1 – 30 Cloudreach 9:41
The following morning, as Ariana readied herself to leave, a soldier stood waiting near the Chantry steps. His polished armor caught the morning light, making him stand out among Haven’s more practical and battle-worn inhabitants. Spotting her, he straightened and called out, “Excuse me! I’ve got a message for the Inquisition, but I’m having trouble finding someone to deliver it to.”
Ariana paused, raising a brow as she approached. “What’s the message?”
The soldier’s shoulders relaxed slightly, relieved to have found someone to listen. “There are Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, Iron Bull, offers this information free of charge.”
Her interest piqued, Ariana tilted her head. “Free of charge? And why would he do that?”
“He wants to work for the Inquisition,” the soldier explained confidently. “Iron Bull thinks you’re doing good work. And, well, you won’t find anyone better. We’re the best company from here to the Anderfels.”
Ariana fought the urge to smirk, instead folding her arms as she regarded him. “What’s your name?”
“Krem,” he replied promptly.
“And what should I know about your commander, Krem?” she pressed.
“Iron Bull’s a Qunari,” Krem said with a casual shrug, as though that alone was explanation enough. “Big guy with horns, leads from the front, pays well, and he’s smart—smarter than most commanders I’ve worked for. Best of all, he’s professional. We take contracts from whoever makes the first real offer, and we don’t break them.”
Her skepticism softened slightly at his tone, which carried both respect and loyalty. “And yet, he wants to work for us, without an offer on the table?”
“This is the first time he’s picked a side,” Krem admitted. “Figured it was worth letting you know.”
Ariana nodded thoughtfully. “Interesting. I’ll look forward to seeing what the Chargers can do.”
Krem hesitated before asking, “If I may, who should I say I delivered the message to?”
She paused, finding amusement in the fact that he didn’t recognize her. Finally, she answered with a slight smile, “The Herald of Andraste.”
Krem’s eyes widened, and he quickly bowed. “Thank you, my Lady,” he said before hurrying off.
Ariana shook her head, chuckling softly. The best company from here to the Anderfels indeed.
“The Herald of Andraste, huh?” Cullen’s voice teased lightly from behind her.
Turning, she found him leaning casually against the stone archway, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Getting used to the title?”
“Hardly,” Ariana replied with a grin. “But he didn’t know who I was. I couldn’t resist. Though I must admit, it’s amusing hearing him tell me his company is the best while having no idea he’s speaking to the White Wolf of the Silver Rangers.”
Cullen chuckled, folding his arms. “Do you think their commander will know who you are?”
She shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out. I’m more surprised they don’t already know the Rangers are working with the Inquisition.”
“Do you trust them?” His tone shifted, a note of concern creeping in.
“Not yet,” Ariana admitted, “but they seem clean—no troubling history that I know of. Their motivation is coin, but they don’t seem to take questionable jobs. Unlike us, though, they’re not offering their services for free.” She smirked.
Cullen sighed, his frown deepening. “And you’re meeting them on your way to Val Royeaux?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Why Val Royeaux again?” he asked, the frown now tinged with worry.
She laughed lightly, adopting a dramatic tone. “Apparently, I’ve been invited to a salon to meet the First Enchanter of Montsimmard.”
He sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Please, be careful.”
Ariana tilted her head with a playful smirk “Careful of what? The mercenaries or Orlesian nobles making propositions?” she asked, her tone teasing, her smile growing with his every reaction.
“The mercenaries,” Cullen replied firmly, though the tight set of his jaw betrayed his irritation.
“Ah,” she said, feigning innocence. “So the nobles are still on the table? Last time, it was a rather lucrative proposition, if I recall.”
Cullen’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his expression hardening. “Ariana.” his tone a clear warning.
As Cullen’s frustration grew, Ariana couldn’t help the flicker of satisfaction that warmed her chest. His clenched fists, the slight tightening of his jaw—these weren’t just reactions; they were evidence. Evidence that she still mattered to him, that she hadn’t been forgotten or cast aside.
She stepped closer, her tone playful but her gaze steady, probing. “What’s wrong, Commander? I’m just trying to be creative with alliances. Isn’t that what we need?”
His breathing grew heavier, the restrained anger in his voice unmistakable. “I suggest you leave alliances to Lady Montilyet,” he bit out, his frustration barely leashed.
The corner of her mouth lifted into a small, triumphant smile as she put a hand on his arm, stepping closer to him and leaning up to press a soft kiss on his cheek. “By your order, Commander,” she whispered.
Cullen inhaled sharply, frozen to the spot as Ariana turned around to leave. “Maker help me.”
Ariana glanced back at him with a mixture of satisfaction and amusement. Her heart raced with the knowledge that she had struck a nerve—not in malice, but in reassurance. He still cares, she thought, the warmth of the realization flooding her chest. She allowed herself to hold onto the quiet thrill of his jealousy and the soft, unspoken truth it carried: he still saw her as his. And maybe, just maybe, she could still hope to be.
The space between them felt narrower now, like a bridge half-built but sturdy enough to cross—if they both dared to meet in the middle.
~~~
The Storm Coast greeted them with its constant drizzle and the salty tang of the sea, a stark contrast to Haven’s crisp mountain air. Ariana tugged her cloak tighter as she and her companions approached the area Scout Harding had marked. The aftermath of a skirmish lay scattered before them—scorched ground, broken weapons, and bodies crumpled like discarded dolls. Harding’s warnings about bandits had proven accurate, though the fight itself barely warranted Ariana’s full attention.
They moved swiftly, dispatching the bandit leader and dispersing the remnants of his forces. But as they approached the beach where Iron Bull’s company was reportedly active, Ariana’s focus sharpened. A fight was already underway. From a distance, she spotted a towering Qunari flanked by mercenaries, their formation tight even against a group of Tevinter mages.
Without hesitation, Ariana pulled her hood up and dove into the fray, her companions close behind. Her daggers flashed as she wove through the chaos, dispatching mages with precision. The battle ended quickly with their help, and the Chargers regrouped, their leader barking orders with practiced authority.
“Chargers, stand down!” the Qunari bellowed, his deep voice carrying over the sound of the waves. “Krem, how did we do?”
“Five or six wounded, sir. No dead,” replied a soldier standing nearby, his demeanor sharp and efficient.
“Good. Let the throatcutters finish up, then break out the casks,” Iron Bull said, his tone lighter now. Then his amber eyes landed on Ariana, and his grin widened. “Well, well. No one told me the White Wolf herself would be coming to my rescue.”
Ariana smirked as she pulled back her hood. “I wasn’t planning a rescue. I was asked to come watch ‘the best company from here to the Anderfels’ work.”
Bull blinked, momentarily surprised, before laughing heartily. “So, you’re with the Inquisition, then? Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”
Ariana arched an eyebrow but didn’t protest as he gestured to a nearby log. She had met enough people like Bull to know his type: bold, brash, and utterly unbothered by formalities. He wasn’t someone to be intimidated by, but he wasn’t someone to underestimate either.
Before they could settle, a soldier approached. “Throatcutters are done, chief.”
“Good work, Krem.” Bull turned to Ariana, motioning toward the soldier. “This here’s Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant. You can call him Krem. He’s the brains of the operation.”
Krem nodded respectfully. “White Wolf, huh? I delivered your message to the Herald of Andraste. Didn’t realize I was delivering it to both.”
Ariana chuckled softly. “I’m nothing if not versatile.”
Bull grinned, leaning back against the log. “So, what should I call you? White Wolf, Herald, or Lady Trevelyan?”
“Call me whatever you like,” she replied with a shrug. “Titles don’t matter much in a fight.”
“Fair enough,” he said, his grin turning sly. “Though ‘Lady Trevelyan’ does have a certain appeal. You must get a lot of propositions from Orlesian nobles.”
Ariana tilted her head, her smirk widening. “Only the very bold ones. Or the very drunk.”
Bull laughed, the sound loud and unabashed. “I’ll bet.” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. “So, you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it. And you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me.”
The insinuation was clear, but Ariana didn’t flinch. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Is that supposed to be a selling point?”
“Depends. Do you like big fights? Dragons, demons—” His tone dipped lower. “Big guys?”
Ariana’s smirk didn’t falter. “Oh, I think I can handle myself.”
For a moment, Bull seemed genuinely impressed, his grin widening. “I like you already. You’ve got guts.”
“Let’s hope that’s enough to keep me alive,” she replied dryly.
Bull’s tone shifted then, turning serious. He explained his connection to the Ben-Hassrath, and Ariana’s posture stiffened slightly. The idea of a Qunari spy within the Inquisition wasn’t something she took lightly, but as he laid out his reasoning and the benefits of their arrangement, she found herself nodding reluctantly.
“Fine,” she said finally. “You’re in. But your reports go through our spymaster first.”
Bull grinned again, clearly pleased. “Fair deal. I always did have a thing for redheads.”
Ariana chuckled, shaking her head as she turned to her companions. “Welcome to the Inquisition, Bull. Let’s hope you’re as good as you claim.”
As the Chargers celebrated their new alliance, Ariana allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. Bull was an intriguing addition—unpredictable but potentially invaluable. She would keep an eye on him, of course, but for now, she was content to let him enjoy his victory. And perhaps, just perhaps, she’d enjoy sparring with someone bold enough to flirt with her so unabashedly.
~~~
The morning sun cast long shadows across Haven’s snow-dusted perimeter as Cullen walked with Emma, her wooden sword swinging at her side. She matched his steps with determination, the image of a recruit eager to prove herself. But Cullen’s thoughts were far from patrol routes or training drills. Today, he wasn’t just her Commander—he was her uncle, and he needed to make things right.
“Emma,” he began, his tone gentle yet steady, “can I ask you something?”
She glanced up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “What is it?”
He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Your Aunt Ari mentioned that you’re upset with her. That… you blame her for taking you away. Is that true?”
Emma faltered, her small shoulders tensing as she gripped the hilt of her wooden sword tightly. “I don’t…” she began, but her voice trailed off. Finally, she blurted out, “It’s not fair! You were there, and then we weren’t. And she never really tells me why.”
Cullen stopped walking, kneeling down so he was eye-level with her. His heart ached at the anger and confusion in her voice, emotions she was too young to fully articulate. “Emma, it’s okay to tell me how you feel. I want to understand.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she looked like she might refuse. Then, her voice came in a rush. “I heard her,” she said, her tone a mixture of anger and hurt. “One night, in the kitchen. She was crying. She said she took me away from you. That she lied, and you deserved better, and you probably weren’t coming back.”
Cullen’s chest tightened, guilt and sorrow swirling together. He could picture the scene: Ariana alone in the quiet hours of the night, burdened by guilt, unaware that Emma had heard her vulnerability. “Emma,” he said gently, “do you remember the night you left Kirkwall?”
Her expression softened into a frown, her grip loosening on the wooden sword. “Not really,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “I remember Mom carrying me. And the sky was orange.”
“That’s right,” Cullen said, nodding. “The Chantry had been destroyed, and the city was in chaos. People were fighting in the streets. Do you remember who was with you?”
Emma scrunched her nose in thought. “Aunt Ari. Mom. Some of the Rangers… and Riley.”
“That’s right,” Cullen said softly. “Your Aunt Ari gathered everyone she could and made sure you were safe. She and I… we couldn’t come with you. The city was falling apart, and we had to stay behind to fight.”
Emma stared at him, her brow furrowing again. “Why didn’t you say goodbye?”
Cullen’s throat tightened, her words hitting harder than he expected. “There wasn’t time,” he said, his voice steady but filled with regret. “The mages and templars were at war, and every second mattered. Ariana did what she had to, Emma. She loves you and your mom more than anything, and she couldn’t risk waiting.”
Emma’s eyes welled with tears, her voice trembling. “She said it was her fault. That you’d never forgive her.”
“She says that because she always blames herself,” Cullen replied, his voice firm but kind. “But it wasn’t her fault. And it wasn’t yours, either. The choices we made that night were to protect you.”
Emma looked down at her boots, her voice barely above a whisper. “Then why do I feel so mad at her?”
“Because it’s easier to be mad at her than anyone else,” Cullen said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “But it’s not fair to her. She made the hardest choice anyone could make, and she made it for you.”
Emma sniffled, her tears spilling over. “It’s not fair. I wanted you both.”
Cullen pulled her into a gentle hug, his voice steady despite the lump in his throat. “I know, Emma. I wanted that too. But Ariana did what was right. She always does. And I should’ve been there for you both, even from afar.”
As he pulled back, Emma wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Do you still love her?” she asked, her voice small but curious.
Cullen’s chest tightened, but his answer came without hesitation. “Yes, Emma. I do. And I think she still loves me, too.”
Emma’s tears slowed, and she looked up at him with wide, thoughtful eyes. “You should tell her,” she said softly. “You should tell her you love her.”
Cullen smiled faintly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Maybe I will. One day. But for now, we have recruits to keep in line, don’t we?”
Emma’s nod was small but resolute, the tension between them easing. As they walked back toward the center of Haven, Cullen felt a quiet sense of relief. He hadn’t fixed everything, but this was a step forward—a step toward healing for Emma, for Ariana, and for himself.
~~~
The journey to Val Royeaux had been long and grueling, but Ariana found herself almost enjoying the familiar theater of Orlesian society. The grand halls, the glittering guests, and the sharp edges of every smile reminded her of her younger years in Ostwick. It’s not so different from nobility in the Free Marches, she thought wryly. Just with more masks and sharper knives.
The gown Josephine had insisted on was as much armor as it was attire. Silver fabric shimmered in the candlelight, its embroidery catching subtle patterns that mirrored frost. The fitted sleeves allowed for freedom of movement, and while Ariana would have preferred something more practical, the dress whispered of elegance and refinement—a necessity here. She moved with the same ease she might exhibit in leathers, her every step deliberate, a practiced dance she hadn’t forgotten.
As she entered the grand hall, nobles swarmed her like bees to honey. Their chatter was a blur of flattery and curiosity, woven with not-so-subtle attempts to gauge her usefulness.
“Herald, is it true you’ve defeated a demon single-handedly?”
“Tell me, my lady, do the rumors of your Silver Rangers’ exploits hold merit?”
“And that cloak—White Wolf indeed! Is it a family crest?”
Her replies were light and perfectly measured, a balance of mystery and wit. “Demons tend to exaggerate their own strength,” she said with a small smirk. The nobles laughed, though their eyes sparkled with calculation. Every word she spoke was weighed and dissected, yet Ariana wielded their interest with practiced skill, steering the conversation to safer waters when their probing grew too bold.
Mother would be proud, she thought with an inward sigh, though her mother’s voice echoed faintly in her mind. Your posture, Ariana. A lady commands the room with her presence, not her wit.
Her musings were cut short by the sharp voice of a Marquis who was either particularly brave or astonishingly foolish. “If you were a woman of honor,” he called, his hand drifting to his sword, “you would step outside and answer the charges against your so-called ‘Inquisition.’”
Ariana blinked once, her expression unchanged save for the faintest flicker of amusement. Well, this will be entertaining.
Before she could respond, frost climbed up the Marquis’s legs, freezing him in place. His expression twisted from outrage to panic as he struggled against the magic’s hold.
“My dear Marquis,” a smooth, commanding voice intoned from the staircase, “how unkind of you to use such language in my house… and toward my guest.” Vivienne descended with the precision of a hawk, her every step measured, her presence impossible to ignore.
The Marquis stammered something unintelligible as Vivienne’s gaze swept over him with icy disdain. “Herald, what shall we do with this one?” she asked Ariana, her tone as light and dangerous as a knife’s edge.
Ariana tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile. “His fate doesn’t interest me. Do as you wish.”
Vivienne’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Run along, my dear Marquis. And do send my regards to your aunt. You may tell her I’ve saved her yet another embarrassment.”
The Marquis fled as quickly as his still-thawing legs allowed. Ariana couldn’t suppress her smirk as she turned her attention to Vivienne, who was now studying her with an appraising gaze.
“Herald, welcome to my humble gathering,” Vivienne said smoothly. “I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”
“Charmed, Lady Vivienne,” Ariana responded with a polite nod.
Vivienne wasted no time. “Ah, but I didn’t invite you here for pleasantries. With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people.”
Ariana’s gaze sharpened. “I am not in the habit of turning away aid, but I must ask—why help us? So many others fear us… or worse, think us opportunists with selfish motives.” Her tone remained civil, but the question was pointed. This was Orlais, after all; every offer was a calculated move.
“As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause,” Vivienne replied smoothly.
“And what do the last loyal mages of Thedas gain from this arrangement? A hand in deciding the fate of mages everywhere?” Ariana asked, her lips curving into a knowing smile.
“Of course. Wouldn’t you want the same in my position?” Vivienne’s honesty was disarming, though her motives remained shrouded in layers of courtly intrigue.
Ariana considered her words for a moment before nodding. “The Inquisition will be happy to have you, Lady Vivienne.”
“Great things are beginning, my dear. I can promise you that,” Vivienne said with a smile before gliding back toward her other guests.
As Vivienne disappeared into the crowd, Ariana allowed herself a quiet sigh. I’ll take all the help I can get—but trusting her? That remains to be seen. The fatigue of travel and diplomacy pressed down on her, and for a fleeting moment, she wished for the simplicity of a campfire and trusted company. Still, as she looked around the grand hall, she felt the weight of her role anew.
~~~
Cullen stood in the war room, his eyes fixed on the map before him, though its lines and markers blurred into meaninglessness. The day had been productive—recruits drilled to exhaustion, reports reviewed and dispatched—but none of it could quiet the restless churn of his thoughts.
Ariana.
She had been gone nearly a month. Almost thirty days since she had teased him about Orlesian propositions, since she’d kissed his cheek with that maddening smirk and whispered, “By your order, Commander,” in a tone so low and sultry it had left him unable to think of a proper reply. The moment echoed in his mind far more than he cared to admit, surfacing at the most inconvenient times.
And then she had left, disappearing into Orlais with her usual confidence, dismissing his concerns with a wry smile. “Be careful,” he had told her, the words far heavier than they sounded. He had meant more, but she wouldn’t have heard it. She would have brushed it off, seen it as meddling or an affront to her abilities. Maker, why must she insist on doing everything the hard way?
Her decision to travel alone to Val Royeaux had only deepened his unease. If not for Leliana’s scouts tracking her movements, he might have abandoned reason entirely and ridden after her himself. Knowing she was alive and moving had been his only solace, though it had done little to soothe the nagging ache of her absence.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to see one of the scouts standing at attention. “Commander, the Herald has returned.”
The words were a relief so sharp it left him momentarily unsteady. He nodded curtly, dismissing the scout, and strode from the war room with purpose. His long strides carried him toward the stables, where he knew she would go first. He rehearsed what he might say as he walked—perhaps he’d start with a casual inquiry about her journey or tease her in return for that kiss. But even the thought made his pulse quicken, and he quickly abandoned the idea. Better to keep it professional, he told himself, though the lie was a poor comfort.
He spotted her almost immediately. She was still astride her horse, her white cloak damp and windswept, her cheeks flushed from the cold air. Even disheveled, she looked composed, her presence commanding without effort. Relief washed over him at the sight of her, but it was fleeting. Standing beside her, steadying her horse, was Iron Bull.
Cullen’s steps faltered. He watched as the towering Qunari extended a hand to help her dismount, and to his surprise, Ariana accepted. The gesture was brief, practical even, but the ease with which she allowed it unsettled him. Ariana rarely accepted help so easily—especially not in front of others. Yet here she was, letting Bull steady her, even offering him a faint smile in thanks.
A pang of irritation, sharp and unwelcome, settled in Cullen’s chest. Why him? The thought struck harder than it should have. It wasn’t just the act of her accepting Bull’s assistance; it was the way she laughed softly at something he said, her expression unguarded. Cullen’s chest tightened. When was the last time she smiled at me like that?
Ariana turned toward the gate, her eyes scanning the courtyard until they locked onto his. Her small smile stilled the sharp edge of his thoughts, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade. There was something warm in her gaze—something that steadied him, even as his jealousy simmered beneath the surface.
But before he could step forward, Bull’s voice rumbled again, drawing her attention back. She turned toward the Qunari, her expression relaxed as they exchanged words Cullen couldn’t hear. He lingered for a moment, watching the interaction with a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. She was safe—alive—but he couldn’t ignore the ache in his chest, the sense that something had shifted.
You’re being ridiculous, he told himself firmly. She’s just returned. There will be time to talk later. Yet even as he turned away, his thoughts lingered on her smile. Had it been for him alone, or was it the same smile she gave to everyone? He clenched his fists, frustrated by his own insecurities.
As he walked back toward the war room, Cullen resolved to speak with her soon—when they were alone, when Bull wasn’t there to command her attention. For now, he allowed himself the fragile hope that her smile had meant something. It wasn’t enough to silence the questions gnawing at him, but it was enough to keep him moving forward.
~~~
Ariana was exhausted. She had debated stopping to camp earlier, but the thought of sleeping so close to Haven and delaying her return another day had pushed her forward. The road had been long—nearly a month since she’d left—and the thought of familiar faces and warm surroundings had kept her moving through the biting cold.
As the gates of Haven came into view, relief flooded her. The sight of the snowy village brought a small, tired smile to her lips, though her thoughts quickly turned to Cullen. She couldn’t forget the way he’d told her to be careful before she left, his voice steady but thick with concern. She had dismissed it then, teasing him, but the warmth in his words had lingered throughout her journey. It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle herself—she could—but there was something about the way he cared that settled a part of her she often ignored.
Now, trudging back into Haven, guilt crept in alongside her relief. She had likely made him worry unnecessarily, venturing to Orlais alone and throwing herself into yet another whirlwind of politics and danger. She knew he struggled with her role, with the constant risks she took as the Herald. For years, Cullen had seen her as someone to protect, and though she had always balked at the idea, she realized now that she cherished it. In his arms, she had felt truly safe—something she hadn’t experienced anywhere else. She should have told him that. She wanted to tell him that.
The familiar clatter of activity near the stables pulled her from her thoughts. As she approached, her horse’s steps crunching against the snow, Iron Bull’s deep voice rang out.
“Ah, my lady, you’re back,” he called, his amber eyes gleaming with his usual mischievousness. “Heard you’ve been charming Orlesian nobles. How was it? As tedious as it sounds?”
“Worse,” Ariana replied with a wry smile, the weariness in her voice softened by humor. “But at least the wine was good.”
Bull grinned as she brought her horse to a halt. “You’ve been on the road a while, huh?”
“Almost a month,” she said lightly, though the weight of the journey still lingered in her bones.
Before she could dismount, Bull stepped forward and extended his hand. She hesitated, arching a brow at him before letting out a quiet chuckle and accepting his help. “Why, that’s kind of you,” she said as he steadied her. “But you must know it’s unnecessary.”
“Maybe I’m just trying to make a good impression,” he replied with a sly grin.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ariana said, shaking her head in amusement as she turned toward the gate.
And then she saw him—Cullen. He stood near the entrance, his expression unreadable, but his presence alone made her heart skip. Her lips curled into a soft smile before she could stop herself, and she bit the inside of her cheek, suddenly self-conscious. The exhaustion she had carried into Haven lifted just a little, replaced by a warmth that only he seemed to bring.
But before she could step toward him, Bull’s voice broke through her focus.
“Oh, my lady,” Bull said, his tone teasing, “you know, Haven gets pretty cold at night.”
Ariana turned back to him, arching a brow. “Does it now?”
Bull took a step closer, his grin widening. “I was thinking… maybe you’d like to join me for a drink. We could keep warm, swap stories… see where the night takes us.”
Her laugh was soft but genuine as she shook her head. “I thought you had a thing for redheads?” she countered, her tone light.
“I make exceptions for women as beautiful—and dangerous—as yourself,” Bull said smoothly, his voice dropping just slightly.
Ariana smirked, tilting her head. “I’m flattered. But I’ll have to decline. Maybe another time.”
“Fair enough,” Bull replied, his grin unshaken. “Offer stands, though.”
With another chuckle, she turned back toward the gate. But Cullen was gone. Her smile faltered, and a pang of disappointment tugged at her chest. She had hoped to talk to him, to see him, even if only briefly. He must have been busy, she told herself, though the thought did little to soothe her. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she picked up her pace, determined to find him before the night was over.
Because if there was one thing she’d learned on the road, it was that some words shouldn’t wait.
~~~
Cullen knew he had no right to be jealous. And yet, the sight of Ariana dismounting with Iron Bull’s assistance had stirred something deep and unwelcome in him. His mind spun, unable to quiet itself. Emma’s words from a few weeks ago still echoed in his mind: “You should tell her you love her.” But did she want that? Or was she trying to move on? The uncertainty gnawed at him.
And then there was the ring. She was wearing it. But what had it meant to her? Did she still want what it symbolized? Or was it simply a memory of what once was. He couldn’t shake the doubt. He was terrified of misreading her, of pushing her away when he’d already barely managed to hold on.
He loved her. Maker, he loved her more than anything. Loved her enough that, if letting her go would make her happy, he would do it. He would let her walk away—even if it left him hollow inside. If someone else made her happier, he would support her, no matter how much it hurt.
But then again, there was that day before she left for Val Royeaux. She had teased him about Orlesian nobles, bringing up the one who had propositioned her years ago. He had assumed she was testing him—trying to draw out his feelings, trying to gauge if it still bothered him. Why would she do that if she had truly moved on? The thought tugged at him like a thread unraveling a tapestry, leaving him more confused than ever.
Before he could spiral further, her voice pulled him from his thoughts, light and teasing as it always was. “You want to see what I found?”
Cullen turned sharply, startled to find her standing so close. His breath caught at the sight of her smile—soft and mischievous, her eyes glinting with the familiar spark he hadn’t realized he missed so desperately. It was as though the world shifted, his spiraling thoughts grinding to a halt.
His chest tightened, but this time it wasn’t from worry or jealousy. For the first time in weeks, the weight on his shoulders lifted. He couldn’t help but smile, the expression spreading across his face before he could stop it. “Should I guess?” he asked, his tone lighter now, the familiar rhythm of their banter pulling him in like it always did.
“Ooh, you could…” she replied, tilting her head with that playful glint in her eyes. “But what would you want as a prize if you guess correctly?”
He pretended to think, his lips quirking up in a smirk. “Hmm. What are you offering?” he asked, the slightest hint of something more in his voice. He didn’t intend it to be, but it was there—unspoken but unmistakable.
“Why, my dear Commander,” she began, her voice lilting with exaggerated scandal, “I’m offering a simple dinner… or perhaps a good bottle of wine. You never know.” There was a glimmer of humor in her gaze, but the insinuation in her tone left his breath momentarily caught.
“That is tempting,” Cullen admitted, his voice softening without him realizing it.
“But tell me, Commander…” Ariana leaned closer, lowering her voice to a playful, sultry lilt that sent heat rising to his cheeks. “What’s in this for me if you don’t guess correctly?”
He laughed, though he could feel the warmth creeping up his neck. He silently thanked Haven’s cold air for masking the flush that threatened to betray him. “Whatever your heart desires, my Lady,” Cullen replied, his voice steady though his heart was anything but. “I am at your service.”
The words felt natural, effortless even, but they carried more weight than he intended. This moment—this lightness between them—reminded him of nights in Kirkwall when they had walked together, teasing and laughing as though the world wasn’t crumbling around them. He wasn’t sure if they were both too tired to keep their barriers up or if, somehow, the years between them no longer mattered. All he knew was that in this fleeting moment, nothing else existed but her.
Ariana smiled—a wide, genuine smile that caught him completely off guard. It was a smile she couldn’t contain even if she tried, and for a moment, Cullen felt as though the space that had existed between them for so long suddenly disappeared. The look in her eyes said everything he needed to hear but couldn’t bring himself to ask.
“Very well,” she said, her voice light but her gaze lingering on his. “I’m sure I’ll think of something…”
Without hesitation, she reached out, wrapping her hand around his arm. The simple gesture sent a familiar warmth through him, grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. She guided him toward the tavern with an easy confidence that left him momentarily breathless.
“Well, if you’re satisfied with the terms,” she said, glancing up at him with a raised brow, “are you prepared to guess then?”
Cullen chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on her for just a moment longer than he intended. “I’ll take my chances,” he said, falling into step beside her as though they had never missed a beat.
Whatever the future held, this moment was enough. For now, he would simply let himself enjoy being with her again.
~~~
Ariana set her pack down on the table with deliberate care, as if the act itself could mask the excitement bubbling beneath her weariness. Tucked inside was her find from Val Royeaux—a rare Tevinter tome on Astrariums—and she had been eager to share it with Cullen since the moment she’d spotted it. Her fingers lingered on the strap, brushing it absently before glancing up at him. The smile she gave him lingered just a moment longer than she intended.
Flissa approached, her curiosity barely veiled as her gaze flicked between them. The tavern was quieter than usual, the late hour leaving only a few scattered patrons. It was cozy, the warmth of the hearth giving the space an intimate feel. Ariana couldn’t miss the way Flissa’s lips twitched, as though holding back questions about the playful energy between her and Cullen.
“Can I get you two something?” Flissa asked brightly, her voice carrying just enough interest to spark amusement in Ariana.
“Have any good bottles of wine left?” Ariana replied, her tone light and teasing as her gaze flicked toward Cullen.
“I do, my Lady Herald,” Flissa answered promptly, listing the options with practiced ease. “An Antivan Red, a Montsimmard White, and a Plum Wine.”
Ariana’s lips curved as she turned to Cullen, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Should you guess correctly, Commander, I assume it would be your choice…”
Cullen met her gaze, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. The game had begun. “We’ll take the Antivan Red,” he said with an air of confidence. “Thank you, Flissa.”
“And something to eat,” Ariana added, her tone casual but her smile growing. “Anything warm will do.”
Flissa nodded, retreating with a knowing look that didn’t escape Ariana’s notice. Once they were alone, Cullen settled into his chair across from her, his posture loose but his expression sharp, as though prepared to outmatch her tonight. There was a spark in his eyes that hinted at more than banter—a challenge she was eager to meet.
“So,” he began, his voice edged with teasing, “do I get a hint?”
Ariana arched a brow, pretending to consider. “A hint? You already look like you know what it is.”
He leaned forward slightly, his smirk widening. “Maybe. But humor me.”
She sighed dramatically, feigning reluctance. “Fine. Only one hint: it’s in my pack right now.”
Cullen laughed softly, the sound warm and unguarded in a way that sent a flicker of warmth through her. “And I get only one guess?” he pressed, his tone daring.
“That’s correct. One guess,” she replied, leaning forward slightly, her elbows resting on the table. “So, Commander… I suggest you make it count.”
Flissa returned then, setting down the wine, two glasses, and a modest plate of warm bread and cheese. Ariana thanked her, though her focus stayed on Cullen as he uncorked the bottle with practiced ease. Before he could pour, she reached out, deftly claiming both glasses and holding them just out of reach.
“Well, Commander…” she teased, tilting one glass to let the red liquid swirl. “Are you ready to guess?”
Cullen leaned back, his arms crossing as he studied her with mock deliberation. His smirk turned knowing, almost smug. “It’s a book.”
Ariana’s eyes narrowed, amusement flashing in their depths. “Fine. But a book about what?”
“Oh, now you want precision?” he countered, his tone light but his gaze steady. He leaned forward slightly, his smirk daring her to keep up.
She handed him his glass with a flourish, shaking her head. “You’ve earned your wine and dinner for that guess. But…” Her voice softened, her smile turning conspiratorial. “I might be willing to up the stakes if you’d like to try guessing more precisely.”
Cullen mirrored her, leaning closer. “And what are you offering, my Lady?” His voice lowered, taking on a warmth that sent a shiver through her despite the tavern’s cozy heat.
Her teasing faltered for a moment, caught off guard by the way he said it—so familiar yet so disarming. But she quickly recovered, leaning back slightly as she traced the rim of her glass with her finger. The gleam of her ring caught the firelight, and she stilled as she noticed Cullen’s gaze shift to it.
That flicker of recognition in his eyes was unmistakable. His focus on the ring, the softening in his expression—it was enough to steady her racing heart. The knot of uncertainty she had carried began to loosen. Maybe our future isn’t so far out of reach.
She leaned back slightly, gripping her glass as if it were her lifeline. “Why, whatever your heart desires, Commander,” she said, her voice softer now, though no less teasing.
The warmth in his gaze deepened as he leaned forward again, his elbows resting on the table. “That’s a dangerous proposition,” he murmured, his tone quieter now, almost intimate. “Are you certain?”
“I am,” she said finally, her voice steady but quieter now, as though the words carried more weight than she intended. She met his gaze, feeling the air between them shift into something unspoken yet profound.
For a moment, Cullen held her gaze, his smirk softening into something warmer, deeper. Then he leaned back slightly, his fingers brushing his glass. “You’re making this too easy, Ariana,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
The creak of the door broke the spell, the shuffle of boots reminding them of the room beyond their table. Ariana glanced toward the entrance, catching sight of a new patron settling in. She chuckled softly, letting the tension ease as she turned back to him.
“You know, Commander,” she said, her voice dropping into a near whisper, “small towns like Haven are far more efficient at starting rumors than even Kirkwall’s Hightown.”
Cullen’s lips quirked up in a small, knowing smile. His voice, warm and steady, carried just enough weight to send another shiver through her. “Let them talk.”
The simplicity of his words settled over her, filling the quiet space between them. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe that they could find their way back to what they’d once had. She smiled, soft and genuine, as she raised her glass to his. “Very well. To rumors, then.”
Their glasses clinked softly, a quiet toast to the unspoken, as the warmth of the tavern wrapped around them like a shield against the world outside.