpable, the constant undercurrent of Skyhold’s responsibilities never truly abating.
A sharp knock at the door broke the rhythm, and a scout entered, holding a folded parchment.
“Message for you, Commander,” the scout said, stepping forward.
Cullen turned toward the scout, his brow furrowing at the unexpected interruption. He accepted the parchment, his eyes catching on the seal—it was hastily folded, sealed differently than a typical scout report. Turning it over, his breath caught. His name was written in a familiar hand: Ariana’s.
His chest tightened, a mix of relief and worry flooding him. Ariana had never sent him a personal message while away from Skyhold. Why now? Was something wrong?
“It’s from the Inquisitor,” the scout added, bowing slightly before exiting the room.
Josephine and Leliana exchanged glances before looking at Cullen. Leliana spoke first, her tone laced with curiosity. “The Inquisitor? Is something amiss?”
“I… don’t know,” Cullen admitted, his voice quieter than usual as he broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. Ariana’s words immediately drew him in.
Cullen,
Stop worrying. I know you are. I’m safe, uninjured. Well, as much as anyone can be in these conditions. Though, I’d appreciate it if you could ask Leliana to have her scouts be a bit more thorough with their reports next time. “Wants to meet with the Herald” and “Wants to duel the Herald” are not the same thing. A little warning would’ve been nice before someone else tried to kill me.
On that note, you’ll be pleased to know that Bull earned his pay. He took a hit meant for me—from the Hand of Korth himself. I owe him several drinks and maybe a healer. This is exactly why luck is not a strategy. “Meet” and “duel” have very different implications.
Did you know there was a plague here sometime in the not so distant past? Judging by the state of things, no one survived. It’s crawling with undead—corpses everywhere. Maker, Cullen, it’s… horrific. Do we know how long ago it happened? Someone should burn the bodies. They deserve that much, at least.
Oh, and Dorian’s decided Skyhold is the ideal wedding venue. He’s already envisioning flower garlands on the battlements and a grand ceremonial sword dance. Personally, I think the manor would be quieter—and safer. Not that you’ve seen it yet. Can we even have a simple wedding, or is that impossible now? Is it too late for us to keep it small?
I’ll be stopping in the Hinterlands on my way back. Just a few things to follow up on. Don’t worry so much. I’ll see you soon.
Love,
—Ari
P.S. I recruited an Avvar who was looking for a greater purpose. The Sky Watcher. He might arrive in Skyhold before I do.
Cullen’s eyes lingered on her signature, his grip on the parchment tightening. Relief washed over him—she was safe. But it was quickly followed by frustration. Duel? Undead? Ariana had been sent into a situation far worse than they’d been led to believe. And she’d written to him not to report, but to reassure him, to ease the worry she knew he carried.
Her words, as casual as they seemed on the surface, carried a subtle undercurrent of exhaustion. Cullen could feel it in the way she described the Fallow Mire—the horror, the weariness, the lingering sense of helplessness about the lives lost to the plague. She was carrying too much, yet still thinking about him, trying to make him smile with mentions of Dorian’s wedding plans and her teasing remarks.
“The Sky Watcher…” Cullen murmured, his brow furrowing as he reread the letter. Who or what had she recruited this time?
Josephine’s voice broke his reverie. “Commander, is everything alright?”
Cullen folded the letter carefully, tucking it into his breastplate. He exhaled, steadying himself. “No,” he said, his tone sharp. “Everything is not alright.”
Josephine and Leliana exchanged glances again, startled by the sudden edge in his voice.
“How is it,” Cullen continued, his gaze locking onto Leliana, “that we reported the Avvar wanted to meet with the Herald, when in reality, they wanted to duel her? That is not the same thing.”
Leliana’s eyes narrowed slightly, her expression guarded but attentive. “I… will have to look into that,” she said, her tone even.
“Yes, please do,” Cullen said, his voice rising slightly. “Next time we send her into a situation blind, we might not be so lucky. The scouts’ failure to provide accurate information nearly got her killed.” He paced to the edge of the table, running a hand through his hair as his frustration boiled over. “She’s out there dealing with a plague, undead, and Maker knows what else, and she had no warning. If not for Bull, she could’ve been seriously hurt—or worse.”
“Cullen,” Josephine began gently, her tone meant to diffuse the tension, “I’m certain Leliana will ensure this doesn’t happen again. Perhaps—”
“I will address it,” Leliana interrupted firmly, her tone brooking no argument. “You have my word, Commander.”
Cullen nodded, though his jaw remained tight. He wasn’t angry at Leliana, not truly, but the thought of Ariana walking into danger unprepared set his blood boiling. He couldn’t be out there to protect her, and the knowledge gnawed at him.
After a moment, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Thank you,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I trust you’ll handle it.”
Leliana inclined her head. “Of course.”
As the meeting resumed, Cullen’s mind kept drifting back to Ariana’s letter. The humor, the exhaustion, the quiet way she reached out to him—not as her Commander, but as the man who loved her. It wasn’t just her words that stayed with him but the unspoken emotions behind them. She missed him. She was thinking of him, even in the chaos of the Mire.
And Maker help him, he missed her too.
He allowed himself a small smile. At least she’s safe. And at least I know Bull is doing exactly what he’s paid to do. Still, his hands itched to be there, to fight alongside her, to protect her from everything she faced.
For now, all he could do was wait. But the thought of seeing her again—of holding her, of hearing her voice—was enough to keep him grounded. For now.
~~~
As the campfire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the clearing, Cassandra approached Ariana with a quiet determination. She settled down beside her, her plate balanced carefully in one hand. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence filled only by the faint rustling of the wind through the trees and the distant murmurs of the others in camp.
“I need to say something,” Cassandra began, breaking the quiet.
Ariana glanced at her, already sensing where this was going. “Cassandra, you don’t—”
“I do,” Cassandra interrupted, her tone firm. “I owe you an apology. And I need you to hear it.”
Ariana sighed but gave a small nod, her expression softening. She set her plate down, bracing herself for what was to come.
“When I said that Hawke might have saved the Divine when you couldn’t…” Cassandra hesitated, her voice catching slightly. “It was unfair. Cruel, even. I was wrong to say it.”
“Cassandra—” Ariana tried again, but Cassandra held up a hand.
“Let me finish,” she insisted. “I’ve spent a great deal of time thinking about that day. About what happened at the Temple. And I’ve realized something… If you couldn’t save the Divine, no one could have. You were there. You were in the room with her. And that dark figure—Corypheus—he…” Her voice trailed off, but her meaning was clear. She met Ariana’s gaze, her eyes steady despite the weight of her words. “If he was the one who struck her down, then there is no shame in what happened. Only tragedy.”
Ariana looked away, swallowing hard against the lump that had risen in her throat. “You’re flattering me again,” she said lightly, forcing a small smile in an attempt to ease the tension.
Cassandra groaned, a faint but genuine sound of frustration. “Maker, why must you do that?”
“Deflection is an art form,” Ariana replied, her smile growing a little more genuine. “And I’ve had plenty of practice.”
Cassandra shook her head, but her expression softened. “I’ve come to admire you, you know. Your strength, your decisiveness. The way you face things without hesitation. I… wish I could be more like that.”
Ariana turned to her, surprised by the admission. “Cassandra…”
“No, let me finish,” Cassandra said again, softer this time. “I’ve spent my life serving what I believed to be a righteous cause. But in the wake of the Conclave, I was lost. Without you, I might still be lost.”
Ariana regarded her quietly for a moment before speaking. “Without you, there would be no Inquisition.” Her voice was steady, filled with conviction. “Without your determination, your belief that we could make a difference, none of this would have been possible.”
Cassandra tilted her head slightly, confused. “I don’t understand.”
“I admired you from the moment you slammed that Writ from the Divine in front of Chancellor Roderick and declared the Inquisition reborn,” Ariana explained. “In the darkness of those first days after the Conclave, you were a light. You showed me—and everyone else—that we could do something. That we didn’t have to just sit back and let the world fall apart.”
Cassandra’s gaze dropped, her expression softening further. “I… never realized.”
Ariana reached out, placing a hand on her arm. “You’re an incredible leader, Cassandra. And whether you believe it or not, you’ve inspired so many of us, myself included.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Cassandra gave a small, reluctant smile. “You have a way with words, Inquisitor.”
Ariana chuckled. “It’s a gift.”
Cassandra sighed, shaking her head, but the faint smile remained. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Truly.”
The quiet moment between them stretched on, the crackling fire filling the space with its soft, rhythmic whispers. Cassandra leaned back slightly, her posture relaxing for perhaps the first time all day. Ariana thought of how rare it was to see the Seeker allow herself even this much ease.
Before either could speak again, the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the stillness. Both women turned as a messenger approached, his breath visible in the cool night air. He stopped just short of the fire, offering a hasty salute.
“Inquisitor,” he said, his tone respectful but urgent. “A message, from Commander Cullen.”
Ariana blinked, caught off guard. “From Cullen?”
The messenger nodded, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a carefully sealed letter. Ariana’s name was written in his unmistakable handwriting. Her breath caught slightly as she took it from him, the weight of the parchment feeling strangely significant in her hands.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, and the messenger nodded before retreating back into the shadows.
Cassandra watched her for a moment, curiosity flickering across her features. “Are you going to read it?”
Ariana hesitated, her thumb running over the edge of the seal. “I—yes. I just didn’t expect…” She trailed off, shaking her head with a faint smile. “It’s been years since we exchanged letters.”
Cassandra’s brow furrowed slightly, but she said nothing, sensing that this moment was personal. She stood, brushing off her hands. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said simply, retreating toward her tent without another word.
Once she was alone, Ariana exhaled slowly, breaking the seal and unfolding the parchment. The sight of Cullen’s handwriting, neat but with a certain hurried precision, brought a wave of nostalgia that she hadn’t expected. She began to read:
Ariana,
Do you truly expect me not to worry? After Haven, after everything? You write to tell me you’re safe and then casually mention a duel, a plague, undead, and Bull taking a hit meant for you. How exactly is that supposed to ease my mind?
I’ve already spoken with Leliana. This mistake with the scouts won’t happen again, I promise you that. I hate to think of you walking into something like that unprepared again. And while I trust you more than anyone to handle yourself, I… I wish you didn’t have to face these dangers at all.
I wasn’t aware of the plague. I’ve already ordered a team to head to the Fallow Mire. They’ll see to the bodies and ensure the dead are finally given some peace. I wish we could have done something sooner, but we’ll at least make this right now. If there are survivors, we will find them.
As for Dorian… I’m not entirely against the idea of Skyhold. It would be safer, and I’d like to imagine you wouldn’t feel the need to carry daggers under your dress if we held it here. But if you’re asking me what I want, Ari… I don’t care. Skyhold, the manor, the middle of the Frostbacks—it doesn’t matter, as long as you’re happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.
I’ll admit, though, I’d like to see the manor one day. You’ve talked about it so much—I can tell it’s special to you. Maybe that’s where we’ll finally go, once the world stops falling apart.
I hate knowing you’re heading straight from the Mire to the Hinterlands. I know you’re only doing what you feel you have to, but sometimes I wish you’d just let someone else handle it. I know how capable you are, but Ari… even you can’t carry all of this alone.
Please, stay safe. And come back to me soon.
Always,
Cullen
P.S. The Sky Watcher… should I even ask?
Ariana stared at Cullen’s letter, the words blurring slightly as her eyes lingered on the line she’d just read:
“Maybe that’s where we’ll finally go, once the world stops falling apart.”
She felt the breath leave her lungs in a quiet, uneven exhale. For a long moment, she didn’t move, her fingers brushing lightly over the parchment as though touching the words might somehow make them more real. The rest of the world fell away—the crackling fire, the distant rustling of leaves, the low murmur of conversation in the camp. It was just her and the letter.
She pressed the letter to her chest, closing her eyes as the words settled into her heart. It wasn’t a promise, not exactly, but it was something. It was enough.
For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to believe that the life she had dreamed of once might not be so distant, so unattainable. Cullen wasn’t just a part of her past or her present—he was her future. And the idea that he might already be imagining that future too was more comforting than she had expected.
As the warmth of his words filled her, another thought intruded, bittersweet but persistent: What would have happened if I’d told him sooner? Would they have spent all those years apart, lost on opposite sides of a war? Would the hurt and regret have been avoided? Or was this the way it was always meant to happen—two lives finally colliding when they were ready, when the timing was right?
Ariana sighed softly, lowering the letter and opening her eyes to the flickering firelight. She let her fingers trace the words one last time before folding the parchment carefully and tucking it into her coat, close to her heart.
For now, she couldn’t afford to dwell on what-ifs. But the thought of that life, of a future with Cullen in the manor, wasn’t just a fantasy anymore. It was something real, something worth holding onto.
And as she sat by the fire, the faintest of smiles curved her lips. The weight on her shoulders felt just a little lighter, the road ahead just a little less daunting. Whatever battles lay ahead, she carried his words with her now—a reminder that no matter how far apart they might be in the moment, he was with her. Always.
“The Sky Watcher… should I even ask?”
She chuckled softly to herself, shaking her head. “Maker help you, Cullen,” she murmured, her voice warm with affection. “You’re going to have questions when you meet him.”
The thought made her smile linger a little longer, the warmth of the letter chasing away the chill of the night. For the first time in days, she felt like herself again.
~~~
After a little over two weeks away, Ariana was ready to be back in Skyhold. Every ache in her body begged for rest, but more than that, she longed for something—someone—familiar. The Fallow Mire’s oppressive dampness and the Hinterlands’ relentless unrest had drained her more than she wanted to admit. And as much as she loved her companions, she needed quiet. She needed Cullen.
When her group stopped to make camp, the faint glow of Skyhold’s lights was visible in the distance, barely breaking through the thick mountain mist. Ariana stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed as she stared toward the faint promise of home. They were only a few hours away. She weighed the comfort of staying with her companions against the thought of finally walking through Skyhold’s gates. The decision wasn’t difficult.
“I’m pushing through,” she announced, turning back to them.
Cassandra frowned, glancing up from her spot near the fire. “It’s late. The roads could be dangerous in the dark.”
Ariana smiled faintly, appreciating the concern but shaking her head. “I’ll be fine. I just… I need to be home.”
Neither Cassandra nor the others protested further, though she caught Dorian giving her a knowing look.
The gates of Skyhold creaked open to let her in, and Ariana’s heart lifted at the sight of the quiet courtyard. Most of the fortress had settled into sleep, the bustle of daily life replaced by the calm of the late hour. Even the tavern’s usual hum of activity had faded, the faint glow of light through the windows suggesting only a handful of patrons remained.
She dismounted, handing the reins of her horse to a nearby soldier who looked surprised to see her. “Take care of her, will you?” she said softly, patting the mare’s neck before turning toward the battlements.
Her gaze fell on the faint light spilling from the tower office she had cleaned up for Cullen before she left. She could just make out his silhouette at the desk, and she felt a pang of affection—and exasperation. Why don’t you ever sleep? she thought, shaking her head. The bridge leading to the tower had been rebuilt in her absence, and she was grateful for the easier access, though she suspected it had been Cullen’s insistence that prioritized it.
As she climbed the steps, her anticipation mingled with a touch of nervousness. It had been weeks since they’d seen each other, and she could already see the exhaustion etched into his features from where she stood. Have you been sleeping at all? she wondered.
Her steps slowed as she approached the slightly ajar door. Just as she was about to push it open, a scout hurried through the door leading from the bridge.
“Report,” Cullen demanded, his tone sharp with impatience.
“I… yes, sir,” the scout stammered, visibly unnerved. “We are not sure—that is to say… well—”
“What?” Cullen’s voice rose, the frustration clear. “Where is the Inquisitor?”
Ariana leaned against the doorframe, tilting her head as she watched the exchange. She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement. She had ridden through the gates openly, her arrival far from subtle, and yet here was a scout stumbling over their words, clearly terrified of Cullen’s reaction.
“Well, sir,” the scout continued, clearing his throat in a futile attempt to steady his voice, “we know she did not camp with her party. They’re accounted for a few hours away from Skyhold. But… the Inquisitor isn’t with them.”
Cullen’s fist came down hard on the desk, the sound echoing in the room. Before he could unleash whatever was clearly on the tip of his tongue, Ariana decided to intervene.
“I believe I may be able to help,” she said, her voice light and amused as she pushed the door open further.
Both Cullen and the scout turned sharply, their expressions shifting from alarm to shock as their gazes landed on her.
“The Inquisitor just rode through the main gate about ten minutes ago,” she continued, feigning innocence as she crossed her arms. “Hadn’t you mentioned something about improving the accuracy of scout reports, Commander?”
“Your Worship!” the scout stammered, his face pale.
“Dismissed,” Ariana said with a wave of her hand, her tone casual but firm. “I’ll handle this.”
The scout practically bolted from the room, leaving Cullen and Ariana alone. As the door closed behind her, she stepped further in, unable to stop the smile spreading across her face.
“So…” she began, her voice teasing as her gaze swept the room. “I see you decided to keep this as your office.”
Cullen’s expression softened the moment the scout left, his frustration melting into something far warmer as his eyes met hers. “Ari…” he murmured, his voice low and full of relief.
The weariness in his features didn’t escape her, nor did the way his shoulders relaxed as though a weight had been lifted simply by her presence. She crossed the room, closing the space between them in a few quick steps.
“Did you miss me?” she asked lightly, though the answer was already clear in the way his hands reached for her.
“You have no idea,” he replied, his tone carrying more emotion than she expected.
Cullen’s hands rested lightly on her arms as if grounding himself in the reality of her presence. “Why did you ride through the night?” he asked, his voice tinged with both concern and exasperation. “You could have stayed with your group and rested.”
Ariana raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a faintly amused smile. “Says the man who looks like he hasn’t seen the inside of his bed in two weeks,” she countered, her tone light but pointed.
Cullen sighed, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. “That’s different,” he protested, though the argument was weak and they both knew it.
“Is it?” Ariana stepped closer, tilting her head as she examined his face. “Your eyes are bloodshot, Cullen. How many hours of sleep have you been getting? Two? Three?”
He avoided her gaze, clearing his throat. “I’ve had… priorities.”
“So have I,” she replied, arching an eyebrow in mock defiance. “But you don’t see me pushing through and heading somewhere else instead of coming home, do you?”
His lips parted to respond, but she cut him off with a knowing look. “Before you say it, no, I’m not leaving this office without you. You’re coming to bed, Commander.”
Cullen hesitated, torn between the work waiting on his desk and the woman standing in front of him. “Ari, I—”
“Cullen,” she interrupted, her tone softening, though the teasing glint remained in her eyes. “You asked why I rode through the night. It’s because I’d rather be in bed with you. I could just make it an order if that’s easier.”
That earned a laugh, low and genuine, and he shook his head. “You would.”
“I would,” she confirmed, her smile widening as she reached for his hand. “But I’d rather not have to. Come on. You’ll work better after some sleep.”
He sighed, relenting as her fingers intertwined with his, tugging him gently toward the ladder that led to the upper level of the tower.
Ariana climbed the ladder to the small bedroom above Cullen’s office, her body aching with exhaustion but her mind buzzing with anticipation. As her head crested the floor, she paused, taking in the room she had carefully prepared for them weeks ago. It looked almost untouched—the bed was unmade but looked barely slept in, and the candles arranged precisely the same way.
Her brow furrowed as she pulled herself the rest of the way up. Had he been sleeping somewhere else? Or worse, had he not been sleeping at all?
Cullen’s footsteps followed her up the ladder, his heavy boots creaking against the wooden rungs. When he reached the top, she glanced back at him, her gaze sharp despite her weariness.
“It looks exactly as I left it,” she said softly, her tone somewhere between curiosity and concern.
Cullen hesitated, his hand lingering on the ladder as he avoided her gaze. “I’ve been… busy,” he admitted, though the slight unease in his voice betrayed the full truth.
“Busy?” Ariana echoed, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “You mean you haven’t slept.”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve slept. Just… not much.”
“Cullen,” she muttered, shaking her head as she stepped into the room. She walked over to the bed, her fingers brushing against the untouched blanket. “You can’t do this forever. You also need rest.”
Cullen followed her, his amber eyes softening as he watched her trace the edges of the room with her gaze. “I know,” he said quietly.
Her heart ached at his quiet confession, but she pushed it aside, her weariness leaving no room for scolding. Instead, she sank onto the edge of the bed with a sigh, kicking off her boots and leaning back on her hands.
“Come here,” she said, her voice gentle but insistent.
Cullen didn’t hesitate this time. He shed his boots and armor quickly, setting everything aside with the efficiency of a soldier. When he turned back to her, she was watching him, her hazel-green eyes soft but tinged with amusement.
“What?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.
“Nothing,” she replied, though the faint curve of her lips betrayed her thoughts. “Just wondering if Bull’s right.”
“Bull?” Cullen frowned as he sat beside her.
“Apparently, you’ve earned his respect,” Ariana said, her smirk widening as she leaned back on her elbows. “He thinks you deserve a medal.”
Cullen groaned, running a hand down his face. “What did he say?”
“Oh, nothing too scandalous,” she teased, her voice light despite her exhaustion. “But let’s just say you’ve impressed him.”
He shook his head, a low chuckle escaping as he leaned back beside her. “Maker help me. You and Bull are conspiring now?”
“Not conspiring,” she corrected with a smirk. “Just… bonding over our shared appreciation of you.”
His laugh was soft, and as it rumbled through her, it eased some of the tension she hadn’t realized she was still carrying.
She nudged his shoulder with hers. “You really didn’t have to wait for me, you know. I’m tired, but I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can,” Cullen said, his voice quieter now. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t worry.”
Ariana sighed, her playful smile softening. “And here I thought I was supposed to be the stubborn one.”
“You’re not supposed to be anything,” Cullen replied, his hand brushing against hers. “But you are stubborn. And infuriating. And impossible to keep out of trouble.”
“But do you love me?” she asked, the teasing lilt returning to her voice.
He smiled, his fingers lacing through hers. “I do.”
Ariana felt her cheeks warm, even after all these years, and she gave his hand a small squeeze. “Well, in that case, you’ll forgive me for dragging you to bed when you clearly need sleep. And I came home for just this.”
Cullen opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a pointed look.
“Cullen,” she said firmly, though the corners of her lips twitched with amusement, “I will order you to bed if I have to.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Inquisitor.”
“Good,” she said, tugging him toward the pillows.
As they settled under the blanket, Cullen hesitated, glancing toward the ladder. “I should—”
“Stay with me,” Ariana interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper. She shifted closer, resting her head against his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Please.”
His hesitation melted away as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “I’m here,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.
Ariana closed her eyes, the warmth of his presence grounding her as the exhaustion of the last two weeks finally caught up with her. “I missed this,” she whispered, her words slurring slightly as sleep began to claim her.
“So did I,” Cullen replied, his hand brushing gently through her hair.
As her breathing evened out, Cullen lay still, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. For the first time in weeks, he felt a sense of peace settle over him. She was home, safe, and in his arms.
~~~
Cullen stirred awake to the soft light of dawn filtering through the small window above them. The warmth of Ariana’s body against his chest kept him from moving right away, her steady breaths brushing lightly against his skin. He blinked, taking in the quiet moment, and realized she wasn’t fully asleep. Her fingers traced idle patterns along the lines of his muscles, her touch light but absentminded.
He glanced down, finding her gaze fixed somewhere beyond him, distant and shadowed. The worry etched in her expression tugged at his heart.
“Ari,” he murmured, his voice still rough from sleep. “What’s wrong?”
Her fingers stilled, and for a moment, she didn’t answer. Then she sighed softly, her gaze finally meeting his. “It’s… nothing. Just—everything.”
“That doesn’t sound like nothing,” he said gently, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Talk to me.”
She hesitated, but something in his tone—steady, reassuring—seemed to unlock whatever she’d been holding back. She shifted slightly, propping herself up on her elbow as she looked down at him.
“It’s the Hinterlands,” she began, her voice quiet. “I knew it was bad, but Cullen… I don’t think I was prepared for what I found this time.” She paused, drawing in a shaky breath. “I’m so tired of finding bodies with letters from their loved ones. Husbands writing to their wives, parents to their children. Innocents caught in the crossfire of a war they didn’t ask for.”
Cullen frowned, his brows knitting together as he listened.
“And it’s not just the innocents,” she continued, her voice thick with emotion. “There were mages and Templars, Cullen—people who were lovers or friends. They refused to fight one another, tried to escape to some quiet place where they could be safe together… but they didn’t make it back to each other.”
Her voice cracked, and she shook her head, her jaw tightening. “Even one of our scouts… she found solace with a mage she met. I saved her from Templars who attacked them, but her mage friend… she was already gone by the time I got there.”
She looked away, her eyes shimmering faintly in the morning light. “How much more will this war cost, Cullen? How many more lives? It feels like nothing I do will ever be enough.”
Cullen sat up slowly, his hand reaching for hers. “Ari…” he started, his voice low and steady, but she shook her head.
After a moment, she eased herself back down, resting her head against his chest. His arm instinctively tightened around her, pulling her close as she continued.
“The people there—Cullen, they’re desperate. They need supplies, protection. Every time I’m in the Hinterlands, it’s the same story: bandits, rogue mages, rogue Templars wreaking havoc. I need Rangers or Inquisition forces stationed there. Something more permanent.”
Cullen nodded, his hand brushing along her arm in a quiet attempt to soothe her. “I’ll make it happen.”
She exhaled slowly, shifting slightly as though trying to find a more comfortable position. “And the red Templars,” she added, her voice hardening. “I ran into a few parties of them. Haven’t found a base or anything deeper, but they’re there, and I don’t know why. Leliana and Linnea need to look into it. Whatever they’re doing, it can’t be good.”
“I’ll speak with them,” Cullen promised. “We’ll find out what they’re up to.”
Cullen couldn’t help but feel this was one more lead. They hadn’t talked about it, but Cullen had been looking for the Red Templars, for Samson. Ariana’s lead was one more step, hopefully in the right direction.
Her shoulders eased slightly at his response, and she let out a deep breath. For the first time since she began speaking, her voice softened. “What can you tell me about Recruit Whittle?” she asked, almost tentatively.
“Whittle?” Cullen echoed, surprised by the shift. “He’s… young, but eager. Quick to learn. Why?”
“I like him,” Ariana said simply, her tone lighter now. “He’s practical. When I spoke to him, his concern wasn’t the war or politics—it was making sure the villagers had enough supplies to stay warm. He had good ideas about where to find them, too. Sent me searching for some supply caches left behind by the rebel mages in the area. We need more people who think like that. Those who just want to help those who can’t help themselves.”
Cullen couldn’t help but smile faintly, his chest tightening with a mixture of pride and amazement. Even with everything weighing on her, she still noticed the recruits no one else might, the ones who thought of solutions rather than problems. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Thank you,” she said, her lips curving faintly as she shifted to rest more fully against him. “Oh, I also recruited Speaker Anais and her Cult of Andraste. They’ll be spreading word of the Inquisition and should be reporting to Josephine soon. And Lord Berand…” Her voice faltered briefly. “He and his men should be reporting to you as well. I couldn’t save his lover, Cullen. But now, he’s committed to fighting for us.”
Cullen nodded, his hand brushing lightly over her back in slow, reassuring strokes. “I’ll make sure they’re both welcomed and briefed.”
Ariana exhaled deeply, her breath warm against his skin as she closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured. Her voice was quieter now, the heaviness in it easing bit by bit.
Cullen pressed a kiss to her hair, his heart aching at the weight she carried but swelling with admiration for the way she bore it. “You don’t have to do this alone, Ari,” he said softly. “We’re in this together.”
“I know,” she whispered finally, her voice barely audible.
She tilted her head to look at him, her hazel-green eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and gratitude. “Thank you,” she said again, her lips curving into a faint smile.
Cullen returned her smile, his fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. “Always.”
She let out a quiet sigh as she rested her head against his chest once more. Cullen held her close, his own heart aching for the burden she carried, but filled with admiration for the strength she showed every day.
As her breathing slowed, and she fell asleep again, Cullen couldn’t help but marvel at her. Even in her weariness, even when she doubted herself, she had a way of noticing the things others overlooked—young recruits, struggling scouts, the smallest glimmers of hope in a war-torn world. And somehow, she made those things matter.
His arm tightened around her protectively, his voice a quiet promise in the stillness of the morning. “You don’t have to carry it all alone, Ari. I’m here. Always.”