16-17 Firstfall 9:33
The next morning, as Ariana sat at the breakfast table with Isabel, the thought of Emma weighed heavily on her mind. Despite everything they’d discussed the night before, this unanswered question lingered. She had to know—was Isabel more than just a trusted confidant? Was she family? Was Emma her niece?
Ariana took a deep breath, trying to steady her thoughts. “Isabel…” she began, her voice quieter than she intended. The hesitation in her tone was unmistakable.
“Yes, child?” Isabel responded, turning to face her, the soft morning light catching the warmth in her expression. She noticed the way Ariana’s brow furrowed slightly, and her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Is Emma…” Ariana paused, her words faltering as she searched for the right way to ask. “Is she… my niece? Is she a Trevelyan?”
For a moment, Isabel’s expression didn’t change, but her body stiffened just slightly. It wasn’t enough to alarm most people, but Ariana noticed. She always noticed. Isabel took a measured breath before responding, her voice calm and even. “You need not concern yourself with such matters, my dear. You have enough to think about already.”
“So, she is my niece,” Ariana replied, her voice sharper now, cutting through Isabel’s attempt at deflection.
“I did not say that,” Isabel countered quickly, her tone still gentle but firm.
“No,” Ariana said, narrowing her eyes at Isabel, her expression one of quiet determination. “But you didn’t say she wasn’t either.”
Isabel held her gaze for a moment before sighing softly. “It changes nothing,” she said, her voice softer now, tinged with a note of resignation.
“It changes everything,” Ariana shot back, her voice steady but with a clear edge of urgency. “Mark?”
Isabel hesitated, her lips pressing together in a way that confirmed more than any words might have. Her silence was all the answer Ariana needed. The weight of her suspicions settling fully in her chest, Ariana leaned back slightly, her hazel-green eyes searching Isabel’s face.
“You won’t say it outright,” Ariana said finally, her voice quieter now, “but I know. I know he’s the one.”
Isabel’s gaze softened, her own heart heavy with the knowledge. “My child,” she began gently, reaching across the table to place her hand over Ariana’s. “It does not change the love I have for her—or for you. She is my daughter, but she will never be anything less than family to you.”
Ariana held her gaze, emotions swirling in her chest—anger, sadness, and an odd sense of relief all vying for space. She nodded slowly, the corners of her lips twitching into the faintest smile. “Then we’ll make sure she grows up knowing that, too.”
Ariana’s gaze shifted to Emma, who sat on the floor, quietly playing with her doll. The little girl’s laughter, soft and sweet, filled the room like the chiming of bells. Ariana couldn’t help but smile, a warmth spreading through her at the sight. The innocence in Emma’s tiny face, untouched by the weight of expectations or obligations, filled her with a renewed sense of purpose.
She leaned back in her chair, watching as Emma gently tucked her doll under a scrap of fabric, mimicking what she’d seen of bedtime routines. The thought of helping raise another Trevelyan—one free of the burdens that had weighed so heavily on her own shoulders—felt like a quiet victory.
Isabel noticed the soft expression on Ariana’s face and followed her gaze to the little girl. “She’s quite the joy, isn’t she?” Isabel said softly, her voice carrying the kind of pride only a mother could have.
Ariana nodded, her smile growing. “She deserves to grow up free. Free to choose her own path, without anyone telling her who or what she has to be.” She glanced back at Isabel, determination flickering in her eyes. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Isabel placed a hand on Ariana’s shoulder, her touch both comforting and affirming. “With you in her life, she’ll have all the freedom in the world, my dear.”
~~~
After breakfast, Ariana sent word for Varric to join them. Isabel would need help managing the intricate logistics of her affairs, especially with the Silver Rangers. Varric, with his unparalleled network of contacts, was the perfect ally to facilitate communication, arrange shipments, and handle financial transfers. After all, he was the “Merchant Prince of Kirkwall.”
When Varric arrived at the estate, he stepped into the entryway with his usual swagger. “Pup, seems like you’re moving up in the world!” he greeted, his tone warm with a teasing edge.
Ariana chuckled, motioning for him to follow her toward the kitchen. “Thanks for coming, Varric. I’m going to need your help,” she said, leading him to where Isabel was waiting. Emma sat on the counter, happily making a mess with a bowl of flour.
“Is Emma making today’s bread, then?” Ariana teased, walking up to her niece.
“She has to start learning sometime,” Isabel replied with a soft laugh, dusting some flour off Emma’s nose.
“Well, and who is this little doll?” Varric asked, stepping closer. Emma immediately became fixated on his necklace, tugging at it and holding her hands out for him to pick her up.
“My niece,” Ariana said with a smile, her voice warm with pride.
Isabel, noticing Emma’s quick attachment to Varric, smirked. “Seems like she likes you.”
“It’s the chest hair. Women, of all ages, find it irresistible,” Varric replied with a perfectly straight face.
Ariana and Isabel both laughed, shaking their heads.
“I don’t believe you’ve been formally introduced,” Ariana said, gesturing toward Isabel. “Varric, this is Isabel.”
“Ah, the famous Isabel. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Varric said, giving her a respectful nod.
“The pleasure’s mine,” Isabel replied warmly.
“So, Varric…” Ariana said as she took a seat at the kitchen table, gesturing to the maps and papers spread out across its surface. “I need your help.”
With Emma still perched comfortably in his arms, Varric strolled toward the table. “What’s all this?” he asked, eyeing the array of documents.
Isabel brought over drinks and joined them at the table as Ariana began to explain. “This,” she said, pointing to the maps, “is the current position of Ranger forces and holdings throughout Ferelden. Isabel will be helping me with the administrative side of things, but this is where you come in.”
Varric quirked an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Well, this sounds interesting…”
Ariana grinned. “I hope you keep feeling that way…”
She went on to outline her plans. She needed someone to assist Isabel with managing communications to and from Ferelden until she could hire someone to handle it directly. On top of that, she required help transporting goods and moving money between Ferelden, Orlais, and the Free Marches.
“That’s… a tall order,” Varric remarked, the shrewd merchant in him coming to the forefront. “How much money are we talking about moving?”
“Haven’t sorted out the logistics entirely yet, but at least once a month, I’d estimate around one to two thousand sovereigns initially.”
Varric choked on his drink, clearly caught off guard. “Two thousand sovereigns?” he sputtered.
Ariana laughed at his reaction. “What can I say? It’s expensive to run a mercenary company, especially when you pay people well enough to prevent them from leaving—or taking bribes.”
Varric recovered, slipping back into his Merchant Prince persona. “This is certainly a larger job than the small favors I’ve done for you before.”
“Hence why this is a business arrangement, Varric.”
“And communications?” he asked, his tone turning serious again.
“If I’m going to spend more time in Kirkwall, I need a consistent way to stay in touch with the Rangers near Redcliffe. Weekly at most, but I need reliability.”
“Weekly, huh? Regular schedules cost money, pup. Are you sure this is worth it? Because, honestly, it’d be cheaper to move the estate to Ferelden…” He let the implication hang in the air, clearly referring to her relationship with Cullen.
Ariana met his gaze with a calm, unwavering resolve. “It is,” she said simply.
Varric studied her for a moment before nodding. “Consider it done.”
~~~
Ariana leaned back in her chair, satisfied with how the conversation had gone. Varric’s agreement brought her one step closer to balancing her responsibilities with the Rangers and her growing ties to Kirkwall. Isabel gave her an encouraging smile as she tidied up the table, clearly pleased with the progress they’d made.
But Ariana wasn’t finished yet.
There was still one task lingering in the back of her mind, the one she had been putting off for too long: Cullen. She needed to determine how much she could tell him about the Silver Rangers—if she could be honest with him about who she really was and what she’d built.
The thought made her stomach tighten. She knew Cullen’s stance on mercenaries. In their conversations, it was clear he wasn’t particularly fond of them, seeing many as little better than opportunists who profited off chaos. Yet, she also knew that the Silver Rangers were different. She had worked tirelessly to make them a force for good—defending villages, assisting in rebuilding efforts, and operating with a code of honor that set them apart. If Cullen had heard the same rumors coming out of Ferelden, the ones that painted the Rangers as protectors rather than profiteers, maybe he would understand.
But what if he didn’t? Would he see her efforts as noble, or would the word “mercenary” overshadow everything else? Would it change how he saw her, how he felt about her?
It couldn’t wait forever. If she was going to be dividing her time between Kirkwall and Ferelden, she owed him the truth—or at least as much of it as she could share. But not today. She knew better than to try. Fridays were always consumed with Templar duties at the Gallows, and Cullen rarely had time to step away. She would wait for tomorrow, hoping to catch him after his afternoon prayers at the Chantry.
Ariana let out a quiet sigh, rising from her chair and stretching. “One step at a time,” she muttered to herself, trying to steady the mix of anticipation and anxiety swirling inside her. She only hoped Cullen would see the Silver Rangers for what they truly were: a part of her she was proud of, and a part she desperately wanted him to understand.
~~~
Isabel entered the sitting room, her arms weighed down with a basket of laundry, only to pause mid-step as she caught sight of Ariana. The younger woman was pacing near the writing desk, her hands fidgeting with the edges of a folded note. Her usually composed demeanor was notably absent, replaced by an almost palpable nervous energy.
“And what, pray tell, would you like prepared for dinner?” Isabel asked, her tone light but teasing as she leaned against the doorframe, watching Ariana with quiet amusement.
Ariana froze, her head snapping up as if she’d been caught doing something illicit. A faint blush crept up her neck. “I… have not given it much thought,” she admitted, the words tumbling out quickly. “Do you think the dish will truly change the outcome of this conversation?”
Isabel raised an eyebrow, setting the laundry basket down on a nearby chair. “Perhaps not,” she said with a chuckle, “but it seems to be occupying your thoughts more than usual. Something tells me this conversation is important to you.”
Ariana’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she gave a small, reluctant nod. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the note in her hand, folding and unfolding it absentmindedly. Isabel studied her for a moment, noting the subtle shift in Ariana’s posture. Though she was nervous, there was a determination beneath the surface, a quiet resolve that spoke volumes about how far she had come.
“Something… Ferelden,” Ariana murmured, her voice hesitant, as though testing the idea aloud. Slowly, her expression brightened, and she looked up at Isabel with a flicker of inspiration. “You know, King Alistair makes this Lamb and Pea Stew that is quite good. I do not have the exact recipe, but I could tell you what I remember.”
Isabel blinked, momentarily caught off guard. A wry smile tugged at her lips. “You’ve met the King, then?”
Ariana’s expression shifted from nervous to momentarily perplexed before she gave a small laugh. “Hmm? Oh, yes, a couple of times. First when he hired the Rangers and handed me a stack of reports asking us to ‘fix all the things.’ I mostly worked with his aides and Bann Teagan, but one day, I found myself in the kitchen discussing logistics, and in walked King Alistair himself to cook.”
Isabel’s eyebrows climbed higher as she listened, her curiosity piqued. Ariana’s voice softened as she continued, a smile curving her lips at the memory. “Apparently, it is a ritual he and the Hero of Ferelden maintain to remind them of their travels. Something Queen Anora, of course, disapproves of.”
A ripple of laughter escaped Isabel before she could stop it. She shook her head, marveling at the casual way Ariana recounted the tale. It wasn’t boastful or self-important; it was simply another story, another moment in the life of the woman Isabel had raised.
“You truly met the King? And the Hero who ended the Blight?” Isabel asked, though her tone was more curious than incredulous.
Ariana nodded, though her expression turned modest. “Lyna I only met the one time,” she clarified, giving a small shrug. “I cannot claim much of a personal relationship with either. But they are both very kind. Very… normal. King Alistair is quite charming and funny, and Lyna—she’s definitely a match for him. They make an adorable couple.”
Isabel couldn’t help but smile at Ariana’s description. “Yet here you are, pulling recipes from royalty to impress another,” she said, her voice tinged with amusement.
The blush that spread across Ariana’s cheeks was almost comical. She gave Isabel a playful glare, though it lacked any real heat. “Anyroad, stew. Yes, I think a stew will suffice.”
Isabel’s smirk softened into something more genuine as she nodded. “Very well. Write down what you can recall, and I’ll make it happen.”
Ariana quickly grabbed a scrap of parchment and began scribbling down the details, her brow furrowed in concentration. Isabel watched her for a moment, her heart swelling with a mixture of affection and pride. There was something remarkable about Ariana, about the way she carried herself despite everything she’d been through. She had endured so much darkness, yet here she was, fretting over a dinner and pulling inspiration from a king’s kitchen. It was a testament to her resilience, to the light that refused to be snuffed out.
As Ariana handed over the parchment, her gaze briefly met Isabel’s. There was a flicker of vulnerability there, a hint of uncertainty that she tried to mask with a confident smile. Isabel took the parchment with a nod, determined to make this dinner perfect. If anyone deserved a moment of peace and happiness, it was Ariana.
~~~
Ariana must have changed clothes no fewer than six times that day, growing increasingly frustrated with each choice. Then she went shopping, as though something new would magically feel right. Over the past week, while her father was still in Kirkwall, they had restocked her wardrobe with elegant dresses, finely tailored travel clothes, and practical armor. Yet somehow, none of it seemed to fit her mood—or the weight of tonight’s conversation.
Finally, she settled on something practical yet undeniably elegant. She donned a sleek, fitted leather bodice and trousers in rich shades of deep blue, reminiscent of twilight skies, accented with fine silver stitching and Elven-inspired patterns that ran along the seams. The outfit flattered her slender, athletic build, hugging her form in a way that was both commanding and graceful. The long flowing sash at her hip softened the ensemble, a perfect balance of utility and sophistication. Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, the hazel-green of her eyes striking even more vibrantly against the blue tones of her attire.
As she looked at herself in the mirror, Ariana’s mind raced. Tonight felt monumental, and she could not shake the nerves that had settled in her chest like a restless bird. The practical outfit had been the right choice; anything more formal would have felt like a costume. She needed to feel like herself, grounded and confident. Yet, even as she resolved that thought, a part of her whispered doubt. Would it be enough?
When she stepped into the courtyard, the cool breeze touched her face, carrying with it a sense of calm that she desperately needed. The fading light painted the stones in soft golds and purples, and Ariana tilted her gaze skyward. The stars began to peek through the expanse above, and she felt her shoulders relax ever so slightly. She thought back to all the nights she and Cullen had spent stargazing, his quiet presence steadying her as the world spun on. Those moments had been simple yet profound, and she clung to them now, letting the memory anchor her.
As she stretched out on the bench, staring up at the sky, she replayed fragments of memories—his laugh, the way his hand felt in hers, the softness in his voice when he said her name. She allowed herself a small, private smile. Whatever tonight brought, she would face it.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke her reverie, and she turned her head just in time to see Cullen enter the courtyard. He paused, his eyes finding her immediately, and for a moment, neither of them moved. His gaze was warm, admiring, and it sent a soft flutter through her chest.
“See anything interesting?” he asked, his voice teasing yet gentle.
Ariana sat up, brushing her hair back as she smiled at him. “Perhaps,” she replied lightly, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “But I imagine you already know the best view tonight is standing right in front of me.”
The faint blush that crept up Cullen’s cheeks was endearing, and Ariana felt a flicker of amusement at having caught him off guard. For all his composure and confidence, she loved these moments when he seemed just a little unsure of himself.
“Well,” he said, clearing his throat as he regained his composure, “I could say the same about you. Though I I’m beginning to think I should have worn armor if I’ll be deflecting such flattery tonight.”
Ariana laughed softly, the sound warming the cool air. “Oh, I’ll keep that in mind, Knight-Captain,” she said, rising from the bench with an easy grace. She brushed an imaginary speck of dust from her sash. “But I might enjoy watching you waver just a little.”
Cullen chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped closer. “Is that so? I’ll have to stay on my guard then.” His tone was light, but his gaze softened as it lingered on her. “You look… incredible tonight, Ari.”
Her breath hitched slightly at the sincerity in his voice. There was no teasing now, just quiet admiration that made her heart ache in the best way. “Thank you,” she said softly, her confidence flickering back as she met his gaze.
She motioned toward the table set up in the courtyard, needing to redirect her focus before the warmth in her face betrayed her entirely. “Dinner is ready,” she said lightly. “I hope you are hungry.”
“Starving,” Cullen replied with a smile, offering her his arm. “Lead the way.”
Ariana took his arm, her earlier nerves now a distant hum beneath the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. As they walked toward the table, she couldn’t help but feel a quiet confidence settle over her. Whatever tonight held, she would face it with him by her side.
~~~
As the first course was served, Ariana couldn’t help but notice the way Cullen’s presence grounded the room. There was a quiet strength to him, an unspoken steadiness that had always drawn her to him. And yet, tonight, as she carefully navigated the conversation toward the topic she’d been avoiding for a while now, she couldn’t shake the unease settling in her chest.
“Have you… heard much about the Silver Rangers in Ferelden?” she asked, her voice carefully even as she set her wine glass down. She met his gaze, trying to gauge his reaction, though her heart was already beating faster than she liked.
When he answered, his voice was measured but firm, the familiar conviction of a Templar in his tone. “I’ve heard the rumors. But they’re mercenaries. At the end of the day, their loyalty lies with coin, not principles. Trusting a group like that…” He shook his head. “The kind of work they’re doing should be left to governments, the Chantry, or other established organizations—not those who could be bought out the moment a better offer comes along.”
The words struck harder than she’d expected, like a slap disguised as reason. Ariana straightened in her chair, her eyes narrowing. “Why only governments or the Chantry?” she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended. “Do you really think they’re always the answer? That they never fail?”
Cullen leaned back slightly, his expression hardening. “Because those institutions are accountable, Ariana. Even when they falter, they are built to serve the greater good. Mercenaries…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “They are free agents. No oversight. No accountability. How can you trust their motives?”
Her chest tightened, anger flaring alongside the sting of his words. “Then explain why they’re known for helping people who have no coin to give,” she countered, her voice rising. “Why so many of the people they protect are the ones governments and the Chantry have ignored—farmers, refugees, the forgotten. If it’s all about money, why do they risk their lives for those who have nothing to offer?”
Cullen frowned, her words clearly unsettling him, but he stood firm. “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t change the fact that they answer to no one. There’s no way to guarantee their good intentions last.”
Her words came out faster than she’d intended, the frustration bubbling over. She could see the conflict in his eyes, the way his principles clashed with the points she was making. Before he could respond, she pressed on, her voice tinged with a mix of hurt and determination. “The Rangers answer to the White Wolf,” she said firmly. “A leader who risks everything to save those in need, who goes where they’re needed most without asking for anything in return. Isn’t that the kind of leadership worth trusting?”
Cullen’s expression darkened. “The White Wolf is the perfect example of why they can’t be trusted,” he said evenly. “If their leader isn’t even willing to show their face, how can anyone trust their motives? Hiding behind a name, operating in the shadows… that doesn’t inspire confidence. It raises questions.”
Ariana’s hands curled into fists in her lap. The sting of his words cut deeper than he could know. *He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what I’ve sacrificed, what I’ve done.* Her voice wavered as she replied, “Why are you so quick to dismiss them? Maybe they’re motivated by something more than coin. Maybe they’re trying to help because no one else will.”
Cullen’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. “Why do you care so much, Ari? You’re defending them like your life depends on it.”
She froze, his words cutting through her like a blade. Her gaze dropped to the table as she took a steadying breath. When she looked back up, her voice was quieter but filled with raw emotion. “Because my life did depend on them,” she said. “When I was alone, when I had nothing, they were the ones who saved me. They took me in, protected me when no one else could.”
The words left her lips, ringing with conviction—but almost immediately, a shadow of doubt crept into her mind. *That’s not entirely true, is it?* she thought. Her heart twisted as the image of Krieger surfaced, unbidden and unwelcome. *It wasn’t the Rangers who saved me—not at first. It was him. And he didn’t protect me; he used me. He manipulated me. He…*
The realization hit her like a cold wind, making her grip her glass tighter. Her pulse quickened, shame and frustration bubbling under the surface. She had spoken of the Rangers as though they were her saviors—and in many ways, they were. Riley, the Vanguard, the people she now trusted with her life—they were good, they were hers. But while they had been there in the beginning, it had been Krieger who chose to save her. And he had expected a payment. She shoved the memories aside, forcing herself to focus on the present.
Ariana raised her head, her expression calm, though the storm inside her raged. She wouldn’t take back what she’d said; it wasn’t entirely a lie. The people who became the Rangers had been there, even if their foundation had been built on the ashes of betrayal.
The room fell silent. Cullen’s rigid posture softened, his expression flickering with something between guilt and understanding. “Ari…” he began, his voice gentler now. “I’m sorry. For what you went through. For how it shaped your view of this.”
Ariana’s lips pressed into a thin line, her anger ebbing but not her frustration. “Maybe the White Wolf doesn’t care about inspiring confidence in organizations like the Chantry or the Templars,” she said after a long pause. “Maybe they only care about doing what needs to be done while others sit back and debate whether it’s worth the risk.”
Her words hung in the air, sharp and unyielding. Cullen’s gaze lingered on her, his thoughts a storm of conflict. She could see it in his eyes—the struggle between his principles and the truth she had laid bare.
“I’m not asking you to change your mind,” she said finally, her voice softer now. “But I am asking you to understand. Not all mercenaries are selfish or corrupt. Some of them… some of them save lives when no one else will.”
Cullen nodded slowly, though his expression remained troubled. “I’ll… try,” he said, his tone hesitant but sincere.
The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of their unspoken truths settling between them. Ariana looked away first, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she tried to steady herself. She had said too much, but at the same time, she hadn’t said enough.
The rest of the meal passed in a strained quiet, the earlier tension refusing to dissipate. As Ariana stole glances at Cullen, she wondered if he would ever truly see things as she did—or if this divide between them was one that could never be bridged.
~~~
After dinner, Cullen couldn’t shake the lingering tension from their conversation about the Rangers. The weight of Ariana’s words pressed against his mind, a mix of frustration and confusion churning in his chest. He stood in the courtyard, debating whether he should leave and give her space, but before he could make a decision, Ariana’s voice broke through his thoughts.
“Come with me,” she said softly, reaching for his hand. Her touch was gentle but firm, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Cullen followed her, curiosity flickering in his golden eyes as she led him toward the manor. “Where are we going?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.
“You’ll see,” Ariana replied with a faint smile, though he could sense the resolve behind her words. Despite the tension between them, her invitation felt like an olive branch, and he wasn’t about to refuse it.
They entered the library, its warm, golden glow from the hearth instantly softening the room’s edges. Cullen’s gaze shifted to the firelight dancing along the shelves of books before landing on the small figure seated on the rug. Emma sat cross-legged, her tiny hands flipping through the pages of a picture book, her soft giggles filling the space.
Ariana’s expression softened as she noticed the child, and Cullen felt his own tension begin to ease. “Ah, I see you’ve found the library,” Ariana said, her tone lighter now. “Perfect. Isabel, would you mind grabbing a bottle of wine for us?”
Isabel turned, arching a brow at the request before giving a small, knowing smile. “Of course, my lady. Let me take Emma back to the kitchen with me.”
Ariana stopped her with a gentle hand. “No need. She’s happy here, and we’ll watch her while you finish up.”
Isabel hesitated, her gaze flicking between them before settling on Ariana. “If you’re sure,” she said, her voice carrying a quiet fondness. “But no climbing the furniture. She has no fear, much like someone else I raised.”
Cullen chuckled softly, earning a playful glare from Ariana. “Understood. She’ll stay firmly on the ground—or my lap,” she promised, lifting Emma into her arms as she settled into an armchair. Emma giggled, her small hands reaching for the book again, and Cullen found himself smiling despite the heaviness still lingering in his mind.
Cullen watched as Ariana scooped Emma into her arms, settling into an armchair by the fire. The sight of her holding the little girl, her posture relaxed and her smile gentle, sent a warmth spreading through him. It was a side of Ariana he rarely saw—unburdened, natural, at ease—and it stirred something deep within him.
“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to join us?” Ariana asked, her teasing tone drawing his attention.
He chuckled, shaking his head as he moved to sit in the chair beside hers. “I suppose I’ll join you, though I’m not sure I’ll be much competition for her,” he said, nodding toward Emma, who was babbling happily as she pointed to the book’s illustrations.
The warmth of the fire and the simplicity of the moment began to chip away at Cullen’s earlier frustration. As they sat there, the tension from dinner slowly dissipated, replaced by an unspoken understanding. He found himself watching Emma’s tiny fingers trace the pages, her giggles blending seamlessly with the crackling fire.
When Isabel returned with the wine and glasses, Cullen accepted them with a nod, noticing the way she looked at Ariana—a quiet pride in her eyes. He couldn’t help but feel the same. Despite the hardships she had faced, Ariana had built a life here, one that extended beyond herself to include Isabel, Emma, and perhaps even him.
“Thank you for staying,” Ariana said softly, her gaze meeting his.
“Always,” he replied, the weight of the word settling between them. He meant it—more than she probably realized.
As the minutes passed, Cullen found his eyes drawn back to Emma. She was so small, her laughter so innocent, and yet she carried the weight of a story he didn’t fully understand. His curiosity grew, his protective instincts sharpening as he remembered the tightness in Ariana’s voice when she had mentioned her brother.
“Is she… Isabel’s daughter?” he asked, his voice careful.
Ariana nodded, her hand brushing lightly over Emma’s hair. “Yes,” she said softly. “And my niece.”
Her answer gave him pause. He studied her face, searching for the emotions beneath her steady exterior. There was a tension in her shoulders, a heaviness in her gaze as she looked down at Emma. Slowly, pieces of their earlier conversations began to click together in his mind.
“You said there was something you needed to be sure of,” he said gently. “Something about your brother.”
Ariana’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze fixed on Emma as she spoke. “This… was it,” she admitted, her voice quiet but laced with frustration. “Mark… being the entitled bastard that he is, is her father.”
Cullen’s chest tightened at her words. He didn’t need to ask for details—the bitterness in her tone, the tightness in her expression, told him enough. His jaw clenched, anger flaring briefly at the thought of her brother’s actions. But more than that, he felt a surge of protectiveness, not just for Ariana, but for Emma and Isabel as well. The thought of anyone hurting them was unbearable.
“Ari…” he began, his voice soft, unsure of what to say.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she interrupted, finally looking up at him. Her hazel-green eyes held a mix of defiance and vulnerability. “And no, you don’t need to say anything. Isabel has made it clear that Emma will never know him, and my father made sure she’s safe here. That’s all that matters.”
He nodded, though the weight of her words lingered. She was strong—stronger than anyone he had ever known—but even the strongest carried scars. And he couldn’t help but wonder how deeply hers ran.
“If there’s anything you need,” he said after a moment, his voice steady, “anything at all, you only have to ask.”
Ariana’s lips twitched into a small, wry smile. “Can you send Templars to drag him to the Gallows?” she quipped, her tone light but edged with a lingering bitterness.
Cullen’s brow arched slightly, a glint of steel in his eyes. “If that’s your wish,” he replied evenly, “I’ll see it done.”
She laughed softly, shaking her head. “No, I think Isabel and I have it handled,” she said, her tone lighter now, though a flicker of gratitude lingered in her gaze.
Almost as if on cue, Emma’s attention shifted to the Halla pendant hanging around Cullen’s neck. Her tiny hands reached out, her gurgles of curiosity drawing his focus, her curiosity bringing a soft smile to his face. He gently lifted her from Ariana’s lap, holding her carefully as she examined it. “She has good taste,” he said, glancing at Ariana, whose eyes lingered on him with a quiet fondness.
For a moment, Cullen let himself imagine a different life—a life where scenes like this weren’t so fleeting. He wondered what it might be like to have a family of his own, to share in moments of simple joy and quiet togetherness. The thought of Ariana as the mother of his children surfaced unbidden, and he quickly pushed it aside, chastising himself. It was far too soon to entertain such notions, and yet the warmth of the thought lingered.
When his eyes met Ariana’s, he saw something in her expression—something tender and knowing that made his heart race. It was as if she, too, had entertained a similar thought, though neither of them dared to voice it.
“Seems like she’s a good judge of character,” Cullen said softly, his words meant for Emma but carrying a deeper weight as his gaze remained on Ariana.
As Emma babbled and pointed to the pendant hanging around his neck, Cullen’s thoughts drifted. The Halla pendant was a reminder of the life Ariana had lived before coming to Kirkwall, of the burdens she carried. He felt a deep protectiveness, not just for her but for Isabel and Emma as well. He thought of her earlier words about her brother, Mark, and the pain hidden beneath them. Learning that Emma’s father was a man who had hurt her only deepened Cullen’s resolve. Ariana might not ask for help, but he would offer it all the same.
She laughed lightly, her cheeks tinged with warmth. “She is, though I think it’s just the pendant,” she teased, her smile softening as she watched Emma’s tiny fingers tug at the charm.
Isabel returned then, her gaze sweeping over the scene with quiet approval. She placed a hand on Ariana’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as she said, “You two make quite the pair. And Emma clearly approves.”
Cullen’s heart swelled at the words, a mixture of pride and longing settling in his chest. For now, this was enough—a quiet moment, a shared smile, and the unspoken promise of something more.