Lost Figment

Category: Dragon Age

  • Chapter 54 – A Faint Spark of Hope

    22 – 30 Solace 9:40

    Varric sighed, inhaling the familiar, bittersweet aroma of The Hanged Man. The mingling scents of stale ale, wood smoke, and that perpetually questionable stew hit him like a ghost from his past. Three years since he’d left Kirkwall, and the tavern was exactly as he remembered it.

    It didn’t feel like home anymore.

    The quiet hum of dice rolling and muffled laughter filled the room, the kind of noise that always made the Hanged Man feel alive. But tonight, even that seemed subdued, as though the city’s unrest had seeped into its very bones. Varric’s eyes swept across the room, catching glimpses of familiar faces. Some offered him brief, acknowledging nods; others quickly turned back to their drinks.

    He pushed past a few patrons, his boots clicking softly against the well-worn floorboards as he approached the bar.

    “Corff,” Varric greeted, a grin tugging at his lips as he hoisted himself onto a barstool.

    The barkeep glanced up, his brows lifting in surprise before his face split into a knowing smirk. “Well, well. Thought we’d seen the last of you, Tethras. Figured you’d traded us for Antivan sunsets and Orlesian wine.”

    “Don’t tempt me,” Varric quipped, leaning an elbow on the bar. “But you know me—I can’t stay away from bad ale and worse company.”

    Corff barked a laugh, reaching for a tankard. “You’re lucky this place hasn’t changed much. Even the rats refused to leave.” He poured a drink and slid it over. “What brings you back? Thought Kirkwall wasn’t exactly your favorite place to be anymore.”

    Varric shrugged, taking a long sip. “Got tired of Antivan sunsets,” he said dryly, his gaze drifting toward the tavern’s shadowy corners. “Figured I’d see if Kirkwall’s grown a sense of humor in my absence.”

    Corff snorted. “You won’t find much of that around here. Place has been dead quiet since you left.”

    “That so?” Varric murmured, though he wasn’t surprised. Kirkwall had never been the same after the Gallows fell. He let Corff fill him in on the city’s goings-on—Cullen’s rise to provisional Knight-Commander, the continued tension between mages and Templars, and the slow, painful process of rebuilding.

    Through it all, Varric nodded, offered the occasional quip, and sipped his drink. But his mind kept drifting, thoughts pulling him back to Ferelden. To Ariana. He had sent her letters when he could, but it wasn’t the same. The guilt gnawed at him, though he reassured himself she was fine. She has to be.

    His musings were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of heavy boots against wood. He stiffened slightly, his grip tightening around his tankard.

    “Are you Varric Tethras?” The voice was sharp, cutting through the tavern’s low hum like a knife.

    Varric didn’t turn right away, schooling his features before twisting around to face the two armored figures looming behind him. Templars. Of course.

    “Depends who’s asking,” he said, flashing them a disarming smile.

    The taller of the two stepped forward, his expression unreadable behind the gleam of his helmet. “You’re coming with us.”

    “Is that right?” Varric leaned back, his tone light despite the unease curling in his gut. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I just got back. Can’t a guy enjoy a drink before getting hauled off to Maker-knows-where?”

    Neither Templar flinched, their stony silence more unnerving than any threat.

    The taller one reached for something at his belt, and Varric’s instincts flared. “Now, wait just a—”

    Before he could finish, a cloth was pulled tightly over his head, muffling his voice and plunging him into darkness.

    “Hey!” he barked, struggling against the iron grip that clamped onto his arms. “I’ve got rights, you know! Not to mention a damn good lawyer!”

    The Templars didn’t respond. They dragged him backward, his boots scuffing against the floor as the voices of the tavern’s patrons rose in protest.

    “What the bloody void are you doing?” Corff’s voice rang out. “You can’t just—”

    The door slammed shut behind them, cutting off Corff mid-sentence.

    The sounds of the Hanged Man faded into the distance, replaced by the echoing clang of their footsteps against cobblestones. Varric’s mind raced, heart pounding as he tried to piece together what the hell he’d walked into.

    Guess Kirkwall missed me more than I thought.

    ~~~

    The room was dim, its flickering torchlight barely illuminating the rough stone walls. The damp chill of the Gallows seeped into the air, making the metal shackles around Varric’s wrists feel even colder. He sat slouched in the rickety wooden chair, his posture a study in nonchalance despite the weight of his bindings.

    Across from him, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast loomed like a storm cloud, her arms crossed over her armored chest. Her sharp eyes narrowed at him, glinting with frustration and suspicion.

    “You are going to tell me everything,” Cassandra said, her voice a low, dangerous growl. “No embellishments. No clever quips. Just the truth. Where is the Champion of Kirkwall?”

    Varric exhaled, the sound halfway between a sigh and a chuckle. “We’ve been through this, Seeker,” he said, his tone light but tinged with weariness. “Hawke left Kirkwall the night it all went to the Void. I haven’t seen her since.”

    “Then where did she go?” Cassandra demanded, her fingers tightening over the hilt of her blade.

    Varric shrugged, the movement limited by his restraints. “Haven’t got a clue. South, maybe. West. She always liked the coast.” He flashed her a disarming grin. “You know, fresh air, nice sunsets.”

    Cassandra’s patience snapped. Her hands slammed onto the table, rattling the chains that bound him. “Enough of your evasions!” she barked, her voice echoing off the stone walls. “You were with her when she fled Kirkwall. You know where she is, and you will tell me.”

    Varric leaned forward slightly, his smirk unfaltering. “Do I look like a mapmaker to you? I told you, I don’t know where she went. And if I did, I’d think twice before handing her over to someone with such a charming disposition.”

    Cassandra’s eyes narrowed further, her fury barely contained. “Why do you protect her? Do you not see the damage she left in her wake? The rebellion she incited?”

    Varric’s smirk faded, replaced by a steely glint in his eyes. “Careful, Seeker,” he said, his voice low and cold. “You’re talking about my friend. And you’re wrong if you think she wanted any of this. Hawke didn’t start the rebellion—Meredith did. She forced people’s hands, drove them to desperation. Hawke just did what she always does: tried to help.”

    “Help?” Cassandra scoffed. “By defying the Templars? By standing with the mages? She made her choice, and the consequences speak for themselves.”

    “And what would you have done?” Varric shot back, his voice rising for the first time. “Let Meredith slaughter every mage in the Gallows? Stand by while people burned for crimes they didn’t commit? Yeah, Hawke made a choice, but she chose to fight for the people who couldn’t fight for themselves. You can hate her for it, but don’t pretend you wouldn’t have done the same if you had any spine.”

    The room fell into tense silence, broken only by the faint drip of water somewhere in the distance.

    Cassandra straightened, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re a skilled liar, Varric Tethras,” she said coolly. “The Tale of the Champion is a masterpiece of half-truths and omissions. But I will find the truth. And I will find Hawke.”

    Varric chuckled softly, leaning back again. “Good luck with that,” he said. “But let me give you some advice, Seeker. When you do find her, you might want to ask yourself if you’re ready for the answers you’ll get.”

    Cassandra turned sharply, her cape swirling behind her as she strode toward the door. She paused in the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. “You’re holding something back,” she said, her voice firm. “And I will find out what it is.”

    Varric didn’t respond, his expression unreadable as he watched her leave.

    The door slammed shut, and for a moment, the only sound was the faint crackle of the torch. Varric sighed, tilting his head back against the cold stone wall. If only you knew, Seeker. Some truths are better left buried.

    ~~~

    Later that evening, the door to his cell creaked open. Varric didn’t bother looking up until he heard familiar footsteps approaching. When he finally glanced over, his smirk softened into something closer to genuine surprise.

    “Cullen,” he greeted, leaning back against the wall. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

    Cullen stepped closer, his expression conflicted, as though waging an internal war. “I need to know where Ariana is,” he said quietly, his voice lacking its usual authority. “Please.”

    Varric raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “Well, well. It seems the good Knight-Commander still has a heart after all.”

    “This isn’t a game, Varric,” Cullen said, his tone almost pleading. “I need to find her. If you know where she is, just tell me. I know she’s in Ferelden, and I know Bann Teagan knows where she is. But he wouldn’t tell me either.”

    The dwarf studied him for a moment before shaking his head. “You know, I told her you’d forgiven her years ago. Looks like I was right.”

    Cullen’s expression tightened, guilt flashing across his face. “You don’t understand—”

    “No,” Varric interrupted, his tone unusually serious. “You don’t understand. Do you think I wouldn’t want to help? Maker’s breath, if I know her she’s practically waiting for you to come through the door, hoping for that romance tale happy ending. But if you’re here, working with Seeker Pentaghast, I can’t take that risk. I won’t.”

    Cullen’s shoulders sagged slightly, and he stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not saying anything about her, Varric. I wouldn’t. But if I don’t know where she is, I can’t—”

    “Exactly,” Varric said, cutting him off again. “You can’t. Not right now. Not while the Seeker’s sniffing around. If she doesn’t already know about the White Wolf, let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

    Cullen clenched his fists at his sides, frustration and helplessness etched across his face. “If you hear from her…”

    “I’ll think about it,” Varric replied, his tone softer now. “But you’ve got your own problems to deal with, Knight-Commander. Focus on fixing this mess before you go chasing after her. Trust me—she has enough on her plate. Let’s make sure a Seeker bent on finding an scapegoat isn’t one of them.”

    The silence that followed was heavy, both men weighed down by the past and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. Cullen nodded once, reluctantly, before turning to leave.

    Varric watched him go, his smirk fading as the door closed behind Cullen. “Stubborn as ever,” he muttered to himself, leaning back against the wall. But for the first time since his return to Kirkwall, there was a flicker of hope in his chest—hope that, somehow, everything might still turn out alright.

    Varric stared at the closed door for a moment, his thoughts churning. He knew Cullen’s request had come from a place of genuine regret and longing, but it wasn’t that simple. Nothing ever was. Ariana’s safety depended on staying hidden, and while Varric trusted Cullen more than most, trust wasn’t enough—not with a Seeker like Cassandra poking around.

    Still, Cullen’s face had been hard to read, a mix of guilt, pain, and love so raw that even Varric, who often joked his heart was made of stone and gold, felt the weight of it. He could see the cracks in Cullen’s armor, the way his shoulders slumped as if carrying a burden he couldn’t set down. The man wasn’t just asking for information; he was asking for redemption.

    “Dammit, pup,” Varric muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You always pick the complicated ones.”

    He thought back to Ferelden, to those quiet moments by the fire when Ariana had let down her guard, her fingers brushing the ring around her neck. She didn’t talk much about Cullen, but when she did, there was a tenderness in her voice, a wistfulness that even Varric couldn’t tease her about without feeling like he was intruding. She missed him. That much was obvious. But she also believed they were too far apart now, their choices leading them down paths that couldn’t intersect.

    And now here was Cullen, practically begging for a chance to prove her wrong.

    Varric sighed, folding his arms across his chest. He couldn’t tell Cullen anything—not yet, not while the Seeker was watching—but the part of him that cared for Ariana like a daughter, like family, wanted to help. He just didn’t know how to do it without putting her at risk. He’d seen the way Cassandra interrogated people, the relentless pursuit of her version of the truth. If she even suspected Ariana’s involvement in Kirkwall, there’d be no end to it.

    “One wrong word,” Varric muttered, “and everything comes crashing down.”

    Still, he couldn’t shake the look in Cullen’s eyes. For all his faults, the Knight-Commander was a good man, and Varric believed he’d fight to protect Ariana just as fiercely as she had fought for him. But trust was a fragile thing, especially now, when the world felt like it was held together by little more than whispers and lies.

    Varric ran a hand through his hair and let out a low, humorless laugh. “She always did have a flair for drama,” he said to the empty room. “Now I’m stuck playing the cautious storyteller while you two dance around each other like a couple of star-crossed fools.”

    He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and stared at the wall. “Cullen, if you’re as serious as you looked, you’ll figure it out,” he murmured. “And if not… well, let’s hope the stars have something else planned.”

    For now, all he could do was wait—and hope that when the time came, he’d know the right story to tell.

    ~~~

    The office Cullen had claimed in the Gallows was sparsely decorated, its walls and desk barren save for a few maps, reports, and an inkpot with a single quill. He leaned over the desk, scanning the latest reports from the Knight-Enchanters’ fractured Circle uprisings. The words blurred together, his mind too preoccupied to focus. Every line seemed to repeat the same grim refrain: The Order was crumbling, the world along with it.

    A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He straightened, squaring his shoulders as Cassandra Pentaghast stepped into the room, her presence commanding despite her simple leather armor. Behind her stood Leliana, silent and watchful, her gaze sharp as ever.

    “Knight-Commander,” Cassandra greeted, inclining her head.

    “Seeker Pentaghast,” Cullen replied, nodding curtly. “What can I do for you?”

    Cassandra crossed the room, her steps deliberate. “We have exhausted every lead. There is no sign of the Champion of Kirkwall. If she lives, she does so in secrecy—something she is evidently adept at.”

    Cullen’s chest tightened at her words, though he kept his expression neutral. Of course, there was no sign of Hawke. Or Ariana. They were shadows, just like they had become that night when everything fell apart.

    “Then you’re leaving Kirkwall,” he said, his tone even, though the statement was more observation than question.

    Cassandra nodded. “We are. Divine Justinia has called for a Conclave, a final effort to mend the divide between the mages and the Templars. We are to prepare for what comes next. We’ll be heading to Haven, to the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

    Leliana stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “The Divine has entrusted Cassandra with a mission to restore the Inquisition. A force to stand apart from both the mages and the Templars. To bring order to chaos.”

    Cullen’s eyes flickered with recognition, the words stirring something deep within him. He remembered the long-ago night in the Circle library in Ferelden, when he had pulled an old book, a history of the Inquisition from the shelves for Ariana. It had been her birthday. He had chosen that book, partly for its cover, the Visus constellation painted on it. The one she always follows…

    He could still see her then, sitting among the ruins by Lake Calenhad, her eyes alight with curiosity as she turned the pages. “They followed no one’s rules but their own,” she had said, half in awe and half in jest. “It’s kind of inspiring, in a chaotic, world-upending sort of way.”

    That memory, so vivid and sharp, cut through him now. It felt like a sign. Like fate.

    “The Inquisition,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It hasn’t existed for centuries.”

    “Which is precisely why we need it now,” Cassandra said, her voice resolute. “The Order has failed. The Circles have failed. The Chantry itself teeters on the brink of collapse. If we do not act, there will be nothing left to save.”

    Her words cut through him, and for a moment, he said nothing. She was right, of course. The Order had failed. It had been failing for years, long before Kirkwall fell into chaos. And yet, he had stayed. He had fought for it, believing in its purpose even as he questioned its methods. But now… now he wasn’t sure what he believed in anymore.

    “And what does this have to do with me?” he asked, though the answer already tugged at the edges of his mind.

    Cassandra met his gaze, unwavering. “You are an accomplished commander, Cullen. You have led Templars through some of the most challenging conflicts Thedas has seen. And despite everything, you have retained your honor. Your sense of justice.”

    Cullen shook his head slightly. “The Templar Order needs leadership more than ever.”

    “The Order,” Cassandra said sharply, her tone cutting through his words, “is broken. Its leadership clings to outdated principles that have driven us to this brink. You know this. You have seen it.”

    Her words struck a chord, and Cullen’s jaw tightened as he looked away. The truth of her statement was undeniable, but admitting it felt like a betrayal of everything he had once believed in. Still, his belief in the Order had been eroding for years. Perhaps it was already gone.

    “And if I leave?” he asked, his voice quiet. “What then?”

    “Then you will have the chance to fight for something that matters,” Cassandra said, her tone softening. “You want to protect people, to restore order. You cannot do that within the Order—not anymore.”

    Her words hung in the air, and then, unbidden, another voice echoed in his mind: “But I’m asking you now, again, do the right thing. Protect those who can’t protect themselves”

    Ariana’s voice. Her plea.

    Cullen’s breath hitched, his mind racing. He had spent years trying to search for her, years caught between anger and guilt, hope and despair. But maybe this was his chance. If he went to Haven, to Ferelden, maybe… maybe he could find her. And even if he couldn’t, perhaps he could finally do what she had asked of him. What he had failed to do before.

    Cassandra continued, unaware of the storm within him. “Join us. Help us build something better.”

    Cullen looked up at her, his decision forming like a blade tempered in fire. The Inquisition. Ariana’s words. The memory of her turning the pages of that old book, her eyes filled with hope and wonder. It was as if the Maker himself were guiding him to this moment.

    “I’ll join you,” he said finally, his voice steady. “For the Inquisition.”

    Cassandra nodded, satisfaction flickering across her face. “You have made the right choice… Commander.”

    As she and Leliana left the room, Cullen leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly as the sound of Cassandra and Leliana’s footsteps faded into the Gallows’ cold corridors. The weight of his decision settled over him like a heavy cloak, though for the first time in months, it didn’t feel suffocating.

    The Inquisition. The word felt strange on his tongue, heavy with centuries of history and meaning. Yet, the idea of it, of something new and untethered by the failures of the past, kindled a faint spark of hope in his chest.

    His eyes drifted to the corner of his desk, where the letters from Charles and Frederick lay. They had become a kind of talisman over the past year, grounding him when everything else felt uncertain. Ariana’s presence lingered in those words, a connection he couldn’t let go of.

    He reached for the letter from Charles, his fingers brushing over the worn parchment. She holds no anger toward you… You meant, and I believe still mean, a great deal to her.

    The words echoed in his mind, both a comfort and a torment. He had clung to the belief that if he could find her, he might mend what had been broken. But now, he wasn’t so sure. Ariana was fierce, independent, a force of nature that even Kirkwall couldn’t contain. She had chosen her path, just as he had chosen his.

    And yet…

    He thought of the ring. The way she had still worn it that day, even as the Gallows fell around them. He had seen it, faintly glinting beneath her glove, and it had given him hope. Despite everything, she hadn’t let go.

    “Maybe this is where I find you,” he murmured again, the words quiet but resolute.

    The Conclave was a chance to rebuild, to create something better than the crumbling Order. And perhaps, it was a way to find her—not through duty, but through the principles she had fought for, the ones she had tried to show him before he’d been too blind to see.

    The world was falling apart, but for the first time in years, Cullen felt as though he could see a path forward.

    He stood, his hands bracing against the edge of the desk as he looked out over the Gallows courtyard. The torches flickered against the darkness, their light casting long shadows across the stone.

    “Wait for me, Ari,” he whispered. “I’ll find you. I promise.”

    The words hung in the stillness of the room, a quiet vow carried on the cold night air.

  • Chapter 53 – A Promise to Keep

    12 Wintermarch 9:38 – 1 Solace 9:40

    Cullen walked in silence, his boots scuffing against the cobblestones of Hightown as the city’s cool winter air nipped at his face. Nine months had passed since the night everything fell apart, yet the memories were as vivid as if they had happened yesterday. Kirkwall still bore the scars of that night—the crumbled stone, the hollowed homes, the lingering tension that gripped its people. Rebuilding was slow, but Cullen focused on it with a dogged determination, finding solace in the work. It kept his hands busy, his mind distracted.

    But today, the distraction wasn’t enough.

    It was his birthday. His first one in years without her.

    He had tried to ignore it, brushing off the few well-meaning remarks from the Templars who remembered. It wasn’t a day worth celebrating. The thought of it only reminded him of the past few years, when Ariana had taken it upon herself to make the day special, despite his protests. She’d always insisted on something small—“simple,” she’d called it—but there was nothing simple about the warmth she brought to the occasion. She had a way of making him feel like he deserved happiness, something he hadn’t been able to reconcile with himself in years. And now? The day felt like a dull echo of what it used to be. Hollow. Meaningless.

    He shoved his hands into the folds of his cloak, his grip tightening as he walked. The anger he’d tried to bury resurfaced, bubbling just beneath his composed exterior. She lied to me. The thought gnawed at him, a thorn lodged deep. She had stood across from him on that battlefield, her face hidden behind the infamous mask of the White Wolf. She had led an army he didn’t know she commanded, attacked Templar transports he had defended, and lied to him with every omission, every deflection. He had trusted her, loved her—and she had betrayed that trust.

    And yet…

    He slowed his steps, his breath misting in the cold night air. As much as he tried to stoke the flames of anger, guilt was the ember that refused to burn out. He’d failed her. Failed to see the truth she had been trying to show him for years. Every hesitant question about Meredith, every quiet challenge to his belief in the Order, every look she gave him that seemed to beg for understanding—it all came rushing back. Help me stop this. Help me save them. She had tried to tell him. He just hadn’t listened.

    He tilted his head back, the stars above glimmering coldly in the winter sky. She had always turned to them, seeking answers or guidance. The stars won’t lie to you, she’d said once, tracing constellations with her fingers as he listened in quiet amusement. He’d never understood her fascination, but now, standing alone beneath their indifferent light, he wondered if she still sought their counsel. Did they guide her steps now, wherever she was? Or had they failed her, too?

    The image of her staggered form haunted him—blood staining her cloak as she clutched her side, refusing to yield. He clenched his fist, the phantom weight of his sword pressing against his palm. He had struck her, not knowing, not believing it could be her. That wound wasn’t just a mark on her skin; it was a chasm between them, one he wasn’t sure could ever be bridged. Did she still bear the scar? Did it ache the way his memories did?

    He clenched his jaw, frustration gnawing at him. He didn’t even know where she was. For nine months, she had disappeared into the shadows with the Champion and her companions, leaving no word, no trace. He hated her for leaving. He hated himself more for wanting to see her again.

    Lost in thought, Cullen didn’t realize where his feet had taken him until he stopped in front of her estate. The sight of it, looming dark and silent in the night, sent a pang through his chest. He hadn’t been here since before the Gallows, before everything fell apart. He knew she wasn’t here—she couldn’t be. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to turn away.

    Then he noticed the door, slightly ajar. His breath caught, his heart leaping before he could stop it. He stepped forward, every rational part of him screaming to leave, to turn back. What if she’s here? What if she’s not? He wasn’t sure which possibility frightened him more.

    The door creaked as he pushed it open, the faint scent of lavender washing over him like a ghost of the past. He stepped inside, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor. Most of the furniture was draped in white cloth, their shapes ghostlike in the dim light. His eyes fell on the sofa near the window, and for a moment, he could almost hear her laugh as she teased him about his stoic nature, her legs tucked beneath her as she leaned against the armrest. The warmth she’d brought to this place was gone, leaving only the cold, sterile silence. His chest tightened, the echo of her absence more tangible here than anywhere else in Kirkwall. But it was the courtyard that drew him, pulling him like a tether toward memories he wasn’t ready to confront.

    He stopped at the spot where they used to lay beneath the stars, her head resting on his arm as they whispered questions to the sky. He had never understood the pull the stars had on her, but he had watched her face light up as she traced constellations with her fingers, telling him stories of the ones she followed.

    Now, standing there alone, he realized he missed her most in moments like this—quiet, simple moments where the world seemed to stop.

    “Knight-Commander?” A voice jolted him from his thoughts.

    Cullen turned sharply, his hand instinctively moving toward his sword. Standing in the doorway was one of the estate’s servants. “Branar, isn’t it?”

    “Yes, ser,” the man replied, his surprise evident. “Is there something I can do for you, Knight-Commander?”

    Cullen hesitated, searching for an excuse. “I saw the door open during a patrol,” he said finally. “I came to see if everything was alright.”

    “My apologies, ser,” Branar said, bowing slightly. “Lady Trevelyan has ordered the estate prepared for her long-term absence and for any remaining belongings to be stored.”

    The words hit Cullen like a blow to the chest, knocking the air from his lungs. She had moved on, left Kirkwall—and him—behind. His jaw tightened as the hollow ache in his chest expanded. She had always been so quick to move forward, and yet here he stood, stuck in the wreckage of what they’d left behind. He had hoped—foolishly, naively—that she might have returned. That perhaps she would be here, waiting for him to say the words he hadn’t been brave enough to say before.

    “Thank you, Branar,” he said stiffly. “Carry on.”

    As the servant disappeared into the shadows, Cullen turned and walked back toward the door, his steps heavy. She wasn’t here. She hadn’t come back. He stepped out into the night, the cold air biting against his skin as he looked up at the stars again.

    Where did you go, Ariana?

    The stars didn’t answer, but they seemed to shimmer faintly, as if mocking him. With a heavy sigh, Cullen pulled his cloak tighter around him and turned back toward the city, his thoughts a tangle of regret, anger, and longing.

    ~~~

    The morning light filtered weakly through the heavy curtains of Cullen’s office, casting long shadows over the cluttered desk. Stacks of reports and correspondence lay in neat piles, the weight of Kirkwall’s rebuilding pressing down on him. He tried to focus, but his thoughts strayed, tugged relentlessly in a direction he had been avoiding for months.

    A sharp knock on the door broke his reverie. “Enter,” he called, his voice steadier than he felt.

    A young Templar stepped inside, a letter in hand. “A message for you, Knight-Commander,” he said, placing the sealed envelope on Cullen’s desk before retreating.

    Cullen’s gaze landed on the seal, and his breath hitched. The crest of the White Spire stood out in crimson wax, the mark unmistakable. For a long moment, he simply stared at it, his chest tightening. It can’t be…

    Slowly, he picked it up, his fingers brushing over the wax. Breaking the seal, he unfolded the parchment, his eyes scanning the precise, formal script. The words blurred for a moment before coming into focus, and then, they hit him like a hammer.

    To Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford,

    The request submitted by Bann Charles Trevelyan, on your behalf, has been reviewed and granted. You are hereby given permission to marry Lady Ariana Ryss Trevelyan, pending the completion of all required formalities.

    Cullen sat back, the letter trembling slightly in his hand. His mind raced, a thousand thoughts competing for dominance. The request… Charles had done it. He had succeeded where Cullen had failed. He had bypassed Meredith and he had obtained the permission from the order.

    But that had been before everything unraveled. Before Kirkwall burned. Before Ariana walked away.

    Now, months later, the approval had come. Permission to marry her. The words felt hollow, a formality that mocked him in its finality. What use was the Templar Order’s blessing when she was gone? When the gulf between them seemed insurmountable?

    His chest ached, the memories of her flooding back with relentless clarity. The way her laughter could light up the darkest moments, the fierce determination in her eyes when she believed in something. And the way she had looked at him—like he was more than just a Templar, more than his failures.

    He leaned forward, pressing his elbows to the desk and cradling his head in his hands. Cullen’s thoughts drifted back to her birthday two years ago, sitting on the cliffs. He could still feel the rough stone beneath them, the wind carrying the salt of the sea as she rested her head in his lap, her smile soft and unguarded. Her voice had been wistful when she whispered, Are you sure we can’t just run away? He had promised her then—someday. It was a quiet vow, one that carried him even now.

    He remembered the way her hazel-green eyes sparkled when he asked her to marry him. Her breath hitched, and her laughter, soft and disbelieving, had given way to tears. He could still see the way her hands trembled as he slipped the ring onto her finger—he had asked her to follow her star one more time. To him. She had traced it with her thumb, her expression one of quiet wonder, and whispered, “It’s beautiful.”

    Now, that moment felt like a lifetime ago, a fragile memory threatened by the weight of everything they had lost. He had promised to fight for her, for them, and yet, when it mattered most, he had stood on the wrong side of the battle. The ring had been a promise of a future they had dared to imagine. And now, it was a reminder of everything he had failed to protect.

    You’re the only person who’s ever truly seen me her words that night were all the reassurance he had needed.

    But instead of wearing that ring during their wedding, it had become a weight she carried into battle. He had seen the faint glint of it beneath her glove that day in the Gallows as she pressed her hand to her side. As the blood seeped through her fingers. And it had torn something inside him. She still wore it, even then. Even after everything.

    Does she still wear it now? The thought was a cruel torment, his mind conjuring images of her somewhere far from here, the ring forgotten or discarded.

    A wave of guild washed over him, replacing the anger that had simmered in his chest for so long. He had failed her—failed to listen, failed to trust, failed to see the signs she had tried so desperately to show him. She had fought for what she believed in, even when it meant standing against him, and he had been too blind, too rigid to understand.

    And now… she was gone. He didn’t even know where she was, or if she was safe. His mind replayed the moment he wounded her, the way she staggered but pressed on. He had told himself it was unavoidable, that it was the price of their choices, but the memory haunted him.

    Cullen pushed back from the desk, the sharp scrape of the chair breaking the heavy silence of the room. His chest tightened, not from anger, but from the weight of his own failures. He had been too rigid, too consumed by duty to see her truth. But he wouldn’t let his mistakes define the rest of their story. Not this time. The letter in his hand was more than a cruel reminder—it was a call to action. If there was even a flicker of a chance to find her, he owed it to her. To them both.

    Reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment, he dipped his quill and began to write. The first letter was addressed to Bann Charles Trevelyan.

    Charles, 

    I have received the response from the White Spire. The request has been granted. I owe you a debt I may never be able to repay for advocating on my behalf.

    He hesitated, his quill hovering over the page. How do I ask him? Taking a deep breath, he continued.

    I must ask for your help once more. If you know where Ariana has gone, or if she has contacted you, please let me know. I only wish to ensure she is safe.

    The second letter was addressed to Frederick. Cullen wasn’t certain if he would know anything, but he was willing to grasp at any thread.

    Frederick, 

    I write to you with the hope that you may know of Ariana’s whereabouts. I have no right to ask, but I must. If you know anything, please share it. I only want to ensure she is well.

    He signed both letters, sealing them with precision before handing them to a waiting messenger. As the door closed, Cullen sat back, his gaze drifting to the faint light of dawn breaking through the window.

    The ache in his chest remained, but for the first time in months, it was tempered by something else. Not hope, not yet—but determination. I’ll find you, Ariana. One way or another.

    ~~~

    The steady stream of reports never seemed to end. Ariana had been right. Meredith had lit the spark and everything was falling around them. Cullen sat at his desk, the evening light filtering through the tall windows of his office. The room was cluttered, strewn with reports detailing the escalating chaos across Thedas. Circles falling, rogue mages and Templars clashing in the streets, and whispers of more uprisings brewing. Yet his focus was fixed on two letters that lay neatly on his desk, their words etched into his mind.

    The first was from Bann Charles Trevelyan.

    Knight-Commander, 

    I regret that I cannot provide more clarity about Ariana’s whereabouts. All I know is that she is in Ferelden. My daughter has always been resourceful and strong, and I have no doubt she is well. She holds no anger toward you for what transpired. You meant, and I believe still mean, a great deal to her. I wish you both peace in the days ahead. 

    – Charles

    The second was from Frederick. His tone, though less formal, carried the same message.

    Cullen, 

    I wish I had better news. Ariana wrote to me once, shortly after Kirkwall. She didn’t say much about what happened between the two of you, but one thing was clear: she doesn’t blame you. If anything, she blames herself.

    I don’t know exactly where she is, but she mentioned she had gone home. I know she owns a manor the Rangers use as a base of operations in Ferelden, though not its location. However, if you are truly committed to finding her, I would suggest starting with the King, she mentioned meeting him and working for him.

    For what it’s worth Cullen, I hope you find her. I believe you are meant for each other.

    – Fred

    Cullen stared at the two letters, their words etched into his thoughts like a map to a place he wasn’t sure he could reach. She doesn’t blame me. The phrase lingered, circling his mind with cruel persistence. If she didn’t blame him, why couldn’t he let go of his own guilt? The memory of her—of the way she had fought with fierce determination even as he stood against her—haunted him. She had always carried too much, and now she bore their failure alone.

    The letter from Frederick offered a sliver of hope, though it was as fragile as the parchment itself. Home. The manor, the Rangers, King Alistair—it all felt distant, like pieces of a puzzle he had yet to assemble. But it was something, and Cullen clung to that hope like a lifeline. He had no illusions about the difficulty of finding her, but he owed her that much. No, he owed her far more.

    He pulled out fresh parchment and began drafting his letter to Alistair, his quill scratching against the page with determined strokes.

    Your Majesty,

    I write to you with a request of a personal nature. I have reason to believe that Lady Ariana Trevelyan, leader of the Silver Rangers, may be operating within Ferelden. If you are able to provide any information regarding her whereabouts or the activities of the Rangers, I would be in your debt. I seek only to ensure her well-being.

    – Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford

    The words felt inadequate, but they would have to do. Cullen sealed the letter, his hands steady despite the storm inside him.

    As he set the letter aside, a knock broke the quiet.

    “Enter,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of command.

    The Templar’s face was pale as he stepped forward, clutching another report. “Knight-Commander, the Circle in Starkhaven has fallen. The mages have scattered, and Templars are pursuing them without orders.”

    Cullen felt the weight of the words settle on his shoulders like stones. He took the report, skimming its contents as his jaw tightened. Another fire. Another step toward chaos.

    He dismissed the Templar, turning back to his desk. His gaze fell on the sealed letter to Alistair, the parchment stark against the clutter of reports. Every instinct urged him to leave, to follow whatever faint trail Frederick had offered, but duty loomed over him like a shadow.

    The conflict gnawed at him—his heart pulled toward Ferelden, toward Ariana, while his position chained him to Kirkwall. With a weary sigh, he leaned back in his chair, his fingers brushing over the hilt of his sword. I’ll find you, Ari. One day, I’ll make this right. But first… I have to hold the line.

    For now, the search would have to wait. But Cullen knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t wait forever.

    ~~~

    Months passed, each one more chaotic than the last. The reports never stopped—Circles collapsing, rogue Templars abandoning their posts, entire towns caught in the crossfire of the growing mage-templar war. Cullen threw himself into the work, trying to maintain some semblance of order in Kirkwall, but the cracks were showing.

    He found himself thinking of her in the quiet moments, when the city finally fell silent and the weight of his duties became unbearable. He wondered where she was, if she was safe. If she still wore the ring he had made for her.

    He sat at his desk late one evening, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across the room. The letters from Charles and Frederick were still tucked into the corner of his desk, the edges worn from handling. He reached for them, reading them once more, as if hoping they might hold some new clue he had missed.

    But they didn’t. All they told him was that she was in Ferelden, somewhere. And that she didn’t hate him. He clung to that last part, though it didn’t absolve him of the guilt that gnawed at him daily. He’d had no word from King Alistair. He wasn’t surprised, he knew that it had been unlikely that his letter would reach him.

    The knock at the door came as no surprise.

    “Enter,” Cullen called, his voice weary but steady.

    A junior Templar stepped in, a scroll clutched tightly in his hands. The young man’s face was pale, his expression tense. “Knight-Commander, this just arrived from Val Royeaux.”

    Cullen accepted the scroll and waved the Templar away. Unfurling the parchment, he scanned the contents quickly. His brow furrowed, his jaw tightening as he read.

    The report detailed a recent vote within College of Enchanters. Grand Enchanter Fiona had proposed that the Circle of Magi secede from the Chantry, declaring their independence from its oversight. The vote had been contentious but ultimately failed by a narrow margin. Yet, even with the motion defeated, the Templar Order had responded with swift and unforgiving action.

    The College of Enchanters was to be disbanded. Effective immediately, all mage gatherings of this nature were deemed a threat to Chantry authority. Orders had been sent out to reassign the mages who had attended the College back to their respective Circles, under heavy watch.

    Cullen set the scroll down, rubbing his temples. He could already see the fallout from such a harsh move. The vote had been a symptom of deeper discontent within the mage community. The Order’s retaliation would only inflame that discontent further. It was a short-sighted decision, one made out of fear rather than reason.

    He sank into his chair, staring at the flickering candlelight. For years, he had upheld the Templar Order’s authority, believing in its mission to protect both mages and the public. But now, that belief felt increasingly hollow. The Order wasn’t protecting anyone—it was smothering them. Crushing dissent without addressing the causes behind it.

    This isn’t the way, he thought bitterly. This will only lead to more rebellion, more bloodshed.

    He thought back to Kirkwall, to the chaos that erupted in the Gallows. Meredith’s madness, the mages’ desperation, the White Wolf standing between two irreconcilable sides. For all her faults, Ariana had always seen what he hadn’t: that the Order’s rigidity was its greatest flaw. He hated that she had been right. Hated that he hadn’t listened when she’d tried to tell him.

    His hand drifted to the corner of his desk, where two letters from Charles and Frederick lay tucked beneath a stack of papers. Their words echoed in his mind, a reminder that Ariana was out there somewhere, likely trying to do what he hadn’t—bridge the divide before it was too late.

    The irony wasn’t lost on him. He had once believed himself her protector. Now, he felt like little more than a bystander as the world fractured around him.

    He stared at the report again, the words blurring slightly in the dim light. Disbanding the College of Enchanters might buy the Order time, but it wouldn’t solve the deeper problems. It was a decision made by leaders clinging to power without understanding the storm they were unleashing.

    This is just the beginning, he realized with a sinking heart. The vote might have failed, but the mages wouldn’t stop fighting for their independence. And when the inevitable backlash came, the Templar Order wouldn’t be ready.

    He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. The weight of his position pressed down on him like never before. Kirkwall was holding, but for how long? How long until his own city fell to the same chaos spreading across Thedas?

    Cullen exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the arms of his chair. He had made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t let Kirkwall fall—not again. But as he sat there, the shadows of doubt crept in, whispering that he might not have a choice.

    “I should have gone,” he muttered to himself, the words heavy with regret. But the truth was, he couldn’t. Not now. Not with the Order collapsing around him. He had a duty to the people of Kirkwall, to the mages and Templars who still looked to him for leadership. If he abandoned them now, the city would fall into ruin.

    He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. Ariana, where are you? The question echoed in his mind, unanswered. For now, all he could do was hope she was out there, fighting her own battles, as she always had. And maybe, one day, when the world was less broken, he would find her again.

    ~~~

    Another birthday, another year without her. If Kirkwall hadn’t been torn apart, they would likely be married by now. Cullen stared down at the Gallows from his bedroom window. Somehow the world falling apart seemed like a mercy. He didn’t have time to focus on the fact that he hadn’t been able to find her. That there had been no response from King Alistair. Maybe she didn’t want to be found, not by him at least.

    The days seemed longer than they had ever been. With every new report, every new rebellion there kept being more work. Kirkwall was still holding, but they had a steady stream of Templars lost, looking for a place still standing and mages who didn’t want to leave the Circle but whose Circles had rebelled.

    A sudden knock at the door broke him out of his thoughts. So much for sleeping

    “Enter,” Cullen called, his voice laced with exhaustion.

    A young Templar entered, “Message for you, Ser” he said calmly as he handed him a letter and then retreated back out of the door.


    His heart skipped. He recognized the seal—not that of King Alistair, but Bann Teagan Guerrin.

    With measured movements, Cullen broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

    Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford,

    I must apologize for the delay in responding to your inquiry. His Majesty, King Alistair, is currently unavailable, and your letter was only recently routed to me. I understand that your search pertains to Ariana and the Silver Rangers.

    I will be candid. I do know how to find her and her Rangers. However, before I provide such information, I must understand the reason behind your search. Rumors have reached Ferelden—rumors of the White Wolf standing with the mages in Kirkwall. If these rumors hold any truth, I must have assurances that your intent is not to bring harm to Ariana or her Rangers.

    Know this, Knight-Commander: His Majesty has made it clear that any attempt to capture Ariana or interfere with the Silver Rangers will be considered an act of war against Ferelden. I trust you will understand the gravity of this matter.

    Should you wish to proceed, I will await your reply, whereupon I expect full transparency regarding your purpose in seeking her. Only then will I decide whether to assist you.

    Bann Teagan Guerrin of Redcliffe

    Cullen’s grip on the parchment tightened as he read and reread the letter. Teagan’s words were carefully chosen but left no room for doubt. If Cullen’s intentions were even slightly unclear, Ferelden would not hesitate to protect its own.

    He set the letter down, his chest tightening. He hadn’t considered how his position might complicate his search for Ariana. To Teagan—and likely to anyone who heard of it—he was still the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, sworn to uphold the Templar Order. But his search wasn’t about the Order, it never was. It was about her. About making amends.

    Leaning back in his chair, Cullen stared at the letter, the weight of its implications settling over him. If he wanted to find Ariana, he would have to make his intentions clear. But could he? Would Bann Teagan believe him if he said he sought her out of love, not duty?

    He exhaled slowly, reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment. He had no choice but to reply—and to be as honest as he could. Bann Teagan’s response carried a weight far greater than the parchment it was written on. And he knew his reply would carry the same weight, and yet, for all the years of honing his composure and command, he felt uncertain. His pen hovered over the blank page for a moment before he began to write.

    Bann Teagan Guerrin,

    I thank you for your prompt response, and I will not waste your time with unnecessary pleasantries. You have asked for clarity regarding my search for Ariana Trevelyan, and I will give you the truth as plainly as I can.

    I seek her not as the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, nor as a representative of the Templar Order. I seek her as a man searching for the woman he loves in a world that seems to be unraveling more with each passing day. I have no intention of bringing harm to her or the Rangers, nor would I ever consider such a course of action. My purpose is not to pursue justice or duty—it is to find her, to ensure she is safe, and, if she allows it, to mend what has been broken between us.

    You have asked for proof of my intentions, and while I have little more than my words to offer, there is one thing I can provide. Enclosed with this letter is a document from the White Spire granting permission for my marriage to Ariana, requested on behalf of her father, Bann Charles Trevelyan of Ostwick. It is the only tangible proof of my commitment to her that I possess.

    If you know how to find her, I ask only that you take my words and this letter to her. Let her decide whether or not she wishes to see me. If she chooses to ignore this, I will respect her wishes and will not press the matter further.

    I am not naive, Bann Teagan. I know trust cannot be easily given, and perhaps I am undeserving of it. But I hope you will understand that this is not a matter of politics or duty. It is a matter of the heart.

    With respect,

    Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford

    Cullen folded the letter carefully, placing it in an envelope along with the White Spire’s response. He sealed it with deliberate precision, as if the act alone could steady his resolve.

    “Knight-Lieutenant” he called to the guard outside his door.

    The door opened promptly, “Yes, Knight-Commander?”

    He stood, handing the envelope to him. “This must reach Bann Teagan of Redcliffe,” he instructed firmly.

    The soft click of the door behind him broke the silence. “It will be delivered immediately, ser,” the Knight-Lieutenant assured, his tone crisp.

    Cullen turned, his expression unreadable, and gave a single nod. “Good,” he said quietly.

    As the door closed again, the room fell silent once more, save for the faint crackle of the fire. Cullen turned back to the window, his golden eyes scanning the horizon. Somewhere beyond the crumbling stone of Kirkwall, beyond the rebellion and chaos, was Ariana.

    And if she would have him, he would cross all of Thedas to find her.

    ~~~

    The months had become a blur of duty and crisis. For Cullen, life had devolved into an endless cycle of rebuilding and managing the growing instability within the Order. Every time he allowed himself the faintest hope of searching for her—Ariana—some new disaster demanded his attention, tethering him firmly to Kirkwall. The weight of his responsibilities was suffocating, yet it paled in comparison to the ache that settled in his chest every time he thought of her.

    And now, this.

    He stared at the sealed parchment in his hands, the Divine’s crest glinting in the candlelight. The call for a Conclave. A desperate attempt to bring stability to Thedas, to investigate the Rite of Tranquility and the growing fractures in the Chantry. A momentous event that would draw leaders and representatives from every corner of the continent.

    Cullen set the letter aside, his jaw tightening. Another distraction. Another duty. Another delay in his search for the only person who had ever truly seen him beyond the mantle of the Templar Order.

    The sharp knock at his door jolted him from his thoughts.

    “Enter,” he called, his voice steady despite the storm brewing inside him.

    The door opened, and a woman stepped inside, her dark armor catching the firelight. Cullen recognized her immediately: Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast. The Right Hand of the Divine. Her reputation preceded her—unyielding, relentless, and dangerously perceptive. Her piercing gaze locked onto his, and Cullen felt the weight of her scrutiny as keenly as a blade at his throat.

    “Seeker Pentaghast,” Cullen said, rising from his chair, his tone guarded. “To what do I owe the honor?”

    “I am here on behalf of the Divine,” Cassandra said, her voice low and commanding. “I seek the Champion of Kirkwall.”

    Cullen’s chest tightened, but he maintained his composure. Of course, it would come to this.

    “I regret to inform you,” he began, carefully choosing his words, “that the Champion left Kirkwall on the day the Gallows fell. To my knowledge, she has not returned since.”

    Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, her suspicion evident. “You are certain of this?”

    “Yes,” Cullen said firmly, though the truth tasted bitter. “The Champion departed with her companions. None of them have been seen in Kirkwall since that day.”

    Her gaze didn’t waver. “And what of Varric Tethras?” she asked, her tone sharp with purpose. “The author of The Tale of the Champion. If the Champion is beyond our reach, then I will need to speak with him.”

    Cullen hesitated, though only for a fraction of a second. “I have not seen Varric since that day, either.”

    Cassandra stepped closer, her presence imposing. “Do you know where he might have gone?”

    “No,” Cullen replied, but his thoughts raced. Varric had left with Hawke and Ariana. If anyone knew where she was, it would be him.

    “Then we will find him,” Cassandra said resolutely, her tone brooking no argument.

    Cullen straightened, the decision forming in his mind before he could second-guess it. “I will assist you, Seeker.”

    Her eyebrow arched in surprise, though her suspicion remained. “You would help me find him? Why?”

    He met her gaze evenly. “Because Varric Tethras is one of the few people who truly understood what transpired in Kirkwall. If you are seeking the truth, then I want to ensure that truth is told accurately.”

    It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either. He wouldn’t mention Ariana—not to her. Not yet. The Tale of the Champion had conveniently omitted the White Wolf’s involvement, and Cullen intended to keep it that way. Cassandra might be relentless, but Varric was loyal, and Cullen trusted him to protect Ariana’s secrets as fiercely as he had always done.

    Cassandra studied him, her expression unreadable. “Very well,” she said finally. “If you have Templars to spare, we will begin our search here in Kirkwall and the surrounding areas.”

    “Understood,” Cullen said, inclining his head.

    As Cassandra turned to leave, Cullen sank back into his chair, his mind churning with possibilities. Varric was the key. He had always known more than he let on, and if Cullen could find him, perhaps he could finally uncover the answers that had eluded him for so long.

    He rested his head in his hands, the weight of the years pressing heavily on his shoulders. The mage-templar war was tearing Thedas apart, and now the Divine’s Conclave sought to salvage what little remained. But for Cullen, the search for Ariana had never truly ended. It had simply been buried beneath the chaos.

    For the first time in years, he felt a flicker of hope.

    If anyone knows where she is, it’s him.

  • Chapter 52 – Stay Safe, Old Friend

    25 Solace 9:37 – 10 Wintermarch 9:38

    Varric didn’t have anywhere pressing to be, and part of him still felt a protective pull toward Ariana. Though she was no longer the wide-eyed girl who had first arrived in Kirkwall, some part of her would always be the same pup he had taken under his wing. Watching her navigate the aftermath of Kirkwall, however, was different. The spark of mischief and optimism that had always lived in her eyes was dimmer now, buried under the weight of too many losses and betrayals.

    One evening, they found themselves sitting together by the fire in the manor’s quiet library. The room, dimly lit and cozy, carried the faint scent of parchment and old wood—a comforting contrast to the chaos they’d left behind in Kirkwall. The crackle of the fire was the only sound for a while, each lost in their thoughts. The flames cast long shadows on the walls, flickering like ghosts of memories they couldn’t quite escape.

    Ariana sat curled in a chair, her knees drawn up slightly, absentmindedly running her thumb along the edge of the pendant that hung from her choker—the constellation Visus, the one Varric had given her years ago. Beside it, the engagement ring now hung on the leather cord, its weight an ever-present reminder of everything she had lost. She glanced at it often, her thoughts caught in an endless loop of questions she couldn’t answer.

    Had the petition to the White Spire ever been granted? Had Cullen received their approval for the engagement, or was it still sitting on a desk, forgotten amidst the chaos of Kirkwall? Had there even been a point in sending it? She wondered if it mattered anymore, now that the life they’d dreamed of together had crumbled.

    Finally, Varric broke the silence. “You know, pup,” he began, his tone light but laced with meaning, “love stories always have three acts. It’s a classic structure. The couple meets and falls in love, then there’s a big conflict that tears them apart. But eventually, they come back together. It’s just how these things go.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, shaking her head. She knew exactly what he was trying to do. “I appreciate it, Varric,” she said, her voice tinged with both gratitude and sadness. “But I think we’re in the fourth act now.”

    Varric raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “The fourth act?”

    She nodded, her gaze fixed on the fire. “This is the part that no one ever writes. After the love story ends. After the conflict. This is what happens when everything falls apart, and you’re left trying to pick up the pieces.”

    Varric leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and regarded her thoughtfully. “Maybe,” he said after a pause. “But if anyone’s stubborn enough to rewrite the ending, it’s you.”

    Ariana smiled faintly, though the weight of his words lingered. “We’ll see,” she murmured. “Right now, I think I just need to figure out who I am without him. Without… everything else.”

    Her fingers tightened slightly around the pendant and the ring, the weight of the small objects grounding her. “We were almost done planning the wedding, you know?” she added after a moment, her voice soft, almost lost in the crackle of the fire. “It was supposed to be simple. Just us, our friends, our families. Nothing grand. Well as ‘not grand’ as a noble marrying a Knight-Captain could be. Just… ours.”

    Varric didn’t interrupt, letting her speak. He knew she needed this, needed to let the words spill out like poison she’d been holding in too long.

    “I wonder if they said yes,” she continued, her gaze distant. “The White Spire. Did they grant permission, or did it just get lost in all of this?” She shook her head, her expression turning wistful. “It doesn’t matter now. Even if they did, it’s too late. I lied to him… and he stood with Meredith…”

    “Pup,” Varric said gently, his tone carrying the weight of their years of friendship, “if there’s one thing I know about that shiny Templar of yours, it’s that he’d forgive you faster than you forgive yourself. That’s just who he is. But can you forgive him?”

    Ariana’s thumb brushed over the ring again, her thoughts looping endlessly. “I keep wondering… what does it mean that I’m still wearing this?” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Am I holding on to what we had, or to what I lost?”

    Varric tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe both,” he said. “But you’re not exactly the ‘give up easily’ type, Pup. Maybe you’re still figuring out what it means for yourself.”

    She smiled faintly, her fingers tightening around the ring. “I wish I’d trusted him more,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “The way Hawke trusted Fenris. But I didn’t, and now…”

    “You think that makes you the villain in this story?” Varric cut in gently. “Pup, every story’s got twists and turns. What matters is how you face them. And trust me, your shiny Templar? He’s probably sitting somewhere right now, blaming himself for not standing with you sooner.”

    Ariana’s breath hitched, her gaze flickering to the fire. “Do you really think so?”

    Varric nodded, leaning forward slightly. “Cullen’s not the kind of guy to walk away from something that matters. And you? You matter, Ariana. Whether you believe it or not.”

    She closed her eyes, letting his words sink in. “Then why does it still feel like I’ve failed?”

    “Because you’re human,” Varric said simply, leaning back with a knowing smirk. “And humans? You screw up.” He shrugged. “Luckily, I’m a dwarf. We don’t have that problem.”

    Ariana snorted, shaking her head, though her smile was faint. “Oh, really? You’re saying dwarves are perfect?”

    “Of course not,” Varric replied, his tone mock-serious. “We’re just stubborn as stone. The downside? We never change. At least humans eventually learn from their mistakes.” He gestured to her with his drink. “Case in point: you.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, her thumb brushing against the ring. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

    “It’s part of my charm,” he said with a grin, leaning forward. “Now, what do you say? Rewrite that story of yours. I’ll make sure it’s a bestseller.”

    Ariana chuckled, the sound carrying a hint of genuine warmth. “Deal.”

    Varric tipped his imaginary hat. “Good. But just remember—you’re still my pup, even if you’re busy running your own pack.”

    For the first time in weeks, Ariana felt a small spark of something she hadn’t dared to hope for: clarity. The path ahead remained uncertain, but with Varric by her side, she knew she wasn’t walking it alone.

    ~~~

    Varric remained with Ariana and the Rangers for the remainder of the year, much to her quiet relief. Though their days of strolling through Kirkwall and trading information were behind them, his presence was a steadying force—a reminder of the life she’d built and the people who had shaped her. Varric had been there through so much, and she couldn’t imagine navigating these moments of uncertainty without him.

    Their days of trading quips while walking the streets of Kirkwall had given way to trekking through forests and navigating muddy paths. It was a new chapter for both of them. For Ariana, it was a return to the life she’d known before returning to Kirkwall—moving between settlements, helping those in need. For Varric, it was a challenge he hadn’t anticipated. As it turned out, Varric was not made for the wilderness. A fact Ariana delighted in teasing him about.

    “Honestly, Varric, I’ve seen city pigeons more suited to the woods than you,” she quipped as he grumbled about his boots being perpetually muddy.

    “Hey now,” he shot back, leaning on Bianca for support as he stepped over a particularly large root. “I didn’t sign up for ranger life, pup. Some of us are meant for taverns and marketplaces, not… this.” He gestured broadly at the surrounding trees, as though personally offended by them.

    “Good thing I’m here to keep you alive, then,” she replied with a smirk.

    “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Just don’t let me die out here. I’d hate for my story to end in a swamp.”

    Their banter made the long days easier. For Ariana, it was a reminder of who she used to be before the weight of leadership, war, and heartbreak bore down on her. Varric had a way of lightening even the darkest moods, and she found herself feeling more like herself with every passing day. Yet, in the quiet moments by the fire, her thoughts drifted.

    The pendant around her neck caught the flickering firelight as she turned it over absently. Beside it, the engagement ring now hung, a subtle but constant reminder of what could have been. Her fingers brushed against the ring more often than she cared to admit. The life she and Cullen had planned together felt as distant as the stars that glittered in the night sky. But still, she couldn’t bring herself to let go of the ring—not yet.

    One evening, as the campfire crackled softly between them, Ariana sat lost in her thoughts, playing with the pendant. Her gaze was distant, fixed on the flames.

    Varric watched her for a while, then nodded toward the pendant. “That thing’s been through a lot with you, hasn’t it?”

    Ariana’s expression softened, her fingers stilling. “It has,” she murmured. “It’s a reminder of where I started… and where I’ve been. I wouldn’t be here without it—or without you.”

    Varric’s expression softened, his usual humor giving way to something deeper. “You’re going to make me a sentimental dwarf, kid.”

    Ariana laughed, the sound light but genuine. “You’re already a sentimental dwarf, Varric.”

    “You wound me, pup,” he replied, clutching his chest dramatically.

    “If you weren’t so sentimental, your books wouldn’t sell half as well,” she teased, her grin widening.

    Varric tilted his head, considering. “Fair point,” he admitted. “Still, don’t go spreading that around. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

    Ariana chuckled, her gaze returning to the pendant. She turned it over in her hand, her voice softening. “I keep following this constellation, wherever it takes me,” she murmured. “That one star blinking in the Visus constellation told me to run, to leave it all behind. It led me to Kirkwall, to meeting you.” Her voice grew quieter, tinged with bittersweetness. “To Ferelden. To Cullen. To the Blight. And… eventually, to who I became.”

    Varric leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he studied her, his expression unusually serious. “You’ve been chasing stars all this time, huh? And here I thought you were just making it up as you went along.”

    She chuckled softly, a faint smile touching her lips. “Sometimes it feels like that too,” she admitted. “But… it’s always there, guiding me, even when I don’t realize it. The choices, the paths—it all started with that one moment.”

    “Maker’s breath, pup,” Varric said, his tone warm but laced with that familiar fatherly concern. “You’ve had quite the journey.”

    Ariana nodded, her fingers brushing over the pendant and ring again. “And it’s not over yet.” Her voice was quiet but resolute. “Wherever it takes me next, I’ll follow it.”

    Varric shook his head, a small, knowing grin creeping back onto his face. “Well, if the stars decide to dump you in another mess, just make sure to send me a letter. Can’t let you get all the good stories without me.”

    “A letter?” Ariana quipped, tilting her head to smirk at him. “I just figured you’d join me in the next mess.”

    Varric chuckled, shaking his head. “Pup, you know I’m not built for your kind of chaos. You thrive in it. Me? I’m more of a ‘sit in a tavern and spin the tale’ kind of guy.”

    “Is that why you’ve been trudging through the mud and eating questionable campfire meals for months now?” she teased. “Seems like you’ve adapted just fine.”

    He sighed dramatically, gesturing at the wilderness around them. “Don’t remind me. My boots will never be the same. And don’t get me started on the spiders.”

    Ariana laughed, her first genuine laugh in weeks. “You’re not fooling anyone, Varric. You might grumble about it, but you love it. Admit it—you wouldn’t trade this adventure for all the gold in Kirkwall.”

    Varric paused, giving her a side-eye. “All the gold, maybe not. The Hanged Man’s ale? That’s a tougher sell.”

    She nudged him lightly. “You’ll survive, city dwarf. Besides, where’s the fun in spinning tales if you haven’t lived them yourself?”

    He smirked, his voice softening. “Fair enough. I suppose I’ve got a few good chapters out of this already.” Then, his expression turned serious, his eyes meeting hers. “But, pup, don’t think for a second I’d let you go off on the next grand disaster without me watching your back.”

    Ariana’s smirk softened into a grateful smile. “I’d expect nothing less.”

    ~~~

    Varric had spent the last few months writing his new novel, The Tale of the Champion. Even among all this wilderness he always kept his book, quill and ink at the ready. He knew that what happened in Kirkwall was only the beginning of a much larger conflict. He also knew that the Templar Order and the Chantry would likely try to retell the story in a more flattering light to them, knowing full well that they would likely try to blame Hawke for the downfall of the Gallows and Meredith.

     Varric knew someone needed to tell the whole story, from the beginning. And he would make sure that it was told right… maybe with some embellishments along the way… and with some omissions. He sat by the fire that night, quill in hand and parchment spread across his lap. The Tale of the Champion was coming together, but every sentence he wrote felt heavy, burdened by the knowledge that this story was more than just a legend. It was a warning, a truth the world would need to remember. And yet, the most painful truths—Ariana’s truths—would stay locked away in the recesses of his mind. Her part in the tale would remain a secret, shielded by his words.

    As the firelight danced across her face, Varric felt a pang in his chest that he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge. He’d never had children, never imagined himself as the fatherly type, but looking at Ariana now, so worn and fragile despite her strength, he understood what parents must feel for their children: an overwhelming need to protect, to shield, to take on their burdens as if they were his own.

    Suddenly, Ariana startled awake, her breath sharp and shallow. Her left hand clutched her forearm, her eyes darting wildly around the camp as though expecting an attack. He had seen this kind of terror before—men and women reliving their worst moments, moments they couldn’t escape no matter how far they ran. Varric’s instincts kicked in immediately, and he dropped his book and quill, moving to her side.

    “Pup, are you alright?” he asked, his tone calm but laced with concern.

    Ariana didn’t answer. Her eyes flickered between the shadows, her terror palpable. Varric knelt beside her, lowering his voice. “Hey, it’s me. You’re safe. Just breathe.”

    Her gaze finally locked onto his, wide and glassy with confusion. Slowly, her breathing began to steady, though her grip on her forearm remained tight. Varric placed his hands gently on her shoulders, grounding her. “I’m here, pup. You’re not alone.”

    After a moment, Ariana exhaled shakily, releasing her grip on her arm. She rubbed her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s nothing, Varric. Just a nightmare.”

    He frowned, his tone soft but insistent. “That wasn’t a nightmare. That was something much worse—a memory.”

    Her eyes widened, and she looked away, the faintest tremor running through her. He’d suspected for years that there was a part of her story she hadn’t told him, a gap she’d carefully hidden beneath layers of deflection and half-truths. He’d let it slide, trusting that she’d come to him when she was ready. Now, he wasn’t sure if that trust had been misplaced or if he’d simply failed her by not pushing harder.

    “You’ve been carrying this alone for too long, pup,” he said gently, pulling her into a hug. She stiffened at first, but then she relaxed, her head resting against his shoulder. He could feel the weight of her pain as if it were his own, and it infuriated him. She deserved better. She deserved peace, and he’d failed to give her that.

    “You forgot to fill the gap in the story,” he murmured, hoping to ease her into it. “Whenever you take something out, you have to put something back in its place.”

    “What?” Ariana asked, her voice soft but tinged with alarm.

    “Your story has a gap, pup,” Varric said, his tone a mix of teasing and concern. “You think I didn’t notice that years ago? People don’t just ‘leave’ mercenary companies like the Crimson Blades on a whim. If their leader, Krieger, was half as bad as the reports said, he wouldn’t have let you walk away without a fight.”

    Ariana’s breath hitched, her hands clenching at her sides. “You know who they are?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

    “I knew a little before you told me,” Varric admitted. “Afterward, I dug deeper. Not good people, pup. And then they just… disappeared, right around the time the Silver Rangers showed up.”

    She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the ground. “Do we have any wine left?” she asked after a moment, her voice strained.

    Varric chuckled, though the sound lacked its usual levity. “Do we have any wine left, she asks… Pup, you wound me.” He retrieved a bottle from his pack, pouring them each a glass. They drank in silence at first, the fire crackling between them.

    Her voice was quiet at first, halting as she began to speak. She told him about her time with the Blades, Krieger’s training, his growing obsession, and the friends she’d made along the way. Her tone grew flatter, more detached, the further into the story she went, her eyes fixed on the fire as though it could somehow burn away the memories.

    When she finally recounted what Krieger had done to her, Varric felt the blood drain from his face. He’d expected something bad, but this… this was worse than anything he could have imagined. He drained his glass in one go, refilling it and doing the same again. His hands trembled slightly as he set the glass down, his heart pounding with a mix of rage and guilt. She spoke of Riley and the others, of how they’d turned against Krieger, saved her, and escaped.

    “Pup, I…” His voice faltered. What could he say? That he was sorry? That he’d failed her? That he should’ve done more? “It’s my fau—”

    “No,” she interrupted, her voice firm despite the faint tremor in it. “None of this was your fault, Varric.” Her lips curved into a hesitant smile, one meant to reassure him. “And this is exactly why I didn’t tell you before. I knew you’d blame yourself, even though you shouldn’t. You tried to get me to leave Ferelden. I stayed by my own choice.”

    “I should’ve come to get you,” Varric said, his tone thick with emotion. “Berthold could’ve taken me right to you. I would’ve dragged you back to Kirkwall.”

    Ariana laughed softly, the sound bittersweet. “You would’ve tried,” she said, her hand resting on his shoulder. “But I wouldn’t have left. Not back then. I didn’t even fully understand why, but I couldn’t leave Cullen. And honestly? I don’t regret that part. What happened… it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t his fault. It was mine.”

    Varric shook his head, his jaw tightening. “You don’t get to carry this alone, pup. Not anymore.”

    “I’m not alone,” she said, her voice steady. “I have the Rangers. I have you.”

    “You always will,” he said fiercely. “But I swear, I’ll never let anyone hurt you like that again. Not as long as I’m breathing.”

    Ariana smiled softly, her gratitude shining in her eyes. “I know, Varric,” she said quietly. “And that’s why I told you.”

    As she leaned back, her gaze once again fixed on the fire, Varric felt a renewed sense of purpose. He’d failed her once. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Whatever storms lay ahead, he’d face them by her side, ensuring that his pup never had to stand alone again.

    ~~~

    Late that winter, Isabela sauntered into the manor, her grin promising trouble. Trailing behind her, with the bemused expression of someone who had just signed up for more than he bargained for, was none other than King Alistair. Ariana, standing by the hearth, arched an eyebrow. She shot a quick glance at Varric, who was nursing a cup of tea by the fire. His raised brow mirrored her own thoughts: What in the Void now?

    “Varric, darling,” Isabela began, her tone dripping with mock sweetness, “I’ve got the perfect job for you. And yes, it’s in Antiva. You’re welcome.”

    “Antiva?” Varric sighed, setting his tea down. His tone carried suspicion, though his curiosity was already piqued. “What’s the job, exactly?”

    “Something for the King,” Ariana chimed in, her voice playfully skeptical. “Tell me, Alistair, you’re not looking to replace me, are you?”

    “Perish the thought!” Alistair replied, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. “Wait… does Varric charge less?”

    “The Merchant Prince of Kirkwall? Charge less than I do?” Ariana quipped. “Not a chance.”

    “Well, then, your job is safe,” Alistair said with a grin.

    Varric leaned back, folding his arms. “Alright, Your Majesty, let’s hear it. What kind of job could you possibly need a storyteller for? Writing a heroic ballad about yourself? Maybe commissioning an epic saga?”

    Alistair rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. “No statues or ballads this time. Although… now that you mention it…”

    Ariana snorted, shaking her head. “See? You have to take the job, Varric. Imagine the stories you’ll get—and the new material you can complain about.”

    “I’m not—” Varric started, but Ariana cut him off with a raised hand, her grin widening.

    “Wait, wait, let me finish. No more mud, no more campfires, no more giant spiders,” she teased, her voice lilting with exaggerated emphasis. “Just cobblestones, taverns, and inns with actual beds. Sounds like paradise, doesn’t it?”

    Varric sighed, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Pup, you need me here. Who else is going to keep you out of trouble?”

    Ariana rolled her eyes, motioning toward the courtyard. “That’s Riley’s job. Have you looked outside? There are close to two hundred Rangers out there. Trust me, Varric, I’ll be fine. I just drag you through the wilds because I enjoy watching you suffer.”

    “She’s got a point,” Isabela interjected with a smirk. “You do look miserable in the mud, Varric.”

    “And yet, I stick around,” Varric shot back, his tone dry. “I’m starting to think you just want me out of your hair, Pup.”

    “Never,” Ariana said with a playful grin. “I’ll miss you, of course. But you’re not meant to sit around babysitting me. You’ve got bigger adventures waiting.”

    Varric’s smirk faltered for a moment, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “I’m not so sure about that,” he said quietly.

    “You will be,” Ariana replied, her voice gentle. “And besides, you’ll always find your way back.”

    Alistair, watching the exchange, clapped his hands together. “So, does this mean I’ve successfully recruited the great Varric Tethras?”

    Varric glanced between Ariana and Alistair, his resolve wavering. “Fine,” he muttered, throwing up his hands. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a storyteller, Your Majesty. But I’m not writing you a ballad.”

    “Fair enough,” Alistair said, grinning. “Though I should warn you—there’ll be plenty of swamps and woods before we reach any proper cities.”

    “Fantastic,” Varric groaned, leaning back in his chair. “I’m sure my boots will thank you later.”

    Ariana chuckled, stepping forward to squeeze Varric’s shoulder. “New misery means new stories. Just don’t forget to write me a letter, alright?”

    Varric smirked. “Pup, you know you’ll be the first to hear all the gory details.”

    Isabela leaned against the doorway, her grin smug. “You’re going to miss him, Ari. Don’t pretend you won’t.”

    Ariana’s smile wavered slightly, her fingers brushing against the pendant at her throat. “Of course I’ll miss him,” she admitted softly. “But Varric’s not one to stay still for long. And I’d never want to hold him back.”

    Varric’s smirk softened, his voice quiet but firm. “You’ve never held me back, Pup.”

    Their eyes met, and for a moment, the weight of their bond hung between them. Ariana finally broke the silence with a faint, bittersweet smile. “Then go make some trouble in Antiva,” she said. “And when you’re done, come back and tell me all about it.”

    Varric chuckled, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got a deal.”

    As he and Alistair headed toward the courtyard, Ariana lingered by the fire, the warmth doing little to chase away the ache in her chest. She told herself this was how it had to be—Varric had his own path, and she had hers. But as the door closed behind them, she couldn’t help but whisper, “Stay safe, old friend.”

    The fire crackled softly, its light flickering against the walls, as Ariana steeled herself for the next chapter of her journey.

  • Chapter 51 – The Next Chapter

    13 Cloudreach – 24 Solace 9:37

    The first rays of dawn crept over the horizon, their pale light casting the Gallows in a surreal glow. The once-proud courtyard was now a battleground of broken bodies, shattered weapons, and the lingering cries of the wounded. Ariana stood against a stone pillar, her breath shallow, each intake a sharp reminder of the wound Cullen had inflicted. Blood seeped through the makeshift bandages, and her legs trembled beneath her, threatening to give out. Still, she stayed upright, refusing to succumb—not yet.

    The Rangers had fought valiantly, holding the line when all seemed lost, but they were spent. Their once-proud formation had splintered under the relentless assault of the Templars. Those who remained were battered, bruised, and silent, their faces pale with exhaustion and grief. Ariana could no longer command them to fight. They had done enough. She had to trust that Hawke and her companions could finish what they had started.

    Her hood hung limp around her shoulders, her mask discarded somewhere in the chaos. She leaned heavily against the pillar, her hazel-green eyes fixed on the center of the courtyard. Meredith stood there, her armor gleaming despite the dust and blood, a grim specter of authority unraveling into madness. Hawke’s voice rang out across the space, firm and unyielding as she confronted the Knight-Commander. Every word she spoke felt like a lifeline—one Ariana clung to, despite the gnawing despair in her chest.

    When Meredith ordered Hawke’s death, Ariana’s body tensed involuntarily. The faintest gasp escaped her lips, her fingers curling around the pillar as though to steady herself. No, not like this. But then Cullen stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tense silence. He stood against Meredith, defying her in the most public, irrevocable way possible. He relieved her of command. Ariana’s breath hitched as she watched him, a flicker of pride breaking through the haze of pain and betrayal. *Finally,* she thought, her chest tightening. She wanted to believe he had found the courage because of her, that her pleas had not fallen on deaf ears. But the flicker of hope warred with the ache of doubt: was it Meredith’s madness that finally broke him, or had he simply reached the limit of his obedience? Maybe there was hope after all.

    But that hope was extinguished the moment Meredith drew her blade. The red lyrium’s glow cast an unnatural light across the courtyard, its eerie pulse reflecting the depths of her madness. Ariana’s stomach turned as she realized the full extent of Meredith’s corruption. The battle that followed was unlike anything she’d ever seen—Hawke, Cullen, and the remaining Templars fighting against a woman they had once followed, a leader now consumed by her own hubris and the dangerous power she had wielded for too long.

    The glow of the red lyrium was a sickness that spread through the courtyard, infecting the air with its heavy, oppressive heat. Meredith was no longer a leader; she was a monster—one of her own making. Ariana’s stomach churned as she watched the remnants of a woman once feared and revered dissolve into a creature consumed by madness.

    Ariana’s grip on the pillar tightened, her knuckles white as she forced herself to watch. Each clash of steel echoed like thunder, reverberating through her bones. She wanted to move, to help, but her body refused to respond. All she could do was bear witness.

    When Meredith fell, her body encased in jagged red lyrium, the courtyard fell into an uneasy silence. The survivors—both Templars and mages—stared at the grotesque statue in horrified disbelief. No one spoke. The weight of what had transpired bore down on them all.

    The Rangers began to regroup, their movements slow and unsteady. Ariana pushed off the pillar, biting back a cry as pain lanced through her side. She raised her hand, signaling them to stand down. “We’re done here,” she rasped, her voice barely audible but commanding enough to be heard. The battle was over, but the war was far from finished.

    She limped toward the remnants of Hawke’s group, her steps faltering but determined. Hawke, standing near the center of the courtyard, turned as Ariana approached. Their gazes met, and for a moment, no words were needed.

    “You did it,” Ariana said softly, her voice thick with exhaustion. “Meredith is gone.”

    Hawke’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I didn’t do it alone,” she replied, glancing at her companions and the scattered mages around them. Her voice carried a quiet determination, though her eyes betrayed the weight of the decisions she had made. “And it’s not over.”

    Ariana nodded faintly, her expression grim. “No,” she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is only the beginning.”

    Varric’s voice cut through the tension, subdued but tinged with his characteristic dry humor. “As much as I enjoy standing around in the aftermath of a magical apocalypse, maybe we should think about getting out of here.”

    Ariana couldn’t suppress a faint, bitter smile. “You’re not wrong.” She turned to Hawke, her gaze steady despite the pain radiating through her body. “The Rangers are regrouping. We’re heading home to Ferelden. It’s safer than staying here. You’re welcome to join us, at least until you decide on your next move.”

    Hawke studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Ferelden it is,” she said simply.

    As the group began to move, Ariana glanced back at the Gallows one last time. The towering statues and jagged architecture loomed like silent witnesses to the carnage, the red lyrium casting an ominous glow against the dawning sky. The weight of everything they had fought for, everything they had lost, settled over her like a shroud.

    She adjusted her cloak, her movements slow and deliberate. The Rangers followed her lead, their steps heavy with exhaustion but resolute. Behind them, the Gallows faded into the distance, its dark silhouette a grim reminder of the battle they had survived—and the battles still to come.

    ~~~

    The gentle sway of the ship against the waves was a small mercy amidst the storm raging in Ariana’s mind. The rhythmic motion brought a semblance of calm, though it did little to soothe the ache in her chest or the sharp pain in her side. She leaned back against the railing, her gaze unfocused as Merrill knelt beside her, healing magic weaving through her torn flesh. The faint glow of Merrill’s efforts cast soft shadows across Ariana’s face, highlighting the exhaustion etched into every line.

    “Thank you, Merrill,” Ariana said softly, her voice hoarse. She reached down to squeeze the elf’s hand in gratitude, though the effort seemed to drain what little energy she had left.

    Merrill offered a small, hopeful smile. “You’ll be alright,” she said gently. “Though you should rest—properly, not just leaning against things like this.”

    Ariana chuckled faintly, though the sound carried no humor. “I’ll try,” she murmured, though she knew sleep wouldn’t come easily. Not with the weight of everything pressing down on her.

    Around her, the deck was somber. The Rangers sat or leaned against crates and railings, their expressions heavy with the aftermath of the Gallows. Michael stood a short distance away, his posture tense as he scanned the horizon, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword. Valentina and Linnea sat nearby, their quiet conversation punctuated by occasional glances toward Ariana, concern etched into their features. Lamberto leaned against the mast, his eyes closed, though his hand rested firmly on his bow, ready for anything. And the remaining mages that made it out with them were huddled near the stern.

    Further down the deck, Hawke stood at the bow, her silhouette sharp against the faint light of dawn. She stared out at the horizon, her shoulders hunched as though carrying the weight of the entire city. Varric sat cross-legged near the mast, Bianca resting across his lap, his fingers absently tracing the carvings on the crossbow’s stock. Riley paced near the stairs leading below deck, her brow furrowed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

    The silence stretched until Hawke finally spoke, her voice quiet but heavy. “I should have seen it coming,” she said, her words barely audible above the creak of the ship. “I should have known Anders was capable of… all this.”

    Varric let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re not the only one with regrets, Hawke. I should’ve stopped Bartrand before he ever got near that idol. Should’ve known nothing good would come of it.” His tone was sharp, uncharacteristically self-critical.

    Ariana exhaled slowly, her hand drifting absently to her side, where her blood still stained the bandages despite Merrill’s best efforts. Her fingers brushed over her glove, catching on the ring beneath it. She hesitated, then pressed her hand firmly against her lap, as though the simple touch would ground her.

    “And I…” she began, her voice cracking slightly. “I should have realized sooner that operating in the shadows wasn’t enough. That it would never be enough.” Her gaze fell to the deck, her expression a mix of exhaustion and sorrow. “We all played a part in this.”

    The words hung in the air like a shared confession, the weight of them pressing down on everyone.

    From across the deck, Merrill’s soft voice broke through the tension. “What happened with Knight-Captain Cullen?” she asked, her head tilted in innocent curiosity.

    The question landed like a stone in the stillness.

    “Merrill!” The collective groan from Hawke, Varric, Isabela, and Aveline was near deafening, each name shouted in unison with exasperation. Varric even threw his hands in the air for dramatic effect.

    Ariana raised a hand weakly, silencing them with a faint, tired smile. “It’s alright,” she said, her voice gentle, though it carried a weight that quieted the group. Her gaze softened, the vulnerability she rarely showed surfacing in the cool morning light. “Cullen and I… we ended up on opposite sides of this war. I suppose it was always going to come to this.”

    Her fingers brushed over her glove, lingering on the ring beneath as though seeking strength. “We both made choices,” she added quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

    “I’m sorry, pup,” Varric said softly, his usual wit absent, replaced by a rare, solemn sincerity.

    Merrill, still frowning, tilted her head further. “Did you love him?” she asked, her tone innocent but unflinching in its directness.

    “Merrill!” The exasperated shout from the group was even louder this time, Isabela adding, “You can’t just ask someone that!”

    But Ariana surprised them all with a soft, genuine laugh. It was a rare sound, light but tinged with bittersweetness. “I did,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “I do. But sometimes… love isn’t enough.”

    Her gaze drifted to the horizon, her fingers brushing absently over her glove where the ring rested beneath. That love—the very thing that had once brought her solace—now felt like both a tether and a blade. It was a constant ache, grounding her even as it carved deeper wounds. She had thought it would shatter her resolve, but instead, it steeled her.

    I’ll always love you, she thought, her chest tightening as the confession echoed in her mind. And because I love you, I’ll fight for what’s right. For both of us, even if you never understand.

    Ariana clenched her fist, her lips pressing into a thin line as she forced herself to meet Hawke’s gaze. “But love… it doesn’t change what needs to be done.”

    “Oh, darling,” Isabela drawled from where she leaned against the mast, a dagger twirling between her fingers. “That’s why falling in love is dangerous. I’ve always said it—stick to one-night stands.”

    Aveline snorted, her arms crossed as she gave Isabela a sidelong glance. “Have you even been in love, Isabela?”

    “Of course not,” Isabela replied with a wicked grin. “I just said it’s dangerous.”

    The exchange drew faint chuckles from the others, a small reprieve from the weight of the moment. But Ariana’s smile faded quickly as she looked toward Hawke, who had joined them near the railing.

    “We should have done more,” Hawke said, her voice raw with guilt. She glanced at Varric, then Ariana. “All of us. Maybe we could’ve stopped this before it got this far.”

    Ariana shook her head, though the regret in her own expression mirrored Hawke’s. “Maybe,” she said softly. “But the only way out is forward now.”

    Riley approached then, her boots clicking softly against the wood. She stopped a few steps from Ariana, her expression sharp but tinged with concern. “Your orders, Wolf?”

    Ariana straightened slightly, though her body protested the motion. She met Riley’s gaze, her voice steady despite the exhaustion that gripped her. “Let’s go home.”

    The words carried a weight of their own, a promise and a plea all at once. Riley nodded, her resolve firm as she turned to relay the orders to the rest of the Rangers.

    As the ship continued its journey, the group settled into a heavy silence once more. The horizon stretched out before them, the promise of Ferelden ahead and the echoes of Kirkwall’s chaos behind. Ariana’s hand brushed against the engagement ring one last time before she clenched her fist, letting it fall to her side. There was no room for doubt now. The fight wasn’t over—only the battlefield had changed.

    ~~~

    The trip back to Redcliffe took longer than expected. Injuries, exhaustion, and the heavy weight of their collective grief slowed their pace. Yet, thanks to Ariana’s reputation and the goodwill of those who respected the Rangers, they were provided with horses and carts along the way, easing their burden.

    Isabel and Emma had arrived ahead of the group, and when Isabel saw them approaching the manor gates, her heart sank. The sight of Ariana—pale and worn, her steps uneven—and the others, hollow-eyed and quiet, spoke of the battles they had endured.

    Without hesitation, Isabel ran to meet Ariana, wrapping her arms tightly around her the moment she dismounted. The warmth of the embrace was like a barrier breaking, and for the first time since leaving Kirkwall, Ariana allowed herself to lean into someone. Her head rested lightly on Isabel’s shoulder, the familiar scent of leather and lavender grounding her in a way words never could.

    “You’re home now,” Isabel whispered, her voice soft but firm, as though saying it aloud could make it true. “You’re safe.”

    Ariana closed her eyes briefly, drawing in a steadying breath. The words were a comfort, even as the weight of everything still pressed heavily on her. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear them until now.

    Emma appeared moments later, her face a mixture of relief and worry. She darted forward, wrapping her small arms around Ariana’s leg, her grip surprisingly strong for a child.

    “Are we going home soon?” Emma asked softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty. To her, Kirkwall had been home—the bustling streets, the familiar faces. This manor was new, unfamiliar, and despite its warmth, it didn’t hold the same comfort for her.

    Ariana crouched down, her muscles protesting as she pulled Emma into her arms. “This is home now,” she murmured, her voice gentle. “But I promise, we’ll make it feel like home together.”

    Emma clung to her, her small hands fisting the fabric of Ariana’s cloak. “You’re not leaving again, are you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

    The question struck deep, and Ariana hesitated, her throat tightening. “Not if I can help it,” she replied softly, brushing a hand over Emma’s hair. The weight of the promise settled heavily on her shoulders, but she meant every word.

    Michael stood just behind Ariana, his protective stance unmistakable. He watched the reunion silently, his sharp gaze flickering between his sister and Isabel. After a moment, he stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “She needs rest, Isabel. She’s been pushing herself too hard.”

    “I’m not the only one,” Ariana said with a faint smirk, though her voice was hoarse with exhaustion. She placed a hand on Michael’s arm, squeezing it gently. “You’ve been with me every step of the way.”

    As Hawke and her companions stepped into the manor, the warmth of the hearth greeted them, but it seemed almost alien against the weight they carried. Varric trailed just behind Hawke, his crossbow slung over his shoulder. His usual swagger was subdued, though his dry humor hadn’t entirely abandoned him.

    “Feels strange being somewhere that isn’t falling apart,” Varric muttered, his voice low but enough to earn a faint chuckle from Isabela.

    Hawke gave a quiet nod to Isabel as she passed, her gratitude unspoken but clear. Her steps were heavy, her eyes distant, yet her resolve remained unbroken. Behind her, Fenris carried an unconscious Merrill, his protective grip firm as he followed without a word. Aveline brought up the rear, her armor battered but her expression resolute, her sharp eyes scanning the room as though expecting another fight to break out.

    They all moved with the same shared exhaustion, the weight of Kirkwall etched into their very beings. Heroes, yes, but broken ones—stripped bare by the choices they’d made and the lives they couldn’t save.

    “Come,” Isabel said, her voice soft but insistent as she gestured for the group to follow her. “You all need a good meal and some rest. No arguments.”

    She led them into the dining room, promising to prepare something hearty. Isabel had seen these people—heroes of Kirkwall—face insurmountable odds and emerge victorious. But now, they looked like people in desperate need of care, even if only for a little while.

    As the night wore on, Ariana found herself sitting by the hearth in the main hall, Emma curled up against her side. Michael stood nearby, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, his protective gaze never straying far from his sister. Valentina and Linnea joined them, their presence quiet but grounding, their loyalty evident in every glance.

    Riley entered the hall, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor. She stopped a few steps from Ariana, her expression sharp yet unreadable. “You did well, Wolf,” she said, her voice low but firm. “Kirkwall was chaos, but we saved who we could.”

    Ariana’s gaze flickered to Riley, her fingers brushing unconsciously against the ring beneath her glove. The compliment felt heavy, almost undeserved, and she struggled to hold Riley’s gaze. “It doesn’t feel like enough,” she admitted quietly, the weight of the past days pressing down on her shoulders.

    Riley’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding in her green eyes. “It’s never enough,” she said, her voice steady but without judgment. She stepped closer, her tone quiet yet resolute. “But you made the call, and we followed. That’s what matters. We’re still standing because of you.”

    Ariana’s throat tightened at the words, but she forced a faint nod. Her fingers lingered over the ring, the small touch grounding her, even as doubt whispered relentlessly in her mind.

    The warmth of the hearth filled the hall, a stark contrast to the chill that seemed to linger in Ariana’s bones. She sat with Emma curled tightly against her side, the little girl’s head resting on her lap, her breaths even and soft. Ariana’s fingers combed absently through Emma’s hair, the simple act grounding her as much as it comforted the child.

    Across the room, Valentina sat near the firelight, sharpening her blade with slow, deliberate strokes. The rasp of steel against stone filled the quiet spaces between conversation, a steady rhythm that seemed to mirror the unspoken thoughts of everyone in the room. Linnea, seated beside her, uncorked a flask and offered it silently to Michael, who accepted without hesitation. He took a long pull, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he handed it back.

    Isabela lounged on a nearby bench, her fingers idly twirling a dagger, her usual grin replaced by a contemplative frown. Even her quips had grown quieter since leaving Kirkwall, though she still managed a faint smirk when Varric joined her, muttering about the state of his boots.

    The crackle of the fire was the only sound for a long while, broken only when Emma stirred and mumbled sleepily, “Are we going home soon?”

    Ariana’s breath caught, and she glanced down at Emma, her chest tightening. “We are home, cub,” she murmured softly, pressing a kiss to her hair.

    As the manor settled into a quiet evening, Ariana stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The soft hum of voices and the occasional clink of metal carried on the breeze. She closed her eyes, letting the sounds wash over her, grounding herself in the moment. For now, they were home. And for now, that was enough.

    ~~~

    Weeks passed, the physical wounds from Kirkwall’s fall healing with time, though the deeper scars lingered. Everyone settled into a rhythm of planning their next steps while taking the time to recover. The manor, though temporary, offered a sense of community that none of them had expected but all of them needed.

    The energy of the Rangers breathed life into the manor. Recruits trained in the courtyard, their laughter and camaraderie a sharp contrast to the grim silence of Kirkwall’s final days. The Rangers who had followed Ariana to Kirkwall were greeted with cheers and heartfelt relief. Comrades clasped forearms and exchanged weary smiles, their shared survival strengthening bonds forged in battle.

    Hawke found herself wandering to the courtyard more often than not, her restless energy drawing her toward the clatter of practice swords and sparring drills. She leaned against the wooden fence, watching the recruits spar with a wistful smile. Their awestruck expressions as they realized the Champion of Kirkwall was among them filled her with a bittersweet pride. She answered their eager questions, humoring their hero worship, though each inquiry about Kirkwall made her chest tighten. Champion. The title felt hollow now, weighted by the city she couldn’t save. Fenris stayed close, his quiet presence a steadying force. He spoke little, but his words carried weight, cutting through her self-doubt with blunt clarity. “They don’t need perfection,” he said once, his tone low but firm. “They need to see someone who keeps standing, no matter the fall.” His green eyes lingered on hers for a moment before turning back to the recruits, his silence as grounding as his rare, earnest words.

    Varric, meanwhile, had claimed a permanent seat by the largest campfire. His voice carried across the manor grounds, spinning stories that softened the night’s edges. New recruits and seasoned Rangers alike gathered around, drawn in by his charisma and the escapism his tales offered. Bianca rested across his lap, his fingers occasionally brushing the familiar wood as he recounted adventures both real and exaggerated. Laughter often rippled through the group, the sound warming the cold evenings and reminding them that hope wasn’t entirely lost.

    Aveline and Donnic brought structure to the chaos, running drills in the training yard with their usual no-nonsense efficiency. Aveline’s sharp commands and Donnic’s quiet encouragement forged a balanced dynamic that even the most skeptical Rangers respected. Their steady presence brought a sense of order to the bustling manor, a reminder that discipline could coexist with camaraderie.

    Isabela, unsurprisingly, had no trouble finding her place among the Rangers. She weaved through the groups effortlessly, her sharp wit and flirtatious nature earning laughter and playful groans in equal measure. Her evenings were spent exchanging banter, her easy charm a deliberate effort to lighten the mood. Beneath her teasing smiles, however, was a glimmer of something softer—a silent understanding of the darkness they were all trying to keep at bay.

    Merrill, in her endearing way, moved between groups with innocent curiosity. She asked the recruits questions about their lives and their training, her wide-eyed wonder disarming even the gruffest among them. Her presence brought a sense of lightness, her naïve but sincere inquiries coaxing smiles from battle-hardened Rangers who had forgotten how to laugh.

    Sebastian gravitated toward the library, where he found quiet solace amid the stacks of old tomes and maps. He and Ariana often sat together by the hearth, their conversations ranging from shared histories to the burdens of nobility. They pored over records, tracing their family trees with an air of quiet determination. In those moments, the weight of the world outside the manor faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of pages turning and the soft glow of firelight. They spoke of myths, of the Maker and Andraste, their voices low but filled with an unspoken camaraderie.

    Ariana watched it all with a quiet sense of gratitude, though her heart remained heavy. This was what she had wanted—a place for her people, her friends, to feel safe, even if only temporarily. Yet, the shadows of Kirkwall loomed, a constant reminder of what had been lost and the battles still to come.

    ~~~

    One evening, Ariana sat at the kitchen counter with Isabel and Emma. The quiet hum of the manor surrounded them, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Her fingers absently spun the engagement ring on her finger, the cool metal pressing against her skin like a silent accusation. Memories surfaced with each turn of the ring—the warmth in Cullen’s eyes when he’d slipped it onto her finger, the tentative plans they had whispered late at night. Each memory felt like another weight added to the burden she carried.

    “When is Cullen coming home?” Emma’s bright, hopeful voice cut through Ariana’s thoughts, pulling her back to the present.

    Her breath hitched. The innocence in Emma’s question felt like a blade, twisting in a wound she hadn’t allowed to fully surface. “I’m sorry, Emma,” she said gently, her voice strained. “He won’t be able to see us for a while. He has work to do.”

    “But why?” Emma asked, her young face crumpling in confusion. “I want to see him! He promised me another story!”

    Ariana forced a faint, trembling smile, but Isabel stepped in before she could answer. “That’s enough, Emma,” she said firmly. “Cullen has important duties. Now, run along.”

    Emma pouted but obeyed, her small footsteps fading down the hall. As soon as the door closed behind her, Ariana’s composure cracked. Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a sob as tears welled in her eyes.

    Isabel placed a steady hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, child,” she said softly.

    Ariana shook her head, her voice cracking as she replied, “You don’t have to be sorry. You knew this would happen. You warned me.” She wiped at her face, but the tears kept coming. Her hand moved back to the ring, twisting it again. “Do you know what he said to me during the battle?” Her voice wavered as she recounted his words. “‘You could have told me! Maker, Ariana, I would have fought for you. With you. But you didn’t even give me the chance.’”

    The weight of those words hung between them like an open wound, raw and unhealed. Ariana replayed them constantly, wondering if she had been wrong, if she had destroyed what little hope they had left. Her fingers brushed against the pendant on her leather choker. Its familiar presence offered a fleeting sense of stability.

    Isabel’s grip on her shoulder tightened, grounding her. “You told me what he said,” Isabel began, her voice thoughtful, “but do you know what I hear in those words, Ariana?”

    Ariana glanced up, her eyes wary but curious. “What?” she whispered.

    “I hear a man who’s hurt,” Isabel said, her lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. “Angry, confused, yes—but not because he stopped loving you. It’s because he loves you still. That’s what’s tearing him apart.”

    Her voice dropped lower, heavy with disappointment. “He stood with her, Isabel. He stood by Meredith, carried out her orders until the very end.” Her breath hitched again. “I begged him to take command, to stand against her before it was too late. And he didn’t.”

    The words hung in the air like a bitter confession. She felt her heart breaking all over again, the sting of betrayal blending with the ache of her own guilt. “He said I didn’t give him a chance, but… how could I trust him when he let it come to that?”

    Isabel tightened her grip on Ariana’s shoulder, her expression steady but understanding. “You’re not wrong to feel that way,” she said gently. “Cullen made mistakes. He let duty blind him, just as you let the weight of your secrets keep you from him.”

    Ariana blinked, tears spilling down her cheeks as she looked away. “He knew what Meredith was, what she’d become. And yet…” She trailed off, her hands trembling as they twisted the ring. “How can I forgive that?”

    “Because you know Cullen,” Isabel said softly, her voice filled with quiet conviction. “You’ve seen his heart, Ariana. You know how bound by duty he’s always been. That’s part of who he is. But in the end, he stood against her.”

    Ariana’s fingers stilled on the ring, her lips trembling. “It was too late.”

    “It wasn’t too late for him to show where he truly stood,” Isabel countered. “He’s not perfect, child, but neither are you. He made his choice in the end, just as you made yours. And if you can’t forgive him yet, then give yourself time. Let yourself grieve what you’ve both lost.”

    Ariana closed her eyes, her tears flowing freely now. Isabel’s words were steady, unwavering, but they weren’t easy to hear. “Do you think he regrets it?” she whispered.

    “Without a doubt,” Isabel said firmly. “And not just because of Meredith. He regrets standing against you. You saw it in his eyes, didn’t you? That’s why it hurts so much—for both of you.”

    Ariana’s chest tightened as she recalled those final moments, the way Cullen had looked at her. Hurt. Conflicted. Yet something else had flickered there—love, unyielding despite everything.

    “Do you really think this isn’t the end?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

    Isabel’s gaze softened, her hand warm and reassuring on Ariana’s. “If there’s one thing I know about Cullen, it’s that he’ll carry this with him, just like you are now. But I also know he’ll fight for what he loves—once he’s ready. And I think, deep down, you know that too.”

    Ariana closed her eyes, a tear sliding down her cheek as she let Isabel’s words sink in. Slowly, she slid the ring off her finger, holding it in her palm like something fragile. Her other hand reached for her choker, the leather cord warm against her skin. She threaded the ring carefully onto it, letting it rest beside the Visus pendant.

    She clasped the choker back around her neck, the ring now a part of her armor. A reminder of what she carried—her guilt, her hope, and the love she wasn’t ready to give up. When she finally looked up at Isabel, there was a flicker of something in her eyes—not quite hope, but not despair either.

    “It’s not over,” she murmured, her voice filled with quiet resolve.

    Isabel nodded, her smile faint but certain. “No, it’s not. But give it time, child. Time to heal.”

    Ariana glanced toward the door where Emma had disappeared, her heart heavy but steadied by Isabel’s words. She didn’t have all the answers yet, but she wasn’t ready to give up—not on herself, and not on Cullen.

    ~~~

    Over the course of the following weeks and months, one by one, Hawke’s companions departed the manor, each setting out toward the unknown. The farewells were quiet, marked by shared understanding rather than ceremony. The manor, once bustling with camaraderie and life, began to grow still.

    Aveline and Donnic were the first to leave. Their departure was practical, as it always was with Aveline. She had been restless since arriving at the manor, the steady routine of the Rangers not quite enough to temper her sense of duty.

    “We’ll be staying in Ferelden,” Aveline said, addressing Hawke with her usual steadiness. “Denerim needs good people, and Donnic and I can do more there. You know where to find me if you need someone to knock sense into those fools in the palace.”

    Hawke smiled faintly, her respect for Aveline evident. “We’ll miss you,” she said. “But they’ll be lucky to have you.”

    Aveline turned briefly to Ariana. “You’ve built something impressive here,” she said, her tone carrying a rare note of admiration.

    Ariana nodded. “Thanks. And knowing the King, you’ll probably see Rangers in Denerim more often than not. We still do plenty of work for him.”

    Donnic smiled at that, giving a polite nod. “Then I suppose we won’t be strangers.”

    They exchanged farewells, and with that, Aveline and Donnic left, their figures disappearing into the horizon as the first light of dawn broke over the hills.

    Isabela left a week later, her goodbyes as casual as her demeanor. She had spent her time at the manor flirting with the Rangers and filling the halls with laughter, but even she had her limits for staying in one place.

    “You know me,” she said with a grin, her hands resting on her hips as she faced Ariana and Hawke. “I don’t do well with roots. The sea is calling.” Then, with a playful gleam in her eye, she leaned in closer to Ariana. “But you know, Wolf, I think you could use a little more adventure in your life. One-night-stands, danger, treasure hunts. We’d make a great team.”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Tempting,” she replied dryly, “but I think I’ll have to pass for now. Someone has to keep the rest of these Rangers in line.”

    Isabela laughed, throwing an arm around Ariana’s shoulders in an unexpected show of affection. “Your loss, darling. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

    Merrill was next. Her farewell was bittersweet, her innocent optimism shining even in the wake of so much loss. She lingered at the gates, her gaze darting between Ariana and Hawke.

    “I’m going back to the Dalish,” she said quietly. “I’ve been away too long. They need me.” She hesitated, her wide eyes searching Ariana’s. “But… if you ever need me, I’ll come back. I promise.”

    Ariana smiled softly, resting a hand on Merrill’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Merrill. And don’t let anyone tell you you’re not enough. You’ve done more than you know.”

    Merrill’s face lit up, and she threw her arms around Ariana in a tight hug. “Thank you, Ariana. For everything.”

    Bethany, ever the steady presence, stayed longer than most, helping where she could around the manor. But eventually, her sense of duty pulled her elsewhere.

    “I think it’s time I returned to the Grey Wardens,” she told Hawke one evening. “There’s still so much to be done, and they’ll need every hand they can get.”

    Hawke’s expression softened as she reached out to clasp her sister’s hand. “Bethany, are you sure?”

    Bethany nodded firmly, though her smile was warm. “I’m sure. This isn’t goodbye, though. You’ll always have me”

    The sisters embraced, their bond unshaken even in the face of another farewell. Ariana stood nearby, watching with quiet respect as Bethany departed, her figure disappearing into the twilight.

    Sebastian was the last to leave before Hawke and Fenris. He approached Ariana in the courtyard one evening, his expression solemn yet kind.

    “I’ll be returning to Starkhaven,” he said. “My people need me now more than ever.”

    Ariana tilted her head, studying him. “I’m glad they’ll have you. You’ll make a fine ruler.”

    Sebastian smiled faintly, his usual air of piety tempered by something warmer. “And if you ever find yourself in need of anything, don’t hesitate to ask. We’re family, after all.”

    Ariana smirked, crossing her arms. “So it would seem. Maybe I’ll make it back to Starkhaven sometime soon, we’ll finish tracking down all these branches of the family tree.”

    Sebastian laughed, his rare sense of humor shining through. “I’ll be waiting. But rest assured, Ariana—family means you can always count on me.”

    With a bow and a final farewell, Sebastian departed, his steps purposeful as he walked toward a future that only he could shape.

    Finally, it was just Hawke and Fenris who remained. Fenris, ever the stoic, offered no words as they prepared to leave. Instead, he gave Ariana a nod—brief, but full of unspoken respect and understanding. It was a gesture that spoke louder than anything he could have said.

    “We’ll send word when we know where we’re going,” she promised, her tone warm but tinged with uncertainty. “And… if you need us, we’ll be there for you.”

    Ariana clasped Hawke’s hand briefly, her grip firm despite the exhaustion that still weighed on her. “And if you need us, you know you’re always welcome here.”

    As Hawke lingered at the gates, her hand brushed against Fenris’s arm. Ariana caught the small gesture, and it struck her how much had changed between them. Fenris, who once couldn’t bring himself to trust mages, had stood by Hawke’s side in the Gallows, defying everything he once believed. Ariana’s gaze lingered on their intertwined shadows, her chest tightening.

    “Take care, Ari,” Hawke said, her tone firm yet warm. “And keep him out of trouble,” she added with a nod toward Varric.

    Ariana’s smile was faint but genuine. “Impossible,” she replied, though her voice was quieter than usual. She glanced at Fenris, the silent strength in his presence undeniable. He fought for her, she thought, a flicker of bittersweet realization passing through her.

    Hawke’s grip on Fenris’s arm tightened as they turned to leave, and Ariana couldn’t help but wonder if Cullen could ever make that same choice—if he could overcome the weight of his oaths and fears to stand with her, as Fenris had with Hawke. Ariana watched them disappear down the path, side by side, until they were nothing more than shadows on the horizon.

    Ariana lingered at the gates long after Hawke and Fenris had vanished into the distance. The ache in her chest was a familiar one, the same she’d felt each time another of Hawke’s companions had left. Relief that they were alive warred with the sharp sting of their absence, a reminder of how fragile their unity had been amidst the chaos of Kirkwall.

    She wrapped her cloak tighter around herself as the cool evening wind swept across the manor grounds. She had fought to keep them all alive, to give them a chance at something beyond the horrors of the Gallows. But survival had come at a cost—fragmented connections, unspoken regrets, and lingering scars.

    Watching Hawke and Fenris together stirred something deeper, a quiet longing. Fenris had stood beside Hawke, even when her choices challenged everything he believed. It was a bond forged in fire and tempered by trust—a trust Cullen had withheld when it mattered most. She swallowed hard, the weight of her own choices pressing against her like the cold iron of her daggers.

    “Think they’ll find peace out there?” she murmured, more to herself than to Varric.

    He didn’t answer right away, his gaze distant as he followed the line of the horizon. “They’ll find what they’re looking for,” he said at last, his voice calm but thoughtful. “And so will you, pup. Maybe not today, but someday.”

    Ariana nodded, though her heart still felt heavy. She turned back toward the manor, her steps slow but resolute. For now, she would carry the weight of their shared journey, even as the threads of their fates unraveled. Because Varric was right—their story wasn’t over. It was simply moving to the next chapter.

  • Chapter 50 – Belief Without Question

    12 – 13 Cloudreach 9:37

    Hawke’s voice echoed through the courtyard, sharp and determined as she tried, in vain, to reason with both Meredith and Orsino. Cullen stood silently behind Meredith, his gaze flickering between the Champion and the First Enchanter. His jaw was tight, his hands gripping the pommel of his sword more out of habit than need. Every word spoken between the two leaders only deepened the sense of foreboding he’d felt since the Chantry exploded.

    You can take command. You can stop this before it’s too late. Ariana’s words from hours ago rang in his mind, her voice carrying both conviction and frustration. She had begged him to step forward, to defy Meredith, to do what he knew in his heart was right. But he hadn’t. He couldn’t. His duty to the Order, to the structure that had defined his entire life, kept him tethered to his role, even as doubt gnawed at him.

    “I suppose I should have expected no less from you, Champion,” Meredith said icily, her tone cutting through his thoughts. She turned toward Hawke, her expression hard and unyielding. “So be it. You will share the Circle’s fate.”

    Cullen’s chest tightened. His gaze flicked to the Champion, then back to Meredith. Was this truly what justice looked like? The question churned in his gut, but he remained silent. What else could he do? What choice did he have?

    And then they arrived.

    The White Wolf and the Silver Rangers swept into the courtyard, their presence undeniable as they moved swiftly to stand behind Hawke. Cullen’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes fell on the hooded figure at their head. The White Wolf. He had read countless reports about their exploits, their interference, their defiance of the Templars, their aid of the mages just now—and now they were here, standing against Meredith.

    Meredith turned toward the newcomers, her expression darkening. Cullen could see the tension in her frame, the irritation in her clenched jaw. “So,” she said, her tone venomous, “this is the infamous White Wolf. How fitting you would align yourself with these traitors.”

    “It’s about time, Wolf,” Hawke said, glancing over her shoulder at the figure. “I was beginning to worry a Templar might have taken you down.”

    The White Wolf gave a small shrug, their body language casual but purposeful. Cullen couldn’t take his eyes off them, a strange unease creeping into his chest. There was something about the way they moved, the way they stood.

    Riley stepped forward, her stance bold as she addressed Meredith directly. “Are we late, or do we still need to kick this bitch into the Waking Sea?” she said, her voice dripping with defiance.

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her hand twitching near her sword. “You will regret those words,” she said, her tone cold enough to chill the air.

    Cullen’s eyes flicked to Riley, recognition sparking. If Riley was here, who was protecting Ariana? He had never pressed Ariana much on the Rangers, hoping that they would be the ones to protect her when he couldn’t, but if they were here, who was watching over her?

    Orsino’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. “So, you stand with the mages? With the Champion?” His words were laden with a mixture of hope and skepticism.

    The Rangers’ nods were unhesitating, their resolve clear.

    “No matter,” Meredith said sharply, her lips thinning as she turned back to Orsino. “Go. Prepare your people. The rest of the Order is already crossing the harbor.”

    “This isn’t over,” Orsino said, his voice steady but weary. He turned toward the Tower, signaling the mages to follow. Hawke, the White Wolf, and the Rangers began moving with them, the tension in the courtyard thick enough to cut with a blade.

    Riley lingered, her sharp eyes scanning the Templars before her. She locked eyes with Cullen as he took a hesitant step forward. “Riley,” he called, his voice tight with urgency. Questions churned in his mind, but only one escaped his lips. “Have you heard from Ariana? Is she safe?”

    Riley tilted her head, an amused smirk tugging at her lips. “She’s fine,” she said pointedly, her words a deliberate jab. “Though I imagine she’ll be heartbroken to see you siding with Meredith…”

    The words hit Cullen like a physical blow. His breath caught in his chest, his mind replaying Ariana’s voice. You cannot let this happen. He had failed her.

    “Wait,” he said, his voice sharper than he intended.

    The White Wolf, just ahead, paused slightly, their masked face hidden beneath the hood. Their body tensed, but they didn’t turn fully toward him.

    Cullen’s gaze snapped back to Riley, his voice dropping to a low, insistent tone. “Who is the White Wolf?” he demanded. “You’re with them, aren’t you? The Silver Rangers?”

    Riley shrugged, her expression unreadable. “Wolf doesn’t owe you any answers,” she said simply, her tone deliberately vague. “But you probably owe them some.” Without another word, she turned and followed the others into the shadows.

    Cullen stood frozen, his mind racing. His eyes shifted back to the hooded figure disappearing with the group. The way they moved, the way Riley had spoken—it was a cruel puzzle just out of reach.

    Stand with me, please

    A suspicion formed, sharp and undeniable. A suspicion he wasn’t ready to confront, because if it were true, it would change everything he thought he knew. If the White Wolf was who he now believed them to be, then the foundation of his world wasn’t just cracked—it was shattering.

    ~~~

    Once inside the Circle courtyard, Ariana pulled down her mask and hood, allowing the cool night air to brush against her face. Her heart was racing, but her expression remained steady. She turned to Hawke and Orsino, her gaze sharp but calm, masking the storm raging within her.

    “So,” she said, her voice cutting through the tense silence. “Does anyone have any bright ideas here, or is this just… a ‘fight to the death’ kind of thing?”

    “There are worse plans,” Varric chimed in, his grin wry but forced, his usual levity tinged with unease.

    “No, there really aren’t,” Riley shot back, giving him a look that clearly said,

    Orsino straightened, his tone resolute but hurried. “You give your people orders, and I’ll arrange mine. We need to move quickly.”

    “That’s also an unsurprisingly bad plan,” Ariana interjected, her tone dry but controlled, cutting through the escalating panic. “If we’re not coordinated, this ends in disaster.” Her voice softened slightly as she added, “Let me help.”

    Orsino frowned but nodded reluctantly. His desperation was clear, and Ariana seized the moment.

    “Hawke,” she said, her voice firm as she turned to her. “We need Aveline, Isabela, and Fenris in the lower courtyard. Their combat skills will hold the Templars where the mages are most vulnerable. All mages should be stationed along the walkways above, taking shots from a distance. The Rangers will fill gaps where needed and bear the brunt of the initial assault. We’ll focus on incapacitation, giving you time to deal with Meredith directly.”

    Hawke raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve got my vote,” she said, her tone attempting to inject some levity into the moment.

    “Very well,” Orsino said, though his tone carried begrudging acceptance. “I’ll inform the mages.”

    Ariana nodded, already stepping back into motion. She paused as Varric called out to her, his voice steady but tinged with concern. “Hey, pup. Be careful out there.”

    She glanced at him, her expression softening briefly before the mask slid back into place. “Always,” she replied, her voice quieter than usual. With a sharp motion, she pulled her hood up and her mask into place, signaling the Rangers to follow her.

    The group moved swiftly to the far gate, the tension thick enough to choke the air around them. Ariana led them into position at a narrow passage, a natural bottleneck where they could force the Templars to engage in smaller numbers. The sound of boots echoed faintly in the distance, growing louder with each passing moment.

    As the Rangers crouched into position, Ariana scanned the area, her mind racing through every possibility. She clenched and unclenched her hands, the leather of her gloves creaking softly as her fingers flexed. Beneath the glove on her left hand, the ring Cullen had given her pressed against her skin. The thought of him sent a sharp pang through her chest, a mixture of heartbreak, anger, and longing.

    She couldn’t stop replaying the look in his eyes when he had stood beside Meredith, silent and immovable. You can take command. You can stop this before it’s too late. Her own voice echoed in her mind, a desperate plea that had gone unanswered. Had he even tried? Had he ever really considered it? Or had he chosen Meredith—and the Order—over her all along?

    “Wolf,” Riley’s voice broke through her thoughts, quiet but insistent. She was standing close, her concern evident. “Are you alright?”

    Ariana turned her head to meet Riley’s gaze. For a brief moment, the cracks in her façade were visible, her eyes betraying the weight pressing down on her. She looked away, her hand instinctively rubbing the spot where her ring rested beneath the glove. The cool metal was a constant reminder of what she stood to lose, of what she might have already lost.

    “I’m fine,” she replied curtly, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. The mask was back in place, her tone leaving no room for further questions.

    Riley studied her for a moment but didn’t press. “Alright,” she said, gripping her weapon tighter. “Let’s make sure this doesn’t turn into a death march.”

    Ariana nodded faintly, her focus shifting forward as the sound of approaching Templars grew louder. She raised a hand, signaling the Rangers to hold their positions. The first glint of armor appeared at the edge of the passage, and her breath caught in her throat. The battle was imminent.

    As she drew her blades, a fierce determination settled over her. She couldn’t afford hesitation or doubt. Not now. There were lives to save, and the legend of the White Wolf wouldn’t falter—not tonight. Her blades felt heavier than usual, as though the weight of her choices had seeped into the steel. Each step brought her closer to a confrontation she wished she could avoid, but Cullen’s face lingered in her thoughts like a shadow. She could almost hear his voice, calm and resolute, delivering orders from behind Meredith’s veil of authority. Her hand brushed the ring again, and she swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay present.

    The air in the passage was thick with anticipation, the distant shouts of Templars cutting through the night. Each step they took echoed like a countdown, each moment tightening the knot in Ariana’s chest. The time for doubt had passed. Now, there was only action.

    The sounds of the advancing Templars grew louder, their formation coming into view as they prepared to breach the passage. Ariana’s grip tightened on her weapons, and for a fleeting moment, her thoughts returned to Cullen.

    You could have stopped this. You could have stood with me.

    The ache in her chest turned to steel. She pushed the thought away, focusing on the task ahead. There was no time for heartbreak, no room for anger. She would deal with those later—if there was a later.

    “Hold steady,” she said, her voice like flint striking steel. The Rangers shifted into position, their eyes fixed ahead, waiting for her signal. The clink of Templar armor grew louder, and Ariana tightened her grip on her daggers. There would be no retreat. No surrender.

    The battle for Kirkwall was about to begin in earnest, and Ariana had no choice but to meet it head-on.

    ~~~

    It wasn’t long before the battle began in full force. Templars charged into the courtyard with relentless precision, their battle cries mingling with the shouts of the Rangers as they clashed. Ariana moved like a shadow among them, her dual-bladed daggers glinting as she struck with precision. The Rangers worked tirelessly to disable as many Templars as possible, knocking them unconscious or disarming them whenever they could.

    Ariana was locked in combat with two Templars, her movements fluid yet calculated. She ducked and spun, her daggers deflecting their strikes with deadly efficiency. But then she felt it—another sword coming from behind her. She twisted, dodging out of the way just in time, and turned to face her new attacker.

    Don’t think, Ariana. Act.

    Her heart plummeted as recognition hit her like a physical blow. Cullen. She hadn’t wanted this. She had hoped to avoid this exact confrontation. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Maker, not like this. She’d pictured so many outcomes, so many ways the night could spiral, but none had included crossing blades with him. But now, as he raised his sword and met her gaze beneath the shadow of her hood, resignation settled over her. There was no escaping this.

    “You saved me once,” Cullen said, his voice cutting through the noise. “From the Qunari. Why are you here now, White Wolf? Why fight against us?”

    Ariana’s fingers tightened around her daggers, but she couldn’t bring herself to respond. Her silence hung heavy between them, her hood shielding her expression.

    “Will you kill me now?” Cullen asked, his tone quieter, almost pleading.

    She shook her head—a small, deliberate motion. No.

    Cullen exhaled sharply, lowering his sword slightly. “Then I’ll do my best not to kill you,” he said, his voice heavy with something deeper—resignation, perhaps. “But I won’t let you destroy this city.”

    Without waiting for a response, he attacked. Ariana deflected the blow, their weapons clashing in a flurry of sparks. The fight began in earnest, and it was brutal. Steel met steel with a screeching clash. Cullen’s strikes were measured, relentless, while Ariana danced around him, her daggers a blur of motion. Sparks flew as their blades connected, the sound sharp and unforgiving over the roar of battle.

    First rule: speed over strength. You’re not going to overpower anyone. You’re fast. Use that.

    Ariana moved with precision, relying on her speed to counter Cullen’s strength. She knew his fighting style well, his strikes powerful and deliberate, but she had an edge—her agility, her ability to read his movements. Yet even as she fought, her heart ached. Every clash of their blades felt like a betrayal, widening the space between them.

    “Why won’t you speak?” Cullen demanded, his frustration bleeding into his voice as their blades locked.

    Their movements were swift and dynamic, a flurry of strikes and counters that seemed almost choreographed. Cullen’s blade met Ariana’s daggers with sharp precision, it was a familiar rhythm. They’d done this exact dance many mornings before. Ariana could predict his moves almost better than she could predict her own.

    Ariana darted to the side, using her agility to her advantage. She avoided his heavier blows, striking when she could to keep him on his heels, though always aiming for his armor—not to harm him. Cullen, for his part, was unyielding, his years of training and leadership evident in every move. But there was hesitation in his strikes, as though he couldn’t fully commit to the fight.

    The battle was interrupted by the arrival of two more Templars, rushing up behind Ariana. She sensed them just in time, twisting her body to avoid their blades. In the maneuver, she managed to sweep one Templar’s legs out from under him and knock the other’s sword away. But the effort left her open.

    Cullen seized the moment, his sword striking with precision. It wasn’t a killing blow—he aimed carefully—but it was enough. The blade slashed across her side, and she stumbled, her breathing sharp as pain radiated from the wound. Blood seeped through her cloak as she staggered back, clutching her side.

    “What’s the point of speed if you can’t predict your enemy’s next move?”

    Ariana gritted her teeth, steadying herself. She couldn’t stop now. The mages still needed her. She gripped her dagger tighter, forcing herself to stand tall despite the fire in her side. The world spun for a moment, and Cullen’s voice seemed distant. But she wouldn’t fall. Not here, not yet. Too many lives depended on her. But as Cullen stepped forward, sword still raised, her vision blurred slightly, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if she could continue.

    ~~~

    The fight was relentless. Cullen couldn’t shake the familiarity of her rhythm and precision, though now every move she made screamed of the truth he didn’t want to accept. She dodged and deflected, using her speed to stay ahead of his strikes. She seemed to know his strengths well and exploited them, staying one step ahead. But he could see fatigue was setting in. Blood seeped from the wound on her side—a shallow but telling blow across her torso, and now it was slowing her down.

    “You’re injured, stand down,” Cullen asked. He genuinely had no interest in killing the White Wolf. He owed them a debt.

    The White Wolf rushed Cullen but her injury slowed her just enough. Cullen deflected her strike with precision, his sword glancing off her wounded side. The force of the blow drove her down to one knee, her hand instinctively clutching her side as she gasped for breath.

    Cullen stepped forward, his blade raised for another strike. But before he could bring it down, Riley appeared, her massive two-handed sword colliding with his in a deafening clash. Sparks flew as Riley pushed him back, her strength forcing him to break his stance.

    “Stay on your feet, Wolf!” Riley barked, sparing only a quick glance at Ariana before turning back to the chaos, rejoining the fray to cover the mages.

    Cullen staggered, his grip on his sword tightening as he met Riley’s fierce gaze.“It was in that moment that all the puzzle pieces came together. The way she moved, the way she fought, the hesitation in her strikes, Riley’s words—‘This one dragged me all over Ferelden and Orlais looking for ‘someone.’ It all fell into place with a clarity that left him breathless.

    Cullen staggered back, the world tilting around him. It wasn’t just her face he recognized—it was the truth of every unanswered question, every doubt he had pushed aside. The weight of it hit like a hammer, shattering the fragile framework of his loyalty and love.

    ‘Ariana…’ he whispered, his voice barely audible, the name leaving his lips like a plea.”

    The White Wolf froze, her hand briefly twitching toward her hood before pulling it back. Time seemed to stop as she revealed her face, her gaze locking with his. With a single practiced motion, she unhooked the clasp at her shoulder, letting the cloak fall to the ground in a heap. With deliberate care, she pulled her mask down from her face, revealing herself fully.

    Time seemed to stop as the hood fell back, and the mask slid from her face. The world around them blurred into insignificance, the shouts of battle fading into the distance. Her face—so achingly familiar—was etched with pain, determination, and something deeper. His breath caught, his grip on his sword faltering. How had he not seen it? The truth had been in front of him all along, but he had refused to look.”

    “No,” Cullen breathed, the truth slamming into him like a physical blow. “Maker… no.”

    His chest tightened. Confusion, anger, and betrayal warred within him, all threatening to boil over. “Why? Why this?” His voice cracked with emotion, but he raised his sword again, his duty warring with his disbelief. “Why are you here? Why are you—”

    “Because someone has to be,” she interrupted sharply, her voice cutting through his. “Someone has to do what you won’t.” She stood, sheathing her daggers. Then she raised her empty hands, daring Cullen to come at her again.

    Without her weapons, her movements became even more fluid, untethered by the hesitation she showed before. She darted around him, leveraging the walls and railings of the narrow space to stay one step ahead. Twice, she managed to sweep his feet out from under him, sending him sprawling to the ground. The second time, his shield fell from his grasp, and she kicked it away into the chaos, her breath ragged but determined.

    Cullen rose to his feet, his face a mix of anger and disbelief. Before he could attack again, her voice rang out, cutting through the noise of battle. “Do you agree with this, Cullen?” she demanded, her tone sharp and unrelenting. “Do you believe every mage in this tower deserves to die?”

    He froze, her words halting him for a moment. His grip on his sword tightened as he met her gaze. “You think I want this?” he shot back, his voice brimming with frustration. “You think I wanted any of this?”

    “You could have stopped this!” she shouted, her movements growing more aggressive as her anger overtook her exhaustion. “You could have stopped her! Instead, you chose Meredith. You chose this war over me.”

    Her voice cracked, but she pressed forward, her words cutting deeper. “I’ve seen you question her orders before. I’ve seen you hesitate, even when it cost you. So why now? Why is this the one time you can’t see past her lies?”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, his frustration spilling over as he countered, “You think I wanted this?” His voice rose, trembling with emotion. “Do you have any idea what it’s like? To believe you knew someone, only to find out they’ve chosen to stand against you?”

    Ariana’s eyes blazed with defiance. “The Divine chose me for this path—not Meredith, not me. I didn’t ask for this war. I didn’t want it.”

    “The Divine?” her words stopping him for a moment. If the Divine stood with her, then who was he fighting for? He shook the thought from his mind he couldn’t let himself believe that. “So that’s the real reason you met with the Divine?,” Cullen snapped, his voice thick with pain and betrayal. “So you chose that path over us? And now we’re here. Fighting each other, because you couldn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

    Her steps slowed as his words cut through her. She stopped, her hands still raised in a defensive stance, her chest heaving from exertion. “I did trust you,” she said, her voice breaking slightly, though her resolve remained intact. “I trusted you to do the right thing. I begged you to take control, Cullen.”

    “It wasn’t that simple” he countered, stepping toward her, his anger barely contained.

    “Does telling yourself that make it easier?” Ariana shot back. Her jaw tightened, and she took a step back, her fingers twitching as though readying for another fight. “You think I wanted this, Cullen? That I wanted to lie to you? To live in the shadows while the man I loved stood on the opposite side of this war? I didn’t have a choice.”

    “You did,” Cullen shouted, his composure finally cracking. “You could have told me! Maker, Ariana, I would have fought for you. With you. But you didn’t even give me the chance.”

    Cullen’s voice cracked, raw and heavy with emotion. The betrayal clawed at him, but beneath the anger was a grief he couldn’t contain. He had imagined standing beside her, fighting for the same cause, but now they were on opposing sides, and the weight of her silence felt like a wound he couldn’t heal.


    Her breath hitched, and for a moment she seemed to consider his words, her gaze locked with his. “I begged you to stand with me. Would knowing who I was have changed your mind?” she asked quietly, the anger in her tone replaced by heartbreak. “Would you have stood with me against Meredith? Against the Order? If you had known it was the White Wolf asking, would that have changed this?”

    Stand with me, please. Her words cut deep, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer. The truth was written in his hesitation, in the way his sword fell limply at his side. “You lied to me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve been lying to me for years.”

    Ariana’s shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of their argument, their betrayal, hanging between them. Her voice was softer now but no less resolute. “I never wanted this, Cullen. But I couldn’t stand by and watch innocent people suffer. How could you?”

    “Dammit it all. Do you know I never investigated the transports or the escaped mages that thoroughly. Because you were right.” Cullen sighed “Someone was saving the people I couldn’t.”

    “And yet, none of it mattered.” Ariana’s voice was tinged with pain and resignation “Meredith invoked the Right of Annulment. And you stood by her. Enforced it. Do you really believe this is right?”

    For a moment, he faltered, the conflict in his eyes unmistakable. But his duty-bound resolve pushed him forward. “It doesn’t matter what I believe,” he said, his tone flat, devoid of emotion. “The order demands the Right be carried out once it’s invoked, and she has the authority to do so.”

    Ariana’s laugh was bitter and hollow, the sound slicing through the chaos around them. “And you call me a liar,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “Do you remember what I told you? Belief without question is dangerous. You are no better than her, Cullen.”

    Their fight wasn’t over, but for now, they could only stare at each other—two people on opposite sides of a war they never wanted to fight.

    Cullen swung his sword again, his movements sharp and unrelenting, but she slipped past him with practiced ease. Her foot caught the back of his leg, forcing him to his knees. She didn’t press the advantage, stepping back instead to give herself space to breathe, her chest heaving from exertion. Her hand pressing her side trying to stem bleeding.

    “Are you really going to kill me, Cullen?” she asked, her voice soft but with an edge he couldn’t ignore. “For her? To simply carry out her orders?”

    In truth, Cullen wasn’t sure why he had pressed the attack. He was angry but he couldn’t kill her. The wound he inflicted earlier was taking its toll. He could see it in her eyes that she was struggling to focus and yet, she kept fighting. In that moment, despite everything, the betrayal, the lies, the secrets… Not only could he not kill her, he needed to save her. He needed her to stop fighting if only long enough to treat her wound. “Ari, please stop this. You’re hurt. You’re bleeding, let me look at it.”

    Ariana was clearly spent, her body trembling from the effort of holding herself together. She dropped to one knee, her hand pressed firmly to her side, staunching the blood that seeped through her fingers. Her other hand rested on her knee, bracing her, keeping her from collapsing entirely. “I guess this is your chance, then,” she said, her tone resigned. “You can be the one to bring down the White Wolf…”

    Cullen crossed the distance between them, kneeling beside her. His hands moved instinctively to put pressure on her injury, and she winced at the added force. The sight of her blood seeping through his fingers was like a punch to the gut. He had done this. He had inflicted this wound. His mind churned with a storm of emotions—guilt, anger, confusion—all swirling around the unshakable truth that he had failed her in every way that mattered.

    She trusts me now? After everything? After I stood by Meredith, after I struck this blow myself? How can she still trust me? The weight of her trust was unbearable, suffocating. She had begged him to stand with her, to do the right thing, and he had failed. Yet here she was, letting him piece her back together.

    “Why couldn’t you trust me enough to tell me?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion. His words came out harsher than intended, but the ache in his chest demanded answers. Why didn’t you let me fight for you?

    Ariana’s gaze softened, her tears glistening in the dim light. She blinked rapidly, as though trying to hold them at bay, but one slipped free, tracing a path down her cheek. “It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the pain. “It was that I loved you too much to force the choices I had made on you, knowing they would go against everything you believed in. But I’m asking you now, again, do the right thing. Protect those who can’t protect themselves. We saved as many as we could.”

    Her words were a blade, cutting deep into the fragile remains of his composure. He removed his hand briefly from her wound, untying the sash around her waist with practiced ease. His hands trembled slightly as he tightened the makeshift bandage around her. “You need a healer, Ari,” he said, his voice softer now, the name slipping out like a quiet prayer.

    Ariana chuckled bitterly, though it was laced with pain. “And where would you suggest I find one right now?” Her tone was dry, almost sardonic, and it stung in its truth. Cullen had no answer—how could he, he had just stood by Meredith.

    Before he could respond, Michael appeared seemingly out of nowhere, crouching next to Ariana. “Get up, Ari,” he said, his voice firm but gentle as he slipped an arm around her to help her to her feet. “We’re done here. The courtyard is almost clear.”

    Cullen’s breath caught. The realization hit him like a hammer blow. Michael… His mind raced as he watched them. He knew. Did he always know?. Every moment, every interaction, every quiet deflection suddenly made sense. Michael had been lying to him for years—hiding Ariana, hiding the truth. The betrayal was staggering, but it paled in comparison to the ache in his chest as he saw how naturally Michael steadied her. Michael had earned her trust despite their history. How blind had he been?

    Ariana’s tears finally spilled over as Michael grabbed her arm to lead her away. She hesitated, breaking free of his grasp. Cullen stood frozen, his thoughts a cacophony of anger, guilt, and heartbreak. Then, without warning, she turned back to him, closed the distance, and wrapped her arms around him. Her lips met his in a kiss that was soft but desperate, her tears mingling with his skin.

    Cullen froze, his breath stolen, but soon he responded in kind. His arms encircled her waist, holding her as though it might anchor them both against the chaos of the world crashing down around them.

    When she pulled away, her eyes met his, raw with pain and longing. “Goodbye, Cullen,” she whispered, her voice breaking, barely audible over the din of the battlefield.

    Before he could speak, before he could stop her, she turned and walked away, Michael by her side. Their figures disappeared into the smoke and shadows, swallowed by the chaos.

    Cullen stood there, his sword lying forgotten on the ground. His heart pounded in his chest, her final words echoing in his mind, relentless and unyielding. He couldn’t stop replaying the look in her eyes, the trust that lingered there even now. She still loved him. Despite everything, she still cared. That thought was a balm and a torment all at once, igniting a fresh wave of guilt and sorrow.

    For the first time in years, Cullen wasn’t sure if he had done the right thing—or if he had just lost everything that truly mattered.

  • Chapter 49 – The End of a Life

    12 Cloudreach 9:37

    Ariana’s parents had returned to Ostwick a few weeks earlier, but not before Elara made a promise to return by summer. She had suggested a trip to Orlais to find Ariana’s wedding dress or a seamstress capable of crafting the perfect one. To her surprise, Ariana felt a small thrill of excitement at the idea, something she hadn’t expected given how complicated her relationship with her mother had always been.

    Yet, tonight her mind was far from dresses and wedding plans. She found herself caught up in a rather peculiar proposition.

    “So, what do you say, pup?” Varric asked, his grin as mischievous as ever. “You’re not afraid of ghosts, are you?”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Ghosts, Varric? Really? I expected better from you.”

    “It’s not just a ghost story,” he replied, chuckling. “It’s Bartrand’s old estate. You know, the one not too far from your place.”

    “You’re telling me I live down the street from a haunted house?” Ariana asked, her tone teetering between disbelief and amusement.

    “Apparently, we both do,” Hawke chimed in, smirking.

    Ariana’s lips twitched into a grin. “Fine. I’ll go with you. If for no other reason than to prove this isn’t some elaborate prank.”

    “That’s the spirit, pup,” Varric quipped, already leading the way. “Let’s see what’s rattling around Bartrand’s old house.”

    As they approached the estate, the air seemed heavier, oppressive. Shadows danced unnaturally across the exterior, and the silence of the surrounding area was deafening. The grand halls, once lavish and filled with life, were now cold and lifeless. Dust clung to every surface, and the faint scent of decay lingered in the air. A soft creak of wood accompanied their first steps inside, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the dense silence.

    “Do you hear that music?” Varric asked suddenly, his expression shifting as his head tilted slightly, as though straining to listen.

    Ariana frowned, glancing at him. “I don’t hear anything. What kind of music?”

    “It’s faint… like a melody. Old, haunting.” Varric’s voice seemed to soften, lost to whatever he was hearing.

    Hawke raised an eyebrow, her smirk fading slightly. “You sure you’re not just spooked, Varric? This place might be dredging up old memories.”

    “Spooked? Please. I’ve faced worse,” Varric retorted, though his voice lacked its usual bravado.

    Ariana couldn’t shake the unease settling in her bones. She didn’t believe in haunted houses—at least, she didn’t think she did. But there was something about this place, an energy that felt alive, sentient, and far from welcoming.

    They pressed on, the oppressive silence broken only by their cautious footsteps. Shadows seemed to shift and twist in the corners of her vision, and more than once, Ariana caught herself glancing over her shoulder. A faint whisper of wind brushed past her ear, though no windows were open, sending a chill down her spine.

    The unease turned to alarm as a vase suddenly floated off a nearby table, hovering in the air before shattering on the ground. Ariana exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Hawke.

    “That’s… unsettling,” Ariana muttered, her voice tinged with forced calm.

    “It’s only starting,” Varric said grimly, his hand instinctively resting on Bianca’s stock.

    In the library, the surreal nature of the estate deepened. Books floated from their shelves, pages fluttering like wings before returning to their places as if nothing had happened. Ariana reached out to touch one, only for it to snap back to the shelf just before her fingers made contact.

    “Well, that’s not normal,” Hawke remarked, her tone dry but her posture tense.

    “Not normal doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Ariana muttered, her unease growing with every passing moment.

    As they moved into the hallway beyond the library, two ghostly figures darted across their path, their forms humanoid but indistinct. The air grew colder, and Ariana felt a shiver run down her spine.

    “Were those… ghosts?” she asked, her voice faltering.

    “Oh no,” Varric said, his tone grim. “I think I know what’s happening.”

    “What’s happening?” Ariana pressed, her eyes narrowing.

    “The idol,” Varric replied. “It has to still be in the house.”

    “What idol?” Ariana asked, looking between Hawke and Varric.

    Hawke sighed, her expression darkening. “The red lyrium idol from the Deep Roads expedition. Bartrand kept a piece of it. We thought it was gone, but…”

    “But clearly it’s not,” Varric finished, his voice bitter.

    “And you think it’s causing all this?” Ariana asked.

    “It’s not a coincidence,” Varric said grimly. “That thing is pure poison.”

    “Then we find it,” Hawke declared, her tone resolute. “And we end this.”

    The main hall was worse than before. More vases floated ominously, their movements deliberate, as though guided by unseen hands. The air felt suffocating, heavy with something unseen and malevolent. Ariana’s breath quickened as the tension grew, her hand tightening instinctively on the hilt of her blade.

    As they neared the stairs, a low, guttural growl reverberated through the air, deep and menacing, sending chills down Ariana’s spine.

    “Is that what you’ve been hearing, Varric?” Ariana asked, her voice sharp with nerves.

    “No,” Varric replied, his tone unusually clipped, his brow furrowed in unease.

    “Oh, good then,” she muttered dryly, though her attempt at humor fell flat in the oppressive atmosphere.

    At the top of the stairs, the scene grew stranger. The dimly lit room ahead was filled with an eerie, pale glow, casting long shadows that flickered unnaturally. A woman stood in the center of the room, her wide eyes darting toward them as they entered. Fear was etched deeply into her face.

    “Are you… real?” she asked, her voice trembling as she took a hesitant step back. “You need to leave. Before he comes back.”

    “Who’s ‘he’?” Ariana asked cautiously, stepping closer but keeping her blade ready.

    The woman’s gaze darted toward the shadows, as if expecting something to materialize at any moment. “You don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “He’s always here. Watching. Waiting.”

    Varric stepped forward, his usually relaxed demeanor gone. His hand rested on Bianca, and his eyes bore into the woman with a mix of suspicion and urgency. “Where’s the idol?” he demanded, his voice sharp, almost harsh.

    The woman flinched, her hands trembling as she shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered. “There’s no idol—”

    “Don’t lie to me!” Varric’s voice rose, echoing off the walls. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The red lyrium idol. Where is it?”

    The woman’s fear deepened, her eyes darting to the door as though contemplating escape. “Please,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “I don’t know anything about—”

    “You’re lying,” Varric snapped, stepping closer. His grip on Bianca tightened, and his usual charm was nowhere to be found. “People don’t just stay in a place like this for no reason. What are you hiding?”

    “Varric,” Ariana interrupted, her voice firm as she moved between him and the woman. “That’s enough. She’s terrified.”

    “She knows something, pup,” Varric retorted, his voice sharp. “And I need answers.”

    “Not like this,” Ariana said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

    Varric opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the floor beneath them trembled violently. The walls groaned, and a rush of cold air swept through the room, extinguishing the faint light. The woman let out a panicked cry and bolted past them, disappearing into the shadows of the hall.

    Moments later, the sound of her scream tore through the air, sharp and gut-wrenching.

    Ariana’s heart raced as they rushed to the source of the scream, descending the stairs with weapons drawn. At the bottom, they found her lifeless body sprawled across the floor, her limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Standing over her was a massive, spectral figure—a jagged, hulking form with glowing eyes that burned with malice.

    “Is that a… ghost golem?” Ariana asked, her voice disbelieving and tinged with dread. She drew her blades, her grip tightening. “I think I’ve made a terrible life choice today.”

    The creature let out a deafening roar, the sound reverberating through the halls. It charged, its massive arm swinging toward them with crushing force. Ariana darted to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow as it shattered the stone banister. Hawke leapt into action, her movements swift and precise as she landed a well-placed strike with her daggers, drawing the creature’s attention.

    “Aim for the core!” Hawke shouted, pointing to the faintly glowing center of the golem’s chest. “It’s holding the thing together!”

    Ariana moved quickly, circling around the creature while Varric fired a flurry of bolts from Bianca, each shot glowing faintly as it struck the spectral figure. The golem roared again, its form flickering as Ariana slashed at its core. The blow seemed to destabilize it, and with one final coordinated effort, she drove her blade deep into the center as Hawke struck from behind, and Varric’s bolt pierced the core. The golem let out a final, guttural scream before disintegrating into a haze of spectral light.

    As the dust settled, Varric’s gaze was drawn to a faint glimmer in the debris. His expression darkened as he knelt, his hand hovering over a jagged shard of glowing red lyrium.

    “It’s still here,” he murmured, almost to himself. “All this… because of this cursed thing.”

    “Varric,” Hawke said sharply, her voice cutting through the tension. “Put it down.”

    “I can’t,” Varric replied, his voice strained. “You don’t understand. This… it’s what’s left of Bartrand, of everything he destroyed.” His grip on the shard tightened, his knuckles white.

    “Varric,” Ariana said gently, stepping closer. “You don’t need to carry this. Let it go. This thing ruined Bartrand and almost ruined you. Don’t let it finish the job.”

    “It’s not that simple,” Varric said, his voice breaking. “It’s all that’s left of him.”

    Hawke placed a hand on his shoulder, her tone softening. “And it’s not your burden to bear. Let me take it. I’ll keep it safe. You’ve done enough, Varric. It’s time to let it go.”

    For a long moment, Varric didn’t move. Then, with a heavy sigh, he handed the shard to Hawke, his shoulders slumping as though a great weight had been lifted.

    “Fine,” he said quietly. “But if it starts whispering sweet nothings to you, Hawke, I’m taking it back.”

    Ariana let out a small laugh, the tension finally easing. “You did the right thing, Varric,” she said, giving him a reassuring nod.

    “Let’s get out of here before this place decides to collapse on us,” Hawke said, tucking the shard safely away.

    As they stepped out into the cool night air, the oppressive energy of the house seemed to release its hold. But the memory of what had transpired—and the dangers of the idol—lingered with them as they walked back into the quiet streets of Hightown.

    ~~~

    The oppressive weight of the night clung to Ariana as she stepped into her house, the door creaking closed behind her. The events at Bartrand’s estate had left a shadow over her thoughts, but that shadow deepened as she saw Cullen standing in the hall, the dim light catching on his polished armor. His expression was etched with worry, the kind that sent a pang through her chest.

    “Where have you been?” His voice was sharp, laced with tension, his hazel eyes scanning her as though confirming she was unharmed.

    Ariana blinked, her guard immediately rising. “Just down the street at a haunted house,” she replied, her sarcasm biting. “You know, because that’s normal.”

    Cullen stepped closer, his brows knitting together. “This isn’t the time for jokes, Ariana. It’s not safe out there.” His voice dropped, heavy with urgency. “You need to stay inside tonight. Please.”

    She frowned, the edge in his tone unsettling. “What’s going on? Wait, why are you fully armed?”

    He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor before meeting hers again. “Something’s brewing between Orsino and Meredith. The tension’s been building for weeks, but tonight… something feels different. Wrong.”

    Her stomach tightened, the foreboding in his words settling like a weight in her chest. “Orsino sent for Hawke and Varric tonight,” she said slowly, her voice edged with worry. “They’re with him now.”

    Cullen’s face darkened, his jaw tightening. “This won’t end well then.”

    “What won’t end well?” she demanded, stepping closer. “Cullen, you’re not telling me anything.”

    He sighed heavily, the lines on his face deepening. “Meredith has ordered the tower searched, top to bottom. Every mage, every room—she won’t stop until she’s rooted out all blood mages.”

    Ariana’s breath caught, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “You know what that means,” she said, her voice trembling with anger. “She’ll accuse anyone who looks at her the wrong way. Innocent mages will die, Cullen. You cannot let this happen.”

    “And what do you expect me to do?” he snapped, his frustration finally surfacing. “Defy her? Risk throwing the entire Order into chaos? The Templars need leadership, Ariana, and right now—”

    “They need you!” she cut in, her voice rising. She grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. “You know she’s gone too far. You’re the Knight-Captain, Cullen. You can take command. You can stop this before it’s too late.”

    For a moment, he looked at her, his resolve wavering. The storm in his eyes reflected the weight of her words, the battle raging within him. “And then what?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with pain. “Meredith is the Knight-Commander. My duty is to her.”

    Ariana’s grip tightened, her voice trembling. “Your duty is to protect people, Cullen. To do what’s right. You know this isn’t right.”

    He stepped back, breaking her hold. His face was a mask of conflict, his voice hollow. “It’s not that simple, Ariana.”

    “It is to me,” she whispered, her heart aching as the distance between them grew. “Please, Cullen. Help me stop this. Help me save them.”

    “Ari…” His voice broke, and for a fleeting moment, she thought he might relent. But then he shook his head, his expression hardening. “I’m sorry.”

    She reached for him again, her hands trembling as they rested against his chest. “We’re supposed to be in this together,” she said, her voice cracking under the weight of her plea. “Stand with me, please. The Templars will follow you.”

    Cullen’s gaze dropped to her hands, his jaw tightening. For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something—hope, perhaps, or the faintest shadow of belief in her words. But then he shook his head again, stepping back just enough for her hands to fall away.

    “I’m not sure that’s true,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with conflict. “Even if I wanted to, relieving Meredith of command would fracture the Order here in Kirkwall. It could tear us apart.”

    “You’ve seen what she’s done,” Ariana argued, her desperation clear. “You know where this path leads, Cullen. If you don’t act now, it won’t just be the mages who suffer—it will be everyone.”

    His face was a storm of emotions—guilt, frustration, and a deep, aching sorrow. “And what happens when the Templars start questioning everything?” he asked, his tone sharp but not unkind. “When they see their leaders divided, when they lose faith in the Order entirely? That chaos would destroy us.”

    Ariana clenched her fists, her chest tightening with every word. “And standing by while Meredith tears this city apart won’t?”

    “I don’t have the power you think I do, Ariana,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t risk what little unity we have left.”

    Her heart ached at the resignation in his voice, at the weight he carried alone. “You’re stronger than you think, Cullen,” she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion. “But if you won’t stand with me now, then who will?”

    His silence was deafening, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored her own. Finally, he turned toward the door, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his decision.

    “I’m sorry,” he murmured, barely audible as he opened the door. “Stay safe, Ari. Please.”

    And with that, he was gone, leaving Ariana standing alone in the suffocating silence.

    The silence that followed was deafening, her outstretched hand trembling as she let it fall to her side. Her heart pounded, her mind racing. She wanted to scream, to break something, to tear down the walls she’d built between her identities. For the first time, she had been on the verge of telling Cullen everything—who she really was, what she truly stood for—but she couldn’t.

    She let out a shuddering breath, the weight of her choices pressing down on her. Time had run out. Meredith’s madness would force her hand, and when it did, the White Wolf would no longer be a shadow in the dark. She would have to face the consequences of her double life, and Maker help her, she wasn’t sure if Cullen would still stand beside her when the truth came to light.

    With a trembling resolve, Ariana turned toward the stairs, her mind already calculating her next move. If the storm was coming, she would be ready for it—even if it cost her everything.

    ~~~

    Isabel stood at the base of the stairs, her face pale, her eyes locked on Ariana with a mixture of disbelief and fear.

    “This… can’t be happening,” Isabel whispered, her voice trembling as if saying the words aloud might summon more devastation.

    Ariana’s chest tightened, but her expression hardened into one of resolve. “Get changed,” she ordered, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. “Travel clothes. Pack light, bring Emma, and anything you absolutely need. You’re leaving the city tonight.”

    Isabel’s lips parted as if to protest, but the unyielding determination in Ariana’s eyes silenced her. This wasn’t a request—it was a command. Ariana would not risk them staying, not with chaos ripping through Kirkwall like wildfire. Isabel gave a single, tight nod before hurrying away.

    Ariana’s legs carried her up the stairs, each step heavier than the last. She had been here before, packing for flight, leaving behind pieces of herself to protect what little she could. In her room, she knelt by the bed and pulled out the chest, the latch clicking open to reveal her past. Her hands brushed over the familiar fabric of the White Wolf’s cloak. Each movement felt heavier, the weight of her decision settling like stone in her chest. She had fought for years to keep her lives separate, but now, the fragile threads holding them together were snapping.

    She donned her gear with practiced efficiency—leather bracers, reinforced boots, twin daggers strapped to her thighs. The weight of the cloak on her shoulders felt like stepping back into an old self she had tried to leave behind. The White Wolf wasn’t just a mask; it was who she truly was, even if she had tried to build something different with Cullen. But could the two lives ever truly coexist?

    As her fingers hovered over her gloves, her gaze fell to the ring on her finger, its faint blue crystal catching the dim light. Her breath hitched. This ring was a symbol of everything she wanted—a life with Cullen, a family, love, and stability. But it was a life built on lies, on half-truths and secrets.

    Her hand trembled as she slid on her gloves, covering the ring. She felt as though she were sealing away a part of herself. The Wolf demanded action, demanded she protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. But the woman who loved Cullen, who dreamed of something beyond the shadows—she was still there, buried under layers of duty and necessity. She had told herself she would choose Cullen if it ever came to it. But she realized now that she had lied to herself. This was the moment, she could choose him here and now. All she needed to do was stay home. But she would never make that choice.

    The final strap clicked into place. Just as she straightened, the world seemed to heave beneath her feet. An earsplitting explosion tore through the air, the sound reverberating through her bones. She staggered, clutching the bedpost for balance as the house shook violently around her.

    When the tremors subsided, her ears rang with a high-pitched whine, but the sickening reality of what had just happened drove her forward. She bolted toward the balcony, her heart pounding.

    As she stepped outside, her breath caught in her throat. The Chantry was gone. In its place, a towering column of red light split the night sky, casting an eerie glow over Kirkwall. Flames roared hungrily, devouring the remnants of the holy building, while smoke billowed upward like a vengeful specter. The distant screams of terrified citizens reached her ears, a symphony of chaos that filled the city.

    Ariana’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the railing, her voice trembling as she whispered, “Andraste guide us…”

    This was it. The moment she had dreaded but somehow known would come. There was no more hiding, no more pretending. Whatever fragile peace she had tried to create was shattered, the life she had built with Cullen teetering on the edge of ruin.

    She turned sharply, her resolve hardening. There was no time to waste. She raced downstairs to find Isabel already in the main hall, clutching Emma tightly with a pack slung over her shoulder. The fear in Isabel’s eyes mirrored Ariana’s own, but her movements were steady, her grip on Emma firm.

    “We need to leave now,” Ariana said, her voice sharp and commanding. “The city won’t hold.” She turned to the household staff, her gaze sweeping over them. “If you want to leave, come with us. If you stay, barricade the doors. Fortify the house. It will hold if you’re careful.”

    Some nodded and began packing hastily, while others moved to fortify the estate, their faces grim but resolute.

    Ariana stepped closer to Isabel, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “You stay right behind me,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Close and to my left, always. Do you understand?”

    Isabel nodded, her grip tightening on Emma as the little girl buried her face in her mother’s neck. Despite the chaos, Isabel’s calm gave Ariana a sliver of reassurance.

    Ariana drew her blades as they stepped out into the fiery streets of Hightown. The world had become a battlefield—flames licked the sides of buildings, casting long, flickering shadows; shouts and cries echoed through the night, mingling with the distant clang of steel. Every sound, every movement, set Ariana’s nerves on edge.

    “We head to the Rangers,” she said, her voice unwavering as she addressed the small group that followed her. “Stay close. Stay together. Do not stray.”

    With each step, Ariana felt the weight of the White Wolf embrace her like an old friend. This was her life. The one she built through sacrifice, mistakes, and her own choices. The one where she could protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. She had just hoped that Cullen could have been a part of it.

    Whatever lay ahead, Ariana would face it as she always had—with blades in her hands and a fierce determination burning in her chest. The Wolf was ready, and this time, she wasn’t running.

    But deep down, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

    ~~~

    The group moved through Hightown as swiftly as the panicked crowds allowed. Though chaos reigned, the disarray was driven more by confusion than outright violence. Frightened citizens wandered aimlessly, shouting for loved ones or stumbling through the streets in a daze. Ariana stopped briefly to give the same advice to anyone who approached her: “Barricade yourselves in your homes. Stay safe. Don’t open the door for anyone.”

    As they descended into Lowtown, the air thickened with heat and smoke, and the tension became palpable. Here, chaos had taken a sharper edge. Shadows darted through the narrow alleys, and the clash of steel against steel echoed from the direction of the Docks. Angry shouts and cries for help pierced the night. Ariana tightened her grip on her daggers, her pulse quickening as her group pressed on.

    A familiar voice cut through the noise. “Wolf!”

    She turned sharply, relief flooding through her as Riley and three other Rangers—Valentina, Linnea, and Lamberto—approached, flanked by six more. Their armor bore fresh scuffs, their weapons drawn and ready. Riley’s familiar voice brought a rare moment of reassurance.

    “Riley,” Ariana said, her tone brisk but grateful. “You’re a sight. I need ships. Do we have any docked and ready?”

    Riley nodded but hesitated, her expression grim. “We do, Wolf, but there’s more.” She glanced at Valentina before meeting Ariana’s gaze. “Meredith has invoked the Right of Annulment.”

    The words hit Ariana like a blow to the chest, momentarily knocking the air from her lungs. Her mind reeled, the full weight of the declaration crashing over her. It was worse than she had feared. The Templars would purge the Circle, innocent and guilty alike, leaving nothing but blood and ash in their wake.

    “Your orders, Wolf,” Riley said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing around them.

    Ariana straightened, shoving her shock and despair aside. There was no time to waste. “Lamberto,” she said firmly, turning to the broad-shouldered Ranger. “Take a squad and escort this group to the docks. Get them on the ships. Defend the docks with your life if you have to. Reinforcements will join you as soon as possible.”

    “By your order, Wolf,” Lamberto replied, his tone steady and resolute. He motioned to his team, who began forming up with swift, practiced precision.

    Isabel stepped forward, clutching Emma tightly, her face pale but determined. “Ariana,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “You’re not coming with us?”

    Ariana’s throat tightened, but she shook her head. “Not yet,” she said, her voice softening as she pulled Isabel and Emma into a brief but fierce embrace. “I’ll find you. I swear it.” She knelt to meet Emma’s wide-eyed gaze, her heart clenching. “Stay with your mother, alright? She’ll keep you safe.”

    Emma nodded solemnly, her small hands gripping Ariana’s cloak. “You’ll come back, right?” she asked, her voice trembling.

    “Always,” Ariana said firmly, brushing a strand of hair from Emma’s face. “Be brave, my little cub.”

    She straightened and met Isabel’s gaze. “Go. Stay safe. Lamberto will protect you.”

    Isabel hesitated, her eyes filled with unspoken fears, but she nodded. “You too,” she whispered before following Lamberto and the others as they disappeared into the smoke-filled streets.

    Ariana turned back to Riley, Valentina, and Linnea, her voice hardening. “We’re heading to the warehouse. The Rangers need their orders, and I need to know who’s still standing.” Without waiting for a response, she raised her horn and blew a sharp, commanding blast. The call echoed through the streets, summoning the scattered Rangers.

    By the time they reached the warehouse, it was a hive of activity. Rangers moved with focused urgency, their sharp efficiency a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Scouts poured in, delivering reports, while others prepped supplies and coordinated escape routes. Despite the tension, the group operated like a well-oiled machine, their discipline forged through years of shared battles.

    Ariana climbed onto a crate at the center of the room, her voice cutting through the din as she addressed the assembled Rangers. “Templars are hunting mages,” she began, her tone steady but commanding. “And frightened mages will turn to blood magic if they think there’s no way out. We’re going to give them one. Our job is to find them and get them to the docks. No mage gets left behind.”

    Her gaze swept over the crowd, settling on Linnea. “Spread the word. Every scout we have is to search the streets, the slums, and Darktown. Make sure the mages know this is their chance. Escort them if necessary, and get them to the ships.”

    Linnea nodded sharply, already signaling to her scouts to prepare.

    Riley stepped forward, her brow furrowed. “And the Templars?” she asked, her voice carrying a weight that made the room fall silent.

    Ariana’s expression darkened, and her response was measured but firm. “Incapacitate them if you must. Reason with them if you think they’ll listen. But if it comes down to it…” She hesitated, the gravity of her next words heavy in her chest. “Kill only as a last resort. We don’t need more bloodshed, but we protect our own. And…” Her voice softened, her gaze dropping for a moment. “If any of you find Michael, I need to know he’s safe.”

    Linnea nodded, her hand resting on the pommel of her blade. “What’s our path, Wolf?”

    “Start in Lowtown and Darktown,” Ariana replied without hesitation. “We’ll clear the streets and move toward the Gallows. Scouts, run constant communication between groups—no one gets left in the dark.”

    Valentina’s voice rang out, sharp and resolute. “We’ll get it done, Wolf. Whatever it takes.”

    The Rangers echoed her, their unified response reverberating through the room: “By your order, Wolf.”

    The group began to disperse, each Ranger moving with purpose into the night. Only Riley lingered, her gaze steady as she studied Ariana.

    “And you?” Riley asked quietly, her concern evident.

    “I’ll find where I’m needed most,” Ariana said, adjusting her cloak with calm resolve. “But first, I need to find Hawke and Varric. Orsino sent for them earlier. I need to know what’s happening.”

    Riley hesitated, then nodded, her voice softening. “Don’t get dead, Wolf.”

    Ariana managed a faint smile. “Not tonight.”

    As Riley led her squad into the fray, Ariana stood for a moment, the weight of the night pressing down on her. She pulled her hood over her head, the White Wolf stepping fully into the chaos. Kirkwall was burning, and her path was clear: protect those who could not protect themselves, no matter the cost.

    Tonight, the city was a battlefield, and she would fight until her last breath.

    ~~~

    Ariana pulled her hood up, her fingers brushing over the mask as she secured it in place. The legend of the White Wolf wouldn’t falter tonight—not while there were lives to save. Yet each step through Kirkwall’s burning streets was a bitter reminder of what she stood to lose. Beneath her gloves, the ring on her finger burned like a brand, the weight of its promise a cruel contrast to the reality unfolding around her.

    This isn’t how I wanted this to end, Cullen. But it’s who I am. She tried to push the thought aside, but it clung to her, heavy and unrelenting.

    Her heart clenched as her mind turned to him again, that fragile hope still flickering within her. Please let him see what she’s doing. Please let him stand with me. But doubt whispered insidiously. Cullen was bound by duty and oaths she couldn’t untangle him from—not even for her.

    The streets were chaos incarnate, filled with fire and desperation. Mages ran in terror, their cries blending with the clash of steel as Templars bore down on them. Ariana moved like a shadow, striking swiftly and precisely. She disarmed and incapacitated where she could, her blades flashing in the firelight. But when cornered, she had no choice but to end a life, and each time she did, it carved a deeper scar into her soul.

    “Do not fight,” she urged trembling mages whenever she reached them. Her voice was steady, a beacon of calm in the chaos. “Follow my Rangers. Trust us. We’ll get you to safety.”

    Most listened, their desperation outweighing fear. But Ariana couldn’t save everyone. Twice she arrived too late, finding mages who had succumbed to blood magic, their bodies grotesque and twisted, their minds lost to demons. She fought beside the very Templars she despised to put them down, the White Wolf forced to be their ally in those fleeting, harrowing moments.

    Even then, she heard whispers: “The White Wolf is here. Beware.”

    Her teeth clenched as she muttered bitterly, “I just saved you,” before vanishing into the next alley.

    The city seemed to pulse with its own malevolence, every corner hiding new horrors. Finally, she spotted familiar figures in the distance. “Hawke!” she called, relief rushing through her as she sprinted toward them.

    Hawke turned, her usual smirk replaced by a somber expression. Varric stood at her side, crossbow at the ready. “Ariana,” Hawke said, her voice heavy.

    “What happened?” Ariana demanded. “No—how did this happen?”

    Varric was the one to answer, his voice uncharacteristically grim. “Anders blew up the Chantry.” His words hung in the air, stark and cold. “He thought it’d spark a war.”

    “And he was right,” Hawke added quietly, guilt shadowing her features.

    Ariana’s stomach twisted. “Anders…?” She shook her head, forcing herself to focus. “There’s no time. The Rangers are moving mages to the docks. If you find anyone, send them there.”

    Hawke nodded. “We’re heading to the Gallows. Meredith’s out for blood, and we’re at the top of her list.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened. “Be careful, Champion,” she said softly. “I’ll get there when I can.”

    Hawke’s smirk returned briefly, though it lacked its usual bite. “You too, Wolf.”

    Ariana gave a brief nod before vanishing back into the shadows.

    In Lowtown, the chaos escalated. Flames licked at the edges of wooden structures, and the air was thick with smoke. Then she heard it: the sound of steel striking stone, and voices raised in fury. She followed the noise to find a group of mages cornered in a narrow alley by six Templars.

    She acted without hesitation, raising her horn to her lips and blowing a sharp, commanding note. The sound echoed through the streets, breaking the Templars’ focus just long enough. Ariana leapt into the fray, landing between the mages and their pursuers.

    “Do not fight,” she whispered to the mages over her shoulder. “I’ll protect you.”

    The Templars advanced, their blades gleaming in the firelight. Six against one.

    But before the first blow was struck, one of the Templars faltered. “I… I can’t do this anymore,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. He stepped away from his comrades, his sword lowering. “I’ll stand with you, if you’ll let me.”

    Ariana’s sharp gaze softened. “Thank you,” she said simply, her voice steady. “Stay with the mages. Protect them.”

    The other Templars hesitated, their formation breaking. Ariana seized the opportunity, her movements swift and deadly. Within moments, two of them were disarmed and unconscious.

    Then, a voice cut through the chaos—a voice she knew too well.

    “Stop! Surrender yourselves!”

    Her blood turned to ice as she turned to face him. Cullen stood at the end of the alley, flanked by three more Templars. His armor gleamed in the flickering light, and his expression was grim, resolute.

    “The Right of Annulment has been invoked,” he declared, his voice cold and distant. “Anyone aiding the mages will be arrested. Even you, ‘White Wolf.’”

    The words struck her like a physical blow. Her breath caught, and for a moment, the world around her seemed to blur. Cullen…

    He had chosen the Order. He had chosen Meredith. Her heart cracked, the weight of betrayal crashing down on her.

    Their eyes met, and she saw the conflict in his gaze, the doubt he tried so hard to suppress. But it wasn’t enough. Not now.

    The Templars advanced again, and Ariana moved on instinct. She fought like a whirlwind, incapacitating another enemy with precise, controlled strikes. Her blades flashed, her every move deliberate—no deaths, not even now.

    And Cullen… he watched her, his brow furrowed. Her fighting style was familiar, but the chaos of the moment left him unable to place it.

    Reinforcements arrived in the form of her Rangers, their sudden appearance shifting the tide. “Go, Wolf!” one of them shouted. “We’ll cover you!”

    She hesitated, her gaze flickering to Cullen once more. Their eyes locked, and in that moment, a thousand unspoken words passed between them—love, betrayal, heartbreak, and resolve.

    Ariana turned away, her voice sharp but quiet as she addressed the mages. “Follow me.”

    With a final glance at Cullen, she disappeared into the shadows, leading the mages to safety as her heart shattered in her chest.

    ~~~

    Ariana led the group of mages to the docks, her steps unwavering even as exhaustion clawed at her. The cries of chaos echoed behind her, the city’s flames painting the sky in hues of red and orange. The mages clung to one another as they followed her, their trust evident despite the fear etched into their faces.

    As they reached the pier, Ariana saw Riley standing near the edge, her posture steady, a stark contrast to the chaos around them. She moved toward her, her steps purposeful but heavy with emotion.

    “Status?” Ariana asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within her.

    “Two ships have already left, full,” Riley replied briskly. “Yours will be the last. Isabel and Emma are safe—they’ve already departed. Everyone is headed for Redcliffe.”

    At the mention of Isabel and Emma, Ariana’s breath hitched slightly, her expression softening. Relief flickered through her, but it was fleeting, buried beneath the weight of everything else. “Good,” she said curtly, her tone betraying the strain she carried.

    Riley’s gaze shifted to the Templar who stood beside Ariana, his armor dented but his resolve clear. “New recruit, Wolf?” she asked, her tone edged with dry humor.

    Ariana nodded. “Someone who wants to help,” she said, glancing at the Templar. Then, addressing him directly, she added, “Stay here. More mages are being brought to this ship. You’ll leave with them—watch over and protect them.”

    The Templar gave a sharp nod. “Of course.”

    Riley smirked faintly, her tone light despite the gravity of the moment. “Welcome to the Rangers, kid. You’ll find some of your fellow former Templars already by the ship.”

    Riley turned her attention back to Ariana, her expression softening. “Are you alright?” she asked, her concern evident.

    “I’m fine,” Ariana replied curtly, her tone clipped. She rolled out her neck and adjusted her blades, trying to shake off the heaviness pressing down on her. “Just tired.” Then, after a pause, she asked, “Any sign of Michael yet?”

    The Templar stiffened slightly at the name, then turned back to Ariana. “Ser Michael Trevelyan? He was still in the Gallows when all this began,” he said, his voice hesitant. “He’s a capable warrior. I’m sure he’s alright.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened. She wanted to believe him, but doubt gnawed at her. “Thank you,” she said quietly, though her mind raced.

    “As soon as this last group clears, we head for the Gallows,” she said firmly, her voice sharpening with determination. “Hawke will need help there. And I need to find Michael.”

    Minutes later, the final groups of mages began arriving, escorted by Rangers whose faces bore the weariness of battle. Despite their exhaustion, they moved with purpose, guiding the mages to the ship. Ariana oversaw every detail, ensuring no one was left behind. Each mage she saw safely aboard was another weight lifted, though it did little to ease the ache in her heart.

    “Are all Rangers accounted for?” she asked Riley once the ship was nearly ready to depart.

    “With the ones that just arrived, yes,” Riley confirmed.

    Ariana nodded, her voice steady but tinged with finality. “Good. I need fifteen volunteers to stay behind with me. Everyone else, head for Ferelden with the mages. We’ll regroup at the manor when this is over.”

    “I’m staying,” Riley said immediately, stepping forward with her usual confidence. “Can’t let you get yourself killed, Wolf. Somebody’s gotta keep you in line.”

    “So are we,” Valentina said, stepping into view with Linnea and Lamberto at her side.

    Ariana allowed herself a faint smirk despite the heaviness in her chest. “Very well. Let’s hope you’re all up for the task.”

    The volunteers stepped forward one by one, a mix of Rangers she had fought alongside for years and newer recruits whose determination shone in their eyes. As the final ship set sail, Ariana turned to the remaining Rangers. Her voice was steady, but her words carried a fire that burned brighter than the city behind her.

    “We head for the Gallows now,” she said, her tone resolute. “Let’s carve a path.”

    As they boarded a small boat to cross the harbor, Ariana sat silently at the prow, her hood pulled low against the chill. There was no room for doubt, no time for grief. Every choice she’d made, every life saved, had led her here. If Cullen wouldn’t fight for justice, she would do it alone. She would not falter, not now. The rhythmic splash of oars against water did little to calm her racing thoughts. The image of Cullen’s face—his hardened expression as he invoked the Right of Annulment—played on a loop in her mind. 

    *The Right of Annulment has been invoked. Even you, White Wolf.* 

    The words struck like a dagger each time they echoed in her mind, the betrayal cutting deeper than she’d thought possible. She had believed in him, trusted that he would do what was right, that he would stand against Meredith when the time came. But he hadn’t. He had chosen duty over justice. Over her. Had she been a fool to believe he could stand against Meredith? To think that love could bridge the chasm between who he was and who she needed him to be?”

    Her fists clenched at her sides, her gloved fingers brushing against the ring hidden beneath the fabric. The weight of it felt unbearable now—a promise she wasn’t sure either of them could keep anymore.

    She had hidden the White Wolf from him, told herself it was to protect him, but now she wondered if it had only widened the distance between them. Could he have stood with her if she had been honest? Or would he have walked away even sooner? She wanted to believe he would come to his senses. That the man she loved would break free from the chains of duty and stand beside her.

    And yet, beneath the heartbreak, anger simmered. Anger at Meredith, at the Chantry for failing to act before things had escalated this far. Anger at Cullen for his inaction, for his inability to defy the Order. And anger at herself—for letting the White Wolf sit idly by for so long, for believing she could balance both halves of her life without breaking something.

    Riley’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Wolf? We’re almost there.”

    Ariana glanced back at the Rangers, their faces set with determination. They believed in her. They had always believed in her. And that, more than anything, reminded her of who she was. The White Wolf wasn’t just a mask—it was a promise. A promise to protect, to fight for those who couldn’t fight for themselves, no matter the cost.

    As the boat neared the Gallows, the fires of Kirkwall reflected in the water, casting eerie shadows across their faces. Ariana pulled her hood tighter and adjusted her blades. The battle wasn’t over yet. And tonight, the White Wolf would not falter.

  • Chapter 48 – Not Our Future

    10 – 30 Drakonis – 9:37

    Cullen stood outside Knight-Commander Meredith’s office, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on his shoulders. His thoughts churned as he stared at the worn wooden door, his mind replaying the countless moments that had led him to this point. Each memory brought a fresh wave of doubt and resolve, a battle waged within as he steeled himself for the confrontation ahead. The stakes were clear: his future with Ariana. His breath hitched as he fought to calm the storm raging within, knowing there was no turning back now. The formal request to marry Ariana had been delivered weeks ago, and he knew the conversation awaiting him would be far from pleasant. Still, he was unprepared for the cold fury that awaited him when he stepped inside.

    Meredith set the parchment down on her desk with a deliberate motion, her expression carved from stone. The document bore the formal seal of his office, its contents clearly outlining Cullen’s intentions. “This is… unexpected,” she began, her tone clipped. “Though perhaps I should not be surprised, given your increasing lack of focus in recent years.”

    Cullen clenched his jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. “Knight-Commander,” he said evenly, “my request is made with full acknowledgment of my duties and the Order’s expectations.”

    Meredith’s lips pressed into a thin line as she leaned forward, folding her hands on the desk. “A formal request to marry? I had hoped this ‘casual distraction,’ as I generously described it, would have run its course by now. But it seems I have indulged you far too long.”

    “It is not a distraction,” Cullen said, his voice tightening. “Lady Trevelyan—Ariana—is—”

    Meredith cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. “Enough. Do not delude yourself into believing this is anything more than a lapse in judgment. You know what we are, Knight-Captain. What we sacrifice. This… indulgence… is an affront to everything the Order stands for.”

    Her words struck like a whip, but Cullen kept his expression controlled. “Lady Trevelyan is not a distraction,” he said evenly, though his voice carried a faint edge. “She is—”

    “She is a complication,” Meredith cut in sharply. “One that you have allowed to cloud your judgment and divide your loyalties. This has gone far enough.”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching briefly before he forced himself to relax. “With respect, Knight-Commander, my loyalty to the Order has never wavered.”

    “Has it not?” Meredith’s eyes narrowed, her tone dripping with disdain. “Perhaps you should ask yourself why these intercepted mage transports and escapes have become so frequent under your watch. You think I don’t see the connection? Your attention divided, your focus elsewhere—it is no coincidence.”

    The accusation stung, but Cullen stood his ground. “We have investigated all these incidents thouroughly. My relationship with Lady Trevelyan has nothing to do with this. Nor has my focus been elsewhere during these investigations. There’s no eviden–”

    Meredith slammed her hand down on the desk, the sound reverberating through the room. Cullen’s shoulders tensed involuntarily, the sharp crack a blow against his carefully maintained composure. His fingers twitched at his sides, clenched into fists as he drew in a steadying breath, forcing himself to remain still despite the impulse to react. “Do not speak to me of evidence, Knight-Captain. These mercenaries grow bolder because they sense weakness in the Order. Your weakness.”

    Cullen took a sharp breath, the weight of her words settling heavily on him. He had come here prepared for resistance, but this—this was something else entirely.

    Meredith’s voice turned cold, almost mocking. “You are not the first Templar to seek solace outside the Order, Knight-Captain. But this… romantic delusion you cling to? It is unbecoming of your station. If you have needs, I suggest you do as others do and frequent the Blooming Rose. At least then you would not disgrace yourself with such frivolity.”

    Cullen’s stomach tightened, the venom in her tone cutting deeper than he anticipated. Her words twisted in his mind, igniting a familiar conflict: the relentless duty to the Order and the undeniable pull of his love for Ariana. He could feel the heat rise to his face, not from shame but from a searing anger he struggled to keep in check. How dare she reduce something so profound to a mere indulgence? “Ariana is not some fleeting desire. She is the woman I love, and I will not debase her—or myself—with such comparisons.”

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her voice lowering to a chilling tone. “Careful, Knight-Captain. Your emotions are showing.”

    For a moment, silence hung between them, the tension so thick it seemed to suffocate the room. Cullen took a deep breath, forcing himself to step back. He couldn’t afford to lose control—not here, not now.

    Meredith rose from her chair, her presence as imposing as the cold steel of her blade. Cullen felt his breath catch, his body stiffening as a wave of unease rippled through him. The weight of her gaze bore down on him, a silent reminder of the power she wielded—and the danger of opposing her. “You need to decide, Knight-Captain,” she said, her voice quiet but cutting. “The Order or Lady Trevelyan. Your future cannot include both. She is a weakness.”

    Cullen met her gaze, despite the storm raging within him. The fury and frustration that burned in his chest, clashing with the ache of loyalty he could not shake. Every fiber of his being demanded he push back, but the weight of his oaths and the love he refused to relinquish pulled him in opposing directions, forcing him to maintain a fragile, defiant calm. “That is not a choice you can demand of me,” he said slowly, his voice trembling with suppressed anger, “I will not abandon her.”

    Meredith’s lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile. “You mistake my meaning. Consider this your final warning, Knight-Captain. Let go of this foolishness, or I will do it for you.”

    The words hit Cullen like a blow, and for a moment, he stood rooted to the spot. His mind churned with a whirlwind of emotions: fury, dread, and a fierce determination that eclipsed them both. The very thought of Meredith threatening Ariana sent a cold shiver down his spine, but it also stoked the embers of his defiance. His fists clenched at his sides as he forced himself to breathe steadily, knowing that any outward reaction would only give her more ammunition. Yet, beneath the surface, his resolve hardened—he would find a way to protect Ariana, no matter the cost.

    Without another word, Meredith sat back down, dismissing him with a pointed glance at the door. Cullen stood there for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, before turning sharply on his heel and walking out.

    As the heavy doors closed behind him, his mind raced. Meredith’s ultimatum loomed over him like a sword poised to fall. But even in the face of her threats, one thought burned brighter than all the rest: I will not let her take this from me. Not Ariana. Not our future.

    For the first time in years, Cullen felt a flicker of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in the Gallows: defiance. It surged through him like a spark in dry tinder, igniting a resolve that hinted at the choices he might soon have to make—choices that could risk everything he held dear.

    ~~~

    The evening air was cool, the fading light casting long shadows along the cobblestone streets of Hightown. Cullen walked beside Ariana, his steps slow and deliberate, his usual measured gait somehow heavier. Ariana stole a glance at him, noting the furrow in his brow and the way his hands occasionally clenched into fists before relaxing again. He was troubled, and while he hadn’t said as much, his silence spoke volumes.

    “Cullen,” Ariana said softly, breaking the silence as they approached the estate. “You’ve been quiet since we left the Gallows. What’s wrong?”

    “It’s nothing for you to worry about,” he replied, his voice steady but distant.

    “Don’t do that,” she said, her tone tinged with gentle insistence. “If you’re worried, then I do need to worry. Talk to me.”

    He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he stared at the path ahead. Finally, he exhaled deeply, his voice quieter when he spoke. “As we expected, Meredith has denied my request to marry you.”

    Ariana nodded, unsurprised. They had anticipated as much. “And?” she pressed, sensing there was more.

    Cullen stopped walking, turning to face her. His expression was a mix of frustration and unease, emotions he rarely let show so openly. “It wasn’t just a denial, Ariana. Her tone… it was more than that. It felt like a threat. As if she’s… considering taking action against you.”

    Ariana’s heart tightened, though she kept her expression calm. She wasn’t afraid of Meredith—she had faced worse threats in her life. But the thought of Meredith turning her focus more directly on her was troubling. If Meredith came for her, it would be impossible to hide who she truly was.

    Cullen’s voice softened, his concern evident. “I don’t know what she’s planning, but I won’t let her hurt you. I’ll find a way to stop this, I swear.”

    Ariana placed a hand on his arm, offering a reassuring smile despite the turmoil inside her. “We knew this wouldn’t be easy, Cullen. But we’ll face it together. She doesn’t scare me.”

    “You should be scared,” he said, his voice nearly breaking. “She’s more dangerous than you realize.”

    “I know exactly how dangerous she is,” Ariana replied firmly. “And I’m not going anywhere.” She tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Besides, I’ve got the Champion of Kirkwall on my side. What’s Meredith got? A shiny sword and an attitude?”

    Cullen’s mouth twitched, his half-hearted chuckle breaking through the tension. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, though his voice carried a hint of fondness.

    “And yet, you’re still here,” Ariana quipped, her smirk softening into a reassuring smile.

    He held her gaze for a long moment, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Let’s just get inside,” he said quietly, gesturing toward the estate.

    They reached the estate doors, the familiar warmth of home beckoning them inside. However, as they stepped into the kitchen, the scene that greeted them stopped Ariana in her tracks.

    Her father, Charles, was seated at the table, his usual calm and dignified presence filling the room. But it was the woman sitting beside him that caught Ariana completely off guard.

    “Mother…” Ariana whispered, instinctively stepping back, pressing herself closer to Cullen. His arm shifted protectively around her, grounding her as her mind raced. The last time she had seen her mother, Elara had tried to take her from Kirkwall by force, barely acknowledging her as more than a disobedient daughter. And yet, here Elara sat, her posture calm, her gaze filled with something Ariana couldn’t quite place.

    Her mother stood there, looking nothing like the woman Ariana had always known. Elara’s elegant posture and noble bearing were still present, but her attire was simpler, more practical—a modest blue gown with soft embroidery at the cuffs, its fabric free of the intricate embellishments Ariana had come to associate with her. It was as if she had shed the armor of formality, allowing a gentler version of herself to emerge. There was a quiet humility about her that Ariana had never seen before. She seemed… human.

    Ariana’s gaze flickered to Isabel, who was standing at the counter with a faint smile. The sight was nearly as unsettling as seeing Elara herself. Were they… chatting? How could these two women, who seemed as different as fire and ice, look so at ease with one another?

    A knot tightened in Ariana’s chest, suspicion prickling at the edges of her thoughts. Her father’s calm smile, Elara’s softened demeanor, and Isabel’s serenity—it all felt wrong. This wasn’t just a casual visit; it couldn’t be. She knew her father would never risk bringing Elara here without good reason. Yet, for the life of her, Ariana couldn’t imagine what that reason could be.

    “Ariana,” Charles said, his voice breaking the silence. He rose from his seat, a warm smile spreading across his face. “You’re home.”

    Ariana’s gaze flickered between her parents, her confusion and frustration swirling. “What’s going on here?” Her voice wavered, her usual sharp edge dulled by the uncertainty pressing against her chest. Was her mother here to undermine her engagement, to weave some scheme that would force her back into a life she had fought so hard to escape?

    Charles glanced at Elara, his smile faltering slightly. “I know I promised no one would visit without your approval, but… I thought this might be an exception.”

    Elara turned to face Ariana fully, her expression soft and hesitant—an almost foreign look on her once-imperious face. “Ariana,” she began, her voice trembling slightly, “may I speak with you?”

    Ariana blinked, the words catching her off guard. She couldn’t remember the last time her mother had asked her for anything, let alone permission to speak.

    Elara’s gaze softened further, and for the first time in years, there was no trace of judgment or disappointment in her eyes. Only something that looked startlingly like regret. “I know I have no right to ask this of you, but… please.”

    Ariana’s eyes darted back to Isabel, who regarded Elara with an almost serene understanding. Isabel crossed the room, her movements deliberate and calm. She placed a hand on Ariana’s arm, her touch steadying. “It’s alright, my child,” she said softly, her voice filled with warmth. “You should let her speak. I believe you’ll want to hear what she has to say.”

    Ariana hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. Isabel’s reassurance meant everything, but the knot of uncertainty remained. She turned to Cullen, seeking his face, his approval, his guidance.

    Cullen’s hand moved to her cheek, his touch gentle. “Go,” he said softly, his golden eyes filled with quiet understanding. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

    Ariana swallowed hard, her emotions a swirling mix of fear, anger, and fragile hope. She took a tentative step forward, her eyes never leaving her mother’s. Elara extended a hand, her movements slow and unassuming.

    “May I?” Elara asked, her voice trembling with vulnerability.

    Ariana hesitated, her mind racing with memories of a colder, harsher woman. Yet now, the person before her seemed entirely different. Cautiously, she placed her hand in her mother’s, feeling the warmth of her touch. Elara’s fingers closed gently around hers, and for the first time in years, Ariana didn’t pull away.

    Elara led her toward the courtyard, the soft rustle of their footsteps the only sound in the quiet house. Ariana’s mind churned with a storm of emotions. Fear lingered at the edges, a reflexive response to the uncertainty of her mother’s intentions, but it was overshadowed by a cautious curiosity. She struggled to untangle the conflicting feelings of resentment and fragile hope—could her mother truly be different now? Her thoughts flickered to Cullen and Isabel behind her, their quiet encouragement grounding her. Whatever her mother had to say, she resolved to face it with strength, but the question of what lay ahead still sent a chill through her.

    ~~~

    The evening air had taken on a chill as Ariana followed Elara into the courtyard. The soft glow of lanterns lit the garden paths, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. Ariana’s hand rested in her mother’s, the gesture foreign and tentative, as though neither woman truly knew what to do with it.

    Elara finally stopped by the fountain at the center of the courtyard, the gentle sound of water filling the silence between them. She released Ariana’s hand, turning to face her daughter fully. For a moment, she said nothing, her eyes searching Ariana’s face as though memorizing every feature.

    Ariana crossed her arms, her stance defensive. “Why are you here, Mother?” she asked, her voice calm but laced with uncertainty. The question hung in the air like a challenge, daring Elara to prove she deserved to be here.

    Elara’s sigh was soft, but it carried the weight of years. Her shoulders sagged, a crack in the facade Ariana had always known. “Because I needed to see you,” she said softly. “I needed to apologize.”

    Ariana blinked, the words striking her like a physical blow. Her mother never apologized. Not for anything.

    “When you were born… you were unexpected,” Elara began, her voice trembling. “But don’t misunderstand—unexpected, not unwanted. You were beautiful, a gift. I loved you more than words could say. But duty demanded I give you up to the Chantry. I thought… it would be easier to prepare myself for that heartbreak right away.” Her voice faltered, and she paused to steady herself. “As the years passed, I told myself it was best to keep my distance, to not let myself love you too deeply… because I knew I wouldn’t survive losing you.”

    “You loved me?” Ariana’s voice was barely a whisper, the disbelief plain in her tone.

    Elara’s eyes filled with pain, and she nodded. “Oh, Ariana… of course I loved you. I still do. I always have.” Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. “I resented your father for building the relationship I had denied myself. It wasn’t fair. And the longer he delayed giving you to the Chantry, the harder it became for me to face you. I buried myself in duty, thinking it was the only way to endure it.”

    Ariana’s throat tightened as anger and sorrow warred within her. “Then why did you treat me like I was a burden?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “Why did it feel like I wasn’t enough?”

    Elara flinched but didn’t retreat. “Because I was wrong,” she said, her voice breaking. “I let my pain cloud everything. I let resentment fester until it was all I could feel. And I was so proud of you, but I never let myself show it. I thought… I thought it was too late.”

    Ariana looked away, her breath hitching as tears blurred her vision. “Why now?” she asked, her voice a whisper. “Why are you telling me this now?”

    Elara took a step closer, her voice raw. “Because I’ve had time to see how much I’ve lost. I’ve spent years pretending I was right, but I wasn’t. I see that now. And I don’t want to lose you again—not without trying to make it right.”

    The raw sincerity in Elara’s words cracked something deep within Ariana. The anger and hurt she had carried for years began to loosen, replaced by something fragile and unfamiliar: understanding. “You really were proud of me?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

    Elara nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. “So proud,” she said softly. “But I let my pride and my pain keep me from telling you. And for that, I’m truly sorry.”

    Ariana’s defenses crumbled as her arms dropped to her sides. She searched her mother’s face, looking for any trace of insincerity but found none. Slowly, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Elara, holding her tightly.

    Elara’s breath hitched as she returned the embrace, her voice thick with emotion. “Oh, my dear girl, I love you so much.”

    When they finally pulled apart, Elara guided Ariana to sit on the edge of the fountain. “Are you happy, Ariana?” she asked gently. “Is this the life you want?”

    Ariana swallowed hard, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Yes,” she said firmly. “This is what I want. Cullen is what I want. I love him.”

    Elara’s smile was small but genuine, her voice soft. “Then let me help you.” she said tentatively.

    Ariana stared at her mother, stunned. “Help me?”

    “With the wedding,” Elara repeated, her gaze dropping briefly to the ring on Ariana’s finger. “I would love nothing more than to help you make this everything you want it to be. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

    Ariana’s heart ached at the earnestness in her mother’s voice. Memories of the woman who had ruled her life with iron expectations surfaced, but they felt distant now, like shadows of another life. She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Whatever I want?” she asked, her voice uncertain.

    Elara nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Of course, my darling. It’s your wedding. It can be as simple or as grand as you wish. I’ll make it happen.”

    Ariana hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing on her chest. Her eyes flickered to her mother, to the tears glistening in Elara’s eyes, and then back to the ring on her finger. She took a steadying breath and finally nodded.

    “Alright,” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet determination. “Let’s plan a wedding.”

    ~~~

    As soon as Ariana and Elara disappeared into the courtyard, Cullen’s expression darkened. The weight he had been carrying since his conversation with Meredith seemed to press even heavier on his shoulders. Isabel, who had been watching him closely, leaned casually against the counter, her sharp eyes never leaving his face.

    “Alright, my boy,” Isabel said, her voice calm but pointed. “Out with it. What’s wrong?”

    “It’s nothing,” Cullen replied quickly, his tone too rehearsed, too dismissive.

    Isabel arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that? What is it?”

    Cullen exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. For a moment, he considered deflecting again, but Isabel’s piercing gaze made it clear she wouldn’t let it go. Finally, he shook his head and relented.

    “Meredith,” he began, his voice strained, “has denied my request to marry Ariana.”

    Isabel nodded, unsurprised. “Of course, she did. We knew she would.”

    Cullen hesitated, his fists clenching briefly at his sides. “It’s more than that. Her tone was… threatening. She called Ariana a distraction and made it clear that if I didn’t put an end to this, she would.”

    The words had barely left his mouth when Charles stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. His calm demeanor shattered, replaced by a sharp, protective fury that filled the room. “She what?” he demanded, his voice a dangerous low growl.

    Cullen blinked, startled by the sudden shift. “She—she implied she would take action if I didn’t break it off,” he said cautiously.

    Charles’ eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “No one threatens my daughter,” he said, each word deliberate, a quiet storm building beneath his measured tone. “Not your Knight-Commander, not anyone.”

    The weight of Charles’ words settled in the room like a heavy cloak. Isabel’s smirk vanished, her expression hardening as she crossed her arms. “Sounds like she’s finally overstepped,” Isabel remarked coldly. “She doesn’t get to make this personal.”

    Charles’ hands rested on the table, his knuckles whitening as he leaned forward. “Cullen,” he said, his voice still low but simmering with barely contained rage, “understand this: we will not let her harm Ariana. If Meredith so much as breathes a word of threat again, I will take it directly to the Grand Clerics. I will see her stripped of her authority if that’s what it takes.”

    Cullen hesitated, his instinct to bear the burden himself clashing with the fierce resolve in Charles’ voice. “Charles, I—”

    “No,” Charles interrupted, straightening and pointing a finger at Cullen, though his tone softened slightly. “You’ve already carried too much. Let us handle this. I’ll call in every favor, every connection our family has to the Chantry. This ends now.”

    Isabel nodded in agreement, her voice steady. “He’s right, Cullen. Meredith’s playing a dangerous game. Let Charles use his influence—you don’t have to do this alone.”

    Cullen’s initial instinct to protest faltered as the reality of their words sank in. For years, he had carried the weight of his responsibilities alone, but now, standing before Charles and Isabel, he felt the cracks in his armor begin to mend. Slowly, he nodded. “Alright,” he said quietly. “If you think it will help…”

    “It will,” Charles said firmly. “And Cullen, know this: we’re not just fighting for Ariana. You’re part of this family now. Elara and I will do everything in our power to protect both of you. And trust me, Meredith will regret crossing Elara if she tries.”

    Cullen swallowed hard, the words settling heavily but warmly in his chest. He hadn’t realized just how much he needed to hear them until that moment. For so long, he had carried the fear that Ariana’s noble lineage would forever cast a shadow over their future together. But here, now, the doubts began to fade, replaced by a quiet, steady belief that this was where he belonged.

    “Thank you,” he said softly, his gratitude genuine.

    Charles placed a reassuring hand on Cullen’s shoulder. “We’ll face this together.”

    Isabel, lightening the mood, smirked again. “And don’t forget to eat. You’ll need your strength if we’re going to put that Knight-Commander in her place.”

    Despite the tension, Cullen allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. For the first time in days, he felt like he wasn’t standing on the edge of a cliff alone.

    ~~~

    As Ariana and Elara stepped back into the kitchen, the warmth of the room felt like a stark contrast to the cool courtyard. Yet, the somber expressions on Charles, Isabel, and Cullen’s faces quickly dispelled that comfort. The tension in the air was palpable, and Ariana’s brows furrowed as she glanced between them.

    “I see you must have heard about Meredith then?” she quipped, her tone lighter than the mood demanded.

    “You knew?” Charles asked, surprised.

    Ariana walked over to her father, giving him a quick hug, realizing she hadn’t greeted him yet. “Cullen just told me when we were walking back,” she explained.

    “Meredith? What happened with the Knight-Commander?” Elara interjected, the only one unaware of the situation.

    Before Cullen or Ariana could respond, Charles answered, his voice low and firm. “It appears the Knight-Commander believes it her place to threaten our daughter, Elara.”

    “She what?” Elara’s tone sharpened, her composure unyielding as her gaze flicked to Cullen.

    Charles, his smirk faint but deliberate, folded his arms. “The Knight-Commander has forgotten her place, and it’s time someone reminded her.”

    Ariana caught the flicker of satisfaction in her father’s eyes, and for the first time, she saw a partnership between her parents, a natural rhythm she hadn’t known existed.

    “Well, then,” Elara said calmly, her voice pointed. “It may be time someone reminded her of her station. I will send word to Lord Chancellor Orrick of Tantervale and Lord Vael of Starkhaven in the morning. For now, let’s forget this business and celebrate.”

    Ariana couldn’t help but smile. For once, her nobility didn’t feel like a curse or a weight to be borne, but a boon. She walked back to Cullen, wrapping her arms around him. He returned the gesture, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Are you alright, love?” he asked softly, his voice meant only for her.

    Ariana nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips.

    “Come, sit down, all of you,” Isabel interrupted, breaking the moment. “Dinner is almost ready.”

    As they all moved to the table, Isabel began setting it with a practiced ease, placing dishes of steaming food in the center. She was about to excuse herself when Elara’s voice stopped her.

    “You’re not staying for dinner, Isabel?” Elara asked, her tone surprisingly gentle.

    Isabel blinked, caught off guard. “My Lady?”

    Elara tilted her head slightly, a small smile gracing her lips. “Please. I would be grateful if you joined us.”

    Ariana’s shock was mirrored in Isabel’s hesitant glance toward her. “I should see to Emma,” Isabel began, her voice cautious.

    “Then bring Emma back with you,” Elara insisted, her sincerity disarming. “There’s room at this table for both of you.”

    Isabel hesitated for a moment longer before nodding. “As you wish, my Lady,” she said before disappearing into the hallway.

    “Emma is Isabel’s daughter, is that correct?” Elara asked, her tone curious, not condescending.

    “She is…” Ariana responded cautiously, debating whether this was the time to press the issue of Mark’s indiscretion.

    Elara’s expression shifted to one of pure joy, a wholly unexpected reaction as far as Ariana was concerned. “I have been looking forward to meeting my granddaughter,” Elara said warmly.

    “Elara?” Charles’ voice held a note of alarm, his own surprise barely masked.

    Elara smirked, though it lacked her usual edge. “Oh, Charles, don’t look so shocked. That fool of a son you raised won’t keep me from meeting her. And Maker knows, his wife will probably never give him an heir,” she said in the most noble tone Ariana could recall. “And even if she does, it likely won’t be a Trevelyan…”

    The table fell into stunned silence, everyone taken aback by Elara’s uncharacteristic warmth and the admission that followed.

    Before anyone could respond, Isabel returned, carrying Emma in her arms.

    Elara almost squealed in delight as she rose from her seat, rushing to meet Isabel. “Oh, is this my lovely granddaughter? She is precious! May I?” she asked, stretching her arms out.

    Isabel, still visibly stunned, nodded, handing Emma over.

    The look of joy on Elara’s face was almost too much for Ariana. She started laughing—whole-hearted, unrestrained laughter that echoed through the kitchen. Relief, joy, and something else she couldn’t quite name washed over her, and for the first time, the weight she always carried seemed lighter.

    Ariana’s laughter drew everyone’s attention, their stunned faces now turned toward her. Cullen leaned in, his brow furrowed in concern. “Are you alright?” he asked softly.

    Before she could answer, a familiar voice called from the hallway. “I could hear Ari laughing all the way down the corridor, what’s goin—” Michael froze as he stepped into the kitchen, his gaze landing on Charles and Elara. “Father… Mother?”

    Ariana met his wide-eyed stare and simply shrugged, motioning for him to sit. As he moved hesitantly toward the table, Ariana took a moment to take it all in. Her family, fragmented and broken for so long, now felt as whole as it ever could. There was a long road ahead, and many wounds still needed healing, but for the first time, Ariana felt hope that they could make it.

    ~~~

    Over the next few weeks, Ariana’s parents stayed in Kirkwall, their presence both comforting and surreal. Charles was relentless in his efforts, petitioning the White Spire with unwavering determination. His days were spent drafting letters and meeting with influential figures, leveraging every connection to challenge Meredith’s decree and expose her overreach. Elara, meanwhile, immersed herself in the wedding preparations. Her sharp edges seemed to have softened; she deferred to Ariana and Cullen’s wishes at every turn, determined that the event would reflect their vision, not her own ambitions.

    For Cullen, the details of the wedding seemed inconsequential compared to the promise they had made to each other. Yet, he indulged Ariana’s newfound joy in planning with her mother. The moments spent discussing dinner menus or debating music were a welcome relief to the weight they had both been carrying for years. Watching Elara open up, particularly to Isabel, was unexpected but comforting. The two women, once opposites in every sense, now shared stories over tea, their laughter filling the halls in a way Ariana had never imagined possible.

    Isabel regaled Elara with tales of Ariana’s childhood—scraped knees from climbing trees she wasn’t supposed to, or the time she had stolen away to watch a tournament, disguised as a page. These stories, met with Elara’s laughter and occasional tears, painted a portrait of a family Ariana had never fully believed could exist. For the first time, the fractures in their family seemed to mend, revealing something whole and unbroken beneath the surface.

    Yet, amidst the newfound warmth, Ariana couldn’t shake the restlessness that lingered in her soul. She adored Cullen, loved him in a way that felt woven into her very being. But the life of Ariana Trevelyan—the noblewoman, the soon-to-be wife, the daughter of a prominent Free Marches family—felt distant and unfamiliar. She was certain, now more than ever, that the White Wolf was who she truly was. Who she was meant to be. Her heart tugged by every report, every mage saved, every successful operation, or whisper of injustice brought to her by the Silver Rangers.

    Today, however, wasn’t about the White Wolf. It was Emma’s birthday—her sixth—and for the first time, they were hosting a proper party. The estate buzzed with life, the scent of sweet cakes and fresh bread wafting through the air as Isabel oversaw the preparations. Emma’s laughter echoed from the gardens, where Charles and Elara had organized a treasure hunt, their excitement mirrored by Cullen, who helped hide the clues.

    Ariana lingered in the doorway, her arms crossed as she leaned against the frame. She watched Isabel’s deft movements in the kitchen, her parents’ playful joy with Emma, and the quiet happiness that seemed to settle over the house like a warm blanket. A soft smile tugged at her lips, yet beneath it lay a faint ache she couldn’t quite name—a longing for something more, or perhaps a mourning for what she was slowly leaving behind.

    The sound of footsteps behind her brought her back to the present. Before she could turn, Cullen’s arms wrapped securely around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. His presence was grounding, a steady reminder of the life they were building together.

    “Are you happy?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with hesitation.

    Ariana chuckled, leaning back against him. “Of course,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “Why do you ask?”

    Cullen hesitated, his gaze fixed on the lively scene before them. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just want to be sure.”

    Ariana turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting his. “Sure about what?”

    He exhaled, the question heavy on his tongue. “Have you found who you are? Did you find what was missing?”

    The question caught her off guard, and for a moment, the noise of the party seemed to fade. Her thoughts flashed to the conversation they had shared years ago, when she first began realizing she was losing herself. She forced a small smile, her voice steady but thoughtful.

    “What I’ve found,” she said carefully, “is that maybe I was overthinking things. Maybe it’s never just one thing you find; maybe it’s about the journey.”

    She turned fully in his arms, her hands resting on his chest as she searched his gaze. “Cullen, you are my life,” she said firmly, her thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over his tunic. “And I’m not missing anything.”

    The truth settled between them, fragile yet unshakable. Ariana felt the pull of the White Wolf, the endless call to protect and fight, but she also knew where her heart lay. If a choice ever had to be made, it would be Cullen. She could never walk away from him, not truly.

    Cullen studied her for a long moment, as if trying to glimpse the depths of her soul. Slowly, he leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that spoke of unspoken promises and unwavering devotion. Ariana responded without hesitation, pouring every ounce of her love into the embrace.

    For now, the warmth of the estate wrapped around them, shielding them from the chaos that loomed beyond its walls. But even as laughter and celebration filled the air, the undercurrent of tension was undeniable. Whispers traveled swiftly in Kirkwall’s shadows, plans unfolding far beyond their control.

    Ariana didn’t see the storm brewing on the horizon, nor the challenges that would soon test everything they held dear. But in that moment, amidst the fleeting peace of their shared life, she held onto the hope that love and resilience could withstand even the fiercest trials.

  • Chapter 47 – The Precarious Balance

    17 Wintermarch 9:36 – 3 Drakonis 9:37

    The following morning, Ariana led Frederick to the warehouse, the sound of their boots echoing faintly in the quiet streets of Lowtown. She had decided it was time he saw the full extent of the Rangers’ operations. Though Frederick had already been assisting their efforts from Markham, she needed him to grasp the scope of what they were fighting for.

    The warehouse bustled with quiet efficiency, the air thick with the scent of parchment, ink, and the faint tang of salt from the nearby harbor. Linnea and Michael were bent over a table strewn with maps and coded notes, their voices low as they discussed routes and strategies. Ariana’s gaze lingered on them for a moment, her keen eyes catching the subtle way Linnea’s hand brushed against Michael’s as she pointed to something on the map.

    It was a small, almost imperceptible gesture, but Michael didn’t pull away. In fact, he leaned closer, their shoulders nearly touching as they exchanged a glance. The exchange was quick, their attention returning to the task at hand, but it was enough for Ariana to notice.

    A faint smile tugged at her lips, though she kept her tone light as she approached. “Good to know there’s always a Trevelyan here when I don’t make it,” she quipped.

    Michael straightened, his expression shifting from focus to surprise as he noticed Frederick trailing behind her. “Frederick Decken? It’s been… years.”

    The moment passed, but Ariana’s mind filed the interaction away. Something was growing there, quiet and unspoken, but unmistakable.

    Frederick’s grin was immediate, his stride confident as he approached. “Michael Trevelyan—the younger sibling who never knew when to stay out of trouble. Or was it your sister dragging you into it?”

    Michael laughed, the sound uncharacteristically warm. “More the latter, I’d say.”

    Ariana smirked, crossing her arms. “Oh, I’m sure I’m entirely to blame.”

    “Entirely,” Linnea interjected dryly, though there was a hint of amusement in her tone. She turned to Frederick, her sharp green eyes assessing. “So, you’re the contact in Markham. Good to meet you.”

    Frederick offered a small bow, his tone light. “The pleasure’s mine.”

    “More nobles now?” Valentina’s voice rang out as she strode in, her sharp eyes flicking from Ariana to Frederick. “Trying to build your own court, Wolf?”

    Ariana rolled her eyes, her smirk playful. “I’m expanding the network. Nobility does have its uses, you know.”

    Valentina raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the table. “So, where are your illustrious connections, then?”

    Ariana feigned offense, placing a hand over her chest. “I introduced you to King Alistair, didn’t I?”

    Frederick and Michael turned to her in unison, their disbelief evident. “You’ve met King Alistair?”

    Valentina smirked, cutting in before Ariana could answer. “It was more Bann Teagan’s doing than hers.”

    “Details,” Ariana said with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, we’ve got work to do. Fred, updates from Markham?”

    Frederick’s expression grew serious. “The Knight-Commander remains sympathetic, but the Markham Circle is stretched thin. They can’t take in more mages without drawing suspicion. Meanwhile, the city-states are growing restless about Meredith’s hold over Kirkwall. Delegates are talking, but Meredith keeps stalling discussions about appointing a new Viscount. Tensions are rising.”

    “Any other allies we can turn to?” Ariana asked, her gaze flicking to Michael. “What about Kinloch Hold?”

    Michael shook his head. “Greagoir’s a good man, but he won’t openly defy the Order unless there’s significant pressure. He values stability too much to take the risk.”

    Linnea frowned, crossing her arms. “If the Circles won’t help, we need another plan. We can’t keep hiding mages forever. We need something sustainable.”

    “What about the defected Templars?” Valentina suggested. “If mages knew we had Templars among us, it might make them feel safer staying under Ranger protection.”

    The room fell into a contemplative silence before Ariana nodded slowly. “It’s not ideal,” she admitted, “but it’s better than the alternative. We’ll offer the mages a choice: they can stay hidden until we find a Circle willing to take them, or they can go to the Ranger manor for a more semi-permanent solution. At the manor, they’ll still be protected and guided by Templars, but without the restrictions of a Circle. Either way, they’ll need to understand the risks.”

    She glanced around the room, her expression resolute. “And we’ll need Malcolm’s help to organize the Templars at the manor. It has to feel like a refuge, not another cage.”

    The group exchanged somber nods, each considering the gravity of the plan. It wasn’t perfect, but it gave the mages a semblance of choice—and for now, that had to be enough.

    Frederick leaned against the edge of the table, his expression thoughtful. “It’s a precarious solution, but it’s something.”

    Michael nodded, determination in his voice. “We’ll work every connection we have—every Circle, every city, every sympathetic Knight-Commander. This can’t continue.”

    As the discussion wound down, Ariana glanced at Frederick, who gave her a small, knowing smile. It was a silent reassurance—a reminder that, even in this fight, she wasn’t alone.

    The Rangers’ mission was far from over, but for now, they had a direction, and Ariana had the steadfast support of the people who mattered most.

    ~~~

    As weeks turned into months, the shadows Ariana lived in became more familiar, even as they grew more constricting. The Silver Rangers continued their work, uncovering more about Meredith’s oppressive hold on Kirkwall. Yet the Divine’s orders remained unchanged: Stay invisible. Act subtly. Avoid drawing attention. Ariana had grown to despise those words, even as she begrudgingly obeyed them. The small victory of convincing the Divine to quietly find sympathetic Circles felt hollow when balanced against the weight of what still needed to be done.

    The White Wolf’s presence had faded to the edges of the Rangers’ operations, resurfacing only when absolutely necessary—usually during the most dangerous missions, such as intercepting mage transports bound for Kirkwall. These rare interventions were executed with the precision she demanded: no casualties, no unnecessary risks, and the mages always spirited away before the Templars could regroup. Yet, every ambush came with its own cost.

    The White Wolf’s actions inevitably found their way into Cullen’s reports. Each mention—no matter how small—stung like an arrow lodged in her chest. The tone of his notes, his frustration at the Rangers’ involvement, was impossible to ignore. Cullen’s belief that mercenaries were little more than opportunistic brigands had only deepened with each report. Though he had long since stopped pressing her for information about the White Wolf, the chasm of secrecy between them grew wider with every word she didn’t say.

    Ariana hoped it would all end soon. That the Chantry would act. That Meredith’s reign over Kirkwall would crumble. That she would never have to tell Cullen the truth and risk everything they had built together. But even that hope was tinged with a restless ache she couldn’t silence.

    It wasn’t that she was unhappy—far from it. She loved Cullen with a ferocity that sometimes frightened her. His presence in her life was like a beacon, filling her world with warmth and light, a love she had never thought herself capable of. She was certain their lives were intertwined, woven together by something greater than fate. And yet, the restlessness lingered, the quiet whisper of the White Wolf in the back of her mind, questioning whether she could ever truly leave behind the shadows she had lived in for so long.

    Her life in Kirkwall was something she cherished. It was home now in every sense of the word. Emma had grown up here, surrounded by the love of not one but three parents—herself, Isabel, and Cullen. And Cullen adored Emma as if she were his own. He had stepped into that role so seamlessly that sometimes Ariana found herself watching him with Emma, her heart swelling with an emotion so profound it was almost overwhelming.

    From the doorway of the library, Ariana watched as Cullen sat on the couch, Emma tucked under his arm as he read to her from an old Fereldan storybook. His voice was low and steady, weaving the tale of a hero’s journey through battles and friendships, triumphs and losses. Emma’s small head leaned against his chest, her eyes fluttering closed as she drifted to sleep.

    Ariana’s chest tightened at the sight. This was everything she had ever wanted, everything she had dared to dream of when the world had felt like it was collapsing around her. This was her family. And yet, even now, the whispers of the White Wolf intruded.

    Could this really last?

    She imagined a life beyond Kirkwall—far from the suffocating weight of secrets and half-truths. A life where she didn’t have to choose between being Ariana Trevelyan and the White Wolf. A life with Cullen and Emma, free of shadows, in the rolling hills of Ferelden. The fantasy was almost cruel in its perfection.

    Cullen’s voice brought her back to the present. His tone softened as he reached the end of the tale, his words becoming a lullaby of sorts. Emma’s breathing grew even, her small hand clutching his tunic as she slept.

    Ariana stepped forward quietly, kneeling beside them. Cullen glanced at her, a warm smile on his face as he leaned down to press a kiss to her temple. “She’s out,” he whispered.

    Ariana brushed a strand of hair from Emma’s face, her fingers trembling slightly. “You’re good with her,” she murmured. “Better than I ever could’ve imagined.”

    Cullen’s expression softened further, his hazel eyes searching hers. “We’re a family,” he said simply. “That’s all that matters.”

    The weight of his words settled over her, grounding her in the moment. No matter the lies she carried or the burdens she bore, this was her anchor. This was what she fought for. But the thought that she might have to give up the White Wolf to keep it—her Rangers, her purpose—sent a pang of guilt through her chest.

    As she sat by the window, the restlessness returned. She stared out toward the courtyard, her reflection in the glass superimposed over the serene image.

    The White Wolf had been a part of her for so long, a symbol of hope and rebellion, a purpose she couldn’t imagine abandoning. But as the secrets piled up and the distance between her and Cullen grew, she couldn’t ignore the truth: the shadows might not be able to coexist with the life she wanted.

    Ariana’s thoughts drifted to the early days of the Rangers, when their purpose had felt as clear as the stars above them. She could almost hear the crackle of the campfire, feel the warmth of camaraderie as Riley teased her over a burnt stew. “You’ve turned us into Rangers,” Riley had said, her voice full of conviction. “You’ve given us a purpose, Ari. A name people respect.”

    Back then, every decision had been a step forward, a spark of hope in a world still reeling from the Blight. Escorting refugees to safety, defending villages from bandits, clearing darkspawn from the forests of West Hill—each act had built their reputation and solidified their purpose. She remembered Bann Teagan’s words, the first time someone had called them “Rangers.” The pride she felt had been overwhelming.

    Now, the Silver Rangers operated in the shadows, their victories unspoken, their purpose muted under the Divine’s orders. Stay invisible. Act subtly. The mantra grated against her soul, a cruel echo of the life she had fought so hard to leave behind. She wasn’t a noblewoman hiding behind gilded walls—she was a fighter, a protector. How could she abandon the identity she had built, the family she had forged in fire and blood?

    For the first time, Ariana allowed herself to think the unthinkable. Could I walk away? Could I give it all up—for them? For him?

    The answer didn’t come easily. But as she looked back at Cullen and Emma, their peaceful forms illuminated by the soft glow of the firelight, she knew one thing for certain: they were her family. She would protect them, no matter the cost. But the quiet fear lingered, unspoken: what would remain of Ariana Trevelyan if she let the White Wolf fade into the shadows?

    ~~~

    The warehouse was alive with activity, the hum of conversation and the rustling of maps creating a constant undercurrent of sound. Ariana stood near the center table, her eyes scanning the latest reports Linnea had compiled. She didn’t even flinch when the door swung open, the familiar voices of Varric and Hawke breaking the rhythm of the room.

    “Pup,” Varric called, striding in with his usual swagger, Bianca resting comfortably against his back. “You’ll want to hear this one.”

    Hawke followed close behind, her daggers at her sides, her expression unusually serious. “We just came from Orsino’s office,” she said without preamble. “He’s concerned about a group of mages and Templars that have been meeting in secret… sound familiar?”

    Ariana straightened, her gaze sharpening. “The group we were looking for?”

    “Seems like it.” Hawke said dryly.

    “Well… shit,” Ariana sighed before continuing, “That answers the question about them being a liability. So what does Orsino know about them?”

    “Nothing other than that,” Hawke admitted. “But he caught wind of a meeting happening tonight in Hightown. He asked us to investigate, and we’re heading there now. We came to get you.”

    Ariana nodded, her decision already made. “Give me a moment to gear up. Linnea, stay here and keep things running. I’ll send word if we need backup.”

    Linnea inclined her head, her expression calm but her eyes reflecting a flicker of concern. “Be careful,” she said simply.

    Ariana retrieved her daggers, adjusting her bracers as she joined Hawke and Varric near the door. “Let’s go,” she said, her tone steady.

    As they reached Hightown, they found a group of mages and Templars congregating in a shadowed square. The tension in the air was palpable, and Ariana could see the unease in the way the mages shifted on their feet.

    When they approached, Hawke raised her hands in a gesture of peace. “We’re not here to fight. Let’s talk.”

    But the leader of the group, a young mage with sharp eyes and a defensive posture, pointed his staff at them. “The Champion! We know you’re spying for Orsino!” he snapped.

    Hawke’s hands tightened on her daggers, her voice steady but laced with frustration. “Orsino wants to help you. That’s why we’re here.”

    The mage didn’t waver, his tone desperate. “Go! We’ll handle this.”

    The inevitability of what came next settled over them like a stormcloud. No matter how many times Hawke and Ariana pleaded for them to listen, the mages and Templars refused to stand down.

    When the dust settled, Ariana wiped her blades clean, her chest heavy with frustration. “Well… that’s not how I hoped this would go.”

    Ariana’s jaw clenched as she wiped her daggers clean. Fools. Every last one of them. The words echoed in her mind, a sharp edge to her growing fury. Do they think this chaos will change anything? She glanced at the fallen mages and Templars, her grip tightening on the hilt of her blade. This isn’t rebellion—it’s madness. And now, every life saved feels further out of reach.

    Varric shrugged, his tone grim. “Sometimes all you can do is try. Let’s see if we can find anything that tells us what they’re planning.”

    “Here,” Hawke said, picking up a note from the fallen leader. “Gardibali’s Warehouse.”

    Ariana groaned, slipping her daggers back into their sheaths. “All the way back to the Docks? Really? Is this how your days usually go?”

    “Some more than others,” Hawke quipped, her tone wry.

    When they arrived at Gardibali’s Warehouse, the situation was no better. The group barely had time to enter before they were attacked. Mages and Templars alike fell upon them with desperation in their eyes, forcing Ariana and the others to fight once more.

    Ariana’s blades flashed as she deflected a spell aimed at Varric. “Stand down!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. But her words fell on deaf ears.

    The battle ended with more bodies left on the ground. Ariana’s shoulders slumped as she wiped blood from her face. Each death weighed on her, more than the last.

    From behind a stack of crates, a Templar emerged, hands raised in surrender. “I told them not to do it, I swear!”

    “And you are…?” Ariana asked, her tone edged with exhaustion.

    “This would be Ser Keran,” Hawke interjected, her annoyance clear. “Didn’t I save your life?”

    Keran flinched, guilt flashing across his face. “If I knew you were the one they were talking about, I’d have warned you! I don’t hold with kidnapping—not after what I went through.”

    “Kidnapping?” Varric raised an eyebrow.

    Keran’s gaze dropped to the ground. “They said someone was spying, and we needed a hostage to ensure our safety.” His voice trembled. “We just got word—they took some girl from the Grey Wardens.”

    Hawke froze, her eyes widening in disbelief before narrowing into a storm of fury. Her hand clenched tightly around the hilt of her dagger, the leather creaking under the strain. “You bastards kidnapped my sister?” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.

    As Keran spoke, his voice trembled with a mixture of fear and shame. “All we wanted was a chance. Meredith’s madness… it’s killing us. She’s paranoid, seeing threats everywhere. We just wanted someone sane to lead.”

    Ariana stepped closer, her hand brushing Hawke’s arm, a silent gesture of support. “Where is she, Keran?” she asked, her tone sharp but measured.

    Keran flinched at the weight of Hawke’s glare. “The Wounded Coast. Some ruins they’ve been using as a base.”

    Hawke’s breathing quickened, her knuckles whitening as she gripped her weapons. “If she’s hurt…”

    “She won’t be,” Ariana said firmly, her voice cutting through the rising tension. “We’ll get her back, Hawke. I promise.”

    Keran pleaded with them not to tell Meredith, his voice cracking as he explained the dire consequences. Meredith would execute every Templar involved and call for the Right of Annulment.

    Varric’s voice was sharp. “As a general rule, I don’t trust anyone who uses my friends against me.”

    “But I won’t risk the lives of every mage in the tower just to turn him in,” Ariana said. She met Hawke’s gaze, her tone brooking no argument. “Let him go. We’ve got more important things to deal with.”

    Hawke nodded reluctantly, her anger simmering beneath the surface. “Let’s go. We don’t have time to waste.”

    As they left the warehouse, Ariana glanced up at the dark sky, the faint outline of Hightown’s towers looming against the moonlight. She knew Isabel would be worried when she didn’t come home, and Cullen… she clenched her jaw, pushing the thought aside.

    She’d promised him dinner tonight, a rare moment stolen from the chaos. The weight of another broken promise settled heavily in her chest. She could almost hear Cullen’s steady voice in her mind, his quiet concern veiled by the warmth of his hazel eyes. He wouldn’t say it, but she knew the missed dinner would deepen the growing chasm between them.

    But there was no other choice. Not when Bethany’s life was at stake. She would have to face the consequences tomorrow, just as she always did. For now, there was no room for hesitation.

    ~~~

    Ariana wasn’t exactly sure what time it was when they reached the Wounded Coast, but exhaustion clung to her like a shroud. Dawn wasn’t far off—the sky had started to lighten, and a faint chill settled over the rocky terrain. With every step, she felt the weight of the night pressing down on her. She couldn’t shake the thought of Cullen waiting at home, the concern he’d carry when she didn’t show.

    The fights blurred together—another skirmish, another group of misguided mages and Templars. No one even tried reasoning anymore; there was no point. Each clash left Ariana more drained, her mind spiraling into a storm of doubts. Was this what the White Wolf had come to? Fighting battles she couldn’t even explain to herself? No. It wasn’t the White Wolf, it was Ariana Trevelyan fighting this battle.

    The ruins loomed ahead, the familiar architecture sparking memories of the times she had come here with Cullen. The thought of him brought both comfort and a pang of guilt that deepened with every breath.

    They found Bethany almost immediately, immobilized by some unseen spell. The sight of her sister in such a vulnerable state made Hawke tense, but her calm demeanor didn’t waver. Ariana couldn’t help but admire how steady Hawke seemed, even now. Despite everything, she could still command the room without letting her emotions control her. Ariana wished she could do the same, but tonight, the cracks in her resolve were widening.

    Several figures emerged from behind the pillars—mages and Templars, among them Ser Thrask. His expression was solemn, regret etched into every line of his face.

    “I suppose it was too much to hope you wouldn’t come,” Thrask said, addressing Hawke. “Though I can’t understand why you side with Meredith now. You showed me we could stand up to her.”

    Ariana’s patience snapped. The exhaustion, the frustration, the sheer stupidity of this entire situation boiled over. “What in the Fade… we’re not siding with Meredith,” she snapped, her voice harsher than she intended. “We’re here because you idiots kidnapped Hawke’s sister.”

    “Easy, Pup,” Varric murmured, his voice calm, a grounding presence as he shot her a sidelong glance. He could see the storm in her eyes, the way her hands tightened into fists at her sides.

    She raised her hands in surrender, taking a deep breath to steady herself. But her anger simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over. These people had been her hope—a faint chance to fix the Gallows without spilling more blood. Now, their reckless actions jeopardized everything. She had believed they could make a difference, but tonight, all she saw were broken people clinging to desperation.

    “Please, Champion,” Thrask said, his voice a quiet plea. “I have nothing but respect for you. It’s Meredith we must see gone.”

    Ariana muttered under her breath, “On that, we agree.”

    “I will not negotiate until you release Bethany,” Hawke demanded, her tone sharp but measured, her gaze unwavering.

    “No harm will come to your sister,” Thrask assured her. “We will release her as soon as I have your word to support us.”

    “That’s negotiating…” Ariana whispered to herself as she rubbed her temples.

    Before Hawke could answer, the mage beside Thrask stepped forward, her eyes blazing. “No! The girl dies. Then the Champion.”

    “Have you all lost your minds?” Varric interjected, his tone edged with disbelief.

    Thrask blocked her path. “Stand down, Grace! We will not kill an innocent to achieve our ends. It gains us nothing to become Meredith.”

    “Meredith! What do I care for Meredith?” Grace spat, her voice dripping with venom. “I’m here for the Champion!”

    “I’ve been wondering when you’d come back to bite me in the ass,” Hawke replied, her tone icy but controlled.

    Ariana marveled at how Hawke kept her composure, even now. The anger that burned in her own chest felt like a fire she couldn’t douse, but Hawke stood steady, her voice never wavering. How did she do it? How did she bear the weight without breaking?

    Grace’s fury exploded, and before anyone could react, she unleashed blood magic, cutting down Thrask and turning on Hawke. Her remaining allies followed, forcing Ariana and the others into yet another fight.

    When the dust settled, only Alain remained standing. His trembling voice broke the silence, explaining that he could free Bethany from the blood magic spell, but only by using blood magic himself. Ariana felt numb as she walked away, watching him work from a distance. Barely processing the quiet reunion between Hawke and Bethany.

    Ariana sat heavily against a nearby rock, her hands moving almost mechanically as she wiped her daggers clean. Her gaze remained fixed on the blood-streaked blades, her mind a tempest. How many more will die for this pointless crusade? The memory of each fallen figure clawed at her resolve. Years of work, years of sacrifice… and it all feels like sand slipping through my fingers.

    Then Samson’s voice cut through the air, dragging her from her daze.

    “They’re meeting in here, Ser Cullen—”

    Ariana flinched at the name, dread tightening her chest. The sound of his footsteps drew closer, each one echoing like a drumbeat in her head.

    “Oh, I guess you didn’t get on so well with these mages as you thought,” Samson said, his tone casual as he surveyed the aftermath.

    “Champion,” Cullen said, his voice carrying authority. “Samson never said you were involved in this.”

    Cullen’s gaze swept the scene, his eyes narrowing as he took in the bloodied remnants of the fight. “I trust you were here to stop these traitors, not join them?”

    Ariana, still sitting on a nearby rock, couldn’t hold her tongue. “All these ‘traitors’ wanted was to relieve Meredith of command,” she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm and exhaustion.

    Cullen’s eyes widened as he stepped toward her. “Ariana? What are you—” He cut himself off, clearly restraining his emotions, and turned back to Hawke. “Put the mage to questioning,” he ordered the Templars.

    “What?” Ariana stood, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

    Hawke raised a hand, her gesture firm yet gentle, urging Ariana to stand down. “Let me handle this,” she said softly.

    “The boy stood up to his elders when they would have killed an innocent hostage,” Hawke argued, her voice steady but pleading.

    Cullen’s tone was colder than Ariana had ever heard. “You mean he was one of them, save for a convenient last-minute change of heart.”

    The words struck Ariana like a blow. This wasn’t the Cullen she knew. His voice, his demeanor—it was as though the Gallows had twisted him into someone unrecognizable. The storm inside her broke free.

    Without a word, she turned to leave, but a Templar stepped into her path. “Ser Cullen—”

    Before he could finish, Ariana moved with fluid precision, disarming him and sweeping his legs out from under him. She didn’t even spare him a glance as she kept walking, her steps steady, her resolve unshaken.

    She didn’t stop to see their reactions. The weight of the night pressed down on her, the disappointment, the fury, the loss. Cullen’s tone, his words… And for the first time in a long time, she felt truly lost.

    ~~~

    Cullen’s eyes narrowed as Ariana began walking away from the ruins, her steps heavy but determined. A nearby Templar stepped forward, moving to block her path.

    “Ser, Cull—” the Templar began, but Ariana moved with the speed of a coiled viper. In one fluid motion, she disarmed him, swept his legs out from under him, and sent him sprawling to the ground. Before anyone could react, she continued walking, her boots crunching against the gravel as if nothing had happened.

    Cullen opened his mouth to order the Templar to stand down, but the scene unfolded too quickly. The younger knight groaned, propping himself up on one elbow, clearly dazed. Cullen’s chest tightened as he watched the swift precision of her movements. She was relentless, capable, and utterly infuriating. Maker, Ari… must you always do this? Pride and frustration warred within him, but he shoved both aside for now. “Get up,” he barked at the Templar, his voice sharp. “And don’t follow her.”

    “Maker’s breath,” Cullen muttered under his breath.

    “Can’t say I didn’t see that coming,” Varric remarked from the side, his tone dry but not without sympathy.

    “Secure the area. Arrest anyone still alive,” he ordered, his voice steady but cold. The Templars saluted and moved to obey, but Cullen lingered, his gaze falling on Hawke and Varric, who were quietly assessing the scene.

    When the Templars had dispersed, Cullen approached Hawke and Varric, his expression dark. “What in Andraste’s name happened here?”

    Hawke crossed her arms, her tone calm but firm. “We were investigating Orsino’s lead on a mage-templar group. It didn’t take long to find them, but things… spiraled. We tried talking to them, but they weren’t interested in reason.”

    Varric nodded, his usual levity absent. “Pup held her ground, tried her best to keep it from turning into a bloodbath. But you could see it was eating at her. Every fight, every person we had to take down—it chipped away at her.”

    Cullen’s brow furrowed, unease tightening his chest. “She shouldn’t have been here at all.”

    Hawke raised an eyebrow. “She came because we asked her to. She thought we could stop this group from doing more damage. And she was right—up until it all went sideways.”

    “And now she’s walking away covered in blood,” Cullen said, his voice strained as his eyes followed the path Ariana had taken. “Maker’s breath…” Cullen exhaled sharply, turning on his heel. “Stay here. I’ll find her.”

    The trail wasn’t difficult to follow; Ariana’s footprints in the soft dirt led him away from the ruins. His heart pounded with every step, anger and worry battling for dominance. What were you thinking, Ari? he thought. Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?

    He found her sitting against a jagged rock, her knees drawn up, her head tilted back against the stone. Her armor—a combination of light brown leather and blue cloth—was stained with blood, the dark streaks stark against the lighter fabric. Her arms were smeared with it, dried patches flaking under the faint breeze. She didn’t look up as he approached, and his chest tightened at the sight of her. His frustration simmered beneath the surface, but as he took in her exhausted form, the sharp edges of his anger dulled. She wasn’t just defying him—she was unraveling before his eyes.

    “Ariana,” he called as he approached, his voice a mix of relief and frustration.

    She glanced up at him, her eyes dulling to the mossy tone they usually did when she seemed particularly defeated. “Cullen,” she acknowledged flatly, her tone devoid of emotion.

    He slowed as he got closer, his gaze scanning her for injuries. “You’re covered in blood,” he said, his voice rough with concern. “Are you hurt?”

    She blinked, then glanced down at herself as if noticing the stains for the first time. “It’s not my blood,” she said quietly. She hesitated, her fingers brushing over a particularly dark patch on her forearm. “At least… it’s probably mostly not my blood.”

    “Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?” he snapped. “I’ve been up all night looking for you, sending patrols, coordinating with Aveline, worried out of my mind, and then I find you here, in the middle of… this.” He gestured vaguely toward the ruins. “What were you thinking?”

    Ariana sighed, her gaze drifting to the horizon. “I was thinking about how many people died tonight,” she said softly. “And for what? No one listened, Cullen. Not the mages, not the Templars.” Her voice cracked, her frustration raw. “It was all pointless.”

    “It wasn’t pointless,” Cullen insisted, his tone softening as he knelt beside her. “You stopped them from causing more harm.”

    “And at what cost?” she shot back, her voice suddenly sharp. Ariana’s fingers curled into her palms as she spoke, the weight of the night pressing heavily on her chest. “They were just trying to survive, Cullen. And I…” Her voice faltered. “I don’t know how much of myself I can lose to keep doing this.”

    Her hazel-green eyes locked onto his, brimming with exhaustion and anger. “Do you even think of them as people, Cullen? Or are they just… threats to you?”

    Her words hit him like a physical blow. He recoiled slightly, his breath catching as he stared at her. “Ari…” he began, his voice low, but she shook her head, cutting him off.

    “Do you?” she pressed, her voice breaking. “Because I can’t tell anymore. You… you talk about justice and doing what’s right, but all I see is fear and control. These mages… they’re terrified. They’re desperate. And tonight, I felt like I was killing pieces of myself just to get through it.”

    Cullen’s throat tightened, guilt and sorrow flooding through him. He had always known the weight she carried, but seeing it now, hearing her pain laid bare—it was almost too much. “I don’t see them as threats,” he said finally, his voice rough. “I see them as people, Ari. People I’ve failed to protect.”

    Her expression didn’t soften, but her gaze wavered. “Then why does it feel like nothing changes? Why does everyone just want to keep fighting.” she whispered.

    “Because change takes time,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “And time is something too many don’t have. But I swear to you, Ari—I’ll fight for it. For them. For you.”

    She let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of the night was finally catching up to her. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, without a word, she leaned into him, her head resting against his chest. Cullen wrapped his arms around her, his grip firm and protective, only to realize she was trembling—not from exhaustion, but from barely contained fury.

    It wasn’t the weariness of a woman who had seen too much bloodshed. It was the quaking rage of someone teetering on the edge of losing control. Her breaths came sharp and uneven, and he could feel the tension coiled in every muscle as though she might spring back into action at the slightest provocation.

    Maker’s breath, he thought, his heart tightening. This wasn’t despair—this was fury, simmering just beneath her calm exterior, threatening to erupt. He tightened his hold on her, his own emotions warring between frustration and a deep, aching worry.

    “Ari,” he murmured, his voice gentle but laced with concern. “I’m here.”

    Her lips pressed together, and she didn’t answer. But her trembling began to subside, her breathing slowing as if his words had given her just enough tether to hold herself together a little longer. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “For worrying you.”

    Cullen squeezed tightened his hold on her. “Just… come home,” he said, his voice almost pleading.

    Ariana hesitated and for a moment, she looked as though she might argue. But then she nodded, her resolve softening. “Alright,” she whispered.

    Cullen exhaled in relief, standing and offering her his hand. When she took it, he helped her to her feet, steadying her as they began the journey back together. He kept his arm around her, not caring who might see. For now, all that mattered was that she was safe. Together, they would face whatever came next.

  • Chapter 46 – A Promise in the Dark

    5 Harvestmere 9:35 – 16 Wintermarch 9:36

    Cullen sat at his desk, carefully weighing each word as he drafted the note. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the room, but his focus remained steady. He leaned back, tapping the pen against his chin as he tried to recall the memory he cherished most vividly. It had been years, but the details were etched in his mind like a finely drawn map—her laughter echoing against the ruins, the sunlight catching in her hair, the sound of sparring swords mingling with the distant crash of waves.

    Ari,

    Meet me by the ruins on the cliffs at dawn tomorrow. Bring whatever you might need for the day—and perhaps be ready for anything.

    I’ll be waiting.

    —Cullen

    He read the note over again, smiling faintly before carefully folding it. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of imagining her expression when she read it. Would she remember that day near Lake Calenhad? Would it bring her the same comfort it brought him?

    Then, as quickly as the warmth settled over him, doubt crept in. Cullen’s hand lingered on the parchment. Was this enough? Could a simple gesture—an echo of the past—bridge the growing gap between them? He’d seen her struggle, the weight she carried, and he wondered if this memory held the same meaning for her as it did for him. Still, he pushed the thought aside. It doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs to be real.

    He grabbed his cloak and made his way to Hightown, the cool evening air brushing against his face as he navigated the quiet streets. The sky was deepening into twilight, and the distant hum of the city felt muted, almost reverent.

    When he reached the Trevelyan estate, Isabel greeted him at the door, her usual knowing smirk firmly in place.

    “Cullen, are you here for Ariana?” Isabel asked, her tone teasing as her green eyes sparkled with curiosity.

    “Not tonight,” Cullen replied, holding out the folded note. “Can you leave this on her bed? It’s a surprise for tomorrow.”

    Isabel raised an eyebrow as she took the note, her expression shifting slightly. “A surprise, you say? For her birthday?”

    Cullen hesitated, his tone softening. “It’s… a reminder. Of a simpler time.”

    Isabel studied him for a moment, her smirk fading into something gentler. “A simpler time, hmm?” she said, her voice tinged with both amusement and understanding. “You know, Cullen, she might not say it, but she’ll appreciate the effort. She always does.”

    He smiled at that, grateful for her reassurance. “Thank you, Isabel.”

    She nodded, her smirk returning as she stepped back. “Now, go get some rest. I’m sure you’ll need it for whatever you’re planning.”

    The ruins the next morning were everything Cullen had hoped for—quiet, timeless, and serene. The faint sound of waves crashing against the cliffs mingled with the distant calls of seabirds. A cool breeze carried the scent of salt and damp stone, and the rising sun painted the sky in shades of pink and orange.

    Cullen had prepared everything: the training swords leaned against a moss-covered pillar, a basket of food rested on a nearby stone, and a small stack of books sat carefully wrapped in cloth. He glanced toward the horizon, his breath visible in the crisp morning air.

    It wasn’t extravagant, but it didn’t need to be. It was a memory brought to life, a gift meant to remind her of the bond they’d forged long ago—and perhaps, to remind her of the man who would stand beside her through whatever lay ahead.

    ~~~

    The words in the note made Ariana’s heart skip a beat. She recognized them instantly, the memory flooding back with startling clarity. That first birthday near Lake Calenhad had been one of the happiest days of her life—a day filled with laughter, light, and the ease of simply being together. She smiled to herself, tucking the note into her pocket. It was such a Cullen thing to do—to remember something so small yet so meaningful. It reminded her of the man she fell in love with, the man who still made her heart ache with both joy and longing.

    She left the estate before dawn, wrapping herself in a cloak against the morning chill. The streets of Kirkwall were silent, the faint glow of lanterns guiding her steps as she made her way toward the cliffs. As she approached the ruins, the sight of the two training swords leaning against the pillar brought a wave of nostalgia so powerful it stole her breath. She paused, her gloved hand brushing the rough stone of the pillar, the memory of that long-ago day playing vividly in her mind.

    Her eyes swept the ruins, searching for him. Cullen was nowhere to be seen, but she felt his presence lingering in the air, like a familiar warmth.

    A faint shift of rocks to her left caught her attention. She smiled to herself, pretending not to notice.

    When Cullen lunged from behind the pillar, wrapping his arms around her, she let out a surprised laugh, her heart leaping as she turned in his embrace to face him.

    “You remembered,” she said softly, her voice tinged with emotion as she leaned up to kiss him.

    “I’ve never forgotten,” he replied, his voice warm and steady, his hazel eyes filled with affection. He cradled the back of her head, holding her close as if anchoring himself in the moment. Then, with a playful grin, he stepped back, bending to grab the training swords. Tossing one to her, he said, “Now, let’s see if you can keep up.”

    Ariana caught the sword with practiced ease, her eyebrow arching. “Are you sure you want to do this, Knight-Captain?”

    “Are you ready to be bested, Lady Trevelyan?” Cullen retorted with a smirk, his playful challenge setting her heart alight.

    They sparred as the sun rose higher, its golden rays casting long shadows across the ruins. The clash of wood against wood echoed in the crisp morning air, mingling with the distant sound of waves. Ariana moved like water, her strikes fluid and precise, her footwork light and agile. Cullen was relentless, each strike carrying the weight of his strength, his focus unwavering.

    Their laughter punctuated the sparring match, each teasing the other between breaths. Ariana’s breath came in quick bursts as she dodged another heavy strike, her grin wide. “You’ve gotten better,” she remarked, feinting to the left before spinning to tap his shoulder with her sword. “Maybe I’ve taught you too much.”

    Cullen laughed, breathless, his stance steady as he adjusted. “And you’ve gotten faster,” he admitted, wiping sweat from his brow.

    They continued, each round more intense than the last, neither willing to yield. Finally, after a particularly swift exchange, they called a draw, collapsing onto the grass side by side. Their laughter mingled with the sound of the waves crashing far below, the warmth of their shared moment dispelling the coolness of the morning air.

    “I’m impressed, Knight-Captain,” Ariana teased, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. “Not many can keep me on my toes.”

    “So it seems,” Cullen replied, his tone filled with quiet admiration. He turned his head toward her, his gaze softening. “You realize just how remarkable you are, don’t you?”

    Ariana’s breath caught, her chest tightening at the sincerity in his gaze. She searched for the right words, her emotions tangling in her throat. “You always bring out the best in me,” she managed quietly, her voice carrying a vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to show.

    Cullen reached over, his fingers brushing against hers as he smiled. “Then I’ll make sure you never forget how extraordinary you are,” he said softly.

    Ariana felt her heart swell, her love for him an ache and a comfort all at once. Beneath the rising sun, surrounded by the ruins that carried echoes of their past, she let herself believe, even if only for a moment, that the weight of their world could be lifted.

    ~~~

    After sharing the food he had packed, Cullen pulled out one of the books, opening it to a marked page. He began to read aloud, his voice steady and calm as he recounted the tale of an Elvhen warrior who defied impossible odds. Ariana rested her head on his lap, her eyes half-closed as she listened, a soft smile playing on her lips.

    “Are you sure we can’t run away?” she murmured, her voice wistful, barely louder than the whisper of the waves below. “I could spend the rest of my life like this.”

    “Someday, Ari. I promise,” Cullen replied, his fingers gently combing through her hair. His words were tender but resolute, a vow spoken as much to himself as to her.

    The sun dipped lower as the day wore on, casting the ruins in warm golden hues. As they sat together, watching the ships in the harbor, Cullen couldn’t help but wonder how he had ended up here. He had met the woman in his arms, the love of his life, six years ago. At that time, she was just a girl running away from a fate that had been decided for her, but she had been strong enough to carve her own path. More importantly, she had chosen to walk that path with him all those years ago—she had chosen him.

    Cullen knew full well that the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but he couldn’t imagine a world where he wasn’t by her side. The weight of his unspoken thoughts pressed against his chest, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. The words escaped him before he had fully thought them through.

    “Ari,” he began softly, his voice almost hesitant. She looked up, her hazel-green eyes bright with curiosity. Cullen exhaled, his golden eyes searching hers as if seeking strength. “Marry me,” he said, the words firm but soft, a quiet plea. “Marry me, Ari. Please.”

    Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she simply stared at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming emotion. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came, her hand instinctively rising to cover her mouth as tears began to spill over.

    He pulled back slightly, reaching into the pocket of his coat with a faintly nervous breath. “I—” Cullen paused, his voice catching as he revealed the small, simple ring resting in the palm of his hand. It wasn’t ostentatious, but its design held a quiet elegance: the centerpiece was a sapphire, its surface polished to a brilliant gleam, set within a starburst pattern. The star was surrounded by delicate engravings of vines and leaves, their intricate curves etched with painstaking precision. The blue stones that flanked the star glinted like tiny shards of sky, catching the light and drawing the eye to the center.

    “The star…” Cullen began softly, his thumb brushing over the engraved lines, “I thought maybe you could follow it one more time.”

    The ring wasn’t grand or extravagant—it was a reflection of him: simple, steady, and deeply meaningful. It was a token of the life they dreamed of, a life beyond the shadows of Kirkwall and the burdens they both carried.

    For a moment, time seemed to still. Cullen’s heart pounded as he watched Ariana’s eyes widen, the shock flickering across her face like the first ripple in still water. She opened her mouth, then closed it, her lips trembling slightly as if the words caught in her throat.

    Her hands moved instinctively, brushing over the ring he held as if to confirm its existence. Cullen caught the faint hitch in her breath, saw the way her gaze softened even as her brows knit together in a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming emotion.

    When her eyes finally met his, they were shimmering with unshed tears. Her lips parted again, this time curving into a radiant smile that seemed to light up the dimming sky. He felt her fingers tremble as they wrapped around his, her grip tightening as if grounding herself in this moment.

    “You… you mean it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, carrying both awe and vulnerability.

    Cullen nodded, his voice steady but low. “I’ve never been more certain of anything, Ari.”

    Her laughter came softly, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of her joy and relief. “Yes,” she said, her voice breaking slightly, her smile widening. “Yes, Cullen. Of course, yes.”

    Relief coursed through him, and as she threw her arms around his neck, he pulled her close, feeling the warmth of her embrace and the steady beat of her heart against his own. He felt her tears dampen his collar as she buried her face into his shoulder, but he knew they weren’t born of sadness. They sat like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, with the cliffs and sea as their silent witnesses.

    Cullen pulled back just enough, taking her hand and gently took her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. The delicate craftsmanship caught the fading light, a tangible symbol of everything they had shared, of the quiet strength that bound them together. She traced the star with her thumb, her fingers trembling slightly. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with love and wonder.

    As they sat in each other’s arms, staring out over the cliffs where the horizon kissed the sea, Cullen’s thoughts inevitably drifted back to the shadows that loomed over their lives. Meredith, the Templar Order, the weight of duty—they were ever-present, gnawing at the edges of his resolve. But as he felt the steady beat of Ariana’s heart against his own, he knew this was a battle he would fight. For her. For them.

    “She won’t let us, will she?” Ariana’s voice broke through the silence, quiet but heavy with unspoken fears.

    Cullen’s jaw tightened as he exhaled slowly, the truth clawing at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low but steady. His arms tightened protectively around her. “But I won’t let her stop us—not forever.”

    Meredith’s shadow loomed over every facet of his life, her grip relentless. He had endured her commands, her oppressive methods, her ability to instill fear in others—all in the name of duty. But this? This was a line she would not cross. Not for him. Not for them. Ariana was his light, his home, and he knew, with absolute certainty, that he would not let Meredith take that away.

    He pressed a kiss to the top of Ariana’s head, his lips lingering there for a moment. “You will be my wife, Ari,” he said, the words a quiet promise. “No one—not Meredith, not the Order—no one will come between us.”

    The ring was more than just a promise—it was his vow that no matter what the future held, nothing would come between them. Not Meredith. Not the Order. Nothing.

    For tonight, they allowed themselves to simply exist in this moment, the future awaiting them—uncertain but no longer so daunting.

    ~~~

    Cullen couldn’t sleep that night. Despite the peace of the room and the warmth of Ariana curled against him, his thoughts churned ceaselessly. There had been a small part of him—a cowardly, unworthy part—that had expected her to say no. Maybe even hoped she would. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her—Maker knew he wanted her more than anything. But she was nobility, and he was… who he was. 

    She deserved more than he could give her. A part of him had whispered that this wasn’t her path, that someone like Frederick, someone of her standing, might make her life easier. Safer. Meredith’s fixation on Ariana as a “distraction” had already complicated her life. What would Meredith do now, knowing they were engaged? 

    He glanced down at her, sleeping peacefully on his chest. Her dark hair spilled over his shoulder, and her hand rested lightly on his heart, the ring he had given her catching the faint moonlight. The sight of her eased his fears, as it always did, silencing the storm in his mind—if only for a moment. 

    She had said yes without hesitation, without doubt. And in truth, he had never doubted her love for him. Whenever she said it, he felt the truth of it in her words, in her actions. But still… was it enough? Did he need to be the one to remember who she was, what she had been born into? Did it matter? 

    He stared at the ring, the tiny sapphire catching the faint light. What if I fail her? The thought clawed at him, unrelenting. He had failed so many—mages, colleagues, himself. How could he be enough for someone like Ariana? She deserved a life free of shadows, of chains. Could he truly give her that?

    Without realizing it, his fingers traced lazy circles over her hand, lingering on the delicate ring now gracing her finger. The star engraving and blue crystal had been chosen with care, something simple yet meaningful, like her. But as much as he wanted to believe it was perfect, the doubts remained. 

    “You’re overthinking things again, aren’t you?” Ariana’s sleepy voice cut through his thoughts, soft and tinged with amusement. 

    Cullen let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head at himself. “One of us has to,” he teased, though his voice held a hint of guilt. 

    Ariana propped herself up slightly, her hazel-green eyes catching his in the faint light. “Do you… regret it?” she asked, her tone low and hesitant, as though unsure she truly wanted the answer. 

    “Maker, Ari… no. Never.” He squeezed her hand, willing her to feel the sincerity in his words. “You’re the only thing in my life I’ve ever been sure of. Even when I didn’t know why, I knew I needed you. It’s just…” His voice faltered as his fingers returned to tracing the ring. 

    “It’s perfect, Cullen,” she said, her voice steadier now. She sat up slightly, leaning on her elbow to look at him. “I don’t know yet how to figure out everything I am or everything I need to be. But this?” She gestured toward the ring, her lips curving into a soft smile. “This is one of the few things I’m certain of. Who I am, who I’m meant to be—it’s here, with you.” 

    Her words struck something deep within him, unraveling the knot of worry he had carried since he first slipped the ring onto her finger. 

    “It reminds me,” she continued, her voice growing gentler, “that you’re the only person who’s ever truly seen me. You’ve always understood me, even when I couldn’t understand myself. Don’t overthink this, Cullen. I never needed or wanted anything grand or extravagant. I would never wear it if it was. This… is the most like myself I’ve felt in a long time.” 

    She leaned in, brushing her lips against his, and he responded instinctively, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer. The kiss was slow and reassuring, a silent promise exchanged between them. 

    As she settled against him again, her head resting on his shoulder, Cullen felt the doubts start to fade. She was right. She had chosen him—not the life she was born into, not some safer, more predictable path. She had left that behind, ran from it, even. She had stayed in Ferelden during the Blight for him, spent years searching for him. 

    And she had said yes to him.

    He exhaled slowly, the weight on his chest beginning to lift. She had chosen him—not out of obligation, not because it was easy, but because she wanted him, flaws and all. If she can see something worth holding onto, then I’ll fight for us. Always. Cullen pressed a gentle kiss to her hair, his voice firm as he murmured, “I’ll protect this, Ari. I’ll protect us. No matter what.”

    In the quiet of the night, with her steady breaths against his chest, Cullen allowed himself to believe that they could make it work. For now, that belief was enough.

    ~~~

    Cullen woke first, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. Ariana, in a rare moment of peace, was still fast asleep, her features relaxed and her breathing steady. He smiled, taking a moment to commit the sight to memory before slipping out of bed without disturbing her. 

    As he made his way down the stairs, the familiar scent of fresh coffee and bread baking greeted him. He chuckled quietly to himself, already guessing what scene awaited him in the kitchen. 

    Sure enough, Emma was perched on the counter, her tiny hands buried in a bowl of flour, streaks of white powder covering her face, her dress, and—somehow—the floor around her. Isabel was nearby, scolding gently but making no real effort to stop the chaos. 

    The moment Emma saw Cullen, she let out a delighted squeal, holding her arms out toward him. “Cullen! You’re here! You want flour?” 

    Cullen laughed, “I’d prefer the bread” he said stepping forward to scoop the flour-covered toddler into his arms. She giggled as she wrapped her arms around his neck, promptly transferring the flour onto his shirt. 

    “Would you stop encouraging the mess she’s making, Cullen,” Isabel teased, walking over with a towel in hand to clean off Emma—and now Cullen. 

    “It’s alright, Isabel,” he said with a grin, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before she could swat him away. “I still need to change anyway.” 

    Isabel raised an eyebrow, clearly noting the unshakable smile on his face. “Well… what’s this then? Someone is in a particularly good mood this morning.” 

    Cullen hesitated for a moment, then sat down at the kitchen table, settling Emma onto his lap. He looked back at Isabel, his expression softening. “I asked her to marry me, Isabel.” 

    Isabel froze for a moment, the towel in her hand stilling as her sharp green eyes fixed on him. 

    “She said yes,” Cullen added, the memory of the night before flooding his mind—the way Ariana’s eyes had lit up, the joy in her voice, the feel of her in his arms as she said the words he hadn’t dared to dream of. His smile widened at the thought, uncontainable.

    Isabel’s smile didn’t fully reach her eyes. She set the towel down deliberately, her movements slower than usual. Cullen caught the slight furrow in her brow, the way her fingers lingered on the edge of the table. It wasn’t hesitation born of surprise; it was something deeper, heavier.

    “Well, of course, she did,” Isabel said, her tone light but carrying a noticeable edge that didn’t escape him. “That girl is in love with you.” 

    Cullen’s brow furrowed, her response not what he had expected. “But?” he asked, suddenly less sure of himself. 

    Isabel’s gaze softened, but her voice carried a quiet steel. “You’ve got to understand, Cullen. Ariana’s been through storms most of us wouldn’t survive. She’ll carry that weight alone, even if it breaks her. Not because she doesn’t trust you, but because she’s trying to protect you from it. That’s who she is.”

    She paused, her gaze shifting between Cullen and Emma as though carefully choosing her words. “Can you, Cullen, be happy knowing that? Knowing that you may never find out what happened to her during her time in Ferelden? Can you stand by her even then?” 

    Cullen’s chest tightened. He had always known Ariana carried burdens she didn’t share, but now he felt the full gravity of that truth. There were moments—fleeting, but undeniable—when he caught her staring at nothing, her gaze distant, shadowed. He had told himself it wasn’t his place to pry, that love meant patience.

    But was patience enough? He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing absently over Emma’s tiny hand. He now he wondered if he had underestimated the depths of what she carried. Could he be what Ariana needed if he didn’t even know what haunted her? Would love alone be enough to banish those shadows? Or would they always linger, just out of reach?

    His chest tightened as Isabel’s words echoed in his mind. *What happened to her during her time in Ferelden?* There was something more there, something Isabel knew and struggled not to reveal. 

    Cullen’s brow furrowed, her words settling like a weight in his chest. “We all have secrets, Isabel,” he said after a moment, his voice quiet but firm.

    Her sharp green eyes narrowed slightly, her expression unreadable as she studied him. “Do you?” she asked, her tone gentle but probing, as though she hadn’t fully expected that answer.

    Cullen exhaled, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Kinloch Hold,” he began softly, the name alone carrying a shadow that darkened his features. His fingers instinctively clenched against Emma’s small hand before he forced himself to relax. “No one can imagine what it’s like for a tower to fall to abominations.” His voice faltered, the weight of the memory pressing down on him. “I wouldn’t be here if not for the Hero of Ferelden.”

    Isabel’s sharp gaze lingered on him, her expression unreadable. “And you’ve never told her?”

    He shook his head, his golden eyes steady but shadowed. “Some things are too heavy to place on someone else’s shoulders,” he replied, his tone quieter now, almost resigned. “Ariana may not know everything about my past, but she’s never demanded I share it. She accepts me as I am, without conditions.”

    There was a beat of silence before Isabel leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “I see,” she said, her voice soft but carrying a thread of something unspoken. “Maybe that’s why it works between you two. You both carry scars, but you don’t demand the other show them.”

    As Cullen mulled over Isabel’s words, Emma tugged on his sleeve, her small voice breaking through the weight of the moment. “Cullen, why does your shirt smell like bread?” she asked, tilting her head in earnest curiosity.

    He blinked, momentarily startled before a soft laugh escaped him. “Because someone,” he said, booping her on the nose, “decided to cover me in flour.”

    Emma giggled, clapping her hands, the sound bright and unburdened. Cullen glanced at Isabel, who watched the exchange with a faint smile, her guarded expression softening briefly.

    Isabel’s demeanor shifted instantly, her usual smirk returning. “Well, my child,” she said, walking over to Ariana. “I hear there’s something you need to tell me…” 

    Ariana looked between them, her expression shifting from confusion to understanding as her gaze landed on Cullen. A smile played on her lips, and Cullen couldn’t help but mirror it. 

    Before Isabel could respond, soft footsteps on the stairs drew their attention. Ariana appeared in the doorway, her hair tousled and her eyes still heavy with sleep. She paused, her gaze flicking between them as she rubbed her eyes. The subtle glint of the ring on her finger caught Isabel’s sharp gaze, and her expression softened.

    “Well, my child,” Isabel said, her tone light but fond, “I hear there’s something you need to tell me.”

    Ariana blinked, her hand brushing over the ring as if suddenly aware of it. Her lips curved into a soft smile. “You’ve heard, then,” she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep.

    Isabel stepped closer, gently taking Ariana’s hand and tilting it slightly to catch the light. Her sharp green eyes flicked to Cullen, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “It’s beautiful,” she said simply, her voice unusually soft. “It’s you.”

    Cullen’s chest tightened, her words settling over him like a soothing balm. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to hear it, the quiet validation grounding him in his decision.

    Ariana’s smile grew, her eyes glimmering with unspoken gratitude as she gently squeezed Isabel’s hand. “Thank you,” she said softly, the weight of the moment shared between them.

    Isabel’s usual smirk returned, and she stepped back, waving a hand toward the kitchen. “Now, go on. Sit down before Emma destroys what’s left of breakfast. Maker knows that child gets away with far too much.”

    Ariana laughed, the sound light and easy as she moved to Cullen’s side, her hand slipping into his. Cullen felt the tension in his chest ease further, the quiet intimacy of the moment strengthening his resolve.

    ~~~

    Little could temper Ariana’s happiness at being engaged to Cullen. The last time she had been engaged, the feeling had been suffocating—a cage disguised as a promise. She hadn’t realized just how different it would feel to be engaged to someone she truly loved. Now, she found herself smiling at the smallest things, often without realizing it.

    Hawke and Varric teased her mercilessly, their banter relentless. Even the Rangers weren’t above joining in—Riley, Valentina, and Linnea all took turns pointing out her uncharacteristic cheerfulness. If she were honest, Ariana didn’t mind the teasing. It felt good to laugh amidst the weight of their lives.

    But winter had returned to Kirkwall, a stark reminder of the darkness that hung over the city. Another year had passed. Despite everything they had accomplished—the mages they had saved, the intelligence they had gathered—the Divine’s orders remained unchanged.

    Stay invisible. Act subtly. Avoid drawing attention.

    The words gnawed at her, a bitter mantra she wanted desperately to reject. How could they remain subtle when the world around them screamed for action? How could she stay silent when delay meant more lives lost to the horrors of the Gallows? More children taken from their families? More people crushed under Meredith’s iron rule?

    The mission that morning had been a tipping point.

    Linnea’s scouts had identified a transport route along the Wounded Coast, one being used to deliver mages to Kirkwall. Ariana had led the effort with her usual precision, but this time, she had made a choice she knew was reckless. She wore her iconic white cloak. She needed people to know that someone—the White Wolf—was watching, was coming to save them.

    The ambush was swift, the Rangers striking with their characteristic efficiency. No casualties, no unnecessary bloodshed—just as Ariana demanded. By the time the mages were freed and the Templars disarmed, the Rangers were already escorting their charges to safety.

    But then, three Templars approached, their movements hesitant. Their armor bore the marks of countless battles, and exhaustion clung to them like a shadow.

    The youngest of the three—a man barely out of training—stepped forward, his sword still in hand but held low. His voice wavered, but his resolve was clear. “We can’t… we can’t keep doing this,” he said. “We want to help. Please, let us come with you.”

    Ariana studied him closely, her hazel-green eyes sharp but not unkind. She saw the guilt in his expression, the same weight Michael had carried when he spoke of the Gallows. Her voice was calm, measured. “Sheathe your weapons.”

    The young man obeyed immediately, motioning for his companions to do the same. They complied, each exhaling as though they had been holding their breath for years.

    “Why?” Ariana asked softly, her tone carrying the weight of all that was unsaid. “Why leave now, after everything?”

    The young man hesitated, glancing nervously at the Rangers flanking her. “Because we’ve seen enough,” he admitted, his voice trembling but resolute. “We’ve heard the whispers, seen the fear in the mages’ eyes. The Gallows isn’t a sanctuary—it’s a prison. And Meredith…” He faltered, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sheathed sword. “Meredith is losing her mind. We can’t be part of this anymore.”

    Ariana nodded slowly, her expression softening but still guarded. “You understand what this means?” she asked. Her voice carried no malice, only the weight of truth. “There is no turning back. We will protect you, and we will accept your help gladly. But once you leave the Order, there’s no going back.”

    The three Templars exchanged quick glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Then, with quiet conviction, the young man replied, “We are prepared to accept the consequences.”

    Ariana allowed a faint smile to touch her lips. “Then you will always have a home and a purpose among the Rangers.” She gestured to Linnea. “She will get you where you need to go.”

    With that, Ariana turned and walked away, her white cloak billowing behind her. She didn’t look back, leaving Linnea to handle the defectors.

    What she didn’t realize was that not every Templar had been subdued. A single knight, hidden among the rocks nearby, had overheard fragments of the exchange. He hadn’t seen the White Wolf’s face, but the name alone—spoken in hushed reverence—was enough to set events in motion.

    ~~~

    Cullen’s eyes lingered on the report, the words blurring together under the dim light of his office. “A figure in a white cloak. The White Wolf?” The name stirred something deep within him—a mixture of gratitude and suspicion. He thought back to the Qunari uprising, to the moment when that enigmatic figure had saved his life and stood as a bulwark against chaos. Back then, the White Wolf had been a symbol of hope, a hero amidst Kirkwall’s madness. But now, if the reports were true, they had become something else entirely—a force acting outside the boundaries of law and order.

    The knock on his door jolted him from his thoughts. He glanced up, tension already tightening in his chest. “Come in,” he called, his voice sharper than intended.

    The door opened, and Ariana stepped inside, her presence a beacon of warmth amidst the cold stone walls. For a fleeting moment, his shoulders relaxed at the sight of her. Even here, in the heart of the Gallows, she could still bring him a sense of calm.

    “You’re here,” he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.

    “I’m not fond of visiting the Gallows,” she said with a small, teasing smile, settling into the chair. “But for you… anything.”

    Her words, meant to soothe, struck a dissonant chord. His fingers tightened around the edge of the report, and he hesitated before speaking. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

    Her smile faltered, replaced by quiet concern. She leaned forward slightly. “What is it?”

    Cullen leaned forward as well, his elbows resting on the desk, fingers laced together as though bracing himself. “There’s been a report… about the White Wolf. It seems they’ve resurfaced in Kirkwall.”

    He watched her closely, searching for any crack in her composure. Her expression remained steady, though he thought he caught the faintest flicker of something—surprise, perhaps, or was it something more carefully veiled? “The White Wolf? Here?” she asked, her voice calm, curious. “What makes you think that?”

    “The transport ambush this morning,” he explained, keeping his tone even despite the storm inside him. “Three more Templars defected. One of the knights overheard an exchange—a mention of the White Wolf. And then there’s the description: a figure in a white cloak.” He paused, letting the words hang heavily. “Do you know if the Silver Rangers are involved?”

    She hesitated—a heartbeat’s pause, but enough to set his nerves on edge. “You’ve asked me about their activities before, Cullen,” she said, her voice steady but firm. “Why would my answer be different now?”

    The deflection gnawed at him, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. He leaned back, exhaling deeply, his fingers tapping against the desk. “The last time I saw the White Wolf, they saved my life,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Why would they turn to this? Why intercept mage transports now?”

    Her eyes softened slightly, though her voice carried a quiet strength. “Perhaps they believe the mages need saving. Would you disagree?”

    The question struck harder than he anticipated. He wanted to disagree, to hold firm to his convictions, but the truth gnawed at the edges of his resolve. “No,” he admitted, frustration bleeding into his tone. “But mercenaries involving themselves in a Templar matter is not the answer. Why are they doing this? Who are they working for?”

    Her gaze didn’t waver, her tone unwavering. “If it’s them… I’m sure they believe in what they’re doing.”

    The response felt like a wall he couldn’t breach. “You think mercenaries are the answer?” he pressed, his voice rising slightly. “That they can be trusted to do what’s right? Their loyalty is bought, Ariana. It shifts with the wind.”

    “Sometimes, Cullen,” she replied, her tone sharpened like a blade, “the people in the shadows act because the light has failed them.”

    The words cut through him, leaving him grappling with their implications. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he looked down at the report. “If the White Wolf and the Rangers are involved… I need to know. The Order will not look the other way. I can’t look the other way.”

    Her voice softened, though it carried a weight he couldn’t ignore. “And if I do find out something?” she asked. “What would you do with that knowledge?”

    The question stopped him cold. What would he do? His duty demanded action, but his heart faltered at the thought of betraying her trust—or asking her to betray those who had cared for her. He struggled with the thought of those people protecting her in ways he couldn’t. “I need to know, Ari,” he said, his tone firm but carrying a note of desperation. “The Order demands justice.”

    Sadness flickered in her eyes, though she kept her composure. “Then it would be best if I don’t involve myself. I can’t be the one to help you capture the only people trying to help.”

    Her words hit him like a blow. She wouldn’t choose him in this. She wouldn’t choose the Order. “Ariana,” he said slowly, disbelief tinging his voice. “This is serious. If you know anything, I need to know.”

    She reached across the desk, her hand resting briefly on his. “You’re asking me to betray the people who cared for me when I was alone. For what? For Meredith?”

    He pulled his hand back, his jaw tightening. “It’s not Meredith,” he said, though the words felt hollow. “It’s about justice. It’s about what’s right.”

    “Justice looks different depending on where you stand,” she said softly, her gaze unwavering.

    Cullen stared at her, his chest tightening as doubt and frustration warred within him. Do I trust her enough? Or do I trust her too much?

    When she finally rose to leave, her expression calm but unreadable, he felt the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him. As the door closed behind her, Cullen stared at the report once more, the words blurring as his thoughts spiraled into uncertainty.

    ~~~

    Ariana’s mind churned with the weight of her conversation with Cullen as she walked back to Hightown. Each step felt heavier than the last as she replayed his words and her own. Had she lied outright, or merely danced around the truth? The distinction felt meaningless. Every step she took deeper into the Rangers’ work, every intercepted transport, every secret she kept from him, pulled her further from the man she loved.

    How can I marry him when I keep lying to him?

    The thought clawed at her until a familiar voice broke through the storm.

    “I hear we have a wedding to plan…”

    She froze, her head snapping toward the sound. A smile broke through unbidden as she spotted Frederick leaning casually against a wall, his arms crossed, his expression warm but laced with quiet understanding.

    “Fred,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “I’d ask what you’re doing here, but…” Her voice softened, her grip tightening. “I’m just happy to see you.”

    Frederick’s arms enveloped her with a steadiness she hadn’t realized she needed. “Well,” he said lightly, “I expected the bride-to-be to seem happier…”

    His teasing tone carried an undercurrent of concern that made her throat tighten. She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her hazel-green eyes glassy. “I could use a friend.”

    “Then let’s talk,” he said simply, offering his arm in the familiar way that always made her feel like a girl again.

    The familiar comfort of the Trevelyan estate offered a small reprieve. She led him to the sitting room, where the fire crackled softly, casting warm light against the cool stone. She sank onto the couch, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her vision blurring as tears pricked her eyes.

    “Will you just sit here with me for a while?” she asked, her voice trembling.

    Frederick didn’t hesitate. He shed his cloak, kicked off his boots, and settled beside her, draping an arm around her shoulders. Without a word, she leaned into him, letting his steady presence anchor her.

    For a while, they sat in silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire.

    “You want to tell me what this is about?” Frederick’s voice was gentle but probing. “Or does being engaged just not suit you?”

    Ariana let out a soft, shaky laugh, grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood. “I love him, Fred,” she said quietly, her voice wavering. “More than anything. But…” She trailed off, her breath catching as the words she had tried so hard to bury spilled out. “I know I’m going to lose him.”

    Her tears came then, slipping down her cheeks as the admission hung in the air like a blade poised to fall.

    Frederick tightened his hold on her, his voice low and soothing. “I doubt that. I watched the way he looked at you, Ari. I’ve never seen a man more in love. Tell me what’s happening.”

    She shook her head, her sobs subsiding into uneven breaths. “It’s… it’s the life I have to keep from him. The lies I have to tell…”

    Frederick’s silence was thoughtful. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. “You mean the mages you’re helping? He doesn’t know yet, does he?”

    She shook her head again, unable to speak.

    “I suppose that makes sense,” Frederick said, his tone far gentler than she expected.

    She looked up at him, searching his face for any hint of judgment. “You don’t think I should have told him?”

    Frederick shook his head, meeting her gaze steadily. “No. Not yet.”

    “But why—”

    “Because,” he interrupted gently, “you’d be putting him in an impossible position. If you tell him everything, you’re asking him to keep secrets from the Order—secrets that could destroy his career, his life. Cullen’s a good man, Ari, but you know how much his duty means to him. Could you live with yourself if it tore him apart?”

    Ariana’s lips parted as if to argue, but no words came. She dropped her gaze, her fingers twisting together. “What if I lose him when he finds out? What if he’s angry?”

    Frederick sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Then he wasn’t the man you thought he was.” He paused, his voice softening further. “But I don’t think that’s the case. He loves you, Ari. He just doesn’t know how to bridge the gap between who he thinks you are and who you truly are.”

    Her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, “How did you bridge that gap?”

    Frederick chuckled softly, the sound tinged with regret. “I lost you, remember?”

    Ariana’s heart sank. Is that what it would take? Did she need to risk losing Cullen and simply hope he would forgive her in time? The thought terrified her, but Frederick’s words carried an undeniable truth.

    “I don’t want to lose him,” she said softly, her voice trembling with emotion.

    “You won’t,” Frederick said firmly, his hand brushing her hair back gently. “But he needs to understand you fully, just as you’ll need to understand him. That kind of love… it takes time. And sometimes, it takes losing something to truly see its worth.”

    His words settled over her, sinking deep into the cracks of her fear. She leaned into him again, the weight of her secrets still heavy but no longer crushing.

    For now, she wasn’t alone.

    And for the first time in years, she allowed herself to hope that maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t break them apart. 

  • Chapter 45 – The Beginning of the End

    22 Bloomingtide – 26 Justinian 9:35

    The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint scent of wood smoke as Ariana stirred a pot of stew on the stove. The morning sunlight filtered through the kitchen’s small windows, casting a warm glow over the room. Michael sat at the worn wooden table, his expression contemplative as he nursed a cup of coffee.

    “You’re sure Isabel knows everything?” Michael asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

    Ariana turned, meeting his gaze with a soft nod. “She does. She knows everything there is to know,” she said quietly, setting the spoon down.

    Michael leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching hers. “And Cullen? Does he know?”

    The question hit harder than she expected, and her hand faltered slightly as she reached for a cloth to wipe her hands. She glanced down, unable to meet his gaze. “No,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “He doesn’t.”

    Michael frowned, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Why not? You trust him, don’t you?”

    “Of course I trust him,” Ariana replied quickly, looking up at him with a flicker of guilt in her hazel eyes. “But trusting him doesn’t mean he’s ready for this. Cullen…” She trailed off, her gaze drifting toward the window. “He’s devoted to the Order, Michael. Even if he questions Meredith, that’s not the same as questioning the entire structure.”

    Michael nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in thought. “You’re not wrong,” he said after a moment. “Based on what I’ve seen, I don’t think he’d ever turn you in. But asking him to keep this secret? To live with it? It might break him.”

    A soft clinking of porcelain interrupted the conversation as Isabel stepped into the room, carrying a tray of fresh bread and butter. She placed it on the table and looked between the siblings, her green eyes sharp with curiosity.

    “Do you really believe that?” Isabel asked, her voice calm but tinged with disappointment.

    Michael nodded, his expression firm. “I do. Cullen’s a good man, but his sense of duty is ingrained. If Ariana tells him, he’ll be torn apart. He’s not ready for that.”

    Isabel’s lips pressed into a thin line as she leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “Then what’s the endgame here?” she asked pointedly, her gaze shifting to Ariana. “You love him, don’t you?”

    “More than anything,” Ariana replied instantly, her voice breaking slightly as she sat down across from Michael. “But if I love him, I can’t put him in this position. I won’t.”

    The words hung heavily in the air, and Ariana’s hands clenched around the edge of the table. She could feel the weight of Michael’s eyes on her, and when she finally looked up, her voice wavered. “I’ve seen what the Order’s done to him, Michael. Every day, he walks a knife’s edge trying to do what’s right. If I tell him the truth… it could push him over.”

    Michael sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s not wrong, Ari. You’re going to lose him when he finds out. And it’s not if, it’s when. Secrets like this…” He gestured vaguely. “They don’t stay hidden forever.”

    Ariana closed her eyes, her hands curling into fists on the table. “I know,” she whispered. “But every time I think about telling him, I can’t do it. He’s already under so much pressure. And if this breaks him…”

    “Then you’ve already lost him,” Isabel interjected, her tone blunt but not unkind. “You can’t protect him from this forever, child. And if you try, it’ll only hurt more when the truth comes out.”

    Michael reached across the table, his hand resting lightly on hers. “Ari, I’m not saying you should tell him now. But you need to be ready for when it happens. Because it will.”

    Ariana opened her eyes, meeting her brother’s gaze. “I don’t know how to prepare for that,” she admitted softly. “I don’t know how to let him go.”

    Michael’s grip on her hand tightened briefly before he let go. He stood slowly, moving to sit beside her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a gentle embrace. “Then don’t let him go,” he said quietly. “But don’t fool yourself into thinking you can have this life and keep him in the dark forever. You’re running out of time.”

    Ariana leaned into him, closing her eyes as her carefully constructed walls began to crack. “I hate that you’re right,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “I wish there was another way.”

    Michael rested his chin on the top of her head, his tone soft but resolute. “I know,” he said simply. “But whatever happens, you’re not alone in this, Ari. You’ve got me, and you’ve got Isabel.”

    Isabel straightened, her expression softening slightly as she walked over and rested a hand on Ariana’s shoulder. “And for what it’s worth, child, we’ll face it together. No matter what.”

    The quiet returned to the kitchen, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire and the distant murmur of Kirkwall outside. Michael stayed beside her, his arm a steadying presence, silently offering the support she didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath for.

    For now, the conversation was over, but the unspoken truths lingered, waiting for the moment they could no longer be ignored.

    ~~~

    The weeks that followed had been a blur of activity. Michael’s involvement with the Rangers had proven invaluable, allowing them to intercept more mage transports and save those doomed to the Rite of Tranquility. Yet, despite their growing successes, Ariana felt the weight of Kirkwall’s despair more acutely than ever. For every mage they saved, it seemed another was taken.

    Ariana’s lies felt heavier, too, each report Cullen brought her another thread in the web she was weaving. Their evenings in the library, once a source of comfort, now left her feeling trapped. Cullen no longer questioned her motives or her insights. Instead, he trusted her implicitly—and that trust tore at her.

    This evening, the fire crackled softly as Cullen sat across from her, a report in hand. His brow was furrowed in concentration, the tension in his shoulders unmistakable. Setting the parchment on the table, he exhaled heavily.

    “This isn’t sustainable,” Cullen said, placing the report on the table with a quiet thud. His voice was steady but tinged with frustration. “Another transport intercepted. No casualties again, but the guards are convinced there’s inside help.”

    Ariana leaned back, carefully masking the flutter of panic that rose in her chest. “Inside help? From the Gallows? Do you think there’s any truth to it?”

    Cullen nodded, his expression dark. “It’s possible. Meredith has been… escalating. She’s convinced this is a rebellion. A threat to the entire Order.”

    “And you?” Ariana asked, her tone steady, though her pulse quickened. “Is that what you believe?”

    Cullen hesitated, his fingers drumming lightly against the table. “No,” he admitted. “It doesn’t feel like rebellion. It feels like survival. Desperation. Mages who see no other way.”

    Ariana studied him for a moment, carefully hiding the relief that threatened to show in her expression. “So, you think they’re just trying to escape the Circles? Not seeking to overthrow the Templar Order?”

    Cullen frowned, considering her question. “Most likely. But it also points to something deeper.” He leaned forward, his voice quieter, more introspective. “What does it say about the state of the Gallows, of the Circles in general, if mages are willing to risk everything to get out? This isn’t just fear—it’s… hopelessness.”

    “You’re questioning more than just Meredith,” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet edge. “You’re questioning the very foundation of the Order?”

    Cullen’s hazel eyes met hers, shadowed with doubt. “How could I not? I see the fear in the mages’ eyes every day. I hear the whispers among the Templars—those who’ve lost faith in Meredith, in everything we’re meant to stand for.” He exhaled slowly, his voice growing quieter. “Some of them have asked if I’d consider taking over as Knight-Commander.”

    Ariana blinked, her breath catching. She had told him before that it was within his power to do that. She didn’t realize others were also looking to him that way. “And what did you say?”

    Cullen hesitated, glancing down at the table. “I didn’t give them an answer,” he admitted. “How could I? I’m… not a leader, Ariana. I’m a soldier. I’ve always been a soldier. Taking that role… it’s not who I am.” He shook his head slightly, frustration creeping into his tone. “Even if I wanted to, it’s not as simple as replacing Meredith. There’s too much broken. Too much beyond repair.”

    Ariana leaned forward, her voice steady but firm. “Maybe you can’t fix everything, Cullen. But you could lead the Gallows. You could make it a place where mages don’t feel like prisoners, where they’re treated with dignity. If people are coming to you, asking you to take over as Knight-Commander, it’s because they see that in you.”

    Cullen frowned, his gaze dropping to the table. “I don’t know if I can lead,” he admitted, his voice low. “I’m not like Meredith. I don’t command respect through fear, and I’m not sure I know how to command it at all. I’m a soldier, Ariana. That’s what I’ve always been.” He looked up, his hazel eyes shadowed. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

    “That’s precisely what makes you a good leader, Cullen,” Ariana began as she reached across the table placing a hand on his “Commanding respect through fear is the recourse of those too weak to command true respect or loyalty. A leader doesn’t have to have all the answers, they just need to trust in the people they lead.”

    Cullen hesitated, glancing down at her hand. “Even if I were, Meredith is still the Knight-Commander. Acting against her would require undeniable proof—something the Order’s leadership couldn’t ignore. And so long as she has the support of the Grand Cleric, there is little I can do.” He looked up, his hazel eyes meeting hers. “But the fact that they came to me at all… it weighs heavily.”

    Ariana’s chest tightened at the vulnerability in his voice. “You don’t have to do it alone,” she said softly, reaching out to place a hand over his. “The people asking you to step up—they’ll support you. Michael would support you. And I will, too. You’re stronger than you think, Cullen. You care. That’s what makes you different. That’s what makes you the right person.”

    Cullen’s lips quirked into a faint, self-deprecating smile. “You have more faith in me than I do.”

    Ariana’s voice softened, but her conviction didn’t waver. “Because I know you, Cullen. I see the man who questions when others remain silent, the man who doesn’t look away from the pain around him. You’ve already been leading in your own way.”

    Cullen stared at her for a long moment, his fingers tightening around hers. “You make it sound so simple,” he said, his voice tinged with both gratitude and doubt.

    “No, leadership isn’t simple,” Ariana admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

    Cullen exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “You make it sound like I can change things,” he murmured.

    “You can,” Ariana replied firmly. “Maybe not the entire Order by yourself, but enough to make a difference. And that’s worth trying for.”

    The room fell into a contemplative silence, the crackling fire the only sound between them. Cullen reached up, brushing his fingers gently along her cheek. “I don’t deserve you,” he said softly, his voice filled with quiet emotion.

    Ariana’s heart twisted painfully at the words, knowing the truth she was keeping from him. She leaned into his touch, her hand covering his. “You deserve more than I can ever give,” she whispered, her voice tinged with both love and regret.

    Cullen leaned forward, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. The warmth of the moment contrasted sharply with the weight of the unspoken truths between them, and when they finally parted, he rested his forehead against hers.

    “I should go,” he said quietly, his voice reluctant. “Meredith will have questions if I’m gone too long.”

    Ariana nodded, her fingers brushing his as he pulled away. “Be safe,” she murmured, watching him rise and gather his things.

    As he turned to leave, Cullen hesitated in the doorway, his gaze lingering on her as if trying to commit her to memory.  “Thank you, Ari,” he said softly. “For… everything.” With a soft sigh, he turned and left the library, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hall.

    She wanted to call him back, to tell him the truth, but the weight of her resolve kept her from speaking.

    As the silence settled around her, Ariana leaned back in her chair, her hands trembling slightly. He trusts me so completely, she thought, the ache in her chest growing sharper. And I’m lying to him every single day.

    The White Wolf couldn’t stay hidden forever, and the time was coming when all her secrets would shatter the fragile peace they’d built. But for now, she sat alone in the flickering firelight, holding on to the moment before it slipped away entirely.

    ~~~

    The warehouse was quiet, save for the faint creak of wooden beams and the occasional scuffle of boots on stone. Michael stepped inside, his eyes adjusting quickly to the dim light filtering through the slatted windows. Linnea was already there, leaning against a table covered in maps, reports, and coded messages. She glanced up as he entered, her sharp eyes assessing him with the precision of a blade.

    “Right on time,” she said, her tone neutral but not unfriendly. “Starting to think we can set the clocks by you.”

    Michael gave a small smile, his hands clasped behind his back. “I figured punctuality is appreciated in your line of work.”

    “It is,” Linnea replied, her lips twitching in what might have been a faint grin. “Especially when it comes with useful information.”

    Michael approached the table, his expression growing serious. “I’ve been listening,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Meredith’s focus is… relentless. She’s still pushing hard for answers about the intercepted transports. She suspects inside help, but there’s no clear evidence yet. That said…” He paused, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a folded parchment. “There’s another transport scheduled in three days. Two mages, both young, likely under heavy guard.”

    Linnea took the parchment, her eyes scanning the details quickly. She nodded, her demeanor businesslike. “Good work,” she said, folding the parchment neatly and tucking it into her own bag. “We’ll be ready.”

    Michael hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. “It’s… worse than I thought,” he admitted. “The punishments in the Gallows are growing harsher. Minor infractions—barely anything at all—are being met with solitary confinement or worse. And the mages know it. The fear is palpable. It’s not just Meredith, either. Some of the other Templars are following her lead, adopting her methods.”

    Linnea leaned back against the table, her arms crossing as she studied him. “And you?” she asked, her tone probing. “How do you feel about all of this?”

    Michael exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It’s wrong,” he said simply. “Every day, I see mages who’ve done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment—children, even. They’re not dangerous. They’re scared. But Meredith… she doesn’t care. She sees them all as threats, as weapons waiting to be unleashed. And the worst part is…” His voice faltered, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “She’s creating the very thing she fears. The more she pushes, the more desperate they become.”

    Linnea’s gaze softened slightly, though her tone remained steady. “Desperation breeds mistakes. And mistakes cost lives.”

    “I know,” Michael replied, his voice heavy with guilt. “That’s why I’m here. If I can help even a few of them escape… if I can make some kind of difference…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I don’t know if it’s enough, but it’s all I can do.”

    Linnea stepped closer, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. “You’re doing more than most, Michael,” she said sincerely. “More than some of us expected, honestly.”

    Michael looked at her, his expression a mixture of gratitude and determination. “I just… I want to make this right. I’ve spent too long standing by, following orders without question. I can’t do that anymore.”

    Linnea nodded, her respect for him evident in her eyes. “And you won’t have to,” she said firmly. “You’re not in this alone, Michael. We’re in this together. The Rangers don’t forget their own.”

    Her words seemed to steady him, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For trusting me.”

    Linnea smirked, her usual edge softening as she added, “But if you’re going to thank someone, thank Wolf. She’s the one who thought you were worth trusting.”

    Michael blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Ariana?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

    Linnea tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “She saw something in you. Said you had potential, that you cared enough to do the right thing even if it’s hard. Not everyone gets that kind of faith from her.”

    Michael’s throat tightened, and he looked away for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. Ariana believed in me? After everything I put her through? Memories surfaced—of the way he dragged her into a holding cell while pleading with him. He had thought he was doing what was right, but now he saw how blind he had been. How much he’d failed to understand her.

    “She had every reason not to trust me,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with guilt. “I tried to drag her back to a life she never wanted. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was wrong.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “The fact that she didn’t hold that against me… that she gave me another chance…” He trailed off, his voice faltering.

    Linnea’s gaze remained steady, her tone softening. “Wolf’s not one to waste time on people who don’t deserve it,” she said firmly. “She saw something in you, and so do I. You’ve proven yourself, Michael. You’re not just here because of her. You’re here because you earned it.”

    Michael’s jaw tightened, a flicker of determination in his eyes as he met Linnea’s gaze. “I won’t let her down. I won’t let any of you down.”

    Linnea nodded approvingly, her sharp eyes flicking to the map on the table. “Good. Let’s make sure you don’t.”

    She leaned forward, her fingers brushing over the marked routes. “This transport’s going through the usual checkpoints, but I’ve been hearing whispers they might add an extra guard detail after the last ambush,” she said. “We’ll need to scout the route ahead of time. I’m thinking two teams—one to create a diversion, the other to hit the wagon directly.”

    Michael frowned, studying the map. “What kind of diversion?”

    Linnea tapped her finger on a narrow choke point. “Here. If we can set up a rockfall or block the road somehow, it’ll force the wagon to slow down. That’s when we hit them. But we’ll need precision—no wasted time, no room for error.”

    Michael nodded, his mind already working through the logistics. “I’ll take the diversion team. We’ll draw them away long enough for you to secure the mages.”

    Linnea smirked, her eyes glinting with amusement. “That’s usually Wolf’s job,” she remarked, crossing her arms. “Charging headfirst into danger, pulling the heat off the rest of us.”

    Michael blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Wolf does that?” he asked, his tone tinged with both surprise and curiosity. “I thought she—”

    “Stayed in the shadows?” Linnea interrupted, her smirk widening. “Not always. When it counts, she’s the first to step up. She’d never ask anyone to do something she wouldn’t do herself.”

    Michael’s expression shifted, a flicker of flattered disbelief crossing his face. “You think I’m like her?”

    Linnea shrugged, her gaze appraising. “You’ve got the same stubborn streak. And the same knack for throwing yourself into danger to protect others.”

    Michael let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not sure whether to be flattered or worried.”

    “Take it as a compliment,” Linnea replied, her tone light but sincere. “Wolf doesn’t hand out trust easily. If you’re taking her spot on this, it means you’ve earned it.”

    Michael’s surprise deepened, but so did his resolve. “I’ll do my best to live up to that,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

    Linnea’s smirk softened into a small, approving smile. “Good. Valentina and Lamberto will go with you. You’ve got this.”

    Michael nodded, his chest tightening with a mixture of pride and pressure. If Ariana—Wolf—believed in him enough to take this role, he wouldn’t let her down.

    ~~~

    The sharp tang of salt hung in the dry heat of the Wounded Coast as Ariana adjusted her gloves, her eyes scanning the jagged cliffs and rocky outcroppings. Every step brought them closer to the faint clash of steel and the desperate cries carried on the wind.

    “You sure this is the spot?” Varric asked, his crossbow slung lazily over his shoulder.

    Hawke flashed a grin, her twin daggers catching the sun. “Would I lie to you, Varric?”

    Varric raised an eyebrow. “Considering how many of your plans end with me running for my life, I’m reserving judgment.”

    Ariana smirked, falling into step beside them. “He has a point,” she said, her tone light. “Your leads tend to be… colorful.”

    Hawke placed a hand over her heart, mock wounded. “You wound me, both of you. My leads are impeccable.” She motioned dramatically to the desolate landscape. “Look at this thriving hotbed of opportunity.”

    Varric gestured toward the barren cliffs. “If this place is a hotbed, I’ll take the flower smugglers any day.”

    Ariana chuckled, her lips twitching with genuine amusement. “Do people even smuggle flowers? What’s the going rate on black-market daisies?”

    “That’s classified,” Varric quipped. “But let’s just say the rose racket is cutthroat.”

    Hawke shook her head, laughing softly. “Focus, people. We’ve got slavers to deal with.” She nodded toward the camp now visible ahead, tattered banners fluttering in the breeze.

    Ariana’s grin faded slightly as she took in the cages and the shadowy figures patrolling the area. “Alright,” she said, drawing her daggers. “Time to ruin their day.”

    The fight was quick and decisive. Hawke’s blades flashed as she weaved through the slavers, while Varric’s bolts hit their marks with deadly precision. Ariana moved with practiced ease, her daggers finding the gaps in armor with every strike.

    When the last slaver fell, Ariana paused to clean her blades, her gaze shifting to the cages. Hawke had already begun breaking the locks, her movements quick but careful. The captives emerged slowly, their eyes wide with fear and disbelief.

    Ariana stepped forward, offering quiet reassurances to the freed captives. Her attention, however, was drawn to a trio lingering near the back of the group. They clutched tightly to each other, their expressions wary but determined. Their Circle robes catching her attention.

    “Mages,” Ariana murmured, her tone thoughtful.

    Hawke glanced over, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Your specialty,” she teased.

    Ariana gave her a look but couldn’t hold back a faint smile. “Guess I’ll take this one.”

    She approached the trio, her voice calm and steady. “You’re safe now. We’ll get you somewhere secure.”

    The tallest of the group, a young man with sharp features, narrowed his eyes. “And why should we trust you?”

    “Because the alternative is staying here,” Ariana said smoothly, her tone light but firm. “And I’d wager that’s not looking like a good option. But I can help you.”

    The oldest, a man with haunted eyes, stepped forward. “Help us how?” he asked, suspicion thick in his voice. “Are you taking us to the Gallows?”

    “No,” Ariana said firmly. “I swear to you, that’s not where you’re going. We have a place where you’ll be safe, but you have to trust us.”

    The man hesitated before nodding. “Alright. Lead the way.”

    As the group made their way back up the coast, the sun dipping lower in the sky, Ariana fell into step beside Varric and Hawke. The tension that had gripped her earlier began to ease, though the weight of her thoughts lingered in the back of her mind.

    “So,” Ariana asked after a while, her voice casual, “what’s the plan if flower smugglers are a thing? Do we go full undercover? Code names and everything?”

    Varric grinned, clearly pleased she was playing along. “Absolutely. I call dibs on Black Lotus.”

    Hawke laughed, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Bold choice, but I think Ariana here would make a great Lady Lavender.”

    Ariana snorted. “Sounds like the name of a tea blend.” She glanced over at Hawke, her smirk returning. “You’d be Thorn, obviously. Can’t have a team without a little edge.”

    Hawke chuckled, nudging her with an elbow. “I like it. Thorn and the Black Lotus. Sounds like a story Varric would write.”

    Varric nodded sagely. “I’m filing that one away for later.”

    Their banter carried them through the rocky terrain, providing a welcome distraction from the heavier thoughts weighing on Ariana’s mind. She still couldn’t shake the guilt of lying to Cullen, of keeping so much hidden from him. But for now, she let herself be drawn into the warmth of her friends’ camaraderie.

    When they finally reached the safe house, Ariana felt a flicker of relief as the mages were ushered inside. The mission was a success, but the ache in her chest remained—a reminder of the truths she carried and the fragile peace she was trying to protect.

    Varric clapped her on the shoulder as they headed back toward Kirkwall. “Cheer up, Pup. You saved lives today. That’s worth a smile, at least.”

    Ariana gave him a sidelong glance, her smirk softening into something more genuine. “Alright, Black Lotus. You’ve earned it.”

    Hawke laughed, throwing an arm around Ariana’s shoulders. “There’s the Wolf we know. Let’s get back and celebrate properly. Drinks on me.”

    Ariana allowed herself to laugh, the weight on her shoulders lightening, if only for a moment. For now, she would hold onto these small victories and the people who kept her grounded, even as the storm of her secrets loomed ever closer.

    ~~~

    Ariana lay on the cool grass of the courtyard, her eyes tracing the constellations above. The night sky offered a fleeting sense of peace, the quiet hum of the city distant but ever-present. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the stillness settle over her, but the sound of approaching footsteps brought a smile to her lips. She didn’t need to look to know it was him.

    “I was waiting for you,” she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that belied the turmoil in her heart.

    Cullen’s chuckle reached her ears, low and familiar. “Were you now?”

    “I was.” She turned her head to see him, her smile widening. “Come sit with me?”

    He smiled, the tension of the day easing from his features as he walked over and stretched out beside her on the grass. “Looking for answers again?” he asked, his tone laced with curiosity—and maybe concern.

    “Always,” she replied simply, reaching for his hand without hesitation.

    “Is it still the same question?” Cullen asked after a moment, though his voice was quieter now, tinged with something deeper. “Are you thinking of leaving Kirkwall?”

    Her eyes snapped to his, surprise flickering across her face. “What?” She couldn’t help the smile that formed as she looked at him, brief flashes of a life they might share dancing in her mind. “Not unless you’re planning on coming with me,” she teased, leaning over to press a tender kiss to his lips, a silent reassurance of her love.

    His smile softened, his gaze steady as he held hers. “I would love nothing more than that.”

    Ariana’s heart skipped at his words. She knew it was just a dream, but for a moment, she let herself linger in the fantasy. “We could run away, you know?” she said, her tone light, though a flicker of hope betrayed her. “We could go back to Ferelden. Live a life away from it all. I have some experience with the whole running away thing,” she teased.

    For a fleeting second, she dared to imagine it—waking up to him every morning, free of secrets and lies. Some part of her hoped, prayed, that he would say yes right now. She could leave the work here to Riley, they could leave, be free from it all. But his smile faded quickly, and her heart sank as reality reasserted itself.

    “I can’t leave, Ari,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with regret. “But I don’t want to be the one holding you back.” He sighed, his brow furrowing. “If leaving would make you happy, I won’t stop you.”

    Ariana turned away, blinking rapidly as tears stung her eyes. She hated how easily they came, how the weight of his words pressed against her chest. Did he really believe she wasn’t happy with him? Had she been so distant, so tangled in her own conflicts, that she made him feel that way?

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the stars as if seeking answers from them. “A few months ago,” he began, his voice quieter now, “when you told me you weren’t sure who you were anymore. That you felt lost here…” He paused, his hazel eyes meeting hers. “I keep thinking about that. Wondering if… if I’m part of the reason you feel that way.”

    Her breath caught, and for a moment, she couldn’t find the words. “Cullen,” she began, her voice almost breaking. “You’re not—”

    He shook his head, cutting her off gently. “I don’t need reassurance, Ariana. I need honesty. Am I enough to make you happy? Or am I just… holding you back?”

    The vulnerability in his voice was like a dagger to her heart. She turned to face him fully, placing her hand over his chest. “Cullen, stop. I didn’t spend years looking for you to just leave. Do you even understand how much I love you? What I endured to find you?” her voice broke slightly. She wasn’t intending to blame him, but she needed him to understand that this—what there was between them—wasn’t something you easily give up.

    “You make me happy, and yes, I would love to run away with you. To get away from the darkness of this place, but” she said firmly, though the weight of her unspoken truths lingered heavily. “I love you more than anything, and I will stay by your side wherever you are and wherever you go. You are my home.”

    Ariana swallowed hard, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She hadn’t expected to feel so raw, so exposed, but she refused to let him misunderstand her heart.

    Cullen held her gaze as if searching for the truth of her words, a flicker of pain and guilt in his expression. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch achingly tender. “Ari,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I never doubted your love. I just…” He trailed off, his brows drawing together. “I see the weight you carry, the way you look at Kirkwall as if it’s suffocating you. And I worry I’m part of that weight.”

    “You’re not,” she said fiercely, sitting up to face him more fully. “This city, this life—it’s hard, yes. But it’s not you. You’re not holding me back. You’re the reason I’m still standing. Don’t you see that?”

    His hazel eyes searched hers, the storm of doubt and love within him laid bare. “Then why do I feel like I’m failing you?” he asked softly.

    Ariana’s heart ached at his words, and the tears that she had been holding back finally betrayed her. She cupped his face gently, her thumb brushing along his cheekbone. “You’re not failing me, Cullen. I’m failing you.” Her voice wavered, the weight of her secrets pressing heavily on her chest. “I’m sorry that I’ve let you believe that this life isn’t enough. I’ve been so lost in my own thoughts that I failed to see what I was doing to you. But, Cullen…” she paused, searching for the right words, “I won’t lose you. Not to this city, not to Meredith, not to the Divin–“

    Ariana stopped abruptly, gasping, her hand flying to cover her mouth. Cullen’s eyes widened immediately, and she could no longer hold his gaze. She sat up, looking away, her fingers trembling against her lips. It was a mistake—a slip of the tongue that carried the weight of every secret she’d buried. Cullen’s sharp inhale cut through the silence like a blade.

    “The Divine?” Cullen asked, his voice low, filled with a mixture of shock and confusion. “Ariana, what does the Divine have to do with this?” He leaned forward, his hand gently but firmly wrapping around her wrist, pulling her hand away from her face. “Please… talk to me.”

    Ariana’s heart raced, her mind scrambling for an escape. She kept her gaze fixed on the ground, unable to meet his eyes. How could she have been so careless? The web of secrets she had so carefully woven now threatened to unravel entirely.

    “I…” she began, her voice faltering, her throat tightening. She tried to form a coherent thought, but the weight of her emotions silenced her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she bit her lip to keep them at bay.

    Cullen’s tone softened, though the urgency in it remained. “Ari, are you telling me… it was the Divine herself you met in Val Royeaux? That she asked you to reconsider your life, your engagement?”

    Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with surprise as she stared at him. Cullen’s expression was earnest, his gaze searching hers for confirmation. He had handed her a lie, ridiculous yet perfect in its simplicity, she almost couldn’t believe it. Maker, could it be this simple?

    “I…” Ariana’s voice broke, her breath hitching as the tears finally spilled over. The words refused to come, the weight of the moment crushing her resolve. She was caught between her truths and the easy escape Cullen had unknowingly offered.

    Cullen’s grip on her wrist tightened briefly before he shifted, cupping her face with both hands. “Ari,” he said, his voice firm but tender. “You’re telling me that you chose this life, chose us, even after the Divine herself intervened?”

    The way he said it—the quiet awe in his voice, the disbelief mingled with reverence—broke her completely. The tears fell freely now, and she didn’t resist as Cullen pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

    “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me,” he murmured against her hair, his voice tinged with hurt. “But, Maker… I’m glad you chose to stay. That you chose me.”

    Ariana’s breath hitched, her hands clutching at his tunic as her tears soaked into the fabric. She couldn’t bring herself to speak, couldn’t bring herself to shatter the fragile truth he’d constructed. Her silence felt like a betrayal, and yet, she clung to him desperately, as if he were her only tether.

    Cullen pulled back slightly, brushing the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. His expression was a mix of worry and tenderness. “You don’t have to carry this alone, Ari,” he said softly. “Whatever doubts you’ve had, whatever brought you to that choice, I’m here. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

    This was the moment she’d feared and anticipated in equal measure. She had crossed the line, let him believe the one lie she could never undo. And yet, as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, she felt the weight of her guilt nearly crush her.

    “I’m sorry,” she whispered into his chest, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry, Cullen.”

    He kissed the top of her head, his voice soft but resolute. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Ari. You’ve given me more than I could ever deserve.”

    As Cullen kissed the top of her head, murmuring reassurances that only deepened her guilt, Ariana’s mind raced. You’ve given me more than I could ever deserve, he had said. Yet every word felt like a fresh weight pressing down on her chest.

    She thought of the countless nights she had spent weaving lies to protect him, to protect the Rangers. How every loving glance and gentle touch was a double-edged sword, cutting deeper as their bond grew stronger. And now, this—letting him believe that even the Divine herself had tested her, and she had still chosen him.

    It should feel like love, she thought bitterly, but it feels like betrayal.

    Her heart twisted as she clung to him, knowing she could never undo this moment. How could she tell him the truth now? That everything he believed about their love was built on foundations of omission and shadows?

    Ariana swallowed hard, her tears subsiding, but the ache in her chest only grew. This lie will protect him, she told herself. But at what cost? How much longer could she hold their fragile world together before it shattered completely?

    For now, she buried her fears deep, pressing her cheek against his chest. She let the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull her, a fragile comfort in the storm she knew was coming.