6 Justinian 9:41
The morning broke over Skyhold with a soft haze of golden light spilling over the Frostbacks, casting long shadows over the fortress. Ariana stood at the far end of the battlements, where the wall crumbled into jagged stone and open air. Few ventured this far, the steep drop below a clear deterrent. It was quiet here—just the wind and the mountains, untamed and vast.
She leaned against the remains of the wall, the cold stone biting through her gloves. Below, the Inquisition stirred to life: soldiers sparring, messengers darting between tents, the clang of hammers as builders labored to repair what they could. It was a comforting rhythm, but one she couldn’t quite let herself be part of.
Her gaze drifted to the horizon, where the mountains seemed to pierce the sky. Somewhere beyond those peaks, Corypheus schemed, the Grey Wardens floundered, and the weight of her choices awaited. The enormity of it pressed down on her, and she wondered if the White Wolf would have stood here—or if she would have run.
Boots scuffed against stone behind her, and she stiffened. No one came this far.
“Figured I’d find you brooding,” came Hawke’s familiar drawl, light and easy but edged with knowing.
Ariana glanced over her shoulder, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You know me too well.”
Hawke approached, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her long coat. She stopped just short of the crumbled edge, tilting her head as she studied Ariana. “I do. And I know that face. You’re overthinking.”
Ariana huffed, crossing her arms and leaning back against the wall. “Easy for you to say. You were the Champion of Kirkwall before you had to carry the weight of the world. I barely carried a title at all until now.”
Hawke smirked, stepping closer to stand beside her. “And yet here you are, leading an army, rebuilding a fortress, and taking on an ancient darkspawn with a god complex. I’d say you’re managing just fine.”
Ariana’s smile faded, her voice softening. “Managing is different from leading. I’m not sure I’m the one to guide all these people.”
“Funny,” Hawke said, her voice brightening with wry amusement, “because they seem to think you are. Even Cullen. Maker, if he’s not the picture of confidence in you, I don’t know what is.”
At the mention of Cullen, Ariana’s lips tightened, and Hawke’s sharp eyes didn’t miss it.
“Ah, trouble in paradise?” Hawke teased, but her tone held genuine curiosity.
“Not trouble,” Ariana said, though the word carried hesitation. “I just… he knew they were going to name me Inquisitor and didn’t tell me. I understand why, but part of me—” She faltered, searching for the right words.
“Feels like he should’ve warned you?” Hawke supplied.
“Yes,” Ariana admitted, her voice quieter. “And it’s not just him. Varric knew about Corypheus, about you, and kept it all to himself. I trust them both, but now…” She trailed off, looking down at the bustling courtyard.
Hawke stepped closer, leaning on the railing beside her. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Trusting people to do what they think is best, even if it means keeping things from you. But here’s the thing—no one can do this alone. Not me in Kirkwall, not you here. They’ll make mistakes, sure, but you’ve got to decide whether you trust their intentions.”
Ariana looked back toward the courtyard. “It’s not that simple. It feels like… everyone’s already decided who I’m supposed to be. The Herald of Andraste. The Inquisitor. Their leader. But what if I’m not that person?”
Hawke was quiet for a moment, her sharp eyes fixed on Ariana. Then she leaned forward, resting her arms on the broken edge of the battlement. “You don’t have to be the person they decided on. Be the one you choose to be. That’s what makes a leader worth following.”
Ariana turned to her, surprise flickering in her expression. “That sounds suspiciously wise for you.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Hawke said with a grin. “But seriously, Ari. People will try to put you in a box. You don’t have to stay there. Be the White Wolf if you want. Be the Inquisitor if you have to. For Andraste’s sake, be both. Just don’t let anyone tell you who you’re supposed to be—not even me.”
The words settled over Ariana like the crisp mountain air, bracing and sharp. For the first time in days, the haze of doubt felt a little thinner.
“Thanks, Hawke,” she said quietly.
“Anytime,” Hawke replied, clapping her on the shoulder. “Now, I should go before I start saying things I’ll regret. Like ‘you’re inspiring.’ Or worse—‘responsible.’”
Ariana chuckled, the sound light against the wind. “Maker forbid.”
Hawke lingered for a moment, then turned to leave. “Just remember—whatever you decide, I’ve got your back. Always.”
As Hawke’s footsteps receded, Ariana remained at the edge of the battlement, the wind tugging at her cloak. The world still felt impossibly heavy, but Hawke’s words lingered, weaving themselves into the beginnings of something stronger.
~~~
After speaking with Hawke, Ariana felt the cracks forming beneath her carefully held composure. She needed Cullen. Needed someone to ground her, to tell her this wasn’t madness. Everything had come at her so fast—the destruction of Haven, Cullen’s proposal, the discovery of Skyhold, being named Inquisitor. And in the last day alone, she had learned Varric had withheld critical information about Corypheus, that Hawke and Varric had fought him years ago, and that someone she once thought of as a second father had lied to her for years. It was all too much, and for all the progress she felt they had made, she couldn’t ignore the gnawing unease threatening to overwhelm her.
More than anything, she missed Cullen. They had barely spoken all week, and the ache of his absence compounded everything else.
She found him in the lower courtyard, barking orders to soldiers from a makeshift desk. His sharp commands cut through the hum of the bustling camp, his presence commanding as he orchestrated the chaos with precision. Even now, he didn’t falter, seamlessly acknowledging a soldier’s report before sending them off with new tasks.
“You know… you could have warned me,” Ariana called out as she approached, her arms folding across her chest. There was a faint edge to her tone, but it softened when she added, “That was an ambush,” jerking her thumb back toward the stairs.
Cullen turned at the sound of her voice, the tension in his expression melting away the moment he saw her. He knew exactly what she meant, though his smirk betrayed no guilt. “I know you well enough to know you handle ambushes rather well,” he replied lightly. “Besides, Cassandra insisted.”
“She would,” Ariana muttered, though she couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at her lips. “But still. A little warning might’ve been nice.”
He chuckled, crossing his arms as he stepped closer. “Would you have come if we told you?”
Her smile widened despite herself. “Probably not.”
“There you go, then,” he said with a small shrug, though his tone remained teasing. “It was the only way.”
Ariana let her gaze wander, taking in the courtyard. Soldiers and villagers bustled about, the faint hum of life filling the air. She spoke almost absently, testing the weight of unfamiliar words. “Inquisitor Trevelyan.” It felt strange, heavy. Like armor that didn’t quite fit. “I wasn’t looking for another title, you know.”
“Most great leaders don’t,” Cullen replied, his voice quieter now, carrying a weight of understanding. “But it suits you.”
She scoffed lightly, shaking her head. “I’m not sure it does. ‘Herald’ was bad enough. And don’t even get me started on ‘your worship.’” She wrinkled her nose, the memory of the well-wishers earlier making her smile faintly. “I feel like I’m about to be asked to bless their crops.”
Cullen laughed, a sound that warmed her despite the cold biting at her skin. It eased some of the tension coiled in her chest, even if only for a moment. “Give it time,” he said, his tone light. “It’ll feel less strange… eventually.”
“Is that your professional opinion, Commander?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.
“Perhaps,” he replied, the faint grin on his lips softening his otherwise weary features.
They fell into silence, the weight of the last week hanging between them. Ariana studied him, noting the dark shadows under his eyes and the tension in his shoulders. He looked as exhausted as she felt, though he carried it with the same stoic resolve she had come to admire—and worry about. He hadn’t slept much, maybe not at all.
Finally, she broke the silence, her voice softer now. “Thank you, Cullen. For… everything. I don’t think I’ve said that enough.”
His expression turned serious, his hazel eyes meeting hers. “You don’t need to thank me, Ari,” he said quietly. “But if you’re asking for my support… you’ll always have it.”
The sincerity in his voice hit her harder than she expected. Her throat tightened as she nodded, her smile tinged with gratitude and something deeper she couldn’t name. “I know. And it means more than you know.”
Cullen reached out, his hand hovering briefly before resting gently on her shoulder. “Whatever you need, I’m here,” he said, his voice steady, his presence grounding her in a way nothing else had managed to do that day. “Remember that.”
Ariana placed her hand over his, squeezing it briefly. She wanted to say something—anything—that would convey the tangled mess of emotions threatening to overwhelm her, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she stepped back, the tightness in her chest only slightly lessened.
“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” she said lightly, though her tone carried the weight of her promise. She hesitated, her thoughts spinning again. Her mind felt like a storm she couldn’t quiet, the edges fraying more with every passing moment. She couldn’t leave it like this—not today, not now.
“Walk with me,” she said suddenly, her voice firmer than she intended. It wasn’t a request. It was a plea wrapped in command, and she prayed he wouldn’t refuse.
~~~
“There’s still a lot—” Cullen began to protest, but the look in her eyes stopped him. There was something raw in her gaze, a vulnerability she rarely showed. She needed him. He sighed, falling into step beside her and adjusting his pace to match hers. He had seen this look before and knew he needed to follow her.
“When was the last time you slept?” she asked casually, though the sharpness in her eyes betrayed her concern.
Cullen hesitated, his mind scrambling for a deflection. “If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw… and I wouldn’t want to. We must be ready.” He thought it was a clever dodge, but her raised eyebrow told him she wasn’t buying it.
“That still didn’t answer my question, Commander,” she said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite the weight in her voice.
Cullen allowed a reluctant smile, though his thoughts churned. He had always admired how perceptive she was, but it also left him little room to hide. “I’ll sleep when I’m done with this,” he said eventually, his tone firm but not unkind. “Work on Skyhold is underway, and guard rotations have been established. We should have everything on course within the week.”
“So, you haven’t slept all week, and you’re telling me you’re planning to sleep sometime next week, then?” she quipped, her eyebrow arching in that maddeningly knowing way.
“Perhaps,” he replied, though his expression grew serious as his guilt deepened.
“Our escape from Haven… it was close.” Her voice pulled him from his thoughts. The quiet way she said it carried the weight of everything they’d lost that day.
He reached for her wrist, holding her still. “You stayed behind. You could have—I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”
She smiled faintly but didn’t answer, taking his hand and leading him toward the battlements. As they climbed, Cullen’s unease grew. The set of her shoulders, the way she scanned the camp below—there was something brewing inside her, something heavy.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, his brows furrowing as they reached the top. He waved the guards away, watching as she leaned over the edge to take in the view. The glow of campfires dotted the courtyard below, voices murmuring like a low hum against the night.
She didn’t respond immediately, her fingers curling tightly over the cold stone. Finally, she asked, “How many did we lose at Haven?”
Cullen hesitated, his throat tightening. “Most of our people made it,” he said carefully, though the lives they couldn’t save hung heavy in his chest. He had tried not to dwell on it, but her question forced it all to the surface.
“I had hoped to convince Cassandra that she was making a mistake,” Ariana murmured, her voice soft and distant. “But I guess by that point, it was too late.”
He tilted his head, frowning. “What are you saying?”
She turned to him, and for the first time, he saw the cracks in her armor. The exhaustion, the doubt—it was all there, plain as day. He noticed her thumb brushing over her ring, a subtle but telling gesture. She was grounding herself, seeking reassurance in something familiar.
“What I’m saying is that those people down there,” she gestured toward the camp, “are here because they’re expecting a savior. They’re expecting Andraste’s chosen. What happens when they realize there is no divine power? That this mark,” she held up her glowing hand, “is simply a mistake? A spell gone wrong?”
Her words hit Cullen like a blow. He had always seen her as the strongest among them, but now he realized there were limits and they had pushed them. She was carrying all of this—Haven, the Inquisition, the Herald of Andraste, the weight of being named Inquisitor—and he hadn’t even noticed how deeply it was affecting her. He had been so focused on ensuring Skyhold’s defenses were impenetrable, so consumed by the fear of another attack, that he’d failed to notice just how much was bearing down on her.
“Ariana…” he began softly, stepping closer. “You’re the reason we’re still here. You’ve given these people hope when there was none. Divine power or not, they believe in you because of what you’ve done—not because of what they think you are.”
She didn’t respond immediately, her gaze drifting back to the camp below. Cullen placed his hands on the battlements on either side of her, gently enclosing her in a protective circle. His hand brushed hers briefly before he leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Talk to me,” he urged, his voice quiet but firm.
She looked up at him, and the storm in her eyes was undeniable. The weight of everything she was feeling seemed to crash over her all at once. Tears welled up, and Cullen felt his chest tighten with guilt. He had failed her—not in protecting her from Corypheus, but in protecting her from the crushing burden she was now carrying alone.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Cullen…” she whispered, her voice breaking as she turned her gaze away.
Her words tore at him, and he realized with painful clarity just how blind he had been. She had fought Corypheus face-to-face, buried Haven under an avalanche, taken on the mantle of Inquisitor, and been betrayed by someone she trusted—all in the span of days. And yet, he had been so consumed with his own responsibilities that he hadn’t taken the time to simply be there for her.
“Maker… Ari,” he murmured, his lips brushing her temple. “I’m so sorry. I should have—” His voice faltered, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
She leaned into him, her breathing unsteady as she tried to hold back her tears. Cullen tightened his embrace, silently vowing that he would never make her feel alone in this again.
“He lied to me… To my face,” Ariana choked out after a moment, her voice trembling.
“Varric?” Cullen guessed, though he already knew the answer.
She nodded, her head resting against his chest.
“He knew Corypheus. He knew what he was capable of, and it’s even worse than we thought. And he… didn’t trust me,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “He didn’t trust me enough to tell me that one of our friends was alive and well. What did he think? That I’d run to Cassandra with this?”
Cullen held her closer, his hand gently brushing her hair. “He was wrong, Ariana. He should have trusted you. And you have every right to feel betrayed. But I’m here. We’ll figure this out—together.”
Ariana leaned into him, her voice barely a whisper at first. “And do you even realize there hasn’t been an Inquisitor in eight ages? Not since Ameridan.” She pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, her eyes wide with a mix of frustration and fear. “How am I supposed to follow that?”
Cullen’s heart twisted at the vulnerability in her voice. “Ari…” he began, but she wasn’t finished.
“They wrote songs about him, Cullen,” she continued, her words tumbling out in a rush. “Songs! He was the embodiment of everything people wanted in a hero. He vanished into legend! And now they look at me like I’m supposed to fill his shoes?” She gestured sharply toward the camp below. “What if I can’t? What if I fall short and all of this—Skyhold, the Inquisition—falls apart?”
“You won’t,” Cullen said firmly, his tone steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside him. “You’re not trying to be Ameridan, Ari. You’re leading in your way, and it’s already working.”
She scoffed lightly, though her eyes betrayed her uncertainty. “What if they’re wrong?” she whispered.
“They’re not,” he replied without hesitation. “And neither am I.”
Ariana let out a shaky breath, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I’ve spent so much of my life trying to stay out of the spotlight. It’s why the White Wolf existed. She was the legend, Cullen, not me.” She looked back at him, her eyes pleading for understanding. “The White Wolf could be everything people needed—brave, larger than life, untouchable. And Ariana Trevelyan could stay out of the light. I could just be there, helping, making a difference without having to be… this.”
Cullen’s chest tightened at the rawness in her voice, at the way she said ‘this’ as though it was something foreign and unwelcome. He tightened his hold around her waist. “Ari, you don’t have to be Ameridan. You’re you, and that’s who these people are following. They don’t need a legend—they need you.”
“But I don’t know how to be this, Cullen,” she said, her voice breaking. “I don’t know how to be Inquisitor. I know how to be Wolf. I know how to fight, to lead from the middle of the battle, plan small jobs and skirmishes. But this… this is the center of everything, and I don’t know how to stand here without feeling like I’m going to crumble.”
Her words hit him with the weight of everything she had been carrying—the impossible expectations, the loss, the betrayal. He hadn’t seen her struggling to hold herself together.
“You don’t have to stand alone,” he said softly, his voice steady as he met her gaze. “You’ve always led from the front, but now you have all of us standing with you. And Ari… you’re not going to crumble. You’re stronger than you think.”
Her lips quivered, and she looked away, her thumb brushing against the ring on her finger. “I just don’t want to let them down,” she whispered. “Or you.”
Cullen reached out, his hand gently tilting her chin back toward him. “You couldn’t,” he said firmly. “You won’t. You’ve already done more than anyone could have asked. And you’ll keep doing it—not because you’re the White Wolf or because they named you Inquisitor, but because you’re you.”
Ariana’s lips parted as if to respond, but instead, she simply searched his face, her brow furrowing slightly.
He took a breath, the words forming carefully in his mind before he spoke again. “Ariana Trevelyan has always been the White Wolf,” he said, his tone quiet but unwavering. “You’ve been separating Ariana from Wolf, mostly for me, Ari. Did you really make that distinction before going back to Kirkwall or after you left?”
Ariana seemed to think about it, her eyes narrowing slightly as her thoughts turned inward. “I… no,” she admitted softly, the word almost hesitant, as though it surprised her.
“Do the Rangers see two different people?” Cullen pressed, his gaze steady, his voice gentle but insistent.
This time, she didn’t answer, her eyes meeting his as though the weight of his words were settling over her. She didn’t need to say anything. Her silence was answer enough.
“You are Ariana Trevelyan,” Cullen continued, his voice soft but reverent, as though the truth of the words struck him just as deeply. “The White Wolf of the Silver Rangers. And the White Wolf is the Inquisitor. It has always been you. It still is. The only difference now is that we brought the Wolf to the light for all to see.”
Ariana’s gaze softened, and Cullen saw her searching his eyes for the truth in his words. He could see it, the way her mind was piecing it together, her confidence slowly finding footing in his conviction.
“It’s you, Ari,” he said, his tone full of quiet awe as he reached for her hand, holding it gently. “It’s always been you. And it always will be.”
For a long moment, Ariana said nothing. Then, finally, her lips curved into the faintest smile, a mixture of relief and something deeper. “You make it sound so simple,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“It is,” Cullen replied, his lips quirking upward. “You’ve already done it. You just need to stop convincing yourself otherwise.”
Ariana let out a quiet laugh, the sound carrying a hint of catharsis. “You know,” she said softly, her hand tightening around his, “I think I needed to hear that more than anything.”
“And I’ll keep saying it,” Cullen said, leaning down to press his forehead gently against hers. “For as long as you need.”
As she closed her eyes and leaned into him, Cullen felt his resolve harden. He couldn’t undo the past week—couldn’t erase the moments she had felt abandoned—but he could do better. He would do better. For her, for them. Because for all the strategies and fortifications and battle plans, nothing mattered more than the woman in his arms.
~~~
Ariana couldn’t stop thinking about Cullen’s words. For the first time in what felt like ages, she didn’t feel like she had to hold herself together in pieces. There was no longer a need to separate Ariana from the White Wolf, to keep her titles and her life compartmentalized. Everything she was—the girl who had run away from an arranged marriage, the rogue who fought alongside the Silver Rangers, the woman who bore the Anchor—all of it was part of the same story. And Cullen knew it all. He had reminded her of it.
The weight she had been carrying for so long didn’t feel so heavy anymore. There was still anger and frustration lingering in the back of her mind—Varric’s betrayal stung more than she wanted to admit—but for the first time since Haven, she felt like she could breathe. Like she could face whatever came next.
That clarity carried her as she pushed open the tavern doors. The familiar buzz of voices and the smell of ale greeted her, grounding her in its normalcy. She glanced around the room, spotting Valentina and Riley seated among other Rangers. Their presence brought a small smile to her lips—her people were here, steady and dependable as always. But the peace was short-lived.
A commotion from above drew her attention—shouting, followed by a loud crash. Ariana sighed, muttering under her breath, “Maker’s breath, what now?” before making her way upstairs.
At the top of the stairs, she froze. Cassandra stood on one side of the room, her face flushed with fury, while Varric hovered behind an overturned table, looking both defiant and defensive.
“You knew where Hawke was all along!” Cassandra’s voice was sharp with anger, but there was hurt beneath it, too.
“You’re damned right I did!” Varric shot back, his tone dripping with defiance.
“You conniving little shit!” Cassandra snapped, and before Ariana could step in, she swung at Varric. He ducked, narrowly avoiding her fist, and darted to the other side of the table.
“You kidnapped me! You interrogated me! What did you expect?” Varric yelled, his hands raised in an attempt to placate her.
Ariana leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms as she watched. She wasn’t quite ready to intervene yet. Part of her felt that Varric deserved this. But her annoyance at him was evident in the way her fingers drummed against her arm.
“I expected you to tell the truth!” Cassandra countered, her voice trembling slightly. “I told you what was at stake!”
“So I’d just hand her over on your say-so? ‘It’s okay, Hawke! This zealot isn’t crazy, I promise!’” Varric retorted, his sarcasm earning a cry of rage from Cassandra.
Cassandra flipped the table between them, sending it crashing to the ground. Varric stumbled back, his hands still raised, before darting toward Ariana.
“Look at her!” he said, his voice pitched with incredulity. “She’s finally lost it!”
Ariana sighed heavily, stepping into the room. “Alright, enough,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through the chaos. “You’ve both made your points.”
Cassandra’s head snapped toward her, frustration and hurt evident in her eyes. “We needed someone to lead this Inquisition,” she said, her voice tight. “First, Leliana and I searched for the Hero of Ferelden, but she had vanished. Then we looked for Hawke, but she was gone, too. We thought it was all connected, but no.” Her eyes flicked to Varric, her anger still simmering. “It was just you. You kept her from us.”
Varric crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. “The Inquisition has a leader,” he said evenly, motioning toward Ariana.
“Hawke would have been at the Conclave!” Cassandra shouted, her voice trembling. “If anyone could have saved Most Holy…”
Ariana flinched slightly, the weight of those words sinking in. Her jaw tightened, but she forced herself to meet Cassandra’s gaze. “Well… I suppose I shouldn’t take that personally” she said, her voice calm but sharp. “I wasn’t your choice, I was Justinia’s…”
Cassandra froze, realization dawning in her expression. “No, Inquisitor, I didn’t mean it that way,” she said quickly, her tone softening. “I only meant… it is difficult not to wonder what might have been.”
“And I was protecting Hawke,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.
“And what about me?” Ariana asked, her voice quieter now but no less cutting. “Did you think I couldn’t handle the truth? Or that I wouldn’t have your back if it came to that?”
Varric glanced at her, guilt flickering in his eyes, but he said nothing.
Cassandra broke the silence. “If you’d trusted us from the beginning—”
Ariana raised a hand, cutting her off. “Cassandra, enough. I’ll handle this.”
The Seeker hesitated, then nodded, her anger giving way to weariness. “I want to trust him,” she said softly, glancing at Varric. “But he makes it so damned difficult.”
Ariana nodded, her gaze never leaving Varric. “Go,” she said quietly.
Varric didn’t argue. As he slipped past her, he paused briefly looking back to Cassandra “You know what I think? If Hawke had been at the temple, she’d be dead, too. You people have done enough to her.” he said before he continued down the stairs.
The silence that followed was heavy. Ariana knew—or at least she thought she knew—he hadn’t meant that for her. But it stung nonetheless, a bitter edge to his words that cut deep.
“You’re far kinder than I am,” Cassandra said, her voice breaking the tension.
Ariana offered her a faint smile, though her thoughts were elsewhere. “No, I’m not. I’m just not done with him.”
Cassandra hesitated, then spoke again, her tone quieter. “I believe the Maker sent you. I believe that more than ever.”
Ariana blinked, taken aback. For a moment, she searched Cassandra’s face, seeing not just faith but conviction.
“And I believe the Maker sent me because He didn’t have anyone else left,” Ariana replied softly, her smile bittersweet.
Cassandra reached out, briefly placing a hand on Ariana’s arm. “Even so… you’re more than I could have hoped for.”
Ariana nodded, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “We’re here. And we’re in this together.” she said, the words feeling heavier than she intended.
As she left the room, she caught sight of Varric at the bar, his head bowed. She thought about confronting him again, but the anger was still too raw. Later, she told herself. There would be time for that later. For now, she had to focus on everything else—the weight of the Inquisition, the path ahead, and the strange, fragile relief Cullen had given her.
~~~
The tavern door creaked shut behind her, leaving Varric to watch Ariana disappear into the courtyard. He knew better than to push her when she was in a mood, but something about the way she left—her shoulders rigid, her pace quick—stuck with him. With a deep sigh, he drained the last of his drink, placed the tankard on the bar, and followed her out into the cold.
The courtyard buzzed with activity—soldiers sharpening weapons, scouts returning from patrol, and workers shoring up Skyhold’s defenses. None of it registered as Varric scanned the space, finally spotting her near the far end, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she stared out over the battlements.
He approached slowly, his boots crunching on the frost-covered ground. “You left before I could get my apology in,” he started, trying for levity, but his voice lacked its usual charm.
Ariana turned, her expression sharp. “And what exactly would you be apologizing for, Varric?” she asked, her tone clipped. “For keeping Hawke’s location from Cassandra? Or for keeping it from me?”
He winced, realizing too late that this was a bad idea. “I didn’t think it would matter—”
“It did matter,” Ariana cut him off, her voice rising. “You didn’t think I had a right to know that you and Hawke had faced Corypheus before? That she was alive, Varric? You didn’t think I’d need to know, especially after everything that’s happened?” She gestured toward the bustling courtyard, her frustration boiling over. “Do you think I enjoy being left in the dark when everything falls apart?”
“I was trying to protect her,” he said weakly, but the excuse sounded hollow even to his own ears.
“And what about me?” Ariana pressed, stepping closer, her voice shaking. “I’ve trusted you with my life since the day I stepped foot in Kirkwall. When I ran from home, when I ran to Ferelden—every time I needed someone, you were there. And now you’re telling me you couldn’t trust me the same way?”
Varric flinched. Her words struck deeper than he expected. He opened his mouth to respond but found he didn’t have the words. She wasn’t wrong, and the realization settled uncomfortably in his chest.
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “Hawke’s been through enough. I didn’t want to drag her into this mess.”
Ariana laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of humor. “And what about me? Do you have any idea what Haven was like? Corypheus was there, Varric. He knew me. He tried to kill me and take the Anchor. I almost died, and you still didn’t think I needed to know?”
Her voice cracked on the last words, and Varric’s chest tightened. He had never seen her like this—so raw, so hurt. He had underestimated her strength, but worse, he had underestimated how much she had relied on him. The realization hit him like a blow: she saw him as more than just a friend. He had been family to her, someone she trusted implicitly. And now, he had shattered that trust.
“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice heavy with guilt. “I screwed up.”
Ariana stared at him, her jaw tightening as she fought to keep her composure. “I needed you to trust me, Varric. You of all people. And you didn’t.”
“I—” Varric started, but she held up a hand to stop him.
“Not now,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “I can’t… I can’t do this right now.”
She turned and walked away, her pace brisk as she headed toward the battlements. Varric watched her go, feeling more defeated than he had in years. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but intentions didn’t matter when the damage was done.
“This was probably not the best time,” came a voice from behind him.
Varric turned to see Cullen standing nearby, his arms crossed and an expression of quiet concern on his face. He’d clearly been close enough to hear most, if not all, of the exchange.
“I really know how to pick my moments, don’t I?” Varric muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Cullen approached slowly, his tone measured but firm. “I told her earlier today that she had a right to be angry,” he admitted, his hazel eyes steady as they met Varric’s. “But you should have known better, Varric. She’s trusted you with more than anyone else in her life, even when she was keeping secrets from me. I understand why you did it, but… you didn’t think this through.”
Varric let out a low sigh, his shoulders slumping. “I was trying to protect her—and Hawke,” he said, his voice laced with frustration. “But, yeah. I messed up. I get it.”
Cullen’s expression softened slightly. “And yet… right now she believes you care for Hawke more than you ever did for her. She’s hurt, Varric, more than I’ve ever seen. I know she jokes about it, but I think she genuinely sees you as a second father.” Cullen’s tone grew heavier. “And she now believes you were willing to let her die to protect Hawke.”
Varric opened his mouth to protest, but the words didn’t come. He felt the weight of Cullen’s statement settle over him, heavy and unrelenting. He had never thought of it that way—had never considered how his actions might make her feel abandoned. But now, in the stark clarity of Cullen’s words, he saw the truth of it.
Varric sighed, running a hand through his hair again. “I didn’t mean for her to feel that way.”
Cullen nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. “Intentions matter less than the impact, Varric. She trusted you, and now she feels like she can’t.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Varric straightened, his jaw tightening as he looked toward the direction Ariana had gone. “I’ll fix this,” he said, his voice steady but subdued. “I don’t know how yet, but I will.”
Cullen’s gaze lingered on Varric, as if weighing his words. Finally, he nodded. “Good. Because she deserves better.”
Without waiting for a reply, Cullen turned and headed toward the battlements, his strides purposeful and unrelenting. Varric watched him go, the frost crunching under his boots as he disappeared into the growing shadows.
Varric remained rooted to the spot, his thoughts swirling like the cold wind around him. The look on Ariana’s face, the crack in her voice when she’d said, “I trusted you,” echoed in his mind. He had seen her face down nightmares without flinching, but this? This was different. This was the kind of hurt he hadn’t thought he could cause. And yet, he had.
He didn’t need Cullen to spell it out for him, though the Commander’s words had hit home. Ariana had always been the one person who believed in him without hesitation, who didn’t treat him like a storyteller spinning half-truths. To her, he was more than his tales—he was family. And he’d taken that trust, that bond, and trampled it underfoot, all in the name of protecting someone else.
Watching Cullen march off to fix what he couldn’t, Varric felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite name. Guilt? Jealousy? Regret? Maybe it was all of them. Cullen knew how to reassure her, how to be the steady presence she needed when the world came crashing down. And here Varric was, standing in the cold with nothing but his guilt and the realization that he’d left her to face it alone.
“Dumbass,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “You really outdid yourself this time.”
For all his talk about being clever, about reading people, he’d missed the one thing that mattered most: Ariana needed him to trust her, just as much as she trusted him. And he’d failed her.
He glanced back toward the tavern, the warmth of the firelight spilling out onto the snow-covered ground. He could go back in, order another drink, and pretend this conversation never happened. But that wasn’t who he wanted to be—not for her. If she saw him as a father figure, then it was about damn time he started acting like one.
Varric sighed heavily, his breath visible in the frosty air. He didn’t know how to fix this, not yet, but he would figure it out. Ariana deserved better than excuses and half-measures. She deserved to know that he was still the person she thought he was, even if he’d made a mistake.
And maybe—just maybe—he could find a way to show her that, even if it meant swallowing his pride and having an uncomfortable conversation or two.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned toward the fading sound of Cullen’s footsteps. “Guess you’re chasing her down for now, Curly,” he muttered softly. “But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”
With that, Varric headed back toward the tavern, the gears already turning in his mind. There was still time to fix this. There had to be.
~~~
The tavern’s warmth was a stark contrast to the cold biting at Varric’s skin as he stepped inside. The chatter and laughter of Rangers and soldiers filled the air, but it all seemed distant to him. He was too preoccupied with the knot of guilt twisting in his chest. He barely had time to process his thoughts before a familiar voice cut through the noise.
“Well, well,” Hawke said from her seat by the hearth, her tone light but unmistakably sharp. “If it isn’t Varric Tethras, fresh from making a colossal mess of things.”
Varric groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he approached her table. “Not now, Hawke,” he muttered. “I’ve had enough lectures for one night.”
“Oh, I’m sure you have,” she said, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest. Her grin was wolfish, but her sharp eyes betrayed her seriousness. “But humor me. Why didn’t you tell Ariana you were in contact with me? She looked about ready to break out there.”
Varric hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze. “I thought it was better this way,” he said, his tone defensive but lacking conviction.
Hawke raised an eyebrow. “Better for who? Because it sure as hell wasn’t better for her.”
He sighed, slumping into the chair opposite her. “I assumed you were keeping her apprised of where I was,” Hawke continued, her voice softening slightly. “That was why I didn’t reach out to her myself. I figured you had it covered.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Varric admitted, his voice low. He took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. “After Kirkwall, after everything with Meredith, Corypheus, and the mess we barely survived, she was already carrying so much. She lost her home, she felt the failure of the mage rebellion starting, she lost Cullen. I didn’t want to add more to her plate.”
Hawke leaned forward, her gaze pinning him in place. “So, what about after she showed up in Haven? She’d clearly gotten Cullen back. She was standing there, alive, with an army forming around her. What was your excuse then?”
Varric tried to hold her gaze but found himself looking down at the table instead. “I told myself it was still for her sake,” he said, his voice quieter now. “That she didn’t need to carry the burden of knowing my secrets, too. She had enough to deal with.”
“And?” Hawke pressed, her voice cutting through his half-hearted explanation. “Is that really what you believe? Or is she right—did you sacrifice her to protect me?”
Her words were like a hammer blow, and Varric winced. “I didn’t think I was sacrificing her,” he said quickly, almost defensively. “I was trying to protect you. Both of you.”
“Protect me from what?” Hawke snapped. “You should’ve known better. I didn’t need your protection, Varric—not then, not now. But Ariana? She needed you. And you didn’t think she’d want to know I was alive? That I was okay?”
He opened his mouth to argue, but Hawke didn’t let him. “You know her better than anyone,” she continued, her tone softening but her words no less pointed. “People see a legend, think the White Wolf doesn’t need anyone’s protection. But you and I both know that’s bullshit.”
“I thought…” Varric hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He took a breath, steadying himself. “I thought she didn’t need me. Or at least that’s what I told myself. That she was too strong to need my help, too capable to need protecting.”
Hawke leaned back, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she shook her head, letting out a bitter laugh. “You really are a dumbass, you know that?”
Varric gave her a tired smile, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah, I’m starting to figure that out.”
“She sees you as family, Varric,” Hawke said, her tone gentler now. “Maker, it’s obvious to anyone who’s paying attention. You’ve been more than just a friend to her—you treat her like you would your own daughter. And she’s trusted you like a father. So why the hell didn’t you prioritize her wellbeing?”
Varric sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. “Because… it was easier to believe she didn’t need me. That she was stronger than I ever could be. It was easier to believe that than to admit she might need me.”
Hawke gestured to the bar. “Go grab a round of drinks and bring them back. You and I are going to figure out how to get you out of this mess.”
Varric blinked, caught off guard. “You’re serious?”
Hawke gave him a pointed look, her grin edged with mischief but underpinned by something more genuine. “Of course, I’m serious. Maker knows you’ll need my brilliance to dig yourself out of this one.”
He stared at her for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. “You’re really going to help me with this? I figured you’d just sit back and watch me flounder for the entertainment value.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s entertaining,” she replied, leaning back in her chair. “But Ariana’s like a little sister to me. And family takes care of each other, even when they’re being idiots.” Her gaze softened, though the edge in her voice didn’t entirely fade. “She deserves better than what you gave her, Varric. And I… didn’t reach out either. I shouldn’t have just depended on you to pass messages. But we’ll fix it. Together.”
For a moment, Varric didn’t say anything. Hawke’s words settled over him, bringing a weight of both comfort and accountability. He hadn’t expected her to insert herself into this, but now that she had, he realized how much Ariana meant to her, too.
“Alright,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “A round of drinks it is. But just so we’re clear—this doesn’t mean I’m buying for the whole tavern.”
Hawke snorted, waving him off. “Don’t worry, I’m not that cruel. Just get back here before I start writing songs about your failure.”
Varric rolled his eyes as he headed to the bar, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. As he placed the order, his thoughts swirled. Hawke’s words had hit home—Ariana wasn’t just someone who looked up to him. She was family, in the way only people forged through fire and chaos could be. And while he wasn’t sure how to fix the damage he’d done, it was clear he wasn’t doing it alone.
When he returned to the table with drinks in hand, Hawke raised her tankard in mock solemnity. “To cleaning up after Varric’s colossal blunders,” she said, her voice laced with amusement.
Varric set the tray down, his smirk more genuine now. “And here I thought you were going to make me do all the work.”
“Oh, you are,” Hawke said, taking a sip of her drink. “But lucky for you, I’m feeling charitable tonight. Let’s get started.”
As they began to talk, Varric felt a flicker of something he hadn’t felt since the confrontation with Ariana: hope. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get him through the night.
~~~
Ariana sat on the floor, leaning against the crumbled wall of the battlements. The wind tugged at her hair, cool and relentless, carrying with it the faint murmur of voices from below. The soldiers sparring, the workers hammering away at repairs—it was all a distant hum, barely reaching through the storm in her mind.
Her chest felt tight, the tension refusing to ebb no matter how many deep breaths she took. The confrontation with Varric replayed in endless loops: his excuses, his guilt, her own anger. She wanted to let it go, but it clung to her, sharp and unyielding.
The soft tread of familiar boots broke through the haze of her thoughts. She didn’t turn around; she didn’t need to. She knew it was Cullen.
“Did you talk to him?” he asked gently, his voice steady but laced with concern.
Ariana exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging as she leaned her head back against the stone. “Not by choice,” she admitted, her voice quieter than usual. “I went to the tavern. Cassandra was ready to throttle him—literally. I ended up stepping in before she put him through a wall.”
Cullen stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. “And after that?” he pressed, crouching beside her.
“He followed me,” she said, her fingers brushing against the cold stone beneath her. “I wasn’t planning to talk to him, but he didn’t leave me much of a choice.” Her voice faltered, the frustration bubbling back to the surface. “And then he… Maker, Cullen, after everything, he still didn’t trust me enough to tell me what he knew about Corypheus. About Hawke.”
Cullen frowned slightly, his hazel eyes fixed on her. “He should have told you,” he said quietly. “I understand why you’re angry.”
“I’ve trusted Varric with everything,” Ariana continued, her voice trembling. “Since the day I met him, I’ve trusted him. And now… I feel like I was just another problem he decided to solve without me.”
Cullen rested a hand lightly on her knee, drawing her gaze. “I’m not excusing what Varric did, but… I think I understand it,” he said carefully.
Ariana’s brow furrowed, her frustration shifting to confusion. “You understand why he didn’t trust me?”
“No,” Cullen said firmly, shaking his head. “But I understand what it’s like to want to protect you. To think that keeping something from you might spare you pain.” His voice softened, and there was an edge of guilt there. “It’s not always the right choice—most of the time, it’s not—but it’s easy to convince yourself it’s worth the risk.”
She looked away, his words settling over her like the wind—cold, cutting, but impossible to ignore. She didn’t respond immediately, her fingers tracing idle patterns against the stone as her thoughts churned.
Cullen’s grip on her knee tightened slightly, grounding her. “You need him, Ari,” he said softly. “I’ve seen it—the way the two of you rely on each other. He made a mistake, and it’ll take time to earn back your trust. But don’t let this ruin what you’ve built together. You’d regret it.”
Her shoulders sagged further, the fight in her ebbing away. For a long moment, she simply stared at their hands, his warm and steady against hers. “You always know what to say, don’t you?” she murmured, her voice tinged with gratitude.
“Not always,” Cullen replied with a faint smile. “But I mean it. Give yourself time. Give him time.”
She nodded slowly, the tension in her chest easing just a fraction. “Stay with me?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost hesitant.
“Of course,” he said without hesitation, settling onto the stone beside her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as she leaned into him.
The silence stretched between them, comfortable and grounding. With Cullen’s presence, the weight of everything she had been carrying felt just a little lighter, his steadiness a quiet reassurance that she wasn’t alone.
As her thoughts began to settle, one of Cullen’s earlier comments returned to her. To think that keeping something from you might spare you pain. A flicker of doubt crept into her mind. She glanced up at him, her voice soft but insistent. “Cullen… is there anything you need to tell me?”
He hesitated, his hand tightening slightly on her arm. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” he admitted, his tone cautious. “But it’s nothing like this. It’s not a secret, Ari. We can talk about it later.”
She studied him for a moment, searching his face for any hint of hesitation. Finally, she nodded, resting her head against his shoulder. “Alright,” she said simply, her voice steady. “Later.”
They sat in silence again, the distant hum of the camp below a quiet backdrop. Her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his coat, her voice barely a whisper when she finally spoke again. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’ll never have to find out,” Cullen replied, his voice steady and certain. “Not while I have a say in it.”