Lost Figment

Category: Dragon Age

  • Chapter 44 – A Place Among the Pack

    29 Wintermarch – 21 Bloomingtide 9:35

    Linnea stood in the shadowed corner of a Lowtown courtyard, her wagon parked nearby, laden with crates and bundles wrapped in coarse fabric. Her voice carried easily over the hum of the market as she bartered with a scruffy dockworker.

    “Grain and salted fish—that’ll see you through the week,” she said, handing over a bundle. “Keep your coin. Just bring me news from the docks next time.”

    The man nodded in thanks before disappearing into the crowd.

    Michael, standing nearby, caught the exchange. The practical kindness in her tone and manner stood out in a place like this. His curiosity stirred, he approached cautiously, his armor gleaming faintly in the dim light. “Merchant, is it?” he asked, his tone cautious but curious.

    Linnea glanced at him, her sharp green eyes assessing. A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Depends on who’s asking,” she replied, leaning against the wagon. “What are you in the market for?”

    Michael tilted his head, studying her. “You’re offering charity in Lowtown. That doesn’t seem like a typical business model.”

    Linnea chuckled softly. “Not charity—just fair trade. Everyone’s got something to offer, even if it’s not coin.” She gestured to her wares. “Grain, meats, cloth… basic supplies. Nothing flashy, but enough to get by.”

    Michael’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he nodded. “Seems practical.”

    Linnea raised an eyebrow. “And you? What’s a Templar doing wandering Lowtown? Out on patrol?”

    Michael hesitated, caught off guard by her directness. Before he could answer, Linnea continued, her eyes narrowing slightly. “No, not a patrol. Templars don’t patrol alone…”

    “I was passing through,” Michael said carefully, his tone measured.

    “Uh-huh,” Linnea replied, clearly unconvinced. She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering. “An off-duty Templar in full armor in Lowtown? Either you’re hopelessly lost, or you’re looking for something that could be trouble.”

    Michael blinked, startled by her sharp perception. He couldn’t help but chuckle faintly. “Fair point,” he admitted, his tone softening slightly.

    Linnea straightened, brushing her hands off on her tunic. “Let me guess,” she said lightly. “You’ve been up in the Gallows too long. Can’t stand the air up there.”

    Michael’s smile faded, and his jaw tightened. “Something like that.”

    She didn’t press, sensing the shift in his demeanor. “Rough work, I hear,” she said instead, her tone neutral but inviting. “The Gallows. Can’t imagine it’s easy.”

    Michael hesitated, then exhaled heavily. “It’s not,” he said, the words coming slower now. “The mages… they’re terrified. No matter how hard I try to show them I’m not like the others, they don’t see it. They just… see another Templar waiting for them to fail.”

    Linnea nodded, her expression thoughtful. “That’s a heavy burden to carry,” she said quietly. “You ever tell anyone that?”

    He looked at her, surprised by the question. “Not really.”

    “Well, now you have,” she replied simply, offering a faint smile. “Sometimes, it’s easier to talk to strangers.”

    They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, the bustling noise of the courtyard fading into the background. Linnea busied herself adjusting the straps on one of her bundles, giving Michael the space to gather his thoughts.

    “It’s wrong,” he said suddenly, his voice low but firm. “The way they’re treated. Some of them haven’t done anything wrong, and yet they’re punished for the smallest things. It’s not justice—it’s control. And it’s breaking them.”

    Linnea’s sharp gaze flicked to him, her expression unreadable. “And it’s breaking you,” she said softly.

    Michael looked away, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Maybe.”

    “Sounds like you’re carrying a lot,” she said, her tone gentle but pointed. “And what do you plan to do about it?”

    He frowned, his hands clenching slightly. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I can’t keep standing by and doing nothing.”

    Linnea nodded slowly, as if weighing his words. “Well,” she said lightly, adjusting the bundle once more, “if you ever need supplies—or someone to talk to—I’m around. You know where to find me.”

    Michael’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said quietly.

    As he turned to leave, Linnea watched him go, her sharp eyes thoughtful. The cracks in his armor were there—small but widening. He wasn’t ready yet, but he was closer than she’d expected. The seeds were planted. Now, it was just a matter of time.

    ~~~

    Over the next few weeks, Michael began to frequent Linnea’s wagon. It had become a quiet ritual—stopping by on his way to or from the Gallows, Ariana’s estate, or the Hanged Man. Their conversations drifted easily, covering everything from mundane trade details to the weight of Michael’s daily struggles. Linnea, ever patient, let him talk, offering little more than a knowing smile or the occasional well-placed question. But here and there, she dropped hints—subtle mentions of her connections and the shadowy trade in secrets that seemed to follow her wherever she went.

    The chill of an early evening breeze swept through Lowtown, carrying with it the scent of damp stone and the distant hum of market chatter. Linnea stood beside her wagon, her hands deftly rearranging the bundles of goods with practiced ease. Her sharp green eyes flicked toward the edge of the square as Michael’s armored form appeared, his steps heavier than usual.

    “Back so soon?” Linnea called without looking up, her tone casual. She hefted a sack of grain onto the wagon and brushed her hands off on her trousers.

    Michael slowed as he approached, his expression tight. “I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted, his voice low. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, not in threat, but as if seeking reassurance.

    Linnea paused, her head tilting slightly. “Rough day?” she asked, her voice light but laced with curiosity.

    Michael gave a faint, humorless chuckle. “Something like that.”

    She leaned against the wagon, crossing her arms. “So, what’s weighing on you this time, Templar? Did another merchant give you trouble over tolls, or is it something bigger?”

    Michael hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced around the courtyard. His voice dropped as he stepped closer. “There’s a mage in the Gallows,” he said, each word careful and deliberate. “He’s about to undergo the Rite of Tranquility.”

    Linnea’s expression didn’t waver, but her sharp eyes locked onto his. “I’ve heard of that,” she said carefully. “Not a fate I’d wish on anyone.”

    “He doesn’t deserve it,” Michael continued, his voice laced with urgency. “He’s done nothing wrong—nothing to warrant this. It’s the Knight-Commander. She’s…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “She’s making an example of him.”

    Linnea leaned back against the wagon, crossing her arms as if mulling over his words. “And what is it that you need from me?”

    Michael’s jaw tightened, his frustration clear. “I’ve heard things. Rumors about a… group. People who help mages escape. I need to know if it’s true. If someone can get him out.”

    Linnea studied him for a moment, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him squirm. Finally, she sighed, her tone thoughtful. “That’s dangerous talk, Templar.” she said softly. “You’re sure you want to go down this road?”

    “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” Michael shot back, his voice firm. “He doesn’t deserve this. None of them do.”

    Linnea’s expression softened, though her tone remained cautious. “And what makes you think anyone would trust you? A Templar?”

    Michael’s hand fell from his sword hilt, clenching into a fist at his side. “Because I’m not like them,” he said fiercely. “I joined the Order to protect people, not… not this.” His voice faltered, the weight of his disillusionment evident. “I can’t stand by and watch another innocent life destroyed.”

    Linnea let the words hang in the air for a moment before nodding slowly. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s say I know people who could help. It’s not as simple as asking for a favor. They’ll need to trust you. That takes time.”

    Michael’s eyes flashed with determination. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

    Linnea straightened, her smirk faint but encouraging. “Good. Then listen carefully. Keep your eyes and ears open. Let me know if you hear anything about other mages in danger. And stay out of trouble—you bring heat down on yourself, and no one’s going to stick their neck out for you.”

    Michael’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “I understand. Thank you.”

    Linnea waved him off with a casual gesture. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve got a long road ahead, Templar.”

    As Michael turned and made his way back into the streets, Linnea’s sharp gaze followed him. She’d seen something in him—a fire that could either burn away his doubts or consume him entirely. Either way, she knew this was the moment to move.

    Later that evening, back at the warehouse, Linnea found Ariana waiting, the White Wolf’s cloak draped over her shoulders. Linnea relayed the conversation in hushed tones, her words deliberate and measured.

    Ariana listened intently, her expression unreadable. When Linnea finished, the White Wolf nodded, her voice calm but resolute. “We help him. Carefully. If he’s serious, this could change everything.”

    Linnea’s smirk returned, her respect for Ariana’s caution clear. “Understood, Wolf. I’ll keep pushing, but I won’t rush him.”

    Ariana’s gaze lingered on the map spread across the table, her fingers lightly tracing one of the Gallows’ marked routes. She exhaled softly, her expression resolute. “Find out when the Rite is scheduled,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “Let’s try to save this mage if we can.”

    Linnea nodded, her tone equally serious. “I’ll get it done.”

    The White Wolf’s cloak shifted slightly as Ariana leaned forward, her focus sharp. The shadows of Kirkwall stretched long, but the game was far from over. If the time came to act, she would ensure they were ready.

    ~~~

    The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of oil lamps and aged wood. Michael sat at a small table in the warehouse, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the edge. Linnea stood nearby, her posture casual but her watchful eyes betraying her vigilance. Faint murmurs drifted from the hidden corners of the warehouse, a reminder of its many secrets.

    The door creaked open, and Michael immediately straightened. His hand instinctively brushed the hilt of his sword, but Linnea shot him a pointed look, her expression a silent warning to stay calm.

    A figure entered, cloaked in white fur that shimmered faintly in the dim light. The hood obscured their face, leaving only the sharp glint of daggers visible at their sides. The White Wolf.

    Michael’s breath caught, his heart pounding. The stories hadn’t done them justice. The White Wolf radiated a quiet power, their movements fluid and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey. They paused near the far wall, their presence filling the room without a single word.

    Linnea stepped forward, her tone easy but with an edge of command. “This is the one,” she said, gesturing toward Michael. “The Templar who wants to help.”

    The White Wolf tilted their head slightly, their hooded gaze fixed on Michael. He felt an inexplicable weight in that silent scrutiny, as though they could see straight through him.

    Michael swallowed hard, forcing his voice to remain steady. “I… I need your help. There’s a mage in the Gallows. They’re about to perform the Rite of Tranquility. It’s wrong, and I can’t…” He hesitated, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “I can’t let it happen.”

    The White Wolf remained silent, their stillness more commanding than any words. Michael’s skin prickled under the intensity of their unseen gaze. He glanced at Linnea, searching for some kind of response.

    Linnea crossed her arms, her tone neutral but sharp. “And why come to us, Templar? Why not handle it yourself?”

    Michael’s jaw tightened, his voice gaining an edge. “Because I’m not enough. I’ve tried—talked to anyone who’d listen—but it’s not enough. Meredith’s grip on the Gallows is unrelenting. If I make one wrong move, I’ll just end up another pawn in her game.” He hesitated, his next words heavier. “But I can’t openly defy her. If Meredith suspects anything, she’ll go after my sister.”

    Linnea’s eyes flicked toward the White Wolf, her expression briefly unreadable. The Wolf, however, remained still, their face shrouded in shadow. After a moment, they gave a slight tilt of their head—a silent acknowledgment of Michael’s words.

    Michael exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “She brought me here to keep Ariana in line, but I see now… it’s more than that. Meredith doesn’t just want to control her. She wants to break her. And I can’t—I won’t let that happen.”

    Linnea studied him for a long moment, then turned her attention fully to the White Wolf, her posture subtly questioning. The Wolf straightened, their cloak shifting slightly as they took a deliberate step forward. Though their face remained obscured, their presence filled the room.

    Linnea’s tone softened, though it retained its edge. “So, you’re not just fighting for the mages,” she said quietly. “You’re fighting for her.”

    Michael’s eyes burned with quiet resolve. “She’s my sister. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. I… wasn’t always the brother she needed me to be and… I won’t let harm come to her again.”

    The White Wolf gave another slight nod, their silent approval palpable despite their lack of words. Linnea turned back to Michael, her voice steady. “Then you understand what’s at stake. There’s no room for error, Templar. You follow our lead, no questions, no deviations.”

    Michael’s gaze flicked between the two, his jaw tightening before he nodded. “I understand. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

    Linnea stepped aside, her arms crossed. “Good. Then let’s get to work.”

    The White Wolf moved fluidly toward the door, their presence lingering even as they disappeared into the shadows. Michael watched them go, a strange mix of awe and trepidation settling over him. Whatever he’d just stepped into was far larger than himself—and more dangerous.

    But for the first time, he felt he wasn’t facing it alone.

    ~~~

    The estate was quiet in the late evening, the soft glow of lanterns casting warm light across the polished floors. Ariana sat in the library, a book in her lap, though she hadn’t turned a page in some time. Her thoughts had drifted between Cullen, the Rangers, and Michael. She’s my sister. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. Michael’s words echoed in her mind, sharp and unrelenting. He was trying to protect her? All this time, she had been worried about him, about keeping him safe.

    She was so lost in her thoughts that she barely noticed the faint sound of footsteps until Michael appeared in the doorway.

    “Michael?” she said, closing the book and setting it aside. “What are you doing here so late?”

    Michael hesitated, his expression uncharacteristically grave. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him and lingering near the threshold before sitting across from her. His movements were deliberate and heavy, as if the weight of his thoughts had seeped into his very being.

    “I needed to see you,” he said quietly, his hands clasped together tightly. “Before… well, just in case.”

    Ariana’s brow furrowed, her heart sinking at the gravity in his tone. “What do you mean ‘just in case’? Michael, what’s going on?”

    He looked at her for a long moment, his blue eyes filled with a mixture of resolve and hesitation. “Ari, you’re the only family I have here. The only family that’s cared for me,” he began, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “And I need you to know that… that I love you. I’ve always admired your strength, even when I didn’t understand your choices. I just… I need you to hear that.”

    Her chest tightened, and she leaned forward, placing a steadying hand over his. “Michael, you’re scaring me. What’s happening? Are you in trouble?” But Ariana already knew.

    Michael shook his head, though his lips pressed into a thin line. “No. Not yet. But I’ve made a decision… that goes against the Order. I can’t tell you more than that, Ari. It’s safer if you don’t know.”

    Ariana’s heart sank as his words confirmed what she already suspected. She didn’t need him to spell it out—she knew he was talking about the Rangers, about the mage they were planning to save. Her thoughts raced, a mixture of pride and fear swirling within her. He had chosen a path that could ruin him, and yet… it was the right one.

    “Michael…” she started, her voice trembling, but he cut her off.

    “No, listen to me,” he said firmly, his grip tightening on her hand. “I don’t know what will happen, but I need you to stay safe. Don’t get involved, no matter what. Promise me.”

    She held his gaze, her mind whirling as she tried to think of a way to reassure him without revealing too much. If she pushed too hard, he might suspect. But the idea of him facing this alone, unaware of the support already at his back, made her stomach churn.

    “I can’t promise you that, Michael,” she said softly, her voice tinged with love and defiance. “Not if it means losing you.”

    He exhaled, a faint, sad smile tugging at his lips. “I wouldn’t expect you to, but I had to try. Just… be careful. You’re all I have left.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened, her mind already forming a plan. She wouldn’t let him walk into this blind. The White Wolf would be there, watching, ensuring that no harm would come to him. He wasn’t alone—whether he knew it or not.

    As Michael stood to leave, she reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. “Michael, you don’t have to do this alone,” she said carefully, her tone gentle but weighted with meaning.

    He paused, his expression softening. “I know,” he said after a moment, though the words seemed more for her sake than his. “But this is something I need to do.”

    Ariana watched him go, her heart heavy yet resolute. She sat back in her chair, staring into the dim light of the library as her thoughts churned. He didn’t know it yet, but the White Wolf would be there always. She would make sure of it. Whatever he faced, she would ensure he came through it safely. No harm would come to her brother—not while she had the power to stop it.

    ~~~

    The Rangers moved swiftly through the shadows of Lowtown. The group was small but highly coordinated—Linnea and Riley at the forefront, their movements purposeful and silent. Ariana, cloaked as the White Wolf, brought up the rear, her dual daggers sheathed but ready, her senses on high alert.

    Their target was a secluded Templar holding facility used to house mages before they were transported to the Gallows. A young elven healer named Siona, the mage in question, had been taken just days ago. Linnea’s network had confirmed she was scheduled for the Rite of Tranquility within the week.

    Ariana’s mind raced as they approached the facility, her thoughts circling back to Michael. His desperation, resolve, and the quiet fear he tried to mask weighed heavily on her. She’d made her choice: no harm would come to him tonight. No matter what.

    The group halted in the shadows of an alleyway, the facility’s stone walls looming ahead. Linnea motioned for Ariana to step forward, her voice a mere whisper. “We counted four guards, rotating shifts. Standard patrol patterns. Riley and I can take the east entrance. That leaves the west gate for you.”

    Ariana nodded, her expression unreadable beneath the hood. “We’ll rendezvous inside. No unnecessary risks. We extract the mage and vanish.”

    “Got it, Wolf,” Riley replied, her voice steady but carrying a flicker of excitement. She thrived on missions like these, where the stakes felt tangible and the victories immediate.

    The team split seamlessly, each pair melting into the shadows. Ariana moved toward the west gate, her heart pounding in rhythm with her light, calculated steps. The weight of her daggers was a comforting presence at her sides, though she hoped she wouldn’t need to draw them.

    The cold stone wall pressed against her as she reached the door, a sliver of light spilling out from beneath it. She glanced back once, ensuring the path was clear, then pulled a lockpick from her belt. The lock yielded quickly beneath her practiced hands, the faint click echoing louder in her ears than it had any right to.

    The interior was as oppressive as she’d imagined—cold stone walls damp with condensation, and the faint hum of muffled voices echoing down narrow corridors. She moved silently, her steps precise and deliberate. Linnea and Riley had already cleared the east-side guards, leaving the west quiet for now.

    She found the cell easily enough. Siona sat on a wooden bench, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her wide eyes darting nervously to the sound of approaching footsteps. When she saw the cloaked figure before her, her gaze filled with equal parts fear and curiosity.

    “Who—?” Siona began, her voice barely above a whisper.

    “Quiet,” Ariana said firmly, her voice low but not unkind. She crouched by the cell door, working the lock with deft movements. “We’re here to get you out.”

    Siona hesitated, her fear momentarily holding her rooted in place before she rose slowly to her feet. “Why?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why are you helping me?”

    Ariana didn’t answer immediately, her focus on the lock. When the door swung open with a soft creak, she finally looked up. “Because no one deserves to lose themselves,” she said simply.

    Siona’s fear softened slightly, replaced by a flicker of hope. She nodded and followed as Ariana gestured for her to stay close.

    Linnea appeared at the end of the corridor, signaling that the path was clear. “Riley’s covering the exit,” she whispered.

    “Good,” Ariana replied. “Let’s move.”

    The group slipped out into the night, the cool air a stark contrast to the facility’s oppressive interior. Riley was already waiting near the entrance to Lowtown’s network of hidden passages, her sword drawn but resting casually against her shoulder.

    “No sign of reinforcements,” she reported, her tone clipped. “Let’s keep it that way.”

    The journey to the safe house was uneventful, though Siona’s wide-eyed gaze darted nervously between her rescuers and the labyrinthine alleys. As they neared the safe house, she finally found her voice. “Who are you people?”

    Ariana glanced over her shoulder, her face hidden in shadow beneath her hood. “People who believe you deserve more than this city would give you,” she said simply.

    Siona didn’t respond, but her posture eased slightly, and her steps were less hesitant.

    The safe house was a modest structure, its worn exterior blending seamlessly into the surrounding buildings. Inside, a small group of Rangers waited, their faces illuminated by the warm glow of a single lantern. Linnea guided Siona inside, her voice low as she reassured the frightened elf.

    Ariana lingered by the doorway, pulling her hood down as she turned to Riley. “Make sure she gets to the rendezvous point for her transport out of Kirkwall,” she instructed, her voice quiet but firm. “She can’t stay here.”

    Riley nodded, her expression serious. “And Michael?”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened, her gaze distant. “We keep him out of this. He doesn’t need to know what happened tonight.”

    “Understood,” Riley replied, though her sharp green eyes lingered on Ariana for a moment, as if searching for something unspoken.

    As the others busied themselves inside, Ariana leaned against the cold stone wall outside, her breath misting in the night air. The mission had gone smoothly, but her mind refused to settle. One life saved, one mage spared—but how many more remained trapped in the Gallows? How many more could she save before the weight of it all crushed her?

    She pulled her cloak tighter around her, her thoughts circling back to Michael. I hope this gives him some peace, she thought, her resolve hardening. For now, it was enough. But the White Wolf would always be waiting, watching, ready for the next fight.

    ~~~

    Ariana sat on the window ledge, her gaze distant as she looked out onto the courtyard. The faint rustling of leaves and the soft chirping of nightbirds offered a rare moment of serenity, but her thoughts refused to settle. Their mission had been a success—a mage freed from the Gallows, rescued from the Rite of Tranquility. It was a victory, yet it felt too small against the vastness of what still needed to be done. One mage saved, but so many still remain, she mused, her fingers lightly tracing the spine of the book she hadn’t opened.

    Michael’s boots echoed faintly in the hallway, pulling her from her thoughts. A moment later, he appeared in the doorway, his expression lighter than she’d seen in months. He looked… peaceful.

    “Michael,” she greeted, closing the book and setting it aside. “You’re back.”

    He nodded, stepping into the room with an ease that seemed almost foreign. “I’m fine,” he said immediately, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Better than fine, actually.”

    Ariana tilted her head, studying him. “You seem… different,” she remarked cautiously. “What happened?”

    Michael shrugged, his movements relaxed and unguarded. “I guess I’ve been doing some thinking,” he replied vaguely. “And… I’ve made some decisions I’m finally at peace with.”

    Her brows furrowed slightly. “That’s cryptic, even for you,” she teased, though her tone carried a note of curiosity. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

    Michael chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’m fine, Ari. Really. Better than I’ve been in a long time.”

    His refusal to elaborate made Ariana’s mind race, but she chose not to press further. Instead, she gestured toward the chair across from her. “Stay a while,” she said softly. “Talk to me. About anything you want.”

    Michael hesitated for a moment before settling into the chair, his armor faintly clinking as he leaned back. “Alright,” he said, his tone lighter. “What do you want to talk about?”

    Ariana smiled faintly, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “The Order… it can’t have always been this bad.,” she suggested. “Are there any good memories?”

    Michael’s expression softened, a flicker of nostalgia passing through his eyes. “There was a time,” he began slowly, “when I believed the Order was everything it claimed to be. I remember my first day at Kinloch Hold—how proud I felt, how certain I was that I was doing something important, something noble.” He chuckled, the sound tinged with bittersweet remembrance. “I didn’t see the cracks then. I only saw the ideals.”

    Ariana listened intently, her gaze steady. “What changed?”

    He sighed, his fingers tracing the edge of the armrest. “It wasn’t one thing,” he admitted. “It was a thousand little things—the way some Templars spoke about mages, the way fear and suspicion seeped into every interaction. It wore me down, piece by piece.”

    There was a pause before Ariana spoke again, her voice quieter. “But there must’ve been good moments too.”

    Michael’s lips curved into a small smile. “There were,” he agreed. “I remember sparring with Cullen in the courtyard. He always managed to push me harder than anyone else, even though he was the new recruit. I remember being impressed by him. And there was a mage—Elenna. She used to create little light shows after curfew, just to make the younger apprentices laugh.” His smile faded slightly. “She was made Tranquil after an incident in the library. Something about unsanctioned use of magic.”

    Ariana’s chest tightened, her heart aching at the quiet pain in his voice. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

    Michael shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Ari. It’s the system. But sometimes, I wonder if I could’ve done more—if I should’ve seen things sooner.”

    They fell into a contemplative silence, the weight of unspoken regrets settling between them.

    After a moment, Michael looked at her, his expression lighter. “Remember when we were kids, and you used to sneak out to the stables to ride that old mare Father said was too stubborn to train?”

    Ariana laughed softly, the sound breaking the tension. “How could I forget? She threw me into the mud more times than I could count.”

    “And you always got back on,” Michael said, his tone warm with admiration. “You’ve always been stubborn like that.”

    “Determined,” Ariana corrected with a grin. “There’s a difference.”

    Michael chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “If you say so.”

    They continued talking, the hours slipping by as they reminisced about their childhood—shared moments of laughter and mischief, the simpler times before their paths had diverged so drastically. For a while, the weight of their responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by the warmth of a bond neither thought they’d ever have.

    As the first light of dawn crept through the library windows, Michael rose from his chair, stretching. “I should go,” he said, though his tone was reluctant.

    Ariana stood as well, her smile soft. “Thank you for staying,” she said quietly.

    “Thank you for listening,” Michael replied, his voice equally soft.

    As she watched him leave, Ariana felt a flicker of relief herself. She could trust him. He wouldn’t expose the White Wolf or the Rangers, not even to her. That was all the answer she needed now. He’s keeping his own secrets now, she thought, Maybe that means he’s finally finding his way. Maybe I was right to trust him.

    ~~~

    The Rangers moved with precision through the rain-soaked streets of Lowtown, their dark cloaks blending into the shadows. The steady rhythm of the rain muffled their footsteps, creating an eerie stillness in the air. Ariana, her white fur-trimmed cloak distinct even in the downpour, kept a vigilant watch from the rear. Tonight’s mission was delicate—another mage transport, another chance to weaken Meredith’s grip on the city.

    The wagon came into view, its wheels creaking under the weight of the prisoners within. Four Templars flanked it, their torches flickering defiantly against the rain. Linnea and Valentina exchanged a brief glance before slipping into position, their movements seamless. Michael followed close behind, his armor muted by the wet gloom, his focus razor-sharp.

    As the wagon slowed to navigate a sharp turn, the Rangers struck. Valentina’s daggers flashed in the dim light as she disarmed the nearest Templar, her movements precise and efficient. Linnea engaged another, her twin blades dancing as she parried and struck. Michael faced the driver, his sword clashing against the man’s blade in a fierce exchange.

    A third Templar broke free from the fray and charged toward Michael’s unprotected flank. Before Michael could react, Ariana was there. Her daggers moved faster than the rain, disarming the Templar in a fluid motion before sweeping his legs out from under him. The man hit the ground with a dull thud, unconscious before he could cry out.

    Michael turned, his eyes wide as they landed on her. The rain streaked down his face, his chest rising and falling heavily as he took in the scene—the fallen Templar, the unmistakable white of her cloak. His gaze lingered, something flickering behind his eyes as the pieces fell into place.

    “You’re safe now,” he said to the mages inside the wagon, his voice steady despite the storm. “Come with us.”

    Ariana stayed silent, her daggers already sheathed as she stepped back into the shadows. But Michael’s focus remained on her. He watched the way she moved, the silent communication between her and the others, the unmistakable authority she carried. And then, as if a veil lifted, clarity struck.

    Michael’s breath caught, and he turned to face her fully, the rain plastering his dark hair to his forehead. “You,” he said quietly, the word cutting through the rain like a blade. “You’re the White Wolf.”

    Ariana froze, her heart pounding as the Rangers around them stilled. Valentina shifted slightly closer to Ariana, her hand hovering near her blade, but Ariana raised a subtle hand to signal her to stand down.

    Michael’s voice softened, almost reverent. “It’s you. I knew you were involved, but… I didn’t expect this.”

    Ariana’s chest tightened as she slowly pulled her mask down, the cold rain biting at her skin. With a deliberate motion, she pulled back her hood, revealing her face.

    “Michael,” she said, her voice measured. “How did you know?”

    He took a hesitant step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “It was everything,” he admitted, his tone low but steady. “The way you moved just now, the way you carry yourself. It’s the same look I’ve seen in your eyes when you talk about justice, about protecting the innocent. It all… it all fit.” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “And saving me back there? That sealed it.”

    Ariana searched his face, her unease softening into something deeper—relief, maybe, or the quiet acceptance of the inevitable. “I wanted to tell you,” she admitted. “But I couldn’t. Not until I knew you were ready.”

    Michael’s expression softened, his voice losing its edge. “I’m not upset, Ari. If anything, I’m in awe. You’ve built something here… something incredible.”

    Ariana’s throat tightened, her voice quieter now. “It wasn’t that I thought you’d judge me,” she admitted. “It’s… I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to follow me where this path leads. That standing against the Order might be a line you couldn’t cross.”

    Michael’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.

    “I didn’t want to lose you,” she continued, her tone steady despite the weight of her words. “Not as my brother, not as someone I trust. I was afraid that if I told you, it would put you in a place where you’d have to choose. And I wasn’t sure what that choice would be.”

    Michael’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his voice low but resolute. “Ari, I’ve already made my choice. And I’m standing here, aren’t I? I know the risks. I’m not blind to what this means.”

    She held his gaze, her unease slowly giving way to a fragile sense of relief. “You’re sure?”

    “More than ever,” he replied, his voice steady. “I’ve seen too much to look the other way. I’m with you. Always.”

    Ariana turned slightly, her gaze flicking to Valentina and Linnea, who exchanged a knowing look before returning their focus to the task at hand. The White Wolf’s legend had just gained another ally—a brother who would stand beside her, no matter the cost.

    And as the Rangers melted back into the shadows, Ariana felt a flicker of hope burn within her. Together, they would face whatever came next.

  • Chapter 43 – A Wolf’s Restlessness

    3 Solace 9:34 – 18 Wintermarch 9:35

    Winter arrived swiftly, its chill sweeping through Kirkwall like an uninvited guest. With it came a reminder of the city’s relentless, unforgiving nature. Yet, in the shadows of the Gallows and beneath the watchful eyes of the Templars, life continued—each day a delicate balance of danger and defiance.

    Riley’s arrival had proven fortuitous. With Meredith’s increasing scrutiny, Ariana had been forced to limit her visits to the warehouse, leaving her unable to oversee the Rangers as often. Riley, ever resourceful, stepped into the role with ease. She coordinated their operations, ensuring mages were safely escorted out of Kirkwall, and kept Ariana informed of every detail.

    Despite the added distance from the Rangers’ day-to-day, Ariana refused to let herself grow idle. She split her mornings between training sessions with Cullen and Riley. Cullen joined her several times a week, their sparring sessions a blend of fierce competition and quiet moments of connection. On the days Cullen couldn’t make it, Riley filled the gap with her usual bluntness and relentless focus. Together, they worked to keep Ariana sharp, both physically and mentally. Occasionally, she brought Linnea, Lamberto, or Valentina along, though they took care not to draw too much attention. Riley’s presence became a comforting routine, her blunt humor and unflinching loyalty anchoring Ariana through the tumult.

    Meanwhile, Riley had also carved out her own space in Kirkwall’s social scene. She became a regular at the Hanged Man, her sharp wit earning her a fast friendship with Isabela. One night, Riley and Isabela had challenged each other to a game of Wicked Grace, each escalating the stakes with increasingly outrageous dares. By the end, the whole tavern had gathered around their table, roaring with laughter as Isabela recounted a wildly embellished tale of her latest sea voyage, and Riley raised her glass, calling it ‘complete horseshit, but damn good entertainment.’ The two women seemed to click instantly, their laughter echoing through the tavern. If Ariana didn’t know better, she might have suspected Isabela harbored a bit of a crush on Riley—not that Riley appeared to notice.

    When the weight of secrecy grew too heavy, Ariana found solace in accompanying Hawke on excursions beyond Kirkwall’s walls. Whether tracking slavers on the Wounded Coast or facing rogue blood mages, these outings allowed Ariana to shed her carefully crafted mask. Among Hawke and her companions, she could simply be herself—a warrior in the fight for justice. No one questioned her presence when Hawke led the charge, and Ariana cherished these rare moments of freedom. It was during one of those outings on the Wounded Coast, amidst the jagged cliffs and crashing waves, Ariana and Hawke had cornered a group of slavers. Ariana’s daggers gleamed in the moonlight as she disarmed one with fluid precision. ‘Remind me to bring you along on more of these,’ Hawke had remarked, her blade held steady at the throat of the slaver leader. ‘You’re making me look good.’

    Within the city, rumors about Ariana and Cullen continued to swirl. Their relationship had become the subject of relentless gossip, particularly in Hightown. The latest tale suggested they had a love child after Ariana was seen with Emma in the market. Far from offended, they had both learned to laugh it off, finding humor in the absurdity of Kirkwall’s whispers. These moments offered a welcome respite from the ever-present darkness.

    Still, Ariana’s concern for her Michael remained at the forefront of her mind. His disillusionment with the Templar Order was becoming more evident with each passing day. The dark circles under his eyes and his weary demeanor spoke volumes. She could see the weight in his every movement, the way he lingered at the edges of the room during their rare family dinners, his silence speaking louder than words. ‘The Order’s supposed to protect,’ he had muttered one night, his voice thick with frustration. ‘But all I see is fear.’ Though he continued to follow Ariana’s advice to act discreetly, the strain was taking its toll. Ariana longed to ease his burdens, but she knew she couldn’t afford to be careless. Trust had to be earned, and the stakes were too high.

    Today, however, was a day for celebration. A day where they all could hopefully forget about the troubles that surrounded them. Satinalia had arrived, and the Trevelyan estate buzzed with energy as Isabel took charge of preparations. The formal dining room had been transformed into a festive haven, and Ariana ensured that no one was excluded. Hawke and her companions were invited, along with Ariana’s own inner circle. For the first time, their groups would gather under one roof.

    Ariana also made certain the Rangers stationed throughout Kirkwall weren’t forgotten. She organized deliveries of food, ale, and wine to every outpost, ensuring that even those on duty could enjoy a proper feast. It was a small gesture, but one that filled her with pride.

    As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over Hightown, the estate came alive with laughter and conversation. The festive spirit was contagious, momentarily easing the tension that clung to Kirkwall like a second skin. For once, Ariana allowed herself to relax.

    There was something comforting about holidays like this, a rare pause in the chaos. As Ariana watched her friends and allies gather around the table, she felt a fleeting sense of peace. She knew it wouldn’t last—Kirkwall’s shadows were never far, and Meredith’s grip would tighten again soon enough. But for tonight, Ariana chose to embrace the joy and let herself believe, if only for a moment, that this fragile harmony could endure.

    ~~~

    The formal dining room gleamed with the soft light of candles, their golden glow dancing over the array of polished silverware and the feast Isabel had poured her heart into preparing. The table was a spectacle: succulent Feast Day Fish, roasted meats adorned with sprigs of rosemary, bowls of steaming vegetables, and crusty loaves of bread still warm from the oven. The scent of spiced wine lingered in the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of honey-glazed fruit.

    Ariana stood at the head of the table, her hands lightly resting on the back of her chair, taking in the scene with a contented smile. The warmth of laughter and conversation filled the room, momentarily dissolving the tension that clung to Kirkwall like a second skin.

    “I must say, Ariana,” Sebastian began, entering with his usual composed stride, “you’ve truly outdone yourself. This feast is a marvel.”

    “Careful, Vael,” Varric interjected, already seated and swirling a glass of wine. “You’re going to give her a bigger head than she already has.”

    Ariana laughed, shaking her head. “If anyone deserves credit, it’s Isabel. I just told her how many of you were coming and stepped aside.”

    “Stepped aside?” Isabela chimed in from the corner. Her smirk was as sharp as ever. “Darling, you probably ran faster than a Qunari at the sight of a Tevinter diplomat.”

    “That may have happened,” Ariana admitted with a chuckle.

    “Well, you’ve certainly gathered an interesting crowd,” Riley added, leaning casually against the doorframe with a tankard in hand. “Quite the mix of charm and chaos. Just how you like it.”

    “Speaking of chaos,” Isabela’s eyes locked onto Michael as he entered, her smirk widening like a cat spotting a canary. “And who’s this?”

    Michael froze mid-step, caught off guard. “I’m… Michael. Ariana’s brother.”

    “Brother, hmm?” Isabela purred, leaning on the table to get a better look. “Tell me, Michael, does the Templar Order encourage workouts, or are you just naturally built like a granite statue?”

    Michael’s ears turned an impressive shade of red as he stumbled over his response. “I… I don’t think—”

    “Isabela,” Aveline’s voice cut through, exasperation evident as she entered. “Can you go one evening without making someone uncomfortable?”

    “Of course not,” Varric chimed in, grinning. “It’s tradition.”

    Ariana smirked, her eyes flicking to Michael, whose discomfort was all too apparent. “Oh, let her have her fun, Aveline,” she said, her tone light and teasing. “Michael could probably stand to let his guard down. Might as well be with Isabela.”

    Michael turned to glare at her, his cheeks flushed. “Really, Ari?”

    Ariana shrugged, her smirk widening. “You need the practice. And she’s an expert.”

    Isabela’s laughter rang out, rich and full of delight. “See? Even your sister knows a little harmless flirting won’t kill you.” She leaned in closer, her grin wicked. “Unless you’re afraid of me, Templar.”

    Michael muttered something under his breath, his eyes darting between Isabela and Ariana, who looked far too pleased with herself.

    “Maker save him,” Riley said, raising her glass. “He’s outnumbered.”

    Varric chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, kid. Isabela’s all talk… most of the time.”

    Isabela shot him a mock glare. “I’ll remember that, Varric.”

    Michael sank into his chair, clearly wishing the floor would swallow him whole.

    Fenris, watching the exchange with a mixture of skepticism and amusement, muttered, “This is what you call fun?”

    “For some of us, yes,” Hawke replied, nudging him with her elbow. “Besides, it’s harmless… mostly.”

    “Mostly?” Fenris repeated, raising an eyebrow.

    “Let’s just say you’ll know when to intervene,” Varric replied with a wink.

    As the laughter swelled, Merrill tilted her head, her wide eyes darting between Isabela and Michael. “Is this normal? Do all humans flirt this much during Satinalia?”

    “It’s not flirting,” Hawke quipped, pouring more wine. “It’s… festive banter.”

    “Depends on the wine,” Varric added with a grin.

    “Or the company,” Isabela said, her tone suggestive.

    “Maker save us,” Riley muttered, shaking her head but laughing nonetheless.

    “Speaking of company,” Varric turned his gaze to Cullen, his grin taking on a mischievous edge. “Knight-Captain, how does it feel to be the most talked-about man in Hightown?”

    Cullen rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched with reluctant amusement. “It’s… an adjustment. But the rumor about Ariana and me having a love child? That’s a bit much, even for Kirkwall.”

    “Emma, right?” Hawke teased, her grin wicked. “You know, I can see the resemblance.”

    The room erupted into laughter, and Ariana groaned, her cheeks turning pink. “You’re all terrible.”

    “That’s why you love us,” Isabela quipped, raising her glass. “To scandal and mischief. May we never run out of either.”

    “To scandal and mischief,” the group echoed, their voices blending with the clinking of glasses.

    As the laughter subsided, Sebastian leaned toward Ariana, his expression thoughtful. “Forgive the interruption, but… are we not distantly related? I recall the Trevelyans and Vaels sharing some branches of the family tree.”

    Ariana blinked, caught off guard. “I think you’re right,” she mused, tapping her chin. “The records do mention ties to Starkhaven… distant, but they’re there.”

    “Well, that makes things interesting,” Varric said, leaning forward with a gleam in his eye. “So, this is one of those noble gatherings where everyone’s second cousins, huh?”

    Ariana laughed, shaking her head. “Shall we start sketching out the family tree, then?”

    “I’ll bring the parchment,” Varric replied, his grin infectious.

    As the evening unfolded, the wine flowed freely, and the conversation ebbed and flowed like a well-rehearsed symphony. Ariana found herself basking in the rare warmth of friendship, the weight of Kirkwall’s shadows momentarily forgotten. Tonight, they weren’t warriors or fugitives. They were simply friends, sharing the joy and mischief of Satinalia.

    ~~~

    As winter set in, the quiet of Kirkwall had grown almost stifling, its weight pressing against Ariana’s chest like a vice. Winter’s chill had settled over the city, the icy wind sweeping through the streets and rattling the windows of her estate. Yet, the cold wasn’t what gnawed at her—it was the stillness. A stillness that felt more like a cage with every passing day.

    The White Wolf, once a symbol of defiance, had been reduced to a memory, her presence swallowed by the shadows of Kirkwall. The Silver Rangers operated cautiously, their movements measured and deliberate. There were no grand rescues or bold displays of rebellion, only quiet efforts to usher mages to safety and maintain their network. Riley had taken the reins at the warehouse, and though Ariana trusted her implicitly, she felt the loss keenly. Each day away from the Rangers was a day spent unraveling a piece of herself.

    One morning, Ariana sat in the kitchen, the pale light of dawn spilling through the frost-lined windows. Her coffee grew cold in her hands as her thoughts drifted. The estate was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the hearth. Yet the silence only seemed to amplify the dissonance within her.

    Isabel entered, her sharp green eyes instantly taking in the scene. She crossed her arms, leaning casually against the counter. “You’ve been staring out that window for nearly an hour,” she said, her voice cutting through the quiet. “What’s on your mind, child?”

    Ariana blinked, startled from her reverie. Her fingers tightened around the mug as she stared into its dark contents. “I’ve been thinking… maybe this life isn’t for me anymore,” she admitted softly.

    Isabel arched an eyebrow, her expression unreadable. “You’ve been restless for weeks,” she said, her tone measured. “Why now?”

    Ariana exhaled slowly, her gaze returning to the frost-dappled glass. “I miss who I was, Isabel. I miss being the White Wolf. Walking into a town and being recognized—not because of some noble title, but because people believed in me.” Her voice grew quieter, tinged with longing. “Here, I’m just Ariana Trevelyan, some Hightown noble who flits between dinner parties. I’ve buried myself so deep in this charade I barely recognize myself anymore.”

    Isabel’s gaze softened slightly, though her tone remained firm. “You’re not just some noble, Ariana. You’ve built something here—a life with people who care about you. Cullen, Michael, Emma. Does that mean nothing to you?”

    “It means everything,” Ariana whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “But it’s not enough to drown out the restlessness. I miss the freedom, the certainty of knowing exactly who I was and what I stood for. Out there…” She gestured vaguely toward the window. “Out there, I was a symbol. People looked to me for hope, for strength. Here, I’m suffocating, hiding in plain sight.”

    Isabel approached, her expression a mixture of sympathy and practicality. “And Cullen?” she asked gently. “Where does he fit in all this?”

    Ariana hesitated, her grip tightening on the mug. “He fits,” she said softly, her words tinged with guilt. “But his life is here, tied to the Order and Kirkwall. If the White Wolf were to return, she’d have to leave this city. And I don’t know if I could ask him to follow.”

    “Would you even want him to?” Isabel pressed, her gaze searching.

    Ariana’s fingers tightened around the mug as her thoughts wandered, unbidden, to a dream she’d carried in the quiet corners of her mind. “I don’t know if he’d want to,” she murmured, her voice heavy with longing. “But I’d want him to follow me more than anything. I imagine us back in Ferelden, at the Ranger manor outside Redcliffe. A life away from all of this.” Her gaze grew distant, her voice softer. “We’d train together in the mornings, oversee the recruits, and spend our evenings by the fire, with Emma laughing at us for being so hopelessly mundane. Or taking the occasional job, traveling where we’re needed. Our very own adventures.”

    Her lips quirked into a faint smile, though her eyes betrayed the ache beneath her words. “It sounds… perfect, but would it be enough for him? Could he leave the Order behind? Leave Kirkwall?”

    Isabel’s expression softened, though her voice remained firm. “And what if he would? What if he’s waiting for you to ask?”

    Ariana let out a shaky breath, her fingers brushing absently against the rim of her mug. “Then I’d have to be sure,” she said quietly. “Because once I ask, there’s no turning back. I’d have to give him all of me—the truth, the lies, the shadows. And I’m not sure I’m ready for him to see everything.”

    The silence between them stretched, filled only by the faint crackle of the hearth. Finally, Isabel spoke, her voice gentle but unwavering. “You can’t keep living in what-ifs, child. One day, you’ll have to choose. And when that day comes, you’ll need to trust him.”

    Ariana swallowed hard, her gaze returning to the frost-lined window. The fantasy of Ferelden felt fragile, like a snowflake melting against her palm. “One day,” she echoed softly, her breath misting against the glass. “But not today.”

    For now, the dream would remain just that—a dream. But the longing lingered, a quiet reminder of the life she could have if only she dared to reach for it.

    The room fell silent, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire. Finally, Isabel moved closer, placing a steadying hand on Ariana’s shoulder. “You’ve never been one to settle, child. But if you keep letting this pull at you, you’ll lose everything you’ve built here. You need to decide—what matters more? The life you had or the one you have now?”

    Ariana closed her eyes, the weight of the question settling heavily in her chest. “I don’t know how to choose,” she murmured. “I don’t know if I can.”

    Isabel’s hand squeezed her shoulder gently before she stepped back. “You don’t have to decide today. But you can’t live between two worlds forever. It’ll tear you apart.”

    As Isabel left the room, Ariana remained by the window, her gaze distant. The frost on the glass seemed to mirror her own fractured self, a fragile balance between two identities. Somewhere beyond the walls of Kirkwall, the White Wolf waited—untamed, unyielding, and unwilling to be forgotten.

    But Ariana Trevelyan sat in silence, caught between who she was and who she had to be. For now, the quiet held her captive.

    ~~~

    Cullen’s birthday was a quiet affair this year, a deliberate choice by Ariana to shield him from the constant pressures of Kirkwall. She had planned a simple day, just the two of them, far removed from the noise and intrigue that seemed to follow them. The afternoon was spent walking along the docks, the crisp winter air mingling with the salt of the sea. The distant calls of gulls punctuated the rhythmic lapping of waves against the piers.

    Yet Cullen couldn’t shake the feeling that something was troubling her. As they walked, her gaze continually drifted toward the horizon, her shoulders subtly tensing as though weighed down by unseen chains. She smiled when he spoke, but the warmth didn’t quite reach her eyes, and her responses were more absent than engaged.

    Cullen watched her, his hazel eyes tracing every subtle shift in her posture, every flicker of emotion that crossed her face. He saw a fleeting look of sadness, a hint of frustration, and a touch of fear. She clutched her cloak tightly, her fingers absently toying with the fabric as if trying to ground herself.

    “Ari,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the gentle murmur of the sea. “Are you alright?”

    Ariana blinked, seemingly startled out of her reverie. She turned to him, her lips curving into a practiced smile, but Cullen could see through it. It was a mask—beautifully crafted, but a mask nonetheless. “Yes, of course,” she replied too quickly. “I’m fine.”

    He raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “You’re lying, love,” he said gently, though his words were laced with concern.

    Her smile faltered, and for a moment, the mask cracked. She chuckled softly, but the sound lacked its usual brightness. “I don’t want you to worry,” she admitted, her tone light but unconvincing. “It’s nothing worth talking about.”

    Cullen stopped walking and gently caught her hand, pulling her to face him. His grip was firm but comforting, his eyes searching hers. “You know better than that,” he said, his voice low but steady. “If something’s weighing on you, don’t carry it alone. Not with me.”

    Ariana hesitated, her gaze dropping to where his hand enveloped hers. Her fingers tightened slightly, seeking reassurance. “I’ve just… been thinking too much lately,” she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

    Cullen frowned, his concern deepening. He tilted her chin up with his free hand, coaxing her to meet his gaze. “Ari, whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that, right?”

    She stared into his eyes for a long moment, as if torn between what she was truly thinking and what she wanted to say. Finally, she exhaled, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I know,” she whispered. “Thank you, Cullen.”

    His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles, his smile faint but steady. “You don’t have to tell me everything now,” he said. “But promise me you won’t keep it locked away.”

    Ariana nodded, leaning into him slightly, letting out a soft sigh. “I promise,” she murmured.

    They resumed their walk, but Cullen couldn’t shake the feeling that her thoughts lingered elsewhere. The way she kept glancing toward the horizon, her movements slower, more deliberate—it all pointed to a restlessness he hadn’t seen in her before.

    After a time, she hesitated, looking down at their joined hands. “It’s hard to explain,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “I’ve been thinking about who I am… what I’m supposed to be doing. I love being here with you, Cullen. I love you more than anything. But sometimes…” Her words trailed off, the unspoken conflict hanging in the air.

    “Sometimes, you feel like something’s missing,” Cullen finished for her, his tone more understanding than accusatory.

    Ariana blinked, clearly startled by how precisely he’d captured what she couldn’t quite articulate. “Yes,” she said softly, her voice almost breaking. “It’s not about you. Maker, it’s not about you. It’s about this city. It’s about me. About who I was before… and who I’ve become.”

    Cullen’s brow furrowed as her words struck a chord. He thought back to the days before she found him, before he knew she was alive. You’d have hated this place, Ariana, he’d once told himself. You’d have hated me for staying. He had been so certain then, and now he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been right. Kirkwall wasn’t her, not the woman he’d fallen in love with. She was meant for more—meant for a freedom Kirkwall didn’t provide.

    “You’ve changed, Ari,” he said gently. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve lost who you are.”

    She shook her head, frustration creeping into her tone. “There’s Kirkwall,” she said, her voice gaining an edge. “It’s hard to watch, to be here, to sit idly by and do nothing. This city is… suffocating. Meredith’s grip is choking the life out of it, and no one can breathe. Not the mages, not the people. And I…” She paused, her voice faltering. “I don’t know how to just sit by and let it happen.”

    Cullen studied her closely, his hazel eyes filled with quiet determination. “You’re not sitting idly by, Ari,” he said quietly. “You’ve stood up to her before—just by being yourself. By staying strong, even when she tries to push you down.”

    Ariana let out a humorless laugh, her gaze dropping again. “That helps no one except me… us…”

    “You helped me find myself when I was lost,” Cullen said simply, his voice steady. “You’re stronger than you realize. You don’t have to have all the answers, not now. But whatever you’re searching for, I’ll stand with you.”

    She exhaled shakily, her grip on his hand tightening. “I don’t deserve you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

    Cullen’s hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. “You deserve everything good in this world,” he said firmly. “And I’ll remind you of that every day if I have to.”

    Ariana’s lips curved into a faint, genuine smile, though it carried a weight Cullen couldn’t quite name. She leaned into his touch, her eyes drifting closed for a moment, her posture softening as if his hand on her cheek was the only thing anchoring her. For that brief instant, the tension in her seemed to ease, and Cullen found himself silently hoping she could hold on to the fragile peace he saw in her expression.

    “Thank you,” she whispered.

    Cullen didn’t respond immediately, but the quiet look he gave her spoke volumes. Whatever storm she faced, he’d weather it with her, one step at a time.

    ~~~

    The courtyard of the Trevelyan estate was quiet, lit only by the pale glow of the moon and the faint flicker of lanterns hung along the stone walls. Ariana sat on the edge of the fountain, her cloak pulled tightly around her against the chill. The stillness of the night was a welcome reprieve from the ceaseless noise in her mind.

    When Michael approached from the shadows of the archway, she could hear the weariness in his steps before she saw it in his slouched shoulders. The weight of another day in the Gallows clung to him like a shroud. He moved as though the oppressive stone halls still clutched at him. Ariana’s gaze softened at the sight of him.

    “Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked, her voice quiet but warm.

    Michael let out a humorless chuckle as he sank down beside her. “Sleep doesn’t come easy when you spend your days in that place,” he admitted, his tone heavy.

    Ariana tilted her head, studying the tension in his posture. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

    He nodded, his hands clasping tightly together, knuckles white. “You’ve no idea. The punishments… the fear. It’s everywhere. Even the mages who try to follow the rules and do everything they’re told are still treated like criminals. They look at me like I’m the executioner, no matter what I do.”

    The anguish in his voice struck her deeply. She reached out, her hand resting lightly on his arm. “You’re not like the others, Michael. They’ll see that in time.”

    “Will they?” His bitterness cut like a blade. His gaze stayed fixed on the ground, his voice quieter now. “Because I’m starting to think it doesn’t matter. It’s not just the mages. Even some of the Templars… they’re uneasy. Meredith’s grip is tightening, and everyone can feel it. It’s suffocating.”

    Ariana’s heart ached at the quiet despair in his tone. She wanted to reassure him, to offer a solution, but the truth was a tangled knot she couldn’t yet unravel. “You’re doing what you can,” she said softly. “Small acts of kindness—they matter.”

    Michael let out a heavy sigh, his hands rubbing over his face. “It’s not enough, Ari. Not anymore.”

    The weight of his words settled heavily between them. Ariana’s doubts echoed his, a constant reminder of the fragility of hope in a city like Kirkwall. The quiet was broken only by the gentle trickle of water from the fountain.

    Michael finally turned to her, his expression more serious than she’d ever seen. “Can I trust you?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

    Ariana blinked, startled by the sudden intensity of his question. “Of course,” she replied without hesitation, her brow furrowing in concern. “With anything.”

    Michael hesitated, his blue eyes searching hers. “I’ve heard rumors,” he said carefully. “About a… mage underground. People helping mages escape the Gallows. They say there are safehouses and routes out of the city. Have you… heard anything about that?”

    Ariana’s heart skipped a beat. Her thoughts raced, but her face betrayed nothing. “Rumors like that are dangerous,” she said cautiously. “What are you planning, Michael?”

    His frustration boiled over, and he exhaled sharply. “I don’t know,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But I can’t keep watching without doing something. Every day, I see their fear, their despair. It’s eating away at me.”

    Ariana felt a mix of hope, fear, and a faint relief she hadn’t realized she craved. She couldn’t afford to rush this, but the seed of potential in his words was undeniable. “You need to be careful,” she said gently, her grip on his arm tightening slightly. “If Meredith even suspects you’re questioning her authority…”

    “I know,” he interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended. He softened immediately, shaking his head. “I know, Ari. But I can’t just sit by and watch anymore.”

    She nodded, the weight of his words pressing against her own burdens. “Whatever you decide,” she said carefully, her tone firm but laced with affection, “you won’t be alone. You know that, right?”

    Michael met her gaze, gratitude flickering in his tired eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I just… I need to figure out what the right thing is.”

    Ariana stayed seated as he rose to leave, her gaze following him until the shadows swallowed his form. She sat in silence, her thoughts a maelstrom of possibilities. Michael is closer than I thought, she realized, her chest tightening. She had kept him at arm’s length for so long, afraid of what he might uncover about her life, the Rangers, and the White Wolf. But now… now she saw a flicker of something she could nurture—a chance to bring him into her world, if only gradually.

    Her lips pressed into a thin line as determination steadied her. She needed to tread carefully to ensure that Michael’s heart and resolve were in the right place before taking the risk. She would start small, connecting him discreetly with trusted Rangers. Linnea, perhaps. If he proved himself, maybe then the veil could be lifted just enough.

    The thought brought a strange sense of relief. One less secret, she thought. One less person I have to hide from. Yet, it also brought a fresh wave of responsibility. If Michael faltered, hesitated, or made a mistake, the fallout could be catastrophic—for her, the Rangers, and everything they’d built.

    The White Wolf stirred within her, restless but ready. Ariana exhaled slowly, her breath forming soft clouds in the cool night air. Michael doesn’t know it yet, she thought, her resolve solidifying, but he’s already part of something bigger. And when the time comes, I’ll make sure he’s ready.

    ~~~

    The soft light of early morning filtered through the windows as Isabel moved efficiently around the kitchen, the quiet clatter of pots and pans blending with the comforting aroma of fresh bread and simmering porridge. Ariana sat at the kitchen table, her fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of tea, her thoughts preoccupied with the conversation she’d had with Michael the night before.

    The stillness of the moment was interrupted by the sound of Riley’s boots echoing in the hallway. Ariana glanced up as Riley entered, her red hair still slightly tousled from sleep but her green eyes sharp and alert, as always.

    “Morning, Wolf,” Riley greeted, her voice casual but warm as she grabbed a mug and poured herself a cup of tea. She leaned against the counter, studying Ariana for a moment. “You look like you didn’t sleep much. Thinking about your brother?”

    Ariana offered a faint smile, appreciating Riley’s uncanny ability to cut straight to the heart of things. “You always did have a knack for reading me.”

    “It’s part of my charm,” Riley said with a smirk as she settled into the chair across from her. “So, what’s on your mind?”

    Ariana hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup, the weight of her thoughts evident in her posture. “I need your help,” she said at last, quiet but resolute. “And yes, it’s about Michael.”

    Riley’s eyebrow arched slightly as she leaned forward. “Go on.”

    “Last night, he mentioned hearing rumors about the mage underground,” Ariana explained, her voice steady but tinged with unease. “He’s struggling with what he’s seeing in the Gallows. I think he wants to do something, but he doesn’t know what. Not yet.”

    Riley’s sharp gaze stayed fixed on her. She sipped her tea slowly, her expression unreadable. “You’re thinking of pulling him in, aren’t you?”

    “Not directly,” Ariana clarified quickly, her grip tightening on the cup. “Not yet. He’s not ready, and I can’t risk exposing too much. But I need to know where he stands—if he’s willing to act, and how far he’s willing to go.”

    Riley nodded slowly, her smirk fading into a more contemplative look. “So, what’s the plan?”

    “I need Linnea or Lamberto to make contact with him,” Ariana said. “Subtle hints, nothing overt. Just… see how he reacts. If he asks questions or shows interest, we’ll know he’s open to more.”

    Riley tilted her head, weighing the idea. “And if he doesn’t bite?”

    Ariana’s gaze turned serious, her voice firm. “Then we leave it alone. I won’t push him into something he’s not ready for. But if he does respond… we take it slow. One step at a time.”

    Setting her mug down, Riley crossed her arms, a faint grin tugging at her lips. “You’re playing it smart, Wolf. Careful. I like it. But Linnea or Lamberto will have to tread lightly. If Michael even suspects this is coming from you…”

    “I know,” Ariana interrupted, her voice quieter but no less determined. “That’s why it has to come from them. He can’t connect it to me—not yet.”

    Riley’s gaze softened slightly as she studied her friend. “You trust him, don’t you?”

    Ariana hesitated, her eyes dropping to her tea. “I want to,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But trust alone isn’t enough. Not with what’s at stake. I won’t risk you, or Linnea, or anyone else for this.”

    Riley’s expression remained steady, her confidence unwavering. “We’ve faced worse, Wolf. And from what I’ve seen, your brother’s got a good heart. He’ll come through.”

    Ariana exhaled, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. “Thank you, Riley. This… this could change everything. For him, for us.”

    Riley grinned, her tone lightening. “You know me. I love a challenge. And if your brother’s anything like you, he’ll rise to the occasion.”

    Ariana couldn’t help but smile faintly at that. “Let’s hope so,” she murmured, though her mind was already contemplating the possibilities. If Michael proved his resolve, he could be more than an ally—he could be a bridge to something greater. But if he faltered…

    The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, one she quickly pushed aside. She had no room for doubt, not now. Michael’s resolve would be tested soon enough.

    The two women sat in companionable silence for a moment, the quiet hum of the kitchen settling around them like a cocoon. But for Ariana, the stillness was fleeting. The White Wolf within her stirred, restless and watchful. Michael doesn’t know it yet, she thought, her determination hardening. But I’ll make sure he’s ready for what’s to come.

  • Chapter 42 – Not Giving Up

    27 Justinian – 2 Solace 9:34

    The warm glow of candlelight filled Ariana’s bedroom, casting soft, flickering shadows on the stone walls. Beyond the open window, Kirkwall stirred restlessly, the distant hum of Lowtown’s bustling streets blending with the faint clatter of waves against the harbor. The city never truly slept; its unease was a living, breathing thing, threading its way into every corner of her mind.

    Ariana sat at her desk, her quill hovering above the parchment as her thoughts raced faster than she could capture them. The list before her felt more like a confession than a strategy: quiet plans to monitor Michael, to guide him toward the Rangers without him realizing her hand in it. Subtle ways to support Cullen’s efforts within the Gallows, shielding him from Meredith’s scrutiny while ensuring he didn’t bear the full weight of her wrath. It was all delicate and precarious, and each line on the page felt like another strand tightening around her throat.

    Her gaze flicked to the window, where the spires of Kirkwall loomed like silent sentinels, jagged against the night sky. The Gallows, in particular, stood out, its dark silhouette a constant reminder of the fight that still lay ahead. Meredith’s iron grip, Michael’s growing disillusionment, Cullen’s growing frustrations weighed on her like stones in her chest.

    Ariana sighed, leaning back in her chair as her fingers drummed softly against the desk. What would he think if he knew the truth? The thought gnawed at her, each scenario more damning than the last. She couldn’t bear the thought of him turning away, of his love turning to contempt.

    She rose, her movements slow and deliberate, as if carrying the weight of her secrets. She gathered the scattered papers, sliding them into the drawer before extinguishing the candles one by one. The room plunged into shadows, but the faint light from the window kept the darkness at bay. The bed beckoned, but as she slipped beneath the covers, she knew sleep wouldn’t come easily.

    It had been weeks since Cullen had stayed the night, his visits to the estate increasingly sporadic. The investigation into the intercepted transport had consumed much of his time, but she knew that wasn’t the only reason. Distance had crept between them, unspoken and heavy, and it was her doing. She had built the walls between them, brick by brick, with every half-truth and omission.

    She curled onto her side, pulling the blankets tighter as her hand brushed against his side of the bed. The faint scent of him lingered, a bittersweet comfort that made her chest tighten. If he knew everything… would he leave? Would he hate me? The questions haunted her, their answers as unreachable as the stars outside her window.

    The storm in her mind raged on until, eventually, exhaustion claimed her. Even in sleep, her dreams were restless, haunted by shadows and whispers. She clung to the faint trace of Cullen’s presence beside her, a fragile tether to the one thing she couldn’t bear to lose.

    ~~~

    As Cullen stepped inside, the house was silent. He hadn’t intended to come this late; some part of him knew he should have stayed in the Gallows. And yet, the weight of the last few weeks had become unbearable. Meredith’s relentless scrutiny, the investigation that seemed to go nowhere—it all pressed down on him, suffocating and unrelenting. But the thought of Ariana… she was the only thing that kept him steady.

    The lanterns had long since burned low, leaving only the shadows to greet him. The quiet creak of the door closing behind him was a stark contrast to the chaos that seemed ever-present in his life. Piece by piece, he shed his armor—each buckle, each strap finally lifting a weight he hadn’t realized he felt. His shoulders ached, his body was exhausted, but more than anything, he felt a weariness deep in his bones that no amount of rest seemed to fix—at least not when he was alone.

    The weight of the day clung to him, heavy and unrelenting, but the thought of seeing her—just her—made the burden feel lighter, if only for a moment.

    He moved through the familiar halls, his steps slow and deliberate as he made his way to her room. The door creaked softly as he opened it, and the sight before him made his chest tighten. Ariana was curled on his side of the bed, her hair spilling across the pillow like dark silk. The soft rise and fall of her breath was the only sound, her face peaceful in sleep. She missed him. That much was clear in the simple act of claiming his side.

    Quietly, Cullen slipped onto the bed with practiced ease. The mattress dipped slightly beneath his weight, and though he tried not to disturb her, Ariana stirred faintly, turning toward him.

    “You’re home,” she murmured, her voice heavy with sleep. Her eyes didn’t open fully, but she shifted closer, her hand brushing against his chest as though to confirm he was really there. “I missed you.”

    Home. It wasn’t a place, it never had been. It was her.

    It wasn’t just the words that undid him, but the way she said them—quiet, honest, wanting. The unspoken meaning settled between them like a whisper: I missed you, I need you.

    Cullen swallowed hard, his exhaustion fading into the background. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, lingering there as he breathed her in. “I missed you too,” he replied softly, though the words felt insufficient. He pressed another kiss—this time at her temple, trailing lower to her cheek.

    Ariana tilted her head up to meet him, her lips brushing his in a kiss that was far too deliberate for someone who was half-asleep. Cullen smiled faintly against her mouth, his hand rising to cradle her jaw. “You are supposed to be sleeping,” he teased gently, the tone of his voice husky now.

    She opened her eyes just enough to look at him, the faintest glint of mischief in their hazel depths. “I was but you’re here now.”

    There was no hesitation in the way she reached for him, pulling him down into another kiss—this one deeper, lingering. Cullen groaned softly, the sound vibrating in his chest as he braced himself above her. Ariana’s hands slipped beneath his tunic, her fingers skimming his skin with a tenderness that set him alight.

    “Are you sure?” he breathed against her lips, though he already knew the answer. She responded by tugging him closer, her legs shifting beneath the blankets to make room for him.

    “I wouldn’t have said I missed you if I wasn’t,” she murmured, her words barely a whisper, but they sparked something deep within him.

    He didn’t need more encouragement. 

    He pulled back just enough to rid himself of the last remaining barriers between them—his tunic, his trousers—discarding them with a kind of hurried care. Ariana watched him, her expression soft and knowing, her lips curved in a faint smile that left him breathless. 

    “Have I told you how much I adore you?” he asked, his voice low as he leaned down to kiss her again. 

    “Not enough,” she teased, though her breath hitched as his mouth moved to her neck. 

    Cullen took his time with her, though his heart was pounding in his chest. He kissed her slowly, reverently, tasting the skin of her throat, her shoulder, the hollow just beneath her ear where she shuddered at the touch. Ariana’s hands responded in kind, exploring every part of his body—sliding down his back, tracing old scars, anchoring him to her. 

    The room felt warmer now, the blanket forgotten, tangled around their legs as their bodies moved in perfect rhythm. Every touch was a question; every sigh, every moan, an answer. He memorized every part of her again, as though it was the first time, marveling at every sound she made, every way her body responded to him. 

    Cullen had spent much of his life holding himself back—guarding his emotions, his desires. But with her, he could drop his guard, he didn’t have to hold back. She unraveled him piece by piece, and he relished every moment of it. 

    As the night wore on, they found themselves tangled together beneath the sheets, the room still dim but filled with the sound of their breathing. Cullen fell onto his back, one arm curled around her shoulders as she moved to rest her head against his chest. Her fingers tracing lazy circles against his skin, her breathing soft and steady. 

    Cullen pressed a kiss to her hair, his lips lingering there as his heart slowed. How did I ever find this? he wondered. How did he—a man who has seen so much darkness—come to deserve something this pure, this good?

    Ariana shifted slightly, tilting her head to look up at him. “You seem quiet,” she said, her voice still heavy with sleep. “What are you thinking?”

    Cullen smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “That I love you,” he replied honestly. 

    Her lips curved, and she pressed a kiss to his chest before settling back down. “Good,” she said softly. “Because I love you too.” 

    Cullen closed his eyes, running his fingers through her hair absentmindedly as sleep pulled them both under. The world outside may still be chaos, but for now—for this moment—he had everything he needed. 

    And he would never take it for granted.

    ~~~

    Ariana woke to the soft light filtering through the windows, warming the room and illuminating the faint shadows of morning. Cullen’s hand rested against her shoulder, his fingers moving in slow, absentminded circles. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know he was awake; the tension in his touch was enough to give him away.

    “I can feel you thinking,” she murmured, her voice husky with sleep but tinged with affection. A faint, teasing smile tugged at her lips as she nestled closer to him.

    Cullen’s hand stilled briefly before resuming its gentle motion. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair, his voice low and rough, carrying the weight of unspoken burdens. “It’s nothing. I shouldn’t—”

    “Stop,” Ariana interrupted, her fingers trailing lightly over his chest, her touch both reassuring and insistent. “You’re not a burden, Cullen. Talk to me.”

    For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick with everything left unsaid. Cullen’s breathing was steady, but she could feel the conflict in him—the way his heart beat just a little faster beneath her touch. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained, hesitant, as if each word pained him.

    “I can’t shake the feeling that I’m putting you in danger by being with you,” he admitted, his tone barely above a whisper. “Meredith… she’s focused on you, and I wonder if it would stop if…” He trailed off, unable to finish, the words lodging in his throat like a stone.

    Ariana’s chest tightened, the thought of him pulling away cutting deeper than she’d expected. Her fingers stilled against his skin before she shifted to look up at him, her hand gently tilting his face toward hers. His brow furrowed, the lines of worry etched deeply into his features.

    “I’m not afraid of Meredith,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the turmoil beneath the surface. “And I won’t give you up that easily. Don’t even think about it.”

    His eyes searched hers, flickering with doubt and something softer—something more vulnerable. “You deserve better than this,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with guilt. “Better than being targeted, better than… me.”

    Ariana’s heart ached at the self-recrimination in his tone. Without hesitation, she leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was both gentle and fierce, a silent declaration of everything she couldn’t put into words. Her hand slid to the back of his neck, holding him there as if to anchor them both.

    “You’re wrong,” she whispered against his lips, her voice breaking slightly. “You’re exactly who I need. I didn’t let a Blight take you from me; I’m certainly not letting Meredith do it.”

    Cullen exhaled shakily, his arms wrapping tightly around her as if trying to quiet his doubts. He pulled her close, their bodies entwined as they settled back into the pillows. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear was a fragile comfort, a reminder of what she was fighting to protect.

    But as she lay there, her head resting against his chest, her mind couldn’t help but wander to the truth she couldn’t say aloud: He’s right. Letting him go would be easier… for both of us. But I can’t.

    ~~~

    Ariana found herself grinning as she watched Cullen sip his coffee across the table. These mornings, rare as they were, had become her solace. She wished more than anything she could be candid with him. She wondered what it would be like to wake him up at dawn with her, share every part of her life with him, and take him down to the training area of the warehouse.

    Whenever they sparred together, she loved it. He was one of the few people who could genuinely challenge her. Her thoughts drifted further, wondering what her life could look like if he could be part of all of it. If they could retreat to the quiet of the Ranger manor outside Redcliffe. Would he even want to live that life? Away from the Order? Would it be enough for him?

    “Can I ask what you’re thinking about?” Cullen’s voice broke through her thoughts, drawing her attention back to the present.

    She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “How much I love you,” she admitted, her voice tender but tinged with longing.

    Before Cullen could respond, Isabel appeared in the doorway, “You’ve got a visitor,” she announced, her tone brisk but curious.

    Ariana and Cullen exchanged glances, their surprise mutual. “Who?” Ariana asked, rising from her seat.

    Isabel stepped aside, and Riley strode into the room, her fiery red hair catching the light. Ariana’s eyes widened, her breath catching for a moment before she bolted toward her, pulling Riley into a tight hug.

    “Riley,” she greeted, her voice steady despite the swirl of emotions. Relief, surprise, and mild panic danced in her chest.

    Riley stiffened briefly before hugging her back, a grin tugging at her lips. “Didn’t think I’d see you this happy to see me, Wol—” she caught herself, her voice dropping just before finishing the nickname. Riley’s sharp gaze flicked briefly to Cullen, assessing him.

    Ariana pulled back, her smile warm but laced with caution. “I wasn’t expecting you. What brings you to Kirkwall?”

    “Couldn’t stay away,” Riley replied, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “Thought it was time I saw what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, though her stomach churned. “Sit,” she said, motioning toward the table. “Breakfast is better with company.” She gestured toward Cullen, who had been watching the exchange closely. “Riley, this is Knight-Captain Cullen.”

    Cullen stood, his movements deliberate as he extended a hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

    Riley’s handshake was firm, her gaze unwavering. “So, you’re the Templar,” she said, her tone carrying a faint edge of amusement.

    Ariana’s cheeks burned as she shot Riley a warning look. “Riley…”

    “What? It’s true,” Riley said with a smirk, glancing back at Cullen. “This one dragged me all over Ferelden and Orlais after the Blight. She wouldn’t say much, but I knew she was looking for someone.”

    Cullen’s expression softened, though his wariness didn’t entirely fade. “And you figured it out?”

    Riley shrugged, her tone light but calculated. “Wasn’t hard. Our first stop was Lake Calenhad. Not much there except a Circle, so I figured it had to be a Templar. She never seemed the mage type.”

    Ariana groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Maker help me.”

    Cullen chuckled softly, his earlier tension easing just enough for Ariana to catch the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “You could have just told her.”

    “She’s stubborn,” Riley quipped, earning a sharp look from Ariana.

    “I take it you didn’t come all this way just to embarrass me,” Ariana said, her tone playful but firm as she tried to steer the conversation back on track.

    Riley chuckled, finally taking a seat. “Not entirely,” she admitted. “But it’s a benefit.”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened slightly as he met Riley’s gaze. “You’ve been through a lot together, from the sounds of it.”

    “You could say that,” Riley replied, her tone neutral but pointed. “She’s worth it, though.”

    Cullen didn’t respond immediately, but his posture relaxed slightly. “I don’t doubt that,” he said at last, his voice softening as his eyes flicked to Ariana.

    As breakfast continued, Ariana couldn’t help but notice the subtle shifts in Cullen’s demeanor. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes flicked to Riley often, as though trying to piece together her connection to Ariana. Ariana kept the conversation light, carefully steering away from anything that might raise more questions, though she felt the weight of his unspoken thoughts.

    When Cullen finally stood to leave, his gaze lingered on Ariana. “I’ll see you tonight?” he asked, his tone softer now.

    Ariana smiled, her heart squeezing at the question. “Of course.”

    The moment he was gone, Riley leaned back in her chair, her smirk returning. “Well, he’s not bad to look at.”

    Ariana rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile. “And you’re insufferable. Now, why are you really here?”

    Riley’s expression turned serious, her teasing facade dropping. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, Wolf.”

    ~~~

    The narrow streets of Hightown stretched before Cullen as he made his way back to the Gallows. The early morning light cast long shadows across the stone walls, and the rhythmic echo of his boots against the cobblestones did little to quiet the storm in his mind.

    He exhaled sharply, Riley’s words still ringing in his ears: She’s worth it, though.

    His jaw clenched as the implications of their conversation weighed heavily on him. Riley wasn’t just a friend. That much was clear. Her presence, her demeanor—everything about her hinted at something more, something calculated. It was in the way she moved, her careful choice of words, her sharp eyes that missed nothing. She wasn’t an ordinary traveler or a simple companion from Ariana’s past. No, Riley was trained, deliberate. She had the bearing of someone used to the weight of responsibility, someone who had seen battle. A Ranger, no doubt.

    The thought made Cullen’s chest tighten. Ariana had admitted to knowing the Rangers and even having friends among them. Still, her connection to them had always been a source of unease for him. His instinct was to distrust them—mercenaries who worked in shadows, answering to no one. Yet, as much as his Templar training demanded he view them as little more than opportunists, there was something about Riley that unsettled that belief.

    She’s worth it, though.

    That simple statement carried a weight Cullen hadn’t been prepared for. It wasn’t just loyalty—it was conviction. Riley believed in Ariana and cared for her deeply. That much was undeniable. And for the first time, Cullen wondered if he’d been too quick to judge the Rangers. If they had indeed been there for Ariana during the Blight, if they had protected her, then how could he dismiss them entirely?

    His thoughts shifted to Riley’s other comment: This one dragged me all over Ferelden and Orlais after the Blight. She wouldn’t say much, but I knew she was looking for someone.

    A surge of guilt swept through him. Ariana had been searching for him. She had endured the aftermath of the Blight and traveled dangerous roads, all in the hopes of finding him. And Riley had been with her through it all. Protecting her. Supporting her. Ensuring she wasn’t alone.

    That realization settled heavily in Cullen’s chest, though it brought with it an odd sense of relief. Ariana hadn’t been alone. She’d had people who cared for her and stood by her when he hadn’t been there. That didn’t erase the regret of not being by her side during those years, but it softened the edges of his guilt.

    Still, the question remained: Could he trust the Rangers? Could he trust Riley?

    Cullen’s brow furrowed as he rounded a corner, the Gallows now visible in the distance. His instincts told him to be cautious, to remain vigilant. But his heart… His heart clung to the image of Ariana safe, cared for, and alive. If the Rangers had been the ones to ensure that, then perhaps he could tolerate their presence, if only for her sake.

    Meredith’s scrutiny of Ariana loomed in his mind, a constant source of dread. He couldn’t always be there to protect her, not with Meredith’s watchful eyes narrowing on both of them. But Riley’s presence shifted something in his perspective. If the Rangers valued Ariana as much as Riley’s words suggested, perhaps he wasn’t alone in ensuring her safety. Perhaps they could protect her in the ways he couldn’t.

    His grip on his sword tightened as he crossed the bridge to the Gallows. The tension in his chest didn’t fully dissipate, but the weight of his fears felt slightly lighter. He would never fully trust the Rangers—he couldn’t, not with their secretive methods and loose allegiances. But knowing they cared for Ariana, that they might shield her from Meredith’s growing obsession, made accepting their presence in her life easier.

    So long as Ariana wasn’t working with them, he could accept her having friends among the Rangers. Knowing she had people who valued her, who would protect her as fiercely as he wanted to, eased some of his fears. It didn’t erase his distrust, but it made it bearable.

    And that, for now, was enough.

    ~~~

    “So…Riley…not that I don’t trust you, but…who’s in charge back home?” Ariana asked, her tone light but edged with genuine curiosity. Her fingers traced the rim of her tea cup as she studied her lieutenant.

    Riley leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with an easy grin. “Don’t worry, I made sure everything back in Redcliffe is in good hands. The Vanguard have really stepped up since you’ve been gone.”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at her lips. “I see,” she said dryly. “So…you’re telling me I promoted a few people without even realizing it?”

    Riley laughed, her voice carrying its usual warmth. “In title only, Wolf. They were already doing the job, you just made it official. Besides, I told Isabel about it. Did she forget to mention it to you?”

    Ariana let out a laugh, shaking her head. “She probably thought it was an administrative issue that didn’t need my attention. And honestly, she’s probably right. It’s fine. So…who’s running the manor?”

    Riley straightened, her grin shifting into something more practical. “I left Malcolm in charge of the manor and the big-picture tactical plans. He’s got a good head for strategy, and the rest of the Vanguard, that aren’t here, are leading their own squads now.”

    “Malcolm?” Ariana repeated with a chuckle. “I hope he hasn’t started running drills in the dining room again. I’ll never forget the time we almost lost a chandelier.”

    Riley smirked, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Oh, you know him. Probably has the whole place running like a barracks by now. But it’s better than the alternative. And hey, it’ll toughen up any new recruits. Speaking of… we’re helping Templars defect now?” the confusion on Riley’s face evident

    Ariana realized that she really hadn’t sent word ahead “Well, that’s part of what we need to talk about. Things in Kirkwall aren’t good, Riley. But we’ll get into it more later. I think I need help explaining the full extent of what we’re up against.”

    “Alright, Wolf. You know I trust you but… this is dangerous territory…” Riley said knowing she was stating the obvious. “Speaking of dangerous… You want to tell me how in the blazes you almost got yourself killed?”

    Ariana winced. She’d expected this. If anything, she was only surprised Riley hadn’t arrived sooner. “I… horde of rampaging Qunari?” Her answer sounded more like a question, and she knew it wouldn’t satisfy Riley.

    Riley’s expression hardened, her voice like a blade. “Rampaging Qunari? And where exactly were they rampaging?”

    “The docks,” Ariana admitted with a sigh. “Cullen’s position was about to fall, and then the Qunari would’ve taken the city, so… I had to do something.”

    Riley shook her head, frustration and guilt etched into her features. “You almost died saving Cullen? Is that the short version?”

    Ariana buried her face in her hands, unable to withstand Riley’s glare.

    “You can’t keep doing this, Wolf,” Riley said, her tone softer but no less serious. “One day, you’re going to run out of luck, and I’m not ready to lose you.”

    Ariana looked up, offering a sheepish smile. “I thought you’d be impressed with my strategy.”

    Riley huffed, leaning back in her chair. “This conversation isn’t over.”

    The tension eased, and Riley’s grin softened, replaced by a look of determination. “Lay it on me. What’s going on?”

    Ariana hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the door as if ensuring no one could overhear. Then she began to speak, her voice low but steady. She explained everything—the challenges in Kirkwall, Meredith’s interference, Michael’s unexpected arrival, and the growing strain of their operation. Riley listened intently, her sharp green eyes never leaving Ariana’s face.

    When Ariana finished, Riley sat back, her expression unreadable for a moment before she let out a low whistle. “Well,” she said, cracking a grin, “looks like I got here just in time. You’ve really gotten yourself in deep this time, huh?”

    Ariana gave her a pointed look but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “You could say that.”

    “Good thing I like a challenge,” Riley said, clapping her hands together. “Alright, Wolf. Let’s get to work.”

    “Alright then,” Ariana said, glancing at Riley with a knowing smirk. “So…do you want a day off, or are you ready to get to work?”

    Riley scoffed, crossing her arms. “What, you think I’ve gone soft since you left?”

    Ariana laughed, shaking her head. “Of course not. Just making sure. You’re going to find Kirkwall is a dangerous place.” She gestured toward her room. “Let me get dressed, then. There are some people I want you to meet.”

    ~~~

    A short while later, they headed to the Hanged Man. Ariana wanted Riley to meet Varric and Hawke. As they entered the bustling tavern, Ariana gave Corff a knowing look. Without needing to ask, he nodded toward Varric’s suite. She motioned for him to bring up a bottle of wine, which he acknowledged with a nod before she and Riley made their way upstairs.

    Peeking into Varric’s suite, Ariana was pleased to find exactly the two people she needed. Varric and Hawke were lounging at the table, a pair of half-empty glasses between them, mid-conversation. The atmosphere was relaxed, but the sharpness in Hawke’s eyes betrayed that their conversation had likely been more serious moments before.

    “Do either of you ever get any work done?” Ariana teased, stepping inside with a grin. “I’ve yet to walk in here without finding you both sitting around.”

    Varric looked up first, his grin widening. “Ah, pup,” he said, raising his glass in mock toast. “What can I say? It’s hard work keeping the city in one piece.”

    Hawke leaned back in her chair, smirking. “We make it look easy.”

    Varric’s eyes shifted to Riley, his curiosity evident. “Who’s your friend?”

    Ariana closed the door behind her and turned to face them, gesturing for Riley to take a seat at the table. “This,” she smirked, “is First Lieutenant Riley of the Silver Rangers.”

    Riley raised an eyebrow, looking at Ariana. “Wait, I’m getting promoted?”

    Ariana gave her a sly smile. “Well, you promoted everyone else while I was gone, so…it’s in title only. You were already doing the job.”

    Hawke chuckled softly, her eyes glinting with amusement. “So this is the infamous lieutenant?”

    “You’ve heard of me?” Riley asked, tilting her head with mock suspicion.

    “Of course,” Varric chimed in, leaning back in his chair. “Who do you think got all the communication and shipments set up?”

    “So you did all the heavy lifting?” Riley quipped, raising an eyebrow, her tone dry but playful.

    Varric’s grin didn’t waver. “Well, I delegated. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on the Champion. She’s a magnet for trouble.”

    Hawke shrugged, her smirk widening. “What can I say? Trouble finds me.”

    Riley leaned forward, her arms resting on the table as she glanced between the two. “Seems like you two keep things lively.”

    “You have no idea,” Ariana muttered, though her tone was fond.

    Varric raised his glass with a grin. “Well, welcome to Kirkwall, Lieutenant. Hope you like chaos.”

    Riley smirked. “I’m starting to see what you’ve been dealing with, Wolf.” She paused, turning to look at Varric. “I take care of this one. I specialize in chaos.”

    Ariana snorted, lifting her glass. “To chaos,” she replied dryly, earning laughter from the others.

    Hawke tilted her glass toward Riley. “If you’re sticking around, I hope you’ve got thick skin. You’ll need it between the mages, the Templars, and Varric’s endless storytelling.”

    Riley raised an eyebrow at Varric. “Endless storytelling? That sounds dangerous.”

    “Only if you’re on the wrong side of it,” Varric replied with a wink. “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. I’m sure you’ll give me plenty of material.”

    Ariana groaned, covering her face with one hand. “Maker, please don’t encourage him.”

    “Too late,” Varric chirped, leaning back in his chair. “I can already see the chapter titles: The Wolf and Her Pack.”

    Riley laughed, her eyes glinting. “That doesn’t sound half bad. Just make sure I get to approve my parts.”

    Varric raised his glass again. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

    The room filled with the warm hum of conversation and laughter, the tension of Kirkwall momentarily forgotten. For Ariana, it was a brief but precious reprieve—proof that even in the shadows, there was light.

    ~~~

    Riley woke to the faint hum of the Hanged Man coming to life downstairs. The muffled voices of early patrons and the clatter of mugs told her it was just another day in Kirkwall’s liveliest tavern. She stretched, noting how the modest but functional room had its own charm. “Ariana’s old room,” she murmured, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Not bad, Wolf. Not bad.”

    Moments later, Ariana arrived, stepping into the room with a teasing grin. “Well? Have you settled in, or do you need more sleep?”

    Riley snorted, standing and stretching her arms over her head. “Please, Wolf. This is like waking to the sounds of fresh recruits pretending to train.”

    Ariana rolled her eyes but chuckled. “Come on, I’ve got a full day planned for you.”

    The morning sun illuminated the bustling streets of Lowtown. The market was alive with the scents of fresh bread, spices, and the unmistakable hum of Kirkwall’s chaos. Riley inhaled deeply, the corner of her mouth twitching as her gaze flicked around the crowd.

    “Wolf,” she murmured, her tone casual. “You know you’ve got a shadow, right?”

    Ariana didn’t break her stride, her voice equally casual. “Noticed them a block ago. Subtle, aren’t they?”

    Riley smirked, her eyes catching a glimpse of their followers in a reflective window. “If by ‘subtle’ you mean stomping around like mabari in full plate, then sure.”

    Ariana’s lips twitched with amusement. “Templars. New recruits, I’d wager.”

    “Should we invite them to join us?” Riley asked, her voice dripping with mock sincerity. “Maybe give them pointers on how not to stand out?”

    Ariana chuckled softly. “Let’s make them work for it first.”

    They wove through the market, stopping occasionally to inspect stalls. Riley made a show of scrutinizing an apple, biting into it with exaggerated deliberation. “Think they’re hoping for a grand revelation? Maybe we’ll lead them to a secret Ranger hideout?”

    “Let’s disappoint them,” Ariana replied, pretending to study a bolt of fabric. “I could spend hours haggling over linen if it’d bore them enough to leave.”

    “They’re persistent, I’ll give them that,” Riley muttered as they slipped into another alley. “Want to lose them properly or keep playing?”

    Ariana sighed, exchanging a glance with Riley. “Alright. Let’s head back to the estate.”

    “Strategic retreat?” Riley raised an eyebrow.

    “Something like that,” Ariana replied with a smirk.

    Back at the estate, Riley leaned casually against the wall, her arms crossed. “Alright, Wolf. Spill. Why are we being tailed by Templars? This Cullen’s idea of keeping tabs on you?”

    Ariana shook her head, her expression turning serious. “No, he would’ve told me. This is Meredith. The Knight-Commander doesn’t appreciate my ‘distracting’ her Knight-Captain.”

    Riley’s eyebrows shot up, a wry grin forming. “Wait. You’re telling me the Knight-Commander is sending rookies to skulk around because you’re seeing her golden boy? That’s petty even for Templars.”

    Ariana sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s more than that. Meredith doesn’t trust me. She’s been watching me for months. I think she sustpects I’m not an average noble.”

    Riley’s grin faded, her expression darkening. “So, she knows something?”

    “Probably nothing,” Ariana replied, her tone steady. “But she’s hoping to find something. She’s playing a game of intimidation, hoping I’ll slip.”

    Riley’s fists clenched at her sides. “And what if she does find something? Wolf, this isn’t just her watching you—it’s her setting up for a kill.”

    “I know,” Ariana admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But she’s watching Ariana Trevelyan, not the White Wolf. She thinks I’m just some noblewoman meddling where I don’t belong.”

    Riley scoffed. “She’s not wrong about you meddling.”

    Ariana shot her a look, but Riley wasn’t done. “If Meredith’s already circling, we need to be ready. We can’t afford to get sloppy.”

    Ariana nodded, her resolve firming. “We won’t. But for now, we keep the Rangers in the shadows. Meredith can’t know.”

    Riley pushed off the wall, her jaw tight. “Fine. But if she crosses the line, Wolf, you know I’m not the type to sit back and watch.”

    Ariana smirked faintly, her eyes hard. “And that’s why I trust you.”

    The two women locked eyes, a silent understanding passing between them.

    “Let’s plan,” Ariana said finally, her voice steady.

    Riley’s grin returned, sharp and confident. “Lead the way, Wolf. Let’s show her what shadows can do.”

    ~~~

    Ariana wandered through Hightown’s bustling market, her steps deliberate but unhurried. The air was thick with the mingling scents of polished steel from the blacksmith’s stall, parchment, and leather. Her thoughts, however, were elsewhere—lingering on the ever-present shadows of Templars that seemed to trail her steps in Lowtown.

    Funny how they never followed her into the Hanged Man. Even they knew better than to stir trouble under Varric’s watchful eye. But this—this—being tailed openly, was new. It left an itch of frustration she couldn’t quite shake.

    Her musings were interrupted by the sharp, clipped tone of a voice she recognized instantly.

    “Lady Trevelyan,” came the sharp, commanding voice that sliced through her musings.

    Ariana turned, her heart sinking slightly, but her expression was calm. Meredith stood a few paces away, flanked by two Templars. Her presence was as oppressive as ever, and the bustling crowd instinctively gave them space.

    Ariana’s fingers brushed against her side, where the familiar weight of her dagger usually rested. She wasn’t afraid—she’d faced worse than Meredith before—but she knew better than to show anything but calm. The trick with people like Meredith wasn’t strength; it was knowing when to push and when to let the storm blow over.

    “Knight-Commander,” Ariana greeted, her tone icy but polite. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed. “Your recent travels to Starkhaven have raised questions. Curious, how your visit coincided with certain… disruptions.”

    Ariana tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Disruptions?” she echoed, her voice laced with feigned innocence. “You’ll have to be more specific. I’d hate to misunderstand your… insinuations.”

    Meredith’s hand twitched near the hilt of her sword, her patience visibly thinning. “Do not play games with me, Lady Trevelyan. Why were you in Starkhaven?”

    Before Ariana could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension, laced with its usual sarcasm.

    “Well, well. Is this how Kirkwall handles its noble disputes these days? Public interrogations in the marketplace?”

    Hawke emerged from the crowd, her trademark lopsided grin firmly in place. She crossed her arms lazily, her sharp eyes flicking between Meredith and Ariana with practiced ease.

    “This doesn’t concern you, Champion,” Meredith snapped, her tone icy.

    “Oh, I beg to differ,” Hawke drawled, tilting her head. “See, I was just about to haggle over some essential expedition supplies. But it’s hard to focus on business with all this… tension.” She waved a hand dramatically at the gathered onlookers.

    Ariana bit back a laugh, grateful for the intervention.

    “Stay out of this,” Meredith warned, her voice sharp as steel.

    Hawke’s grin only widened. “Now, where’s the fun in that? You know me, Knight-Commander. I can’t resist poking my nose where it doesn’t belong. And besides, what’s poor Lady Trevelyan done to earn such scrutiny? Misplace your tea set? Borrow the Knight-Captain’s cloak and forget to return it?”

    Ariana coughed, covering her smile with a hand.

    “This is not a laughing matter,” Meredith hissed, her jaw tightening.

    “Neither is attempting to detain a noble in broad daylight without cause,” Hawke shot back, her tone light but edged with steel. “Unless you plan to formally charge her? In that case, might I suggest involving Guard-Captain Aveline? She loves handling these… delicate situations.”

    At that precise moment, Aveline’s unmistakable voice rang out from behind them, her tone carrying its usual mix of authority and mild exasperation.

    “What now?” Aveline strode toward the group, her armor catching the sunlight. She fixed Hawke with a pointed look before shifting her gaze to Meredith. “Knight-Commander. Is there a reason you’re questioning a noblewoman in the middle of Hightown? Because unless Lady Trevelyan is a mage, this seems more a matter for the City Guard.”

    Meredith’s lips pressed into a thin line, her posture stiffening. “I have reason to believe Lady Trevelyan’s recent travels are tied to matters of great importance.”

    “Then,” Aveline interrupted, her tone crisp, “I suggest submitting a formal request to the City Guard. We’ll handle it from there.” She crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. “After all, we wouldn’t want to overstep jurisdiction, would we?”

    Hawke smirked, her voice light but pointed. “See? What did I tell you? Aveline’s got this all under control. If you’ll excuse us, we have some very important shopping to finish.”

    Meredith’s glare could have cut stone, but after a tense pause, she stepped back. “This isn’t over,” she said coldly, turning sharply on her heel. Her Templars followed without a word.

    As the crowd began to disperse, Aveline sighed, rubbing her temples. “I don’t know how I let you drag me into these things, Hawke.”

    Hawke smirked, and before she could respond, Aveline added dryly, “One day, Hawke, I’ll bill you for the extra paperwork you cause. Maker knows I’ve earned it.”

    “You love it,” Hawke replied breezily, clapping a hand on Aveline’s shoulder. “Keeps life interesting.”

    Ariana laughed softly, her shoulders relaxing. “Thank you, Aveline. That could’ve gone worse.”

    Aveline shot her a look. “You’re lucky she didn’t escalate. You’ve got too many eyes on you, Trevelyan. Be careful.”

    “I will,” Ariana promised.

    Hawke grinned, looping her arm through Ariana’s. “Come on, Ari. Let’s leave Aveline to her very important duties. We’ve got shopping and drinks to attend to.”

    “And trouble to avoid,” Aveline muttered, shaking her head as she turned to leave.

    “Trouble?” Hawke called after her, her grin widening. “Aveline, I am trouble.”

    Ariana laughed, slipping her arm through Hawke’s. “And I’m clearly your accomplice. Trouble just seems to follow us.”

    “And yet I still let you in my office,” Aveline replied dryly over her shoulder, disappearing into the crowd.

    Ariana shook her head, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. “Well, that was eventful.”

    “Welcome to the new Kirkwall,” Hawke quipped. “Now, drinks?”

    “Drinks,” Ariana agreed, the tension of the encounter finally beginning to lift as they made their way down the bustling street

    ~~~

    Hawke and Ariana eventually made their way down to the Hanged Man. The day’s events merited a conversation with Riley and Varric.

    As expected, they found both Riley and Varric in Varric’s suite. Riley was sharpening her sword while Varric lounged with a glass of wine, Bianca resting on the table.

    “Well, we just had quite the interesting afternoon in Hightown,” Hawke quipped as she and Ariana walked in, closing the door behind them. “Honestly, probably the most excitement Hightown has seen since the Qunari…”

    Ariana flinched at the phrase, raising an eyebrow. “Really?” she asked, her tone dry.

    “Too soon?” Hawke smirked.

    “Maybe,” Ariana replied, shrugging. “Although I suppose we’re in this mess since the Viscount was killed by the Arishok…”

    Riley and Varric exchanged confused glances. “What’s going on, Pup?” Varric asked, his tone shifting to something more serious.

    Hawke and Ariana took turns explaining their encounter with Meredith. Varric’s expression darkened as the story unfolded while Riley’s brows knitted together in a deep frown.

    “If I do this again, I’m going to need a better cover, Varric,” Ariana finally said, her tone wry. “As in actual business I can point to.”

    “Not good, Wolf. This related to your shadow, I’m guessing?” Riley asked, crossing her arms.

    “Shadow?” Hawke repeated, looking between the two women. “Do I want to know?”

    “Oh, yes,” Ariana replied, her lips curving into a faint smirk.

    “Templars have been following me lately. Shadow seems like a strong word since they really aren’t very good at the whole scouting thing.”

    Before anyone could respond, the door opened, and Cullen and Michael stepped into the suite. Cullen rushed to Ariana’s side, crouching beside her chair, his eyes scanning her as though expecting to find her injured.

    “What happened?” Michael asked, his tone urgent.

    “You know… it really would have been helpful if you had gotten here earlier,” Hawke teased, leaning back in her chair. “We just explained everything.”

    Cullen ignored the banter, his hazel eyes fixed on Ariana. “Ari, are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice laced with worry.

    Ariana offered him a reassuring smile, her hand brushing his cheek. “Cullen, I’m fine. Nothing happened. Hawke was there, and Guard-Captain Aveline stepped in.” She kissed his cheek lightly, motioning for him and Michael to take a seat. Reluctantly, Cullen rose and settled in the chair closest to hers, though his tension was still palpable.

    “It appears,” Ariana began with a soft sigh, “that Templars have been following me recently. Do you know why?” Her gaze turned to Cullen, her tone steady but questioning.

    Cullen took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t think she’d resort to this,” he murmured, though his voice was loud enough for everyone to hear.

    “What are you talking about, Cullen?” Michael’s voice was sharper now, his concern evident.

    “Meredith,” Cullen replied, his frustration spilling into his tone.

    “She asked me to bring Ariana in for questioning concerning the intercepted mage transport.” He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. “I thought… it was settled.”

    Varric let out a low whistle, setting his wine glass down. “Settled? With Meredith? Come on, Curly, you know she doesn’t let things go. Especially not when it comes to… well, anyone with a spine.”

    “She’s watching you, Ariana,” Riley added, her tone grim. “And now she’s making sure you know it.”

    Cullen’s head dropped into his hands, his voice muffled. “This isn’t how it should be. Ari, this is my fault. If it weren’t for me…”

    “No,” Ariana interrupted firmly, placing a hand on his arm. “This isn’t your fault, Cullen. And letting Meredith think she can intimidate me into…” She paused, not wanting to voice the thought out loud. “It’s not a solution.”

    “It might not be a solution, but…” Michael began hesitantly, though his words trailed off at Ariana’s sharp look.

    Hawke, leaning forward now, crossed her arms. “It’s not going to change anything at this point. Meredith’s already got her sights on you. Giving her an inch isn’t going to make her back off.”

    Riley nodded. “Hawke’s right. We need to keep our eyes open. She’s not going to stop unless we give her a reason to.”

    “I’ll reach out to my network,” Varric added, his voice more serious than usual. “See what I can dig up. There’s got to be something we can use to take the heat off.”

    The room fell into a contemplative silence for a moment before Cullen stood, his expression still troubled. “I’ll walk you home,” he said quietly, looking at Ariana.

    Michael stood as well, his expression resolute. “I’m coming too.”
    Ariana shook her head, her tone light despite the heaviness of the discussion. “That’s not necessary, Cullen. I—”

    “It wasn’t a question,” Cullen cut her off, his gaze steady. Despite the tension, Ariana couldn’t help but smile faintly, finding his protectiveness endearing.

    “You all know I live three doors down from Ariana; I could just walk back with her,” Hawke teased, raising her glass with a smirk. “If you’ll just wait until I finish my wine, at least.”

    Cullen and Michael shot her a sharp look that made it clear they were going. Hawke put her hands up in mock surrender. “Well, a Templar escort it is then.”

    Ariana sighed heavily. “Would you both sit down?” her tone more commanding than she intended.

    Cullen glanced at Michael, his jaw tightening as if reluctant to back down. Michael, for his part, mirrored the same resolve, though his hands clenched into fists at his sides. When they both sat, it was with the air of soldiers reluctantly obeying orders—not from a commanding officer, but from someone they couldn’t bear to argue with.

    Ariana knew Cullen was this worried. And if she were honest, she didn’t mind it all that much. She appreciated how much he cared. On the other hand, she found Michael’s protectiveness endearing and somewhat unexpected. While she still disliked the circumstances under which Michael ended up in Kirkwall, she was somewhat thankful for them. For once in her life, she had a relationship with at least one of her siblings. Something that felt strange and yet… comforting.

    She could feel the weight of their concern pressing against her like armor too heavy to bear. She loved them both for it, but there was a bitter edge to their protectiveness. Cullen and Michael, for all their strength and resolve, were bound by Meredith’s leash. Hawke and Riley, however, were free—untouchable in ways neither Templar could afford to be.

    “While I appreciate how much you both care, if our concern is that Meredith will try again to arrest me, it would be best if Hawke and Riley walked with me.” Ariana said calmly, “Neither of you can afford to openly defy Meredith. If you do, we will all be in more trouble.”

    “I…” Cullen hesitated for a moment, visibly frustrated. “You’re right. Maker… I hate it, but you’re right.”

    His fists clenched briefly before he exhaled, his gaze softening as it settled on her. “I just don’t want to feel powerless again, Ari. Not when it comes to you.”

    Ariana placed a hand over his to reassure him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. She lingered for a moment, her hand brushing against his. “You’re not powerless, Cullen. You’re doing more than you realize just by being here.” Her voice softened, her gaze steady as she spoke. “And when the time comes, I know you’ll do what’s right.”

    Cullen’s gaze held hers for a beat longer before he nodded, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. Ariana gently squeezed his hand before straightening and turning back to the others.

    “Alright, you two,” she said, her tone lighter now, though the weight of the conversation still lingered. “How about you grab a drink and let us all have one peaceful night? We’ve earned it.”
    Michael arched an eyebrow but didn’t argue, settling back in his chair. Cullen hesitated momentarily before rising and moving toward the small bar in the corner of the suite, his steps less heavy than before.

    “I’ll get the first round,” Cullen said over his shoulder, his voice carrying a touch of warmth.

    Varric raised his glass, his grin returning. “Now you’re getting the hang of it, Curly.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, settling back in her seat as the conversation shifted to lighter topics. The air in the room lightened, and for a while, the burdens they carried seemed just a little further away. They stayed like that for hours—talking, laughing, and letting the shadows of Kirkwall fade into the background, if only for a little while.

  • Chapter 41 – A Series of Investigations

    7 – 23 Justinian 9:34

    As Cullen walked out of the library, Ariana let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The tension in the room lingered for a moment longer, like a phantom of the confrontation that had just passed. She turned slowly, her gaze drifting back to the empty space where he had stood only seconds before.

    He believed me.

    Relief washed over her, soft but fleeting. She had lied to him, or rather she had skirted the truth. She never said she wasn’t involved, she just implied that she knew less than she did. She let his report do the rest. It had been almost too easy to let the truth hide behind carefully chosen words and her steady gaze. Too easy to hurt him like that.

    Ariana moved toward the fireplace, the heat of the flames brushing against her face as she sank heavily into one of the armchairs. The soft cushion did little to comfort her. She leaned forward, pressing her hands together tightly as she stared into the fire’s depths.

    I can’t tell him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

    The thought made her stomach churn. Cullen—who trusted her, who loved her—deserved better. She knew that. But the risk of telling him the truth… of losing him entirely… was too much to bear. And even if he could understand, the fallout would destroy them both.

    “Maker, what am I doing?” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

    The sound of footsteps broke her trance, and she looked up to see Isabel walking into the library. Ariana straightened instinctively, brushing her fingers quickly under her eyes as if to erase any lingering evidence of her guilt.

    Isabel paused, frowning as she took in Ariana’s distant gaze. “What happened?” she asked, her tone cautious but knowing.

    Ariana didn’t answer at first, her eyes dropping to the floor as she leaned back into the armchair. The silence stretched, but Isabel didn’t move. Finally, Ariana exhaled and looked up.

    “Cullen received a report about the intercepted mage transport,” she said quietly. “He asked me about it—the ambush”

    Isabel’s brow furrowed, her frown deepening. “And what did you tell him?”

    Ariana swallowed. “I implied I wasn’t involved. That I didn’t know anything about it.”

    “Ariana…” Isabel’s voice carried both warning and disappointment, and she shook her head as she crossed her arms. “Tell me you didn’t.”

    “What else was I supposed to do?” Ariana shot back, her tone sharper than she intended. She pushed herself upright, her hands gripping the arms of the chair. “If I told him the truth, Isabel, do you know what that would mean? What it would do to him?” She ran a hand through her hair, her voice trembling. “He’d have no choice but to turn me in or lie for me—and he’s already so conflicted about the state of the Order.”

    Isabel took a step closer, her gaze firm. “And what do you think this is doing to him now? Every time he looks at you, he’s wondering what’s real and what’s another truth you’ve twisted to protect him. How much longer before that doubt eats him alive—or worse, tears you both apart?”

    “You think I don’t know what this is doing to him?” Ariana snapped, but her voice broke halfway, betraying the ache behind her frustration. “I see it every time he looks at me, Isabel. Every single time.”

    Isabel’s voice softened slightly, but her frustration was still clear. “This isn’t going to end well, Ariana. You can’t keep living like this—half in one life, half in another. It’s tearing you apart, Ariana, and it’s not fair to him either. You can’t straddle both worlds forever, Ariana. One will destroy the other—and you with it. And Maker help you, you won’t survive the fallout when it happens.”

    “It’s not about what life I want to lead!” Ariana stood up, her voice rising with her. Her hazel-green eyes burned with conviction as she turned to face Isabel. “It’s about what I have to do. I can’t abandon the people I’m trying to protect. You know that.”

    Isabel didn’t back down. “And what about Cullen?” she asked pointedly. “You can’t have it both ways, Ariana. If you can’t tell him the truth—if you’re going to keep lying to him—then maybe you  should let him go.”

    The words hit Ariana like a blow, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. She stood there, staring at Isabel, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to find her voice.

    “If you’re asking me to leave him,” Ariana said finally, her voice trembling, “then I can’t. I need him, Isabel. I need him.”

    The admission hung heavy in the air, as if saying the words aloud had made them more real—and more painful.

    Isabel let out a long, slow breath, her hands bracing against the back of a chair as though steadying herself. Her jaw tightened, but her eyes softened briefly, just for a moment, before the steel returned. “Find your own breakfast, child—I’ve got nothing left to say. And you’d do well to get out of this house for the day.”

    She paused at the door, her hand resting lightly on the frame, her back still to Ariana. “Maybe some distance will help you see what your stubborn heart refuses to.” Her voice softened slightly, her shoulders dropping. “You think you’re protecting him, but you’re not. You’re just delaying the pain, and when it comes, it’ll hit like a hammer.”

    Isabel turned her head slightly, her profile catching the light from the fire. “You’ll lose him, child—and when you do, it’ll shatter you. So figure out if this fight is worth that cost, because I don’t think your heart will survive losing him. And Maker knows I won’t stand by and watch that happen.”

    With that, she pushed off the doorframe and walked away, her steps slow but deliberate, leaving Ariana alone with the flickering firelight and the unbearable weight of her words.

    When the sound of Isabel’s footsteps faded, Ariana sank back into the chair, her head falling into her hands. Her body felt heavy, her breaths shallow and uneven, as though the weight of her lies had finally settled in, suffocating her.

    What am I doing? she thought again, her fingers tightening against the armrests. The truth sat like a stone in her chest, immovable and unrelenting.

    ~~~

    When Cullen stepped back into the Gallows, the oppressive weight of Kirkwall’s largest fortress settled over him once again. The halls were dark, the morning light struggling to reach beyond the towering stone walls. Templars moved with brisk purpose, their footfalls echoing in the quiet.

    Cullen didn’t make it far before he saw her—Meredith, standing in the center of the main hall, flanked by a squad of Templars in full armor. Her gaze locked onto him the moment he entered, her expression sharp and unreadable.

    “Knight-Captain,” Meredith said, her voice ringing through the hall with practiced authority. “You left the Gallows not long after receiving the report about the Starkhaven transport.”

    Cullen stopped before her, keeping his posture straight, his expression carefully neutral. “I had to leave for other reasons, unrelated to the report,” he replied evenly.

    Meredith’s cold blue eyes narrowed, a flicker of skepticism crossing her face as her chin tilted slightly upward. The light from the hall glinted off the edges of her armor, accentuating the hard lines of her presence. She stepped forward, the measured weight of her movement deliberate and predatory, her gaze never leaving Cullen’s face. Her lips thinned into a sharp line, her voice soft but cutting when she finally spoke, “Unrelated, you say? Interesting timing for such an absence, Knight-Captain.” Her tone was clipped, cutting through the air like a blade. “You are aware that your duties require your full attention, are you not?”

    Cullen clenched his jaw but nodded. “Of course, Knight-Commander.”

    “Then perhaps you can enlighten me,” Meredith continued, stepping closer, her piercing gaze boring into his. “Do you have any additional information regarding this ambush? The attackers? The defected Templars?”

    Cullen shook his head, his voice even. “Not yet, Knight-Commander. I have only the details provided in the initial report.”

    Meredith studied him for a long moment, the silence thick and oppressive. Finally, she spoke. “Unacceptable. We must determine the identity of those responsible and uncover who compromised our ranks.” She straightened, her voice sharp as a blade. “You will question the remaining Templars assigned to that detail. I expect answers, Knight-Captain. Quickly.”

    “Understood,” Cullen said, his fists clenching subtly at his sides.

    “Maybe you should bring Lady Trevelyan in for questioning as well.” Meredith said as eyes appeared to search for a reaction from him, anything she could use.

    Cullen’s jaw tightened immediately, the sharp line of his posture betraying his anger. His fists curled at his sides, barely restrained by the need to keep himself in check. He swallowed hard, forcing his tone to remain even. “Lady Trevelyan? Why would she have anything to do with this?” Cullen said

    “It appears that she was traveling while this occured. Convenient timing, wouldn’t you say?” Meredith added

    Cullen’s breath caught for a fraction of a second, his mind racing. Meredith was watching Ariana, waiting for a slip—an excuse to drag her into this mess. His heart clenched at the thought, the familiar ache of protectiveness flaring into sharp-edged anger. How far would Meredith go to prove a point? Meredith had to be having Ariana followed—watched, scrutinized—waiting for the smallest misstep to justify her suspicions. It explained how Meredith always seemed ready with her accusations, her veiled threats.

    “She has openly questioned the Order, maybe she has decided to do more…” Meredith’s tone was icy and calculating and certainly accusatory.

    Cullen knew he needed to be smart about this, he couldn’t risk a confrontation. Meredith would simply find someone else to drag Ariana in, someone who would willingly do her bidding “Would you like us to gather a list of all Hightown nobility who has been traveling this past week who may be involved? We probably should consider interrogating the Champion of Kirkwall as well…” His tone bordered on sarcasm but remained just polite enough not to sound openly defiant.

    Meredith’s expression shifted, her mouth tightening as a flicker of anger crossed her features. For a brief moment, Cullen thought she might reprimand him, but instead, her gaze darted sharply to the gathered Templars as if silently reminding them of their place.

    “That won’t be necessary, Knight-Captain,” Meredith said curtly, her voice colder than before. “You may be correct—it is likely Lady Trevelyan is nothing more than some dilettante spending her father’s money and speaking of matters she doesn’t understand.” she said, visibly annoyed at his defiance.

    “But Cullen,” Meredith added, her tone dropping to something almost accusatory. “See that your focus remains where it should. The Order cannot afford distractions.”

    Distractions?

    “Of course, Knight-Commander,” Cullen replied tightly, though every thought in him wanted to say so much more.

    Cullen, of course, knew exactly who she meant by that. The accusation lingered like a bitter taste on his tongue, a pointed barb aimed as much at him as it was at Ariana. Meredith’s relentless targeting of her felt less like suspicion and more like an attack—a deliberate reminder that she saw Cullen’s loyalties as tenuous.

    His jaw clenched at the thought, frustration knotting in his chest. Maker, how many times must she bring Ariana into this? He forced himself to remain still, his face betraying nothing, though his thoughts churned like a storm. He would not give Meredith the satisfaction of seeing him waver.

    Meredith lingered for a moment longer, as if daring him to defy her, before turning sharply on her heel. The squad of Templars fell into step behind her, the echo of their armored boots trailing into the distance.

    Cullen exhaled slowly, his shoulders tense as the weight of her words settled on him. He turned toward the hall leading to his office, his thoughts a tangle of frustration, worry, and doubt.

    Maker help him—he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this balance from breaking entirely.

    ~~~

    Ariana changed into a simple training outfit and quickly made her way to Lowtown. The early summer morning was already warm, the air carrying the faint scent of the sea. It was too early to visit Varric, she reasoned, so she headed to the warehouse instead. A few rounds with Linnea or Lamberto should help her clear her mind. Or maybe, she could take over training some of the recruits.

    Quietly, she stepped into the warehouse. The sounds of recruits sparring and Lamberto loudly critiquing everything they were doing wrong echoed through the space. “Wolf!” Lamberto turned to her with a wide grin as she entered. “You up for showing these recruits how it’s done?”

    “Oh, Maker… and what exactly am I showing them?” Ariana chuckled, rolling out her shoulders as she walked toward him.

    The murmurs from the gathered recruits were unmistakable. They seemed new—faces she wasn’t sure she had met before. Everything from awe that she was the White Wolf to quiet disbelief that someone like her could carry the title filled the air. She smirked to herself. There was something about being underestimated that always drove her to prove herself.

    “You know… parry, dodge, block… the basics,” Lamberto joked.

    “Aren’t the basics your job?” Ariana teased, swinging the training swords in lazy arcs as she walked to the center of the room. “Or do you want me to prove how easy it is to break them?”

    Lamberto laughed, tossing his own sword from hand to hand. “Bold words, Wolf. Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

    “Still got it?” Ariana raised an eyebrow. “Watch and learn, recruits. This is what happens when you don’t dodge fast enough.”

    Ariana walked over to grab a couple of training swords, taking two for herself and tossing one to Lamberto. “I’m certainly not challenging them,” she said with a smirk. “I think observing might be more useful.”

    “Observing? Is that how you were trained—” Lamberto’s words trailed off, his expression faltering as he realized his mistake.

    Memories of Krieger—his arms correcting her stance, his voice smooth but unsettling—flooded her mind. Keep this up, and you’ll be unstoppable his voice cut through her thoughts. Ariana kept her smile steady, refusing to let her expression betray her. She knew Lamberto hadn’t meant anything by it.

    “Sometimes,” she replied lightly, brushing off the moment. “But you’re the one doing the hands-on work here.” Her smirk returned as she added, “I think from me they only need to see me kick their instructor’s ass. It’ll make them feel better.”

    The gathered recruits chuckled at her comment, their tension easing slightly.

    Ariana’s boots barely made a sound as she moved into position, her every step deliberate. She twirled one of the training swords with an easy grace, the blade a blur of polished wood under the dim light. She could feel the eyes of the recruits on her, their whispers fading into silence as they watched the White Wolf take her stance.

    “Well, now you’ve done it,” Lamberto said as he lunged toward her without further warning.

    Ariana easily sidestepped his attack, raising one of her training swords to parry his follow-up strike. The sparring session began in earnest, each move deliberate and calculated. She gave him room at first, allowing Lamberto to demonstrate his own skill, making it seem like the fight was more even than it truly was. She dodged and blocked with fluid grace, countering his strikes with precision that drew murmurs of approval from the recruits.

    Eventually, Ariana’s figured the recruits had seen enough. She shifted gears, her movements faster and sharper, each parry and counter more decisive. In a flurry of strikes, she disarmed Lamberto, twisted his arm behind his back, and forced him to his knees.

    “I yield,” Lamberto grunted, signaling his surrender.

    Ariana stepped back, lowering her training sword as she offered him a hand to help him up. “I think that covered everything,” she said with a mock bow. “Unless anyone thinks I missed something. Then we could do it again…”

    The recruits burst into cheers, their earlier skepticism replaced with certainty. The murmurs shifted; now, they were sure she was who they’d heard about.

    “No. No. That… won’t be necessary, Wolf,” Lamberto said as he stretched his arms. “Don’t you have work to do somewhere else?” he added, waving her off good-naturedly.

    “I’m always available for another demonstration,” Ariana quipped, making her way toward the office.

    “Wolf,” Linnea greeted her, looking up from a stack of papers as Ariana stepped in. “You embarrassing Lamberto out there?”

    “I tried not to,” The teasing warmth in Ariana’s voice faded as she stepped into the office, her expression sharpening. “We need to talk,” she said, her tone low but firm. The camaraderie from the sparring match lingered in the air, but it dissolved as Linnea’s gaze turned serious.

    Linnea tilted her head, her expression growing more serious. “What’s going on?”

    Ariana leaned against the desk, crossing her arms. “The transport we intercepted? Two Templars helped us and have now joined the Rangers,” she said, watching Linnea’s reaction carefully. “They’ll head to the manor after they see the mages we rescued safely to Markham.”

    “What? They… helped you?” Linnea’s tone was filled with surprise. “And they left the Templar Order?”

    “That’s not everything,” Ariana continued. “It seems there’s a mage-templar group within the Gallows plotting against Meredith. They want to turn the Gallows back into a regular Circle instead of the prison it is now. The group is still young, but from what the Templars told me, they don’t seek chaos. They just want Meredith gone and the abuses to stop.”

    Linnea sank back into her chair, her expression thoughtful. “Do you think it could be a trap?”

    Ariana glanced around the room, her gaze lingering on the maps, boards, and reports that covered every surface. She leaned back against the desk again, weighing her words. “Trap? No. Possibly risky? Yes,” she admitted. “If they don’t handle things right, it could make things worse and destabilize everything sooner. But if they’re genuine and we can coordinate with them… maybe it could help turn the tide.”

    Linnea leaned forward, her fingers steepled as she rested her elbows on the desk. “Helping them would mean putting ourselves directly in their crosshairs if things go wrong. Meredith’s not the sort to let an uprising pass quietly.” She shook her head, frowning. “Do we even know how many are involved?”

    “Not yet,” Ariana admitted. “The Templars who joined us are our only connection so far. If we’re careful, we can find out more without drawing too much attention.”

    Linnea sighed. “Careful isn’t something the Gallows is known for. If Meredith gets wind of this, even a rumor, it’ll turn into a bloodbath. You know that.”

    “I do,” Ariana said firmly. “Which is why we need to tread carefully. But think about it, Linnea. If this group succeeds… if we can help them… it’s not just Meredith who falls. It’s the foundation of her tyranny.”

    Linnea’s gaze hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. After a moment, she nodded. “Alright. But we need more information before we do anything. If we move too soon, we’ll be walking into disaster.”

    Ariana straightened. “Agreed. I’ve asked Hawke to do some digging. The Templars that defected gave me a name, Ser Thrask, and apparently Hawke has worked with him before. She’ll let us know what she finds.”

    “Understood,” Linnea said, though her expression remained tense. After a moment, she added, “And Wolf? Be careful. If Meredith catches even a whisper of this, we might not have the chance to regroup.”

    Ariana gave a small, determined smile. “I’ll be careful. We all will. But right now that mage-templar group is at the highest risk. And let’s make sure no one hears about this from us.”

    Ariana ran a hand over the edge of the desk, her thoughts momentarily distant. “We’ve seen what happens when fear controls Kirkwall,” she said softly. “This time, we’ll make sure hope has a chance to fight back.”

    ~~~

    After reviewing all current operations with Linnea and stopping to talk with some of the new recruits, Ariana made her way to the Hanged Man. The sun was beginning its descent, casting long shadows across Lowtown as she wound her way through the familiar streets. She pushed open the heavy door of the tavern, the warm, lively hum of voices and clinking mugs washing over her as she stepped inside.

    Varric was in his usual corner, leaning back in his chair with a drink in hand, Bianca resting on the table beside him. He looked up as she approached, his ever-present smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Pup! You’re out early… or late. Depends on how you’re counting.”

    Ariana slid into the seat across from him, offering a faint smile. “Isabel kicked me out of the house.”

    Varric raised an eyebrow. “Kicked you out? Must have been some morning.”

    “She’s… upset,” Ariana admitted, running a hand through her hair. “About Cullen. About the lies. She said I need to decide which life I want to lead.”

    Varric’s expression softened slightly, though his tone remained light. “Sounds like Isabel’s getting tired of playing middle ground. Can’t say I blame her.”

    Ariana leaned back in her chair, her arms crossing. “She’s probably right, but I can’t tell him, Varric. It would destroy everything. He’d have to choose between me and his duty. It’s not fair to put him in that position.”

    Varric nodded slowly, swirling his drink. “You’re not wrong, Pup. The last thing Curly needs is more weight on his shoulders. Maker knows he’s carrying enough as it is.” He took a sip, his gaze steady on her. “But Isabel’s not wrong either. This? The lies, the secrets? It’s all going to boil over eventually. And when it does, everyone’s going to get burned.”

    Ariana’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t argue. The truth of his words settled heavily on her shoulders.

    Varric’s smirk returned, though it lacked its usual bite. “Well, if anyone can walk that tightrope, it’s you. Just don’t look down.”

    They talked and drank for hours, the conversation ranging from potential strategies to shared stories of past misadventures. By the time Ariana stood to leave, the tavern was buzzing with evening activity, the air thick with laughter and the smell of ale.

    As she stepped out of the Hanged Man, she almost collided with Michael, who was making his way toward the estate.

    “Ariana,” he greeted, his tone subdued. His arm was already out for her to take, a familiar gesture that she accepted without hesitation.

    “You look tired,” she said, studying his face. There was something more than exhaustion in his expression—a darkness, a weight.

    “Not here,” Michael said quietly, glancing around the dimly lit street.

    Ariana nodded, falling silent as they walked the rest of the way to the estate. Once inside, they joined Isabel and Emma for a quiet dinner, though Michael’s unease was palpable. Afterward, the two of them retreated to the courtyard, the cool breeze carrying the scent of the sea.

    As they entered the courtyard, Ariana felt a flicker of relief. Despite the day’s turmoil, Michael’s steady presence was grounding, like a reminder that not everything in her life was on the verge of unraveling.

    Michael sat stiffly, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, the tension in his shoulders visible even in the dim light. His jaw worked as though he was grinding his thoughts into silence, but his eyes betrayed the storm within. “The Gallows is… it’s a dark place, Ariana.”

    Ariana watched him carefully, her brow furrowing. “What happened?”

    “It’s not one thing,” Michael admitted. “It’s everything. The way the mages look at me… like I’m the enemy. Even when I try to be kind, they don’t trust me. It’s like they’re waiting for me to trap them. And the punishments… they’re so far beyond what’s reasonable. Minor infractions get…” He shook his head, his hands tightening into fists. “They’re terrified, Ariana. And I can’t blame them.”

    Ariana’s heart ached at his words. She reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “You’re in a difficult position, Michael. But you can help, even if it’s in small ways. Keep being kind. Show them that not all Templars are like the rest. If you see minor infractions, maybe you can… overlook them. Protect them from worse punishments.”

    Michael looked at her, his jaw tight. “You make it sound so easy.”

    “It’s not,” Ariana said softly. “But it’s something. And if you can earn their trust, even a little, it could make a difference.”

    Michael nodded slowly, though his frustration was still evident. “I’ll try. But it’s hard, Ariana. Every day, it feels like I’m walking a fine line. And I don’t know how long I can keep it up.”

    Ariana studied him, her expression thoughtful. She could see the cracks forming in his convictions, the doubt that lingered in his eyes. “Sometimes,” she said quietly, “it’s the ones walking the fine line who have the clearest view of both sides.”

    As the wind carried the scent of salt and distant waves, Ariana leaned back in her chair, watching Michael. He had been the dutiful Templar, the one who followed the rules without question. But now, he was changing, whether he realized it or not. And though the path ahead was uncertain, for the first time, she allowed herself to believe he might walk it with her.

    But not yet. She needed to watch, to wait. For now, she would let him find his own way.

    ~~~

    It had been a couple of weeks since Ariana intercepted the mage transport. The soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Ariana sat at the desk by the window, one foot tucked up on the chair, her arms loosely wrapped around her knee as she gazed out at the quiet morning. Cullen’s shirt hung loosely on her frame, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, the fabric carrying the faint, comforting scent of him.

    Her thoughts swirled as she absently traced patterns on the edge of the desk, the weight of recent weeks pressing heavily on her. The wooden desk littered with correspondence and reports. Her head tilted slightly as she read through a letter, the corners of her lips pulled tight in concentration.

    A knock at the door broke her concentration. “Come in,” she called, straightening slightly in her chair, setting down the letter.

    The door opened to reveal Cullen, his armor catching the soft light as he stepped inside. His serious expression softened as his eyes fell on her, and for a brief moment, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

    “You’re up early,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly to the shirt she wore.

    “So are you,” she replied with a small smile, lowering her foot and turning to face him fully. “Though I suppose that’s not unusual.”

    Cullen crossed the room, setting a folded report on the desk. “I need your opinion on something,” he said, his tone quieter than usual.

    Ariana arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “What’s troubling you?”

    He hesitated, his gaze flicking to the window before meeting hers again. “It’s about the Gallows,” he admitted, his voice low. “Specifically, how punishments are being handled for minor infractions.”

    Ariana’s expression sobered as she gestured for him to sit. “Go on,” she said, leaning forward slightly, her arms resting on the desk.

    Cullen settled into the chair across from her, his fingers brushing over the edges of the report. “I’ve received several reports detailing extended solitary confinement, denial of meals, even physical punishments for minor offenses. It’s… excessive. But I need to know if I’m overreacting.”

    Ariana unfolded the report, her hazel-green eyes scanning the lines of text. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she read, her fingers tightening slightly around the paper. “You’re not overreacting,” she said firmly. “This isn’t discipline—it’s cruelty.”

    Cullen exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly. “That’s what I thought. But how do I address it without challenging Meredith directly? She’ll see any attempt at change as defiance.”

    Ariana set the report down, her gaze steady. “You can’t change Meredith overnight, Cullen. But you can start by protecting those under your command. Redirect punishments, reassign tasks—anything to mitigate the damage.”

    Cullen nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in thought. “Reassignments could work. If I frame it as improving efficiency, she might not question it immediately.”

    “I know Michael would probably love the chance to be in a position to help the mages.” Ariana said “He hates being feared.”

    “You’ve spoken to Michael?” Cullen asked, his brow furrowing slightly. “I didn’t realize he felt that way.”

    “I have, he’s… disillusioned,” Ariana replied, her tone softening. “He’s trying, Cullen. But he’s struggling. He believes in the ideals of the Order, but what he sees every day in the Gallows… it’s wearing him down. He hates the fear he inspires, and he hates feeling like he’s part of the problem.”

    Cullen’s expression grew heavier as he considered her words. “Michael’s frustration doesn’t surprise me,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter. “He’s always been more idealistic. But if even he’s questioning things, that says more about the state of the Gallows than anything else.”

    His gaze dropped to the desk, and his hands clasped tightly in front of him. “But even then, I hate how powerless it feels. I’m supposed to lead, to protect. And yet, every day, it feels like I’m just watching it all get worse.”

    “You’re not alone in this, Cullen,” Ariana said, her voice steady but filled with warmth. “You’re doing more than most, even if it doesn’t always feel like it.”

    He offered her a faint smile, the tension in his posture easing slightly. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “It helps to talk about it. To have someone I trust.”

    “You’ll always have me,” Ariana replied, her smile soft but resolute.

    Cullen stood, tucking the report back into his pouch. “I’ll think on what you’ve said. And I’ll speak with Michael.”

    Ariana rose as well, walking with him to the door. As he reached for the handle, he paused, glancing back at her. “You look good in my shirt,” he said, his voice carrying a touch of warmth and teasing.

    Ariana chuckled, her eyes sparkling. “I told you I was keeping it.”

    Cullen shook his head, a small, genuine smile breaking through his earlier seriousness. “I’ll see you later.”

    As the door closed behind him, Ariana returned to her desk, her fingers brushing over the stack of papers. For the first time that morning, the weight on her chest felt a little lighter.

    One day at a time, she reminded herself, her gaze drifting to the skyline beyond the window. One day at a time.

    ~~~

    Cullen’s boots echoed against the stone floor of the Gallows as he approached Knight-Commander Meredith’s office. The oppressive air of the fortress seemed heavier than usual, the weight of the intercepted transport incident lingering like a specter. Cullen had spent weeks trying to piece together the fragments of information surrounding the attack, but answers were few and far between.

    Meredith was already waiting for him, her posture rigid and commanding as always. Her sharp eyes locked onto him the moment he entered the room, and the squad of Templars stationed outside made it clear this was not a casual meeting.

    “Knight-Captain,” Meredith began, her voice as cold and precise as a blade. “It has been several weeks since the intercepted transport. I trust you’ve made progress in uncovering who was behind it.”

    Cullen stood at attention, his tone measured. “I questioned all Templars involved in the transport, Knight-Commander. Unfortunately, none had any further information to provide. They were as surprised as anyone by the attack and the defection of their comrades.”

    Meredith’s brow furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. “And the defectors? What did you learn of their motivations?”

    “From what I could gather, it appears the two defectors chose that moment to leave rather than planning the attack themselves,” Cullen explained. “The ambush seems to have been perpetrated by an unknown group. The Templars involved indicated that it was not an orchestrated betrayal from within the Order but an external intervention. The defectors took advantage of the chaos to escape.”

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed, and she began to pace slowly behind her desk. “So, you are telling me we now have rogue Templars among the populace and an unidentified group with the audacity to attack our transport. Who do you suspect orchestrated this?”

    Cullen hesitated, carefully choosing his words. “It may be related to one of the mages who were freed during the attack. However, neither of the mages in question has known family or close friends in the area that we could question. Their backgrounds provide no immediate leads.”

    Meredith stopped pacing, her gaze piercing. “And you have no other theories? No insight into who these attackers might be?”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened. “Not at this time, Knight-Commander. My men and I continue to investigate, but the attackers were skilled and left no identifying traces behind. They knew what they were doing.”

    Meredith’s expression hardened further, if such a thing were possible. “This is unacceptable, Knight-Captain. An attack on the Order cannot go unanswered. The fact that you have yet to produce results reflects poorly on us all. I suggest you redouble your efforts.”

    “Understood,” Cullen replied, his voice steady despite the growing tension in the room.

    Meredith’s tone turned icy as she added, “And I trust there will be no more unsanctioned absences on your part while this matter remains unresolved. Your duties are clear.”

    Cullen stiffened, the veiled accusation cutting deeper than he expected. “Of course, Knight-Commander. My focus remains on the Order.”

    Meredith studied him for a moment longer before nodding curtly. “See that it does. Dismissed.”

    Cullen turned and left the office, his mind churning as he replayed the conversation. The unknown group, the defectors, the mages freed in the attack—none of it aligned neatly. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how tenuous the situation was becoming. As he stepped back into the open air of the Gallows courtyard, the oppressive weight of Meredith’s scrutiny followed him, a constant reminder of how fine a line he was walking.

    ~~~

    Meredith waited until the echo of Cullen’s boots faded into silence before moving. Her posture remained rigid, her gloved fingers clasped tightly behind her back. The shadows of the Gallows flickered against the stone walls as the torches outside guttered in the wind. She stared at the heavy door, her sharp blue eyes narrowing in thought.

    He’s slipping.

    The thought festered like a wound. Cullen, once her most promising Knight-Captain, was no longer the man she had painstakingly molded. His resolve had softened, his loyalty fractured, all because of her. Ariana Trevelyan.

    Meredith exhaled sharply through her nose, the sound almost imperceptible in the stillness of the chamber. A noblewoman with no place meddling in the affairs of Kirkwall’s Order. Yet, somehow, Ariana had wormed her way into Cullen’s life, into his mind. Meredith saw the hesitation in his gaze, the cracks in his once-iron will. He was mine to shape, and now…

    Her lips pressed into a thin line as she turned away from the door, pacing behind her desk. She could not afford distractions—not now, with tensions between mages and Templars growing more volatile by the day. Cullen was supposed to be her right hand, her mirror, the one who would carry her vision forward. Instead, he was drifting, and Ariana was the root cause.

    Meredith stopped abruptly, her gaze sharpening as an idea crystallized. If Ariana’s presence was a distraction, it must be removed.

    “Knight-Lieutenant Aldric,” she called sharply.

    The door opened almost immediately, and a young Templar stepped inside, his posture stiff with discipline. His armor clinked faintly as he saluted. “Yes, Knight-Commander?”

    Meredith studied him for a moment, her piercing gaze unrelenting. Young. Ambitious. Eager to prove himself. He would do.

    “I have a task for you,” she said, her voice crisp and cold. “One that requires discretion and absolute loyalty.”

    The Knight-Lieutenant’s brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded. “Of course, Knight-Commander. What are your orders?”

    “You are to conduct a thorough investigation into Ariana Trevelyan,” Meredith said, her tone leaving no room for questioning. “I want to know every detail about her travel to Starkhaven around the time of the intercepted transport. Who she met with, why she went, and if there is any connection between her and the group responsible for the attack.”

    The Templar hesitated, a flicker of unease crossing his face. “Ariana Trevelyan? The noblewoman?”

    Meredith’s lips thinned. “Yes. Do you have an issue with the order, Knight-Lieutenant?”

    “No, Knight-Commander,” he said quickly, though the slight shift in his stance betrayed his discomfort. “I simply meant… should I report my findings to Knight-Captain Cullen once the investigation is complete?”

    Meredith’s eyes hardened, her tone dropping to a cold, deliberate edge. “No. Everything concerning Ariana Trevelyan is to be reported directly to me. Knight-Captain Cullen is not to be informed. Do you understand?”

    The Knight-Lieutenant swallowed hard but nodded. “Understood, Knight-Commander. I will begin immediately.”

    Meredith inclined her head slightly. “Good. Remember, Knight-Lieutenant, this task requires absolute discretion. Should I find that word of this investigation has spread, the consequences will be severe.”

    “Yes, Knight-Commander,” the Templar replied, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture. He saluted once more before exiting the office.

    As the door closed behind him, Meredith turned to the window, her hands once again clasping tightly behind her back. She gazed out over the Gallows courtyard, her expression cold and calculating.

    Ariana Trevelyan was a complication—one that Meredith intended to neutralize. If there was even the faintest connection between her and the intercepted transport, Meredith would expose it. And if not, she would find another means to discredit her. Ariana’s presence in Cullen’s life was a threat to the Order’s stability, and Meredith would not allow anyone to disrupt the balance she had fought so hard to maintain.

    Meredith’s gaze darkened, her mind sharpening with resolve. No one—no noble, no mage—will undermine the Order. And certainly not her.

  • Chapter 40 – Fractures beneath the surface

    3 – 7 Justinian 9:34

    The soft light of dawn crept into the room, spilling over the tangled sheets and casting a golden glow across the walls. Ariana sat up slowly, the heaviness of the night still lingering in her chest. She glanced toward Cullen, who was already awake, propped on one elbow, watching her with a mix of tenderness and reluctance. His hair was tousled, his face softened by the faint traces of exhaustion from a night spent talking about everything they rarely dared to speak aloud.

    “You don’t have to go yet,” he murmured, his voice rough with the weight of the morning. He reached for her, his fingers brushing lightly against her arm. “Stay a little longer.”

    Ariana smiled faintly, the corner of her mouth quirking upward. “If I stay, I’ll never leave,” she said, her tone warm but laced with an undercurrent of truth.

    “I wouldn’t mind that, we still have plenty of time,” Cullen replied, the teasing edge in his voice unable to mask the deeper emotion behind it.

    She laughed softly, the sound breaking through the heaviness like sunlight piercing a cloud. “You’re impossible,” she said, leaning down to kiss him. It was slow and deliberate, a moment she wanted to stretch forever.

    When she pulled away, his hand lingered on her wrist, his grip gentle but firm. “Be careful,” he said, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. The words were simple, but the weight behind them was anything but.

    Ariana nodded, pulling herself out of bed and crossing the room to gather her travel clothes. She donned the modest tunic and pants laid out from the previous evening, securing her boots with deft fingers. Finally, she threw on a dark blue cloak, its hood resting against her shoulders.

    As Ariana pulled her cloak around her shoulders, she glanced back at Cullen, his hair tousled, his expression soft in the morning light. A part of her yearned to stay, to let herself slip fully into the life they’d begun to build together. But another part, the part that burned fiercely beneath her calm exterior, couldn’t let go of the White Wolf. She didn’t want to. That part of her wasn’t just a duty—it was her freedom, her power, her purpose.

    The thought tugged at her like a half-forgotten melody, familiar and insistent. She loved Cullen deeply, but the quiet life he offered was only half of who she was. The other half lived in the shadows, where the White Wolf’s name still carried weight. She couldn’t give that up—not yet.

    Her smile wavered as she met his eyes, but she quickly steadied herself. This is who I am, she reminded herself. Both halves. He just doesn’t see all of me yet.

    She turned to face him, her smile soft but resolute. “I’ll be back in a few days,” she said lightly, though the ease in her tone felt like a lie even to her own ears.

    Cullen sat up fully, leaning against the headboard, his gaze following her every movement. “Promise me,” he said, his voice quieter now, “that you’ll take care of yourself. I need you to come back in one piece, Ari.”

    Her heart twisted at the way he said her name, at the vulnerability in his tone that he so rarely showed. She crossed the room in two steps, pressing a hand to his cheek and brushing a kiss against his temple. “I promise,” she whispered.

    When Ariana stepped closer to kiss his temple, Cullen caught her wrist before she could pull away, his grip gentle but firm. His thumb brushed over her pulse, lingering as though memorizing the beat. “I mean it, Ari,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Take care of yourself.”

    She felt the slight tremor in his hand and met his gaze, her heart clenching at the unspoken fears reflected there. He didn’t ask where she was going or what dangers lay ahead; he never did. But the questions were in his eyes, the ones he didn’t want to voice because he feared the answers.

    “I will,” she whispered, covering his hand with hers. For a moment, they stayed like that, suspended in the quiet. Then, as if reminding himself, Cullen let her go, his hand falling back to his side reluctantly.

    She turned and stepped out the door, the weight of the moment pressing against her chest. By the time she reached the stairwell, her mask was firmly in place, but her heart still ached with the truth she couldn’t bring herself to tell him.

    The White Wolf had a mission, and the world outside demanded her focus, no matter what she left behind.

    ~~~

    They reached the mage transport by nightfall, the darkened sky shrouding their approach. Ariana crouched low among the trees, her dark blue cloak blending with the shadows as she surveyed the camp. A small fire crackled in the center, its light casting flickering silhouettes of armored figures. Ten Templars. Two chained mages. It was all as expected.

    Ariana’s breath caught as her gaze fell on the mages. They sat huddled together, their chains glinting in the firelight, their youth unmistakable. It wasn’t the Circle she resented—not entirely—but the inevitability of what awaited them in Kirkwall. Meredith’s shadow loomed too large, her paranoia suffocating. These mages wouldn’t find guidance or stability there; they’d find fear, and fear bred desperation.

    She adjusted her gloves, the leather creaking softly as she pulled them tighter. Her gaze swept the camp again, noting the positions of the guards, the patterns of their movements. Years of training had taught her to notice the smallest details—the way one Templar seemed to linger too long near the fire, the slight hesitation in another’s stride. These were not hardened warriors; they were soldiers following orders.

    Krieger’s voice echoed in her mind, sharp and commanding: “I can count on one hand the number who see the field the way you do”

    Valentina crouched beside her, whispering the latest report. “Keys are with the Knight-Lieutenant. The usual setup—two on patrol, the rest rotating in shifts. Mages are chained but calm. No sign of resistance.”

    Ariana nodded, her eyes never leaving the camp. “We wait until they’re asleep,” she said quietly. “We take the mages first. Disable the Templars—no killing.” Her voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

    Valentina raised an eyebrow. “And if they fight back, Wolf?”

    “Disarm them, you’re good at that.” Ariana replied, her tone clipped. “Most are just doing their jobs. They’re not bandits or slavers. They don’t deserve to die for this.”

    The plan unfolded smoothly. By the time the first Templar stirred, the mages were already being escorted to safety, their chains unlocked with barely a whisper of sound. The Rangers moved like shadows, disabling their opponents with practiced precision. A quick strike to the back of the knee, a twist of an arm, and the Templars fell one by one without drawing their weapons.

    The Knight-Lieutenant’s eyes locked onto her, his sword half-raised. “The White Wolf,” he murmured, the disbelief in his voice giving way to guarded curiosity. Ariana tensed, her hand hovering near her dagger. Her heart pounded, her mind racing through contingencies. But then he lowered his weapon, the weight of his choice evident. “I’ve heard of you,” he said, his voice softer now. “You protect them.”

    Ariana’s daggers gleamed in the firelight as she stepped forward, her posture calm but commanding. “Who’s asking?,” she questioned, her tone even.

    For a moment, he hesitated, his grip on his sword faltering. Then, slowly, he lowered his weapon.

    “I’ve heard about you,” he said quietly. “They say you protect mages. That you’re… different.”

    Ariana’s expression didn’t change, but his words struck a chord. “If you know who I am, then you know this doesn’t have to end in bloodshed,” she said. “Help me get them to safety.”

    The Knight-Lieutenant’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded reluctantly. “Very well,” he said. “Meredith’s orders… they don’t sit right with me anymore.”

    Once the mages were safely escorted to the tree line, the Knight-Lieutenant and a younger Templar approached Ariana cautiously. Their weapons were sheathed, their hands raised in a gesture of peace, but their faces bore the weight of something much heavier: shame.

    “We want to help,” one of them said, his voice steady but quiet, as though he wasn’t quite sure the words were his to say.

    Ariana turned to face them fully, her cloak shifted lightly with the breeze, and the firelight from the camp cast long shadows across her face. Her gaze flicked between them, warm but piercing. “What?” she asked, her tone even but laced with suspicion. “Why now?”

    The Knight-Lieutenant stepped forward, his jaw set but his eyes conflicted. “Because we can’t keep pretending this is right,” he said, his voice hoarse. “We joined to protect people, not to shackle them, not to drag them to their deaths because of some Knight-Commander’s paranoia.” He gestured toward the camp, and his voice grew quieter. “This isn’t what the Order was meant to be.”

    Ariana studied him, her expression unreadable, before her gaze shifted to the younger Templar. He couldn’t have been much older than her. His hands trembled faintly at his sides, though he tried to hide it.

    “And you?” Ariana asked sharply. “Do you believe this, or are you just following him?” Her eyes darted toward the older Templar, and there was no warmth in her tone. “Because if you hesitate for even a second, you’ll be putting my people at risk.”

    The younger man’s throat worked as he swallowed, his voice soft but resolute when he spoke. “I believed in the Order,” he said, his words tumbling out. “I still want to. I thought we were doing good. I thought we were protecting people, keeping them safe. But… it’s not true anymore. Not here. Not under Meredith.” He shook his head, his voice cracking. “It’s not right. And I can’t be part of it.”

    Ariana observed them both for a moment. It was evident that this was a decision they had just made. Not a plan. “And what will you do after this?” she asked, her tone still sharp. “Desert the Order? Become fugitives? A Templar once told me it’s not that easy to leave the Order.”

    The Knight-Lieutenant’s shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of her words pressing down on him. “We don’t know,” he admitted. “But we can’t go back. Not after this. We’ll be hanged, we know that.”

    Ariana felt a wave of something she couldn’t quite name—empathy, perhaps, though it was intertwined with bitterness. She understood what it was to walk away from something that had once defined you. To abandon everything you’d been taught to believe in and carve out a new path, not because it was easy but because it was the only thing you could live with.

    For a long moment, she said nothing, her eyes scanning their faces. There was fear there, yes, but also something stronger. Resolve. She exhaled slowly, the tension in her chest easing just slightly.

    “You’re right about one thing,” she said at last. “You can’t go back. And if you stay here, if you stay in Kirkwall, Meredith will destroy you. But if you’re serious—if you’re ready to fight for something better—you have a place among the Silver Rangers.”

    The younger Templar’s eyes widened slightly, and he exchanged a quick glance with the older man. “The Rangers?” he asked hesitantly. “You mean… you’d take us?”

    “We protect people,” Ariana said simply. “Mages, innocents, anyone who needs it. If you’re willing to put your past behind you and fight for something better, we’ll take you.” She folded her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. “But don’t mistake this for a reprieve. If you betray us, if you endanger the people we protect, there will be no second chances.”

    The older Templar nodded slowly, his expression grim but resolute. “We won’t betray you,” he said. “We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t ready to stand against her.”

    The younger Templar hesitated for a moment, then spoke, his voice quieter. “And… the lyrium?” he asked, the question clearly weighing on him. “If we can’t go back, we… we can’t function without it. Not for long.”

    Ariana nodded, her voice firm. “We’ll provide it. But know this: we don’t fight for coin or power. If you join the Rangers, you fight for the people who can’t fight for themselves. You fight to make things right.” She met their gazes steadily. “If that’s not something you can believe in, then walk away now.”

    The younger Templar’s shoulders straightened, and for the first time, there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “We’ll fight,” he said, his voice steady. “We’ll fight for something better.”

    The older man nodded in agreement, his voice low but sincere. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For giving us a chance.”

    Ariana’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “You’re in for a long road. When this is done, head to Redcliffe. I’ll send word ahead. There’s a place for you there.”

    The Templars exchanged a glance, then nodded in unison. As they turned to join the others, the older man hesitated. His hand lingered on the hilt of his sword, not in hostility but in thought. Finally, he turned back to Ariana, his expression shadowed with something deeper than regret.

    “There’s something you need to know,” he said, his voice low but steady. The other Templar paused mid-step, glancing between him and Ariana with wide eyes. “Consider it proof of our intentions… and a warning.”

    Ariana tilted her head, studying him with narrowed eyes. “Go on,” she said, her tone cautious.

    The Knight-Lieutenant’s shoulders straightened, the remnants of his former discipline still evident in his stance. “There’s a group,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “Templars and mages, working together. In secret.”

    Ariana’s heart skipped a beat, though she kept her expression neutral. “For what purpose?” she asked, her voice carefully measured.

    “To overthrow Meredith,” he said simply. “They believe the Gallows needs to return to what it was meant to be—a place of protection, not oppression. The mages want to remain in a Circle, but one that isn’t ruled by fear. And the Templars… we’ve seen what she’s become. What she’s turned us into.”

    “You’re telling me there’s a resistance within the Gallows?” Ariana’s voice was sharp, her mind already working through the implications. She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “How do you know this isn’t a trap? How do you know Thrask can be trusted?”

    The Knight-Lieutenant held her gaze, unflinching. “I can’t give you guarantees, Wolf. But I’ve seen the way he looks at the mages. He doesn’t see prisoners—he sees people. He’s not like the others.”

    The Knight-Lieutenant nodded. “Yes. But it’s young, cautious. Everyone’s afraid—afraid of spies, of Meredith’s wrath, of what happens if they fail. They’ve been gathering information, slowly, but they haven’t taken action. Not yet.”

    “And how do you know this?” Ariana pressed.

    “I was approached,” he admitted. “Before this assignment. They wanted to know where I stood. I couldn’t commit—not then. But after tonight…” He glanced back at the other Templar, who nodded in quiet support. “I’ll vouch for them. They’re genuine. They want change, not chaos.”

    Ariana’s mind raced, the implications of his words sinking in. A group like this—inside the Gallows itself—could change everything. If they truly existed, if they were truly committed, it meant that even within Meredith’s fortress, cracks were forming.

    But cracks weren’t enough. Not yet.

    “Does Meredith know?” she asked, her voice low and urgent.

    “Not yet,” he replied. “But it’s only a matter of time. If you decide to get involved, be careful. They need help, but if Meredith finds out, it’s over—for them and for you.”

    Ariana nodded slowly, her mind already spinning with possibilities and dangers. “Thank you,” she said at last. “For the warning—and for your help tonight. How do I find this resistance?”

    The Knight-Lieutenant inclined his head, his expression solemn. “Find Ser Thrask, tell him I sent you.” he paused for a moment looking to towards the tree line “Thank you, White Wolf. For everything.”

    Ariana smiled “Just call me , Wolf. Everyone else does.” bowing her head slightly before continuing “When you get to the manor, look for Malcolm. He’ll understand what you need.”

    And with that, he turned and followed the other Templar toward the waiting Rangers. Ariana stood motionless for a moment, her thoughts a whirlwind of strategies and uncertainties. The Gallows, with all its darkness, might finally have a spark of hope within it.

    But hope alone wasn’t enough to win this fight. She knew that better than anyone.

    As the Rangers prepared to escort the mages and defecting Templars to safety, Ariana issued her final orders. “Take the mages to Markham. Speak to Frederick Decken, he’ll make sure they have a safe place at the Markham Circle—somewhere Meredith can’t reach them. After that, get the Templars to manor. They’ll be safe there.”

    Valentina stepped forward, her brow furrowed. “And you?”

    Ariana adjusted her cloak, the white fur catching the soft glow of dawn. “I need to get back to Kirkwall,” she said. “If Meredith or Cullen suspect anything, I need to be there to handle it.”

    Valentina hesitated, then nodded. “Understood.”

    As the group faded into the shadows, Ariana turned toward the forest, her mind heavy with the weight of what lay ahead. The Gallows were a fortress of oppression, but cracks had begun to form. She would find them, widen them, and let the light in. But the path forward was treacherous, and every step would demand precision, resolve, and sacrifice.

    The White Wolf had returned—and she wasn’t done yet.

    ~~~

    The familiar sights and sounds of Lowtown greeted Ariana as she walked through its winding streets. Despite the noise of merchants setting up their stalls and the chatter of early risers, an undercurrent of tension pulsed through the air. She felt it like a shadow trailing her—a reflection of the unrest simmering within Kirkwall’s walls. The Gallows loomed in the distance, its silhouette a constant reminder of the growing conflict.

    Ariana adjusted the hood of her cloak as she approached the Hanged Man, her steps purposeful but heavy with exhaustion. The raid had been successful, but the events of the last few days weighed on her. Still, she couldn’t afford to pause—not when there was more to unravel. If there truly was a resistance within the Gallows, it could either be the key to unseating Meredith or a spark that set the entire city ablaze.

    Inside Varric’s suite, the familiar warmth of the room greeted her. The dwarf sat at his desk, quill in hand, while Hawke lounged on the worn couch with her feet propped up on the table.

    “Well, if it isn’t the prodigal pup,” Varric said, glancing up from his work. “What brings you by today? Don’t tell me you missed us.”

    Ariana smiled faintly as she closed the door behind her. “Something like that,” she replied, shrugging off her cloak and hanging it by the door. “We need to talk.”

    Hawke sat up, her expression shifting from amusement to curiosity. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all,” she said dryly. “What’s going on?”

    Ariana moved to lean against the edge of the table, her hazel-green eyes flicking between them. “Have either of you heard about a resistance forming within the Gallows? A group of mages and Templars working together to… remove Meredith from power?”

    The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of her words settling over them.

    Hawke’s brow furrowed as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “A resistance? Within the Gallows?” she repeated, her voice low. “That’s… ambitious, to say the least. Dangerous, too.”

    “Very dangerous,” Varric agreed, setting down his quill. “If it’s true, it could be the start of something big—or it could end in a bloodbath.”

    Ariana nodded, her expression grim. “That’s what I’m worried about. If Meredith gets even a hint of this, she’ll come down on them hard. And if they fail…” She didn’t finish the thought, but the implication hung in the air.

    Hawke’s gaze sharpened. “How much do you know about this group?” she asked. “Do they have numbers? Leadership? A plan?”

    “Not much yet,” Ariana admitted. “Just whispers from the Templars we encountered on the road. But the fact that they exist at all is… significant.”

    Varric leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Significant, sure. But also risky. If they pull it off, great—Meredith’s out, and maybe the Gallows can start to recover. But if they don’t? Meredith will use it as proof that both mages and Templars need even tighter control.”

    “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Ariana said quietly. “Which is why I need your help. I need to know more about this group—who’s involved, what they’re planning, if they’re even capable of succeeding.”

    Hawke arched an eyebrow. “And how do you propose we do that? March into the Gallows and start asking questions?”

    “Not exactly,” Ariana replied, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “I did get a name—Ser Thrask. He was the one who approached the Knight-Lieutenant that told me about this. Start with him?”

    Hawke’s brow furrowed, her expression shifting from curiosity to recognition. “Thrask?” she repeated, her surprise evident. “Of course, that makes sense.” Her tone carried an edge of resignation, as though the realization came with an unwelcome weight.

    “It does?” Ariana asked, raising an eyebrow. “You know him?”

    “It’s a long story,” Hawke said, exhaling sharply. “But yes. He’s helped us on a few occasions, and we’ve helped him. His daughter was a mage, and he hid her from the Circle. She…” Hawke paused, her voice faltering briefly, the memory clearly heavy. “I couldn’t save her.”

    The regret in Hawke’s eyes was stark—an unspoken burden that lingered in the quiet that followed. It wasn’t a look Ariana often saw on her face, but it was one she recognized well. It mirrored the weight she carried herself, the regret of failures that never truly faded.

    “If you couldn’t save her, no one could have,” Ariana said softly, her voice steady but gentle.

    Hawke’s eyes flicked to her, and for a moment, their shared understanding passed unspoken between them. Varric, ever the observer, broke the silence with a quiet sigh.

    “Thrask, huh?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “That complicates things, but it also makes them interesting. The man’s got convictions, I’ll give him that.”

    Hawke nodded, her expression hardening. “I’ll see what I can find out,” she said firmly. “If he’s involved, he’ll know what’s happening inside the Gallows.”

    “And if he’s not?” Varric asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

    “Then we’ll know where we stand,” Hawke replied. “And we’ll find another way.”

    Ariana pushed off the edge of the table, her posture straightening as she prepared to leave. “Good,” she said. “For now, I’ll leave this in your hands. But if you need me—or the Rangers—you know where to find us.”

    “Always a pleasure, Pup,” Varric said with a faint smirk. “Try not to get into too much trouble before we call.”

    Ariana’s lips quirked into a wry smile. “No promises,” she replied before turning to Hawke. “You’ll let me know what you find?”

    “Of course,” Hawke said, her tone lighter now. “But don’t think this gets you off the hook. If we’re jumping into the fire, you’re coming with us.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, the tension easing just slightly. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

    As she pulled her cloak around her shoulders and stepped toward the door, she felt a flicker of something akin to hope. Whatever Thrask’s role in this resistance, Hawke and Varric would find the truth. And if the time came for the White Wolf to step out of the shadows again, she would be ready.

    ~~~

    The early morning light spilled across Cullen’s desk, catching on the scattered reports and glinting off the edge of his helmet resting nearby. He rubbed his temples, the fatigue pressing heavy against him. He hadn’t slept well—not last night, not for the last few days. In truth, sleep rarely came easy when he was alone. The nightmares never really left him. They lay in wait, clawing their way back into his mind the moment Ariana wasn’t there.

    With her, the nights were quieter. The haunting images of the demons and the screams that once felt inescapable seemed more distant when she was beside him. He could feel her warmth, hear her steady breathing, and know—without question—that she was safe, alive. That none of what the demons had shown him could touch her. But without her, the shadows closed in again.

    He exhaled, leaning back in his chair. The tension he’d carried during her absence had lessened when he received word late last night that she had returned to Kirkwall. The knowledge brought relief, but not enough to banish the gnawing worry that had taken root since she’d left for Starkhaven.

    He smiled faintly at the thought of seeing her tonight. He needed to hold her, to see for himself that she was unharmed. The mere thought of her was enough to ease the tightness in his chest—until the sharp knock at the door shattered his brief moment of peace.

    “Enter,” he called, straightening in his chair.

    A Templar stepped inside, saluting sharply before speaking. “Knight-Captain, there has been an incident with the mage transport from Starkhaven.”

    The words cut through Cullen like a blade. His breath stilled for a moment, and his mind raced ahead to the worst possibilities. Starkhaven… “What incident?” he demanded, his voice sharper than he intended.

    The Templar fumbled with a report in his hands, clearly uneasy. “They were intercepted… by a group of warriors. They freed the mages.”

    Cullen rose to his feet, his expression hardening. “What?” he said, gesturing for the document.

    As he read, the knot in his stomach tightened. The details were vague but damning. A well-armed group had executed the ambush with precision. The Templars guarding the transport were disarmed and restrained, though not so securely that they couldn’t free themselves after a short time. The mages had been freed without incident. Worse, two Templars had reportedly assisted the attackers and defected.

    The report described they were led by a woman in a dark cloak. None of the Templars could provide a name or a clear description of her face. What stood out, however, was her skill. The leader had never drawn her weapons, disarming or incapacitating her opponents with pure speed and precision.

    “Dismissed,” Cullen said, waving the nervous messenger away.

    The Templar’s relief was evident as he exited swiftly, leaving Cullen alone with the weight of the report.

    Cullen set the document down, his hand running through his hair as frustration bubbled to the surface. The defection of Templars was a direct attack on the Order’s morale, a wound that could fester if not addressed. If Templars lost faith in their mission, what hope did they have to hold their position in Kirkwall, let alone in the Gallows? It wasn’t just a logistical failure—it was a symbol of the Order’s fraying integrity.

    But as troubling as the raid was, another thought gnawed at the edges of his mind: the timing. The transport had been coming from Starkhaven. Ariana had just returned from there, supposedly on business for Varric. It was too convenient.

    Could she have been involved? Could the warriors have been Rangers?

    Cullen clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe. He hated that the thought had crossed his mind, hated the tiny part of him that couldn’t dismiss the possibility outright. He still didn’t know the extent of her involvment with the White Wolf or the Silver Rangers. She claimed to have friends among them but could it be more than that?

    The thought twisted in his chest, sharp and unrelenting. He needed to see her, needed to ask her directly. Even as guilt clawed at him for suspecting her, he knew he couldn’t let this lie.

    He despised himself for even considering the thought, but doubt crept in like a shadow he couldn’t shake. She had told him she wasn’t involved, but how much of her life had he truly seen? Was it his duty to ask, or was it betrayal to even wonder?

    Cullen rose abruptly, grabbing his cloak. Whatever answers awaited him in Hightown, he had to have them. He needed to know. Not just for the Order, but for himself. And yet, the thought of what he might uncover left a cold knot in his stomach.

    ~~~

    By the time he reached her estate, it was still early. Isabel hadn’t even finished making breakfast yet. “Isabel, where is she?” Cullen’s tone was short, his frustration evident.

    Isabel almost flinched at his tone, which just made her cautious “Cullen, good morning” she said pointedly, clearly showing that he needed to correct his tone.

    “I’m sorry, Isabel. Good morning.” Cullen said, more softly this time though the edge of frustration still lingered “It’s… important”. He hated feeling this way. He hated the feeling of doubt, that he needed to question the woman he loved. But more than anything, he hated the thought that she could be working against him.

    Isabel sighed, studying him for a moment “She’s in the library,” she said giving him a knowing glance “But, Cullen… a conversation, not an argument” she reminded him obviously aware of where this was going.

    He took a deep breath, nodding to Isabel. He walked slowly to the library, willing himself to calm down, to let go of the frustration the report had caused him.

    Cullen hesitated just outside the library, his hand resting on the doorframe. This wasn’t how he wanted their morning to begin, but the questions clawed at him relentlessly. Every logical part of him screamed for patience, for trust, yet the doubts refused to quiet.

    As he reached the doorway, he caught sight of her curled up on one of the chairs by the fireplace, a book in her lap, and a cup of tea in her hand. He let himself just be captivated by her for a moment. Letting the sight of her still him like she always did. She was safe and unharmed.

    Almost as if she had heard his thoughts she suddenly looked up, her expression shifting quickly from surprise to joy as she realized it was him. Without warning, she immediately set her tea down and set the book aside jumping up from her chair and crossing the distance to him.

    “I didn’t think I’d see you this early” she said as she wrapped her arms around him.

    Cullen wanted to lose himself in her embrace, but he knew that if he did he wouldn’t be objective. Before she could even kiss him she grabbed her arms setting them back down at her sides “We need to talk.” his tone even but clipped.

    He watched as Ariana’s expression immediately turned to one of confusion and something else, fear maybe. He noticed the shift in her breathing, suddenly shorter, heavier breaths.

    She tilted her head slightly “Cullen, what’s wrong?” Ariana’s tone was laced with concern and uncertainty. She took a couple of steps away from him almost as if she was suddenly afraid of him, which felt like a knife through his chest.

    Cullen exhaled sharply, handing her the report. “A mage transport was intercepted,” he said, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. “By a ‘well-armed group and a woman in a dark cloak’.”

    Ariana’s gaze flicked over the report, her fingers gripping the edge a little too tightly. Her eyes moved rapidly, but Cullen caught the momentary pause—too brief for anyone unfamiliar with her to notice—as if she’d found something unexpected.

    “And you’ve come to me because…?” she asked, her voice steady, though Cullen caught a faint edge to it—something strained, like the words were harder to keep level than she wanted him to know.

    “Because I know you have friends among the Rangers,” Cullen replied, his frustration seeping into his tone. “And because you just came back from Starkhaven. That transport was coming from Starkhaven.”

    Ariana’s lips parted slightly, as though caught off guard. “I’m sorry,” she said, walking past him to the table and setting down the report. “Let me see if I understand this. Because I went to Starkhaven, you think I’m involved?” Her face displayed a mixture of confusion and anger.

    “I think you know who was.” Cullen said keeping his tone even, trying to avoid escalating seeing the expression on her face.

    Tears welled up in her eyes as she put her hands on the table, reading the report over again. She looked up, bliking to seemingly get rid of the tears. “I assume you think the Rangers did this?”

    “I do” Cullen replied giving no further explanation.

    “I see nothing about the Rangers in this report. But,” she paused a moment as if trying to compose herself “even assuming it was them, why would you think I knew anything about this? My friendship with the Rangers doesn’t mean I know their every move. I know about as much of their operations as I do about your daily duties as Knight-Captain—which is to say, nothing.”

    The logic of her words gnawed at him, even as doubt lingered. She was right, of course. Just as she wouldn’t be privy to his reports or the inner workings of the Order, there was no reason she would be privy to every move the Rangers made. But the timing, the location… it felt too deliberate to dismiss. “You expect me to believe that?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “That you, of all people—”

    Ariana interrupted him before he could finish “Yes. I do expect you to believe me.” She said as she turned to look at him, the frustration and hurt in her tone evident “I also can’t help but notice that your report mentions two of your own Templars defected. Doesn’t it make more sense that they orchestrated this?”

    Cullen sighed. She was right. The report did indicate the Templars that defected helped them. Maybe if the Templars were that disappointed with the Order, with Meredith, they could have hired help. Or maybe…could the well-armed group have been more Templars?

    “Ari, you’re—” Cullen began to apologize but Ariana interrupted him before he could say anything.

    Ariana picked up the report from the table and slammed it against his chest as she walked towards the door “Good day, Knight-Captain” she said pointedly as she began walking towards the door “Let me know if there’s any other part of your job I need to do for you.”

    Cullen stood frozen as Ariana stormed toward the library door, the soft steps of her bare feet whispering against the rug. She was still in her blue house robe, the fabric trailing around her ankles, loose and familiar. He didn’t mean for it to go like this—Maker, this was not how he wanted to confront her. His heart sank as she reached the doorway.

    “Ariana, wait.”

    She ignored him.

    Before he could think better of it, Cullen strode after her, reaching out and catching her wrist. The motion was firm but careful, his gloved hand wrapping around her smaller one. Ariana stopped abruptly, her body tensing as she turned back to him. Her hazel-green eyes were alight with anger, confusion, and something else—hurt.

    “Let me go,” she said quietly, her voice trembling more than he expected. She tugged at her arm, though half-heartedly, as if she wasn’t certain whether she wanted him to release her or not.

    Cullen didn’t. “Ariana, please,” he said softly, the edge from earlier gone from his voice. His brows furrowed as he searched her expression. Maker, he hated seeing her like this—tears still shimmering in her eyes, her face pale from the heated exchange. The fact that he had been the one that caused this just made it that much worse.

    “I was wrong,” he said after a long pause, the words quiet but earnest. “I’m sorry.”

    Ariana froze. Her breath caught, her body still rigid in his grasp. She blinked, and for a moment, it was as if she didn’t know how to respond. Cullen took a breath, steadying himself. He had to say this right.

    “I wasn’t accusing you. Not really. I…” He exhaled sharply, his grip loosening but not releasing her wrist entirely. “I’ve been frustrated. The Order is… it’s fracturing, Ariana. Meredith…” He shook his head, as if even saying her name tasted bitter. “The situation has been spiraling out of control. And after the other day, blaming you was easier than… admitting the truth.”

    Ariana’s gaze softened, though her lips were still pressed into a thin line. She looked down, away from him, as if trying to compose herself. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, more fragile. “What truth?”

    Cullen’s gloved hand slid down her arm until his fingers brushed against hers. He didn’t know how to tell her everything—that he felt helpless in the face of Meredith’s iron grip, that every day his faith in the Order wavered further, or that part of him feared he was losing himself again. But this, he could give her.

    “That everything I’ve worked for… everything I’ve believed in… might not survive this city,” he admitted softly, his voice carrying a weight he hadn’t shared with anyone else. “And I can’t—I won’t—lose you too.”

    The words hung between them, heavy and raw. Ariana lifted her eyes to meet his again, and this time, the tears he’d seen earlier spilled over silently. She stopped trying to pull away, her shoulders slumping slightly as if the fight had gone out of her.

    “Cullen…” Her voice cracked faintly as she said his name, and that was all it took. He stepped closer, slowly, as if afraid she might retreat again. But she didn’t. Instead, Ariana closed the distance herself, leaning into him and letting her head rest gently against the hard plates of his chest armor.

    Cullen’s arms encircled her, the coolness of his armor contrasting with the warmth of her body. He felt her shudder slightly as her head pressed against his chest, her breath soft and uneven. The cool leather of his gloves pressed lightly against her back as he pressed his cheek to the top of her head, breathing her in, grounding himself in the warmth of her presence and the familiar scent of cinnamon. For the first time since entering the estate, he felt the weight on his chest begin to ease.

    They stood like that for what felt like forever, the silence between them no longer strained but comforting. Cullen ran a hand gently up and down her back, a soothing rhythm he hoped would steady her as much as it did him.

    “You’re right, you know,” he murmured after a while, breaking the quiet. “About the report. About… everything. I shouldn’t have brought it to you like that.”

    Ariana’s faint smile brushed against his chest. She didn’t lift her head, didn’t pull away, and for that, Cullen was grateful.

    “You’re a stubborn man, Knight-Captain,” she said, her voice muffled but tinged with that teasing warmth he had missed.

    He huffed a soft, relieved laugh. “So I’ve been told.” He hesitated a moment before adding with a wry smirk she couldn’t see, “Though there are probably parts of my job where I could use your eyes. You’d likely be better at it than I am.”

    Ariana lifted her head just slightly, her hazel-green eyes peering up at him with faint amusement. “Are you saying I should take over as Knight-Captain?”

    “Maker, no,” Cullen said quickly, a half-chuckle escaping him. “But I wouldn’t mind a second opinion on certain reports.”

    Her small smile widened briefly before she leaned back into him again, letting her forehead rest against his armored chest.

    Another silence followed, but this one was easy, filled only by the steady rhythm of their breathing and the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth.

    “I missed you,” Cullen said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but he wouldn’t take it back.

    Ariana’s arms tightened around him in response. “I missed you too,” she admitted softly.

    For a little while, neither of them moved. The early morning light spilling through the tall windows, illuminating the quiet sanctuary they had found within each other’s arms.

    Cullen sighed, reluctantly pulling back as much as he could bear. His hands lingered on her arms for a moment longer before he spoke.

    “I need to get back to the Gallows,” he said quietly, as if he hated the words himself. “But… I’ll try to be back tonight.”

    Ariana looked up at him, her expression still soft but concerned. “You don’t sound confident about that.”

    Cullen offered a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m not sure what the outcome of this report will be,” he admitted. “Meredith… will want answers. And she’ll want them now.”

    Ariana opened her mouth as if to speak, but she stopped herself, her expression clouded with worry. She nodded, reluctantly stepping back. “Be careful, Cullen.”

    “I will,” he promised softly. He hesitated before brushing his gloved fingers against her cheek, lingering for a heartbeat longer than he should have, before turning and walking toward the door.

  • Chapter 39 – The White Wolf Lives

    14 Bloomingtide – 3 Justinian 9:34

    Ariana was up before dawn most mornings now. It wasn’t just about training—it was about reclaiming the parts of herself she’d felt slipping away. The White Wolf couldn’t afford to fade, not when the world around her continued to grow more uncertain. The Silver Rangers needed their leader present, not tucked away in an estate pretending to be someone she wasn’t. And truthfully, she needed them too.

    Then, there were mornings like this one. Whenever Cullen stayed over, she never knew what the morning would look like. She certainly wouldn’t make it to the warehouse before dawn. Sometimes, they would still train together in the courtyard. She enjoyed training with him. It was different than with the Rangers. Certainly not as grueling, but aside from just getting to spend time with him, his skills were completely different and it pushed her in different ways. Even if she never let Cullen fully see the extent of her abilities.

    Then there were morning like today. The kind where he refused to let her leave the bed, not ready to let her go. They allowed themselves to get lost in each other’s embrace, sipping their coffee, just being who they were. Talking and teasing each other. Briefly allowing themselves to forget the world outside her window.

    Still, for the most part, she made a point to try never be too late to the warehouse. She wouldn’t give Valentina, Linnea, or Lamberto the satisfaction of teasing her—well, not more than they already did.

    When she finally made it to the warehouse, she found Valentina and Linnea sparring, the sharp sound of strikes echoing through the room. Lamberto was organizing equipment, though he gave her a brief nod when she walked in. It felt like stepping back into her old life, the one she missed more than she cared to admit.

    After a round of sparring with all three of them—a grueling session that left her ribs aching—Ariana found herself perched on a stack of crates, catching her breath. She wasn’t out of shape anymore, not like when she’d first started back up, but Maker, they were good.

    “Wolf, you daydreaming again?” Linnea’s voice cut through her thoughts, teasing but lighthearted.

    Ariana blinked, snapping out of her reverie. She leaned back against the crate, smirking. “Yes, well, after taking on all three of you today, I think I’ve earned a little daydreaming. Besides, I’m sitting right here. It’s not like anyone’s needed me for anything.”

    Linnea walked over, crossing her arms. “How’re the ribs feeling?”

    Ariana waved a dismissive hand. “Fine now.” She glanced around, her expression shifting to something more mischievous. “Are we going to eat soon? I’m starving.”

    “Are you ever not hungry, Wolf?” Linnea quipped, leaning against the crate beside her.

    “Sure,” Ariana replied without missing a beat. “Whenever I haven’t done anything all day, which hasn’t been the case for weeks.”

    “You getting tired yet?” Valentina chimed in from across the room, her tone smug. “Thinking about going back to the easy life of a noble?”

    Ariana shot her a mock glare, her lips twitching into a grin. “No. I am thinking we need to keep more food here. When did you all become so insubordinate?”

    “We’ve always been insubordinate,” Valentina said with a smirk. “You just got soft.”

    Ariana shrugged, unable to argue the point. She stretched her arms above her head, wincing slightly at the pull in her ribs. “But really, I’m starving. Can someone find some food anywhere in Lowtown?”

    Linnea raised an eyebrow, her tone laced with amusement. “You could just walk to the Hanged Man, you know. Varric’s probably there, and I’m sure Corff would be happy to feed you.”

    Ariana sighed dramatically, hopping down from the crates. “I miss Riley. You’re all terrible. Riley fed me without complaints.”

    Valentina and Linnea burst into laughter as Ariana grabbed her satchel and threw it over her shoulder.

    “Where are you going now?” Valentina called after her.

    “To find food and people who appreciate me,” Ariana called back over her shoulder, her tone teasing.

    “I’ll come with you,” Valentina said rushing after here

    As the door swung shut behind them, Lamberto and Linnea exchanged grins. It was good to have their commander back on a more regular basis. Ariana wasn’t just their leader—she was family. And for the first time in a long while, it felt like they were getting that family back.

    Ariana chuckled “So now that I’m leaving you want to come with me”

    “What can I say… I was hungry too.” Valentina quipped

    “And you couldn’t just get me the food and get yourself food?” Ariana chastised, though she didn’t truly mean it

    “You’ve gone soft, Wolf. Someone has to remind you what life is like” Valentina shot back

    The morning’s sparring session had been grueling but satisfying. Ariana exited the warehouse, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension in her muscles. Valentina walked beside her, her usual smirk in place as they made their way through Lowtown. The sun was climbing steadily, its golden light casting long shadows against the stone walls.

    “Maker, I’m starving,” Ariana muttered, adjusting her satchel. “I need food before I collapse.”

    “See? You’re soft,” Valentina teased, nudging her lightly. “A few rounds, and you’re already whining.”

    “Whining?” Ariana shot her a mock glare. “I could take you again right now, but I’m choosing not to because I’m gracious. Also, because I’m hungry.”

    Valentina laughed. “Sure, Wolf. Keep telling yourself that.”

    The banter eased Ariana’s mood, though she remained alert as they navigated the winding streets of Lowtown. She knew the routes well enough to avoid most trouble, but there was always the chance of crossing paths with someone she didn’t want to see at the wrong time—like Cullen.

    Her thoughts turned sharply to reality when they rounded a corner and nearly collided with him.

    “Cullen,” Ariana said, her surprise barely masked. His sharp hazel eyes swept over her, then to Valentina, lingering with a flicker of recognition. His posture stiffened, and Ariana knew immediately this wasn’t going to be a pleasant encounter.

    “I thought you were at the Gallows all day, I hadn’t expected to see you,” she said with a warm smile. Then, with a teasing edge, she added, “Unless you were thinking about coming by earlier today.”

    As soon as the Templars that had been with him left, Cullen’s demeanor shifted. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to grab her arm gently but firmly, guiding her into a nearby alley. His voice, low but edged with tension, cut through the air. “What are you doing here, Ari?”

    “It’s not strange for me to be in Lowtown, is it? I was heading to the Hanged Man” she said quickly, her tone light as she attempted to diffuse the tension.

    “It’s not where you are,” Cullen replied, his voice clipped. “It’s where you’re coming from.”

    Ariana tilted her head, her lips curving into a faint smile. “The warehouse district? You’ve seen me down here before. I’ve told you I check on shipments now and then.”

    “And her?” Cullen asked sharply, his gaze shifting to Valentina. “Why is she with you?”

    Valentina’s hand drifted toward her daggers, but Ariana motioned subtly, silently urging her to stand down. “She’s a friend,” Ariana said evenly. “One of the people who saved me during the Blight, actually.”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, his sharp gaze cutting back to Ariana. “I’ve seen her before,” he said, his tone laced with suspicion. “At the docks a few months ago and again during the Qunari uprising. Always standing between me and the White Wolf. Now, she’s here with you.”

    Ariana’s heart sank, but she kept her expression neutral. “She’s passing through Kirkwall,” she replied, her tone calm. “We’ve kept in touch since the Blight. Is that really so strange?”

    Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “So the Rangers have been here in Kirkwall, and you knew?” His voice was low, but the accusation was clear.

    Ariana opened her mouth to respond, but Cullen shook his head sharply, cutting her off. “You knew,” he said again, his tone growing heavier with disappointment. “And you didn’t tell me.”

    “Cullen,” she said softly, taking a step closer. “It’s not like that. I—”

    “Enough.” His voice was quiet but firm, carrying a weight that stopped her mid-sentence. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, but the hurt in it was unmistakable. “Is this what it will always be? Another secret? Something you’re orchestrating, trouble you’re getting into that you won’t tell me?”

    Ariana opened her mouth to retort, but he pressed on, his gaze flicking back toward the docks. “I know… I can’t imagine what you did to survive. What it must have taken to make it through a Blight, alone.” His voice cracked slightly, but he steadied himself, meeting her gaze. “I just wish that whatever it was didn’t have to live in the space between us now. Whatever it is, please… just be careful.”

    Ariana’s chest tightened. She could see the pain in his eyes, the strain of her lies and half-truths weighing on him. For a moment, she wanted to tell him everything—to explain who she was, what she was doing, and why she had to keep it from him. But the words wouldn’t come.

    Cullen studied her in silence, then finally shook his head. “Be careful, Ari,” he said, his tone weary but resolute. Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked away, his cloak sweeping behind him as he disappeared around the corner.

    Ariana stood rooted in place, watching Cullen’s retreating figure as his words carved into her like blades. Be careful. He might as well have said goodbye.

    Her chest tightened as frustration bubbled up, threatening to spill over. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep her composure. “Wolf?” Valentina’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, sharp but concerned.

    “I’m fine,” Ariana replied, her voice taut. “Let’s just go.”

    Valentina fell into step beside her, quiet but watchful. As they wove through the winding streets of Lowtown, the city’s usual hum of life felt distant, muted. The weight of Cullen’s disappointment clung to her, each step heavier than the last.

    She hadn’t meant for this to happen. Maker, she hadn’t wanted this—this growing chasm between them, built on half-truths and omissions. Yet every time she tried to protect him, she seemed to push him further away.

    As they neared the warehouse, Valentina broke the silence, her voice low but firm. “You know this can’t last, right?”

    Ariana glanced at her, her brow furrowing slightly. “What can’t last?”

    Valentina shrugged, her smirk softened by a rare note of seriousness. “Playing both sides. Hightown noble one day, White Wolf the next. Sooner or later, the walls between those lives are going to come crashing down.”

    Ariana’s steps faltered for a fraction of a second, her jaw tightening. “I’ve managed so far,” she said evenly, her tone guarded.

    “For how much longer?” Valentina countered, her gaze sharp but not unkind. “You’re good, Wolf, but even you can’t keep this up forever. You knew that when you started.”

    Ariana didn’t answer, her lips pressing into a thin line as they reached the warehouse door. She hesitated for a moment, Valentina’s words cutting deeper than she wanted to admit.

    “I’ll deal with it,” she said finally, her voice quieter now, but resolute.

    Valentina sighed softly, stepping past her and pushing the door open. “You’d better,” she said over her shoulder. “Because the longer you wait, the harder it’s going to hit when it all comes crashing down.”

    Ariana followed her inside, the familiar scent of wood and steel offering a fleeting sense of comfort. But as the door shut behind them, Valentina’s words lingered, heavy in the air.

    She had always known the truth of it, even if she hadn’t wanted to face it. The life she was leading wasn’t sustainable. And the cracks in the facade were already beginning to show.

    ~~~

    Cullen’s boots echoed against the cobblestones as he made his way back to the Gallows, his thoughts heavy and tumultuous. The usual bustling noise of Kirkwall seemed distant, muffled by the weight of the conversation he’d just had with Ariana. The cool morning air did little to clear his mind, his focus consumed by the unsettling questions she had left behind.

    It wasn’t just Ariana’s evasiveness—it was the stark realization of how much he didn’t know. He’d long suspected she kept secrets, but now the depth of them loomed before him like a shadow he couldn’t outrun.

    She rarely spoke of her time in Ferelden, and when she did, her stories were little more than fragments—a vivid inn she had stayed at, a chance meeting with a wandering merchant. They were safe, fleeting glimpses that skirted the edges of what he truly wanted to know: how she had survived the Blight, and who she had become in its shadow.

    She had been just a girl when he last saw her at Lake Calenhad. Scared, defiant, and determined not to let her life be dictated by anyone. And yet, when she arrived in Kirkwall years later, she was so different. That determination was still there, but it had sharpened into something more focused, more relentless. Reckless, he might have said before—except recklessness didn’t quite fit.

    Recklessness implied a lack of thought, a disregard for consequences. But Ariana wasn’t reckless. She was deliberate, calculating even, and Cullen couldn’t decide if that made her actions more or less dangerous.

    And today, with that woman at her side…

    Cullen’s jaw tightened. He had seen her before, during the Qunari uprising, standing between him and the White Wolf. And again at the docks, her sharp eyes tracking him like a hawk. The way she moved today, walking beside Ariana with the ease of a trusted companion, spoke volumes. This wasn’t just someone passing through Kirkwall.

    He clenched his fists, the memory of their last encounter flashing through his mind. The slavers on the Wounded Coast. Ariana had been unarmed, yet she moved like a predator, her strikes efficient and lethal. She hadn’t hesitated. There had been no doubt in her movements, no fear. Just precision.

    That wasn’t something one learned from mere survival.

    Those moments had shown him how capable she was—but they had also left him wondering. Who had taught her to fight like that? Who had turned a frightened, defiant girl at Lake Calenhad into someone who could stand shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Hawke and Varric?

    And then there was the Qunari uprising. Cullen’s chest tightened as he thought of that night.  Ariana had nearly died during that chaos. She had thrown herself into the fight without hesitation, as if she didn’t know how to do anything else. One thing he realized now was that he didn’t know just how many Qunari Ariana had cut through. He hadn’t thought about it because of her injuries, but if she fought through Kirkwall alone that night and survived… that was more than most Templars and City Guard had been able to do.

    Unless she didn’t face them alone. The White Wolf.

    The name echoed in his mind, heavy with suspicion and a growing unease. He remembered the fight at the docks—how the White Wolf moved with precision, their strikes calculated and deliberate. At the time, he had been in awe of their skill, the way they commanded the battlefield without hesitation. But now, those memories intertwined with images of Ariana—her stance during sparring sessions, the way she shifted her weight before striking. Cullen could see it clearly: the echoes of the White Wolf in her stance, her strategy, her calculated adaptability.

    It wasn’t just a coincidence.

    The movements were too similar, the foundation unmistakable. The White Wolf’s technique was more refined, but he could see the echoes of it in Ariana’s form. If the White Wolf wasn’t a distant figure she admired, then who were they to her? A mentor? A savior?

    He stopped in his tracks, his breath catching as the pieces began to fall into place. If Ariana had trained under the White Wolf, then she wasn’t just connected to the Rangers—she was deeply entwined with them. The woman he loved, the one who had fought beside him and shared his bed, had a life he could barely comprehend. And yet, she had kept it from him.

    Why?

    Mercenaries can’t be trusted.

    His own words echoed in his mind, sharp and unforgiving. He had dismissed her, challenged her convictions, and unknowingly reinforced the wall she had built between them. She had tried to tell him, to bridge the gap, but his reaction had likely driven her further into secrecy.

    His chest tightened as guilt seeped in. He had wanted to protect her, to keep her from danger, but in doing so, had he only pushed her away? Had he made it impossible for her to trust him with the truth?

    If Ariana had trained under the White Wolf, then her connection to the Rangers ran far deeper than he had realized. And if she truly was a part of that world, he didn’t know how to reconcile it with the woman he loved.

    But one thing was clear: she wasn’t just the defiant girl he had saved all those years ago, nor was she simply the woman who had stolen his heart. She was something more—someone shaped by battles and shadows, by alliances he could barely comprehend.

    And as much as it scared him, Cullen knew one thing with certainty: he couldn’t lose her again. But to protect her, he needed to understand her.

    Even if the truth unraveled everything he thought he knew about her—and himself.

    ~~~

    The warehouse was quieter than usual when Ariana stepped inside, her footsteps echoing faintly in the cavernous space. She didn’t stop to greet anyone, her gaze locked ahead. Her heart felt like a lead weight, her mind a whirlwind of anger, frustration, and pain. The memory of Cullen’s disappointment was fresh, and it stung sharper than any blade. But it wasn’t just him—she was furious with herself. For the lies, for the carelessness, for the pain she had caused.

    Without a word, she crossed the room to the training area, her hands moving with mechanical precision as she grabbed three wooden swords from the rack. Linnea and Lamberto, standing nearby, fell silent as they noticed her storm past, their conversations forgotten. Valentina, trailing behind Ariana, shot them a knowing glance. Something had gone wrong.

    Ariana turned sharply, throwing a sword to each of them before tossing one to Valentina. They caught the weapons on instinct, their expressions shifting from confusion to wary understanding as they registered the fire in her eyes.

    “Let’s go,” Ariana said curtly, her voice brooking no argument.

    Lamberto raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Linnea. “You’re serious?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

    “Does it look like I’m joking?” Ariana snapped, her tone sharp enough to cut.

    Linnea arched an eyebrow, her smirk subdued but present. “You’re angry,” she observed, her voice calm but not without a hint of curiosity. “What’s this about, Wolf?”

    Ariana’s hands tightened on the wooden sword, her knuckles white. “Are we doing this, or are you going to stand there all day?” she growled.

    Linnea sighed, stepping forward and adjusting her grip on the sword. “Alright, Wolf. But don’t cry when we break you.”

    “Try it,” Ariana shot back, stepping into the center of the training area, her stance already shifting into readiness.

    The three circled her, each taking measured steps. Lamberto moved first, feinting high before aiming a sharp strike at her side. Ariana didn’t flinch.

    Don’t think, Ariana. Act.

    The words echoed in her mind, the voice as sharp as ever. Her body moved before her thoughts could catch up, sidestepping the strike and bringing her own sword down to tap Lamberto’s wrist, forcing him to retreat. Valentina lunged in next, her strike more aggressive, but Ariana spun past her with fluid precision, her blade sweeping toward Valentina’s side.

    Focus, Ariana. You’ve got the instincts.

    The sparring intensified. Linnea joined the fray, her movements sharp and probing, testing Ariana’s defenses. But Ariana wasn’t just defending—she was hunting. Every step, every strike was calculated, her focus honed to a razor’s edge. She blocked Linnea’s strike with a harsh parry, forcing her opponent to stumble back.

    You don’t fight to survive, Ariana. You fight to win.

    Her breath came in sharp bursts, but she didn’t falter. When Valentina tried to flank her, Ariana pivoted and caught her blade mid-swing, twisting it free and disarming her with a fluid motion that left Valentina scowling. Lamberto came at her again, his movements heavier but powerful. Ariana ducked beneath his swing and swept her leg out, knocking him off balance. He landed with a thud, muttering a curse under his breath.

    “Too slow,” Ariana hissed, her voice cold and clipped. Her ribs ached, her muscles burned, but she pushed through it. She needed this. She needed to feel alive again.

    Linnea and Valentina exchanged a quick glance, their expressions hardening. They moved in unison, Valentina striking high while Linnea swept low. Ariana’s body twisted, narrowly avoiding the coordinated attack.

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

    The words drove her forward. She caught Linnea’s low strike with her blade, deflecting it, while stepping into Valentina’s guard and shoving her back with her shoulder. Valentina stumbled, just long enough for Ariana to press her advantage.

    “She’s fast today,” Linnea muttered under her breath, her tone laced with a hint of disbelief.

    “Fast?” Valentina shot back, picking up her sword. “She’s alive again.”

    The heat of exertion blurred the edges of her thoughts, but it wasn’t enough to drown the nagging doubts that clung to her. Cullen’s voice echoed in her mind, the weight of his hurt and confusion pressing against her resolve.

    The sparring intensified. Ariana moved with a ferocity and grace that seemed almost otherworldly, her movements a seamless blend of instinct and precision. Every strike she made was calculated, every dodge perfectly timed. Her opponents were holding back initially, worried about pushing her too hard after the past few months.

    But it became clear almost immediately that they didn’t need to hold back.

    The woman in front of them wasn’t the Ariana Trevelyan who had been growing comfortable in Hightown, grappling with courtly politics and the trappings of nobility. This was the White Wolf, the leader who had carved out a name for herself in blood and fire, the one who had once stood on the edge of death and refused to fall.

    Valentina adjusted her stance, lunging forward with a more aggressive strike. Ariana dodged smoothly, slipping past the attack and tapping Valentina’s shoulder with the flat of her hand.

    “Try again,” Ariana said, her voice cold and clipped.

    Linnea swung in next, testing Ariana’s reactions with a feint followed by a low sweep. But Ariana wasn’t fooled. She leapt over the sweep and retaliated with a sharp jab that forced Linnea to stumble back.

    The clash of wood on wood filled the warehouse, each sound a testament to Ariana’s relentless determination. By the end, sweat dripped from her brow, her breath coming in harsh gasps. But her eyes were sharp, burning with an intensity that left no room for doubt. She disarmed Valentina once more, forced Linnea into retreat, and ended with Lamberto on his knees, his weapon knocked to the floor.

    Ariana countered everything they threw at her. The sparring match was fierce, but it was clear who was in control.

    By the time they stopped, all four of them were breathing hard, sweat gleaming on their brows. Ariana lowered her hands, her chest heaving, but her eyes were sharp, burning with an intensity that made Valentina, Linnea, and Lamberto pause.

    “Better?” Valentina asked, her tone cautious but not unkind.

    Ariana nodded curtly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Better,” she said, though her voice betrayed a lingering edge of frustration.

    The Rangers said nothing more, their silence filled with understanding. They didn’t need to speak; they could see it. Ariana wasn’t the noblewoman of Hightown or the White Wolf of legend. She was both, and neither, and something in between. But above all, she was theirs—and that was enough.

    As she wiped the sweat from her brow and leaned against the training rack, a flicker of clarity broke through the haze of her frustration. She wouldn’t let her doubts or mistakes define her. She had a responsibility—to herself, to the Rangers, and to those who relied on her.

    Whatever storm lay ahead, she would face it head-on. The White Wolf wasn’t gone. She was still here. She always would be.

    ~~~

    The warehouse was dimly lit, the faint glow of lanterns casting long shadows across the crates and training equipment. Ariana remained seated at the makeshift planning table, her fingers idly tracing the grain of the wood as she listened to Linnea’s report. She was tired, more mentally than physically, but the thought of returning home—of putting on the facade of Ariana Trevelyan, the noble—felt heavier than the weight of her exhaustion.

    “They’re about three days out,” Linnea said, her voice steady but tinged with curiosity. “What do you want to do?”

    Ariana leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. Her mind raced, calculating routes, estimating time, and considering contingencies. “We need to intercept them as far from Kirkwall as possible,” she replied. “If we leave at dawn, we should be able to reach them by the end of the day—still two days from Kirkwall and any potential Templar reinforcements.”

    Linnea nodded, but before she could respond, Lamberto interjected, his arms crossed. “We? You’re not sending out a squad?”

    Ariana’s sharp gaze flicked to him, a faint smile playing on her lips. “You said ‘a couple of transports.’ How many Templars are we looking at?”

    “Scouts are reporting almost ten,” Linnea answered.

    “Then, yes,” Ariana said firmly. “I’ll need a squad.”

    Her words hung in the air, heavy with finality. The three exchanged glances, and then Valentina’s grin broke the silence. “So, the Wolf’s finally coming out of her den.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, the sound dry but genuine. “Maybe more like peeking. But if you want to frame it that way…” She let the sentence hang, shrugging lightly. “I won’t stop you.”

    Linnea tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing. “What’s really going on, Wolf? You don’t usually seem this… tense.”

    Ariana sighed, leaning forward to rest her forearms on the table. “The shadows,” she said softly, her voice tinged with weariness. “I’m tired of them.”

    The words hung in the still air, and no one asked her to elaborate. They didn’t need to. The shadows weren’t just the places they moved through to avoid detection—they were the weight of her secrets, the tightrope she walked between Hightown’s glittering pretense and the deadly reality of the Rangers’ work. They all felt it, but for Ariana, it had become a suffocating burden.

    After a pause, she straightened, the faintest edge of determination returning to her expression. “Prep a squad,” she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Have them meet me outside the Hightown gates first thing.”

    Valentina, Linnea, and Lamberto nodded in unison, already moving to gather what they needed. Ariana rose from her seat, grabbing her cloak and satchel in one fluid motion.

    “Wolf,” Valentina called after her as she reached the door. Ariana paused, glancing back. “It’s good to have you back.”

    Ariana smiled faintly, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. “We’ll see if I can keep up,” she replied, her tone laced with wry humor.

    As she stepped into the cool night air, Ariana felt a flicker of relief. The plan gave her something tangible to focus on, a purpose beyond the turmoil in her heart. But as her boots echoed softly against the cobblestones of Lowtown, she knew the hardest part of the night still lay ahead. Isabel would likely be waiting for her, as she always did when Ariana returned late. And tonight, like so many others, Ariana wasn’t sure she could hide the weight of her burdens from the person who knew her best.

    ~~~

    The late-night silence of the Trevelyan estate felt heavier than usual as Ariana rounded the corner into the kitchen, her words rushing ahead of her. “Sorry I’m late. Needed to handle something. Can you pack me a bag? I leave at dawn—”

    She stopped abruptly. Isabel stood by the counter, her sharp green eyes fixed on Ariana with a mix of concern and irritation, but it wasn’t just Isabel who made her falter. Cullen sat at the table, his posture rigid, his hazel eyes dark with unreadable emotion. The tension between them was immediate, like a cord pulled too tight.

    “Where have you been, child?” Isabel’s sharp tone cut through the tension like a blade.

    Ariana hesitated, glancing between the two of them. “The Hanged Man,” she said quickly. “Catching up with Varric.”

    “So you ate, then?” Isabel pressed, her brow furrowing as she studied Ariana more closely. It was clear that something wasn’t adding up, and Ariana knew it.

    “Not really, no,” Ariana replied, her voice trying for lightness but faltering. “I could still use some dinner.”

    Isabel gave her a hard look but finally nodded. “Very well. Sit down. I’ll get your food ready.” She busied herself in the kitchen, though her gaze flicked to Ariana now and then, still skeptical.

    Ariana dropped into a chair across from Cullen, feeling his eyes on her. She tried not to let her unease show, but the way his gaze lingered told her he wasn’t buying her story.

    “You’ve been there all day?” Cullen asked, his tone neutral, though there was a sharpness underneath. “Because you look like you’ve been in a fight.”

    Ariana’s heart sank, but she forced herself to smile. “Around Lowtown mostly,” she said, her tone breezy. “Not a fight. A few sparring rounds with Isabela…we may have gotten carried away with it. She’s certainly not one to back down.”

    The lie burned her more than she expected, and for a moment, she couldn’t meet his eyes. It was subtle, but she could feel the weight of his disappointment.

    Cullen leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped on the table. “You’re leaving?” he asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with something she couldn’t quite place.

    “Only for a few days,” Ariana said quickly, keeping her tone as soft and reassuring as she could manage. “Just going to Starkhaven.”

    “What’s in Starkhaven?” Cullen pressed, though he immediately seemed to regret the question, as if expecting no real answer.

    “A favor for Varric,” she lied smoothly. “He needs some support from nobility to close a business deal he’s been working on.”

    Cullen’s expression hardened slightly, and before she could say more, he stood abruptly. “I should let you get some rest, then,” he said, his voice strained. “I suppose…I’ll see you when you get back.”

    He turned toward the door, and Ariana felt the pain from this morning all over again like a knife her chest. The knot in her throat tightened as she watched him walk away, the man she loved slipping further from her with every step. Isabel turned, catching her eye with a knowing look that spoke volumes without a word.

    Ariana bolted up from her seat. “Cullen, wait!” she called, her voice breaking slightly as she ran after him, catching him in the hallway. She grabbed his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

    “Talk to me. Don’t leave like this,” she pleaded, tears brimming in her eyes.

    Cullen turned slowly, his expression pained as he met her gaze. “Ari…I…”

    “Stay,” she said, her voice softer now, but no less insistent. It wasn’t a question—it was a plea. “It’s too late to go back to the Gallows.”

    He hesitated, his eyes searching hers as if weighing his next words. Finally, he nodded, and his hand moved to her waist, pulling her close. Ariana wrapped her arms around his neck, and he rested his forehead against hers. For a moment, neither spoke, the silence between them heavy with unspoken emotions.

    “I should have waited for you,” Cullen finally said, his voice barely a whisper. “I should have believed that you were alive.”

    Ariana froze, his words catching her off guard. Was he talking about the Blight? Did he blame himself for her years in Ferelden?

    “Cullen, you didn’t—” she began, but he cut her off.

    “I promised you that we would face it together, and instead I left you to face that alone,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I escaped to Kirkwall. I will never know what it took for you to survive because I wasn’t there. I have no right to demand of you now that you relive it just to tell me.”

    Tears spilled over her cheeks, but she wouldn’t let him carry this guilt. She reached up, cupping his face as she kissed him, pouring every ounce of love and desperation she felt into it. At first, he hesitated, but then his arms tightened around her, as if anchoring himself to her.

    When they finally pulled apart, she rested her hand against his cheek, her voice steady despite the tears. “And I asked you to survive. You did what you had to as well. If you had stayed behind, there’s no guarantee you would have survived. And I would rather live those years over a thousand times than risk losing you to the Blight.”

    Cullen stared at her for a moment, his hazel eyes shining with emotion. Without another word, he kissed her again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if grounding himself in her. Then, without a word, he lifted her effortlessly and carried her toward her room. The door closed softly behind them, and for the rest of the night, they let the world fall away, holding onto the only certainty they had: each other.

    ~~~

    The room was silent except for the sound of their steady breathing, but Ariana’s peace didn’t last long.

    In her dreams, she was back there—tied to that post. The biting cold made her shiver, and every nerve screamed in pain. Krieger stood before her, his cruel laughter ringing in her ears as he delivered cut after cut. She tried to scream, to fight, but her voice wouldn’t come. It was unbearable.

    Not again. Maker, please, not again.

    Ariana startled awake, her body tense as though still bracing for the next strike. Her left arm throbbed, a phantom ache that lingered even as her eyes darted around the dimly lit room, trying to anchor herself to the present. She clutched her forearm, her breathing sharp and uneven, tears silently streaking her face.

    “Ari, what’s wrong?” Cullen’s voice broke through the haze. He was already sitting up beside her, his hand reaching toward her but stopping short, unsure if touching her would help or startle her further.

    For a moment, she couldn’t respond. The nightmare had a grip on her, and the line between dream and reality blurred. Her breaths came fast and shallow, and her eyes darted around the room as if searching for threats.

    “Ari,” Cullen said again, his voice steadier now but still laced with concern.

    Slowly, her eyes met his, and the shadow of panic began to fade, replaced by the warmth of his steady presence. “Cullen?” she managed, her voice trembling as she started to ground herself in the present.

    “I’m here,” he assured her gently, his hazel eyes fixed on hers. “Are you alright?”

    “I…” Ariana shook her head as if trying to physically dislodge the nightmare’s lingering hold. “It was…nothing. Just a nightmare.”

    Her voice was unconvincing, and they both knew it, but Cullen didn’t press. Instead, he opened his arms, and Ariana leaned into him, letting his steady presence anchor her. His arms wrapped around her protectively, and his hand stroked her back in slow, soothing motions. Slowly, her breathing began to even out, and the phantom pain in her arm started to fade.

    Cullen held her in silence for a while, allowing her to settle. He didn’t ask, but his mind raced with questions. He recognized the signs—the way her body trembled, the tears she tried to hide. He knew the torment of such nightmares too well. But what haunted her? What memory had surfaced to cause her such pain?

    Cullen’s gaze flicked to her hand as it continued to press against her forearm. There was no visible scar, no mark of what had caused the pain. He wanted to ask, to understand, but he held back, afraid that pressing her now would only deepen her distress.

    After a while, he spoke, his voice soft and hesitant. “Ari… I’m here if you ever want to tell me.”

    Her response was distant, her tone almost detached. “I know.”

    Ariana shifted slightly against him, her eyes fixed on the far wall. The nightmare had left her wide awake, and though her breathing had calmed, the weight of the memories lingered.

    “The Blight was…difficult, yes, but it wasn’t just the darkspawn,” she began quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts.

    “Ari,” Cullen interrupted gently, “you don’t have to—”

    “I’m not sure I could ever tell you everything that happened,” she said, her voice firmer now. “The days blurred together. There were times I couldn’t tell where one ended, and the next began. I couldn’t always afford to sleep—it wasn’t safe. There was no one else to stand guard.”

    Cullen’s arms tightened around her as if to remind her she wasn’t alone anymore. He rested his chin against her head, offering silent comfort as she continued.

    “I made mistakes,” Ariana admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Some of them almost got me killed. There are things I’ll never forget, no matter how much I want to. Memories have a way of stringing together, one pulling another along until they’re impossible to ignore. That’s why I don’t talk about it. If I bring one memory forward, the others follow.”

    “I’m sorry,” Cullen said softly, kissing her temple. “I shouldn’t have pressed. I don’t want to hurt you. I just… I regret not being able to protect you from all of it.”

    Ariana pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. Her hazel-green eyes were warm despite the lingering sadness. “And so now you try to protect me from everything,” she said gently, her voice touched with both gratitude and sorrow. “You’re afraid that I’ll be left alone again.”

    Cullen looked at her, his expression a mixture of guilt and affection. “No,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid that I won’t be able to protect you, even if I’m here.”

    Tears welled in her eyes again, but this time, they weren’t just from the pain. Without a word, she kissed him, pouring every ounce of love and reassurance she could into it. Cullen responded instantly, his arms pulling her closer, as though he could shield her from every ghost of her past.

    When they finally pulled apart, Ariana rested her forehead against his. “Cullen,” she whispered, her voice steady now, “we can’t protect each other from everything. But we can try. And we can be here for each other when the ghosts come.”

    A faint smile touched his lips, and he kissed her again, softer this time. Neither of them slept for the rest of the night, but instead, they stayed in each other’s arms, talking in hushed voices about fears, regrets, and the hopes they rarely voiced aloud.

    By morning, the tension that had hung between them felt lighter, replaced by something deeper—an unspoken understanding that, no matter what came next, they would face it together.

  • Chapter 38 – A Wolf in Waiting

    10 – 13 Bloomingtide 9:34

    Ariana didn’t like the situation they were in. Meredith’s growing control gnawed at her, but what unsettled her more was the possibility that Kira could somehow be dragged into it. She hardly knew her older sister—their lives had been separated when Ariana was only three years old, the day Kira was sent to the Ostwick Circle. Ariana’s memories of her were fragmented at best: glimpses of a shy smile, a gentle voice, and the faintest echo of laughter. When Kira was permitted rare visits to Ostwick, Ariana had been too young to truly know her, and even then, Kira’s time with the family had been brief, tightly supervised.

    Yet family was family, and Kira’s safety mattered. The thought of Meredith setting her sights on Kira sent a chill down Ariana’s spine. Kira wouldn’t survive in Kirkwall—not under Meredith’s gaze. Gentle and compliant as she was, Kira might escape Meredith’s notice for a time, but all it would take was one mistake, one accusation. And if Meredith ever deemed her a threat, or worse, found an excuse to make her Tranquil…

    No. Ariana’s fingers curled into fists at the thought. I won’t let that happen.

    Maybe her father and Frederick could help. A preemptive transfer—somewhere far from Meredith’s grasp—might be the answer. But even that carried its risks. There was no perfect solution, and that knowledge weighed heavily on her.

    Restless and unable to sleep, Ariana rose before dawn and headed to the Rangers’ warehouse in Lowtown. It had been too long since she’d kept a proper training routine, and she could feel it in her body—the lingering stiffness from the injuries she’d sustained during the Qunari uprising. They were mostly healed now, but her movements didn’t flow as easily as they once had. If the White Wolf was to remain sharp, she couldn’t allow herself to slacken.

    Arriving at the warehouse, she was surprised to find Valentina already there, seated on a crate and sharpening a blade.

    “Wolf,” Valentina greeted, looking up. “Didn’t think I’d see you here this early. Or at all.” Her tone carried a playful edge.

    Ariana smirked. “Could say the same about you.”

    Valentina shrugged. “Old habits. What brings you here? Thought you’d be enjoying that Hightown comfort.”

    Ariana rolled her eyes. “You up for a few rounds?” she asked, stretching her arms out and rolling her neck. “I could use it.”

    Valentina chuckled, setting her blade aside. “Should I go easy on you?” she teased, the challenge in her tone evident. “You’ve been living that noble life for a while now…”

    “Oh, I see,” Ariana replied, her voice light but her eyes narrowing slightly. “You think you can take me, then?”

    “Just being honest, Wolf,” Valentina said, stepping into the open training area.

    Ariana’s smirk turned sharper. “Good. Don’t take it easy. Ever.”

    Valentina nodded, her stance shifting as she raised her hands. “Alright, Wolf. Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

    The first clash came fast, Valentina launching a series of quick strikes aimed to test Ariana’s reflexes. Ariana dodged and countered, her movements sharp but lacking the fluidity she once had. The stiffness in her side protested with every twist and turn, a constant reminder of the wounds that had yet to fully fade.

    Don’t think, Ariana. Act.

    Her body moved instinctively, catching Valentina’s wrist mid-strike and twisting it away, but the effort sent a sharp ache through her ribs. She gritted her teeth, refusing to let it slow her.

    Valentina smirked as she stepped back, circling her. “You’re slower than I remember.”

    “And you’re more talkative,” Ariana shot back, though her tone was strained as she moved to close the distance again.

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

    The sparring intensified, each round pushing them both harder. Valentina’s strikes were calculated, designed to exploit any opening Ariana left. Ariana’s counters were precise, but each successful block or strike cost her more energy than it should have.

    In one round, Valentina feinted left and swept low, knocking Ariana off balance. Ariana hit the ground with a soft grunt but rolled quickly to her feet, her jaw tightening as she reset her stance.

    Potential is worthless without effort.

    The words stung, pushing her harder even as her muscles screamed in protest. By the final round, sweat clung to both of them, their breathing labored. Ariana managed to land a decisive strike, spinning behind Valentina and pinning her arm behind her back.

    Every misstep, every sluggish block, felt like proof she was slipping. The White Wolf wasn’t supposed to falter. If she couldn’t even hold her own against Valentina, how could she protect Kira? How could she lead the Rangers?

    You don’t fight to survive. You fight to win.

    “Yield,” Ariana demanded, her voice steady despite the burn in her muscles.

    Valentina laughed breathlessly. “Alright, alright. Yield.”

    Ariana released her, stepping back and placing her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. Valentina turned to face her, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Still got it,” she admitted. “Barely.”

    Ariana chuckled weakly, shaking her head. “That was harder than it should’ve been.”

    Valentina nodded, her expression shifting to something more serious. “You’ve been out of practice, Wolf. Might want to change that.”

    Ariana straightened, her jaw tightening. “I will,” she said firmly, a flicker of resolve in her eyes. She couldn’t afford to falter—not now, not with everything at stake.

    “Good,” Valentina replied, clapping her on the shoulder. “Because next time, I won’t let you win.”

    “Is that what that was?” Ariana quipped, though she appreciated Valentina’s push more than she’d admit.

    “Leaving so soon?” Valentina asked, quirking an eyebrow.

    “You know us nobles,” Ariana began with a confident smile. “Always something that needs our attention.”

    With that, Ariana stepped out into the crisp morning air, the ache in her muscles a familiar burn—a welcome one. But it did little to soothe the unease gnawing at her. Meredith’s machinations, Michael’s transfer, and the looming threat of Kira—it all felt like a storm on the horizon, one she wasn’t ready for.

    She paused at the edge of the street, watching as the first rays of sunlight began to creep over the rooftops. Potential is worthless without effort. The thought lingered, but another followed, softer, quieter.

    And survival means nothing if I fail the people who need me.

    ~~~

    After her morning training session, Ariana’s stomach reminded her of another urgent priority: breakfast. The thought of heading to the Hanged Man crossed her mind almost immediately. It had been weeks since she’d last seen Varric, and she needed to catch him up on everything, especially Meredith’s latest power play. The familiar chaos of the tavern’s patrons and its perpetually dim lighting felt like an odd comfort amidst the tension brewing in her life.

    When Ariana arrived at Varric’s suite, she found him seated at his desk, surrounded by scattered papers and ink-stained quills. His expression lit up as he glanced up from his writing, his signature smirk sliding into place. “Pup,” he greeted, leaning back in his chair. “You look like you’ve wrestled an ogre and lost. What’s going on?”

    “Nothing good,” Ariana replied, dropping heavily into the chair across from him. She exhaled deeply, running a hand through her hair. “Meredith found Michael and had him transferred to Kirkwall.”

    Varric’s smirk faltered, replaced by a knowing look. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “That’s not a good sign,” he said. “What’s her angle?”

    Ariana shook her head, frustration and worry flickering across her face. “Leverage. Intimidation. I don’t know. But it’s Michael. He doesn’t deserve to get caught up in this.”

    Varric let out a low whistle, the gravity of the situation settling over him. “Good thing you’re still living in the shadows, Pup. But if she’s pulling family into this, she’s playing the long game.”

    Ariana sighed, nodding slightly. “That’s what I’m worried about. She’s setting the pieces, but I don’t know what the endgame is yet.”

    They spent the next hour catching up, Varric filling her in on Hawke’s latest escapades while Ariana shared updates on Ranger operations. She mentioned the few mages Hawke had sent her way recently, grateful for the help, though her mind kept straying back to Meredith and Kira. Varric, sensing her distraction, kept the mood light with his usual humor, though his sharp eyes hinted at deeper concern.

    “You’re playing with fire,” he said finally, his tone serious despite the easy smile that lingered. “And Meredith doesn’t lose gracefully.”

    Ariana leaned back in her chair, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Good thing I’m not planning to let her win.”

    Varric chuckled softly, but his gaze remained steady. “Careful, Pup. If she’s dragging family into this, she’s ready to up the stakes.”

    Ariana hesitated, her gaze dropping momentarily before she met his eyes again. “I’ll handle it,” she said firmly, though the unease in her chest didn’t ease. She hesitated for a beat before speaking again. “But I’ll need your help, Varric.”

    The smirk faded from his face, replaced by quiet curiosity. “What kind of help?”

    “I need you to reach out to Frederick and my father,” she said, her voice lower now. “If Meredith found Michael, she could easily turn her sights on Kira next. I won’t let her get anywhere near Kirkwall. We need to move her first.”

    Varric tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “You want me to put out feelers, see if we can make her… vanish?”

    “Exactly,” Ariana replied. “If Frederick’s Knight-Commander friend is willing to transfer her somewhere quiet—off the books—that’s ideal. And if both Circles lose the paperwork, even better.”

    Varric nodded slowly. “I’ll see what I can dig up,” he said, his tone serious. “You know I’ve got people everywhere.”

    “Good,” Ariana said softly, her gratitude clear. “If Kira becomes a target—”

    “She won’t,” Varric cut in, his voice firm. “We’ll handle it, Pup.”

    “Thanks, Varric,” Ariana said genuinely. One thing she knew was that she could always count on him.

    ~~~

    The night air carried a gentle coolness, a refreshing contrast to the lingering warmth of the summer day. The stars stretched across the dark expanse above, gleaming like scattered jewels. Ariana sat on the stone bench in the courtyard, her eyes drawn upward. The stillness of the evening, broken only by the occasional murmur of the wind through the trees, offered a rare and soothing reprieve from the tension of the past few days.

    She heard the soft sound of footsteps behind her, and then Michael’s voice broke the silence. “I see this is still a habit of yours.”

    Ariana turned toward him, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she straightened. “It is. The stars calm me,” she replied, her tone light as she motioned for him to sit beside her.

    Michael settled next to her, his movements deliberate and unhurried. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet between them not unwelcome.

    “You’d probably think I’m crazy if I ever told you about the night I ran away,” Ariana said with a quiet chuckle, her gaze still on the stars.

    Michael looked at her, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Probably,” he said, his tone carrying a teasing warmth. “Though I think much of what you’ve done sounds crazy.”

    Ariana laughed softly, leaning back against the bench. “Fair point.”

    Michael took a deep breath, his expression shifting to something more somber. “Ari… I wanted to apologize.”

    She turned her head to look at him, her brows furrowing slightly in confusion. “For what, Michael?”

    “For how I treated you… back before the Blight,” he said, his voice quiet and laden with regret. His gaze dropped to the stone beneath his feet. “For dragging you to the Circle and having you thrown in a cell. For trying to take you again after you came to warn us about the Battle of Ostagar. I remember how I reacted when I saw you and Cullen standing there together. And for how I spoke to you back then.”

    Ariana reached out, placing her hands over his. Her voice was gentle as she said, “It’s alright, Michael. You were doing what you thought was best.”

    “Maybe,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “But it wasn’t fair to you.” His voice dropped further, filled with quiet remorse. “Over the years, I’ve come to realize I was… unfair. Hypocritical, even.” He glanced at her, his blue eyes sincere. “I joined the Templars to escape that life of nobility. The politics, the expectations, the endless rules that told you what you could and couldn’t be. And yet, I expected you to stay, to shoulder the weight I had cast off.”

    Ariana didn’t reply right away. Instead, she pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was alive,” she said softly. “Getting to Lake Calenhad wasn’t easy during the Blight. I actually… almost got myself killed trying to go back there.”

    Michael pulled back slightly, his eyes wide. “I didn’t know. I’m so—”

    “It’s alright,” Ariana interrupted gently. She smiled faintly, her hands still on his shoulders. “How about we both agree we made mistakes back then? I made a lot of them. We’ve probably both paid for our mistakes more than enough. I don’t think we need to hold on to them.”

    Michael looked at her, his expression softening as a small smile broke through. “Start over?” he asked, his tone light but hopeful.

    “Start over,” Ariana confirmed, standing and offering her hand to him. Michael took it, letting her pull him to his feet.

    As Ariana pulled Michael to his feet, a thought lingered in her mind, quiet but insistent. Meredith’s schemes, as twisted as they were, had unintentionally given her a chance to rebuild something she thought she’d lost with Michael. Despite everything, they were here, together, and she wouldn’t let Meredith tear that apart again.

    And Kira… Kira had always been a ghost, a faint presence on the edges of her childhood memories. But maybe, just maybe, if she could keep Kira safe, she’d finally have a chance to know her—to gain the sister she’d always imagined but never truly had.

    The thought brought a flicker of hope amidst the storm brewing within her. Protecting Kira wasn’t just about defying Meredith; it was about reclaiming something she’d never thought possible.

    “Come,” she said, her tone brightening as she turned toward the house. “There’s someone you need to meet.”

    Michael raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in his expression as he followed her inside.

    ~~~

    As they stepped into the kitchen, Ariana’s gaze immediately fell on Cullen. He was seated on the bench, Emma perched comfortably on his lap, her tiny hands gripping the amulet that always hung around his neck. The sight tugged at something deep within her, drawing a soft smile despite the tension lingering in her chest.

    “Well, I see someone’s already found her favorite Templar,” Ariana teased as she walked closer, her tone light but tinged with warmth.

    Cullen glanced up, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smile. “Yes, I’ve already been ordered to the library,” he said, his voice carrying a soft humor. “But I managed to negotiate a delay until after dinner.”

    Ariana gestured for Michael to follow her. “Emma,” she said gently, her tone softening as she addressed the little girl, “meet your uncle Michael.”

    Emma turned at the sound of her name, her wide eyes landing on Michael with innocent curiosity. Without hesitation, she reached for the shiny clasp of his Templar insignia, her tiny hands signaling her desire to be picked up.

    Michael hesitated briefly, confusion flickering across his face before he obliged, lifting her carefully into his arms. Emma immediately busied herself with his buttons, her small fingers tugging at them with focused determination.

    “Ari…” Michael began, his voice low and uncertain as his gaze shifted between her and Cullen. “Is she… are you…” He trailed off, motioning vaguely between them as if trying to piece together an answer.

    Ariana exchanged a glance with Cullen, her cheeks already beginning to flush. She opened her mouth to respond, but Isabel appeared from the pantry, her calm voice cutting through the moment.

    “She’s my daughter, Michael,” Isabel said matter-of-factly, setting down a plate on the counter.

    “Thank you, Isabel,” Ariana muttered, her tone dry as her blush deepened.

    Cullen’s chuckle broke the brief silence, his hazel eyes dancing with quiet amusement. That knowing smile—one that seemed to hint at someday—only made Ariana more flustered. She groaned softly and retreated to the table, dropping her face into her folded arms.

    “Go ahead, laugh it up,” she mumbled, her voice muffled.

    Isabel shook her head, her tone carrying a hint of exasperated fondness as she set out more dishes. “Alright, enough fussing. Sit. Dinner’s nearly ready.”

    Michael eased into the chair across from Ariana, Emma still nestled in his lap, content to fidget with his insignia. His faint smile faded as his eyes flicked back to his sister. “Ari,” he began cautiously, “if she’s Isabel’s… then how am I—”

    The lightness in the room seemed to evaporate. Ariana straightened, her expression cooling as she cut him off with a single word. “Mark.”

    The name hung in the air like a bitter curse. Michael’s jaw tightened, his face reddening as his hands stilled against Emma’s small frame. “Entitled bastard,” he spat, the venom in his voice barely restrained. “I hope he never comes to visit. I’ll kill him.”

    Ariana let out a dry laugh, though her gaze dropped to the table. “I don’t worry about it anymore,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t visit. I doubt he even cares that he has a daughter.” Her voice softened slightly, her fingers tracing the grain of the wood. “Besides, Father forbade the entire family from coming to Kirkwall unless I specifically invite them. He’s the one who brought Isabel and Emma here, knowing they’d be safer and happier.”

    Michael’s shoulders eased, though the anger in his eyes didn’t fully dissipate. He glanced down at Emma, her innocent curiosity a stark contrast to the weight of their conversation. His expression softened as she gave up on the buttons and patted his chest with a satisfied grin.

    “She is very cute,” he said quietly, his voice losing its earlier edge.

    Ariana’s lips curved into a faint smile, the heaviness in her chest lifting slightly. “Welcome to being an uncle.”

    Across the table, Cullen had been silent, but Ariana caught the subtle way his hand tightened around the edge of the bench. His eyes flicked briefly to hers, filled with a quiet but fierce protectiveness that sent a rush of warmth through her. Beneath the calm exterior, she could see the storm of thoughts stirring behind those hazel eyes.

    When his hand brushed against hers under the table, she gave a gentle squeeze in return, the silent exchange grounding her. His steady presence felt like an anchor, and she was grateful for it, even if the moment was fleeting.

    For a brief moment, Ariana let herself breathe, her thoughts drifting to Kira. Mark’s selfishness had cost him nothing, yet its shadow loomed over the people she cared about. A bitter thought flickered through her mind before she could stop it: If only Mark had been the one to turn out a mage. She pushed it away, ashamed but unable to deny the fleeting wish. Maybe, just maybe, saving Kira could give her the chance to have a sister—someone she could protect before Meredith’s machinations reached her.

    Cullen’s quiet strength, Michael’s rediscovered loyalty, and Isabel’s steady presence reminded her that not all bonds could be shattered by the past. Some were reforged, stronger than ever.

    And perhaps, she thought as her gaze flicked between them, there was hope for the future after all.

    ~~~

    When Isabel returned with the wine and the final dishes, the mood shifted into something lighter, warmer. They all settled at the table together—Cullen, Michael, Isabel, Emma, and Ariana—a small but oddly complete gathering. For the first time in a long while, Ariana felt the weight of their collective lives ease, even if only for an evening.

    The food was delicious, the wine flowed generously, and conversation came easily. Michael shared stories from his time as a Templar, carefully choosing the lighter ones that wouldn’t dredge up painful memories. Isabel chimed in with anecdotes of Emma’s latest adventures around the estate, making them all laugh as Emma gleefully babbled about “helping” Isabel in the garden and “defeating” imaginary monsters.

    Ariana watched it all, a soft smile playing on her lips as she leaned back in her chair, her glass of wine cradled loosely in her hand. Despite the circumstances surrounding Michael’s arrival and the looming threat of Meredith, she liked having him here. She hadn’t said it earlier in the courtyard, but she regretted so much about their interactions back in Ferelden. She hadn’t been kind to him then, and even months ago, on the road, she’d kept her distance. Now, though, there was a chance to start fresh.

    Yet, beneath the warmth of the evening, a quiet isolation stirred. Her love for Cullen, her gratitude for Isabel and Emma, and the newfound connection with Michael—they were all precious to her. But they weren’t the whole of who she was. The White Wolf was missing. The longer she stayed in Hightown, wrapped in the guise of a noblewoman, the more she felt herself fading.

    Her gaze drifted to Cullen as he laughed softly at something Isabel said. His hazel eyes were warm and content, and her heart swelled with love for him. But even with him beside her, she felt untethered. She needed purpose, needed the fight again. Varric’s suggestion to join Hawke had sparked something in her—a reminder that she wasn’t meant to sit idly by.

    As the evening wound down and Isabel began clearing the table, Michael was the first to rise, stretching languidly. “I think I’ll turn in,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Too much wine, and I’m no good tomorrow. And my Knight-Captain doesn’t let anything slide.” he teased, earning a chuckle from Cullen and Ariana.

    Isabel smirked, already stacking the empty plates. “Your room’s ready, as expected,” she said, her tone brisk but fond. “Go get some rest, child. You’ve earned it.”

    Michael gave a small nod before glancing at Ariana. “Good night, Ari,” he said, his tone softer. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

    Ariana smiled, her affection for him evident. “Good night, Michael.”

    As he disappeared down the hall, Isabel continued clearing the table, her efficient movements filling the quiet space. Cullen began to rise, his hand brushing against the back of his chair as he prepared to leave. Ariana touched his arm gently. “Stay,” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet vulnerability that made him pause. “Please.”

    Cullen’s eyes searched hers for a moment before he nodded. “Of course,” he replied, his voice low.

    Isabel arched an eyebrow but said nothing, simply watching as Ariana led Cullen upstairs to her room. Once inside, the air shifted, the tension of the day giving way to a more intimate stillness. Cullen wrapped his arms around her, holding her close without saying a word. She let herself lean into him, the weight of her thoughts momentarily eased by his steady presence.

    They shared little conversation, both content to let the quiet speak for them. That night, as they lay entwined beneath the covers, Ariana felt a flicker of peace.

    ~~~

    Ariana tightened the straps on her practice gear, her twin daggers gleaming faintly in the soft morning light. Cullen stood across from her, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted his grip on his practice sword. The crisp air carried the faint scent of salt from the harbor, and the gentle hum of the waking city seemed far removed from the quiet tension between them.

    “You’re sure about this?” Cullen asked, his voice calm but tinged with concern as his hazel eyes scanned her figure. His gaze lingered briefly on the area around her ribs, where he knew she still felt the phantom ache of past injuries.

    “I’m sure,” Ariana replied with a faint smirk, gripping her daggers loosely. “I need to stretch these muscles. Sitting idle isn’t helping them heal.”

    Cullen frowned, his jaw tightening slightly. “You could just stick to stretches, Ariana. You’re still recovering.” His tone was measured, but the protective undercurrent was unmistakable.

    Ariana arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You’re not going to let me break, Knight-Captain,” she said lightly. “And if you are, we can always stop.”

    Cullen sighed, lowering his sword slightly. “Fine,” he said, though his tone was reluctant. “But we’ll stick to the basics. No sudden movements, no overexertion. Just focus on your form.”

    Ariana inclined her head, stepping into a ready stance. “Very well.”

    They began slowly, Cullen testing her reflexes with light, deliberate strikes. Ariana moved carefully, her daggers flashing as she deflected each blow. The movements were smooth, but her body reminded her of its limits with every twist and turn. The muscles around her ribs protested faintly, but she pushed through, focusing on her breathing to steady herself.

    “Your stance is off,” Cullen said, stepping back briefly to observe her. “Shift your weight to your left leg. It’ll take the pressure off your ribs.”

    Ariana adjusted, nodding slightly as she met his gaze. “Better?”

    “Better,” Cullen confirmed, circling her with a cautious precision that spoke volumes about his restraint. His strikes were slow and measured, designed to test her balance rather than push her endurance.

    Ariana held her hand up, pausing their session to get some water. She held his gaze for a moment before stepping closer, her tone shifting to something more serious. “I need your help.”

    Cullen straightened, his brow furrowing slightly. “With what?”

    “Kira,” Ariana said, her voice steady but edged with worry. “I’m afraid Meredith will target her next.”

    Cullen’s frown deepened, but he said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

    “Frederick has a Knight-Commander friend in Markham,” she explained. “If we can get Kira transferred there quietly, it’ll keep her out of Meredith’s reach. But I’ll need you to keep an eye on transfer orders—make sure nothing slips past us.”

    Cullen considered her words, his hazel eyes narrowing in thought. “You really think Meredith would go after your sister?”

    “I know she would,” Ariana said firmly. “If she thought it would give her leverage over me, she wouldn’t hesitate.”

    Cullen exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he gave a small nod. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll keep watch. If anything comes up, you’ll be the first to know.”

    Relief flickered across Ariana’s face, and she offered him a faint but genuine smile. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice filled with sincerity.

    Cullen returned her smile, his tone lightening slightly. “Just promise me one thing.”

    “What’s that?”

    “Next time,” he said, his smirk returning, “don’t wait until we’re sparring to tell me what’s on your mind.”

    Ariana laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Deal.”

    They resumed sparring, the rhythm steady and deliberate. Cullen’s strikes remained light, focusing on her form and stance rather than speed or strength. Ariana matched his pace, her movements gradually becoming more fluid. Each deflection and counterstrike stretched her muscles, easing some of the stiffness she’d carried for weeks.

    “Better,” Cullen said after a particularly clean parry. “You’re moving more naturally now.”

    “Don’t sound so surprised,” Ariana quipped, though the faint sheen of sweat on her brow betrayed her effort.

    The faint creak of the courtyard doors caught her attention, and she glanced up mid-motion, her breathing steady but quickened. Michael stood at the edge of the courtyard, his expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity as he watched them.

    Ariana paused, lowering her daggers as Cullen stepped back, his own gaze shifting toward Michael.

    “Michael,” she said, her tone light but edged with curiosity. “Didn’t expect you up this early.”

    Michael crossed his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t expect to find you out here sparring,” he replied, his eyes flicking to her daggers. “The last time I saw you train, you could barely hold a wooden sword. Father was just humoring you back then.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, wiping the sweat from her brow. “I guess I’ve had some practice since then.”

    Michael shook his head, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “I’d say so. You’re a far cry from the little girl who used to run off with the wooden sword to go find imaginary dragons with Frederick.”

    Ariana laughed more genuinely than she had in a while “Maker… I didn’t even remember that.” she said suddenly smiling at the memory. She turned to look at Cullen, reaching for his hand “Come on. Let’s get breakfast before Isabel starts wondering if we’ve run off.”

    Cullen set the practice sword aside, his gaze lingering on Ariana for a moment before taking her hand. Michael trailed slightly behind, his eyes flicking between the two of them. The weight of the sparring session hung lightly in the air, a subtle but poignant reminder of how much had changed—and how much had stayed the same.

    As they stepped into the warmth of the kitchen, the scent of freshly baked bread and brewed tea greeted them, promising a brief reprieve from the weight of their thoughts.

  • Chapter 37 – The Bishop’s Gambit

    10 Cloudreach – 8 Bloomingtide 9:34

    As the chill of Cloudreach gave way to the warming sun of Bloomingtide, the city of Kirkwall seemed to find a semblance of calm. The streets were busy with merchants, their colorful stalls lining the market squares, and children darted between the crowds with carefree laughter. But beneath the surface, the tension lingered—a quiet undercurrent of unease that only those paying close attention could discern.

    The stories of the White Wolf, once whispered with reverence and awe in the wake of the Qunari attack, had faded into distant memory for most. Even Cullen, though not one to let such things slip his mind entirely, found his thoughts occupied by more immediate concerns: the growing unease within the Gallows, Meredith’s relentless consolidation of power and control, her focus with Ariana, and the persistent but muted unrest among the mages. It felt as if the city was holding its breath, waiting for the next inevitable storm.

    For Ariana, the quiet was both a blessing and a curse. The lull in outward chaos afforded the Rangers a chance to operate with increased efficiency, but it also gave her more time to dwell on the precarious balance she maintained. The warehouse in Lowtown had become a lifeline for apostates seeking to escape Kirkwall. Under her careful coordination, and with Hawke and Varric’s invaluable assistance, mages were quietly ferried to safety—sometimes far beyond Kirkwall’s borders, sometimes far enough within the Free Marches to slip past Templar notice. And with Frederick’s help they found sympathetic Circles to take in mages when they were accidentally lost on their way to Kirkwall without many questions asked.

    Whenever a situation threatened to draw attention, Hawke and her companions stepped into the spotlight. Their well-crafted heroics captured the city’s imagination, leaving the Rangers free to work in the shadows. It was a system born of necessity, and though it wasn’t perfect, it allowed Ariana to maintain the delicate equilibrium required to keep both the mages and the Rangers safe.

    The influx of seasoned Rangers from Ferelden had strengthened their ranks. Ariana directed them with precision, sending scouts to patrol the roads leading into the city. Their orders were clear: monitor all Templar movements, particularly those involving the transportation of mages. If mages wished to leave Kirkwall’s shadow, the Rangers facilitated their escape. For those who chose the Circle, the Rangers guided them to safer havens in Ferelden or Orlais, far from Meredith’s overreach.

    The system wasn’t without its risks. Each success added to Ariana’s growing reputation in the shadows, a double-edged sword that both bolstered her resolve and weighed heavily on her conscience. The Divine’s terse directive echoed in her mind with every decision: Do what you must. Stay in the shadows.

    Cullen remained blissfully unaware of the Rangers’ larger activities, his days consumed by his duties at the Gallows and the constant weight of Meredith’s scrutiny. His evenings and nights with Ariana provided fleeting moments of peace, but even in those quiet moments, he couldn’t help but feel that there was something lingering beneath the surface, something she wasn’t sharing.

    It was during one of their quiet mornings that Cullen found himself at the Trevelyan estate, the familiar scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the halls as the first rays of sunlight spilled across the kitchen table. Ariana moved with an unhurried grace, dressed in her familiar blue house robe, her movements betraying a faint stiffness that still lingered from her injuries. She poured a cup of tea, her expression thoughtful as she settled into a chair across from Cullen.

    “You’re quiet this morning,” Cullen remarked, his tone light but probing as he spread butter over a piece of bread.

    Ariana offered a faint smile, her gaze drifting toward the window. “Just thinking,” she replied softly.

    “About what?” he pressed, his tone still gentle but tinged with curiosity.

    Her fingers traced the rim of her teacup, hesitating. “The calm before the storm…”

    Cullen frowned, his brow knitting in confusion. “What storm are we talking about?”

    Ariana turned her gaze to him, the faint smile on her lips fleeting. She didn’t want to argue—not with him, not about this—but the unspoken thoughts weighed heavily on her. “Meredith.”

    “Ariana,” Cullen sighed heavily, he felt the same concern, especially as it related to Ariana “Have you heard from Frederick?”

    “I have,” Ariana’s tone almost surprised “And from my father… and from the Duke of Markham himself.” She paused for a moment as a smirk formed on her face “It seems he hates me slightly less now, I think he’s more concerned about Meredith than my engagement to Fred…”

    “Oh?” Cullen’s tone echoed her own surprise

    “They both want to be kept informed of the situation in Kirkwall.” Ariana shrugged “It’s something, for now Varric is keeping them informed but I believe the Duke is sending some of his own people to stay here.”

    “I see.” Cullen’s the concern in his voice audible “I don’t know Ari. Meredith believes Kirkwall is not like the other city-states in the Free Marches. If she feels cornered…” his voice trailed off.

    Her hands shifted to rub her temples as she exhaled slowly, searching for the right words. “Meredith’s belief is a convenient excuse for her power play. And it’s going to tear this city apart,” she said finally, her voice weary. “When it does, the Qunari will have seemed like the easy part.”

    Cullen stiffened at her words, the finality in her tone catching him off guard. “Meredith is trying to maintain order,” he replied, a thread of defensiveness in his voice. “To protect the city from falling into chaos again.”

    “A stranglehold isn’t order, Cullen,” Ariana countered, her gaze steady but laced with frustration. “A Templar isn’t meant to rule over both mages and civilians. Her power grows unchecked with every passing day.”

    The weight of her accusation hung in the air, and Cullen was silent for a moment, his expression conflicted. “It’s not ideal,” he admitted finally, his voice quieter, almost tentative. “But she’s acting in the city’s best interest.”

    “And who holds her accountable?” Ariana asked, her voice trembling slightly as her frustration seeped through. “Who stops her if she oversteps? You know as well as I do that no one in Kirkwall can challenge her—except for you.

    “That’s not how it works,” he finally said, his voice quieter but laced with frustration. “The Order has checks, balances—it’s not as simple as you think.”

    “Then who checks her?” Ariana pressed, leaning forward. “You’ve seen it, Cullen. You know I’m right.”

    Cullen’s lips tightened, a familiar reaction to her words. His grip on the fork became more intense. “The city needs leadership,” he said, his voice strained. “With the Viscount gone—”

    “Then find a new Viscount!” Ariana interrupted, her voice rising as her frustration broke through.

    He sighed heavily, his free hand rubbing at his temple. “It’s not as simple as that.”

    “Why not?” she pressed, her voice sharp. “What’s stopping anyone from putting a proper leader in place? Oh, wait, it’s Meredith. Pretending it’s about safety”

    Her words struck something in him, and he looked away, his jaw tightening further. “I don’t want to fight with you, Ariana,” he said after a moment, his voice low. “But this… it’s not as simple as choosing sides.”

    “It never is,” she whispered, her voice laden with both understanding and sorrow.

    Cullen’s gaze shifted away, his silence like a blade twisting in her chest. The divide between them felt impossibly wide, their loyalties pulling them in opposite directions. She had chosen her path long ago, to stand with those who had no one else, and from what she could see, Cullen had chosen his: unwavering loyalty to the Order. Neither could change, and deep down, she knew the truth she kept from him would only widen the chasm. But how could she tell him? How could she bear to lose him completely?

    The thought left her breathless, a sharp ache she buried as quickly as it surfaced. If the cost of her path was losing him, then she would carry that burden. She had no choice—not when the stakes were so high. And yet, the quiet truth lingered in the back of her mind: losing Cullen might break her, but staying silent would keep him safe.

    ~~~

    Meredith sat at her desk in the Gallows, her sharp gaze scanning the rows of reports and ledgers before her. The dim light from the narrow windows illuminated her austere quarters, casting stark shadows that mirrored the tension in her mind. She thrived on order, on control, and yet Kirkwall was anything but orderly.

    The chaos left in the wake of the Qunari invasion lingered like a smoldering ember. The Viscount was dead, the nobility restless, and the mages in the Gallows more emboldened than ever. Hawke’s rise as Champion had upset the city’s delicate balance, casting a shadow Meredith could neither ignore nor directly confront. And then there was Cullen—a capable Knight-Captain whose unwavering dedication had, of late, begun to waver. She knew precisely why.

    At first, Lady Ariana Trevelyan had seemed an inconsequential child—a runaway noblewoman content to have no responsibility of any kind. Meredith had dismissed her as another Hightown dilettante, undeserving of serious attention. But when Cullen—a man she had handpicked for his staunch adherence to Templar doctrine—began to lose focus, Meredith was forced to reassess.

    Cullen had arrived in Kirkwall with a reputation forged in the aftermath of the events at Kinloch Hold. He had witnessed the horrors of magic gone unchecked, and his fervor for the Order’s mission made him a valuable asset. But since Lady Trevelyan’s arrival, that resolve had begun to erode. At first, Meredith dismissed it as a fleeting indulgence—an outlet for Cullen’s youthful energy, easily overcome. Yet Lady Trevelyan had proven more cunning than anticipated, weaving herself into his life with alarming tenacity. Cullen’s growing defense of her actions was no mere dalliance. It was a challenge to her authority.

    Meredith felt the sting of betrayal more keenly than she expected—was it weakness on his part, or hers for trusting him? She would not allow sentiment to cloud her judgment again. If Cullen could not be realigned, he would be dealt with like any other liability.

    Meredith’s jaw tightened as she recalled the confrontation in Hightown. She had approached Lady Trevelyan expecting either contrition or fear, but instead found defiance cloaked in civility. Not to mention her friend, Lord Decken. The girl’s sharp wit and boldness had stung, but Cullen’s subsequent defense of her was the true betrayal. Both his and Lord Decken’s  comments about the Trevelyans being one of the most prominent house in Ostwick lingered. The Trevelyans were know for their ties to the Chantry, sparking questions Meredith could not leave unanswered. Was Lady Trevelyan seeking to manipulate the Templars through Cullen? Was her connection to the Champion of Kirkwall more than coincidence?

    A knock at the door pulled Meredith from her thoughts. “Enter,” she commanded, her voice clipped.

    One of her senior Templars stepped inside, bowing his head. “Knight-Commander, the information you requested.”

    “Report,” Meredith ordered, her tone curt.

    The Templar handed her a stack of papers, his words measured. “Michael Trevelyan has served as a Templar at Kinloch Hold for several years. His record is clean—competent and loyal, with no notable infractions. Kira Trevelyan remains a compliant mage within the Ostwick Circle, with no history of rebellion or discord.”

    Meredith’s fingers tightened on the papers as she read. Michael’s position within the Templar Order presented an opportunity. A transfer to Kirkwall could be arranged swiftly, bringing him directly under her command. Kira, though more distant, was a valuable contingency—another string to pull if necessary.

    “Arrange for Michael Trevelyan’s transfer to Kirkwall,” Meredith instructed, her voice like steel. “Expedite the process and bypass the usual protocols. I want him here within the fortnight.”

    The Templar hesitated briefly, but Meredith’s cold gaze brooked no dissent. “As you command, Knight-Commander,” he replied, bowing before retreating.

    Alone once more, Meredith set the papers aside and leaned back in her chair. Michael’s arrival would serve multiple purposes: it would test his loyalty to the Order, strain his bond with his sister, and deliver a clear message to Lady Trevelyan. If she valued her family, she would understand the implications. If not, Meredith would use Michael to drive a wedge deeper between Cullen and the woman who threatened to distract him from his duty.

    Meredith’s grip on her quill tightened, the faint scratch of ink on parchment the only sound in the room. She had always understood the power of perception. Kirkwall needed to see her as unyielding, a stalwart force against chaos, but Ariana Trevelyan, threatened that carefully cultivated image. The girl’s noble connections, her alliance with the Champion, and now Lord Decken’s interference—all of it painted a picture Meredith did not like. If the Trevelyans or Duke of Markham sought to turn the Free Marches against her, they would soon learn how tightly she held the reins of this city.

    “Control is not just strength,” she murmured aloud, her voice a sharp whisper. “It is certainty.” She set her quill aside and leaned back in her chair, her thoughts returning to Michael Trevelyan. His arrival would bring her that certainty. Through him, she would remind Cullen—and Lady Trevelyan—where true authority lay.

    But Michael’s transfer was only the first step. Meredith’s web stretched far beyond Kirkwall’s walls, and every piece she moved brought her closer to the unshakable order the city so desperately needed. The Trevelyans, the Champion, even Cullen—they would all play their part, willingly or not.

    ~~~

    Cullen found himself surrounded by stacks of paperwork and the faint echo of boots on stone from the hall outside. The orders and reports he had been meticulously working through had become a blur, his focus straying again and again to the argument with Ariana earlier that morning. No matter how much he tried to redirect his attention, her words lingered, biting at the edges of his mind. Who stops her if she oversteps?

    Cullen exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as if the motion could dislodge the memory. Ariana had always been spirited, passionate in her convictions, but this time her words had struck a nerve. Some part of him couldn’t believe she genuinely thought the Templar Order was wielding unchecked power. The Order was accountable—to the Divine, the Chantry, and the Seekers of Truth. Its structure was designed to prevent such abuses. And yet…

    The thought tugged at him, persistent and unwelcome. He couldn’t shake the parallels she had drawn to his own criticism of mercenaries. The disdain he felt for the White Wolf and the Rangers—how they operated outside the law, answerable only to themselves—was a familiar frustration. But what if Ariana saw the Templar Order in the same light? Did she truly believe the Templars were no better than mercenaries loyal only to coin? Worse, did she see him that way?

    He gritted his teeth, willing the thoughts to quiet. He couldn’t afford to second-guess himself now. There was too much at stake—both for the city and for his relationship with Ariana. Pushing the quill across the parchment before him, he focused on the duty assignments for the week.

    Cullen’s quill froze mid-note as his eyes caught the name: Michael Trevelyan. His chest tightened, the sound of the Gallows around him fading into an oppressive stillness. He reread the line, half-expecting the name to disappear, but there it was—unmistakable. The sight of Michael’s name sent a jolt through him, his chest tightening with equal parts dread and fury. He could almost feel Meredith’s cold hand moving the pieces, her calculated gaze watching from the shadows..

    He leaned back in his chair, the weight of suspicion settling heavily on his shoulders. This is her response, he realized, his thoughts snapping into focus. Transfers didn’t happen without cause, and Meredith’s sudden interest in Michael couldn’t be a coincidence.

    He hadn’t approved any transfers. Nor had he ordered reinforcements from Ferelden. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach. This was no coincidence.

    Who stops her if she oversteps? Ariana’s voice echoed again, sharper this time, cutting through his thoughts.

    Suspicion flared, Cullen knew well enough to recognize Meredith’s handiwork. She had orchestrated this—her fingerprints were all over it. But why? What purpose could she possibly have for bringing Michael Trevelyan here?

    Had Michael requested the transfer? No. Cullen would have seen the paperwork. This wasn’t initiated from Kinloch Hold. Meredith had done this. But for what did she hope to gain?

    Rising from his chair, Cullen gathered the papers in his hand and strode out of his office, his boots striking against the stone floor with determined purpose. The halls of the Gallows blurred around him as his thoughts churned. If Meredith thought she could manipulate him or Ariana through Michael, she had severely underestimated both of them.

    He found one of the clerks responsible for processing transfers and approached the desk. The clerk, startled by the sudden appearance of the Knight-Captain, fumbled with his stack of documents.

    “Knight-Captain,” the clerk greeted, his tone wary. “Is there something I can assist you with?”

    Cullen placed the transfer papers on the desk, his tone firm but controlled. “This transfer,” he said, tapping the document. “Michael Trevelyan from Kinloch Hold. When was this arranged?”

    The clerk adjusted his glasses, flipping through a separate set of records. “Ah, yes. That request came through… a little over two weeks ago, I believe. A response to the need for reinforcements after the Qunari attack.”

    Cullen’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. “And whose authority was this processed under?”

    The clerk hesitated, visibly uncomfortable under Cullen’s intense scrutiny. “The Knight-Commander’s,” he admitted. “It was expedited through her office.”

    Cullen nodded curtly, his expression unreadable. “Of course it was. Thank you.” He turned on his heel without another word, his boots echoing against the stone as he strode away.

    His frustration mounted with each step, the pieces clicking into place. Meredith was making her move. This wasn’t just about reinforcements or filling gaps in the roster. This was leverage—a calculated attempt to use Michael against Ariana.

    ~~~

    The Gallows was eerily quiet as Cullen made his way to Meredith’s office. The usual hum of Templar activity seemed muted, the oppressive stone walls absorbing every sound. Each step echoed in the stillness, a steady rhythm that barely concealed the storm brewing in his mind.

    When he reached her door, Cullen hesitated for only a moment before rapping his knuckles sharply against the wood.

    “Enter,” Meredith’s voice called, cold and commanding.

    Cullen pushed the door open and stepped inside. Meredith was seated at her desk, meticulously reviewing a stack of documents. The stark light from the narrow windows cast sharp angles across her face, emphasizing the severe lines of her expression. She didn’t look up as he entered, her quill scratching against the parchment with deliberate precision.

    “Knight-Commander,” Cullen began, his voice steady but carrying a note of tension. “I wanted to speak with you about the recent transfer.”

    Meredith finally looked up, her sharp eyes meeting his. “Ah, Michael Trevelyan,” she said, her tone clipped. “I trust the paperwork has reached your desk?”

    “It has,” Cullen replied, stepping closer to the desk. “What I don’t understand is why I wasn’t informed beforehand. A transfer of this nature should have been discussed with me.”

    Meredith’s gaze hardened, and she set down her quill with deliberate care. “Are you questioning my authority, Knight-Captain?”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to maintain a calm demeanor. “Of course not,” he said evenly. “But as the Knight-Captain overseeing the Gallows, I would expect to be consulted on personnel changes, especially one as significant as this.”

    Meredith leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepling in front of her. “Michael Trevelyan’s transfer was a strategic decision,” she said, her voice taking on an edge of condescension. “After the Qunari attack, it became clear that our forces needed reinforcement. Trevelyan’s record speaks for itself—loyal, capable, and experienced. Surely you see the benefit of having another seasoned Templar in Kirkwall.”

    Cullen held her gaze, his expression unreadable. “And yet, the timing feels… specific,” he said carefully. “Ser Michael arrives just as tensions in the city are at their peak. It’s difficult to ignore the connection to his sister.”

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. “Lady Trevelyan’s presence in Kirkwall is… irrelevant,” she said, though the words felt hollow even to her. “My concern is ensuring the stability of this city, and Michael Trevelyan will contribute to that goal.”

    Cullen took a measured breath, his frustration simmering just below the surface. “With respect, Knight-Commander, it seems more than coincidental. You’ve made your disdain for Lady Trevelyan quite clear.”

    Meredith stood abruptly, her sharp gaze locking onto Cullen with undeniable authority. “Do not mistake my actions for anything other than what they are, Knight-Captain,” she said sharply. “Lady Trevelyan is a distraction—one that has clearly affected your judgment.”

    Cullen’s fists clenched at his sides, but he kept his tone steady. “My judgment remains sound, Knight-Commander. My duties have not faltered.”

    “And yet, your attention has,” Meredith countered, her voice cutting like a blade. “You were once one of my most reliable officers, Cullen. A man of discipline and conviction. But since Lady Trevelyan’s arrival, I have seen cracks in that resolve.”

    Cullen’s eyes flashed with defiance. “If I have faltered, it is only because I’ve begun to question whether the Order’s actions align with its purpose.”

    Meredith’s expression darkened, her voice dropping to a dangerous low. “The Order exists to maintain control, to protect this city from the chaos that threatens to consume it. Doubt is a weakness, Cullen, and I will not tolerate it in my ranks.”

    For a moment, silence stretched between them, the air thick with tension. Cullen met her gaze unflinchingly, the weight of his own convictions pressing against the authority she wielded.

    “Michael Trevelyan’s presence will strengthen the Gallows,” Meredith continued, her tone hard and unyielding. “And perhaps it will serve as a reminder of where your loyalties should lie. To the Order. To the protection of Kirkwall. Not to some girl who seeks to undermine our work.”

    Cullen straightened, his voice steady but edged with steel. “My loyalties have always been to the Order, Knight-Commander. But loyalty does not mean blind obedience.”

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the room felt colder. “Take care, Knight-Captain,” she said, her voice cold as ice. “Loyalty is only valuable when it’s absolute. I trust you won’t force me to question yours further.”

    Without another word, Cullen gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, leaving the office with a storm of emotions churning in his chest. As he stepped into the corridor, the weight of Meredith’s words pressed heavily on him.

    He would need to tread carefully. Meredith’s game was becoming clearer, and Ariana was now at the center of it. But one thing was certain: he would not let Meredith use Michael—or anyone else—as a pawn in her quest for control.

    ~~~

    The ship docked at the Gallows under the gray morning light, its gangplank creaking as Michael descended onto the cold stone courtyard. The oppressive walls of the fortress loomed around him, their shadow casting a chill that rivaled the sea breeze. He adjusted his pack, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar expanse. Kirkwall, he thought grimly. This place feels like a prison before you even step inside.

    A group of Templars stood nearby, their armor polished but their postures weary. Among them, one figure caught his attention—a tall, commanding presence whose golden hair gleamed faintly in the morning light. The man turned, his sharp gaze locking onto Michael, and began to approach.

    Michael’s brows furrowed in recognition. “Cullen?” he said as the man neared, surprise evident in his tone. “Last I saw you was… during the Blight…” His words trailed off, realizing that was not a memory either of them should relive.

    “Knight-Captain Cullen,” Cullen corrected, though his tone held no arrogance. He stopped a few steps away, his posture straight and formal. “Welcome to Kirkwall, Knight-Lieutenant.”

    Michael’s surprise deepened. “Knight-Captain?” he repeated, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Cullen. “You’ve moved up quickly.”

    Cullen inclined his head, acknowledging the remark without elaborating. “A lot has changed since Kinloch Hold,” he said evenly. “I’m here to ensure you settle in smoothly.”

    Michael’s brow furrowed, his curiosity evident. “So why the transfer?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of suspicion. “No one mentioned anything unusual before I left Ferelden.”

    “Kirkwall has… unique challenges,” Cullen replied, his tone measured. “The Knight-Commander requires experienced Templars. That’s all I can tell you for now.”

    Michael’s boots echoed against the cold stone, the oppressive silence of the Gallows settling over him like a heavy cloak. His eyes scanned the courtyard, where mages moved with quick, cautious steps, their eyes darting toward the ever-present Templar patrols. There was fear in their movements, sharp and skittish, like prey too aware of its hunters. But worse than the fear was the resignation—the quiet acceptance that escape was impossible.

    The sight of chains on a mage’s wrists tightened something in Michael’s chest, a quiet unease he couldn’t shake. He had sworn to protect, to uphold the Order’s principles, but here? The line between protection and oppression seems perilously thin.

    Michael’s gaze shifted to Cullen as they stopped in the courtyard, Cullen’s composed demeanor standing in stark contrast to the tension that filled the air. “This place feels like it’s holding its breath,” Michael muttered, his voice low.

    Cullen glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted. “Come. I’ll show you where you’ll be stationed.”

    Michael fell into step beside him, his eyes lingering on the harsh architecture of the Gallows. As they passed a group of mages being escorted by Templars, he spoke again, his voice lower. “It’s strange seeing you in charge,” he said, casting a sidelong glance at Cullen. “You were younger than me when you were stationed in Ferelden. Now you’re… this.”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened slightly, though his tone remained neutral. “I suppose circumstances were right,” he said.

    “Maybe,” Michael replied, though his voice carried a note of doubt. His eyes flicked back to the courtyard, the sight of chains making his stomach churn. “I didn’t ask to be here… Why was my transfer requested specifically? I can’t imagine there’s anything special about my record that warrants this.”

    Cullen’s expression didn’t change, but his steps slowed slightly. “You’re here because you’re needed,” he said, though the words felt rehearsed, distant.

    Cullen’s response came too quickly, his tone too even. Michael recognized it for what it was—a practiced deflection. Whatever answers Cullen had, they were buried beneath layers of loyalty and duty, and he wasn’t about to unearth them here.

    Michael glanced at him again, catching the hint of tension in his jaw. “Right,” he said simply, filing the observation away. There was more to this transfer, and Cullen wasn’t saying it. Yet.

    As they reached the barracks, Cullen stopped and turned to face him. “You’ll have some time to settle in before beginning your duties. If you have questions, bring them to me.”

    Michael nodded, though his gaze lingered on Cullen. “I appreciate it,” he said, his tone polite but edged with curiosity. “It’ll be… interesting to see how things work here.”

    Cullen inclined his head before stepping back. “Welcome to Kirkwall,” he said again, his voice even, before turning and walking away.

    Michael watched him go, his thoughts swirling. Every step deeper into the Gallows felt like walking into a trap, though Michael couldn’t yet see the snare. Kirkwall’s got secrets, he thought. And something is very wrong.

    ~~~

    The kitchen was warm, the soft glow of lanterns casting a gentle light over the stone walls. The scent of herbs and roasted vegetables lingered in the air, but the atmosphere between Isabel and Ariana was anything but cozy. Isabel stood at the counter, her arms crossed as she regarded Ariana with the steady, no-nonsense gaze that could cut through any pretense.

    “You’ve been impossible lately,” Isabel said, her voice calm but firm. “And don’t even think about telling me otherwise, child. You know it’s true.”

    Ariana, seated at the kitchen table, sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She was barefoot, wearing the house robe she had taken to lately, though its comfort did little to ease the tension in the room. “It’s not that simple, Isabel,” she said, her tone defensive. “You know what’s at stake.”

    “And Cullen doesn’t?” Isabel’s green eyes narrowed. “Do you think you’re the only one carrying the weight of this, Ariana? You keep him in the dark, you argue with him at every turn, and then you expect him to do as you want without understanding why. It’s not fair.”

    Ariana flinched at the words, though she tried to mask it with another sigh. “I’m trying to protect him,” she said, her voice quieter now.

    “Protect him?” Isabel snorted, shaking her head as she turned back to the counter. “From what? Knowing who you really are? “What you stand for?” Isabel repeated, her voice sharp as a knife. Ariana opened her mouth to protest, to offer some weak excuse, but Isabel cut her off with a swift gesture. “Don’t you dare tell me this isn’t about that. It’s always been about that, child. You’re so busy trying to shield him from who you really are, you’ve blinded yourself to the fact that he’s already chosen to stand beside you.”

    Ariana’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table, her thoughts racing. Isabel’s words cut too close. Cullen had chosen Meredith, chosen the Order—or so she told herself. But it wasn’t that simple, was it? She could feel the distance growing between them with every unspoken truth, every guarded word.

    “He has chosen to stand with Meredith…” Ariana shot back, though her tone was softer than even she expected.

    “Because you haven’t given him a choice, Ariana!” Isabel snapped back visibly frustrated with her. Probably more than Ariana had ever seen.

    Ariana flinched, Isabel’s words cutting deeper than she expected. She turned her gaze to the table, her fingers twisting together as she searched for something to say. “I’m just… trying to protect him,” she said softly, her voice faltering. Maker, how could she protect him without pushing him away? And if she lost him because of it, would she even survive the weight of that choice?

    Isabel sighed, her tone softening as she crossed the room and placed a hand on Ariana’s shoulder. “Maker’s breath, Ariana,” she said, her voice gentler now. “You don’t protect someone by pushing them away. If you trust him, really trust him, then you owe him the truth. If you don’t… well, then maybe it’s not him you’re protecting.”

    “That’s not—” Ariana started, but Isabel spun back around, cutting her off.

    “Yes, it is,” Isabel said, her voice sharper now. “You can’t have it both ways, child. You can’t demand his loyalty while keeping him at arm’s length. If you don’t trust him with the truth, then you need to stop treating him like he’s the enemy every time you don’t agree.”

    Ariana’s mouth opened as if to argue, but no words came. Isabel’s words struck a chord, one she couldn’t ignore. She slumped back in her chair, her hands folding in her lap as guilt began to creep into her expression.

    “You’re right,” Ariana said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been… unfair…unkind. And it’s not fair to him.” She looked down at her hands, her fingers twisting together. “I need to apologize.”

    Isabel’s features softened, the frustration in her eyes giving way to something warmer—relief, perhaps, or a quiet pride. She stepped closer, resting a hand on Ariana’s shoulder, her grip firm but comforting. “Good,” she said softly, her voice losing its earlier edge. Because Maker knows that man loves you more than his own life. The least you can do is meet him halfway.”

    Ariana nodded, though her stomach twisted with guilt. “I’ll talk to him,” she said, though her voice trembled. The words felt fragile, as though speaking them aloud might shatter her resolve. She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to meet Isabel’s steady gaze. “I’ve been awful. I just hope it’s not too late.”

    ~~~

    That evening, Cullen found Michael in the Gallows courtyard, watching a group of Templars spar. His posture was casual, but his eyes tracked every move with the precision of someone accustomed to assessing strength and weakness. As Cullen approached, Michael turned, his expression guarded.

    “Knight-Captain,” he greeted, his tone formal but edged with curiosity.

    “Michael,” Cullen said, his voice steady, though a hint of tension lingered. “Change into civilian clothes. We’re going somewhere.”

    Michael’s brow furrowed, his arms crossing over his chest. “And where exactly are we going?” he asked, suspicion lacing his tone.

    Cullen’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’ll see,” he replied simply, turning on his heel without waiting for a response.

    For a moment, Michael stood rooted, weighing the request before finally moving to follow. He changed quickly and trailed Cullen through the Gallows gates and into the city. The bustling streets of Lowtown gave way to the quieter, more refined avenues of Hightown, and with each step, Michael’s unease grew. The estates here spoke of power and privilege, a stark contrast to the grim austerity of the Gallows.

    “Are we going to the Chantry?” Michael asked, his voice low, breaking the silence.

    “No,” Cullen replied curtly, his eyes fixed ahead. “Just trust me.”

    Michael’s unease deepened as they approached a grand estate. The glow of lanterns spilled across the cobblestones, and the faint murmur of voices could be heard within. He stopped just short of the door, glancing at Cullen with growing suspicion. “What are we doing here?”

    Cullen didn’t answer. He simply gestured toward the door. “Inside.”

    Michael hesitated, then followed Cullen through the heavy oak doors. The warmth of the estate was immediate, the crackle of the hearth and the scent of something rich and spiced wafting from the kitchen. The polished wood floors gleamed in the firelight, and the quiet hum of conversation gave the house an intimate, welcoming feel—so unlike the sterile corridors of the Gallows.

    Michael’s sharp eyes swept the entryway, his confusion growing. “Cullen,” he said again, his tone edged with impatience. “Why here?”

    Cullen didn’t reply. Instead, he stepped further into the house, his movements purposeful. Michael followed reluctantly, his wariness growing with every step. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hall just before Ariana appeared in the doorway.

    The moment her eyes landed on Cullen, Ariana’s stride quickened. In three swift steps, she closed the distance between them, her arms wrapping around him as though she were afraid he might disappear. Cullen stumbled slightly at the force of her embrace, his hands instinctively catching her waist to steady her.

    “Ariana—” he began, his voice a mix of surprise and concern.

    “I’m sorry,” she said in a rush, her words tumbling out before he could stop her. Her voice trembled, raw with emotion. “I’m so sorry for everything—for arguing, for shutting you out. I’ve pushed you away when all you’ve ever done is try to be there for me.”

    “Ari,” Cullen tried again, his voice gentler this time, his hands tightening slightly on her waist. “It’s alright—”

    “No, it’s not,” she interrupted, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Her hazel-green eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I’ve been so focused on fighting everything that I’ve been awful to you because of it. And I love you, Cullen. Maker, I love you so much.” Her voice broke on the last word, her vulnerability stripping away the walls she’d so carefully built.

    Her words hit him like a physical force, and for a moment, he simply stared at her, his own emotions tangling with hers. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a faint smile. “Ari,” he said softly, his tone filled with warmth, “I love you too. But—”

    He hesitated, glancing over her shoulder, and Ariana immediately caught the shift in his expression. She turned, her breath hitching as her gaze landed on the figure leaning casually against the doorframe.

    Michael stood there, his arms crossed and an amused grin tugging at his lips. “Well,” he drawled, his tone teasing but laced with sincerity, “that clears up a few things.”

    Ariana froze, her mind struggling to process the moment. Her arms fell to her sides, and her face drained of color as she stared at him. “Michael?” she whispered, disbelief thick in her voice.

    Michael straightened, his grin softening into something kinder. “Hello, Ari,” he said, his voice warm with a touch of affection.

    ~~~

    The warm light of the hearth flickered softly, but Ariana felt no comfort in its glow. Her heart had barely settled from the moment Michael stepped into the house, his presence a bittersweet reminder of the ties she’d tried to protect from Kirkwall’s shadows. She walked toward him slowly, her composure slipping under the weight of surprise.

    “You don’t look nearly as tired this time,” she quipped, her lips curving into a faint smile as she wrapped her arms around him in a brief but warm embrace. “What… what are you doing here?”

    Michael arched an eyebrow, a familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he replied, his tone edged with dry humor. His sharp gaze flicked between her and Cullen, the faint amusement in his eyes betraying the questions he hadn’t yet voiced. “So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

    Ariana opened her mouth to respond, but Isabel’s brisk voice cut through the moment. “Enough gawking,” she said, her tone laced with fond exasperation as she stepped into the room. “Come sit down. All of you. Dinner is ready.”

    Michael turned toward Isabel, his brow furrowing slightly as recognition flickered across his face. “Isabel?” he asked cautiously, his voice carrying a note of disbelief. “You’re here too?”

    She arched an eyebrow, a hint of a smile softening her sharp features. “You remember me, child? You were, what, ten when you left for the Templars?”

    Michael tilted his head, his smile turning wry. “Barely,” he admitted lightly. “But you were kinder than mother, always.”

    Isabel’s no-nonsense demeanor slipped just slightly, replaced by a rare warmth. “And you were always trailing after your sister,” she said with a teasing edge. “Making sure she didn’t turn the manor upside down.”

    Ariana laughed softly, shaking her head as she moved toward the table. “If by ‘making sure,’ you mean tattling every chance you got, then yes, he was very diligent.”

    Michael chuckled, easing into the room with the same steady confidence he’d always had. The tension between them thawed, but Ariana felt the weight of unspoken questions lingering. She could see it in the way his sharp eyes darted around the room, cataloging every detail.

    Cullen settled beside her as Michael took the seat across from them. The quiet hum of the room was almost too loud in the stillness that followed, the faint crackle of the hearth filling the gaps between breaths.

    “So,” Ariana said, her smile tinged with mischief and curiosity, “can I assume you’re not here to drag me back to Ostwick?”

    Michael raised his glass, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t know you were here,” he said simply. “Did you request my transfer?”

    Her smile faltered, genuine confusion flickering across her face. “Why in the Void would I ask for you to be transferred to the Gallows?” she said sharply. “To work under Meredith, of all people? That woman makes ogres look pleasant.” She winced slightly, glancing at Cullen. “Sorry… that was—”

    Cullen blinked, the corner of his mouth curving into a faint smile. “You’re not wrong,” he said dryly, his humor catching her off guard. “But let me guess—Varric came up with that comparison?”

    Ariana gave him a sheepish look but didn’t answer. The tension in her shoulders softened slightly as she reached for her wine glass.

    Michael’s smirk faded as his gaze shifted between them. “If it wasn’t you,” he said, his tone growing more serious, “then who requested the transfer?”

    The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken, before Ariana turned to Cullen, her silent question evident in her eyes.

    Cullen exhaled slowly, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table. “Meredith,” he said firmly, the name cutting through the tension like a blade.

    Ariana’s stomach twisted as Cullen spoke Meredith’s name. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been gripping her wine glass until her knuckles ached. Of course Meredith wouldn’t hesitate to use her family against her. The knowledge burned, filling her with equal parts guilt and fury. Was this the cost of trying to protect them?

    Michael’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “Meredith?” he repeated, the name falling from his lips like a curse. “Why would the Knight-Commander transfer me here? What’s going on?”

    Cullen’s hazel eyes flicked briefly to Ariana before returning to Michael. “I believe she’s using you,” he said carefully, his tone low but steady. “As leverage.”

    Michael’s sharp gaze snapped to her, suspicion flaring in his eyes. “Leverage for what?” he demanded, his voice hardening.

    Ariana forced herself to breathe, her tone wry as she gestured vaguely toward Cullen. “Apparently, my relationship with him is enough to warrant all this. Meredith doesn’t need much of an excuse.”

    Michael’s incredulous expression deepened, his attention darting between the two of them. “So… this is about you two?” His disbelief was almost palpable.

    “Among other things,” Cullen interjected, his tone measured but grim. “Meredith doesn’t trust anyone she perceives as a threat to her authority. Ariana has… made an impression.”

    Ariana arched an eyebrow, her voice dry. “Frederick is the one that threatened her…”

    Cullen inclined his head slightly in agreement, though his expression remained serious. “Meredith doesn’t see defiance; she sees disruption. And now she’s testing both of us—my loyalty to the Order, and her ability to intimidate you.”

    Michael’s fists curled on the table, tension radiating from him. “So, she’s using me as a pawn,” he muttered bitterly. “Wonderful. I thought I’d left that behind in Ostwick.”

    Ariana’s expression softened, her voice steady but tinged with guilt. “We’ll figure this out together.”

    Cullen nodded, his tone firm. “Whatever her plans, we’ll counter them. Meredith won’t win.”

    The weight of the situation pressed heavily on the room, the flickering shadows of the hearth mirroring Ariana’s own unease. Yet even as guilt gnawed at her, a flicker of determination remained. Meredith might have drawn Michael into her game, but Ariana wouldn’t let her win—not at the cost of her family.

    ~~~

    As the evening wore on, the tension that had hung over the household like a storm cloud began to dissipate. Michael, his second glass of wine nearly empty, chuckled at Isabel’s vivid retellings of childhood antics, many of which he seemed only half to remember. Her warm, teasing tone filled the kitchen, weaving a thread of familiarity that softened the sharp edges of the day’s revelations.

    Ariana stood near the kitchen door, her arms loosely crossed, a small smile playing on her lips as she watched them. Yet her gaze often flicked toward Cullen. He was standing near the counter, preparing to leave, his posture as calm and composed as ever. But something about him felt different—subdued, perhaps, or heavier in a way she couldn’t quite name. The realization gnawed at her, a quiet unease settling in her chest.

    They hadn’t seen much of each other in the past few days, and now the gaps between their moments together seemed to stretch longer than they ever had before. Was it her fault? The arguments, the tension, her constant pushing—had she driven him away without realizing it? The thought tightened around her like a vice, her mind cycling through every harsh word, every moment she’d chosen distance over vulnerability.

    What if this time, I’ve pushed too far?

    When their eyes met briefly, her stomach twisted. Say something, she urged herself, but the words wouldn’t come. She motioned toward the hallway with a subtle tilt of her head, and to her relief, Cullen hesitated only briefly before nodding and following her in silence.

    The library was dimly lit, the soft glow of the fireplace casting flickering shadows across the walls. Ariana stopped near the hearth, her back to him as she stared into the flames, her thoughts racing. She had rehearsed a hundred ways to start this conversation, but now, with him standing behind her, none of them felt right.

    “Cullen…” she began, her voice softer than she intended. Turning to face him, she hesitated, her words catching in her throat when she met his gaze. “I… you’ve been busy,” she said finally, her tone faltering. Her hands found the hem of her robe, fingers twisting the fabric absently, a rare show of vulnerability. “I wasn’t sure if—”

    Before she could finish, Cullen stepped forward, closing the space between them in a single motion. His hands cupped her face with a gentleness that made her heart ache, his hazel eyes searching hers for only a moment before he leaned in and kissed her.

    Ariana’s breath caught, her surprise melting almost instantly into quiet surrender. Her hands found his chest, resting lightly against the warmth of his tunic as she leaned into him. The kiss wasn’t hurried or desperate. It was steady, grounding—a reminder that even in the midst of chaos, there was still something solid between them.

    When Cullen pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against hers. For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire behind them.

    “I haven’t seen you in days,” Ariana said softly, her voice still tinged with lingering vulnerability. “I thought…” She hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly against his chest. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to come back.”

    Cullen’s brows furrowed, and he sighed quietly, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting hers again. “I wasn’t avoiding you,” he began, his tone steady but laced with something heavier—guilt, perhaps. “At least, not entirely.”

    Ariana tilted her head, confusion flickering across her face. “Then why?”

    His hands slid from her jaw to rest gently on her shoulders, steadying her as he spoke. “When I saw Michael’s name on the transfer orders, it caught me off guard. I didn’t know how to tell you… or how to deal with the fact that Meredith is clearly using him to get to you.” He exhaled heavily, his frustration seeping into his voice. “I’ve spent the past few days trying to figure out how to protect both of you without… making things worse.”

    Ariana blinked, her expression softening as the pieces began to fall into place. “You thought I’d blame you,” she murmured, her voice quiet but understanding.

    “I thought you’d be angry,” Cullen admitted, his tone raw with honesty. “And I didn’t want to fight—not again. I’ve seen how much Meredith’s games are wearing on you, and I hate that I’ve become part of the problem.”

    Her hands shifted to rest on his forearms, her touch firm yet reassuring. “You’re not the problem, Cullen,” she said softly. “Meredith is. And whatever she’s planning, we’ll face it together. But you don’t have to figure everything out on your own.”

    His gaze softened, and he nodded slightly, the tension in his posture easing. “I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I just… I don’t want to fail you.”

    Ariana’s lips curved into a faint smile, her fingers brushing against his sleeves. “You won’t,” she assured him. “You’ve been by my side through everything, Cullen. That’s more than enough.”

    Her throat tightened, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes. “I missed you,” she said simply, the words heavy with regret and affection.

    “I missed you too,” he replied, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. He leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. The gesture was so tender, so unguarded, that Ariana felt the knot in her chest begin to loosen.

    For a moment, they stood in the quiet, the crackling fire the only sound between them. She closed her eyes briefly, letting the warmth of his presence chase away the lingering shadows of her doubts.

    “I’ll walk you out,” she murmured, her voice steadier now. Her fingers slipped into his, holding on as if to anchor herself.

    When they returned to the kitchen, Michael and Isabel glanced up from the table. Michael arched an eyebrow, his expression somewhere between amusement and curiosity, though he said nothing. Isabel, however, wore a knowing smile that Ariana pointedly ignored. For the first time in days, the weight on her shoulders felt a little lighter. She didn’t need to have all the answers tonight. For now, it was enough that Cullen was still at her side.

  • Chapter 36 – What Must Be done

    8 – 9 Cloudreach 9:34

    The following morning, Ariana sat at her desk, the thin parchment resting between her fingertips, the words etched upon it seemingly heavier than the weight of the ink itself.

    “Do what you must. Stay in the shadows. 

    -Dorothea” 

    She had expected this. From the moment she penned her letter to the Divine, she had known the response would be little more than permission to do what she had already resolved to do. Yet, seeing the words in front of her, their brevity so stark and unflinching, she couldn’t deny the sinking feeling that settled in her chest. 

    However, what was also painfully clear from the note was that they would get no help from the Chantry at this point. Stay in the shadows. “She makes it sound so easy,” Ariana murmured to herself, her voice tight with frustration.

    Her gaze dropped to the paper, her fingers tightening on its edges before carefully setting it down. She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself. The worst-case scenario was no longer a looming possibility—it was here, tangible, staring back at her in the Divine’s measured handwriting. 

    The room around her seemed quieter, the distant murmur of the house muffled as her thoughts began to race. This was no longer about mere rumors or speculation. It was real. The Rangers, her network, her decisions—they were all that stood between the vulnerable and the inevitable chaos that seemed to be encroaching on Kirkwall and beyond. 

    Do what you must.

    The words echoed in her mind, an affirmation of the responsibility she bore. Yet, for all her resolve, the reality of what lay ahead sent a chill down her spine. 

    The creak of the door was soft, but Ariana knew who it was without looking. Isabel entered the room quietly, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. She paused when she saw Ariana’s expression, her usually steady gaze faltering as concern flickered across her face. 

    “Child?” Isabel asked softly, setting the cup down with care. “What is it?” 

    Ariana opened her eyes, the faintest hint of weariness in their depths. She gestured to the letter, her voice quiet. “The Divine… has responded.” 

    Isabel reached for the letter, her eyes narrowing as they scanned the short message. A faint sigh escaped her lips, the weight of the words not lost on her. “I see,” she murmured, her voice steady but sympathetic. 

    Ariana let out a shaky breath, her hands falling to her lap. “It is worse than I thought. She has effectively told me to prepare for the worst—to do what is necessary.” 

    Isabel rested a comforting hand on her shoulder, her grip firm and grounding. “You have faced worse odds, Ariana. This is not the first time you have been tasked with the impossible, and it will not be the last.” 

    “Fixing ‘all the things’ in Ferelden was one thing,” she said bitterly. “There were no shadows. Rebuilding a town didn’t defy anyone. But here? Stay in the shadows.” She laughed without humor. “As if this is just another piece in her grand game.” For a moment, she wondered if that’s all she had ever been—a piece to be moved until sacrificed, all for a larger, unseen strategy.

    “Then you will adapt,” Isabel said firmly, her voice cutting through Ariana’s rising anxiety with practiced ease. “Because that is what you do, child. You adapt, you endure, and you fight for what is right.” 

    Ariana nodded, though her mind remained clouded, the letter’s implications swirling in her thoughts like a storm. “The Rangers will need to be more careful than ever now. And the mages… Maker, if Meredith discovers what we are doing—” 

    For a moment, Ariana’s gaze softened, gratitude flickering in her hazel-green eyes. Isabel’s unwavering confidence in her was a lifeline, the steady presence she often relied upon when everything else felt unmoored. 

    She picked up the letter again, folding it neatly with deliberate care and tucking it away into a small lockbox on her desk. “Stay in the shadows,” she repeated softly. “It seems that is the only choice left.” 

    Isabel nodded, a faint smile gracing her lips as she squeezed Ariana’s shoulder. “And you’ll do it well. You always have.” 

    The soft creak of the library door interrupted them. Ariana’s head turned sharply, and her heart skipped a beat as Frederick appeared in the doorway. His brow furrowed slightly as his gaze darted between the two women, picking up on the faint tension lingering in the air. 

    “Is everything all right?” he asked, his tone light, though his sharp grey eyes betrayed his curiosity. “You both look like you’re plotting something dramatic.” 

    Ariana immediately schooled her expression into something calmer, her posture shifting as if shaking off the moment. She offered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just business,” she said with an airy tone, brushing her hands lightly along the desk. “A letter that needed sorting.” 

    Frederick’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, his expression searching as if trying to read between the lines. “Business,” he echoed skeptically, though his tone remained teasing. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re being purposefully vague?” 

    Isabel straightened, stepping back with a pointed glance at Ariana as if to silently say, this is yours to handle. “Because Ariana is purposefully vague,” Isabel replied dryly, a hint of humor easing the tension. She offered Frederick a polite smile. “I’ll fetch you both something to eat. No plotting on empty stomachs.” 

    Frederick chuckled as Isabel disappeared down the hall, leaving him alone with Ariana. He stepped further into the room, his gaze landing briefly on her desk before meeting her eyes again. “You’re not going to tell me what that was really about, are you?” 

    Ariana shook her head, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Not right now, Fred,” she said softly but firmly. “It’s just… things I need to sort out.” 

    He frowned, concern flickering across his face. “Does it have to do with what happened in the city? The Qunari? The injuries?” 

    Her smile faltered briefly, her fingers brushing absently over the edge of the desk. “Partially,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “The Qunari uprising… it changed everything. The chaos, the desperation… Maker, Fred, I saw things I’d rather not remember.” She paused, her gaze distant. “And yes, I got caught in the middle of it. Too close to the fighting.” 

    Frederick’s brow creased further. “Ari—” 

    “Don’t,” she cut in gently, holding up a hand. “I’m fine now. Truly. And I promise, it’s nothing you need to worry about.” 

    Frederick’s gaze lingered on her for a long moment, the concern still evident in his expression. Finally, he sighed, giving her a small, reluctant smile. “I know better than to press you when you’ve made up your mind.” 

    “At least you should know better,” she replied with a faint grin, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. 

    Frederick tilted his head, his tone lighter again. “For what it’s worth, you’re terrible at pretending you’re not up to something. You’ve always been the worst liar.” 

    Ariana laughed softly, shaking her head. “Only with you because you still let me get away with it.” 

    “For now,” he quipped, though the sincerity in his tone didn’t go unnoticed. “But if you need anything—anything at all—you’ll tell me, won’t you?” 

    Ariana’s expression softened, her gaze meeting his as she nodded. “I will,” she promised, though a part of her doubted she’d ever let him carry that burden. 

    Frederick seemed satisfied with that, leaning back against the nearby bookshelf with his easy, familiar smile. “Good. Now, let’s see what Isabel has prepared. If I remember correctly, she makes a mean lemon cake.” 

    Ariana chuckled, the heaviness in her chest lifting, if only slightly. “She does,” she replied, pushing herself up from the chair. “And you’ll owe me if I let you have the last slice.” 

    Frederick grinned, falling into step beside her as they left the library together. For now, the shadow war could wait—just a little longer.

    ~~~

    Ariana paced the length of the library, the Divine’s letter tucked securely in her pocket. The words weighed on her like chains, each step echoing her growing sense of entrapment. What if she’d been naive to think the Divine would ever act? Was she just a pawn, moved in a game far beyond her control? The thought sent a cold knot of anger and doubt tightening in her chest. The words felt like they burned there, a constant reminder of the dangerous path ahead. She had sent for Hawke and Varric as soon as the weight of the message settled. This wasn’t something she could manage alone.

    When Hawke and Varric arrived, the atmosphere in the estate was heavy. Isabel led them into the library, where Ariana stood by the table, a map of Kirkwall and its surrounding areas spread out, various notes and markings scattered across its surface. She turned to greet them, her expression serious but calm.

    “Pup,” Varric said, his tone light despite the tension in the room. “This must be something big if you’re calling us here so early.”

    Ariana offered a faint smile but didn’t return the jest. Instead, she retrieved the letter from her pocket and handed it to Hawke. “Here,” she said simply, her voice steady.

    Hawke’s eyes scanned the brief message, her brows knitting together as she passed it to Varric. “Do what you must,” she murmured, her tone dry but carrying an edge of understanding. “That’s ominous.”

    Varric read it next, his expression darkening slightly as he placed the letter back on the table. “She’s leaving it all on you, huh?” he said. “No guidance, no resources, just… good luck out there?”

    Ariana nodded, leaning against the edge of the table, though her mind remained clouded. Every word, every plan etched onto the map felt like a thread of a web she could no longer untangle. She had resolved to act, but the weight of knowing she might lead others into danger never fully left her. “Seems like it. But we don’t have time to dwell on what we don’t have. We have to move.”

    “What’s the plan, then?” Hawke asked, crossing her arms as she leaned back against a chair.

    Ariana gestured to the map. “Same plan we’ve been working, but now we need to start being faster and getting more people out. It also means we’ll need to start intercepting any mage transports into Kirkwall. Keep directing any mages you come across to the warehouse. The Rangers have it set up as a safe haven. From there, we can smuggle them out of Kirkwall to safety.”

    Hawke raised an eyebrow. “And if Meredith catches wind of this?”

    “She can’t,” Ariana said firmly. “We stay in the shadows. No one can know this is connected to the Rangers, or to me. If anyone asks, they’re just independent sympathizers.”

    Varric nodded, his fingers tapping idly on the edge of the table. “We should also alert our contacts in the mage underground. Let them know we’ll need to get better at this.”

    “I was hoping you’d bring that up,” Ariana said, glancing at Hawke. “Can you two handle that?”

    Hawke considered the question for a moment, her gaze drifting over the map. “We’ll talk to Anders. He should be able to coordinate with them.”

    “Good,” Ariana said, her tone resolute. “The more coordination we have, the better chance we have of avoiding detection.”

    Hawke straightened, meeting Ariana’s gaze. “You’re taking a big risk, you know.”

    “So are you,” Ariana replied. “But we’ve already seen what Meredith is capable of. If we don’t act, innocent people will suffer.”

    There was a moment of silence as the weight of the situation settled over the room. Varric broke it with a soft sigh. “Well, Hawke, it looks like we’re getting ready for war after all.”

    “Thank you,” Ariana said sincerely, her voice quiet but filled with gratitude. “Both of you.” 

    Hawke gave her a small smile. “Just promise me one thing.” 

    Ariana felt her curiosity stir, her gaze narrowing slightly as her mind raced to piece together Hawke’s cryptic words. “What’s that?” she asked, the question tinged with both suspicion and a flicker of concern. 

    Hawke’s smile widened, though there was a sharpness to her tone. “If this all goes sideways, don’t get yourself killed. I need someone to share the blame with.”

    Ariana chuckled softly, a small relief breaking through the tension. “Well… look at it this way. If I die, you won’t need to share that Champion of Kirkwall title.”

    Hawke’s laugh was quick and full, her tone playfully sharp as she leaned against the back of a chair. “Oh, didn’t you hear? Apparently, we’ll have to duel for the title.”

    Varric’s voice cut in smoothly, his usual swagger infused with mock seriousness. “For dramatic effect, naturally. I’ll make sure to pen the story so both of you look good. Can’t have the readers picking sides, after all.”

    Ariana shook her head, her lips curving into a wry smile. “You’d make it sound like we battled on the rooftops in a storm, wouldn’t you?”

    Varric grinned, tapping his chin as if deep in thought. “Hmm, now that you mention it, Pup, a thunderstorm could really set the scene. Adds a touch of gravitas to the whole affair.”

    Hawke raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “And who wins this epic duel, then?”

    “Depends who’s buying the drinks that night,” Varric replied smoothly.

    The banter rippled through the room like a calming tide, momentarily pulling Ariana from her thoughts. Yet beneath her faint smile, the weight of her responsibility simmered, a constant reminder that this fragile levity could shatter at any moment. Ariana allowed herself a brief moment to breathe, her gaze flicking to the map spread across the table, the lines and notes a stark reminder of the work ahead.

    Hawke’s tone softened, though her teasing edge remained. “In all seriousness, Ari, don’t get yourself killed. I like having you around, and besides… someone has to keep Varric in check.”

    Ariana’s expression gentled, her eyes meeting Hawke’s with quiet determination. “The feeling’s mutual. Just try not to get us both killed, alright?”

    Varric raised his hands in mock surrender. “Now, now, let’s not get sentimental. We’ve got a shadow war to run here, and I’d rather it not end with a tragic finale. Too many tears, not enough drinks.”

    “Noted,” Ariana replied, her voice lighter as she reached for her notes. “Let’s focus on keeping this as tear-free as possible, shall we?”

    Before any more could be said, the sound of footsteps approaching made all three of them pause. The door creaked open, and Frederick appeared in the entryway, his brow furrowed slightly as he took in the scene. “What’s all this? More scheming?” he asked, his tone casual but underpinned by curiosity.

    Varric and Hawke exchanged quick, wary glances, and Ariana straightened, stepping forward as if to intercept him. “Nothing to concern yourself with, Fred. Just… business.”

    Frederick tilted his head, his sharp grey eyes flicking between Ariana, Varric, and Hawke. “Business? With the Champion of Kirkwall? I’m not blind, Ari.”

    Ariana exhaled softly, her posture relaxing just a little. “It’s complicated, Fred. That’s all.”

    Frederick crossed his arms, his expression darkening slightly. “Is it as complicated as the rumors I’ve been hearing?”

    The room fell silent for a beat. Hawke and Varric stiffened almost imperceptibly, both of them glancing at Ariana for direction. Ariana’s brow furrowed slightly, her tone cautious as she asked, “What rumors?”

    Frederick took another step into the room, his gaze steady. “I’ve heard disturbing things about the Kirkwall Circle. It’s part of the reason I came.”

    Varric leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “What kind of disturbing things?”

    Frederick glanced at him before turning his focus back to Ariana. “The Knight-Commander of the Markham Circle reached out to me before I left. He’s an old friend, and… he’s worried. Deeply. He said there are whispers about Meredith’s methods—rumors that the Rite of Tranquility is being overused. That it’s being used as a weapon.”

    Ariana stilled, her heart sinking at the confirmation of what she already knew. This wasn’t just about saving lives anymore; it was about standing against a force far more corrupt than she had dared to admit. Her pulse quickened, and she felt the sting of bitter frustration—both at Meredith and at herself for not acting sooner. Yet to hear that others in the Templar Order were concerned was something else altogether. She exchanged a brief look with Hawke and Varric, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air.

    Frederick, clearly unsettled, continued. “The Markham Circle is small, you know that. It has no political weight, no real influence. The Knight-Commander there believes Meredith’s focus isn’t on protecting mages but on controlling them completely—breaking them. He’s afraid to investigate any further.”

    Ariana’s gaze lingered on Frederick, searching his face for any hint of doubt or exaggeration. She wanted to believe they weren’t fighting a losing battle, but each word he spoke reminded her how deep the shadows had grown. Could they truly face this and survive? There was none. She turned her attention to Varric and Hawke, who both seemed to reach the same conclusion she had.

    Finally, Hawke broke the silence. “And what do you think, Frederick?”

    Frederick frowned, his voice quiet but resolute. “I think if half of what I’ve heard is true, Meredith is a monster. And someone has to stop her.”

    Ariana let out a quiet breath, her decision already made. She glanced at Varric and Hawke again, seeing the understanding in their eyes before turning back to Frederick. “Fred… this isn’t just gossip. It’s worse than you know.”

    He blinked, surprise flickering across his face. “You’re saying it’s true?”

    Ariana nodded slowly. “It’s worse. We’ve seen it firsthand.”

    Frederick looked at her, his expression softening with concern. “Ari, if you’re in danger—”

    “I’m not,” she cut in gently, though her tone carried the weight of her resolve. “But the mages are. And I can’t ignore it.”

    Frederick studied her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. “You’re in the middle of this, aren’t you?”

    “We are,” Ariana admitted quietly, motioning towards Hawke and Varric. “And now, you’re part of it, too.”

    He let out a small breath, his lips quirking into a faint, resigned smile. “Well, I’ve never been one to sit on the sidelines, have I?”

    Varric snorted, shaking his head. “Looks like you picked a fine time to visit, my Lord.”

    Frederick’s grin grew, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Better late than never.”

    Ariana stepped forward, her expression softening. “Fred… you can still walk away from this. I’ll understand.”

    He shook his head firmly. “No. I told you, if you ever need me, I’m here. You’ll need allies, Ari. And I’ll be one of them.”

    Hawke smirked, arms crossed. “I like him already.”

    Ariana smiled faintly, warmth flickering in her chest as she looked between them. For the first time in days, she felt a spark of hope. They weren’t alone in this. Not anymore.

    ~~~

    Ariana had chosen her outfit carefully that day—a deep sapphire gown with elegant tailoring that hugged her figure. The high collar and subtle embroidery of the fabric spoke of noble refinement without being ostentatious. The soft shimmer of the material caught the sunlight as she walked, her steps steady but light as she made her way through the cobbled streets of Hightown.

    She had hoped a stroll might help clear her thoughts. She asked Frederick for his company, needing someone to talk to, someone whose perspective she trusted. The Divine’s letter, the mages, the Rangers—it all weighed heavily on her.

    “You said the Markham Circle is small,” Ariana began softly, careful to keep her voice low as they walked side by side. “But can you find out if they have room to take in mages?”

    Frederick quirked an eyebrow, glancing at her with curiosity. “Of course, but why do you ask?”

    Ariana let out a faint sigh. “Part of our task, if we confirm the suspicions about the Rite of Tranquility, is to divert mages bound for Kirkwall elsewhere. But not all of them want to become apostates—some just want to be safe.” She let her words hang in the air for a moment, glancing at him. “It would be easier if we had Circles willing to accept mages quietly.”

    Frederick’s expression turned thoughtful, his voice measured. “You’re organizing something far bigger than you’re letting on, aren’t you?”

    Before she could answer, a sharp voice cut through the hum of Hightown. Ariana felt her stomach twist slightly, her thoughts snapping to attention as her mind raced to interpret the tension in that voice.

    “Ariana Trevelyan.”

    They turned in unison to find Knight-Commander Meredith standing a few paces behind them, her crimson-lined armor catching the sunlight, making her look more imposing than ever. Her piercing gaze scanned Ariana from head to toe, lingering with calculated scrutiny. There was no attempt at subtlety in her judgment.

    Frederick instinctively shifted a half-step closer, placing himself slightly in front of Ariana, his shoulders squaring as if shielding her.

    “I wondered how long it would take for our paths to cross,” Meredith continued, her tone clipped.

    Ariana’s expression remained neutral, though her back straightened instinctively. “Knight-Commander,” she replied evenly, inclining her head in a gesture that was polite but far from deferential.

    Meredith’s sharp eyes lingered on Frederick for only a second before turning back to Ariana. “It has come to my attention that you have been occupying a great deal of the Knight-Captain’s time.”

    “I’m certain that any time I’ve occupied has been during his off-duty hours only, Knight-Commander,” Ariana responded calmly despite the frustration that was beginning to settle in her chest.

    Meredith held her gaze, unyielding “It has also come to my attention that the Knight-Captain brought you to the Gallows and arranged for you to be tended to by several Circle mages. A careless use of magic caused by his distraction with you.”

    “Yes, I’m sure my dying would have been a far more convenient and less careless an act on the Knight-Captain’s part.” Ariana quipped, her tone purposefully light “However, I believe if you have concerns about his actions or his duties–“

    “His duties, girl, are of paramount importance—”

    “Lady Trevelyan,” Frederick interrupted smoothly, his tone cold and firm, cutting through Meredith’s condescension like a blade. “It is only proper that you address her as such. I am Lord Frederick Decken, son of the Duke Victor Decken of Markham. It is not often I see Templars addressing individuals of noble blood with such… directness.”

    Meredith’s gaze flicked to him sharply, clearly unamused, but Frederick stood his ground, his noble poise unwavering.

    Ariana glanced at Frederick with the faintest hint of appreciation before continuing, her tone measured but pointed. “If you are concerned about Cullen’s focus on his duties, perhaps you should address that matter with him directly. I am not privy to his assignments.”

    The flash of irritation that crossed Meredith’s face was fleeting, but Ariana caught it. Her chest tightened as the weight of Meredith’s words settled in—a subtle but undeniable threat to Cullen, to her, and to everything they were trying to protect. “You would do well to understand the delicate balance in this city,” Meredith said, her voice low and heavy with warning. “There are matters at play here that you cannot begin to comprehend.”

    “Oh, I am quite familiar with delicate balances,” Ariana replied, her tone sweetly polite, though her words carried weight. “Speaking of which, has there been any progress in the search for a new Viscount? Surely, the city cannot function properly without civilian leadership.”

    Meredith’s expression darkened, though she forced a tight smile. “The current situation requires stability. A change in leadership would be… premature.”

    “Curious,” Ariana said, her gaze unwavering. “I was under the impression that the Chantry frowns upon Templars wielding power in civilian matters. I imagine that must make this situation… uncomfortable for you.”

    Meredith’s jaw tightened, her composure slipping just a fraction. “I would caution you to tread carefully, Lady Trevelyan. Kirkwall is not a place for outsiders to meddle.”

    Frederick interjected, his voice calm but cutting, every word laced with noble authority. “Forgive me, Knight-Commander, but I must remind you that Lady Trevelyan is hardly an outsider. She has resided in Kirkwall for some time now, and as the daughter of one of Ostwick’s most prominent houses, she has every right to concern herself with the city’s wellbeing.”

    Meredith’s glare turned icy, but Frederick pressed on, unshaken. Ariana’s tension eased slightly at his calm confidence, but her mind churned, already anticipating the ripple effects of this confrontation. “Moreover, I agree with Lady Trevelyan in this matter. What I have witnessed here is deeply troubling, and I do intend to bring this back to my father in Markham and the noble houses of Ostwick. The other city-states will undoubtedly find it… unsettling to hear that Kirkwall appears to be under what one might call Templar occupation.”

    The subtle emphasis on the last words made Meredith’s face flush with barely restrained anger. “You speak of things you do not understand, my Lord.”

    “Do I?” Frederick replied smoothly, tilting his head in a way that somehow made the air even heavier. “Or do I speak of matters the Chantry might wish to address before they attract further… scrutiny?”

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed, her composure visibly cracking, though she held her silence for a moment longer. Finally, with an abrupt turn, she barked, “Good day, Lady Trevelyan. Lord Decken.”

    With that, Meredith spun on her heel and strode off, her crimson-lined cloak snapping behind her like the crack of a whip.

    The silence that followed was thick, punctuated only by the whispers of a few nobles lingering nearby who had clearly witnessed the exchange. Ariana felt the weight of their stares, the cold judgment of the court she had long since learned to navigate. But beneath her composed exterior, unease flickered—this exchange would carry far beyond Hightown’s cobbled streets.

    Ariana exhaled slowly, tension bleeding from her shoulders as she turned to Frederick. Gratitude flickered in her eyes, but beneath it lay a faint shadow of concern. “That was bold, even for you,” she murmured, her tone light but edged with sincerity. “You didn’t have to do that.”

    Frederick shrugged lightly, though there was a quiet resolve in his voice. “Of course I did. Your Knight-Captain ordered me to take care of you,” he joked, “And I meant what I said, Ari. I won’t let you stand alone in this. If I can take this fight into the light, to Markham, to the other city-states… well, that’s one less battle you need to fight from the shadows.”

    Ariana’s expression softened, genuine relief breaking through her carefully guarded demeanor. “Thank you, Fred.” Her voice softened, and for a moment, the weight of her burdens lifted. “You don’t know how much it means.”

    “Don’t thank me yet,” Frederick said with a small, self-deprecating smile. “I suspect Meredith is already plotting the fastest way to get rid of me.”

    Ariana laughed softly, shaking her head. “Just do try to not get yourself killed. I would feel bad about that… and I would miss you.”

    They continued walking toward the estate, Ariana aware of the lingering gazes from the nobles they passed. The story would spread like wildfire by the evening—Lady Trevelyan and Lord Decken standing up to the Knight-Commander. Ariana could only hope it wouldn’t come back to bite them.

    As they reached the estate, Frederick turned to her again, his expression serious. “She’s dangerous, Ari. You know that, don’t you?”

    “I know,” Ariana replied quietly, her gaze steady. “But someone has to stand up to her.”

    Frederick studied her for a long moment before nodding, his voice unwavering. “And I’ll be here to make sure you don’t have to do it alone.”

    ~~~

    A sharp knock echoed through Cullen’s quarters as he sat at his desk, buried in the endless reports that came with his station. The flicker of a nearby candle cast shadows over the papers, but his focus had begun to waver. “Enter,” he called, his voice steady despite his growing fatigue.

    The door creaked open to reveal a young Templar, his posture rigid and expression tense. He stepped inside, hesitating just long enough to catch Cullen’s attention.

    “Knight-Captain,” the Templar began, his tone careful, “there has been an… incident in Hightown. It involved the Knight-Commander, Lady Trevelyan, and Lord Decken.”

    Cullen immediately straightened in his chair, his heart skipping a beat at the mention of Ariana. “What happened?” he asked, his voice calm but firm, laced with urgency. “Be specific.”

    The Templar’s gaze flickered uncertainly before he continued, his words measured. “The confrontation occurred in full view of several nobles. Knight-Commander Meredith appeared… displeased with Lady Trevelyan’s presence in Hightown and her association with you, and…” the Templar paused, clearly uncomfortable.

    “And?” Cullen demanded, annoyance clear on his face.

    “And she was displeased that Lady Trevelyan had been brought here to recover from her injuries. The Knight-Commander suggested it was a ‘careless’ use of magic to save Lady Trevelyan’s life. However, Lady Trevelyan and Lord Decken were both… unyielding.”

    Cullen clenched his fists. Careless use of magic? The thought infuriated him. Could Meredith really believe he should have let Ariana die that night?

    He shook the thought from his mind and leaned forward. “Unyielding?” The single word was a prompt, one that carried the weight of his growing concern.

    The Templar nodded, a faint unease coloring his expression. “Meredith questioned Lady Trevelyan’s… influence over you and made it clear she did not approve. Lady Trevelyan, however, insisted that any concerns regarding your duties should be addressed to you directly. She… also pointed out that the Chantry traditionally opposes Templars exerting undue civilian authority, especially in the absence of a Viscount.”

    Cullen let out a slow, measured breath. His jaw tightened as the Templar’s account began to solidify the scene in his mind—Meredith’s sharp rebukes, Ariana’s calm but pointed responses, and the tension simmering between them.

    “And Lord Decken?” Cullen asked, his tone clipped.

    The Templar hesitated again, as though reluctant to recount the full exchange. “Lord Decken stepped in when the Knight-Commander addressed Lady Trevelyan… improperly,” he explained carefully. “He reminded her of Lady Trevelyan’s noble station and made it clear that speaking to her in such a manner was unacceptable.”

    The corner of Cullen’s mouth twitched slightly, though he quickly suppressed any sign of amusement. “I see,” he said, gesturing for the Templar to continue.

    The young man cleared his throat, clearly choosing his next words with care. “Lord Decken went further, stating that he would report the incident to his father in Markham and to the city-state of Ostwick. He expressed concern that Kirkwall’s governance… or lack thereof, might cause unrest among the Free Marches.”

    Cullen sat back, rubbing his temples as the full weight of the situation settled on him. He could almost hear Frederick’s voice, the carefully measured tone of a nobleman wielding influence like a weapon.

    “How did Meredith respond to that?” Cullen asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

    The Templar hesitated, then replied, “The Knight-Commander left abruptly. She was… visibly displeased.”

    Visibly displeased. That was an understatement. Cullen exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair as he stared down at his desk. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” he said finally, his tone steady but clipped. “You are dismissed.”

    The Templar bowed slightly and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Cullen sat in silence for a moment, his thoughts a whirlwind.

    Ariana, with her sharp wit and unwavering determination, standing her ground against Meredith—it was both predictable and infuriating. And Frederick’s involvement only complicated matters further. Cullen felt a flicker of pride for them both, though it was overshadowed by the gnawing unease that had begun to settle in his chest.

    He knew Meredith too well. She wouldn’t see this as a mere disagreement or even an isolated challenge. She would see it as an affront, a direct threat to her authority. And Meredith did not take threats lightly.

    Cullen leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the flickering candlelight. He wasn’t angry with Ariana—how could he be? She hadn’t sought out this confrontation. Meredith had provoked her. And yet, Cullen couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

    She stood her ground, but at what cost?

    He could no longer deny the pattern. Meredith’s disdain for Ariana wasn’t just personal—it was a symptom of something far larger. She was tightening her grip on Kirkwall, and anyone who stood in her way, mage or otherwise, was a threat to be crushed. If she would call saving a life ‘careless,’ what hope did the mages have of being seen as anything other than tools to be controlled or discarded?

    With a weary sigh, Cullen stood. Whatever Meredith’s next move, he needed to be ready—not just for Ariana, but for everyone caught in her shadow.

    ~~~

    Ariana, Frederick, and Isabel sat in the kitchen, their conversation circling through lighter topics before inevitably returning to the day’s events.

    Isabel let out a quiet breath, both exasperated and impressed. “Still, you know how these things spread, child. By tomorrow, Hightown will be buzzing, and Cullen will hear of it sooner rather than later.”

    “I have never seen a Templar act the way Meredith did…” Frederick said, his tone tinged with confusion. “It seems Markham is right—she’s certainly wielding far more power than is appropriate.”

    Ariana leaned back slightly in her chair, exhaling softly. “She took advantage of the Qunari uprising and the Viscount’s death. With no civilian leadership, she’s been free to operate without oversight.”

    “That woman knows how to seize opportunities,” Isabel interjected, her tone edged with reluctant acknowledgment. “Her skill in that regard cannot be denied.”

    Ariana turned to Frederick, her gaze serious. “Frederick, find out about the Circle in Markham. Let me know if they can take in any mages. If we’re going to divert them from Kirkwall, we need safe places for them to go.”

    Frederick nodded, though his expression turned serious. “Just be mindful, Ari. You’re playing a dangerous game with someone who holds all the power in this city. I’ll help however I can. And I did mean it when I said I will take this back to my father.”

    Ariana met his gaze, a flicker of gratitude crossing her features. “I know. Thank you, Fred. Though, I have a feeling Meredith now sees us both as a threat.”

    Frederick looked contemplative, glancing toward Ariana. “This wasn’t just about you and Cullen, was it?” he asked. “Her reaction—it felt personal.”

    “I think in a way it was,” Ariana replied. “She wants me to step aside, to let her dictate his life, his choices. I think from her perspective I’ve stolen her protégé.” Ariana’s thoughts raced as she spoke. Varric had once told her how quickly Cullen had risen through the ranks after arriving in Kirkwall—a hollow man, driven only by duty and pain. But that wasn’t the Cullen she knew. His growth, his confidence, even his willingness to question orders—all of it had come after they’d reconnected. Meredith’s protégé might have followed her without question, but now? Ariana realized she had indeed taken something from Meredith, though not in the way the Knight-Commander believed. She had simply helped Cullen find himself again.”

    Frederick leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Do you think this will end with words, or is she planning something more?”

    Before Ariana could respond, the sound of the front door opening sent all three of them glancing toward the hallway. Their postures stiffened instinctively, the tension of the day making them alert. A moment later, Cullen appeared in the doorway, his presence filling the room with an unspoken urgency.

    “Ari,” he began without preamble, his golden eyes moving between her and Frederick. “What happened today? Why did you challenge Meredith?”

    Ariana raised an eyebrow, her irritation flickering to the surface. Why did I challenge Meredith? The question struck her like a sharp slap, her thoughts bristling. Is that really what he thinks? That I sought her out for sport? Her expression cooled as she met his gaze. “Why did I…? Cullen, I was out for a walk. She accosted me in the middle of the street. What was I supposed to do, bow down and apologize for my existence?”

    Frederick leaned back slightly, his expression calm but watchful. “If anything, Knight-Captain,” he interjected smoothly, “it was Meredith who provoked Ariana. She treated her with a disrespect unbecoming of her station, and I simply couldn’t stand by and let that continue.”

    Cullen’s gaze flicked to Frederick, a mix of gratitude and wariness in his eyes. “I’ve heard what happened,” he said, his tone measured. “But I also heard you plan to take this back to your father—and potentially the other city-states.” There was a note of caution in his voice now. “Do you think that’s wise? It could escalate things further.”

    Frederick studied Cullen for a moment before replying, his tone steady but firm. “It may escalate things, yes,” he admitted. “But the Free Marches operates on mutual respect and shared values. For one city-state to operate under Templar rule would be deeply concerning to the others.”

    Cullen frowned, his arms crossing as he leaned against the doorframe. “You must realize how dangerous this could be. Meredith will not respond kindly to outside interference.”

    “I don’t expect she will,” Frederick countered, though his tone remained diplomatic. “But that does not mean she should go unchecked. I don’t intend to send an army to her doorstep, Knight-Captain. I intend to share my observations with Markham and Ostwick’s leaders—quietly, for now. If Kirkwall’s stability is truly at risk, it’s better that the city-states are aware of it sooner rather than later.”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, his concern evident. “And if this scrutiny puts more pressure on Kirkwall? If it makes Meredith’s grip even stronger?”

    Frederick’s gaze sharpened, though his voice remained calm. “If she tightens her grip, then she reveals her intentions for all to see. And that,” he said pointedly, “may be the very thing that forces change.”

    Ariana’s expression softened slightly as she glanced between the two men. “Frederick’s right,” she said, her tone quiet but resolute. “The Free Marches stands together, Cullen. If one city-state falters, the others will act. It’s always been that way.”

    Cullen sighed heavily, his hand running through his hair. “I just don’t want this to spiral out of control,” he muttered, his frustration evident. “Meredith is already watching you, Ari. This will only make things worse.”

    “She’s already watching me,” Ariana replied evenly. “What’s one more reason for her to glare at me from across the Gallows?”

    Frederick chuckled softly, though his expression remained serious. “Don’t worry, Knight-Captain. I’ve been in enough diplomatic circles to know how to tread lightly. For now, I’m simply gathering information.”

    Cullen’s gaze lingered on Frederick for a moment, his expression softening slightly. “Just be careful,” he said, his tone quiet but sincere. “Meredith isn’t someone to underestimate.”

    “Nor am I,” Frederick replied with a faint smile. “But your warning is noted, Knight-Captain.”

    Ariana stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on Cullen’s arm. “I know you’re worried,” she said gently. “But I promise you—today wasn’t about picking a fight. I handled myself, and Frederick has only ever had my back.”

    Cullen’s hazel eyes softened as he looked at her, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I know,” he said quietly. “I just… don’t want to see either of you hurt.”

    Frederick smiled faintly, his tone lighter now. “Well, I’ve been following Ariana into trouble since we were children. I don’t intend to stop now.”

    Ariana was quietly grateful for having Frederick back in her life. And this new version of their friendship felt as it always should have been.

    The room relaxed slightly as the tension eased. Isabel, who had been listening quietly from the pantry, stepped forward with a raised eyebrow. “Well,” she said dryly, setting down a plate of hearth cakes, “it’s good to see you boys aren’t at each other’s throats. Let’s hope that continues.”

    Her humor was met with faint smiles, but the weight of the day’s events lingered. Cullen took a seat beside Ariana, the four of them sharing a quiet moment of understanding as the fire crackled softly in the hearth.

    ~~~

    The Gallows courtyard was alive with the clink of swords and the low murmur of voices as Cullen oversaw the morning drills. A group of recruits stood before him, their stances awkward as they tried to mimic his instructions. His voice was patient yet firm, guiding them with a steady presence.

    The sharp sound of boots striking stone interrupted the rhythm, and Cullen’s gaze shifted to see Knight-Commander Meredith approaching with her usual air of purpose. Her expression was taut with displeasure, her movements clipped. She stopped a few paces away, her piercing gaze locking onto him.

    “Knight-Captain,” she said curtly, her tone brooking no argument. “I need a word.”

    Cullen nodded to the recruits, signaling for them to continue their drills. “Of course, Knight-Commander,” he replied, his tone calm and measured. “What is it?”

    Meredith wasted no time. “It concerns Lady Trevelyan—and her companion, Lord Decken,” she began, her voice laced with irritation. “Their behavior yesterday was not only disrespectful but a threat to the stability of this city.”

    Cullen’s brow furrowed, unease stirring in him. “I’ve heard about the exchange,” he said cautiously. “From several witnesses.”

    Her lips thinned, but her irritation remained unchecked. “Then you know how reckless their actions were. Lady Trevelyan questioned my authority in front of onlookers, and Lord Decken—” Meredith’s voice dropped into a disdainful sneer, “—saw fit to threaten political repercussions. Do you not see how dangerous such influence can be?”

    Cullen’s jaw tightened, though his voice remained steady. “Knight-Commander,” he began carefully, “from the accounts I’ve received, Lady Trevelyan and Lord Decken were responding to your approach. They did not seek out conflict.”

    Meredith’s eyes flashed with anger, but she pressed on. “It matters little who initiated the conversation. Their words were inflammatory, undermining the authority of the Templars in a city that is already volatile. Someone like Lady Trevelyan—” she paused, her voice growing colder, sharper, “—is a destabilizing influence. And Lord Decken? He is a meddler, an outsider with no place here.”

    Cullen’s hazel eyes darkened, though his tone remained composed. “With respect, Knight-Commander, Lord Decken is the son of the Duke of Markham, and Lady Trevelyan is of Ostwick’s most prominent families. One with deep ties to the Chantry. They are hardly outsiders.”

    Meredith’s posture stiffened, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “Titles mean little here, Knight-Captain,” she snapped. “Kirkwall is not like the other city-states in the Free Marches. We cannot afford the luxuries of their politics. Her defiance—their defiance—can only sow division.”

    Cullen took a step forward, his expression unwavering. “With respect, Knight-Commander, Lady Trevelyan and Lord Decken did not act with defiance but with dignity. They addressed you with the respect owed to your station, even as they defended their own. To call their actions destabilizing seems… excessive.”

    Meredith’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the tension between them was palpable. “You may believe that,” she said icily, “but I assure you, Knight-Captain, their influence—her influence—will prove a distraction at best and a danger at worst. You would do well to consider the company you keep.”

    “Is this truly about their influence?” Cullen asked quietly, his voice firm. “Or is it about your disapproval of their association with me?”

    Meredith’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes flashing with restrained fury. “Your loyalties, Knight-Captain, are under scrutiny,” she said sharply. “Do not let misplaced affections cloud your judgment—or your duties.”

    Cullen’s voice lowered, his tone firm. “If you are questioning my duties, Knight-Commander, I would ask where I have faltered. Have I failed in my responsibilities?”

    Meredith’s mouth tightened into a thin line, her tone icy. “Your duties are not in question, but your judgment is. Bringing Lady Trevelyan to the Gallows for healing was a careless use of our resources.”

    “Careless?” he repeated, his voice low and measured, but with an edge of restrained anger. “Would you have had me let her die?”

    Meredith’s silence was deliberate, her gaze like ice. Cullen felt the words hang between them, cutting deeper than he expected. Misplaced affections, he thought bitterly. Meredith’s disdain for Ariana—and now Frederick—was not only personal but dangerously calculated. She saw them as threats, and she was determined to neutralize them.

    Cullen exhaled slowly, forcing his composure. “Knight-Commander, if you believe my association with Lady Trevelyan compromises my duties, I welcome a formal review.” His tone sharpened slightly. “But I will not stand for baseless accusations against those who have done nothing but act with integrity.”

    Meredith’s glare deepened, but she seemed to realize she would gain no ground here. With a sharp pivot, she turned on her heel, her crimson-lined cloak snapping behind her like a whip. “Watch yourself, Knight-Captain,” she said over her shoulder, her tone low and laced with warning.

    Her words struck a chord deeper than he wanted to admit. Ariana, with her unyielding courage, and Frederick, with his careful diplomacy, were weaving themselves into the fabric of Kirkwall’s politics. And while Cullen admired their strength, he couldn’t shake the nagging fear that Meredith’s wrath would fall harder on them because of him.

    He let out a weary sigh, his gaze shifting back to the recruits in the courtyard. What are we walking into, Ari? he thought, his chest tightening with a mix of pride and dread. And how do I protect you from it?

  • Chapter 35 – An Old Friend

    7 Cloudreach 9:34

    The past week had been blessedly quiet—a mercy Cullen hadn’t realized he needed until now. The stillness had given Ariana the space to find her footing again, and he could see the difference in her with each passing day. Though not yet fully herself, she moved with a grace that made him catch his breath. The spark of her smile, the way she leaned into him during their quiet moments, and the light in her hazel-green eyes that had been missing for so long—it all felt like the sun breaking through a long storm.

    Their fingers intertwined as they strolled side by side through the cobblestone streets of Hightown, the sun casting a warm glow over the bustling market stalls. Cullen found himself glancing down at their joined hands, his thumb brushing lightly over hers. He hadn’t realized how much he craved these small moments of connection until now.

    Ariana squeezed his hand gently, her steps careful but steady. To anyone watching, she appeared as poised and confident as ever, her injuries well-hidden beneath her deliberate grace. Cullen, however, noticed every subtle shift in her movements, every slight hitch in her breath. He remained attuned to her in a way that made him both proud and protective.

    “And then,” he said, his chuckle breaking the stillness, “the recruit raises his shield—except he’s holding it upside down. Completely oblivious. He honestly thought that’s how it worked.”

    Ariana’s laugh rang out, light and melodic, her grip on his hand tightening briefly. “Please tell me you didn’t embarrass him in front of everyone.”

    “I didn’t have to,” Cullen replied, his grin widening. “The others were too busy laughing. I might have let it go on a bit longer than I should have. But he learned to check his equipment properly after that.”

    Ariana shook her head, her hazel-green eyes sparkling as she glanced at him. “I’d say you’re cruel, but knowing you, you probably stayed late to help him practice.”

    Cullen shrugged, his smile softening. “Maybe. Someone has to.”

    Ariana tilted her head, her smile warm. “You know, you’re a lot softer than most would think.”

    He chuckled, his golden eyes crinkling at the corners. “Don’t let the recruits hear you say that.”

    “Don’t worry,” she teased, leaning in just slightly. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

    Cullen’s heart swelled at her words, his fingers tightening around hers. He wanted this moment to last, to savor the rare peace they’d found together. But just as Ariana opened her mouth to speak again, a voice called out from across the square.

    “Ari!”

    Ariana stopped mid-step, her hand still in Cullen’s. For a moment, her expression was unreadable, but then her lips curved into a wide smile. She let go of his hand, and Cullen felt the absence of her touch immediately. 

    “Fred!” she called back, her voice filled with excitement. 

    Before Cullen could fully process what was happening, Ariana took off running. She moved with the same confidence she always did, but this was different—carefree, unguarded. Cullen stood frozen as he watched her leap into the arms of the man who had called out to her. 

    He caught her effortlessly, his dark brown hair catching the light as he spun her around. They were both laughing, and for a moment, the sight unsettled Cullen in a way he couldn’t quite name. 

    He set her down gently, his hands lingering on her waist as he said something Cullen couldn’t hear from this distance. Ariana’s laughter faded into a softer smile as she replied, her head tilting slightly as if in playful admonishment. 

    Cullen stood where she had left him, his hands loosely clasped in front of him. He tried to push down the sharp pang of jealousy that flared in his chest. He had never seen her like this with anyone besides him—this unreserved, this free. 

    The rational part of him reminded him that there was nothing to be concerned about. Ariana was his—her strength, her will, her choices. But the sight of another man holding her, his expression warm and familiar, stirred doubts he thought he had buried. 

    Fred, Cullen thought, the name standing out sharply in his mind. He looked the part of someone Ariana could be with—a nobleman, poised and polished, with the kind of easy charm that seemed effortless. Cullen’s mind flicked back to what Ariana had told him months earlier, about the Chantry wanting her to reconsider her engagement. Is this him? 

    It wasn’t that Cullen didn’t trust her—he did, implicitly—but he couldn’t ignore the unease creeping into his thoughts. The way his hand lingered on her waist, the warmth in his smile, the shared laughter that seemed to speak of years of familiarity—it all chipped away at Cullen’s carefully maintained composure. 

    For a moment, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering. Is this the life she was supposed to have? The doubt came unbidden, and though he pushed it down, it left its mark. He was everything Cullen wasn’t—noble, refined, a man who could give her a life free of the burdens they carried. 

    Then, as though sensing his thoughts, Ariana turned back toward him. Her smile was radiant, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. It wasn’t the kind of smile she offered everyone—it was meant for him, filled with a warmth that chased away his doubts. 

    Frederick followed her gaze, his own expression curious as he turned to face Cullen. The two men locked eyes for a moment, and though no words were spoken, the air between them seemed to shift. 

    Cullen straightened his posture, his hands relaxing at his sides as he waited for them to return, though his mind churned with questions he wasn’t sure he wanted answers to. 

    Ariana said something to Frederick, her smile lingering as she gestured toward Cullen. Whatever it was, Cullen couldn’t hear it, but the slight nod Frederick gave in response made Cullen’s chest tighten. 

    Who is he to her? Cullen wondered, even as he pushed the thought aside. 

    The moment stretched on, and though Cullen stood rooted in place, his world suddenly felt a little less steady.

    ~~~

    The sun warmed Ariana’s shoulders as she dashed across the cobbled streets of Hightown. “Fred!” she called, her voice carrying across the bustling square.

    Frederick’s grin widened as he stepped toward her, arms opening just in time to catch her as she leapt. He spun her around effortlessly, the movement accompanied by her delighted laughter. For a moment, it was as though no time had passed—just the two of them, as they’d been before everything had changed.

    “Thank you,” Frederick said softly as he set her back down, his hands resting lightly on her waist. His dark grey eyes held hers with sincerity. “For forgiving me. For…everything.”

    Ariana flinched slightly when her feet touched the ground, a sharp intake of breath escaping before she could stop it. Frederick’s brow furrowed, his concern immediate. “Are you alright?”

    She waved him off quickly, forcing a faint smile. “It’s nothing. Just…a leftover from the Qunari uprising. I’ll tell you later.”

    Frederick hesitated, his eyes scanning her for any sign of pain, but he relented with a small nod. “Alright, if you say so.”

    Ariana’s smile softened, her own voice quieter now. “Fred, I was upset, yes. But I’d never change anything that happened. You were my best friend. And in a way, I think I should be thankful.”

    He tilted his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Thankful? For running off into the unknown and leaving me to face the wrath of our families?”

    She nudged his arm lightly, laughing. “Yes. Because it led me here. To the life I was supposed to live.”

    His expression turned more contemplative, a trace of melancholy slipping in. “I’ve missed you, Ari. All these years. Maker, how I’ve missed my best friend.”

    Her heart ached at his words, and she reached out, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I missed you too,” she said sincerely. “Want to find a tree to climb? I could probably beat you to the top.”

    Frederick laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Can’t say anyone has dared me to climb a tree since you.” He glanced over his shoulder at the two personal guards lingering nearby, their expressions as stony as ever. “Though I doubt these two would let me, even if there were trees in Hightown to climb.”

    Ariana grinned. “You’re right. There aren’t many trees here. But I can take you somewhere if you’re desperate.”

    Frederick chuckled, shaking his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I think they’d have my head if I returned to Markham with dirt under my nails.”

    They both laughed, the easy camaraderie between them feeling as natural as ever.

    As the laughter faded, Ariana glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “I’ve heard your mother’s been setting up marriage arrangements. And that you’ve been turning them all down.”

    Frederick sighed, the humor fading from his face. “She has. Relentlessly. But what you said in your letter… it rang true. I want to find someone who truly loves me, for who I am and not for the title I can give them.”

    Ariana’s smile grew, touched by his resolve. “I’m glad, Fred. You deserve that.”

    Frederick’s gaze softened, and then his eyes flicked past her to Cullen, who stood patiently where she had left him, his golden eyes unreadable from this distance. “And you?” Frederick asked, his tone turning teasing. “Can I guess you’ve found your knight in shining armor?”

    Ariana followed his gaze, her cheeks warming as her smile softened. “I did,” she admitted, her voice filled with quiet pride. “I love him, Fred.”

    Frederick turned back to her, a grin spreading across his face. “He definitely looks the part,” he teased. “And he’s undeniably handsome.”

    Ariana laughed, shaking her head. “And he’s the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall,” she added, her tone carrying a hint of pride.

    Frederick arched a brow, his grin widening. “Only Knight-Captain? Couldn’t find yourself a Knight-Commander then?”

    “Oh, don’t worry,” Ariana replied, her tone light and confident. “I wholly expect he’ll be the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall soon enough.” She gestured toward Cullen. “Come meet him. I think you’ll like him.”

    Frederick glanced at Cullen again, his smile turning curious. “If he’s anything like you, Ari, I think I will.”

    With that, Ariana looped her arm through Frederick’s, and together, they walked back toward Cullen. Her heart felt lighter, caught somewhere between the warmth of her past and the quiet certainty of her present.

    ~~~

    The moment Ariana and Frederick reached him, Cullen’s sharp eyes caught the subtle shift in her demeanor. She let go of Frederick’s arm as soon as she was close enough, slipping her hand through Cullen’s instead. The motion was so fluid, so natural, that it left no room for misinterpretation. As Ariana pressed closer to him, Cullen felt a surge of warmth when she tilted her head up slightly, her expression bright as she turned to address Frederick.

    “This is Knight-Captain Cullen,” Ariana said, her voice carrying an unmistakable fondness. Her free arm snaked around Cullen in an almost protective gesture, making him instinctively respond in kind. His arm moved to rest lightly around her waist, holding her close. “Cullen, this is Lord Frederick Decken, my best friend. We grew up together.”

    Cullen’s gaze flicked to Frederick, who smiled politely, his dark grey eyes warm and friendly. This was the man Ariana had been engaged to, the one she’d spoken of in passing. Yet, whatever jealousy had lingered earlier melted away in that moment. The way Ariana leaned into him now, the quiet but unmistakable statement she made by standing so close, her arm wrapped securely around his back—it left no room for doubt. She was his, and she wanted everyone, including Frederick, to know it.

    “My Lord,” Cullen said, extending his free hand with a small smile. “It’s good to meet you.”

    Frederick took the offered handshake, his grip firm but amiable. “Likewise, Knight-Captain. And it’s just Frederick, please. I’ve heard much about you from Bann Trevelyan.”

    “All good, I hope,” Cullen replied with a light chuckle, his tone easy. 

    “It is.” Frederick began, his smile turning mischievous, “And given the way she’s holding on to you now, I’m guessing you’re doing something right.”

    Ariana rolled her eyes but laughed softly. “Don’t listen to him. He’s been teasing me like this since we were kids.” She tilted her head toward Cullen, her hazel-green eyes sparkling. “Should we find somewhere to sit?”

    Cullen nodded, his arm still resting lightly around her waist. “Why don’t you join us for lunch, Frederick?” he offered. “We were just on our way to Café d’Or.”

    Frederick hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “I’d like that,” he said warmly.

    The café was quiet, sunlight streaming through the windows as the three of them settled at a corner table. Ariana sat beside Cullen, her hand occasionally brushing his as they shared the small space. Frederick, across from them, leaned back in his chair with the ease of someone well-accustomed to noble gatherings, but his focus was wholly on Ariana.

    “Do you remember Summerday when you were eleven?” Frederick asked with a grin. “The ball in Markham? You insisted we sneak out after dinner because you ‘weren’t ready for the night to end.’”

    Ariana groaned, though the laughter in her voice betrayed her amusement. “Yes, and you tattled on me to the steward.”

    “I tattled,” Frederick retorted, raising an eyebrow, “because you decided to climb one of the trellises in your brand-new dress. Your mother would’ve had my head if I let you ruin it completely.”

    Cullen chuckled, his gaze shifting between the two of them. “That sounds about right,” he said, his tone wry. “She does have a way of pulling people into her schemes.”

    “She always has,” Frederick agreed, his smile wide. “And the worst part was, I always went along with it. I should’ve known better, but I never could say no to her.”

    “Oh, come on,” Ariana said, waving a hand dismissively. “It wasn’t all bad. I taught you how to climb trees properly, didn’t I?”

    Frederick laughed, shaking his head. “You taught me how to fall out of trees as well.”

    Ariana tilted her head, pretending to consider this. “You never broke anything at least.”

    The table erupted into laughter, the ease between them palpable. Cullen listened with a quiet contentment, chiming in occasionally as Frederick recounted more childhood tales of Ariana’s mischief. Late arrivals to balls, mud-stained dresses, and all the antics of a girl who never quite fit into the mold of a perfect noble. Each story painted a picture of a young Ariana—spirited, fearless, and unapologetically herself.

    “She was always the troublemaker,” Frederick said finally, his tone affectionate.

    “She still is,” Cullen added, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

    Ariana nudged him lightly with her shoulder but couldn’t suppress her grin. “And yet, you’re both here. I must be doing something right.”

    As the laughter subsided, Ariana turned to Frederick, her expression softening. “How long are you in Kirkwall?”

    Frederick sighed. “Only a few days. I’m staying at the inn here in Hightown, but it’s been a good visit so far.”

    Ariana’s brow furrowed slightly, and she shook her head. “That’s nonsense. You’re not staying at an inn when we have plenty of space at the estate. Isabel can prepare a room for you.”

    Frederick hesitated, glancing between her and Cullen. “I wouldn’t want to impose…”

    “You’re not imposing,” Ariana said firmly. “You’re family, Fred. You always have been.”

    Frederick’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he nodded, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Very well, then. I’ll take you up on that.”

    As the three of them finished their meal, Cullen found himself at ease. Whatever lingering discomfort he might’ve felt had vanished entirely. Ariana’s bond with Frederick was clear—it was rooted in a deep, genuine friendship, a shared history that had shaped them both. But it was also clear that her future, her heart, lay firmly with him.

    ~~~

    The warmth of the afternoon sun followed them as they left Café d’Or, laughter lingering in the air from their conversation. Frederick walked a step behind Ariana and Cullen, observing their easy familiarity. Ariana’s hand rested in Cullen’s, her thumb brushing lightly against his knuckles. It was such a simple gesture, yet it spoke volumes about the bond between them—a bond Frederick hadn’t seen before, but one that now seemed as unyielding as the stone streets beneath his feet.

    Frederick hadn’t expected to feel anything other than joy at seeing Ariana again, yet a faint ache lingered in the corners of his heart. He’d spent years coming to terms with the fact that she would never be his, but seeing her now—so at ease, so wholly herself in Cullen’s presence—was both reassuring and bittersweet. He couldn’t help but think back to the girl who once dared him to race barefoot through Ostwick’s orchards, her laughter ringing out as she darted between the trees. She had always been a force of nature, as wild as the wind and just as impossible to catch.

    Cullen slowed his pace as they neared the Trevelyan estate, his reluctance evident in the way he glanced toward Ariana. “I need to head back to the Gallows,” he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. “The recruits won’t wait forever, and Meredith… she’ll be far from pleased if I delay those reports any longer.”

    Ariana tilted her head, her lips curving into a playful pout. “Are you certain you can’t stay a little longer?” she asked, though her tone carried no real expectation.

    Cullen’s smile softened as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “I’d love to,” he admitted, his voice low enough that Frederick almost looked away out of respect. “But I’ll come by on Tuesday. I promised, remember?”

    “You’d better,” Ariana replied, her voice light but her eyes holding a warmth that made Frederick’s chest tighten. This was different from anything he’d seen before. This was well beyond a fondness or friendship; this was something deeper, a connection that had been forged through shared trials and quiet moments.

    Cullen leaned in to press a brief kiss to her lips before stepping back. He turned to Frederick then, his golden eyes steady. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Frederick. Take care of her.”

    Frederick’s lips curved into a teasing grin. “Oh, I’ll do my best, Knight-Captain, but I suspect she’ll be the one taking care of me.”

    Cullen chuckled softly, his tension easing as he nodded. With a final glance at Ariana, he turned and disappeared down the cobbled street, his presence lingering even after he was out of sight.

    Frederick watched him go, his thoughts stirring like leaves caught in a sudden breeze. Cullen was not what he had expected. There was a quiet strength in him, a steady resolve that seemed to ground Ariana in a way Frederick never could. He’d always known she needed someone who could match her spirit, someone who could stand beside her without trying to contain her. And now he understood why he had never been that person.

    “What?” Ariana’s voice broke through his thoughts, her expression curious as she linked her arm through his. “You’ve gone quiet on me, Fred.”

    He smiled, shaking his head slightly. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

    “About?” she prompted, her tone light but probing.

    Frederick glanced down at her, the corners of his mouth lifting. “About how much trouble you’re still capable of causing, even after all these years.”

    Ariana laughed, her eyes sparkling as they began their walk toward the estate. “Oh, come now. You can’t still be holding my tree-climbing escapades against me. Or the time we sneaked into the kitchens and swapped all the salt for sugar. Or when we tried to catch fireflies and ended up knocking over the trellis in mother’s prized garden.”

    “Not at all,” he replied, his voice warm. “Though I will admit, I’ve missed those days. Things were simpler then.”

    “It’s unfortunate simple doesn’t last forever,” Ariana said softly, her gaze distant for a moment before she looked up at him again. “But I’ve missed you too, Fred. It’s been too long.”

    They reached the estate’s grand entrance, its stone walls bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. Isabel greeted them at the door, her face breaking into a bright smile as she spotted Frederick. “Well, if it isn’t young Frederick Decken,” she said, her tone warm and teasing. “Maker, it’s been ages since I last saw you.”

    Frederick returned her smile with ease. “Too long, Isabel. And you look as radiant as ever.”

    “Always one for flattery,” Isabel replied with a laugh, waving him inside. “You’ll be staying here, of course. I’ll prepare a room right away.” She turned to Ariana with a knowing look. “See to it he doesn’t vanish before I’m done.”

    “I’ll keep an eye on him,” Ariana promised, her laughter trailing them as they moved toward the library.

    Frederick followed her into library, the scent of parchment and old leather wrapping around him like an old friend. As they settled into the armchairs by the hearth, his thoughts drifted again to Cullen. He had once imagined a future with Ariana, one where they’d share moments like this—quiet conversations in cozy rooms, laughter over shared memories. But now, he could see how wrong he’d been.

    Ariana needed someone like Cullen—someone who saw her not as a delicate flower to be protected, but as the storm she was, wild and untamable. He’d loved her once, deeply, but he realized he never could have given her the freedom she needed, allowing her to become the woman she was meant to be. And that was alright. What mattered most was that she was happy, and she seemed to have found the person that understood her with Cullen.

    “You’ve changed, Ari,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but steady. “But it suits you.”

    Ariana tilted her head, her eyes searching his. “Is that your way of saying I’ve grown up?”

    He chuckled softly. “Perhaps. But I mean it as a compliment. You’re still the same stubborn, spirited girl who led me on wild chases through Ostwick—sneaking into the stables to free the horses, daring me to race through the forest after curfew, or getting us both drenched when you insisted that it wouldn’t rain for a while longer. But there’s… more to you now. A strength I don’t think even you realize you have.”

    Her smile softened, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. “Thank you, Fred. For everything. For always being there.”

    “Always,” he replied, his voice filled with quiet sincerity.

    For the first time in years, Frederick felt at peace. Whatever lingering feelings he’d carried, they no longer weighed him down. Ariana was exactly where she was meant to be, and so was he—by her side, as her best friend, ready to face whatever came next for them.

    ~~~

    The fading light of early evening filtered through the library windows, casting long shadows on the walls as Frederick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What was it like, Ari?” he asked, his voice quiet but earnest. “All those years you were gone? I’ve wondered… but I didn’t want to pry.”

    Ariana’s fingers traced absent patterns along the armrest of her chair, a familiar gesture Frederick recognized from their youth. She was stalling, searching for the right words—or perhaps avoiding them altogether. “It was…” she began, her voice trailing off. “It was difficult. But I survived.”

    Frederick frowned slightly. He’d known Ariana long enough to see through her deflection. “That’s not much of an answer, you know,” he said gently, trying to coax more from her without pushing too hard.

    Ariana offered a small, tired smile, her eyes briefly meeting his before she let out a quiet breath. “I met Cullen before the Blight,” she said, her voice steady but distant, as though she were recounting someone else’s memories. “Cullen and I got separated in the chaos of it, and I thought…” She faltered, the weight of the memory pressing against her, but she pushed through. “I thought I’d lost him.”

    Frederick stayed silent, his gaze fixed on her, giving her the space to continue.

    “After that,” Ariana went on, “I was saved by a group of mercenaries. They found me cornered by darkspawn and took me in. I stayed with them for a while—long enough to learn how to fight properly. And after that…” She shrugged, her tone turning casual in a way that felt forced. “I just got by. One day at a time.”

    Frederick leaned back slightly, his brow furrowing as he processed her words. “You’ve always had a knack for underselling things, Ari,” he said, his voice tinged with half-hearted teasing. “But I can see there’s more to the story than you’re letting on.”

    Ariana’s smile softened, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “There’s always more to the story, Fred. But for now, that’s all that matters.”

    Frederick’s chest tightened at her words. He could feel the unspoken weight behind them, the shadows of experiences she wasn’t ready to share. Growing up, he’d prided himself on understanding her better than anyone, but now… now he realized there were parts of her life he might never fully grasp. And perhaps that was what unsettled him most.

    Finally, she exhaled softly, her voice quieter. “There are… much darker parts of the story,” she admitted. “And lighter ones, too. Maybe someday we’ll sit down, and I’ll tell you everything. But for now… there are things in motion, Fred. Things I can’t risk.”

    Frederick studied her carefully, noting the way her gaze held a mixture of resolve and weariness. He nodded slowly, his tone measured. “Very well,” he said simply, though his mind churned with questions. “But I can sense it, Ari. You’re scheming. Something big is happening.”

    Ariana’s lips twitched into a faint smile, a flicker of amusement breaking through her guarded expression. “Scheming? That’s a bit dramatic.”

    Frederick’s own smile mirrored hers, though his thoughts remained heavy. “If you ever need me,” he said, his voice soft but firm, “I’ll be here. Always.”

    Her hand reached out to squeeze his, her touch warm and reassuring. “I know,” she said, her voice steady. “Thank you.”

    He hesitated, his gaze lingering on her face. “You flinched earlier,” he said quietly, his tone more serious now. “When I put you down. Ari… what happened to you?”

    Ariana’s expression shifted, her gaze dropping to her hands as she traced the fabric of her trousers absently. “It’s nothing,” she said softly, though the lack of conviction in her voice betrayed her.

    Frederick’s eyes narrowed slightly, his concern deepening. “Ari,” he pressed gently.

    She sighed, finally meeting his gaze. “It happened during the Qunari uprising a few weeks back. I was injured… badly.”

    Frederick’s expression darkened, his brow furrowing as disbelief and concern mingled in his voice. “The Qunari uprising? Ari… how close were you to the fighting?”

    Ariana hesitated for a moment before answering. “In the middle of it,” she admitted, her voice soft but steady. “I did what I had to. I fought to help the people who couldn’t defend themselves. I’m lucky to have made it out, and that Cullen found me.”

    Frederick ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Maker, Ari. You’re always right in the middle of things, aren’t you?”

    Her smile was faint but resolute. “Someone has to be.”

    Frederick felt a pang of admiration and frustration. This was the woman he’d known all his life—unyielding, fearless, and willing to shoulder burdens no one else dared to carry. But now, there was a depth to her strength that he hadn’t fully understood until this moment, and it left him feeling both proud and powerless.

    The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of unspoken truths settling between them as they returned to their conversation about simpler times. Yet, even as they laughed and reminisced, Frederick couldn’t shake the feeling that beneath Ariana’s steady exterior lay a whirlwind he could only glimpse from afar.