Tag: Cullen Rutherford

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.